#worlds of exile and illusion

[slightlybiasedbookreviews]

Currently reading

Worlds of Exile and Illusion by Ursula K le Guin 📖

The Story of Art Without Men by Katy Hessel 🎵

Fly Away by Kristen Hannah 📖

Midnight Rooms by Donyae Coles 📖

Kink and Particle by Tiffany Atkinson 📖

Outlander by Diana Gabaldon 🎵

Kittentits by Holly Wilson 📱

Moving Pictures by Terry Pratchett 📖

Fractured Fables by Alix E Harrow 🎵

A Mind Spread Out on the Ground by Alicia Elliot 🎵

The Fifth Season by NK Jemisin 🎵

[otislotus]

Rocannon's World

Planet of Exile

City of Illusions

by Ursula K. LeGuin

“…in the beginning the Creator told a great lie. For there was nothing at all, but the Creator spoke, saying, It exists. And behold, in order that the lie of God might be God’s truth, the universe at once began to exist…”

- Rocannon’s World was not at all what I was expecting after reading Semley’s Necklace. I thought there would be more curiosity driven exploration and cultural discovery. Instead, it was kinda tragic. I enjoyed it though and was interested to keep reading the series.

- And if Rocannon’s World was not what I expected, Planet of Exile was even less so. It’s not so much a continuation of the story as another story that happens to take place in the same universe. (To draw a parallel: imagine you had seen Han Solo and thought that Rogue One was its sequel despite not having seen any of the other Star Wars films). I found this one had a very intriguing beginning, but kinda became a slog after the first chapter or two. It also bothered me that Jakob Agat never challenged the patriarchal assumptions of Rolery’s culture and just allowed her to be subservient to him. It just felt icky, and I spent some time imagining their future and how he would challenge those aspects of their relationship after the crisis had passed, but even my imagination felt too idealistic to really fit into the canon of the story.

- I learned to set my expectations aside finally, and City of Illusions was my favourite of the 3 (probably related). I enjoyed the philosophical aspect of Falk discovering himself along with his previous identity and deciphering truth from lies, although some of it felt a bit rushed towards the end. The plot moved fairly quickly event-wise as well, which kept me interested. I’m bothered by not knowing Estrel’s fate, and really the whole conclusion is left to the imagination, because LeGuin could have written another entire book just to tell us what happened next!

- Conclusion: I enjoyed them all, even though they weren’t easy to read. The last was the best (that’s where the quote at the beginning of this review is from), but the ending was not completely satisfying, leaving a lot to the imagination.

Decided to keep track of the books I’ve read this year because I’m always reading something, but can never remember anything when people ask for book recs

These are books I’ve read for myself. I’ll make a separate post for books I read aloud to the kids.

[secondhandbagofholding]

I don't usually like the phrase, "... changed my brain chemistry," but I recently read the first three books in Ursula K. Le Guin's Hainish series and I truly think they changed my brain chemistry. Specifically the narrative style and story structure of "City of Illusions" has had a severe impact on me. I cannot stop thinking about it. As an author who has been working on a piece of science fiction for some time now, reading something that is so steeped in science fiction ideas and themes that is in essence a journey of the soul and a journey of (in many ways literal) self discovery was refreshing and beautiful.

I think we all stand to remember sometimes, as creators, people, authors, artists, etc., that while new things are discovered every day and life and humanity are constantly moving forward, in the end we all seek a lot of the same things that people always have. It's through that search for meaning and answers that a book written almost 80 years ago can speak to someone today and have immense meaning despite our knowledge of the world and our understanding of the human condition having evolved and grown through all that time.

If you write a timeless story, with an eye and mind turned to the nature of humanity and the problems and questions we all must face and answer, eventually, it will speak to someone. Maybe it will speak to a lot of someones. But even if it only speaks to one someone, 80 years later, it will be worth it.

[starry-bi-sky]

mmmmmm read a disciple shen yuan/shizun luo binghe fanfic about two days ago where the first chapter was the Immortal Conference arc, and SQQ was the one who had to be pushed into the abyss (he was still the villain) except Luo Binghe was refusing and was like, lowkey losing his mind about SQQ being so close to the edge. SQQ ended up having to be the one to fall in himself because of the system's punishment system. The rest of the fic is leading up to that moment. But like, MMM i've been obsessively thinking about that first chapter for DAYS ever since.

now i've been in svsss for a grand total of *checks watch* a week. but god obsessed with that. I want to write/read a fic where disciple SQQ goes a little nuts down there. Like keep all of the things that make SQQ, SQQ, but just. Throw in a little bit more trauma in there. A little bit of a mental break. Let him go a little nuts as a treat. Just a tad unhinged. I wanna see him go, just a little, "god fuck it, i've tried so hard to change this shitty story's outcome and it feels like everything i've done has been for nothing. I'm going to die in this world no matter what I do, I've been doomed from the start, so might as well die the way I want to." and he just, breaks a little! Under all the stress.

He still retains the traits that makes shen yuan, shen yuan, like his overwhelming kindness. But he's just! yk. A little less patient. Paranoid. Jumpy. Colder. A little more aloof and closed off. A little more Shen Jiu. He's no asshole child abuser, but he was a Number One Hater in his past life and he's leaning into that old habit a little more now.

(On a totally coincidental not-at-all related note, there's not enough SJ-and-SY-are-the-same-people fics out there that i've found. This is totally unrelated...)

The Endless Abyss turns the mind into an over-sharpened blade, and SQQ is both fascinated and perhaps a little excited to explore a place that doesn't have a lot of info on it in the mortal realm, but still terrified out of his mind. And he's no Luo Binghe, he doesn't have the sheer brute strength and power to just bulldoze his way through, so he has to be a lot more sneaky and cunning if he wants to survive.

The fic itself role-swapped LBH and SQQ so that SQQ was the half-demon (which lowkey fucks) and LBH the human, but I'm equally-if-not-more obsessed with the idea that LBH remains the half-heavenly demon and SQQ the human. If only because I keep thinking about SQQ befriending some demons (particularly and specifically a group of succubi) and they grow very attached to this Human Cultivator so through magic plot stuff they create some kind of seal/illusion/talisman that makes SQQ appear as a demon because a human cultivator in the endless abyss may as well be the equivalent of putting a giant neon target on your back.

And iirc Shen Jiu was taught demonic cultivation by that one guy(?? i've only been here a week so im not caught up in ALL of the lore yet) so that could totally happen here.

(On the other end of the realms, poor Shizun Luo Binghe is just. losing his fucking mind over losing his most precious and beloved disciple. About .5 seconds from burning down the peaks himself. somebody sedate him.)

The Endless Abyss sucks and SQQ is having a really terrible time and can feel himself going lowkey mad, but also holy shit look at all this WORLD-BUILDING. look at all this flora and fauna, and oh if he had the equipment for it he'd be writing all of this down. ALL OF IT. He was kinda-sorta-already planning on never leaving the Abyss as some sort of fucked up self-exile and self-preservation thing, but now he might? actually just?? never leave if he can help it, like he lowkey likes it down here.

anyways the next time anyone ever sees SQQ again he's got hair so long its almost touching the ground and he's either in rags and half-feral or he's been completely dolled up by his adoptive succubi sisters and still about three seconds from biting anyone who tries to touch him. (he's also lowkey trying to book it back down to the abyss even if he has desperately missed all of his friends and shizun)

[meraki-sunset]

Hi Meraki!

Can you draw Carapaces at different points in their lifespan? I wanna see babies, kids, and the elderly chess pieces.

Sure bro. here are some chess people and some headcanons i have

🧸👶BABIES!👶🧸

It's not confirmed if carapace can reproduce naturally or if they can only multiply using the ectobiology machines.

On sburb, the chess people are born as adults and with a specific purpose, with a barcode on their wrist to identify the, i guess, model. So there are no babies on Prospit or Derse.

The babies the players made in the post credits would be the first carapace children to exist.

I headcanon that they're born with a full set of teeth that fall eventually, like with any other child.

They're a little more squishy than an adult carapace but less than a human baby

i also though it'd be cool if sometimes they got black or white spots

(Also, even if chess people remember living for years before the arrival of the players, they effectively began to exist the moment the first player enters the game, those memories being an illusion, same as how, when you buy a game and turn it on, the NPCs might tell you about their childhood, when in reality, they were never kids in the real world, they were rendered as adults for the purpose of being there in the game. The same happens with the chess people)

🎈🎀KIDS🚀🪁

Like before, there are no carapace children in sburb, but I imagine they would be the quiet type of kids. Not necessarily shy, but not very talkative.

