#ancient guardians of the earth

[innervoiceart]

SAMAI OF TREES: The First Single from the 'Finding Home' album

About 'Samai of Trees':

“I always wanted to write a samai, an ancient form of Arabic music that is built on a meditative 10/8 rhythm. I noticed that when I was writing I was either looking at trees or sitting under a tree in my back garden, so I called it ‘Samai of Trees’. It's a tribute to these ancient guardians of the earth who give so much healing and comfort in these challenging times.” 

Video courtesy of Classic FM 

Shirley Smart on cello 

Elizabeth Nott on percussion

Maya Youssef qanun & composition

[ryin-silverfish]

A Guide to the Chinese Underworld (and what it isn't)

As many FSYY and fox posts as there were on my blog, I am actually a huge fan of the Chinese Underworld mythos. Mostly because I was once a morbid little kid that loved reading about the excavations of ancient tombs, and found the statues depicting hellish torture in the Haw Par Villa "super cool".

Apart from the aesthetics, the history of its evolution is also fascinating. Most of us, Chinese or not, only know the most popular version of the Underworld——the "Ten Kings" system, yet that isn't always the case. So today, I'll start off with a short summary of that.

In pre-Qin era, there was already this generic idea of a "Realm of the Dead" called the Yellow Spring, Youdu, or Youming, but we know very little about it.

Then, in the Han dynasty, two ideas start to emerge: 1) the Underworld is a bureaucracy, 2) the God of Mt. Tai ruled over the dead.

This early bureaucracy might not function as an agent of punishment; the main focus was on keeping the dead segregated from the living so they wouldn't bring diseases and misfortune to the latter, as well as using those ghosts to enforce collective punishments upon people for their lineage's wrongdoings while they were still alive.

Post-Han, after Buddhism entered China and took root, its idea of karmic punishments and reincarnation and the figure of King Yama was merged with folk and Daoist ideas of the Underworld bureaucracy, and, came Tang dynasty, resulted in the "Ten Kings" system that first appeared in Dunhuang manuscripts.

It was very rudimentary and far from well-established, as seen in Tang legends, with some adopting the Ten Kings system, some sticking to the Lord of Mt. Tai and some favoring King Yama, and overall little agreements on who's in charge of the Underworld.

But the "Ten Kings" system would become the mainstream version from then onwards, used in Ming vernacular novels and made even more popular by folk religion scrolls like the Jade Records (Yuli Baochao).

As such, most points in the following sections will be based on the fully matured "Ten Kings" system of the Underworld, as seen in the Jade Records and JTTW.

What happens when you die?

(This is a fictionalized walkthrough of the posthumous fate of souls under the "Ten Kings" system. I try to stick to the very broad progression outlined in the Jade Records, but many creative liberties are taken on the details.)

Let's say there's a guy named Xiao Ming, and he had just died of a heart attack. Bummers. What now?

Well, the first thing he saw would be the ghost cops.

There isn't really an unanimous agreement on who these ghost cops are: they may be a pair of ghosts in white and black robes, wearing tall hats (Heibai Wuchang), they may have the heads of farm animals (Ox-Head and Horse-Face), or they can just be generic ghost bureaucrats. For convenience's sake, let's say it was the first scenario.

"Who are you guys and where are you taking me?"

"Glad you asked!" The taller ghost cop, being the cheerful one of the pair, replied. It wasn't very reassuring, considering that his tongue was dangling out of his mouth way further than it should. "I'm the White Impermanence, my sour-looking colleague here is the Black Impermanence, and we are taking you to the City God's office."

This City God, a.k.a. Chenghuang, is just like how it sounds: the divine guardian of a city, who also pulls double duty as the head of the local Dead People Customs Office. They are usually virtuous officials deified posthumously, and in JTTW, they fall under the category of "Ghostly immortals", together with the Earth Gods a.k.a. Tudi.

So Xiao Ming went with the two ghost cops——not like he had much of a choice, made his way through the long queue at the City God's office, and was now standing in front of a gruff old magistrate in traditional robes.

"Name?"

"Wang Xiao Ming."

"Age and birth dates?"

