#what kind of wisdom have i bestowed upon the world

[teaboot]

O' great teaboot, what is the meaning of gender?

Please bestow this wisdom upon us.

From "AM I A DEMIGIRL PEOPLE ARE MAKING ME QUESTION IT SEND HELP PLEASE" anon

It is very simple actually. Boy and Girl are traditionally conceived to be larval forms of Man and Woman. Man and Woman are polar ends of a concept, which is to say they are real except in that they aren’t quantifiable, like money and love and the trade value of a beanie baby. So they’re kind of not real at all, except in that we think about them a lot, and that makes them very important for reasons.

In-between but also encompassing Man and Woman are two or so spaces, like a circle with four points and four sides, like a square circle, which is a sliding scale and also completely round. And on the corners of this circle are things like “Both” and “Neither”.

The “Neither” one is a bit of a catch-all though if I’m honest, because having one-quarter of our circle say “none of the above” is sort of like saying that everything in the universe is one of two things- artificial shrimp-flavoured potato crisps or something else. And that’s cheating, but it’s also easy and fun and good for you., so not exactly “cheating” but more like taking candy-flavoured vitamins in reasonable quantities.

Now the “meaning” of “gender” has to do with all of this, but also very little of this because things that we invented and imagine but cannot touch or hold tend to make us very anxious and uptight, largely I think because we cannot sell them and they are confusing, and if something is confusing then most people I figure would rather either not think about it at all or find a use for it that we can trade for things we CAN touch and hold, like peanuts and other allergens.

Which is to say, gender has about as much meaning and use and purpose as it possibly can to you personally as a mysterious briefcase that washes up behind you on a desert island after a horrible accident, assuming you haven’t opened it yet and aren’t sure if it’s going to contain a radio, flares, a chisel, iodine, and a first aid kit, or maybe just spare pajamas or a second, smaller briefcase.

No matter how meaningful that briefcase is to you, however, even if it is all the meaning and use and value you ever needed to survive on your little island, it isn’t incredibly likely to make much a difference to, say, the population of Holland. Which I suspect is usually part of the reason fellows at large prefer not to think about it.

To summarize: gender identity has no value. an abandoned sack of inappropriately disposed 40 year old Taco Bell coupons found by the side of the highway also has no value. Assuming, of course, that you have a very narrow concept of “value” that is limited solely to the efficiency of the American dollar in the trade purchase of delicious inauthentic Tex Mex fast food provided exclusively by Taco Bell at Taco Bell locations. If you are on your way to a trade deal with a Taco Bell museum, however, or freezing to death in woods, that crumpled up bag of trash suddenly becomes a world of possible and potential meanings, doesn’t it

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Femboy Tenant x Landlord Reader (2)

Part 1

“This is your new life, my little landlord, now let me tell you about my rules!”

The sad thing about this situation is the betrayal for you

You’ve heard stories about squatters or terrible tenants that didn’t want to leave

But you were never aware you needed to worry about being abducted

And by this tenant no less

From your many other tenants who were bodybuilders, gang members, drug dealers

It was this one

The pretty femboy who was always late on rent

“What’s with that indignant look on your face? Mad you didn’t guess? That’s okay no one suspects just how much talent is behind my gorgeous face.”

You don’t know if you’d call a dedicated fanbase excuse me a cult a talent

Now in some foreign luxurious place, the only people surrounding you are Sora and the dedicated followers who have been commanded to keep you here

“Sora-sama is bestowing a gift upon you! Be grateful!”

“Sora-sama did say you would say these concerning things…but he was right your illness is severe.”

“No worries Sora-sama has taught us how to give your medication no worries! Now stand still!”

The medication you’re given ranges from alcohol, paralyzing serums, or aphrodisiacs depending on your behavior

Sora is very careful about where he’s affectionate with you 

He knows very well which of his loyal little followers will not mind, the ones that may even begin to worship you 

But he knows there are dangerous ones 

Jealous ones that are perfect for when he demands they commit certain crimes or ultimately sacrifices–when he gets to that point

It takes a while to go that deep

But a near attack from a jealous follower is enough to trigger it

Before this, he’d vaguely recall how he first cried to his followers about an especially creepy fan and hearing from police how little of their remains could identified 

Or how one of the fans got a little too forward making him actively cringe in front of his followers

That fan was never heard of or seen again

At the time his guilt was small but present

He didn’t kill those people…his fans did…besides they were the ones overstepping

It’s not that bad…right

But when you’re on the line that guilt dissipates

The tears he sheds when he caresses the bandage on your arm

Are ones of anger

He’s perfect, beautiful, kind, full of wisdom

So why was his love being tampered with 

The world should and would be at his feet

With you–safely–at his side

But he can’t do this without you being in danger

So he’ll let his tears show to the most loyal, the most violent, the most dutiful

“They hurt me by hurting my (Y/n)! Do you like this?”

“NO!” 

“Will you not protect me? Protect us?”

“Of course! “Will you kill for us?”

“YES!”

“Good. We’ll be waiting to see the results of your hunt. My beautiful little followers!”

“YES!”

It kind of takes him back when you do try to add some input

Not too long ago he remembers pleading with you about rent

Now it’s you pleading with him not to execute the unlucky group that tried to take your place

But just like you did with him he’s going to cruelly deny you 

Well maybe he can be persuaded if you let him participate in an activity you’ve forbidden of him

“I might be willing to let them off with a loss of one limb if you let me do that one thing!”

“....”

“Come on! Aren’t you a benevolent compassionate partner to their king? Won’t you convince me not to punish them with my wrath?”

“Okay but only one time!”

“Yay! Wait for me to get my lingerie!”

He flips often between being at your whim to controlling every aspect of your life

But he has you for an example

Back then you were the landlord who caught his heart and kept him in line

So isn’t it just perfect that he do the same

[sagesskies]

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴅᴇɪᴛʏ

✒ ᴄᴜᴘɪᴅ ᴍɪꜱꜱᴇᴅ ʜɪꜱ ꜱʜᴏᴛ

ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇꜱ: ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ ʙᴇʜᴀᴠɪᴏʀ, ꜱᴛᴀʟᴋɪɴɢ (ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴀ ꜱᴄʀʏɪɴɢ ʙᴏᴡʟ), ᴍᴀᴊᴏʀ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ᴜʜ. ʀᴀᴄɪꜱᴍ (ᴛʜɪꜱ ɢᴏᴅ ʟᴏᴏᴋꜱ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴏɴ ᴍᴏʀᴛᴀʟꜱ!), ᴇxᴘʟɪᴄɪᴛ ɢᴏʀᴇ, ᴍᴜʀᴅᴇʀ, ʀᴇʟɪɢɪᴏɴ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴡᴀʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ᴇxᴘʟɪᴄɪᴛ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, Qʜᴇᴛᴏʜʀ ᴊᴜᴍᴘꜱᴄᴀʀᴇ, [ɴᴀᴍᴇ] ɪꜱ ᴀ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ꜱᴀᴄʀɪꜰɪᴄᴇ, ᴛᴇʟʟ ᴍᴇ ɪꜰ ɪ ᴍɪꜱꜱᴇᴅ ᴀɴʏ!

Yandere Love Deity whose temple you grew up in; Intricate paintings and marble sculptures depicting their ethereal figure surrounding you as the years pass and you go from being one of the children raised within the temple’s immaculate halls, to the most devoted priest serving Luvarin. 

You firmly believe that love goes beyond just romance, the love between two partners in union, but extends to a love that matters just as much; the love between family, between friends, or even the simple love for your neighbour. It shows in how you preach, emphasising the importance of that connection and teaching the children that just as they should pursue the kind of love depicted in the sacred partnerships of the Gods, they should search for the love between two great friends, like that of the Merciful One and his sibling Qhetohr. 

Yandere Love Deity who hears your name in only a few months after your induction into priesthood. But really, they took notice of your presence before that. It was hard not to. Not when your offerings were always of the highest quality: Intricate carvings of sparrows, wines brewed with the strawberries grown in the temple, and not to mention the hymns you sang and wrote for them which were always a delight to listen to. 

But what really drew them to your offerings was not merely the quality, no, no, they had no shortage of extravagant offerings from their wealthy followers. It was the fact that you had taken the time to create them yourself. Now, handcrafted gifts weren’t uncommon either, but really it was the dedication. To truly devote yourself to creating such impeccable displays of faith… why, it was enough to make their heart flutter. And that was no small feat. Luvarin decides that it’s high time that they reward you. 

It’s small at first. Little things that build progressively till you realise that life has been treating you suspiciously too well recently. Your recently published text debating the moral lesson one should take from the fall of the house of Arus has taken off to unforeseen heights. You’ve been promoted in the temple. You managed to avoid getting hit by a vase dropped right on top of you, unintentionally of course, because it somehow, miraculously, got blown away by the wind. 

Yandere Love Deity, who is of course, the one responsible for it all. It’s almost like you know that, because your prayers become more intimate and personal. Truly grateful for everything Luvarin is doing for you– Well you don’t exactly address it to Luvarin, you’re praying to the Gods in general, but still. They’re the reason why you’re so lucky in the first place, and hearing you passionately thanking them so genuinely, is enough to have them giggle and kick their feet with absolute delight. 

‘O Children of Kases, hear my call, I offer you my deepest gratitude, for the countless blessings you bestow upon my path, For the love that surrounds me, both seen and unseen, for the beauty of the world and the kindness of hearts.

Thank you for the lessons, both gentle and harsh, that shape me, mold me, and help me grow. For the strength to overcome challenges, And the wisdom to see the truth within. 

In the quiet whisper of the leaves, In the gentle glow of the moon, I feel your essence, ever near, Guiding me, loving me, holding me….’

Laying in the fluffy, warm, and comfortable surface of their bed, Luvarin sighs. Truly, they were amazing. They’re aware that your prayer is not just for them, but for all their siblings as well, but sheesh, who were they kidding? Of course, this prayer was meant for them! Who else has been aiding you so much? Giving you such powerful blessings and bountiful gifts, their merciful brother had competition!

Luvarin sits up, and summons their scrying bowl. It was a new one that they haven’t used yet, it was a gift from you, one of your beautiful wood carvings. 

They don’t usually like using wood in their equipment, it was for commoner mortals. But this bowl was of a perfect shape, the width was of their exact preference, it wasn’t flimsy and easily scratched or damaged, and it was designed with carved drawings of myths that centred around Luvarin themself. 

Seriously, how lucky could they be, to have a follower as devoted and as considerate with his offerings as you are. Compared to the rough and unpolished quality of the mere commoners and the superficial and needlessly gaudy level the nobles reached, yours were a breath of fresh air in how much care was placed into them. 

Thinking about it is enough for Luvarin's already present smile to widen further.

Luvarin waves their hand in a delicate flourish, and the bowl fills itself with a clear, mystical water, the surface shimmering with images of the activity below the heavens. They press one tawny finger, and it pauses. 

Their brow furrows in concentration, Luvarin purses their lip, and close their eyes as they search for your presence. 

“Aha!” There you are darling.

Luvarin's eyes open, gleaming purple, and they clap their hands with delight as the water morphs to show them the familiar sight of your room in the temple. The bed on the right, blanket strewn haphazardly on the soft mattress. Your desk is on the left covered in the drafts for your latest text. Then there's you, on your knees in front of the window, hands held in prayerful position, head bowed submissively and your eyes closed in concentration. The moonlight pouring in and shining down on you.

Despite being one of Kases’ powerful children, a literal god, Luvarin was a mere afterthought to the mortals. Unlike mighty Uren, or their fearsome twin Qhetohr, why should one concern themself with the deity of Love for anything more than matters of romance? They were a joke in the Heavens, mortals literally painted them as a cherub with a pathetically small bow and a heart tipped arrow. 

Not to mention that a lot of their priests were nothing better than scammers who tricked desperate and lonely people and naive mortals who believed that serving in Luvarin's temple could give them luck in their love life. 

But, then there was you. [Name]. Sweet, genuine [Name]. 

Luvarin traces their finger around your face, enjoying each and every detail. Sometimes, when they watch you, from the scrying bowl or in the form of a sparrow, they have the desire to just reach out and touch you. To truly feel the warmth that you radiated. To know that you're real, and not just something that their mind has come up with. 

A wisp blows in. Luvarin clicks their tongue, less than pleased about the interruption. They snatch it out of the air, it wiggles and tries to escape from their grasp, but eventually it tires. 

“Speak,” Luvarin drawls, tapping on their leg impatiently. 

Wisps, little creatures born from the mist of the Jaurdenia River and used by Luvarin and their siblings as messengers. Round, bouncy, balls of wind that glowed far too brightly for Luvarin's keen eyes. They were cute and Luvarin loved to throw them around their palace and watch them zip and crash into the walls, but right now it was [Name] time, and [Name] time was as sacred to them as the annual Luvercalia ritual. 

The wisp squirms a bit, their golden centre glowing darker in concentration, before relaxing as the honey-like smoke pours out of it. The whispers of their merciful brother carried by the fumes, “Luvarin, please do know that I will be visiting you soon to discuss some matters.” 

Luvarin groans, frustration rolling off of them in waves. They loved their merciful brother. Really who didn't? But they'd much rather get back to watching you from the scrying bowl and listening to you sing their praises. 