They would have a lot of energy and due to their physical endurance, they would play outside a lot, sometimes a little too rough with the human and troll kids

⚽⛱️TEENS🎮👗

I guess this is the period where they would become more vocal.

Also, I can see many of them using a lot of hats/accessories as a form of self-expression.

Suction-cup accessories would be their own version of hair clips and scrunchies

👠👓ADULTS💍🎓

They're the strongest, a lot of them have more pointy features than their teenage counterparts, some may retain the round face into adulthood, but they would still be sturdier than a teen. Their hands have now fully developed claws. They aren't strong enough to open a can, but they can hurt

EarthC adult carapace specifically would be more talkative than Sburb's carapace. Also, not having a predetermined role to fulfill, they would be more similar to humans. If you dropped one of them on one of the sburb moon, they would stand out a lot.

🌙SBURB CARAPACE🌙

Just some apreciation of the canon characters.

i love them to death

👨🏻‍🦳ELDER👩🏻‍🦳

Last but not least, the elderly carapace. Sburb carapace didn't seem able to age, or at least they did so very slowly, because their purpose was to live long enough to act as sort of guides to the players after being exiled.

I suppose they can grow old eventually, specially the ones born outside the game, as babies, they most likely have a shorter lifespan that their Prospit/Derse counterparts.

Probably you can tell they're old because of the damage to their external carapace, which isn't as hard as it used to and their posture, product of time taking a tool on them.

As for wrinkles, they're only visible in their faces, which are softer for facial expression, but they don't even get that many

(also, just so you know i cried drawing the chicken grampa carapace, he knows his wife loves birds so he bought her a chicken, that's not exactly the kind of bird she expected but loves it regarthless, the chicken's name is gertrude, the grampa loves gertrude, she's a chicken orb, a chorb if you will. they're all happy, i would die for chicken-grampa)

And that's all, that's how I imagine EarthC carapace work. They're not so different from the Sburb carapace, but they get to experience growing up and deciding what to do with their lives.

i really love the species and i want to explore them more in the casu epilogue

[vibratingskull]

Honestly, Thrawn needs to be terribly smitten to tease her about her crush like that 👀 I am here for it, I love smitten Thrawn!

Thrawn x F!reader

"You cannot play this card on top of the one I played, Commander (F/n).” Grand Admiral Thrawn tightly smiles. 

You look at him up and down incredulous, before slouching back against the shuttle wall in complete defeat. 

“Maker...” You falsely cry “I can’t understand what I can and cannot play.”

Thrawn shakes his head, rearranging his own hand. You look at the game lying on the mattress before you, trying to find the logic and pattern to play correctly. This is a Chiss card game playable alone or with partners and Thrawn was allowed to snatch a pack before his exile . 

To not become crazy right away, you imagine... 

This is a beautiful deck of cards with delicate acrylic paintings of flowers from Chiss worlds and Cheuhn written on it with a number. 

But you cannot read Cheuhn, which is a core mechanic. 

Thrawn explained the rules four times and you agreed to play without understanding a single thing so as not to drain his patience, but you went completely blind, not understanding the rhymes and reasons for each stroke. 

Thrawn appears quite amused as you pull your hair out before these cards. 

“Let me see your hand, I will guide you.” He leans towards you to get a better view of your cards. 

You look at him scandalized, pressing the carefully drawn cards against your breast to hide them from his eyes. 

“I can’t! Then you will know all my hand and obliterate me entirely!” You protest. 

His gaze meets yours as he squints, gauging you, taking back his former position without departing from his small grin. 

“I am already winning.” 

You wince, looking at your hand. There are families, orders, and classes of cards, something about which colors can go on which colors, and then there is the matter of numbers. You sigh, if only you could read Cheuhn you could offer a better combat to the Grand Admiral, but you are clueless in this language! 

“You’ll see! I will beat you!” You grumble, the smoke of deep focus evacuating via your ears. 

“I admire your tenacity, Commander.” 

You accepted to play this game to entertain and please your superior, and because playing something culturally significant for him gives you the illusion of being close to that remarkable man. 

Maybe, just maybe, you are one of the very few in the Empire who got the privilege to play this game with him... All alone in this borderline claustrophobic shuttle. 

You are back from a stealth mission and Commodore Faro almost tried to prevent him from going himself and to keep him safe behind the thick walls of the Chimaera. But like you, she knows that when he decides something, nothing will make him budge. 

Not even his personal security. 

If a mission of any nature needs him specifically, he will go as many times as needed, Grand Admiral or not! 

And you hold him in high regard for that! So many higher officers hide behind their ranks to not descend to the meatgrinder, but Grand Admiral Thrawn goes in, gets his hands dirty and the work done! You have so much respect for him! For his cunning attitude, intelligence, and of course his tactical genius! Serving under him is the highest honor and privilege of your career! 

No... 

Of your whole life! 

And the fact that he requested you among his entire crew to follow and help him in this mission flatters your ego better than any praise or medals, sending your heart into an absolute frenzy! He noticed you and your competencies and judged you trustworthy enough to help and protect his life. 

You gulp to try and calm down and pick one red flower card, but before putting it down you show it to Thrawn. He gently shakes his head. 

“Neither.” 

You sigh, your shoulders lowering, detailing your flowers trying to find the ones you can put down. 

“Do you want to start over or play an Imperial card game?” He proposes mercifully. 

“No!” You decide, “No, no, no, no, no, no! I got this, I will find the right ones and beat you!” You greet your teeth. 

This is just a stupid game! A game with flowers no less! An Imperial officer should be able to understand and play such a card game! 

“This is not an easy game, Commander. It demands elegance, culture, and tactics, it is imbued with Chiss’ rich traditions and history, you cannot master it in a single trip.” 

“Are you implying I lack culture and elegance, Grand Admiral?” You demand, raising your eyebrow at him suspiciously. 

He chuckles. 

“Absolutely not, Commander (F/n). I was simply noting that it is a game full of meaning for Chiss and you do not have the background to decode entirely.” 

Your nostril flares as your hand glides back and forth over your cards. You hesitate, until you choose one out of nowhere and slap it on the the other cards, full of determination. 

“This one!” 

Thrawn extends his neck to see the card, before nodding in approval. 

“You can play this one indeed.” 

“Yes!” You shout, excited, “I am starting to get it!” 

“You do. A little.” He grins, picks a card from his hand, and places it on the game, “But not enough to win I am afraid. But to be fair, you already play better than our first game, Commander.” 

His card doesn’t make sense with the logic flourishing in your brain, meaning you are still not understanding the rules!  

You grumble, ready to throw your cards in the air, and walk away from the game. But this is a really small shuttle, you do not even have enough space for a table and chairs, which is why you are playing on the lower mattress of the sleeping cabin, so close to your Grand Admiral, his higher body heat slowly warming up the microscopic room with waves as his heart calmly pumps blood... 

Very close. 

Dangerously close even. 

Way too close for your sanity and for you to fully focus on those game rules! How could you focus on game tactics when you are forced to be physically close to such a man? 

To your crush? 

To the dearest to your heart? 

You remember the Grand Admiral or Commodore Faro mentioning Chiss can see heat signals on someone’s face and body, and you are praying really, really hard it is a lie or that you misheard! Because if it is true... 

“Your turn, (F/n).” Thrawn calls you back to reality. 

You look down at the game where he laid a violet flower card with the number three. 

Again, no rhyme or reason found in your scrambled brain... 

“You seem unfocused.” Thrawn’s deep voice reaches your ears, flustering you even more. 

You pick a new card and show him again, trying to get a grip of yourself and not melt on the sheets at each of his suave words. 

He shakes his head, his small smile still on his lips. 

“Explain to me the logic of your tactic.” He demands softly, “I will lead you.” 

“I will be honest, at that point I just choose pretty cards and hope they can work.” You laugh at yourself. 

He squints at you, his shining red eyes providing as much light as the bulbs around the small sleeping room. But his grin remains... 

“You mean you let art guide your choice?” He demands. 

“I guess I do, Sir.” You laugh more, “I am sure you can understand me on this one!” 

“Indeed I do.” He seems to approve of your ‘tactic’, despite it making no sense, “Do you allow me a little experiment?” He inquires, his position subtly shifting. 

“Sure.” You shrug. 

