#you thought it wise to challenge me in my domain?

[rodserlingofficial]

Imagine if you will... I kill you with a gun. Imagine that, nerd. Tune in text time for more mind-boggling siteeations on... THE MIDNIGHT AREA

Unfortunately for you, dear viewer... A world beyond, of thought and mind Lessons wait for you to find Story uncovered and tale now known Domain Expansion: Twilight Zone

[muxshwriting]

talk

Anakin Skywalker x reader (Orpheus and Eurydice retelling)

summary: the greatest love story ever told, that's simultaneously the most tragic || summary: angst, main character death, a lot of death || word count: 1773 || masterlist

There have been many great love stories throughout the centuries, but none were more famous than the tragic tale of Anakin Skywalker and his wife, Y/N. And it begins with her death.

The urge began with a voice pounding at the back of his mind from the moment he had found your body. With every second it grew louder and louder until it was sounding off like a cannon in his brain.

"I'm going to the underworld."

It was a short and direct statement.

Obi-Wan's face paled. "You can't be serious Anakin! That's reckless and dangerous. You're writing your own death warrant."

"I'm rewriting hers." He argued.

"This is insanity!" Obi-Wan cried.

Anakin turned away. "Don't try and stop me. I'm going either way."

His mind was set, there was no change Obi-Wan would be able to find. He walked for days and nights, battling against those who tried to stop him on his journey. Nothing would stop him from getting to you.

The darkness didn’t bother Anakin as he walked, his eyes were set on a goal far ahead. All he could think was that you were alone and probably scared. He needed to get to you. No one had made this journey before, it had been fabled but never done. His journey seemed never ending but Anakin persevered, kept his head down, his plan secret.

On the nights when all hope seemed lost, when the thoughts echoed through his head and told him he couldn’t save you, he push on. It was your voice that rang through his head the mornings after those thoughts. It was a simple whisper, a murmur that you were walking with him and waiting for him on the other side, that you loved him and always would.

After a forever of walking, Anakin was standing outside the gates to the underworld. His journey here had been challenging but to travel through the underworld would be nigh on impossible.

His eyes were trained to the ground as he ignored the screams of damned souls and the cries of condemned asking for salvation. Every step meant he was closer to you, every step was a step closer to your freedom. His hood stayed drawn over his head and his robe was wrapped tightly around him. His lightsaber would be useless here and so he didn’t even bother having it easy to hand. Drawing a weapon in Hades’ domain wouldn’t be wise, anyone could tell you that.

The halls of the Underworld were enormous, rising above his head to the heavens with pits of fire. Hades sat upon his throne, watching the young Jedi enter his halls and slowly approach.

"Anakin Skywalker." He sneered slightly.

Anakin found the courage to meet the King’s eyes. He noticed the slight redness to them no one had discussed before. Beside him sat his wife, Persephone, on a throne of her own, looking like she owned the Underworld. Or course, she did but no one would say that in front of Hades. Even if they did, he would probably agree before ending their life.

"What brings the Chosen One to my domain?" Hades asked but Anakin knew better than to answer. "The Hero with No Fear has come to beg me for a soul, no?"

Persephone reached over and placed a gentle hand on her husband’s arm. He met her eyes and instantly softened.

"My wife has taken a liking to you boy. Perhaps you will entertain me for a while."

Anakin swallowed his fear and stood a little straighter, "I come here seeking my love, she was taken too soon, as many are. But she deserved a better life than what she was given. And I didn’t care if they called me crazy, if there was a chance I could get her that life, I was going to try." He took the chance to read their expressions for a moment. Persephone looked proud while Hades seemed perplexed. He continued, "When she’s with me, my world is complete, because it is her. I dread to think the kind of person I would be if she was not beside me and I fear for my future without her alive. My heart will darken and grow evil without her light to ward to away the shadows."

"Go on…"

"I walked here, my head to the ground, my name unspoken. I walked through the Underworld for the chance to see my wife and hold her in my arms once more. Perhaps she has passed on, choosing a greater life than what I could provide. But even if I came her in vain and I never leave again, I know I tried. I did not sit idly and ponder what might have been, I tried even if I fail. I have nothing to lose because she was everything and I lost her."

Hades was silent as two guards entered the hall and began to drag Anakin away. He let himself be taken, refusing to look away from the rulers face. He watched as Hades put his head in his hand. Persephone comforted him, reaching a hand for his face and her other for his. Then the doors slammed shut and Anakin was left with his thoughts once more.

He lost count of the number of steps he was dragged down, the people he passed. But then there was a cage surrounded by a dozen others all empty except one. A cage with you inside.

His strength returned and he had freed himself in an instant running to you with a shout of your name. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

You couldn’t believe your eyes. Anakin, your Anakin was standing in front of you in the Underworld. He had journeyed to the Underworld for you.

"Yes! I’m alright, what are you doing here?"

"Bringing you home."

"Anakin-"

The cage between you two barely mattered as you pressed your lips to his between the bars. You hand intertwined with one another, holding on as tightly as you could. You had lost each other once, you would not lose each other again so easily.

"I love you." You confess. You’d said it to him many time before but never with such reverence as you did now. "I love you Anakin Skywalker."

Anakin’s eyes shined with tears, "It’s a long journey back, dangerous and cold."

"I’ll walk with you every step of the way." You promised. "You’ll never be alone."

Behind Anakin, Hades had arrived, his Queen only a few steps behind. Tentatively he turned to them, his hands still gripping yours. "Can we leave?"

In truth, Hades had no answer. He had come down the deepest dungeons to talk with you and Anakin and he had done so without an answer.

If he said no, he was just as heartless as the tales say he is. He would have no compassion for a man and his wife and the love they shared. He would be a hypocrite and his own wife would never quite forgive him. If he said yes, he would be doing something never done before. He had no moral code, no rules for the Underworld. He would be governing a lawless realm where people could come and go as they pleased.

He was damned either way.

The reality was this: Hades would let them go under the conditions he would set. Yes, he would be a forgiving and understanding King who knew the perfect punishment for any who demanded anything of him. Anakin Skywalker, the leader would walk ahead of his wife all the way out of the Underworld. And if he looked back to check she was following, she would be dragged back down into the depths.

She is out of sight, he is out of his mind. Anakin would foolishly agree, doing anything to have her back, not realising what he’s truly agreed to.

Since agreeing to Hades’ terms, you and Anakin hadn’t looked away from each other.

"Are you ready?" He asked you.

Silently, you nod. Anakin takes a steadying breath, his hands brushed against yours as you held one to your chest, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. He squeezed his eyes shut and span on his heels, beginning the long walk without you by his side.

The world went silent as your hand slipped from his and he felt utterly alone. He took the first step, trusting you would be right behind him.

As he walked, his footsteps echoed through the Underworld. But what tore his heart into pieces was the lack of your footsteps echoing behind him. He resisted the urge every single day to glance back at you. He prayed this was a part of Hades’ sick terms, that he would be unable to tell if you were behind him until you were out. A few days into the journey, he had started talking to you. It began as a quiet beg that you were still there, a promise he believed, a proclamation of his love. It had escalated when he received no response.

Behind him, you were never more than three steps behind. You heard every word that he said, unable to respond, unable to reach out. More often than not, you would be walking with tears streaming down your face, praying that Anakin would stay strong enough to get you both out.

You both ignored the pain in your feet and in your hearts as the end of the Underworld grew closer. When one morning, you felt the sun on your face for the first time in weeks as the exit was just ahead of you. Anakin’s pace remained steady but his steps seemed more sure, a quiet optimism. You let yourself smile, you were getting out.

The shuddering breath Anakin made as he stepped over the threshold made you almost weep with delight. But then he turns and your heart sinks to the pit of your stomach. You glance to the floor and your worst fears are confirmed.

"Y/N." He breathes your name in a way that makes his love clear as day.

"Anakin…" Your face has fallen as you look at him with nothing but despair.

You see him glance down at where you’re standing, just inside the threshold of the Underworld. He had turns too early. You hadn’t had time to get out. He hadn’t thought… he just needed to see you after so long.

Through your tears, you muster up a smile for him, "I love you."

You feel your soul being wrenched backwards as you tumble backwards, down, down, down back to your cage in Hades’ town. It was all for nothing.

[studentbyday]

week 3 / small commitments challenge “There is no race to win. Only a stroll.”

Yes, emerging adulthood is a privileged phenomenon. But with great privilege comes great responsibility and I sometimes feel the need to know exactly what I want in life from career to friendships to romantic relationships to family and how I will handle challenges in each of those domains that may have a chance at or will definitely come my way in order to be responsible. But that's an impossible ask at this stage of my life. I don't even think I can know all of what I want in life for decades to come. I keep changing. And it would not be wise now to run around in circles, chasing my tail, coming to no conclusions, or to rush the decision making process and come to conclusions that aren't well thought out. Sometimes I feel like I should make these decisions faster whenever I see others in my life around my age making them or having made them already or just generally progressing faster in life than I am. And other times, for seemingly no reason at all, I pick up the issues again from the backburner in case this time I stop chasing my tail...but that hasn't happened yet.

We all have different experiences that lead us to our varied and valid conclusions. Perhaps my peers have just experienced enough to come to theirs. Which means I just have to keep exploring different options until I feel informed enough to make those decisions for myself. And when I've made those decisions, I'll have to commit to them fully (well, 99.9%) so that I can be free in mind to become as good as I can at whatever I decide to do. This doesn't mean I'll stop re-assessing my circumstances periodically as that's how one spots better opportunities and improves themselves, but equally important is only changing direction when there are objectively good reasons to, not just because strong feelings of FOMO or self-doubt pull me so (those feelings can and have been useful in telling me when smth is genuinely wrong about my current situation but they can also be to my detriment when they arise primarily because of the voice in my head whose sole purpose is to be a pessimistic nay-sayer/bully).

hours spent stu(dying) 😭 tomato garden (50/10): M: 🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅 Tu: 🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅 W: 🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅+(1/2 🍅) Th: 🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅 F: 🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅 (so tired, i had to take a nap 😪) S: 🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅 Su: 🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅

In other news, the ochem midterm was this week. I studied as hard as I could for it all week, but that meant I didn't start on the new module (not covered on the midterm) for this week, hence the absence of a true weekend 😭 3 more weeks to go (including 1 week JUST to review for final woohoo!! [no that isn't sarcasm, i genuinely need that time lol]) and then we're NOT doing any more ochem at uni (self-study, maybe, but istg never again in a squished timeframe like this 😭). (Also wowwww can you tell i'm tired by the number of times i repeat the same words and emojis in a short paragraph... Adrenaline [or is it the sun? 😒] had me waking up before my alarm all week, averaging 7 hours of sleep a night 😭)

[nyxknights17]

“You are challenged by Gym Leader Heket!”

Heket took me longer than I had planned because I wasn’t sure what I wanted for her outfit-wise. I tried many different ideas but decided I liked this one best. I wanted to give her a pretty dress but didn’t want to restrict her leg movement so I changed the skirt shape and gave her leggings to wear underneath. Her sunglasses are a hint to her four eyes and I added a decoration attached to them resembling her crown. My team choice notes are below:

My notes for her team say: “Heket is the bishop of famine. You can find mushrooms and pumpkins in Anura, and her domain has a fall-like feeling to it. She definitely needs a frog on her team.”

Before making these notes I had considered giving her a team of just food Pokemon (like Dachsbun, Appletun, etc.) but didn’t go for it because I figured she’d probably just try to eat them lmao.

So the Croagunk and Seismitoad are pretty obvious, but I thought a shiny Seismitoad fit her better. As for the mushrooms and pumpkin aesthetic, I picked Parasect, a shiny Morelull, and a Pumpkaboo to fill this role. As for Gulpin, considering she’s a goddess of famine I thought that a Pokémon with the ability to digest anything and not quite be full would be great. I originally gave her a Lickytung because of her attack in her boss fight but decided to remove it and make space for the others.

[lanafofana]

The Price of Divinity

@spellbooking I'm blaming your god gale video for all these thoughts I had to get out.

“You could do it, you know.”

Tav, staring out into the distance of the Outer Realms, doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t give any indication they’re listening at all.  

“Shar’s had a hold on ‘Loss’ for long enough after all.” 

 A god of ambition cannot help it, it seems. To find the cracks where possibility festers and try to pry it out with coaxing words and relentless goading. It’s a familiar conversation but Tav isn't interested in pursuing it further than they already have.

“The power of a domain like that…” The god of ambition trails off, something hungry in his voice that crawls under Tav’s skin like an itch. 

“What need for such Loss does Ambition seek?” They intone mildly. “Have you grown so weary of your own domain so soon?” 

A chuckle. Once, long ago, it had been a warm sound, they think. Now it crackles in the space between them. They turn the sound over in their mind like a puzzle; picking it apart, prodding for the nuance. A challenge? Derision? Calculated. 

“What need, my love?” The god smirks. “What is the yawning emptiness of loss but a stepping stone to building something greater? Loss begets growth. Ambition will ever have a part to play for where there is nothing, there are untold possibilities for everything.” 

“Is that all,” they say drily. “You see my domain as a stepping stone on which to elevate yourself. Ambition thy name is constancy.”   

“It’s you I’m thinking of,” he insists. There is something there though, something that Tav can almost taste on their tongue.

They are silent for a moment. An eon. Staring into the abyss of eternity. From here Tav can see whatever they wish to. There is precious little else they desire to spend their time doing anymore. They wait and they watch. Listening for the prayers in their name that sing through time and space, ringing sweetly of desperation and mourning. “You are mistaken.” 

