#the Master appears to dispel ignorance

[justicegundam82]

PF1: GRAVE HAG

Hello! Here's another of my attempts at retro-converting a 2E critter to 1E stats. After the Rust Hag, I surely couldn't pass up the Grave Hag, especially since I think Hags are kinda underrated and can be just as terrifying and versatile as vampires and liches when it comes to being evil masterminds.

Again I've tried to be as close as possible to the original version, though I had to drop a few special abilities in the process, since I was afraid they would have made the conversion overpowered. I'm still wondering if my conversion here might be a bit much... but I'll let you guys be the judges of that.

Hope you enjoy it!

GRAVE HAG

Image © Paizo Publishing. Accessed at Archives of Nethys here

This woman has a cadaverous appearence, with greying flesh, filthy black hair and bloody sores all over her body. Her nails are long, ragged claws, and her clothes are soiled with grave dirt.

GRAVE HAG CR 9

XP 6’400

CE Medium Monstrous Humanoid

Init +3; Senses darkvision 60 ft.; Perception +18

DEFENSE

AC 23 (+3 Dex, +1 dodge, +9 natural), touch 14, flat-footed 19

hp 104 (11d10+44)

Fort +8, Ref +10, Will +11; +4 vs. disease, fear and paralysis

Defensive Abilities negative healing

Damage Reduction 5 / cold iron; Immune energy drain, poison; Spell Resistance 20

ATTACK

Speed 30 ft.

Melee improvised weapon +17 / +12 / +7 (1d8+7) or 2 claws +17 (1d6+5 plus grab)

Ranged grave ray +15 touch (4d6)

Special Attacks curse of the grave, grave ray

Spell-Like Abilities (CL 12th, concentration +15)

1/day – cloudkill (DC 18)

3/day – animate dead, contagion (DC 18), enervation (DC 18), vampiric touch

At will – bleed (DC 14), cause fear (DC 15), command undead (DC 16), death knell (DC 15), speak with dead (DC 17)

STATISTICS

Str 20, Dex 17, Con 16, Int 19, Wis 18, Cha 17

Base Atk +12; CMB +17 (+21 grapple); CMD 30

Feats Catch Off-Guard (B), Dodge, Great Fortitude, Power Attack, Spell Focus (necromancy), Toughness, Undead Master

Skills Bluff +14, Climb +10, Craft (any one) +10, Heal +11, Intimidate +15, Knowledge (arcana) +14, Knowledge (religion) +16, Perception +18, Sense Motive +12, Spellcraft +12, Stealth +14, Survival +10

Languages Aklo, Common, Giant, Necril

Special Qualities undead mien

ECOLOGY

Environment any

Organization solitary or coven (3 hags of any type)

Treasure standard

SPECIAL ABILITIES

Curse of the Grave (Sup): Three times per day, a grave hag can put a curse on a creature, rendering it more enticing to the ravenous undead. A target can avoid this effect by making a successful Will save (DC 18). If the save is failed, the target starts drawing the undead’s attention, granting them a +4 bonus on Perception checks to notice the affected creature and on saving throws to resist spells that hide or disguise the affected creature from undead (such as hide from undead). Once an undead notices the affected creature, it feels compelled to kill and devour the affected creature, and gains a +2 profane bonus on attack rolls made against the affected creature and a +2 profane bonus on saving throws against the affected creature’s spells and special abilities. The undead also ignores any concealment less than total concealment that an affected creature has. A curse of the grave lasts for 24 hours or until removed with a successful remove curse, dispel magic, break enchantment or similar magic (against a casting level of 12). The save DC is Charisma-based.

Grave Ray (Sup): Once every 1d4+1 rounds, a grave hag can fire a black beam of bone-chilling negative energy to a maximum range of 60 feet. If the grave hag succeeds at a ranged touch attack, the beam inflicts 4d6 point of negative energy damage, which can be halved on a successful Fortitude save (DC 18). A grave ray can be used to heal undead creatures, or the grave hag herself, in this way. The save DC is Charisma-based.

Negative Healing (Sup): A grave hag is healed by negative energy and harmed by positive energy as if she were an undead creature.

Undead Mien (Ex): A grave hag counts as an undead creature for the purpose of spells, spell-like abilities or special abilities that detect undead. She also gains a +4 racial bonus on saving throws vs. disease, fear and paralysis effects.

Grave hags are a particularly powerful breed of hags with an affinity for undead and negative energy, who make their liars in cemetaries, mausoleums or other burial sites, where they surround themselves with undead servitors and form a kind of twisted mockery of a court. Unlike most hags, grave hags do not have the ability to alter their appearence into a more reassuring shape, and are forced to hide where few people would want to seek them out. However, grave hags are grieviously arrogant and self-centered, and believe that this kind of life is beneath them, so they spend most of their time concocting plans to expand their territory and set themselves up as petty rulers of undead-infested regions.

Even for the standards of hags, grave hags are extremely smug and self-important, seeing themselves as the most powerful, cunning and strongest of all hags, and demanding respect and unconditional obedience from any “lesser” kind of hag. They tend to mock other hags’ abilities that they don’t possess (such as the ability to alter self) as pointless parlor tricks who have no inherent use to them. The exception to this are night hags, whom are seen by grave hags as role models, and to whom a grave hag will gladly submit.

In combat, grave hags tend to hold back and harass opponents with spells and withering blasts of negative energy while their undead minions tear their victims apart. They often open up combat by casting cloudkill and then letting their minions, unaffected by the poison, have their way with the opposition. Grave hags can put a curse on their victims, making them more enticing for the undead to attack. However, if forced to hand-to-hand combat, a grave hag can give as good as she gets, often using digging tools like shovels or mattocks as improvised weapons with surprising skill.

A grave hag usually stands between 5 and 6 feet tall and weighs between 120 and 180 pounds. The bloody sores she naturally sports on her body can make her look crippled and weak, but are merely cosmetical and do not hinder the grave hag in any way other than giving her an unsightly appearence. When a grave hag joins a coven, the coven adds harm to its spell-like abilities and shares the grave hag’s negative healing ability, but a grave hag will rarely join a coven that doesn’t have either herself or a night hag as leader.

[arxiel]

CRIMSOM THUNDER

Rolan x F!Tav

BACK --- NEXT

Chapter 10: Festival of the Hunt

Rating: Mature (Blood, angst and Lorroakan being a bitch)

Words Count: 3.552

AO3 LINK

CHAPTER INDEX

Or... read Bellow

It had been twenty days of absurd assigments absurd confrontations with customers and people bringing fake relics and especially twenty nights when Lorroakan would ask him nonsense questions to beat him and make him fell less each time. 

It had come to a point that he knew what to expect every night. 

Rolan sent letters to his brothers, lying to them about his apprenticeship to prevent them from condemning themselves to the dangers of Lorroakan. 

He accepted any job he was told to do without objection, from organizing those books that Lorroakan himself disorganized or bringing him ‘escorts’ from Sharess Caress. 

Despite being a competent wizard, he had a terrible temper, witnessing on several occasions that he would end the lives of those who wasted his time with the relic. 

If some presented a more elevated threat, he would call him to deal with it himself, while his master took a rest on his throne of books to admire the spectacle. 

Several times Rolan had been wounded considerably but his master appeared to enjoy it. 

He did not understand why his obsession with a relic that would come in time made him so delicate, and why he refused to let Rolan attend to his study of the weave. 

Like he was preventing something…

If Rolan was caught taking tomes to study, he would reprimand him more harshly than at other times. Electrocuting him repeatedly into unconsciousness. 

Over time, he learned to be quiet enough to sneak tomes without being noticed and study for as long as he could and return them. Likewise he had learnt such tricks like making his letters morph into origami birds to fly to the inn where his siblings were staying. 

Occasionally he took the opportunity of ‘assignment’ days to visit his brothers and those days at least he could forget how bad he was having it now. 

He'd entered into his own cage where he wouldn't know much about his family, and even less about Yvainne who hadn't heard from her since the shadow's cursed land. 

He missed her, but another part of himself felt a genuine shame of the fact that even though she was right he chose to ignore her. 

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

The twenty-first day of Rolan's ‘apprenticeship’ had started badly when a cloud was raining down on him while he slept. 

Rolan barely dried himself and put his robes back on to leave the room. 

"It was time." Lorroakan dispelled his spell with a snap of his fingers. 

"Today you will do two tasks for me" Rolan concentrated to listen carefully to the requests that would be entrusted to him. 

"You will make the pentagram of the ritual once again if you do it well, consider yourself fortunate to do your second task." Rolan looked at him strangely, of all the assignments he had given, this was the first time he told him that it was a reward. 

Rolan flexed his fingers to take the special chalk to carefully draw the pentagram, considering every tiny detail, so that when they brought the real relic, the ritual will work. 

As he drew the pentagram perfectly he placed his two hands on it to give it of his magical power to make it work.

As he moved away from the pentagram a subtle blue glow emanated from it and faded slightly as Lorroakan approached. 

His master pulled a blue-tipped wand from behind his back, as he pointed it the pentagram glowed brightly. 

"It is perfect, now when the true relic arrives it will absorb everything and this will be complete." Lorroakan looked at the wand with great ambition. 

Lorroakan would throw at him an envelope with a letter inside. 

As he opened the contents to read it, there was an invitation to the festival of the hunt along with the coronation of Lord Gortash. 

Lorroakan had been invited because he was the master of the Ramazith tower and a very influential person. 

"I would go personally, but it would be better if my star apprentice went to witness a real festival, there was wine and gambling between the high houses and ‘company’ to be enjoyed." Rolan rolled his eyes, knowing exactly what Lorroakan want with that flatteries. 

"And Why doesn't Miklaur go." Lorroakan snorted in disbelief at Rolan's attempt at an excuse. 

"Miklaur doesn't have an attractive countenance to help persuade them to come to see me." Rolan sighed heavily before keeping the invitation. 

He should be sure to bring someone with him…  

Otherwise he would be severely punished again. 

But fortunately for him, "escorts" are special guests of sharess caress where their services are already available with gold.

Walking once more through the brightly city streets would bring him a slight peace of mind. 

He wouldn't have to tolerate his terrible Master and his abuses. 

He calmly admired all the decorations that were presented for the long-awaited event organised by that lord. 

Although he didn't trust him at all, it was something he didn't care about. 

Arriving at the event venue there was a waiting line, something that having the invitation from his master he could skip the lines for the entrance of the event. 

Those waiting in line would be whispering enviously. 

‘’How did a Tiefling get invited to an event like this?!" Rolan would tilt his head to show the invitation to the guard to be let in. 

"Welcome citizen, we can understand that your master has given his place to you, please enjoy the show, the betting area is open as well as the bar if you would like to enjoy the best wine of the sword coast" He nodded at the words of the Steel Watcher.

Rolan searched for the place that had been reserved to Lorroakan, being the new Archmage of Ramazith Tower they would give him a high place to see the area clearly as well as the spectators. 

The arena would fill up enthusiastically, leaving only a few empty seats, and it wouldn't be long before the event would start. 

"Interesting, anyone would judge your situation as luck, but, to be in this place at this precise moment in a very important event replacing your master, is considered as destiny itself." Rolan would turn his eyes to hear the voice of an elegantly dressed man with dark medium hair and slightly reddish skin. 

"I have seen you… at the inn in Reithwin, you played with that little girl. Mol…" The man smiled slightly. 

"Surprising you remembered it when you were deeply drunk…" His eyes moved to meet Rolan's eyes. 

"You are important noble of the city?" The man laughed lightly at Rolan's comment. 

"I am quite powerful, yes, but I only came to observe this event like everyone else here. - And mostly to see how a certain participant performs in this new situation…  As he finished his sentence, the opening chimes would sound. 

Gortash greeted the audience along with Duke Ravengard. 

Rolan bowed his gaze, remembering those words he had heard earlier. 

The Duke had been kidnapped and taken to Moonrise. He hadn't seen him rescued when the group of heroes defeated Ketheric Storm. 

And the flaming fists that had accompanied the survivors had mentioned that the duke had not been found and would call for help from… Lord Gortash. 

His whole blood chilled at the possibility that whoever was behind the whole absolutist affair was this lord. 

The Duke delivered a brief discourse on the absolutist terror that was haunting the city leaving Lord Gortash and his steel guard as the heroes and he will be crowned as the new Duke to protect the city. 

At the end of the short discourse the festival of the hunt would begin.

Sections of the floor would open up to raise small groups of people. Followed by bloodthirsty caged monsters. 

"Welcome our brave participants, some are veterans, some are newbies, but we have special guests who will also participate! - Once defeated they will be disqualified from the games, so… may the best person win." When Gortash finished his welcome to the participants the crowd would shout excitedly, some of them looked like mercenaries and adventurers but in the distance a glint reflected by the sun pointed at Rolan's eye. 

Instinctively he covered his eye with his hand to try to see. 

"Our star guest, I wonder if she can handle this…" The man would offer Rolan a pair of glasses with a high zoom to see nearer. 

As he took it to see who it was he opened his eyes in surprise, and his blood would chill and his heart would stop for a few seconds. 

It was Yvainne with Jaheira, they had some bruises and are completely unarmed. 

"Looks like now they will have to face each other to survive…" The man's unsettling laugh would keep him nervous. 

"This can't be happening…" It would run through his mind scared for their fate. 

The hunting festival is a dangerous event for the participants, they should try to defeat as many monsters as possible or the strongest ones to win. 

But it is also allowed to steal points from other players by defeating them in battle. 

It sounds simple for a group like them, if it weren't for the magic-suppressing bracelets they would have on their wrists. 

The games would begin with the release of the beasts and the arena changing to make it a maze. 

Yvainne and Jaheira split up in search of weapons to deal with the beasts.

Rolan brought his nails to his lips in nervousness as he saw a Displacer beast approaching, stalking them. 

Fortunately she would find a small knife with which she could defend herself. 

Jaheira reached her arms to calm the beast to give her a chance to escape. But an archer would arrive to kill the creature and try to shoot her as well. 

In a quick act Yvainne would throw the knife to hit it in the arm where it would hold the bow to take it from him. 

They would both rush forward with their weapons. 

Yvainne gave Jaheira a signal to crouch in the shadows to move slowly and surely to avoid the players' traps. 

"And the little mouse runs from the jaws of the predators, to attack from the cunning darkness"

The stage would shift to give a new arena to the participants separating Yvainne and Jaheira entirely. 

The worg would charge at Yvainne from the front, she tried to parry the bites with her bow. But the beast would be even stronger. 

Rolan clenched his jaw. Then his tail would begin to wag from helplessness. 

But in an unexpected act she pulled the hairpin out of her hair to bury it in the creature's eye, causing the creature to separate. 

Yvainne continued to stab at the creature's eye until it stopped moving. 

The man slowly clapped his hands at the spectacle with a devilish smile on his face. 

At Yvainne's inattention another of the displacer beast lunged at her, clawing at her arm and shattering part of the leather armour.  

Rolan accidentally hit the wall with his tail as he saw Yvainne fall to the ground helpless to another attack. 

But before the beast could strike again Jaheira would decapitate the creature with a scimitar. Rolan would sigh heavily. 

From her arm apart from the blood gushing out would be tattoos that he had seen before, one of the signs was on the notes his master had on the desk. 

Yvainne looked around in terror as she pressed down on her wound. 

Jaheira ripped some of her clothing to make a tourniquet to prevent excess blood and to cover some of the tattoos. 

Yvainne looked at her arm before looking at the hairpin in her hand. And she would use the hairpin to open the magic-suppressing bracelet as if it were a lock pick. 

"And the clever little mouse will use his wits for survival along with the little bird. I am amazed at how clever mortals can be, though they are running out of time…" The man would lean back against the wall at those words, Rolan would watch the approach of a burly, bald man along with… 

Another Jaheira? 

