#yes yes i am aware that the canon on how long mortals live in the undying lands is not concrete

[tathrin]

Hey. Hey, do you ever think about the fact that if Legolas hadn't been stricken by the Sea-Longing, if he had still had "peace under beech [and] elm," he would almost surely not have gone to the Undying Lands until many, many years later, long after all his mortal friends were dead?

Do you ever think about the fact that if he hadn't heard those gulls, if he hadn't spent the whole length of Aragorn's reign plagued by the ache in his heart ever pulling him West, he wouldn't have gone until long after Gimli was dead, too? And Gimli would have surely never even thought about asking to go with him, if Legolas's heart wasn't being ever drawn away by that call; it simply wouldn't have been a thing that would have ever occurred to either of them, without the weight of the Sea-Longing hanging over them both for so many years.

Do you ever think about how the only reason they get to have their forever-ever-after happy ending on the other side of the Sundering Sea is because of the wound that the cry of those gulls lanced through his heart?

Because I do.

[alexandraisyes]

Eclipse Character Analysis (Sun and Moon Show)

Alternate Title: Why I'm 95% sure Eclipse is a sociopath EDITED TITLE: An Analysis of how Eclipse's ASPD is reflected in his character

A hopefully unnecessary disclaimer: - One, hi, hello I am a sociopath, I do know what I'm talking about. This also means that a lot of what I notice and will describe about Eclipse are similar or the same as my own experiences living life in this mortal realm. What I will touch on in the "redemption" section is heavily based on the kind of intensive treatment I had to get in order to improve my behavior when I was younger, so it's important to note that while Eclipse will never be able to change his personality (like how I can't change mine, and you can't change yours), he can change his thought patterns, mentality, and behavior. The saying that "sociopaths can't change" is specifically talking about how we can't change our personality, which is true for everyone. That doesn't mean we can't learn to function better in civilized society or be taught emotional awareness and morals. - Two, hi, hello this is just what I've noticed and does not mean it's canon unless Reed or Davis themselves come onto my Tumblr and go "Yes, this, this is what is correct", and even then, you're allowed to have your own opinions and views on these characters. I'm just theorizing here EDIT: Reed and Davis confirmed that Eclipse is indeed a sociopath a day after I posted this here, and a week after my initial post in their server that is basically this but slightly messier. - Three, hi, hello I'm also a psychology student so I also know what I'm talking about in that regard too. I've been studying psychology and general medicine for three and a half years now, so I like to think I have some idea of what I'm talking about - Four, I use the terms sociopath, ASPD, sociopathic disorder, and anti-social personality disorder interchangeably since they all describe the same personality disorder - Five, this analysis is long, I cover the basics, an in depth, some potential scenarios, a redemption arc possibility, and some other thoughts I have about him. - Six, I made this disclaimer to address any potential misunderstandings, or harmful stereotypes that I tend to be confronted with any time I talk about ASPD. Now onto the good stuff!

Too Long; Won't Read - Here's a Summary

Attachment and Pride: Eclipse initially cared about Lunar, and his reaction to Lunar leaving suggests a fragile pride. His inability to connect with others is evident in his strained relationships with KC and Bloodmoon.

Masking Emotions: Eclipse keeps his darker thoughts to himself at the beginning, and throughout the show as well. He masks both his emotions, and his intentions throughout the show, and is careful not to show when people have upset or offended him. This behavior stems from a learned experience that letting his guard down leads to resentment.

Manipulation and Brash Communication: Eclipse is straightforward and brash when expressing thoughts, feelings, or opinions. He employs manipulation when needed but is mostly disinterested in others.

Boredom and Stimulation: He seeks reactions from people, often causing chaos for entertainment. Boredom, especially when stuck as an AI, prompts him to instigate situations for amusement.

Lack of Empathy: He also appears to lack empathy, as evidenced by his inability to understand emotions and his focus on getting reactions rather than connecting with others.

Touch Aversion: Eclipse's lack of physical affection aligns with the common aversion to touch seen in individuals with ASPD.

Remorse and Growth: Eclipse shows remorse only in instances where he hurts Lunar in the beginning of the show, indicating a potential area for growth. A redemption arc could explore his struggles without completely erasing his apparent sociopathic nature.

Writer's note: A thoughtful portrayal of Eclipse's sociopathy, should my theory touch on the truth, if continued in a storyline, could provide an authentic exploration of mental health challenges and personal growth. Care should be taken to avoid stereotypes (DON'T USE GOOGLE FOR INFORMATION ABOUT THIS I BEG)

Putting Him Under a Microscope - Full Analysis

1. Attachment and Pride:

Eclipse's initial connection with Lunar suggests a potential attachment, a notable aspect in individuals with ASPD who can form (highly) selective bonds. However, Lunar's departure significantly impacts Eclipse's pride. This reaction aligns with the fragile self-esteem often observed in those with ASPD. The departure becomes a perceived personal betrayal, triggering Eclipse's defensive response.

In individuals with ASPD, relationships often serve specific purposes, and Eclipse's attachment to Lunar may have been driven by a combination of genuine connection but also very clearly the utility Lunar provided in fulfilling certain needs or desires. (Which was helping Eclipse get the star of course)

Moreover, Eclipse's struggle with connecting to others, evident in strained relationships with KC and Bloodmoon, is a characteristic of ASPD. Individuals with this disorder often face challenges in forming and maintaining meaningful relationships due to their limited capacity for empathy and understanding of emotional nuances.

2. Masking Emotions:

Eclipse's tendency to keep darker thoughts to himself reflects a common coping mechanism associated with ASPD. Individuals with this disorder often learn to conceal their true emotions early on due to negative experiences when expressing genuine feelings. This learned behavior serves as a protective measure against potential backlash or social rejection.

The fear of vulnerability and subsequent consequences aligns with the interpersonal difficulties faced by those with ASPD. Eclipse's decision to hide his less socially acceptable thoughts is a strategic choice aimed at avoiding conflict and maintaining control over his image.

Professionally, the concealment of darker thoughts is recognized as a defense mechanism in individuals with ASPD. This protective facade, or 'mask,' becomes an integral part of their social interactions, allowing them to navigate social situations with greater ease. However, this constant need to mask one's true feelings can contribute to internal struggles and further isolate individuals with ASPD from genuine emotional connections.

One may ask, what 'darker thoughts' did Eclipse show, or receive backlash for? Well, let's see, when he was stuck in Sun for the beginning of his life, he was first confused, a bit scared, and completely disoriented. He was forgotten, and during the first parts we can see him trying to reconnect with Moon, however, his delivery, as individuals with ASPD tend to do, was brash. It didn't sugar coat what he wanted, and considering his earlier transgressions previously, they weren't taken well in the slightest. Instead of Moon trying to genuinely talk and explain, all he provided Eclipse with was "I changed, and you didn't." and in general was very annoyed and irate with Eclipse. There were several times during the beginning of Eclipse, where there could have been progress made with him, to help him work through his issues, his internalized fear of being forgotten again, and the accidental neglect, that just… didn't happen. Because Sun and Moon saw him as a virus.

Moon because Moon saw himself as a virus, so what else would he think of something that originated in his code, and acted like he used to? Acted like he still sometimes did, parts of himself that he didn't like about himself, living and breathing once again in the mind of his brother. Corrupting him.

And of course, Sun because he was just so tired and hurt and he finally thought he could have something only for this ball of code to make itself known? This peice of his brother that was left behind, that was formed from Moon's killcode? That was constructed from Moon's literal need to lash out, hurt others, and kill. I'm honestly a little horrified that this is never touched on in the show, because people aren't just born to be awful, that's not how this works. There were so many opportunities where toxic and awful behavior could have been stopped if it was handled properly.

Of course, I'm not blaming Sun and Moon. It's hard to help someone who doesn't understand they need help, and as a result the person won't want help either. Plus, they've said it themselves in the episodes where Lunar had returned from the dead. They were never programmed to understand mental health issues, and they have a hard enough time grasping the concepts of their own mental health issues to deal with other peoples. Especially other people who are actively hurting them, it's hard to feel sympathy for someone who causes you harm as far as I'm aware. (I personally wouldn't know)

But back to my main point, there absolutely were times in the beginning where Eclipse was just honest about his wants and desires, and was shown disgust and hatred for it. Which would absolutely make him be prone to masking, which he does a lot in the show from what I can tell.

3. Manipulation and Brash Communication:

Eclipse's communication style, characterized by being brash and straightforward, aligns with the speech patterns and tendencies often associated with ASPD. When he's not trying to pull a fast one over someone, he's very blunt, and he doesn't beat around the bush. Individuals with this disorder may utilize manipulation as a means to achieve personal goals or navigate social situations, but without a reason to sugar coat, they won't. Although sometimes not sugar coating is also employed as a manipulation tactic, which makes it tricky navigating conversation at times with sociopaths. Eclipse's lack of hesitation in employing manipulation reflects the calculated nature of his interactions, as we see him smoothly switch between fronts, acts he puts on to get people to agree with him.

His disinterest in others, apart from exploiting them for personal gain, is consistent with the self-serving behaviors commonly observed in sociopaths. The use of manipulation as a tool for control and amusement is a manifestation of the disorder's impact on interpersonal dynamics. When he contacts Moon for help with Killcode, even then he has his own motives that are only helped by Moon being distracted with Killcode, as well as having KC out of the picture.

Professionally, manipulation is recognized as a prominent feature of ASPD. Individuals with this disorder may lack the ability to form genuine emotional connections and, instead, view relationships as transactional opportunities. Eclipse's interactions, particularly with Sun and Moon, exemplify this transactional approach, where he derives amusement from creating chaos. This last bit (amusment) is important, and I'll cover it next.

Before I pop on over, this is where I'd like to touch on Servant Eclipse. He is very crafty, and very manipulative, but it doesn't fool Lunar, who he clearly cares about to some degree. (Again, will say it as many times as needed, people with ASPD can care about people, it's just a lot of effort at first, doesn't come naturally, and is reserved for a select few). Lunar in this reality probably knows Eclipse inside and out, and isn't fooled by the not very convincing "I'm just a husk now" act Eclipse is playing out with. I suspect that Eclipse also is aware the Lunar isn't fooled, but it amuses him to some degree to keep up the game. I can only imagine serving a "Lord Lunar" is a fairly excitable life, and it's unlikely he's extensively bored. He's also just as brash as the OG Eclipse, and doesn't sugar coat the truth, or tries to ease Gregory into topics.

4. Boredom and Stimulation:

Eclipse's constant quest for stimulation and amusement, even at the expense of creating chaos, reflects a key characteristic of individuals with ASPD. Boredom intolerance is common in this population, leading to a perpetual need for excitement and novel experiences. (Can speak from experience, I spend about 4-6 hours every day bored out of my freaking mind and it's absolutely torture - which is why I draw so much)

The portrayal of Eclipse as being "bored out of his mind" when stuck as an AI in KC's base underscores the challenge individuals with ASPD face in mundane or monotonous situations. The need for stimulation is a driving force behind their impulsive and sometimes risky behaviors. There's a certain kind of restlessness, and impulsivity associated with ASPD, very much an act before you think, get defensive when confronted, and maybe think about it two days later on the very small chance it triggers a sense of morals/remorse. (Then probably forget it happened, cause we are very good at not caring enough to remember half the stuff we do. This isn't a choice, by the way, people with sociopathic disorder just aren't wired to feel strong emotions like guilt and shame.)

Professionally, this behavior aligns with the clinical understanding of ASPD. Individuals with the disorder often engage in sensation-seeking activities to counteract feelings of boredom and emotional emptiness. Eclipse's enjoyment in hacking Moon's computer, causing reactions from Moon and Lunar, serves as an outlet for his need for stimulation and disruption, as well as fulfills other purposes in starting a conversation with Moon about KC.

And of course, now I get to touch on my two favorite things that just drill this in. When OG Eclipse gets the star… what does he do? He torments Sun and Moon instead of wiping everything away, and I'm aware this is mostly because he doens't have mastery over the star. But what does Sun say, when Eclipse shows up to torment them on top of the play structure. Something along the lines of, You're just bored at this point? Is that it?

And what does Eclipse do? He leaves. Because Sun is absolutely right, and it probably stings his ego to have someone he so fully has convinced himself of hating to be right about him. Even before he gets the star… just how much effort did he really put into getting the star? Sure, he had this big plan, but I think he was aware that the 'perfect world' would never make him happy to start with; he just felt the need to be something larger than life, so of course you must set the largest goals to achieve in order to be that. He could have gotten the star so much faster lets be honest. I fully believe he was just having too much fun messing with Sun and Moon, because it gave a reaction, and the reactions to his actions were exciting, breaking his boredom. He was bored a lot, stuck in Sun's head, stuck in Sun's body and pretending to be Sun, stuck as an AI, stuck with Solar Flare's AI fighting him, stuck being unable to use the star…….. seeing a pattern yet?

And of course, my second favorite thing. Lord Eclipse. Moon full out calls him out on how bored Eclipse is, and Eclipse first tries to deny it, then sees no tactical advantage to denying it, and admits that yeah, he is bored. He's been bored for ages and Moon is the first exciting thing in what feels like forever. He's not happy in his perfect world, but he isn't going to change is because that would cut his pride for Sun and Moon to be right about what he wants and needs after so many years. So many years of his Moon being dead. Of having Sun as an obedient servant, bound to his beck and call. He's bored, and it shows, and he knows that it shows.

5. Lack of Empathy:

Eclipse's consistent inability to understand and empathize with the emotions of others aligns with a central feature of Antisocial Personality Disorder (ASPD). Individuals with ASPD often struggle with recognizing and comprehending the feelings of those around them.

His focus on getting reactions rather than forming genuine connections reflects the hallmark trait of lacking empathy. Eclipse's interactions with Sun, Moon, and Lunar highlight his detached and indifferent approach, as he manipulates situations purely for personal amusement without regard for the emotional impact on others.

Professionally, the deficit in empathy is a well-documented aspect of ASPD. Those with the disorder may comprehend others' situations on a cognitive level but struggle to grasp the emotional nuances involved. Eclipse's inability to understand why Lunar is upset and his constant pursuit of reactions underscore the emotional disconnect inherent in individuals with ASPD.

Eclipse's interactions with Lunar provide a poignant illustration of his consistent lack of empathy. Despite a seemingly genuine attachment to Lunar in the beginning, Eclipse's emotional disconnect becomes evident as Lunar leaves. The impact of Lunar's departure on Eclipse's pride and subsequent defensive reaction highlights the absence of genuine understanding of Lunar's emotions. Eclipse struggles to comprehend the significance of Lunar's departure beyond a perceived personal betrayal, showcasing a lack of empathy toward Lunar's perspective.

Moreover, Eclipse's manipulation and attempts to provoke reactions from Lunar, even after Lunar has left, underscore his disregard for the emotional toll on Lunar. This behavior aligns with the typical patterns seen in individuals with ASPD, where the pursuit of personal amusement takes precedence over the emotional well-being of others.

Eclipse's inability to process and acknowledge his own damaged ego resulting from Lunar's departure further emphasizes his lack of emothional understanding. He doesn't want to admit that Lunar hurt him, so instead he just continues to shut it down, bottle it up, and let it churn into hatred instead of looking at what he did wrong. His resentment and refusal to acknowledge the emotional impact on Lunar highlight the emotional blindness inherent in individuals with ASPD, especially in the context of complex interpersonal relationships.

6. Touch Aversion:

Eclipse's noticeable lack of physical affection, as both seen throughout the show, and mentioned when Lunar clings to Sun and states that Eclipse never showed him physical affection, aligns with a common trait among individuals with ASPD. Touch aversion is a characteristic feature, as those with the disorder often lack the intrinsic desire for physical closeness or intimacy.

Eclipse's minimal physical interaction, even in what could be perceived as emotionally charged moments, is consistent with the general pattern observed in individuals with ASPD. The absence of hugging or comforting gestures suggests a limited appreciation for the emotional needs of others.

Professionally, touch aversion is recognized as part of the interpersonal challenges associated with ASPD. Individuals with this disorder may not instinctively seek physical connection unless it serves a specific purpose, such as manipulation or personal gain. Eclipse's avoidance of physical affection adds a layer to his character, illustrating how his interpersonal behaviors align with the clinical understanding of ASPD.

This aspect of Eclipse's character contributes to a nuanced portrayal of the disorder, showcasing how the lack of tactile expression can impact the dynamics of his relationships, particularly in situations where emotional support is expected. (Like seriously, even Sun and Moon hug when one of them are having an awful day, but Eclipse? He literally doesn't seem to understand why Lunar craves positive physical touch so bad, because he just… doesn't feel the need himself. You can never fully understand something you experience, and it's not like people were explaining these basic needs and wants to Eclipse… ever.)

7. Remorse and Growth:

Eclipse's occasional display of remorse, particularly in instances where he has harmed Lunar, offers a glimpse into a facet of his character that deviates from the (BAD DOWNRIGHT AWFUL) stereotypical image associated with ASPD. While individuals with ASPD are often poorly and harmfully characterized/stereotyped by a complete lack of guilt or remorse, Eclipse's moments of internal conflict suggest a degree of emotional complexity.

Professionally, the intermittent remorse aligns with the recognition that individuals with ASPD may experience moments of internal conflict, especially in relationships that hold personal significance. Eclipse's struggle with whether to apologize after hitting Lunar reveals a brief internal debate, questioning the severity of his actions against Lunar's emotional response.

However, Eclipse's ultimate decision not to apologize, driven by his failure to perceive the significance of Lunar's distress, reinforces the inherent challenges in navigating emotional landscapes for those with ASPD. This internal conflict and eventual dismissal of remorse contribute to a more realistic portrayal of the disorder, highlighting the ongoing tension between impulsive actions and moments of potential introspection.

Should Eclipse undergo a redemption arc, these moments of internal conflict could serve as a foundation for growth, illustrating that while individuals with ASPD may grapple with moments of remorse, their ability to sustain lasting change remains a complex and challenging journey. Of course, I'm going to cover this as well.

Redemption and Recovery

Eclipse's potential redemption could be approached with an understanding that a complete overhaul of his personality is near impossible, because as psychology has shown, you don't just change your personality. However, nuanced growth and positive change within the framework of his behaviors and thought patterns can be explored.

Increased Self-Awareness: Eclipse could undergo a process of heightened self-awareness, acknowledging the impact of his actions on others. This could involve introspection into the motivations behind his behaviors and the consequences they entail. This won't be something he does on his own, he's going to need someone behind him, pushing him to be better. Preferably someone who has no majorly poor history with him for the best results.

Therapeutic Support: In a realistic redemption arc, Eclipse might engage in therapy tailored to individuals with ASPD. This could involve developing coping mechanisms, enhancing emotional intelligence, and learning healthier ways to navigate interpersonal relationships. Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) is a very affective type of therapy for people with personality disorders, or collections of disorders that combined provide the complications of a personality disorder.

Recognizing the Value of Relationships: Eclipse could gradually come to recognize the value of genuine connections beyond their utility. This may involve acknowledging the significance of relationships for emotional support and personal growth. This is going to be a process, and he will mess up. He will forget. It's something he will have to choose to work with in order for it to work, and even then he will make mistakes. It will be important to have patience with him, and instead of lashing out (cause that can cause a spiral back into poor behavior), working on these slip ups with him, and helping him relearn the significance of correcting it when he messes up.

Empathy Development: A full restoration of empathy is be unrealistic, Eclipse could work on developing cognitive empathy—understanding others' perspectives intellectually, even if not emotionally. This could improve his ability to navigate social situations more effectively. (This is what I do! <:happy_stim:867544047735275521>)

Establishing Boundaries: He should learn to set healthy boundaries in his relationships, understanding that manipulating and exploiting others for personal gain may provide short-term satisfaction but is detrimental in the long run.

Contributing Positively: As part of his redemption, he could find avenues to contribute positively to others' lives. This could involve utilizing his unique skills for constructive purposes, fostering a sense of accomplishment outside of manipulative endeavors.

Maintaining Accountability: Eclipse's growth would involve a commitment to being accountable for his actions. This includes acknowledging mistakes, making amends where possible, and actively working towards minimizing harm to others.

Embracing Personal Growth: Eclipse's redemption arc could focus on embracing personal growth within the constraints of his personality. It's about acknowledging that while he may not fundamentally change, he can adapt and evolve to lead a more balanced and fulfilling life.

Potential Future Scenario: Eclipse Apologizes

Brought to you by someone saying that Lunar would refuse Eclipse trying to apologize, but I respectfully disagree, and here's why.

I think that if Eclipse ever does apologize to Lunar, Lunar would have literally no choice but to accept, because we’ve seen early on that he does not apologize

To genuinely apologize and acknowledge his wrongdoing would be major character development that would take a lot of time and struggle to get to that point, based on my theories/analysis about him

So by the time he can actually, truthfully apologize, there would be evidence to prove his struggle with his own twisted nature, and probably how he failed at times during the journey, and had set backs and road bumps. The others would have most likely seen the effects and effort it takes to learn to change for him, and would most likely acknowledge that he’s being truthful.

If Lunar doesn’t accept at that point, if it ever got to that point, Lunar would be acting irrationally due to emotional complications, would probably just hurt Eclipse when he’s trying to be better for his brother, and would most likely set him back. There’s a very destructive pattern of thought when it comes to personality stuff (which is what I think Eclipse struggles with, a specific personality disorder I’m writing a comic thingy about), because you can’t change your personality. You can’t will yourself to be a certain way, and so it’s very easy to destroy progress people make on self improvement. So lunar refusing the apology would most likely not only hurt Eclipse’s pride (like it was hurt when Lunar left his side the first time) but would also further his belief of “why bother if they won’t accept the fact I’m trying for them” that he’d probably struggle with throughout a period of character growth.