However deep down Luvarin knows that if they were to not show up, then he would worry and tell Qhetohr to check on them, and then Qhetohr would find about you and then– 

To the deepest pits of Demorta, why are they dreading the mere idea of Qhetohr discovering you? Their beautiful, precious, fragile mortal. Oh, it's precisely because of that. You're mortal, you're fragile, and Qhetohr would delight in absolutely tearing you to shreds if they found out you're the reason why Luvarin stood up their merciful brother. 

Luvarin gnashed their teeth, their hand squeezed the wisp so tightly in their stress, they're snapped out of their furious thoughts by a sharp pop and the cool mist that seeps through their closed fist; the remains of the unfortunate wisp. 

Fine. Fine! If that is what must be done to keep you a secret, safe from Qhetohr’s blade. Then they'll do it. 

Luvarin waves away the scrying bowl, and with a flourish of their hand, a regal purple chlamys settles over their shoulders and they rub at the cool, golden brooch holding it in place. 

Their steps echo through the lavish, empty halls of their palace. A bird flies through the nearby garden, sunlight seeping in through the gaps between the chiselled pillar, and the smell of rain-soaked leaves pervades the air. Last night they forgot to renew the barriers that prevented the rain from getting in. Usually they would just flick their wrist to get the job done, but they were watching you work away at your latest text on Uren's Rebellion. 

Luvarin halts as a realisation dawns on them. When did they start to care for you? If they paused and took a look at the situation, it was strange. It shouldn’t even be possible. 

Them, a Love God. Twin to Destruction and Insanity themself. One of Kases’ powerful children. A literal living legend, responsible for the Fall of the House of Arus. And here they are, pouring their time and attention into a simple priest, their very own servant, and practically mooning over him instead of doing literally anything else. 

Before they can ponder further on this topic, a familiar figure enters their view. He waves, and flashes them a smile that Qhetohr would kill to keep for themself. Luvarin beams, pretty portrait perfect smile reserved for greeting guests and people they would rather not deal with at the current moment. 

They’ll deal with you later. They have all the time in the world, after all. 

Yandere Love Deity who starts to fall in love with you. They would like to say that it’s a slow and gradual process. But honestly, it’s not. It’s humiliating how quickly it all happens. One day they’re watching you writing your newest text, one moment you’re pondering your next sentence, then your eyes light up with a brilliant idea and Luvarin can’t help but genuinely smile, because they’re happy for you, for your breakthrough, because it’s something that you wanted, and what you want they want you to get and when that thought pops into their head that’s when they realise what the burning flame in their heart actually is. 

Yandere Love Deity who has had mortal lovers. They were all the same; Bold, filthy little creatures full of hubris that thought they could surpass the children of Kases. Luvarin’s infatuation with them never lasted long, they weren't meant to. They were all only mortal after all. And they completely expect the same to be true with you. Yes, they know what they’re feeling is love, but really what is the difference between loving something and desiring it?

So they descend to earth in human form, ready to charm you, have a bit of fun, and then leave like it’s nothing. It should be easy, right? 

Yandere Love Deity who disguises themself as a wandering traveller, settling into the town for a short while. After all, Luvercalia is coming soon, what traveler wouldn't want to take this opportunity to partake in the festival right in the town that Luvarin had once used as their base of operations during the rebellion? Mortals were weird, but they get it. To witness the sacred ritual dedicated to Luvarin take place on the very soil their holy blood was once spilled on, any god worshipping mortal worth their salt would not hesitate to take this opportunity. They are simply as one would say, blending in with the locals. 

Yandere Love Deity whose first meeting with you is not like what they imagined at first. They imagined that they'd charm you first, then they would sweep you off of your feet and seduce you into breaking your vow of chastity, pardon you from whatever punishment they dished out nowadays and then leave. 

Yandere Love Deity who barely even  gets to say since you're running through the town, making preparations for the upcoming Luvercalia festival and the ritual. Instead of a proper introduction where the two of you exchange pleasantries and get to know each other, all you get to say is: “Ah, hello traveler. Please, make yourself welcome here.” Before being pulled away to select a sparrow to sacrifice for the ritual.

But then they manage to catch you in your downtime, and you look at them for a moment as if you're trying to figure out where you've seen them before, and then you snap your fingers and you smile, your eyes creasing and wrinkling a bit at the edges and you apologize for not getting to introduce yourself properly earlier, but you remember them. You remember them even if they were probably nothing more than just one nameless face in your hectic day, and that… for some reason the mere fact that they were still important enough for you to remember amidst everything else that was going on, it just… 

Yandere Love Deity who isn’t prepared for how you make them feel. Holy.. the way you have their heart racing has them thinking you are the one who’s the god of love here, and they’re the one who should be worshipping you and singing your praises. Just seeing your smile has them weak in the knees. It shouldn’t be possible, you’re just some mortal destined to die out and fade away while they are a literal God, who has seen kingdoms and empires fall and rise in what to you is centuries, but to them is merely a small drop of water in the vast ocean of their existence. 

Yandere Love Deity, who still thinks that they can get out of this. Just like their destructive twin, they’re as stubborn as a mule. An immovable object that refuses to budge no matter how hard you push them. 

Yandere Love Deity who changes their mind so quickly it’s embarrassing. They try to distance themselves from you and pull themself out of whatever hold you have on them, but each and every attempt is foiled, not even on purpose, by you. You and your natural charms that has them caught, hook line and sinker. How can they not fall deeper in their love for you when you make it so easy to just descend deeper? 

Yandere Love Deity who continues to interact with you in mortal form. Slowly they become as much of a daily fixture in your life as you are in theirs, and they can't be more pleased about it. However their joy is short-lived when their greatest fear comes true; Qhetohr finds out. 

Cruel, wicked Qhetohr. Obsidian eyes curling with a malicious delight as they remind Luvarin that though beings such as them, deities, will continue to exist even when they will be forgotten and turn from reality to mere myth, that you will return to the dust and dirt that Uren used to mould your kind into shape.

Yandere Love Deity who comes to the realisation that a life without you is no life at all. And so they waste no time in ordering the clouds to part, for the sun to shine down right in front of you, and then descend down to you in their godly form, their entrance announced by pale rose petals gently floating down from the heavens.

Yandere Love Deity who does everything properly. They had a ring forged by Ularus, encrusted with small, absolutely dazzling rubies. They've wrapped it in a pure white cloth, with sparrows and roses embroidered into it. 

They get down on one knee and unveil the ring, and say those four famous words. 

“Will you marry me?”

Your eyes are wide and your mouth is gaping. Clearly you're shocked. They understand. You've just learned that sly, mischievous Erasmus is the very God you worship, serve, and mention in each prayer— and now they're proposing to you! It would be mind blowing for any mortal. 

But they let you calm down and process everything, they're patient like that, and they wait with bated breath and an eager grin for your response and the words that leave your lips are–

“I– Forgive me, Lord,” You take a shaky step back, your eyes dart around– People are staring– you purse your lips, “But I cannot accept your proposal. You're a god and I'm a mortal and it just– It won't work!”

“[Name], darling, please,” Luvarin laughs, clearly you're not thinking straight, still in shock they suppose, “In all the years that I have walked this earth, I have had many, and I am not joking when I say many, lovers. And many were just like you my love: Mortal. With crimson blood running through their veins and fragile bodies doomed to age.” 

They stand up and reach for your hand. You flinch and try to pull away, and even if their heart twinges, they soften their smile– Remember Luvarin, mortals are sensitive creatures. Be patient– and grip it tighter. 

You wince and they swear they can feel a phantom around their own hand in response.

Luvarin slips the ring on your finger. They wrap an arm around your waist, they ignore how you whimper and the fear in your eyes, and they bring you closer. 

“But you… darling, you are special. Compared to all those shallow creatures, your soul is vast, as wide as the earth, and the only one able to captivate me in the way that only you are uniquely capable of.”

“None of them can compare to you. Nobody can,” Luvarin can feel you shaking as they press a kiss to your temple, “And that is why I want– no need to marry you. I need you in my life [Name], and it's because you're mortal that we need to get married as soon as possible.”

You push them away, and this time they let you just so they can see the look on your face. 

Your brows are knit, and your lip is stiff. They've never seen this expression on you before. But they've seen it on Uren. On their merciful brother. On countless other gods and mortals through the ages. 

It was an expression that told Luvarin that they were about to hear something they didn't want to hear. 

Yandere Love Deity who thinks that you made an attempt to be gentle in your rejection, at least at first. But then it was their persistence that got to you. 

They saw glimpses of it in their time masquerading as a mortal. Your anger. It simmered underneath your skin and has been burning since you were young and pure. 

Their merciful brother told them, he knew you before when you barely reached their mortal form's waist, that you came from a pagan land. A land that was ransacked and pillaged and absorbed into Uren’s ruling. You came in, resentful and bitter with no desire to listen and obey to the people who killed your family. 

They know that you don't like the gods. Even now that you're a priest. But they thought that they were an exception, you got to know them as not a god after all, as Erasmus and not as Luvarin. 

Yandere Love Deity who is met with your frigid glare and… Gods, they can't bring themselves to remember the words you wielded like sharp blades. All they remember you telling them before they allow themselves to be swept away by the wind is that they should find another god to marry instead

Yandere Love Deity who weeps with such force that the skies turn grey, the oceans crash and churn, and the wind blows so violently it's nearly enough to have you whisked away from the earth's surface. It's enough to draw the attention of Qhetohr who cackles at the sight of Luvarin’s tear-stricken face. 

“I told you so!” Qhetohr’s obsidian eyes flash menacingly, “Mortals are fools. Arrogant, bumbling, fools. You could promise him the world and he would still turn up his nose at the thought of spending an eternity with you.” 

Luvarin clicks their tongue and avoids Qhetohr’s gaze, they wipe away their tears before facing their twin with a burning glare, its force lessened with the redness of their eyes, “Are you done?” 

Qhetohr snickers, they plop down on the kline beside Luvarin and hook an arm around their shoulders, ignoring their protests as they bring them closer, “Don’t be like that. After all,” Qhetohr smirks, “I’m here to help you.” 

Yandere Love Deity whose love for you turns bitter, it’s still there but it’s tinged with resentment, and Qhetohr only fans the flames higher till Luvarin doesn't think twice before saying yes to whatever Qhetohr has cooked up for you.

Yandere Love Deity who continues to watch you, watching as you experience misfortune. It starts with you injuring yourself more frequently. You struggle to think of what else to write in your latest text. The roses you've been growing in the temples wilt. If your public rejection of them wasn't enough already, this was enough to convince the town you're bad news. The temple's head priestess who once told you she understood why you refused Luvarin now glares at you coldly as she hands you your things and tells you you are no longer welcome within their walls.

Then it intensifies, your bad luck bleeding out into your surroundings. The food in the stores turn foul and rot. The animals start dying, flies surrounding their corpses and crows picking away at the meat. The village falls to unidentifiable sickness that the physicians and priests are not able to cure. It all comes to a head when the waters become infected and run black. 

Who else could be responsible other than the ex-priest who rejected his own god? 

They scream at you, they curse you out as your ‘brothers and sisters’ hold you down with flinty stares on top of the stone table. Your bare skin pressing on the cold surface. They stripped you down to your loincloth and doused you in the freezing waters of the Yulerine River all in preparation for this moment.  

One acolytes light the candles at the feet of the altar, and another one pours wine into a bowl and sets it in front of the statue of Luvarin behind you. A priestess lights the incense sticks and the air is filled with the scent of smoke tinged with roses.

The head priestess holds a hand up and closes it, the crowd goes quiet. You can see them, their purple eyes framed by their golden locks, royal and cold, narrowing with what you can only describe as a sadistic glee.

“We stand here today,” The head priestess bellows, “To witness the execution of a traitor to the temple, to our patron and god: Lord Luvarin.”

“Sister, please–”

“He has offended our Lord!” Her voice drowns out your pitiful voice, “And by his death, we shall rectify his foolish mistake. We shall offer his life as an offering to our Lord and beg for their forgiveness by giving them the man who has refused their love that which he does not deserve to have!”

You search the masses for somebody, anybody who can see past this farce and save you. But amidst the mass of people who you have grown up with, who you have helped, who you have supported through the hardest of times only to find aggression and rage that should not be directed at you. 

The head priestess starts to chant the prayers for ritual. The damn Luvercalia ritual. You want to laugh. You spent weeks planning everything meticulously down to the tiniest detail, and you don't even get to see the fruit of your labour because now instead of the sparrow you picked out from the town's aviary, the adorable little bird you've spent so much time grooming and preparing for this exact moment, you are now lying here, being rushed through the sacrifice preparations that should've been done over the course of two weeks. 

You want to laugh, and so you do because now that you're going to die you don't have to care about maintaining appearances. 

One of the acolytes holding you down, a teen boy with freckles and mousy hair named Kreo, glares at you, “Shut your mouth, swine.” 

You only laugh harder, because this little boy is trying to act tough when you've already seen him bawl his eyes out when he broke an ankle trying to save a cat from a tree. 

A balled up piece of cloth is shoved into your mouth and you choke on your own spit and gag as it touches the entrance of your throat.

Usually you love it when it rains, but when it starts to fall in slow drops, building up till eventually you're shivering from the rain, you want to cry because when you died, you at least wished for golden haired Ebris to grant you the mercy of letting the sun shine down on you in your final moments.

