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mononijikayu · 2 years ago

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chapter viii.

chapter viii.

Rating: M

Warning: Explicit scenes of blood and violence;

Summary: DAEMON TARGARYEN manages the life of a house of three;

[for hundreds of years, valyrians had been dragon riders and dreamers. each can be born in a family. but, it was surely an anomaly to have both dragon rider and dreamer in one body. prince aegon blackmace suffered throughout his days dragon dreams that left him scarce with sleep. such dreams were ones that often came truest when people try and avoid it. but it was a queer thing for one to have wolf dreams. rumors perhaps may be true, that a wolf fell for a dragon.]

- maester aeron targaryen; adust

A D U S T m a s t e r l i s t

< you and i burn together or we shall die trying >

chapter i / chapter ii / chapter iii / chapter iv / chapter v

chapter vi / chapter vii / chapter viii / chapter ix / chapter x

chapter xi / chapter xii / chapter xiii / chapter xiv / chapter xv

chapter xvi / chapter xvii / chapter xviii

Mellara had not known how she had survived confinement twice before. The princess had found herself ever so lonely, in need of a fleeting escape from the scanty world of her fine satin sheets and the long velvet canopy that trapped her day after day. The restlessness had started to gather itself against her like a cloud of temptation raining over her heavily in a storm. Her time was too near, she knew. The babe has lowered itself in her belly, eagerly awaiting life to begin. For that, she supposed there was relief that it would soon be over. But Mellara was too aware in herself that the pain would first come before that.

More days than now, the princess of Blackhall had found herself too weary to be awake and too jaded for excitement. The babe had all but taken the strength from her body, but with the kicks of its small feet hammering away at all hours it could. There had been no sleep that came, not even when Daemon was by her side, thrashing about to comfort her body into slumber. Daemon had told her just as much that he did not mind her restlessness, but she knew he himself had not found rest either.

There were times when she would find herself too quiet in Elmo’s company, preventing each and every yawn as he detailed his day of work to her and the court gossip.At each turn, guilt festered within her, at the thought that she was half-heartedly listening as her efforts to stay awake failed. There were times of the day where she would be with Aemon, relishing in his adventures with his fathers and found herself in the most spontaneous of slumbers while sitting down upon the mahogany stool in the solar. Aemon had not accepted any apologies from his mother, he had spoken deeply of understanding. But that too had found her with guilt, with those she had loved forced to alter their lives to cater to her own needs.

These days, her restlessness and her guilt had given her bouts of energy and determination to recoompense to her family. Erratically, she would call upon Daemon to abandon his training with his friends in the city guards to walking with her. Spontaneously, there would be then those days where she would beg Elmo to take a walk with her around their garden. In small windows of the day, she would desire to have her son accompany her to read in the solitude of the study. Each opportunity had been rare, but it had brought her some relief to know that she could be agile.

However there came sometime within these past weeks where she felt a sharp pain in her legs. The princess had reassured her hands that she was well. Yet in those lies, the truth grew more pronounced. That night when the pains had gathered stronger, Elmo had already bid her good night when he left to rest and Daemon spending hours with Aemon in the silence of cyvasse and candlelight. Mellara could not help but curse in silence, her frustration bubbling to the surface. Minding herself lest her outbursts worry her husbands, the princess clenched her teeth and stifled her cries.The small of her thigh thundered with aches, and her legs throbbed with vicious pangs, making every movement a challenge. They had been busy enough, she thought. There was no need for them to worry of her further. This pain will subside too.

When her elder husband had joined her to bed, Daemon had been the one to notice her tears in the quiet of her pained groans. The prince had been upset that she had kept the matter from him, but his helplessness in trying to obliviate the pain frustrated him. He had woken Elmo himself, had gathered the healers to rouse in order to find her some relief. In the dim of dusk, their chambers had all but become an apothecary, with the scent of exotic mystery dwelling against the molten candle and the burning firewood.

Daemon Targaryen muttered in quiet tones with the head healer, the sound of their ancient tongue drifting against the shadows of candlelight. Daemon had written to friends across the Narrow Sea, from his past ventures of youth in Pentos. Mellara could recall his delight at the friendship with the Pentoshi prince, older than he but charmed by the dashing allure of the ravenous rogue just as much. With such connection, it was then that way Daemon had managed to procure the aid of the healers guilds of Pentos.

The healers had tirelessly worked against the burning flame, slowly gathering burning oil and redolent scents from crushed herbs. For a moment, she gathers the scent of mint and lemon in a harmony. On the small of the hearth, a boiling pot filled with dilluted dreamwine simmered to the dance of dark flame. Daemon turned to her husband as walked towards his junior, whispering to him. In turn, Elmo called for a servant to bring the shallow basin and for it to be filled with crushed flowers and heated water.

When the shallow basin was brought, Daemon walked toward her and had helped her remove her outer nightwear. Her cousin ordered the healers to turn around and as they did so, lifted her into his arms and aided her into the burning waters of the basin. Mellara pursed her lips into a line as she looked up to her husband, thanking him quietly. Elmo Tully could only sigh wearily, crossing his arms together as he joined the two, standing beside Daemon.

“Is the water too hot?” Elmo broke the silence, leaning over to meet his wife’s eyes. Mellara shook her head as he poured his finger to feel the water. He leers at the heat and then frowns. “By the gods, that’s scolding hot!”

“Our flesh is heat, trout.” Daemon snickers back at the younger, his own fingers danced against the heat of the water. “This is not even warm, I must say.”

“The servant girl told me that they boiled this thoroughly, rogue.”

Daemon raised a brow. “They did not do it well. We ought to return to Dragonstone and teach you what scolding hot looks like, trout.”

“But the babes?”

The rogue prince snickers. “They are of the blood of Old Valyria. Heat will not bother these little dragon trouts.”

“’Tis sufficient enough, husband. Do not worry.” Mellara finally says, looking up to them. “My legs do not hurt as it has.”

“Zaldrītsos, you ought to tell me when you feel this way.” Daemon whispers, kneeling beside her, his features contorted in worry. “To know you were hurting, it pains me.”

“If I had known having a child was trouble, we should not have entertained the matter at all.” Elmo shook his head, his eyes borne with remorse. He kneels on the other side, placing a kiss upon her cheek. “Dearest wife, I am at fault at this.”

Mellara shook her head. “House Tully needs an heir.”

“Not at the risk of you, my love.” Her younger husband argues, pursing his lips. “There are still others, you know. I have an uncle, other distant cousins. Trouts are bountiful fish, Mellara.”

“There is nothing more important than you.” Daemon cooes, before she could argue. “The child is not yet ours, my love. But you are. You ought to know this.”

Mellara Targaryen felt tears against her lilac gaze. Hazy memories flashing before her eyes, Aemma’s tear-filled eyes and the bloody sheets. All the feelings of grief and fear drifted like a ghost that would not leave her to peace. She could not admit it but this journey to the childbed had been the one that had frightened her most. Not because of the pain she would go through, but the fear that there are many beside her whom she dreaded to disappoint and even worse, to leave behind at the thought of her gods ripping her from such joyous a life, the life she had just truly begun.

Where she was cared for as they had done in these many generations of mothers and babes plucked from the chance to enjoy the zest of life beyond tragedy. She could feel the tears deepen at the thought of her young son, her precious Aemon becoming motherless at her loss. Her two husbands beside her, to be so distraught with grief at the thought of her dwelling like a phantom in the dance with death at childbed. They would blame themselves to no end, she knew. They would not stop to think about washing their hands of the tragedy they accept to be their own fault.

“You would choose me?”

Elmo smiles tenderly. “In a heartbeat.”

The princess of Blackhall lifted her hands and soon enough, each palm gathered itself to the warmth of both husbands. Her fingers laced with theirs, a silent tremor of blood pounding just as it would within the beating heart. Mellara allows her lips to widen in a small smile as she lifts their intertwined hands and she slowly embraces the back of each hand with a tender kiss. Daemon returns her tender smile, beaming like the stars in the night sky, with the love that belongs only to her. Elmo’s blue eyes swam with tender abandon, filled with the warmest emotions that drifted in waves.

Mellara Targaryen had known it all too well.

She was the luckiest of all women in the world.

For she was endlessly and truly loved by all.

The stench of fresh blood pooled across the linen bedding as echoes resounded in ripples. The drip of sweat ingrained into her skin like a martyr’s tears coursing through with painful resounding. Each scream was devastatingly loud, almost like a battle cry that ripped her body apart in complete agony. She could feel each ripple of pain as though like the cut of a thousand blades in each drifting contraction. Mellara Targaryen had fought many battles, she was certain of that. But the childbed had always been the one where she had felt herself frightened to lose.

The midwife had said it best to her the first time, when she had first birthed Alyssa, that her body had been too fragile for the incursions of motherhood. That was not to say that she was weak or unhealthy. But with how she had such a hard time with birthing her first child, the wound within her womb had not truly healed from the trudge of childbed. Aemon’s birth had proven that, she was abed for near two moons after.

But for the princess of Blackhall knew that the realm needed this. Her blood must be reborn anew in a babe that would live beyond her, beyond them. It must be done. To unite blood and flesh determines the realm’s future. One must toil in the cutting of flesh, the eternal pain and most of all, the never ending pour of miserable blood. But it was not something that had been expected, that it would be this early. And certainly for not this long.

It had been three days. Much longer than Alyssa’s birth and just in the same pace as Aemon’s own birth. With no matter how she screamed and pulled, with no matter how vulgar the curse or no matter how deeply she held onto the bed’s frame, the babe would not come out. The midwives had been trying to calm her, but she could not stop crying out in pain, not even with the dreamwine. She palmed her belly as sweat and tears melted together, the princess could only grip harder with her free hand against the wooden frame. Another contraction hit with a furious vengence, her lips letting out a groan of pain soon after.

Mellara had not been angry at her child, she could never feel any malice. The babe had always been innocent, she had wanted them as they had wanted her. The gods knew that to be truth. But the process had always been the one that had angered her the most, it was her body that she cursed most of all. Her body had been strident in giving her the worst of times, when she had just wanted to give her child the breath of morning air. She had wanted nothing for this babe but to live in wonder. To be born safety.

‘If I had been stronger, this would all be over.’ Mellara lamented with anguish, looking at her belly. ‘You must be strong, please. For me.’

Everything these past few days has been good. With the pain of her legs lessening, she was able to enjoy a small distance in a slower pace towards the solar and even in the halls. That had lessen the restless anguish within her. The sun rose with a joyous beam like a sunflower in bloom. Her rogue husband and her dutiful man greeted her good morning as she got out of her confinement to join them in breaking their fast. One a kiss upon her temple and the other upon the lips, gathering them into a warmth that only she knew.

There was much that intrigued her within the walls as of late, being forced into confinement as per tradition. Elmo Tully had taken his leave from his duties, giving them to ser Criston with the king’s blessing. He tells her that the king’s young sons had been sad to see his departure for these few weeks, but it seemed that they had understand. Ser Criston was a competent knight enough, she knew. Rhaenyra had reassured her that the knight was competent enough to teach the royal children.

In these days away from his dutties, her younger husband had been fervent in deciding to keep her company, indulging her pleasure to hear him play a tune in the lute once or twice and had been delighted to tell her of the planned additions he had delighted upon adding in the gardens in Riverrun, in honor of the birth of their child. At times, he often would tell her about the things he had heard at court. Most recently, he had told her that her cousin Rhaenys and her husband lord Corlys were thinking of wedding off their daughter. Mellara could only conclude that it was why Rhaenys was at court with young Laena recently, from what she indicated from her letter.