“I will let you play any cards you want without telling you if it is in accordance with the rules.” 

“But... Then we are not playing anymore. This party will lose all of its meaning.” You tilt your head. 

“Please,” He gently insists, “Humor me...(Y/n).” 

You gulp. 

Grand Admiral Thrawn very rarely uses your first name and when he does it is really serious. 

“All right...” You accept, a bit on edge. 

Is that you or did he just... slightly get closer? 

Nah, it’s surely you! 

You put a new card down. 

He responds. 

You lay a second you find quite pretty and he tilts his head at it before adding one of his. 

It continues for several exchanges, your eyes focus on the paintings, trying to pair his cards with yours, making pleasant pairs of flowers like you would make a bouquet. 

You raise back your eyes to look at your Grand Admiral, tense and nervous. But he appears quite relaxed, in total control, and he responds to each card without hesitations. He harbors the exact same expression he has when hunts down your enemies, serein, focused, determined, making you melt on the spot.   

You try your best not to let your inner turmoil appear, but being so close to him is a real trial!  Again, you beg whatever superior being that might exist that Chiss can’t read heat signals because your face must be bright red in his eyes right now! 

He sits closer on the mattress, worsening your situation. 

“Fascinating.” He murmures, “Absolutely... Enlightening.” 

“What? What can you see?” You demand, feeling a peek of stress in your body and a cold, nervous sweat on the back of your neck. 

He does not answer but keeps responding to each card you put down. You keep going, wondering what he is testing. 

Or rather, you know that he is testing you, obviously, but what part of you is he analyzing like that? What can he discover through a card game? You know he can derive crazy tactics with art pieces, but can he psychoanalyze someone just with their choice of flower pictures? 

Can he psychoanalyze you? 

You feel your blood beating in your temple and rib cage, your palms getting sweaty as the rest of your body with such tension. Thrawn naturally higher body temperature doesn’t help one bit! And he is so close, his musk fills your nose and invades your lungs making you see stars... 

You internally shake your head, like he would ever look at you differently than a subaltern! Do not confuse and hurt yourself with such ‘What if?’ scenario girl! 

Focus on the cards! 

At some point, having gathered so much momentum, you both lay your cards at the same instant and your hands brush inadvertently. You take yours away right this second, but Thrawn’s hand hovers over the cards on the grounds for a second longer like he was shocked. 

You bite your lips, turning your head towards him in hopes you did not offend him but you discover his gorgeous face illuminated with a contented, cheeky smile. Your eyes round up at that sight! 

Why might he smile in such a way? He looks... Satisfied? 

At least he isn’t disgusted or offended by anything he saw in these cards. That is a relief! But why such a pleased expression? What is he seeing? 

You loom over the cards to look at them closely, trying to solve that riddle by yourself.  

“Can I see your last card?” He asks gently. 

You look down at your hand, realizing you only have one card left indeed. You look at it. It is not exactly a flower but a plant of large green leaves with blue veins, and pearly red buds on a stem. You turn the card to his sight, question in your eyes. 

His tight smile simply stretches ever so slightly and his red eyes are now shining so much his pupils are invisible in the deep red light. 

“Truly enthralling...” That is his only comment. 

“What? Will you tell me what this is all about?” You ask on the edge of your seat. 

“Maybe...” 

You pout. His satisfied expression doesn’t disappear as he unconsciously makes his last card turn between his fingers. 

“Can I see yours?” You open your palms to receive it. 

He gives it a last glance with a lopsided grin and puts it in his chest pocket, hiding it from you. 

“No.” 

“That is not fair, Sir!” You protest. 

“It is not a matter of fairness, (Y/n). But I thank you for your cooperation, I am thoroughly pleased by my discovery.” He muses, clearly pleased with himself. 

Which is quite rare. He usually keeps his mood well hidden behind the mask of professionalism. 

You gruff, pressing your knees against your chest, boots on the mattress, pouting even more! He gets to psychoanalyze you all he wants and doesn’t even explain what this is all about! 

His hand slides under your chin to gently seize it and make you turn your head towards him. 

“Do not sulk, (Y/n). It does not suit your gorgeous face.” 

Did...Did he just say that? Or is there a gas leak in the shuttle and you are in a state of delirium, hallucinating this interaction? 

“I beg your pardon... Sir?” You inquire in a breath. 

His thumb brushes your chin before caressing your lower lips, parting it slightly. You feel your heart ready to burst through your rib cage, goosebumps slowly flourishing on your thin skin. 

“This is an interesting idiom you just chose.” A faint purr emanates from his large chest and thick throat, “Begging...”  

“It-It is just a simple expression, Sir. It means nothing specific or-” 

His thumb caresses your entire lower lips before his large hand moves to grab your cheek gently, almost... Tenderly. You gulp, feeling ready to combust on the spot. 

What is going on? Why is he doing that all of a sudden?  

Is he... 

Flirting? 

With you? 

No. 

It must be another test! Grand Admiral Thrawn doesn’t ‘flirt’, he doesn’t have the time for that! He doesn’t strike you as the type to go for love stories or even simple flings. This man is focused on his work and the future and nothing else! 

Anything else is an unnecessary distraction to him. 

But his hand is still gently brushing your cheek right now and he seems to lean forward, closer and closer than your confused self. 

“I would enjoy discovering how you... ‘Beg’ in other settings.” He caresses your cheekbone, unmistakably getting closer and closer. 

“Sir?!” You gasp, out of your depths. 

He tilts his head, cheeky amusement in his burning red eyes. 

“What is the matter, (Y/n)? You seem so flustered all of a sudden, am I troubling you?” He asks, his melodious voice going even deeper than usual, with a lascivious tone. 

“Are you- Yes you are ?!” You protest, your inner temperature rising dangerously, feeling cornered like prey between the wall and his mighty body. 

“You look absolutely adorable flustered in such way. Detailing your expression is such a delight, I feel like I am admiring a masterpiece.” 

“You... Wha-why?” You can only mumble as he pushes all the cards off the bed with a large arm movement, getting closer and closer. 

You try to go back as he moves forward only for him to grip your shoulders and push you against the mattress, hovering over you completely. You feel your heart drumming almost painfully in your chest as he devours you with his red eyes. 

Eyes full of dark energies and hunger lies deep down in them. And his stern expression seems harder than usual... 

This time he is truly on the hunt. 

What the hell is going on? 

“Sir?” You let out weakly. 

One of his hands releases your shoulder to cup your cheek once again, caressing it fondly. His carnivorous expression softens for a smile to grace his lips. 

“I know, (Y/n).” He whispers with a voice so deep you feel your core contracting, making you press your legs to silence it, “I know everything.” 

“Wha-What do you know, Sir? I do not understand.” You plead for Reason to come back in this exchange. 

“Your feelings... The frenzy of your heart when you look in my direction, the warmth spreading in your body when you are in my vicinity, the tremors of your voice when you speak to me. I know since the beginning.” 

Your eyes open like saucers in sheer despair. 

“Please, tell me this is a sick joke...” You beg as your throat goes dry instantly. 

He KNOWS? 

You want to disappear in a mouse hole or for the ground to swallow you entirely! You are going to die of SHAME! 

You press your hands on your eyes with a yelp. You can’t look him in the eyes, it would kill you instantly. 

For sole response, you only hear a short snigger before feeling warm lips kissing your forehead. 

“There is no need to feel ashamed, (Y/n). This is all I ever asked for.” 

You separate two fingers to see through them, discovering his handsome face right over yours, his shiny rubies fixated on you like you were a treasure or something. 

“... What?” You ask with shameful voice. 

He shows you your last card. 

“Commitment.” He opens his chest pocket to take out his last card, reveling a pure white flower with golden veins and large delicate petals, “To cherish and adore.”  

You observe the two paintings, his translation resonating in your ears like a loud bang. You closed back your fingers, hiding from him again with a whistly breath. 

“Do you think this entire situation is an accident?” He tilts his head, amused, “I chose you for this mission according to my plan, I chose this small shuttle purposefully, we are playing this specific game by my design. I wanted... No, I needed to be sure. I needed to know for certain for whom your heart is beating for (Y/n).” He explains patiently but with an edge to his tone. 

Almost like... Pleading. 

“Look into my eyes, face me (Y/n). Do not deprive me of your gaze.” He lowers himself to softly kiss your hands still on your eyes, “Let me admire the face of the woman who ravished my heart...” 

You cower under him. 

What is he even saying? 

