#whom amongst us etc.

[cantsayidont]

The protagonist of William Gibson's 2003 novel PATTERN RECOGNITION, Cayce Pollard, is a "cool hunter" who makes her living as a brand consultant, telling companies whether their new brands or brand-building campaigns will be a hit or not. She's able to do this by essentially monetizing her own chronic illness: Cayce has a severe, potentially debilitating allergy to brand imagery, so severe that to avoid constantly getting sick, she can only wear a limited range of anonymous gray, white, or black clothing items (known as "CPUs," for "Cayce Pollard Units") from which all brand identification has been scrupulously removed; she has to pay someone to carefully sand the manufacturer logos off of the buttons of her jeans before she can wear them without nausea.

The more time passes, the more relatable this becomes.

[llycaons]

I'm not judging anyone who was into vld btw. as humiliating as it is to admit I was fairly invested in steven's university in college so I'm in no position

[lemonsharkgirlfriend]

alicent, a woman who’s been stripped of all power and agency and has no sway or influence amongst the green council, should have concluded her liberation arc by… coming to the understand that her mistreatment within this patriarchal system pales in comparison to the love she holds for her sons (one of whom she’s disowned in 1x08, the other pre-2x01), and she should have used the power (that she doesn’t have) to continue to support the green claim (that she doesn’t believe in). she should have thrown away her own feelings of (freely chosen) love for rhaenyra, knowing these feelings ‘don’t actually matter’ (they do), and just, again, sacrifice her body, mind, and mouth for her sons (who she 1. doesn’t believe in and 2. knows do not have her own or helaena’s best interest in mind). the driftmark scene (that alicent verbally expresses regretting and which otto tries to manipulate her into believing was justified directly afterward) and alicent standing in front of meleys during aegon’s coronation (yet another example of alicent sacrificing her body to otto’s cause that she’s been manipulated into believing is her only purpose) are definitive proof that alicent should have become a scorched earth mama bear in season 2 that should have not have had any conflicted feelings about her sons’ unnecessary violence and total ineptitude at ruling the kingdom because… the ends (i.e., aegon being in the throne… which she doesn’t believe in) justify the means. alicent could have just used her voice (again, the one that she doesn’t have in this version of the story; let go of book!alicent) to sway her sons’ policy if they were trying to do something she didn’t agree with, and otherwise, she should have just let them do what they wanted to secure the green claim (that alicent doesn’t believe in). turning to rhaenyra (alicent’s only reference for freedom and chosen love) after concluding her liberation arc is out of character (it isn’t, alicent has chosen rhaenyra over her children several times) and doesn’t make sense (i’m just going to assume you weren’t paying attention to the plot, dialogue, set design, editing, costuming, etc., that suggested alicent was seeking out rhaenyra throughout the entire season, starting with her moving into rhaenyra’s childhood bedroom before the season even began). alicent is dumb (sure, i’ll give you that) for trusting rhaenyra (she can’t trust her own sons either, and arguably, to a greater extent). alicent should realize her love for rhaenyra is no longer relevant (it is and always will be, as expressed by the writers about… one million times) because she should care more about her sons (that she doesn’t support anymore and that she cannot control) than her own happiness and securing safety for helaena/jaehaera (her children/grandchildren that she’d like to see no harm come to). also, exploring alicent’s motherhood (alicent ‘switching sides’ still does this lol) would have been more interesting than exploring her repressed queerness/lesbianism (i mean idek know what to say to this bc how the hell do you think this isn’t interesting and novel and worth exploring). ultimately, i have another version of alicent in my head (book!alicent) that i wish had been adapted instead (totally valid opinion to have! though you ultimately shouldn’t project book!alicent onto show!alicent because they have been fundamentally different characters since the very beginning), so i’m going to pretend alicent going to rhaenyra in 2x08 is bad, unpredictable writing (instead of something those ‘annoying shippers’ had been theorizing about since before the season even began because the clues were literally there, even that early).

[lxmelle]

Just some thoughts about satosugu and how they both interpreted their separation.

It’s highly likely that Geto didn’t realise how important he was to Gojo. I made a blurb on Twitter/X about how I feel that Geto wasn’t a reliable narrator in that sense, but I feel the need to expand on it a bit more.

We now know that they both felt like they’d been left behind. I’ve talked about it before, and it seems evident that they left a wound the shape of each other in one another when they separated.

We know Geto’s intentions with leaving Gojo behind. The kind, polite, gentle Geto who always treated Gojo lovingly - pushed him away to a point where he thought he was unforgivable - thinking they were ex-best friends in his conversation with MimiNana. He shot him down in a way he never did before - “how arrogant,” he said - asking him of his identity, to think about his purpose and cautioning him not to be used. Turning away before Gojo could protest, to convey they were going on separate paths - a “do not follow me”. He gave him his blessing to kill him - showing that he understood there would be meaning in it. The recent JJK exhibition showed that Geto was drafted by Gege in the KFC breakup scene to convey that he thought it would be ok if he was killed by Gojo’s hand. Adding that Gojo should be careful not to kill anyone else but him.

The two presenting interpretations are - 1) just try to kill me alone amongst all these ppl with your overwhelming strength; or, it could also mean, 2) make sure you stay on your path until you decide what you wield your power for (although Geto already decided for Gojo who mustn’t follow him).

For 1) Geto supposedly hated monkeys, so Gojo unleashing his power shouldn’t be a bad thing. But that would be a bad thing because then Gojo would be another curse user like him who killed innocent people. So this demonstrates that Geto had Gojo’s self-interest in mind.

For 2) Geto turned away and gave Gojo a final lesson - to wield his power for the greater good and to not kill like he did. Don’t be a monster like him and he gave Gojo is permission to kill him. It wouldn’t be bad to die by his hand. That Gojo shouldn’t kill anyone unless they were at least as evil as he. Again, this demonstrates Geto having Gojo’s interests at heart.

Thus Geto foreshadowed his fate when he said to Gojo that it would bring meaning to kill him - Gojo was the only one whom he would let stop him. The light novel insinuated that Gojo had to be the one to carry the curse that was Geto Suguru too.

Gojo seemed to understand what Geto meant and decided for himself not to kill him then and there. And not for 10 years. As a reader we know he could’ve. But what did Geto understand and take from it all? Was he a reliable narrator?

Geto was surprised at the end of jjk 0 - that Gojo still had trust for him. The way he phrased it in the original Japanese seemed rather self-deprecating. It goes along the lines of, “to think you still have that (trust) for the likes of me.” And how can we forget the impact of Gojo’s last words... Geto was humbled by it and I HC he was careful all the way not to curse Gojo. So he said, “At least curse me a little at the end.” - as if to say, instead of the love you’re giving me, I know I deserve to be cursed for hurting you. I’m sorry.

So we can kind of see that Geto did not perceive himself as loved as he actually was by Gojo. He looked regretful here as he reflected on their friendship as aforementioned with MiniNana:

Gojo understood that he shouldn’t follow Geto, but we now know he actually felt left behind. In fact they both felt left behind by the other. And they both wanted to catch up. One was early and one was late... curse and blessing, absorb and repel, etc. I think we all are familiar with certain themes by now.

Gojo respected Geto’s need to walk separately and protected his love and desire to keep Gojo on that path. He allowed it. He could have taken the words of make sure you “kill only me” as a reason not to fire into the crowd, or he could’ve applied it to all humans, because this was what Geto also taught him earlier on.

But we know Gojo had the power to just grab and kill Geto on his own, ambush him at any time in the 10 years, and so also just plainly not regard those rules. In fact in jjk 0 Gojo talked about siding with Okkutsu with the higher-ups because he wanted to allow overwhelming power to be understood. His risk to make. So, from Gojo’s point of view that Geto might not be aware of, he took those risks upon his shoulders as the strongest and the executioner of the school, and let people like Yuta and Geto and later, Yuji, live. So just like in Shibuya, we also know that Gojo actually will take calculated risks and make sacrifices. If there is meaning. He determines it himself.

This being me to this point:

Kenjaku had access to Geto’s memories and from there, he devised his plan in further detail to trap Gojo to seal him in the prison realm. But he only knew what Geto knew.

He wasn’t wrong that Gojo fought best alone. We don’t know if he could’ve learnt to fight with someone alongside him, but perhaps after Toji, he didn’t see the need to, and preferred to “risk himself” seeing as he could be invulnerable with limitless, and he would be free to go all out with his destructive power.

Here we see him infer that Gojo would be deterred by the presence of humans - the possibility that there would be casualties. He is also not wrong, but we can see that this was based on Geto’s assumption - that he was in the way. He believed he was in the way. We don’t know why Gege scrapped the draft, but that was Geto’s intentions: to keep Gojo righteous. Not to follow him.

He was willing to damn himself in his friend’s memory so he wouldn’t be dragged into hell too. We can imagine that he felt left behind by Gojo in strength especially since Gojo also pointed it out in their exchange. He thought he wouldn’t be treasured in his friend’s memory, although he treasured Gojo (wearing the Gojo-kesa and also his views on loyalty through calling Yuta a “womaniser”). So I think he felt like he would be easily discarded by Gojo once he left and hypocritically pointed him in the other way, especially when Gojo let Geto decide for them both him just a year ago, and didn’t kill the people clapping at the hideout.

Someone pointed out that Gojo’s love was “I’ll go wherever with you and hold on forever” and Geto’s love was “I’ll let you go, and it’ll hurt but at least you’ll be safe.”

Sigh.

Whatever it was, he believed Gojo spared him because there were people present when he walked into the crowd. Stalling for time allowed him to get away.

Not believing that Gojo was conflicted and wanted Geto to live … or “come back home” like his character song given by Gege. He did the same thing in jjk 0 when he cautioned Gojo not to approach him because his students were “in his range”. So he must’ve believed it was a deterrent for Gojo.

Geto did not know how Gojo took the breakup scene or how he interpreted his words of parting.

To him, and to Kenjaku, the tactic of stalling for time allowed Geto to walk free. Human lives could be used against Gojo. In the 10 years, maybe Geto thought he was useful in getting rid of curses, etc. so he was left to his own devices. Gojo never came to execute him. We don’t fully know, but we got a glimpse of what Geto assumed - their friendship was but a precious memory and there was no trust from Gojo left. And though Geto heard Gojo’s confession at the end of his life, he was never to know that Gojo’s love actually ran that deep - because he was also surprised at the airport scene.

He did not know that Gojo felt left behind. In fact, the readers only found out a recently in chapter 261.

Gojo thought about what Geto positioned him with (who are you, the strongest, for?) and concluded that being strong wasn’t enough. He couldn’t save Geto who did not want to be saved. Did not want to be helped. Did not want his help, despite being the strongest. Gojo was not taken along. Wasn’t allowed to become a monster too. Geto would not use him. He could have all the strength but also not achieve or have what he really wanted. He was left behind. He could not catch up.

And then this from much earlier on has come to make even more sense:

That Gojo was trying to turn his grief into something that could bring him meaning and keep/respect his friend’s wishes alive in his life.

And by trying to retain Gojo’s righteousness, Geto had made himself all alone. Geto felt the need to go all by himself (much like their disagreement in HI “you lonely? Go by yourself.” “I hate righteousness - it’s for the weak.”) and cut everything off, including his parents and sorcerer family.

I don’t think Gojo particularly wanted to be left behind. He just… tended to listen to Geto’s wishes. Even Yaga questioned him, I previously thought he was asking why didn’t he chase to kill him as ordered, but some are debating this, saying it was more “why didn’t you chase after him?” (Why don’t you go with?) And Gojo replies, “Didn’t you hear?” (I’d been left behind). Who knows.

He came to believe that love was the most twisted curse.

Why?

Because love led Geto to do what he did and defect.

Because love made Geto turn away and not to bring him to hell.

Because love led Gojo to honour his friend’s wishes even if it pained him.

Love led them to love each other from afar.

Love was a curse that hurt each other and themselves…

…because they do it all out of love for the other, beyond the love for themselves.

Nevertheless: They were now both alone.

Over the years they tried to change that, being surrounded by others, family and students - but they had an empty seat with each others’ name on it. And they had ended up not being alone - just lonely.

He probably knew Gojo could have chased after him to kill him, but his main interpretation seemed to be what Kenjaku believed - he clung onto the principles of “protecting humans” first and foremost. Gojo ended up doing the 1% of his predictions and opened his domain in a calculated risk.

Interestingly Gojo asking Ichiji about the humans subjected by UV (before the fight to his death with Sukuna) reflects the side he lived protecting,

and Geto asking about his sorcerer family before his death to Gojo reflects the side he lived to protect.

The whole “counterpart” theme runs so deep: early & late, curse & blessing, absorb & repel, yin & yang, black & white... even down to the part where Gojo asked about the humans before his fight with Sukuna and Geto asking about his sorcerer family before his death. It demonstrated who they lived to protect and how one needed the other to survive (without humans = no curses = no need for sorcery).

Geto just was never really aware of how much Gojo loved him, perhaps because Gojo only realised it after he left. That love led them both to keep doing what they did.

That love was indeed a twisted curse. Because they loved the other so much that they’d sacrifice themselves - the very object of the others’ affection, hurting one another as a result of it. To love the other was to curse themselves... which then cursed the other.

In this twisted world...

Gojo was the only one who could save Geto and Geto was the only one who could save Gojo.

There would be meaning to it. Gojo was at Geto’s end.

Will we meet again? - the lyrics of the song goes. Geto met Gojo at the airport at his end.

Geto showed Gojo love and compassion - saving his soul.

Gojo showed Geto pure and unwavering love - saving his soul.

I’ve blabbed enough now... thanks for making it until the end.

[simplydannie]

Inspired by and written for @meadow-hearthfire. Based on their ask:

“Oh! I got an idea:

Veneer has a very bad day (be it practicing for performance, a shopping trip, having a fight with Velvet, etc).

Guided by his subconscious, Veneer goes to the room Floyd is being held captive in without realizing it. Veneer picks up the bottle Floyd is in, but doesn't spritz himself with his essence. Veneer just vacantly stares at him, unsure why he even went into room in the first place.

Then Veneer sheds a tear before he realizes it, and then another, and so on. Soon, he remembers who Floyd is and what Floyd means to him, then Veneer and has a breakdown. Turns out Veneer subconsciously still saw Floyd as a father figure whom he'd go to for comfort and whom he feels most comfortable allowing himself to be emotionally vulnerable around.”

I loved this! Thank you! Just added a little twist in the end 🫶

It was just a rehearsal… but everything had to be perfect. SHE wanted it perfect.

“Again!” Mistress would cry out, “Again!…AGAIN!”

This time they had it though… this time it was going to be perfect. Sitting amongst the empty seats of the auditorium were the other producers that were part of corporation Mistress fell under, part of the powers in Mount Rageous. They watched as the twins rehearsed…

“Not bad. You’ve really turned them into your own little creations haven’t you.” A male Rageon told her.

A dark smile came across her face, “Molded them just like clay. The Troll helps. Funny to think a business their family started in the under-city would benefit them up here.”

“Does he know where they are at? Does he know you brought them up here?” He asked.

“…. He does.” She smirked, “He wants them back. When he comes knocking, that’s when we offer our exchange…”

They continue watching the twins. Velvet of course was meant to take the lead, Veneer was just meant to follow, push her, acknowledge her presence so the rest of the world can see. But for some reason, today, he was really feeling the music. His voice boomed a little higher than his sisters. Velvet turned to give him a warning look. He noticed…. He backed away…

“Interesting…Did he use the Troll today?” The male Rageon asked.

“She did…… he didn’t…” a scowl came across the Mistress face.

“Hm, then you have a problem on your hands.”

Velvet laid out the final note to the song. Both struck their final pose, breathing heavily, their eyes glued upon the Mistress and the rest of the producers who were watching. Mistress was the first to stand up… she wasn’t happy… and they could see it in her face. Her heels clicked as she approached them…

“Again.”

“What?” Veneer was the first to asked. He turned to his sister… she was exhausted.

“…. Again.” The Mistress said more sternly.

“Can I have a break? I’ve been none stop.” Velvet replied.

“You can have a break when your brother stops messing up.” The woman replied.

“Me? But I’ve done everything you’ve told me too.”

“Your ONLY job is to act as a backup. You’re there for looks and nothing more. Yet, you feel the need to over step your sister?”

Veneer didn’t know how to respond, sure he got a little carried away, but he’d never steal the spotlight from Velvet, “….That was an accident…”

“…. That’s all I ever hear, “it was an accident” perhaps I should have you replaced.”

“No! No. I can do it, I’ll try better. I won’t mess up….”

SMACK!

Mistress struck him clear across the face as her anger was released. Her nails scratching his skin. She gripped him by the collar and pulled him towards her. His face only inches from hers. Velvet took a step forward but was held back by Gruff, one of the Bergen body guards.

“…. You’re pathetic, you know that? You serve us no purpose. You’re just a spare in this world Veneer. Even daddy was disappointed that his only son turned out to be so weak, wasn’t he Veneer?”

His lower lip quivered as he tried to hold in his tears. She snarled and throw him back on the floor, “The mood is broken. Tomorrow you’ll get in that extra practice… No dinner either for both of you, we need to make sure you’re as thin as can be for the cameras.” She snapped her fingers, the Bergens escorted the twins back home…

….. The ride home was silent. Velver would only cast glances to her brother. She was never good at comforting, in ways she was like her father. Veneer was always the one to comfort her… like their mother. Velvet extended her hand but paused midway before retreating it. She then turned and looked at the window, no words being spoken between them…

Veneer allowed himself to cry alone that night. He hugged his pillow as he allowed the tears to fall. He took a moment to look around his room: it was big, luxurious, he had everything he had ever wanted, he was finally living the life of a Mount Rageon… he should be happy…. But deep down he wasn’t. Veneer began feeling that everything was just a lie..

“….. Daddy, please find us….” He whispered. Was running away from home a good idea? Was it ever? He wanted comfort… he needed to hear soothing words…. He needed someone. Veneer thought back to the words he had spoken…. dad. He didn’t know what made him do it, but he threw his blankets off him and walked out his door.

His mind wasn’t thinking, he allowed his feet to take wherever they wanted to go. As he walked the events of the day replayed in his mind… so did the words Mistress spoke to him. Veneer found himself standing in front of a door. It wasn’t Velvets room, but it felt right, it felt like he needed to be there. Opening the door, he walked in to a small room. The only furniture within the room was a table and a chair. It was decorated with lights all around. He flipped the switch allowing for the lights to illuminate little brighter. He went to the chair and sat, Veneer then reached over to grab the object that lay at the center of the table…. A diamond.

He picked it up gently and carefully so to not wake the small, sleeping Troll that lay inside. Veneer looked at him. Troll….Troll…. No, he had a name. A name he and Velvet once knew, once called him by. He looked at the small sleeping Troll encased inside…..

“……Floyd…..” The name escaped his words in a whisper. As if a key to a chest, the name allowed for memories to flush in Veneers mind…. The day Floyd fell victim to a Troll trap, the day Veneer laid his eyes on the small Troll… He looked gray, weak, and sick. Veneer freed him, hid him from his father… of course was punished for it too. When they ran away Floyd came with them.

“You’re doing to need an adult to watch after you out there.” He had told them.

And he did. He went with them. The little Troll could’ve left, could’ve gone home, but he didn’t. He remained. He became what the twins needed after their mother died….a father. Right now, that’s what Veneer needed, that’s why he subconsciously came to find him…to find Floyd.

Veneers lip quivered again, but this time he didn’t hold the tears back…. He allowed them to fall. One by one until a river fell down his face. His body shook as he cried. The small trembling awoke the Troll in the diamond.

“Veneer?” Floyd woke with a small yawn. Rubbing his eyes, he finally saw the Rageon breaking down in front of him. “Ven?” Floyd saw the light scratch marks across the boys face….Mistress laid hands on him….again.

“What did she do to you? Ven, look at me. What did she do?” Floyd asked again. But Veneer didn’t answer, he just continued to cry. He wanted an embrace so badly, he wanted to feel warmth wrap around his body. So Veneer held the diamond close to him, squeezing it in a tight hug.

Floyd felt the trembling in his body as Veneer continued to cry, soft sobs escaping his lips. He knew what the boy wanted…. Unfortunately he couldn’t give it to him. So all Floyd did was outstretch his tiny arms around the diamond, hoping Veneer could feel the hug he desperately wanted to give him.

“….its okay…. I’m here. I’ll always be here….always.” Floyd said.

At the sound of his voice and words, Floyd felt Veneer let a sigh of relief. He could feel the tears and sadness begin to diminish away, but Veneer didn’t let the diamond go, he still held it close to his chest, hugging it as tight as he could. Floyd squeezed the walls of the diamond in a hug, hoping Veneer could feel it. The two remained in peaceful silence…that’s all Veneer wanted, comfort, comfort from his dad…

Back in Under Rageous…

Within the walls of the Montegue manner, a tall pale Rageon sat on his arm chair. His face was cold and stern, he was twiddling a ring in his fingers….his wedding ring. He had never worn it to protect her, but now she was gone, he continued to wear as a reminder to kill the ones who would dare hurt her, who would dare kill her.

He placed the ring back on his finger. He stared at some pictures in front of him, articles he had obtained, pictures and headlines covering them all:

SUPERSTARS VELVET AND VENEER TAKEN MOUNT RAGEOUS BY STORM!

QUEEN AND KING OF POP! WHO ARE THESE FABULOUS TWINS WE ADORE!?