Her Daemon had needed to return to Bloodstone recently, for the news of the Triarchy encouraging pirates across the straits. Her elder husband had lamented being away, but he knew his duty well enough. When he had given up the crown of the Stepstones, the keep of Bloodstone remained in their hands. As such, he had a duty to defend it from those who dare take it. Viserys had told him as much, if he had wanted to keep it, it would be his responsibility. Daemon had not argued, but gruntled the entire time at the need to be far away. Still he had come quickly enough, Caraxes proving agile with his swift flying back to the capital.

Upon his return, her husband languished attention on her and their son. The mornings were often spent in small blade exercises between father and son. Mellara would settle on her velvet chair by her solar to see them both. Leaning forward the balcony’s ornate silver rails, Mellara watched her young boy move to the side in a swift dodge, as her husband forced through Dark Sister. Eagerly, the father followed through with leaning forward as his son raised his mace with a grunt and tried to attack his father. Daemon snickered as he dodged, purple eyes glistening with excitement.

Mellara could see that Daemon was looking forward to doing this. To test him soon, to see him worthy of being a warrior’s son. Like his father’s own teaching, he was not to back down on his young son. That would not make him a soldier. Yet she knew it was something more. It was a father eagerly participating in the building of remaining youth in his first born son. A son he had missed for many years and a son he owed much time to.

Later on, the crowding knights cheered as prince Aemon had scratched his father’s doublet for the first time and pride had beamed throughout. He cheered and danced. Daemon had been proudest, beaming at his son as he ruffled his palm against his silver locks. It was that morning that Daemon promised thier son the beginning of his use of live steel, which delighted the boy to no end as he started to list off swords he wishes to use from the armory.

They broke their fast together, as they usually did when they all were awake together. Mellara had settled for the freshly baked cheese rolls, buttering their top as she ate them. Daemon poured her warm lemon tea, one of her favorites recently and drank his own spiced wine and cut through an apple with his knife. Aemon quietly hummed, munching through the lemon cakes that the kitchen wench fetched for him. Mellara had warned her son about eating too much, but Daemon had waved her off as he told her to let him indulge in victory. Before long, Elmo Tully would join them after waking from his own chambers. Elmo had stayed up late into the night, devouring the knowledgable texts and scrolls on Old Valyria. Daemon had recommended it to her younger husband, from his own private collection from Bloodstone.

Her two husbands started to talk for a few minutes, speaking of their plans for the day. Elmo yawned, drinking some dilluted ale as he nodded at Daemon’s talk. These days, they seemed to be more in the rhythm of understanding one another. Their love for their wife had brought them closer, but their efforts to work together had brought them brotherhood. For that she was thankful, for they were more comfortable with one another and peacefully existing by her side. That is what she needs, after what she had gone through. In a few moments, Aemon excuses himself to wash and kissed his mother goodbye when he did depart.

Rubbing her belly as she leaned backwards on the chair, her maester came with a forlorn gaze moments later. It was easy to read men, Mellara thinks. More so when the words were compiled with mournful news. There was no man who could hide it. Elmo was worse with it, she knew. But this maester was worse. The look of dread on their faces were like shadows that caged their features whole. As though the moon was casted upon the beaming sun in a long threaded eclipse in dusk. Frozen in place as she heard the news with her eager insistence to hear it, Mellara could feel her heart dwell into a harsh pace.

Soon enough, Mellara had found herself being carried to child bed. To hear what she had heard had been astoundingly shocking, but to know that it was something that was already written in past, dried words in dried ink, she knew she could never prevent its truth from settling in like rot. To hear that Rhea Royce had died in such a way she had never expected her to was beyond shocking. But Mellara knew just as much that even the most expert of hunters were not safe from danger. Lord Tyrell’s own father had been one of the best hunters her father had ever seen and yet one mistake as he climbed to chase his falcon, that had doomed him to his death quicker than he had raced.

Rhea had been someone Mellara had only met in a few moments fleeting. When she had travelled to the Vale to visit with her father, they were such fond occassions to be had. She was a tall woman, but stern and strident in herself. She spoke bluntly and she spoke roughly. In her hunting leathers, she looked more man than she did a lady. She was an expert of the bow and the sword. Each time she sat upon her horse, she looked more like a mighty conqueror. Rhea had always looked beautiful on a horse, beaming with joy at the thought of being under the cloudy sun and jumping along to the action in the forests and mountains. There had been no grudge, but a blossoming friendship. Rhea Royce had always been kind to Mellara, far more than some ladies she had met in the Vale.

In such hunts her father had partook, she had been and quite a few times, it was many years ago in Runestone. Rhea had been a reserved woman, eager with attention towards those she had been close to. But even with that distance, it was still Rhea that ahd approached her first. Mellara could remember the way she had smiled at her then. Quickly, they understood each other well and as such, they managed to have a small quiet friendship. Mellara often flew to visit her as a young girl, and Rhea had at times traveled to enjoy some time with her. When they were away, Rhea would write to he and she would do the same. Rhea often was the one that gifted her hawks and fur pelts from her extensive hunts. Mellara would send her small glass gifts, related to bronze armors and archers. At times good fine leather for her hunting use and at times for her saddles.

Even when she had become Daemon’s lover and then his wife, Rhea could care less about how closely Daemon lingered in her friend’s life. What mattered, Rhea told her, is that we are friends. That they would continue as such for as long as they could. Rhea had told her the same, in her last letter. Tears welled from her eyes as she started to moan in pain. Liquid had started to pour down her legs as she hunched over against the velvet chair. Elmo and Daemon hovered over her, but it was she who had declared to them that the babe was coming and they were coming down harshly.

These past three days were a torture at childbed. One that both her husbands had been to hear as they found themselves waiting late at night. It was one thing to hear a knight cry through the pain of injury. But it was another to hear a woman’s labor through days and nights. In those three days, the rogue prince could not sleep, for the first time in his life being confronted with fear. Hands turning paler than snow as his fingers crushed into a fist, Daemon Targaryen wondered how much pain she had been through alone when she had birthed their son Aemon. How long did it last? How much blood spilled through? Was there anyone to soothe her fear?

In that moment, the memories of his departed mother haunted him. His father’s distraught face, hot grieving tears fell as he embraced the cold corpse of a woman he had loved. Daemon was but a boy then, one would think he could not remember it. But he had. He had remembered every little bit of it. To the last when his brother had been ripping him away out into the hallway. As she labored, a dash of midwives had not let him through, not even with his violent taunts. Just like back then, he could do nothing. Daemon felt for the first time felt useless, utterly useless. He could not even comfort his distraught son as he huddled over the steps towards the chambers with a somber look on his face.

“You.” Elmo Tully turned to him, an equally frustrated gaze on his face. “Come with me.”

“Mellara is in labor–”

“Get your sword.”

Daemon Targaryen turned, walking towards his son and leaned down to talk to him. Watching the boy nod slowly, the rogue prince walked ahead of his son. In a moment’s thought he was followed by the confused heir of Riverrun. Elmo took a look at his wife’s young son and sighed, placing a hand upon his shoulder to comfort him. The young boy nodded, standing and following his step-father and soon enough meeting altogether in the courtyard. Daemon unsheathed Dark Sister, causing the Tully heir to have his eyes widen slightly as he watched the prince throw the sheathe away.

“I am in a bad mood.” Daemon declared as he took a stance. “I might as well take it out on you.”

Elmo watched as his step-son came through with a sword in hand. “Am I to be forced into being your punching bag, my prince?”

“There must be a way for me to kill that bronze bitch in my head.” The prince said bluntly. “This is all her fault.”

The redheaded lord pursed his lips as he hesitantly unsheathed the sword from his step-son. Gazing at it for a moment, he could not help but admire the shine of the sword. Giving the sheathe back to his step-son, he thanked him and asked him to move towards the corner for his safety. Elmo Tully too took a fighting stance opposite the Valyrian prince. He took a sharp breath.

“You speak too much, do you know that?”

“So do you.”

"Push, princess," the midwife said as she squirmed there at the woman, her lilac eyes filled with distress and agony and her entire body and face pooling with sweat as screams echoed from her. When she was ordered, the ladies in waiting were helping her upright into the delve of pillows. "Push!"

Mellara's eyes welled up with tears as she gripped the servant's hand, another wiping sweat beads from her cheeks, and pushed as hard as she could. But there was no sign of a head. The midwife endeavored to feel the life of the child on the princess's belly. Her eyes widened as she recognized what it was. The child, indeed, the children, were in a difficult situation. That could be why she was having difficulties. The elder woman moved her hands in an attempt to turn the babes, but it was futile. The baby remained stubbornly in place. And the princess continued to scream and pull the sheets as she pushed and pushed. But there was no sign of any children.

"I'm going to die!" Mellara shouts glumly as she rose to her feet and motioned the women away. The midwife looked her in the eyes and jerked her head as she fought to stay calm. "My babes will die."

"Princess, you will not die, nor will your babes," one of the servants vowed, wiping her tears. She spoke as if she had heard a prophecy and knew exactly what was going to happen. "You're going to live a long time, happily."

"You can do it, princess." The head midwife assured her, her voice softened as she tried to calm her. "One strong push after another.”

The princess gazed at her apprehensively, full of exhaustion and pain. Mellara wept as she nodded at them finally. Tired, she readied herself as she began to count and told her to push and push and push. Gritting her teeth, she did as she was bid and yielded to the pain.

Until the cry was heard many minutes later.

A moment of relief and then soon another pain.

Mellara’s tears welled through, granting her blind.

Another push through the rushing blood through her legs.

And then another cry soon enough was heard.

Mellara could feel her body fall into the sheets already damped with her sweat. Two eager cries filled the room, the midwives grasping and clapping as they moved in droves. The congratulatory jubilant heard as she gasped for air, she could not feel half her body. The cool water splashing through basins as midwives washed her children off and wrapped them in warm cloth.

The same ones she had sewn through the year, two sleeves of cloth in the sigil of house Tully. As they went to her, they bowed and smiled at her. The babies rested beside her. Red hair wiggling across their tiny heads. Mellara gleamed with pride as she gazed at them. Turning to the head midwife, she smiled.

“Two sons, my princess.” The elderly midwife says in awe. “And we did not know.”

“They are perfect.” Mellara whispered, moving her fingers to touch her sons. “Thank you for sailing us through the storm.”

The excitement of the household was felt throughout the day. Once she had gotten through being cleaned and changed into proper clothes, Mellara had enjoyed a solemn time with her youngest boys. As she drank heated milk, she gathered herself to welcome visitors. Though she had been entirely torn through by the labor, Mellara Targaryen had decided to entertain those who had wished to see her sons.

Many of them had been eager to see the first Tully heirs in a generation since her husband, but most of all – they were curious to see the first offspring of a Targaryen and a Tully. It had not offended her, this curiosity. Mellara too had been all too curious about what her young babies would look like. Would they take after her? Or her husband?

The moment she saw the ruffles of red hair, she knew that they were Tullys. It was all too obvious to see how much they were like her husband. That was what he thought when he rushed through the halls, full of dirt and sweat. It was certain that he was doing something to calm his nerves. His eyes were glued to the image of an angel that laid upon the childbed, dressed in Tully colors. So were the two sons they had sired together. Dashing towards the basin, he washed his hands thoroughly and dried them. Gathering his feet with all his remaining strength, he sat himself towards the edge of the bed, by her legs and turned to the small bundles of joy resting beside her.