Rolan would look carefully at the man who looked familiar. 

The legendary Minsc the mad Rasheemaar?! 

Yvainne and Jaheira looked at the man who seemed confused and annoyed to see another identical companion. 

Both women crossed their gazes to nod and prepare for the disadvantageous attack between the fake Jaheira, Minsc and two other people who would try to surround them. 

Yvainne has no arrows with her bow and is armed only with the hairpin gifted by the Tiefling while the real Jaheira has only a scimitar. 

They need magic to survive. 

Rolan opened his eyes at the thought that would cross his mind. 

He would look around to avoid being surprised at what he was trying to do, and he closed his eyes trying to concentrate his magic. 

“Pulso” 

He would mutter the spell while pointing his fingers at her. 

The magic suppression bracelet would fall from her wrist. 

Yvainne in confusion would look down at the floor where the bracelet was and then look around, she knew she hadn't managed to open her bracelet in time. Although it looked like the audience had swallowed it. 

Her gaze quickly searched through the crowd, until her eyes focused on where he was standing. 

It was hard for her to know who it was that cast the spell, but Rolan's heart would skip a beat as her gaze lingered on him. 

She gave a big smile before quickly casting the same spell to remove Jaheira's bracelet. 

It wasn't against the rules to remove the bracelet. 

The audience cheered in excitement as they both broke free of the magic suppressors. 

Jaheira transformed into a Owlbear to throw the opponents and Yvainne caused an ice storm to knock down the opponents around them. 

The crowds cheered enthusiastically, seeming so immersed in the spectacle that they ignored certain flaws. 

The opponents around them and the fake Jaheira would transform into what they really are. 

Dopplegangers. 

The audience would begin to look at each other in terror. 

Looking towards Gortash he would look furious trying to stop the games from continuing. 

It seems that dopplegangers are not contemplated as participants. 

Yvainne would extend his hands and part of the tattoos on his arm would emerge bright red to summon a circle of fire to incinerate the creatures leaving Minsc alone against Jaheira and her. 

Both women lunged at the mad Rasheemar who nimbly grabbed Yvainne's arm to pull her out of the circle causing her to crash backwards into the wall. And also breaking her arm. 

The crowd let out a gasp at the blow.

Rolan felt his blood freeze at the scene. Yvainne cringed from the staggering pain in her arm breaking her concentration on the circle of fire, Jaheira turned to either side worried about the Rahsheemar and Yvainne's pain. 

More Dopplegangers emerged from the crowd and rushed into the arena. The audience would begin to scream in panic causing them to rush towards the exit of the coliseum to flee. 

Gortash waved for the steel guards to jump into the arena to take down the dopplegangers. 

"And so begins the chaos with an alliance broken by its own self-interest. And that is the breach that the little mouse will have to exploit if she wants to save the city. - I entrust you to get her out of that hole alive." Rolan turned to look at the man who only smiled grimly and then snapped his fingers to vanish. 

As he quickly turned his gaze to Yvainne he would see that her arm adjusted and a faint blue light would emerge from her hand to regenerate with hunter's healing magic. 

A momentary resource. 

Yvainne sighed to get up to run with difficulty to grab one of the fake participant's weapons to hit the big man in the head to knock him out. Minsc would be knocked unconscious before long and the steel guards would begin to surround them. 

But a blinding explosion flooded the arena. Whatever it was, it stunned the steel guard and the three would be gone. 

Rolan sighed heavily relieved that they escaped, it wouldn't be long before he would find a way to get out of the place without encountering a crowd frightened by what had happened.

What he hadn't noticed was the small owl made of magic that had been keeping watch over Rolan's every action during the entire event. 

He walked through the streets processing everything that had happened at the festival.  

Arriving at Sunderous Sundries he found the shop crowded with people who wanted magical protection at all costs, but his co-workers seemed to handle it well, as did one of Lorroakan's projections. 

He quickly made his way up to the portal of the Ramazith tower. 

Only to find his master watching the city decorated by the intense golden rays of the sunset. 

"You're early, boy, and the favour I asked for?" Rolan tightened his arm, he had completely forgotten that he should be fetching a escort for his master. 

He turned to see his terrified face. 

"You're lucky there's no one of my interest except one person." Lorroakan's voice would drop to a tone with soft desire.

"That young woman with the long, fluffy hair…. Is she of your interest?" He felt his world shakes at Lorroakan's question, he could swear that no one was watching him. He could feel his heart fluttering like a frightened rabbit. 

"Excuse me, master, I…" He would approach Rolan with a threatening step.

"A truly beautiful woman. - I find it curious that my own apprentice would have such an interest as you used magic to help her. Am I wrong?" Rolan swallowed hard.  

Lorroakan grabbed one of his horns to direct it towards the broken part of the balcony, threatening to throw him to his death. 

For the first time Rolan would hold on tightly to the break in the balcony feeling a genuine terror for his life. 

"Y-yes, yes master Lorroakan" His cruel master laughed lightly at the desperate response to save his own life. 

He pulled Rolan's horn to force him into the room to take his staff to beat him, again and again, reaching a point where the vile wizard felt pain in his hands as a sign of growing calluses. 

"I always get what I want. You are nothing more than a disgusting Tiefling with an air of greatness, keep that in mind every time you are looked upon with the same contempt you are today." Lorrakan would carefully wipe the staff with a cloth. 

Rolan panted from the pain. He was dizzy from the beating and his ears were ringing, but he barely heard his cruel words.

"So if you see her again, please kindly take her with you in the tower so she could see the power of a true Archmage, she might be even more impressed."

"I wonder if he will have the same fierceness in bed…" His words would make his soul feel an unbelievable anger. He wanted to carbonize him right there. 

He wanted to strangle him. 

He wanted to kill him himself. 

"I know you won't disappoint me bringing her here. I don't think you're stupid enough to let yourself be beaten again." Lorroakan had left the room to go to his ostentatious bedroom to rest. 

Rolan with difficulty would try to get up, processing all the hatred he felt deep inside him accompanied by fear and regret. 

He must have brought someone from Sharess Caress to attend to his master's needs, so he wouldn't have taken such a sick interest in Yvainne.  

He found it strange that he didn't recognise his own student, but it didn't matter. All that mattered to him now was protecting her, she might outmatch him in magic or agility, but he would do whatever it took to keep her out of harm's way, especially from Lorroakan. 

He knew that his master had gained ways to become stronger in the magic, even if Yvainne fought him she would not be able to with those myrmidons on his sleeve. 

She could die in the attempt as well as he for trying to help her. 

It would be best if she avoided entering Sorcerous Sundries at all. It was the best way for him to protect her. 

If it meant never seeing her again, it was worth it as long as she was safe.  

Rolan leaned against the wall, still physically dazed after the hits. A faint smile would come to his face as he remembered how she turned to look at him with gratitude. 

To see that smile one last time would have encouraged him to endure a little more of the abuse. 

He wished he had heard her voice at the last time. 

And maybe just maybe, sinking into her neck to feel her soft scent telling him how much he regrets not having believed the woman he feels…

Love…

He loves her.

She had bewitched his body and soul.

And now he never wished to be parted from her.

Although that will be very difficult under the current circumstances.

BACK --- NEXT

[mahayanapilgrim]

The Bodhisattva Vow

From the Guide to the Bodhisattva's Way of Life by Master

Shantideva

Through these actions now performed and all the virtues I have amassed,

May all the pain of every living being be completely scattered and dissolved!

For all those ailing in the world, Until their every sickness has been healed, May I myself become for them The doctor, nurse, the medicine itself.

Raining down a flood of food and drink, May I dispel the ills of thirst and famine. And in the aeons marked by scarcity and want, May I myself appear as drink and sustenance.

For sentient beings, poor and destitute, May I become a treasure ever-plentiful, And lie before them closely in their reach, a varied source of all that they might need.

My body, thus, and all my goods besides, and all my merits gained and to be gained, I give them all and do not count the cost, To bring about the benefit of beings.

May I be a guard for those who are protectorless, a guide for those who journey on the road. For those who wish to cross the water, May I be a boat, a raft, a bridge.

May I be an isle for those who yearn for land, a lamp for those who long for light; For all who need a resting place, may I be a bed.

May I be the wishing jewel, the vase of wealth, a word of power and the supreme healing, May I be the tree of miracles, For every being the wish-fulfilling cow.

Just like the earth and space itself And all the other mighty elements, For boundless multitudes of beings May I always be the ground of life, the source of varied sustenance.

Thus for everything that lives, As far as are the limits of the sky, May I be constantly their source of livelihood Until they pass beyond all sorrow.

Just as all the Buddhas of the past Have brought forth the awakened mind, Trained and abided in the precepts of the Bodhisattvas Step-by-step

Likewise, for the benefit of beings, I will bring to birth the awakened mind, And in those precepts, step-by-step, I will abide and train myself.

Those who thus with clear intelligence Take hold of the awakened mind with bright and lucid joy,

Today my life has given fruit. This human state has now been well assumed. Today I take my birth in Buddha's line, And have become the Buddha's child and heir.

In every way, then, I will undertake activities befitting such a rank. And I will do no act to mar or compromise this high and faultless lineage.

For I am like a blind person who has found A precious gem inside a heap of dust. For so it is, by some strange chance, That enlightened intent has been born in me.

It is the sovereign remedy That perfectly allays all maladies. It is the tree that gives relief To those who wander wearily the pathways of existence.

It is the universal bridge that saves All wandering beings from the states of loss, The rising moon of the enlightened mind That soothes the sorrows born of the afflictions.

It is the mighty sun that utterly dispels The misty ignorance of wandering beings, The creamy butter, rich and full, That's churned from milk of holy teaching

Living beings! Wanderers upon life's paths, Who wish to taste the riches of contentment, Here before you is the supreme bliss. O ceaseless travelers here is your fulfillment!

And so, today, within the sight of all protectors, I summon beings, calling them to Buddhahood."

"The Way of the Bodhisattva" by Shantideva,

Bodhichitta Prayer

Precious and Sublime Bodhichitta

Where it is unborn may it arise

Where it is born, may it not decline

But go on increasing further and further!

[halla-hunts-the-wolf]

A Dragon's Purpose

A story exploring the motivations of a Shadow Dragon-aligned Rook.

Warnings: Mentions of slavery, depictions of violence, abuse.

The neon lights of Minrathous left streaks of color splashing across the cobblestone streets. Carriages pulled by scaled Dracolisks and litters carted by servants disturb the puddles made by recent rain. The air is humid and heavy, leaving the taste of copper on Ma’hallian’s tongue. He crouches in the shadows of an alley, watching a company of sneering Altus pass by, their noses turned upward to avoid looking at the men and women serving them. 

Ma’hallain can’t see their pointed ears hidden beneath scarves and cloaks, but there’s no mistaking the queerness of their eyes, deep, dark, and inhuman. His stomach rolls as they pass him by, his thoughts jumping to his own time in enslavement, when he was beaten and taught to act like a dog waiting for his commands, all in hopes of receiving scraps for dinner.  

He shakes his thoughts away as the passing nobility moves on, leaving the street empty except for the echoing laughter bouncing off the surrounding buildings. He pulls his hood further up, allowing the black and purple fabric to bathe his appearance in shadow. Like those servants, his luminescent gaze would out him as an elf, while his vallaslin, half burned away by his scorned master, marked him not as Tevene descent, born and bred to work for Magisters, but as a Dalish captured from the wild, dragged in chains into the city with some of his kin, people he hadn’t seen in nearly five years, and who he hoped had died after leaving the auction site, for their sakes. 

Imagining his uncle, cousins, friends, and clanmates being forced to endure the same torment he had, where a brand was etched into his skin with flaming iron, his once long blonde hair became scorched into nothing, scarcely growing back in the wrong shade seasons later, and his Vallaslin, something he worked hard for, and enduring the pain to receive, becoming obsolete in an instant…

Ma’hallian has to grit his teeth to ignore the grief within him. Whatever he was before, Minrathous was his home now, and his people still needed his help. Once, years ago, someone had smiled upon him as a group of freedom fighters broke into his master’s home, slaughtered the lot of them, and allowed the elves to walk free. Most had decided to leave the country; some raved about Fen’harel and went mad trying to join his ranks, but Ma’hallain couldn’t bring himself to pray to false Gods when they weren’t the ones to save him.  Instead, he had looked upon the faces of those who freed him, bathed him, fed him, and given him a warm bed to sleep in. The Shadow Dragons became his salvation, and now he worked as a free member of their organization, desperate to save those who suffered as he did. 

He didn’t always work alone; breaking into a home was risky enough without someone watching his back. However, the Dragons were pulled thin, with Venatori coming out of the woodwork, hunting them in the night and preventing them from changing Tevinter for the better. 

Ma’hallain imagined their cloaked figures emerging from the shadows as he turned the corner to face the back entrance of an estate. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he pulled a glyph etched in stone from his pocket. He held it to the gate, watching a magical sheen ripple across the metal. Dispelling wards and protection spells always risk alerting the original caster, but the estate remained dark, and no one came to the back door intending to kill an intruder.  

He wills his hands not to shake as he replaces the glyph with his lock-picking tools, crouching down on one knee to fiddle with the lock. It’s second nature to hold his breath until it clicks, granting him entrance into the lower garden. 

The servant’s entrance is precisely where it’s meant to be, hidden behind growing vines and with a layer of cobwebs toward the top. He takes his time unlocking this, fearful of what he may find inside and what may already be lost. 

The tunnel into the home is dark, and Ma’hallain braces his gloved hand against the wall to find his way. He can scarcely make out the grooves of the stone, his green eyes flickering from one side of the narrow hall to the next, anticipating something with blades, teeth, or magic. Luck is on his side that night as he comes to the end of the tunnel, pushes open a door, and finds a large room adjacent to the kitchen. 

The only furniture in the space included scraps of blankets and a bucket in the corner, with the smell of ammonia emanating from the rotten wood.  Ma’hallain’s gaze sweeps over the sleeping bodies, with robes too big for their lithe frames. He knew, without seeing, that their ribs could be counted, had they undressed before him. 

He steps around the room, maneuvering around the sleeping bodies with the grace of a cat, until he sees an elf, missing one ear, lying within the shadows of a wall. He crouches at the man’s side, his voice thick with the Tevene tongue, the accent of another gift beaten into him by his former master. 

“Arlow,” he whispers, reaching out with a hand to gently rouse the elf at the shoulder. “You’re Arlow, yes?” 

The sleeping elf rouses with a start, and Ma’hallain feels his body become stiff and tense as if he wouldn’t dare strike the person who would wake him at such an hour. 

“It’s alright, Arlow.” Ma’hallain continued, pricking his ears within his hood as he heard the rustling of more bodies in the dark. “You called for the Dragons. Now I’m here.” 

“You want to run from Master Adonis?” Another voice whispers, a mousy woman with large, round eyes. “He'll have the rest of us skinned for your behavior.” 

Arlow raises from his place beside Ma’hallain, turning his head to regard his fellow slaves, giving them his good ear to speak into. “You all know about the Shadow Dragons; when I was allowed in town with the master a fortnight ago, I called for them, I did, and now they’re here.” 

“He’s one man.” Another says with rising hostility. “What can he do against the master?” 

“I could kill him,” Ma’hallain answers, turning his back on Arlow to face the other elves, each with expressions haunted by fear. “If that’s what you would like, then I will bloody my hands in your names. However, my sole intention was to help you flee tonight. Friends are waiting with fresh water, warm beds, and treatment to heal your wounds.” 

“You’d kill him?” The woman inquires, “The Master?” 