"21, April 16 2003…"

After he was done asking questions, the City God flipped through his ledger, then picked up a brush, ticked off Xiao Ming's name, and told him to go get his pass in the next room. More waiting in a queue. Wonderful.

"I never heard anything about needing a pass to get to the Underworld," the girl in front of Xiao Ming asked the ghost cops, who were standing guard nearby. "Is this a new policy or something?"

"Yeah. In the old days, we'd just drag y'all straight to the Ghost Gate." The ghost cop in black said, then muttered to himself, "Fuckin' paperworks and overpopulation, man…"

(This "Dead People Passport" thing was popularized in the middle-to-late Ming dynasty, as shown by the discovery of such documents inside tombs in southern China. )

(It might have evolved from similar passes to the Western Pure Land in lay Buddhism that recorded their acts of merits. Which, in turn, might be traced back to the "Dead People Belongings List" of Han dynasty, to be shown to Underworld bureaucrats so that no one would take away the dead's private property down there or something.)

Anyways, after he received his pass, Xiao Ming departed together with the rest of the bunch, to be led to the Ghost Gate. It was like the world's most depressing tourist group, where instead of tour guides, you got two ghost cops in funny hats, and the only scenery in sight was the desolation of the Yellow Spring Road.

They weren't the only travellers on the road, though. Xiao Ming noticed other groups moving in the far distance, behind the fog and the flickering ghostfire, led by similar figures in black and white.

It made a lot of sense; realistically, there was no way two ghost cops could fetch hundreds of thousands of dead people all by themselves.

(SEA Tang-ki mediums believed there were multiple Tua Di Ya Peks——Hokkien name for the Black and White Impermanences, working for different Underworld Courts.)

At last, the Ghost Gate stood in front of Xiao Ming, guarded by two towering figures. Normally, they'd be Ox-Head and Horse-Face, like what you see at Haw Par Villa's Underworld entrance.

However, older Han dynasty works like Wang Chong's 论衡·订鬼 also mentioned two gods, Shenshu and Yulei, as guardians of the Ghost Gate, who would use reed ropes to capture malicious ghosts and feed them to tigers, making them possibly the earliest incarnation of "Gate Gods".

So here, they were what Xiao Ming sees, standing side by side like proper doormen, silently watching herds of ghosts being funneled through the entrance.

The place was more crowded than a train station during the CNY Spring Rush; the ghost cops had already said their quick goodbye and left to fetch the next group of dead people, leaving the resident officials of the Underworld proper to maintain order and quell any would-be riots.

Now you started seeing the Ox-Head and Horse-Face guys, poking at unruly ghosts with their pitchforks and dragging away the violent ones in chains. Among their ranks were other monstrous beings, blue-faced yakshas and imps, but also regular dead humans who look 100% done with their jobs, like the lady who stamped Xiao Ming's pass when it was finally his turn.

After this point, Xiao Ming had entered the Underworld proper, and his next destination would be the First Court, led by King Qin'guang. Here, his fate should be decided by what is revealed in the King's magical mirror.

If Xiao Ming was a good guy, or someone who had done an equal amount of good and bad things in life, he'd be sent straight to the Tenth Court for reincarnation. However, if the mirror, while replaying his life events, had displayed more evil deeds than good ones, he'd be sent to one of the 2nd-9th Courts for judgment and then punished inside the Eighteen Hells.

Each of the Ten Kings was also assisted by ghostly judges. Many of them were righteous and just officials in life who had been recruited into the Ten Courts posthumously——Cui Jue from JTTW is one such example, while others were living people working part-time for the Underworld, like how Wei Zheng, Taizong's minister, works part-time for the Celestial Bureaucracy in JTTW.

We decide to be nice to Xiao Ming, so, after reliving some embarrassing childhood incidents and cringy teenage phases in front of a bunch of dead bureaucrats, he was found innocent and sent to the Tenth Court.

The queue here was almost as long as the First Court's, stretching on and on alongside of the banks of the Nai River. King of the Turning Wheel made his judgment without even lifting his head when it was Xiao Ming's turn:

"Path of Humans, male, healthy in body and mind, ordinary family. Next!"