She smiled gently at him. “You’ve come.”

“I should have come sooner.” He whispers to her in reply. “I shouldn’t have let you suffer alone here, I…”

“The midwives would have just stood in your way.” Mellara shook her head, urging him to come closer. “You heard them deny Daemon, have you not?”

“Yes, but I still should have tried–”

She shook her head once more. “You did your part by staying out of it. I am safe and so are our sons.”

He snickered disbelievingly. “Yes…safe. Our sons.”

“Yes, our sons.” Mellara chuckled as she gathered the elder in her arms, urging her husband to gather the younger in his arms. He did so uncomplainingly, but ever so gentle. “That one is our younger boy.”

“That is the oldest, then?”

She nodded. “Your son and heir.”

He took a sharp breath. “I never thought in a million years that I would ever become a father.”

“Well now you are.” She whispers to him, gazing at her red haired boy. “You always will be, now.”

“Yes, that you are correct about.” He smiles, placing a small kiss upon their youngest’s head. He moved closer, gently holding their son to his chest. The redheaded lord gleaned at his wife. “Thank you. For all that you have done.”

Mellara shook her head. “No, thank you. For giving me this life.”

It was already late when she and Elmo parted. They delighted in the company of every movement that their boys made. It was a precious moment, to just sit there wondering what their boys would grow up to be. Mellara thought out loud mayhaps they might inherit the Targaryen might. It might be wishful thinking, for Blacknight had yet to gather a dragon egg years after her son Aemon’s Aelyx.

There was no certainty, her husband had said and he was right. She could not be sure, but it is still something to dream about. Her cousin Rhaenys, after all, has a Velaryon son with a dragon. Mayhaps one day, they may ride dragons too. Or be knights of legend where their names would be sung through history for their courage and bravery like their lord father. Despite that, the two had laughed it off and prayed – prayed for their sons to live a good life whatever they seek to choose. The best thing they can do is raise them prepared.

Their boys, now named Kermit and Oscar, were fast asleep in their cots by the edge of her bed after a long day of pageantry. Soon enough, her Tully husband had gathered himself away to work in his chambers and bid her good night. In the quiet of the lonesome night, Mellara too fell to exhaustion and slept soundly, the elevated pillows giving her weary body some much needed comfort. The tranquil night carried her through most of it, eagerly giving her relief. For the first time in three days and nights, there was now rest.

It was the touch of a warm hand gathering her body towards life once again. Blurry eyes slowly opened with care and softened at the sight of Daemon Targaryen sleeping beside her in a stool, his hand not letting go of hers tenderly. Giving a soft smile, Mellara allowed her hand to caress his hand. Her lips fell into a flat line as she softly took in a breath. There was much that she knew he was feeling.

Viserys Targaryen had once again seen him as an enemy, now that they had once argued, both king and brother. That much had made sure he was not welcome at court once more. His feelings are incoherent over Rhea’s passing. Over the memories of his mother. Over the thought that he could have lost her today. Mayhaps even the years that had lost him the chance to have seen the growth of their son. He grieves, Mellara knows. It was all too much, all too much to bear and to understand. Even for a rogue prince who has made others believe his mask is unbreakable.

“You took your time.” Daemon mumbled under his breath, raising his head slowly. Mellara felt her lips gather upwards, intrigued. “I hated it.”

“It was only three days.”

“Three days that lessened our time together.” He says as he sat up straight, his hand still intertwined with hers. “Really, that bronze bitch.”

“It wasn’t her fault.” Mellara shook her head. “She fell in an accident.”

Daemon snorted. “And they called her queen of the hunt.”

Mellara gazed at him disappointingly. “Daemon, she was my friend. And your wife—”

“No, you are my wife.” Daemon corrected her, his eyes gazing at hers with heavy emotion. “My wife of choice. My only one. And I nearly lost you”

“But you didn’t.” The princess sighed, taking his hands onto her lips and placing a kiss at his palm. “I’m still here, my dearest Daemon.”

“With each scream, I….” He took a moment, lowering his head. “I remembered my mother.”

“But I am not your mother.” Mellara says, stunned. “Our son will grow up with me, his mother.”

“I thought that I would have to, to raise him. Alone and the thought of it all, my little dragon. It overwhelmed me. I…”

“Daemon, I would not—”

He looked at her quizzically. “With Aemon, how did you?....Were you alone?”

She shook her head. “My mother was with me. I was perfectly safe.”

“I should have been there.” Daemon whispers to her, his squeezing of her hand tightened. “When you needed me the most, I was not there. Knowing you were in so much pain.”

Mellara let out a small sigh. “You cannot be with me all the time.”

“I wish to be with you, always.”

“And I always will be.” Mellara reassures him, taking her free hand and placing it on top of his. “We made our vows. We are forever, husband.”

“I know.” Daemon felt the world on his shoulders with each breath. “I know.”

His wife gives him a sly smile. “And do not blame yourself so much, for your time away. You did your duty, to your family and to the realm. We would still be in such strains had you not done what you did.”

“But it kept me away from you and our son.” He whispers somberly as he ponders. “I had wished I never had done it.”

“You have made both of us proud. Our son considers you his hero.”

He snickers softly. “I am far from a hero, my little dragon.”

Mellara laughs, quietly. “That is true. But that does define you to me or our son.”

In the quiet of the night, the sound of nightingales spoke through from far away. Mellara relished in the sound. Relished in each moment she had loved him. The sight of his body warming her own, even with just a gentle gaze and a touch of his hand. Mellara Targaryen had always longed for this. This serenity together with her beloved Daemon.

Years upon years, his restless nature had always demanded him elsewhere. Wanting more and more. She had always indulged him in everything. Yet when it was her need, even if it was to give up on his dreams of conquest and glory – Daemon had done so. To be with her here means there was much still he had yet to settle. Even then, he still chose to be here. To sit here and tell her all his love, without the mask that he uses to deceive. This was his heart, it was her. And it keeps beating over and over at the sight of her, loving him.

“Don’t break your promise.” Daemon says, his eyes shining with his affection. “My little dragon, stay with me. Always.”

“There is nothing to worry about, my love.” The princess nodded her head, a wide smile. “I will stay with you, forever.”

It was not a requirement for them to go, especially when she had just been to childbed two moons before. Daemon Targaryen wantonly watched as his wife eagerly put on her ruby earrings as a servant fixed her hair. He had been watching her for hours, eagerly putting herself through the ceremony of absolution by a septon and making quick decisions on clothes she thought to wear for the feast. The beautiful damask gown with black lace cut through red silk. A cloak of black fur was made from beautiful northern cloth, eager patterns of white flowers trailed behind her in stunning silver thread.

Mellara Targaryen was not going to pass up the opportunity to be present at her niece’s wedding. It was a momentous occasion, where her family will unite again in one front. Her mother’s house from across the sea and her father from above the skies. It was a powerful match. One that none could deny would lead to a prosperous future. Mellara had found it a shame that she could not persuade Viserys to delay the wedding, to let the two know more about one another. But he had rebuffed her, telling her that the pair had grown together. But it did not make Mellara confident.

“What are you thinking of?” Daemon asks her, spreading his legs open. “It is not you to be dulled by boring thoughts.”

“Boring as they may seem, it does intrigue me.” She defended, looking at him through the vanity. “Rhaenyra’s marriage.”

Daemon laughed. “A laughable one.”

“You say that as if you aren’t a pillow biter.” Mellara rolled her eyes, causing Daemon to laugh further. “It’s a wise decision.”

“Do you say that as a Targaryen or a Velaryon?”

“Why is there a need to choose when I am both?” She says, raising a brow. “Is there a difference?”

“Well, I know what Corlys is like.”

“So do I.”

Daemon’s eyes glistened mischievously. “Not as good as I do.”

“It doesn’t matter what he wants.”

“It matters when his son is marrying our niece.”

“He is not an outsider to us, Daemon.”

Damon raises his hands in a gesture. “Well, he is to me.”

Mellara sighed, gathering herself and turning to the servant, telling them to leave. When they left, Mellara stood and walked towards her husband and slowly laid on top of his knees. Daemon leaned forward, his hand turning to her back and rested onto it to support it. The devotion in his gaze made her heart melt. It was like the starry night, full of wonder and light. Daemon laid a kiss upon her neck. Mellara laughed, tickled by his act.

“Are you not happy that she will have a supportive husband?” She questioned him softly, her hand over his clean shaven hair. “It is what she deserves.”

“I do not trust the interests of outsiders.”

“Rhaenys is hardly an outsider, husband.” She reminded him.

“That may be true, but everyone who is not you and our son. Or Rhaenyra, or my brother…” He allowed his free hand to caress her thigh. “They do not matter.”

Mellara laughed. “Do you truly believe that it is us against the world, my love?”

“Yes.” Daemon answered honestly. “That is why whatever happens, you must stay close to me. I will protect you.”

“Hmm.” Mellara says as she leans forward to his ear and whispers. “Then shall I do the same, my prince?”

Daemon chuckled slowly. “I do not think they will mind our lateness.”

Mellara giggled. “You best hurry then.”

“Where are we going?" She asked him, her back leaning against his chest as the horse throttled at a moderate pace. “Your grace?”

"A wondrous place." He answered softly. He looked down on her smaller figure. His eyes filled with worry. "Are you perhaps tired?”

"No, no....I was just....curious."

The way he smiled in relief was like a silver moon light, she thought. She could not completely explain. Her long dark hair tousled against the wind as a massive wave of light glistened through. Looking upwards, her brown eyes felt warmed by the silver moonlight as she watched him remove the heaviness of his layers of woolen cloak lined with rich ermine. His eyes were curious as he gazed back at her, with those gorgeous eyes that only could be his own.

The way his eyes became gentle as he gazed upon her. There was no truth to how he felt, she did not know. But she knew that he needed company. For someone, someone who truly understood him. For the man that he was, not the power he was made to bear. It was lonely, even for him who had everything. It was nothing when no one saw you for who you truly are.

There had never been another man like him. Even further north. There had been many men brought before her for her to marry a long time ago. There were many options, many people who had struck deals with her father for as long as she could remember. None of them had piqued her interest. Nor did she want to be a settled woman, with a brood of children and a dower that would enrich her after her husband died. Even when she was a young woman, the thought of childbirth did not make her happy.

And yet, readily, she stands before this man. His dreams, his hopes. His song. This man whom she could never have had ruptured her thoughts and her being. She was uncertain if she loved him. If she truly could yearn for him in that way. But she cared for him. Enough that she would rip apart herself, what she had known and chose him. She could not see herself anywhere else. Not even back in Winterfell. Not even in the comfort of family.

“Calling me your grace is stifling.” He admits to her, throwing his cloak onto the ground. Taking a breath, he looked at her warmly. “I thought you had agreed to call me by my name.”

She looked puzzled. “Your grace, that is inappropriate.”

He shook his head, leaning towards her. Leaning his head down to gaze at her, his lips turned into a bowed line. His strong hands embraced her cold warmth. The glistening of indigo and doe eyes made her heart beat. He sighed, his fingers scaling the very essence of her features. As though he was memorizing each and every inch of her soft flesh. The man let a small smile pass his lips. He removed his touch from her, leaving her in a silent forlorn.