Was your theory about the gas leak true? 

His hand gently grabs yours to pull them out of his way, revealing your flustered visage to his hungry eyes. He lets out a sigh of contentment, kissing the tip of your nose before pressing his forehead with yours, hypnotizing you with his red sight. 

“Allow me at least to speak my truth. Whatever happens next is entirely up to you, (Y/n). I will not force you into anything, you have my words.” 

You gulp, opening your mouth to at least say something only for your words to die at the gates of your lips. 

“I love you, (Y/n). As I stopped hoping to love one day... Having you every day at my side, and having your constant loyal support helped me carry through more than you can ever imagine. Your presence helps calm down my mind and brings peace to my soul, I wish for nothing more but to live the remainder of my life with you...” He confesses, holding your hands close to his heart, “Will you allow it?” 

You blink several time, looking at him at a loss for words. 

“... Is that a dream?” You can’t help but ask. 

He gives you a lopsided snarky grin and pinches your cheek. 

“Ouchouchouch! Okay, okay!” You complain. 

He releases your cheek to caress it with his knuckles, the dark desires in his eyes melting to something softer and more... Vulnerable. 

Hope. 

“I am serious, (Y/n). I hoped to get my response during this mission and now I know for certain. But I need your consent to pursue this relationship. Do we have a future together in your heart?” 

“I...” You start before falling mute. 

Your stomach is in so many knots it is almost painful. Your entire body is tense like a bowstring you feel ready to break. 

Grand Admiral Thrawn is confessing to you? 

And this is not a dream? 

How are you even supposed to respond to that? You are beyond elated, but you did not even dare consider yourself his friend or to have any significance in his eyes and he jumps to sharing the remainder of your lives together? 

This is too much at once! You cannot wrap your head around so much at the same time! 

“Am I supposed to answer right now?” You ask a little affraid. 

He shakes his head with a comforting expression. 

“Of course not, (Y/n). You may take all the time you need to answer me, I will wait for you. For years if needs be. But I will be here, to receive and honor your response, whatever it is.” 

“All right... Then I will think about it... for a bit.” You nod slowly,  trying to pick yourself and your mind up after such a revelation. 

A chance he forced you down the mattress, you would have felt dangerously dizzy after his confession... 

“Thank you, (Y/n). This means a lot to me.” He brings one of your hands to his lips that he devoutly kisses, his eyes closed like he is savoring this instant, “Do I have your consent to embrace you?” he asks with subtle hopes in the tone. 

You consider him for several second before unintentionally sniggering. 

“You cornered me, pushed me on the bed, kissed my face and now you are asking my consent for a hug?” You cannot help but mock a little. 

“This was incredibly inappropriate and I present you my sincere excuses for my actions. This will not happen again.” He humbly admits, “I will leave you in peace and undisturbed for the rest of the trip.”  

True to his words he starts moving away to leave you in peace, but in some sort of panick you can't understand yourself you grab his shoulders to yank him back down, pressing his tall and large body against yours, crushing you under his weight. 

You only realize you actually just did that when you reopen your eyes, your head in the crook of his neck, hearing his short breath in your ears. 

“Hum...Sorry.” You giggle embarrassed, “I don’t know what came over me just now.” 

You do not release him for all that. 

“It is all right.” He hums, his arms sneaking under you delicately to hold and embrace you properly for the very first time. 

He is so warm and his skin is so smooth and soft against your cheek. You circle his neck and dive your nose in the crook of his neck to inhale his musk again. 

Maker how does he smells so good ? 

His embrace tightens slightly in response but remains incredibly gentle as you expect from such a delicate and elegant man. 

You both remain silent in this small room, holding on to each other like you were the only two tangible beings in the entire universe, until... 

“Are you... Purring, Sir?” You ask dumfounded. 

The notes of his chuckle rise like a melody in the room as he brushes his nose to your ear. 

“Yes, I am.” He admits, “Keep that fact to yourself please, no one but you needs to know that about me.” 

“All right, Sir. I will keep it a secret.” 

“Please,” He asks lovingly, “Drop the ‘Sir’ and ‘Grand Admiral’ when we are alone. I want you to refer to me as an equal, (Y/n). I want to hear my name with your voice again and again if you allow it...” and he tenderly kisses your exposed neck, sending shiver down your spine. 

You do not know where you are going with this. You do not even know how the rest of this trip will unfold between you two. 

You just know being in his embrace is the most warm and soft place in the Universe, and you do not want to leave it for a second. 

@bluechiss @thrawnalani @justanothersadperson93 @al-astakbar @thrawnspetgoose @readinglistfics @elise2174 @debonaire-princess @twilekchiss @pencil-urchin@ineedazeezee @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @obbicrystaleo @germie2037 @leo4242564@davesrightshoe @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni

[barrenclan]

HI i just finished reading the comic and it's so so incredible!!!! your art is gorgeous and your work with the story is completely unmatched <3

I've been listening to the song Butcher Vanity by Vane Lily a lot and it strikes me as a Deepdark song!

Thank you! I'm so glad you like the comic. I agree, Deepdark's desire to kill and eat and never stop consuming is what defines him. I'll use the chance to share a PMV by my pal Katti, the creator of The Exiled comic who made a really excellent PMV with the song :)

I think someone else had the same idea as well, it looks like it's already been suggested before :) but yes it does fit very well! Any song about a land/town/etc that's been cursed and rotten forever works great.

Tell me now of the very soul that look alike, look alike Do you know the stranglehold covering their eyes? If I call on every soul in the land, on the moon Tell me if I'll ever know a blessing in disguise

The curse ruled from the underground, down by the shore And their hope grew with a hunger to live unlike before

I never knew this song was from the Justice League movie?? Wow, that's wild. It is a good song for PATFW as a whole.

Everybody knows that the dice are loaded Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed Everybody knows the war is over Everybody knows the good guys lost Everybody knows the fight was fixed The poor stay poor, the rich get rich That's how it goes Everybody knows

I have! In fact, the song "Hellfire" is the character theme song for Cootstorm. I made a drawing of it awhile ago.

Did you know that in fact someone made an animated video with Rainhaze to this very song? It's really cool, you should check it out!

Yeah, it's pretty Rainhaze! Especially in his post-Asphodelpaw murder manic phase.

If you knew what I knew, if you saw what I see You’d look through illusions, hallucinations, and lucid dream And I know that meaning can be such a pretty thing to keep But I got facts and I’m not afraid to use ‘em, take the good with the bad, take off the back you make a new front Some days I'm glad that I am a madman and I’d rather be that than An amicable animal, mild-mannered cannibal

Aww wait :(

Looks like the cat did a number on you Vienna, oh He took a brick off the side of the stoop Poor vienna It'll be over soon Your mamas waiting for ya But you're not coming home

Your mamas been so worried Cause you never came home Beneath the ground you're buried In memoriam

Yes I think it could be! Even more, I think it's exemplary of Deepdark's general charisma and desire to recruit people into Defiance, reminiscent of his speech from Issue 28.

You and me should go outside And beat 'em, beat 'em, beat 'em, beat 'em, beat 'em All pathetic flag waving ignorant geeks And we'll eat 'em, eat 'em, eat 'em, eat 'em, eat 'em

Come join the cause, come join the cause Who wants to come with me and come join the cause? Hide in the sky, hide in the sky Who wants to come with me and hide in the sky?

Oh, my mom loves this album, I grew up listening to it. This does remind me a bit of them, how sweet and sad.

And instead of saying all of your goodbyes Let them know you realize that life goes fast It's hard to make the good things last You realize the sun doesn't go down It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round

Do you realize That you have the most beautiful face? Do you realize?

What a unique take on their relationship! I do like the theme of Ranger guiding Rainhaze's hand, and the parent-child energy is very interesting for them. Interesting take on Mordred, for that matter.

Guileless Son, I'll shape your belief And you'll always know that your father's a thief And you won't understand the cause of your grief But you'll always follow the voices beneath

Loyalty Loyalty Loyalty Loyalty Loyalty Loyalty Loyalty only to me

[literallyjusttoa]

What’s better Christmas present than a bit of angst huh?

When Apollo was young, not yet a year old, he was banished from Olympus due to his crime of murder. Gaea called for his head, but Zeus shielded him.

“I will not rule as my father did,” he said “The boy can learn, he can be better.”