Exiting the Tenth Court building, Xiao Ming saw the Terrace of Forgetfulness, standing tall before six bridges, made of gold, silver, jade, stone, wood, and…some unidentified material. Before he could get a good look at them and the little dots moving across those bridges, he was hurried into the Terrace by the ghostly officials.

Now, both JTTW and the Jade Records mention multiple bridges across the Nai River. In the former, there is 3, and the latter, 6. The bridges made of precious materials are for people who will reincarnate into better lives, as the wealthy, the fortunate, and the divine, while the Naihe Bridge is either the common option or the terribad shitty option.

However, the Naihe Bridge proved to be so iconic, it became THE bridge you walk across to reincarnate in popular legends.

Anyways, back to Xiao Ming. He found himself standing in a giant soup kitchen of sorts, with an old lady at the counter, scooping soup out of her steaming pot and into one cup after another.

This is Mengpo, the amnesia soup granny; according to the Jade Records, she was born in the Western Han era, and a pious cultivator who thought of neither the past nor the future, only knowing that her surname was Meng.

Made into an Underworld god by the Jade Emperor, she cooks a soup of five flavors that will wipe the memory of the dead, making sure they do not remember any of their past lives once they reincarnate.

It tastes awful. Like what you get after pouring corn syrup, coffee, chilli sauce, lemon juice and seawater into the same cup.

Such was Xiao Ming's last thought, as he gulped down the soup, and then he knew no more.

Things you should know about the Chinese Underworld:

1. It's not the Christian Hell.

Rather, the Chinese Underworld functions somewhat like the Purgatory, in that there are a lot of torment, but the torment's not eternal, however long the duration may be. Once you finish your sentence, you get reincarnated as something else, though that "something else" is not a guaranteed good birth.

Other people can also speed up the process via transferring of merits: hiring a priest/monk to chant sutras and perform rituals, for example, or performing good deeds in life in dedication to the dead, or they can pray to a Daoist/Buddhist deity to save their loved ones from a dreadful fate.

Interestingly enough, a thesis paper I read mentions that, whereas Buddhist salvation from the Hells was based on transference of merits——you give monks offerings and pay them to chant sutras, so they can cancel out the sinners' bad karma with good ones, Daoist ideas of salvation tend to involve the priest going down there, sorting it out with the Underworld officials, and taking the dead out of the Hells themselves.

(The paper also stops at the Northern-Southern and Tang dynasties, so the above is likely period-specific.)

2. Nor is it run by evil demons.

Underworld officials are not nice guys and look pretty monstrous and torture the sinful dead, but they are not the embodiment of evil. Rather, the faction as a whole is what I'd call Lawful Neutral, who function on this "An Eye for An Eye" logic, where every harm the sinner caused in life must be returned to them, in order for their karmic debts to be cleansed and move on to their next life.

They can absolutely be corrupt and incompetent and take bribes——Tang dynasty Zhiguai tales and Qing folklore compendiums featured plenty of such cases, but that's a very mundane and human kind of evil, not a cosmic/innate one.

This is just my personal opinion, but if you want to do an "evil" Chinese Underworld? It should be a very bureaucratic evil, whose leaders are bootlickers to the higher-ups, slavedrivers to their rank-and-file workers, and bullies who abuse their power over regular dead people.

Not, y'know, Satan and his infernal legions or conspiring Cthulu cultists.

3. The Ten Kings are not Hades.

Make no mistake, they still have a lot of power over your average dead mortal. But in the grand scheme of things? They are the backwater department of the pantheon, who only show up in JTTW to get pushed around and revive the occasional dead people.

When Taizong made his trip to the Underworld, the Ten Kings greeted him as equals——kings of ghosts to the king of the living. If they see themselves as equal in status to a mortal emperor, then, like any mortal emperors, they are subordinate to the Celestial Host, and the balance of power is not even remotely equal or in their favor.

Also, it isn't said outright, but under the Zhong-Lv classification of immortals JTTW is using, Underworld officials will likely be considered Ghostly immortals, the lowest and weakest of the five types, much like Tudis and Chenghuangs.