“I have missed you.”

She could not put such words to say.

A moment passes.

Then another.

As he continued to gaze at her, he felt the warmth kiss of winter as her lips slowly twitched into a smile. Her dark crown of hair blissfully adored by the wind once more, dancing through the melody.

“You are such a puzzle.” The woman whispered to him. “I do not…”

The woman turned away from him and gazed towards the opposite direction and suddenly, she knew he felt seen. The dark purple eyes gazing back at her own brown, eyes full of confusion and shock. The tall man looked at her confused, but he watched her as she walked farther from him and more and more towards someone he could not see. Taking a step back, fearfully so, she continued to advance. Soon enough, there was no escape. She forcibly took hold of her hand. He tried to flee but he was stunned.

“Aemon Blackmace.” She whispered as she pulled him near. “Do you know who I am?”

#hotd #house of the dragon #house targaryen #house velaryon #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x oc #rhaenyra targaryen #laenor velaryon #corlys velaryon #princess rhaenys

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kayvsworld · 6 years ago

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@rendingrosencrantz HAS BROUGHT IT TO MY ATTENTION THAT THE “BAT-MAN” DEFINITELY UNDENIABLY HAS a SECOND jaw, a SECOND JAW INSIDE HIS CRIME-DEVOURING MOUth like an eel and he uses it to Cronch the crime doers and pull them, whole, into his unforgiving maw

do u think the “““““““bat-man””””””” chews his prey or unhinges his jaw and swallows them whole, leaving no evidence, 4 maximum No Crime

#THABK YOU ROZ THIS IS THE TRUEST TRUTH IVE EVER READ #U ALWAYS LNOW THE BEST FACTS #IM LOV EEL #kayvswords

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storiesofwildfire · 6 years ago

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( repost, do not reblog. )

tell us your favorite quotes from your character. give us an idea of who they are from five nine don’t judge me things they’ve said. then tag your friends:

tagged by: @fiddlingonthetympanic tagging: @weightofmyshield @rationalunreason @nekrcun @lameshsorsye @nottobecrossed and whoever else would like to do this?

i. And if I do, then what? I love Thor more dearly than any of you, but you know what he is. He's arrogant, he's reckless, he's dangerous! You saw how he was today. Is that what Asgard needs from its King? ( Thor )

reason: This quote demonstrates that despite Loki’s obvious jealousy, he actually does have a point to make. Thor is reckless at this point in time. Thor doesn’t deserve the throne, else risk ruining everything. Loki sees things clearly in a way that no one ever gives him credit for. Loki understands what will happen if Thor takes up the throne and he understands despite selfishness or jealousy, what it means to actually be a ruler.

Despite Loki’s descent into “madness”, before his fall, he does have the makings of a good king and good counsel, but no one has listened to him. No one would pay him enough mind to, so he had to do it for himself.

ii. Loki: So I am no more than another stolen relic, locked up here until you might have use of me? Odin: Why do you twist my words? Loki: You could have told me what I was from the beginning! Why didn't you? Odin: You're my son... I wanted only to protect you from the truth... Loki: What, because I... I... I am the monster parents tell their children about at night? Odin: [unwell] No! No! Loki: You know, it all makes sense now, why you favored Thor all these years because no matter how much you claim to love me, you could never have a Frost Giant sitting on the throne of Asgard! ( Thor )

reason: Everyone loves to make the “oh, boo hoo, Loki’s adopted, he’s just a spoiled brat who has daddy issues” argument as to why Loki fell down the hole he fell. That couldn’t be further from the truth, in all actuality. Loki’s issue isn’t that he’s adopted. It isn’t even that he’d been lied to for so long. It’s that he’s coming face-to-face with the ideology that he is a member of a species that has been bastardized to the point that people are terrified of them, believe they are monsters.

His father and his mother lied to him, yes, but to the extent that they raised him to hate himself, to thoroughly believe that the very thing that he was is monstrous, disgusting, and wrong.

Odin stole Loki from his home, raised him as something he is not, and keeps him pressed under his thumb until the moments where he was useful, always on a leash, never truly allowed to be freely himself without consequence and this? This is a revelation as to a logical reason for why Odin has been like that for the majority of his life.

iii. I never wanted the throne, I only ever wanted to be your equal! ( Thor )

reason: People never take this line very seriously, but it’s actually one of the truest things Loki has ever said. Think about it? Loki’s the God of Mischief and Chaos. Being tied down to the never-ending responsibility of the throne--a prison sentence in and of itself--is not something Loki would actually enjoy, right? Of course not.

But Loki has never been treated fairly by his people, never been held on the same level as his own brother, and even Thor is seen talking down to Loki, treating Loki as if he is beneath him. People get away with treating Loki--a prince--poorly because they see important figures get away with it, like Odin, because Loki does not conform to the norms of Asgard and therefore is “wrong” or someone worth shunning. Is it so hard to believe that he would want to be seen as Thor’s equal while being accepted for being Loki?

iv. I've looked forward to this day as long as you have. You're my brother and my friend. Sometimes I'm envious, but never doubt that I love you. ( Thor )

reason: Loki’s a big person to admit he’s envious, but there is a sort of genuine nature that comes along with his confession to loving his brother. This moment between them reads as lighthearted, but it is one of the loveliest and realist moments that Thor and Loki share as brothers.

I also think, in a way, that Loki is trying to assure Thor that what’s about to happen is not meant to be malicious, it is only something he believes he has to do in order to show Asgard Thor is not prepared to be king. The good of all people comes above the good of the heir. One last moment of love before everything goes to shit.

v. Thor: I will tell Father you died with honor. Loki: I didn't do it for him. ( The Dark World )

reason: We see so many examples of Loki going above and beyond, of committing extreme deeds in hopes of winning Odin’s approval and being a worth Son of Odin, which he never actually achieves. In this statement, he finally acknowledges that he doesn’t need that. He didn’t fight alongside Thor for Odin. It was for Thor, it was for his mother, it was for Asgard, and above all else, it was for himself.

vi. Malekith! I am Loki of Jotunheim, and I have brought you a gift! I only ask for one thing in return; a good seat from which to watch Asgard burn! ( The Dark World )

reason: Up until this point, Loki cannot bring himself to admit that he’s from Jotunheim. It’s a truth that he even lies to himself about repeatedly, over and over again, because he can’t accept it, can’t wrap his mind around it, can’t digest it. Even in this scene, when trying to trick Malekith, he chose to be truthful about his origins, and accepting it aloud, admitting it to someone else, also helps Loki to solidify the truth in his own mind. This is really the first time we see him come to terms with the truth, even if somewhat forced.

vii. It's not that I don't love our little talks, it's just... I don't love them. && If I am for the axe, then, for mercy's sake, just... swing it! ( The Dark World )

reason: This is just showing how... 100% done with Odin Loki truly is. People don’t like to think of Odin as an abuser, that he was actually a decent father, but he wasn’t a good parent. Not to Thor and not to Loki. Odin is one of Loki’s abusers. Odin has hurt Loki in ways that no one can imagine and even in the face of being imprisoned forever, in knowing that he can use a perfectly legitimate excuse of “Thanos used the Mind Gem on me and forced me to do his bidding”, he didn’t try to defend himself.

He knew Odin wouldn’t believe him, knew Odin would never acknowledge the parallels between what he was condemning Loki for and what he’d done himself, willing.

Rather than fight with Odin, try to change his mind, run, anything--Loki’s just tired of Odin, tired of answering to him, tired of fighting him, tired of everything having to do with Odin. To the point where Odin would, perhaps, just be more merciful in ending everything rather than drag it out.

More than anything, he just doesn’t want to beg Odin for a gods damned thing unless it is a true end.

viii. Barton told me everything. Your ledger is dripping, it's GUSHING red, and you think saving a man no more virtuous than yourself will change anything? This is the basest sentimentality. This is a child at prayer... PATHETIC! You lie and kill in the service of liars and killers. You pretend to be separate, to have your own code. Something that makes up for the horrors. But they are a part of you, and they will never go away! ( The Avengers )

reason: This is plain old self-reflection. Loki’s talking to Natasha and yes, he’s describing her, but he’s also absolutely describing himself and the situation he’s stuck in, the situation he’s been stuck in under multiple people. First Odin and then Thanos, both people who used and abused Loki in different ways, both people who manipulated or forced him to do things that he did not want to do, both people who helped stain Loki’s own hands.

This child’s prayer, as he calls it, is his own prayer, his own desperate cry for help and reflection.

ix. Thor: This place is perfect for you. It's savage, chaotic, lawless. Brother, you're going to do GREAT here. Loki: Do you truly think so little of me? Thor: Loki, I thought the world of you. I thought we were going to fight side-by-side forever, but at the end of the day you're you and I'm me and... oh, maybe there's still good in you but... let's be honest, our paths diverged a long time ago. Loki: Yeah... it's probably for the best that we'll never see each other again. ( Ragnarök )

reason: Loki likes to act like he does not care about Thor and that the opinions of others don’t matter, but this highlights how much Loki actually does care. He’s afraid of being what everyone expects of him but he doesn’t exactly know how not to be, because everyone assumes the worst of him no matter what he does. He desperately wants approval from others, desperately wants them to see his best qualities, but he’s constantly faced with scenarios where people do not. And it hurts him more than he could ever admit.

#index; loki #filed under; dislikes #filed under; headcanons #filed under; inspiration #filed under; likes #filed under; silver tongue #filed under; traits #tagged meme #( storiesofwildfire headcanon ) chaos is about that which is possible

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lavrapalmers · 7 years ago

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all this devotion was rushing out of me

summary: obi-wan knows that anakin is his soulmate, but anakin doesn't

warnings: angst, canon star wars so ? fights and shit

read on ao3 here

i. Obi-Wan never cared to try and contact his soulmate, it would only bring emotions and attachments and that was something he could never have. Since he was a child he had to try extra hard to gain respect, to gain a master, and he would not risk that by playing around with the other padawans writing silly messages on their hands and awaiting an answer. Only in his loneliest times did Obi-Wan write to his soulmate, crying himself to sleep, drawing flowers on his hands to cheer him up, and maybe if his soulmate said something back he could feel important and calm himself down.

There was never a reply, something he didn’t know if he should be happy or sad about. It was good they didn’t reply, he didn’t need that attachment in his life. Yet it hurt, what if he didn’t have a soulmate, what if they didn’t want him. These thoughts haunted him when he was a young boy, but like the rest of the jedi the older they got and the more they learned the less they cared about who their soulmate may be.

So that’s what Obi-Wan did, he grew older and more wise, trying his hardest to become the perfect jedi and push all those emotions that cursed him away. That is what he thought at least, when he was still a naive jedi trying to impress his master when they land on the planet Tatooine. He hadn’t expected this ruin of a planet to be the root of all that would truly affect him in his life.

It wasn’t until that day did he really grow wise, did he truly understand why the jedi council banned attachments. From feelings of betrayal to watching his master die, Obi-Wan let his emotions out on Darth Maul and promised himself that would be the end of it, he would be the perfect jedi after that (he was so wrong.)

ii. Obi-Wan finds his soulmate not to long after meeting him, and he finds out by the writing that he finds on his arm meant for someone else. Messy childrens writing soon paints his wrist as he takes Anakin Skywalker as his padawan, messages addressed to Padme wishing for her love and safety burn into his skin. He hates it so much, but he doesn’t do anything about it. The boy is far too young to understand this, and far too emotional to take the heartbreak. So Obi-Wan allows his skin to break and bleed for the sake of the boy's heart, even if it is at a cost of his.