“If that’s the peace you need to start a new life, my lady, then he won’t live to see the sunrise.” 

She leans forward on her knees, an eager light in her eyes as she considers the possibility, but her expression falls as she watches something over Ma’hallain’s shoulder. 

He pulls a knife from his belt, turns, and lets it fly. It lands in the wooden door, nearly close enough to knick the ear of an elf leaving to warn the estate's owner of the intrusion. The elf couldn’t be paler as he turned to face Ma’hallain. “You don’t know what he’ll do to us if I tell ‘em you’re here; I’ll get more bread for supper.” 

“That bread will only fill your stomach for a night or two, my friend.  Think of your companions here. Think of Arlow, who has risked everything to save you tonight.”  

The elf’s gaze falls to Arlow, their eyes lock, and the rebellious light fades from his eyes before he steps away from the door. “The garden gate is spelled; the last time one of us tried it, she got the shock of a lifetime, killed her on the spot, it did.” 

“I’ve handled the gate. Can all of you walk?” 

The elves murmur, slowly rising to their feet, with some wrapping their blankets around their shoulders like shawls. 

“Try and cover your faces if you can,” Ma’hallain instructs, helping Arlow to his feet until a small cry breaks through the silence in the room. 

“Taren isn’t waking up,” the woman from before claims, crouched beside the body of a much older man. 

“Pops?” Another elf ventures, coming closer to examine the body. 

Ma’hallain does the same, inching closer until he can lay a hand on the cooled corpse, rigor mortis already restricting the deceased’s muscles. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” he says to the woman, noticing the beginning of tears in her eyes.  “Do you believe in the Maker?” 

“I like to hope,” 

“Then trust that Taren is with him now. Your friend can’t make this journey with you, but you can continue living for him.”  Ma’hallain offers her his hand, and they rise to their feet, “Now, my lady, would you like me to handle the man responsible?" 

The woman’s gaze sweeps across the room, acknowledging her fellow elves' haggard yet hopeful appearances. Any desire for revenge dies, as she shakes her head slightly. “Just get us away from here."

Ma’hallain nods, holding steady to her hand as he leads the poor souls toward the tunnel, his ears pricked and body taunt, prepared for a fight at any moment. “As you wish. Tomorrow, you’ll see the sunrise as a free woman. Of that, you have my word.” 

[nirikeehan]

Happy Friday! From your Nightmare AU, maybe something for Thalia & Vivienne using the Empress arcana tarot prompt! (Bonus points if you use the inverted card... if you want to write something dark!)

Thank you!! Oh boy!!

the empress: passion, ferocity, fertility; “You cannot do this!” possible AUs/settings/ideas: motherhood, protectiveness, villain au 

Reversed: insecurity, overbearing, negligence, smothering, lack of growth, lack of progress 

I tried to get both in there, but it kinda turned into Samson and Vivienne grandstanding at each other and then Thalia gives a speech??? IDK. Hopefully it will make sense tomorrow.

A direct continuation of this.

For @dadrunkwriting

WC: 1383

---

A battalion of hulking Red Templars stood at the edge of the clearing. At their fore stood three figures. One Thalia did not recognize: an attractive man with dark skin, short-cropped hair and one eye of bright green. The opposite eye glowed a sinister red. She thought the other flanking guard a stranger until she looked closer. Under his helmet, veins of red lyrium snaked across his face and illuminated a patterned tattoo that traced his nose and jaw. Dread filled Thalia. Oh, Knight-Captain Rylen. What have they done to you? They both wore breastplates emblazoned with the crest of the Templar Order, wearing red lyrium crystals on chains about their necks.

Between them stood Samson. 

He had donned his horrible armor, black metal upon crimson, and in it seemed taller than Thalia remembered from that night in her — his — quarters. He gazed across the glade, unimpressed by the ghoulish display put on by the townsfolk. He cared naught for petty cults that had cropped up in the world run by his master, it appeared. He ignored the hooded robes, the ominous torchlight, the makeshift dais and its crude altar. He gazed past all that and looked Thalia in the eye.

Something curious showed in his face. Thalia did not think it had been there last time, when he had been full of pomp and bluster, trying to seduce her with his silver tongue. Or maybe she had seen a glimpse, when he’d reached a trembling hand out to her as she straddled the balustrade, terrified she would jump. 

Whatever it was, it vanished as Samson stepped forward, replaced by a slippery grin bisecting his long face. All the red that surrounding him seemed to gather in his eyes. 

“Hello there, Madame du Fer. That’s what they called you back in the Orlesian court, innit?” 

Thalia tightened her grip on Cullen’s arm and looked to Vivienne. The woman had drawn herself up to her considerable height, but even as he approached on ground level Samson seemed to tower over them all. 

“General Samson,” Vivienne responded cooly. Her expression betrayed nothing. “I had hoped I’d never have the displeasure of meeting you in person.”

“Me as well, Iron Lady. Me as well.” The crowd melted away with each clinking step Samson took. Rylen and the Templar with mismatched eyes dogged his heels, and the foot soldiers lumbered behind like the tail of a blood red comet. Samson reached the base of the dais and cocked his head. “Seems I’ve interrupted some sort of party.” 

“Vile servant of the Dark Lord,” spat the man whom Thalia had found leaning over Cullen on the altar when she and Vivienne had stormed into the clearing. He leveled the dagger in his hand at the giant red lyrium crystal protruding from Samson’s breastplate. “It is your foul misdeeds we seek to dispel with our worship!” He motioned toward Cullen, on hands and knees beside Thalia. “This degenerate creature is a byproduct of your fell sorcery and must be cleansed.” 

“By all means, go for it,” Samson drawled, gaze drifting from the cultist to Cullen, and then to Thalia. “Ain’t him I’m here for.” 

Thalia’s heart seized in her chest. Cullen looked sick and sweaty, too woozy to form words, let alone defend her. She had her staff on her back, but it would be her, alone — against not only a Red Templar horde, but the cultists as well, if Vivienne could not get them to stand down. 

She looked desperately toward Vivienne. Thalia knew it was foolish to hope Vivienne would step in after the days of deceit and deception, but she prayed for it all the same. After dispatching the Red Templar scout together, Vivienne had shown Thalia the way to the glade, turning circumspect. It was the closest thing Thalia suspected she would get to an apology which she would take if it meant saving Cullen’s life. 

But now the calculus had changed. Vivienne always said she would put the lives of her subjects first. 

Vivienne’s eyes narrowed. “What exactly are you saying to me?”

Samson’s hand went to the hilt of his longsword over his right shoulder; he stroked it lightly while he seemed to consider the question. “Hand over the Inquisitor, and there don’t need to be any bloodshed here today.” He smirked at the cultist with the dagger, who looked ready to defecate in his breeches. “Least not at the hands of me and mine.” 

“Samson,” Cullen snarled, his voice thick and slurry. “Don’t you dare lay on a hand on her, or…”

“Or what? You’ll retch on my boots? You look so blasted you can’t even stand, my friend.” Samson chuckled. “Remember when it used to be the other way round, back at the Hanged Man?” 

“Enough,” Vivienne cut in. “I don’t care about your shared history, and I certainly don’t care about your petty pissing contest.”

“But do you care about deals, Iron Lady? The kind where you scratch my back and I scratch yours?” Samson cocked his head. “Think of it: this is a little forgotten stretch of nowhere. We’ll be happy to leave it that way. You can strip naked and have orgies in the name of whatever imagined gods you like. Cut each other up and eat each other’s hearts for all I care. All you gotta do is give me the girl.” 

Vivienne turned her icy gaze upon Thalia, who was white-knuckling Cullen’s arm with both hands. “Please, Vivienne, you cannot do this.” 

“I think you can,” Samson countered. “Easily.”

Vivienne pressed her lips together, surveyed the hooded figures around her. “What say you, subjects of mine?”

The man with the dagger sneered, “Hand her over!” 

Thalia expected a chorus to accompany him, but the crowd only murmured as the townsfolk looked among themselves. 

“But… she is the Herald of Andraste,” whispered one. 

“Our Mistress said she would lead us to salvation,��� said another. 

“I saw the mark on her hand; she’s legitimate.”

“She walked out of the Fade once — she could do it again.” 

Thalia took a deep breath and raised her head, staring out over the crowd in disbelief. Maybe Vivienne was right, about heroes and villains and the roles into which they had been cast. Clutching Cullen’s hand, she pushed herself to her feet. 

“Hear me, one and all.” Her heart pounded in her ears. “Corypheus may have won the battle, but he has not won the war. If that were true, then why are so many of you out here, resisting?” 

Another ripple of murmurs went through the black-cloaked crowd. She watched Samson frown, his red-tinged retinue rear up at the rabble. 

“But you must understand,” Thalia continued, before the moment was lost, “targeting men like Cullen will not rid this land of the rot that taints it. You must attack the corruption at its root.” She stared down at Samson, swallowing hard at the fury she saw brewing in his face. She pointed to him. “This man is responsible for the red lyrium that swallows your land and your loved ones. This man mined it, refined it, fed it to good and noble Templars until they fell victim to its madness.” She cut herself off before her voice could break, catching sight again of Rylen. “And when that wasn’t enough, turned to regular, hard-working people to fuel his army. Return me to him if you wish, but know that if you do, you serve the very dark god you purport to despise.” 

The crowd erupted, and the Red Templar guard reared; live steel flashed on both sides. Samson drew his longsword in his left hand, scowling. It glowed the same infernal red as his armor, his eyes, his minions. 

“Quiet,” he roared, brandishing the sword with one hand, showing off incredible strength and agility. “This has been a fun little bandy, but this is your last chance, Iron Lady. Give me the Inquisitor, or prepare for violence.”

“We stand behind you, Mistress,” came a shout from the crowd.

Another: “Give us our orders, Mistress.” 

“You walk in the light of the Herald, Mistress.” A third still. 

Thalia looked to Vivienne. Their eyes met, and Vivienne gave a near imperceptible nod. 

Vivienne drew her staff. Her voice sounded amused. “Violence it is, General.” 

[destiny-dreamwielder]

Eyes on Fire

Rating: T

Summary: Destiny DreamWielder finds herself bearing witness to Sylvia’s last moments. 

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: Heavy angst, and on page description of (canonical) character illness and death. Also, discussion of the heavy topics inherent to Dragonspyre.

A/N: This rambling is inspired by @oldestenemy ‘s top tier post I just reblogged. Go give it some love!! Title borrowed from the song by Blue Foundation.

Destiny had only ever heard stories of Sylvia Drake. Of course, she’d been on a mission to defeat the woman’s husband for over a year, so that had obviously led to a few run-ins with him. But Sylvia was a mysterious figure, known only to Destiny through the recollections of Shawna and the other residents of Wizard City. Still, she felt wrong raiding the late Professor Drake’s tomb to trap her spirit in a tiny little crystal. If her whole quest was to stop Malistaire’s mad plan to resurrect her, shouldn’t Destiny also let her rest?

But Cyrus was her professor, the adult in charge, and Sylvia’s brother-in-law, so she followed his instructions dutifully, ignoring the uneasy feeling in her stomach. Catherine stayed behind at Cyrus’s order. He didn't trust the younger girl with anything, especially not Sylvia’s spirit.

As she took the portal to the Necropolis, Destiny felt the spirits of Old Dragonspyre calling to her, begging to be heard, making every step she took heavier. She’d never been in a Spiral World so full of history and death, and her visions were becoming more and more frequent because of it. She could feel the stories swirling in the air, and she was too afraid to ask Cyrus if he could too, if that was the real reason why he wouldn't venture past the Basilica. 

She battled her way through the tomb’s defenses on autopilot, summoning familiar monsters to dispense with the hostile ones, until she reached the top floor. Her head ached as she gazed upon the coffin, and as she stepped forward she saw a dark figure appear. A final defense, she assumed, until it spoke.

“Malistaire?” the figure called, and Destiny’s blood ran cold. “Is that you? Have you come for me? It’s so cold here...so dark, and I’m so alone...”

That was not the voice of a spirit tasked with guarding a tomb. Destiny had never heard it before, but she knew the voice was Sylvia’s. The figure looked up at her, and its eyes began to burn. 

“You’re not my Malistaire!” it screeched, “What have you done to him?! I won’t harm him... You’ll never get me to betray my beloved husband!”

The wraith lunged at her, attacking ferociously as Destiny desperately fought back. It felt so wrong to hurt this… this thing that used to be Sylvia, but she had to. Their duel raged on until Destiny finally dispelled her guilt and summoned a great Orthrus to defeat the wraith. It worked, and she watched, relieved, as the darkness rushed out of the figure and Sylvia’s true spirit was left standing. 

The relief turned to fear, however, when she realized where the darkness was headed. It slammed into her, and she could feel it coursing through her as the magic within her swelled up to greet it.

She blinked, and found herself in a lovely Wizard City home, one she’d only ever seen from the outside when older students pointed it out. The Drake house. The master bedroom, specifically, with its curtains half drawn and a dying Sylvia Drake nestled in the bed. A version of Malistaire Destiny had only seen in portraits sat beside it, tears streaming down his face as he held his wife’s hand. Headmaster Ambrose stood on the other side, muttering under his breath and performing spell after spell in an attempt to heal her. Destiny sensed that she was watching time progress quickly, that this scene played out for weeks, perhaps even months, on end, and she wished desperately to leave. This was private. She had no right to be watching.

Time seemed to even out, and Sylvia looked awful. Her face was pale and sunken in, and her whole body was constantly being wracked by her horrible, hacking cough. The circles beneath Malistaire’s eyes were just as dark as his wife’s, and he looked terrible. Ambrose finally lowered his hands, great fear sadness in his eyes. 

“There’s nothing more I can do, Malistaire,” he whispered, “her time has come. I’ll give you privacy for...” he paused, choking up. “For her...her last moments.”

The headmaster left, tears disappearing into his thick beard, and Sylvia stopped a now furious Malistaire from following. 

“My love,” she rasped, “he’s right. You and I know better than anyone that these are forces we cannot overcome.”

Malistaire sobbed, holding his wife’s now boney hands tightly in his own, “I love you my darling, I’ll fix this. I’ll bring you back.”

“No,” she coughed, “Malistaire no, let me go. No one can overcome death. Just be with me now.”

He pressed his head to hers, and she smiled, closing her eyes. Destiny looked away, tears in her own eyes as she listened to Sylvia breathe her final labored breaths. The room was silent - Why isn’t this horrible vision over? - and Destiny slowly turned back to see Malistaire shaking with grief and rage.

“I am the Master of Death, I will bring you back, my love. We will be together again,” he vowed, and the vision began to dissipate.

Blinking again, Destiny found herself back in Sylvia’s tomb. Immediately, she collapsed to the floor under the weight of what she was just forced to witness. Shaking with tears and fear, overwhelmed by the unfair events she’d been thrust into, and the responsibility she’d been given, she remained there until she could breathe properly again. 

Sylvia’s ghost stood over her, looking concerned. Destiny stared at her. How could this healthy and rosy woman be the same one she just saw die? 

“Are you alright, dear?” Sylvia asked, and Destiny couldn't answer. She could only gaze at the ghost with sadness and remorse as she reached out with the knowledge crystal Cyrus gave her and captured the spirit within it. A strange badge fell to the ground, and Destiny pocketed it mindlessly alongside the crystal that she refused to think about. 

She remained on her knees in the tomb for a few moments more, attempting to push everything down and come back to the task at hand. Finally, she wiped her cheeks and rose, turning around to return to Cyrus. She knew she couldn't tell him what she just saw, and focused on planning what she’d say instead. The little things were all that kept her from losing her mind.

She had no idea how she’d ever return to normal when all of this was over.

[sailor-toni]

How did the Wright Family End up in the Beast’s Castle?