As the head priestess starts reciting the prayers, and the men and women who you grew up with in the temple anoint with you oils and salts for the sacrifice, you search for them in the sea of faces and you find them easily. Their lips spread into a devious grin, teeth shining from beneath their hood, and they mouth to you: This is your fault.

“This is your fault!” A grieving father screamed at you as he held his dying daughter. 

“This is your fault,” Your friend hissed at you from between her teeth when the cows on her family's farm began to drop like flies. 

“This is your fault,” The head priestess spoke with a measured tone when you were removed from the temple and your position as priest, “And that is why you are no longer welcome here.” 

The head priestess lifts her head from her prayer, and she spreads her arms wide, “Let the ritual begin!”

The people cheer as your eyes widen and you struggle against the hands holding you down. You try to find somebody with even a hint of pity in their face, but all you see is disgust and resentment.

Despite your struggle and the clear panic and fear in your eyes, an acolyte holds out a wooden box decorated with intricate carvings of flora and sparrows, too pretty to be holding the deadly sharp blade forged from Ofriedian metal that you had personally shined and sharpened to perfection. 

The head priestess plucks it out daintily, holding it with reverence. She weighs it in her hand, before gripping the hilt and pressing it against your bare skin. 

She leans down into your ear, you can barely hear her voice amidst the raucous noise of the eagerly awaiting villagers, “You have cursed us all with your actions,” Her breath that smells like citrus and ice fans against your sweaty face, “But today… today you can repent [Name]. What we are doing may seem wicked and cruel, but I assure you. This is for the greater good. By your death the village will be saved and our Lord Luvarin will forgive you.”

“You will thank me for this. You will thank us all.” 

The head priestess rises from where she bent down, and then she lifts the blade and presses it back down on the area of your upper abdomen, the cold blade digs into your skin, and the blood starts to seep out. 

At first as the knife pierces your skin, the pain is equivalent to an ant bite, if the ant's mandibles were aflame. Then she drags it across his skin like she's making one long stroke with a paintbrush, and a guttural scream is wrenched from your throat but is muffled by the gag and drowned out by the people's cheers.

–

Luvarin felt suffocated within the large mass of people, mortals. Sweaty, ailment stricken mortals burning with rage and righteous fury. Despite how sickening this was, they had to be here. 

They meet your gaze that is resentful and full of fear at the same time, and despite the tension between you two their heart flutters and their face breaks into a lovesick smile. Though it quickly morphs into a frown when you turn away. 

People keep jostling them and the mortal woman with grey streaks in her blonde hair is speaking, but the only thing that Luvarin cares about right now is you. 

You who have the kindest eyes they've ever seen. You who held them in your arms when on the nights they'd visit and pretend to be cold. You who despite your past continued to respect the gods and adhere to the strict rules that came with being a priest. 

Then they remember Qhetohr's words. And Luvarin remembers your other side.

Your other side. The you who looked at the ring, their genuine feelings, and listened to their heartfelt confession, who they allowed to see their vulnerabilities. The you who chose to turn your back to them just like he did all those years ago. 

Luvarin's hands clenched into fists, and their immaculate nails dug into their divine skin. They can hear you laughing from the altar, and that is enough to fan the flames of anger higher. Their skin breaks and golden ichor drips to the earth. 

Eventually your laughter is cut short when you are gagged, and somehow that only infuriates them even further. Emotions they can't understand are brewing inside of them, and it reflects in how the earth responds to them; the sky darkens, and the sound of distant thunder approaches. 

Rain starts to pour from the sky, and they can hear some of the mortals around them start murmuring about how Luvarin must be watching them. Yes, they're watching alright.

Luvarin flinches when you look at them again, they hope you don't notice. Looking at your eyes again, the fear seems to have only increased, and the anger is slowly being replaced by… regret. They smirk, and slowly it turns into a grin. 

Their lips move quicker than their brain, “Yes. This is your fault. Regret it. Regret it and wish that you had just come to me instead.”

They can see that as the rain runs down your face, so do tears. Tears that despite whatever they may want right now, they feel the need to wipe away with gentle kisses.

No! They curse in their head, You can't be thinking this again. Remember what Qhetohr told you. 

You could give him the world and he still wouldn't choose you. 

Before Luvarin knows it, the woman with greying hair lifts her arms to the sky and exclaims, “Let the ritual begin!”

Despite Luvarin's superior senses already being overrun by the harsh sound of ecstatic cheers, they can still hear your pitiful whimpering, like you're a wounded animal. 

The woman is handed an Ofriedian dagger and then–

Thunder strikes the same time you scream. 

Luvarin can't look away. It's like cold hands are digging into the sides of their head and are forcing them to witness consequences of their action.

The Luvercalia ritual traditionally has them cutting open the stomach of a fattened sparrow, removing the organs, and then cleaning it with purified water and then filling it with herbs before wrapping it with a rope soaked in purified oil and tied to a stick before it is lit on fire. 

You kick and fight, tears streaming down your face, indistinguishable from the rain. The woman cuts your stomach open, stopping when the blade reaches the beginning of your loincloth. Blood starts to seep from the wound, the flow intensifying when two acolytes dig their hands in your wound, ignoring your thrashing, and pull the wound open wider. Luvarin feels as if their own stomach is being ripped open as they continue to watch this.

The woman's face is calm and serene, but her eyes have a satisfied gleam as she rolls up the sleeves of her pristine white robes. She reaches a hand in and starts to pull out your organs. The way she goes about can only be described as methodical. First she cuts out the liver, then the gallbladder. She's unbothered by the crimson that begins to stain her skin and bleed into her soul that no amount of prayers or bathing would remove. Hair falls in front of her face as she is pulling out the stomach and a priestess immediately steps in to tuck it behind her ears. 

Luvarin has seen no small amount of blood in their lifetime, before they were an adorable cherub, they were a war hero who walked a road soaked in gore and ichor but this… They… They can't bear the sight of your violent but ultimately futile attempts to break free that only grow weaker as the light begins… Oh gods. 

Luvarin shoves a hand over their mouth and pushes their way out of the crowd, ignoring the protests of those pulled out of the trance the ritual placed on them. 

They barely step foot out before their immortal body is no longer able to hold any of it in. 

As they heave, they try to grasp your heartbeat and stabilise it. You don't deserve this. They made a mistake, but they could still fix this. But just as they're trying to anchor you in the land of the living, something else, a deity or something of equal power, is dragging you to Demorta. 

No, they weren't going to let you leave them, you were going to stay with them and they were going to fight harder than before, and this time they won't accept any rejection you may have ready for them. 

However maybe it was the vomiting, or the opposing force was simply that powerful. Whatever it was, when they whip their head around as soon as they can no longer hear your already fading heartbeat, they use their enhanced eyesight and you– You've stopped moving. The blood is slowly pouring down the altar, moving slowly, oozing even. 

They are already cleaning the now hollowed out stomach of your body and reciting the blessings to purify the herbs. Rosemary. Basil. Sage. Lavender. Thyme.

Luvarin is still as they watch the woman, hands cleaned but forever dirtied with your innocence, place the herbs inside, and then sew up your chest before closing your eyes. 

She claps her hands, and they tie you to a large wooden pillar with the rope. They recognize the wood, they– they can see the little carving you etched into its surface when the two of you visited the grove. 

You smiled as you sheathed the dagger back on the strap in your leg, satisfied with your work.

The first letter of both of your names with a + sign in between the two of them. 

“Some of my finest work yet,” You chuckled, but the look in your eyes tells them it's more than just a joke. 

They brush their hand against the letters, and they smile. It's not perfect, but it's.. it's human. 

“Do you like it?”

“I… I love it.” 

The woman recites prayers before your body as an acolyte waves a golden thurible around your body, letting the smoke curl itself around your corpse and purifying the body these so called holy servants of theirs have sullied with their cruel, filthy hands. 

A man, the village chief, steps forward with a burning torch that struggles to remain lit against the rain that has only grown stronger. He turns to the woman, “Priestess, are you sure that this will work? The rain–”

“The fact that it is still lit is a sign Xander,” She nods toward the unlit pyre, “Please, get on with  it.” 

He nods, and lights the pyre. It is weak, sputtering, and despite the muttered prayers of the temple’s servants and the mortals watching, the flames die out. Killed by the rain. 

“Priestess…” The village chief starts, but the priestess raises a hand. 

“This is… It is an issue with [Name],” She looks to the sky, “Luvarin may not want anything to do with him anymore.” 

Those words cause something to snap inside of them, and as if in response lightning strikes the pyre. The priestess gasps, the village chief falls on his ass, and the people are struck with fear. However the lightning does not set the body aflame, instead the fire lights the earth and it spreads faster than the rain can extinguish it. It bites at the feet of the acolytes trying to put it out and burns them with all the strength of Luvarin's rage.

What happens next is a blur. 

Qhetohr's told them about this before. When your body becomes nothing more than an extension of your weapon and it's like you're not in control of it. 

Everything you do in this state is controlled by instinct alone. 

When they wake up, one of Luvarin's hands is caked in blood and bits of flesh are stuck beneath the nails. They are standing over that woman's corpse and her neck has been punctured with holes that could have only been made by their hand.

Her body is floating, half submerged, and they are knee deep in water. The rain has stopped, and they're no longer wearing their robes. They see that it's wrapped around the village chief's neck like a noose. The village in the distance has been ruined by the flood, and there are more bodies floating around them. 

The only thing unaffected? Your body. The grey clouds have parted and there's a beam of sunlight shining down on you. Your eyes are closed, your head is slumped, and your wet hair sticks to your face. 

You're still beautiful, even as your skin begins to grow pale with death. 

Luvarin sees the Ofriedian knife, they pick it up and sever the ropes. They catch your body when it falls, they drop the blade, and they wrap both arms around you. 

They inhale whatever remains of your scent that hasn't been washed away by the rain and the ointments. 

Luvarin frowns when they feel the unfamiliar sensation of tears stinging the corners of their eyes. They burrow their nose in the crook of your neck and mumble into your skin, “I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen.” Their voice is like a sputtering torch about to succumb to the harsh rain. 

If they strain their ears and focus on the wind, they swear they can hear you. 

They can hear your voice, but they don't know what you're saying. 

“I'm sorry,” Luvarin croaks once more, “I didn't want to hurt you. I never did. I just wanted you to notice me. Not Erasmus. Not Luvarin the Deity of Love. Just me.” 

“A- And I couldn't take it when you said no. I need you in my life [Name], and I still do. But I'm not so selfish tha- that I'd do something stupid. It was Qhetohr,” They can't stop their voice from quavering, “Qhetohr made me do this, s- so if you're gonna be mad at anybody just be mad at them okay?” 

Your silence is deafening but they press on, “I'll do anything,” They look up to the sky, as if begging for any of their siblings to help them. Dignity be damned, “I'll do anything.” 

But nobody answers. Not Qhetohr. Not their merciful brother. Not Uren. The only response is the quiet, occasionally interrupted by the sound of rain dripping from nearby leaves. 

Yandere Love Deity who fixes your body. They place back your organs, mend your skin, and make everything normal again. Or as normal as it can be now that there's a gaping hole left in their existence.

Yandere Love Deity who keeps your body in a coffin they make from their own hands. You have made them countless gifts, but their favourites were always the adorable wood carvings that they can tell you poured more time and effort into than they would ever deserve. 

It is imperfect and made of mistakes, but it is sturdy, and it is genuine. Ularus volunteers to help, he insisted, but a flinty glance is enough to discourage him from continuing further. They need to do this. This is the least they can do for you after all you've done for them. 

Yandere Love Deity who is visited by their merciful brother the day that they lay your body to rest in the coffin. 

“He was always such a bold child.” 

“[Name]?”

“Oh, of course! He may not seem like it now, but well, you remember what I told you.”

“Who else would, if not us? We're the only ones who know now. We're the only ones who will ever remember him.”

“He loved you.” 

“He loved Erasmus.”

“Are you not also Erasmus?” 

“Dear brother, no. Erasmus is the mysterious charming mortal. I am Luvarin, to him I am nothing more than the master he hates– hated and would have never had to serve if he had the choice.” 

“He loved you Luvarin. He was simply confused. He can respect the gods but that does not mean he likes them, and well– to love the god he detests the most is not the easiest thing to come to terms with.” 

“What are you trying to say here?” 

“I'm saying that the two of you could have worked if there was simply time, time that you no longer have.”

“...” “My condolences to you, Luvarin. He was a good man.”

☏ - ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇᴍᴀɪʟ: ᴍʀ. ꜱᴀɢᴇ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴍɪɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴏᴘᴇɴ, ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ'ᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ.

[storiesbyjes2g]

3.218 Giving me life

The next day, I made a point to get up extra early so we wouldn't have another frantic mad-dash out the door. That kind of stress isn't good for anyone. I took a long, hot shower, did my hair, and put thought into my outfit vs. just grabbing something. I went to get Desi up, but as always, she had already beaten me to it. She was playing in her room, so I left her to make breakfast. We enjoyed a nice, slow morning, just like in the old days, but something troubled me. I had another nightmare. This time aliens abducted me, and they did all kinds of experiments on me while I was still conscious; it was terrible. I know it's natural to have lingering stress after a traumatic event, but the trouble I felt didn't seem related to the fire. The heaviness around me felt more unsettled than fear or panic. Deep down, waaaay in the crevices of my subconscience, I knew what plagued me, but I hadn't allowed myself to address it. The fire trauma was just the mechanism used to get my attention, and now, with all these nightmares haunting me, I can't ignore it. I kept telling myself I wasn't ready and stuffed those thoughts in the farthest parts of my mind, but I should have known they would come back to bite me. I need to visit the cemetery.