The more comfortable Anakin gets with him the more personal the new padawans questions get. Obi-Wan doesn’t mind at first, the boy is new to this all, then he asked a question Obi-Wan struggled answering. “Obi-Wan, do you have a soulmate?”

He stays silent for a moment, answering with a monotone voice hoping there would be no more questions to follow. “Yes, Anakin.”

“I have one too, I know it, even if they don’t write back to me. I think it’s Padme, she’s just too busy to write.” The naive boy speaks, oblivious to the truth as Obi-Wan always hopes he is.

“Perhaps that is the truth Anakin, but you should not be writing to them in the first place. You know attachments are not allowed, and it will only cause the both of you heartache.”

Anakin gives his master a defeated look, turning away only to look at his hand covered in unanswered ink. “Yes, Master.”

Obi-Wan hates himself, but it’s for the best.

iii. Anakin is older and taller, something he often teases Obi-Wan about. Obi-Wan can only be thankful of the lack of writing that has appeared on his skin since their conversation years ago, but worries about the boy and the defiance he continues to show towards the jedi. He worries most about his own emotions though, as he begins to understand why the two are so called soulmates. His life revolves around the boy, his days spent teaching him, his nights spent holding him close in his arms to comfort him from the nightmares that taint his dreams. Obi-Wan doesn’t even remember smiling as much as he has with Anakin, and on the rare occasions that Anakin writes to him unknowingly he feels bittersweet while looking upon the words. Oh, what woe it is, to love someone and never be allowed to act upon it, and to love someone who does not love you back.

It only gets worse when they reunite with Padme, the boys love blooming for her again, and thus his desire to write to her unknowingly writing to his master instead. Obi-Wan looks at those unspoken ‘I love yous’ with a frown, his heart aching for what can never be. He pushes it away for as long as he can, until the boy won’t stop writing and he tries to scrub the words off until he bleeds. It never works, and he starts to wear gloves every day.

Things continue to change, he and Padme grow closer and his nightmares intensify. Obi-Wan wants to help, but with Anakin now going to Padme for all his troubles he is left out, abandoned almost. He pushes those thoughts away, this is good, it is better for the love growing to end now rather than simply grow worse and worse for Obi-Wan.

Yet the words on his hand reveal more than Obi-Wan desires to know about the developing relationship with Padme, love blooming between them more and more leading to more heartbreak and acceptance in Obi-Wan. He wonders if he should stop Anakin, not as a soulmate but as his master, these relations go against the Jedi code, and yet he doesn’t say anything. Anakin is happy, and maybe Obi-Wan is a terrible jedi for letting him do this, but seeing Anakin so happy and so in love gives him enough peace to let it be. They’ll find out eventually they are not soulmates, or something else in the universe will lead to the relationship's demise. Anakin is to be a Jedi, he is to lead a life where love is not allowed for a reason.

iv. Obi-Wan watches as Anakin goes from a padawan to a Jedi knight, he continues to be disobedient but no longer naive, and Obi-Wan continues to fall in love. The words stop coming and he begins to think Anakin and the Senator found out the truth, and yet based on their interactions they act as if they haven’t. Perhaps Anakin is more of a hopeless romantic than he thought, continuing to give all his love to someone he knew wasn’t meant for him but still held his heart in her poised hands.

Anakin takes a padawan of his own with the name Ahsoka Tano, and he laughs as he watches the relationship develop into one similar to theirs. The young Tortuga was impulsive like her master, never listened to him either, and Anakin was almost as irritated with it as Obi-Wan was with his own padawan. He enjoys watching the two though, it gives him an odd sense of comfort. A little family he compares them to, and at a time of war it is the only thing that brings him ease. Ease he needs when tragedy hits his fragile heart once again.

In his arms is Satine Kryze, barely breathing and soon dead, all because of him. She was a friend, a best friend, and because of that she had died. He blamed himself, and he pushed his emotions away once again. He could see the concern in the eyes of Anakin and Ahsoka, and though he would not tell either of them about the suffering it has caused he knows they know, Anakin especially. No matter how hard the Jedi council can try their bond will never truly be severed, for their lives have equally been about each other and always will be if the universe has its way.

Not too long after the loss, Anakin comes to him one night. This had usually happened when something was troubling Anakin, but now it was due to the sorrows of Obi-Wan. Anakin could sense it, and he didn’t say anything for he knew there was nothing to be reasonably said. Instead he climbed into his bed and held him night, never knowing the truest comfort he was giving his former master. Obi-Wan thought about writing I love you to the boy, but he decided to keep it to himself like all the other emotions and thoughts that cursed his mind.

v. Tragedy strikes again as Ahsoka Tano leaves, another attachment the two allowed themselves that bit them in the ass. This hit Anakin more though, and Obi-Wan wished he could be good like Anakin in comforting but he can’t. It would bring upon more emotions than needed, so instead he forced himself to watch as his padawan, his best friend, his soulmate suffered another loss in his life. He hates himself for it, but things continue on.

vi. His heart beats rapidly as he feels the greatest loss in the force, a morbidity filling his heart, leaving only space for worry towards Anakin. He looks upon the loss of the Jedi, his heart breaking and he could barely stand to keep his eyes open anymore. How could this have happened, how could things get worse? He wants to know how, and Yoda warns him. This confuses him, but he goes in to see the truth anyway. Anguish filled his heart and soul, a pain and misery so strong it almost moves him back. He looks upon the face of his love, betraying not only the Jedi but him. He knew Anakin did not love him in that way, but despite it all they still had love and this betrayal only brought upon sorrow and agony.

He is sent after Anakin, despite his begging not to be, but this is what he must do for the universe. He hopes to save his love, but he knows that can not be. He wonders how the galaxy, how the force, could be so vicious with his heart. How could it bring upon so much sorrow when all he had ever done was all it had asked him to do? He could not hate the force though, it always had a plan, one he could not fight.

He takes Padme with him to confront Anakin, and watches as the man he loves inflicts pain on someone he claims to love. This is no longer Anakin, but the man now called Darth Vader. So grim is this man on the planet Mustafar, and yet it does not stop him from reaching out, it does not stop him from fighting.

So they do, they fight, their skills taught from each other, a lethal match between the two with so many emotions trapped between the tension of their lightsabers. He hates himself for inflicting pain upon Anakin, and somehow still finds love for the boy who was now his worst enemy. He strikes him down, leaves him in a position that could only lead in death, and he’s sobbing. He watches as the man he loves burn at his hands, wishing he could turn it all back and tell him the truth. Tell him he loves him, tell him he wants to run away and just be with him. He wants things to change, but that can’t happen, so instead he yells all the unspoken things.

“You were the chosen one! It was said that you would destroy the Sith, not join them. You were to bring balance to the force, not leave it in darkness!” He shouts, his voice soon cracking as it takes a turn, melancholia in his eyes, his voice barely loud enough for Anakin to here. “I loved you, Anakin. You were my soulmate.”

He takes one last look at Anakin with those words, watching as his eyes fill not only with shock and sorrow, but turn from blue to red. He turns away, filled with love and regret, and above all hatred for himself.

vii. He watches as Padme dies and he takes the children of her and the man he loved. One goes to Bail, the other to Anakin’s last remaining family. He isolates himself, watching his loves son grow up and into his eyes and hair and so much more. Luke is almost a carbon copy of Anakin, and Obi-Wan is fine seeing that face once more from afar.

He finds it funny, how once Anakin - no Darth Vader - is more machine than man he begins to write to him. He must find whatever areas are left open for Anakin, what parts still have skin and no machine. He figures it out writing few words without reply. I’m sorry, the most common of them all, and he really is. He always will be.

#obikin #anakin x obi wan #my writing

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shintaroux · 7 years ago

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BOOKMARKS; so I know where to find you

It all began when Midorima Shintarou said: “Sir, you left a bookmark in this book.”

The red-haired man, clad in suit tailored to fit his lean frame, glanced behind as he was making his way to the exit. He smiled fondly and said: “It is there for a reason.”

And then he left.

Midorima had been working in the library for two years now but he had never seen the same person more than twice a week. The red-haired man came in every day; each morning he picked up one book and each evening he returned it.

Midorima bit his lower lip as he stroked the thick cover of the book the red-haired man had left at the desk; the cover was slightly worn around the edges, its once scarlet colour fading to a brown of sick fruit. On the side, a green post-it bookmark was sticking out. Midorima tugged at it absent-mindedly before he opened the marked page.

The bookmark had a little arrow drawn on it and it was pointing towards a quote:

“Have you ever met someone for the first time, but in your heart you feel as if you’ve met them before?”

Midorima pulled the bookmark out and put it away in a drawer.

Midorima Shintarou had never quite crossed paths with a man quite like the one with vibrant red-hair. He had noticed him, immediately, when he walked in for the first time; his step was like a rustle of autumn leaves and his eyes like a compass needle endlessly on its quest for paradise. One didn’t forget a presence that smelled so strongly of purpose.

Unlike the rest of the library users, he never came up to the desk and asked for a book. He sauntered around the shelves, alone on his journey, until he returned with a book he held gently in his hands as if it were sacred.

Midorima, as a man who was taught to take care of things that couldn’t take care of themselves, respected that and thought it charming to see such reverence for the written word in the modern age.

All these playful thoughts were meant to stay as such; just one curiously peculiar library user who presence Midorima appreciated for its blinding brilliance and mystery.

However, when the red-haired man handed him his library card, Midorima had finally found it in him to look at his name properly, not just skim over it to make sure it’s there like he did with many others.

Akashi Seijurou, it said.

Midorima knew that Akashi saw him linger on his name a second too long.

III

Five times, Midorima had counted.

Five was the number of times Akashi’s eyes flickered from the bookshelves to Midorima. He knew because he was watching too. It was hard not to when he had a whirlpool of questions dancing violently in his mind.

Was the quote really for him?

What should he do about it, if it was?

Should he make the first move?

The book Akashi had returned today lay before him, a green post-it sticking out almost as if it were mocking him. Midorima tapped his nails on the desk, impatiently.

When Akashi emerged out of a labyrinth of bookshelves, he was carrying a book much thicker than usual. There was no way he could read it in a day.

While he was writing down the number of the book in Akashi’s library card, Midorima mustered the courage to ask: “You are a fast reader?”

“I get addicted easily if a book catches my interest. I just can’t put it down until whatever is inside it is mine,” Akashi answered with a polished smile. “But I guess that goes for more things than just… books.”

This was the first occasion in which Midorima had heard Akashi utter more than one sentence but he could tell that he was someone who can make one word carry a litany of meanings.

Akashi took his book and went for the exit when Midorima called: “Sir, you left a bookmark again.” He said for no other purpose than needed more proof.

“It is there for a reason.” Akashi repeated without as much as a shrug of his shoulders.

The moment the doors closed behind Akashi, Midorima opened the book.

“We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken.”

A justification, an explanation, a dare… It could be a number of things.

Midorima pulled the bookmark out and put it away in a drawer.

Midorima was carrying a pile of books in his arms. His co-worker, Takao, fell into a habit of leaving the returned books on the table and never taking them back to their designated place on the shelves. It was an unsightly display, Midorima thought, to leave a helpless book away from home.

He was mumbling to himself when he had bumped into what he thought was a book cart, until the ‘book cart’ winced.