Essentially: they are ghosts that are powerful enough to not reincarnate and linger on and on, spirits of pure Yin as opposed to true immortals, who are beings of pure Yang.

It's pretty much the shittiest form of immortality, the result you get when you try to speedrun cultivation (the Zhong-Lv text also made a dig at Buddhist meditation here), and if they don't reincarnate or regain a physical body, there is no chance of progressing any further.

Oh, and fun fact? In the Song dynasty, commoners and literati elites alike believed that virtuous officials in life would get appointed as ghostly officials in death.

However, the latter viewed it as a punishment. Which was strange, considering how they still held the same position and the same amount of authority, just over dead people instead of living ones, so there should be no big losses, right?

Well...it was precisely the "dead people" part that made it a punishment. See, a lot of the power and prestige they had as officials came from the benefits they could bring to their families and kins and native places, as well as the potential wealth and reputation bonuses for themselves.

A job in the Dead People Supreme Court would give them the same workload, but with none of those benefits. Since all the dead people had to reincarnate eventually, they couldn't have a fixed group as their power base, or keep their old familial ties and connections. At most, they could help out an occasional dead relative or two.

Like, working for the Underworld Courts was the kind of deadend (no pun intended) job not even living officials wanted for themselves in the afterlife. That's how hilariously sad and pathetic they are.

4. In JTTW at least, they aren't even the highest authorities of the Underworld.

That would be Bodhisattva Ksitigarbha, who is technically their boss, though he seems to be more of a spiritual leader than someone who is actually involved in running the bureaucracy.

Which makes sense, since he has sworn an oath to not attain Buddhahood until all Hells are empty, and his role is to offer relief and salvation to the suffering souls, not judging and punishing them.

Now, historically...even though Ksitigarbha in early Tang legends was still the savior of the dead, he seemed to be unable to interfere with the judicial process of the Underworld, merely showing up to take people away before they were judged by King Yama.

However, in the mid-Tang apocryphal "Sutra of Bodhisattva Ksitigarbha" (地藏菩萨经), he had evolved into the equal of King Yama, with the power of supervision over his judgements. By the time the Scripture on the Ten Kings came out, in artistic depictions, the Ten Kings had become fully subservient to him.

5. Diyu usually refers to the prison-torture chamber part, not the courthouse, nor is it the entirety of the Underworld.

And for the majority of souls that haven't committed crimes, they'll only see the courthouse part before they are sent to reincarnation. That's why I personally don't like, or use the name Diyu for the Chinese Underworld: I prefer the term Difu ("Earth Mansions"), which encompasses the whole realm better.

Also: even though historical sources like the Scripture on the Ten Kings and Jade Records seem to suggest that the dead were just funneled through this Courthouse-Prison-Reincarnation pipeline with no breaks in between, in practice, that isn't the case.

According to popular folk beliefs, after the dead were done with their trials/sentences, they stayed in the Underworld for a period of time and led regular lives, while functioning as ancestor spirits and receiving offerings.

Which would imply that the Underworld had a civilian district of sorts, populated by regular ghosts, making the whole realm even less of a direct Hell/Purgatory equivalent.

6. It is located in a different realm, but still part of the Six Paths and doesn't exist outside of reality.

In Buddhist cosmology, like the Celestial Realm, the Underworld is part of the Realm of Desires and thus subject to all the woes of samsara.

The pain and misery of the Path of Hell may be the worst and most obvious, but becoming a celestial being isn't the goal of serious Buddhists either: despite all the pleasures and near-infinite lifespan they enjoy, they are not free from samsara and will eventually have to reincarnate.

So if, say, the world is being destroyed at the end of a kalpa, all beings of the Six Paths will perish alongside it, leaving behind a clean slate for the cycle to start anew. The dead won't all end up in the Underworld and face eternal damnation.

7. The Black and White Impermanences would not appear in the Underworld pantheon formally until the Qing dynasty.

The concept that when you die, you get fetched to the Underworld by petty ghost bureaucrats is already well-established in Tang legends, but these were just generic ghost bureaucrats in all sorts of colorful official robes, with yellow being the most common color.