Chapter 4: The Beastly Master

You can also read this on A03, FF.net, and Wattpad

Like a broken wagon, Gumshoe stumbled over his words. Cutting himself off again and again desperately looking for the right combination that would dispel his Master’s deepening scowl. His large body began to shake along the title floor, the wooden edges wrapped themselves around Phoenix, as the sound of claws on title came closer. A shadow too tall to be human appeared on the fabric with ram-like horns and twisted goat legs that stalked around the Gumshoe's room divider body. 

“Sir, sir sire! Please I can-” Gumshoe begged. 

A human hand with no less than three elongated joints on each fur covered finger wrapped around the edge. Where fingernails stood upon your hand, thick sharp claws wrapped around his fingertips. Phoenix fell over, watching as the wall of the man was pulled away to reveal the Master. Human eyes stared at him from a fur encrusted face and lion’s maw. Silver fur gathered around his body, peaking out of the stretch of human clothes that failed to hide the large body beneath them. He wasn't human, he was a twisted beast with a human voice. The Master's maw twisted into a snarl. 

“ Phoenix Wright? ” He hissed. 

His heart sounded like thunder in his chest, overpowering his thoughts. All he could do was stare at him. Is this what Apollo saw? He must have been so scared. He thought. The Master reached for him with his claws. 

SMACK! His good foot reacted first, kicking against the hand; it was followed by his legs. Then his feet. The pounding of his feet against the floor soon became louder than his own heart.  Slamming against the wall he pushed himself around the corner. Throwing his limbs down the stairs. THUD! The Master crashed behind him, chasing him with inhuman legs, and inhuman arms that extended fast past him. A claw licked his shirt collar. 

Phoenix jumped off the steps. His body weightless in the air, soon came to a crash on the landing. His bad foot responded with a quick and vicious crunch. Phoenix screamed. 

The foyer echoed around them until his scream dissipated into silence. The Master stared at him; his black human eyes were wide and his mouth was pressed into a thin fearful line. 

“A-are you?” He began. 

“Dad!” Running into the foyer with bottles tucked under his arm, Apollo skidded to a stop at the base of the stairs. The clanking of metal followed him as Lana ran into the room. The candelabra held high in her hand. 

“Master?” Lana gasped. 

“Leave my Dad alone!” Apollo ran up the steps, throwing his body in between the two. “Can’t you see he’s already hurt!” 

The Master took a step back, “No wait I didn’t.” 

“Nick!” Maya entered the room, candlestick in one hand, her other supported a sleeping Trucy, and Athena followed close behind. 

“Doesn't anyone listen to what I say?” Lana cursed. 

“Maya grab the kids and run!” Phoenix yelled. He grabbed Apollo and pulled himself up. Pain shot through his leg like fireworks. He hissed and twisted his lips into a tight grimace. He ignored the searing pain and ran down the stairs. The cold air outside was a relief against his aching foot, cooling the heat and pain that raced through it. 

The horse stood where they had left it, shivering in the cold. Phoenix threw Apollo in the wagon. Using the same momentum to thrust himself up to the reigns. Maya followed behind slowly waking Trucy  up and placing her with Apollo and Athena in the back. 

“Nick what was that?” Maya asked. 

“I don’t know but we aren't sticking around to find out what it is!” Phoenix yelled. 

With the whip of the reins, they flew through the gate marching down the snow-covered road. Lana ran towards them, her red scarf blew in the wind as she shouted at them, until she reached the gate. The children watched as her black armor became a dark speck on the horizon line, along with the castle slowly fading and blending into the sky.  

Their wagon raced along the snow-covered paths, turning the newly fallen snow into a fine mist under their wheels. For not long after they left the castle, did they see sharp eyes and smacking jaws watch them from the tree line. It began as one wolf running along the tree line, then two, and now the whole pack ran alongside them. Snapping at their heels. 

The wagon flew along the uneven path, sliding along the ice and snow. Tugging on the horse’s reins, Phoenix tried to regain control as the trees became shapeless smears around them. Bucking against him, the horse picked up his pace. Each snap and growl added a new wind to its hooves. The wagon tugged along behind him, shaking the family inside. The children clung to each other like a daisy chain, holding onto the thick fabric of the wagon’s cover to avoid falling out the back. Their screams were silenced when the world around them tipped and tumbled. The horse’s legs buckled under them and its large body was dragged with the wagon. Skidding through the snow, sending a white mist all around. Phoenix and Maya flew from the front; their bodies slammed against the ground. Their bodies bounced off the ice before rolling part way down the slope. Their groggy pain filled heads rose from the ground. They saw the wagon on its side with half of it tethering off the cliff edge. 

Phoenix pulled himself to his feet, limping towards the wagon. Maya ran past him, one sandal missing from her feet, she unwrapped her obi and threw it down the wagon’s entrance. 

“Grab it!” She screamed. The wagon rocked around them, matching every movement the children made. Shoes and knick-knacks rained on them, and past them free falling below. 

“Trucy first,” Athena said, pushing the younger girl up through the rubble. Trucy grabbed the end of the obi and pulled herself up. Her tear stained lashes began to freeze in the cold wind. Pulling off her outer robe, Maya wrapped the girl in it before letting her off the wagon. 

“Grab it!” She yelled again, throwing her obi down the wagon.  

“You next,” Apollo said, shoving Athena before him. 

“No, you next.” Athena pulled Apollo with her. The two grabbed the obi at once and began to climb. Maya braced herself, her back arching backwards as the two came up. 

Phoenix limped his way to the wagon, listening to the wolves approach. They circle the wagon, watching the chaotic movements. Shaking his head, he climbed the wagon and grabbed his sister. The two used everything they had to pull the kids up. Plopping them in the snow. Maya jumped off the wagon and Phoenix raced to the old horse, pulling the ropes loose before the wagon dragged it off the cliff. The ropes burned his skin as he pulled at the final knot, tugging it towards him, his feet dragging in the snow. The horse kicked at the ground digging the snow and dirt under his hooves. Hands reached out grabbing the horse's bridle and reins. The whole family pulled the horse from the edge. SNAP The family collapsed upon the horse, with phoenix feet inches from the edge. The pressure had caused the rope to snap. 

“MR. HORSE!” Trucy cried, hugging its neck. The horse laid on the ground, slowly breathing as if it too needed a break. Phoenix collapsed upon the snow, joining the horse in its break. Listening to the soft crunch of snow as the wolves came closer. 

“Kids, stay with the horse,” he said, pulling himself up. His foot caught a large branch. He pulled it from the snow, bracing it against the wolves. Maya came up behind him, her hands glowing a faint purple. 

“Maya -” 

“Shut up Nick. I’m going to do whatever I can to make sure we all live through this.” Maya cut him off. 

“Well, if there was any time that we needed uncontrollable magic. This would be it.” 

Maya nodded. Small purple blast shot from her hands as words flew from her muttering lips. The small shots blew fist size holes in the snow pushing them back. One wolf with a nasty eye wound advanced on them dodging the magical blast and aiming for the children. With a quick whack, Phoenix knocked him aside, slamming the branch against his body like one would hit a toy. The wolf yelped and turned its attention to him. He threw the branch towards him like a battering ram. Her arms and legs began to shake as her veins glowed a pale purple. Phoenix glared into the animal's eyes, seeing his family in its reflection. He thrusted the branch forward crashing it into its jaw. It howled in pain. The branch splintered around them, leaving a jagged broken end. Slipping past the clumsy movements, the wolf grabbed the branch and began to shake it from Phoenix's hands. A tug of war began between the two as Maya began to send out larger magical blasts from her hands. . 

The wolf backed away, fresh blood dripping from its face. A snarl ripped open its muzzle. A growl slipped past the yellow teeth, as its feet took off. Phoenix swung the broken branch at the wolf but its reach was too small and its jagged edges too dull to do anything to the best. In a leap the beast was upon him, his maw biting down on his arms, spit dripping down on his face. 

“Nick!” Maya screamed. The pack advanced upon her. 

A howl tore through the air. A shadow passed over the pack, ripping the wolf off Phoenix and throwing him back to the pack. The Monster from the castle stood over him, with the morning sun illuminating his misshapen face. Wide human eyes started at him through the brow of fur.

“Thank God,” The Beast muttered. Phoenix furrowed his brow and tried to push himself off the ground. 

“Nick!” Maya screamed, her magic flew from her palms in glop-like blots. They hit the snow and wolves with a burning splat. She threw a few more, her feet turning on her heels as she raced over. The Beast ran past her, throwing themselves to the advancing pack. The wolves bit and tore at the beast ripping away both cloth and flesh. The Beast in kind threw their bodies upon the ground like sandbags, ending their lives with a series of sickening cracks. Maya’s glowing hands searched her brother for any new wounds or blood.

“Maya I’m fine,” He grabbed her hands. 

“Oh, thank God, I -” Her words were cut off by the yelp of another wolf, thrown against a tree. “thought you got hurt.” The wolf weakly pushed itself off the tree limping past the family, howling to the rest of the pack. Those who still could, ran from the scene like rats from a chef’s knife. Darting in all directions, until their furry bodies blended into the forest around them. Phoenix let go of her hands, the faint purple light had begun to burn his skin.  

The Beast turned to them with blood soaked silver fur and exposed wounds. He took a single step towards them, then his body buckled under him, sending him crashing down. Staining the snow beneath him. The family sat frozen to the ground, their eyes staring at the Beast. 

“What do we do now?” Phoenix asked aloud. 

“I guess we help him,” Maya answered. 

“Help him? Maya didn’t you see what he did to those wolves?��� 

“Yes! But those wolves were going to eat us! And he stopped them. We should at least get him back home at the very least! What kind of people would we be if we left him here to die?”

He sighed. Looking at the Beast he turned his attention to the kids. Trucy hid her face in Maya’s robe, her body shaking next to Apollo who held her close. Apollo wasn’t looking at him though, but at the Beast and the bodies of dead wolves around him. Athena sat next to him, her face scrunched up in pain, with her tear stained face buried in Apollo’s shoulder. Her small hands over her ears. Phoenix then turned to himself. His foot has begun to throb in pain again, and Maya began to shiver besides him. 

“Alright. Maya, can you help me up? Thank you. Apollo! Help me get the horse back up. We’re going back.”

[33-108]

"Sophia Divina Alchemical Mother of La Rosa 🌹

(Brief and simple explanation of The Secret Figures of the Rosa Cruz, 1785)

Victor. Arturo. Cabello. Reyes🌹

'God hath put his Tabernacle in the Sun.'

(Psalm: 18:5)

Mother Alchemy Sophia is a way of life that develops through the search for sacred vision and total surrender to the exercise of a purifying Gnosis of ascension of the being transmutable into Solar Gold.

At the end of the eighteenth century (1785-1788) appears in the Alchemical Rosicrucian literature a Rosicrucian Treatise of Hermetic-Paracelsian Tradition in 40 beautiful engravings edited in Altona, Germany-Denmark and entitled=Secret Figures of the Rosicrucians=Geheime Figuren der Rosenkreuzer, aus dem 16ten und 17ten Jahrhundert (Sixteenth and seventeenth century).

Its symbolism is nourished by the millenary wisdom of the thought of the master Bohme and Paracelsus.

(Altona, 1785)

An ancestral and traditional principle of spiritual alchemy is the well-known symbolic and iconographic representation of the substances of the Magnum Opus; represented the body of the Man/Woman and his spiritual environment.

Temple body and laboratory are an integral part of the 'imaginalis world' of the adept.

Now, of course, it is Sophia who embodies Mother Sophia, wisdom and key to the Mystery of absolute transcendence and exposure as a reflecting mirror of the cosmos. In order to transcend and make herself recognizable, Sophia assumes the iconographic appearance of the woman who nourishes and gives life = (metallic transmutation).

But God also manifests Himself in Sophia in light, substance, and flesh.

However, alchemical Sophia turns out to be an active manifestation of the Celestial Dew or female watery substance and spiritual seed = 'water sulfur or divine water' of the Mother = Celestial and Terrestrial Eve and Mother of All Creatures in heaven and earth = (The Heavenly and Earthly Eve, Mother of all Creaturesin Heaven and on Earth).

Feminine aspect of divinity and 'energetic and spiritual irradiation', Adam's matrix of celestial nature for Master Blake.

Sophia=Wisdom of God.

Lunar Sophia surrounded by 12 stars as a representation of the solar aurora that dispels ignorance and nourishes the 'Son of Hermes' from her virginal milk = solar and celestial mercurial water that brita from her breasts.

She is Mother begetter =Mater Materiae and path of Theo-Sophia.

During the 17th century (XVII) the airs of reform lead to the exhibition of spiritual renewal of a millenary tradition of new epoch.

'These millenarian expectations went hand in hand with an esoteric viewpoint that drew on a variety of sources including Gnosticism, Neoplatonism, the Hermetic tradition, Kabbalah and alchemy and was represented by the writings of such men as Cornelius Agrippa, Paracelsus, Jacob Bóehme and Heinrich Khunrath's. (1)

Everything that emanates from Sophia comes from a single substance.

'There is only one Stone, only one way to operate, only one way to cook to reach white and red, and Everything is completed in one Vessel.'

(Avicenna)

One can begin to understand how in the image appears the Sun with twelve stars crowned by Solar Mercury and Mother of minerals and metals and their raw material. The Star of the Kings from the Orient=La Estrella de los Reyes de Oriente.

The Sun of Justice = The Sun of Justice.

Virgin Sophia=Virgin Sophia who distills virginal milk= (lac virginis)the Dew of May=Spiritus mundi On the upper left we read: God is eternally increado, infinite, supernatural, self-sustaining, existing celestial spirit who becomes in the course of nature and time a visible and mortal Man.

Below = Oculus Divinus per quem Deus vidit i creavit omnia = Divine Eye by which God sees and creates All.

Everything has its end! and announces its beginning. Lumen Gratiae; Ergon sunt duo=Grace, Sympathy, Pleasure of the Light; =Therefore, there are two.

Oculus naturae-Right the Eye of Nature of Heaven by which nature visits and rules the whole earth = Heavenly Eve, The New Birth=Eve Celeste the New Birth.

Earth Eve and Old Birth=Earthly Eve=The Old Birth.

Oh! Man Oh! Man thinks how Nature is a great world and becomes Man. Tinctura Phisica and virginal milk and sweat of the Sun is Mother of 6 Children and is Pure Virgin.

O, Man, see how God, the Word hath become O!Man,look how God, the word becomes Man.

Innocent I received, dammed is he, who doth not believe. =Innocent we recipe.

Condemned is those who do not believe.

Bottom:Tinctura Coelestis='The theory and practice of alchemy were strongly influenced for more than a thousand years by a belief in the existence of a potent transmuting agent, which ultimately came to be regarded as a universal medicine... Elixir vitae... and the Red tincture'. (2)

The Celestial Tincture=(Lat. Tinctura) is based on the theory of multiplication by means of the Philosopher's Stone or Tinctura, for the Master Paracelsus 'Soon after your Lili(tincture)shall have become heated in the Philosophic Egg...

'An adequate manifestation is expressed through harmonic analogy of the ovum philosophicum = philosophical egg that gives life in the womb to the homunculus, nourishing itself with the Divine female breasts = 'Breast Divinus'.

Below left side = ROSA CRUCIS VENITE = Rosa Cruz que Viene.

Videte Videte Videte = Míralo Míralo Míralo Míralo.

Whoever hath eyes to see, can see rightly=anyone who has eyes to see, can see it correctly.

Seek the friendship of Archaeo, the confidant doorkeeper=Seek Archaeo's friendship=the hidden inner nature of a substance=Arkos(Greek=secret), the trustworthy Porter=guardian of the Gate. Above Sophia is crowned by 12 Stars shining the Sun of Justice in the Virgin Sophia.