“I apologize,” Midorima said, still only able to see over the book pile in his arms, not underneath.

“That is quite alright,” answered the person whose voice Midorima had recognized immediately. “May I help you somehow?”

Midorima cleared his throat, glad he could hide behind the books in his arms. “No, I am fine. I am sincerely sor—“

Before he could finish, a couple of books from the top of the pile were lifted and Midorima came eye-to-eye with Akashi. His hair was combed back today and a whisper of eye bags lay underneath his eyes.

“Let me help you,” he said and Midorima couldn’t find it in him to refuse.

Akashi followed after him, silently, just an echo of footsteps, and handed him the book he had asked for at each shelf. Midorima could handle poor attempts at conversation, but silence weighted heavy on his shoulders.

“If you’re here today, it means you’ve managed to read that long book.”

“I have, indeed,” Akashi replied in a low voice and then continued. “More importantly, do you like the quotes I have bookmarked so far?”

Midorima hoped he had done a good job at concealing his nonchalance when he said: “Yes, they were quite exceptional.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Akashi said and Midorima heard a smile in his voice. It did a number on his gnawing nervousness. “So it would be alright if I continue?”

Midorima stopped, one last book remaining in his hands; there was no reason for Akashi to follow him around anymore. He turned around towards Akashi and got swept away by the air of strange anticipation.

A smile blossomed on Akashi’s lips the moment the words left Midorima’s lips: “Yes.”

The thick book lay on the desk and Midorima opened it on the bookmarked page as soon as Akashi was gone.

The familiar arrow was pointing to the words that made him feel a tad shy:

“He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.”

Midorima pulled the bookmark out and put it away in a drawer.

It had happened while Akashi was waiting to get his library card back.

“Shin-chan, do you know where the ladders are?”

Midorima froze; out of the corner of his eye, he could see a glint of amusement in Akashi’s eye. He ignored it for a moment and gave his attention to Takao. “Yes, you have left them in the foreign literature section.”

Takao scratched his nose and bowed his head apologetically. “Whoops… that’s right. Thanks, Shin-chan!”

When Takao disappeared among shelves, Midorima returned to scribbling down numbers on Akashi’s library card. He was hoping that if he had pretended this had never happened, so would Akashi.

“So, Shin-chan,” Akashi said. It was almost a mewl, and a mocking one at that. Midorima felt the tips of his ear grow hot.

“Shintarou. It’s Shintarou.”

He lifted his gaze at last and met Akashi’s unrelenting gaze. Something about it made Midorima feel very small, despite being the taller of two. He handed the library card back.

“Thank you. Shintarou.”

When Akashi said it, it was so sudden that if felt like it gripped Midorima’s gut and pulled it out.

Like diving in a pool of honey, that was how Midorima’s name sounded on Akashi’s tongue; warm, thick, syrupy.

Midorima must’ve been speechless for a while because Akashi had found his way to the doors.

“I hope you like today’s quote,” he added and disappeared.

With shaky hands, Midorima lightly tugged at the bookmark and the book practically opened by itself.

“You are what you are and that fascinates me.”

Midorima pulled the bookmark out and put it away in a drawer.

When Akashi appeared before him the next day, Midorima greeted him with poised confidence.

The routine went on all the way up to the moment Akashi handed Midorima his library card.

“Do you mind if I recommend a book to you?”

Akashi raised an eyebrow. “By all means…”

Midorima rushed to the bookshelves and knowingly followed the path, like a pirate who knows the spine of a map, and plucked the book out of its shelf. He took a deep breath, bracing himself for what he was about to do.

After all, Midorima Shintarou was a lot of things but daring wasn’t one of them. He always chose the widest path to success; one he could follow with no fear of failure so long as he kept going. Having a companion on the way never crossed his mind.

That’s why Midorima took another deep breath as he walked back to the desk.

There, followed by Akashi’s ever-curious gaze, he pulled out a bookmark of his own and planted it on a page. He quickly drew a small arrow and handed the book to Akashi.

“I hope you will find it to your enjoyment.”

“I certainly will,” Akashi said, and only when he walked out had Midorima realized that there was smug satisfaction hidden in his smile but he was too focused on the bookmark peeking out of the book that Akashi had just returned to ponder any longer about it.

Midorima pulled at the bookmark, the book opened and what he found were lines that he felt were the truest of all so far. After all, he had felt its truth on his own skin in the form of goosebumps, thin like cobwebs and much stronger than his willpower to resist:

“With you, intimacy colours my voice. Even ‘hello’ sounds like ‘come here’.”

Midorima pulled the bookmark out and put it away in a drawer.

VII

It was near closing time and Midorima kept checking on the clock, hoping time would be lenient this once. Midorima was afraid Akashi wouldn’t come.

Did I overdo it? Was he put off?

He occupied himself with putting away books, wiping dust off the shelves, going out of his way to make the time flow faster but also stop and when the doors opened for the last time that day, Midorima was already half out of his mind.

But it was Akashi; in his suit, with his posture ever so proper, his eyes ever so inquisitive.

Midorima was about to greet him when Akashi slammed his opened palms on the desk and leaned in. Roused from his worries, Midorima regarded the shorter man with alarm.

“’Pain wanders through my bones like a lost fire; what burns me now? Desire, desire, desire.’” Akashi recited with gracious ease, like he had been standing on a stage with Midorima as the lonely member of the audience. “Is that right?”

Midorima looked away and covered his mouth with his hand. A wave of embarrassment washed over him. A small nod was all that he could do to confirm those lines were what he had wanted to convey to Akashi, this man he knew almost nothing about but for whom he felt a magnetic attraction; just like gravity pulled everything on earth toward its centre, so did Akashi pull everything that was Midorima Shintarou towards him.

As simple as that.

As complicated as that.

Slowly, but surely, Midorima removed his hand from his mouth and returned the fervent gaze.

The moment was broken when Akashi released the book he was holding and offered his library card. Midorima took it and confirmed the return of the book.

“You are not going to borrow a book?” Midorima asked; anything, anything to distract himself from the suffocating tension between.

“No, I’ll be busy this weekend.” Akashi said, with clear certainty and a fleeting smile.

And then he left.

Midorima waited for the doors to close to be able to breathe again.

He rubbed his eyes, a nebula in small unfolding before him, before he reached for the book. When he pulled it open, he noticed that the bookmark had no arrow drawn on it; no quote it wanted to bring attention to.

Instead, there were three lines of text written in neat, slick handwriting: a date (tomorrow), time (evening) and place (a restaurant).

Midorima pulled the bookmark out and put it away in his pocket.

#midoaka #knb

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amyekathryn-blog · 7 years ago

Conversation

The Story so Far... is

First of all, this is myCystic Fibrosis story.Second of all, only keep reading if you opened this post (which should be all of you looking at this).Okay, so that was just a little something silly to make ya smile.I wanted to create this blog post because I understand the importance of sharing your story. I also know that in light of recent events (changing churches, meeting new people, etc.) a good bit of you do not actually know my story.Let me preface this by saying that it won't be as long as you think...I'm 23 years old, but this won't be 23 pages (or even 23 paragraphs).I was born to some pretty stinking awesome parents in 1994. Cindy and Troy are literally the coolest parents I've ever known. They've instilled core values in me that I will carry to my grave and they have taught me the love of Jesus since I was in the womb.But after I was born and at 5 weeks old (I say at birth because it's just a little easier) I rocked their world a little bit.I was born with a genetic disease called Cystic Fibrosis (CF for short).Full disclosure: if you follow me on any of my social media platforms, you will get sick of looking at Cystic Fibrosis awareness stuff...but get over it because CF is life and all of my raising awareness will find a cure one day!Anyway, CF is a scary thing. So for a new born baby to have it and parent to be thrown into immediate caretaker AND parent mode can be a little earthquakey. BUT they are awesome and have taken care of me my whole life. My mom is basically a degree-less doctor and my dad is a great cheerleader. But GOD story:At the time, the life expectancy of a person with CF was in the teens. But HA! I kicked that right in the butt. Anyway, in people with CF, a defective gene causes a thick, sticky buildup of mucus in the lungs, pancreas, and other organs. In the lungs, the mucus clogs the airways and traps bacteria leading to infections, extensive lung damage, and eventually, respiratory failure. In the pancreas, the mucus prevents the release of digestive enzymes that allow the body to break down food and absorb vital nutrients (find more information by going to www.cff.org and clicking on the 'About CF' tab at the top of the page).Basically the mucus screws everything up and causes a lot of issues.So I've dealt with CF my whole life, but overall I was a pretty healthy kid. I kept up with my friends and rarely was there a day I couldn't participate in what I wanted to. I did have a good bit of digestive issues and other things that would keep me out of school some days, but in the grand scheme of things I was healthy. I kept my grades up, participated in clubs and sports, and just loved life! There was very little that I couldn't do when I put my mind to it.But like with any disease, it does slow me down sometimes. Even now as a 23 year old adult. I have to take time to do all of my medications and treatments (at LEAST 6 breathing treatments a day accompanied by vest compression therapy to rid the mucus from my lungs, at LEAST 30 pills a day, and lots of rest), have the occasional hospital stay and several trips to Atlanta (a 2 1/2 hour drive) throughout the year for check-ups.So as you can see, I have a busy life on top of a busy life.But with all of that said (and trust me, that's not even scratching the surface of my health life), I enjoy my life. I have had opportunities presented that I would never have had if God had not given me CF. Believe me, it took a while to gain this perspective in my life. But once I decided to embrace the CF rather than sulk about having it, my life was completely different.I've had the opportunity to speak in front of many audiences...hundreds of people...about my illness and with each encounter I have to speak about Cystic Fibrosis, I have the opportunity to also share what JESUS has done in and through my life. How awesome is that?!I have had the opportunity to encourage and challenge others with CF and other chronic illnesses to have the same perspective on their life.I am currently involved in a study drug clinical trial with the CF foundation creating a pathway for new research and gaining a step closer to a cure.Opportunities far outweigh the burden/blessing that is Cystic Fibrosis.I'll never deny the fact that sometimes it's hard to deal with...I often am saddened when I have to cancel plans because I need to rest; or have to give up trips because I need a hospital stay; or fall into depression because I'm stuck at home doing IV therapy; or feel irrationally lonely and like I'm doing it all by myself when in reality I have the BEST support system in the whole world; or when I feel like my friends don't understand and I feel like they don't care. That stuff is so real. It is hard.But what I KNOW to be true is that God has given me the strength to get through those emotions and anxieties. He has given me a written word of truth and hope that is a direct line from his voice to my heart. And when I fall into that darkness, His light will direct me through it.This is not all of who I am. CF does NOT define me. MY GOD DEFINES ME.But this is definitely a huge part of who I am.I promise, this only scratches the surface. I am a daughter of the King of Kings. I have a fire inside of me that is roaring to come out and shock the world. My heart comes out in my writing and in my song voice. That is the truest form of myself and I can't wait for you all to meet her.

Link to my blog: http://theunpredictablemind.blogspot.com/2017/11/the-story-so-far.html?m=1

#cysticfibrosis #chronicillness #cysticfibrosisawareness #cysters #chronicillnessblogger #my story #god #jesus

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lightheartedlamp · 5 years ago

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More than half way into 2019

I think I have grown so much as a person since 2017,

I went from being terribly depressed, not wanting to leave my dorm, participating in daily life or meeting new people to being comfortable and happy and content with my own company and actually getting restless when I don’t leave the house for the day.