Apollo was sentenced to exile. Nine years, though he was not told this. No, Apollo was certain that he had lost his chance to join his family in the heavens. His father had spared his life, and as penance he now had to stay on the mortal realm for all eternity, alone.

The young god made due with what he had. He wandered through the fields of Greece, tending to the animals he found along the way. He would sing, as light and clear as the birds, and mortals would flock to the sound. Apollo was never allowed to linger long, but he fell in love with that feeling of warm comfort mortals seemed to carry with them, that joy that he could never quite reach. When he could, he worked, often for little reward. He wanted another taste, another glimpse of a less lonely existence. So he became a shepherd, a soothsayer, a musician, always a few steps away, watching but never being.

One day, in the middle of the coldest months, Apollo was hired by a farmer in the Vale of Tempe. He had a large herd of cattle and was in desperate need of a someone to care for them. Apollo traveled through the backroads and forests, making his way to the valley. When he arrived, however, he found no farmer, and no cattle. Instead, a lone man sat at the base of the river that flowed through the vale. The water was near frozen over, but the man did not shake. Instead, he turned, and smiled wide.

“Apollon,” Zeus said, “Olympus has missed you.”

Apollo was shocked. Had his father truly come for him? He dropped into a low bow, too nervous for words.

Zeus chuckled, low and warm, “Rise, son. There is no more need for humility. It has been decided you have done enough.”

“Truly?” Apollo asked, “May I truly join you on Olympus?”

“You may join me at home, Apollo.” Zeus responded, “Your home. Come, we shall perform a rite of purification in these waters, and then you will ascend to your throne.”

And so the rite was performed, and Apollo was cleansed. As far as the rest of the world knows, the two immediately ascended to Olympus, to the glorious applause of the other members of the divine court. Apollo took his throne, next to his dear sister, and began his immortal duties.

But there was a moment, one moment, which was kept away in that sheltered vale. Once Apollo had been cleansed, he stood at the bank, waiting for the next step. Any demand his father asked of him, he would have agreed too. But Zeus held nothing over his head. Instead, he summoned a cloak of sheep’s wool, and placed it over Apollo’s shoulders.

“A gift,” he murmured, “The golden treasures you were born with will bring you glory, but this my son… I hope this will keep you warm.”

And Apollo believed, with all his heart, that he would never be lonely again.

Time is a cruel master. As years bled into centuries that bled into millennia upon millennia, Apollo realized that loneliness would be his most constant companion. He realized that the source of this loneliness, this suffering, would often be the very man that promised to keep him warm. The fire of his father’s hearth burned everything it touched, leaving Apollo with blistered hands and a scorched heart.

But he still wore the sheepskin. When the loneliness crept into his bones. When the lightning crackled across his limbs with a burning pain, as warm as his father promised with an agony he’d never mentioned. When all seemed lost to the ground and the dust. Apollo found that wool cloak and cast it over his shoulders. Even broken promises can bring some sort of comfort. Even old sheep’s wool can bring an illusion of warmth.

I was his child once. He used to love me.

If only the bite of a king’s cruelty could be chased away as easily as the chill of a winter’s day. The wool does nothing, and the loneliness remains. Apollo shivers, and goes to rest.

[headlinxr]

𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧 ─── 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐠-𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐧, 𝐤𝐢𝐦 𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐨

SYNOPSIS  !  In Sung-hoon's eyes, you are not just a mortal. In you he finds a mirror that reflects not only the horrors of his own nature, but also the possibility of something more, something that had discarded as an illusion lost in the sands of time: Hope. To Sunoo, however, you are a toy, a pawn on his chessboard of chaos. He sees you as a spark that could be extinguished with a simple gesture.

But his carelessness is a mistake, for even he to feel the impact of your presence. In you he senses a discordance that threatens to fracture his indiference, a crack that hints at questions he, until now, had refused to ask: What remains of the soul when everything else is lost?

GENRE. vampires, non idol! au, sung-hoon and sunol are brothers, reader is a maid. brother vs brother, f!reader.

WARNINGS. this is a bit experimental.

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

In the heart of a world where night is not merely the absence of light, but a sovereign empire that consumes time and reason, stands a castle that seems to tear apart the veils of eternity. Its silhouette is a perpetual shadow, a cathedral to the void whose towers rise like the hands of a penitent crying out to the sky, aware that their plea will fall into the abyss of silence. Each stone of its walls, worn by the weight of centuries, bears the memory of primordial pain, like scars that whisper laments to the immortal winds. It is not a dwelling, but a mausoleum erected to guard torn souls, a sanctuary dedicated to hopelessness where eternity itself seems to have found its reflection.

In the heart of this gloomy domain dwells Sung-hoon, prince of the vampires, son of the eternal tyrant Dracula. Like a Prometheus chained to the rocks of his own immortality, he observes his existence with the melancholy of one who examines ashes that refuse to cool. In his eyes, dark as the abysses that separate man from God, burns a fire that does not illuminate but consumes. It is the reflection of an extinguished humanity, a vestige that struggles not to fade under the overwhelming weight of its own eternity.

Sung-hoon is not simply an heir; he is a martyr of a lineage that drinks from life to prolong its curse. Immortality, far from being a divine gift, presents itself to him as a spiritual desert, where each moment is a question thrown into the void. His existence is a perpetual dilemma, a crossroads between the duty to perpetuate the darkness and the yearning to break the chains that bind him to his father's legacy. He is a modern Lucifer, exiled not for rebellion, but for the cruel irony of a will that was never his.

In contrast, his younger brother, Sunoo, seems to inhabit the same eternity with the insolence of one who has made peace with the void. If Sung-hoon is the penitent seeking redemption in a desert of doubts, Sunoo is the jubilant Cain, the libertine who has embraced his condemnation as a dance in the shadows. For him, immortality is an endless feast, an ocean of pleasures and chaos where he sails without fear of shipwrecks. He does not seek purpose, for he finds it in every shadow, in every scream stifled by the night. He is a Faust who has sealed his pact with darkness and, instead of fearing it, has turned it into his canvas.

However, the brothers are nothing more than two sides of the same cursed coin. They share the same fate, the same condemnation: an eternity that strips meaning from everything they touch. Sung-hoon, consumed by the flames of his introspection, and Sunoo, immersed in the vertigo of his hedonism, embody the extremes of an endless existence: the fruitless search for meaning versus the acceptance of absolute emptiness.

In this duel of opposites, an unexpected figure emerges: You, a maid whose humanity becomes a beacon that defies the gloom. Your presence should be irrelevant, like a speck of dust in a cosmos governed by immutable hierarchies and bloodlines. But, against all logic, your mere existence unleashes storms in the hearts of the immortals. Your steps, light as whispers, and your gaze, as serene as a calm lake, burst into the fabric of eternity like an anomaly, a crack in the impenetrable wall of immortality.

In Sung-hoon's eyes, you are not simply a mortal. In you, he finds a mirror that reflects not only the horrors of his own nature but also the possibility of something more, something he had dismissed as an illusion lost in the sands of time: hope. Your humanity, far from being a weakness, is an impregnable stronghold that awakens in him desires more dangerous than the thirst for blood: The longing to regain a humanity he believed lost.

For Sunoo, on the other hand, you are a toy, a pawn on his board of chaos. He sees you as a spark that could be extinguished with a simple gesture. But his carelessness is a mistake, for even he begins to feel the impact of your presence. In you, he perceives a discord that threatens to fracture his indifference, a crack that hints at questions he had until now refused to ask: What remains of the soul when everything else has been lost?

While Sung-hoon and Sunoo grapple with their own desires and the rivalry that consumes them, the castle itself seems to come to life. This bastion of shadows, cathedral to oblivion, becomes another character, watching with its cracked walls as a tragedy unfolds that could change the rules of the universe. The stones, silent witnesses of countless lives consumed, resonate with a tension that even eternity cannot contain.

Sung-hoon, the tormented prince; Sunoo, the rebel dancing in chaos; and you, the spark that threatens to ignite everything, become figures of a dark poem, a tale that explores not only the limits of immortality but also the mysteries of humanity itself. And so, in a world where light and shadow intertwine in an eternal embrace, the presence of a mere mortal becomes the flame that could challenge even the oldest darkness.

The tension between Sung-hoon and Sunoo reaches its peak on a night when the moon, usually distant and serene, is tinged with an apocalyptic red, as if the very sky were weeping blood before the imminent fracture. The air in the castle is dense, laden with a silence that is not the absence of sound, but the suffocating presence of unspoken words, of secrets that sink their claws into eternity.