 “Unlikely.” The response is quick, a knee jerk denial that smacks of arrogance. 

Tav almost smiles. Feels an old desire unfurl within their chest to turn into his embrace, kiss him, envelope him. 

“Tell me,” they say instead, gaze steady on the distant twinkle of mortal existence. “Do you remember when we were human?” 

The god shifts, displeased with how this conversation has turned against him, but answers anyway. “I remember we were once mortal, yes.” 

“Do you recall that time you helped me channel the weave?”

He is silent for longer this time. If remembering his mortal days did not spark his ire, then bringing up the weave was sure to elicit something darker than displeasure. 

Tav continues, ignoring his silence and the unspoken warning within it. “You told me to picture a feeling of harmony. An imprecise instruction but more effective, perhaps, in its indetermination for the purpose.” 

“What of it?” 

“Picture my domain,” they command softly. “Tell me what you see.” 

“I fail to see the conn–” 

“What do you see, Gale Dekarios, when you imagine Loss?” 

The use of his name draws him up short. He examines the question from every angle, wariness replacing derision. “I suppose…an empty bowl, waiting to be filled. Ornate and beautiful in its near perfection. But incomplete.”

Tav hums. “A common misconception,” 

An irritated sigh. “Go on then, tell me, oh wise figure, what the point of this exercise is.” 

Tav turns to face him finally and despite himself he finds himself enthralled. They are magnificent, a searing sort of beauty that a mortal would be hard pressed to look upon without going mad. Empty eyes that used to hold his entire world study him as he studies them. “The point, lover, is that it is you who are the bowl and I am but the emptiness that fills it.” 

Gale’s lips thin, his eyes narrow. 

“You raised me to divinity and you think it gives you leverage with which to bargain against fate. I am not a stepping stone, Slave to Desire. I am insatiable hunger, the bitter failure of love, the aching regret of a broken heart.” A beat. “In all things there must remain balance. For this reason, I am your equal in every way.” 

The silver god clenches his jaw. 

The movement is almost human and so Tav does kiss him then because it is less painful than not kissing him at all. A gentle press of their lips to the corner of his mouth. They close their eyes and try to remember what it felt like, when the gesture used to cause their heartbeat to quicken and their cheeks to flush with warmth. 

The god of ambition has no patience for distractions though and he pulls away. Once, he would have wanted for nothing more than to lose himself in every moment between them. That had been the man, though. The god before them wants for nothing more than, well, More. 

Tav sighs, turning back to their vigil. 

They don’t need to look to know he has already gone. His absence is a small price to pay for the peace of not rehashing the same argument again and again. For a while, anyway. He always comes back. A new scheme on his clever tongue. 

They were both of them cursed by their divinity, each an itch to the other they cannot scratch. Perhaps one day they will destroy each other. Tav hasn’t yet decided if they are eager for the conclusion or dreading the inevitability of it. 

A prayer like a crooning wail stretches across the planes to them and, as they listen, they decides it does not really matter. 

Not anymore.

[aylen-san]

Finrod Felagund: "Am I truly a friend of the dwarves? Or is it more complicated?"

Ah yes, the legend of how I became the great friend of the dwarves. It’s a tale passed among men, elves, and of course, the dwarves themselves. It sounds like a fairy tale—Finrod, so noble, wise, and handsome (true), finds common ground with these grumpy bearded folks, and everyone lives happily ever after. But as they say, the truth is a bit more complicated. Let's break it down—am I a friend of the dwarves or just lucky enough to avoid getting an axe to the knee?

---

How did it all start?

I initially stumbled into their domain completely by accident. You see, it’s easy to get lost in underground corridors, especially when your route includes phrases like "enchanted door," "dark cave," and "something’s moving in the shadows." But I had a choice: either sneak through tunnels with a chance of running into a hungry dragon or knock on the nearest door labeled "Beware, Dwarves Inside." I chose the dwarves.

They didn’t exactly welcome me with open arms. The first thing I heard was something like: — “Who the hell are you, and where’s your money?” Yes, dwarves value gold more than heartfelt conversation. But when I explained that I could tell a few songs and stories, they invited me to stay. You see, a musician’s talent can come in handy in the most unexpected places. And that’s how our friendship began. Well, if you can call it friendship when they don’t try to sell you your own boots after every conversation.

---

What do I admire about dwarves?

First of all, their attention to detail. It seems they can spend ten years carving the perfect ornament out of stone without complaining once. Secondly, their remarkable ability to frown at any situation. I had moments where I thought I saw a dwarf in a good mood, but it turned out to be just a different shade of grumbling.

Dwarves are quite the perfectionists. You think you can just hang a sword on the wall? No, you must first ensure it’s hanging at a precise 45-degree angle to the beam of the setting sun. Otherwise, you’re in for a long lecture on the importance of symmetry and balance in the universe.

---

Are they friends to me?

Well, let’s say there was mutual appreciation—on the level of "We won’t kill each other out of courtesy." The dwarves respected me for my admiration of their craft and my willingness to pay in gold. I, in turn, appreciated their skill in forging weapons that didn’t break during the first clash with an orc. In short, we complemented each other well.

But calling it unconditional friendship would be overly optimistic. They still kept their distance from elves, and I could always feel that air of "These elves are too arrogant, what if this one runs off with our treasures?" We were like two people meeting in a bar: not friends, but decided not to fight because the bartender has good snacks.

---

The most dwarf-like dwarf I’ve met

Ah yes, there was one dwarf with whom I did form a closer bond. His name was Aglar, and he seemed to be the only dwarf who truly loved my songs. Though sometimes I thought he only listened so he could criticize my rhymes. But who else could I sit by the fire with, drink strong mead, and argue over who was the greatest smith in history?

---

The challenges of friendship with dwarves

One must remember that friendship with dwarves is a dangerous game. One moment you’re friends, and the next they’ve decided you owe them money. And believe me, no one collects debts like dwarves. If Morgoth ever tried to owe a dwarf, he wouldn’t be hiding in Angband but digging a tunnel to another planet.

And, of course, there’s the matter of trust. Dwarves are a suspicious lot, and their secrets are another matter entirely. For example, they’ll never tell you where they found that rare stone for their crown, but they’ll definitely check if you’ve pocketed a silver spoon.

---

Verdict: Am I a friend of the dwarves or not?

So, am I a friend of the dwarves? Probably... with caveats. It was a friendship of convenience, held together by mutual benefit and respect. We didn’t share deep secrets, but we also didn’t try to slit each other’s throats. I think it’s the best one could hope for between such different peoples. The dwarves liked me as long as I didn’t try to take anything from them for free. In the end, our friendship was like that of a wolf and a bear who decided not to eat each other because there were other prey in the forest.

[stabknives]

you 🫵 tell me about vykrum

Thank you for asking about my little freak. I love you forever.

Enormous slew of trigger warnings here: #misgendering // #noncon // #necro // #cannibalism // #abortion // #fauxcest // #abuse // #age gaps // ??

Also I. Rambled endlessly so if you don't read all this, not gonna blame you king. Just skip to whatever you're curious about with Control+F.

Some songs for Vykrum: Thermodynamic Lawyer by Will Wood, Sorrow by IAMX, Olly Olly Oxen Free by Amanda Palmer, Boring by the Pierces.

Some songs for Vyktash: Flowers of Flesh and Blood by Nicole Dollanganger, Choke by I DON'T KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME, This Is Love by Air Traffic Control, Rabid by Nicole Dollanganger.

Some songs for Vykstarion: Cement by Nicole Dollanganger, Blood by the Pierces, Red Hands and White Knuckles by The Bravery, Say Hello Melancholia IAMX.

Might post the full playlists eventually!

[Quick info]

Name: Vykrum Malvaris.

Age: 150? 200? 300?

Gender: AFAB, Nonbinary.

Pronouns: He/They.

Orientation: Aro/Ace.

Race: Drow.

Class: Cleric, Death Domain.

So.

Where to start. I've had two versions of Vykrum, a tiefling and a drow, but I mostly just made them a tiefling originally because I liked the thought of them strangling people with their tail lmao. It makes far more sense for them to be a drow, and that's the version I have the actual backstory for.

Vykrum was born to nobility in the underdark. Firstborn female, very important. He technically had three younger male siblings, which became two when the third son was (obviously) killed. Vykrum was… affected by this pretty weirdly. Vykrum has always found family to be very important, but not because he has, like. An endless amount of love in his heart or anything. He's kind of arrogant to the point of absurdity. (He was a Yathrin cleric of Lolth. So. Clearly something is wrong with him.)

They would've taken over their house if they hadn't decided to do something hilarious by calling themselves a man. (They're nonbinary, technically, but Vykrum- or at the time, Vykri- gets their jollies from angering people expeditiously.)

Vykrum as a name doesn't mean anything to my knowledge. It's just a collection of letters I typed out at random. Same with Vykri. However, ‘Vikram’ is apparently a hindi name that means ‘wise’ and ‘brave’. Not pronounced the same. No reason I'm bringing this up, just thought it was neat.

The reason why they have gender weirdness is complicated. Obviously gender always is, but specifically with Vykrum it's more than. Normal. For instance, I'm just a man because… I'm a man… but Vykrum isn't real so there's symbolism here. Come along with me. Take my hand and let's explore.

Vykrum has never connected well with people. They were put on a pedestal from a very young age, gassed up like crazy for being great at murder and feeling nothing while they did it and being a manipulative little shite head ect ect… and they believed it, of course. No one else is good enough. No one else is special. Living creatures are all the same. (They're better off dead, dead, dead. Tedious, every day is so tedious.)

Vykrum was seemingly. Born tired. Tired and bored. Eventually they left the underdark, because you can't be a Lolth priestess and call yourself a man. No matter how momentarily riveting it is to see everyone lose their minds about it, they will eventually kill you for that.

So Vykrum fucks off upstairs. Being bhaalspawn isn't as easy on the surface. The Dark Urge needs new and exciting ways to be sated, but personal challenges can be a refreshing change of pace. And for awhile, working to suppress the Urge was stimulating enough. But like all ‘new’ things to Vykrum, it too eventually got boring. Death was something Vykrum had a fondness for, after all. Can't stay away from what you love for long.

Vykrum meets Gortash when he's still shitty little Enver Flymm, worlds worst little boy. I go back and forth on when exactly that would be, whether it was before Gortash got sold to the House of Hope or after. Don't have time to get into each possibility in depth because this is already pretty lengthy and we've barely even started, but I figure if they met while Enver was still with his folks Vykrum either caught him trying to steal something dangerous out of Vykrum’s bag or sticking his nose somewhere he ought not at the local apothecary… poisons maybe. The House of Hope meeting is literally just Vykrum ending up there after some bullshit, seeing a kid and going goddamn ahahaha (points at him and laughs).

Point is, Vykrum knew Enver when he was a kid. Found him… endearing… I guess is the only word for it. If he knew him while he was with his parents, Vykrum probably told him to kill them multiple times. If he was so fucking unhappy. Just kill them. Idiot. (That advice is harder to give in the House of Hope but they probably still say it. Go on. Moron. Kill the devil. From the bible.)

Need to stress that Vykrum isn't nice. Vykrum is actually very not nice. Although they take a shine to this random little snot, they don't exactly coddle him. Probably beats the shit out of him on more than one occasion for being annoying, not listening, pestering Vykrum… but Vykrum still shows up to make sure Gortash is still alive. Brings him food, and changes of clothes. Shows him how to hold a dagger, and where to aim it if he means to kill someone, or how to avoid that if he wants to make the whole ordeal last longer.

They're close. In their own way, I guess. Vykrum cares about him. At least as much as he's ever cared about anyone. He's like that third Malvaris son, the brother Vykrum never got to know. Maybe Vykrum CAN have a family. Or have someone. Even if The Boy is a horrible little cretin, by any real metric.

Vykrum has only had the dead as friends in the past. Lovers too. Do with that what you will. (He knows Talk With Dead, so. Who knows. Maybe it was a consensual use of their corpses? Lmao?) The dead don't really go anywhere. They have no reason to try to trick you. They don't have some silly facade firmly in place, a mask Vykrum has to stare at blandly and pretend he can't see past it for the sake of propriety. Most people are a lot more honest, in death.

Not that such sentiments apply to his relationship with Flymm. God no. Lmao. The Boy Is A Menace, but they're alike, in some ways. Several. Perhaps in all the most important ways.

Sometimes I think Vykrum was around to see Gortash escape from his indentured servitude but realistically probably not. Vykrum is too flighty. Can't stick around some random human kid all the time. So he goes off on his own, for what he thinks is a short amount of time— (Like. Ten years.) I'm sure Gortash loved that. (I guess you could say he was attached to Vykrum, despite the abuse. Love isn't the right word, but still. Getting abandoned. Again. By the guy that's supposed to really understand him. Hilarious. Ironic.)

By the time they meet again, Gortash is pretty much grown. Vykrum ends up in his employ, and that goes about as well as one would expect. Gortash is Important Now. Acknowledge him as important right this fucking second (not his words obviously. He's more subtle. But I'M the one that has to summarize all this.) or he is going to make sure Vykrum regrets his time away.

Vykrum… can't really do that. He can obey, yes. He can nod when instructed to nod, or smile if told to smile. He's very good at playing the part of obedient pet, because he can't usually be assed to put effort into resisting things, but he doesn't think anyone is important. Life is a transient state before death, which is permanent and much more important than breathing flesh. That doesn't mean Enver isn't important *to* Vykrum, but asking him to express that normally is like asking the stars not to shine. Like okay do you want me to eat your finger or something… do you want me to strangle you and fuck the body. What do you want.