I am so proud of myself and all that I’ve accomplished. Whilst it may not be superficial things that everyone is chasing like their dream job, internship or paycheck. I am happier than Ive ever been because I’ve learnt to come to terms with so many things that I’ve tried to force for so many years.

I’ve got a long way to go. I may not be fully content but I think nobody really is. When one good thing is going it’s just natural and human for us to want better and more. But what I want to do more is focus less on superficial and material things and focus more on things that matter to me, experiences that will enrich me and make me feel full.

I think this year has humbled me and broke me out of my shell. It’s taught me full independence and helped me realised that I am responsible for my own being and that I am also capable.

“You don’t grow where you’re comfortable” has been the truest of truth I’ve heard this year and want to continue to live by it when life knocks me down, which will happen time again.

So dead future self reading this,

Happy or sad, keep going.

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pastelgrungewrecker · 8 years ago

Text

Goodnight

AO3 Link

Circumstances afford me No second chance to tell you How much I’ve missed you...

Skywarp was usually so restless a sleeper. You were glad he was still and serene this time. He needed the rest; a small frame like his, small even for a Seeker.

You smiled, blinking the blur from your optics.

Your hand rests on Thundercracker’s shoulder, and you squeeze it. He feels a bit chilly tonight, you hope he isn’t coming down with something.

Your silly trinemates, you wished they’d take better care of themselves. You needed them, you needed them more than they could ever know. You don’t have the words to tell them yet, not without your razorblade eloquence and hydrochloric sarcasm. But you will, soon.

And then you can tell them all the soft-edged sentences you wished you could vocalize properly.

You lean, you press a warm kiss to Skywarp’s cool helm and trill worriedly. He doesn’t answer and you sigh, rolling optics and pondering why your vision is so watery.

Why do shapes shake and wobble like reality is breaking? Why does it feel like a nightmare waits around a corner. You shake out your wings and go back to cooing over your trinemates.

They do not answer your calls. They do not move.

“Your Highness… Highness, its time to leave.”

“I cannot.”

“Sir?”

“I cannot; you see, Skywarp gets so… so anxious if he wakes up and I’m not around.”, you say, in a voice rasped like you have been grieving, “And Thundercracker, bless his spark, recharges like he’s been bashed over the helm with a full warship. He may not wake up if Skywarp trills. Sky has always been soft voiced in the mornings..”

You look up to the mech who spoke to you, a medic? You don’t remember calling one. You supposed it was Thundercracker… You look over to him and notice your servos bandaged; the welds and patches look fresh, and you frown. You don’t remember doing that.

You hope Skywarp hadn’t witnessed it, your temper distressed him so…

“Sir, come along, its… its time to go.”

“But I have explained, I cannot. If my trinemates awaken and I am gone, they will worry.”, you say adamantly, “I cannot let that happen. Besides, I… I have many things I need to tell them. Things they need to hear.”

You hear the medic sending out a comm, murmuring things softly.

“I know, I know…. Yes I understand but… No, I can’t seem to pull him out of it… Well, its traumatizing, two thirds of the trine at once after all; I was told he was sedated after trashing… Of course, I’ll meet you in the hall.”

You narrow your optics at the meddlesome medic. Once he vanishes out the door, you go back to stroking helms, patting wings, taking cold servos in your own warmer and bandaged ones and trying to chase the chill from them. You frown at how chilly your trinemates are; they shouldn’t be this cold. You’ll have to tell the medic to kick up the heat in the room; warm the medberths up.

Seekers need heat, after all. It’s why trines curl up in little nests as they do.

“It will be hard to recharge, knowing you two are here. On my wings, after this I’ll be sure to stay home as much as I can…”, you murmur, pressing Skywarp’s smaller servos against your lips. You don’t notice there’s energon left behind.

You look up, and there’s another medical officer. You frown at his melancholy expression.

“Warm the room.”

“Sir?”

“The room is far too chilly, my trinemates might end up shivering right off their berths.”, you explain patiently.

He looks at you with something in his optics. Some mixture of shock and pity. You don’t like it. The feeling that a nightmare hides around the corner increases and you don’t know why. There’s something here you aren’t getting… Something important.

You rub the crook of your arm, glancing down at the tiny patch; like the cover for an exposed IV port.

Your frown increases and you look up at the now gently smiling medic

“Of course your highness. We’ll warm the room right up… But, for now, you need rest. It has been a long day, and there is recovery that needs to be done. You can’t very well do that sitting up in here, can you?”

Your processor fuzzes as you ponder this, and then nod, “Excellent point… I suppose I’ll have to just comm Skywarp in the morning; anxious sleeper you know.”

“Of course your Highness. Come with me.”

You stand, and nearly topple forward before you are caught. Your legs wobble and the medic supports you and leads you out the doors… the doors…?

The thud of doors, the stench of death, energon up to their elbows. “We are sorry…” “We did all we could…” The scream of dual flatlines. A howl f pain, the wall cracking, servo joints snapping. A sting at the crook of an elbow; cloudy bliss.

You push the medic away and turn too fast. Your vision swims before locking onto the plate with the title of the room you just left.

“No… NononononoNO NONO NO!”

In dull glyphs, matte against stainless steel, it shows you the truth.

The truest name of purgatory, the den you left your trinemates in.

It reads in hollow glyphics: MORGUE.

#pastelwrites #tf #starscream #skywarp #thundercracker #death #medical sedation #listen this is painful and even i admit it was fucking cruel to write #fic repost

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fthisshiiimout · 5 years ago

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I was tagged by @lambourngb to list my top 10 favorite male characters. Everyone should read her list, btw because it made me very nostalgic! I’m listing these historically, starting with the oldest.

1. Spock- Im a huge trek fan and no one grabbed my attention more then Spock. The internal struggle he dealt with must have been exhausting emotionally. Not feeling fully human and not fully Vulcan. His friendships with Mccoy and Kirk was amazing to watch unfold. And in the end he had the most compassion and love of any human.

Fox Mulder- My very first "man crush". He encapsulates everything I ever wanted in a man. He was smart, sexy, nerdy, funny and tenacious in his beliefs. He followed every rabbit hole he found to its end. He was also compassionate and caring as well. Literally the whole package!

Neo - God I was addicted to this trilogy of movies and watching the progression of this character. Going from shy unsure geek to BAMF who saved the world was awesome. I remember when it came out on PPV back in the day I watched it for 24 hrs straight!

John Keating - Dead Poets Society- This movie was def my fav growing up. The ensemble cast is amazing. Im focusing on the teacher because I loved how he encouraged free thinking and breathing deep into the fountain of life. He was unapologetic and stood up for what he believed.

Hank Hill- Yes chessy as it is. I loved this character and this show. I can't really explain it. But at 41 this character and show just reminds me of a simpler time of true family and good ( albeit weird) friends.

Freddy Mercury- A character in the truest sense of the word created by a shy boy from Zanzibar named Farouck Bulsara. His show was life itself! He was unapologetic! He took the world by storm and never looked back! With raw talent and determination he changed the way music is created today. On stage he was a hundred character rolled into a powerhouse of genius!

Oskar Shindler- Growing up I was truly enamored with history and WWII more specifically. I wanted desperately to understand the mindset of a culture that would make it "ok" to eradicate a whole culture of people. Then I went and saw this movie and this character's dedication and lengths he went to save " his Jews". He went up against the most feared regime of his time and won through sheer perseverance. WoW!

Jamie Lannister - Loved this character for 7 and a half years. Still think D&D dropped the ball in the last season of character development. Loved watching him go from "playing" knight to coming into his own and being one.

Levi Schmidt- Loving his character development in Grey's Anatomy. Going from bumbling intern to confident doctor. Loving the dynamic him and Nico have. Cant wait to see more!

Alex Manes- My newest obession! I always make a connection with the awkward underdog and Alex fits it to a tee. I also made an instant connection to his backstory. The feeling of being unloved and unwanted. Feeling I destroy everything good in my life and living in real fear for many years. While I for the most part I am on the other side of this development i still struggle and seeing it portrayed by the best actor on this show Im truly invested to see how it plays out. I will say currently I am disappointed. I feel the showrunner and writers have utterly failed this character. But it is only one season in so I am still cautiously hopeful. I will stick around for as much of season 2 as I can stomach. If it goes South I will just put it in the bin of disappointed male characters and find another show to watch. Just being truthful. After 8 yrs investment of GOT and the shitshow of the last season Ive learned my lesson.

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understandingthevoices · 7 years ago

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its honestly amazing how okay people are with taking so much shit and being dealt so many blows when they dont love themselves and have no self worth ....... but like hey dont mind me here making truthful generalizations based on hard evidence

the truest thing ive ever read has been “you teach people how to treat you” and “you accept the treatment you think you deserve” which is based on your perception of yourself and yeah it sucks everyone cant be nice and godly but wutevs thats lyfe

so when you grow and start loving yourself ya gotta take the toxic (insecure/abusive/manipulative/selfish) people out of your life cuz otherwise they’ll just latch on and exploit you for as long as you’ll let em cuz why not? they’re getting their needs met so they see no reason to change or do things differently

i dont think theyre bad people they’ve just had a rough past and developed unhealthy coping mechanisms and dismissive/avoidant attachment styles as a result and dont wanna work those very real issues out (which sounds like baloney until you read the literature on attachment styles and romantic relationships lmao)

so they look for weak targets because welll.... theyre easy to feed off if anything, i would argue in a sense theyre good - or at least necessary- cuz they teach you how to be strong - in general and strong enough to tell them you wont stand for their shitty behavior anymore just dont get caught in the trap of tryna fix em or get them to see the light and join you on your journey of self growth cuz thats not your job and they’ll drain you in the process realize they’ve got issues but just let them be, wish them the best, and go on your merry way cuz odds are theyre gonna be stuck in their old destructive patterns for a loooong time (maybe forever) - which they wont even take responsibility for !! or seek help for ! and aint nobody got time for that not even the next unlucky poor sap/victim (except they dont know it yet) its sad... but it’s life. their life. not yours.

soo when you’re ready, be good to others and when you grow even more, be good to yourself thats the goal for 2018

i already dont tolerate most shit, which anyone who knows me picks up on so im not starting from square 1 but there were a few aspects in my life i know i was lying to myself about because it was comfortable and familiar but no more its gotta go its time to cut out anything and everything that brings me down or doesnt treat me the way i need/deserve to be and if that means im alone?? so be it better to feel lonely than be disrespected and compromise on your values anddd lessbereal sometimes you end up feeling lonely when youre with someone toxic/avoidant anyway

plussss then it leaves room for non-toxic people to enter your life which was the whole goal anywayys >>and thats the real lesson: you gotta get to the point where people who dont treat you the way you deserve or who try to make you feel less than are repulsive and disgusting- and completely unattractive as human beings or potential romantic partners, regardless of how you felt about them in the past

cuz remember “the best predictor of future behavior is past behavior” if theres one thing ive learned from suits, it’s that lolol idk man this journey of personal growth is hard but its litttt cuz its like psych in action the hard part is you arent gonna reap the rewards til much later ugh

ooops i didnt mean to type this much oh wells hopefully this didnt come off as holier than thou cuz that wasnt my intention im just tryna live and let live and make sense of the world

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deep-thoughts-and-stuff · 7 years ago

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WHAT THEN SHALL WE DO

How to collectively become God

A zenarchist manifesto

What if human society as we know it were a person?