He search through and through in the under-city but never found them… until the news began to leak of these new pop stars. Who ever took them from him, whoever took them from Under Rageous was going to pay ten fold…but they weren’t the only one. He looked at one picture in particular, a paparazzi shot of Veneer. He looked closer and saw something perched on the young boys shoulder…a Troll. He recognized that Troll, it was the little devil Veneer rescued… the little devil that Veneer bonded with…

“The little devil that first took my children away from me.” Taking a knife he stabbed the picture….stabbed the little Troll. It pained him, being outsmarted by a little Troll, a little piece of nothing….

Vaughn was going to get his hands him….and kill that little rat.

[ninadove]

Nina reads Dracula 🦇

September 29th

Long one today, but Quincey’s here, so everything is right in the world. ❤️

First of, the boys are going grave-robbing as a gang! 🎉

"The more we talked, the more puzzled we got, till now I can say for myself that I'm about up a tree as to any meaning about anything."

"Me too," said Quincey Morris laconically.

"Oh," said the Professor, "then you are nearer the beginning, both of you, than friend John here, who has to go a long way back before he can even get so far as to begin."

GDHSKSKSKS THE BURN. Completely gratuitous too, John hasn’t even spoken yet.

Therefore may I ask that you promise me in the dark, so that afterwards, though you may be angry with me for a time—I must not disguise from myself the possibility that such may be—you shall not blame yourselves for anything."

🥺

"That's frank anyhow," broke in Quincey. "I'll answer for the Professor. I don't quite see his drift, but I swear he's honest; and that's good enough for me."

[Sigh] ❤️

"Would it not be well to hear what I have to say?" said Van Helsing. "And then you will at least know the limit of my purpose. Shall I go on?"

"That's fair enough," broke in Morris.

Spoken like a man who immediately thought VAMPIRES after eavesdropping for two minutes and a half ❤️

"There are mysteries which men can only guess at, which age by age they may solve only in part. Believe me, we are now on the verge of one. But I have not done. May I cut off the head of dead Miss Lucy?"

I love the way he asks like a kitten eyeing your food. I can has head of dead (<- important precision) Miss Lucy? 🥺

His voice broke a little, and he went on with a voice full of pity:—

"But, I beseech you, do not go forth in anger with me. In a long life of acts which were often not pleasant to do, and which sometimes did wring my heart, I have never had so heavy a task as now."

Day I-don’t-know-how-many of asking for Van Helsing’s backstory

"For her—I am ashamed to say so much, but I say it in kindness—I gave what you gave; the blood of my veins; I gave it, I, who was not, like you, her lover, but only her physician and her friend. I gave to her my nights and days—before death, after death; and if my death can do her good even now, when she is the dead Un-Dead, she shall have it freely."

Ok, let’s pause here for a second. I understand why so many authors directors artists etc. have developed an erotic fascination for vampirism. I see the themes, you see the themes, we nod in understanding.

But I have to wonder why the blood transfusions were not co-opted in the same way?

Like!!! We keep going back to them!!! Van Helsing in particular is so uncomfortable about the implications of sharing his blood with this young girl who was another man’s fiancée! Arthur compares it to an actual wedding ceremony!! John and Quincey let their own blood be drawn because they also loved her!!! WHY ARE BLOOD TRANSFUSIONS NOT ROMANTICISED IN THE WAY VAMPIRISM IS.

Can you imagine the creative possibilities? The poetry of giving such a fundamental part of yourself without expecting anything in return? And pushed to its extreme — the devotion that has you wasting yourself away when there is no hope of saving your lover? COME ON don’t tell me it’s not fascinating!!!

"Come to me, Arthur. Leave these others and come to me. My arms are hungry for you. Come, and we can rest together. Come, my husband, come!"

Oh oh.

"But of the most blessed of all, when this now Un-Dead be made to rest as true dead, then the soul of the poor lady whom we love shall again be free. Instead of working wickedness by night and growing more debased in the assimilating of it by day, she shall take her place with the other Angels. So that, my friend, it will be a blessed hand for her that shall strike the blow that sets her free. To this I am willing; but is there none amongst us who has a better right? Will it be no joy to think of hereafter in the silence of the night when sleep is not: 'It was my hand that sent her to the stars; it was the hand of him that loved her best; the hand that of all she would herself have chosen, had it been to her to choose?' Tell me if there be such a one amongst us?"

Oooooooof

There, in the coffin lay no longer the foul Thing that we had so dreaded and grown to hate that the work of her destruction was yielded as a privilege to the one best entitled to it, but Lucy as we had seen her in her life, with her face of unequalled sweetness and purity. True that there were there, as we had seen them in life, the traces of care and pain and waste; but these were all dear to us, for they marked her truth to what we knew. […]

"And now, my child, you may kiss her. Kiss her dead lips if you will, as she would have you to, if for her to choose. For she is not a grinning devil now—not any more a foul Thing for all eternity. No longer she is the devil's Un-Dead. She is God's true dead, whose soul is with Him!"

🥺🥺🥺

Then we cut off the head and filled the mouth with garlic.

Whiplash

And now onto Mina being cute:

"I was only entering my diary."

"Your diary?" I asked him in surprise.

"Yes," he answered. "I keep it in this." As he spoke he laid his hand on the phonograph. I felt quite excited over it, and blurted out:—

"Why, this beats even shorthand! May I hear it say something?"

Baby girl… Baby… ❤️

"You helped to attend dear Lucy at the end. Let me hear how she died; for all that I know of her, I shall be very grateful. She was very, very dear to me."

MINAAA 😭😭😭😭

"But do you know that, although I have kept the diary for months past, it never once struck me how I was going to find any particular part of it in case I wanted to look it up?" By this time my mind was made up that the diary of a doctor who attended Lucy might have something to add to the sum of our knowledge of that terrible Being, and I said boldly:—

"Then, Dr. Seward, you had better let me copy it out for you on my typewriter."

I love her your honour ❤️

"You do not know me," I said. "When you have read those papers—my own diary and my husband's also, which I have typed—you will know me better. I have not faltered in giving every thought of my own heart in this cause; but, of course, you do not know me—yet; and I must not expect you to trust me so far."

OH SHE SPEAKS LIKE VAN HELSING ERGO LIKE DRACULA

"I know that Lucy told you of me; she told me of you too."

🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

And back to Seward:

I was so absorbed in that wonderful diary of Jonathan Harker and that other of his wife that I let the time run on without thinking.

“Wonderful” certainly is one way to describe it, yes.

"That is a wonderful machine, but it is cruelly true. It told me, in its very tones, the anguish of your heart. It was like a soul crying out to Almighty God. No one must hear them spoken ever again! See, I have tried to be useful. I have copied out the words on my typewriter, and none other need now hear your heart beat, as I did."

Mina continues to be the real MVP

And back to Mina:

Fortunately I am not of a fainting disposition.

Oh trust me, I know.

The world seems full of good men—even if there are monsters in it.

THANK YOU YES THAT IS IN FACT THE POINT

[Still traumatised by the 1992 movie]

I remember how much "The Dailygraph" and "The Whitby Gazette," of which I had made cuttings, helped us to understand the terrible events at Whitby when Count Dracula landed, so I shall look through the evening papers since then, and perhaps I shall get some new light.

WHAT A WOMAN.

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[shithowdy]

i'd really like to see someone do a full writeup on the sheer glut of specifically "black genre art" amongst generative image spammers. it's at the point where if i see something tagged with any iteration of the word "melanin" i'm automatically hunting for generative artifacts and usually end up being disappointed and right.

i think at least part of it has to do with the prompts that are used; just due to the general disparities in representation in art, the pool of art on which black characters can be trained is a lot smaller and often made by black creators themselves. the ai datasets all think "woman" means the same nebulously asian woman with porcelain skin and huge tits, which means that if they want to specifically generate a "black woman" they have to do a lot more inputs with a lot more specific references to the artists they are trying to mimic.

this means that if someone wants to portray a black character with AI, most of the data they are using is from a genre of art that specifically celebrates blackness ("black girl magic", african themes/patterns, lots of yellow, big natural hairstyles, etc.), so anything generated also has that same unrepentant theme to it, just without any of the actual pride and joy that would have gone into an original work, defeating the purpose and saying literally nothing.

the prevalence of this stuff is just kind of overwhelming, though. it somehow feels more predatory than your usual ai stuff.

that person on the radar is a pretty peak example of it. you can see the ghost of a signature on this one... i wonder from whom they stole.

[tsarinatorment]

Hey I was totally randomly wondering what you thought about Will and Apollo’s relationship? :D

This took me a while to get around to, so sorry about the delay! I just love this relationship so much so I needed to make sure I had the time to delve into it properly and give it the acknowledgement it deserves!

Why? Because Apollo and Will's relationship is simultaneously so wholesome and beautiful, and also so sad, because they both love each other so much - but they don't often get the chance to show it, and indeed when they do get the chance, they get a little bit awkward and shy.

We might as well start chronologically here, with the first massive sign that this is a positive relationship, and not a neutral or negative one, and that's BOO. BOO is actually a goldmine for getting Will's unfettered and unbiased thoughts on Apollo, because once we hit TOA we're seeing it all through Apollo's unreliable narration, where he can't possibily believe that his kids might not actually hate him, and also the aforementioned awkwardness.

Will actively worries about Apollo. Before the idea of him being mortal enters the equation, back when he's a fully fledged god and surely there shouldn't be anything that could hurt him - Will is worried about him.

‘We don’t know what’s going on at Delphi,’ Will continued. ‘My dad hasn’t answered any prayers, or appeared in any dreams ... I mean, all the gods have been silent, but this isn’t like Apollo. Something’s wrong.’

"Something's wrong", Will says, after acknowledging that for most gods this degree of silence isn't weird at all - but that it is, for Apollo. That Apollo not dropping in on his kids' dreams is a massive red flag that something is wrong.

I'm just gonna dip into a secondary thing here because it's also occurred to me that there's an obvious fear running through Will here - "we don't know what's going on at Delphi". Delphi, the home of the oracle (hence this conversation coming up in the first place), but also the place of Apollo's greatest mythological battle. At this point it doesn't seem like the campers know that Python is definitely back, but they know something is wrong, that somehow the prophecies are blocked which means something's happened to one of Apollo's core seats of power, and with no signs that Apollo is trying to fix it - there's a high chance that at this point Will is terrified that his father has actually been defeated. And it's a logical jump to make - after all, gods are not exactly known for just letting control of their domains disappear, and with the double-whammy of him also going silent as one of his sacred places stops working...

I really, really, would not want to be in the shoes of an Apollo kid right then.

But anyway, back to the main point of this, which is their relationship. This section also gives us some great little pieces of insight into Apollo's relationship not just with Will, but also with the rest of his kids. Firstly, Will calls him dad, which is not super unusual amongst campers when referring to their godly parents, but also not overly common - they tend to call them by name. Small detail but a cute one.

Secondly, if Apollo not appearing in dreams or answering prayers in unusual, then that means that Apollo almost always (if not straight-up always) answers his kids when they call on him. Definitely, he must answer them when they're upset/panicked - which they would be at this point, and getting more and more upset and panicked as he doesn't answer, etc. And it's not just answering prayers, which could be done in any variety of nebulous forms, it's also actually dropping in on their dreams.

Apollo kids probably see their dad frequently, certainly compared to the other kids, most of whom seem to never, ever see their godly parent, or once in a blue moon (when their parent wants something from them). Is it likely that these dream visits are probably just Apollo dropping by and being his pre-TOA daft self with lots of posturing and probably many, many recitals of bad haikus? Probably - in fact, given how they treat him in THO, I'd say it's likely that they only see Apollo in goofy mode. Does that mean these visits aren't something to be cherished? Absolutely not. Will isn't pleased or relieved that Apollo's stopped bothering his dreams, he's worried.

He's also furious.

"I wish I was a better archer ... I wouldn’t mind shooting my Roman relative off his high horse[...]"

Octavian is claiming Apollo is supporting what he's doing. According to Octavian, Apollo wants this war. Will explicitly wants to kill him for this. He's not even subtle about it; he straight up says "I wouldn't mind shooting the guy" - and that's before we actually get the face to face confrontation with Octavian:

"[...]The god Apollo has shown me the future –’ ‘No!’ Will Solace shoved Nico out of the way and got in Octavian’s face. ‘I am a son of Apollo, you anaemic loser. My father hasn’t shown anyone the future, because the power of prophecy isn’t working. But this –’ He waved loosely at the assembled legion, the hordes of monstrous armies spread across the hillside. ‘This is not what Apollo would want!’ Octavian’s lip curled. ‘You lie. The god told me personally that I would be remembered as the saviour of Rome. I will lead the legion to victory, and I will start by –’

I love Will for this moment so, so much. He is furious with Octavian for even daring to suggest he has Apollo's support. He knows Apollo well enough to be able to confidently tell not just Octavian, not just Nico and Lou Ellen and Cecil, but also everyone in earshot, that Octavian is wrong. That Apollo would not want this, that he's so, so wrong and how dare he desecrate Apollo's name like that.

And the kicker is - Will is right. Will doesn't know it (yet - we'll come to that later) beyond simply his pure, unadulterated faith in his father, but we, the readers, already do, because Apollo has already bemoaned this whole mess to Leo. Will's absolute and utter faith in Apollo here is right and that sort of faith isn't blind, can't be blind. The only other time we see kids so adamant in their belief is the Athena kids - and by now we've had the absolute whopper of a confession that the Athena kids are like this because they're indoctrinated, because they're scared not to, because "Mum's always right".

The Apollo kids aren't indoctrinated. Maybe in BOO we don't know that for certain, but the moment TOA hits and we get his kids ribbing him and treating him like a person rather than someone to be afraid of, it's clear as day. This faith comes from Apollo earning it - we know he's gifted his kids stuff before. Percy tells us that Michael's sonic arrows are straight from Apollo in TLO. It's just a logical progression from there that his kids at the least have enough faith in their father to know that he wouldn't throw them into another war. And that's what Will gives us here, in BOO.

And then we reach TOA.

Will (tragically) only appears in the first and last books of the series, although Apollo does think about him occasionally, but even just from THO and TON we get so much depth to their relationship.

And it starts the very first time we see Will.

“You’re Will Solace,” I said. “My, ah...erm—” “Yeah,” Will agreed. “It’s awkward.” My frontal lobe did a one-eighty inside my skull. I listed sideways. “Whoa, there.” Will steadied me. “I tried to heal you, but honestly, I don’t understand what’s wrong. You’ve got blood, not ichor. You’re recovering quickly from your injuries, but your vital signs are completely human.” “Don’t remind me.” “Yeah, well...” He put his hand on my forehead and frowned in concentration. His fingers trembled slightly. “I didn’t know any of that until I tried to give you nectar. Your lips started steaming. I almost killed you.”

There are some major things in here that really stand out to me. Firstly, and I've mentioned this before in a meta about names and nicknames - Apollo calls him Will. He goes from explicitly not recalling his name (which is a whole other kettle of fish I have an entire theory on), to not just getting it right first try with no hesitation, he also calls him Will. Will, not William.

And that's not because Will's full name isn't William - we get that canon titbit in TON when Nico fullnames him. Apollo would have been correct to call him William, and given the pattern of most gods to call demigods by their full names rather than their preferred nicknames, the fact that Apollo not only gets his name right straight after his mental blank, he also defaults straight to Will's preferred name rather than his full name, is telling. It proves that Apollo has at the very least been paying close enough attention to Will during his life to know this - and combined with Will's own words in BOO, it's a straight up smoking gun that Apollo has interacted with Will often enough before this to instinctively get his name right.

Then we have the confession. Not just one confession, either - we've actually got two. The first one is a confession of I don't know what's wrong, from the kid whose primary inherited ability (that we know of at this point) is healing, which by itself is pretty impressive. Hi dad, I know I got all this healing stuff from you but sorry I still don't understand things is not something I'd be willing to say to a god I didn't know for certain wouldn't get mad at me - even if said god was temporarily mortal. And of course, there's the big one, the "I almost killed you" confession. That's definitely not something you admit to someone you're scared of.

But there's more to it than that, too - the trembling of his fingers, the way he goes back to check Apollo's vitals again (the way he's concentrating then, he's definitely using his vitakinesis). That's all fear, a need to reassure himself that actually no, he didn't kill his dad, that Apollo is awake and on the mend - as much as he can mend from the issue that is being mortal.

This is all the interactions of someone who cares - who cares so much.

And then the scene continues...

“Gee, thanks....” I got the feeling that he almost said Dad but managed to stop himself. It was difficult to think of this young man as my son. He was so poised, so unassuming, so free of acne. He also didn’t appear to be awestruck in my presence. In fact, the corner of his mouth had started twitching. “Are—are you amused?” I demanded. Will shrugged. “Well, it’s either find this funny or freak out. My dad, the god Apollo, is a fifteen-year-old—” “Sixteen,” I corrected. “Let’s go with sixteen.” “A sixteen-year-old mortal, lying in a cot in my cabin, and with all my healing arts—which I got from you—I still can’t figure out how to fix you.”

Most of this just affirms what I said already - the acknowledgement that it's abilities Will got from Apollo that he's failing to use to help Apollo completely, the way Will is completely at ease talking with Apollo (for the most part), the way Will opens up to Apollo about being worried - but also we get to see Will from Apollo's perspective, here.

We got the physical description earlier, which I didn't bother to include, but there's more here - Will's "poise", the respectful words he uses ("young man"), and also the fact that Will isn't at all scared or awestruck by him. That's not just a background detail, it's something Apollo specifically mentions. Will's scared, he's upset, he's trying very hard not to visibly panic - but he's still not on edge around Apollo. And when he calls Will out on this, Will shrugs him off.

I also mentioned earlier that one of the sad things about their relationship is the awkwardness between them, and that's something that this scene also manages to show, somewhat paradoxically given Will's general openness with Apollo about what's going on.

It's a very clever detail in THO, which is then mirrored in TON - there is only one occasion in THO that Will calls Apollo "Dad", and that's during a conversation where they're talking about other stuff and it just slips out. The rest of the time, we get scenes like this, where Will pauses, where he's gonna call Apollo "Dad" but then doesn't, because he doesn't know if he should, because this is his dad but it's also not, Apollo's a scared teenage boy himself right now and is it right to call him Dad? Skip ahead to TON and Will never, ever, calls Apollo by name when addressing him - it's 100% Dad, after he's got used to this new status quo.

And Will is the only one with this issue - Austin and Kayla call Apollo "Dad" right from the start. It's a very clever little piece of narration to show how Will's not quite confident in what's going on, how he's worrying about things that the other two maybe haven't fully registered yet. The way he wants to call him Dad but he doesn't actually know if he should, because things are different now. The way he almost slips here because calling Apollo Dad is natural, the way he does slip later on, at dinner.

The word smacked me in the face like Ares’s body odor. I turned to Austin. “The Labyrinth? As in Daedalus’s Labyrinth?” [...] “During the war with Gaea,” Austin said, “the maze reopened. We’ve been trying to map it ever since.” “That’s impossible,” I said. “Also insane. The Labyrinth is a malevolent sentient creation! It can’t be mapped or trusted.” [...] “It’s different now,” Austin told me. “Since Daedalus died...I don’t know. It’s hard to describe. Doesn’t feel so evil. Not quite as deadly.” “Oh, that’s hugely reassuring. So of course you decided to do three-legged races through it.” Will coughed. “The other thing, Dad...Nobody wants to disappoint Harley.”

I love this little scene (Apollo's extra descriptions removed from the quote for ease of length because they don't add anything to the Will&Apollo focus here) because it's Apollo being an actual dispairing father with the oozing sarcasm of "well of course it's safe so you can do dangerous things in there", and this is where Will has his one, single slip re: "Dad" in THO - a reaction to Apollo's super-parental vibe here. Where Apollo really just fell into worried dad mode and Will instinctively responded to it.

But despite this, for a lot of THO, Will is the one almost taking the parental role - he tells Apollo off when he's being an idiot (we'll get to that in a bit), but he also fills the softer sections, like here:

A blanket was draped over me. Will said, “Sleep well, Apollo.”

It shouldn't be the child tucking the parent in, it should be the parent tucking the child in, and it's heartbreaking that this happens but also the fact that Will does it, steps up to be what Apollo doesn't even realise he needs right then, is so precious in its own way. As for telling Apollo off...

I would have ignored Chiron’s warning and run into the forest except for Will’s panicked shout, “Apollo, I need you!” At the far end of the field, he had set up an impromptu hospital where half a dozen campers lay injured on stretchers. He was frantically tending to Paolo Montes while Nico held down the screaming patient. I ran to Will’s side and winced at what I saw. Paolo had managed to get one of his legs sawed off. “I got it reattached,” Will told me, his voice shaky with exhaustion. His scrubs were speckled with blood. “I need somebody to keep him stable.” I pointed to the woods. “But—” “I know!” Will snapped. “Don’t you think I want to be out there searching too? We’re shorthanded for healers. There’s some salve and nectar in that pack. Go!” I was stunned by his tone. I realized he was just as concerned about Kayla and Austin as I was. The only difference: Will knew his duty. He had to heal the injured first. And he needed my help. “Y-yes,” I said. “Yes, of course.” I grabbed the supply pack and took charge of Paolo, who had conveniently passed out from the pain. Will changed his surgical gloves and glared at the woods. “We will find them. We have to.” Nico di Angelo gave him a canteen. “Drink. Right now, this is where you need to be.” I could tell the son of Hades was angry too. Around his feet, the grass steamed and withered. Will sighed. “You’re right. But that doesn’t make me feel better. I have to set Valentina’s broken arm now. You want to assist?” “Sounds gruesome,” Nico said. “Let’s go.”