And it's not as if Gortash loves Vykrum either. He wants Vykrum to love him, and obey him, and find him attractive. But Gortash doesn't want to like. Return the sentiment. He just thinks he's owed that, along with everything else under the fucking sun. Especially from Vykrum, who put him through so much, but was simultaneously the only person there for him as a kid. Two asexuals having depraved sex and neither is enjoying it ect ect… it's all psychosexual.

When Gortash is trying to needle Vykrum into sleeping with him, Vykrum probably says no at first. He's never slept with a living person and really doesn't want to. Which is obviously why Gortash wants to fuck. Because he knows Vykrum doesn't want to. Sigh. I don't know what's wrong with him either, anyway— obviously Gortash doesn't take no for an answer. Vykrum is supposed to be his tool. Tools are for using.

So obviously he just does it while Vykrum is sleeping one night. Makes sure to leave evidence behind. I'm guessing he'd have to drug Vykrum beforehand so he doesn't wake up, unless Vykrum wakes up in the middle of the act which seems. Dangerous. He's still the Dark Urge, whether he's like. A tired old man or not.

They go bananas. Not because of any normal reason like violated consent or whatever, (although deep down part of Vykrum will always be offended and repulsed that Gortash, the boy they thought of as Their Boy, took liberties with them.) but because they do not want a baby. Birth is about as opposite to death as you can get. (And Gortash is not making things better. Mocking Vykrum. Saying SHE might make a better MOTHER this time around. Didn't do very well the first time, but second chances and all that.)

Vykrum self mutilates. Probably right there in front of Gortash's salad and everything. They heal themselves after, but basically say Don't Do That Again. If you want to fuck me so bad do it while I'm awake. (Begrudging) (Resentful) (Fuckign. Thinking of this as a new unpleasant responsibility in need of fulfilling.)

Gortash agrees obviously. Not because he loves sex but because this seems like as good a way as any to show Vykrum that they're just an object he owns. Kill who I tell you to kill and bend over when I tell you to bend over. And of course he has to make it weird the whole time. Maybe this wouldn't be happening if you hadn't left, or if you did a better job raising me, or blah blah blah blah blah… mans a professional yapper.

The psychological and physical torment he puts Vykrum through is insane. Drugs in the food. Sure, why not. Dead family members. Not sure how he reached the underdark, but probably! Gaslighting is off the charts. The ride never ends. #Does Vykrum have to ask to go to the bathroom too milord, or can they piss when nature calls.

Vykrum gets got by Orin eventually. Probably knew it was coming, and didn't do anything to stop it. Wakes up post lobotomy a little different, although not by much. Still detached, and vaguely condescending, but without as much baggage they don't understand why they can't connect with people.

There is a sizable distance between him and the other companions at all times. They follow him because he's got many braincells worth rubbing together and is by far the oldest and most experienced of them. (He might be younger than Astarion but I'm not sure yet. I don't actually think so?)

Speaking of Astarion. That's the one he initially connects with. Even if he's not sure… why… can't put his finger on it. Something about the way he talks. Or acts. Is very familiar. Vykrum doesn't actually like it much at first. But the flagrant attempts at manipulation + pet names do feel like home.

When Astarion first asks to sleep with him Vykrum is like ehhhhh… well… uh… I guess. You're dead aren't you? And Astarion is like what. And Vykrum is like it doesn't matter. Fine. Sure. If it'll make you feel better. (Not the response Astarion is used to getting that's for damn sure. Lmao.)

Vykrum's sort of. Placid acceptance of all of Astarion's worst traits and behaviors is. I don't wanna say good for Astarion because it's definitely making him worse. But it's also making him feel BETTER. So there.

Astarion confesses his love for Vykrum immediately and gets treated like a simpleton. Tbh. No getting around that. Vykrum is like I don't know what the fuck you're talking about, genuinely. But if you want I'll pretend you never said that to me because I really do think I care about you. For right now. At least.

Astarion: Clearly ascending will solve this particular problem, along with all my other problems. No the cycle of abuse is NOT a wheel in constant motion, ever turning.

Only other person in the group that bothers with Vykrum is Karlach. Because she's Karlach. She's just kinda uber social. And Vykrum finds her zest for life somewhat fascinating. It's the opposite of him on ever level. He can't not be intrigued. World's weirdest besties. And he's got fuck all memory of his involvement in her fate, so…

Genuinely cannot imagine how the reunion with Gortash goes. Vykrum comes back, no memory (kind of happier that way), new guy (that he doesn't love romantically), best friends with Karlach (treating her like a shiny rock). What the fuck happened to you. Who the hell do you think you are. Maybe Gortash tries a new approach. Says some out of pocket shit like oh we were engaged……….. how could you do this to meh………………… just to fucking piss Karlach and Astarion off. Isolate Vykrum again. Vykrum who is desperately trying to grow even a little bit as a person. No matter what, his approach is way too fucking jolly. That's for damn sure.

There's more. A lot more. But I've been writing this for too long, soooo-! Thank you for this ask! I really needed the excuse. I was dying.

[writersblock8]

what'd i work on today?

i had a showcase of my original musical theatre music two mondays ago. since then, i've come up with some semblance of a plan for what's next. before i explain the plan, i think it might be wise to talk about what i'm working on currently:

my list of works is pretty wild (derogatory). i understand that right now, the commercialist aspect of theatre as an art form (especially on broadway) heavily leans towards musical adaptations of movies (and now tv shows – i see you, stranger things: the first shadow). that's simply what people are finding interesting. honestly, i've never been much of a film guy. i like some movies, but i've never been interested in turning (m)any of them into musicals. and despite all of the last two sentences, i'll actually be on the way to see a 4k screening of princess mononoke in a few minutes. i have a real love for classical drama, so rather than adapting movies, i adapt plays. it's what oscar hammerstein recommended for stephen sondheim to do. look how that turned out. among those are macbeth, the three sisters, a midsummer night's dream, and blood wedding. these four plays don't really have throughlines. there are similar themes explored in macbeth and blood wedding, but they are vastly different. lorca's original text is incredibly poetic, some of it feels easy to lyricize or musicalize. macbeth is a challenge.

right now, i have the 6/7 scenes of act i (in shakespeare's original structure) complete, along with scenes and songs here and there throughout the rest of the show. i've been at a standstill with how to start the sequence where macbeth murders duncan (again, spoiler alerts for 419-year-old plays shouldn't have to exist) and it has been plaguing me. i want to musicalize from the moment where lady macbeth takes duncan to his quarters all the way through their conversation after the murder before the porter comes in and does his dick jokes. it's a very intense crucible of a scene and i've had a hard time figuring out how to create the tension i think it needs in the way that i know how to do it. i cracked the code today. had to look at it in a new way. sufjan stevens' sound inspires my macbeth heavily. if i need a new creative idea, i type on my typewriter. i turned on seven swans and analyzed as i listened and wrote down some thoughts about his music:

"he is unafraid to repeat entire phrases of lyrics;

he is a huge advocate for modal mixture..."

i discovered that maybe the route would be to create a motif with the phrygian mode. it sounds a bit influenced by punk. it began to write itself. this has been a pretty large creative standstill for a while. glad i got it working today.

re: the plan post-concert though:

finish a draft of macbeth

two table readings (with two separate casts) of my play dunce

vocal workshop for macbeth

movement (suzuki and strasberg) workshop for macbeth

lab / workshop for macbeth

reading / presentation for macbeth

draft up more of the three sisters

storyboard some original ideas (the planets; banshee; religion triptych)

read more tina howe and caryl churchill; re-read all of sarah ruhl's plays (she's my favorite playwright)

find a greek play to adapt into a musical – what's my epic?

the more public domain you adapt, the less worries you have about rights. just make sure those translations are also public domain.

and don't be afraid of original stuff!

and if you're someone who loves adaptations, i wish you well in the world of rights battles and wars – that's seriously not my avenue. i'd cry at every meeting.

[atomic-thomas]

(Fake ASMR Commission) Meeting A Drake Knight [Elden Ring: Shadow of the Erdtree Roleplay] {Tarnished / Elden Lord Listener}

------------------------------------------------------------

*Jagged Peak ambience plays for the entire audio. Link will be provided in Tumblr DMs.*

“Whew! Yet another dragon slain. At this point, I have so many dragon hearts, I could probably start giving them away… Buuuuut I won’t. If commoners started receiving dragon hearts that they didn’t earn, the world would be an even bleaker place than it already is.”

*sound of leaves crunching or a bush rustling. just something to signal that the listener has arrived.*

“Who's there?! Show yourself!”

…

“Oh… A Tarnished. All the way out here? Must be pretty tough.”

…

“Uh… Hi. Sorry for sounding so aggressive. Just got done slaying a dragon. I’m on edge. You startled me.”

…

“Who am I. Well, my armor might’ve given it away, but… I’m a Drake Knight. Dragon Hunter Extraordinaire. You’ve heard of us, right? We spend our lives hunting dragons, slaying them to collect their hearts & feasting upon them to claim their power. Not to brag, but frequent Dragon Communion rituals have made me incredibly powerful. Hehe~”

…

“You’ve also partaken in Dragon Communion. Doesn’t surprise me. I imagine you’re traversing the Jagged Peak for the same reason I am. This place is a roosting ground for dozens of dragons. They’re everywhere!”

“You should’ve seen the look on my face when I saw my first Ghostflame Dragon. The Lands Between doesn’t have any of those. The Shadow Realm is full of surprises.”

…

“You heard that Drake Knights don’t speak. Yeah, about that… Only Drake Knights who truly believe that they’re dragons don’t speak. I’ve claimed the power of many dragons… But that doesn’t mean I am one. As such, I choose to speak. Life would be very dull if I didn’t.”

“Anyway, right now, I’m making my way to the summit of the Jagged Peak. I’m sure you’ve spoken with the Dragon Priestess; Florisaxx, right? (Pronounced Floor-is-sax) If you have, then she must’ve told you that the most dangerous & vile dragon of all has made it’s lair at the summit.”

“Bayle the Dread.” (Pronounced Bail)

…

“I’ve never seen Bayle myself, but I’ve heard countless stories. According to legend, Bayle was a rival to the Dragonlord Placidusaxx (Pronounced Placid-oo-sax). And his power was so great that he thought himself fit to challenge Placidusaxx for the title of Dragonlord.”

“As such, they clashed in a bloody, grueling battle. Two titanic monsters… Gods among men… Clad in fire & lightning… Tore each other to shreds in a battle that no one but the ancient dragons ever saw.”

“Both of them were grievously wounded. Flesh rended down to the bone & scars that would never heal. After reaching a stalemate, Bayle thought it wise to retreat to the Shadow Realm along with any dragons that believed Bayle to be superior. And right here… On the Jagged Peak… Is his domain.”

…

“You’ve slain Placidusaxx. Ha! Don’t make me laugh. That’s a rich claim. If Bayle couldn’t beat him then why should I believe that you did?”

…

“You have proof. Then show me.”

…

“No way! Is that the Dragon King’s Cragblade?!”

…

“Unbelievable… The only way you could have that legendary armament is if you slayed Placidusaxx.”

…

“I’m sorry for doubting you. That’s a one-of-a-kind feat. I didn't think anyone was capable of slaying the dragonlord.”

…

“Hold on. You’re throwing a lot at me right now. You’re also claiming to be the new Elden Lord?!”

…

“Slaying Placidusaxx is one thing, but slaying a God is something else entirely. You seriously claim to have slain Radagon (Pronounced Rad-uh-gone) & the Elden Beast; the Divine Creature sent by the Greater Will?”

…

“You can’t blame me for doubting you this time. Your claim is outrageously astronomical. I need proof that what you’re saying is true.”

…

“Is that… The Elden Ring?!”

…

“Marika’s Hammer… (Pronounced Mar-ick-uh) And the Sacred Relic Sword…”

…

“Oh… Oh… Wow… I…”

…

“I… I’m so sorry, My Lord! Please forgive me! I shall kneel before you & beg forgiveness!”

…

“It’s… Okay?”

…

“Whew… Thank you, my lord. A quadrillion pardons for my naivete. I swear on my life that I’ll never doubt you ever again.”

“Wow… What a privilege. Getting to meet the Elden Lord. I’m definitely not worthy of this.”

…

“I am? That’s… Really kind of you to say. You’re a very gracious lord.”

“At least now I know how you were able to enter the Shadow Realm. Mending the Elden Ring meant defeating Mohg. (Pronounced Moeg) And defeating Mohg meant that the Shadow Realm’s entrance was no longer guarded.”

…

“Ya know… Placidusaxx was the Elden Lord during ancient times. Long before the age of the Erdtree & the Golden Order. Godfrey (Pronounced God-free) claims that he was the first Elden Lord… But given what we know… That isn’t actually true.”

…

“Of course you’ve slain Godfrey. That’s extremely easy to believe now. You’ve slain all three prior Elden Lords. Jeez, is there anything you can’t do?”

…

“I was just about to suggest that. If anyone is capable of slaying Bayle the Dread… It’s you.”

…

“I would love to gorge upon Bayle’s heart & claim his unfathomable power… But you’re clearly far more deserving of it than I am.”

…

“No, I insist. I want you to have Bayle’s heart. It would be the purest form of communion. Fit for a lord such as yourself. Surely, I would just squander the power. You would get far more value out of it.”