He has the 'Fire of Aaron' and incarnates in his Divine Breast the high priestly Pectoral and Sacred Urim.

Possibly part of the complex structure of the 'ephod' 12 onyx stones for divination or consultation of the divine will or 'sacred luck.'

(Leviticus 8:8 and Exodus 28:30)

Pondus Naturae = weight, Natural influence.

Under the symbol of the Urim we find the symbol of Antimony.

From her Breast-Sophia emanate two streams of virginal milk that nourish the Homonculus = (sohn = virginal son) or son of Sophia the Son of Hermes.

'Elementus Aquae duplex est datur enim Aqua Communis Philosophorum'. (3)

That Son of Hermes = Unicus Filius and filius Philosophorum is fertilized by the grace of the maternal waters (2 streams) of Sophia that nourish him as a cosmic embryo that begets itself; fertilizing in the sacral uterus.

Omnia ab Uno Omnia ad Unum. The All in One. One in the Whole = 'into bread'.

Fruit verbum Eterniy resides One = The Fruit of the Eternal Word resides in the ONE.

'One is the ALL, through him the ALL, and with him the ALL: if the ALL did not contain ALL, the ALL would be nothing.' (4)

Is and Antimony(antimonium-Element:Sb(Latin:stibium)='universal alkahest'-turns out to be of an animal nature or indomitable and wild spirit='wild spirit', named after the master alchemist Basil Valentine when he saw the monks who died when using the compound='anti-moine'. Antimoine Incarnate Time = antimony incarnates in Time.

According to Paracelsus as 'antimony refines gold likewise refines the body'. We see on his right arm and on his left = Aaron's Breast and Ignis Divinus Naturae = Aaron's chest and Natural Divine Fire.

Below the Son of Hermes appears a circle=Instrumentum Divinum. Fiat Natura=Light of Nature.

From Sophia's breasts come 4 streams = Water-Blood-White-Red. From Instrumentum Divinum come 4 Elements = Fire-Air-Aqua and Earth and below 12 zodiacal circles.

Below Fiat Natura the Sun-Father and Moon-Mother. 7 eagles 7 Lions 7 Crows and 7 spheres.

7 are the natural qualities, 7 qualities of things, 7 active agents, 7 planetary powers in which Wisdom builds its Philosophical Abode. 7 Planets, 4 Elements and 12 zodiacal symbols. Videami ni Collegium Ad Spiritum Santus=Look at me at the College of the Holy Spirit.

Under the Sun the circle of Chaos and 4 Elements.

Many of these shared traits are representative of an explicit worldview of symbols of life and death, three trees the Silver of the Philosophos, Mercury-Salt-Sulfur, the corrosive and the sulfur philosophorum together with Fire that comes out of the water and Celestial water with the AZOTH of 7 Points, represent the hard work of the Theoria Sophists and Practice towards the SILEX the Stone and Rebis='Double Thing'... Dominus providebit Exitus acta probabit.

'If the Principles with which one works are True and the operations are correct, the effect must be true, and no other is the True Secret of the Hermetic Philosophers.'

(Philatheses, Epistle of Ripley, p.VIII)

So Mote it Be!

Sophia Divina Alchemical Mother of La Rosa🌹"

(Brief and simple Explanation The Secret Figures of the Rosa Cruz, 1785)

Victor. Arturo. Cabello. Reyes 🌹

Bibliography:

1. Christopher McIntosh, The Rose Cross and the Age of Reason, p.24.

2. John Read, Prelude to Chemistry an outline of Alchemy, p.12.

3. J.J.Becher, Oedipus chymicus.

4. Codex Marcianus.,Ms. 2325, f.188b.

[fractiondigital]

What is the Instagram Algorithm? A guide to understanding its workings

First, what is the Instagram algorithm?

The Instagram algorithm is a set of algorithms that determines how content on the platform is ranked. It determines what content appears and in what ig chronological order on all Instagram feeds, the Explore Page, the Reels feed, hashtag pages, and so on. The Instagram algorithm examines any content posted on the network.

The algorithm is now influenced by a variety of criteria, making each user’s algorithm unique to their usage and what Instagram believes they will like and prefer.

The algorithm is always updating and evolving. The Instagram account is planned to debunk some of the most frequent fallacies and dispel rumors, all of which will be highlighted in this blog

To put it simply, the Instagram algorithm compares information about the content (posts, Stories, Reels) with information about users (interests and platform activity) in order to provide the correct content to the right people.

To define the algorithm, the primary goal is to make each user’s experience with the platform as pleasant as possible. “We want to make the best use of your time, and we believe that employing technology [the Instagram algorithm] to personalize your experience is the best way to do so,” the company says.

The Instagram algorithm is the platform’s gatekeeper to success. When you master the algorithm, you’ll have access to more followers and more algo traffic. Ignore the system, and your account may be doomed to obscurity, no matter how good or desired your content is.

Instagram’s all algorithms change on a regular basis, and we do our best to stay current. We have to in order to keep our Instagram account growing. If you are wondering how to see posts you’ve liked on Instagram 2022, it’s because Insta modified the app sometime back and removed the tab showing the activity. But it’s still possible to find posts you have liked.

Do not just focus on reach, but on building relationships as well.

It has become more important than ever to build your audience loyalty and engage your followers consistently, especially since it can help you earn one of the top spots on their feeds.

Content relationships can be created in a variety of ways, including:

You can have a conversation with users by providing prompts that encourage them to share their thoughts.

In addition to encouraging more user-generated content, you may gain more followers by tagging you in their posts.

Posts that encourage commenting, such as tag-a-friend posts and Instagram contests.

For more information visit 

[hasmephydoneanythingwrong]

alrightalrightalright, I heard breathing, let’s hecking go!!! >:Dc

(just a disclaimer I’ll probably get a lot of Fate lore wrong here, so feel free to correct me when I mess up if you so desire)

I’d like to think I was subtle with the mystery of not including character names in my snippets, but it was probably super obvious that the general idea is “how would the servant version of my mastersona be introduced if she were canon?”

It was initially conceived to be a Valentine’s Day event given the theme of love, but it probably takes itself too seriously for that. The premise is that a small singularity has formed, and it’s drawing Chaldean Heroic Spirits to it. Guda and Mash go to investigate, and it turns out that the singularity is a self-contained Holy Grail War in an abandoned city. There are two twists to the typical HGW premise, however.

Firstly, there are no Masters. The reason why is because (and this is the second twist on the premise) the Servants are fighting in teams of two (Guda is considered the Caster like in Heian-Kyo with Mash as their partner), and they're working off of each other's magical energy like some sort of perpetual motion machine- all but one of the Heroic Spirits are from Chaldea, as well. The teams are:

Lancer Brynhildr and Saber Sigurd

Assassin Yu Mei-ren and Berserker Xiang Yu

Rider Iskandar and a new Archer, Hephaestion (who is, pointedly, not Faker)

They're attacked by Rider and Archer first, and after some cryptic words about a "Foreigner in blue," Guda and Mash find that they're able to Rayshift between the Singularity and Chaldea with unusual ease.

Guda and Mash decide to follow the lead that Archer has given them. They Rayshift back to Chaldea and check to see if Yang Guifei is still there. She is, and while she confirms that she has nothing to do with the Singularity, she asks to visit it.

When the trio head back, Yang Guifei notes that she resonates with the magical energy in the air, but the team is promptly attacked by Assassin and Berserker. Mash points out that, since Yu Mei-ren has no desire for the grail, it's illogical to fight. Yu ignores this, stating that her actions are for the sake of love. Oddly, while Rider and Archer disappeared (and Rider went back to Chaldea) upon defeat, only Berserker does so when he and Assassin are defeated. Regardless, Yu Mei-ren still snaps back to her senses and reveals that she originally came to the Singularity on her own to investigate it, although she doesn't have much information on the Singularity's mastermind that Guda and Mash didn't already know. In any case, Guda and the Shielder discuss the connection that they made during the fight: both of the teams that they've fought are couples!

Upon returning to Chaldea, Guda, Mash, and Yang Guifei seek out the two Beasts of Love for their assistance: Kama and Sessyoin Kiara. Kama is in no mood to help, being her usual Kama-y self, but Sessyoin offers some insight on the situation: if this Holy Grail War is pitting lovers against lovers, the person responsible could very well be acting out of envy for those relationships. Yang Guifei, Kama, and Kiara agree to stay behind and help da Vinci analyze the Singularity (although Kama reluctantly so), and Guda and Mash return to it, with Yu Mei-ren tagging along, outraged that someone- or something- forced Xiang Yu and herself into participating in the Grail War.

No sooner do Guda, Mash, and Yu Mei-ren Rayshift again than they are attacked by Saber and Lancer. I will admit, I don't have anything else planned to happen during their battle, except maybe Summer Brynhildr serves as a last-second power-up.

Saber and Lancer returning to Chaldea upon defeat dispels the magecraft that was disguising the location from which the Singularity is being powered: a run-down mage's laboratory at the edge of the city.

Despite its rundown appearance, the building has a futuristic interior, which houses the Holy Grail, glowing excessively. It is at this moment that the mastermind behind the Singularity reveals themself: a Servant clad in blue. Thaaat's riiight~~, 😉 it's meeeee my Mastersonaaaaa~~!

The Servant congratulates Mash and Guda for defeating all six of the other Heroic Spirits, and challenges them to one final fight. Somehow, they and Yu Mei-ren are trounced.

Feeling confident (or perhaps just talking to talk), this "mysterious" Servant goes on a spiel about the nature of the Singularity. After connecting to Chaldea from a parallel world, the Servant used a Holy Grail to gather seven Heroic Spirits, all powered by love: although the Caster came with an anomaly attached (Mash). The mystery Servant proposes a question to the duo: if this is a Holy Grail War, then who is the Ruler corresponding to it?

The Ruler is here, they simply aren't a Ruler yet.

The mystery Servant declares that they will do anything to grant that special person the rights of a Ruler, even trap Chaldean Servants in a deadly duel, even give up their own life, for they are Bruce Cipher, the third component of Beast III!

The Beast of Self-Sacrifice.

...except a certain helpful trio decides to stop that train of thought.

Communicating from Chaldea, Kama, Yang Guifei, and Sessyoin Kiara produce to call Bruce out on his bullshit. Obviously, Kama and Sessyoin know there is no “third component of Beast III,” and Yang Guifei points out that his magical energy specifically corresponds to a Foreigner, as Hephaestion previously stated.

As if to rub salt into Bruce’s “Big Bad Wannabe” wounds, Sessyoin Kiara reveals that Bruce’s little speech confirmed a theory of hers: that the Grail War is all part of some wish fulfillment fantasy. As an entity from another world gathering up magical energy for someone who he’d do anything for, Bruce sounds exactly like someone who has loved and lost. Forcing Heroic Spirit couples to kill each other also sounds exactly like what a vengeful person who has lost a loved one would do.

Bruce is caught off-guard for a second, their composure replaced with rage at being called out. It doesn’t matter if that’s the truth, she says, because the Holy Grail finished processing the magical energy picked up from Guda and Mash’s defeat while she was stalling for time. The energy gathers and brings forth yet another Servant…

It’s Mephistopheles. It was always going to be Mephistopheles, you probably knew from the first paragraph.

(that’s right, this whole thing started because Bruce basically has “my Heroic Spirit has to be the most specialest Heroic Spirit in the world” disease)

(it also means that, yes, this fan-event is a big middle finger to Traum)

Mephisto gets a flashy new outfit (which is offered in the event shop for Caster Mephisto; there’s no playable Ruler unit, unfortunately) that takes aspects from all of the Heroic Spirits defeated, including Mash and Guda (specifically the Arc 2 Mystic Code). Guda, Yu Mei-ren, and Mash fight off the duo of Foreigner and Caster-Turned-Ruler, resulting in a narrow victory for Team Chaldea.

Bruce is fucking pissed. She starts ranting and raving about how “you don’t know how hard I’ve worked to get here, Master of Chaldea, unlike you, I couldn’t just get up again and again and again, and-“

They’re interrupted by that iconic flute-like voice.

Yes, while the magic gathered by the Holy Grail dissipated, it seems that Mephistopheles themself did not. They point out to a bewildered Mash that hey, Yu Mei-ren didn’t vanish either, hm? The Shielder sees the connection: Mephistopheles wasn’t forcibly drawn in by the Grail. Mephistopheles was already here, having come to investigate the Singularity first!

A bewildered, defeated Bruce wonders why the Mephisto from Chaldea would even be here, let alone so cheerful after fighting their current Master, admitting that she thought this was, for lack of a better term, a tulpa that she’d accidentally made from her own emotions. The Caster explains that upon checking out the Singularity, seeing their former Master as a Servant awakened the memory of their time together (you know how the Throne likes to pick and choose what Heroic Spirits remember from previous summonings?), and that it felt wonderful fighting alongside someone who loved Mephisto with all her heart and would go to such lengths to make them more powerful.

Content to know that the Mephistopheles in this universe's Chaldea remembers her, Bruce succumbs to her wounds.

...except guess what, Guda does that whole, "I hope we meet in Chaldea" thing and Guess What Fucking Happens™

Update: oh shit, oh god, oh fuck, (/deadpan, /lh) I forgot the gimmick that I was so totally hyped about. You know how I said that the teams are working off of each other's magical energy because of the power of love? Well, I just remembered that as a fun gimmick for the fights, each Servant gains powers from their teammate as well. Things like class advantages and certain skills. This is also my excuse to add new Spiritron Dresses for each of the participating Heroic Spirits. The costumes mostly consist of swapped color palettes with a few clothing details.

Who wants to hear me ramble about "The Holy Grail War of Romance and Usurpation"

breathe if yes. recite the bible in japanese if no (/ref)

you don't actually have to do either of those things, i just wanted to be funny ;P

[shinymoonbird]

Devotee: “It is said that the Mahatma looks upon all with the same kindness. Why then do they tenderly receive some, reply to some and not to others, when asked, shout at some and show indifference towards others?”

Bhagavan: “Yes. All the children are the same for the father. He wishes them all well. Hence he treats them with love and anger according to their propensities, and thus gives them training. Children who are gentle, remain aloof with fear and do not ask for anything; they should be cajoled with love and tenderness and given whatever they want. Those who are bold, ask for and take whatever they want. Those who are vagrant should be reprimanded and kept in their proper places. Those who are stupid should be neglected and left to fend for themselves. In the same manner Mahatmas have to be loving or harsh according to the merits of the devotees.”

~ From 'Letters from Sri Ramanasramam', by Suri Nagamma - Letter 200

[mahayanapilgrim]

BUDDHA-NATURE

Is my meditation correct? When shall I ever make progress? Never shall I attain the level of my spiritual Master? Juggled between hope and doubt, our mind is never at peace.

According to our mood, one day we will practise intensely, and the next day, not at all. We are attached to the agreeable experiences which emerge from the state of mental calm, and we wish to abandon meditation when we fail to slow down the flow of thoughts. That is not the right way to practise.

Whatever the state of our thoughts may be, we must apply ourselves steadfastly to regular practice, day after day; observing the movement of our thoughts and tracing them back to their source. We should not count on being immediately capable of maintaining the flow of our concentration day and night.

When we begin to meditate on the nature of mind, it is preferable to make short sessions of meditation, several times per day. With perseverance, we will progressively realise the nature of our mind, and that realisation will become more stable. At this stage, thoughts will have lost their power to disturb and subdue us.

Emptiness, the ultimate nature of Dharmakaya, the Absolute Body, is not a simple nothingness. It possesses intrinsically the faculty of knowing all phenomena. This faculty is the luminous or cognitive aspect of the Dharmakaya, whose expression is spontaneous. The Dharmakaya is not the product of causes and conditions; it is the original nature of mind.