A long quote here but a necessary one because this scene is so, so good. @fearlessinger has already written about this in depth, but there's something so powerful here about the way Will snaps at Apollo in front of the entire camp, and Apollo backs down, admits he was wrong, and meekly does what he's told.

We see Will's own fear for his siblings here as well, of course - that glare he gives the woods is fierce, the defiance that the woods will not steal his (remaining) siblings from him is such a powerful image - but also it's just the way he channels it into doing what he's trained to do, how he's a battlefield medic first and foremost and the trauma that comes with it - and that Apollo respects this. Apollo understands what Will's saying, what Will needs from him. He understands that they're actually on the same page, re: Austin and Kayla, but that Will knows no-one would forgive them if they abandoned the injured to go after them - least of all themselves, or the missing kids.

Apollo's sheer respect for Will shines through here, the first time it's so blatantly explicit as respect as well as just love; it's also one of the first times we properly see Apollo respect someone else so openly (when you dig into his narration, you see it everywhere, because despite the unreliable narration he throws in our faces, Apollo is very much a god who loves and respects humans), and then he even takes it one step further, because then we get this:

I found my mortal healing skills were passable. Will Solace far outshone me, but that didn’t bother me as much as my failures with archery and music had. I suppose I was used to being second in healing. My son Asclepius had become the god of medicine by the time he was fifteen, and I couldn’t have been happier for him. It left me time for my other interests. Besides, it’s every god’s dream to have a child who grows up to be a doctor.

This is deliberate. This is so, so deliberate on Apollo's behalf. Here we have Will, confirmed earlier in the book to be fifteen, in direct comparison to Asclepius, at the same age, and in the same position - a better healer than Apollo. Of course, there's the fact that we are comparing Will to mortal!Apollo at this point, but the overall message is still the same: Apollo loves and greatly respects Asclepius, and is proud of him for surpassing him - and he's praising Will in the same breath, with this comparison right there. This is Apollo telling us "so you know that famous healer son of mine? Well here's another one, look at him, isn't he amazing?" No holds barred, pure and simple praise.

The painful thing is that Will doesn't realise this. Because Apollo also makes an absolutely massive mistake in THO when it comes to Will - and that's that he abandons him when he needed him the most.

“That’s an order,” she said. “No going into the woods until I say so.” The command sent a shudder from the base of my skull to my heels. I dug my fingernails into my palms. “Meg McCaffrey, if my children die because you wouldn’t let me—” “Like Chiron said, you’d just get yourself killed. We’ll wait for daylight.” [...] I scowled at Meg. “I’m staying out here tonight, in case Kayla and Austin come back. Unless you want to forbid me from doing that, too.” She only shrugged. Even her shrugs were annoying. I stormed off to the Me cabin and grabbed a few supplies: a flashlight, two blankets, a canteen of water. As an afterthought, I took a few books from Will Solace’s bookshelf. No surprise, he kept reference materials about me to share with new campers. I thought perhaps the books might help jog my memories. Failing that, they’d make good tinder for a fire. When I returned to the edge of the woods, Meg was still there.

It's never explicitly mentioned in the books - it's hardly even referenced - but Apollo doesn't even think about Will here, except as an owner of storybooks (that Apollo threatens to burn, although I highly doubt he ever would've done, not when they belong to Will) and a good head counsellor. He's so frantic for his missing kids, and so angry with Meg for (rightfully) banning him from going straight after them, that he storms off and doesn't pay Will any attention. He even uses the word "afterthought" here which technically references the action of taking the books, but also tells us what Will was here.

And it was wrong of Apollo. It no doubt hurt Will, although being Will he also probably brushed it off, understanding why Apollo was more desperate for news of his missing kids - after all, Will, too was desperate to go into the woods, and I wonder if Nico had to stop him from the same vigil, too.

I rested my hand on Will’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll be back by dawn.” His mouth trembled ever so slightly. “How can you be sure?” “I’m the sun god,” I said, trying to muster more confidence than I felt. “I always return at dawn.”

Apollo does, however, remember to reassure Will before he leaves - this isn't prompted by anything Will does, the presentation of the ukulele (which Will wholly attributes to Harley but given that Will is the one presenting it, heavily implies that Will was highly involved during its creation - I like to think that Will's the one that tuned it!) is several lines earlier, and several other non-Will interactions take place before Apollo does this. We see Will's fear come back again, in that little tremble that indicates he's not all that far short of crying, which Apollo notices (but doesn't call out directly, not even to the readers) and does his best to mitigate, even though he knows there's only so much he can do.

And Nico confirms for us that it didn't really help:

Nico rested his hand on Will’s shoulder. “Apollo, we were worried. Will was especially.”

(This is also one of my favourite THO Solangelo moments but that's a rabbit hole for a different post, this one is getting quite long enough I think, and we haven't even got near TON yet...) This is a sad moment, because while Will has spoken in this scene, it's all been purely medical, telling Apollo about his injuries, what they know - but not opening up even for a moment about how he's feeling. So Nico does it for him, letting Apollo - and us, the reader - know just how worried Will has been, that Will can't even admit it himself despite all the admittances he's made to Apollo about worries and mistakes and fears earlier in the book - and Apollo's delighted for Will, in that moment, that he has someone there to support him so whole-heartedly, even though his narration spends more time talking about his own woes than addressing his son's clear distress over him - likely because we're still at the point in the series where Apollo can't actually bring himself to realise that other people do, genuinely, care about and like him. He still thinks he's unworthy of his own children's affection, especially right now, when two of them are missing and not only did he just fail to bring them back, but he lost another child (not his, but bound to him nonetheless) in the process.

This is the moment where we realise that, despite how much both of them love each other, something that has been made abundantly clear on both sides by BOO and THO up to this point, there's still an emotional gap there, an uncertainty that when things get serious they can actually turn to each other and accept help from each other - expect help from each other. Despite the fact that we've already been seeing that happen all book.

In my humble, Apollo&his kids loving, opinion, there is nowhere near enough Will in THO, so the next time we actually see him is near the end, when we get this little moment:

“Hey!” called Nico di Angelo. He and Will scrambled over the dunes, still dripping from their swim in the canoe lake. “What’s the plan?” Will seemed calm, but I knew him well enough by now to tell that inside he was as charged as a bare electrical wire.

Apollo misleading us nicely here "I knew him well enough by now" - the way this is written, it makes it sound like he's talking about just since being Lester, but that doesn't fit. For starters, we've not actually seen Will pull this calm exterior frantic interior display - whenever he's been frantic on the interior, it's come across in his body language, whether it was biting his lip, fighting a smile or even being outright snappy. Or rather, Apollo's always taken the time to pick up on Will's tells even from the start. This isn't a sudden realisation of "oh now I can tell Will's not calm" when he's been doing the same thing subtly all book, this is Apollo pretending he's only just realised, holding up his self-inflicted narrative of "I'm a bad father", but given that he's been picking Will's tells apart all book already... this is actually more evidence that Apollo knows Will well and has done for a long time - definitely longer than the span of the couple of days Lester is in camp.

Apollo, please stop trying to convince us and yourself you're a terrible father. It's not working on us and you need to stop doing yourself that disservice.

And to wrap up THO, we have Apollo once again being a proud dad:

Will Solace and I spent the evening caring for the wounded. Will took the lead, which was fine with me; I was exhausted. Mostly I splinted arms, distributed cold medicine and tissues, and tried to keep Harley from stealing the infirmary’s entire supply of smiley-face stickers, which he plastered all over his flamethrower. [...] Thanks to Will’s healing and a hot dinner, the demigods I had rescued from the woods quickly got back to full strength.

Apollo and Will work on healing everyone together - Apollo even lists all the things he did - but when it comes to everyone getting better, he only credits Will. Gotta love some proud dad moments!

Now we're onto TON, which gives me so many feels about Apollo&Will. Yes, I know this is long already. No, I am definitely not done I just love these two so much okay.

Compared to the camp’s Greek temples and amphitheatres, the four-storey sky-blue Victorian known as the Big House looked quaint and homey. Its white trim gleamed like cake frosting. Its bronze eagle weathervane drifted lazily in the breeze. On its wraparound front porch, enjoying lemonade at the card table, sat Nico di Angelo and Will Solace. ‘Dad!’ Will shot to his feet. He ran down the steps and tackled me in a hug. That’s when I lost it. I wept openly. My beautiful son, with his kind eyes, his healer’s hands, his sun-warm demeanour. Somehow, he had inherited all my best qualities and none of the worst. He guided me up the steps and insisted I take his seat. He pressed a cold glass of lemonade into my hands, then started fussing over my wounded head. ‘I’m fine,’ I murmured, though clearly I wasn’t.

Look at this greeting. Look at how delighted Will is to see Apollo, that Dad! and the tackle hug and the open fussing and just all of it, especially compared to six months earlier, in THO where Will's always just a little reticent, a little shy to fully let himself be Apollo's son. Even here he's still falling a little into healer mode, but only after he gets to be the delighted, relieved son, and it makes you wonder just how much worse his worry got while they were separated, that he's managed to lose all those inhibitions and just be so openly, frantically, delighted, to see Apollo.

And of course, Apollo reciprocates in his narration. He's likewise so happy to see Will, can't not let this moment pass without letting us know that this is his son and he's so, so proud of him, look how amazing Will is. He's half delirious and about to pass out (much to Will's horror), but he's still got to find the time to tell us all about just how beautiful and talented and amazing Will is.

Then we get a beautiful, amazing little character detail, which makes me keysmash just thinking about it.

‘Oh, you’re awake!’ My son Will emerged from the bathroom in a billow of steam, his blond hair dripping wet and a towel around his waist. On his left pectoral was a stylized sun tattoo, which seemed unnecessary to me – as if he could be mistaken for anything but a child of the sun god.

The sun tattoo. The tattoo that is so clearly a sun that Apollo can't even pretend to mistake it for anything other than not only a sun, but also an acknowledgement of him, that he is Will's father and that Will is proud enough of that fact to have it tattooed over his heart (at fifteen and who the hell was willing to tattoo a fifteen year old boy but I'm glad they did). Is this tattoo just an homage? Was it a potential memorial in case something went wrong and Apollo died? So many questions, so many potential answers, and all of them are so, so pro-Apollo. We only see one other demigod with something so permanent representing their parent and that's Butch's rainbow tattoo in TLH. Whatever the exact reason, Will loves Apollo enough to permanently etch that into his skin and I think that's absolutely beautiful.

And Apollo makes a small enough deal out of it that it's clear even he can't escape the implications, although he hurriedly moves on in his narration rather than focus on this visual representation that he can't be a bad father, in Will's eyes, otherwise Will would never have got that tattoo.

Here’s all you need to know about Will Solace: he had clothes waiting for me. On his last trip into town, he’d gone shopping specifically for things that might fit me. ‘I figured you’d come back to camp eventually,’ he said. ‘I hoped you would, anyway. I wanted you to feel at home.’

Will Solace you beautiful child. And the way Apollo bursts into tears at this kindness, too, trying to attribute it to Naomi when we've just had four and a bit books of Apollo being kind to a world he thinks hates him. Maybe Will learned kindness from Naomi as well, but he definitely inherited at least some of it from Apollo. By this point in the series it's impossible to claim otherwise.

Also Will being so desperate to help Apollo feel at home, the little implication there that he doesn't want him to leave again, or at least doesn't want to be left behind again - and he isn't. Not until the end, when Apollo has to leave everyone, including Meg, behind. Apollo lets him come with them to the trogs, lets him join in and help, this time, for all that they get separated too soon, because Apollo doesn't want to be separated again, either. He definitely doesn't want his son (or any of the demigods) in danger, but he's learned to accept help, and the help of the two demigods who have been trying from the start (Will and Nico) is the help he accepts first.

I wanted to tell them that they were all so young. Their lifespans were a blink of an eye compared to my four millennia. I should be wrapping them all in warm blankets and giving them cookies rather than expecting them to be heroes, slay monsters and buy me clothes.

Some yearning to be a proper dad, too, just in case anyone missed how much Apollo doesn't want to put them in danger.

I won't dump the whole passage here, but I also just wanna mention how much Will trusts Apollo, that he's willing to give an overview of Nico's problems to him (no doubt with permission from Nico as well - we saw Nico speak for Will in THO, so this is a neat reversal here). He also confides in his own worries about Nico here, too, because while he's definitely not shy about telling Nico he does not want him going back to Tartarus, he also doesn't load Nico up with all his panics about the situation - so he offloads on Apollo, instead, once again showing us just how much he loves and trusts his dad.

Will developed a sudden interest in his bran muffin’s wrapper. Nico seemed to realize, at the same time I did, that Will hadn’t shared all the lines of the prophecy with him. ‘William Andrew Solace,’ Nico said, ‘do you have something to confess?’ ‘I was going to mention it.’ Will looked at me pleadingly, as if he couldn’t make himself say the lines. ‘The son of Hades, cavern-runners ’ friend ,’ I recited. ‘Must show the secret way unto the throne .’ Nico scowled with such intensity I feared he might make Will wither like the apple. ‘You think that might have been good to mention sooner?’ ‘Hold on,’ I said, partly to spare Will from Nico’s wrath, and partly because I had been racking my brain, trying to think who these ‘cavern-runners’ might be, and I still had no clue.

In fact, we get a lot of this in this scene, with Will actually treating Apollo like his dad, looking to him for reassurance and help and even to handle the difficult conversations (he's a fifteen year old boy he's allowed to want to hide behind an adult occasionally. If he was a normal mortal child he would absolutely be doing so most of the time at his age). It's a great evolution from THO, where he's almost still too in shock to actually treat Lester like his dad - to now, where he's completely and utterly embraced the fact that this is still Apollo, and that he can treat him like Apollo.

TON gives us many small moments of Will appreciation, because Apollo spends a lot of time with him and loves his son so very much, so I'll skip over all of those because they don't actually add anything new to this answer. But I'm not going to skip over the big ones.

Will Solace, healer, The hero we don’t deserve, He has Kit Kat bars.

Firstly: Will gets his own haiku. By name. Absolutely no misinterpretating who this could possibly be about - it's right there in the first three syllables of the first line. It also highlights his healing (at this point, Will's biggest point of pride), and calls him a hero. Massive honours right there (and reasons why I, personally, am gonna be voting this haiku all the way to top haiku in TOA in @ferodactyl's haiku tournament).

Then... anyone who has heard me talk about Apollo&Will has no doubt been waiting for me to bring this up, because oh boy do I think this was some beautiful, subtle, writing that showcases just how much Apollo's word means to Will.

The glowing.

Firstly, I love that Will can glow, anyway. It fits his character so well.

Secondly, the way it's used to showcase his and Apollo's relationship is masterful.

‘You guys stay behind me,’ Nico said. ‘Will, can you do your thing? The barest minimum, please.’ ‘Wait,’ I said. ‘What is Will’s “thing”?’ Will kept his focus on Nico. ‘Do I have to?’ ‘We can’t use our weapons for light,’ Nico reminded him. ‘And we’ll need a little bit more, because the trogs don’t need any. I’d rather be able to see them.’ Will wrinkled his nose. ‘Fine.’ He set down his pack and stripped off his linen overshirt, leaving just his tank top. I still had no idea what he was doing, though the girls didn’t seem to mind letting him do his thing . Did Will keep a concealed flashlight in his undershirt? Was he going to provide light by rubbing lichen on himself and smiling brilliantly? [...] Will took a deep breath. When he exhaled ... I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. We’d been in near-total darkness so long, I wasn’t sure why Will’s outline suddenly seemed clearer. I could see the texture of his jeans, the individual tufts of his hair, the blue of his eyes. His skin was glowing with a soft, warm golden light as if he’d ingested sunshine. ‘Whoa,’ Meg said. Rachel’s eyebrows floated towards her hairline. Nico smirked. ‘Friends, meet my glow-in-the-dark boyfriend.’ ‘Could you not make a big deal about it?’ Will asked. I was speechless. How could anyone not make a big deal about this? As far as demigod powers went, glowing in the dark was perhaps not as showy as skeleton-summoning or tomato-vine mastery, but it was still impressive. And, like Will’s skill at healing, it was gentle, useful and exactly what we needed in a pinch. ‘I’m so proud,’ I said. Will’s face turned the colour of sunlight shining through a glass of cranberry juice. ‘Dad, I’m just glowing . I’m not graduating at the top of my class.’ ‘I’ll be proud when you do that, too,’ I assured him.

Contrast Will in this scene, with Will here:

On the threshold stood Will Solace, radiating brilliant light.

and here:

Will, still glowing like an overachieving night light, had propped Nico against the wall and was now tending to his wounds.

(I will get to the rest of this scene later)

I love, love, love, love, love this. The first time we're introduced to Will's new ability, he's hesitant about it. He's embarrassed. Nico has to talk him into using it even though they need light and it's the best way to give it without offending the trogs. He dismisses the banter and the praise because he thinks it's a pretty boring ability - after all, it's just glowing, Dad, it's not like it's anything special, right?

Except it is, and Apollo makes sure he knows it is. Apollo, god of poetry, goes speechless he's so proud, and then methodically dismisses all of Will's attempts to downplay his ability because Apollo is so, so impressed that Will can do it - in fact, he later directly contrasts it against actual godly divinity:

His glow was getting brighter as he approached the fasces – like Will, like me in my own godly moments of rage...

because Apollo thinks it is that impressive.

And here we have the second glowing scene - in a brightly lit building, with floor to ceiling windows and plenty of light, certainly no need for more light, we have Will glowing brightly, of his own accord. No hesitation, no embarrassment, just a sheer status symbol, almost: I am the son of Apollo, and I will oppose you with everything I am.

This seems at such odds to his original feelings, where he keeps it as minimal as possible and dismisses any attempts to make it seem good - and the only reason that could possibly exist for this u-turn, is Apollo's praise.

Apollo told him, unreservedly and completely honestly (late enough into his mortality that Will understands that Apollo is sincere, and also that this isn't Apollo loving something completely cringe, like we know Apollo can do) that his power is impressive, that Apollo is proud of him for it. And just those words from his dad are enough to completely change Will's opinion on this power.

That's absolutely beautiful writing, and such a fantastic way to show without ever telling us, just how much weight Apollo's words have for Will. Just how much Apollo's praise means to Will.

Jumping back to an attempt at chronology, remember how I said (way back at the start of this, when I was talking about Will's faith in BOO, probably a couple of hours' of reading ago at this point whoops) that Will had faith that Apollo didn't want to put them in danger but that he didn't actually know for certain outside of that faith? And the yet I tacked on to that?

Well, this next scene I'm gonna mention notably has zero Will interaction in it. Absolutely none, despite the fact we know he's there, in earshot. And that's very interesting to me, because it's a scene entirely about validating Will's belief, especially when we reach this little interaction between Apollo and Rachel:

‘Rachel, I’m scared,’ I admitted. ‘It was one thing thinking about putting myself in danger. But the entire camp? Everyone?’ Strangely, this comment seemed to please her. She took my hand. ‘I know, Apollo. And the fact that you’re worried about other people? That’s beautiful. But you’ll have to trust me. That secret path to the throne ... the thing I am supposed to show you? I’m pretty sure this is it. This is how we make things right.’

An entire pentalogy later, we get it straight from the horse's mouth, without all the airs and posturing and blaming Octavian we got accompanying it in BOO: Apollo does not like putting demigods in danger. At all. Rachel has to convince him it's the only way - and it's interesting, because she views this as progress, on Apollo's part, that he's learned to worry about the others.

But Will and Meg, who are both in earshot but say nothing this entire conversation, already know better. Meg's been with him for (most of) his time as a mortal, at this point she knows him better than arguably anyone else, including Artemis, because she's seen him at his lowest, most vulnerable points. Meg knows he'll do anything to keep others safe - she's seen it, over and over and over again, been the one he's tried to protect more than once. It's not a surprise in the slightest that she's completely silent during this scene - she has nothing to add.

Will, on the other hand - this validates the faith he showed ten months earlier, on the battlefield between two armies loudly declaring that this war is not what Apollo wanted, that Apollo would never put them into the firing line like that. It's not a validation he needed - if he did, we wouldn't call it faith, anyway - but it's one he gets, and in a way it's a shame Apollo didn't look at him, didn't tell us how Will reacted to this, because I bet he was absolutely delighted (and also feeling very smug about being right, take that Octavian!).

Sadly we once again lose Will for a while, but then we get this glorious scene which easily competes for #1 Most Badass Will Solace Moment (and honestly, imo competes for simply the Most Badass Moment in Riordanverse, but I acknowledge my pro-Will bias here)

Behind me, a familiar voice roared, ‘STOP!’ The tone was so commanding even Nero’s guards and family members turned towards the broken blast doors. On the threshold stood Will Solace, radiating brilliant light. At his left was Luguselwa, alive and well, her stumps now outfitted with daggers instead of silverware. At Will’s right was Rachel Elizabeth Dare, holding a large axe wrapped in a golden bundle of rods: the fasces of Nero. ‘No one hits my boyfriend,’ Will thundered. ‘And no one kills my dad!’

Again, the wording here is so perfectly chosen. Will radiating light, the way the whole passage, despite also introducing Luguselwa and Rachel and even Nero's fasces into the scene - still frames and focuses on Will in particular. Beautiful.