The idea of there being two specific psychopomps in black and white would only become popular in the Qing dynasty. Mengpo is kinda similar: although she existed before the Ming-Qing era as a goddess of wind, venerated by boatmen, her "amnesia soup granny" incarnation came from the Jade Records.

[luna-azzurra]

13 fantasy - Romance themed love tropes

Fated Mates: Characters are destined to be together by supernatural or magical forces.

Magical Bond: Characters share a mystical connection that binds them together, often influencing their emotions and actions.

Creature and Human Romance: A romantic relationship between a mythical creature (such as a vampire, werewolf, or fae) and a human.

Royal Romance: Characters from different social classes or kingdoms fall in love, navigating the complexities of power and duty.

Forbidden Love in a Magical Realm: Romance between characters of different magical species or factions, facing prejudice and persecution.

Rescuer and Rescued Romance: One character rescues the other, leading to a deep bond forged through shared experiences.

Magic-induced Love: Characters fall under the influence of a love spell or potion, complicating their romantic feelings.

Immortal and Mortal Romance: A romance between an immortal being and a mortal, grappling with the challenges of mortality and eternity.

Elemental Romance: Characters representing different elements (fire, water, air, earth) find love, symbolizing balance and harmony.

Shape-shifter Romance: A character with the ability to change form falls in love, exploring themes of identity and acceptance.

Guardian and Ward Romance: A romantic relationship between a guardian figure (such as a mentor or protector) and their charge, built on trust and loyalty.

Cursed Love: Characters cursed to be apart or cursed to love each other, seeking a way to break the curse and be together.

Ancient Prophecy Romance: Characters fulfill an ancient prophecy together, their love playing a crucial role in the fate of the world.

[theplotmage]

50 Fantasy Prompts: Cultures and Societies. Writers Save this!

1. Luminae

- A society that worships light and revolves around bioluminescent creatures.

- Gesture: Raising both hands to the sky and opening palms to signify receiving light.

- View: Light is considered the purest form of energy and the ultimate source of life.

2. Mistral Nomads

- Wind travelers who harness the power of the breeze for navigation and communication.

- Gesture: Whispering into a small vial and releasing it into the wind, symbolizing sending a message.

- View: The wind carries the voices of ancestors and guides the living.

3. Veilwalkers

- Inhabitants of the mist who can see and manipulate spirits.

- Gesture: Drawing a veil across the face to communicate with spirits.

- View: The world of the living and the dead are separated by a thin veil that can be crossed.

4. Starforged

- People born under specific constellations with unique abilities tied to their birth star.

- Gesture: Touching a constellation tattoo to activate its power.

- View: Stars are the eyes of the gods, watching over and guiding them.

5. Shadecloaks

- Masters of shadow magic, living in perpetual twilight.

- Gesture: Merging fingers into the shadows, symbolizing blending into the darkness.

- View: Shadows are protective, hiding them from danger and giving them strength.

6. Seraphians

- Winged beings who consider themselves guardians of the skies.

- Gesture: Unfurling wings in a greeting, showing trust and openness.

- View: The skies are sacred, and flight is a divine gift.

7. Pyrosages

- Fire-wielders who live in harmony with volcanic landscapes.

- Gesture: Holding a flame in one hand while placing the other hand over the heart, symbolizing passion and life.

- View: Fire is a cleansing force, both destructive and renewing.

8. Aquafolk

- Ocean dwellers with the ability to breathe underwater and communicate with marine life.

- Gesture: Creating ripples in water with a fingertip to convey emotions.

- View: Water is a mirror of the soul, reflecting true feelings and intentions.

9. Silvan Elves

- Forest guardians who blend seamlessly with their environment.

- Gesture: Touching foreheads with a leaf, symbolizing unity with nature.

- View: All life is interconnected through the roots of the great tree.

10. Necrochanters

- A culture deeply connected to the afterlife, able to communicate with and summon spirits.

- Gesture: Drawing a circle with ashes to summon spirits.

- View: Death is not the end but a transformation to another state of being.

11. Stonekin

- Rock-like beings who can manipulate earth and stone.

- Gesture: Pressing a hand to the ground to communicate with the earth.

- View: The earth holds ancient wisdom and the memories of their ancestors.