The groundskeeper threw away all the flowers and candles we had left at each visit; that's how long it had been. I was so ashamed at the sight. Their name plates were all dusty, and my grandparents' were barely legible from being covered in dirt. I knelt in front of Mama and wiped away the dust.

"I'm sorry, Mama. I didn't think I was ready to see you, so I kept putting it off. But days turned to weeks, and weeks into months, and here I am."

"So many things remind me of you, and I can't stand it. But I love it too. You're unforgettable, not that anyone could ever forget their mother. I don't know what I'm saying... Desiree is so big now. We had a fire at our house, and she's still pretty rattled, so I don't think bringing her here will be a good idea right now, but as soon as she's ready, I will."

"Less' kids are great. A little rambunctious, but great. And she's excellent with them, too. You would be so proud of her. I bought a duplex in San Sequoia so she could live next door. It's been great. I'm doing what you asked: taking care of my sister."

"Long time ago, you told me to find someone who fits into my life who I can't live without. Every day, Sophia shows me how there is no one else in this world who could have given me such a wonderful life. I may have had a lot of insecurities about relationships early on, but I never forgot what you told me. I always thanked Dad and gave him credit for getting me from a boy to a man, but I never gave you credit for giving me a framework to guide me. So...yeah. Thanks."

"It looks like it's gonna rain soon, so I guess I'll get out of here. Hopefully, you'll be able to see this before it goes out. I'm lighting a candle, so you'll know I was here. I love you, Mama, and I wish you could see how wonderful my life is. We've had lots of challenges, but I wouldn't trade any of it. I miss you. I'll see you soon."

I stood there in silence, remembering our good times and feeling grateful for the wisdom my parents bestowed upon me. An odd surge of energy coursed through my body, and I knew for sure this visit was what I'd been needing. The truth behind my procrastination is simple: I didn't want to feel broken again. Grieving my parents, especially Mama, drained me, and I felt like I would never be whole again. I hated that feeling and didn't want to experience it again. But standing there, holding that candle, thinking about my beautiful mother gave me life.

I put down the candle and started to leave. Just before I reached the exit, I heard, "Wait! I'm here!"

"Me too," another echoed voice said.

Both of them?? What are the odds?

All at once, I was a little kid again, happy and excited about hanging out with his parents. Mama wanted to know about the duplex, so I started from the very beginning with Dub moving to San Sequoia and buying his house. I rambled on and on about that, and the money tree, and our vacations, and Desi getting into yoga, and my SimTube channel... I felt like Chi Chi had possessed me, ha ha. Talking to them again filled me with such delight.

I thought hearing about everything they missed might upset them, but my life events elated them. I swear, with every story I told, Mama got more and more pumped up. By the time I was done, she was squealing with excitement. I guess when you live a full life like she did, you don't feel like you're missing out when you die. You just cheer on everyone as you watch them grow. That's a life lesson right there.

"I'm so proud of you," Dad said.

Hearing those words again healed my soul. I tend to think I live right and make good decisions, but receiving affirmation that I'm on the right track never gets old. I'm really glad I came.

[blackcherryvelvet0909]

The Dragon's Gem (Malleus x GN!Reader)

Note: This banner will change in the future. I haven't had time to create a Halloween one yet. I meant to publish a Lilia fic today, but due to unforseen circumstances this week I was not able to complete it in time. I'm very sorry I've been slow lately - work has been something else. I hope to get the energy back sometime soon. My main goal is to finish the Beach Episode series, then move onto a mix of the Masquerade and Halloween events. Very late, I know, and I'm sorry. Please bare with me (I am very tired). Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy this drabble in the meantime. Happy Halloween!!

“Is it real?”

“Hm?”

Malleus turned to face his beloved Child of Man. His pupils dilated at the mere sight of them, their glorious visage rivaling the most fantastic wonders of the world. To see that beautiful person staring down at his tail in their own wonderment made his heart swell all the more.

“Your tail,” they said, pointing to the appendage in question. “It doesn’t move like a fake one would, nor does it look like it’s made of plastic or something. So, is it real?”

“Yes, it is.” Malleus confirmed. “It is a part of my true form; I rarely reveal it, as it could be quite troublesome to others.”

“How so?”

Their genuine curiosity was adorable. Malleus could not help the smile that tugged at his lips. “Well, sitting at a desk would be a trifle. They are often closely packed together. Unlike, say, Kingscholar’s tail, it would be hard to tuck mine somewhere it wouldn’t get in the way.” Malleus’s smile then wavered as he continued. “That, and I am already greatly feared by most of the student body. I suppose I want to make myself appear less…monstrous around them.”

[Name]’s gaze softened, their lips down-turning along with their eyebrows. Malleus’s heart skipped a beat; he did not mean to make them sad! Before he could apologize, however, his Child of Man spoke again - softly, tenderly.

“I can’t say much for others, but you’re not a monster, Malleus.” Their hand came to rest upon his arm. The look in their eyes was sincere - the emotion so prominent it practically swept Malleus off his feet. “Tail or no tail, you’re just like the rest of us.” Finally, a smile graced their features once more. “Your features don’t make me love you any less.”

Love…could that be…? No - no, certainly not. The proclamation was far too casual to be a confession. That, and if they were to do such a thing, would it not be with some sort of gift in tow? It was the proper thing to do - at least that’s what Malleus had been taught. Could [Name]’s courting rituals be different in their world? Malleus would have to pry at a later date…but how to do so without being too forward?

“Malleus?” [Name] called softly, head tilted to the side. “Are you there?”

Malleus snapped out of his thoughts with a silent gasp. He quickly composed himself and smiled down at them. “Yes, I am alright - more than alright, actually. Your words have touched my very soul. Thank you for your kind words; I will try to remember them from now on.”

[Name] seemed relieved with his answer. They smiled and nodded, then retracted their hand from his arm. Malleus missed the contact immediately, but did not reach out for them. He would do so later, when the act would not seem to forward - too desperate. Oh, if only Lilia were here now; perhaps he could bestow upon Malleus some more wisdom if he were. Without him, however, Malleus would make due for the time being.

Malleus noticed [Name]’s eyes were back on his tail, a look of curiosity within them. The man’s smile widened a tad, eyes narrowed in amusement. He nudged his tail forward - he chuckled when [Name] flinched in surprise. How adorable they were.

“You are welcome to touch it, if you like.” Malleus’s next words were spoken with a mild teasing lilt. “I should warn you though: it could easily send you flying if you’re not careful.”

The Child of Man showed no hesitation in their smile or movements. Their eyes lit up with joy; their hands quickly found the scales of the tail, tracing each with their fingertips. It took all of Malleus’s being not to explode in a red flush at that moment - especially with the words that left his dear one’s lips.

“I’m not too worried; I know you won’t hurt me.”

No - Malleus could never even dream of it.

Perhaps Halloween outside of Briar Valley was just as enjoyable. Hopefully, in the near future, the prince could bring a precious gem back with him - if they would have him.

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

Hi, This might be a slight serious one but I really hope you don't mind me asking for comfort reasons (going to emphasize I am safe though!). If it's off-putting/too much I wholly understand.

Let's say the farmer has a shitty ex who... wasn't the best to them. Full blown not-good, really hurt the farmer, gaslighting type. And in recent times the ex has been going out of their way to talk to the farmer again despite the farmer's numerous efforts and plain statements that they don't want to see the guy and also the farmer just.. being plain scared of their ex.

How do you think Magnus, and perhaps Camilla + Adventurer's Guild respond over that kind of situation?

Thank you for your time.

- 🐇

Glad you're okay and safe, bunny anon 🙏❤️ Remember to take care of yourself, and thank you for the ask! 💕🐇

⚠️ Warning: mentions of past abusive and unhealthy relationships, manipulation, violence.

________________________________________

Magnus Rasmodius:

Depending on who Farmer is to Magnus, then the wizard's behaviour will be different. If Farmer is a good friend/student to him, then naturally Magnus will be very unhappy about the existence of this type of person, and that even after moving to Stardew Valley, Farmer's ex still bothers them. Magnus will be able to contain his disdain and anger towards their ex, share his wisdom and help Farmer calm down, also tell him how to behave properly with such toxic people and stop being afraid of them. Plus he always has the ability to teleport the creep to another part of the world with no money and no pants. So don't hesitate to ask wizard for his help.

But If the Farmer is his lover/spouse, then merciful Yoba.... Magnus will have to do his best to suppress the urge to disintegrate their fucking ex by sheer force of thought. No one at the Ministry of Magic would praise him for using magic to intimidate, but Magnus didn't care about the rules this time. If anything, Camilla would help him hide the evidence. They wouldn't dare even think of Farmer, let alone talk or touch them. Magnus has plenty of connections even with the non-magical world, which he can easily use to make the man disappear from his and Farmer's sight forever. The wizard also will not forget to comfort his spouse, reminding them more than once that they are very brave, kind and patient person, and that Farmer can always turn to him for help and a hug.

Camilla:

Even if Farmer wouldn't tell Camilla directly what was troubling them lately, even if they tried to lie to the Castle Village witch that they were fine - didn't work. Camilla's attentive gaze wouldn't miss the small shiver that had taken over Farmer's body, and of course she would follow up with her dear friend/lover to find out what was wrong and what was the cause of their anxiety. More specifically, who was the cause. Just watching the person who was breaking down the door of Farmer's house and the nasty words this poor excuse for a human was throwing at Farmer was enough for Camilla.

She saw what's happening. And it drove her into a wild, pure rage.

Quickly teleporting over to Farmer's ex and grabbing them with a dead grip on the shoulder, Camilla bestowed upon them the kind of grin one might see on an enraged mother wolf defending her cub from a threat to the last drop of blood. It took literally a moment for her and the Farmer's ex to disappear from the farm with a snap of her fingers. And when the frightened Farmer didn't immediately realize why the knock on the door had stopped, they stepped out onto the porch to see Camilla sitting calmly on a bench, waiting for Farmer.

Huh, where's that person? Oh, that was their ex? Well, Farmer won't be hearing from them again. No, no, their ex is alive. But after the fate Camilla gave them, the bastard will definitely envy the dead. Oh my, she's getting distracted! How about Farmer sit with her at the wooden table that had suddenly appeared outside their house? They'll drink tea together, eat Farmer's favourite snacks and sweets, and Camilla will answer their questions. Maybe not all of them, hee hee...

Marlon:

It was because of people like the Farmer's ex that Marlon, even in his youth, sometimes questioned the righteousness of his own idea of protecting people from monsters. Because what's the point if people sometimes behave even worse than monsters? Fortunately, the old one-eyed adventurer still believed in humans, thanks to the kindness and patience of the people of Stardew Valley, as well as his apprentice and a new member of the Adventurers' Guild. Marlon believed in the Farmer when they embarked on the difficult path of the adventurer, when they took an oath to protect the people and carry their rank with honour.

He believed in them, now - it was Farmer's turn to believe in Marlon, his friend and teacher.

People who don't know about Marlon's profession often assume he's just a harmless old man whose best years are long behind him. So much for Farmer's ex making a drastic mistake when they opened the door to the Guild, coming face to face with Marlon. The old wolf knows all too well that all kind words and threats from this person are empty words, so Marlon didn't bother with ceremony and grabbed Farmer's ex by the wrist, twisting it almost to the point of bone crunching. A weakling with no willpower, of course.

He made it clear that if the Farmer had wanted to, they would have killed them on the spot long ago. Therefore, Marlon very coldly advised them to get as far away as possible and never come back if they valued their own life. After the incident, Marlon wasn't too verbose, but he still said a couple of comforting phrases to Farmer, which were enough to make his apprentice feel better and were able to breathe a sigh of relief at last.

[nate-fraust]

Some thoughts on Eldar marriage in regards to RoP

So, as perhaps expected, Rings of Power's second season ended with not one mention of Celeborn and yet more Haladriel/Sauriel ship-bait. I could endeavor to detail the many valid critiques and issues voiced by those creators critical of the series in regards to the characterization of both RoP!Sauron and RoP!Galadriel, but for now, I'm more interested in a little bit of exploration into Tolkien's potential thoughts and intents regarding Eldar marriage. Please take note, however, that I am of only middling understanding and comprehension of the full depth and breadth of the Professor's legendarium, and thus my analysis is barely below surface-level. This should not deduct from the importance of this post, but rather should elevate it in its intent frankness on Tolkien's perspective of the subject.

Tolkien the Catholic

As is evident by both the legendarium and the Letters, J.R.R. Tolkien was a Roman Catholic. Though many on this site may take issue with either the Catholic Church in particular or Christianity as a whole due to one reason or another, this fact of Tolkien's faith cannot be disputed. Throughout his letters, Tolkien references "Our Lady" (a reverential title bestowed upon the Virgin Mary/Mother Mary by Roman Catholics) twice, responds to or references [C.S.] Lewis 143 times, and generally espouses Christian or Roman Catholic ideals dozens, if not hundreds of times. In so doing, he makes his thoughts on marriage and divorce rather explicit.