But what I so, so love about this moment is Apollo's very careful use of the word thundered. We know that Apollo hates Zeus' lightning bolts - we know he's terrified of them. The sound of thunder is, to Apollo, the sound of pain, the sound of loss, the sound of abuse.

And he chooses to use that description here, when Will comes to his defence. When Will barges into the scene, unapologetic and determined, and manages to take over everything, scare the germani (I wish I could also include Nero in this but Nero is obviously actually too worried about Rachel and his fasces), Apollo calls his voice thunder. Coincidence? I think not.

Now, this doesn't mean I think Apollo is scared of Will - Will is his son, Will literally just saved his life. I think this was Apollo's way of driving home to all the readers just how much of a force of nature Will Solace can be when he wants to be. I think this was actually a mark of respect, a comparison literally to the king of the gods, but also how Zeus should be, not the abusive asshole he is.

It's such a powerful description. And that's also what Apollo keeps reminding us Will is - powerful.

And I love it.

The last bit I really wanna talk about here is the scene before Apollo goes to fight Python, when he gets a few minutes with frantic demigods whilst getting patched up just enough to hopefully not die immediately the moment he reaches Delphi, starting with this bit:

‘I have no choice,’ I said. ‘Nectar, please? And supplies. More arrows. My bow.’ [...] Will pressed a vial of nectar into my hands. ‘Drink this. And this.’ He passed me a Mountain Dew. ‘And here’s some salve for those wounds.’

Remember Will almost killing Apollo with nectar back in THO? You'd think he, out of everyone, would be most reluctant to let Apollo near nectar again, even on Apollo's own request, and yet he doesn't even hesitate here. I don't think it's just blind trust in Apollo - Apollo's also proven he's not great at the self-preservation thing, and Will is used to dealing with idiots with no self-preservation (see exhibit A: his boyfriend) - but I think it's faith, again. Faith, and hope, because he just saw Apollo revoke Nero's divinity, he just saw his father do something gods do. Apollo's getting his own divinity back at this point, clawing it back all by himself, and this little moment proves that Will saw this. He might not understand the nuances behind it, he might not realise that this is literally Apollo remaking himself as a god rather than being part of Zeus' own machinations, but he sees that Apollo is returning to godhood - and yet he still doesn't actually change how he treats Apollo. Apollo is still one of his patients here, he will take his medicine exactly as prescribed and treat those wounds before he bleeds to death.

And Will still frets a little, at the end:

Will did some last-minute bandaging.

This is the last moment we see with Will before Apollo reascends to godhood, and really it's too little to encompass everything that this means to the two of them - but also it leaves it open, tells us that this was never a goodbye for Apollo, no matter how scared Will had been, that despite never promising any of his children that he would come back from this, he didn't feel the need to detail out whatever words of farewell/comfort/etc. were uttered in this moment, when Apollo let Will fuss over him for just that last moment before he went down to face Python.

It tells us that while their time together as Lester and Will has come to an end, because one way or another Lester was never coming back, their time as Apollo and Will, as father and son, isn't over. There's no closure here, no final moment.

Because, actually, while they learnt a lot about each other while Apollo was mortal - especially Will learning about his father - this was only ever a single chapter in their relationship. Apollo has been Will's father since birth, he's been checking up on him, however goofily he may have dressed up those visits, at least since Will arrived at camp and probably since long before that, and he's not going to stop now. In fact, given the character arc Apollo went through during TOA, Will's probably in for even more parental interaction than he already had.

We get a little of this in the epilogue, of course, where Apollo returns to camp to open the next chapter of his life - and his relationship with his children - as a god once more. We know Apollo isn't planning on fading out of their lives again. And why should he?

So yeah, I have a lot of feelings about Apollo&Will; I love their relationship so much. I haven't even touched on further extrapolation like how Will will always react better to Apollo-Apollo than Lester-Apollo, because Lester-Apollo needed help and healing, and for Will to step up, while Apollo-Apollo is simply his father, and the version Will's known at least his whole demigod life, if not longer because this is already so long, whoops.

If you've made it to the end of this... congrats! And sorry again that it took me so long to answer.

[voidsentprinces]

I want more games like Dragon's Dogma 2 and Persona 3 Reloaded where the NPCs actively will just talk shit about you either in conversation amongst themselves or to other people who summon them.

If you don't know in Dragon Dogma 2, your Pawns or helpful NPC guide buddies who help you fight and do stuff through the game. Can also be used to aid other people playing the game via an online lobby...thingie. If you only ever make Pawns of certain gender, you better believe, your pawns will note this and discuss it with other people's pawns whom have summoned yours for aid. In Persona 3 Reloaded if you have a load out of only female characters while ascending the dungeon, the characters will sometimes take note of this. The Robogirl of the squad will internet search and find out that this is sometimes regarded as a "harem" and generalizes that most men your character's age dream of having one.

I need more of this. I want NPCs to point out these things and then stare into the camera. I want an NPC to note that, hey these characters are all weak to one particular element. You're really living on the edge or something. I need them to be like, wow, you really like hanging out with X they've been in your party for all our outings. etc. etc.

I just like it.

In summary: Let us summon Zenos so we can get NPC dialogue of him being obliviously observant of what NPCs we bring with us into Trusts and so forth.

Ah...my friend, this place once again? It seems you've taken a great liking to your Dragoon ally as of late. While his combat prowess is strategic. Perhaps the child with a rapier might be of more use here...or was it the one with the blue outfit? Who am I to judge you though? THERE IS CONTEST TO BE WON!

[justheretoposttrash]

day 11 of endhawks returns: electric boogaloo:

from hawks being a groomed spy who, if not well-versed in murder, is at least well-prepared for it, to endeavor's abusiveness and creation of quirk babies, these characters could have had straightforward downfalls to serve showing the dark side to hero society. hell knows that a bajillion super hero stories have supposed "good guys" in the public eye who actually uphold corrupt systems or have self-serving agendas, and these types of characters often serve as anti-examples---people not meant to be identified with and for whom the audience is usually meant to feel some schadenfreude when they fail. of course, mha doesn't do this, instead telling the story of what it takes for someone who made a wrong decision at one turn, or even someone who's been on the wrong path for nearly all of their life, to walk it all the way back. a different story might have dwelled on "bad heroes", or "phony" heroes---and mha skims this idea, but mostly turns it around in the cases of hawks and endeavor. it implies that, perhaps ironically, these characters' efforts to address the harms they've inflicted---to undo the most unheroic aspects about them---constitute the most heroic act they could take on.

"but how does hawks address killing twice?" unfortunately mha is equal parts an unwieldy story as it is an intentional one, and for every heart-on-its-sleeve piece of closure it gives, there's a loose end that it doesn't tie up outright. a lot of this allows for ambiguity and invites fans to speculate and fill in the gaps, and i'm under the impression that is intentional, though it leaves some things to be desired. long story short, hawks's thought process on killing jin is a whole roller coaster of a mess (too lazy to summarize so here's the evidence:)

week-to-week time crunch pressure, the way that being a mangaka erodes the mind and body, genuine lapses of judgment, etc. aside (again, all doylist factors), in-universe i enjoy the exercise of connecting the scattered dots of what's already there in canon (and inevitably, all roads lead to endhawks), so let's get into it! when enji urges himself to go back to his origin, he confronts the weakness and the monster within, but also his *why*---why he did what he did, why he's going to do what he's going to do. when hawks confronts his origin, he also confronts his why:

there's a throughline in this scene (besides the obviously stated one) between killing jin and standing by endeavor despite the truth of what kind of man he was. hawks wanted to save twice, but utterly failed---in fact, did the opposite of what that little kid holding the endeavor plushie would have chosen to do. his regret and remarks of how jin was a good guy are not narratively enough imo, and that this doesn't get much further development is uncharacteristic and a bit of a shame---but i would argue that, in the very least, his decision to double down on hero work, helping izuku, and standing by endeavor are actually indirect ways of addressing twice's death. endeavor is the one who made hawks want to save people, and staying by his side is almost a reclamation of that fact. he doomed jin rather than saved him, but at least he can save others. (flavor-wise, it understandably might feel sour to some fans that hawks's thought process here doesn't dwell on the villains he spent time amongst, particularly the fact that the LOV were the friends at the core of twice's heart and are what drove him to act. i also 100% agree with those hoping hawks would have saved toga to bring the twice/saving people/redemption thing full circle, and i do think that would have created the far better story.) there isn't nearly as much as a lot of us would like to work with in-story, but at the same time, the stuff that is there is still nuanced and fun to analyze (and gay, as usual, somehow).

circling it back to fallen heroes (geez, remember when that was the topic of this post? neither do i, apparently!), a ton of other superhero stories also tend to have the morally gray "bad hero" character clash with the pure-hearted protagonist, usually to be persuaded back to the side of good or to be soundly defeated. this is what happens in-story between nagant and deku, for instance. but interestingly, while hawks and endeavor do interact with deku significantly, they don't gain their motivation from him. instead, they largely seem to turn to each other, though a lot of that is left unstated/up to interpretation. and though the support they receive from the other most important figures in their lives--tokoyami and the todofam--are what end up defining the very end of the war, they are far less comfortable getting help from people who aren't each other. being the maladaptive loners they are, both hawks and endeavor have to be pursued into receiving this support, and try to push these other people away (not without good reason, to be fair), even giving similar reactions of dismay (and receiving similar reprimands):

(they never have this issue with each other, though. for some reason. 🤔)

so in short, in a story that redefines herodom over and over again through every character---such as following your passions á la hatsume, or finding your confidence like yaoyorozu---it also redefines herodom through the very characters who have, at one time or another, failed to achieve it. and said characters, turning to each other implicitly or explicitly, help each other find what it means to be a hero again.

[silverfoxstole]

OK. Right. I've sorted my panel photos, which I'll start posting tomorrow (I won't bombard you with them all at once!), so I can get my thoughts straight about yesterday. This is going to be long; sorry! I'll divide it into two parts so that those who want to skip my wittering and just see the pics can.

I hadn't actually thought I'd ever go to a con again; my last one had been back in 2009 and they've got a hell of a lot bigger since then, which sort of puts me off as I don’t really like crowds, and living as I do right down on the south coast they're usually too far away. However, when back at the end of January an ad popped up out of the blue on my Facebook feed informing me that Paul would be appearing at Portsmouth Comic Con (less than ten miles from me) my heart skipped a beat and I started wondering whether I'd be able to go. Of course, there was nothing stopping me but I wasn't keen to go on my own, and I knew my DW-and-anything-else-related-to-scifi-fantasy-etc-hating sister would never agree.

When not long later I saw Sylvester was going to be there as well I mentioned it to my friend P (with whom I’ve attended cons in the past), lamenting that I had no one to go with and not really expecting her to suggest that she try to come down from Manchester so we could go together but to my surprise she did and so the tickets were duly booked. Fast forward to about three weeks ago, unfortunately, and things started to go - literally in this case - off the rails thanks to a driver's strike and then engineering work that meant no trains into Portsmouth for the 11th and 12th and P very reluctantly having to drop out because she wouldn't be able to get down here and back in time for work on Monday. Still wanting to go but not really wanting to do it alone I had no choice but to ask sis to come with me, which she very gamely did and I owe her. Big Time. It’s really not her thing and I know she didn't enjoy it at all. She works in town and made me stand on the outside in the queue in case she saw anyone she knew!

I had been worried about how I was going to react as I do suffer from anxiety and I've not been amongst crowds since before Covid, but much to my surprise I was completely relaxed, even when talking to the guests; I'm obviously long past my 'OMG it's Paul!' phase (thank goodness!) and instead it was a case of 'Oh, yeah, there he is, and Sylv and Sophie (a later addition, and one I'd been hoping for) too.' I don't know whether it's because they're so familiar or I just got used to actors popping in when I worked in a shop near a theatre, but it was easy and I'm so glad! The reflexology session I had in Thursday might have helped keep me calm, too; if you’re feeling tense I recommend it!

I had only previously visited the Guildhall for concerts (sis knows it better as she's had to do presentations to the city council in the past) so it was rather odd to be in there during the day. I have to say that I think they could have put aside more room for the guests as it was difficult to work out who was queuing to see who (ho ho). It was very warm and the setup also made taking photos a bit awkward with people having to dance round each other a bit. We went to see Paul first (of course), and when he clocked me in my NotD cosplay he leaned back, smiled and announced 'It's like lookin' in a mirror!' I honestly can't remember exactly what I said in response to that! Probably nothing that coherent! He asked if I'd made it myself, which gave me a neat opportunity to present the gift I'd made for him: an Eighth Doctor bear and Mr Bush bear.

I think i've wanted to make bears for Paul ever since I put together the first one nearly three years ago, but I never thought I'd get a chance so when I knew I'd be going to the con I started planning. I was originally just going to do the Doctor, and make a Seven bear for Sylvester, but as they were coming to Portsmouth I decided to do Bush as well since I can’t imagine Paul gets a lot of Hornblower-related gifts. Of course, when it was confirmed that Sophie would be there I had to make an Ace bear too and here they all are before I packed them up yesterday morning, sitting on the bags i'd also run up to put them in (not pictured, my terrible embroidery name tags to help me tell who was who):

I'll do some more detailed posts so you can see them properly another day, but I was so pleased with they way they turned out that it was really hard to give them up! At least I knew they'd be going to good homes!

When I gave Paul the bag he just looked at me in surprise and went 'Is that for me? Can I open it now?' and there was a smile on his face as soon as he saw what was inside. 'That's my career! Doctor Who and Hornblower!' He absolutely loved them, couldn't believe I'd made them and told me 'I have a room where I keep all the gifts I've been given, and these are going to take pride of place.' I couldn't wish for more than that! Well, maybe a photo of him with them but it was busy and I didn't like to ask and possibly hold things up. I hope he's found the alternative Dark Eyes outfit that I added for Eight bear as I had some fabric leftover from my jacket; the sonic for that one took a bit of ingenuity!

He asked about my costume again while we were getting into position (for want of a better term) for a photo and commented that so many people are paying someone to make their cosplays now and spending a hundreds of pounds, something I'd guess he finds quite astonishing given the incredulous look on his face when he said it. I could be wrong, but I got the impression that he likes to see what different fans have come up with; there are a lot of people who seem to be patronising Steven Ricks since Paul got his remade costume last year, which I can understand because the man is a brilliant tailor, but sometimes it must be a bit like seeing clones.

Jen took the photo and we were about to leave it there but then this strangely confident person I found inside me asked Paul a question:

‘Can I be cheeky?’

‘Sure.’

‘Can I give you a hug?’

‘Of course!’

Well, if you don’t ask, you don’t get! (says the woman who hates asking for things in shops) He gives very good hugs. 🥰

I did manage to let him go (it wasn’t easy!) and he thanked me again for the bears before we moved on to see Sophie, which involved going round to join another queue in the same small space. Confusing? Yep!

I don't know who here has met Sophie Aldred but you should because she is so, so lovely. Ace has always been one of my favourite companions and I was so pleased when I saw she would be coming. I'd already started an Ace bear with the intention of giving it to Sylvester with his, but of course that got changed and Sophie was smitten. She looked really closely at it, remarking on the little details - 'Oh, it's even got the plait. And a rucksack and baseball bat!' - and sat it proudly on the corner of her table, where I assume it stayed for some of the day. Apparently it's the best Ace bear she's ever seen - you can't get a better accolade than that! (My head was swelling somewhat by this point, by the way. I don't like to blow my own trumpet but I don't often get so many compliments, and never in such a short space of time, so i hope you can forgive me for including them.)

Last but not least, of course, there was Sylvester, which meant another queue in the same space, which was just daft as because their tables were next to each other you didn't know whether people were waiting for him or for Paul. I'm sure that could have been organised much better than it was. In the same section there were also two chaps who had somethng to do with Star Wars who weren't getting much attention at all which was a bit awkward. They haven't gone back today and I can't blame really them.

I've wanted to meet Sylv for years and he didn’t disappoint. He liked the fabric the bag was made from because its starry night pattern was similar to his waistcoat, which admittedly was why i bought it in the first place. When he got it open and saw what was inside he said 'Oh! I'm a little bear! That’s lovely!’ and when I said I'd made one for Sophie too leaned round trying to see it on Sophie's table. I half wish I'd made a set of both for each of them now but that might have been overkill, and I would have needed a rucksack of my own to transport them all; my bag was full to bursting as it was. Maybe if I see them again I’ll give Sophie a Doctor bear and Sylvester an Ace. As it stands I am so, so pleased that all three of them liked something I'd made so much, and Sylvester and Sophie were both also taken with the cartoons of the Seventh Doctor and Ace that I asked them to sign.

Phew! If you've reached the end of this, well done! I know I have tendency to ramble on and I commend your stamina! I'll put the photos in a separate post but I was one happy camper, especially as just afterwards i got another compliment on my costume and was asked to pose in the TARDIS! We didn't stay the whole day as it was hot, I'd pretty much seen what I wanted to (the Doctor Who 'exhibition' was just a few monster replicas, most of which weren't that good, unlike the really impressive experience they had last year for the 60th and which I would have loved to see. And there were no daleks! My ambition to hug a dalek sadly remains unfulfilled *sniff*) sis had developed a headache, but I'm very glad I went. 😀

[y-rhywbeth2]

Lore: Dwarven Culture

Link: Disclaimer regarding D&D "canon" & Index [tldr: D&D lore is a giant conflicting mess. Larian's lore is also a conflicting mess. You learn to take what you want and leave the rest]

Overview | Culture | Specific Cultures | Magic | Religion | History -- WIP

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I found this in my drafts, and apparently I forgot to post this ages back. So here's a compilation of the dwarf Realmslore I can get my hands on.

Touchstones of dwarven culture, like: language, the Clan, marriage, etc...

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The dwarven name for their own people is Ahrraem. A dwarf is an arl, and the plural is ahra. They also refer to themselves as "the Folk" in Common.

Language: The dwarven language is called Arltah. Much like gnomes, with whom they seem to have linguistic overlap, the dwarven accent is described as a brogue, with flat pronunciation that emphasises the stressed syllables. It is, however, louder and clearer than the humming tones of the gnomish accent. The written form uses an angular, runic script called Dethek. It's written in a similar pattern to draconic - The sentence begins with a rune representing the dwarf who authored the writing (or a banner), and then the rest will spiral outwards in a tight circular pattern wrapping around that name.

The central symbol may also portray something else. Grave markers feature the face/s of the grave's occupant/s. Stories and histories will often portray a scene from the tale being told. Sometimes the image is just decoration.

Dwarves prefer not to write on perishable surfaces, and most carve into flat stones intended for this purpose, called runestones (in Common). A runestone is an inch-thick and circular or diamond in shape. Metal may also be used, but when it is the metal must be pure (gold, silver, etc) and perfectly manufactured.

A term of respect amongst dwarves is "longbeard," implying that they are an experienced and wise elder one can depend upon. Its opposite, insulting term, is "no-beard" or "shorthair."

While the taller races seem to think the shorter statures of dwarves (and gnomes and hin) is a reason to look down on them or treat them differently, dwarves themselves place no value on an individuals height whatsoever. Nevertheless, calling a dwarf "little" will be recognised for the slight it is. Calling them small and human in the same breath - "little man" - is an even greater insult.

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Dwarves are subterranean by nature, and instinctually uncomfortable in the open above-ground, and if they can't live underground they'll create above-ground structures with interiors that mimic the conditions of being underground (the effect can be observed amongst dwarven diaspora in human cities).

They also have an aversion to the ocean, which can be strong enough to manifest as hatred and fear that's outright superstitious. Dwarves will wholeheartedly insist that the ocean is evil and it is out to get you. ...But in fairness, as Umberlee is the ocean deity they're... not wrong.

Dwarves are infamous for being prickly, stubborn, distrustful and greedy. The last trait is confused by humans and halflings to be the same as their own desire to amass personal wealth - and they're wrong. It isn't about the monetary value or the luxury and comfort it purchases, dwarves are instinctually drawn to the skill that went into a piece.

Dwarven philosophy has been built around this, and holds that everything can be better than it is: there is not a thing in the world that cannot be improved upon (and helping things improve is a wonderful thing). Elven philosophies of leaving things - especially nature - as untouched as possible are alien in the eyes of the Ahrraem, who are left to assume it's because the elves can't be bothered to put in the effort of improving things (especially because the dwarves know that elves can produce works of expert craftsmanship when they chose to).

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Dwarves have some... interesting stereotypes about other races:

All halflings are liars by inherent nature (as are orcs and giants) -

A human will sleep with anything, given the excuse. Humans will also tarnish metals by touching them, so keep them away from your crafts. -

Elves clearly have the same love of fine crafts that the Ahrraem do, but as they're too lazy to make it themselves, they put on a front of indifference to get others to let down their guard. Then they steal the hard work of others. Don't let them touch enchanted objects - they fickle fey bastards will suck the magic out.

On the other hand, dwarves hold a great deal of respect for gnomes, who have a similar love of craftsmanship, and the two have always gotten along throughout history.

--------

Entertainment:

Dancing is a major part of dwarven culture - their traditional music is rhythmic, heavy with drumbeats and metallic percussion instruments, while being devoid of soft sounds and wind instruments. While their dances are private affairs kept out of view of non-dwarves, dwarves also enjoy watching public dance performances put on by other races.

Instruments that feature strings are not usually plucked by hand. They resemble pianos, with the strings tied to keys which are struck with implements akin to drumsticks (in the form of small hammers). If the settlement has access to volcanic vents - or similar structures that pressurised gases can be filtered through - dwarves may construct large pipe organs. Many, smaller, versions of these instruments look something like accordions with metal strings.