At the top of a worn marble staircase, Sunoo stands as an unyielding judge, his figure bathed in the flickering glow of a torch that casts erratic shadows on his stony face. —Love is a fallacy, Sung-hoon— he declares, his voice as cold as the edge of a scythe. —It is the opium of mortals, a refuge for those who cannot bear the void. We, who are eternal, do not need such illusions.—

From below, Sung-hoon watches him with a mix of weariness and defiance. His posture seems that of a man closer to the dust than to the heavens, but his eyes burn with an intensity that belies his apparent fragility. —The void is not an enemy, Sunoo— he replies, his voice resonating with a dangerous calm. —It's a teacher. And love, far from being a deception, is the only act that defies time and death. It is not weakness, it is the flame that can ignite even the ruins of our soul.—

Sung-hoon's words pierce through the columns like an ancient echo, as if awakening dormant memories in the very stones, silent witnesses of centuries of tragedies and betrayals.

From the shadows of a Gothic arch, you advance with a serenity that belies the tempest around you. Your mere presence seems to disrupt the gravity of the moment, like a lightning bolt illuminating the chaos only to reveal its magnitude. —They are both wrong— you declare, your voice as firm as the tolling of a bell. —Love is neither a refuge nor a redemption. It's a test. And like all tests, it doesn't promise answers, only deeper questions.—

You fix your eyes first on Sunoo, whose mask of indifference begins to crack under the weight of his gaze. —I'm not a pawn on your board, Sunoo. I am not here to confirm your truths or to reinforce your chains. I am free, and my freedom terrifies you because it challenges your control.—

Then, your attention turns to Sung-hoon, and although his gaze is softer, it is no less incisive. —You, Sung-hoon, cannot seek in me a salvation that I do not possess. If you love me, let it be for who I am, not for what you expect me to represent.—

The frankness of your words strikes the two brothers like a lightning bolt. Sunoo, always the architect of order, feels something within himself give way, like a dam that can no longer hold back the waters of a dark and deep ocean. —Love is a prison— he finally murmurs, his voice muted like a condemned whisper. —And I have sworn not to be a prisoner of anyone, not even of myself.—

But even as he utters these words, something within him falters. You have sown doubt in him, a crack of vulnerability that forces him to confront the possibility that, in his rejection of love, he has built an even more oppressive cage than the one he feared.

Sung-hoon, for his part, finds in your words a strange form of comfort. He does not seek in you an idol or divine salvation, but an echo of humanity that connects him with what he thought was lost. —If love is a test— he says, his voice laden with a determination that transcends despair, —then I choose to face it with you, expecting no reward other than the privilege of walking by your side.—

You smile, but your smile is neither that of a conquered maiden nor that of a redeeming angel. It is an ancient smile, laden with wisdom and melancholy, as if you contained the sum of all the love stories that ever existed. ─Then walk with me, Sung-hoon— you answer. —But remember that on this path there are no promises, only choices. And each choice carries a shadow with it.—

The scene dissolves into a silence that is not empty, but full. Sunoo, defeated but not humiliated, retreats into the shadows, his figure enveloped in a twilight that embraces him like a mantle. His footsteps echo on the stone like a requiem for a life of certainties now eroded.

Sung-hoon and you remain in the foyer, as the first light of dawn timidly penetrates through the stained glass windows. The light neither burns them nor redeems them; it simply envelops them, like a reminder that even in immortality, each new day brings with it the possibility of choice.

The castle, a witness to centuries of intrigue and suffering, seems to breathe, as if eternity itself had suspended its judgment.

In this story, there are no absolutions, no closed endings. Just one eternal question, hanging like a sword over their heads:

Can love, with its fragility and its strength, redeem even the immortals? Or is it simply a mirage, a flame that flickers briefly before being extinguished by the wind of time?

You, Sung-hoon, and Sunoo follow divergent paths, but the threads of their story remain intertwined. In their choices, in their doubts, not only the weight of immortality is revealed, but also the irreducible spark of humanity, which persists even in the face of the abyss.

[bradleysass]

Somber Violin - Word Count: 591 - Starchaser

The rain fell in rhythmic, mournful sheets, casting a silvery haze over the manicured grounds of the Black family manor. James Potter sat cross-legged on the damp grass just beyond the wrought-iron gates, his glasses fogging up with the steady drizzle. He had been here for hours, unmoving, his unruly black hair plastered to his forehead. He didn’t mind the rain; it was the only thing that seemed to wash away the sharp ache of longing that had taken root deep inside his chest.

The manor loomed before him, an imposing silhouette against the gray sky. Its tall windows glowed faintly, golden rectangles of warmth and life. James’s eyes were fixed on one in particular—the one that belonged to Regulus’s music room. He had learned this through whispered confessions and stolen evenings, back when the world felt a little less fractured and forbidden.

Through the rain-speckled glass, he could just make out a figure: slender, poised, and achingly familiar. Regulus. His dark hair shimmered like obsidian under the soft light, and in his hands, he held his cherished violin. Even from this distance, James could see the reverence in the way Regulus cradled it, like it was something sacred.

James imagined the bow drawing across the strings, imagined the somber, haunting notes that Regulus would coax from the instrument. He couldn’t hear it, not truly, not through the thick panes of glass and the endless curtain of rain. But in his mind, the music was vivid. It wrapped around him, filled the empty spaces where words and touch had once existed. It was melancholy and defiant, a wordless story that only they could understand.

He could picture the delicate furrow of Regulus’s brow as he played, the way his lips would press together in concentration. He had seen it before, on those rare, golden afternoons when they had been free to exist as themselves, without the weight of family legacies or the crushing expectations of their world. Regulus’s music had always been an extension of himself—beautiful, controlled, and heartbreakingly lonely.

James’s hands clenched the damp grass beneath him. He wasn’t sure if it was the cold seeping into his bones or the unrelenting ache of knowing that this was as close as he could get. He had been banned from the Black household—an exile delivered with cold finality by Walburga herself.

But no edict could keep him from this spot, from this ritual. He came here because it was the only place where he felt connected to Regulus, even if it was just a fleeting illusion. He came because he had to—because the pull of Regulus’s world was stronger than his pride or his sense of self-preservation.

Inside, Regulus paused, tilting his head as if he sensed something. James held his breath, his heart pounding in time with the rain. But Regulus didn’t turn toward the window. Instead, he lowered the violin, cradling it against his chest, and stared into the middle distance. His expression was unreadable, but James thought he saw the faintest flicker of something—a shadow of the same ache that gnawed at him.

The rain grew heavier, drumming against the earth and blurring the world into a watercolor painting. James stayed where he was, unmoving, his gaze never leaving the window. He didn’t need Regulus to see him. It was enough to know that, in some small way, they were still sharing a moment—even if it was divided by glass and rain and all the walls that life had built between them.

[ominouslywritinginmyhead]

iwaizumi hajime x reader; fluff/angst, feudal au

inspired by Philippa Gregory’s The Lady of the Rivers

wc: 998

The fire crackles in the hearth by the time Hajime returns home.

It has been a long, yet well-spent day: the bears are retreating into the mountains for the rest of the autumn, and Lord Oikawa will have a nice new bearskin pelt to show off when he visits the royal court next spring. All in all, a productive hunt. And the hunter is now hungry.

Your face glows from flickering orange flames as you prepare supper: a simple fare of rice, soup, and tofu with bonito shavings. A far cry from the meals you were once used to, but the contentment in your eyes is enough to make Hajime hope you don’t regret coming here.

Hana, the only maidservant brave enough to follow you to this out-of-the-way province, guides you in preparing the meals. “Yes, I think that’s enough, my lady,” she says patiently. “Just let it simmer for a few minutes, and it’ll be ready to eat.”

“Thank you,” you tell her softly. Your sweet yet measured voice brings the freshness of spring into the house despite it being a cold autumn night. The gods must favour him above all others, Hajime thinks, for why else would he be able to come home to such a beautiful, lovely wife?

Mere weeks ago, Hajime thought he was fortunate to escape with his life, never mind his bride and the small plot of land you two now call home. But as he settles into his fifth month of marriage, he finds that this shabby little estate is more blessed than any other place in the world. For this land, this house…they now hold the woman he loves the most. They hold his whole world.

You raise your head, and see him standing in the corner, watching you with the smallest of smiles on his lips. “Welcome back, danna-sama,” you greet, bowing deeply.