"By the way, have you met Igon (Pronounced Eee-gone) by chance?”

…

“He gave you his Furled Finger. I see. Makes sense. No better person to trust than the Elden Lord themself.”

“I gotta say… He’s a bit crazy… But I admire his resolve. He’s been fatally wounded from an encounter with Bayle. He doesn’t have much longer to live. You carry his spirit within the Furled Finger he gave you. But I’m sure you knew that already.”

…

“I offered to help him, but he refused. Said that he’s completely wasted… Too far gone… But a Drake Warrior he remains.”

“Now he spends his final moments screaming out to Bayle… Cursing him. His body may be broken… But his spirit sure isn’t. He climbed pretty damn far up the Jagged Peak without his legs. And the fact that he survived an encounter with Bayle at all is a miracle.”

…

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking? It’s pretty obvious.”

…

“That’s right. You, Me & the spirit of Igon will take the fight to Bayle. We’ll slay him together!”

“Are there any final preparations you’d like to make?”

…

“You need a Somber Ancient Dragon Smithing Stone to fully upgrade your Dragon Hunter’s Great Katana. Oh, so you have one to. That’s perfect! Fortunately, I know of an Ancient Dragon slumbering somewhere in the Jagged Peak. Slaying it should give you exactly what you need.”

…

“I’ve slain so many dragons that I’ve long since forgotten the feeling of fear. And given the fact that you’re the Elden Lord… I’m sure you feel the same.”

“Now… Enough idle chit-chat. We have a major task at hand. Bayle the Dread will rue this day!”

------------------------------------------------------------

THE END

Here's an image of the Jagged Peak. Perfect thumbnail!

[blueskittlesart]

It’s not often you see a BotW fan AND Genshin Impact fan…what are your thoughts on the game mechanics in both that are extremely similar? Do you think one stole from the other?

oh 100% i think genshin impact stole its initial design and mechanics from botw. it's hard to pretend like it's a coincidence when one game came out 3 years after the other and almost everyone's immediate impression of it was "it looks just like botw!!" I remember when it first came out i IMMEDIATELY had people telling me i would like it because it was so similar to botw. just for that reason, nothing else. no mention of story or combat mechanics or gacha, just... it's exactly like botw. lol. and ESPECIALLY in mondstadt and liyue, where the open world is a lot of flat plains populated by the remains of ruined civilizations and monster camps, the. im going to be nice and say the INSPIRATION from botw is undeniable. they look exactly the same. I wouldn't be surprised if the grass asset was like. legitimately datamined and stolen line-for-line because they look so similar.

I will say that the open world is about where the similarities end between the two games. botw is a AAA big-name franchise game which spent multiple years in development and was a complete story upon release, and has a rich history of prewritten lore in the form of other games and media to back it up. Genshin is an online gacha game which, on release, was only 1/7 finished. and yes, teyvat is huge and there's a shit ton of lore and worldbuilding to be found, but unlike botw there was no foundation of lore to stand on when writing genshin, which means 100% of that worldbuilding must be found in-game, which leads to extremely long, wordy, and hard-to-understand quests, plus a ton of lore that just ends up buried in side quests or npc dialog that the average player will never know about. story-wise.... i mean. i could list similarities if i desperately had to, but aside from amnesiac protagonist (which was an established trope before botw anyway) there's really not a ton to say here. genshin's story and lore is decent, in my opinion. I don't think it compares to botw, in concept or in execution, but like i said before, genshin has no preestablished lore to get a foothold on. they're doing everything from scratch. and there are plenty of places where the story and lore falls short, either in concept or in execution, but comparing genshin's story to botw's when their circumstances and even the way their content is produced and released is so different just seems... unfair. like. of course botw is going to be better LMAO.

One of the most interesting things to me about the way genshin has developed is that the longer they go on releasing content the more they seem to be trying to distance themselves from the initial similarity to botw. one of the more notable ways this manifests is in the fact that they've almost entirely phased out the botw-style dungeon segments that were the domains in early-game mondstadt. the initial 6 or so domains you have to complete in mondstadt's archon quest were VERY similar in mechanics to botw's dungeons, in that it was less about fighting enemies and more about puzzles to solve. Now, though, even domains that are one-time completion dungeons are largely combat challenges rather than puzzle dungeons. I think they probably did this to distance themselves from botw in some way because open-world mini dungeons were like. one of botw's main mechanics. The newer locations like inazuma, the chasm, and sumeru also bear significantly less similarities to botw's terrain design than mondstadt and liyue. this may simply have been an effort to distinguish the nations from each other visually, but with sumeru being physically connected to liyue and mondstadt and yet lacking nearly any of the open plains and stone ruins that defined those two nations, it seems to me like a deliberate effort to move away from the botw aesthetic and develop a more unique style of worldbuilding for the game. Which is 100% a good thing!! i just kinda wish mondstadt and liyue were allowed the same thought and time that have clearly been put into inazuma and sumeru.

The fact that genshin appears to be actively attempting to branch out and create a coherent story and aesthetic for its world without.... "taking inspiration" from botw so heavily now that it's gotten a foothold in the industry is a really good sign to me. If I had to guess, the emphasis on the botw-like open world in the early days of its marketing was an attempt to capitalize on botw's insane popularity at the time, and tbh i think it was a smart move by their developers if a little underhanded. the nature of genshin's story is such that upon release they had almost NOTHING to draw people in except the initial conflict: "your sibling is gone and you have to find them." and they could PROMISE that more story content was coming in the future, but without something to satiate fans and draw new players in in the meantime the game was going to drown. a large open-world serves two important purposes: 1. drawing in new players who loved botw's worldbuilding and were looking for something similar, and 2. provide endgame content for returning players while the new story quests were being worked on. (this model doesn't work quite so well nowadays, with so many players stuck in a fairly underwhelming endgame for months at a time between updates, but when the game was released it was probably the perfect solution.) In any case, now that genshin has some notoriety and name-recognition of its own, it no longer has to rely on word-of-mouth "this game is just like botw!" to draw people in, and it's exciting to see that they recognize this and are taking the opportunity to branch out. i'm excited and cautiously optimistic to see where they'll take the game in future patches!

[stargazingfordreams]

A court of Night and Stars

Summary- Random killings have been happening all over Pythian and make its ways to a kingdom in the fae realm known as Mareen. Emrys grieves the loss of her sister and keeps her domain away from war, and she gets help from an unexpected ally.

Pairing- Adu!t Nyx x OC

Warning- None 

Chapter 1

Chapter two

Emrys Pov

I watched the night sky enjoying it as if it would be my last as a warm breeze flowed in. Midnight my familiar lay at my feet, his bright yellow eyes alert, and his black fur shined in the moonlight. I was at peace petting the spoiled panther before me until I heard a knock at my door.

“Princess?” Sujeed moved his head into my room.

“Yes, General Sujeed,” my voice couldn’t hide my annoyance. I just wanted tonight. I just wanted a minute to process what tomorrow might be like. This will not be my first war. Mareen hadn’t been a place of peace, but after the civil war, I thought this would be it.

“The watch for tonight will be changing now.” He said with a bow and smirk.

“You’ve never felt the need to tell me you would be standing guard before,”  I said to him.

“Oh no, it won’t be me but rest knowing that I put one of my best to guard for you tonight. I really came in here to talk to you.” He moved further into my room though the door was still open. I shifted in my seat on my window sill.

“I don’t think that we have anything to talk about,” I said to him.

“It’s about tomorrow. I want you to stay close, and if you see danger, please just run. I can protect you.” I scoffed and shook my head.

“You want me to run from a fight when my people are risking their lives,” I said

“I want to keep you safe,” he said. Coming closer. Midnight's eyes were fixed on him.

“Well then, I hate to disappoint you, but I won’t be doing that” I got up from the window sills and moved to my vanity. I picked up some hair oil in a bottle and started putting it in my hair, looking into my mirror and not at the general, who took it upon himself to come further into my room and close the door behind him; I stopped what I was doing to glare in his direction. Still, it seemed as though no matter how much he looked at me, he wasn’t seeing me.

“I don’t want this to be up for a discussion. Truly it shouldn’t be your safety that is best for all of us. If anything happens to the Kirsi or Sauna, then it will be you to take over the throne, and we can’t have you dead.” A nerve in me was being pushed at. He quickly forgot his place, and then a thought struck me.

“You spoke to my mother, haven't you? What did she tell you?” My tone was deadly, and he was wise to be worried. He straightened his back and took straight at me.

“When all is done, you are to be my wife, I look forward to that, Emrys, but that day won’t come if you are no longer here. But, please, for our sake, for the sake of life, we will have to stay away from danger” he took a step forward, but I took one back.

“I think it is time for you to leave.”

“Emrys, please I-“

“No, just leave,” I said, taking a threatening step toward him. Midnight was now up, eyeing him down. A challenge to try if he dared to disobey. He stepped back, took his last bow, and left through the door. When I was again by myself, I finished my hair for the night, went back to the window sill, and looked up at the stars. A million thoughts and emotions ran through my head, but none mattered, not right now, and it was just me and the night sky.

That night I was restless. I would close my eyes and want to sleep, yet that dream kept playing the same dream I had been having for months. The endless night sky, Music, Art, a bridge that crossed over water, and sometimes, on nights like this, I would see flashes of body parts, long dark hair, a woman’s smirk legs, and moaning. I never understood why I was having dreams of someone else’s pleasure, but they always ended the same, and that was with me staring at a mirror. I could not see the face, only the eyes, only the blue starry eyes.

My eyes slowly opened, and my mind and body came back together as I moved out of bed. The dream had already left my mind forgetting the eyes and the sky like it became a haze leaving me to not remember. Sometimes I try to remember whether their eyes were green or brown, at night or day, and that laugh was smooth or booming? I didn’t have time, though, to try and remember. It was early morning, but there was no light. The sun was breaking slowly in the sky while I put on my armor and fought maroon and gold leathers, the royal family's colors.

I had met the rest on the open field. My sister and I wore the same armor, and my mother wore all black, showing that she was still mourning. I had put my mask over my face, and my sister and I walked side by side with my mother as we met with what looked like the high lords of Prythian. I looked at all seven of then, and my face stopped at the only woman among their ranks.                           

“What is the meaning of this, Queen Kirsi? We have no problems nor want any of this for the people of Maureen.” A man with white hair and the ocean in his eyes said.

“There have been crimes committed against my people, and it is time that they are paid for with blood” my mother looked at the group of men before us and showed no fear.

“And do you plan on doing that by having children and women fight for you if it comes to war?” A man with brown hair and fire in his eyes said.

He motioned to my sister and me, standing next to my mother. I was smaller than most, and it seemed as though because of this, That arrogant man mistook me for a Child. I let a smirk appear on my face, but it was short-lived when I felt something shift beneath my feet.

Nyx Pov

We planned to meet on the Isle between the night court and Mareen. However, when we had gotten to the open field, the Maueenian queen and three others were already waiting. I straighten the appeal of my jacket and put my hands in my pocket. My mother and father are both at my side, along with Amren.

“Do you think it will come to a fight between the Mareenians and us?” I asked both of them

“The Mareenians are proud, ruthless people; I can’t see them backing down from this fight if it comes to that, but that is not why we are here though we all did bring reinforcements,” Amren said as we walked closer to the middle of the battlefield.

“Rhys, Do you think it’s wise to just walk into the open field like this” my mother followed in step with us.

“This isn’t like Hybren Feyre, darling; we have a chance to talk this out and hopefully avoid the bloodshed of thousands,” My father explained; we made it to the middle, standing in front of the Queen, a man who was the same height as me the second oldest daughter and a tiny warrior who was close to amen size their face was covered the only thing I notice was familiar pare of chocolate eyes that narrowed as it pierced through me I threw them a smirk. All of us took a slight bow.

“Your Grace, I am glad you have decided to meet with us here.” My father said Amren. However, she translated it into their language. I listen closely, seeing if I can piece together what they are saying. Unfortunately, I can't keep up with what they are saying.

“What is the meaning of this, Queen Kirsi? We have no problems nor want any of this for the people of Maureen.” High lord Tarquin had claimed

“The queen says that a great offense has been…..brought the death of her firstborn child” Amren tone was low.

“I am sorry for your loss, your grace. I can't begin to imagine what you must be feeling,” My mother said.

“And do you plan on doing that by having children and women fight for you if it comes to war?”Baron was next to open his arrogant mouth. I didn’t bother to hide my annoyance.

“I understand your loss, but-“ The small one dressed in a maroon stepped forward. I almost followed suit wanting to protect my family, But they held their hand up.

“She said to wait….” I stopped and listened although I heard nothing, I sensed nothing. The Female warrior bent down and felt the earth, closing her eyes and listening to it as if she was the only one who could hear it. In a split second, she jumped up, pushing my mother out of the way and putting a shield around us all, but she wasn’t fast enough. A stray arrow that would have hit my mother hit her arm instead, giving her a flesh wound.

“It was an ambush,” The queen said in a heavy accent.

“This wasn’t us; we swear by it,” Amren said

The Queen raised her hand, and the Mareenians army came down above the mountains, swarming the battlefield, but they weren’t met without force. The Illyrian armies rushed to the sky with arrows and swords. The other lords had their troops charging the area. The high lord of autumn drew his sword and lunged toward the queen with such speed and force that my eyes almost missed him, but the small soldier drew the hilt to their sword. It had no blade. I moved to stop them, but a blade made of lighting sprung for the handle and broke the sword in half. She smiled and swung again. I moved to push the girl out of the way because she didn’t see Eris sneaking his way behind her. So now it was our swords that crashed.