Lunar’s smart, and pretty emotionally aware. He can be petty, but if Eclipse were to get to that point, I don’t think Lunar would refuse it because he would have already seen the struggle and effort Eclipse had put through just to get to that point

Logically, Solar would be the best person to help Eclipse, not Earth

This is partly copied/pasted from some conversations and does analyze Solar a bit as well

I really honestly doubt that Earth is going to be able to help him, if he comes back, and I’m suspecting that Solar would do a better job because he’s the only who can understand, properly, the absolute hell that was waking up inside of Sun’s mind with no idea what’s going on and how he got there. Earth can be sympathetic and show him pity, but that’s not going to help him very much at the end of the day. He doesn’t want sympathy, he doesn’t want pity because he has associated that with being weak and out of control. He needs some one who will understand him, and who will fully understand how one small thing changed so much due to the snow ball effect. Which Solar would understand. He’s “nice eclipse” after all, aka just an Eclipse without such bad formative trauma. So he never spiraled, but he’s just as blunt and analytical as Eclipse tends to be, and would be able to actually communicate with Eclipse about his issues since it’s a situation he could have easily been in had things gone slightly different

Solar is probably the only one who can understand, and I mean properly understand, Eclipse’s trauma and bottled up emotions. And I think that if they’re going to give Eclipse someone who will support him, they should do Solar. He’s got all boxes checked

The ability to fully understand Eclipse

No bad history with Eclipse that would really affect how Eclipse treats him (It’s not like Eclipse knows he built the satellite)

Similar base personality, his just wanted warped and twisted in the start, but if you strip away Eclipse’s issues, they’re practically the same person… for obvious reasons

The willingness to say what needs to be said, and not try to sugar coat. Earth would try to let Eclipse down easy about stuff, ease him into it, and he’s gonna see that as her being manipulative because that’s how he manipulates people. He needs someone who is just going to lay things out on the table

And of course, Solar most likely wouldn’t think Eclipse is too far gone to change. Because how do you think that of yourself? And they are the same person, just from different perspectives. It’s a similar dilemma I have to just writing off Eclipse, when I take him apart and see myself staring back at me. But I was able to improve, it just took work, and it took a situation dire enough to get me to realize that if I didn’t want to ruin the few things I cared about, I needed to get my crap together. And that’s probably what he’s gonna need to, something that threatens what he cares about to the point he realizes that this can’t go on. (And I’m suspecting that something will be control over his own life, just like it was for me.) We saw at the end of his life, that he was starting to self reflect and realize that he needs to change somehow, and this was because his control over his own life was being threatened I suspect.

Extra, Smaller Analysis on Solar and Eclipse

It is important to note that Solar doesn't have this issue (ASPD), and I believe it's because he didn't suffer the same beginning that Eclipse did. They resolved the Solar issue when he popped into existance very quickly from what we can tell, and so he wasn't left in the dark for months on end, left to stew in his own agony and emotions. Personality issues are caused by trauma, and specifically ASPD is directly tied to neglect during the most crucial formative stages in development. Sun and Moon had no idea Eclipse was there, and didn't mean to abandon him, because they didn't know he existed. But this complete, and utter abandoment, what is probably internalized as a personal betrayal because I can imagine Eclipse being destroyed by the idea that Moon left him behind on purpose. Which is just… not a good thought for my man to have, because that leads to feelings of worthlessness, and self-hatred for not being 'good enough' to keep/take care of/help. Which then just snowballs into other negative emotions, that gets him all worked up, and then he's fuming at the fact that they left him. That they decided he wasn't worth keeping around, and how dare they make that decision about him for him?!

You can see how it gets out of hand quickly, as he realizes the neglect he's suffering from, the abandonment he's facing, and the fact that he's now trapped. That Moon got to escape, but he can't and it's not fair. This is the perfect breeding ground for that funny little disorder called sociopathy, and boy, there's almost nothing at this point that can convince me that he doesn't have it because it's all just a little too perfect. And the worst part?

I really really doubt it was done on purpose, but holy heck it would be so cool if it was. Not just because of how beautifully crafted it is in his character, how it's so consistent and real, but also because if it was done on purpose, it would show that the writers took the time to do real research about a disorder that is so often done so poorly, and is commonly confused with a completely different issue (psychopathic disorder). Even knowing that it probably wasn't done on purpose, I'm still gonna just cling to him because I love him and I want him to get the happy ending he deserves. And I mean that genuinely, people who are suffering and lashing out because they're drowing in hate due to unfortunate circumstances that were really out of their control deserve to be given the tools to improve themselves and their lives, and it would be wonderful to see this sentiment reflected in the show.

Wrap-Up Ramble/Writer's Notes

This is, of course, my own personal observations, and it is definitely a lot to read. I had a lot of fun constructing this thread, because it is so rare to find a character that I feel I can properly connect to. I've struggled with a lot of the patterns Eclipse has shown in the show that I've called out, and I've had to go through the steps in the 'redemption arc' section myself. It's not an easy process, and as I mentioned, him realistically improving is going to be a process that is going to be draining on himself, and the people around him. He will have to wake up and choose to go against the walls he's thrown up around himself every single day if he's going to have a realistic redemption, and it's going to be exhausting. But I do genuinely believe that he can change, and improve, because I was able to change and improve as a person. It took time, years of intensive self examination and cognitive based therapy, and it required a strong support system. Which hopefully, if he comes back to the show, he can obtain, because otherwise he will continue to drown in his own bitter stew of resentment for others and himself. And that's no fun, that's just depressing.

A lot of people look at Eclipse and think the villain, but I just can't. His actions make him a bad person, but taking apart the psychology behind him, and seeing how glaringly similar a character is to you that is supposed to be the 'bad guy'… I want him to be able, if he comes back, to get the proper 'recovery arc' that he deserves, and I really hope that if they do try to save him from his own demons, they do it properly, instead of giving him a complete 180. Because you can't change your personality, and Davis and Reed seem to be aware of that with Moon. Even when old Moon tried to be better, he was still an awful person. And the 'new' Moon is still eerily similar to the old one, and as the time goes on, he just becomes more and more like the old one. Because it's the same AI, he just lost his memories. He didn't do a whole personality change because he got his memory card wiped, because he's the same person where it counts. He just has the benefit of not having all of the pain his past self was carrying. He's free of the hurt, and trauma, and self hatred old Moon carried, but he's still Moon.

So I'm really hoping that they continue to accurately display psychology in their characters if they bring Eclipse back, because it is such an immersive show due to the fact that it makes sense. These things make sense psychology wise, their behaviors, actions, patterns of thinking and speech. And I really am looking forward to seeing if they bring Eclipse back because he's such a beautifully constructed character.

You Made It

This is the end of my massive post. Congratulations if you made it this far. If you did, uh, the password is Dorito. Leave it in the comments/reblogs to let me know you made it, haha.

I'd love to see people's thoughts on this and on him, so feel free to leave your thoughts as well in comments/reblogs. I'll try to reply to every single one I see. Again, I love his character so much, it's so well crafted, and it was so fun to take this apart.

Edit: I have been asked about where to find the thread/join in on the convo, etc a few times: I have a thread in the SAMS server here if you want to join the conversation

[aemondsbeloved]

what do you think would happen if aegon and the reader had a secret wedding?

Consequences

summary: Aegon knows he is betrothed to marry Helaena but he finds himself in the Sept forcing the Septon to marry him to you in the hour of the owl. Aemond did warn him there could be consequences (2.2k)

warnings/notes: mention of abuse (from Otto, nothing that isn’t canon) 

The old Septon’s face was crinkled in shock, the lines from his years pinching around his cheeks when Aegon asked him. “You want me to—”

“Marry us without the knowledge of anyone else in the room, yes,” Aegon cut him off before the old man took the time to repeat the question. Aegon crowded in on the man, leaning in so he could see the purple of eyes even in the dark of the candlelit Sept. You were by his side full of nerves and excitement. His hand was clasped in yours.

“My Prince,” the old man began with caution. Clearly he was thinking of a reason to not do this favor. Even he was all too well aware of the fact that this Prince was betrothed to another and marrying the lady beside him would be a disaster for the Septon. “You need a witness—”

“That I have.” Aegon grinned like he had won a clever game and jerked his head. In the shadows of the Sept where the candlelight did not reach was Aemond leaning against a stone wall. Even as Aemond pushed himself off the wall and slowly walked to the trio with his hands behind his back, the Septon looked for a way out. “I am sure a Prince of the Realm will suffice.”

Aegon dared the Septon to disagree but his lethal tone along with Aemond’s presence must have undone the old man. “As you wish, my prince,” he bowed and turned to grab the essentials for the ceremony.

Aemond glanced at his brother only half interested while the old man turned away, his advanced age meaning he could not hear what Aemond offered his brothers in hushed tones. “You do grasp the consequences of this brother, don’t you?” Aemond glanced down at Aegon tilting his head to the side. “Mother will be furious and that is nothing compared to what grandsire might do to you.”

“All true,” Aegon scoffed, knowing Aemond’s words to be true. But your hand was a lifeline, tying him to the mortal world and away from the falsehoods other Targaryens lived by. Aegon was not his uncle who believed himself closer to gods than men because of his Valyrian blood nor was he even his grandsire, lusty for the power the throne would give him. What was power when he had you? He only felt alive when he could feel your fingers intertwined with his. He held Aemond’s gaze unwaveringly. “Helaena will be pleased. Mother will have to find her a match that is logical now, a man from another house, instead of betrothing her to someone only to smite Rhaenyra.”

Now the name of his detested half-sister does not taste so bitter. It holds no taste at all, almost like water. “You will ruin his plans,” Aemond points out, blunt as ever.

Aegon does not need to ask who he refers to. Who else but their grandsire, the hand of the king? Aegon gave his brother a wry look. “Then we will know I have at least done one thing right in this life.”

A glance at you meant he knew upsetting Otto’s plan of installing Aegon on the Iron Throne was not the only right thing he has done. Loving you was all that was right and he would do it until he stopped breathing.

“Let us begin.” The Septon stands in front of the candlelit altar and Aegon thinks that everything might work out for once. Perhaps this is what he was meant for. He was meant to go against what his mother and grandsire wanted and he was meant to marry you .

The vows were said but all he could remember was the feeling of the cloth around your arms being wrapped together and the words from your lips as he said the very say — I am his and he is mine from this day until the end of my days. But mostly, he just remembered how your lips had met his after that. His ladywife, his lady, his, his, his.

The night that followed was a long one with tangled limbs and twisted sheets. His lips tracked your skin the entirety of the night and you binded yourselves to each other one again, repeatedly. A few hours into the morning, the hour was late enough for both you and Aegon to get up to start your days when Ser Cole came to Aegon.

“The King and Queen demand an audience with the family, my prince,” he said stiffly, not quite wanting to look at Aegon. Aegon only shrugged. It was strange enough his mother and father wanted to see him together but that was fine. He turned to walk to his father’s chambers. “In the Throne Room, my prince.”

Aegon looked at him, curiosity in his face for a mere moment before he turned back to where Cole was and walked with him to the Throne Room. His father was there tiredly sitting on the throne looking upset but that was nothing compared to his mother and his grandsire who stood on opposite sides of the throne. With a poorly amused expression, not unlike when he would laugh at a joke deemly uncouth too loudly, he surveyed the room.

His brother and sister near the throne yet far enough to be quite a few paces from their mother. And there was Larys fucking Strong with that horrid look on his face. Gods be good, Aegon thought when he caught sight of Rhaenyra and Daemon and all the children that were hers, his and a bit of both. “I had no idea there was a family reunion,” he mused, faking amusement. “I suppose I should be honored to be invited amongst you all.”

He took slow strides to be standing in front of the throne. “Is it true?” his father asked. His voice was strained, more of a heavy agonzing breath than anything else. Aegon looked to his brother for a clue as to what was true but Aemond was the face of indifference, not allowing anyone to see what he thought of this meeting.

Aemond might have had his mask his hid behind, making it easy for him to hide with his back straight and arms crossed behind but Aegon was not Aemond. He was not nearly as thoughtful and decisive as his little brother so naturally he did not think to act wisely next.

“Is what true?” he asked casually, knowing his face showed his disinterest in this get together unlike Aemond’s schooled features that were pulled tightly into indifference.

“You have been treacherous, Aegon,” his grandsire spat out the words from the sid eof teh throne he stood by. “Even for you this is a new low. This deceit cannot go unpunished.” The look of tiredness of his mother’s face made him beg to differ.

“You’ll have to be more specific,” was all he said, shrugging and ignoring his grandsire. “I should know what I am being accused of before I admit to any treachery.”

“Do not play the fool!” Otto hissed the words now moving towards Aegon. It took much of his inner strength to not move back. It was only Ser Harold moving forward from where the Kingsguard stood in near the throne that had Otto stopping his haste.

My, he was getting bolder. He only hit and smacked to remind Aegon of his duty when he was sure no one would see. Aegon was a prince and his grandsire the Hand; Even Otto Hightower had his limits of power. This made Aegon smile in amusement.

“Something amuse you, grandson?” Otto asked viciously from across the room. Vaguely Aegon could hear Daemon chuckled from where he stood next to his half-sister and her brood of children.

“If I am the fool grandsire I will say you play it better than I do,” Aegon said bemused, casting Otto a contemptuous look. Watching the rage within Otto’s eyes grow was enough.

“Enough!” His father wheezed, pounding the cane he held. “Aegon, tell me the truth of it. Did you or did you not wed Lady Y/N in the Sept with your brother as a witness?”

His father who had always been disinterested in Aegon as soon as the shiny appeal of a son had passed almost looked wary, as if he did not recognize the son in front of him. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe his father was that close to meeting the stranger that he could only know Aegon by name and nothing else remained.

“Aegon,” his mother said in a whisper when she took a step forward. Despite the neat braids weaving into a bun and the pristine condition of her green silks, his mother looked tired. The slight tilt of her head and pursed lips was as close to desperation and pleading she got without striking some duty into him. “Tell us it is not true.”

Even she did not believe that was possible and Aegon knew it. Disappointing his father he could easily do, looking his mother as he said it was not, but losing you was improbable.

“It is true,” he told his father causally and watched as Viserys immediately scoffed and looked away from him. “A fortnight ago we were in the Sept and I had the Septon wed us with Aemond as witness.”

For the first time Aegon looked at Aemond and was met with an facial expression so neutral and unbothered save for the raise brow of his uncovered eye. I told you so. I did try to warn you, brother.

“What have you done?” His mother asked still so tired and yet completely full of despair. “You were meant to marry Helaena, Aegon.”

“An ill suited match,” he said without hesitating. It did not matter to him that he was before the entire court and his kin he loathed so much. “My sister would be happier with any lord in Westeros and you know I would have madeher miserable.”

That much even he could admit. Helaena was the only one who might have looked even a little happy when she looked up from her gaze locked on the stone floor. For that he might have been grateful.

“That was not your decision to make,” Otto threatened lowly. Maybe Aegon did not care what he thought and couldn not even find it in him to fear what his grandsire would have done. “Your life of deceit is at an end.”

“If you think you will annul my marriage to Lady Y/N you are sorely mistaken,” Aegon pretended to be mournful though the reminders of last night made it impossible for him regret a single thing. “Ours is not a marriage that can be annulled.” He assumed the smirk on his lips filled in the blanks.

“Oh Aegon really,” Alicent said with dismay as she shook he head at him. He thought he might have heard her call him an imbecile under her breath. “This is a new low.”

She might have been upset but she was not angry and for that Aegon thanked the Gods. There was no future in which he let you go. He would cut down those around himand he would burn everyone he could on Sunfyre if that meant he still had you. But he would have you still.

“Lady Y/N’s house is not as tied to the Targaryens as other houses in Westeros,” Aegon said sounding more confident than he was. “It was not so long ago when her grandsire nearly began trading with the Lysians in Essos. If it were not for King Jaehaerys and the elevated station he gave their house through riches and a position for his son at court, they might have fallen from our fold, father. Their house controls nearly all wheat productions as you know and marriage pacts are stronger than a temporary position in court.”

The only one who wasn’t shocked at his words was Aemond who still had his face fo neutrality and feigned disinterest. Even Aemond knew that Aegon wasn’t a total idiot. His lack of interest in ruling or his duty did not mean he was not capable of it. Now Viserys was looking at him and really saw him. Aegon did not know if he liked this or not.

“The house of the dragon does not need strength,” he told Viserys with purpose like there could be no doubt that these words were true. “From what I understand there is never too few allies to be had. With my marriage another great house will further House Targaryen’s power.”

For a prolonged moment his father looked at him as he leaned forward from the throne before leaning back, the small movement too much for him. “Very well,” Viserys said with finality. Vaguely he too seemed disinterested in Aegon but the smallest hint of approval was easy for all to see. “We will plan festivities to celebrate the marriage of my eldest son,” Viserys coughed the words out. “This is a cause for celebration.”

Aegon did need to wait to be dismissed before he nodded to Viserys and left the room. HIs mind focused on seeing you and sharing the good news were all that were occupied on his mind as he left, not at all thinking to look at his uncle and half-sister who both felt their worry at the side of Aegon that had never been seen before. A drunken man without ambition was less of a threat to her ascention to the throne than a man who took what he wanted and proved to the court and the king why he should not be questioned.

This rather complicated things.

+ 

taglist: @itsghostgirlyo @rosaryos @cullenswife @whatafreakingloser @witchofthenorthstar @m-indkiller @somemydayy @malfoytargaryen @bellameshipper @targaryenmoony @regandjamielola @tarrgaryenss @lacunaanonymoused @joliettes @mxrgodsstuff @margaglitterdeath @hiatuswhore @50svibes

comments and reblogs are always appreciated <3

[thelordofgifs]

Finally caught up on tfs and !!!!! The latest updates are so so GOOD, I am loving it.

There are now so many characters, (both living and dead) I am in awe of you for keeping up with them all! And we might be getting the Gondolin lot as well?!?

Thank you so much for saving Lalaith <33. Sorry not sorry it took Maedhros having the Worst time of his life (so far...)

The conversation between Maedhros and Maglor in part 22 was incredible aaa. Shout out to my fave lines

"Finno would disagree," says Maedhros; "he thinks it our best hope."

"Well, he would know about that," Maglor murmurs.'

And

'To love Maedhros, he has long known, is to grieve him.'

The Huor & Glorfindel mini anecdote was a really nice touch, I loved it! A small bit of sweetness amidst the angst.

I laughed so much at Thorondor basically doing this to Fingon

Just really amazing, I'm enjoying it so much!! Bullet point fic involving everyone in Beleriand my beloved

yay thank you!! so glad you're enjoying <3 juggling all the characters is SO HARD I keep realising I've forgotten to check in with some people for like five parts and have to quickly shoehorn them in. We might indeed be getting the Gondolin lot! and also another lot! stay tuned :)

Lalaith my darling!! I was SO happy when I realised I could save her. Even if it's hard at times to classify tfs as a fix-it, some things are definitely better than they were in canon and I am very happy for her to be one of them.

As for Maedhros and Maglor - well, I probably don't need to reiterate that they are everything to me. Fingon is of course the narrative embodiment of hope and Maglor, who is perhaps one of the more genre-aware characters in the fic, understands this. And yes you picked out my favourite line in part 22!! I actually phoned up my mother and workshopped "to love Maedhros is to grieve him" with her because it was SO important to get it right. There is some wordplay in there - to love Maedhros is to grieve for him, and Maglor has done plenty of that, but it is also to cause him grief. Maedhros finds Maglor's forgiveness very hard to bear, sometimes. also look I'm not saying it's foreshadowing stuff but like it's not not foreshadowing stuff so

Huor and Glorfindel! I haven't quite decided how I'm going to deal with Huor yet but he will be showing up soon. And based on nothing I decided he was the most fun lil mortal pest in Gondolin and everyone adored him.

thank you for the lovely ask <3

[kass-storycorner]

I’ve been thinking a lot about the Hu Tao and Chongyun storyquests the past days. Both deal with the afterlife (well the border between life and death so far) and ghosts. We know both are canon in Genshin, they exist for this world. Now what I’ve been thinking a lot about is … how much angst can I write with that in mind? I always see a lot of these how the characters would react to your death but… yeah, have fun with this. Or not.

The ghost of you

Prompt: You died and the characters are faced with the literal ghost of you.

Genre: Angst, Hurt, no comfort (especially for Xiao)

Characters: Zhongli, Xiao,

Format: text

Word count: 1714

This is not proof-read or anything, I just wanted to get that idea out of my head. I also really want to write this idea out for other characters, so maybe I'll share a part 2 in the future. and yes the title might be a mcr reference and i might have two other fics in my drafts named after mcr songsi had a rough week okay

Zhongli:

He loved you. With all his heart, with every fibre of his being, he loved you so much. Zhongli always knew that his decision to live a life among mortals would cost a price, but in his mind, it was paid with his Gnosis all those years ago. It was not until the first of his mortal friends started to die that Zhongli was reminded of how fragile humans were. Of course, he was aware to a certain degree that he would outlive his friends and even you, he just never considered how quickly a human life was lived. You both had spent an entire life together, and while Zhonglis body did not biologically age, he is able to change his form to his liking - so when you grew old and grey so did he. Most people in Liyue would see the two of take your stroll around the city, holding hands and they were enamoured by the way you still looked at each other, just like a newlywed couple. But you grew older each day until one day, on one of your walks through the city, your collapsed. Zhongli was quick to catch you and the people around rushed towards the two, helping Zhongli getting you to a doctor. However, what was a doctor to do, than to tell Zhongli that your body is giving up? The doctor nor Zhongli can do anything against the flow of time, though Zhongli wished he could. He was not ready to let you go, he was not ready for you to onyl life in his memories until the erosion of the earth will erease you from them.

You layed in the hospital bed, Zhongli right next to you never letting go of your hand, when you took your last breath. He sat next to you for a while, not saying a word, tears running down his face until he heard your voice.

"It's okay," there you stood on the other side of the bed, your dead body between the two of you. In all the years Zhongli lived he had seen more than a few ghosts and he was aware of the human afterlife - though seeing your ghost wasn't something he anticipated. "You're dead", Zhongli said quietly, tears still spilling from his eyes. "I know, love. I know. And I wish I could've stayed with you just a bit longer, I really do. But it's time. You gave me such a wonderful life; we spend so many years together and I am so thankful for it Zhongli. For all the stories you told me, for all the sleepless nights we spend together, for all the memories we made. I loved it. I love you." Zhongli still hadn't let go of your hand, still afraid of letting you go, even though the mind he loved was standing so close to him. "Love," he started, his voice heavy with grief. "I have so many more stories to tell you. Will you stay, just for a while longer?"

At that you had to laugh a bit and oh, how much he already missed your laugh. He just heard it a few hours ago, when you were still alive, but hearing it now just felt so painful. "Zhongli, even 10 lifetimes wouldn't be enough to be able to listen to all of your stories. But I'm so sorry to disappoint you, you know I can't stay."