Hajime wishes you wouldn’t be so formal with him. This is not a royal marriage. The two of you can live as easily and freely as birds in the sky.

But even he knows the gods cannot grant him everything.

“I’m home,” he replies.

“Supper is almost ready,” you tell him. “Once you’ve eaten, I can prepare the bath. You must have had a tiring day.”

“I did,” he admits, joining you at the hearth. The warmth soothes him after a day out in the cold. A single brown leaf falls from his hair and onto the rough floor underneath. The house is old, and was hardly used before you and he arrived, but there’s nothing a few tools can’t fix. Hajime’s already made sure the roof and walls are ready to withstand the upcoming winter. He had better check on the firewood supply soon.

You dismiss Hana, who gives Hajime a friendly wink. He has known her a long time - ever since she was a lowly maidservant at the royal palace and he was a humble soldier pining for the young Emperor’s cousin. He wouldn’t even have known you loved him back had she not whispered it to him in passing on that beautiful spring morning.

“How did you spend your day?” Hajime asks, watching the soup bubble in the pot.

You think for a moment. “After you left, I checked the tools we’ll need to harvest the vegetables tomorrow,” you say. “Once I finished that, Hana and I brought in some water from the well. Then…oh, we went to the market to sell some pottery.”

“Pottery?” Hajime repeats. Then he remembers.

The delicate vases Hana packed so carefully as your exile was announced at court. The painted pots you had arranged so beautifully in your old rooms. The long-necked pot that was a gift from your father - the son of an Emperor himself.

Gone. All gone.

Along with the illusion he’s held in his mind all these months.

“We got a good price,” you continue, not noticing the drooping of his firm shoulders; the fact that you and Hana were able to drive a hard bargain has you lost in another world. “Danna-sama, you should have heard what they were offering us at first! Goodness me, if it hadn’t been for Hana, we might have been robbed! What would I do without her?”

Hajime thought he could provide you with a good life. He could scoff now at his naïveté: how is this a ‘good’ life when you have to sell the few possessions you were allowed to bring here? How is it a good life when you now reside in a shabby, worn-down wooden house, far away from the royal luxuries you called your own? How is it a good life when the former saiō of Ise Shrine, one of the most eligible royal brides in the country, is now living as the wife of a humble soldier, banished from court for making such an outrageous marriage? You and he were lucky to leave the court alive.

The night of your wedding, Hajime promised to keep you happy and safe. He’s already come close to breaking that promise.

He’s already failed as a husband.

“She chose you,” Lord Oikawa once told him, in the early days of the exile. “She could have had the riches of the court, but this is the life she chose. Don’t underestimate her: she knew what she was getting into.”

As your cousin (and now, unfortunately, Hajime’s cousin by marriage), Lord Oikawa knows you well, so perhaps he spoke the truth. Even so, Hajime’s heart twists into a painful knot as he watches your delicate hands - having known little beyond conducting rituals and writing poetry - stir the bubbling soup one final time before pouring some into a wooden bowl.

You gave up everything for him. You chose to give up everything for him.

The miso soup is saltier than Hajime is used to. But does it come as a surprise? No, not really.

At least you’ve turned back to the hearth - that way, you won’t see his tears.

Tagging @anonimusunnoaniswriting for funsies and because we’ve discussed this au in the past 😇

[probablyasocialecologist]

Israeli officials, including Netanyahu himself, have announced that this is ‘only the beginning’. Three hundred thousand troops have gathered near Gaza and are awaiting orders to launch a ground offensive which could, we are told, last months. The resultant death and destruction would be unimaginable. There is a high likelihood that the entire northern Gaza Strip would be razed to the ground, and that the inhabitants of the enclave would be corralled into an even smaller area – forcing them to choose between death, unbearable captivity, or exile. Israel justifies this indiscriminate bloodshed as a response to the killing of 1,300 Israelis in the days following the Palestinian break-out on 7 October, and the need to prevent Hamas from carrying out further operations. Its current assault must be understood, first and foremost, as a response to the political humiliation it suffered at the hands of the most isolated section of the Palestinian population. After eighteen years of siege by land, air and water, during which Israel’s stated policy was to ‘put the Palestinians on a diet, but not to make them die of hunger’ by severely restricting food access, while regularly ‘mowing the grass’ – i.e., carrying out campaigns of assassination and mass killing – Palestinians in Gaza finally managed to tear down the barbed wire that kept them captive. Through that act alone, they endangered the political future of Netanyahu and his coalition, along with the process of normalization between Israel and the region’s most autocratic and repressive regimes. In addition, they punctured Israel’s illusion of omnipotence, exposing its vulnerability for the whole world – and, more importantly, for all Palestinians – to see. Retribution will now be conducted by all available means – including forced displacement or outright annihilation. The question facing all of us in the West is how to stop the impending genocide. 

[docdetective]

In The Woods Somewhere

Chapter one

Logan growled a little as a small plane skimmed just over the treetops. It wasn’t a rare occurrence, as one of the main types of transportation in the remote Alaskan bush, but it ruined the illusion of being completely alone. And that was why he was here. In a self imposed exile, away from responsibilities, the X-Men, and everything he had failed. For the first few months, he had slept on the ground, the few belongings he kept under a tarp next to him, his head propped up against a tree. He just kept moving, no particular goal in sight, he had an inexplicable need to keep moving. He mused it was the animal in him, just as the pattern in the migrating geese as the seasons changed. Trudging through the rain, then the snow, waking up in the morning and shaking it off his body. That was becoming a nuisance, he thought.

As he came across small towns, he would frequent the bars to drown in a little whiskey for a few hours, and a cigar, if he was feeling particularly out of place. In his wet flannel, long hair, and boots, he looked like any other woodsman braving the winter. On his way back into the woods those nights, he let the wolverine take over, and took out his anger and disappointment on the trees. The sensation of splintering wood under his claws was satisfying, though fleeting. It was a temporary release, a way to keep the inner turmoil at bay. But it never lasted. The rage always crept back, like a persistent shadow, reminding him of the things he couldn’t escape. He found solace in the wild. The cold air bit at his skin, the icy wind stung his face, but it made him feel alive, present. The physical discomfort grounded him in a way that nothing else could. Here, in the frozen wilderness, he could be the animal without fear of judgment, without the burden of others’ expectations. Even in this self-imposed exile, Logan couldn’t completely escape his past. The memories were always there, lurking just beneath the surface. Every crackle of the fire, every rustle in the brush, reminded him of battles fought, friends lost, and the endless cycle of violence that defined his existence.

Some nights, when the wind howled through the trees, he swore he could hear the ghosts of his past whispering his name, mocking him for his attempt to find peace in a world that had never offered him any. One evening, after a particularly brutal storm had passed, Logan stood on the edge of a frozen lake, staring at the reflection of the northern lights in the ice. The colors danced and shifted, a stark contrast to the darkness within him. A fascinating sight, such a beautiful difference to why he was here. He wondered if there was anything left of the man he used to be, or if he was now just a creature of the wild. The thought didn’t scare him. In fact, it was comforting in a way. To be the beast meant to be free, unburdened by the complexities of human emotion, of pain, of loss. For now, though, he would take what little peace he could find in the solitude of the Alaskan wilderness. He would let the snow cover his tracks, the trees hide his scars, and the silence drown out the noise of the past. At least until the next plane flew overhead, reminding him that he was never truly alone.

Andi looked out the window as she flew over the treetops. She loved to fly, the freedom it provided her to reach the most remote areas of the wilderness was a thrill she never tired of. As a behavior analyst and tracker for the Forest Service, Andi's job took her to places where few dared to venture. Her expertise in studying wildlife patterns and tracking elusive species had earned her a reputation for being one of the best, something her male counterparts certainly couldn't believe, with the amount of poachers she had had a hand in apprehending.