For instance, in Letter 49 - a draft, dated 1943, of a response to Lewis regarding the idea of "'two distinct kinds of marriage': Christian marriage, which is binding and lifelong, and marriage-contracts solemnised only by the State, which make no such demands" - Tolkien writes:

Toleration of divorce – if a Christian does tolerate it – is toleration of a human abuse, which it requires special local and temporary circumstances to justify (as does the toleration of usury) – if indeed either divorce or genuine usury should be tolerated at all, as a matter merely of expedient policy.

Tolkien's stance is typical and representative of common Catholic doctrine regarding the nature of marriage as an eternal bond between man and woman. Indeed, in Letter 43 - a letter, dated March 6-8 1941, to his second son Michael - he writes of the idea of 'destined' love:

In such great inevitable love, often love at first sight, we catch a vision, I suppose, of marriage as it should have been in an unfallen world. In this fallen world we have as our only guides, prudence, wisdom (rare in youth, too late in age), a clean heart, and fidelity of will…..

Taken at face value, then, Tolkien views 'unfallen' marriage - that is to say, a pure form of marriage untainted by the Christian idea of the Fall of Man - as possessing the qualities he categorizes as 'guides' for fallen man.

What, then, does this understanding of Tolkien's deepset notions of marriage mean for his intent for Eldar marriage and familial practices?

Tolkien the (Sub-)Creator

In Volume 10 of The History of Middle-Earth, "Morgoth's Ring", Christopher Tolkien recorded his father's thoughts on the marriage and familial customs of the Eldar under the heading "OF THE LAWS AND CUSTOMS AMONG THE ELDAR PERTAINING TO MARRIAGE AND OTHER MATTERS RELATED THERETO: TOGETHER WITH THE STATUTE OF FINWE AND MIRIEL AND THE DEBATEOF THE VALAR AT ITS MAKING". In "OF THE LAWS", J.R.R. Tolkien writes:

The Eldar wedded once only in life, and for love or at the least by free will upon either part. Even when in after days, as the histories reveal, many of the Eldar in Middle-earth became corrupted, and their hearts darkened by the shadow that lies upon Arda, seldom is any tale told of deeds of lust among them.

Following a detailing of Eldar betrothal, Tolkien writes:

It was the act of bodily union that achieved marriage, and after which the indissoluble bond was complete. In happy days and times of peace it was held ungracious and contemptuous of kin to forgo the ceremonies, but it was at all times lawful for any of the Eldar, both being unwed, to marry thus of free consent one to another without ceremony or witness (save blessings exchanged and the naming of the Name); and the union so joined was alike indissoluble. In days of old, in times of trouble, in flight and exile and wandering, such marriages were often made.

Finally, after a section regarding the birth and rearing of Eldar children, Tolkien writes:

Thus, although the wedded remain so for ever, they do not necessarily dwell or house together at all times; for without considering the chances and separations of evil days, wife and husband, albeit united, remain persons individual having each gifts of mind and body that differ. Yet it would seem to any of the Eldar a grievous thing if a wedded pair were sundered during the bearing of a child, or while the first years of its childhood lasted. For which reason the Eldar would beget children only in days of happiness and peace if they could.

When read with the added context of Tolkien's Catholic Christianity, the idea of an eternal Eldar marriage seems self-evident (though he does himself make note of the idea of the 'right of revoking' an Eldar betrothal and the idea of unreturned love early in the essay, as well as the turning of Eldar desires towards other things following the birth and early years of a child that could result in a physical/spatial separation of the couple).

In detailing the form, function, and behavior of Eldar marriage, Tolkien thusly exercised what he described as "'subcreation', a tribute to the infinity of His potential variety, one of the ways in which indeed it is exhibited...". More specifically, he interjected a Catholic ideal of eternal marriage into the core culture of the Eldar of Middle-earth, and thus espoused the human understanding of the Christian God's intent for the practice of marriage.

The Importance of "Celedriel"

With Tolkien's authorial intent thus contextualized and explained, I think it would be fitting to end this post with some thoughts on the importance of Celeborn to the Second Age and the proper story of "The Rings of Power" through his marriage to Galadriel.

Beyond the simple fact that Celeborn exists in "Rings of Power" through Galadriel's naming of him as "my husband", a few things can be inferred about his nature. Though Galadriel's description of him as looking like "a silver clam" whose "armor didn't fit properly" seems to be intended as a moment of brevity in the manufactured heaviness of the scene between her and Theo, a genuine interpretation of the scene would seem to reveal that RoP!Celeborn is:

Willing, if not eager, to go to war in defense of his people/against the forces of Morgoth, and/or

Is so desperate to fulfill his duty to his fellow elves that he would rush off to war in spite of his unreadiness.

Thus, Celeborn can be seen as a reliable and faithful character, at least according to Galadriel's brief description of him. Furthermore, when looking at the Appendices of "The Lord of the Rings", we can trace Celeborn's familial relations, and thus the relationships he would feel blood-bound to defend, beyond Galadriel. In particular, Celeborn is "a kinsman of Thingol" - specifically "Thingol Greycloak of Doriath", the king of the Sindar. Thus, Celeborn is not only husband to Galadriel, but part of the royal leadership of an entirely separate clan of Elves to Galadriel's Noldor clan. Therefore, through Celeborn, there can be a natural expansion of Elven lore and culture outside of what the show has thrown together, with numerous potential storylines and interpersonal conflicts.

Finally, in regard to Celeborn's marriage to Galadriel, the eternal marital bond forged between them precludes and overrides any potential desire for another mate felt by either of them. To return again to Tolkien's words on the matter:

They are not easily deceived by their own kind; and their spirits being masters of their bodies, they are seldom swayed by the desires of the body only, but are by nature continent and steadfast.

While much and more could (and indeed should) be said regarding the anathematic writing and subsequent incongruent portrayal of Galadriel in "Rings of Power", the authorial intent is clear within the allowed adaptable text: Elves are faithful to one another, wise, controlled, and discerning. They do not easily fall for deceit or physical desire. Though their long lives and subsequent long experiences, they are the wisest and greatest of all the races of Middle-earth.

In short: they are not Men, with ever-shifting desires and volatile hearts.

(And now to wonder as to the idiocy of Elven dementia...)

[tarnishedbloodhound]

Jolan rare/unused dialogue

I was watching a mini-movie of all Jolan's dialogue recently - link here - and I was struck by a dialogue set right near the end of the video.

It plays during the fight with her in the cathedral following the Metyr boss fight. Some say the trigger is to not interact with her at all throughout Ymir's quest-line, although I am still to test that myself. Someday I will report back with a video of my own if it is the truth.

“You were warned. Not to betray the kindness of Count Ymir. "Appalling. Your lot never ceases to repulse me. "Such willingness to exploit true largess. "You would abscond with it. The whole of Count Ymir's wisdom? "You undeserving little miscreant. "Surrender. To the Night of Jolán.”

This post got a little long so the rest is underneath.

I do like how she says we were warned and yet to get this dialogue one has to completely ignore her. Girlie absolutely no-one warned us

So yes, Jolan is none too happy with the Tarnished PC at the conclusion of Ymir's questline. She isn't no matter what iteration she is in, but without talking to her once she is at her most vehement by the end.

What is interesting is what her dialogue says about the both of them.

Largess(e), as defined by the Oxford English Dictionary:

The willingness to spend freely; (the virtue of) generosity; liberality, munificence. Also: this virtue personified.

An act of generous giving; a gift of money, etc.; spec. a gratuity given at harvest time.

Liberal bestowal of gifts; money or other gifts freely bestowed, esp. by a person in a high position on some special occasion. Also (occasionally): lavish or prodigal giving.

She calls Ymir a most generous soul, and he is. Between the guiding maps, the Beloved Stardust talisman, means to ring the bells via the Hole-Laden necklace, teaching unique and rare spells for a most meager fee, and previously unknown and important teachings about the state of the world, Marika, the origins of the Fingers, and Miquella, Ymir truly has been of service to the Tarnished PC. And all he asks for in return is for us to ring some bells for him, hardly a difficult task for all he shares with us in exchange.

As for Jolan it turns out she really doesn't care for the Tarnished as a whole. She is swift to lump them/us all together into one category. Even those raised in a dark gaol it seems look down upon the graceless Tarnished. Small wonder she reacts as she does after we kill Metyr and push Ymir deeper into instability. The gall of this random Tarnished who gladly takes all Ymir offers them, wounds him somehow, and then, in her eyes, attempts to run off with everything as if nothing had happened and escape without punishment.

Perhaps in the act of talking to her in other runs of Ymir's questline, we soften her perception of the Tarnished enough for her to at least tolerate the PC enough to fight alongside them in summons and speak somewhat civilly. She is not nearly so vehement in her other battle dialogue, instead coming off stoic. She does not insult or belittle us, only stating that she will do as the Count wishes.

Of course, Jolan is rather correct about the Tarnished, individually and as a whole. How often do we seek out rare arms and armour and spells and only go on to use a fraction of them, dumping the rest into our storage box? How often do we complete an NPC's questline, not for the sake of helping them, but to access certain areas early or for the reward for ourselves that awaits at the end. RIP to all the NPCs we kill just for their armour sets alone....

It brings to mind the dialogue of Sir Vilhem from the Dark Souls 3 DLC Ashes of Ariandel:

"I've seen your kind, time and time again. "Every fleeing man must be caught. Every secret must be unearthed. "Such is the conceit of the self-proclaimed seeker of truth. "But in the end, you lack the stomach. "For the agony you'll bring upon yourself…"

She and Vilhelm might have gotten along rather well, in their own way. Both devoted utterly to their respective lord and lady. Both failing to protect them and falling before the Tarnished and the Ashen One.

We gladly take everything Ymir offers to us in our quest. How were we to know what would happen to Ymir with Metyr's death? Whether he truly snapped or was possessed by whatever remnant of Metyr was left after her boss fight matters little; he "wishes for our death" all the same and Jolan is all too eager to enact on the wish of her guiding star, and, in this case, work out her own grievances with the miscreant Tarnished in the process. What else is there to do but take all they have left with their subsequent deaths at our hands?

[tw1stedthicket]

Just found out apparently the Winter Olympic Games in 10 years or so are gonna be held in Salt Lake City, Utah. I sincerely hope and pray that in the next 10 years, this fact will mean something different to me.

As it stands right now, I am pissed off. Of all the beautiful places on this green earth, Utah certainly has captivating natural beauty, but I don't trust that there may not be the influence of what is so flagrantly defining about Utah in that it is the central hub of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Something as beautiful and hopeful as a long-held tradition kept amongst all nations of the world to send some of their best in stunning athletic feats that sometimes seem to transcend humanity's physical potential to one place, so they may compete in the name of their home and a title of honor recognizing the boundaries they pushed in the name of their sport, is almost downright spiritual. I can't help but feel the parallels of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints believing themselves to be sending out the best and the brightest fledgling flames of the younger generation to spread a similar light of God, the truth of the "latter days" in today's evolving world, and unity of all of us in God's plan and in one human legacy and divine birthright for all families to participate in that binds us and seals us together. I know not all Latter-day Saints are as inclined to putting forth a presentation of righteous, precious duty for this spiritual sentiment of "being a light" or would as such be engaged in the kinds of acceptance, social change, radical hope, equality, and more that it would require, but that sentiment of all the above mentioned is baked into the religion no less, as to what its members are called to do and be.

Unfortunately, the gruesome underbelly that gets overlooked in their politeness and sweetness and eagerness to just help everyone come unto Christ, is one that suffers from absolutely crippling enforcements of conformity. Conformity that white-washes the cultures that are "invited" to join -- asks them to sacrifice aspects of their identity and assimilate into Whiteness and to alter long-held beliefs and ways of life for the sake of a "restoration of the truth"...eliminating personal beliefs, personal practices, personal behaviors, and by extension personality, and where isolated from broader cultures and one's own ability to make choices freely, to own what one finds true, to walk as one will and where one will, to find meaning, express values, call upon one's ancestors or their own sources, grow in wisdom, and so much more, as though these might not be a path up the mountain, eliminates so much identity even in one's very personhood.

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints venerates freedom, honored in a free American country with a "restoration" and the bestowing of God's keys of power to guide the world at a time that could have only been made possible then, a freedom that is held up in its triumphant insistence that the greatest gift to humans was "agency", and captivated in its role as the supreme poser of such deeply rooted human questions at the heart of our souls as to how and why we are here and the gifter of the answers - should we be free to honestly ask the question ourselves, honestly ask it of the missionaries in the world, honestly ask it of the promise laid out in the Book of Mormon to God, who will testify of the truth that sets you free. And yet. The stunning implications that it was never a choice are chained to their idea of freedom.