Vocal accompaniment takes the form of drones and plainsong chants.

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Dwarves have their own adventuring bands known as "brotherhoods" - the name started because groups of young dwarven men would get together and go out questing and seeking danger and riches to impress their prospective brides. Dwarven women totally ignored that part, decided it looked like fun and formed their own brotherhoods. Many tales about dwarven adventurers involve a young dwarven woman heading out to rescue her SO from a dragon, or whatever nonsense he's gotten himself into. Brotherhoods may be single gender or mixed gender teams, but they are referred to as such regardless. Some of them have included non-dwarves.

Brotherhoods are treated a lot like sports teams, with their own supporters and rival brotherhoods. Individual members, and possibly the whole team, may achieve celebrity status.

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Society:

Dwarven culture values loyalty to clan and blood ties over all other bonds (although these things are certainly valuable), although in practice individuals don't follow that pattern reliably.

The Clan: Historically, the clan was the centre which all dwarven life revolved around. Over time - especially in Shield dwarven culture - this has loosened. For many dwarves, their clan is more of a social club one is born into, and you get together for family gatherings and share a drink and maybe play cards or something. In the furthest North, some shield dwarves have abandoned the concept altogether.

The generic term for the head of a clan is the chief, although there are variant terms in the Northern and Southern hemisphere.

Clans have appointed champions, "the fists of the clan" elite dwarven warriors who have proved themselves in tests of combat to earn the position. They maintain the clan's police forces

Clans are overseen by the elders - those who wield influence due to some combination of personal accomplishment, wealth and/or age. This council votes on clan policy - traditionally a marriage must be approved by the elders to be legitimised in dwarven society, and they have the right to exile those they don't approve of (which may happen if a dwarf ignores them and goes ahead with marrying a match they don't approve of.) However, prior to the Thunder Blessing, when dwarven fertility dropped so low that the Folk almost went extinct, the elders lost a significant amount of influence in this manner. No clan could afford to exile their members lightly, and any and every marriage that could possibly provide children was desperately needed.

A dwarven "house" refers to either the ruling family within a clan, or the ruling clan of a dwarven settlement that contains multiple clans. In such cases the current ruler will not be referred to as "king/queen" but with a lesser noble title such as "duke/duchess." Most royal lines have been long since lost, and the vast majority of dwarven rulers are elected. Even those who have inherited based on their bloodline won't be able to hold their throne if the populace doesn't want them there.

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Traditionally children are raised communally in tight family units, with clan elders overseeing their upbringing and education and planning their future. Education usually involves literacy and training in a trade, or multiple and the age of majority is 40. Each adult is expected to be capable of doing their part to support themselves, their family, and their clan.

Courtship and Marriage: Dwarves, like elves, refer to their spouses as their "mates," or as "wives/husbands/spouses."

The traditional dwarven wedding is a very family-heavy affair. Anybody who can't be there on account of being dead will be represented by their weapons, sitting in the audience. The ceremony includes a blessing chant; the recitation of both dwarves' entire family line from the most famous known ancestor down to the dwarf getting marries, to remind them of the proud line that they are continuing, and that they have a duty to.

Courtship begins with sending gifts of poems, battle spoils and/or jewellery crafted by the dwarf's own hand, in the hope of impressing the target of affection with one's skill. Hopefully this becomes mutual, and this gift exchange will continue for years. If they're still interested, the dwarves will begin living and working together (be that adventuring or in a more mundane work situation). This is a trial period, so that the dwarves can learn each other's personalities in-depth and get a feel for how well they live together. If this trial period is successful then marriage follows.

Marriage is the province of the goddess Berronar Truesilver, and generally the marriage is sealed with the exchange of two silver rings (her holy symbol). If either (or both) of the dwarves involved are entering this marriage with less than honest intentions the deity will cause the ring/s to tarnish and crumble before all present.

An alternate form of marriage available to dwarves is blood-betrothal, which is less official and more popular with those who are less keen on ceremony and clan duty. The betrothal must be witnessed by at least one dwarf and officiated and sanctioned by a noble (who can be of any race - they don't need to be dwarven). The spouses-to-be mingle their blood and exchange a kiss, before whispering their names to one another. They turn to the witnesses and declare themselves, with their full names, as each other's mates. Thus the marriage is official.

Married dwarves are not expected to live together, and many may live and work separately, making time for each other now and then.

-

Historically, dwarves have also bolstered their dwindling birth rates by taking non-dwarves as spouses (humans, elves, halflings and gnomes). Prior to the Year of Thunder, non-dwarves who married into a clan and provided children and helped preserve the dwarven way of life were viewed with high levels of honour and respect.

[laurelindebear]

Ardeth Bay Headcanons

As well as his native variant of Arabic, he is fluent in a number of other regional dialects, and proficient to fluent in English, French, German, Italian, some Coptic and some Middle and Late Kingdom phrases.

Is an avid reader, especially of poetry. He'll pick up any volume of poems he can, ancient, modern, or anything in between, in any language he knows.

Poetry and storytelling are extremely popular pastimes amongst the Medjai. As well as readings, Ardeth writes some poetry of his own.

When they are invented and he gets a chance to experience them, he loves roller-coasters.

Drinks alcohol sparingly, but has been known to indulge in pomegranate wine if he's feeling laid-back.

Beverage of choice is strong Turkish coffee, which he drinks anytime he has the water to spare.

Has a sweet tooth, and gets sparkle-eyed for strawberry tarts when he first tries them while visiting the Carnahan-O'Connells in England.

Strong coffee + sweet tooth means his favorite treat would be a cafe mocha, full fat milk and whipped cream with cinnamon on top.

Has a younger sister, Nesreen, with whom he is very close (even though she is prone to teasing him, as little sisters do.)

His mother is deaf, so he signs with her using a Medjai variant of Arabic sign language which incorporates some of their signal codes and other gestures.

Has always had a falcon named Horus since he was first old enough to learn. Horus I was presented to him by his father. Subsequent birds all take the name (Horus II, Horus III, etc.) like a little dynasty.

Has cultivated a good rapport with a merchant in Cairo who makes and sells the highest quality soaps and emollients. Ardeth keeps his spare money aside to pick up the best shampoo and hair oil when he's in the city. Those luxuriant locks don't happen by accident.

(He may ignore the question, if asked about it, but Nesreen will happily spill the beans.) If he shares his hair care secrets and products with you, you have made it to his innermost circle.

Surprisingly good with children. When interacting with young kids, he will squat down to talk on their level, face to face. Enjoys giving piggyback rides to young family members, and lifting them up to sit on the saddle in front of him when they are too young to learn to ride yet.

Has a great dry sense of humor he shows only around people he's comfortable with (and when he's not in Serious Medjai Chieftain mode).

He inherited the knife with the elaborate handle (seen on his back in the first film) from his grandfather.

Slow to open up and trust people, but once you've earned it, you have a friend for life.

With thanks to @nnobodoodles, @belphegor1982, @picklebrinedgoblinmind, @nooneleavesforgood, and @tinydooms for letting me share some of these before and sharing some of their own ideas with me for brainstorming! ❤

[starlightlacrimosazpsff]

◇ 𝓐 𝓑𝓵𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓮𝓭 𝓘𝓶𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓯𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 ◇ [1]

SYNOPSIS:

Many consider your disability as a burden, but he finds a way to make it a blessing in disguise. What makes us flawed is what makes us unique, and that is what he considers the most beautiful thing about you—an imperfection he dearly adores. Nevertheless, he knows of your lingering sorrows and seeks a way to support you in the best way he could.

ENTRY TYPE: Submission, F!Reader

WARNING(S): slightly suggestive scenes, symptoms of chronic/terminal illness, implications of mental instability, mentions of past trauma resulting to severe injury, scenes of past abuse/violence, possible triggers, panic attacks, sleep paralysis, visual/auditory hallucinations, etc...

CHARACTER(S):

Aether (as Traveler & Abyss Prince), Albedo, Diluc Ragnvindr, Kaeya Alberich, Venti, Dainsleif

•

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•

•☆••☆••☆•

AETHER is like a star in the abyssal sky, constantly in sight yet far out of mortal reach. He carries the wishes of others, granting them in acts of what shall be seen as miracles or blessings. When time arrives for departure, he shoots across the cosmos with a trail of light that leaves witnesses mesmerized. Alas, he whom was born half of a whole, the name of this Traveler is forever bound to that of another—his dear sister, Lumine. Due to these same ties, he undergoes a quest across Teyvat to find her. The promise of a reunion always uttered by his lips, hopeful and eager yet never taking for granted the steps he took.

The lonely young man is at odds with the world. He could barely trust anyone after some god caused him to separate from his younger sibling. However, this humble Viator continues to treat others amiably in hopes to be treated the same way. From nation to nation, the blond adolescent sought answers from this peculiar world that felt so nostalgic yet still so foreign to him. There are trying moments of grief and frustration, but also blissful days of celebration.

Throughout this path, it was entirely unexpected for him to develop an intimate attachment.

Aether was not a stranger to bittersweet partings, as someone whom has always hopped from one world to another. For this same reason, he and Lumine try not to get too invested in any realm they visit. It was better for them as well as for everyone else that welcome them so affectionately. There must always be a particular distance to maintain, since there can be no guarantee of their stay or return. A deeper tragedy is the knowledge they can easily outlive the dwellers of any world. Witnessing the birth and death of many stars since their youth, the twins have grown rather desensitized to friendships that would not last as long as their lifespan.

That is why this separation hits them where it hurts enough to leave a scar.

Then, there was you.

As a mere mortal in a world governed by gods, you are content to live your life the best way you know. It is a lifestyle that can change at your will. One day, you can be exploring as an adventurer. The next, you are a seamstress earning your keep for the week you plan to stay with the spinsters. Every other month, you do a variety of odd jobs that you have learned throughout your lifetime. As a human, you are most hyperaware that everything can be ephemeral...

...and someday, even your soul shall be relinquished to the judgment of Celestia.

Until then, it is yours to do as you see fit.

For this reason, you felt torn by the Pyro Vision that had been bestowed upon you. While most of your peers seek the blessing of the divine gaze, you have subconsciously sought to avoid it. Many saw it as a gift but you were raised under the notion that most presents come with strings. Earning the "eye of god" meant that you are under Celestia's watchful gaze, thus binding you to the Heavenly Principles. Their elemental blessings taunt mortals to dare reach for the stars, and gain a place amongst the divine if they are deemed worthy of it.

Well, you personally believe that only thineself can determine one's worth—no other, not even the gods.

Nevertheless, you move forward. Keep going on a quest without a destination, as you always do, until this fleeting life comes to its inevitable end.

Needless to say, there is one thing you genuinely did not see coming—

"I am so sorry, Miss!"

—and that was meeting your soulmate.

"It's fine." You replied.

Aether scrambles to collect your things while you do the same at a more relaxed pace. Your satchel had become so worn that it took a small bump to finally snap the strap. Now, all your possessions have been scattered across the ground. Fortunately, the blond stranger is a very kind and considerate young man.

Once you got everything, said stranger wasted no time apologizing profusely again.

"I should have been looking where I was walking! It was my fault."

You tilt your head, "You could just make it up to me and we can call it even."

His aureate eyes beamed as he nodded with an eager smile. At that moment, you wonder if he is the personification of the sun.

You smiled serenely, "I'm [Name]."

He pauses, a flicker of doubt passing through his gaze. Quick as it came, it disappeared as he smiled back—a tad softer.

"Just call me Aether."

That day, he bought you a new satchel.

When you were younger, your parents always said that one moment is the same as a thousand—you only need one. It was a proverb that both confused and unnerved you. After they died together due to sickness, the words were haunting as you buried them before leaving your village. Every moment was cherished by you, each one unique in the best and worst of ways. However, as both you and Aether keep crossing each other's paths after one meeting, a part of you finally thrums to life in understanding.

At one point, Aether even sought you out for a joint commission together.

"Don't you have a travelling partner?" You asked.

He laughs sheepishly, "He's a bit busy doing other things. Also..."

A light blush colored his cheeks, looking away as he scratched his nape lightly.

"...I wanted to spend some time with you."

You found him cute so you agreed.

On that particular day, Aether learned something new about you. It was the little things he had been noting every time you met. The way you sometimes slur even though not a drop of alcohol can be traced from your scent, how you try so hard to keep your emotions under a certain level of control, how your eyes randomly droop even when you always look so adequately well-rested, and the pills he saw you sneak into your meals/drinks—you were ill. Perhaps, it was not the traditional ailment that left you weak and bedridden. The scariest symptom has been the occasional hallucinations that distract you, since the more vivid ones tend to set off your Vision. Anything within a meter radius is either set aflame, or rises up in temperature. It is why you always remind him to keep a certain distance whenever you tend to space out. He never prodded because you gave him the same respect of privacy by never prying into his life, even if he saw the incessant curiosity he adored about you. Still, he looks after you because he had to admit he truly grew fond of you.

Then, on your way home, you just abruptly collapsed as if your entire body went boneless.

"[Name]—!!!"

Aether caught you just in time before your head hit the ground. He checks your temperature for a fever, and then searches for some wounds you might have missed. You have a high pain tolerance, which can sometimes be a disadvantage whenever an injury goes unnoticed. There was a time a scratch almost got infected, or even when you nearly bled out because a poison prevented coagulation.

When he saw no signs, the outlander lifts you up in his arms and calls for the nearest doctor.

Thankfully, nothing was amiss and you just needed to rest while adjusting your diet.

Aether witnessed the true horror of your condition when you abruptly woke up half past midnight. He was already passed out on your bedside, sat on the ground and his head resting on his forearms. The chaise lounge would have been practical, but the blond felt the urge to be near you. At some point, he just dozed off.

On the other hand, you jolted awake with a choked gasp and widened eyes of terror. It was not due to any frightening nightmare. This is just how it always goes every time you wake up: frozen stiff, terrified, and barely breathing. Your pupils dilate as your iris moved wildly to make sense of your surroundings, pointedly ignoring the shadows manifesting into something monstrous. The candle on the nightstand was unfortunately almost fully spent, flickering to its last embers of light. With every dance, the shadows seem to get closer and slithering to get their clawed hands on you.

Alas, the candlelight spares you one last hope of salvation amidst this merciless night.

Sunshine golden hair glowed, emitting a silver halo as moonlight peeked from the half-open blinds. As much as you are able, you desperately crane your neck to see your companion. Tears blur your sight but the silhouette is unmistakable to you. His warm breath blew against your fingers, centimeters away from his lips as he breathed. Chilling goosebumps ran across your skin yet you welcomed it, hoping to regain mobility from this nightmarish paralysis. Your hand twitched, wishing to get ahold of this precious little sun—uncaring if it burns.

If you are to be like Icarus, then you would prefer an end embraced by warmth and light...

...instead of ice and darkness.

Perhaps, pyro suited you for this reason.

Your lips purse, crying in anguish to speak.

"A...Ae...A-Aether..."

To your relief, that seems to be enough to awaken the young man. However, respite is all too brief as your chest seizes up. The mere act of breathing gets difficult, and your heartbeat grew alarmingly slow as it echoed alongside the tinnitus in your ears.

Aether blinks awake, expecting the grace of morning light. Instead, he was met with your agonized gaze in a darkening room. In an instant, he snaps into full attention as he cups your face. You cannot hear him but you can guess that he must be firing questions out of concern.

"[Name], what's wrong?! Are you in pain? What can I do? How can I help?" He exclaimed.

You gasped and hoarsely coughed.

"C-Can't...breathe...I..."

The blond quickly thinks back to whenever Lumine experienced minor panic attacks. He assumes this is relatively similar, so he hopes his next actions will help rather than harm. Gently and carefully, he takes you into his arms. Back against the headboard, the new position situates you comfortably on his lap as one arm is secured around your waist. He takes both of your trembling hands with his free one, directing them to rest against his sternum.

"[Name]," he says softly yet firmly, "I need you to focus on me, okay? Focus for me. Hey—"

He catches your frantic gaze around the room and mindfully tilts your head back to meet his stare. They are brimming with steadfast reassurance, not at all deterred by the dark beasts. Your head rests against his shoulder while you do as he told—closing your eyes to only relish his warmth, consume his scent, and listen to his voice.

"Breathe with me. Inhale, exhale..."

His chest rises and falls, to which you mimic the rhythm in return.

"Feel my pulse, and use it as your center."

One hand keeps hold of his and the other seeks his heart, obeying the instructions.

The hand connected to the arm securing your back drift to your hair. At that moment, you realize that Aether's hands are ungloved. Wandering fingers comb through your strands, calming you down with a soothing pet. Little by little, you regain movement in your limbs yet you rest limply—content.

"That's it." Aether whispered, "You're doing great. Just keep repeating the exercise with me."

"Aether..."

"I'm here. I'll always be here."

You wept and sobbed, "Aether..."

"I know." He murmurs as he cries with you, "You've been so strong, [Name]. Everything's fine. You're not alone anymore."

You look up, "Promise?"

He looks back, "I promise."

The hand on his chest reaches for his white scarf as you pull him down. He obliges as his grip on you tightened, holding you close while your free hands adjust to interlace with each other.

That was the first kiss of many.

Day or night, Aether stood by you. Every battle was fought together. Every quest was finished together, sometimes with his elusive partner named Dainsleif whom was later introduced to you. On the journey to search for his sister, he even renewed his vows.

"When we find her, you can come with us."

You smile teasingly, "I don't have world-hopping powers."

He narrows his eyes at you, unyieldingly headstrong and determined.

"I'll find a way to bring you with us anyway."

He raises your hand to his lips with a sly grin.

"You're not getting rid of me~!"

Aether cradled you in adoration as if you were an endless summer amidst the cold loneliness of his sister's absence. You beheld him as if he was the sun bringing life to the paradise of your evanescent mortality. The pair of you were thriving happily, hand in hand, even after discovering the truth of this world—and dictating the journey's end.

Then, your Vision broke mysteriously, and you were condemned to an enchanted sleep.

Aether cursed the divine and all of Teyvat for it. He figured this was his price for learning the truth, but taking you will be their gravest mistake. He severs his ties with Dainsleif, whom tried to console him into taking the righteous path. He viewed you as his friend as well, and he knew you would not want this for your lover.

Now, the Abyss Prince sits by your bed—waiting in forlorn hope. His ungloved knuckles caress your cheek lovingly. You were dressed in a nightgown with abyss colors, outlined by satin ribbons of silver and gold. A crown of inteyvat rested on your head, petals scattered across your spread locks draped over silk pillows. They have grown after the past centuries but he dutifully trims them to an acceptable length.

"Your Highness," the Abyss Herald called, "it is time."

Aether paused. His honey gaze hardens and his aura turns cold. He breathes deeply, eyes closed to lean down and leave a chaste kiss on your brow.

"I will return shortly, my love."

He puts on his gloves, taking leave resolutely.

Even if the sun turns black, you will both find your way back to each other. Even as the moon is painted red, goodbye will never be an option. Every star in the sky—false or otherwise—shall bear witness to a union that even the Heavenly Principles would dare not destroy. Should this world be torn asunder, the reckoning cannot spell departure for either you or Aether. This is the eclipse that will pave the way to a new world, as the Abyss Order entails.

For if fate can only be accepted, thy vows shath be sworn by royal decree—

"You are my predestined person, the one I will always choose."

•☆••☆••☆•

ALBEDO discovered that there is beauty in what the heart perceives which the eyes cannot see. As an artist, he can grasp onto the concept yet is unable to truly understand it since he heavily relies upon his sight. As an alchemist, whatever eludes him may come into being by his own hands and thus enable him to attain it. The pursuit of truth is a mere matter of time and place, preordained even if hidden. As the most prized creation of Rhinedottir, he was given the task of uncovering the truth of this world for himself as a purpose in life. Even if to exist is a sin in the eyes of Celestia, he must endure and keep moving forward to reach his answers.

Amidst such dedicated research, there was little time and effort to be spared for attachments. The Chief Alchemist of Ordo Favonius finds it much too difficult to maintain. Of course, exceptions has been made throughout the years. Aside from his master, he had bonded with Alice and Klee as family. He had also made friendships with his colleagues amongst the Knights of Favonius and his subordinates, whom he taught the art of alchemy. Alas, as an artificial human created by a sinner, he feels as if he can never belong anywhere. Regardless of these bonds, the Kreideprinz feels as if a part of his heart remains hollow. 

It came to him that this place was reserved for you, the apple of his eye.

Ever since Albedo met you, a new muse began to live within his heart. People consider it as seeing the world through rosy lenses; but for him, it felt as if everything appeared clearer than facts...

...and it was beautiful.

The sun shines brighter. The wind blows cooler. The grass looks greener. Therefore, life is that much greater and sweeter. He is still in pursuit of truth, yet he felt as if the magnum opus was already in his hands—molded in the shape of you.

His only lament was that you could not see it alongside him.

You were not born blind. It happened from an act of jealousy and unkindness. Before you came to the City of Freedom, you were a noblewoman dwelling in Fontaine and worked as an artist. Much like him, you love to paint and draw but Albedo always argues that you were better at it. He had seen your works long ago, and every single piece has never failed to inspire him. It was as if each painting can bequeath aspirations, letting it blossom from the hearts of the people that view it.

Then, news spread that your entire atelier was set on fire while you were still in it...

...and then, you lost your eyes.

The Hydro Vision in your hand may have been the sole reason you even survived. Many speculated that you can never make art the same way again.