Recognition of this primordial nature resembles the rising of the sun of wisdom in the night of ignorance: the darkness is instantly dispelled. The clarity of the Dharmakaya does not wax and wane like the moon; it is like the immutable light which shines at the centre of the sun.

Whenever clouds gather, the nature of the sky is not corrupted, and when they disperse, it is not ameliorated. The sky does not become less or more vast. It does not change. It is the same with the nature of mind: it is not spoiled by the arrival of thoughts; nor improved by their disappearance. The nature of the mind is emptiness; its expression is clarity. These two aspects are essentially one's simple images designed to indicate the diverse modalities of the mind. It would be useless to attach oneself in turn to the notion of emptiness , and then to that of clarity, as if they were independent entities. The ultimate nature of mind is beyond all concepts, all definition and all fragmentation.

"I could walk on the clouds!" says a child. But if he reached the clouds, he would find nowhere to place his foot. Likewise, if one does not examine thoughts, they present a solid appearance; but if one examines them, there is nothing there. That is what is called being at the same time empty and apparent. Emptiness of mind is not a nothingness, nor a state of torpor, for it possesses by its very nature a luminous faculty of knowledge which is called Awareness. These two aspects, emptiness and Awareness, cannot be separated. They are essentially one, like the surface of the mirror and the image which is reflected in it.

Thoughts manifest themselves within emptiness and are reabsorbed into it like a face appears and disappears in a mirror; the face has never been in the mirror, and when it ceases to be reflected in it, it has not really ceased to exist. The mirror itself has never changed. So, before departing on the spiritual path, we remain in the so-called "impure" state of samsara, which is, in appearance, governed by ignorance. When we commit ourselves to that path, we cross a state where ignorance and wisdom are mixed. At the end, at the moment of Enlightenment, only pure wisdom exists. But all the way along this spiritual journey, although there is an appearance of transformation, the nature of the mind has never changed: it was not corrupted on entry onto the path, and it was not improved at the time of realisation.

The infinite and inexpressible qualities of primordial wisdom "the true nirvana" are inherent in our mind. It is not necessary to create them, to fabricate something new. Spiritual realisation only serves to reveal them through purification, which is the path. Finally, if one considers them from an ultimate point of view, these qualities are themselves only emptiness.

Thus samsara is emptiness, nirvana is emptiness - and so consequently, one is not "bad" nor the other "good." The person who has realised the nature of mind is freed from the impulsion to reject samsara and obtain nirvana. He is like a young child, who contemplates the world with an innocent simplicity, without concepts of beauty or ugliness, good or evil. He is no longer the prey of conflicting tendencies, the source of desires or aversions.

It serves no purpose to worry about the disruptions of daily life, like another child, who rejoices on building a sand castle, and cries when it collapses. See how puerile beings rush into difficulties, like a butterfly which plunges into the flame of a lamp, so as to appropriate what they covet, and get rid of what they hate. It is better to put down the burden which all these imaginary attachments bring to bear down upon one.

The state of Buddha contains in itself five "bodies" or aspects of Buddhahood: the Manifested Body, the Body of Perfect Enjoyment, the Absolute Body, the Essential Body and the Immutable Diamond Body. These are not to be sought outside us: they are inseparable from our being, from our mind. As soon as we have recognised this presence, there is an end to confusion. We have no further need to seek Enlightenment outside. The navigator who lands on an island made entirely of fine gold will not find a trace of anything else, no matter how hard he searches. We must understand that all the qualities of Buddha have always existed inherently in our being.

[dollwritesarchive]

𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓉𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓉𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 | ᛕ.

the happiest of birthdays to @ginny-rose-sixx !! i know you requested something else for Tolkien days and i’m most certainly working on it, but in the meantime please take this little fic (that is connected to your request, just wait and see!) as a token of my love and adoration 💗💗

fandom tolkien / the hobbit

featuring kili x took!reader (f)

rating sfw!

content warning pretty much all fluff, one very blushy dwarf (kili’s a SIMP)

summary while celebrating your birthday with your favorite cousin bilbo, a few old friends come to visit. post botfa, everyone lives au.

word count 1.7k / mini musing

attention not proofread, i apologize i’m running on 3 hours of sleep. do not repost or translate. reblog & give feedback! 💗

“I’m almost afraid to ask,” Fili quirked a brow as his pony trots side by side with his younger brother’s, “but what in Durin’s name are you doing?”

Kili is occupied, his meaty hands working with the delicate flora (and crumbling more than enough to frustrate him) as he weaves them together in a crooked oval. it’s not such a simple task for hands meant to wield weapons, but it seems especially enraging while on horseback. the young dwarf continues to grind his teeth, knit his brows together, and stare at the little disgrace as his hopeless digits attempt an ounce of competency with the project. when his brother speaks, he doesn’t look up, but mutters with his chin angled towards his chest, as if it were obvious, “making a crown of flowers, what else does it look like?”

the blonde dwarf quirks a brow, the corner of his lip quivering with knowing delight. “It looks like you’re making rainbow paste, brother.” he chortles, mostly to himself, “I should’ve rephrased my question. Why are you making a crown of flowers?”

Kili looks up at his brother, the answer written all over his cherry countenance. he opens his mouth to speak, but with his tongue held tight by sheepishness, closes it again and goes back to work, lacing a small, pastel bundle of petals into the weave as carefully as possible. thankfully, he only ripped off two, silken petals in the process.

“It must be for that little hobbit!” Ori beams as he catches up to the siblings, eyes alight with amusement. “The little Took girl!”

“You mean Master Baggins’ cousin?” Nori asked, appearing on the other side. the ponies huff and stamp their feet, not so pleased to be in such close vicinity.

Ori nods, “that’s the one, innit?”

“Yes.” Kili sighs in defeat, and nods. “In case none of you remember, we will arrive in Bag End on her birthday. I thought—“ he pauses, thoughtful, and cocks his head to the side, “she might want a gift.”

Nori looks from his cousin to Kili, and seems perplexed. “You’ve hardly spoken three words to the girl, nearly three years ago. How do you know she even likes flowers?”

Kili’s fingers stop, his stomach rolling over. he hadn’t even considered that you might not like flowers. he swallows hard, quiet, and considers tossing the whole project aside. it wasn’t very nice, anyways; if you did like flowers, no doubt you could buy a prettier piece in town. that’s when his brother’s hand reaches out to grip his shoulder. it was firm and assuring, as if he knew exactly what the younger was thinking and wished to dispel any doubt from his mind. “Finish it, brother.” he mutters, ignoring the duo that had moved on in conversation already. he leans closer, the smirk finally etching his lips upwards beneath his golden mustache. “Pretty things like pretty things.”

the party was one to remember, and you expected nothing less when Bilbo told you that the company of Thorin Oakenshield would be joining you.

it felt like ages since you first met them all and watched your beloved cousin leave on his adventure, even though only a couple of short years have passed. still, they came to visit often, but you always seemed to be away when they visited. Bilbo was much happier when he could see his dear friends again, and you enjoyed seeing him happy, but you wished you, too, could see a certain dwarf.

Kili was handsome, devilishly so, and typically that would make you nervous. you’d known devilishly handsome men before, but none like him. he was gentle and kind, much to the dismay of the stories of Durin’s Folk, who were rumored to be stoic and strong. Kili was soft, he was warm, and you’d grown rather fond of him.

it was good to see him again, as well as the others. your birthday party was filled with joyous laughter, and goodness! the songs they sang for you.

as the revelry begins to die, and the smoke from many a pipe feels as if it may suffocate you, you slip outside and find yourself sitting in Bilbo’s garden, pulling your knees up to your chest with your bare toes tickled by soft grass. the moon is massive and pale, hanging in the sky as if dangling on a silver string of sparkling stars, and you smile to yourself, tilting your head. hugging your knees.

“Did our songs make your head hurt, Miss Took?”

your shoulders knit together, and startled, you turn to see Kili standing behind you, smiling sheepishly. grasped in his hands are two cups filled with ale, most likely. you hadn’t been expecting anyone to seek you out, but you were happy it was him.

“Of course not,” you answer with a soft smile, receiving the goblet as it’s handed to you, “I just wanted some fresh air. It’s good for the soul, you know.” you turn your gaze back to the beauty of the night sky. “And it’s so beautiful, isn’t it?”

Kili exhales in relief and plops down beside you, but instead of looking in the same direction, his dark hues are fixed on you, “breathtaking.” it takes you looking at him to realize that he’s said it out loud, and you both look away almost in unison, sharing the fiery heat of a blush. “Apologies.” he murmurs after a moment of rubbing the nape of his neck. “That was… an accident. Forceful, wasn’t it?”

with your eyes cast down to your hands, you try to hide your smile from him, afraid it would be too humiliating for him to see you grinning ear to ear. “Was it?” you ask, hands trembling with excitement. you take a moment to hide them beneath the thin cotton of your skirt. “I wouldn’t know, no one’s ever called me breathtaking before.” you chance a peek in his direction as you lift the cup to your lips and take a small sip in comparison to his nervous gulping.

his amber hues seem black in the dimness of the night, the moon casting a silver glow over his countenance, but when he looks back at you, you feel his warmth. “Well, I think that’s a shame,” he murmurs, his gaze locked on to yours, “because you should hear it every day.”

your blush deepens to a point of being nearly feverish. you tilt your head, staring into his eyes and feel yourself leaning closer to him, as if led by instinct alone. “Oh?” you ask, your gaze flickering downwards to admire the temptation his lips present. they meet his again, as if encouraging him to act. “Would you be the one to say it?”

“I could be…”

he was leaning closer, too, having shifted so he faces you, his hands planting themselves besides tiny flowers. inches away. almost there. so close that you can feel the heat of his breath on your lower lip. you close your eyes and part your lips, anticipating the bitter taste of ale…

the front door opens, suddenly, and Bilbo calls out for you. startled, you whip your head around to look at him, tucking a flyaway hair behind your ear and clearing your throat, “Y—yes?” you stammer, heartbeat hurting your chest.

Bilbo, eyes wide as saucers, realizes what he’s interrupted and clears his throat. “Will— will you be staying tonight? Um…” his thumbs twiddle together as he avoids Kili’s face all together, and stares directly at you, “or will you be… going home?”

“I—“ the thickness of embarrassment and maladroit in the air was almost too much for you to bear as you look down at the grass. “I’d like to stay tonight, okay?”

“Right. Okay. I’ll… make up the bedroom, then.” Bilbo then nods, as if to say carry on and kiss him, and the motion alone is enough to make you want to disappear. you nibble on your lower lip and give him an awkward smile until the door closes with him behind it.

Kili has regained a safe distance, clearing his throat. when you turn back, you feel a twinge of disappointment; you were hoping to pick up exactly where you’d left off, but he seemed too bashful now. “I wanted to give you this.” he says, fishing in his coat pocket, and carefully retrieving a jumbled mess of flora. there’s no rhyme or reason to the colors of the flowers wrapped together, and you’re almost certain the braided band would be too big to fit properly on your head, but you take it in both hands, carefully cradling the gift, and you fall in love with it. it isn’t perfect, by any means, but you can tell that he made it himself, while he thought of you. that’s enough for you. “Do you like it?” he asks after a moment of simply watching you admire the details, he seems uncertain.

“It’s lovely,” you reply, setting it atop your head with care. “Thank you so much. How does it look?” with both palms against your cheeks, your digits drum against your skin and you beam with delight, modeling for him.

Kili blushes again, his cheeks a deep crimson tint, but his eyes refuse to leave your countenance. “Perfect.” his voice is hardly audible now, more akin to a whisper. “You look… perfect.” a few more moments of staring, and you’ve shifted on to your knees, looking back at him. “Should we— I mean, are you ready to go back inside, now? I’d hate to keep you out…”

giggling, you shake your head. “No, Kili. There’s something I want to do first.”

“What’s that?”

tackling the larger dwarf, you catch him off guard and he tumbles backwards with a shriek, but you’re there to muffle the sound as your lips collide with his. for a moment, he’s stiff beneath you, frozen, but your palms caress his cheeks and you smile against his mouth, tasting the saccharine you knew to be there. he soon relaxes, both large hands going to your waist to keep you steady, or to hold you in place, whilst he deepens the kiss he’s been waiting so long to taste.

[magicalgirlgrimoire]

A Eulogy to Black Rock Shooter

AKA My Wild and Unsubstantiated Black Rock Shooter Conspiracy Theory

A long time ago, I saw a friend posting about a thing called “black rock shooter” on their deviantart journal and I asked them what it was. It must have been circa 2009/10, since it was about the OVA that was soon to release. I’d gotten into Vocaloid pretty bad around that time, right at the fandoms infancy, and I was immediately intrigued by BRS’s creation. I could and would talk more about it ; it’s an interesting case of various creatives building off each other to make a collaborative media property, and one of the earliest instances of this coming from the vocaloid community.

But that’s not why we’re here; we’re here for my hit piece on Black Rock Shooter 2012.

But let’s roll back a bit, to the OVA first. Now, for the purposes of this blog, I’m only going to be touching on the OVA and 2012 anime. I know there’s a few games, manga and a new anime that came out this year, but I’m interested in BRS mostly as a magical girl property, so I’m ignoring media that doesn’t involve the duality of a normal girl / magical girl in the plot. Speaking of, BRS’s OVA is a simple story; Mato and Yomi are two girls who meet each other as they join a new school and immediately hit it off. However Mato is more outgoing, and soon Yomi finds herself sidelined in Mato’s flourishing school life. In another world, a seemingly twisted version of Yomi is gaining power as Dead Master, and it’s up to Mato’s other self, Black Rock Shooter to defeat and subsequently rescue Yomi from her own darker emotions.

There’s something incredibly relatable to me about the short narrative presented to us in this OVA. The quick way Mato and Yomi befriend each other and reach that level of intimacy within their friendship reflects my own experience as a young teenaged afab; often your most intense relationships at that age are with friends you made, in retrospect, for the convenience. Not that Mato and Yomi don’t have a genuine connection; but more that it’s clear during the OVA that they have differing interests and levels of openness, leading to their friendship straining over the course of the story. There’s also a distinctive saphic edge to their relationship too; the disappointment and abandonment Yomi feels, which instigates her downward spiral, also mirrors the feelings of many young queer women, who find themselves in incredibly emotional and weighty relationships with their best friends, who often don’t have the language to explain why they want to spend so much time with them, why they feel such jelousy when that friend is away, or why that friend in particular is so important. This makes it all the more sweet when the conclusion of the OVA is Mato gaining her powers as BRS in order to save Yomi, proving she also sees Yomi as important. The final scene where BRS breaks out of her chains and defeats Dead Master with not her iconic sword or gun, but with a hug, dispelling Yomi’s anger and sadness, always gets me. Despite the somewhat edgy pckaging, the Black Rock Shooter OVA presents a sweet story about a friendship between two girls, and about girls rescuing and caring for each other.

Cute. Nice.

The Black Rock Shooter Anime throws all that out the window.

The anime starts out close enough to the OVA, though with a notably expanded main cast and some adjustments to the characters relationships. In this version, Mato has a pre-existing friendship with Yu, a character who does appear in the OVA but who I glossed over, and Yomi is friends with a new character who I despise. Black Gold Saw is also here.

The first few episodes are normal enough as we follow both the every day storyline and a parallel narrative with BRS, giving us more insight into the connection between the other world and our world. While I have my own petty gripes about the expanded cast taking focus away from Mato/ BRS and Yomi/Deadmaster, I concede giving them other girls to bounce off is a good shout. However the characterisation of all the cast goes right into yandere mode; unlike in the OVA where Yomi’s withdrawel into depression feels gradual and foreboding, the overblown drama of the anime removes any sense of realism from the scenes. What could have been an intimate look at the interpersonal relationships between a group of girls becomes a melodrama interlaced with cgi fight scenes.