It was never a choice for the families that Joseph Smith encountered and who persuaded their perspectives and faith to change, families he then asked to take their young daughter's hand in marriage for himself under threat of damnation, or to women whose husbands were off serving missions in other parts of the world. It was never a choice to the people of the world today who do anything less than fully accept, with choking implications that they are denying the very thing that will save them, save them from unhappiness and unfairness. And offering this promise to the members of the world that have been oppressed, in colonized parts of the world, in enslaved parts of 1800's America, in Indigenous Native parts of the colonized Americas and colonized Utah itself, a name directly referencing the tribes that lived there. Offering this to people whose civil rights the Church's extensive arms and threaded branches in local governments lobby to repress. To the queer community that it tragically imposes the question of "agency" and "chastity" that you might just simply choose to be different. For all these people, the implication that life could be different for you. For countries of the world today in need of aid that are promised temples, for families in need of aid that are asked if they tithe. For people in the world asking for more freedom, and the levying of power that all along it will be, if you conform; from the enslaved American promised to find emanicipation in Zion in Utah under Joseph Smith's presidential platform, to the Pacific Islanders today that have family lineages populated with Latter-day Saints that move from their ancestral homes to Utah as Utahns crowd them out, to women everywhere that are promised a Relief Society for women and perhaps an advancement of the cause for women, but find themselves taught by priesthood holders about what great mothers and wives God made them to be. For people in need of guidance and counsel for self-worth and a justification to still be here in a hopeless world, that get asked about sin and "valiance" and given the choice to remain an active member for the sake of fulfilling gender roles, family roles, having posterity. The implication that families can be together forever, but only if you accept and obey to the highest order of covenants, promises you make to the entire dedication and consecration of your life to it. A culture of shaming for less than true perfection and that you must choose less if you get less, and you must have chose hell if you got it, and a power to send you there.

The Church has very carefully, very saintly, made of all its members, "pure", "converted" people striving for perfection even as Christ is perfect. Perfection that comes across to many as diligence, dedication, and integrity. Perfection that to be sure of, might reflect in the Olympic ceremonies as a reverence for that which is sacred, and an adoring display of its temples, its hallowed history of saints and pioneers, and its citizenship of those who Build Up Zion. The world community at large may be deeply saddened as many of us are to find that hallmarks of the human spirit in all the corners of the world from belief systems far and wide, ancient and new, will be swallowed up inevitably in a sweeping display of a sinister thought: that we, Latter-day Saints, are the vested light in a darkened world, and we bear the "torch", so to speak, of shining out evils that we decided long ago were not what defined the power structure of the 1800's world Joseph Smith grew up in and that have shaped the globe ever since.

Their dazzle conceals the weath it took to build it, and who it takes it from. Its celebration of oneness washes out the exclusion of those it defines as needing to "change", "convert", or "overcome" in the name of conformity. Any humility involved will belie a supremacy that earnestly, and audaciously, believes that people should be sent out into the world for the sake of one truth, and one path, and one plan, and that after death, each member should plumb the archives and annals of human ancestry to convert all to its religion in the afterlife. A family religion, a family culture, an Olympic celebration of the human family, yet damned and condemned to separation in the afterlife in tiers of glory the same as its tiered chandeliers in every temple building dotting the desert and mountain Utah landscape.

It's revolting, to me, and I find my only solace in the hope that in ten years, more progress will have been made that shifts our world just a few more degrees toward the acceptable belief that the things the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints believes are unacceptable.

[tidalhaired]

“But in desperate hours gentleness may be repaid with death.”

“So be it,” said Faramir.

—

To depart without farewell would be a cruelty. Even as the tide of doom rose, and all the world seemed drawn to its bitter crest, the captain found himself compelled to write. In the shadow of execution, he set ink to parchment, adorning it with the elegance of his flowing script.

—

My dearest Elrond,

Forgive this letter, written at the edge of sleep and sorrow. By the time these words find you, my spirit will have departed. Osgiliath is lost, and my father bids me reclaim it, though he sends me with no hope.

What strange solace it is, in the shadow of oblivion, to feel clarity pick the scales from my eyes. You have been, my lord, a light in my life. A friend and guide, yes – but also a mirror, in which I glimpsed not only knowledge but gentleness, patience, and the promise that perhaps I, too, was not made wholly for stern things.

You spoke to me as few others have. You heard the questions no one else would entertain, and you answered with the grace of ages. I cannot tell you how that mended me. I was a boy hewn from duty and silence. You made space in me for wonder.

Your house was a home to me. There I felt seen, known. The weight of my loneliness, the strange inwardness of me – these qualities you bore without disdain. You accepted the sum of me, with all my quiet peculiarities, and in doing so you bestowed upon me a gift too vast to measure.

Forgive me, then, if what follows is clumsy or queer. I have wrestled with a thing nameless, and only now do I begin to see it plain. These last months, my thoughts have strayed to you more often than to food, to sleep, or even to hope. The shape of your mouth distracted me from the wisdom it offered. The movement of your hands, the way they pass over maps and treatises, stirred in me an awe and ache I dared not speak.

At first I believed it a kind of madness. Grief, perhaps, or the last flares of youth burning in the winds of war. It endured, however. It worsened. You have taken shape in my dreams. In every brush of shoulders or hands, my skin remembered you. I feared to name the feeling.

Now, when death stands so near, I find courage.

It is love, Elrond. A love that would end my bloodline, you understand. Yet I would not undo it, even if it was within my power to do so. There may be no altar for such a love, no rite nor ring that could bind us in this world, but I would have stood beside you. I would have said the words. My heart was willing.

If this unsettles you, I pray you set it aside. Let not my confession cast a shadow upon your kindness, which has ever been without condition. You crowned my imagination, Elrond. You gave me the strength to be soft in a world that demanded steel. If nothing else, I beg you hold fast to that.

I understand I am entitled to no acreage of your heart. Rather, I speak only that which was too long buried, to this feeling that has grown wild and bright in me.

When last I walked beneath the boughs of Imladris, you asked me what I sketched. I said it was naught. That was untrue. I could not show you then, for fear bound my tongue. You will find the drawing enclosed with this letter. It is of you, and thus I leave it to your keeping, along with a few worn volumes and belongings of no worth to kings, but precious to me because you gave them meaning. They await you in Minas Tirith, should you wish to receive them.

When I perish, may the Anduin carry me. Next you walk along the sea’s edge, I ask only this: think of me. Let me be the wave that breaks at your feet, the salt that stiffens your curls. Walk with me there a while and, if you can, forgive the weakness of my parting.

I have lived well. My only hope is to die well, in the company of good men who deserve a kinder fate. May your days be long and joyous, on the far side of horror and war.

Le cenithon vi Anor en amarad.

Ever your faithful friend, student, admirer,

Faramir

It was a dark foreboding that had kept Elrond uneasy for the last few days. When a courier arrived with a missive from prince Faramir, hope lifted his troubled mind. The eloquent, warm words from his dear friend would surely put his mind at ease? Faramir spun sentences as beautiful as Telerin silk and their regular correspondences had become Elrond's great joy during bleak days. If only they could spend more time in each other's company, for a different kind of love had begun to bloom in Elrond's heart, like Isildur's first white tree of Gondor. He had even dared to imagine Faramir never leaving Imladris to remain here by his side, knowing it was impossible and a foolish daydream of someone who should know better.

He broke the royal wax seal and unfurled the scroll. No feeling of doom could have prepared him for the words he read. His hands trembled as revelation after revelation was flung at him like boulders on a catapult. Coldness enveloped his form at the description of Faramir's fruitless task in Osgiliath. The prince was being sentenced to death, by his own Sire no less. The thought was unfathomable. It was so bizarre and heartless that Elrond could not grasp it. "No, it cannot be."

And their love? It was shared, but far more complicated than the Elf-lord could have imagined. Eternity allowed for exploration beyond the marital duties expected of one who ought to continue a line. The world of Men was different. Their short lives was lived in the name of duty and they married purposefully. Elrond knew that, and so he had never burdened Faramir with his feelings for him, as the prince would most likely be upset and Elrond feared losing his friendship. He feared scaring Faramir away. To read that not only did Faramir love him back but also feared Elrond would dismiss it and think him lesser for it, it pained him like no strike of a sword could.

By the time he gazed at the drawing talented hands created, starlit eyes were misty with tears. Did he truly look like this? Were his cheekbones this sharp and his dark lashes this long? If there was truly such unbridled affection in his eyes, if Faramir captured his likeness correctly, then it was a wonder the prince never truly picked up on the depth of Elrond's love. A tear landed on top of the art, threatning to smudge the filigree charcoal lines.

Elrond wiped his eyes and sprung into action. He had lost too much already. He was not going to lose Faramir too. Across the yard, he met Glorfindel's splendid and resolute eyes. The famed warrior would keep the valley safe until Elrond's return. The Lord of the Golden Flower may not be a ring-bearer, but he was powerful and fierce. His reputation alone ought to keep the foes at bay for a while. Elrond's voice was steady. "Ready my horse," he commanded, sending servants running to prepare his hasty travel. "Two guards, light provisions. Make haste!" And so he rode, day and night, only stopping to let his mare, poor Gwedal, and the guard's horses rest.

Faramir may already be dead, but deep in his heart, Elrond knew it was not so. He would have known, would have felt it. Half-elf and Man they may be, but they shared Arda's gracious breath and sky, and Elrond would know. And he was right. He arrived to carnage, injured and suffering men, but their prince lived. Barely so and in the process of dying, but his heart was beating and his lungs fought for air in a stubborn clutch to life.

The prince was barely conscious when Elrond had him placed down on a cot and he was unsure whether Faramir saw him and felt him near, but nimble fingers stroked mud-caked, golden-red hair and Elrond spoke to him regardless, voice shaky. "You are not permitted to die." And he began to tend to Faramir's wounds and heal him, his light glowing especially bright as it was empowered by relief, hope and love.

[potatoes-pickles-and-pineapples]

Questions

Favourites:

What is your favourite:

Food?

Fruit? (besides me)

Vegetable?

Colour?

Scent? (unless it’s the vanilla coconut you mentioned before)

Sport? (Hockey?)

Hobby/Past time?

Ice cream flavour? (If you eat ice cream)

Song?

Fanfiction trope?

Book?

Movie?

Show? (One day at a time?)

Freckle on your body?

Quality of someone?

Weather?

Would You Rather?

Never seeing the sun again or having to drink only syrup forever? Why?

Rain for a solid week or extreme humidity for two weeks? Why?

Become a donkey or a sheep? Why?

Spend the day outside or inside?

Throw a theme party or host a dinner party? If you absolutely had to. Full of people you like though

Coffee or tea?

Sweet, salty, sour, or spicy?

Forgetting how to read or unable to speak?

Never get eaten out again or never smoke weed again?

Would you rather wear sweatpants for the rest of your life (including funerals and weddings) or have to wear sequins to everything?

Would you rather have every meal you eat for the rest of your life be a little too spicy, or a little too sweet?

Would you rather be able to speak and understand every language in the world or know how to talk to animals?

Would you rather always be a little sticky or a little damp?

Would you rather have a tiny little mouth next to your ear that whispers to you or a third hand but baby sized and on your wrist? (keep in mind i’m very high and it’s 3 am as i’m writing this current question)

What Would You Do?

What would you do if you found out you had the ability to stop time at will?

What would you do if an old distant relative pulled a Queen Clarisse Renaldi and you became the next Amelia Mignonette Thermopolis Renaldi, Princess (or Prince) of Genovia? (Or some other distant unknown country)

What would you do if you could become invisible at will?

What would you do if money didn’t matter?

What would ye do if ye could change yer fate? 🏹🐻

What would you do if you woke up tomorrow as a cis male? (Nobody thought anything was out of the ordinary as if you’d always been male)

What would you do if you could read a book about your life - would you skip ahead?

What would you do if you could teleport?

What would you do if you started a secret society? What would the mission be? What kind of members would you want?

What would you do if things you wrote came to life?

No Rhyme or Reason

If you could teach me three things, what would they be? (just anything you can do well enough to bestow your wisdom upon me. So for example, I don’t know how to skateboard/longboard/etc.)

Describe a perfect day, start to finish

If you could go anywhere, where would it be and why?

If you could go anywhere, when would it be and why?

When and why did you become interested in sharks?

Why did you study history in school?

What’s something you would change about every single person on earth, if you could?

What was your first concert? What was your favourite concert?

If you comprised a playlist of songs you think everyone should hear, what would it consist of? (and by everyone, I mean like me and the cool people. The queers and all that)

If you could do absolutely anything for an entire week, what would it be? No laws, no physical restrictions, money isn’t an issue, etc etc etc.

Would you rather be an actress or a singer? (If you had to be and had a bunch of talent for it)

What’s your job?

What drugs do you do/have ever done?

Are you allergic to anything?

Do you have a celebrity that you hate for absolutely no reason? If so, who?

What foods do you absolutely hate?

What is an activity you’ve always wanted to try?

If you could suddenly speak another language, which would you want it to be and why?

If you could have any talent, and be a natural at it, what would you want it to be and why?

What’s something you look for when making a new friend/meeting a new person?

If you suddenly inherited a great wealth, what first few things would you spend it on first?

Do you like being somewhere where nobody knows you?

Afterlife…thoughts?

If you could have any animal, what would it be and why? (besides a shark) Like you’re fully able to take care of this animal and it’s very happy with you

What, in your opinion, is the worst song? (Or at least a song you hate everytime it plays, just makes you annoyed immediatelyyy)

Are you good at solving puzzles?

Are you more left or right brained?

What’s the first few things you do in the morning?