You came to Mondstadt, wishing to break free from the suffocating experience. You struggled to regain your passion, overcome your sorrows.

Then, you met Albedo; and one thing led to another.

It started when you were taking a stroll in Springvale with your guide dog, Vincent. He is a very spirited Golden Retriever, protective and responsible. You both stumble upon a young girl named Klee, whom was busy fighting a bunch of hilichurls. You opted to stand aside and calm your snarling canine friend, petting his head. When your keen hearing detected irregular breathing and racing heartbeat, you realize that the little girl was getting overwhelmed. She must have fought other hoards before your arrival, and now you hear slimes joining the fray. Thus, you order Vincent to keep his distance and engaged.

Sword unsheathed from your walking cane, you attack the ones behind Klee. Her bombs startled you when they exploded too close, but your hydro shield easily deflected any friendly fire. Vapor damage is then redirected to the monsters, tempering the girl's mines and lasers so your skin will not be singed by the building heat. Vincent was barking wildly like a supportive cheerleader, growling whenever you get nicked or whenever the other girl yelped.

Soon, the fight was over.

The pitter-patters of tiny feet went towards you, and stopped at an arm's length. You look down, smiling kindly yet not sheathing your blade.

"Thank you for helping Klee!" She chirped.

You chuckle, "You're welcome."

Vincent came running towards you, shamelessly nuzzling your legs. He then licks Klee's hand in his own way of befriending her, causing the girl to giggle from the ticklish sensation. She hugs him around the neck, and you can only tilt your head in amusement.

"What's your name, Miss?"

"You may call me [Name]."

The hairs at your nape rose. Although you can see nothing else but darkness, your eyes also snapped open with a dark glower. By instinct, you swung your sword to strike whomever snuck behind you.

A resounding clang echoed in your ears, as metal struck against metal. Another sword has parried yours skillfully yet makes no move to counter.

"Brother Albedo...!" Klee exclaims.

Upon realization that this is no stranger, you swiftly disengaged with a soft apology. The gesture was returned as the man apologized for startling you. To your amazement, Vincent did not seem to be wary of this newcomer. The dog merely barked gruffly, a bit admonishing, instead of growling defensively like he always did.

"You dropped this." Albedo said.

You hesitantly presented your hand to receive whatever he was giving. A familiar cloth is placed on your palm. You belatedly realized that it was your blindfold. It is a durable silk fabric that kept your burn scars from showing. Your disfigured face has been exposed all this time for Klee to see.

It must have been a horrifying sight—

"Your eyes are very pretty, Miss [Name]!"

Your breath hitched at the unexpected compliment, turning away shyly. As you wore the blindfold again, Klee notices Albedo smiling in awe at you. She put up her hands to cover her mouth and muffle her mischievous giggles.

"I agree." He murmured.

You nodded, "Many thanks."

Albedo never told you, but for him, it was love at first sight the moment his eyes met yours. There have been solitary days spent in Dragonspine where he wondered tirelessly:

Would it have been a mutual feeling if you could have seen him back then too?

From then onwards, the mysterious alchemist had turned into a close friend. He acted as a personal pillar of support in unexpected ways. The little ball of sunshine that is Klee turned into a source of lighthearted joy for you as well. They tend to visit your home in the city together, offering gifts and knick-knacks. The habitual meetings resulted into some new friends who helped you settle down in Mondstadt, especially Eula. Her own aristocratic lineage helped you two bond about a lot of things, even when she vehemently rejects hers—which is frankly for understandable reasons. You both share the sentiment that genuine nobility upholds the belief of noblesse oblige above all.

Albedo, most of all, enabled you to regain the love you thought had been lost forever with your sight.

Although life still hit hard with how you struggle to create art, your appreciation for it was reborn and you are experiencing everything all over again as something new. Regardless of the burns and scars that made you insecure, the Kreideprinz made you feel nothing less than desirable and deserving of love. Though the blankness of your gaze saddens him, and sometimes even angers him due to the injustice you were dealt—he saw beauty in all that is you, and everything that blossoms from your hands.

Just for a moment, he wanted to show you what he sees the only way he knew: to create.

Vincent guided you into Albedo's personal art studio in Mondstadt. The canine looked more excited than you. He nipped at the alchemist's white coat, tail wagging as he sat by your feet but paid attention to your lover. Charming eyes swept between you two as if awaiting praise and treats for a job well done.

For a moment, Albedo was reminded of Klee and it made him smile. He kneels down before the dog, patting his head. After a few minutes of petting, he relinquishes the promised treat.

Vincent then ran to his corner, satisfied. Usually, he is very protective and ends up hovering next to you; but with Albedo, he knows you are safe.

You giggled amusedly.

"Sometimes," your lover sighed, "I think he only likes me to get treats and headpats. He also only comes to me by whining to play."

You smirked teasingly, "Sounds familiar."

Albedo paused before giving you a scolding look, yet the twitching smile betrayed him. He was then taken aback when you presented him a small gift bag and a bouquet of cecilia flowers.

"Happy Anniversary~!" You said.

He smiles, accepting your gifts to greet you back.

"Happy Anniversary, [Name]."

Per usual greeting, Albedo takes your hands in his to let them settle. Then, you let go to just feel as they glide across his skin. He closes his eyes to relish your caresses, nuzzling when you reach his face and touched his cheeks. From there, you felt his smile and it spurned yours.

However, as the alchemist opened his eyes, he had witnessed the spark of sadness in yours.

On your first anniversary together, Albedo crafted a special gift. A wooden easel held a blank canvas, or so it seems. If not for the colorful palette and wet brushes, nobody would spare it any glance or even thought. He guides you in front of him, encasing you in his arms and pressing his chest to your back. His lips whispered instructions almost seductively, soft and sensual as he lifted your hands to move them forward.

"Go ahead." He implored your touch.

Fingertips make contact with what seems to be a canvas, but with bumps on it that definitely felt like braille. Your brows furrowed in confusion, unable to interpret it as anything. You can decipher some sort of pattern, but nothing in the braille alphabet comes to mind that makes sense.

"Don't think in words, love." Albedo advised, "Imagine it as you would paint a landscape."

He is familiar with your art technique. After all, he has always been a fan since he first purchased your work at an auction. His keen observation noticed that the colors bloom from the center. Then, multiple layers come to refine the structure and control the shades. Once the painting is complete, the basic foundations are harder to notice but details never escape Albedo. To him, it felt like he was seeing two images in a single painting: one perceived by sight, and another perceived by heart—dual masterpieces for the price of one.

You follow his words and thus you begin to deduce a work of something.

The braille patterns made you think of Mondstadt's flower meadows, petals of cecilia and seedheads of dandelions fluttering in the breeze. An orb that seems to be the sun is raised eastward with what appeared to be outlines of birds, aflight in the cloudy horizon. There are faint marks connoting mountains in the distance, and flowing swirls that felt like wave patterns along the coast. To further understand his message, you sought the center much like how you used to paint.

Albedo detects your newfound focus, aware that an image has been imprinted upon your mind.

"[Name]," he murmured tenderly, "I need you to keep your hands on the canvas. I will guide you in this next step. Do you trust me?"

You smiled meaningfully, "Always."

A loving caress upon your skin is accompanied by a chaste kiss on your crown.

"I cannot give you the world—"

Then, the brailles moved.

"—but I can leave a piece of it in your hands."

You quickly realize that the brailles were not made of ordinary material. Days and nights of listening to your lover's random alchemy ramblings allowed you to learn a thing or two. This braille painting has been constructed with special elemental crystals. From the feel of it, they respond strongly to elemental energy—particularly yours and Albedo's combined, both currently being channeled. Depending on the crystal, it can resonate with other elements.

Beneath your hands, the patterns moved in looping motion to signify that it was animated. Furthermore, the energy that resonated from every shard is almost alive. Anemo can be felt from the swaying of the dandelions, and dendro amplified the scent of the scattered cecilia across the grassland. Even the painted sun emits a comforting warmth due to hints of pyro, as if bathing the scenery with its light. The waves along the shoreline felt moist due to hydro, which resonated strongly with you—and for a short second, you actually miss Fontaine. The mountains are the familiar cold of cryo, which then registered for you that it was likely a reference of Dragonspine.

Just from this, your mind's eyes can almost envision the outline of a city—one founded by Barbatos.

In Albedo's eyes, the special formula for the paint which Sucrose helped him concoct had finally revealed itself. To outsiders, the canvas is nothing more but a lumpy surface. In truth, the blind will see its true form; and when given life via elemental energy, the rest will be unveiled. To you whom once knew the colors of the world, the simple animations of the image form a kaleidoscope that provides you melancholic nostalgia. By your fingertips, it certainly felt as if Albedo had given you a piece of the world that only you can see.

For this one moment, he and you can perceive the same world.

Tears gathered in your eyes yet a heartfelt smile radiantly shone upon your face. A sob of genuine happiness wracked your throat. As your knees begin to weaken, you leaned on the man that helped you see again—

—even if only a few seconds.

Albedo also smiled in relief, fully embracing you around the shoulders in support. He let you take in the moment while he basked under the blessing of your presence.

"If there is anything else you wish to see again," he solemnly swore, "I will be your eyes and shall piously present its sights to you."

At his oath, you abruptly let go of the painting and turned. Cupping his face in your hands, your lips eagerly meet his. Albedo returns your passionate amor with fervor, ever delighted to please you. He wishes to someday discover the truth of this world, as his master bade him to do. His one desire is that you would be there beside him when he does.

Even if destruction came by his hand, he already knows one truth by heart—

"The beauty of this world forever pales in comparison to you."

•☆••☆••☆•

DILUC RAGNVINDR is an uncrowned king raised as a noble gentleman of chivalry and gallantry. From the fiery red of his hair to his stern crimson glare, he upholds his aristocratic lineage with dignity. The cumbersome title of lord dictates the gravity of his obligations to Mondstadt. Whether as a nocturnal vigilante or as master of Dawn Winery, those who dare to threaten his home will face the wrath of his flames. Sinners who refuse penance shall have their blood paint the mighty blade of his claymore, as a furious firebird sends the wicked to retribution.

As a man coveted by many, he keeps his circle small and tightly knit. An outsider's only chance to ever earn his favor is to either make themselves useful to Mondstadt, or by earning the approval of his more compassionate wife.

That woman is none other than you.

Diluc met you as a playmate in his childhood. His father, Master Crepus, was both a close friend and trusted business partner of your parents. Like the Ragnvindrs, your family specializes in the wine industry—specifically the medicinal values that are incorporated in liquor. Although your own father is from Mondstadt, he settled down in Liyue upon marrying your mother. Secretly, you and Diluc were arranged to be married. Everything worked out well since you both actually liked each other a lot. He was a very protective yet supportive friend, while you were a tactful and encouraging listener. When Kaeya had joined the family, the three of you became quite the inseparable trio.

Then, Crepus Ragnvindr died.

Everything happened so fast. Before you knew it, your fiancé chose to disappear and left only a single note for you as goodbye. It was not even a proper farewell, at least not the kind he made sure to give you every time. Even if there was little to no sincere romance in your engagement, you both respected each other as equals. However, his final note had completely staggered you.

"Don't wait for me." It said.

Such a heavy message in merely four words...

You understand what he means by it. He has made a decision wherein he would prefer to not involve you, and thus opting to let you go. The contract regarding the engagement was never too binding. Crepus had assured that either of you can break it off if you both reach such a consensus. However, the former head of the Ragnvindr Clan did not just choose any girl to be paired with his son. He specifically took interest in you because he always knew—if any woman can ever match his son and heir in terms of headstrong stubbornness, it can only be you.

With the patience of a saint, you graciously accepted Diluc's decision. However, it did not mean you would back down so easily.

Honestly, you see it as poor manners to just leave things with a note. You have to just wait in the Dawn Winery so you can give him a proper scolding upon his inevitable return. Until then, you were more than willing to manage everything else on his behalf. The servants were ecstatic to find out you meant to stay despite their young master's wishes. Your parents were also very considerate, only ever wishing for your happiness since then and now.

Under your supervision, Dawn Winery flourished and maintained dignity after the loss of its masters. You hold the cunning and integrity of any businessman worth their salt. Adelinde, Elzer, and the entire staff can attest that you are more strict than even the late Lady Ragnvindr—wife of Master Crepus.

Kaeya never confided to you whatever caused the fallout between him and his brother. However, he seemed so relieved and touched when you did not treat him differently. If anything, you seem to dote on him even more now—like a real older sister. He thus returns your kind and loving care equally, a bout of protectiveness that rivals your absent fiancé.

Years later, tragedy struck once again.

You were mistaken as the official Lady Ragnvindr by whichever enemies Diluc had made. They aimed to lure him out by means of threatening his supposed wife, taking you hostage. Despite being Visionless, you were far from a pushover. You did not go down without a fight and worked to plan your escape.

In the end, your captors thought you to be more trouble than your worth...

...and so, they aimed to kill you.

It is only due to Kaeya's timely arrival this instance that you did not follow Crepus.

However, you did not get out of the incident perfectly unscathed. The brutality you suffered had caused a critical and permanent injury on your spine. It is with heavy hearts that the doctors informed you of the grim situation: you can never walk again.

Diluc promptly returned to Mondstadt when Kaeya relayed the news to him via letter. He had been so devastated to realize that you almost died because of him. He wanted to protect you by letting you go, but he underestimated your resolve. In his mind, he knew the only way to truly get you far away from him is to make you hate him. Upon finding courage to visit you, he doubled down on his determination when he left you years ago. You deserve better, and the life he could give you as Lady Ragnvindr will only be a disappointment. You deserve so much better than waking up to a cold, empty bed and waiting on late nights.

He opened the door to your room in his manor, ready to break your heart so you can leave him.

However, his hardened goal fell short.

You sat by the window, as beautiful as the day he last saw you. Even confined to a wheelchair, you remain smiling so warmly. Your enchanting gaze meets his crimson pair, and he melted at the sheer adoration you bestowed upon him. Your cheeks took a rosy glow, and your smile widened—lips moving to utter words of welcoming him back home, yet he cannot hear a thing. His only thoughts revolved on how badly he wanted to kiss you right now.

Diluc missed you so much, and hence he realized that he really is a fool.

How can he ever survive if he truly broke your heart, the most precious thing you entrusted to him?

"Marry me." He said.

Much to his surprise, you only laughed and accepted—as if you always believed he would return to you.

It was truly laughable how easily you can weaken his resolve with a mere smile.

"It took you long enough, Master Diluc~!"

You winked at him as you laughed. Despite your lighthearted cheer, the redhead can see that the years apart took a toll on you. He crossed the room in graceful strides and he saw you more vividly. The bags under your eyes did little to dull their sparkle; the hollowness of your cheeks worried him but the rosy hue amplified their glamor; and your pallor was a little too pale for his liking, yet the freckles across your nose reassured him that you get enough sun on a daily basis.

Then, he bends down to hold you close and buries his face at the crook of your neck.

Your heart skipped lightly.

Then, you hugged him back—more tightly.

Diluc said nothing as he felt his shoulder get wet, and you did not make a sound as yours trembled.

"Welcome home." You whispered.

He grits his teeth to fight against the tears.

"I'm home." He murmurs.

The marriage started a little awkwardly. Three years had been a long time, and you both had changed in ways that put a strain on your dynamic. However, as you both learned to trust each other the way you did as kids, everything else flowed smoothly. You relied on him as he relied on you. Thanks to your endless patience, you managed to help your dear husband in anything that troubled his heart. At times, it is only by your gentle interventions that his overprotective tendencies can be quelled. It had become norm for the people of Mondstadt to see you at a cozy corner of Angel's Share—beside the bar, whenever your husband took a shift. Any shenanigans are put to a stop by a warning glare that seemed more scathing than any other nights. None of the patrons—drunk or otherwise—dare to start any ruckus as long as you were present in the tavern.

There is nothing that Diluc kept from you anymore, as he claimed no more secrets. Although, he was curious when you steered clear if the topic is Kaeya.

"It's not just your secret to share." You reasoned.

The redhead felt his love and respect for you deepen at the claim.

Now, you sat in your husband's office. While he was busy doing paperwork, you did embroidery on a silk pillow that got torn. However, there was a stifling air in the room that bothered him.

"What is it?" Diluc asked.

You raise a brow, "What do you mean?"

He stared back knowingly, "You have been redoing the same stitch for the past half hour. That only happens when you're distracted; and you're only ever distracted when something is troubling you."

The redhead leans back on his chair, dropping his quill to cross his arms.

"So," he continued, "what is it?"

You blushed at the fact you were caught so easily, but also flattered by how he is so attentive to you.

Diluc is then worried by your prolonged hesitance, gradually standing up from his chair. He walks up to you leisurely, kneeling by your side. His gloved hands take yours, mindful of your needlework as he placed it on the table. His vibrant eyes implore you to share your burdens, waiting and encouraging.

"I lied to you."

He frowns at your blunt confession but said nothing, tilting his head to let you continue.

"On our wedding," you reminisced, "you asked me what I wanted most so you could provide it. I replied that there was nothing more I could ever want since you asked me to marry you for real."

Your right hand carefully broke free from his, rising to tuck his fringe away. Your palm rests on his cheek and your husband savored it with fondness. He then recalls being ready to arrange a grandiose wedding that day, remembering how much you rambled about being like a princess in your shared childhood. As a young boy, it used to grate on his nerves; but as your fiancé, Diluc found it necessary to pay attention.

Back then, he did not question it when you asked for a simpler celebration. After all, a lot has changed between him and you—for better and for worse.

"However," you murmured, "there was one thing I had truly wished to experience with you."

Your eyes stray away from his, drifting towards the unfinished embroidery pillow. His own eyes follow, and he immediately understands. The picture's basic design depicts a pair of lovers dancing under the moonlit night. A gazebo frames their silhouettes while lampgrass grew around its base structure.

A wedding dance.

Diluc looks back up to you, smiling in exasperated affection. He then leans forward, taking you into his arms as he stood up. A mild squeak escapes your lips as your own arms clung to his neck, caught off guard by his sudden movement. Your husband steps out of the room while carrying you, yet offers no explanation whatsoever. Although you felt confused, it did not stop you from relaxing in his embrace and just leaning against him.

The redhead took you to the main foyer, and headed straight towards a small library corner. He dismisses the maid stationed to clean it, leaving you both in privacy. First, you were placed on the recliner near the fireplace. Then, he walked towards the old yet pristine gramophone. It belonged to his mother, he vaguely remembers. His father told him that she always loved to collect vinyls, a bittersweet sheen of unconditional love shining in his eyes.

The young lord wonders if the two of you would also remain as in love when you get older together.

"Diluc, what is this all about—"

You trailed off as waltz music began to play.

"When my wife wishes to dance," he says, "what kind of husband am I to refuse?"

A suave smirk on his handsome face leaves you so utterly breathless. Your heart races, bursting with an unspeakable joy to call this man yours. Captivated by the sight of him, you can only watch as he strides back to you—charming as a prince straight out of a fairy tale book. His gloved hand is presented with a chivalrous bow, his rare theatric side being shown only for you—always only for you.

"May I have this dance, Milady?" He asks.

You gape speechlessly for a minute. A part of you was reluctant. How can you possibly dance in this circumstance? Nonetheless, you trust Diluc more than anything so you accepted.

"You may."

Diluc gives a dazzling smile at your faith in him, and gently pulls you up. He expertly places your feet on his shoes, carrying your weight as you swayed. One of your hands is on his shoulder while one of his arms is wrapped firmly around your waist, holding you close. Your respective free hands are entwined, inseparable and perfectly at ease.

The marital couple moved fluidly and gracefully. You entrusted your body completely, to be moved in this dance he led confidently. Your patience and trust are returned by his warmth and protection, cradling you in a chrysalis that hopes to let you flourish. He even dares to help you twirl, making the skirt of your dress flutter like the petals of a wild rose in bloom.

The dreamlike sequence ends as he dips you into an intimate position. Heartbeats skip in sync, never of fear but of exhilaration.

Your hands leave his, believing he would never let you fall even if you let go. His grip transferred to your back and your nape, eager to be your support. You caress his face and pull him down for a searingly passionate kiss. He indulges you wholly, taking all that you have willingly given him. Your fingers shook as they entangle with his red mane. With the ease of a man who wields a claymore, he lifts you up. Your arms held tight around his neck, tilting into a new angle to not break the kiss. The fervor is returned a hundred fold, as if Diluc wishes nothing more than to fuse his soul with yours.

You are the one who empowers his flames, igniting his heart as your chosen Ifrit.

He made a vow at the altar, and not even death can do you part anymore—

"The privilege to call you mine is an honor I cannot surrender to fate."

•☆••☆••☆•

KAEYA ALBERICH is someone painfully aware of the power in words and uses it to his advantage. He is as mysterious as he is efficient at being the Cavalry Captain of Ordo Favonius. The charisma he exudes can be as menacing as the frigid coldness of his Cryo Vision. The swiftness of his blade can be more merciful than the secrets he ruthlessly exploits. As much as he is admired by his peers, everyone can unanimously agree that his enigmatic ways leave them a little wary to trust him entirely. Nevertheless, the cunning of a flightless bird is just as deadly as the venom of a pit viper. A reluctance to comply is merely a sign to delve deeper.

In the carefree city of Mondstadt, only one has squared up to his level and defeated him—

—in every sense of the word.