Assumptions: based on my personal relentless search for truth and meaning in the world

A. As above, so below. As within, so without.

B. The Tao is the way of nature. Nature is organized chaos. It exerts no effort, yet through it everything is done. Things opposed to the Tao tend to fail, die, and be miserable.

C. Karma (cause and effect) (see A).

A decentralized yet interconnected and interdependent group of neurons firing randomly can be viewed as a single personality (If you’re reading this in the third dimension you are probably under the assumption that you are one).

Most human personalities are deluded to some level. The most common delusion is the idea that the voice inside one's head is the entire personality. We not only hear a voice in our head constantly, that we cannot control or shut off, but we identify entirely with it. We identify with our insanity. The inner voice is tyrannical, controlling, paralyzing, and according to the enlightened, entirely unnecessary. This view of the inner voice is not in line with the Tao. (B)

Mindfulness, or paying attention objectively, helps one to realize fairly quickly that the voice inside one's head is not the same as the personality as a whole. It also helps streamline a personality's values and goals with their actions and increases life satisfaction. This streamlining is in line with the Tao. (B)

A human personality can bring itself to the depths of hell: self hatred, self destruction, anger, fear, shame, alienation, suicide and harm to itself and others. At the other end of the spectrum, a personality can self actualize, even reaching states of pure bliss, tranquility, and equanimity, and compassion known as enlightenment. Enlightenment is achieved through mindfulness. Hell is achieved through mindlessness. (C)

Psychedelic drugs are proven to connect parts of the brain that are not usually connected. Neurons fire with neurons in different parts of the brain that usually do not fire together.

a) Psychedelic drugs accelerate karma (cause and effect). This means the effects of every thought are magnified by orders of magnitude. Negative thoughts and atmosphere create feedback loops that develop quickly into hellish trips. Trips to hell can be extremely value to learn from if you face them head on, or they can break you if you don’t. Positive thoughts and atmosphere create feedback loops that develop quickly into healing experiences, freedom, understanding, bliss, tranquility, and even moments of enlightenment. They can even trigger spiritual awakening.

b) Psychedelic drugs catalyze neuroplasticity and neurogenesis. They can catalyze lasting personality changes with nearly unrivaled efficiency. For good or bad. The accelerated karmic effects last orders of magnitude longer than the experience.

I. A decentralized yet interconnected and interdependent group of humans can be viewed as a meta-personality. This can be applied to any organized subgroup of society including religions, political ideologies, economic systems, fandoms, subreddits, and society as a whole. (1,A) Side note: what is a god but a meta personality?

II. Society as a whole, when viewed as a single personality, is having a psychotic break. It is a danger to itself and others. It is experiencing conflicting desires and emotions at the same time (Multiple personalities). These desires and emotions are fighting, often to the death. It is allocating so much blood to its head that aneurisms are flooding the skull, while the rest of the body shrivels up for lack. It is constantly self harming and self sabotaging. It is consciously (at least somewhat consciously although not very) murdering the personalities of other species on planet earth. We are in the middle of a mass extinction. Luckily, worst case scenario, it appears it will kill itself off before it can destroy the personality of life on earth (Gaia if you will) as long as it continues on its current trajectory. If there was a suicide hotline for societies, this one should be on the phone. If there was a jail for societies, this one should be locked up to keep it from endangering others (by the way I'm not advocating punishment as a deterrent here).

a. Gaia is ill. When a human personality gets ill, a fever arises naturally to kill off the disease. (A). I think I was just spontaneously converted to a believer in synchronicity upon completing that sentence.

III. Technology (especially information technology) has connected neurons of the meta brain with neurons that do not usually fire together. The entire world is more interconnected than ever before. The combination of capitalism and technology is a positive feedback loop unlike anything we’ve seen before. Society is currently tripping balls on technology. while chain smoking DMcapitalismT. (5,A). And it's a bad trip.

a. Technology accelerates karma (cause and effect) (A, 5a, common sense). The effects of every meta thought (action) are magnified by orders of magnitude. Negative meta thoughts (YOUR AND MY ACTIONS) and atmosphere create feedback loops that develop quickly into hellish trips. Trips to hell can be extremely value to learn from if society faces them head on, or they can break society if it doesn’t. Positive thoughts (YOUR AND MY ACTIONS) and atmosphere create feedback loops that develop quickly into healing experiences and even moments of societal enlightenment. They can even trigger awakening…

b. Technology catalyzes societal neuroplasticity and neurogenesis. (A, 5b). This is evident in a society changing faster than ever. Technology, especially information technology, can catalyze lasting meta personality changes with nearly unrivaled efficiency (see the respective effects of language, written language, the sea ship, the printing press, the telegram, radio, the airplane, TV, and the internet. Notice the spacing over time). For good or bad. We can already see that the accelerated karmic effects will last orders of magnitude longer than the experience.

IV. Perhaps society's biggest delusions is Hume's paradox: The power of government is derived from the consent/belief of the people, which is their ongoing decision not to overthrow it, but the people are convinced that the ruling class holds power over them. (Hume emphasizes force, but all that is required for a government to lose all power is for everyone collectively to stop believing that it has power. Force is not necessary to overthrow a government). This paradox is not in line with the Tao, or even, well common sense. (2A, B) Now go back and read (2) and (A). If this does not make you go “Aha!” out loud, read IV, 2, and A again. I sure as hell did.

V. If mindfulness can increase the wellbeing of human personalities, the same principles will work on a meta personality (A). If mindfulness effortlessly eradicates the identification of the self with the inner voice (as it did for me the very first time I meditated), then meta-mindfulness is the solution to Hume's paradox. (I'll stop typing "A" so much as it gets redundant). As mindfulness streamlines consciousness, meta mindfulness flattens heirarchy and fertilizes Tao: Organized chaos.

VI. Meta mindfulness in action: exercises.

a. Find out if polling on public opinion matches up to public policy. (hint: the loudest voices are in charge of the polls. Many polls you see will be on issues that are important to the loud voices but not to society as a whole. many polls are prominent simply because they draw an emotional response or because they are divisive. Eyes on the big picture. HINT HINT: Start with things that are closest to unanimous agreement. HINT!!!!!!: start with public opinion on getting money out of politics). Let me know if this does not eradicate any belief you had in functioning democracy. Or a society that has streamlined its goals and values with its actions. Maybe I'll make a post with more details and sources for this.

b. Find out if society’s goals are the same as what society has determined creates happiness. Look at scientific studies of what actually makes people happy. Picture yourself asking society what it's goals are. See if the two are the same.

c. What does meta mindfulness look like to you?

VII. If mindfulness can bring a human to enlightenment, meta mindfulness can bring a meta human to enlightenment. (4,A) What is enlightenment? Enlightenment is realizing one’s truest nature. Buddha said realizing one’s truest nature results in pure bliss, equanimity, and compassion for all beings. The kingdom of heaven is within.

a. What does science say about our truest nature? Our deepest desire is evolution’s deepest desire. Evolution’s deepest desire is to recreate itself. It is procreation. It is sex. It is romantic love. It is return to wholeness through unity with the opposite pole. Do you notice this within yourself? It is the libido, life energy, will to power, whatever you want to call it. It is the survival and wellbeing of one’s species and the interdependent web of species as a whole. This is compassion for all beings. This is the heart of evolutionary psychology. The glitch is that we do not experience this. Enlightenment is fixing the glitch.

VIII. People talk about singularity as if technology will bring it about. As if it is not already the nature of things. What is the meta personality of society but the singularity in the present? We collectively are the super A(b)I: artificial-biological Intelligence. A hyper intelligent schizophrenic cyborg.

IX. What does meta mindfulness look like? Hands of my opinion! Have you thought for yourself?

a. Technology is neither good nor bad, technology is a mirror for society. Only the mirror is shattered. How many years of bad luck is that again? To me, meta mindfulness looks like fixing the mirror. This is realizing (A).

b. To me, meta mindfulness looks like a streamlined brain. Organized chaos creating effortless mindful action. This is the way the brain works. The brain is the most complicated thing in existence, and it is barely understood. In fact when we study the brain what is happening is the brain is studying itself. Meta mindfulness is meta neuroscience. The brain is run without a throne or ruling class. It is run by nature, by organized chaos. But most are not aware of this. As far as technology has come we are nowhere near the brain. Yet we consider ourselves above nature in some made up hierarchy (they’re all made up; they don’t exist in nature unless you believe in them. Reality is what’s left when you stop believing in it). But this intellect comes from non-hierarchy. Meta mindfulness is aligning society’s brain with Tao. (B)

c. To me, meta mindfulness looks like fixing capitalism. Capitalism, at least in its purest form organically and effortlessly produces “value.” It has Tao characteristics, but it is mindless in its current state. What we’re looking for is something that organically and effortlessly produces happiness, or rather satisfaction.

d. To me, meta mindfulness looks something like reddit. A constant organic polling of the population on all issues. Reddit is a beautifully organized brain. Subjects are compartmentalized into subreddits. "Thoughts" arise in subreddits, and are evaluated by the community.

1. Now, picture an open source online constitution with a Reddit-like framework. It's a fluid constitution, constantly creating a new reality, perceiving it, and adapting to it. (This is what consciousness is. This, I believe would give it sentience). It would use blockchain voting so that any person can audit the vote if they want to, and everyone's privacy is protected. It would also be run collectively by the community using it. Each person would be a shareholder with an equal share and an equal vote.

2. How society overthrows rule by the voice inside its head, or how to get (V) to happen: Consider the Thomas Theorem: “If men define situations as real, they are real in their consequences.” (Basically, A+C). People define power structures as valid because they are either productive or necessary. With mindfulness of the fact that power structures as they exist are counterproductive, tyrannical, controlling, paralyzing and unnecessary, any belief in their validity is effortlessly eradicated. This is how everyone collectively stops believing in a government, currency, economic system, etc at the same time. This is how you overthrow a government and ruling class without violence.

1. By the way, I think nature rewards integrity. A community with good intentions founded on violent revolution will only result in violence. (see USSR, USA, every nation-state ever). A wise man once said, “Those who live by the sword die by the sword.” (C ). This is how we achieve world peace.

3. Reddit allows the community not only to vote on issues, but to choose which issues to vote on. More than that it allows the community to prioritize issues by order of importance. Now, if Reddit were owned and managed collectively by the community using it, the community would control all of this along with the very framework the democracy rests on. This is how the online open source fluid constitution would work. This is how you put (realize that) power (already is) in the hands of the people. At this point you probably have an objection like, "but not everyone wants to vote on every issue" or, "some people just don't care" or, "some things in a constitution shouldn't be constantly up for change enough to vote" or my personal objection, “reddit’s voting system just leads to circle jerks and hides any sort of constructive criticism.” (If your objection is “some people are too dumb to vote,” then look out: you may be part of the ruling class that will be overthrown. Be mindful that you only want to replace the loudest voice in society’s head with your own). Now, imagine yourself posting your problem on the problems subconstitution and discussing until a solution is agreed upon. The system handles any problem you present it, organically, and effortlessly. This is recursive democracy. This is meta democracy. This is streamlining a consciousness. This is fixing the mirror. This is the singularity realizing itself. This is societal awakening. This is how we become (realize that we are) GOD.

What are you still looking at me for? Meta mindfulness is mindfulness squared. I’ll be the mindfulness; you be the squared. The best zenarchist manifesto is the one you write.

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