He knew this just too well. Not only as someone who worked for decades as a consultant of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor in Liyue, but also as the former Geo-Archon he knew it was better for you to go. It pained him that he could never follow you into the afterlife that was awaiting you, even Zhongli didn't know what awaits you behind the border between life and death. "Then," Zhongli began, standing up and letting go of your cold hand, "let me accompany you."

Xiao:

Continuation for the Xiao one

Xiao refused to go even near the place you died for decades. The day he lost you was still so fresh in his memories, it pained him even more than his karmic debt to think about it. He always told you, when you were still by his side, that when you were in trouble, in danger, to always call his name. You did. You always did and he would be by your side, protecting you from what would’ve harmed you. The only time you refused to call his name in time was the day you died, and all Xiao could do was blame himself. You were visiting at the Inn earlier that day, standing next to him on the balcony talking about something he doesn’t even remember. What he remembers how happy you were, how enthusiastic you talked about it, whatever it was. Somehow though the conversation shifted, and you both ended up fighting – the reason for it was so stupid and it was all his fault. He was just in a bad mood that day and not even your warm presence were able to change it, so he let it out on you. Trying to push you away, again. Xiao cursed himself for how often he did that, how often he would hide how much he loved you, how much he cared for you, behind a mean exterior that only caused you pain. You knew what he was doing and that day, you just had enough. “Stop trying to push me away, Xiao!”, you shouted at him, tears already filling your eyes. You tried to reach for him, but he pulled away. Keeping you at a distance, again. “And you just stop talking, it’s exhausting to hear your voice.” Xiao already hated himself immediately after he said it, but looking back now, knowing what his words caused… it drove him close to madness. “Fine,” you replied, and he could her how much his words hurt you, “then you’ll never hear it again.” With that you left him. He tried to distract himself from the guilt he felt after your fight with his work, slashing through the enemies, spoiling the earth of Liyue with more blood. For nearly a month he didn’t hear you call him, and he was too scared to seek you out. Scared that you wouldn’t want to see him, scared that he ruined it all. When you finally called for him, when he finally heard you say his name – he hoped it was a chance for him to make it up to you. Xiao was not prepared to find your lifeless body, realising that you called his name with your very last breath. It send him into a blind rage, killing the enemies around him that were the cause for your death. When there was nothing left to kill he collapsed next to your corpse, tears spilling from his eyes, chanting your name over and over like a prayer. Asking himself why you hadn’t called him sooner to only remember what he said weeks prior. It was his fault. He couldn’t help it but to blame himself for your death. If he hadn’t said those words, if he hadn’t continuously tried to push you away… you were right. Xiao will never hear your voice again.

He avoided to go even near the place you died. If he hadn’t done that, if he had visited at least once, he would’ve seen your ghost, wandering aimlessly around. At first you were just confused, what had just happened? The last thing you remembered is that you called for Xiao and now? Now you stood in the middle of a forest, no Xiao in sight but also the enemies who cornered you just now were also gone. For how long you wandered around, confused and not sure what had happened you didn’t know. It scared you. You screamed his name, over and over again but you couldn’t hear your own voice. You just couldn’t make a sound.

He didn’t mean to come across that place again. Xiao learned to live with the guilt and grief he felt, just as he had to learn to live with his karmic debt. Still, it hurts more than he likes to admit. So when he stumbled upon the place he lost you all those years ago, he asked himself how he ended up here again. Something was telling him he should come here, but he tried to ignore that voice, that calling. But when he saw your ghostly figure between the trees of the forest, it used to be a plain field when you had died, he froze. Was it really you? “(Y/N)?”, he called out to you. Oh, how long he hadn’t said your name. It felt foreign, but also so familiar at the same time. But you didn’t hear nor see him, you were too lost after years of roaming the fields that grew to a forest – not being able to understand that time passed, that you were dead. Xiao came closer to your ghost and saw how you screamed something, over and over. His name. It was his name. “(Y/N) it’s me, I’m here. Please, I’m here, it’s okay”, his voice was strained and when your face met his – Xiao noticed how you didn’t look at him. You looked right through him, he noticed now how he couldn’t reach you with his words nor his presences. He tried to grab you, but his hand only touched the air. If he could at least hear you call his name. Xiao felt how his tears ran down his face, his heart shattering again in thousand pieces. Why hadn’t he noticed it earlier how you roamed the earth, lost and scared. He saw it in your face. Why didn’t he come here earlier? It pained him to know that you hadn’t found your peace. Xiao went down on his knees, face buried in his hands. The last time he felt so helpless was when he found your dead body, unable to help you. And now? Now it happened again, he had no idea what he could do to help you, to make you see him. From that day on Xiao spend most of his time watching over your ghost, hoping that one day he’ll hear you call out to him again.

[crimsonophelia]

hi basil !! can i request for an imagine with zhongli and an adeptus reader? the reader has been in love w him since the archon war but never told him bc they were scared, and when rex lapis “dies” they’re absolutely crushed. but when they see a certain funeral consultant preparing his funeral, they tell him about their friendship w rex lapis and how they regret never telling him how they felt. thank you!

featuring: zhongli x gn!reader

warnings: angst, a little suggestiveness, some god complex stuff if you squint hard enough, typos lol

published: may 14, 2021

form: imagine

a/n: hi anon! thank you for the request~ i’m assuming reader recognizes zhongli in his mortal form and confesses in that way! in canon, it’s kind of dubious whether or not zhongli explicitly told the adepti that he actually isn’t dead, but i’m going to take some creative liberties and assume that he tells some of his adepti friends that he’s alive in person, like so~

Time slowed to a halt, as the body of the magnificent dragon, Rex Lapis, plummeted to the earth from the heavens, like a meteor summoned by Celestia. You felt like it was all a cruel, eldritch dream that the Archons had cursed you with, frozen among the crowd of onlookers, as the body tumbled, tumbled, and fell in a lump at the alter. Not a single sound emerged from the crowd, as they all stared in horror.

To them, their deity, their Archon who had pulled Liyue from the depths of the abyss and ascended it to wealth and prosperity, had come crashing down to earth in front of their eyes. But to you... Rex Lapis was your world. It was not Liyue that he saved from the grasp of darkness, but rather, you, you were the one he rescued. It was you to whom Rex Lapis had shown more compassion than you had ever thought possible coming from any living being—warm hands grasping your cold limbs, pulling you up, up, and up, into the light of day, giving you a purpose. A reason to live.

The body lied there, as Lady Ningguang acted fast, trying to ease the onlookers, her own horror still painted visibly upon her usually cold and composed countenance. The corpse of your god still retained some semblance of life, you thought, scales still glimmering with a slight sheen, mane fluttering in the wind of commotion, almost as if he were glowing with vibrant life not a few moments ago.

Please. Rex Lapis. Please don’t leave me. I have so much left to tell you. 

*****

“Master!”, you called. “Wait for me!”

You ran to catch up with archon, who had begun his daily routine of assessing the growth of his blossom trees. Tianheng Shan was a favorite location of Rex Lapis, particularly in the springtime when all the flowers on the treas began to bloom, and the glowing flowers that sprouted from the ground took root and broke up from beneath the soil.

Rex Lapis, hands locked behind his back, looked back at you, as you joined him at his side.

“Hello there, [y/n]. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

The archon really did behave like an old-spirited mortal, you thought. He had the mannerisms and idiosyncrasies down to a tee, certainly the polar opposite of the likes of Barbatos.

“I was just about to view the blossoms as well! They should be in season within a week or two”, you responded innocently. This certainly wasn’t an opportunity purely to spend time alone with Rex Lapis. You would never be so silly.

The both of you strolled along the banks of the river, eventually reaching an opening where tens, even hundreds, of pink-blossomed trees wove their way about the bottoms of the cavernous cliffs, some delicate petals already beginning to fall, sprinkling upon the river like memories across the stream of time.

Rex Lapis proceeded past you, craning his neck upwards to get a closer look at the blossoms. As he did so, the hood of his robe fell back down onto his shoulders, revealing long, silky locks of earthy amber resting upon shoulders as hardened as Cor Lapis.

“Quite lovely, aren’t they?”, he mused, almost absentmindedly. “These yinghua are often mistaken for taohua—yinghua do not produce fruit, and their blossoming period is much shorter.” For some reason, you thought, the archon’s gaze seemed to stray elsewhere, somewhere beyond the mass of trees.

“That is why the yinghua is renowned for its beauty. Its life is fleeting, yet so utterly captivating.”

Now, it was all gone. All that was left was a husk—a shell of the god you loved and devoted every ounce of your existence to. A mere gnarled tree that once possessed a beauty that transcended seasons.

*****

You entered the foyer of Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, hearing the bell jingle solemnly as the door closed behind you. The place seemed to be rather empty, with nobody manning the front desk. Assorted coffins and various floral wreaths adorned the rooms of the parlor, a rather gauche little showroom of death. The taste and aesthetics reflected quite well the nature of the parlor’s director.

You treaded through the silent shop, wood creaking beneath your feet. The building must be quite old, you supposed.

“Hello?”, you called out. “Is anybody here?”

Before you could take another step, you heard a man’s voice coming from a back room, tucked away behind the main desk and obscured by a curtain.

“Just a minute, please. I will be with you shortly”, the voice called back.

After some further rustling emitting from what you guessed was the storage room, a man stepped out from behind the curtain, slightly ducking below the doorframe due to his rather imposing height.

Dressed in sharp formalwear, hair tied neatly behind his head in a long ponytail, he stepped forward from behind the desk. You noticed a geo vision dangling from the belt at his waist. How familiar, you thought. Something about him tugged at a string deep inside you, but for the life you, you couldn’t put a finger upon it.

“Greetings, how may I be of service to you?”, the man queried, amber eyes penetrating into you. There it was again. Maybe it was his voice, or his gaze, or perhaps just the way he carried himself, that felt so awfully familiar. His words seemed so... warm, even. Like some fond old memory that is slipping off the precipices of your brain. I must be going mad, you thought. One thousand years and still fawning over every handsome man I see.

Clearing your throat, you replied, “Yes, I am here on behalf of Lady Ningguang and the Qixing. We are looking for a supply of flowers to send off Rex Lapis at his funeral next week.” The man eyed you, curiously. “I was wondering if perhaps you could suggest a suitable flower wreath, preferably something in-season.”

Without a response, your odd companion began to walk towards an adjacent room attached to the lobby, hands crossed behind his back, quite like an old man, although he looked to be in his early thirties, at most. Assuming you were to follow, you stepped into a side room filled with vibrant flower wreaths of all sizes and colors.

The man begun to the scan the selection closely, as you stood to the side and watched him work. Oddly enough, the silence in the room wasn’t awkward, but was even quite comforting, in the same way a blanket warms a body.

Settling upon a modest, pink-flowered wreath of bouquets, he turned to you, indicating that he has decided upon a suggestion. He turned to you, those same eyes once again boring into you. Those were not the eyes of a young man, but something much, much more ancient, and for a moment, you stood frozen, frightened.

“Might I suggest the lovely yinghua? They are a personal favorite.”

White. White was all you saw for seconds, and when you opened your eyes, everything looked crisper, like a veil had been lifted. The world felt clearer, your thoughts came at you with greater clarity, but above all, it was no longer the funeral parlor manager that stood in front of you.

It was him. Rex Lapis.

The room started to twist and warp again, but this time not because of the spell of fog that the archon had cast to maintain your ignorance, but rather because of the salty tears clouding your vision, and the pressure of pure relief, joy, and utter agony that brought you collapsing to your knees, right then and there.

You couldn’t believe it. What about the body? Was that a mere fabrication ? Or was this vision before you an illusion, an echo of the past that had somehow manifested itself in front of you? Why would Rex Lapis do this to you, make you endure such pain? If he knew how much you loved him, how much gratitude you felt for him, how much you didn’t want to move on without him—

“Oh Archons, [y/n], please, I’m so, so sorry—”, he uttered. You felt a soft pressure surrounding you, as you became vaguely aware that the man you loved was now embracing you, the both of you huddled on the floor. “Please forgive me, I hate myself for it but I had to do it, and for the pain I have caused you, I’d much rather die, myself. ”

You could barely understand his words over the sound of your own weeping, forgoing all manners and letting your tears run free. You felt your master tighten his arms around your middle, as if scared to let you go, after already sacrificing you once.

You mustered up the strength to look up at him, seeing that now the dragon’s eyes themselves had become watery with emotion, something you had never seen in the archon before. The regret you felt was threatening to burst from your throat, a lump preventing you from being civil, or talking like a proper adeptus, or confessing your feelings to the man who you owed your life to. No more. No more weakness that plagued your heart for centuries. You may never have this opportunity again.

“[y/n], I beg of you, please forg-“

You pulled your savior’s face towards you, and without hesitation, placed your lips upon his. Too long, had this moment been forgone, and the both of you knew it, as the archon gradually deepened the kiss, intertwining his hands through your hair. This was life. The clarity of it all, the energy surging into you from the points where your skin touched, the infinity of your lips melding against his. This is the god you worshipped and would lay your life down for. Without him, there is nothing.

His lips, initially hesitant, grew more confident, more desperate as they clung onto yours. His fingers were soft as they traced the back of your neck, as if trying to memorize each one of your vertebrae. A feral yearning, something only a dragon was capable of, was unhinging behind Rex Lapis’ ministrations, as you proudly latched yourself deeper into him. The silence of the parlor was now filled with heavy pants and the rustling of fabric, as the two of you clung onto each other, one not wanting to depart before the other.

As you felt the breath in your lungs dwindling, having given all of your life and energy to Rex Lapis’ mortal body, you pulled yourself off of him. Streaks of wetness along his cheeks glinted in the late afternoon sunlight filtering through the windows. His hair had become undone in the minutes where he had been attached to you, and his face showed something of a quenched desperation. He was mortal, and he was perfect.

“Promise me. Promise me, that you will stay by my side forever.”

a/n: ohoho i hope you like it anon~ this is a little bit spicier than i usually write but tbh i kinda vibe w it

[fire-lady-ilah]

More good dad! Ozai AU? Even if you didn’t ask for it, you’re getting it and I’m picking up right where I left off. This is my reminder that, while Ozai is a good and non-abusive dad and husband in this, he is still very much an imperialist and a cruel person in general.

Parts [1] and [2] if you’d like. This is part 3. Here’s part [4]

The siblings venture into the capital, although they make it known that no one should inform their parents that they are nearby. The moment they step off the ship, Captain Jee sends a letter to the Fire Lady. He was loyal to the Prince and Princess above all, but he did not feel like being executed or exiled that day when Lady Ursa inevitably finds out.

In a large house just outside Caldera City, Lord Ukano lives with his wife, Michi, his daughter and heir, Mai, and his newborn son Tom-Tom. The Dragon Emperor and the Blue Spirit sneak into the bedroom of the heiress and steal her away.

In that I mean, Mai leaps at the opportunity to escape her home with her best friends, who she’s seen wearing the same theatre masks dozens of times, and follows willingly. It takes an hour longer than the siblings had expected, if only because Mai has far more knives than they had truly expected and they get caught up in the palace kitchens stealing Azula’s favourite mochi and some bags of fire flakes.

Then they are caught by Fire Lady Ursa, who is gathering a late night cup of cocoa after a nice night with her husband, not that her children need to know that part. Her children, who are wearing her theatre masks that had very recently gone missing from her collection, stare at her innocently. Her daughter carries two entire boxes she knows are full of mochi. Her son carries the fire flake bag they use for festivals. Her one day daughter-in-law is making a cup of cocoa and the Fire Lady calmly requests one for herself from the girl.

That night, the fire Prince and Princess sleep in their own rooms, with Lady Mai in one of the many available. In the morning, they take breakfast with the Fire Lord and Lady, discussing trivial matters of politics and domestic affairs.

Mai leaves on the request of the Fire Lord, bringing everything they took from her home and the palace (along with what Ursa and Ozai insisted they take) to the ship with the help of some soldiers.

Azula and Zuko sit with their parents. Ursa gives them each two potent bottles of poison. Ozai’s voice has a worry that only his family knows how to detect through the facade of boredom as he inquires how their firebending and blades practice has been, as to the state of their weaponry. They try to soothe their parents worries with assurances: their practice has been going well in both bending and blades, Azula has achieved perfection in lightningbending and Zuko has achieved lightning, their blades are sharp and well maintained, they weren’t harmed when the temple blew up—

It slips through Zuko’s lips. He was never the actor like his mother and sister. For their part, his parents do not react overly beyond a flickering of the flame and a long sip of tea.

“Your mission has changed.”

Ozai is smart. Everything he does is to serve his goals the best they can. In canon, the premier of those goals is to gain more power for himself. In this world, that goal is to secure the ideal outcome for his family. (Of course, his second goal is as much power as possible. But it is only considered after his first goal).

Allying themselves with the Avatar, at least in appearances, will secure the best outcome for his children. And he has no doubt that his brother (so weak after the death of his son. And yet, Ozai cannot find it within him to scorn him overly. He knows that were he to be left childless, he would break. It is merely that Ozai would break in an explosion, whereas Iroh’s flame fizzled into embers.) would eagerly help his children betray him. Even if it was just in appearances.

His children are loyal and dutiful. They protest, but only out of a desire to maintain that loyalty. He wishes the Avatar had remained hidden, at least until they were both adults. They are prodigal, yes, but they are just siblings.

“You have our permission to reveal your mother’s ancestry. Use it wisely.”

The children know their lineage for at least five generations on each side. That, of course, is in addition to their knowledge of every Fire Lord that has reigned since the unification of the Fire Nation. They are well aware that their Grandmother Rina (who feeds them chocolate and tells them stories whenever she visits) ‘s father was Avatar Roku. Just as they knew of the friendship between Fire Lord Sozin and Avatar Roku.

It is necessary for the people of their nation to hear pretty lies. It is not their responsibility to worry about the nuance and complexity of life. It is one of their responsibilities as Angi’s heirs in the mortal world. To worry of such things is a burden they should not have to bear. It is necessary for the people to believe the Avatar hated the Fire Lord.

The siblings don’t know everything, of course. They are just children after all. But they understand the nuance, the conflicting beliefs. They were told the truth (and carefully kept from necessary propaganda before then) when they were old enough to look critically at the situation. It was their duty to bring the Fire Nation’s good to the other nations, to liberate their populations, the siblings decided.

The Avatar is just a child, but he seemed able to connect with his past lives. And he had pointedly not hurt them, at least as Avatar Roku.

If nothing else, they have the Dragon Emperor and Blue Spirit on their side.

“Zhao has asked for permission to launch an invasion on the Northern Water Tribe. He is a fool, but he claims he has knowledge that will ensure his victory. Tomorrow, I will send him a letter approving his asinine idea. You will stop him— kill him, if you must— and use that act of perceived treason to ally yourselves with the Avatar.”

Ozai wants power, but he is no fool. The invasion is risky at best. He cannot find it within himself to care for the tens of thousands that would doubtlessly die in it, the Northern Water Tribe had the advantage in multiple ways. It would serve its purpose to get his children at the Avatar’s side.

The tone lightens after his orders and Ozai steps back from his role as Father Lord into just being a father. He teases his son on his interactions with his betrothed. He teases his daughter and asks if she would be visiting the circus soon, taking note of how she had learned to prevent a blush but not the squeak in her voice. They are not infallible, they are children.

As they see their children for the last time in the foreseeable future, the Fire Lord and Lady both think as to how much they will miss them. Ursa blinks back tears as she hugs them both, smiling as they react identically, burying their faces into her chest to hide them and breathing in the scent of fire lily perfume.

Ozai is not usually physically affectionate with his children. He had never received it from his father and was much more competent in other ways. That being said, no one commented on the kiss he pressed to the top of Zuko’s head (still shorter than him by quite a bit. Sometimes he acted so adult, but he was so clearly still a child) before repeating the action with Azula.

“I am so proud of you. Both of you.”

I’m just now realizing Blue Spirit is supposed to be after the whole Roku thing. Oh well.

For appearances’ sake, the siblings and Mai continue to chase the Avatar. Zhao attacks the Avatar while he trains under the Deserter. Princess Azula ensures the forest doesn’t burn while Prince Zuko uses all the bottled up anger at both Zhao himself and Azulon (really, what is with grown men trying to kill 11/12 year olds?) to yell at Zhao for acting so recklessly.

And if, perhaps, he manages to endear himself to others by knocking Zhao’s feet out from under him, all the better.

The Avatar and his friends escape and the siblings celebrate another success as Zhao nurses his bruised ass and ego.

(“Hey, did the Deserter look like that dude in Master Piandao’s painting in his main hall to you?”

“Admiral Jeong Jeong and Master Piandao were married, Zuko. Obviously that was him.”)

Zhao attempts to order their crew away from them, citing his rank as admiral as above prince and princess.

Azula’s sharp tongue reminds Admiral Zhao that Zuko is not only a prince, but the Crown Prince, and thus he is equal in rank to Zhao. As was their uncle a general, retired or not.

Behind the royalty of the ship stands Captain Jee, his eyes locked with Zhao’s. His eyes promise mutiny even if he were to somehow take them. His eyes swear loyalty to the Crown Prince, to his sister, above all else.

Zhao turns to leave.

“Of course, that is not to say we will not join your invasion.” Zuko sounds like his father sometimes, and never more than when his voice holds a hint of smug satisfaction. “Merely, do not presume to think you can order us in any way. We out rank you, and our crew is the best our Nation has to offer.”

Their ship joins, at least in appearance, Zhao’s fleet. That being said, they obey no orders from the Admiral and only allow his “inspections” of the ship and their crew once. For all intents and purposes, they are just there to observe.

And observe they do. The siblings watch the way Zhao treats his subordinates and twin righteous flames burns in their chests. The truth of being raised by a loving father means that Zuko and Azula are both rather sheltered in comparison to their canon selves. They are raised on ideals of honour and the divine responsibility of a monarch, rather than on the truths of war and practicality of rule. It only results in a hotter fire and more questions as to if Sozin’s way was truly the one to follow.

They still have absolute faith in their father. After all, he is the one that raised them, that taught them of honour and the ideals of a monarch. He is the one that sheltered them. He is the one that suggested they befriend the Avatar to keep them safe.