You are the dainty little assistant of Lisa Minci, the resident librarian of Mondstadt. She slyly evades all attempts of divulging how and from where she met you. It is rumored she just found you sewing some of her worn books one day, and then decided that she has to have you as her assistant. The only other thing known about your relationship with her is that she can be extremely protective to the point of territorial. Similarly, nobody can fully understand the eccentricities demonstrated by the Witch of Purple Rose as much as you do. Since your employment, a peaceful synergy can be observed in the workings of the library and even the Knights of Favonius HQ.

The most notable thing about you is how you never limit your goodwill to work. Anyone you can reach is always on the receiving end of compassion. As such examples, Lisa has proudly introduced you to many of her prestigious friends. Since then, it had become a norm for them to see you.

Jean always ends up a little more relaxed with the cups of coffee you brew for her. You serve her tea as a silent insistence when it was time to rest. Albedo and Sucrose now have a habit of asking your referral in finding the best locations for any ingredients they would need. At random times, you appear around the corner to help Noelle in the most menial tasks and labors. Whenever Amber returns from her daily outriding, she would find you welcoming her by the gates with some food and water. Lastly, even Eula has begun picking you up to join her for lunch on weekends. You are the only civilian that never treats her differently, and actually seems to like her very much as a friend.

In a bout of poetic irony, the only one that seems to rarely receive your kindness was Kaeya.

Of course, you were far from unkind or cruel. You still greet him amicably every time you cross paths in the hallways or city streets. However, his shrewd gaze can detect your hesitance to interact with him for prolonged periods of time. Politely asking you about it did him no good as well. You only stared at him skeptically before shrugging, as if he should know the answer. A part of him questioned why it even bothered him so much, but it was perhaps a matter of ego. He knows himself well enough to be aware that it could be the reason he kept persisting on gaining your favor.

When Kaeya decided to tell Lisa about his situation, she had the gall to laugh at him.

"It's because she sees right through you."

Kaeya raises a brow, "I beg your pardon?"

Lisa smiles sharply, "My darling [Name] is an astute judge of character. It's one of the reasons I adore her so much. Like you, she also knows her way with words. The more you talk while she listens, the more she compares the character she sees in your eyes and the persona that speaks with your lips. If they don't match up, she will consider you to be too dangerous."

For a moment, the Cavalry Captain felt his eyes darken defensively. A second later, they return to being detachedly bemused.

The Witch of Purple Rose catches the slip but does not comment on it. In fact, she willingly closes her eyes to let the man have his moment. However, she did continue to speak her piece.

"You're not a bad guy," she states, "and she knows that well. However, [Name] is the type who does not like to converse with people that refuse to respect the weight of the words they speak."

A beaming smile is given by the librarian as she pats her colleague on his shoulder.

"Try speaking a little more honestly! It might earn you some brownie points." She said.

Kaeya wanted to claim he is not going to bother and that he will just leave it at that. Alas, it seems he had found his match and could not resist your allure. In the end, he nodded before taking his leave.

To Lisa's credit, her advice worked.

Obviously, Kaeya did not lay everything out in the open; but he became more sincere in his efforts to befriend you. To his pleasant surprise, you may be taciturn and reserved but it did not make you shy at all. If anything, you were quite bold for a pretty little damsel. He playfully flirted with you a few times and you were barely fazed. You even flirted back with teasing glances and fleeting touches that—he was impressed to admit—flustered him in shock. Your dollface can be deceiving as well. He had seen you pettily tattle to Lisa about patrons that give you a hard time. In turn, the mage trusts you to be the one to remind her of anyone who is late on their book returns. Thus, he watched you just peacefully sip tea while your employer terrorized the poor souls that earned her wrath with an innocent smile.

You rewarded the Cavalry Captain's honest efforts by opening up to him a little.

It is here that Kaeya learned you were mute.

The cause was a very unfortunate birth defect when you were born prematurely. Your vocal chords did not grow correctly and almost suffocated you. The doctors were forced to remove it entirely via surgery so you can survive. Growing up, you became quite the bookworm because of this disability. You found solace in the immersion of reading the words you can never speak. It gradually turned you into a very talented scholar worthy of Lisa's attention. Your nurturing ways with books and your preservation of comfort amidst the silence certainly gained merits.

Of course, your reserved nature did not mean you are to be underestimated.

The Witch of Purple Rose chose you as her personal assistant and sole substitute for a reason. It can be argued that you are potentially more frightening. You are the calm before the storm; and when you strike, no one ever sees it coming. Whenever hooligans think they can just steal books from the restricted section, every single one will be found hogtied and gagged on the Knights of Favonius' doorsteps. A damsel you may appear but the only distress that can be felt is by the drunkards, who think they can harrass you without direct consequences. In fact, you made it your personal vendetta to discipline every member of Barbara's fanclub and their stalker tendencies. A failure to comply forces them into public humiliation by wearing nun attires, and then prostrating themselves in front of Barbatos to beg for forgiveness.

Venti had an interesting view when he woke up from his nap on the statue's hands.

The job of Cavalry Captain became that much more entertaining, and easier too.

Public ordinance is now easy to handle for all the patrolling knights, whom often need to tread lightly just to appease the common folks. Although the Acting Grandmaster would never say it outloud due to her soft nature, she was thankful for this subtle measures you have been making—especially in regards to her sister's privacy and safety. Even the stoic Master Diluc seems to respect you since he actually makes effort to greet you more than he does any other stranger in the streets. Your drinks in Angel's Share are discounted too, which is always a plus after a long day of work. Lisa took advantage of this perk just to tease.

As he got to know you, Kaeya finally arrived to a profoundly frightening conclusion.

He was falling in love with you.

No, he may have already fallen the moment you had turned into his newest fixation. The icy captain can recall Lisa's words—how you judge people based on the character in their eyes, if it matches the persona that speaks. You actually looked at him and saw him with just a single glance; and when his words blurred the truth, his facade was already unraveling before your piercing gaze. You rejected him because he was denying the lost boy you see, and you embraced him when the charismatic captain found felicity in your companionship. You accepted both sides even if you knew nothing about either of them.

However, for all his clever ways in manipulating the feelings of others, Kaeya is powerless at the face of his own emotions.

Hence, the reasonable thing in his perspective is to simply run away from you.

It hurt you but it was something you also understood quite well. As mentioned, you were aware of Kaeya's true character from the get-go. It was fine if this is really what he wants. You both lived your lives just fine when keeping your respective secrets. That should not change just because romantic feelings are now involved.

Lisa and your friends firmly believed otherwise.

Your doting older sister figure tells you one day that the elusive captain left a message. He says to meet him in Windrise, where Jean had put him on patrol for suspicious activity of the Abyss Order. In a twist of fate nobody expected, they even managed to get Diluc involved to make the information appear to be legitimate. The redhead claims he was getting sick of Kaeya's face brooding over you in Angel's Share.

All else, as they say, was history when you were both given a chance to confront the truth together.

Now, Kaeya watches over your sleeping form on his bed—tuckered out from today's work.

You are curled up to his chest, nuzzling his clavicle like a kitten. A delightful shiver ran through his spine every time your warm breaths hit his skin. Your left arm is draped over his waist while your right hand rested over his chest. His own arm cushions your head, bent by the elbow to poise himself up while he ran his fingers through your hair. The other one holds you close by the waist, legs intertwined so no space remains. The moonlight peeks through the curtains, basking you in afterglow that left him mesmerized every night. Leaning down, his lips tenderly kissed your brow as his embrace tightened possessively.

He grins as he felt your fingers move drowsily on his back, crumpling the blouse.

"Why are you watching me sleep?"

You drew special patterns to speak, blinking your eyes open to stare blankly at your lover.

He chuckles, bending down to give you an eskimo kiss while tracing words on your back as well.

"You look too beautiful to be true."

You hummed in the form of a soft exhale, observing your beloved closely. Your hand leaves his back and reached up to his face, tucking his fringe behind his ear to see both of his eyes. It no longer concerns him to let you see his normally hidden eye, which flickered for a fraction of a second. He disclosed everything long ago. He has nothing else to hide, not from you at least—never again from you.

In fact, the language you were both using to silently communicate is from Khaenri'ah.

Kaeya modernized the sign language of it and taught it to you. In public, people think it is just a cute secret between couples; but you knew better. There is a power in words, and Kaeya had entrusted you this in particular—a piece of his true self that only you can keep. Not even Diluc knew this much about him, as their bond of brotherhood shattered before he could make an attempt. Henceforth, you use this sign to talk with him privately and send messages only for your dear captain to decipher.

As you caressed his cheek, Kaeya sighed in perfect bliss. He leans towards your touch, turning his head to press a loving kiss on your palm. His own hand reached up to keep it in place. Delicately, his index finger traces another message on your knuckles.

"You're not just a sweet dream, are you?"

Your eyes softened in understanding, smiling in hopes to alleviate his insecurities. Your hand directs his to your heart, much like how your other one stays above his own. Two hearts beat as one, delivering a mutual confession beknownst only to you and him.

Your lips moved and his unique eyes read them as if they held the meaning of life.

"I'm real, and I'm yours."

Unable to help himself, Kaeya changes positions to loom over you. He pins your hands by the wrist on either sides of your head. You let him, locking eyes to wait until he regains his anchor to reality. As he straddles you, he leans down and his scarred eye glows with an unknown power. For a moment, the star in his misty blue orb sharpened into a slit. Then, his grip eventually loosens. Your arms soon take the chance to slither around his neck. You pull him down to your level, sensually slow to leave him in intense anticipation. Once he is a mere breath away, you lean up and forward.

Kaeya never fails to find sanctuary in your embrace, and salvation in your kiss. The taste of ambrosia is as addictive as the first time. He wanted more—needed more, even if it meant unequivocal demise.

One of his hands seeks one of yours, pressing against the mattress to interweave. A final message is traced as you both succumb to the passion that has waged wars since the dawn of creation.

"I love you."

If the day of reckoning ever comes for him, the last hope of Khaenri'ah knows he does not stand alone.

Kaeya will always remember to seek out your light, and savor the hour of respite in your shadow. He holds faith in no god nor archon; but before you, he shall bend the knee in devoted worship.

This lost prince of sinners may be predestined for damnation, but he prays in your name—

"You are my northern star, the light that guides me back home."

•☆••☆••☆•

VENTI is a bard whose secrets are guarded by the lullabies of yesteryore and evermorrow. He holds the face of jubilant youth, yet his eyes tell a tale as old as time. While his voice mellifluously sings of tunes so spirited and free, his heart weighs heavy with the burden of an untold sacrilege. A couple thousand years can be a long time, yet the agony remains as fresh as the memories of a lucid dream. As he dons a smile that hopes to brighten the days and luminate the nights of Mondstadt, his soul belies the image of a nameless friend long gone. At times when the winds blew too coldly, he relies on the burning heat that drips down his throat—a taste so fine yet so bitter, like the freedom he idolizes.

Memories remind people what matters most, a life's purpose to never forsake. However, more often than not, they come with the cruel regrets of what-ifs and what-could-have-beens. Henceforth, in tiresome days, the expense of living gets a little too much; and in sleepless nights, the weight of existing gets a little heavier.

Alas, when stars align just right, the wind will lead a pair of soulmates to find one another.

In Venti's case, you found him.

It is actually very difficult to get him drunk, even if he acts otherwise. To be precise, he recovers quicker by getting sober minutes after he felt tipsy—and then, he would be downing another bottle. It is annoying for someone who just wants to forget his problems, but that is partially why he became accustomed to binge drinking. His rate of alcohol consumption would kill an average human, via alcohol poisoning, by the time he actually blacks out.

Amidst this cold and lonely night, the windborn bard was spared an ounce of warmth by a kind muse.

Venti woke up in a peculiar cottage that smelled of pollen and varnished wood. He heard the chirping of bluebirds, rousing him further away from his drowsy haze. A ray of sunshine peeks through the hanging cheap fabric used as curtains. He sits up, braids all messy with a very entangled bedhead.

As he stumbled out of the bedroom, the familiar sounds of Der Frühling beckoned him to the front porch. His veteran ears can attest that the notes are undoubtedly produced by a musician's hands, but a mere novice in the ways of the lyre. There was a harmonious flow in melody, yet the tone and pitch held little to no finesse in-between transitions. A sense of sheepish uncertainty distorts the song, but there was a certain charm in its dissonance.

He turns a corner, and there he saw you—

—a young dame sat upon a rickety swing, taming the bluebirds that sang for her strings.

The amused bard leaned against the doorway to watch the free show. His gleaming teal eyes stared blatantly, mesmerized by his supposed hostess. You wore an outfit that resembled his, but more modest and somewhat mismatched in color palette—an odd choice for a fellow bard. The only flashy thing about you is the Anemo Vision pinned onto your hair as it tied up your headband braid. It functioned as a hair ornament surrounded with cecilia and windwheel aster petals. A teal silk ribbon was mixed into your braid as its curled tail fluttered under your Vision ornament.

You seem to be inexperienced with the lyre, as Venti had confirmed upon seeing your performance; but you are still quite precise in your play. In theory, you hold enough knowledge to figure out which note works for a particular measure. Before he realized it, his own voice begins humming alongside the chirps of the gathered songbirds.

Alas, joining your small choir of avian creatures had startled them into flying away.

You also stiffened with a surprised jolt, practically snapping your head to look back at him. He does note that it was the birds' exit that had shocked you, and not his soundly abrupt entrance.

"Ehe~!" Venti giggled nervously, "Sorry about that."

You fumbled for a moment yet held the lyre firmly, careful to keep it steady. Standing up, you then walk over to him even though you shook in anxiety. Ever so tenderly, you returned his dearest Der Frühling as if handing over a precious baby.

Venti finds this heartwarming and endearing, having not met a fellow bard as considerate as you. He thus receives his lyre with gratitude, tracing its frame and plucking the strings. He marvels at the fact you even polished the instrument and retuned the strings.

"Many thanks, fellow bard~!" He chirped, "My name is Venti. May I know yours?"

You stared blankly at him for a moment, as if taking a few minutes to decipher his words. He spoke a little too quickly on purpose, patiently observing if you would prove his suspicions. As soon as you finally understood, you replied with some stutters in-between your syllables. It seemed more like a sound of uncertainty rather than a speech impediment.

"I-I am...[Name]."

A deaf virtuoso—the windborn bard believes you will make an interesting friend.

Ever since that day, Venti developed a habit of either visiting your abode or seeking you to hang out in the city. His consistent presence helped you be more comfortable in conversations. There was little to no stutters in-between your sentences now. As a bard whom prided himself in knowing all music of the past and future, the art of sign language is a helpful skill he utilized to pleasantly astound you.

The bard had never seen any mortal beam so bright when you smiled at him that day.

While you have gotten comfortable with him, Venti has also grown comfortable with you. There have been many incidents wherein his smiling mask just naturally came down around you. By your side, he felt more freedom than he has ever experienced in the past centuries. He knew it was dangerous to let this continue. The god in disguise has always been meticulously aware of his own feelings; and he was more than aware that he is falling for a mortal he will someday outlive.

However, he found you hard to resist.

Neither Venti nor Barbatos can hope to deny your profoundly unconditional love. What kind of god could reject such a heartfelt offering?

Despite your penchant for playing any available instrument, you preferred not to take center stage. In fact, your hidden knack for taming avian creatures is how you earn a daily living. Every songbird in the City of Freedom knows your tunes and can chirp them on command. This is due to your Anemo Vision, which has a unique ability that enables you to interact with the birds by means of frequency. Depending on how you control the vibrations in the breeze, they will follow like a choir does with a maestro.

You once dedicated a performance to Barbatos and the Four Winds. On that day, Venti heard his wisp brethren amongst the thousand winds croon at you in delight. He witnessed the silhouette of Vennessa's falcon form hovering above you appraisingly, and a resounding roar can also be heard from Dvalin in his proclaimed lair. There were even the echoing howls of Andrius and his pack in Wolvendom.

This leads him to discover that your true talent lies in writing music. He had seen and read your musical compositions, grinning at every single one. With your permission, he even played a few in your home as payment for your gracious hospitality.

"You can negotiate with bards for this, you know." He proposed, "I'm no businessman; but even I know letting other musicians play this will earn you a hefty sum of mora."

You smiled sadly, "N-Nobody...w-would acknowledge music...composed by a deaf girl." You confessed.

Venti turned solemn as he gazed at you. Although intimidating in its rarity, you are not perturbed by this abrupt change of mood. Your darling bard wears a mask on a daily basis that blurs truth and deceit.

You have become acquainted with them all.

He hummed playfully, "Now that just won't do."

You tilt your head confusedly, blinking in surprise when he suddenly takes hold of your hands.

"Ehe~!" He giggled, "Let me play...all of your music, [Name]. In fact, I'll write...a lyrical ballad...for each of them. We'll be the best duo...in Mondstadt!"

He had to slow down his speech a bit since he could not use his hands to help you keep up.

Thus, a new routine began for you two.

Venti kept his word. For the next few months, he only sang of the tunes you composed. A few of his regular listeners heard the slightest change in his playstyle. A part of him wished to smile bitterly as other bards and occasional playwrights praised his talent. He pettily made sure to charge thrice from them when he was requested for encores. These fools had rejected you just because of your disability yet they literally sing praises when he played your creations. Any artist worth their salt should have been able to see your potential at a glance.

Nevertheless, he ensured to always come home to you with bags full of mora whenever he plays your music in particular. You deserve nothing less than that, and he refuses to settle for anything else.

Regardless of this success, Venti recognized the melancholy in your eyes. You used to smile radiantly every time you watched him play. Your ears cannot hear the notes but you can feel the vibrations in the air. Your beguiling eyes relished the perfection of just watching Venti play to his heart's content.

However, he was not blind to your inner turmoil and thus sought to relieve it.

"What's wrong, windblume?" He asked.

You hesitate, looking down at your feet. Gently, he props a finger under your chin to raise your head. A tender smile of encouragement implored you to speak your thoughts freely.

"I'm...frustrated." You replied.

He says nothing but his smile does falter to a glaze of concern, waiting patiently to let you finish.

"I feel...so happy and grateful...when you play my songs." You confided, "It's finally being heard...and not just through the songbirds. People are now listening...to how it is supposed to be heard, and how I envisioned it to be played."

Tears gather in your lovely eyes, overflowing with emotions too much for your heart. Your darling bard does not waver. He raises a hand to cup your cheek in his palm while his fingertips swept your sorrows.

"I want to..." you sobbed, "I want to hear you too!"

Venti held you protectively close, wishing more than anything else to shield you from this wild tempest of emotions. Alas, he was more than aware of the truth that the loveliest of rainbows can only come after the harshest storm. These are the feelings that must have festered for so long within you. People who can hear cruelly turn deaf to the ones whose worlds have been rendered silent. It was as if they do not deserve a voice if they knew not how it sounds. The thought infuriates the bard, reminding him of your beautiful songs discarded as nothing more than the passing chirps of songbirds.

He used his talents to let your ballads be heard.

Perhaps, he can use a different set of talents to let you hear his own?

You gripped onto Venti as if he was your lifeline, a part of you crumbling in sheer relief. He has always encouraged you to never be ashamed of what and how you feel. Whether it be deemed good or bad, all of it belonged to you. They make you human, the reason why he adores you above all. His gentle hand carded through your hair, skillful as when he plucks and strums the strings of Der Frühling. Pulling away slightly, his lips rested upon your temple and then your forehead. They stray towards your cheeks, a taste of salt from your tears.

Lastly, they hover above your own lips—centimeters apart, just a breath before they touch.

Teal eyes glow a shimmering green, both of you becoming enraptured by each other.

Venti needed you to say no more.

He takes you in his arms and spreads his wings. He delivers you to Windrise and its special tree, trusting him so wholly that you did not question him. Instead, you melted in his arms and enjoyed the warm breeze that wrapped around you like a blanket.

Once he sits you down beneath the tree, Venti sits in front of you to place one of your hands right above his heart. It beats steadily yet faintly, present yet not quite—like the wind he controls. He summons Der Frühling and smiles lovingly at you. The crystalflies illuminate his youthful features, providing a mystical glow that enthralls his dearest muse.

"Eyes on me, meine liebe." He mouths.

Closing his eyes, he begins his private performance.

You frown, wondering what he means to prove with this. Still, you obliged his wishes and kept your eyes solely on him. Your hand remained where he placed it, right over the constant beating of his heart.

Then, you finally noticed the gathering streams of energy around yourself and your lover.

Your Anemo Vision began to glow alongside Venti's iconic braids. The winds hummed together with him, united under his influence. It is an enchanting image, dazzling you into stunned admiration.

Then, you finally hear him—vocalizing the precious melody you dedicated to him alone. He sang of his past, his present, and his future which are now all intertwined by the whispers of you.

/Gales of song, please stay by my side/

He opens his eyes and releases his lyre. It plays as it floats, and you are mesmerized by how you can hear it all. By power of anemo, he merges your heart with his while enabling your psalm to be immortalized amongst the winds. He reaches up a hand to keep yours on his chest while its pair entangles with the other. His forehead leans on yours, gaze softening as you wept in bliss.

White feathers rained down on the landscape of green and blue. Floating lights illuminated the dark, be they stars or crystalflies. The Statue of the Seven sung in accompaniment to the intimate confessions of Barbatos—to you and for you.

/Winds of love, breathe into my life/

You can hear him so clearly—his regrets, his woes, his dreams, and his love. You hear it all through the song you composed at the thought of him, which he plays at the memory of you.

A fated parting shall occur someday, but he will love no other the way he loves you.

Therefore, with a passionate kiss, he makes you a promise—

"Come what may, you are the melody my heart will always sing."