“Move out of my way, brute,” he said through his teeth.

“This doesn’t have to be a fight, Eris” he pushed off and rushed into what now looked like a battlefield sword crashing. Screams were echoing. The sounds of flesh being cut rang through my ears. And the sounds of my beating heart thumped with adrenaline. I looked at my mother and father, who were holding their own.

“Nyx! Get your mother and Amren out of here now!” He yelled over the sounds of the fight.

“What about you!” I fought my way to him.

“Do as you're told and go!” Finally, I made it to where my mother and Amren were. I fought the two men that were surrounding them. I held them both in my arms.

“Hang on. I’ll get us out of here.” I was about to take off when I saw the warrior from earlier fight off at least eight Barons men by herself, holding her still-injured arm; the injury she got protecting my mother.

“Mother takes Amren and gets out of here,” I said, heading toward where she was fighting.

“But your father said-“

“I know what he said, mother, but please go. I owe her this” her eyes went over to the warrior fighting for her life with the disadvantage of her injury.

“Be quick” I nodded off and ran to her. But in a moment, something hit the battlefield hard then mere force sent all of us flying. I caught her mid-air, hitting the ground and rolling with her in my arms. The blast's power sent us far away from the battlefield but for a brief moment, 

I saw him and Ranthain.

[gatorprompts]

✧ — ⋆   𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 .

from  the  musical .   part  one .  nsfw  &  blood  /  violence  references   present . 

OMIGOD YOU GUYS .

“ he’s a lucky guy . ” “ i’m gonna cry ,  i got tears comin’ out of my nose ! ” “ you’re  a  perfect  match . ” “ of  course  he  will  propose ! ” “ ohmigod  this  is  happening ! ” “ don’t  forget  to  smile . ” “ guys i’m  serious ! ” “ not once ever  has  he  hit  on  me . ” “ they’re  like  that  couple  from  titanic ,  only  no  one  dies . ” “ no  one  should  be  left  alone  to  dress  and  to  accessorize . ” “ this  dress  needs  to  seal  the  deal ,  make  a  grown  man  kneel . ” “ can’t  look  deseperate . ” “ all  this  week  i’ve  had  butterflies . ” “ love  is  like  forever ,  this  is  no  time  to  economize . ” “ i  may  be  in  love ,  but  i’m  not  stupid . ” “ see  dreams  really  do  come  true . ”

SERIOUS .

“ we  both  know  why  we’re  here . ” “ i  guess  it  calms  my  fear . ” “ let’s  take  some  action ,  baby . ” “ give  me  your  hand . ” “ i’ve  got  some  dreams  to  make  true .”  “ here’s  where  our  lives  begin . ” “ just  where  do  you  fit  in ? ” “ you  want  the  moon  and  sky ,  then  take  it . ” “ you  and  i  should  break  up . ” “ what ?  you’re  breaking  up  with  me ? ” “ i  thought  you  were  proposing . ” “ baby ,  let’s  both  be  strong . ” “ but  i  am  seriously  in  love  with  you . ” 

WHAT  YOU  WANT .

“ i  have  a  completely  brilliant  plan . ” “ what  you  want  is  me ,   you  just  need  to  see  me  in  a  brand  new  domain . ” “ i’ll  meet  you there  at  harvard  with  a  book  in  my  hand . ” “ big  sturdy  book ,  big  wordy  book ,  full  of  words  i’ll  understand . ” “ what  you  want  is  right  in  front  of  you . ” “ step  one ,   he’s  off  to  harvard  law ,  so  i’ll  get  in  there  too . ” “ that’s  great ,  nice  plan .  now  can  we  think  this  through ? ” “ what  makes  you  think  you  can  do  this ? ” “ love .  i’m  doing  this  for  love . ” “ love  will see  me  through . ” “ yes ,  with  love  on  my  side ,  i  can’t  lose . ” “ do  lawyers  feel  love  too ? ” “ what  you  want ,  sweetheart ,  is  no  easy  thing . ” “ no  more  parties  for  you . ” “ you’ll  need  a  killer  essay ,  or  do  not  even  hope . ” “ any  chance  you  know  the  pope ? ” “ you’ve  got  a  lot  of  work  in  front  of  you . ” “ good  god ,  why ?  law  school  is  for  boring ,  ugly ,  serious  people .  and  you ,  button ,  are  none  of  those  things . ” “ what  you  want’s  absurd  and  costs  a  whole  lot  of  swag . ” “ tell  me  what’s  out  there  that  you  can’t  get  right  here ? ” “ i  can’t  just  walk  away . ” “ i  said  no ,  go  away ! ” “ right  here  is  where  i’ll stay . ”

THE  HARVARD  VARIATIONS .

“ that’s  a  challenge  i’ve  outgrown . ” “ how  many  yachts  can  one  man  own ? ” “ i  don’t  lose  that  much  sleep . ” “ why  bother  with  false  modesty . ” “ you  may  call  me ,  ‘ your  majesty . ’ ” “ pretty  impressive . ” “ and  only  women  have  the  guts  to  go  and  take  it  back . ” “ excuse  me . ” “ i  totally  forgot  you  go  here . ”

BLOOD  IN  THE  WATER . 

“ ignore  that ,  it’s  simplistic  and  dumb . ” “ unless  you  acquire  a  taste  for  blood  in  the  water . ” “ you’re  nothing  until  the  thrill  of  the  kill  becomes  your  only  love . ” “ wrong ! ” “ look  for  the  blood  in  the  water . ” “ only  spineless  snobs  will  quarrel  with  the  morally  dubious  jobs . ” “ oh  dear ,  i  fear  my  comment  has  offended .”  “ hard  to  argue  though  when  you’re  too  mad  to  speak . ” “ your  employment  will  be  very  quickly  ended  when  they  see  how  your  emotions  make  you  weak . ” “ do  you  follow  me ? ” “ let  the  games  begin . ” “ i’d  throw  her  out . ” “ you  have  just  been  killed . ” “ yes  you’ve  got  guts ,  but  now  they’re  spilled . ” “ or  is  it  unfair ?  oh  wait !  i  don’t  care . ” “ that’s  just  how  i  rule . ” 

POSITIVE .

“ honey  whatcha  crying  at ? ” “ you’re  not  losing  him  to  that . ” “ both  her  hair  and  shoes  are  flat . ” “ why  is  she  so  rude . ” “ wipe  your  tears . ” “ you  were  meant  to  wear  his  ring . ” “ keep  it  positive  as  you  slap  her  to  the  floor . ” “ you  can  take  him  in  a  fight . ” “ violence  is  never  wise . ” “ not  the  way  to  win  back  guys . ” “ who’s  got  a  plan  b ? ” “ show  him  you  are  way  more  fun . ” “ bust  out  the  lap  dance  and  you’ve  won ! ”  “ we’re  positive  that  he  loves  you  and  not  her . ” “ she  doesn’t  know  the  real  him . ” “ how  is  this  helping ?  he’s  not  even  here ! ” “ i’m  positive  that  we’ve  taken  this  too  far . ” “ i  need  a  salon . ” “ gotta  show  him  i’ve  got  more  to  give .”

[kettlequills]

affinity

unsure at this point whether elenwen would benefit more from a long course of therapy or a good dicking. luckily, neither of these are in store for her, so enjoy an elenwen who is not hinged at all plus sybille, who is having a very bad day. TW: blood drinking, cutting, violence, manipulation and threat, sexual themes, and character death. implied sybille/istlod, a lil elenwen/elisif, uhh idk if youd say this is elenwen/sybille but hm. enjoy, and gimme a shout if you think it needs an extra tag. a03

Elenwen discovers Sybille's secret, and has ... words.

The Thalmor Ambassador had come to Solitude and found an empty palace. No one else was there but Sybille, left to frustratedly amuse the Ambassador while someone hurried to fetch the steward, the Jarl, somebody. Anybody, but Sybille Stentor. Some dispute had drawn them away – some fluster in the training yard – Sybille neither knew nor cared, except that Falk was not here to ask the Ambassador why she had come to darken their door, nor even Elisif, to gracefully offer wine and bread to the sour-faced elf.

Even if it had not been months since she had last slaked her thirst in the prisons beneath Solitude, Sybille still would have had little patience for this. The Thalmor irritated her, with their poorly-hidden disdain, their smugness, their superiority. As it was, her head pounded, her throat ached, and moving around in the dim evening sunlight was painful enough that it made her vision blur red. She had begun to hear heartbeats in the chests of her friends, the Jarl she was trying to become loyal to, and each night was an exercise in self control growing monumental in difficulty.

And there was Elenwen standing with her hands behind her ramrod back, looking as if she had sniffed something foul. Her expression was so forbidding, so bleak, so threatening that Sybille immediately perceived why the weak-willed guards had found someplace else to be. For once, she was completely alone, unflanked by unsmiling justiciars.

Foolish, or another spiteful little snub. No, Elenwen had nothing to fear in the heart of the Blue Palace – as much as they might whisper into their pillows how much they hated Thalmor oversight, Thalmor gold still sweated in their palms as they tipped their toothless necks back for the glutting. Why bother with guards, when you had the helmless court of Solitude on a leash?

Oh, Istlod. How he would be ashamed, to see his court reduced to this.

“Ambassador,” Sybille ground out, hating this. She wasn’t supposed to be the one greeting dignitaries come to pander and parley. That was Falk’s job, or the Jarl’s – but Istlod was long gone, and Torygg was dead, now.

Torygg, Torygg. He’d been just a boy; Sybille remembered as if it had been yesterday his chubby hands grabbing on the front of her robes, his lisping pronunciation of “ibble!” before he’d learnt to say her name. A gangly teen, pimple-faced but trying desperately to be noble, the pride of Istlod’s eye, blushing-bold. Bare years after, before even the flower of his prime – dead, dead and cold on the cobbles. Sybille had promised Istlod to keep him safe. But she’d failed. She failed, and Torygg was dead, his murderer walking free and all that was left was … Elisif.

Elisif. A dear girl but… not Torygg. Young, foolish, easily swayed. Inexperienced. Weak, when they needed strength. When Sybille needed Torygg. She was fond enough of her but Elisif looked at her like she was drowning, always begging for advice, and when Sybille met her eyes all she saw was the moment when Torygg had heard Ulfric’s challenge ashen-faced, then turned to his bright young wife and visibly steeled himself.

Ready to die, rather than dishonour her, disappoint her.

It wasn’t Elisif’s fault that she had survived Ulfric when Torygg had not, but Sybille could not stop blaming her. Still, Sybille wished she was here now. The young Jarl was better at this, the inane courtesies, the lies, than Sybille was. Even if Sybille thought she was far friendlier to the Thalmor Ambassador than was wise.

“Court Mage,” Elenwen greeted, polite as picture. In her clipped Dominion accent, the two words sounded loathsome as a curse. Her lip curled upwards in an estimation of what she probably thought a smile was supposed to look like. It was all sneer, and like most of the Emissary's facial expressions, was tinged with pointed disgust.

She was standing rigidly in the main hall of the deserted emptiness of the Blue Palace like a stubborn brick over a fire. Choking all the air out of the room, stifling, her presence as oppressive as a lead weight. The maids had all found themselves somewhere else to be, fearing, no doubt, the Ambassador’s legendarily cutting tongue and Sybille’s own displeasure at being left to entertain. As if she did not have a thousand more pressing matters to attend to, and barely the patience besides.

Not even when she was well-fed, which she was not.

They stood in silence for a moment, Sybille warring with herself, before she grudgingly asked, “Are you in need of refreshments, Ambassador?”

Hospitality, to a pit viper. If Sybille had not been what she was, the thought would be funny. As it was, it only insulted – Solitude did not need any more secret teeth tracking the prey that would not be missed. Sybille had heard the rumours, like everyone else, of secret Thalmor dungeons, and screams from beneath the solar so loud that they could be heard over the music during the parties. The prisoners of Solitude – such as they were – were Sybille’s domain.

“No,” said Elenwen, a pinch too swiftly, as if the very idea was nauseating, “And yourself, Court Mage?”

Sybille's control of her face was not so slight that she blinked, but she was aware of a tightening around the skin of her knuckles. The words, the consideration, were so odd in Elenwen’s cold, autocratic tones that at first she was certain she had misheard.

“I fail to see how that is any concern of yours,” Sybille said rudely, and suddenly, Elenwen changed.

She turned fluidly towards Sybille and prowled closer, the stiffness as if she was daring not to breathe for fear of inhaling foul scent gone. Her sneer vanished, smoothed into a smile, wide and full, completely genuine, utterly threatening. Her eyes glittered flatly, like mirrors. Her movements were slow and slinking. Gone were the sharp clicks of her boots, muffled by some trick of her step that left her silent as a panther.

Sybille was left feeling like the world had suddenly shifted to the left and left her behind, as dizzy as if a rug had been pulled out from underneath her. A moment ago, the Thalmor Ambassador had stood in front of her, haughty as ever, unbending with her stiff Altmeri pride – but this hungry, prowling creature was not her.

Her teeth sharpened in her mouth at the implicit threat that rolled off Elenwen, at her approaching closeness, the blood Sybille could sense flushing the capillaries under her skin, pounding through the chambers of her cold Altmeri heart. At once, Sybille was immensely aware that there was no one to observe them; no one at all.

And it had been weeks, weeks since Sybille had drunk her fill.