On the ship, only three people know the entire plan. The first two are the siblings, of course. The third is Captain Jee. He is the one that will keep their ship away from the invasion itself so there is no risk of their crew being harmed in the doomed attack. He is the one that will direct the ship to the colonies once the siblings are with the Avatar. Captain Jee has no qualms about technically commuting treason.

Mai knows some of the plan. In that, Mai knows exactly what Zuko and Azula tell her and then what she observes. She sees the way they stick together, now more than ever. Sees the way that Azula trains her non-lethal lightning (because even she, a nonbender, knows it’s far harder to bend lightning that doesn’t kill than that that does). She hears the way they drop the title of Fire Lord when speaking of their royal great grandfather. She catches whispers about Fire Lord Roku. About the Avatar.

Mai, in a way, knows more than the siblings themselves. She knows that they are genuinely sympathetic toward the Avatar in a way that they don’t yet realize. She begins to keep all her knives on her person, along with an easily grab-able bag for travelling in her room. There was no way she’d be letting her best friends turn traitor without her. This is the most exciting thing she’s done in years.

Iroh knows less than he believes. Oh, he gets the dropped title just as well as Mai, but he does not know the intricacies of Zuko and Azula the way Mai does. He sees Azula’s practice and writes it off as her ever-present search for perfection. He catches the tail end of a conversation between siblings and does not stop to consider who exactly “great grandfather” may be referring to. It would be unthinkable for his brother to tell the children of their heritage.

Despite this, Iroh also knows more than most. He knows from conversation exactly what Zhao intends to do in the Northern Water Tribe and it turns his blood to boil.

They reach the Northern Water Tribe. The siblings sneak off the ship in an emergency boat. Mai enters at the last moment and neither send her away.

Iroh has already left the ship, though he is currently in one last meeting with Zhao in an attempt to convince him not to continue with his plan. He will not check back with his niece and nephew, believing them to be safe on the ship.

In the Northern Water Tribe, the three Fire Nation teens remain tucked into the shadows. They, unfortunately, have no idea where the Avatar is and wander through the city. However, they reach the Avatar’s friends before Zhao does.

(“Is he... alive?”

“He’s just meditating.”)

It goes far better than they could have expected. The siblings’ act of releasing Sokka and Katara from Zhao’s bindings results in a part of water tribe siblings being quite willing to hear them out. Princess Yue gives them an odd look but remains quiet.

Zhao shows up. Iroh shows up. Azula and Zuko denounce him (though they cannot bring themselves to denounce their father, even though they know they should). Zhao declares them all traitors, a koi fish in a bag in his hand.

A bolt of lightning hits Zhao straight in the back. Both he and the koi fish fall into the pool of water. He does not emerge.

Azula’s face is carefully blank, even as she watches the water. She cannot stop to consider whether it is her or the water that just killed the admiral, or if he was even dead at all. She could not even see his body in its depths. She used non-lethal strength.

Despite Princess Yue’s backing, the Northern Water Tribe wants to take the siblings prisoner (hostage, everyone knows). After all, everyone knows of the devotion they show to the Fire Lord and vice versa. If nothing else, they would be excellent bargaining pieces in a more formal treaty.

They had not factored this into their plan. Admittedly, they had not factored the Northern Water Tribe into their plan at all.

The three Fire Nation teens are thrown into a prison cell. A rather comfortable prison cell, but still a prison cell. Iroh is taken somewhere else.

Within five hours, they sit on the back of a flying bison, Sokka handing them food he had smuggled out of the meal as Katara was smuggling them out of prison.

(“We tried to get your Uncle too,” the Avatar says in a remorseful tone, “but we couldn’t find him.”

“Uncle will be fine.” Azula declares, her mind set only on the future as she tries not to think about the way Zhao sunk beneath the still surface of the pond.

Zuko nods in agreement and clutches her hand in a comforting way.)

The Gaang now consists of six people:

Aang, a twelve year old Avatar with a mastery in air and a decent proficiency in water. He looks at the Fire Nation teens and sees his friend Kuzon, sees a time from before the war when an Air Nomad could wander freely through the Fire Nation. He attempts to use Fire Nation slang with them but it’s a century old and results in only laughter.

Katara, a master waterbender and healer (a concept that intrigues Azula to no end, although she tries to keep her questions polite). She tends to have a short temper when it comes to matters of the Fire Nation, but even she can be coaxed into trying a few sweets that Zuko has stored in his bag.

Sokka, a hunter and warrior who may or may not be engaged to the NWT princess (Zuko says he is, Azula says he isn’t). Azula laments that her jokes are even worse than Zuko’s, to which Mai agrees. It is that comment that leads Sokka and Zuko to start bonding, having nothing better to do on the bison’s back than exchange bad jokes.

Crown Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation, who Sokka would insist is walking Fire Nation propaganda as he goes on at least one rant about Fire Nation culture and technology a day. Who surprisingly helps Katara with the cooking because it was one of the things Fire Lady Ursa carried over from before she was Fire Lady and taught to her children.

Princess Azula of the Fire Nation, who has a sharp tongue and a sharper pair of twin daggers that she seems to enjoy threatening her brother with for any inconvenience, even though they both just laugh at it. (Katara and Sokka have to be assured by them both that they truly love each other and that threatening each other with weapons carried over from the theatre scrolls they used to act out as children).

Lady Mai talks the least, seemingly content just to talk to Zuko and Azula. Aang makes it his mission to get her to warm up to him and spends a good portion of his time trying to talk to her. He succeeds when he brings up air ball, of all things. Mai’s parents had discouraged her from sport, believing it to be unfitting of a young lady just as they had discouraged her interest in knives until Zuko and Azula had ganged up on them. Partially for that reason, Mai enjoyed sports quite a bit, a shock to even Zuko (though Azula knew). After that, she talks mainly to Zuko, Azula, and Aang.

Captain Jee guides his ship to the Fire Nation colonies, unable to confirm that his Prince and Princess were okay. He hadn’t expected the worry he feels now, but he knows he will be awaiting a letter at Yu Dao if they are safe.

Prince Iroh is startled to discover that, while meeting with Master Pakku, the Avatar, his friends, his nephew and niece, and Mai had all disappeared.

As had his ship.

[popurikat]

Trying to make sense of parts of Future (Mystery Skulls)

Since my last analysis went so well I thought I’d make this post as well, especially because Future really did confuse me and I know others might be lost as well; so lets discuss this together! It will be lengthy as I am basically spewing my thoughts out right on the videos immediate release date (there will be a read more option after my first thought to avoid long positng). Well first things first, I wanna address that I've been curious about what kind of spirit Arthur's arm could be (since I am not too well acquainted with any canon on its background part at least) and I think I have concluded that the closest thing to it could be is a Tenome; which is a Yochai that possesses a man's body and moves the eyes to the palms. "found lurking in cemeteries, hands outstretched, as if he has only recently lost his vision and is searching for something. Get close enough, and you’ll find out in quick succession that a) he’s not blind, but looking with eyes embedded in his hands, and b) what he’s looking for is a snack." (fyi, most of my mythos information is coming from Wiki just as a heads up)

And sure enough he found a great source for his hunger. Something he has been EYEING since the start. Which now leads me to my next points on the video...

At first watch I was convinced that each strand found on Mystery’s heart represented a singular soul bond, I thought that blue was for Vivi, Green was for the hand, pink for Lewis, purple for Shiro, Yellow for Lance, Orange for Arthur, and black and white were unknown. Which, didn’t settle right for me. SO I went in and re-watched the clip a couple more times and saw this:

Vivi’s (blue created after she got hurt) and Shiro’s (white created after she died) strands were connected to the strands located next to them. A start and an end. Mystery’s promise to Vivi to stay at her side for generations as he was spared upon prior defeat of Mushi. And then of course we have the promise of power and sustenance for Shrio as they held a symbiotic relationship for most of their lives that was only severed due to an interference. These double strands of fate are especially clearer in the scene with Shiro in Future. As the black strand gets clearer the more she gets injured or emotionally hurt, it eventually leads to the leak of the white strand on her death. Meaning; Black/white=Shiro; Purple/Pink=Lewis; Blue/Green: Vivi; and Orange/Yellow: Arthur. And why am I inclined to believe Lewis and Arthur are apart of Mystery’s heart? Well that's because those two were the only ones fully streaming before Vivi’s and Shiro’s appeared. We know that Arthur lost an arm to Mystery and discovered his identity (ergo losing most of his trust in him) insinuating both strands to arise early on of his color scheme, as well as with Lewis’ death occurring under the protection of Mystery when they were grouped and having his soul go restless/ in pain. It wouldn’t make sense to add family members or side characters not included in the mainline story to this grouping unless they would play an important role in the finale, which isn’t likely since we have only one more video left as Ben stated it was going to be a 5 video series. I am also inclined to believe each person has two strands because of Kitsune lore: “ Kitsune keep their promises and strive to repay any favor. Occasionally a kitsune attaches itself to a person or household. They follow their word of honor. They become self-destructive if they break a promise, and when someone else breaks a promise, they become deadly enemies.” Plus, It would make sense as to why in this short battle Mystery sprouted his last 3 tails when it came to Vivi and Shiro and how their connections affect his power. (more on this in a bit) But, furthermore; if anyone else notices, the Band-Aids on the heart are also remotely located on the sections of Vivi’s and Shiro’s strands specifically because for both, Mystery has vowed to protect them and has failed. 

Now then lets talk about a few things on Mystery’s ultimate form shall we? The final form of a Kitsune, its celestial form as shown here is called a Tenko. (yes I am aware of the Kumiho, but that is a fully evil, flesh eating, 9 tailed fox that specialize in illusions and well Mystery has never been portrayed as human). The Tenko makes even more sense when taken into consideration that Mystery’s third eye (typically a form of wisdom connected to overpowering the mortality of ones self) opens. So how was this done in such a short amount of time? “Kitsune do not accept aid from those who are not willing. they do not ask for help, and as such, most aid must come from another's initiative. Kitsune are emotional and very vengeful. Kitsune will lose their temper at the slightest provocation. Once someone has earned a kitsune's enmity, the kitsune will begin enacting revenge that can become quite extreme. On the other hand, those who have earned a kitsune's trust and loyalty will see a friendship that can last through many trials. Freedom is very important to the kitsune. They do not accept being forced into something they do not wish, and do not like being bound or trapped. Doing so weakens the kitsune.” Mystery as we know is very much controlled by his emotions, going head first into things constantly based on reaction and his inability to control his power under distress. His tails arose in the fight sequence every time he fulfilled his oath AND used 100% of his form/power. Therefore, his tails grew because he wasn’t holding back anymore, not his grievances, not his appearance, nor his hesitance in his evident distress of being bound to two entities that both required his aid.  My last note on these images comes from a tumblr user’s reverse audio clipping (https://nebulous-rain.tumblr.com/post/633555549749952512/ok-so-yknow-that-one-reversed-part-of-future). The rewind of the clip of Mystery’s transformation plays “When I’m With You”, which yes, cool a possible Easter egg to the next song! BUT what is this song about? Let me just bring up the first line of the song: “You got me hanging by a THREAD...I wish I could turn back time...I wish I could rewind life...” and before the chorus “I’m gonna make it right”. We know that this can refer to rectifying the wrongs of Lewis’ death, but more accurately to do so we need to defeat the evil inside this mutt that is pulling the strings of this whole fiasco. And this might just be the intro portion of the next mystery skulls mind you as we’ve also gotten many false starts with the previous two videos where hellbent used “every note” and future used “enemies” alongside the main song. BUT WE HAVE TWO YEARS ANYWAY, WHY BABBLE ON ABOUT THIS. LETS MOVE ON!

Hearts in this series have not been just for identifying the dead or for aesthetic purposes, they are the life force of each powerful legend. I am actually surprised to see Shiro have a heart as she started off as a creation from Mystery and therefore her lifeforce is just his blood and without it she is nothing. I am curious about her color pallet though, her heart is purple and pink. Lewis’ is gold/yellow with touches of orange. And Mystery’s is just red, but it has a mix of everyone’s essence within it to keep it tied and whole. Shiro’s could be colored this way in reference to Lewis’ aid to help find her creator; which would explain why Mystery surrounds himself by color as he required outside help and how Lewis’ heart is yellow in reference to how recently Arthur helped him remember his friends/hidden memories. One thing we have learned about hearts is that they can be broken repeatedly and can be ripped apart from the body, but they can be repaired too through resolution/hope. Lewis restored his heart in hellbent by using Vivi’s flower petals and finding hope that he will get revenge, only for his heart to be repaired again through Arthur’s touch. Shiro may have withered away, but her heart is essentially not broken, she’d need Mystery to restore it as it was flung into space (and that again relies on Mystery finding his sanity and finding it in himself to even bring her back). And as for Mystery himself, he’s gonna need the whole gang to reach out to him to extract the parasite within and restore balance. I really want to know more about the heart properties and how they give their users their powers as well Vivi is able to summon her strength through a material connection (bat) that function in its own way as the vessel a heart does since its connecting her to her ancestry.

NOW to finalize, I offer you two queries:

WHO IS ARTHURS HAND REACHING FOR!? I know it seems like Mystery, but that would be counter productive for the hand demon if he has Arthur interfering with his control. Is it still after Lewis as we’ve seen previous times where his arm acts up only in Lewis’ presence and when specifically other “magic” is at play? If so, is the goal to ward off Lewis and Vivi from defeating Mystery? Is Arthur gonna use the arm to find his own power as we’ve seen when he is able to momentarily cease control of it he kinda ruins anything electrical he touches and well, electricity is currently running rampant in there.

and lastly, I am really curious how touch sensitive hearts are, We know that even the smallest of brushes can detect memory/links to the person holding it (as seen with how Shiro managed to get soul flowers in hellbent), but the fact that Lewis was so in touch with the feeling of Arthur EVEN THOUGH ARTHUR GRABBED HIS HEART THROUGH HIS METAL HAND MIND YOU!, that he still managed to feel the disturbance instantly. So my question is, is the touch sensitivity reliant on how close someone is to someone? I would like to say yes cause when Shiro touched his heart he didn’t react instantly, he felt her rummaging his memories and was awoken, but he didn’t kick her butt by fully reforming until after she had long since stepped on his heart and then forced the memory of Mystery to arise. But yeah, its a nice little detail.

Either way, thanks for reading! Feel free to add on, comment, or even dm me about more Mystery Skulls information and theories! Love to hear them!

[imo-chan-imagines]

『 As your boyfriend | BNHA Headcanons 』

From the good, to the bad, to the downright adorable.

Characters: female!reader, Aizawa Shouta

Tags/warnings: Boku No Hero Academia (anime), 18+, explicit descriptions of sex, smut, fluff, soft dom Aizawa, relationship, headcanons

⚠️ 18+ CONTENT! MINORS: PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT ⚠️

A/N: Right, so I'm simping for this man biG TIME, but I'm only on season 3, so no spoilers or anything, please. This is my first BNHA post (and it turned out way longer than I was intending 😅) Please let me know if you want more in the future!

Also, I have a repetitive strain injury, so typing stuff is taking a while at the moment. Sorry about that. Thanks for reading! Please enjoy ♡ ~Imo

☆ Aizawa Shouta ☆

I'm not going to lie. Shouta can be a big ol' grouchy pants sometimes, and it's basically impossible to win an argument against him makes you want to tear your hair out, sometimes

But most of the time, he's just tired and in pain, and he doesn't mean to be so crotchety

He's not the type to make excuses, though. That's childish. He means his apologies, even if they're simple

He'll normally initiate an apology by gently wrapping his arms around you from behind and resting his forehead on your shoulder 🥺

Physical contact is incredibly personal and intimate for him. He doesn't just touch anyone, or allow them to touch him

You're special 💞💫

Soft, gentle touches, like his fingers interlacing with yours, or his leg brushing up against you, are basically his way of saying 'I love you'

Catch me crying in the corner, a'ight? 😔

He rarely ever raises his voice. Like, ever he doesn't need to, and is aware that it can be scary

He's definitely the kind of guy to forget to tell people that you're dating, simply because he doesn't see how it's relevant or anyone else's business 🤦‍♀️

I mean, he ain't wrong, but–

And his mood switches between 'antisocial' and 'clingy' like a mechanical metronome did someone say 'cat'?

Sometimes, you'll be lucky if he speaks more than three words to you together in a whole day nothing personal 🤷‍♀️

But on other days, he literally won't let you out of his arms for the world he's complicated, okay?

You have missed many a parcel delivery because he wouldn't let you get up from his lap to answer the door 🙄😂

Boundaries and responsibilities are key and highly respected by Shouta, and he would NEVER erase your quirk without your permission, unless he literally had no other choice like someone's going to get hurt, or something

Is generally quite serious so what's new? but you're one of the few people he can relax around when he feels like it

9/10 of his jokes are dad jokes 😎 hell yeah

Takes a hard stance in financial debates, but is constantly broke af 😶 says he'll buy you dinner and presents you with some instant noodles with a 'Reduced To Clear' sticker on them

Will take a bite of your food/steal some off your plate without asking, and literally say nothing to defend himself #gremlin

Is incredibly shy and uncomfortable about being ~le horny~ until you've been together for literally forever

Even then, he's still shy about it when he has to bring it up and it's pretty cute, let me tell ya

It took him forever to admit to you that he gets turned on when you eat ice lollies

Guess what you do whenever you want to mess with him like a little brat 😛

But if he's in the mood, he will 100% whisper something dirty in your ear, even if you're completely alone and probably well past third base

He does it because he knows your pussy will clamp around him at the sound of his voice 😳🥵

*fans self profusely*

Genuine, unadulterated smiles are rare with Aizawa, but when he does 🙌 Heaven hath opened its gates and allowed an angel walk amongst mere mortals 🥺🤧

If he lays his head on your chest, he will fall asleep like that *snaps fingers*

Surprise nose and forehead kisses to show he loves you ❤

Calls you 'Kitten' this is basically already canon at this point

And he's all about those deep talks with you at 3 am when he can't sleep

Speaking of insomnia!

It's cheesy, but you're like a soothing balm. The warmth of your body makes him feel safe, your touch helps him relax, and your voice soothes him to sleep

He's never slept as well as when you're beside him 😭🤧

When cuddling, he likes to be the big spoon but will accept being the little spoon if you if you press your boobs against his back and ask really nicely 🤭

And he loves you stroking his hair and running your fingers through it 🥺

Netlix nights and pillow/blanket forts!!

Rainy days are a godsend. Staying inside all day under the blankets, with the soft sound of the rain falling outside and no-one to interrupt you – literal paradise

He makes mean hot cocoas and Irish coffees 😋 I feel like this man lives off Irish coffees 😂🤣

Wears a lot of black and grey sweatpants at home 😗 which highlight the outline of his dick just right, if ya know what I'm sayin' 👀

Doesn't like going out for dates and prefers staying inside and doing stuff together same, honeyy

But if you really like going out, he will somewhat begrudgingly agree to it and get all dressed up for you, just so long as he gets his fair share of home-dates, too 🤗

But if you also don't like going out... the two of you will basically never leave the house, except to get groceries in your pyjamas from the 24-hour convenience store down the road at one in the morning oddly specific, I know, but you get me

And sorry, but I don't make the rules

Well, actually, I do. But shush

We all know that Shouta cleans up *chef's kiss* So when you go somewhere ~fancy~ he always looks so damn fine 😩

But he has very little idea that he's hot he sees himself as a tired, walking dumpster fire🚶‍♂️🔥

Shouta will 100% turn into a crazy cat dude with 15+ cats if you don't stop him I never said you should, though 🙃

And is a 'minimalist texter' – basically, if he can't answer a text with 'yes', 'no,' 'maybe', or 'OK', then he probably won't answer it at all 😭😂

Especially if you try and sext him or send him your nudes while he's at work. He'll probably lecture you when he gets home and depending on just how much you turned him on, he might proceed to teach you a lesson...

But wear his shirt, and just his shirt or his hoodie and he's yours

Heart eyes, motherfucker 😍

And, depending on how you two are feeling that day, you may or may not end up getting dicked down on the nearest semi-flat surface right then and there 👀

But don't misunderstand. This is an incredibly tired man you have here, and his libido actually isn't through the roof sorry, ladies so this kind of thing isn't an everyday occurrence

But when he dicks you down, he dicks you down goooood

Shouta's not big on PDA, but makes up for it in private. We're talking hands and kisses all over your body he leaves nothing unloved 😏

And while he's not big on PDA, he is big on sneaky displays of affection or 'SDA', as I like to call it

Like subtly grabbing your butt for a second, or his hand on your thigh under the table at a dinner etc. especially around other people

But what really gets him going is slowly removing your clothes and taking you fully naked, spreading your legs wide and holding them open he likes the view 😍

He lowkey highkey worships your body 🙏 and will literally not shut up about how fucking pretty you are, and how fucking good it feels inside you his words, not mine 😳

Groans and growls a little when he's getting close/cumming especially when he's being a little rough and likes to cum together, but knows it's not always practical

He tends to be a gentle dom, but can get just a teensy bit 🤏 rough if he's too into it – but nothing outrageous

We're talking rough thrusts and a brutal pace, maybe holding onto you a little too hard and, waaahh, he gets so embarrassed if he leaves bruises

Is also into a little bondage, but again, only light stuff – restraining your wrists with his hands or his tie or his Capturing Weapon 👀 maybe blinding-folding you if you're okay with it

If you're not blindfolded, then I'm afraid he's all about that eye contact

Eating out your pussy? Eye contact. Pounding you into the mattress? Blazing eye contact. Rearranging your guts in front of the mirror? Fucking eye contact

And CONSENT, BABY. THAT'S WHAT HE'S FUCKING INTO 😌🙌💞

But all jokes aside – he's too used to taking without consent with his quirk, that he's kind of paranoid about it comes to sex but it's adorable and sweet, and honestly, still kind of hot

And speaking of eating pussy – goddamn does he like to please you. Like cream to a kitty 😛

Oh, and he just loves it when you suck on his fingers as he's pounding into you 🤤

And he likes to leave love bites in personal, inconspicuous places and sometimes on your neck

He's marking his woman 😌

When he gets suuuper horny, he likes to fuck you from behind, standing upright in front of the mirror. It's a specific kink he has of watching himself stretch you out as the length of his cock disappears inside you...

I can get behind that, lemme tell yaaa

I said he tends to be dominant, but female doms – fear not!