•☆••☆••☆•

DAINSLEIF perseveres as a maverick shaped by his resolutions and driven by conviction. After enduring five centuries, he has earned a fair few titles as his new names. However, these remnants can never piece together his whole existence. As the Twilight Sword, there is no longer a Khaenri'ah to consider as his homeland to protect. As the Bough Keeper, there is no true grace to his purpose while burdened by a curse that shall someday rob him of his own mind and soul. In the eyes of Celestia, he is no more than a sinner doomed to a fate which can be argued as worse than death. As for the rest of the world, he is no more than a listless wanderer whom holds an obsession with stopping a disgrace known as the Abyss Order.

To honor those he had failed in his homeland, he can only move forward in the best way he knew—even if it is against those he had formerly served. Souls of the condemned hold no genuine hope of ascending to Celestia, for they amount to nothing more than heretics that do not worship any god. Therefore, for those who dare to remember, erosion will befall upon them as a final kiss of damnation. Before that day comes for him, this foolish score must be settled so he can meet his demise without regrets.

There is no genuine reward at the end of this tedious and lonesome quest. He is aware.

Nonetheless, the accursed immortal human refuses to falter under the taunt of judgment. If damnation is what shall meet him at the end of this quest, then he shall do it on his own terms. For if he must also end without his resolve, then there will truly be nothing left of him and Khaenri'ah.

There had been instances aplenty wherein the divine is likened to the flowers blossoming across Teyvat; and as a lonesome wanderer, he has grown accustomed to these tragic folklores.

The God of Dust named Guizhong left behind a quiet legacy amongst the glaze lilies. Songs which keep them abloom become tributes to her name.

The Goddess of Flowers known as Nabu Malikata had left her remnants within the padisarahs. Even if not as they were anymore, they serve as a memoir.

Godless they may have been, the glorious nation of Khaenri'ah also held pride over a particular flower—the Inteyvat. Alas, nobody but the former Twilight Sword retains the awareness to recall whom they represent the most.

"My memory has all but faded completely," a voice murmurs piously, "but I will always remember how much she too loved these flowers."

Dainsleif spoke not of Lumine here, although she does remind him of the one he reminisces. He dares say travelling with her had been the closest to home, a feeling of warm comfort. However, it never was the same exact happiness he sought in another—a mere ghost in his past. The lost historical relics in Sumeru speak of her as the last Eclipse Princess, whom was hailed as the Heretic Saintess. However, to him, she was the woman he dearly cherishes to this day...

...and the one he laments most for failing to protect in the bout of cataclysmic calamity.

Indeed, the Bough Keeper realizes; this accursed immortality is a fitting punishment for what Celestia deems a sinner. For he can forsake everything, but anything he has left of her will vividly linger. The doomsday of his own reckoning shall be when that too is ripped away from him.

Until then, he will dream of her. Until then, he will foolishly hope for the day they meet again.

Then, like a prayer to a nonexistent god, answers came in the ethereal form of you.

You met Dainsleif on a stormy night. In fact, he just found your cabin in the woods to seek a temporary shelter—injured and knocked unconscious. He was already half-delirious from a high fever, and it did not take a genius to know the man had a rough week. It is not out of kindness that you nursed him back to health, but due to a selfish motive to figure him out.

"Who are you?" You mumbled.

It seems he was not entirely out of it since he still managed to respond clearly.

"Dain...sleif..."

As soon as he muttered back, he eventually fell limp in your arms. For those brief seconds, there was a swelling ache upon your chest—nostalgia. A chilling tingle ran through your spine, like the touch of an invasive ghost on your skin—melancholy. Then, it spreads as smoldering heat to your veins as if to ignite your bloodstream—passion.

"Dainsleif, huh?"

The name felt like velvet on your tongue. His clothes and features were all too familiar to you—a fellow kinsman from Khaenri'ah. However, your eidetic memory never once brought you to a conclusion about this man's identity. Regardless, your body reacts as if begging for your mind to catch up in recognition.

Even as you tended to him, nothing clicked.

"Your Highness..."

His voice weakly called, raspy and strained as if to choke it out. Your star-shaped pupils dilate as they meet his own hazy glare. His hand was reaching out to you, looking yet not truly seeing.

Alas, you made no move to truly stop him and remained awkwardly staring back.

"You're dreaming, Sir Dainsleif."

As if hearing his name from you brought comfort, he settles down again. His eyes start to close but now his hand found yours resting by his bedside. You recoiled yet his grip was oddly firm for a deeply ill patient. Perhaps, you can allow this until he gets some real rest.

When he recovered, Dainsleif vanished as abruptly as he barged into your life.

The next time you met again, it was your turn to be the one in need.

Dainsleif finds you in a clearing of soot and frost, holding a young man desperately. It was as if a clash of fire and ice had occurred under the rain. You look up to him, stars in your eyes shimmering with panic and sorrow. Without a word, he aids you by carrying the unconscious male and leading you back to the cabin. You made no reaction other than grasping onto his cloak tightly, like a lost child.

Despite not wishing to overstay his welcome, the Bough Keeper chose to stay for the night. You were unresponsive to him, as if your mind had shut down completely. A vague memory of a person so similar to you made Dainsleif familiar to the situation. Thus, the task of healing your patient fell to him until you could regain your composure.

"Please be well, Kaeya." You murmured.

Dainsleif did not pry about your business, giving you the same respect you had done for his privacy. It did, however, astonish him when you took hold of his wrist and dragged him outside with you the next day.

The man named Kaeya stirred awake.

Befuddled, the former Twilight Sword kept silent as he watched from afar with you. Kaeya ate the warm meal you prepared on the table, and mixed emotions flickered in his eyes as he did. His head turned to observe everything in the cabin, searching almost as desperately as you appeared last night. Numerous dreamcatchers and embroideries decorate the walls in a contradictingly systematic manner. The more he analyzed, the more he remembered his childhood—as if your crafts gave him pieces of long forgotten memories. Then, he slowly stood up and made his way to a periwinkle dreamcatcher designed with a pavo ocellus constellation.

A single silver-blue eye gazed out the window, nearly catching your own gaze—

—but you ducked down behind the huge boulders and pulled Dainsleif with you to hide.

Kaeya got his things back and left a small note of gratitude for your care. Wordlessly, he left the cabin with the dreamcatcher now hanging on his belt—right beside his Cryo Vision. He looked back over his shoulder only once to give a bittersweet smile.

"Farewell, sis." He whispered.

A humming zephyr delivered his message, and then he went back to Mondstadt.

Dainsleif sat down beside you for an entire hour, a mix of pity and empathy. When clarity returned to your eyes, he rose to take his leave. Once again, he was halted on his tracks by your hand grabbing onto his own gloved one.

"Hey," you said, "do you mind if I go with you?"

Against his better judgment, the cursed immortal agreed after a minute of contemplation.

This newfound journey together has a very tedious beginning, mostly attributed to you. Everything was strange and nothing felt safe, which was expected because you both never stayed in one place. You, whom sought solace in consistency, were always forced to adapt to something new. Sleeping became a chore because you felt every small pebble and thin blade of grass pressing against you. It is by the mere thoughtfulness of your companion that you got a semblance of rest. Dainsleif always covered you in his cape and was willing to hold you soothingly, as if he knows just how to calm you down. There has been moments wherein you had tantrums, and some meltdowns that delayed a few plans. Other days, you shut down completely and only wake back up to reality after a day or two.

Dainsleif was shockingly very patient with you, never berating and ready to soothe whenever you are in distress. He never once pushed you to go back. Only once, he offered to take you somewhere to settle after a very bad episode.

"No, I can't!" You exclaimed, "I have to keep moving. I have to...keep going. Make sure...nobody finds me."

It was unspoken that you were specifically running away from the City of Freedom, all for avoiding your younger brother. There is a destiny that kept you both apart even when you mutually wish to be reunited. As children of Khaenri'ah, the former knight can take a guess what that sort of fate presents.

Since then, your travel companion did not question your decision anymore.

Without prompting, Dainsleif seemed used to your symptoms. It was almost eerie how he knew exactly what to say and do in every situation that involved your condition. He makes effort to prepare the same meals that you wish to have every day, and only light fruit snacks at night because you get very restless otherwise. At times he wanted to keep going, he stops himself to make camp for you first on the same evening hour before scouting ahead. He only allows himself to be gone for exactly 45 minutes, which was your limit to being alone whenever you both decide to camp out rather than checking into an inn or hotel. Whenever a wave of unease hits, he keeps a bag of materials that either lets you weave dreamcatchers or tinker an antique you scavenged in the ruins you passed. Every time your mind begins to close off, he sits down with you and holds your hands to meditate. When you need space, he keeps his distance; and when you need companionship, he keeps you close.

"How?" You ask.

Dainsleif raises a brow as he looks down at you. It was in the middle of Lantern Rite as you both watch the festivities from a nearby hill. After indulging in a few stalls, you calmed by playing with his fingers as your head rested on his lap. He knows the meaning to your one-worded inquiry, and he wonders how to answer you truthfully.

"I knew someone similar to you." He said.

You sat up before blankly staring into his eyes, stars meeting stars. Tilting your head, a flash of curiosity brought light to your emotionless gaze.

"The princess...?" You asked.

The Bough Keeper blinked in surprise.

"You dreamed of her a lot when we first met."

Your statement made him look away bashfully, a bit embarrassed to be reminded.

"Was she important to you?" You asked.

At this, he looks at you in the eyes. His star-shaped pupils practically gleam with an emotion you could not read—or perhaps, could not comprehend.

"She is my dearest one." He declared.

Normal people probably would have felt jealous at that confession. He even used a present tense to show that his feelings have not wavered.

You and Dainsleif never gave a label to this peculiar relationship, but you hold a mutual understanding that it had grown to more than just friends. It was a development nurtured by meaningful exchanges and secretive affections. The sentiments are far from platonic or familial, that much is sure.

That night, when you released a lantern, you made a fleeting wish—

—not to the gods, but to the princess.

"Please look after Dainsleif."

Meanwhile, the Twilight Sword fondly gazes upon your form. The image of your past self overlaps with the present. He recalls the ever sleepless nights of guarding you in the tower. Starlight showered upon your figure leaning by the window frame. Delicate hands reach out to set free artificial crystalflies that glow as wisps of moonlight. A breath of laughter is echoed in the lonely room before he is blessed by a smile more divine than Celestia.

The memory flickers as the silver starlights are replaced by golden lanterns, and your humble self stood in place of the estranged saintess—

—but that smile remains.

Morning welcomed Dainsleif with the strange sight of you looming over him. With practiced ease, he resumes calm by letting you do as you please like it was nothing unusual. He knows of your quirks just as you are aware of his boundaries. There is mutual trust of consent that tells which actions would be acceptable anytime. He did gulp a little nervously as his drowsy eyes analyzed you. His hands twitched but he willed them to stay in place despite his inner yearning.

Disheveled, you were straddling him while still in your nightgown. Your hair was messily draped over your shoulders, creating a curtain around the blond man beneath you. A glazed veil engulfs your eyes like a dreamy countenance of a faraway reverie.

"Dain..."

"What is it, [Name]?"

"I had a dream last night."

"A dream, you say?"

You nod, leaning down almost conspiratorially yet the expression on your face remains unreadable. A gasp hitched in his throat as your lips strayed to his ear, whispering shakily—

"I remember now, Dain."

Realization struck him.

Dainsleif switches positions with you yet he receives no protest. His ungloved hands cup your face in order to meet your eyes with his own beseeching pair. You see his visage that, unmasked and vulnerable, longingly wish for your approval.

You nodded.

Dainsleif claims your lips in ardent greed, and you respond in eager devotion.

Intertwined, redamancy is bliss for the reunited knight and his only princess—

"Your heart is the only other half that can ever complete mine."

•☆••☆••☆•

[muppetebbtide]

classical name allusions in the locked tomb

sorry guys I'm a one trick pony. I'm sure most of these have been said before but I LOOOVE pulling on threads until they tangle up and get stuck so. these used to be in alphabetical order but then I remembered about some lol. spoilers for all the books. I'm not arguing anything I'm just kicking rocks around

alecto

one of the three furies sent to punish mortals for unforgivable crimes (like killing family members... or ppl who have 'sworn false oaths.' get that.)

alecto specifically was sent by juno in book 7 of the aeneid to stir up war amongst turnus and aeneas; she impersonates the latin queen and pretends to be a priestess. might pay off, might not.

cassiopeia

queen and mother of princess andromeda (from the perseus myth); infamously vain, boasted that she and her daughter were more beautiful than goddesses and got andromeda stuck on a rock as a sacrifice, good job hon. as punishment gets chained to her throne and set as a constellation forever (this does make me wonder about the parallel to alecto there w the chains, but I don't know if it's worth pursuing, likely not. but I have seen theories that like alecto, she's not actually dead)

tamsyn notes in the back of harrow that this comparison is 'doing her a disservice', however

juno

roman queen of the gods, goddess of marriage, ideal wife etc etc, honestly I think she is likely just called that for the matriarch vibe but if anyone has an insight on why else she's named that lmk. she's a lot chiller than the mythological juno is generally portrayed fjfhjd

priamhark (harrow's father)

priam was hector's father and king of the doomed city of troy; he had one hundred children, almost all of whom die. you can see the parallel I'm pulling here right.

pellemeana (harrow's mother)

peleus was the father of the vastly overpowered achilles, who was his only son. same implication; hundreds of kids from priam + one incredibly OP kid from peleus that spelled the doom of lots of priam's kids = barebone parallel to harrow's creation

if this means we have to consider harrowhark to be either achilles, or hector, or achilles-and-hector... lol oh dear

(if that makes gideon either patroclus or andromache... bonus fear. terror even)

sarpedon

I mean as far as I remember admiral sarpedon wasn't that important so far, but sarpedon is a son of zeus in the iliad that patroclus kills while impersonating achilles. it's like his Big Kill. zeus considers saving him but the others are like 'you didn't let US save our kids' and he's like 'damn true :/' and stops trying to intervene

cytherea

allusive of aphrodite; it's another name for her, linked to the island where she was supposedly born from the seafoam. an interesting choice. I do like that the dress she's first described wearing is 'seafoam green frills' though, it's like a little clue. the wiki points out that cytheran aphrodite was adopted from the canaanite (ha ha) deity astarte, and had war-like aspects that were later suppressed, which makes a lot of sense.

might be worth noting that if we're going with the ouranos-genital-seafoam thing for aphrodite's origin, that in one version the furies including alecto were also created then, from his blood. they're basically sisters. fun. (or not so fun for john but whatever)

palamedes

palamedes in mythology was the one to put the infant telemachus in front of odysseus's plough, and therefore force odysseus to renounce his faked madness and go to troy; odysseus never forgave him for this, and one way or the other he gets him killed.

(one might also look to the arthurian sir palamedes, who was in unrequited love with iseult, lost her to sir tristan but wasn't a little bitch about it, and then goes on a quest concerning a 'questing beast', and eventually in one version he, percival and galahad trap the beast in a lake and slay it, so stick a pin in that why don't you)

originally called diomedes (who is, as tamsyn puts it, 'athena's favourite goodboy') but I think that could say interesting things about his ability to go up against lyctors (or even jod) since with a little help from an A-named goddess, the big thing diomedes does in the iliad is wound two gods and make them flee the battlefield... hm

also diomedes is one of the only ones who makes it out the other side of the trojan war lol

camilla:

possibly allusive of the warrior maiden camilla in book 11 of the aeneid, who kills hella men before being killed herself (because she's the token lady warrior on the opposite side in an ancient epic, she can't survive haha how preposterous.)

happily camilla as she is in the locked tomb cannot be killed off as camilla... because she no longer exists as camilla. paul's here now. say hi.

ulysses:

a (roman) name for odysseus. I know john SAYS he didn't name him after the mythological one, he named him after a dog (the implications there are so... bad), but john lies like a rug and frankly insisting that he didn't makes me feel even MORE like he did, or even if he's not lying it works anyway.

after all, odysseus wouldn't have gotten far without athena's divine intervention; one might even say he owes everything to his patron god, the same way ulysses literally owes everything to john since he and titania were the pet projects from pre-resurrection

I do not want to talk about james joyce I only read one chapter of ulysses for a seminar and that was enough thanks

also, what was ulysses known for but vanishing for ages, being presumed dead, then pulling back up miraculously Not Dead and killing a bunch of people. he could be back... he had that suspicious stoma death like augustine. this is making me realise that loads of the lyctors have suspect deaths

(also by the time the romans got to odysseus they were kind of dubious about him since he had a lot of non-roman traits like 'no honour' and 'outright lying to people for funzies' so if he does come back I half-expect him to be a bit of a nightmare lol but that's probably unfounded)

pyrrha:

as mentioned by tamsyn, the name that achilles takes while he's disgused as a woman on scyros to avoid the war, but exposes himself as achilles when he forgets himself and tries to fight instead of flee. I think the parallel there is pretty obvious lol

(and achilles's son, who goes absolutely nutters and kills loads of people in the siege of troy, is called neoptolemus... or pyrrhus.)

means red-haired as well lol... it's a great name for the g1deon / pyrrha / wake / gideon car crash going on

[moregee]

Task 01.

PART 1: THE BASIC

What is your full name?

Her full name is Morgan Ann Ivy.

Where and when were you born?

Bronx, NY 2/22/98

Who are/were your parents? (Know their names, occupations, personalities, etc.)

Nicole Ivy she is direct & candid. She consider herself a stage mom while also being a stay at home mother & wife. She only had one job in her life, where she met Morgan’s father while he was making a play. Joe Ivy is the complete opposite of her mother. He is more calm & secretive. He has his own tech company in New York City which expands over 38 states and 15 other countries.

Do you have any siblings? What are/were they like?

Morgan has about 8 separate siblings, 5 of which were conceived outside of her parents marriage and she has never met them.

Where do you live now, and with whom? Describe the place and the person/people.

She currently lives alone in a townhouse located in Bel-Air. She has one cat named Shadow.

What is your occupation?

She is a socialite & works for her boyfriends company.

Write a full physical description of yourself. You might want to consider factors such as: height, weight, race, hair and eye color, style of dress, and any tattoos, scars, or distinguishing marks.

Morgan identifies as African-American woman that is 5’6 & weighs 140 pounds. She is currently the heaviest she has been in years. Her hair is in a neck length bob, dyed jet black & occasionally complimented with bundles or clip ins. She has about 10 tattoos, she has matching tattoos with her best friends and her mom. She has 6 piercings all residing on her ears. Her personal style is unique, she considers herself a self-proclaimed fashionista. She enjoys designer items.

To which social class do you belong?

Upper.

Do you have any allergies, diseases, or other physical weaknesses?

Morgan has seasonal allergies which include pollen.

Are you right- or left-handed?

Right-handed.

What does your voice sound like?

Her voice has been described as raspy with a New York accent.

What words and/or phrases do you use very frequently?

She often uses the words bro, yo and crazy.

What do you have in your pockets?

Nothing.

Do you have any quirks, strange mannerisms, annoying habits, or other defining characteristics?

She has a habit of rolling her eyes and kissing her teeth since copying her boyfriend.

PART 2: GROWING UP

How would you describe your childhood in general?

Morgan had a complicated childhood, to her. If you ask her parents she had the perfect childhood that they did not have growing up. She considered her life the picture perfect lifestyle if you were outside looking in. She was the middle child to her parents but the 5th child overall for her father.

What is your earliest memory?

Spending a weekend at her best friends house when she was 7.

How much schooling have you had?

Morgan graduated from UCLA.

Did you enjoy school?

She loved every moment of it.

Where did you learn most of your skills and other abilities?

In school.

While growing up, did you have any role models? If so, describe them.

Her grandmother was her biggest role model. She taught her how to treat people and how to get what she wanted out of life.

While growing up, how did you get along with the other members of your family?

Morgan only got along with her mother and siblings who lived in her household. She was cordial with her father.

As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?

A stay at home mom.

As a child, what were your favorite activities?

Playing outside and going to basketball games.

As a child, what kinds of personality traits did you display?

She was very confrontational and honest.

As a child, were you popular? Who were your friends, and what were they like?

Yes, she was popular amongst her peers. She had 2 best friends named Sarah and Mya they were both stubborn and confrontational. Morgan was the only water sign in the friend group. They were both fire signs.

When and with whom was your first kiss?

Jordan. 6th grade at grand central station.

Are you a virgin? If not, when and with whom did you lose your virginity?

No, she lost her virginity at 15 to her long term boyfriend Jordan.

PART 3: PAST INFLUENCES

What do you consider the most important event of your life so far?

The most important event in her life so far is completing college with two degrees.

Who has had the most influence on you?

Her grandmother.

What do you consider your greatest achievement?

Graduating college.

What is your greatest regret?

Missing a year of college.

What is the most evil thing you have ever done?

The most evil thing she’s done is set her ex’s boyfriends car on fire along with his mothers.

Do you have a criminal record of any kind?

Yes.

When was the time you were the most frightened?

The time she was most frightened was when her father threaten to cut her off.

What is the most embarrassing thing ever to happen to you?

The most embarrassing thing that has happened was when her father found out she was dating someone his age.

If you could change one thing from your past, what would it be, and why?

She would change the fact she got caught with an older man.

What is your best memory?

Her best memory would have to be when she moved to LA for the last time.

What is your worst memory?

Her worst memory would have to be losing her grandpa and watching her grandpa live with a broken heart.

@la-rp - @la-citizens