The plots between the two worlds feel more disconnected than ever; despite all the new backstory provided, there’s no compelling through line between the real world and other world plots. The worst slap in the face is episode 5, which is a complete inversion of the OVA’s ending; Mato goes into the other world willingly to save Yomi, only to find she’s murdered Dead Master. Expectedly, she flies into a blind rage as a result of this. To add insult to injury, the plot wraps up so neatly after this, to the point where one of the final scenes is all the girls giggling together, it feels completely bizarre. The conclusion is unearned and the core conflict of the girl’s tumultuous attachments to each other, though resolved on paper, feels like it wasn’t ever truly addressed.

I don’t really expect all magical girl media to be uplifting, especially since this particular franchise is definitely not aimed towards the same middle school girls it depicts, but the radical shift from a somewhat eerie but ultimately good natured narrative focused on friendships to outright torture porn felt inexplicable on the first watch. I couldn’t understand how a story that was ultimately so wholesome and clear cut could lose its way so severely, and in such a short time. Afterall, there was only a 2 year gap between the OVA’s release in July 2010 to the anime’s in February 2012, and the OVA was clearly meant as a proof of concept for a longer show. What could have possibly lead to this change in direction?

It was MADOKA.

Puella Magi Madoka Magica came out squarely inbetween BRS’s OVA and Anime in January 2011. I don’t think anyone foresaw how wildly popular the show would be; and anyone who was there at the time knows that one of the key components that made Madoka the success it is was the shocking nature of the plot and how it juxtaposes the cute aesthetic of magical girl media with the tragedy and violence experienced by the main characters.

This is where my speculation comes in.

The facts as I see them are as follows;

Black Rock Shooter OVA comes out with modest popularity backed by the vocaloid communities that supported the project in it’s early days

BRS is never intended as a widely syndicated show, and is very independent in it’s release. It isn’t intended for a mainstream shoujo demographic.

Madoka comes out; it’s a seinen pairing cutesy magical girl designs with surreal aesthetics and focuses on the psychological turmoil of its young female cast and a massive hit

BRS anime comes out a year later with a bigger focus on its character’s suffering and an overall edgier vibe

My conjecture is I don’t think it’s out of the realm of possibility that the production on BRS’s anime saw how well Madoka did and wanted a slice of the pie. It is only after Madoka’s airing that we see this hard shift. BRS 2012 was trying to capitalise on the zeitgeist’s interest in watching girls suffer, and it sucks for it. The voyeuristic framing of the girl’s mental breakdowns, the focus on body horror and maiming and the way we hardly see any real positive real world interactions with the girls towards the latter half of the story ( until the weird ending ) feels like proof enough to this theory. There is a preoccupation with creating a marketable property to serve male fans emanating from the series; there is no care given to try and depict the real friendships of girls. Instead, the relationships are needlessly twisted and again, come to no meaningful conclusion aside from murder. While I have my reservations about Madoka, even it had the decency to ground our characters more extreme behaviours in understandable motivations. Black Rock Shooter 2012 is a sloppy repackage and disappointment on almost all fronts-

At least the opening still slaps.

[marvellovegalore]

Loving You

Chris Evans

Synopsis: Chris is over the moon, he's met you and life couldn't be better - you're all he's ever dreamed of and there's nothing you could do to ruin that.

Warning: explicit language, sexual content

No one in your industry would ever consider you difficult to work with, neither mean, arrogant, conniving or calculating. Most would go out of their way to praise you, proclaim their adoration for the movie star of dreams. On the other hand, your previous partners would. Ex-boyfriends that would bravely volunteer to be interviewed about your past relationship would recount their experiences with the same look as a shell-shocked soldier. If they could, they would gather in a support group for those left with deeply affecting, unresolved trauma - left by you.

You would deny it, if you could be bothered; or if the media had declared your heartbreaker ways to be of public interest. Which they are, but you’re largely untouchable therefore they're unreported. A Hollywood starlet, philanthropist, trend setter and tastemaker - alongside with being viewed largely as a sweetheart. Your childhood nannies coming in storming with adulations and saccharine recollections of a sweet and shy child. Friends that are more than happy to celebrate you on social media and fans who fill the internet with high production videos of you strutting on the streets and red carpets cement the idea that you are the moment, and you are loved.

To the world outside of the sphere of your ex-boyfriends, you were the most eligible bachelorette. There was no flaw in sight, no illusion to dispel or enchantment to break; you’re the real deal. Until you get bored, and you need to hurt someone. Because hurt people, hurt people. As the saying goes. There’s no need to go into that - just yet.

So, when Christopher saw you at the 2019 Vanity Fair Oscars after party, he fell head over heels. Your eyes cast a spell on him, and the enchantment was cast by the world’s master mage, you. You barely realised what you did, you were in no mood to flirt or truly fraternise. You were attempting to drown your sorrows of missing out on another Oscar win for the second time - in a mojito glass. You looked spectacular, possibly more than how you looked during the ceremony. But to Chris, your face of indignation looked like the angelic expression of a good second place loser with no hard feelings. He attempted to approach you, but too many people go into his way, they came with unprovoked film criticisms and pseudo interview responses that would get them into the academy board. All he wanted was to see your face up close and know how you spoke when you weren’t being regarded by a crowd of enraptured spectators.

He could see that you weren’t being left alone either, you hadn’t won the Oscar, but you are being treated as if you did. Your eyes bounce off of him every once in a while, but he couldn’t capture your attention - and then you left the party. You hardly made the French exit you were seeking. Stars old and young clamoured to say their goodbyes and kisses on your cheeks. You finally managed to escape. If Chris were to attempt to lie and say that he wasn’t disappointed, a blind woman could have seen right through him. His heart dropped, and he couldn’t explain why - he didn’t even know you.

Some other actor friends managed to drag him to a more intimate after party, the setting hardly intimate. A compound nestled in Hidden Hills, twenty-four-hour security circling the property, of one starlet who presented herself at the beginning of the night but chose an early slumber rather than socialising.

You came in half an hour after him, a miniskirt showing off your incredible legs - which were insured for an absurd amount.

His breath caught in his mouth. You were dressed down, but you looked too incredible to even try and claim you didn’t try. Everyone’s head turned and everyone was captured by the beauty at the door, accompanied by a friend. Your demure appearance fooling everyone into thinking that the attention was unwanted. You grabbed yourself a drink and half an hour later you were still enveloped with a group of equally intoxicated friends.

Though, Chris was determined to get your attention. He grabbed a drink off of the barman and slowly and easily made his way to you. The word ‘chill’ being chanted over and over again in his head. He was dead set on not making a fool of himself. Three steps away from you, glass of mojito clutched in his hands, his anxiety being beaten down and desperately suffocated into his stomach and away from his brain. He goes over his words, and before he finishes walking to you, you turn suddenly.

Your eyes pierce into his, a smirk glossing your lips. “Hi.” Your voice is low, characteristically different from your stage voice - your accent just as strong.

“Hey, got this for you.” Chris thrusts the glass into your unexpectant hand, some of the drink splashing out over the frosted rim. “Hope, it’s not too presumptive of me to have gotten it for you?” His eyes have glossed over, he shifts his weight from one foot to another. You shake your head no, a sweet smile playing at your lips. He’s even easier on the eyes much closer up. “Sorry you didn’t win that Oscar, real shame, I was rooting for you!”

You store it in the back of your mind that this man manages to look like a golden retriever even when he’s several drinks down, “It’s nothing, what does it mean anyway, I’ll still get more jobs in the future.” You take a sip of your drink after he takes a sip of his.

He compliments your eyes, your complexion and goes on an eager rant of how much he admires your capacity for acting. You drink in the adoration diluted by alcohol and take his words with a pinch of salt. After twenty minutes of solid, drunken conversation you’ve moved to a nook shadowed by statues. Your legs next to his on the red velvet sofa. You remark on the class of the artistic statues, clearly purchased illegally from a Mediterranean museum. He barely takes in your words, much preferring to intoxicate himself with the sight of you - and his fifth beer.

You’ve decided that you want him. Badly. But you’ve sussed him out. He’s not just going to be a one-night stand - in the animal kingdom he’s a Golden Retriever, and those aren’t dogs to be messed with. Your last fling was essentially a Doberman pinscher - discardable - but this Chris had to reeled in slowly.

You interrupt his musing about the Boston markets with a kiss.

Your lips smoothly capture his, your lipstick smearing over his lips. His hand presses tightly on the small of your back, arm underneath your waist holding you up higher. Stars explode inside your eyelids and his fingers grip tightly onto your shirt as your tongue licks his bottom lip. Your entry is granted, you lips pressing tighter against each other. Your eyelashes dance over his. Your hands rise to his face, your hands imprinting themselves onto his cheekbones. His hand brushes over the bare skin of your leg, his fingertips tracing the insides of your thighs. A small moan rises from the back of his throat.

The hold you have on him is cemented, you part away from him. You untangle yourself from him and stand up from the sofa, your eyes refusing to look at him, you smooth your clothes and slowly strut away from him.

Chris looks at the fire that you’ve set on his limbs in disbelief, he doesn’t grasp what you’ve just done. Did he do something wrong? Does he smell? No. You just didn’t care for the ceremony of the first ‘after-kiss’ moments.

He doesn’t see you for a year.

You truly are elusive - to the media and him.

He couldn’t get you out of his mind, and the fact that you starred in another award-nominated film did little to help him forget you.

You were curious to understand whether you really enticed him or not. You decided to not pursue that line of questioning, and never bothered to reply to his direct messages. It wasn’t done with the intent of hurting him, you just didn’t care. But life has a way of putting things in your way that deep down you didn’t know you wanted.

--

Nevertheless, here you are, with your boyfriend of a year - Christopher, sat across from you telling you story about his nephew. You simper, your eyes flitting between the sight of him and the view of the sea. The coast of Martha’s Vineyard enraptures you, you drink your wine, eyes steadily moving to the coastal view.

You grew up coming here. Your family often choosing the quiet island to rest in during the late spring holidays. You brought Chris back here to stay at your family holiday home as it’s not too far from his own family home, a perfect last stop after spending the week with his family.

He watches you curiously, his blue irises begging you to let him in to your thoughts. You refuse silently and beckon the waiter. You ask for the bill, it’s quickly on the table and you pay - ignoring Chris’ refusals. You smile at him, for the second time during dinner. He responds in kind, remarking on your bad mood and how he’s glad you’ve cheered up after having some food. He muses on the lovely weekend you’ve had together as you leave the restaurant. Candlelight following you as you make your exit with your hands holding each other tightly, his other hand in his preppy shorts.

You walk slowly, watching the sunset. His arm finding its way around your shoulders. His sweet and intimate embrace enveloping you in warmth. Your heart beats quickly against his bicep as you near your home. Your hands tremble for some reason and you practically sprint up the porch steps after you’ve crossed the gate and walkway, leaving Chris five steps behind you.

You open the door and make a quick beeline for the kitchen in the far back of the house. You enter the pantry, ignoring Chris’ questions of what is wrong. You take a bottle of Rosé out of the wine fridge and forgo pouring it into a glass and drink it straight from the bottle. It tastes incredibly sweet, and Chris finds you eventually in the pantry. He looks at you in surprise as you gulp the drink.

“Everything okay, baby?” He walks to you, his hands failing onto your hips, his adoring eyes almost boring into your soul. You refuse him entry into the pits of your emotions. Steeling yourself against the onslaught of therapy-like talk.

You don’t want him to know that hurt people, hurt people. And that you’re one of them.

You kiss him, silencing his calming words.

His fingers tighten on your sundress. The colour melding with the colour of his fingers. Your lips become one.

You go through the steps of getting out of the pantry in a seemingly choreographed dance, your dance ends in the smaller reception room; your bodies tangling themselves on the rug. Neither of you giving a care to fact that you’re undressing in front of the window overlooking the pool and coast.

The flickers of the setting sun’s rays highlight his now bare chest. He returns his lips to yours in a hypnotising kiss. Your hands dance with the muscles of his back as you caress his skin, his torso vibrating in between your legs with the fervour of his movements. Your dress is ripped off your body. He directs his attention to your right breast, his soft lips caressing your skin. His tongue lashes slowly against your nipple, you fight to hold back your moans as his hand lowers to your pussy. His fingers pushing aside your pants, his fingers sink into you like it’s their second nature. Your head rolls back as he makes love to you with his fingers and his lips lower down to where his fingers are. He licks you where you need him most, his love for you being written inside you with his tongue.

You orgasm. Slowly.

And all that runs through your mind is how much you’ll miss him.

You pull him up to you, you turn over and straddle him. Tasting yourself on his lips as the sun sets even lower. The waves crash against the shore violently as the wind picks up. You lower yourself onto him and start riding him, your hips bucking in an impassioned manner against his. He doesn’t hold back his moans as he caresses your breasts and stomach.

You realised you loved him four months ago, but every time you catch sight of his loving eyes when you’re fucking, it makes you fall in love all over again.

Chris switches and puts you on all fours, he grips your hair in his hands, the rising intensity making him grip you harder. His thrusts are merciless, his spare hand spanking you and stroking, you’re on the cusp of a sensory overload when he turns you over. On your back you have the most beautiful view. A strong ray of sunlight brightening his eyes as he makes love to you. His kisses are tender but intense. His hand grips onto yours, your fingers intertwined and his other hand griping onto your face.

A tear slips out of your eye, you wipe it away quickly. Your increased sensitivity makes the second orgasm come, Chris fucks you through your breathy moans and you throw your head back. Momentarily blinded by the bliss; the pink sky wakes up from the saccharine, cloudy state. Chris orgasms into you with four thrusts.

You push away from him and stand up; you pull on your silky pants. You sigh and leave Chris on laying breathless on the rug. You walk upstairs and enter your room. You use the toilet, wash your hands, have a glass of water and throw on a short black dress. As you pull on your boots Chris enters the room, a smile gracing his lips.

He pulls on some shorts, “Want to tell me what all that was about?” He gives you a confused expression as he lies back against the bed, taking one of the fluffed pillows from behind him and tucking it between his chest and arms.

Hurt people, hurt people.

You turn towards him, facing away from your walk-in closet. “When we fuck, I have to think about other men to get through it.”

His eyes widen alarmingly, he turns to you, the light of the tv making him blue. “Say that again?” The disbelief is almost tangible in his words.

“I feel embarrassed about being seen with you now. I feel I’m just too good for you.” You walk into the closet and you hear him stomp off the bed.

“No, rewind to what you first said.” His voice is louder, his features twisted with confusion and hurt.

“I have to think of other guys to get off,” your eyes connect with his, you don’t look away, you fight the smirk biting at your lips. “I can’t stand the thought of being with you any longer. I’m sick of it.” You grab the suitcase that was packed for you when you were at the restaurant. “Also, you’re not as ripped as you were when we met, there’s other guys that can provide that image for me.”

“Take it back.” The hurt he’s feeling is completely tangible now. “Take it back right now. Right. Now.” His eyes are pleading with you to have mercy.

You've decided that you've gone past the point of no return. “I’d be happy never have to see you or have to hear from you - ever again.” You scan his eyes, your heart swelling with an eerie feeling of pride as his eyes flood with held back tears.

“This must be some elaborate prank— “he chokes on his words, his hands reach for yours, but you step back.