“How quickly these mortal children wane compared to the lifetime of an elf,” Elenwen murmured. Her voice was throaty and rich, the sharpness of the consonants blurred by a coastal accent that Sybille swore she had not had before. “How we see them pass us and consign the summers of our childhoods to the distant realm of myth and mystery as they bloom and fade in the blink of an eye. Truly, I am impressed at how faithfully you served the late Jarl Torygg, like you served his father Istlod before him. Tell me, how many of them have ... failed to see?"

Elenwen's horrible smile stretched wider.

"But I see, Court Mage.”

“I am perfectly well-appreciated within my position, Ambassador,” Sybille said coldly.

She was beginning to feel somewhat uncomfortable. There was no possible way that Elenwen knew her secret, but the damn elf seemed far too smug for Sybille’s liking. She hated these types, the twisted double-talk that meant something else entirely. Was she attempting to recruit Sybille to the Thalmor? She had to know that Sybille would never have agreed to that, for Istlod’s sake, who had been miserable at the news of the Concordat, if nothing else. Now, if only they were somewhere a little more secluded, then Sybille could teach her some proper manners –

Except no, she couldn’t, that was the Thalmor Ambassador. People would notice if she visited the Solitude dungeons and came back with marks on her neck and a hunger to be bitten, drained deep, pliant in the arms of a predator, better attitude notwithstanding. And Sybille couldn’t kill her. Not without reprisal.

Istlod would have wanted Sybille to kill Elenwen. Except – no, he had agreed to the peace too. Her fangs pressed insistently, dully, on her tongue.

Elenwen’s smile widened. Sybille saw every one of her straight teeth. Too white, too even, lined up like regiment soldiers or grave-markers for war-dead. Some of them were fake, she was willing to bet. This wide, the makeup caking her cheeks folded around her smile unflatteringly, the thick foundation hazed with cracks. Fake, fake, but the blood that ran under her skin was real.

Sybille could force her to bleed, force her to feel spark-bright pain, force her to reveal the truth under her teeth, her claws, her little boot knife. Even an ice-spike would do, chill that golden flesh high and taut until it pebbled with goosebumps and she was shivery and damp, and the heat of her blood spilling over her chest made her gasp at the shock of warmth.

That would make her speak straight and true, if nothing else would.

“It has been a dry spell in the prisons, hasn’t it?” Elenwen purred, soft, sympathetic, as if she was commiserating over something truly terrible, “My condolences, truly, you have been much more patient than I would. But tell me, have any of your beloved young humans noticed you have not aged a day?”

“Many humans are not aware of the life spans of an elf,” she said, to hide the fluttering of something that was beginning to feel like panic or fury. “I am Dunmer, a few decades are no great time to me.”

“Could you go decades, I wonder?” Elenwen’s smile dropped, but the look that replaced it was worse, coquettish, sly. She contrived some way of looking up at Sybille through her eyelashes painted and curled with oil despite her taller height and took a falsely-nervous step closer, all awkward shoulders and sliding foot, just as if she was a wheedling young lover begging her first kiss. But her eyes danced brightly, privately, as if this entire interaction was nothing but a game they were playing, just the two of them. “I rather think you’re hungry now.”

“I ate this morning,” Sybille lied flatly, “with the rest of the hall.”

“Tch,” said Elenwen, as if Sybille had missed a step, and belatedly, Sybille realised it would not be any hardship for a spy group as developed as the Thalmor to verify that lie, “Are you sure, Court Mage? We could test it, if you like. How much of you would be left, after decades? It’s been such a short time, and yet, I can see it in how you look at me.” She came closer, thrilled and faux-breathless. "You are hungry."

“I am quite sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sybille bluffed, but she knew she had lost. Whatever game the Ambassador was playing, Sybille did not know the dance. She glanced haphazardly around the room, but they were truly alone. She could not hear so much as a scuffing slipper or clank of mail.

“Two months, three, since you last drank blood,” Elenwen clarified, so there was no possibility at all of pretending that she did not know, and smiled, smiled, smiled wide at the look of horror on Sybille’s face. Ice poured down Sybille’s spine. The floor dropped out from underneath her. No, no no, the Thalmor could not know.

“Were you fucking his father?” Elenwen asked conversationally, in the silence that fell, “Torygg’s, I mean.”

“I don’t… That is a serious accusation, Ambassador!” Sybille hissed, ignoring her, unable to name the feeling that started icy in her fingertips and spread dully and low up into her breastbone until she ached the whole way through. Her stomach knotted and writhed.

“Aren’t you thirsty, Sybille Stentor?”

Elenwen was so close now. So close that Sybille had to step back, her tall shadow casting her in gloom. Her eyes were half-moons behind the sun, and the light gilded her blonde hair like it was strands of gold. A strand drifted out of its aggressive pinning as Elenwen bent forward, swaying into Sybille like she was magnetised, and tickled there along her artificially-blushed cheek. Sybille could smell the powders, the hotness of her skin trapped beneath it. She had bleached with lemon oil recently, a faint scent clung to her, almost drowned by the floral drench of cosmetics.

“I don’t have time for this nonsense,” Sybille snapped, mouth dry as bone, and Elenwen laughed. It was full and unrestrained, a laugh from the stomach, and nothing at all like the stiff, courteous little smirks she gave as ambassador. It rang, rich and loud, through the entire hall, down the stairs and over the thrones, and Sybille heard it with a sinking feeling of a lock snapping shut.

Elenwen would never have laughed so loudly, so out of her stiff Ambassador performance, if she thought it was possible she could be overheard. Would she? Was this a bluff?

Sybille’s gaze darted again to the dark eyes of the doorways, but the palace seemed empty. Were there Thalmor in the wings? Elisif. Was the Jarl safe? She should be – though had not Sybille sent a servant to fetch the Jarl, the steward? Was Elenwen planning to unmask her before the court?

“Come on now,” said Elenwen, warmly, her smile conspiratorial like they shared a secret, just her and Sybille, “We’re all alone now, and I’m right here. Why don’t you bite me? Look,” She undid the first two buttons of her uniform, exposing a long line of pale gold throat. “I’ll make it easy. Do you like it easy?”

“Are you insane?!” Sybille snapped. There was no other possible response to that.

Nonetheless, her eyes were drawn to the expanse of bared skin, the delicate lines of the veins and tendons in Elenwen’s neck. She could see the forklike line of her jugular, the thinner softnesses of her veins. Vulnerable. The skin here had not been painted and powdered, hidden as it normally was under her collar. It was paler, yellower, like Elenwen did not get enough sun. Sybille wondered how she bruised. Whether she would paint over the bruises Sybille would leave her, when she woke in the morning, and wondered how she had struck her neck in the night.

Sybille swallowed around a mouth pooling with spit. It had been too long.

She could see the hollow where Elenwen’s pulse fluttered, waiting for Sybille to sink her teeth home. What would she taste like? Could anyone truly blame her, if she took just a little taste, just the tiniest mouthful, to sate her burning throat?

Surely, if she was doomed already, it would not hurt.

“Bite me,” ordered Elenwen, steely. Softer, she said, “Bite me, Sybille Stentor. You must be so thirsty. Doesn’t it feel like flames in your throat?”

It did, it felt like each inhale peeled dry chunks of her throat off with all the gentleness of searing sandpaper. Elenwen was so close now that Sybille could lift her chin and kiss her, close enough that her breath, warm, alive, smelling vaguely of summer-wine, brushed Sybille’s cold cheeks. Elenwen’s warmth was like another creature between them, the impossibility of Sybille being the dead one, with Elenwen’s eyes like a mirror to every fear Sybille had ever banished.

“You must have confused me with someone else,” Sybille said faintly as Elenwen stepped even closer. Their bodies brushed, her breath fanned hotly over Sybille’s forehead.

Elenwen hummed a little, disappointed. “Perhaps,” she said, and suddenly there was a dagger in her hand, so quick even Sybille’s vampiric eyes could not spot it. Just as fast, the dagger flashed, once, twice – and then the heavenly aroma of fresh blood reached Sybille’s nose. On Elenwen’s neck, either side of her tendons, two deep slices welled fresh red, deep, deep enough that after the first droplet rolled enticingly towards her collarbones another followed.

Sybille swallowed. She could smell it, thick as perfume, tantalising as an oasis in the desert. Elenwen’s blood was fresh, healthy, and right there. It was bright red, scandalously scarlet, against the warm gold of her throat, like a slash of silk. The candlelight from Sybille’s little alcove shone and shimmered in the droplet like the magicka in it sparked and sung, for Sybille alone. Begging her, almost, to lean forward – barely any movement at all, to chase the droplet with her tongue, lap up along that proud, stiff neck to the wet gash that fluttered like breathless lips waiting to be kissed.

How fast was Elenwen’s heart beating, to push such quick, steady little pulses down her neck? The collar of her robes was darkening to a liquid blackness, but Elenwen did not seem faint at all. Would she be strong til the end, Sybille wondered, would her heart hammer and struggle against her lips, her hands, her body and Sybille’s mouth? Would she pant and gasp and writhe, or would she fall still and silent, terror-glazed eyes and frozen muscles, or best of all, would she struggle and strain, drum weakening hands against the firm cage of Sybille’s arms?

“It’s a bad time to be a vampire in Solitude, isn’t it?” Elenwen asked, friendly, almost sweet, “With all that terrible news about undead stirring in the catacombs. A death sentence for you if anyone should find out, I expect.”

Sybille opened her mouth but her fangs were beginning to protrude, and venom ran eagerly down her chin. Elenwen’s gaze tracked the wetness in her mouth, and her voice dropped an octave when she spoke again.

“But I’m right here, and I’m offering,” said Elenwen, soft as a spider, warm as the blood Sybille could not tear her eyes from. “I could do so much for you if you enthralled me. All the power of the Thalmor at your fingertips…”

She chuckled, darkly. This close, Sybille felt it vibrate through her chest into Sybille’s own. The movement of her shoulders had a droplet of blood, teetering on the steep ridge of her tendon, tumble headlong into the sleek curve of the dip where her collarbones joined her neck. The swipe of red glistened wetly.

“… and I have so many more little puppets dancing for me than you could ever guess, Sybille Stentor. You would never have to fear being found again. All it would take is… a taste. Bite me.”

Pressing her shoulders back against the wall, Sybille turned her head away stubbornly. The stone was cold through her robes. Elenwen’s warmth was dizzying by contrast. Sybille was hot with bloodlust, had never wanted so badly. She was aware, as if it was happening to someone else, that she was trembling.

Involuntarily, she considered Elenwen’s offer. Imagined stepping forward, grasping the elf’s thin waist, following the trail of blood with her tongue. Licking up that taunting trail over the rigid line of her tendon, sucking hard and strong on the slash she’d cut into her own neck, the bones of Elenwen’s hips fine as glass under her grip. Imagined how Elenwen would go moaning-soft and boneless as butter in her arms, her long ears brushing over Sybille’s hood as her head drooped. How Sybille would have to catch her when her knees buckled, the reflexive way she would go to push Sybille away turned to a trembling grasp, rigid at first by the pain, then softened by the venom, how her brilliant, hard blazing eyes would go soft, dark, round with venom and bloodloss euphoria, when Sybille imposed her will over her, how Sybille would drink, and drink, and drink-

But no – it was broad daylight in the middle of the fucking Blue Palace, there was no way that Sybille could drain Elenwen or thrall her quick enough to avoid discovery, and that was only if Elenwen didn’t have some other plan. There was no way that Sybille would go along with some Thalmor plot out of – hunger, hunger alone.

What would Istlod say?

Elenwen pressed close until she was crowding Sybille against the wall. Her body was thin and bony, the buckles of her uniform dug into Sybille’s breastbone. Her lips brushed the tip of Sybille’s ear through her hood when she spoke. This close, the smell of blood was intoxicating.

But Sybille was not strong enough to push her away.

“Drink,” Elenwen cajoled. “It’s been so long since you last had a prisoner, hasn’t it? …Such unfortunate accidents.”

Sybille heard the shift of cloth, that and outrage had her turning her head back to glare at Elenwen, but she was too close, and instead Sybille’s nose butted against her smooth cheek. Her skin was searing hot, a fine dust from her makeup tickled Sybille’s nose. Sybille felt Elenwen’s repressed shiver at the chilly brush of Sybille’s dead skin against hers in the pit of her stomach. “You-?”

“Me,” Elenwen confirmed, smile widening in Sybille’s peripheral vision.

Sybille was transfixed as Elenwen lifted her finger to the bleeding wound on her neck and shoved her finger in, stark, bold, crass. Her smile never wavered at all at the pain. Her bright, bright eyes were focused on Sybille. The part of Sybille that had been mortal once was horrified at her disregard, the part of her that thirsted so badly for blood it barely cared anymore found it unbearably erotic.

She behaved like a venom-drunk thrall, but she smelled rich and fresh, unbitten, untainted. Did she feel no pain, or did she not care? … Did she like it?

The deepened wound gushed redly down her neck, and Elenwen leaned even closer, until the warmth of her body pressed Sybille’s cold one through their robes, like she wanted to become one with her bones, buckles and all. She was thin, thinner than Sybille had expected her to be; she could feel the ridges of Elenwen’s ribs, her small breasts, the cavernous flutter of her stomach.

Elenwen’s finger, glistening with her own blood, raised towards Sybille’s watering mouth.