If you had the opportunity to know what happens in your life ten years in the future, would you want to know?

What do you think is the worst job? Why?

What is your favourite thing to be complimented on?

If you could erase one major event from history, what would it be and why?

What is a fact that you know to be true but makes no sense/you can’t wrap your head around?

What do you consider to be your core values?

If you could jump into a pool full of anything (but water), what would it be?

Do you talk to yourself out loud?

What’s a smell you can’t stand? (besides the obvious)

If you were to combine two animals to make an entirely new hybrid, what two animals would you combine?

Do you smoke cigarettes?

Who are two people you would love to see beat the absolute shit out of each other? (Besides people like Trump, Musk, Sucky Zucky, etc etc etc)

What are movies that have a deep place in your heart?

What are songs that have a deep place in your heart?

Can you play any instruments?

Any hidden talents?

What age do you feel like?

If you could put together two celebrities, who would you love to see date one another?

If all food had the same nutritional value (everything is healthy/good for you), what would you eat all the time?

If you could live an entire month like one famous person, who would it be and why?

What animal would be even better if it was bigger/smaller?

If you could ask any famous person/celebrity, (dead or alive) any question and they had to answer completely truthfully, who would it be and what would you ask?

Bow Chicka Wow Wow 😏

If you had me in a room for 72 hours, what would you wanna do? (Doesn’t need to be sex related whatsoever)

Ultimate fantasy? (That involves me. Nothing with Flo or anyone else like that 🙄)

Describe your perfect date

Do you have anything that is completely off limits?

Do you still consider yourself asexual?

How often do you think about me throughout the day?

What are pet names you do and don’t like to be called?

If you were to cook me a meal, what would it be?

What are your favourite ways to show/be shown affection?

What’s an immediate dealbreaker for you?

[darkwingphoenix]

Oh, @loominggaia, New Titan Maenad Just Dropped

So, I saw the Valkyrie post someone made about Okatogg and Hulushka, and I wanted in too.

Seeing as Skylie is moving into Drifter's Hollow, she'd likely know Disgrace pulled up and burned it down. She'd likely wanna help out, and thus made a new titan maenad (Maenads seem really easy to make titan nymphs out of: Just find a buncha maenads who don't wanna be drunk sluts doing crack off a man's cock anymore and be a divine): Archons. Yes, I'm stealing from the Genshin Impacts again. Shuddup.

Anyway, Skylie decided to head to Uekoro to visit family to to hunt for jaded maenads. She wanted specifically 7 maenads, and 7 maenads she found. She made them follow her all the way to Drifter's Hollow and then trained them and made them into Archons.

Since you apparently don't know much of any media past the 90s or what people suggest, I'mma tell you about Genshin Impact Archons...

Essentially, the Archons are appointed "gods" of the 7 nations of Teyvat (The world of the Impacted Genshins), one for each element of Genshin: Anemo (Air), Geo (Rocks), Electro (Electro), Dendro (Plant), Hydro (H2O), Pyro (Fire), and Cryo (Ice). Each Archon represents one element and an ideal:

Venti: Anemo Archon and God of Freedom (And Local Drunk Femboy)(Yes that is a man):

Zhongli: Geo Archon, God of Contracts (And Local Homeless Guy at the Funeral Home):

Raiden Shogun (Or Ei): Electro Archon, God of Eternity (And Local Shut-In):

Nahida: Dendro Archon, God of Wisdom (And Local Adorable Baby God):

Furina/Focalors: Hydro Archon, God of Justice (And Local Traumatized Girl/Literally Deadbeat Mom)(Look up Furina/Focalors Lore):

(Don't trust the Furina in the corner on the right image, it's just Focalors)

Mavuika: Pyro Archon, God of War (And Local Kratos Competitor):

And finally, Tsaritsa: Cryo Archon, God of Love (All kinds)(And Also Local Deadbeat because she isn't released yet, the below image is a fan concept):

So anyway, Skylie drags 7 maenads away from Uekoro and into Drifter's Hollow, where she then vanishes into the woods with said maenads and starts making em new titan nymphs called Archons before bestowing upon them each one High Vision, essentially a big ole gem that holds immense power over one of the elements (See above). These Archons can also bestow normal Visions to either willing fae and gaians who wish to aide in Skylie's plans as agents, or to fae and gaians in slavery an Archon meets in her travels.

The Visions are basically just less fancy High Visions given to those bestowed one that give the user great control over magic of the element of the Archon (The Pyro Archon only gives pyromancy, for example). The Vision Bearer no longer experiences any arcane fatigue from using their Vision's element (As it's all coming from the Vision), but any other magic the user casts still goes towards arcane fatigue.

Vision holders can also use their Vision's element to infuse a weapon they're using with said element, and all species except for cecaelia enjoy extended life spans (By 50%, and cecaelia just have their brain cancer delayed when it inevitably happens). They also cannot get attacked by nymphs of the same element as their Vision (Pyro Visions grant immunity to Pyriads, and Dendro grants immunity to both Dryads and Limniads)

TLDR: I used the fact maenads are basically super fucking easy to make into titan nymphs if you're a divine to put Genshin Impact into Looming Gaia, fuck off

[roman-catholic-mass-readings]

1st November >> Mass Readings (USA)

Solemnity of All Saints

(Liturgical Colour: White. Year: B(II))

First Reading Revelation 7:2-4, 9-14 I had a vision of a great multitude, which no one could count, from every nation, race, people and tongue.

I, John, saw another angel come up from the East, holding the seal of the living God. He cried out in a loud voice to the four angels who were given power to damage the land and the sea, “Do not damage the land or the sea or the trees until we put the seal on the foreheads of the servants of our God.” I heard the number of those who had been marked with the seal, one hundred and forty-four thousand marked from every tribe of the children of Israel. After this I had a vision of a great multitude, which no one could count, from every nation, race, people, and tongue. They stood before the throne and before the Lamb, wearing white robes and holding palm branches in their hands. They cried out in a loud voice:

“Salvation comes from our God, who is seated on the throne, and from the Lamb.”

All the angels stood around the throne and around the elders and the four living creatures. They prostrated themselves before the throne, worshiped God, and exclaimed:

“Amen. Blessing and glory, wisdom and thanksgiving, honor, power, and might be to our God forever and ever. Amen.”

Then one of the elders spoke up and said to me, “Who are these wearing white robes, and where did they come from?” I said to him, “My lord, you are the one who knows.” He said to me, “These are the ones who have survived the time of great distress; they have washed their robes and made them white in the Blood of the Lamb.”

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm Psalm 24:1bc-2, 3-4ab, 5-6

R/ Lord, this is the people that longs to see your face.

The LORD’s are the earth and its fullness; the world and those who dwell in it. For he founded it upon the seas and established it upon the rivers.

R/ Lord, this is the people that longs to see your face.

Who can ascend the mountain of the LORD? or who may stand in his holy place? One whose hands are sinless, whose heart is clean, who desires not what is vain.

R/ Lord, this is the people that longs to see your face.

He shall receive a blessing from the LORD, a reward from God his savior. Such is the race that seeks him, that seeks the face of the God of Jacob.

R/ Lord, this is the people that longs to see your face.

Second Reading 1 John 3:1-3 We shall see God as he is.

Beloved: See what love the Father has bestowed on us that we may be called the children of God. Yet so we are. The reason the world does not know us is that it did not know him. Beloved, we are God’s children now; what we shall be has not yet been revealed. We do know that when it is revealed we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is. Everyone who has this hope based on him makes himself pure, as he is pure.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Gospel Acclamation Matthew 11:28

Alleluia, alleluia. Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened and I will give you rest, says the Lord. Alleluia, alleluia.

Gospel Matthew 5:1-12a Rejoice and be glad, for your reward will be great in heaven.

When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain, and after he had sat down, his disciples came to him. He began to teach them, saying:

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of heaven. Blessed are they who mourn, for they will be comforted. Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the land. Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be satisfied. Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy. Blessed are the clean of heart, for they will see God. Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God. Blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness, for theirs is the Kingdom of heaven. Blessed are you when they insult you and persecute you and utter every kind of evil against you falsely because of me. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward will be great in heaven.”

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

[savage-rhi]

Reverse Uno: now you do Karl and Ardyn >:3

I'VE WAITED ALL DAY TO COME HOME FROM A 10 HR SHIFT TO DO THIS SO DON'T MIND IF I FUCKING DO @seradyn

Karl Heisenberg

First impression: I thought he was going to play a significant role in RE8, perhaps even fall into the trope where he's truly the Big Bad (TM) versus Mother Miranda. I think I got that impression because Karl always came across as smarter than he lets on. Either way, I knew I was gonna fucking love this dude. Does he look like trash? Yep. Does he hold a grudge? Yep. Sign me up! 

Impression now: CAPCOM YOU FUCKED UP. WHY DIDN'T YOU UTILIZE THIS GUY FURTHER IN THE DAMN PLOT?! WHY DIDN'T HE AND ETHAN PARTNER UP?!

That's seriously my biggest gripe when it comes to Karl, he's a great character that didn't get used to his full potential. I mean, sure that gives fanfic writers such as myself a lot to play with and makeup, but he deserved better. Karl's character was fucking fun. I could tell his motion capture and VO artist had a great time playing hobo metal man (Neil Newbon you sold it, mother fucker).

Seriously, Karl is hot trash but he's my hot trash. I'll defend him all the way.

Favorite Moment: In every scene Karl is in, he just steals the damn show. I always enjoy the scene where he confronts Ethan with partnering up (Ethan, you should've taken the hobo's hand) and goes on a verbal rampage about the other lords and how much he despises Miranda. You can feel his passion and hate for what's become of his life, and even sense how desperate he is to get out of it by any means necessary.

Idea for a story: I've been working on a story with Karl called The Sacrifice that takes place years before the events of RE8. Karl falls in love with a gal named Sonja Ainsley, and this pushes him to wanting to break free from the village and Miranda's clutches.

The story is on hiatus, but I intend to finish it when I get the motivation again. I love him and Sonja very much.

Unpopular Opinion: For all his bravado, Karl is sensitive and cautious deep down. I’ve read many stories where is unyielding and very sexual (ngl I indulge in that cause I’m nasty like everyone else on here lol) but given the abuses he has endured, I think he would be quite reluctant to indulge himself with someone until several layers were peeled back and his partner gained his trust. 

Favorite Relationship: I ship Karl with happiness. I don’t care if it’s an OC, Reader, Canon, etc. etc. etc. I just want this fucking hob goblin to feel like he’s on top of the world and has support. I love reading material where he gets to just fucking live and be happy. 

Favorite headcanon: Karl is quite good at making jewelry pieces. 

Karl is artistically inclined and enjoys sketching, and doodling. He keeps most of his pieces to himself since he considers having a hobby like that could lead him to being taken advantage of (he’s kind of a victim of toxic masculinity there in that regard, where “men can’t like things like the arts without being seen as less than”). 

Karl struggled with reading well into his early 20s, but he taught himself and is quite fond of novels (Sonja helps him there in The Sacrifice, and he likes Pride and Predjudice). 

Moreau and he watch TV together, and they get invested and I do mean invested to the point where they both yell and scream at the characters on TV for fucking up. 

Ardyn Izunia/Lucis Caelum

First Impression: I want to preface by saying that my late grandmother bestowed upon me the knowledge to protect myself from peculiar people. She told me to never trust a man who has shaved off his eyebrows and never trust a man that wears a tunic. All her wisdom couldn’t prepare me for what the fuck to do about a man who wears over 5 layers of clothing, and looks like a homeless guy who walked into a thrift shop and picked out every item that screamed, “Hi there, I’m Johnny Depp.” I’m frightened, but I gotta follow my principles: does he look like trash? Check. Does he hold a grudge? Check. Okay everyone…let’s pray….

Impression now: Your honor, I love him. I love his quirkiness. I love his humor. I love his mannerisms. I love his darkness. I love his imperfections. I love his humanity and lack thereof. I love his daemon form. I love his charisma. I love how he carries himself. I love his ambition. I love how unsettling he can be. I love his wild hair. I love his piercing eyes. I love how he used to love and care for others. I love how he tried to hold onto himself despite failing. I love how he’s unapologetic. I love his faults. I love his flaws. I love that I see bits of myself in him. I love his bloodlust. I love his taunts. I love his sarcasm. I love how tragic his story is. I love how unyielding he can be. I love him. Break me off a piece of that Kit-Kat bar.

Favorite Moment: Pretty much everything he is in. However I adore his entire appearance in the Lestallum chapter. You can tell he’s clearly up to shit, but can’t necessarily prove it. Hell, I even felt bad for judging him after he goes through the trouble of saving everyone’s ass in a later part of that section. I even had a moment of second guessing. 

Idea for a story: I already wrote an Ardyn x OC (Caelan) story called Immortal Shield. I wanted to give Ardyn a happier ending, and explore his character if he were resurrected years after the final battle with Noctis (went with the Dawn of the Future ending). I think it turned out okay.

Cause I am not over him by any means, I’m working on a Ardyn x Reader story. It takes place two years before the events of the game. I’m 10 chapters in thus far. 