Shouta is quite flexible when it comes down to it and is kind of lazy, lmfao so he definitely has time for laying back, having the control taken away, and having his dick ridden

For him, it's really all about communication and what you're both comfortable with

I will say this, though: sometimes, his cat watches you while you're banging 😅😂

The first time it happened, you freaked out and refused to continue because – how could you??? But eventually, you just kind of got used to it 🤷‍♀️

The same way you've got used to it following you to the bathroom every time you go to take a shit 😭

So now, you just kind of laugh about it, which helps keep things a little lighter 🤗

After sex, he does like to snuggle, but you'll be lucky if he stays awake for more than 30 seconds it's one of the few times he actually can sleep well

If you're ever out and about, or even inside, and cold, he'll wrap you up in his clothes/scarf/blanket like a sushi roll like Eren wrapping up Mikasa in his scarf, all deadpan and everything 😐

It's not that often, but when he gets drunk, he gets all soft and emotional, and starts babbling about how he can't believe he got so lucky to be dating you, and that he's sure he hasn't done anything to deserve it mah heart

He's pretty sure he wants kids, but he doesn't feel like now is the right time, and is lowkey afraid that it's never going to feel like the right time

He also constantly doubts himself, wondering if he'd actually able to look after them and protect them the way a father should class 1-A got him second-guessing himself 🥺

Besides, it's not all about him. You clearly have a say in it too, and he doesn't want to force you into anything

Again: communication and comfort zones

Dating Aizawa definitely has its ups and downs, and it's not smooth sailing, but he's prepared to work for a life with you because he's found a connection with you that he hasn't feel with anyone else

He knows that you're both far from perfect, but hopes that, for once, you might just make something good, and make it last 🥰😇

© imo-chan-imagines 2020

[moiraineswife]

Mine - A Navani/Raboniel Fic

IT’S TIME FOR THE GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY. 

Title: Mine

Rating: M  Content warnings: Violence. Sexy violence. But still violence.

Summary:  Set during Rhythm of War. THEORETICALLY it’s canon-compliant. Just gayer. After several failed attempts, The Pursuer sends men to bring him Navani, believing Kaladin will come to the Queen’s aid if she’s in danger. Raboniel takes issue with this, and refuses to allow them to take Navani.

Teaser: ‘“You will tell him that Navani is mine. If he may claim that Windrunner, then I claim her. He will not touch her. He will not send men to take her from me. He will not so much as think of her or utter her name without my knowledge and consent. She is mine, and I will send every one of his worthless soldiers back to Braize screaming if that is what it takes to make that known throughout this tower.”’

Link: AO3

It had been a long time since Navani had studied by candlelight. 

Glowing gemstones had ruled her life for so long now. Woven into her hair as a symbol of status in Gavilar’s court. 

Counting spheres as the cost of conquest had piled on her shoulders as her husband had drunk, and killed, and warred his way to glory, with no idea what she did in the background to prevent his fledgling kingdom suffering economic and social collapse in the wake of his passing. 

Powering the fabrials that had brought her such joy and fulfilment, a constant support in her life. 

Now the Stormlight that fueled the Radiants as most of her family was pulled into this war. 

Raboniel preferred to work by candlelight. She said it soothed her, and reminded her of days when she’d been younger. Stormlight had not been plentiful for Fused in eras gone by. Odium had disapproved of it surrounding them, and Voidlight was a poor source of illumination. 

Navani had to admit they brought a certain warmth to the small room she was ensconced in with Raboniel. They were alone together now, as Raboniel had just dismissed the guards, who had been visibly wilting, and told them to send a replacement team down to them instead. 

There was no sound save the soft scratching of their pens on the notebook between them. Raboniel was studying her latest addition, making small, careful notations in the women’s script. 

One could tell a lot about another’s script, Navani felt. Jasnah’s for example, was pristine, a perfect example of the women’s script, honed over much time. Dalinar’s was less practiced, with large, bold lines, each word somehow making its own statement upon the page. 

Raboniel’s was sharper than Navani’s, more cramped. This was to be expected, given her unfamiliarity with it, but she wrote curiously, each spike and line written with a differing pressure or firmness, to a rhythm, she realised. Right now that rhythm was frantic, her eyes focused, entirely consumed by the work.

Navani understood that feeling. Like Raboniel, she had been many things to many people over her years. Mother, mentor, wife, queen. For herself, she was a scholar. Yes. A scholar. It was still sometimes difficult to ignore the words whispered in Gavilar’s voice at the back of her mind that told her she was nothing herself. Always defined by what she was to, and what she could get from, others. 

Raboniel had helped her see things differently. This was who she was. Navani. Not Queen Navani. Not Brightness Kholin. Just Navani. Navani was a creator, an inventor, a scholar, a pursuer of secrets, and she thrived in this environment. 

She felt the same way about Raboniel. 

She was many things to many people as well. A mother, certainly, even now that Essu was dead, by her own hand, she would never stop being a mother. A soldier, and a war leader. A servant of Odium. An immortal Fused reborn. A Voidbringer, in the minds of many humans. 

Raboniel, however, not the Lady of Pains, the Lady of Wishes, Ancient One, or General, just Raboniel was as Navani was: a scholar. She too thrived on this. She had ulterior motives, certainly, Navani had already seen several of them. 

Yet even without them, she felt sure she would be driven, as Navani was herself, by the question, the seeking, the taste of new knowledge, the thrill of uncovering things that had been buried for millenia, of cracking puzzles buried in the very fabric of their world that no-one had ever cracked before. 

In her heart, in the deepest, most fundamental fabric of her soul, Raboniel was a scholar. And in that way, mortal and immortal, Fused and human, their essence was the same. And it sang in harmony with one another in these moments, cloistered alone together, picking out the mysteries of ages gone by. 

It was a strangely intimate process. Navani had always worked in groups before. She had flitted between ardents and engineers and storm wardens like an insect pollinating flowers, bringing little bits of insight or inspiration, but never lingering with any. 

With this project, she had worked exclusively with Raboniel, for hours and hours at a time. They had only had one another to feed off of and consume with their theories, and thoughts, and ideas, and experiments. 

She felt as though she knew this woman, felt as though she connected with her, in a way she had rarely done with another human so swiftly. 

She adored the bones of Dalinar, she truly did. But it had taken a while to understand him. Part of the reason she had taken such time between Gavilar and Dalinar in their youth was that it took her a while to feel she knew a person, and was close enough to commit to them. 

How wrong she had been, in mistaking Gavilar’s mask for the truth of him. While she had missed the good heart buried beneath the layers of scar tissue Dalinar had hidden it behind all those years ago. 

Raboniel, though, she felt she knew her, knew her, beneath the blood and bones, straight to the soul, the moment they had first worked on Rhythm of War together, and she had looked into her eyes, and found that same bright, consuming, almost manic light gleaming in them that lived within her, too. 

With a small nod, her rhythm shifting to one of satisfaction, Raboniel pushed the notebook back towards Navani, gesturing her to the new notes that had been made in the Fused’s hand. 

As she bent to examine it, however, Raboniel sat up beside her, straight and intent, head turning towards the door. The way she sat when they were not alone, when she was a regal Fused, not a scholar. 

Navani turned, too, and found six of the Pursuer’s Fused soldiers standing in the doorway. 

Raboniel did not seem surprised. If anything she seemed...Resigned. 

Navani was not overly aware of the situation in the tower, but she knew that tension between the Pursuer and Raboniel’s calmer, more reasonable rule were straining. Especially as his hunt for Kaladin continued to refuse to bear fruit.  

Raboniel stood, and a power seemed to radiate from her, as if she were a perfect gemstone, containing an immortality’s worth of stormlight pulsing within. 

She was rather impressed that the soldiers didn’t turn and flee at once, as Raboniel reached her height and stared them down without a flicker of fear, despite being outnumbered six to one.  

“Our master has sent us,” the lead soldier said, red eyes gleaming as they flickered from Raboniel to Navani, still sat at the desk behind Raboniel, who suddenly felt like a shield against that hungry gaze. 

“I thought that he might,” Raboniel replied, her rhythm becoming dark and tempestuous. 

“Then you know why we are here, Lady of Wishes,” said another, taking a step forwards, “This can be resolved without any bloodshed.” 

Bloodshed? Navani felt herself growing cold. On some instinct, she picked up the Rhythm of War notebook and began to try to surreptitiously move to the back of the room. Putting as much distance between herself and these men seemed the most sensible course of action now. 

One of them noticed her, and began to hum in a loud, derisive rhythm, jeering, “See how it runs. The fear is obvious! She knows she is pursued.” 

Pursued? They were here for her? 

Raboniel glanced over her shoulder, long hair strands swishing around her like a cape as she did. She gave Navani a small nod, telling her she had done the right thing. 

“Do not fear such as these, Navani,” she said, her rhythm soft but strong, pulsing against Navani, almost strengthening her, “They do not warrant any reaction from yourself.” 

“It is true, then?” the lead soldier said, his rhythm scathing, his tone far bolder than any she had heard taken with Raboniel before, “You have grown fond of his human pet of yours, and it has made you weak, sucked the passion from you and put it into her instead.” 

Raboniel actually growled at him, her rhythm becoming dark and dangerous, Voidlight collecting around her hand as she stared the soldier down, “Do not forget yourself, Devail,” she said, her rhythm an angry, swirling snarl of sound. “I am not some common Fused like Lezian, and if you speak to me in such a way again you will regret it for the rest of your pathetic immortal existence, I swear to you.” 

Navani trembled and the words were not even directed at her. The soldier took a step backwards, humming softly in a rhythm of apology. As well he might. 

Raboniel took a breath, and looked at each of the men in turn, giving them a long, piercing look, “Is this something you truly wish to do?” she asked them quietly. 

“We’re under orders, Lady of Wishes,” the lead soldier said, “We’re not to use violence as a primary method of achieving those orders, but the Pursuer expects resistance. In that case, he says we are to achieve our goal at all costs.” 

Raboniel hummed a sharp, destructive rhythm, “You would raise your weapons against me, truly?” 

Oh Stormfather, Navani thought, trembling. This could turn ugly, well and truly. Raboniel was a competent warrior, she was sure, but she was primarily a scholar, thinker, and organiser, from what Navani had seen. The Pursuer’s men were among the most finely trained, as brutal and bloodthirsty as their master. 

“We would take up arms against one who tried to defend a human, Lady of Wishes,” the soldier said again, his rhythm respectful, but firm. 

Raboniel shook his head, “Lezian is a fool,” she hissed, “What does he possibly wish to accomplish with the queen that could be more than what I have accomplished with her?” 

“He will use her to lure his prize,” the soldier Raboniel had named Devail said, an indecent hunger in his eyes as he once again looked past Raboniel to Navnai, cowering on the floor behind them, feeling like a hog in a pen at a slaughter market beneath that gaze. 

“The Pursuer believes he can use the queen to draw forth Stormblessed,” the lead soldier said, “He would of course come to the defence of his queen were she threatened.” 

“Or publicly executed,” Devail added, with a gleeful grin. 

Navani quivered. She had rarely felt so helpless. She held the Rhythm of War against her chest, as though it could do anything to help her. She had no weapons, not even her customary painrial. She was tired, and weak, and fragile. 

If Raboniel gave her over to these men there would be nothing she could do to stop it. 

“He thinks to set an ambush for the Windrunner, using something the man will seek to defend to draw him to a place of contest, does he?” Raboniel asked, and her rhythm sounded strangely amused. Perhaps Navani could not read her correctly. 

“You are wise as ever Lady of Wishes,” the lead Fused said, with a small bow of the head, “This is indeed his intention.” 

“And why should it work this time when he has failed twice already, with far more fixed and defensible locations at the shield points?” Raboniel demanded scornfully. 

Devial took an angry step forwards but, wisely, his commander restrained him. 

“I will not relinquish an asset to him for the sake of his wounded, failing pride,” Raboniel continued derisively, “Navani is of far more use to me than Lezian could ever fathom to put her to in his wildest moment of clarity and intelligence.” 

“We are under orders, Lady,” the lead soldier said, “Our master was quite...Insistent.” 

“And you think I cannot be equally so?” Raboniel said, crossing her arms over her chest and frowning. “Return to your master and tell him that he has no authority to issue me with orders in this tower, or anywhere. Tell him he should count himself lucky I do not escalate this insult and return him to Braize, screaming. And tell him that if he wants to request something of me in future, then I expect him to pay me the respect I am due and come himself.” 

With that, she turned her back on them, as though done with them. Navani had to clap her safehand to her mouth to stop herself uttering a warning. It seemed so foolhardy for Raboniel to put her back to these men. 

The tension inside her was vibrating like a lost tone. She could barely breathe for the pressure of it welling inside her. Her eyes flicked up towards Raboniel’s face and found it wearing a soft, reassuring smile. 

“This was not an option our master will allow us to pursue, lady,” the lead soldier said, quietly. 

The Fused behind him drew their weapons, holding them in distinctly aggressive postures. 

Raboniel sighed heavily and turned slowly back to face them. 

“Perhaps I was not clear enough, captain,” she said, her voice quiet and dangerous, “I am giving you this chance to return to your master and have him confront me himself. Take it.”  

“I cannot, lady,” he said, shaking his head, “We were prepared for this eventuality, our master-” 

“If your master wishes so much for me to bleed him,” Raboniel growled, “Then perhaps he can cease being so cowardly and face me himself.” 

Devial made a noise of outrage at that, and several of the others hummed to an angry rhythm. “He already has his prey!” one of them called, “It would break centuries of tradition were he to pursue another before he has claimed the life of the Windrunner.”  

“What a convenient excuse,” Raboniel said scathingly. 

“We have no quarrel with you, lady,” the lead soldier interrupted, “We only want the queen.” 

“Then that is your quarrel with me, captain,” Raboniel snapped, “Navani is mine. As I have made clear to your master, and indeed to all who reside in this tower. If you wish to harm her, or indeed remove her from this room without my authority, then there will be a quarrel.” 

Navani felt almost breathless, as Raboniel glowered down at these men, heavily armoured, ancient, powerful, returned over and over to kill. And she stood her ground and stared them down to protect her. 

A part of her wanted to protest, wanted to stop this hopeless fight before it began. Raboniel being killed might have once been a desirable outcome, but her honour in this moment would not allow the woman to get herself killed protecting Navani, when the outcome would be the same. 

Yet these men terrified her. She did not want to leave this safe, quiet, candlelit room, her books, her scholarship, her safety that she enjoyed with Raboniel. 

She stayed quiet. Cowardly. And watched with wide eyes. 

“Then a quarrel it shall be,” the captain said, sounding resigned, but not altogether surprised. 

They had expected this? They had expected Raboniel to stubbornly face her death rather than simply handing Navani over? 

“Then come, quarrel with me,” Raboniel said in a dangerous hiss, drawing twin blades from her hips as she spoke, “And do make it quick, captain, I have work I must yet attend to tonight. 

There was a moment. A single, eternal moment that hung in silence for a cluster of frantic heartbeats. Like the breath of calm and quiet before the full force of the stormwall was brought to bear upon the world. 

Raboniel and the Pursuer’s men faced one another, Raboniel crouched low in an offensive stance, the men standing in a furious formation, weapons drawn, carapace gleaming, the flickering candlelight casting deadly shadows across their inhuman faces. 

Navani cowered in her corner and whispered a soft prayer to the Almighty, hands clutched over her chest, wishing, absurdly, that she had a glyphward to burn. 

Then the stormwall hit, and Navani pressed herself back against the wall, as if she could push herself into it and escape the cacophony of death and violence that erupted around her like a highstorm. She felt vulnerable, exposed, tied out to bear it alone, with no shield against what was coming. 

Except that she was not alone. Raboniel stood in front of her, protective, a shield against the horrors that had come for her. 

The Pursuer’s men moved forwards in a tight formation and they seemed, absurdly, wary. Though they were six warriors against one scholar, they seemed to actually fear Raboniel. 

A heartbeat later, Navani understood why. 

The men came for her, but she did not wait for them. In a single bound, she crossed the distance between them, and landed in their midst, blades flashing, teeth bared, hair flying like a banner behind her. 

Navani gasped as both of her blades - thinner, and shorter, than a common lighteyes side sword, pierced both eyes of a Fused in the centre of the group. He went down with her landing on his chest, like a mink atop a thrashing rat, his flailing limbs knocking into his companions and sowing chaos in their tight formation. 

Raboniel grinned a feral, dangerous smile at the others around her, then leapt, yanking her blades from the corpse of the Fused beneath her, and scraping along the carapace of the men before her. 

The noise it made was awful, and Navani clapped her hands to her ears. The scraping, shrieking sounded like a dirge of death, and the men around her flinched at the sound of it. 

This was clearly the reaction Raboniel had anticipated, for she sprang backwards out of the chaotic fray, putting her back once more to Navani, keeping herself carefully between her and the Pursuer’s men. 

She jerked her chin towards them, inviting them to come and take her if they could, and Navani felt a chill of understanding. 

In essence, this woman was like her. They were both scholars, driven by their passion for learning, for teasing the secrets from Roshar that it tried so hard to hide from them. But she was more. Far more. And one aspect of herself was this. 

The Lady of Pains. A Herald in her own right. A Herald of Death. Bearer of devastation and violence. A woman who held a sword as easily as she held a pen, and unravelled men with as much skill and precision as she unravelled secrets. 

She spun, both blades whirling through the air, flashing in the candlelight, casting terrible, dancing shadows against the walls. She caught another Fused in the throat and he stumbled, but Voidlight glowed from the wound, healing it. 

Before that could complete, she stepped in to him and rammed her blade, designed, Navani saw now, to pierce armour - or carapace - into his chest, and Navani heard the telltale crack as his gemheart shattered. 

A sword clattered against her back and she turned, snarling, blood flying from her blades, and parried the next swing that should have taken her head from her shoulders. She caught the blade between both of her own, crossed like a chasmfiend’s mandibles, and twisted, shattering the wrist of its bearer. 

He dropped the sword, screaming, and Raboniel moved in as though she might have kissed him, but breathed out, engulfing him in a cloud of blackness that began to devour his flesh while he howled in pain, clawing at it and writhing on the floor. 

Navani had thought herself a connoisseur of death. She had watched countless duels in her life, attended many wars. Her first husband had begun a war of conquest which had often spilled blood upon those closest to him. Her current husband waged a war for the world itself. Navani had seen the aftermath of battles, had even seen a few battles themselves. 

She had never seen anything like this. 

Raboniel moved faster than she would have believed, blades a silver blur, Voidlight rising from her skin as she swayed. 

Dalinar and Gavilar had been skilled. They had talent, practice, and shards to cause devastation. But this? This was an immortal who had been singing to a rhythm of war and death at Odium’s bidding from the moment she had drawn breath. 

She was like a shard all her own. Created to kill. She was like a highstorm, these men a foolish cry for it to quiet its winds, utterly lost to its fury and tempest. 

One of the men cracked the head of a spear against her shoulder and she turned, grasping at the staff. It crumbled to dust at her touch, but the blade remained intact. It fell, as if in slow motion, and she snatched and hurled it across the room, lodging it in the forehead of another who dropped instantly. 

The now weaponless man stared at her with eyes wide, full of fear, then full of nothing but death as Raboniel took both blades and rammed them, one on either side, into his chest, piercing directly to his gemheart. 

Pain flashed unexpectedly into Navani’s awareness. 

She looked down to find a knife slashing against her arm. A second later, it was at her neck, and she screamed, unable to stop herself, as Devial grabbed her and pulled her against him, blade held tight against her throat, sharp blade scraping the skin. 

Raboniel turned at once, locking on to the sound. She stumbled, as the captain struck her from behind. Without looking, her entire aspect focused on Navni, she whipped a knife from her belt and flung it behind her, narrowly missing the captain, who had to dance aside to avoid it. 

“Enough, Raboniel,” Devial panted, his breath hot in Navani’s ear, “I have her. Set down your blades. I promise I won’t torture her too much before I cut her pretty head off if you do.” 

Raboniel stalked towards him, her eyes blazing like the fires of Damnation, burning with hatred and disgust, each step that of a calculating predator. 

“Release her, Devial,” she breathed softly, a trickle of blood streaming from the corner of her mouth as she bared her fangs at him, “Or I will send you back to Odium begging never to be Returned again lest you be forced to face me and the torments I will unleash upon your worthless form again.” 

Devial laughed, and pressed the blade harder against Navani’s throat in answer. 

“So be it,” Raboniel whispered. 

She moved blindingly, far more quickly than Navnai had yet seen from her. In an instant, she had the blade at her neck in her hands, and it vanished to dust in a heartbeat, Navani dropping to the floor and scrambling away from the battling Fused, clutching at her throat in terror. 

Devial swung for Raboniel’s neck as his captain prowled around them, forcing Raboniel to keep one blade guarding her exposed back. 

Navani wanted to help but storms. She was just a scholar, and she would only get in the way. All she could do was whisper another frantic prayer to the Almighty. Something she never believed she’d utter for Raboniel’s sake. 

“You committed a gross slight against me just now, Devial,” Raboniel called to him, her eyes narrowed, “I will have you correct it before I send you back to Braize.” 

“Oh?” he said, “And what was that?” 

“You forgot my title when you addressed me in your scorn,” she said quietly, “I would remind you of it.” 

With that she lunged for him, throwing another dagger as she did, catching the captain in the hand so he could not intervene as she and Devial slammed to the floor. 

She rammed him through the stomach with both of her strange, pointed blades, pinning him in place as he writhed. Then she pressed her hand to him, forcing Voidlight into him, and caused his carapace to ignite, first like smouldering coals, then a roaring bonfire. 

Raboniel did not seem bothered by the heat as it engulfed him, writhing and screaming beneath her.  

She leaned in close to him, ripping her blades free of his abdomen, sending blood gushing from the wound it left, “I am the Lady of Pains, Devial,” she whispered to him, close and soft as she might to a lover. Then she rammed her blade into his chest and twisted, “My will in this tower is law. My word is final and absolute. And you will pay me the respect I am due by that title. Lest I remind you once more of its origin.” 

Navani had thought she would use her second blade to end Devial, puncturing either his gemheart or his spinal cord to finish him. 

Instead she rose from him, stepping away, leaving him writhing, consumed by flames and agony. His Voidlight supply healed him. Not fast enough to escape the death that was coming, but enough to prolong it, to ensure his last breaths would be spent in pain. 