There was nowhere to go. She turned her head, straining, but Elenwen chased her, cornered her, and Sybille’s mouth parted involuntarily to stop it from painting her lips red. If she tasted the blood – even a droplet – Sybille knew she couldn’t hold back. She choked out a little moan when Elenwen let her finger rest there inside Sybille’s mouth without touching her at all, breathing in the scent of her, so strong, so present. Slender and long, she could have tickled the back of Sybille’s throat if she chose, made her cough and gag and choke, but she did not, instead she teased, not touching, not tasting, forcing Sybille to breathe around the inescapable allure of her.

“I must confess a little professional curiosity,” Elenwen told her, intimate as a lover’s whisper, “I’ve never met a vampire before, and I’ve always wondered how it compares. The blood of Alinor’s finest surely ought to taste better than the swill in the dungeons, though personally, I can’t say I’ve ever tasted much of a difference – Nord, Altmer, Dunmer, we’re all good in wine.” She smirked a little at that. “Won’t you taste, for me?”

The saliva pooled down around Sybille’s fangs and over her chin. She closed her eyes in humiliation.

Elenwen tutted. “I suppose not. Perhaps this will help.” She drew closer, closer, nudging under Sybille’s hood, until her breath puffed over Sybille’s ear, waking long dead nerves with a shiver. Her free hand bracketed the wall above Sybille’s head, then stroked down over the back of her neck and seized the base of her skull. Her fingers knotted into the hair there, each one hot as a brand.

Sybille forced her tongue against her teeth, trying to ground herself through the strain in her jaw. Elenwen’s blooded finger in her mouth was a burning beacon, commanding attention. Spit and venom drooled continuously down her chin. Elenwen’s thready heartbeat – affected, now, by the bloodloss – pounded underneath Sybille’s ribs like a call to war.

“I killed Torygg,” Elenwen breathed into Sybille’s ear. “I told Ulfric to kill him. I broke his mind and I told him to murder poor King Torygg. I was told he squealed like a stuck pig when Ulfric knocked him down, broke his darling bones with one of those beastly shouts of his. Did you hear them break? There’s a certain sound a bone makes when it shatters beyond repair, and the look in a plaything’s eyes, when they realise they are only breakable meat – well, you don’t need me telling you how sweet that is. … I envy you. I wish I could have seen it.”

Elenwen’s gory detail was not needed. That day was burned into Sybille’s memory, the dull wet pops, the snaps and cracks of Torygg’s bones, the horrible thud and the wail he’d made in the thunderous after-shocks of that terrible Shout, the bitter venom in Sybille’s mouth when Ulfric contemptuously cut his head from what remained of his shoulders with one swipe. Ruby-red, it spurted from the messy stump, it had puddled in the grooves of the courtyard’s cobbles, and weeks after rust-red flecks were found, splattering shoes and hems. Torygg had contained so much blood in him, so much of Istlod, and his iron scent was seared into her nose, her mind, mixing with the tantalising barely-there taste of Elenwen in her mouth.

Sybille gurgled on a gasp. She closed her eyes harder, overwrought, fighting to restrain the tears that welled there. That broke through the blood-haze. She’d known. She’d known it had been too simple, that it hadn’t made sense. But – the Thalmor, killing Torygg? Manipulating Stormcloak?

Elenwen moaned at something on Sybille’s face, tearing her concentration. The vibration stirred Sybille’s chest, the quiver of her ear, and Elenwen’s hips ground against hers in subtle, excited circles. It was vile. It was seductive. Sybille had never wanted to break more than she did now. She deserved to die. Wouldn’t it be worth it? Grief, sick desire, warred with prudence. But – this was what she wanted, Sybille fought to remember, the Ambassador was trying to manipulate Sybille to – to –

She was so thirsty.

Sybille’s teary glare did not seem to faze Elenwen at all. This close, she could see the breaks in the makeup that covered Elenwen’s skin, the artificial wrinkles that made her look older than she truly was. Everything fake, a performance. She made a negative sound around the venom bubbling out of her mouth, and Elenwen smiled. It was not a nice smile.

“And I think I might fuck that idiot doll you’ve got on the throne, too,” Elenwen whispered, and Sybille’s jaw muscle jumped. Her catlike eyes warmed with glee. “Oh, I know you were warning her off my little parties. Came back in too much of a state once, did she? The funny thing is that she approaches me – you should be thanking me, really, all that whining about her poor husband, but she cheers right up if you get a little summerwine into her, turns right into quite the … bold … little … slut.”

That last word was delivered in a hiss, lips brushing Sybille’s ear, and at once, she couldn’t take it any longer. She jerked to snarl back, and Elenwen’s bloodied finger rubbed the soft wetness of the inside of Sybille’s mouth. The rich taste of fresh blood overwhelmed her, blanked her mind. Sybille sucked reflexively, and Elenwen’s breath stuttered in her chest. She threw back her head, exposing her bloody neck, and ground hungrily into Sybille.

“Does your doll like knives?” Elenwen panted. “I do.”

Then, she laughed, delighted and breathless, as Sybille’s hands left the wall and found themselves somehow on Elenwen’s back, pressing her close, wrinkling her robes beneath clenched fists. She bit the flesh between her teeth, dazed, searching tongue prodding for all the blood she could smell but not taste. Her own venom burned her throat when she swallowed.

“Oh, though I suppose it doesn’t matter,” Elenwen continued, tugging her finger free, “She will learn to, if I want her.”

Her body tensed as if she meant to move back, but Sybille shot forward faster than lightning with a bloodcurdling snarl. She seized Elenwen’s hair and waist in a vicious grip, bringing her face close to the dripping wounds. The blood, hot and wet, the revenge, the wanting. At last, Sybille dared a tentative lick, a long, sure line up Elenwen’s neck, chasing the path of the bleeding. She tasted like magic, sun, knives, sharp and a little acrid. Intoxicating. Sybille smoothed over the wetness of the open wound, and she hesitated there, damnation at her lips.

A man’s face was before her eyes, fuzzy Nord-beard, mournful wrinkle-sagged stare. …Istlod?

Elenwen did not fight her at all, though Sybille felt the prick of her dagger against her ribs, a second from slipping into her heart, even as she whimpered at the tightness of Sybille’s grip on her fine hair. It was soft, thin as insect-wings over Sybille’s fist. Elenwen’s body hummed with tension like a live-wire, she breathed in gasps, and she trembled faintly with an unbearable want that Sybille could feel straining to pierce the skin, meet its echo in the parched emptiness of Sybille’s bloodless gut. But her knife tickled at Sybille’s robes, warning and promise both.

“Go on,” Elenwen goaded, her voice strained, a little breathy, cracked with desperation, “Hurt me. You must want to. I killed him, I starved you. Hurt me.”

Could she drain Elenwen before Elenwen stabbed her? There was some reason why Sybille could not drink, she knew that, but all thought deserted her every time she breathed, every time she couldn’t help herself and licked the welling blood before it reached Elenwen’s collar, tracing the topography of her willing throat. Elenwen made sounds, beautiful and ragged, when Sybille lapped at her with her cold tongue, shivered in her arms, all eager sighs and clutching hands and poised knives. But still, Sybille did not affix her mouth over the pumping vein and drain, drain, drain her dry.

“Just-!” Elenwen bit out, “What’s wrong with you? Just – do it…”

Sybille strained against her desires. A battleground between her self-control, the mind of the mage who had served loyally for years, and the hungry animal that howled for blood. Istlod. Torygg. The sweetness of the elfsblood – sunlight and sweat, blade-tip lick – in her mouth. The iron reek of Torygg splattering over the cobbles. Elenwen’s gasps, overlaid with the symphony of Torygg’s body breaking, shattering, pulping under the force of Ulfric’s rage. The world had quaked then, now it whimpered in Sybille’s arms, immobilised by her grip. Istlod at peace on his bed, still smiling his last smile. Torygg’s tears. Elisif wailing, when the sword came down. The war-prisoners in the dungeon, hollow-eyed men whose blood tasted of death and despair. The Thalmor’s snake-whisper, hurt me.

Sybille felt Elenwen’s ear twitch against her hand. A moment later, footsteps rushing towards them.

“Out of time, vampire,” Elenwen cooed, almost a disappointed sigh, and when she pulled back this time Sybille felt her numb fingers release her.

She swallowed, copiously, trying to empty her mouth of spit, and burned hotly with indignation.

“You dare,” Sybille rasped, but Elenwen only quirked her lips, apathetic to Sybille’s fury.

A flash of light and the marks were gone, eaten by healing magic. The dagger disappeared into the folds of her robes, the buttons done up, the stray hair smoothed back into its severe imprisonment. She stood an easy few paces away, as if she had never dared to come so close to a starved vampire, a vampire she had starved. It took moments, and through it all Elenwen’s expression was bored, not a hint of fluster, not even a breath of that wretched amusement or nauseating intrigue.

“I’ll send a prisoner or two your way,” Elenwen promised in a flat voice, plucking at the neckline of her robe. “Do think of me when you drink them, won’t you?”

She drew herself up, and suddenly the Ambassador was back, rigid and stern.

“The Thalmor appreciates your cooperation in this matter, Court Mage,” she said sniffily, the accent disappearing as if it had never been there in exchange for the ringing, cold tones Sybille was used to from her. Pinched about her eyes there was nothing but vague disdain, as if she knew nothing about Sybille, as if she had never clung to Sybille and all-but-pleaded to her, and in fact, considered her just as interesting as a cockroach beneath her heel.

She turned away when Falk rushed out of the bowels of the Blue Palace and greeted her with a flurry of apologies. There was not a wrinkle on her uniform. Her heels clicked loudly on the marble as she followed Falk, reverberating into Sybille’s ears, as if she was the only sound.

Sybille sagged against the wall, and cursed Elenwen in every tongue she knew. Sybille considered herself good at reading people, had thought herself safe, well-protected here at the heart of the court. But the damned Thalmor had her over a barrel. She had no doubt these prisoners of Elenwen’s would be nothing but good men and women who had simply fallen on the wrong side of the Dominion, and Sybille nothing more than a convenient way of disposing of them. She could not see a way out of this trap easily – Elenwen could expose her with a word, had proven her control over Sybille’s food source, had threatened the last dregs of the family Sybille had loved.

Sybille needed blood from those who wouldn’t be missed, needed secrecy, needed to be in court even more than ever to protect Elisif and Solitude now she had glimpsed the danger Elenwen posed: the disdainful Ambassador, the eager prey, the gloating predator, glossed in her makeup to falsely age herself, in her uniform that hid her thinness, with her secrets and her contradictory masks. And yet, the most troubling of all was that Sybille could not tell which of the sides of Elenwen she had seen was the truth, and which was the lie.

[beautifultypewriter]

Expert ~ Daenerys Targaryen

Requested: Yes / by Anonymous

Warnings: Swords

Word Count: 1,018

Pairing: Daenerys Targaryen x reader

Summary: Daenerys goes looking for an ally to aid her in her quest for the Iron Throne, but she may find more than she had been hoping for.

It wasn’t uncommon for people to step into your domain and demand that you fetch your master. Nor was it uncommon for those same people to be shocked when you told them that you had no master and that if they wanted the service of The Sword Master, a name you could do without, then they’d have to best you in combat. Usually they laughed in your face and with no hesitation, they’d draw their sword and get into a fighting stance.

 You had spent your entire life, from the moment you could walk learning and perfecting the art of the sword. Your father had taught you well and you spent several hours everyday practicing. It hadn’t taken long for you to become a well-known story in Essos. Your skill was often spoke about, but very few people actually knew who you were.

 So when people came looking for The Sword Master and they found you, they thought it wise to laugh. How could the person in front of them possibly be a trained sword expert? One who had taught so many, one who had accomplished so much. You certainly did not look old enough to have done half the things people spoke of and you certainly did not look like someone who studied blades. So they smirked and they laughed right up until you drew your own sword and fell into your stance. You’d disarm them quickly and then send them on their way. They were not worthy of your teachings and you refused to waste your time on people who were not worthy.

 You were used to big men, who acted like they know everything, storming into your place of training and making demands as they looked down on you. What was foreign to you was young women stepping through your door and asking for your assistance.

 She was standing with her back straight and her hands clasped in front of her, long silver hair pulled back from her face. Her chin was tilted up, but she looked at you with a certain respect in her eyes. She was accompanied by three men and another young woman. The group stood behind her, but you noticed that the men kept their hands gripped on their weapons, ready for a fight at any moment.

 The woman in the front cleared her throat as she looked you over, “I’m sorry to disturb you. I was just looking for The Sword Master.”

 You chuckled to yourself as you dropped your sword to your side, “Ah, that would be me.”

 Her eyes widened, almost imperceptibly, “You?” You nodded. “Oh.” You nodded again, a smirk on your face. She looked around the room before settling her eyes on you again, “And when did you become an expert?”

 You twirled your sword with precision, looking off to the side, “When did I become an expert?” She nodded and you tilted your head from one side to the other, pretending to think over your answer before you looked at her again, “I was born an expert.” You moved over to the back corner of the room, grabbing another sword from the wall. You stepped back over to the woman; the new sword brandished at her. You watched the men behind her as they stepped forward, ready to protect her. You smirked at them as you tossed the sword up and caught the flat of the blade between your fingers. The woman watched you carefully the entire time. You held the handle out to her, your head bowed slightly. She took it hesitantly. You figured she was here to make demands, so you were ready to issue your challenge to her. You stopped though, when you noticed her relaxed grip on the sword as she held it out to the side, the blade pointed awkwardly to the ceiling. You nodded to her, “By the way, that’s not how you hold a sword.” She blushed as she dropped her arm, the tip of the sword pressing into the floor. You sheathed your own weapon and crossed your arms in front of you, “What can I help you with?”