Locating the riverbank she called her home, she descended, skillfully guiding the small plane through the narrow valley. The dense forest below seemed impenetrable, a vast sea of green stretching out in every direction. She spotted a small clearing near the riverbank and smoothly landed on the pontoons attached to the bottom of her plane, the water gently rippling as she brought the aircraft to a stop. Her home, a small cabin, sat at the edge of a riverbank where her plane was able to land. Andi jumped out, her boots splashing lightly in the shallow water as she secured it to the dock jutting out from the bank. She unloaded the supplies from town, then attached her belt and adjusted her backpack, double-checking the supplies she had meticulously prepared for her mission of the day. It was a short trek easily accessible from her home, locating the tracking signal of one of the older bears in the area, affectionately nicknamed Zorro. Although it was early to hibernate, his signal had stopped moving, and it was Andi’s job to find out if it had fallen off, he had went to sleep early, or heaven forbid, humans had taken it off. She moved easily and confidently, this area had only one other small cabin that belonged to someone that hadn’t stuck around for the winter, so she wasn’t worried about humans in the area for once. Thankfully, when she reached the coordinates of the tracker, Zorro was found slumbering peacefully in a dug out area under a rock outcropping. Andi noted this and radioed the information back, then decided to take a different route back to her cabin, knowing the area quite well. It was rare to have such a short task for her days’ work, and she wanted to explore a bit more on foot before heading back.

Humming along to the song stuck in her head, Andi traversed a bit west before heading back north parallel to her cabin. She always had a good supply of snacks to occupy her on her journeys, and a dried apricot was halfway in her mouth when she stopped short and all senses went on alert. Ahead of her, many trees bore the usual sign of grizzlies, long claw marks dragged in the bark. Unlike all times she had seen this occurrence on one or two trees at a time, however, every tree was slashed in an unmistakable path leading forwards. She put her hand against one. It seemed cleaner, deeper than the ones she was used to seeing. She frowned. Grizzly bears and their claws were noted as being one of the strongest animals to exist, and if they didn’t make these marks, what on earth did.

Next Part

[kaibutsushidousha]

Favorite Zanpakuto?

Sakanade and Sakashima Yokoshima Happoufusagari. I don't think I need to explain to the appeal of the inverted Shikai-Bankai dynamics because Narita already spells this out pretty plainly. Shinji's penchant for showing off how used he is to do things in the opposite direction (walking upside down in his first panel, writing his name in reverse when first introducing himself) is cute too.

Shinji is an annoying man. That's a definiting trait of him. He's a natural contrarian and overthinker, and very often voices his nitpicks, as most often seen in his manzai-themed dynamic with Hiyori. And fitting the way he interacts with the world around him, Sakanade's ability is to be an inescapable annoyance.

Another really good point is how the first thing he says about his ability is that Aizen is not the only one with an illusion Zanpakutou. The commonality between Shinji and Aizen is also essential to him. Aizen gets the most versatile illusion Zanpakutou ever because he's a megalomaniac who somehow discovered the hidden truth of the world, but despite his delusions of grandeur, what he wants deep inside is a peer, so his ability is one that forces his opponents to challenge their beliefs and perceptions and search for a hidden truth like what Aizen himself found. Aizen is someone who encourages analysis and skepticism, and an analytical skeptic is all Shinji is.

Which leads us to his Bankai. The power of betrayal. Betrayal is obviously a key part of every Visored's life. Their exile from Soul Society is a very Happoufusagari-esque moment of allies suddenly flipping into enemies. But as mentioned above, this inversion is always on Shinji's mind. Despite maintaining an apparently good teacher-student relationship with his lieutenant Aizen, both sides are very aware that Shinji never trusted Aizen. Both sides communicated exclusively in lies and they knew it. It’s how it was more comfortable for both of them, maybe. You could say no other captain in Turn Back the Pendulum knew Aizen as well as Shinji did. But another way to say Shinji is skeptical is to say he's distrustful. Shinji and Aizen are likeminded enough that Shinji could see past the kind and mild-mannered layer 1 Aizen to find the deceitful and unsympathetic layer 2 Aizen, but he go never go past that to find the desperate, fearful and lonely layer 3 Aizen. Because that would require not assuming the worst out of someone, and the most powerful idea inside Shinji's heart is "allies can become enemies at any moment".

[peppermintquartz]

He was very young when he understood, and what he understood was Everything.

His zanpakuto whispered to him when he first opened his heart to it, and from Kyoka Suigetsu he learned about illusions, and from illusions he saw the truth. The twisted, ugly, grotesque truth of the world that no one wanted to see:

-- there was no God.

And because there was no God, the delineation between good and evil, moral and immoral were all arbitrary and ultimately pointless.

The only thing that truly mattered was control.

The ones who could control what others saw, what others heard, what others learned, controlled how they reacted.

And over time, Aizen weighed the different means of gaining control. Control of self -- that was easy and impossible. He could not lie to himself into thinking he was doing this for a greater good. No, wielding Kyoka Suigetsu meant he always, always knew what was real and what was illusory. He had to master himself first. Parts of him were buried deep beneath the calm waters of Kyoka Suigetsu's lake: compassion, compliance, surrender.

Control through relationships was not difficult. He knew how to be charming yet appear genuine. What people liked to hear to reinforce their vision of themselves. Even Tousen Kaname had his weaknesses, and that was how Aizen won him over. Some, he kept blind to his real self. Some he allowed glimpses, just for the fun of it, for while he was aware of the Truth, one terribly enlightened, he was also a person with his individual needs and delights. And one he allowed to see everything. He knew that Ichimaru Gin would have to betray Aizen or himself, and Aizen was curious as to what Gin would choose.

Finally, control through power. Not a challenge at all: Aizen ousted Hirako, caused the mass exile of the vizards, thus destabilizing the divisions and putting his own into positions of authority. The Central 46 were nothing but administrative blowhards; he left them to Gin's mercies.

The hougyoku... If Aizen could have won Urahara over to his side, he could have attained his goals so much sooner. But in the end he got what he wanted.

And still... Nothing mattered.

He had set a goal for himself, just to see if attaining ultimate control would change something. Anything. It worked for a while, giving him something to work towards, distracting him from the illusory nature of the world. Can't pay attention to how pointless everything is if his attention was directed at one single point. Tunnel vision had its uses.

But it was all illusion. He had only managed to fool himself, just for a short while. A hundred odd years, give or take. A blink in the long endless span of pointless existence.

He let Ichigo win. He let Urahara trap him. He let the hougyoku reject him. Rage - the rage was against their blindness, their ignorance, their headlong rush towards deceit and falsehood.

Well, he had learned something anyway.

There was no point to victory.

Maybe there would be something to learn in defeat.

Ten thousand years bound to a chair in the dark. Nothing more than an inhale and an exhale.

[apomaro-mellow]

Prompt :-

Demon Eddie and exiled prince Steve who now watch over a small sanctuary for outcasts - Eddie slipping into their bedroom after his nightly patrol into Steve’s arms for cuddles

Oooh I love this idea!

Eddie had been cast out of his home land for his horns, forked tongue, and tail. Steve had been cast out of his home land for falling in love with Eddie. It was strange how something as beautiful as love could be disgusting when people didn't agree with it. They had traveled together until they found a nice patch of land to build a home on. They lived in domestic bliss until a child came to their doorstep. She slammed their door open without even touching it and Eddie was poised to attack the intruder until he saw how tiny she was.

It didn't take long for El to worm her way into their hearts. It also didn't take long for the legend to spread and soon more like her came. Will, who could see between worlds. Nancy, who could always tell when someone was lying. Lucas, whose eyes could see for miles.

What had started as a hut in the woods and turned into a little community. All people who had been shunned by others because of what they were. "And Steve" was a common joke among them all for the one member who wasn't born with any sort of abnormality.

He took it all in stride. After all, some of them came from lives where they never smiled or laughed. Considering that, he didn't mind being the butt of the joke sometimes.

Inside their safe haven, all was well. But when people like them gathered, others took issue with it. It wasn't uncommon for a rogue hunter to come near or someone from a nearby village under the illusion of being in danger. Because of this, patrols were taken on from dusk until about an hour after the sun fell. Most times the patrols found nothing. Other times they a poor soul, thinking they could take on a fully grown demon.

Eddie ate well on those nights.

Tonight though, he found no one. Their home was safe. He went back to Steve. Most couples would try and sneak in silently to keep their lover from waking up, but not Eddie. He made just enough noise to let Steve know he was there. One time (and only one time) Eddie was silent when he snuck up on Steve. Instead of a kiss he was met with a dagger.

Never again.

Steve turned towards Eddie and watched him get dressed for bed in the dark, only making out his silhouette but knowing him anywhere. He held his arms out and Eddie fell right into them, burying his face into his neck. He growled against his skin as Steve rubbed at his back. Steve smelled the trees and embers on him and not blood, so he must've had a peaceful patrol.

"Good night, love", Eddie whispered as he got comfortable.

"Mmmnight", Steve murmured, easily falling back asleep now that he was in that familiar embrace.