Navani found she could not feel too sorry, but she did look away from him, watching to where Raboniel stalked towards the last of the men. Their leader, the captain, who cowered on his knees before her. 

He tossed aside his blade as she approached him, “I yield, Lady of Pains,” he said, voice cracking with fear. 

“Oh?” she said, sounding faintly amused, “And you would have allowed me to yield to you, or to Devial, had I been so pitiful as to demand that mercy, would you?” she demanded, rhythm pulsing with derision. 

“I, I-” the man panted, floundering, red eyes wide and terrified as he stared up at her. 

“Do not answer,” she snapped, “I do not need to hear you lie to me as a final insult for this day’s nonsense. I do not wish to hear you speak another word to me while you hold this body, lest I be reminded of this encounter, and your worthless part in it. Do I make myself clear?” 

The captain nodded frantically, humming to a remorseful, subservient rhythm. 

“Good,” she said, coldly. “You will return to Lezian, and you will tell him that my patience with him is growing thin, and if he thinks to test it again, he will be sorry. As sorry as Devial, there,” she said. 

As she spoke, she jerked her head towards the Fused behind them, now spasming and whimpering his last. 

The echoing silence left in the wake of his death was somehow worse than his screams. 

“You will tell him that Navani is mine. If he may claim that Windrunner, then I claim her. He will not touch her. He will not send men to take her from me. He will not so much as think of her or utter her name without my knowledge and consent. She is mine, and I will send every one of his worthless soldiers back to Braize screaming if that is what it takes to make that known throughout this tower.” 

She gave the captain a shove, sending him stumbling away from her. He scrambled to his feet, hovering, waiting to see if there was more she wished of him. 

“Get out of my sight,” she spat, waving a dismissive hand. 

He bolted at once. 

Navani sat, stunned, in the corner of the room, staring with wide eyes at the aftermath of what had happened. She put her fingers to her neck, feeling the faint cut there. It was not bad. Barely a scratch, in truth. But the memory of that blade against her skin, the feeling of the Fused’s clammy hands holding her, pressing her against him, as he spoke so lovingly of torturing her, made her want to claw herself out of her own body just to escape the memories. 

She was jolted back to her surroundings as Raboniel walked to her and crouched down beside her. 

She looked tired. Not physically tired, though. Voidlight, like Stormlight, would support her and stave off fatigue. She looked soul tired. The kind of tiredness that Navani saw when she looked into her eyes as she spoke of the war that had gone on so long for her. 

She had been created to kill, made to bring death to this world on Odium’s orders. She did it well. So very, very well. But she was tired of it. Ready to rest, to sleep, at long last. She was rusted through to her core, done, and finished. The only death she wanted now was her own, Navani was sure. 

“Are you alright?” Raboniel asked quietly, and Navani’s eyes snapped back to her eyes, focusing herself on them. 

“I-” Navani said, her voice shaking.

She wanted to say that she was fine, and she was, in comparison to everyone else in this room, Navani had absolutely nothing to complain about. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she kept repeating that single sound, in a progressively higher voice, shaking violently. 

“It will pass,” Raboniel said, gently, “Come here,” she coaxed Navani to her feet and led her into the small side room that connected to their study, away from the death. 

She settled her on the couch, poured her some strong sapphire wine and pushed the cup into her hands. Then she glanced to the next room, where Fused were calling in their own language, crying out. 

“Stay there,” Raboniel said quietly, “I will return for you in a moment.” 

Navani almost laughed at that command. It was the most unnecessary she had ever been given in her life. She couldn’t have moved if a highstorm had torn off the roof and come ripping through the room. 

Flashes of the battle continued to play out, against her will. Above it all, the look in Raboniel’s eyes as she had defended Navani. 

That had been more than a woman protecting an important asset from a political rival. More even than a necessary academic ally. That had been...Real. True, fierce protectiveness. And her declaration that Navani was hers? That she would murder her way through all of the Pursuer’s men if that was what it took to keep her safe? Storms. Storms. It was too much. 

She sat on the couch, staring into the violet depths of her wine, unable to bring it to her lips. It was taking all of her concentration and will to keep herself in check enough to stop it slopping over the sides with how her hands were shaking. 

Raboniel re-entered the room a moment later, crouching down in front of Navani with a bowl of some kind of clear, strong-smelling liquid and some other supplies she could not take in. 

“The guards I sent for arrived,” she said, quietly, “The Pursuer’s men drugged our earlier group, so that they would become more tired, more quickly, hoping I would send for replacements. I have asked them to put our rooms in order for us. They will take care of the-” 

“You saved my life,” Navani interrupted, hoarsely. 

She had been listening to what Raboniel had said, and a part of her mind recognised that it was important. But that part of her was composed, and in command, and poised. And Navani had never felt less like that in her life. So that part of her mind was most certainly not in charge at the moment. 

Raboniel paused, watching Navani with a strange expression. 

Then she set down her things and said, simply, “Yes. I did. You think I would simply have handed you over to them?” she asked. 

“I would have, if I had been in your position,” Navani replied. 

The words were coming out clipped and jerky. She was still staring straight ahead, not thinking clearly. What was she saying? She shouldn’t be telling her that. Next time she might not stand between Navani and those monsters. 

Curiously, Raboniel smiled, “I appreciate your honesty, Navani,” she said to a quiet rhythm, “But I do not think it is true. You would not have allowed someone to take a friend in your care.” 

“That’s what I am to you?” Navani asked, managing to tear her eyes from the spot on the wall she’d been fixating on, “A friend?” 

Raboniel hummed a soft rhythm she could not interpret. 

She did not answer, but gestured to Navani’s arm and said, “You were wounded, I would clean and stitch that for you, to prevent infection. I shall have the surgeons attend you tomorrow, but I do not want anyone else coming in or out of here tonight. It will be secured by my guards, and I will remain with you, in case Lezian attempts to strike again, thinking me weakened.” 

Navani nodded numbly, barely taking in what Raboniel was saying. Then. Wounded? 

She looked down and saw that, indeed, her havah was torn, and there was a long gash in her shoulder where Devial had first grabbed her. Made by a dagger, she thought? Or had it been his claws? She wasn’t sure. It was all a blur. It was all- Oh storms. 

Raboniel was achingly gentle as she began to unbutton her havah, saying quietly, “I need to move this out of my way, to work on you.” 

Navani nodded vaguely again. She would have let Raboniel do almost anything to her in this state. Some part of her, deeper than conscious sense or reason, trusted this woman. It had identified her as safe, the only safe thing left in her world. 

On a base, instinctual level, that part had seen this woman stand before her, fight to the death to defend her, then come to her afterwards to care for her. In her frantic, terrified state, an anxiety beyond panic or hysteria, she clung to whatever instinct guided her to, and right now, instinct guided her to Raboniel. 

Raboniel prodded gently at the wound in Navani’s shoulder, “Not bad,” she assessed, the quiet scholar returned once more, the feral, violent intensity of the battle gone now they were alone together again. “It will hurt, I am sure, but should cause no lasting damage.” 

“It doesn’t,” Navani replied mechanically, as Raboniel began to clean it, “Hurt,” she added, rather foolishly. 

Raboniel nodded, “Be grateful for that reprieve,” she said, wryly, “It will, once your mind catches up with what your body has just experienced.” 

“It was so much,” Navani whispered. 

The part of her brain that still had a wit left, chided her for the foolish comments, pointing out that Raboniel would not want to hear such babbling from her. 

Raboniel only nodded however, “Your first time is always a lot. The next will be easier.” 

Navani trembled and violently shook her head, “I do not want there to be a next time,” she said, swallowing hard. 

“None of us ever do, Navani,” Raboniel said quietly, “Each time I am forced to pick up my blades and kill again, I hope it will be the last. It never is. I told myself I should stop hoping it will be, as that is foolish, and repeated evidence has been put in front of me that there will always be more. Yet some time will be the last. So I hope for it. Still. I hope for it.” 

“I’m sorry,” Navani said, stupidly, as though she had anything to apologise for, as though any of this had been by her design, “That you had to kill again today on my behalf.” 

“Do not apologise, Navani,” Raboniel said softly, removing a curved needle and surgeon’s thread from the small pile beside her, “For all the times I have had to kill most recently, you have been the most worthy reason I have done so.” 

Their eyes met, and a flicker of warmth flared in Navani, pushing through the cold fog that had descended upon her after the battle. 

Clumsily, she reached out and cupped Raboniel’s cheek in her hand, stopping her from looking away, and taking that warmth with her, keeping her in place, looking at her, for just a little longer. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, voice hoarse again, but sounding more like her. 

Raboniel placed a gentle hand over Navani’s, then smiled and, sounding faintly amused as she hummed, said, “I appreciate the sentiment Navani, truly, but I need two hands to finish my stitching.” 

Navani blushed as she realised she had clutched onto Raboniel’s hand without realising, seeking to anchor herself in this moment of chaos and terror. She released her, and focused instead, watching Raboniel’s movements as she stitched. 

The pattern was not the one favoured by modern human surgeons, but the stitches were neat, precise, and well-judged. She was obviously practiced. 

“I wouldn’t have thought this was a skill you would need to have,” Navani said, finding that she needed to say something, unwilling to let the moment lapse into silence, “Given that you can use Voidlight to heal yourself.” 

Raboniel hummed quietly, nodding, “This is true. But it was a skill I had acquired before I became Fused.” She looked up to see Navani’s curious look, and explained, “My mother was a seamstress, many years ago, and she taught me.” 

“You remember it?” Navani asked, amazed, “From so long ago?” 

“I maintained the skill, over many years, and many returns,” she explained quietly, “It was not something that I wished to lose. I taught Essu, also, when she-” she faltered for a moment, and Navani squeezed her hand. Raboniel took a breath and continued, “I wanted her to have skills beyond what Odium wished her to know in order to kill. I thought, perhaps, it may help, to have an anchor, something familiar, not drenched in blood, to return to. It was not enough.” 

She trailed off, and though it made her feel as though she were being repeatedly stabbed, Navani allowed the silence to swallow them, not wishing to interrupt Raboniel’s moment of grief. 

A guard glanced into the room as Raboniel finished up, and Navani jumped so badly that Raboniel almost tore out the row of stitches she’d just finished. 

Resting a hand gently on Navani’s knee, Raboniel turned and said, “Speak.” 

“The area is secure, Ancient One,” the guard said, giving her a salute, “We will remain in the outer chamber, with you and the Queen protected here. If we see any of the Pursuer’s men, we shall call for you at once.” 

“Thank you, Vardwi,” Raboniel said, nodding in thanks to the guard, who withdrew with a respectful nod. 

“Will they come for me again?” Navani found herself asking. 

The usual filter that existed between her brain and her mouth seemed to have broken, and she could not stop her tongue giving voice to her fears. 

Raboniel looked at her, eyes steady, intense, “I will not lie, they may,” she said quietly, “But if they do the result shall be the same. They shall not have you. Though we Fused are of Odium, you will find that I can keep my oath as well as your Bondsmith, Navani.” 

“You would do that?” she breathed, “You would cut down your own, possibly anger Odium...For me?” 

“You have proven yourself, Voice of Lights,” Raboniel said simply, placing hands on her knees and starting to rise, “And you are mine. Under my protection and in my care. It would shame me, were I to allow Lezian to harm you. It-” 

She broke off suddenly, swaying slightly in place, putting a hand to her head. Navani reached out to steady her, alarmed, guiding her back down onto the couch she was on. 

“What is it?” she asked, sharply, alarmed. 

Raboniel groaned, “It appears that I have a dagger in my back,” she said, conversationally. Her eyes twinkled as she glanced to Navani, “I might have suspected you as the source of it, if I did not know better Navani" she murmured with a smile. “I will need to ask you to remove it, however.” 

“What?” Navani said, feeling suddenly a little faint. 

“It appears I have shifted the blade while moving, it has nicked my lung, which is beginning to fill with blood. It’s a rather unpleasant sensation,” Raboniel informed her matter-of-factly, as if there was a problem in one of their experiments. “Voidlight has healed me as it can around the wound, but cannot repair my lung while there is a dagger in the way. I will need you to take it out.” 

Navani swallowed as Raboniel turned in place, and she spotted the hilt of the dagger protruding from her back, just beneath her ribcage. 

“Stormfather,” she whispered hoarsely. She reached out to grip the hilt and pull it free, but her hands were shaking so badly. “I, I can’t Raboniel,” she said, staring at the blade, at the blood leaking from the wound, remembering the terror that had only just passed. “My hands- My hands won’t stop shaking, I can’t, I-” 

Raboniel turned, wincing as that shifted the blade again, and held Navani’s hands in her own, “You can,” she said, her rhythm comforting. “It is only shock, Navani, it shall pass. But I need you to do this for me now, do you understand?” 

“Yes,” Navani whispered, taking a deep breath and trying to master herself, “Yes, I. Yes.” 

Raboniel turned in place again, coughing and spitting up blood as she did so. Navani trembled, then wrapped her freehand around the hilt of the dagger, bracing the other against Raboniel’s back. 

“Are you ready?” she asked, shakily. 

“Make it quick,” Raboniel answered, “One, swift motion. And do resist the temptation to try to ram it into my gemheart, won’t you?” she added, glancing over her shoulder and smirking, “That would be rather poor repayment, don’t you think?” 

“I wouldn’t,” Navani said, and knew that it was true. 

Once she might have done. Once she would have taken a knife willingly presented to her in the back of this Fused, and thrown it all to the winds in an attempt to rid herself, and this tower, of her. But she couldn’t. She knew that. And not just because Raboniel had risked her life to save her tonight. 

Navani took a deep breath, then yanked, swift and sure as she could manage. The knife resisted her, the skin having healed up around her, and Raboniel buried a scream in the cushions of the couch beside her as Navani tore the wound open again. 

Then her body slumped, relaxing, and Voidlight began to heal the wound, leaving Navani quivering with a knife in her hands. 

Raboniel turned and took it from her, gently, then used a handkerchief to wipe the blood from it before handing it back, hilt first. 

“You should have some way to protect yourself,” she said, firmly. “Even if you have no training, it is not too difficult to ram the sharp end somewhere that seems painful.” 

Navani nodded and accepted the blade with trembling hands. Then, with nowhere to currently sheathe it, and no desire to be in contact with it, and the memories it carried with it, she set it aside on the arm of the chair. 

“What now?” she asked, slightly tremulously. 

“We shall rest,” Raboniel said, firmly, “It is late, and you look as though you’re ready to faint with exhaustion and stress.” 

She got to her feet, and Navani found herself grabbing for her hand again, saying urgently, “Where are you going?” 

Raboniel crouched down and covered her hand with her own, squeezing, “To speak with my guards,” she said, humming to a soothing rhythm, “And to inspect the defences they have set up against Lezian’s men for tonight.” 

“You will return?” Navani asked, feeling an absolute fool the moment the words were out of her mouth, yet somehow grateful to her fool self for asking it, so she might hear the answer. 

Raboniel hummed in affirmation, “I will not leave you, Navani,” she promised quietly, “I shall remain here tonight with you. And none shall harm you. I swear it.” 

Navani nodded, then released Raboniel and allowed her to step from the small side chamber back into the main study to converse with her guards. 

Trembling, Navani managed to will enough control into her shaking legs to get them to carry her to the small writing desk in the corner. 

There, she took a scrap of parchment, brushpen, and ink, and painted a glyphward of thanks, which she burned in one of Raboniel’s candles. 

***

[redsector-a]

AO3 Ask Game

I was tagged by @themarshalstale which, thank you so much! I feel like I always get missed on these (I know why, it’s been 84 years since I published anything but still). 1. How many works do you have on ao3?

46 it seems. Which...look I’m slow man so that’s not surprising. lol Also crippling depression does not make for much production, at least for me.

2. What’s your current AO3 wordcount?

309662 according to the stats.

3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

So do I could only AO3 or in like life? lol I suppose it should only be on AO3 since this is an AO3 ask game. Hrm. Basically AO3 can be summed up as: Marvel (in several iterations - all Avengers related) Torchwood Highlander But isn’t it more fun to consider my entire fandom life, which, I’m sorry, I’m old so...yeah. Not all of this is was published and beyond that a lot is not available anymore...which is likely for the best. Highlander Star Wars Babylon 5 Ronin Warriors/Samurai Troopers Marvel (again, several iterations also of note Avengers and X-Men both count) Torchwood Star Trek LOTR Stargate (SG-1, SGA) Mortal Kombat I dabbled with the idea of Potter fic but never got past the ideas stage.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1: You rearrange me till I’m sane Clint finds himself spiraling into a deep depression after the Battle of New York...until the Winter Soldier ends up saving him and inadvertently giving him a new purpose – to save the man that the Soldier had once been – Bucky Barnes. Not one to be outdone, the Soldier decides that his new mission is to ensure that Clint remains alive himself. Protecting a blonde man with a self-destructive streak is somehow very familiar to him. Through the back and forth of who is saving whom they cross the country and learn more about themselves and each other – and perhaps find a reason for living. 2: Five Dates Bucky Didn’t Realize He Was on And the One He Planned Himself To say that Bucky was surprised when Clint kissed him was an understatement. But it was nothing compared to the shock he felt when he learned they'd been dating for months without him realizing it.Clint gets whisked away for a mission before they have time to talk and Bucky is left to figure things out on his own - hindsight being 20/20 he can't help but wonder how he missed things the first go around.

3: Puck Luck Bucky Barnes is used to the ups and downs of an NHL season. He's used to the unpredictability of the game, knows that bounces don't always go your way, but that doesn't make a broken hand in the final third of the season any easier to deal with. Especially not when he ends up with an impromptu roommate/personal assistant in the form of one Clint Barton - his agent, Natalia Romanova's (rather attractive) friend he hadn't known existed before his injury.

It's just for six to eight weeks - what could possibly happen in that span of time?

4: Loose Lips Launch Ships

Based on the following prompt: “We go to school together and I think you’re cute and apparently you’re also the pizza delivery guy and my little sibling opened the door screaming hey sibling! you know that kid you’re in love with? you really weren’t kidding when you said his jawline could cut steel holy shit-” Bucky is the pizza delivery guy. Clint's younger (foster) brother has a big mouth.

5: Indelible Bucky Barnes has a pretty decent life – a good job, good friends, a cat that adores him - but something is missing. He’s always found body art to be beautiful and inspiring, and on a whim (and with the hope that maybe he can find what he’s missing) he decides to take the plunge and get a tattoo. That's how he meets Clint Barton. Clint's talented and compassionate and there is an instant spark between the two of them. It's not long before Bucky finds himself wondering and wanting more from the relationship despite the ghosts of the past that crop back up. Because Clint makes him feel normal in a way he truly hasn't for years...

(this was pre-Alpine so I was totally chuffed when canon confirmed Bucky’s status as a crazy cat lady (affectionate).

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not.

I really really really want to do it but I often times don’t end up doing it. There are a few reasons. First, I am akwward AF and bad at interaction adn I feel like just saying thank you would be...not enough? Second - I often times tend to like...turtle (aka retreat into myself) when life gets Too Hard/Busy which happens a lot to me (sigh) and then I miss the vague window in my mind in which it would be okay to respond and then it’s even more weird. I do love and cherish all of them. Like there was one months ago that made me go “hmm...I didn’t think I was going to do a sequel to that fic (You rearrange me till I’m sane), timestamp glimpses sure but a sequel hadn’t come to mind” but then the comment made me think! So...who knows? lol Anyway, I literally have been rereading some in an effort to try and get myself going again. Know that if you have commented, I love you.

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

At the moment? Probably: Look at you look at me Bucky's in love with Clint - problem is he's really not supposed to be. For Winterhawk Week 2019 - Forbidden Love (I really don’t want to give away the spin in the fic but...if you’re familiar with the Secret Avengers Vol 2 run circa 2013ish (aka when SHIELD initially ‘took control of the team’) that’s a bit of a hint as to the spin). Were it done, Torch Song would be up there. ;) Torch Song Clint is sent back in time, via an alien device, to 1938. While he tries to figure out how to get back home, he takes up singing and entertaining to make ends meet and does his best to not disrupt the timeline.Then he meets a 21 year old Bucky Barnes. --- A torch song is a sentimental love song, typically one in which the singer laments an unrequited or lost love, either where one party is oblivious to the existence of the other, where one party has moved on, or where a romantic affair has affected the relationship.

7. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve ever written?

Does *wanting* to write crossovers count? lol I want, so badly, to do more crossovers and fusions (which...are kinda deeper versions of crossovers in a way). The only one I do have posted is a crossover between Highlander and Torchwood -

The Immortal Mr. Jones A series of vignettes (some long, some short) in the life of the newly immortal Ianto Jones. My most ambitions project that I have been working on since late 2011/early 2012 is a fusion of the Avengers with Stephen King’s the Stand. I will get that done at some point *shakes fist*  The Stand, for those who don’t know it, is an epic 1000+ page novel about a flu epidemic (I know) that wipes out over 99% of the population and then two figures representing Good and Evil pull the survivors in two directions for a showdown. So basically it’s a non-powered modern AU set in that universe. It’s a passion and comfort project. lol

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Yes. Well, minor bitching back when I was in a prior fandom because I tagged a pairing in a fic but it was pre-slash and not labeled as pre-slash. I got hate on...I think it was Torch Song? And I’ve gotten hate on tumblr re me and my fic in general as well. Fandom! *jazz hands* Oh! And I’ve also been hit by those reviewers within Winterhawk (among general Clint pairings actually) who like rate you on either number scales or the “meh” scale. Which isn’t hate exactly but...it’s passive aggressive bullshit because I can’t believe none of them realize at this point that the authors can see their bookmarks - you know?

9. Do you write smut?

Yes. Do I write it well? I have no idea. lol

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I am aware of. Well...there was, I think, one of those reposting sites that had a few fics on it but I don’t think it was being passed off as someone else’s? I can’t quite recall. It’s why I have a note on AO3 about reposting my work anyway.

11. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not entirely, but sort of. Let me explain - I am part of a PBEM game; which for those unfamiliar since it’s a term that was most heavily in use 15-20 years ago, in which you basically do a round robin type writing thing but rather than everyone writing the same characters you write your own characters and you play off what other people have done. Another way of looking at it is  it’s basically DnD without dice and written down rather than done out loud. You also don’t have to all be around at the same time. It’s a lot of fun and yes I have been in it for 20 years even though there aren’t many of us left but they are some of my dearest friends and fabulous writers. Wins all around.  One of the other writers and I have actually toyed with the idea of doing a co-written fic actually, mostly because we work super well together and keep getting ideas for things but can’t really do them as rpgs since the pbem style isn’t used much anymore.

12. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Winterhawk probably. Though, let’s be real - Han & Leia are epic and amazing as are John & Delenn (from Babylon 5).

13. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Does wanting to expand The Black Stallion books as a wee child count? lol Not much of that was written save for world building ideas but there was a great oral tradition of telling stories to my friends. Otherwise...maybe a tie between Star Wars and Highlander. Star Wars was a love since I was super young but the writing bug didn’t hit me until around the same time Highlander was a thing as well.

14. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written? You rearrange me till I’m sane for sure. Though Torch Song, if it were finished, would be tied I imagine (I suck at picking favorites). Honorable mention to Puck Luck and Indelible. Tagging: I have seen this like a million times (okay 5) so I feel like everyone has been tagged already that I know. But...I guess... @vexbatch @crazycatt71 @heartonfirewrites and @disruptedvice sorry if anyone has been tagged before.

[unspuncreature]

haven’t worked much on any WIPs in a few days because I’ve been so busy but I have a few hours of free time here and there now that I’m not working and I’m hoping that sharing a sizable snippet will motivate me to keep writing !!!

this is from a piece I haven’t really talked about before. it’s a 5+1 piece as it stands right now but I think it might be turning into more of a 6 or 7 +1 piece. I can’t decide if I want to post chapter by chapter or as one long oneshot lol. I think if it starts to go much further over the 8k mark im gonna have to chop it into smaller portions

ANYWAY here’s some pre-slash obikin pain and yearning to sate y’all until I can get my life together enough to update my WIPs or publish smthn. please feel free to let me know what you think !!! I love feedback

cw for mild sexual themes a very brief canon typical description of injury and death

Anakin stares at the ceiling, fingers knit over his chest, until he can hear Padmé’s quiet snores beside him. He peels back the blankets with utmost care, delicately tucking them back in before waving his hand over the door panel and padding out to pace the dark cavern of the living room.

He starts, following a strip of light filtering in through the blinds as it stretches across the sunken floor, stretching out and out and out to the half-moon couch in the formal sitting area.

He stops.

There is a chip in the corner of the coffee table.

It’s small, really. Hardly noticeable. It does not take away from the beauty of the piece, Anakin thinks, though he was never one to get caught up in the little details. Padmé says that it is a rich stained wood, strong and solid, carved by hand and imported from the old growth forests of the lake country. Not a true antique, she says, but a very convincing replica, as authentic as money can buy, and now there is a chip in the corner of the leg of the great low table. The splinter exposes only a few millimeters of the dry meat of the wood, then splits its hairline fracture down the seam of a fissure. From the right angle, in the dark, with only the lights of traffic outside blinking in through the bay of the balcony, it disappears entirely into the natural grooves around it.

Anakin wonders how much weight it might bear before the leg finally snaps and sends its spray of splinters into the soft buff carpet below.

He wonders if there is a universe in which he too is soft. In which his fingers don’t plant bruises into the delicate skin of his wife’s throat as he pistons their bodies into one because she asks it of him. In which he doesn’t have to hold his own men in his arms as the essence of their life siphons out of them in rivulets of red because his republic asks it of him. In which he doesn’t have to smother the air from the corrupted lungs of alleyway pimps and backwater slavers because the ink black essence of the Force inside him demands it of him. In which he doesn’t have to plant himself between the end of a blaster cannon and his master’s fallible tender mortal body because Anakin demands it of himself.

His personal holoprojector at the center of the table hums and blinks its blue light where it lays discarded with the rest of his clothing. The black dragon inside him snaps its hungry jaws at his heart.

There are only three people who would call so late, and one of them is sleeping soundly in the room behind him. If he stretches his awareness just a little, he can feel the lassitude of her presence, a contentment that only ever seems to be brought upon by sleep.

That leaves two.

Anakin scrubs his flesh hand down his face before he drops to the couch with a sigh, staring down the blinking light of the holo like he can intimidate the call into dropping. He’s not sure he has the energy or the presence of mind at this hour to help Ahsoka cram for her materials science exam. It’s tomorrow, he knows, because she had so very helpfully reminded him with a bat of her lashes that said I know it’s not your fault that I haven’t been studying, but I am definitely going to make it your problem. Like Padawan like Master.

Resigned, Anakin scoots the device closer to the edge of the table and accepts the call.

The blue-tinted projection of his former master blinks back at him.

Even through the fizzling lines of the holo, Anakin can make out that worried scowl that Obi-Wan seems to wear like a uniform. He’s still clad in his robes, too, which in and of itself wouldn’t be strange if dawn wasn’t still hours from breaking. It’s only when he tracks Obi-Wan’s gaze to where it’s fixed on the bare expanse of his chest left uncovered by his thin night robe that Anakin realizes he’s supposed to say something.

“Uh,” he says thickly, clearing his throat as he folds his arms over his chest. “The meeting ran a little late, I take it.”

“That’s quite an understatement,” Obi-Wan says, though not unkindly. His expression softens. “But yes.” For a moment, Anakin thinks he might say something else, but he just just purses his lips and crosses his arms, mirroring Anakin’s posture, probably without even thinking about it. It’s kind of sweet.

Anakin moves to break the awkward silence between them. “Master, why did–“

“We’re being sent to Corellia.”

Anakin blinks.

“What? We haven’t even been back a full day.”

“Yes, well, you and I know better than most that war does not stop to give us a break, regardless of how well-deserved it might be.”

Anakin stops himself from turning on instinct to look over the back of the couch towards the closed door of the bedroom, but not before Obi-Wan catches the suggested movement in the tilt of his shoulders.

His old master quirks a brow. “Surely any prior engagements can stand to wait for you to return.”

And Anakin can’t help the panicked flush that heats his face at that, can’t help the dangerous swoop of his stomach. Surely Obi-Wan doesn’t know, right? At least, he’d never been so forward with Anakin about it before, if one could call Obi-Wan’s particularly evasive brand of subversiveness forward. As far as Anakin can remember, Obi-Wan hasn’t mentioned it once. Not when Anakin had failed to return to the temple until the next morning morning after his knighting ceremony with fat purple hickeys peeking out over the high collar of his tunics. Not when Anakin had fled from the temple hangar only moments after touching down for the first time following a two month siege that had flung them across the deserts of arid moons, nor when he finally returned a full day later wearing the same outfit he’d left in, freshly laundered, his curls still incriminatingly dark and damp from a real water shower.

“It’s–“ he starts, suddenly unable to meet Obi-Wan’s piercing gaze. “I– Of course, I mean–“

[allycryz]

41. “Oh, [deity/expletive], do that again.” for Nerys x Emet-Selch

Oh hey it's actually giving me save draft options on asks now! And it ports over the italics!

5.0 Spoilers, set before the Mt. Gulg dungeon. Not sure if this one if canon–figuring some things out about that whole section–but it lives in the Nerys canon.

Rate E for eggsplicit, some angst

He approaches in that insouciant way he likes. Just as he had yesterday at the base of the ladder; with his musings and observations. This time his smile is dangerous and far closer to the Emet of the past few weeks than the almost-vulnerable man who appeared before.

“Well well, look at you.”

Nerys dissipates the spell in her hand, the other curling tighter about her maple stave. It is a beginner's tool, purchased furtively in the Musica Universalis. A far cry from the elm crook she’d carved herself not long before she gave up on conjury.

“He was right,” Emet continues. He comes to a stop before her, standing as she sits on the ground with her back against a large striated boulder. “If I recall…’my beloved is a woman of many talents. Mistress of the Lance, Wielder of the Awl, Goddess of the Needle-’”

“So you were watching.” He opens his mouth to remind her yet again of his proclivities and she waves a hand to forestall it. Miraculously, he allows it. “You’ve been so scarce since we came to Kholusia I feared we’d become too tedious.”

“Your group as a collective? Often. You in particular? Rarely.”

Nerys snorts. “Thank you, you’re too kind.”

Emet continues looming over her with an expectant look. If she stands to meet him it would feel like a concession. Staying where she is...well, it ceded the high ground but is the better option. Especially when he seems to be in one of his fey moods. “You might materialize some time, actually introduce yourself to Haurchefant.”

“All in good time. Especially if you banish the dreadful light from this place.” He flourishes a hand at the horrifically bright sky and it hurts her eyes to follow the gesture. “This place offers very little shade. Inconsiderate of you, not to do all your heroics in Rak’tika.”

This is comfortable ground. Better than him asking about her activities or the strange place they’d been the last time they coupled–he holding her (and Thancred) at arm’s length even as he debauched them thoroughly. “That’s twice now you’ve braved the eldritch light to speak with me. I’m touched.”

“As I said, you are rarely boring. Now back to the matter at hand. Are your magical abilities as strong as your devotion to the Needle and Skillet? I myself have only witnessed your wind cantrips here and there.”

“I’m surprised you can’t tell, with your mastery of the art.”

“Mm. Well you’ve had some training but…” He tuts. “The structure of your magic is–if I may be honest–rather rushed and lacking. What do they teach in Gridania these days?”

“They are fine teachers,” she says with a furrowed brow. “But I decided to pursue the lance instead.”

“Not your taste?”

“Not my strength. Aetherwork yes, spellcasting and shaping no.” She shakes her head. “But I have been ordered to rest so...I thought I’d try it again to kill time.”

Technically the order of events is a little different than what she portrays. Blessedly, Emet takes offense with the latter half of her tale. “Is that what my art is to you, my dear? A distraction for you to while away the hours?"

“Oh no.” Nerys’ lips twitch. “Because that would insult my comrades as well. You deserve only the most custom and tailored attacks on your person.”

“Truly a Warrior and a Saint.” Emet at last takes pity on her squinting eyes and the hand shading against the sun. He sinks into a crouch with his elbows on his knees, hands dangling between his legs. It’s a shame sunlight bothers him because he looks radiant in it. “Set down your stave.”

“I need a conduit.”

“Mm. You are going to support your spell on your own to fully harness your mind to the task. Let us see if that does not help you.”

“Yes, Master Emet-Selch.”

His smile is lascivious. “Would that you called me so when last I ravished you."

“If you manage to get me to cast magic without my stave? I might consider it using it next time.”

“Such little faith,” he purrs. He shifts, resting his hands light upon her outstretched shins. “Go on then.”

Nerys suspects her wind magic is always successful because a dragoon is a creature of the air and its currents. She need only pull from the element wrapped about her. But Emet had come upon her attempting a sleep spell and he will know if she tries something else. The other domains–earth, fire, and so on–are not easy for her either. What can she pull upon without the stave channeling raw elemental magic into resources?

“Was everyone capable of magic?” She asks, buying herself the time to get centered. “Before, when the world was unsundered.”

Surprise flickers over his face a moment. He smooths it over, affecting the mien of an indulgent professor about to lecture. “Essentially, yes. Some excelled more than others, and in Am-...in the city I dwelled, we made especial study of it."

That first syllable reverberates through her. The light is gone, her dilemma is gone, the beginnings of thirst from sitting in the sun fades away–all she wants is to hear the name of the city. And the intensity of that need is greater than she has ever felt in her life, even for a needful being such as herself.

“Tell me-”

“We had different talents to be sure.” Emet continues, the faint presence of steel under his words as he takes control of the conversation. “Hardly any like me, with an affinity for the very lifestream from which I saved your friend. Others could manipulate the elements as easily as they breathed, outclassing your mortal thaumaturges. And some created their own way…”

His eyes go distant. The lecturer, the man determined not to be interrupted, crumbles in reverie. Nerys dares not breathe. This is yet another facet of Emet new to her–softer than that first night, his pale gold eyes warm, his mouth relaxed.

“She married her magic to her affinity for the sword. You might call it red magery but that pales in comparison to what she could do.”

He looks at her but she does not think he sees her. Bit by bit, his eyes focus and he pulls himself back to Kholusia; the hot, dry air; the dazzling sky. “Shame on you, tricking me into waxing poetic to put off demonstrating your magic. Get on with it and perhaps I won’t demand retribution.”

"And your hands? Are those to be a reward?"

"Depending, perhaps. Or a punishment."

Nothing for it. She spikes her aether to start a spell. The magic in the world–she sees it and tugs at it best as she can, providing her own energy when it does not come to her hand. Haurchefant has talked at length about his forays into thaumaturgy. He and Alphinaud oft compare notes about the differences in their spellcasting-

His flexing fingers on her legs make every detail of those talks fly out of her head. What appears in her hands is formless and leaden at the same time, easily dissipated by a gesture–one of his aether hands, she realises. The ones he only brings out for more amorous situations.

“Who was she? The woman who married sword and magic?” Nerys asks, distracting away from her failure.

"Weave a spell correctly and I may tell you more."He leans forward and kisses the tip of her nose. "You my dear, have a brain that craves focus against the tide of thoughts and second guesses. That single-minded determination when you wield a lance...we must find how to get you there with magic."

"It is the vulnerability of it," she says with not a little exasperation. "I cannot snap my fingers and have magic perform my will. I need to stop in the flow of battle to create the spell and hope I am either quick enough or can withstand the blows that come my way."

"Plenty manage and they are not the resilient Warrior of Light or Darkness."

“I’m well aware. You said it yourself–I have a mind given to racing thoughts without something to keep it occupied.”

“Thus our current situation.” His hands creep higher up her leather-clad thighs. “Now...you love when I praise you in the bedroom. But outside of it? The fear of failure oft drives you. Two sides of the precious coin that you are.”

She swallows, trying to pretend he hasn’t read her utterly. And that he isn’t stroking purposefully now, fingertips grazing over the laces of her pants.

“Hm.”

"As always, your eyes give you away." He purrs. "Trying so very hard to not admit how right I am."

“I-I thought-” She widens her legs a hair and those swirling black and purple aether hands pin her thighs in place. “This was a magic lesson.”

"Mastery of magic and the mind are one and the same, hero. It's all about control. Now...if you would please try again…"

She stares into his eyes with her challenge as the magic around her coalesces in her hands. Her triumph lasts all of three seconds before another of those incorporeal hands sinks through her clothes to circle over aching flesh. Nerys’ breath hitches, the spell collapses in on itself in a half-hearted flash of light.

Some of it lingers in the air, making her lips and tongue go numb a few seconds, her eyes droop before she snaps out of it. Nerys manages to frown before his lips are on hers. Nipping lightly at her lower lip. She starts to return the kiss but he pulls back.

“Again,” he says. What feels like the tips of fingers brush against her entrance. “But if you don’t think you can-”

There is no chance of her magic affecting a man of his powers but ferocity propels her. The structure and shape of this iteration has its flaws but it feels like better. It would serve him right if she did put him to sleep and left him here-

Those tantalizing aether fingers press into her, a near-incorporeal thumb ghosts over her center. Nerys rocks against the sensation with a low, helpless sound pouring from her throat.

“Barely passable,” he says. “But a small improvement.”

She reaches for his shoulders, whining when the motion between her legs slows and stops. “Oh gods. Do that again.”

“You would be better served praying to me, my dear.” He laughs. “Though I am no more merciful than your gods or your Hydaelyn. But I do offer an actual path to salvation.”

Nerys tries to cause her own friction and isn’t surprised when more hands arrive to pin her down. He only laughs at her, white teeth gleaming in the bright sun and eyes dark. “I almost want you to fail, pet. You’re quite-”

The magic flashes out of her in a rush, without thought, without concentration, with nothing but instinct. It is the closest magic has ever felt to using her lance The spell is imperfect as always–she sees the poor construction–but it hits him full in the face.

His nose twitches, his eyes blink, he stifles a small yawn. Such a spell is not enough against him but it does something and she laughs aloud in triumph. “Don’t test me, Ha-”

The words catch in her throat with a strange sob. Nerys does not know what she was about to say or where it came from. She does not know why she feels so...disconnected and connected to him all at once.

His gold eyes flash and at once she is beneath him: shoulders pinned under his flesh hands as he straddles her core. The aether fingers flex rhythmically against her skin in time with...his heart? Nerys doesn’t know how she knows that, but she does.

“Emet?” She whispers.

There is a near-terrified look in his eyes. And then he kisses her in answer, a plundering so thorough she almost cannot return it in full. Every time they come together he shows her a new side of himself. This time is no different.

The first time: admiration, affection, desire.

The second time: distance, control.

And now: something raw and needful and the tide of him sweeps over her. She groans as his frantic hands work at her trousers, at the clasps of his robes. The aether between her legs moves with purpose to prepare her for him.

“Open your legs for me,” he hisses and her assent is muffled by another overwhelming kiss. Her body obeys at once, pliant beneath him. Just his urgency alone, the way he commands her, is enough to get her slick even without-

Her head jerks to the side and she curses at the sensation of fingers pumping into her. She expects a laugh but he shushes her instead, stroking her cheek. Pressing gentle lips at her brow even as his aether is replaced by him; hard, needy, filling her.

Emet holds her tight as he thrusts into her; all desperate sounds rather than teasing eloquence. His breath is harsh in her ears, his gloved fingers pressed tight into her skin, and he swallows every one of her desperate noises.

Whatever change has sparked in him, this is no longer about teasing her. He needs her, needs this, and she doesn’t care how this ends for her as long as he is helped-

His hand slips between them as if he hears her thoughts and she chokes on a sob. Shudders beneath the insistent pressure of his hand. It's almost too much to bear. And he does not back away but rocks and touches until she babbles his name–the one she has always called him–and digs her hands into the dirt. He seizes one, gripping it tight as he comes with a broken sound.

Nerys closes her eyes in the aftershocks. Above, the light burns through her eyelids with only his body providing some shade.

“Th-there," says Emet, breath interrupting his words. "A reward for a better spell."

"Emet." He looks so lost. The quip is only so effective without his usual haughty mien. She touches his cheek and he’s the one to close his eyes, as if savoring the feel of her.

He sits up slow. Seizes her hand to kiss the dirt-smudged knuckles. "I've been discourteous, after you told me you're on strict orders to rest. Do forgive me.:”

“Emet,” she says again. “What has you so scared?”

His laugh is soft and humorless. "When you are as old as me, hero, you will be scared of everything."

He does not expand and he sets them to rights with a flicker of magic. Any evidence is gone from her body and the ache of the light feels lessened now, from the cooling touch of his dark aether.

"Nerys," he says and she startles. Has he ever said her name before? Her mind is so overwhelmed by how he says those syllables–it must be the first time. He says her name like a prayer. Perhaps the first one he has offered in eons to someone not Zodiark.

"Nerys," he says again. "Master the light with all the focus in that fierce mind of yours."

“I...will.”

"Good." He stands. "...When I see you again, it will be when the last warden falls."

"I'll see you then," she says with a nod.

He is gone without preamble, without a farewell, without a kiss. And Nerys is left to wonder.

[herrwagner]

[Hi there! So, I've really been enjoying your long-term corruption arc on Krakoa with Dis/goreverine. Any spoilers or thoughts you're willing to share about that? No pressure! I'm really on board with Krakoa taking a dive into the horror genre because it's seriously just begging to be written.]

Hi! I would answer this privately but I know for a fact there are more people that wanna know, so I hope you don’t mind x: But that said let’s do a lil deep dive!

And a small disclaimer like this all very much a work in progress, it is all very dynamic and can be changed when things more fitting are figured out and so on. It’s a thing. 

Also this can you know... contain triggers so it will be under a cut for safety’s sake! Also it’s gonna be looong.

So first things first: I am so happy you like it and sent this! Truly over the moon so like thank you so so much for letting me go off an ramble. I will probably be enjoy this more than anyone else so let’s go!

It’s not so much corruption as it is just letting base instincts be a more prominent part of things. The whole embrace your nature aspect is very big on Krakoa, and I don’t see that lessening over the years. For Kurt, being of Neyaphem decent. that very much comes down to embracing a more demonic side that he has been pushing hard to keep away from himself up until now. 

Before Krakoa Kurt has made a very big point of not associating with Azazel more than he has to, and that includes denying a lot of himself, a lot of his heritage. simply to easier handle who he himself is as a person. Getting to Krakoa is like getting force feed with having to dive deep and embrace it whether he likes it or not. 

It looks a lot like Kurt may well be spiraling because of getting there, but it started slowly already when he gave up his immortal soul. Krakoa is just a fair ground where he can explore it and adapt without judgment, which honestly is what’s been holding him back the most the whole time. Wanting to fit in is so important to Kurt, and being as different as he is makes fitting in pretty damn hard. So while getting to Krakoa is a culture shock in a sense it is also very reliving and helpful.

Then we have the whole rebirth aspect. Since you basically get reborn as soon as you’ve been confirmed as dead on Krakoa, it is a pretty big part of how they live. Death doesn’t have the consequence it did before and all that. The interesting part to remember is how canon stated that each rebirth furthers a mutation slightly ( about 4 % on Krakoa, and a lot more on Arakko ). 

Because Kurt’s mutation is a very visual kind it shows very clearly on him how that affects him. Most obviously it shows in his appearance. How it over time change his features, fur getting a slightly different texture, the nails becoming more like claws, the teeth getting a lot bigger, his eyes going from reflecting like ( like that on a feline ) to actually glowing with hellfire, starting to grow horns, etc. The list is very long and it’s just small subtle shift for each rebirth, but over the years there are a lot of rebirths which means a lot of change.

I specifically hc that Kurt has two deaths and ultimately two rebirths happening from Arakko which means he has two instances of very very big changes. Those are the times you basically trade a kitten for a panther in changes. 20 years into it, some Krakoa rebirth and the two from Arakko. and Kurt looks very different. He’s gotten taller with about two inches. He has a lot sharper angles to his face and whole body structure. The claws are full out claws, like you can’t mistake those for nails anymore. There is an ever present scent of sulfur about him, like it seems to come from inside him. Looking him in the eye and his eyes look like they are burning on the inside. He grows large ram like horns, they’re not perfectly symmetrical but it really lends itself well to the whole aesthetic Kurt is going for by then.

So that is all that looks go. Now the mutation as far as abilities goes this is interesting and something I haven’t thought too much about. But either way Kurt will never get his immortal soul back, meaning he is very HARD to kill. He’s pretty much close to immortal, meaning the times he has died and been reborn it’s been pretty extreme circumstances. The teleportation isn’t as limited anymore, and cross dimension teleportation isn’t even hard to manage by then. just to give you an idea of what I’ve been thinking for it.