 She cleared her throat, her chin tilting up again, like she was someone of importance, “My name is Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen-”

 You waved your hand at her, “Stop.” Everyone was shocked at that, but you only shook your head, “I’ve heard stories of you.” She stared at you as you nodded, “Something about reclaiming your birthright?”

 She nodded, “The Seven Kingdoms.”

 You snapped your fingers, pointing to her with a grin, “Right. The queen without a kingdom.” She winced at that. With a nod, you shrugged, “What does any of that have to do with me?”

 She stepped closer to you, holding the sword out to you, the blade pointing straight down, “You say you’ve heard stories of me? Well I’ve heard stories of you.” She looked into your eyes, her purple irises staring straight through you, “I want you to join me and help me reclaim the Seven Kingdoms.”

 You stared at her, “Join you?” She nodded and you clicked your tongue, staring past her at the group of people still watching you carefully. Your eyes snapped back to her, “What possible use could you have for me?”

 She smirked, “You’re an expert swordsman. I think you could be of great help to me.” You laughed. She quirked an eyebrow at you. You could feel the tension in the room rising as you looked at each other.

 You moved your hands to rest on your waist, “What’s in it for me?”

 “Whatever you want.” She moved closer to you as she pressed her lips together.

 Your eyes trailed from her head all the way down to her toes and then back up to her eyes, “Whatever I want? That’s a dangerous game to play.”

 She looked you over slowly, “I’m sure I can agree with your demands.”

 You bit your lip, “Alright then. How can I say no?” She smirked at you as you took your sword back from her, your fingertips brushing together.

[pietkokkewiet]

12 Ethics of Walking the Red Road

"Traveling along the path of the Red Road, is not an easy one, it is full of disappointments, obstacles, and temptations. But we must continue on it, for we know it is the right path to follow.”

-Grandma Rosetta, White Eagle, OK.

Ethic 1

Honor the Great Spirit

Every element of creation expresses the Creator. Within each mountain, each stone, and each heart lies the Great Spirit. All are of the Creator, each particle of the universe is equally deserving of respect and admiration. When looking upon a sunset, the trees, or even your worst enemy, you are looking at the Creator. Know this and give praise and prayer.

“A wee Child toddling in a wonder world, I prefer to their dogma my excursions into the natural gardens where the voice of the Great Spirit is heard in the twittering of the birds, and the sweet breathing of flowers. If this is Paganism, then at present, at least, I am a Pagan...” - Zitkala-Sa, (Red Bird), Sioux author and activist. 1876-1938

Ethic 2

Honor Mother Nature

Mother Nature is not for us…she is part of us and we, like everything else that lives and breathes upon her, are her children. Your own direct connection with Mother Earth is to be encouraged daily. Paint her portraits, swim in her waters, tend to her flowers, stroll through her glorious forest, and care for her many children: all plants, people, and animals. We must live according to her principals and choose not to pollute her body. The alternative is death to our Mother - and death to her children.

“The Great Spirit is our father, but the Earth is our mother. She nourishes us; that which we put into the ground she returns to us, and healing plants she gives us likewise. If we are wounded, we go to our mother and seek to lay the wound part against her, to be healed.” - Bedagi (Big Thunder), Wabanaki Algonquin, 1900’s

Ethic 3

Search for Yourself, by Yourself

Do not allow others to make your path for you. It is your path road and yours alone. Others may walk it with you, but no one can walk it for you. Accept yourself and your actions. Own your thoughts. Speak up when wrong, and apologize. Know your path at all times. To do this you must know yourself inside and out, accept your gifts as well as your shortcomings, and grow each day with honesty, integrity, compassion, faith and brotherhood.

“I have made myself what I am.” - Tecumseh, Shawnee, 1768-1813

Ethic 4

Community Code of Conduct

Treat the guests in your home with much consideration. Serve them the best food, give them the best bed, and treat them with respect. Honor the thoughts, wishes, and words of others. Never interrupt another or mock or mimic them. Allow each person the right to freedom of opinion. Respect that opinion. Never speak ill of others. As you travel along life’s road never harm anyone, nor cause anyone to feel sad. On the contrary, if at any time you can make a person happy, do so.

“Even as you desire good treatment, so render it. -Handsome Lake, Seneca, C. 1735-1815

Ethic 5

Banish Fear from Your Life

Fear stunts your soul and limit’s the amount of road needed to travel to reach the Tree of Life, and to know the Great Spirit. Fear is nonbeneficial and body, and leads to an unbalanced mind, body, and spirit. To banish fear you must know your path and trust yourself and the world around you. With trust comes confidence. Self-confidence banishes fear.

“I fear no man, and I depend on the Great Spirit.” - Kondiaronk, Huron, late 17th century.

Ethic 6

RESPECT

Respect is to be given for all beings placed upon this earth by the creator.

Respect is to be given to elders, who are rich with wisdom.

Respect one’s privacy, thoughts, and wishes.

Respect human siblings by only speaking of their good qualities.

Respect one’s personal space and belongings.

Respect another’s spiritual path and do not judge their choices.

“Trouble no one about their religion; respect others on their view, and demand that they respect yours. Love your life, perfect your life, and beautify all things in your life. Seek to make your life long and it’s purpose in the service of your people. Prepare a noble death song for the day when you go over the great divide. Always give a word or a sign of salute when meeting or passing a friend, even a stranger, when in a lonely place. Show respect to all people and bow to one….” - Tecumseh, Shawnee, 1768-1813

Ethic 7

Speak the Truth

Speak only the truth and do right always. You are what you say and what you say needs to be honest, forthright, and of your own personal belief. Without truth you cannot achieve inner balance - balance within yourself, with other beings, with Mother Earth, and with the Creator.

“Good words do not last long until they amount to something.” - Chief Joseph (..Hin-..Mah-..Too-..Yah-Lat-Kekt), Nez Perce, 1840-1904

Ethic 8

Reject Materialism

When one is materialistic, one is not right with the Red Road. To value and appreciate what you have to know that you are loved and save under the limbs of the Tree of Life, is to reject materialism and to live a life of virtue and appreciation. Materialism only fills your heart with envy and greed, while appreciation breeds contentment, balance, and true happiness.

“… These are young men. I am their Chief. Look among them and see if you can find among them who are rich. The are all poor because they are all honest.” - Red Dog, Oglala Sioux, 1870

Ethic 9

Seek Wisdom

Those who are wise have lived a lifetime with ears open and a willingness to not only experience truth, but to pursue it well.

Wisdom is gained by:

Listening to your elders. They have walked a longer path than you.

Seeking all that is true. Wisdom lies within honesty, not deception.

Realizing education is never-ending. Even death is a final lesson.

Learning from Mother Nature. Her wisdom is infinite.

“The greatest obstacle to the internal nature is the mind. If it relies on logic such as the white man’s mind, the domain of the inner nature is inaccessible. The simple fact is man does not challenge the wisdom of the Holy Mystery.” - Turtleheart, Teton Sioux.

Ethic 10

Practice Forgiveness

Your journey upon the Red Road will be filled with acts requiring forgiveness - forgiveness of others and forgiveness of yourself. Mindfully practice this incredible act of humanity and the Red Road will be an easy path to follow. Also, absolution breeds the same in others. Be quick ot forgive and others will grant you the same kindness.

“Indians love their friends and kindred, and treat them with kindness.” - Cornplanter Seneca, 1736-1836

Ethic 11

Practice Optimism

It is easy to live within the shadow of fear, procrastination and pessimism. But these are bad habits and stumbling blocks the keep you from experiencing life, the Red Road, and the Great Spirit. It is well know to the Native people that optimism is the key to good health. Worry makes you sick - as do bad thoughts. Replace them with happiness and optimism and you shall live a long and healthy life.

“Oh hear me, Grandfather, and help us, that our generation in the future will live and walk the good road with the flowering stick of success. Also, the pipe of peace, we will offer it as we walk the good road to success.Hear me, and hear our plea……” - Black Elk, Oglala Sioux, 1863-1950

Ethic 12

Take What You Need, Leave the Rest Be

There is nothing placed on this Erath that deserves to be destroyed or wasted for the purpose of human convenience. To destroy trees and leave them unused because they simply block the graden, or to kill animals only for their fur, is not a rightful way to share the world with another. To waste or discard due to own selfishness is an act that goes against the Creator, and strays you from the good Red Road.

“Now tell me this one little thing, if thou hast any sense: Which of these two is the wisest and happiest - he who labors without ceasing and only obtains, and that great trouble, enough to live on, or he who rest in comfort and finds all that he needs in the pleasure of hunting and fishing? - Gaspesian Chief

12 Ethics Taken from 365 Days of Walking The Red Road by Terri Jean

Image from Apache Peoples

[so-i-dont-forget-again]

So I Don’t Forget Again: A Breath of The Wild fanfiction

Entry 216: Bannan Island

 Sidon woke me up this morning. He worked through the night to finish the armor and made the hand mirror for me. He asked me if I really was going to leave today. So he could tell that easily, huh. He asked that we just do two things before I go. The first was cuddling for a little bit. The second, he challenged me to a battle. Before I leave, we HAD to fight. He told me he’d prove to me that I wouldn’t have to worry about him, that I can rely on him, that I wasn’t alone in this, that I don’t have to carry the burden of the whole world on my shoulders. That… he wanted to prove to me things were different this time, my friends won’t die, I won’t fall asleep for another hundred years, I won’t forget anything again. We’d be happy, and safe.

We fled from the city, this was a serious battle, no training weapons, no holding back, first to incapacitate the other is the winner.

He studied my form, from Hylian to the one I’m making. He knows he can’t beat me in raw skill, I’m simply always fighting, he’s not, he doesn’t have as much experience, but he’s smart. He adapts so quickly. Every time I changed my strategy moments later, he’d catch on and change his. He took swift aim at any weak spot I showed. He even learned from me during battle, like how I use the environment to my advantage he started copying me. At first he tried sticking towards the waters, but he quickly realized that if he kept that up I’d be able to get in a sneak attack and win. You can’t be stubborn in battle, if a strategy isn’t working or takes too long, you have to drop it for something else and he did just that. He’s also much, much stronger than me, and he knew that. If our weapons clashed, he could easily push through and get to me, so I needed to rely on speed. Running wise he’s not so, but when swinging those tridents, he’s like lightning. Even in battle he smiles. He so earnestly thinks the best of any given situation it’s almost as if that wills it into truth. He never faltered, never lost confidence or got distracted. He has an iron will that never wavered.

No matter how capable there are some things you simply cannot learn without experience. Like knowing how to fight without sight, to focus on your hearing. I was able to blind him for a moment with the mirror reflecting the sunlight. Immediately he tried fighting back, but that moment was enough for me to deliver a jab to his chest with the back end of Mipha’s trident, knock him to the ground and hold Boulder Breaker right above his head.

He wanted to win, so badly, it was clear, yet he looked at me for a moment and smiled so softly. He said that was a fantastic battle. He thought it was a little funny though, one of his gifts to me lead to his ultimate downfall, the mirror no less, the one tied to the scale legend. He’s glad to show me the true fruits of his labor. He also found it amazing to fight me, fighting with me was one thing, but against me was another, it was unlike anything else. I am unmatched by all whether it be skill, strategy or whatever. And because of that he is sure I saw how strong he was, and that he can help me. He would not hold me back.

I told him I never doubted him, that I always believe him. He however said he knows I hurt and get stuck in my head, and he didn’t want to be another person who hurts me. Even if he’s weaker in battle than me, he can protect himself, that at least to an extent, we’re equals, and if I truly knew that, could see it firsthand, then I’d be okay. He wouldn’t hurt me. He says that if he could lighten my burden, even a little, he’d do it, and he simply couldn’t think of any other way to do that for me.

He just hugged me for a while. It felt so nice.

I sometimes feel like Sidon does so much for me, and I don’t give much in return, but I think I know better now. Sidon wants me to know we’re equals in this, so everything he’s done for me, from the armor, to training, to just being with me, it’s both because he wants to for him and myself but to also be on equal footing with me. That’s what he’s been doing this whole time.

It makes me feel better. But it’s still taken me so long to word it, I knew it, like back at KaraKara bazaar I touched it, how he helps me, but still lets me learn and experience on my own. He’s always been my partner in things, never taking the lead or following.

He walked us out of the canyon. The sun was setting. Since we were still technically in the Zora’s Domain, we thought it would be okay that we stay out here for the night. We talked through the night, and just watched the stars. Or tried too at least, we kinda just gazing at each other for a while. As bright as the stars are, I find his glowing spots more captivating. It’s just so soft and welcoming. He really likes my eyes. To him they’re so striking, and expressive, and earnest, they are shiny and bright like mirrors, he even admitted that his heart races a little faster if he sees himself reflected in them, I’m focusing on him, and really having my attention, it feels special to him.

He asked me when I was going to write in my journal. He actually stayed up through the whole night with me, and I never seemed to reach for it. When I told him I wanted to see this whole moment through and not cut it off short or something, I’d write tonight. He hugged me so tightly and told me he loves me so much, that I’m his best friend and he was so glad to hear those words.

As I rode away on Bossa Nova, after making sure the path ahead was safe I and Sidon kept waving to one another and yelling our goodbyes till he was out of sight and we couldn’t hear each other anymore.

So here I am. Off to Kakariko Village now.

First Page , Previous Page , Next Page