Unpopular Opinion: Ardyn is one of the best FF villains in the franchise. I’ve seen people complain about him being lackluster as a character (from his quirks/backstory, to the final battle cause he didn’t have a ‘final form’). Then there’s the camp that sees the adoration fans have for him and go, “tragic guy does tragic and terrible things and people make excuses for him”. I mean…yeah, to a degree? But what makes me still stand by my statement is the fact that unlike most FF villains: the guy actually fucking wins. We are talking about a man who spent YEARS and I mean fucking YEARS plotting, wearing various masks, and lining up pieces to ensure he would FINALLY get to rest in peace after all the shit he had been forced to endure. That is dedication and shows how he’s so damn dangerous and intelligent. A man that can bide his time for thousands of years isn’t someone to fuck around with. 

Favorite Relationship: Ardyn x Aera. Those two deserved happiness and peace. I also ship him with OCs, other canon characters, and readers/inserts. I love stories where no matter who it’s with, he is appreciated and cherished. 

Favorite headcanon: Ardyn’s love language is gift-giving. If he sees something that reminds him of someone, he’ll get it for them or even try his hand at making the thing himself if he wants to go the extra mile. Getting a gift from him says A LOT, and the people around him know it’s kind of a big fucking deal. 

Being a former healer, he’s very much in tune with people’s emotions that it’s almost like a 6th sense. Even being corrupted by the star scourge, he can never truly tune that part of himself out. He uses this natural gift to manipulate others to get ahead. 

Since sweets like chocolate and other delicacies were rare and quite expensive 2,000 years ago, Ardyn takes full advantage of modern decadence. The man’s got candy everywhere. 

[hazelenergy]

For Good, Meet Strange

For Good: Is there anyone in your OC's life who had an undeniable positive impact on who they are as a person? How did knowing this person improve your OC's life?

There have been several positive sparks on Hazel's unlife, some cradled into bright little candle lights, some snuffed out a little too soon.

Solomon Goldblum: One of the thinblood's Hazel was embraced with. Sol was an older man, a rabbi of his local synagogue, and had the respect of his community. He was the first to offer comfort and his home after what happened to them. Solomon knew how to wrestle with grief. Grief that their lives were gone, grief that everything was to change. He was the first to help her with the nascent concept of the Thinblood Safehouse, by becoming the Thinblood Primogen of Atlanta. His political tenure was short-lived, but in they nearly got something started. When Solomon was killed, the dream didn't die with him, because he imparted some very good wisdom: You always have to keep moving forward. You may not succeed, but it is your obligation to always try to make this world better. Solomon's memory is not forgotten.

Tommy Baker: Hazel's sister. While the Duskborn are not actual siblings, they have declared it such. Both Hazel and Tommy have suffered greatly by the hands of the Tremere. Both needed comfort for the abuse they endured and to find strength in the other. Hazel adores how Tommy plays freely with their appearance. Hazel adores how dedicated Tommy is to her studies. Both thinbloods are grounding forces for the other, as well as their #1 enablers.

Sorcha Dunsirn: The Hecata Thinblood offered a different perspective of the world than Hazel had previously considered. Hazel values Sorcha's insight and views immensely. Both thinbloods wrestle with the powers and rights that should have been bestowed upon them at embrace, and whether or not it is a good idea to chase them. Hazel has described that she sometimes feels robbed that she can't innately control the shadows the way her bloodline can, and in turn, even more guilty for trying to grasp them. To Hazel, this felt like denying what she was as a Duskborn, and felt like she was going against her own talking points- especially since this didn't bother her in her first nights. Sorcha understands this. She was supposed to be able to study and control the rituals passed down her family line for generations, and but something went wrong. Trying to dance the line of what and who you are alongside your blood is difficult, but Sorcha is already learning the steps. Sorcha additionally is the one to offer Hazel new strength in the shadows. The dark is terrifying, yes, but there's more to it than just the dark. There are complexities to the depths, entire civilizations and generations of stories live within it. And no matter how cold it is, Hazel knows there is always a friend on the otherside: Sorcha. This was an immense step for Hazel to start healing from the impact Marco did to her.

Fina Motisi: To spare the paragraphs, this kindred holds a complex place of tangled arteries in Hazel's still beating heart. Fina has been a role model for Hazel, for better and worse- and mirroring Fina has worked wonders for her safehouse in Miami and Tampa. Hazel mimics her poise when speaking to thinblooded crowds. She also makes a point to "be kind where she may," as its so often she will have to be cruel. Well, Hazel doesn't need to be cruel too often, the world and wars raging around her fellow thinbloods are enough to do damage and consequences for her. Its a fun picture, the Lasombra lite learning cues from the Ancilla Ventrue.

Meet Strange: What's the most memorable way your OC has ever met a new person? Was it a good experience? Bad experience? Just plain weird? How's their relationship with that person now?

I mean, meeting her soon-to-be adoptive sire while chained to a floor on trial for her illegal embrace at her first Elysium was certainly... an introduction. Mary Andrews, Primogen and only Tremere of Atlanta sure knew how to pick em. But Hazel has introduced herself in...very strange ways to kindred many times:

Dropping from the rafters and tackling another thinblood while he was blinded by her haze alchemy. She was so terribly hungry. Needless to say, that was not a great introduction, and she hopes that one is keeping his damn mouth shut.

Meeting Primogen Clancy of clan Brujah in Atlanta while high out of her mind and telling him he probably tastes like Sour Patch Kids because his resonance was first sour then sweet. This was also in her first few months as a kindred, and it was very easy to identify food smells to resonances and she loved giving nicknames to kindred. She hopes Clancy is doing okay, he was a genuine good man. She knows he is probably a little disappointed in her, by virtue that she dabbles in some rather unsavory practices for her power, but she is alive and tries to make it fair. The last time she saw him was in Atlanta, after she and Cass killed Mary, her adoptive sire. He was carrying Solomon's body, and promised to take his corpse to be properly mourned. She knows Clancy made sure Solomon's wishes in death were respected and is glad he was there at his end.

She did meet an Ashefinder in Tampa, who was connected to the circulatory system. Hazel remained cool and unafraid, seated in an uncomfortable chair in a gloomy, green lit office. Every other sentence was a threat to her and her safehouse- how they'll never survive long without their involvement, and if Hazel was intelligent she'd take this generous deal to collect vitae and ash for them. On Hazel's right was Tommy Baker, and on her left was Sage, a newer thinblood she had met. Both were armed to the teeth with alchemy, and Hazel had far reach settled in her stomach. This was one bitch and she had no chance. First impressions mean a lot and Hazel was unimpressed. Needless to say, that thinblood did not survive, camera's were wiped, and the contents of her computer files and desk were emptied.

[draftedstory]

Book 1: Bound by Divine Threads of Fate

Chapter 2 : The Wind Whispers Secrets

The mountains draped twilight over them like the robes of a grieving God, streaked in reds and whites. The Celestial Harmony Sect stood atop the hills, eternal and aloof, its white towers piercing the heavens, their jade bells whispering prayers into the breath of the wind.

Li Xuemei, the Prophesied Threadseer of the Sect, stood still below the oldest lantern tree—whose golden leaves never withered even in snow. He was dressed in his usual robe woven of moon-thread silk with shades of white and green, the long sweep of his delicate silver hair rested on his back like the moonlight on a river. He was looking into the stone basin before him, water swirling inside with faint reflections of the fractured sky. He wasn’t watching the stars, though, but the ripples like threads beneath them that seemed to tug at his soul.

“Fate is the soundless guqin,” the old texts had warned him. “To pluck its string is to alter the sky.”

The breeze stirred, but it did not come alone. It brought along heavy yet impatient footsteps walking on the rhythm of defiance and restlessness that didn’t seem to belong in these halls.

“I imagined you’d be praying to the Gods,” said the voice, low, edged in irony. “Or staring into that basin until it revealed life’s mysteries to you.”

Xuemei did not have to look back to know it was Chen Yiran. “Well, some of us find wisdom in the waters while others try to force it into answers.” He replied coolly.

Yiran stepped forward, his red cloak contrasting against his fair, pearl-white skin, struggling against the wind like his owner struggled with boundaries. “Like owner, like robe.”, thought Xuemei to himself. His long waist-length hair was carelessly tied back, and his eyes— deep pits of wild amber, always lit with fire as if the world had wronged him—narrowed a little with curiosity, but did not hold any malice.

“Tell me, Xuemei,” he spoke in an amused voice, “when did you last speak to someone without riddles?”

“It was probably last winter,” Xuemei murmured while circling the basin. “To a horse.”

Yiran chucked—a short, disbelieving sound. “And what did it say?”

“That silence, even when uninvited, teaches more than the noise.”

“Of course, the horse you talked to would also be someone who loves talking in riddles! Why do you have to speak like a poet?” Yiran said, shaking his head, with a slight smile on his lips.

“Do my words feel like poems to you, Yiran?” asked Xuemei in a murmur.

Silence fell between them, the lanterns above shedding warm golden halos through the canopy, catching on the silver in Xuemei’s robes and the blood-red in Yiran’s sash. Tension hummed in the air—a bowstring neither dared to pluck too hard.

“I had another dream.” Yiran’s gentle voice broke through the tension.

Xuemei glanced at him. “The same kind, fate-strings?”

Yiran nodded solemnly. “Twisting into knots, burning, being severed. Also, you were there, but with your back turned the entire time.”

They both knew it too well how the fate-strings waver when soul realms begin to interweave.

“How did someone even think of severing the threads of fate? Sure, the Strings of Dissonance started the practice, but why? I can understand not liking the destiny bestowed upon you unwillingly, but to accept even soul distortion as a consequence of severing fate and forcing that over others isn’t mere madness but something rather sinister.”

His words made Xuemei’s remember the one responsible for the chaos in their world. Long ago, during the Era of Fragmented Skies, a disciple of the celebrated Celestial Harmony Sect- Zhao Lin’ao- deviated from the noble path as he believed that fate was a lie written by the Gods, their devious plan to keep humans under them. So, he resolved to free humanity from divine control. He secretly pursued forbidden arts, practiced and invented techniques to cut the fate-strings. He severed his own fate-string first and forged it into a blade that had the potential to sever others’ threads. His realm was rumoured to be a garden of poisonous flowers where dead Gods dwelled, whispering secrets the heaven meant to bury. He tested his art on innocent disciples of the Sect in secret, and when his wrongdoings were exposed to his master, he slew his thread too and escaped to the South with a new identity, where the recently formed Scarlet Abyss Sect was placed. The Sect was said to be experimental and liberal in its thoughts and practice; they welcomed Lin’ao as the learned and experienced teacher, unaware of his true past. The leader of the Sect, Red Widow Xun, was heavily influenced by Lin’ao, she was his first true disciple. She severed her fate-string in defiance of her arranged marriage and thus set rebellion from divine laws as the foundation of her Sect. Outlaws, exiles, and others who violently deviated from their set path were actively recruited and trained in forbidden arts. The Sect thrived in chaos and rebellion, its disciples gaining Soul Energy from emotional transgressions- betrayal, heartbreak, vengeance, anger, etc. This resulted in their Soul realms taking the form of molten, infernal places with fiery palaces, burning forests, and shifting ash dunes. Their powers too manifested in aggressive and reckless ways, where the soul was harmed in pursuit of power. The Stings of Dissonance faction that was now in action took a step further and began causing damage to others’ souls in their hustle for power. They would relentlessly sever fate-strings even if people kept dying or losing their essence to turn into hollow, lifeless shells of a human body. Although some of them believed in their goal of liberalising people and giving them the chance to choose their fates but a majority of them were corrupted by power and aimed to further their own good rather than anything else. The deviant Zhan Lin’ao was long dead, his name erased from scrolls but the legacy he left behind couldn’t be concealed. His story was a forbidden tale engraved in the memories of the Sect Elders and in the mind of Xuemei, who didn’t dare reveal it to anyone.

“Are you making up more riddles to confuse me? Is that why you’re taking so long to reply?” enquired Yiran cheekily, bringing Xuemei out of the words his mind was playing.

“No, I was trying to remember how children are taught, so I can reply in a similar way for you to understand.” said Xuemei sarcastically.

“I am older than you if you don’t remember,” replied Yiran.

“It would do you well to remember that too sometimes, Yiran.” said Xuemei, his lips curving barely. “The time for your assessment is near, you should go prepare for it.” He added in a solemn voice.

“I did not come here for the assessment, the Elders summoned me and I came to grace them with my presence but they left me to wait alone amongst their disciples who gossip behind their fans.” replied Yiran indignantly.

His carefree attitude didn’t faze Xuemei much, he was getting used to it he supposed but he didn’t make that observation out loud.

Later that night, in the Moon Altar Hall—where incense trails curled like spirits and sacred wind chimes whispered in unheard languages—Yiran stood before the inner sanctum, blade in hand.

“I challenge Li Xuemei, the pride of this sect, the Elders’ favourite,” he declared. “Not for rank or pride but the truth.”

Elder Sun recoiled. “You presume much!”

“You seek clarity through violence?” enquired Xuemei.

“If you or the esteemed people in the audience have another way I will consider it.” Yiran answered frostily.

One of the juniors, Zhen Ming, stood abruptly, “Disrespectful.”

But Xuemei stepped forward, as composed as ever. “It is permitted. I accept.”

Gasps echoed through the Hall, everyone staring at the two warriors with a mixture of curiosity and shock. The unexpected duel was to take place- not a clash of blades but the world within.