“This year has been tedious, completely boring and I’ve gotten nothing but only ten decent fucks from you.” Not true, and both of you can attest to that, you've had the best sex, your mutual adoration is clear when you make love. So, Chris is at a loss to understand how this is all being said and happening. “I’m off to New York, stay as long as you like or don’t. I don’t care. Have a nice life.” You slip past him.

Taking his heart and soul with you.

He can’t stop the tears from ballooning in his eyes and then trickling down his cheeks.

He must be stuck in a nightmare. He doesn’t know how long he’s been pacing in this closet filled with your clothes, your smell haunting him.

He rushes downstairs and there’s no sign of you. He stumbles outside and there’s no sign of you or your driver. He rushes in to get his phone and calls you. Five times. The sixth time it goes straight to voicemail.

He feels his heart break.

He falls right in the spot he’s in. He vomits his heart out, the pieces being spat out onto the wooden floors. The blood shinning underneath the soft lights of the lamps.

He wants death. Slow and steady death.

——

Part Deux -

[13atoms]

Centuries Together (Dhawan!Master x Reader)

A sequel to Centuries Apart - read that first!

Contains pregnant!reader, though no gender mentioned.

[3.1k, mainly fluffy / sappy]. Brief appearance from 13!

*

For you, it was like you’d been wrenched from the Master for decades. For him, it had been lifetimes. And you could tell.

He was everywhere, all around you, even more obsessed than when you were human. He wanted everything: your time, your attention. He had soothed you through regeneration sickness, coddling you, refusing to let you out of his sight as you settled back into a Time Lord’s body.

Each kiss felt like your first again, and you wondered how many lips he had kissed since you were killed. How many times he’d sought to replace you. If he’d wanted to kiss you as a human. He tidied your bedside table for the dozenth time that morning, half cups of tea and snacks replaced over and over until even the TARDIS warbled her irritation to the pair of you.

She was happy to have you, it seemed, a hum of contentment at your restoration to yourself projected into your mind from her very heart.

The Master’s fingers tangled in your locket, peering at the metal which had trapped your memories and true identity for so long, right under his nose. He gave the chain a thoughtful tug, his eyes drifting across to you again, afraid you might vanish.

“Penny for your thoughts?” you offered, voice soft in the quiet bedroom. You knew the Earth saying would tickle him.

He offered you a head tilt, a quirk of his lip as he considered the locket in his hands.

“I just keep thinking… what if I’d never opened it? How much longer could we have really been together, if I’d asked sooner?”

You went to speak, but he continued.

“I might never have got you back, if I hadn’t met you. If you hadn’t trusted a mad alien… if I hadn’t ”

You sat forwards against your pillows, feeling sleepiness still coursing through your veins, fighting the tingling regeneration energy which set your nerves alight. One hand found his arm as he hunched over beside your bed, and his eyes met yours in a nervous glance.

“Then it’s lucky you did meet me. And that you convinced me to stay, and eventually opened the locket,” you teased, shifting your legs across the mattress as the Master sat down heavily.

The necklace was still in his hands, and he pressed it to his lips.

“That’s too big to be left to chance. Too… too risky,” he muttered.

There was frustration in his voice now, a storm which you recognised from all those years ago at the Academy together. If there was ever any doubt he was the same man at heart, it was dispelled by the tinge of anger crossing his face like a dark cloud.

“The Doctor had no right, to risk you like that. Leaving you alone and unprotected, a human! What if I had never found you! You had spent the rest of your days as a… a…”

As he fumbled for a job, somehow still failing to remember anything about earth despite all his time there, you tried to force down a smile.

“But you found me,” you reassured, wincing as his hands shook with emotion, “I think you always will. We’re drawn to each other. Maybe it’s fate.”

He huffed, leaning back dramatically, practically rolling his eyes.

“The universe doesn’t work like that,” he insisted, a knowing in his voice which irritated you.

You raised your eyebrow as he fixed you with a stare.

“When you’ve lived as long as I have, love, you’ll learn that.”

“Don’t go all grandad on me now,” you teased, and he put his head in his hands. The locket was laying forgotten on the duvet now, and you scooped it up while the Master wasn’t looking.

“I don’t remember you being naïve enough to believe in fate, even when we were young,” he countered.

You let the warmed metal chain in your hand snake back onto the bedside table.

“The universe works in mysterious ways,” you told him seriously, only your smile betraying that you were taunting him.

His eyes flickered to your mouth, one hand reaching for your wrist and checking your pulse. His fingers were warm against your bare skin. Satisfied, he pulled away, but you took his hand in yours before he could escape.

He looked down at your fingers wrapped around his in wonder.

“I wonder if, maybe, it does,” he conceded.

With a smile, you leaned forwards in bed, feeling energised from regeneration and ecstatic from your reunion with the Master. He watched your every move in awe, apparently still afraid you would disappear if he blinked. The sliding of skin on silk sheets as overpowered only by the hum of the TARDIS, and the Master’s slow breaths.

His gaze found your lips once again.

“You know, even as a human, I still fancied you,” you admitted, one hand reaching to stroke his jawline. “Some things never change.”

With a smug laugh, the Master pulled you to him bodily, kissing you as soundly as that very first time.

*

You had blamed the regeneration energy, the TARDIS’ interference, the Master’s long dry spell, for the fact you had fallen pregnant within a week of being a Time Lord again.

It was a shock, especially so early into your reunion. Both of you had sensed the change almost instantly, and you longed to forget those tense few days of dancing around one another, afraid to even mention the elephant in the room.

Except, once you finally brought it up over dinner, the Master was ecstatic. Ecstatic that you wanted the baby, ecstatic that you would be staying with him, and over the moon at the idea of sharing a family.

“I had given up, after all these years,” he confessed one night, early in the first weeks of the pregnancy.

You had smiled and held him, warm and happy in the TARDIS library as the two of you took a sleepless-rest between days travelling. Laid out on a soft, he had pulled you onto his chest, ignoring your worries about him being uncomfortable. He had admitted that he loved feeling your heartbeats against his.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” you whispered to him, pretending not to notice as his arms tightened around you and his eyes shone with tears.

“Me too,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

He had projected a thought into your head, then, a series of moments, of holding a baby, chasing a toddler, teaching a child about the universe. A small boy balancing on the TARDIS console, the ship whirring with annoyance as you and the Master laughed, arms out to catch him should he fall. Then an adolescent boy, grumbling and groaning as the two of you sandwiched him between you in a bear hug, complaining all whilst smiling.

Then, an adult, taller than either of you and piloting the TARDIS, laughing with the two of you through a bumpy landing. You saw yourself glance at the Master, pride in both of your faces as your son strode from the console to fling the TARDIS doors open. He revealed a jungle, looking back at the pair of you with a grin before striding into the unknown. In the thought, you saw the pair of you reach for one another’s hands before scrambling after your son.

You were thrown from the images in your head with such a shock it made you dizzy, your heart aching from how real the Master’s imagination had felt. When you pressed yourself up from his body, meeting his gaze, you realised there were tear tracks running down his face. With one gentle thumb, he wiped away our own matching tears.

Suddenly both of you were laughing, hysterical, clinging on to one another with a desperation you hadn’t felt since you were lovesick children – desperately afraid the world would rip you apart.

“So, you think it’ll be a boy?” you choked out.

The Master’s chest rumbled beneath you as he chuckled, disbelief still fresh in both your minds.

“I was,” he shrugged.

*

When you found out, it was almost too early to hope. It had been emotional agony, sensing that there were a few unexpected cells dividing inside of you, knowing the precariousness of that process, and yet also thinking about the potential outcomes. About the life you might lead, once those cells had grown into another real being. Another Time Lord. The Master had worried endlessly since he first realised what had happened, disrupting your familiar old routine as his companion to move you in to his bedroom, to trail behind you every day.

Even the trips had become safer, more thought out. Whilst you missed the adrenaline, you couldn’t pretend to be sorry that the risks were lesser. Knowing everyone would be safe at the end of the day was satisfaction enough, even if there was less excitement.

The time had flown by, your days filled with places the Master had always wanted to take you, your nights filled with stories he had always wanted to tell you. A lifetime of misadventures, which always seemed to leave space for someone missing.

“I looked out over it all, and I just wished you were with me,” he had whispered to you one night, your bodies wrapped together in bed as he told you another tale.

You had pressed your face into the pillow, squeezing his side tightly and trying not to mourn the time you hadn’t even lived through.

“I’m here now,” you would reassure him.

The words became a mantra, leaving your lips over and over as he reckoned with your return. And slowly shared his past.

It took months for you to hear his first story about the Doctor, but you had asked. And the extent of their rivalry became clear.

It was no longer schoolboys bickering, you realised. Their friendship had warped into something else entirely.

Yet it wasn’t until a month before the baby’s due date that you finally saw her.

The Master had suggested a tour of the planet Ralafea, helping you relearn to pilot a TARDIS by skipping through time as the planet’s majestic hanging gardens were built. Between frustration and stress as the Master proved a useless piloting teacher, you had thoroughly enjoyed interludes wandering the gardens, picnicking, and sulking with one another if a flight went especially badly.

Most of all, you had enjoyed the Master’s excitement each time he saw you. His constant protectiveness as you passed strangers. His hands on you whenever he could cradle your hips, his fingers splayed across the bump as the pair of you stopped to sit down.

“One last flight,” he’d promised, “it’s all a bit same-y after the 3040s.”

You had laughed, and finally begun the landing sequence correctly, surprised that the Master looked on approvingly as you relanded in exactly the same spot you had taken off. His hand hovered over the emergency stabilisers as the ship settled, eyebrows raised as you piloted the TARDIS perfectly.

Well, almost perfectly. Both of you stumbled at the final jolt of the ship materialising, laughing at yourselves as the ship fell quiet.

“Okay?” he asked you, already peering across the console as you regained your balance.

“Perfect! I think that was a good flight, too!”

“Better than most of mine,” he conceded, stepping towards the doors, “assuming we’re in the right place!”

You jogged – as well as was possible whilst heavily pregnant – behind him, peering out at the gardens once again. It was exactly the same view you had seen each time you landed, with some changes to the plants themselves.

There had been some beautiful new vines added to the plateau you landed on, flowering along their draped form. You smiled at the sight, and the Master gave you a gentle clap in approval. You shoved his shoulder, unable to hide your excitement at piloting so well, when you noticed footsteps approaching.

“Built ‘em over centuries,” a Yorkshire accent was saying, and you craned your head out around the doors to see who was speaking. It was unusual to hear such a distinctive 21st-century earth accent around here.

“Get inside.”

With a jolt, you realised The Master was speaking, so low and quiet his words sounded like a growl.

“What do you mean?”

“Get inside,” he repeated.

He was pushing you, you realised, hands on your shoulders as he tried to manoeuvre you inside. Stunned, you stayed in place.

“What do you mean?”

You were standing in the TARDIS doorway, for Rassilion’s sake. No humanoid earth creature could pose much threat to you here, could they?

The Master was growing more irate, unable to verbalise his thoughts as he tried to pull the door closed. It was too late.

“Is that a TARDIS?” came the voice, footsteps speeding up as the creature closed in and…

They were humanoid. Blonde. Short. By all accounts… just a woman. Human, maybe. It would explain the accent.

“No,” the Master called back to the woman, and you realised with a jolt he must know her.

Who was that?

Then, you noticed a telepathic signature. One you had been trying to forget since that damn locket was opened.

“Doctor?” you asked, astounded.

The Master stepped behind you, one hand holding your shoulder protectively. Ready to grip on to you, if necessary.

“Yes?” the Doctor replied breathlessly, “oh… Oh!”

Realised crossed her expression. Apparently she still remembered your new face.

Good.

A gaggle of humans had arrived behind her, two breathless men and a young woman who seemed baffled.

“Doc?” she asked, but you ignored her.

You noticed her glancing nervously at the Master behind you, her eyes drawn to your baby bump. The Doctor had noticed too, eyes flickering between you and the Master rapidly as her brain seemed to work overtime.

“I opened the locket,” you supplied, the Doctor’s mouth open. Perhaps one of the curious bugs which fluttered around these gardens might fly in.

“Chameleon circuit,” you continued, “nice. Clever. Cruel.”

“It was to protect you.”

Her voice was whisper-quiet, ashamed. You narrowed your eyes, unsure if you believed her. The Master reached a second hand around your arm, shuffling so close to you that you could feel his body heat. It was comforting, you realised, a warmth in your stomach as his mere presence made you feel safer.

“From what?” you demanded.

“The War.”

The syllables fell from her lips like a confession, like they were embarrassing. You felt a jolt of pain zig-zag between the three of you, a shared trauma between the Time Lords. Her companions were watching on with confusion, although they seemed to know better than to meddle in these issues.

Humans, you assumed. Given what the Master had told you about her track record.

“Not from someone?” the Master finally spoke, his words spat.

Stunned, eyes-wide, the Doctor shook her head. Her eyes found your stomach again, and you reached down to rest your hands on it. Between her and your baby.

“No. You seem… happy,” the words were almost spoken to herself, reasoning out loud. She reached one hand to adjust her hair, taking a step back from the Master’s TARDIS, looking over your shoulder to the Master’s face.

You were sure his expression would not be a happy one, his thumb stroking a rapid pace over your shoulder, perhaps in an attempt to comfort himself.

“I am,” you countered.

An unnatural smile crossed her features, and you wondered if her body was new. Or just… new to smiling. It seemed forced, strange, as she took one last stare at the pair of you framed in the TARDIS doorway.

“Congratulations,” she nodded awkwardly towards you.

Another step back.

“I’m happy for you. Hope it all... goes well.”

She reached for her head again, boots stepping back further again over the paving slabs. Her companions remained in place, strange markers to her path as she made a strange escape.

“You’ve got my number if you ever need… babysitting. Or… name ideas. I’m rubbish at babysitting actually. And name ideas. Maybe… just a chat. If you want.”

For just a second she stopped, looking directly at you. Your mouth went dry as you tried to think of something, anything, to say.

“Look after yourself,” you called to her, feeling the Master tense behind you.

She looked strangely touched, shoving her hands in her coat pockets. Her companions watched on transfixed.

“You too,” she replied, so sincere it made your chest clench with emotion. “I know we’re… there’s a lot… but if you ever need me, call. Please.”

You bit your lip, feeling the Master’s hand slide down your arm to grip your fingers in his. You cleared your throat.

“I will. Thank you.”

With a nod and a strange little salute, she retreated, turning away. Her gaggle of companions followed, and the Master closed the door before the oldest one had even stopped staring.

Alone in the TARDIS with him, you expected the Master to say something. For jealousy or pain or something to make him lash out.

Wordlessly, he pulled you in to his chest, holding you as tightly as possible with the baby bump separating your bodies. You held him too, feeling his laboured breathing as he buried his face into your skin, playing with the hair at the back of his head as emotion rolled between your minds like waves on a rough sea.

“I really love you, you know,” you murmured.

He laughed, a strange exhale against your skin that made you shiver.

“Yeah, I do. I know. I love you too.”

You stroked his neck, taking deep breaths as old wounds seemed to reopen in your chest. The baby kicked, sensing the strong emotions around its developing mind, and you felt the Master move himself to press his hand to your stomach.

“I’d like to call her, at some point,” you admitted. “To… see what’s happened. We were friends, once. Whatever happened between you two, I’d like to talk to her myself.”

“Of course,” he agreed, his voice a low rumble against your skin.

“I won’t let her name the baby,” you tried, smiling as you wrung an exasperated laugh from him.

“Damn right you won’t.”

The TARDIS hummed as you stood in silence a moment longer, your feet starting to ache as the Master clung to you. His thumb stroked across your bump, his beard brushing against your neck as he fidgeted.

“I love you,” he repeated.

You stared up at the TARDIS ceiling, sighing, surprised at how contented you felt.

“I know.”