Now Kurt himself as a person hasn’t change all that much, funnily enough. He is still very kind, he will listen to anyone and be there for them. None of this is different. The difference is that the social structure of how Krakoa works is something Kurt has evolved with. He has a lot of patience, yes. but in the right company he has no patience because that is how certain groups have structured their social standards. In some groups violence speaks louder, and Kurt will take part in it. He is embracing all parts of Krakoa, because it is very much part of his job as spiritual leader and High Priest.

What he didn’t plan on is this part that enjoy the most; Kurt certainly sat out on the mission of figuring out how religion could still fit in to society of Krakoa. He isn’t the only one to leave his religion behind in the human world, and needed something else to help find a steadier footing in this new world. He was however not planning on accidentally becoming a central figure of this new “religion” and some kind of semi mortal manifestation of divinity to mutant kind.

Yes I’m talking about Kurt basically becoming mutant kinds Jesus, and it only happened because people listened to him. I imagine that at first Kurt is just one of many people talking about religion and the spiritual differences the Krakoan way of living is compared to that outside of it. But it slowly evolves from him being one of them, to them putting him on a pedestal he has no idea of how to get down from, and it is spiraling quickly. So instead fighting it Kurt is embracing it and doing as best he can by those that look to him for answers and guidance.

Looking to religions they left behind he has a lot of similarities to both Jesus and Lucifer, which is easily transferred to the new belief to have him as a “missing link” between the divine and the mortal. Kurt is well aware he is by no means a deity or any kind of Devine figure. But if people need him to be a saint, a messiah, a leader... he damn well will be the best one he can for their sake. He won’t abandon them, and it also gives him something to care for, something to belong in and feel like he is meant to do. He is in short happy to do it.

Because of how elevated he becomes because of this, aka with how people view him and ultimately treat him he is basically becoming a cult leader in a sense, for lack of better term. He will touch those that feel like it will help them in whatever way. He will hear them, see them, speak to them. He is devoted to be what they need him to be.

Now as far as that looks is interesting, and I am glad you asked. Once Kurt starts growing horns they don’t stop growing, however they have to start from zero each time he is reborn. Which means for weeks he is walking around with a bleeding head as the horns have to come out. The blood from this is generally viewed as a blessing to somehow get, much like all of Kurt’s blood but this is more like a ceremony to be worthy of getting in on if you will. He can bleed pretty heavily and has at times been blinded by his own blood getting in his eyes. 

Once the bleeding stop it’s another whole ceremony of carving the horns with their new holy symbols. Generally Daken ( @goreverine ) helps with this as the knife used for it is made from one of Daken’s claws. The horns does bleed during this but it doesn’t hurt Kurt. Most commonly he also has two or three trinkets hanging from one of the horns when they’re done.

On accident Daken also managed to impale Kurt’s hands on his claws ( yes they had sex, yes Kurt asked for it, and no neither one considered the consequences ). And yes this escalated even more the view people had of Kurt as a holy figure as now it was like seeing him being Christ with the wounds in his palms. There are a lot of similar things going, that can very logically be explained. But you try to be logical to a group of people that want a Devine explanation and want to run with it. Kurt as simply stopped trying to explain and just let them do their own assumptions of what he is and looks like. Wounds included.

So uhm... this got long but hi ask away c: I love to talk about this

[procrastinationonvacation]

It’s the anon again! I loved your rambling about Russingon! If I may, would you like to do the same for Daemags? (Or another ship, I’m really not fussy)

hmm...Daemags… two options:

Crack: enemies to lovers in .01 k words. (They’d like it to be a angsty slow burn, but both are too prone to dramatic declarations/speeches for anything longer. They’re like Hamlet, and are very aware they’re in a play. They just don’t realize its a crack play)

The other one would be a slow thing in the second and or third age and it’s actually really interesting to me. A narrative where they learn to be part of society again, to accept they’ve done wrong that they cannot undo (A certain M named person’s done a considerable amount more wrong but hey thats not the point) but realizing they have to move forwards anyways.

But wait! you say, Daeron didn’t choose to leave, he got lost. That’s valid, but I really don’t see how someone can get *that* lost in their own forest without choosing to. So I imagine that he went into the forest searching for his sister, and on his way back thought about the shame and grief of his family and it just seemed easier to exile himself, and to disappear rather than face that.

Now I’m not saying big grand redemption arc cause idk those often get cheesy. Nor am i saying “oh its been a long time so we’re good now.” Just,, Daemags ensuring that the later half of their lives creates a positive influence (big or small), I’m saying they help eachother let go of the grand aspirations from the past and maybe eventually face up to the consequences of their actions (again Maglor’s got some more actions to have consequences for but tbh at this point im not interested in what they’ve done, I’m interested in the guilt they harbor that so completely removed what could have been 2 very powerful entities from the later narrative)

-

Thanks for the ask, Anon! (gonna name u… Captain Anon!)

Also no worries about asking too much stuff, if I need a break I’ll just not answer for a bit XD    and I’m so hyped to talk about the Nerds next ask.

ok so clarification point on Daeron: I’m on the canon that he’s Luthien’s brother because it provides me lots of space for projection, which is also why things might not smell very canon in this post.

Anyways Daeron’s is really interesting to me once I’ve over projected and made a ton up: I imagine his pov going something like “ok there’s this dude my sister’s infatuated with and like,, first of all no.” (and yeah there’s jealousy involved here too, idk maybe he’s thinking that’s his sibling, and she’s supposed to hang out with him, not some mortal) Then she wants to go on the quest designed to kill the mortal?? So yes, once again appealing to the higher authority here. And lo and behold it works out even worse than last time. Fine fine time to be Helpful. Then he dissappears into the woods. Eventually he gets the news Luthien’s dead, and like maybe a little part of him that he hates is like ‘haha i was right she shouldn’t have dated that guy’ but mostly it’s like ‘hey if I’d stayed at court would she still be alive’ 

[haec-est-fides]

Filodox’s Trials of Apollo Reactions [Part I]

Welcome to part one of a reflective journey through Trials of Apollo ft. my original ebook annotations! I’ll be your host, 2020!filodox.

For this first episode, we’ll be going back to May 2016, the beginning of it all: The Hidden Oracle.

Annotations for this round are brought to you by 2016!filodox.

Is there anything we should know before we begin, 2016!me?

2016!filodox: I swore on the Styx never to read another Riordan book after he killed Octavian. And yet here we are.

... Alright then! Let’s get started.

But first, a more detailed overview on how this series will work: I will excerpt bits and pieces of the books based on what I highlighted / annotated on my first read. Beneath each quote, I will share what I wrote in the annotation. Below that, I will (occasionally) laugh at my past self, clarify the note, or say how my view has changed.

I encourage questions, comments, and concerns (of which there may be many), so go ahead and use that replies feature if you feel so inclined! However, these are just my opinions and (occasionally) emotional reactions, so no hate pls. <3 (Or, if you do send hate, pls make it funny.)

Now, diving right in with Riordan’s dedication!

To The Muse Calliope. This is long overdue. Please don’t hurt me.

2016!filodox: Hurt him. He didn’t even name the chapters.

As you can see, I had yet to experience Lester’s haiku and was already mad based on the table of contents alone. I went into this series very salty...

I inflicted a plague on the Greeks who besieged Troy.

2016!filodox: At least he did something right. Once.

I was just,,,extremely ready to die on Octavian’s hill. (Though I was a huge Troy / Aeneas stan before all this, just to be clear.)

Is anything sadder than the sound of a god hitting a pile of garbage bags?

2016!filodox: I actually find this particular god crashing into a dumpster quite amusing.

I also blamed Apollo for what happened to Octavian. I think that had a lot to do with how Apollo acted on Delos in Heroes of Olympus, basically disowning Octavian and whining about how some “creature” scammed him? That was bullshit. Apollo needed to own the fact that he blessed Octavian, but he just abandoned him and denied all the blame. TL;DR I had a grudge, okay?

My mind stewed in confusion, but one memory floated to the surface -- the voice of my father, Zeus: YOUR FAULT. YOUR PUNISHMENT.

2016!filodox: Wait, is this bc everyone blames Octavian and therefore Apollo? Bc lol but also no?

*cough* Octavian did nothing wrong 2k16 *cough*

Zeus will reconsider, I told myself. He’s just trying to scare me. Any moment, he will yank me back to Olympus and let me off with a warning.

“Yes...” My voice sounded hollow and desperate. “Yes, that’s it.”

2016!filodox: Apollo is a self centered frat boy, I forgot...but it is slightly...endearing? *narrows eyes*

Ah, how close I was to stanning Lester in the first chapter, when he was at his most “goddy”. You know, I actually made a rule for myself when I started reading Trials of Apollo that I would not under any circumstances stan Apollo. That was a naive goal, because it was never really a danger.

Regardless, Zeus had held me responsible for Octavian’s delusions of grandeur. Zeus seemed to consider egotism a trait the boy had inherited from me. Which is ridiculous. I am much too self-aware to be egotistical.

2016!filodox: I am going to Murder him.

*chef kiss* the hypocrisy ! the lack of self-awareness !

“I just...I assumed -- I hoped this would be taken care of by now.”

“You mean by demigods,” Percy said, “going on a big quest to reclaim the Oracle of Delphi?”

2016!filodox: That sounds like a decent quest, or you know, QUESTING FOR THE SIBYLLINE BOOKS

I’ve always said I can see the future but an inch to the left. Also, I don’t like Ella.

It warmed my heart that my children had the right priorities: their skills, their images, their views on YouTube. Say what you will about gods being absentee parents; our children inherit many of our finest personality traits.

2016!filodox: AND HE’S MAD ABOUT OCTAVIAN?!

I mean ?

Apollo, when Austin and Kayla show ambition: THEY GOT THAT FROM ME <3

Apollo, when Octavian (or Nero, or Caligula) shows ambition: srry i don’t know him ??

He had a weak jawline, an overlarge nose, and a beard that wrapped around his double chin like a helmet strap. His hair was curly and dark like mine, except not as fashionably tousled or luxuriant. His lips curled as if he smelled something unpleasant. Perhaps it was the burning seats of the bus.

2016!filodox: Nero ???

Not quite sure how to feel looking back at this moment. Call out post @ myself for instantly recognizing Nero, when afaik this scene was before we had any hints that Roman emperors were even a plot point? But here’s the thing: I don’t remember why I could recognize him so easily. I don’t remember where 2016!me obtained this ancient Rome knowledge. A mystery.

On another note entirely, did Nero really like,,,astral project into Apollo’s fever dream to address him directly? Because Rhea does. And sometimes Python does. But Nero? Can he do that?

The man laughed as flames licked at his purple sleeves. “You’re not sorry yet, but you will be. Find me the gates. Lead me to the Oracle. I’ll enjoy burning it down!”

2016!filodox: I too enjoy burning things down. # Nero confirmed

My only comment here is “oh you sweet summer child,,,”

Oh. Perhaps some of you are wondering how I felt seeing [Will] with a boyfriend rather than a girlfriend.

2016!filodox: No, actually. I wasn’t wondering. I was plotting how to kill you, them, and quite a few other people. Do you think I could trade you for Octavian?

Oh man, back at it again with the salt. XD

I could only remember my conversations with Octavian, the way he’d turned my head with his flattery and promises. That stupid boy...it was his fault I was here.

A voice whispered in the back of my mind. This time I thought it might be my conscience: Who was the stupid boy? It wasn’t Octavian.

2016!filodox: I can’t really...explain my emotions upon reading this. I’m still not quite okay, but this...it’s bittersweet in a way. I don’t know if this is a poor attempt at a proper closure, the author’s way of beating a dead horse, or just a way to make Apollo seem pitiable. Whatever it is... Octavian was important enough to remain in Apollo’s mortal memory. He somehow made promises to a god and had Apollo wrapped around his finger. And despite being so much like Apollo, the god blames him. Like everyone blames him. But Apollo also realizes, accepts on an infinitesimal scale, that “it wasn’t Octavian”. He wasn’t perfect, but neither is Apollo. Apollo is (at least) subconsciously admitting his own guilt in the whole affair.

...yeah. I will note that this bit isn’t meant to develop Octavian, but rather uses Octavian as a prop to support Apollo’s development? Which is why it still stings. Like thanks, I guess.

“Your judgement in the past has been...questionable. I wonder if you have chosen the right tools for this job. Have you learned from your past mistakes?”

2016!filodox: Nero has made plenty of mistakes to learn from

Love how I just assumed it was Nero back in chapter 10 and went with it, zero hesitation. Also love how I heard Python say Nero has made mistakes and went “oh absolutely”. In fact, here’s something funny in retrospect that will become more and more apparent: I did not like Nero in 2016. Or, at least, I thought I didn’t. There’s something really odd going on here that baffles me, looking back...

“A triumvirate is a ruling council of three,” I said. “At least, that’s what it meant in ancient Rome.”

“Which is interesting,” Rachel said, “because of this next shot.” She tapped her screen. The new photo zoomed in on the building’s penthouse terrace, where three shadowy figures stood talking together....

2016!filodox: Is it bad that I’m smirking? Because it’s getting interesting ~ *clear malicious intent*

Wow, edgy. Triumvirates are just a neat, Roman thing and I stanned.

“The last triumvirate I dealt with included Lepidus, Marc Antony, and my son, the original Octavian. A triumvirate is a very Roman concept...like patriotism, skullduggery, and assassination.”

2016!filodox: THIS IS WHAT I’VE BEEN TRYING TO TELL EVERYONE. MODERN OCTAVIAN IS A VERY GOOD ANCIENT ROMAN. POLITICS, ESPECIALLY SHADY AF POLITICS AND POWERPLAYS, ARE QUINTESSENTIALLY ROMAN. Also, I’d like to note that it’s confirmed, in this universe’s canon, that Augustus was a son of Apollo.

Ohhhh, wait. I think I’d watched the HBO series Rome by 2016, which would at least partially explain my ancient Rome knowledge. (Amazing tv show btw!)

“He heard them talking in Latin.”

“Latin? Were they campers?”

Pete spread his hands. “I--I don’t think so. Paulie described them like they were adults. He said one of them was the leader. The other two addressed him as imperator.”

2016!filodox: !!!! (obligatory 💕)

I was such a simp for Latin in high school. And the Roman Empire. Still am, but hey.

“The Beast is planning some kind of attack on your camp. I don’t know what it is, but it’s going to be big.”

2016!filodox: Runs in the family I guess

The Octavian / Triumvirate parallels are everywhere... 👀

“The emperors made themselves gods. They had their own temples and altars. They encouraged the people to worship them.”

2016!filodox: # deify me

*smacking my past self with a stick* You stop that! Edgy child!

Anyway, a much better point here is like,,,the Imperial cult was huge in the ancient Roman world. Looking at Apollo’s explanation here, why did only the “worst” three emperors get to be immortal? Did famously “good” emperors like Augustus and Marcus Aurelius have the option of becoming minor gods, but they chose Elysium or something? Are there slightly less infamous emperors just hanging around anywhere as minor gods? A lot of Roman emperors live on in human memory is all I’m saying.

“Wait!” Will said as I reached the door. “Who is the Beast? Which emperor are we dealing with?”

“The worst of my descendants.” My fingers dug into the doorframe. “The Christians called him the Beast because he burned them alive. Our enemy is Emperor Nero.”

2016!filodox: I honestly can’t believe it took this long to reveal this? Was anyone surprised?

Nero’s reveal is rather late in the book compared to Commodus, Caligula, and even Tarquin iirc? But it makes sense, being the first book of the series. Also love how 16-year-old me was like “this reveal is silly because everyone, like me, recognizes Nero on sight” and didn’t question that assumption at all.

“Germani.” Instinctively, I moved in front of Meg. The elite imperial bodyguards had been cold-blooded death reapers in ancient Rome. I doubted they’d gotten any sweeter over the centuries.

2016!filodox: BITCH. See? This is why I love Rome. They knew what they were doing.

Ngl, as someone of Germanic heritage, I felt really represented by the Germani, which is hilarious on so many levels.

He tried to compensate for his ugliness with an expensive Italian suit of purple wool, his gray shirt open to display gold chains. His shoes were hand-tooled leather, not the sort of thing to wear while stomping around in an ant pile. Then again, Nero had always had expensive, impractical tastes.

2016!filodox: I don’t exactly like Nero, and actually think he was quite the shitty emperor, but I guess I mildly respect and “like” him on principle (in this book at least).

OH YOU SWEET SUMMER CHILD. I was so convinced that I didn’t actually like Nero, despite all of the lowkey evidence to the contrary? Who hurt you, past me? (Lmao, it was Tacitus, Suetonius, and Cassius Dio.) My working theory is that I was too much of an Emperor Augustus stan at the time to admit liking Nero. It’s hysterical. Look at me equivocating like a champ.

I’d been so proud of my son, the original Octavian, later Caesar Augustus. After his death, his descendants became increasingly arrogant and unstable (which I blamed on their mortal DNA; they certainly didn’t get those qualities from me).

2016!filodox: I’m glad Apollo and I can agree on something. Augustus was amazing and those who came after him...significantly less so.

See! The propaganda really got to me, what can I say?

Nero clasped his hands as if in prayer. “Oh, my. It seems we’ve had a slight miscommunication. You see, Apollo, Meg brought you here, just as I asked her to. Well done, my sweet.”

2016!filodox: This was obvious but I still find it...gods, the only word I can think of is “delicious”

. . .

“The Beast killed my father. This is Nero. He’s -- he’s my stepfather.”

I could not fully grasp this before Nero spread his arms.

“That’s right, my darling,” he said. “And you’ve done a wonderful job. Come to Papa.”

2016!filodox: Okay, but we should have known this since it became apparent her weapons were Roman. Also, oof. Also also, WHY did Riordan feel the need to add that last line? Why?

ASDFGHJKL: I CAN’T

“After the fire, we’ll rebuild,” he said. “It will be glorious!”

2016!filodox: The amount of times I have used this very logic is worrying.

For (some) context, Firelord Ozai is my favorite character from AtLA. <3

The scene might have been funny except that the Germani were now back on their feet, five demigods and a geyser spirit were still tied to highly flammable posts, and Nero still had a box of matches.

2016!filodox: Oh, I find this plenty amusing!

The emperor stared at his empty hand. “Meg...?” His voice was as cold as an icicle.

2016!filodox: The various ways his tone / voice have been described throughout this conversation are just 💕

*looks at camera like I’m on The Office*

Seriously, though. Nero’s voice is like the central descriptive element of his character because he’s so manipulative. It’s really cool and a great use of detail.

[Meg] turned to Nero. “You told me never to lower myself to my enemies’ level.”

“No, indeed.” Nero’s tone had frayed like a weathered rope. “We are better. We are stronger. We will build a glorious new world. But these nonsense-spewing trees stand in our way, Meg. Like any invasive weeds, they must be burned. And the only way to do that is with a true conflagration -- flames stoked by blood.”

2016!filodox: Real 👏🏻 Gods 👏🏻 Require 👏🏻 Blood👏🏻

I was way too enthusiastic about this whole situation, wasn’t I?

Nero grinned. “Good-bye, Apollo. Only eleven more Olympians to go.”

2016!filodox: Wait, shit, WHAT

Having read Tower of Nero, this probably had something to do with Python interfering with the Fates, huh? But does that mean it’s more Python’s plan or Nero’s? If this was Nero’s plan (with his 12 kids literally replacing the Olympians) that’s,,,really fucking bold.

Then I heard the screaming from Camp Half-Blood.

2016!filodox: Music to my ears ~

I’m presenting every edgy detail of my annotations so I have a proper case file when I inevitably have to face the question “On a scale of one to ten, how relatable is Emperor Nero and why should you have realized it’s a ten sooner?”

In a flash of silver light, the camp’s magical barriers collapsed. The Colossus lurched forward and brought his foot down on the dining pavilion, smashing it to rubble like so many children’s blocks.

2016!filodox: Payback! Dear gods, I can’t stop smiling! I’m just like “YES!” I know this will all probably get fixed or whatever but I’M HAVING A MOMENT.

I’ve learned to appreciate the small wins. <3

Percy grabbed one of the crown’s sunray spikes. He sliced it off at the base, then jabbed it into the Colossus’ forehead.

2016!filodox: As much as Nero is FAR from my favorite, I really don’t like defacing ancient (or replicas of ancient) statues and art...

This is where I just start laughing at myself tbh. I was so insistent on not liking Nero. Like, I sound like I’m in denial. Peak equivocation. What happened to that heart emoji a few chapters back? Why did I suddenly make it about *checks notes* ancient art? Updated translation: nooo don’t ruin the Colossus Neronis it’s so sexy aha

Just as the [arrow] reached its apex and was about to fall back to earth, a gust of wind caught it...perhaps Zephyros looking kindly on my pitiful attempt. The arrow sailed into the Colossus’ ear canal and rattled in his head with a clink, clink, clink like a pachinko machine.

2016!filodox: HOW MANY EX MACHINAS IS THIS ?! The dryads, the arrow, Percy, the enchantment, and THIS ?

One of my criticisms of Trials of Apollo in general is just that the stakes are so much higher and Riordan usually solves that problem by having his heroes win on long odds. The chances of them succeeding at like,,,anything they attempt are astronomical, but of course they manage. It’s not surprising but it does get a little tiring.

“Yo, Nico,” Leo called, “please tell me that’s it for the physical abuse.”

“For now.” Nico smiled. “We’re still trying to get in touch with the West Coast. You’ll have a few dozen people out there who will definitely want to hit you.”

2016!filodox: Oh I’d love to hit him. With the flaming, Imperial gold payload of an onager. Preferably WITHOUT the Pontifex Maximus attached to it -- unless of course you mean the false pontifex, Jason Grace.

Leo was the salt in the wound for this one, ngl. He rekindled my undying ire over Octavian’s death. As I said at the beginning of this, I was extremely ready to die on Octavian’s hill after Heroes of Olympus. That sentiment sticks around for a while...

And we can call that a wrap!

Though it may seem like it, my annotations are not, in fact, a compilation of Nero’s greatest hits. There are a lot of scenes of his that I love (naturally) but I didn’t have anything to say about them when I first read the series. Maybe I’ll share those another time.

In any case, I hope you got something out of this ridiculously long post! Until next time! <3