12. Aetherians

- Masters of air magic, capable of floating and flying at will.

- Gesture: Raising arms and fingers to mimic the flow of air currents.

- View: The air is filled with invisible threads that connect all living beings.

13. Chronomancers

- Time-benders who can manipulate past, present, and future.

- Gesture: Tapping a timepiece rhythmically to alter time flow.

- View: Time is fluid and can be molded to fit the needs of the moment.

14. Dreamforgers

- People who can enter and manipulate dreams.

- Gesture: Weaving fingers in intricate patterns while in a trance.

- View: Dreams are a bridge between realities, holding power and prophecy.

15. Sunseekers

- Pilgrims who follow the path of the sun, gaining strength from its light.

- Gesture: Holding a hand above the heart to swear oaths under the sun’s gaze.

- View: The sun’s light is a witness to all promises, giving them sacred weight.

16. Frostborn

- Ice-dwellers with control over cold and frost.

- Gesture: Exhaling a cold breath to signify agreement or truth.

- View: Ice preserves and protects, holding the essence of life.

17. Songhearts

- A musical culture that uses songs and sound for magic.

- Gesture: Placing a hand over the throat and singing a single note to show sincerity.

- View: Music is the language of the heart and the most honest form of communication.

18. Runecarvers

- Inscribers of powerful runes that grant various abilities.

- Gesture: Tracing runes in the air or on surfaces to cast spells.

- View: Runes are the written words of the gods, containing immense power.

19. Stormcallers

- Masters of weather, able to summon and control storms.

- Gesture: Raising a staff to the sky to summon storms.

- View: Storms are the breath of the gods, bringing both fury and renewal.

20. Plainsriders

- Nomadic horsemen known for their speed and agility.

- Gesture: Drawing a circle in the dirt with a foot to mark territory or signal peace.

- View: The open plains are a vast, sacred expanse that must be respected.

21. Mycologians

- Mushroom-like beings who can communicate through spores.

- Gesture: Spreading spores by tapping a mushroom cap to communicate.

- View: Fungi are the bridge between life and decay, recycling energy.

22. Glimmerfolk

- Glittering, gem-encrusted people who can harness the power of precious stones.

- Gesture: Touching gemstones to channel their energy.

- View: Crystals are vessels of ancient power and knowledge.

23. Thornclad

- A warrior culture clad in thorny armor, known for their fierce combat skills.

- Gesture: Clasping hands with thorned gloves to signify a bond or agreement.

- View: Pain and resilience are intertwined, symbolizing strength.

24. Celestials

- Star-born beings with a deep connection to the cosmos.

- Gesture: Drawing constellations in the air with glowing fingers.

- View: The night sky is a map of destiny, guiding their every action.

25. Inkshapers

- People who can bring drawings and tattoos to life.

- Gesture: Drawing a symbol on their skin to activate a spell.

- View: Ink and art are extensions of the soul, capable of bringing thoughts to life.

26. Mirageweavers

- Desert dwellers who can create illusions and mirages.

- Gesture: Waving hands to create illusions and mirages.

- View: Reality is fluid and can be shaped by perception and will.

27. Echoers

- A culture that communicates and fights using echoes and soundwaves.

- Gesture: Clapping or snapping fingers to create soundwaves for communication.

- View: Sound is a powerful force that can shape the world around them.

28. Ironveins

- Metal manipulators who can shape and control metal at will.

- Gesture: Clenching fists to channel metal manipulation.

- View: Metal is a living force, constantly evolving and reacting.

29. Wyrmkin

- Dragon-like people with scales and the ability to breathe fire.

- Gesture: Exhaling a plume of smoke or fire to show respect or power.

- View: Dragons are the ultimate beings, embodying wisdom and might.

30. Duskborn

- Night-dwellers who gain strength from the moon.

- Gesture: Holding a candle to their chest, symbolizing the light within the darkness.

- View: Darkness is not to be feared, but embraced as a part of the natural cycle.

31. Crystalhearts

- A society with crystalline bodies that can refract light and energy.

- Gesture: Touching their heart crystal to show honesty and purity.

- View: Crystals are the heart of their being, reflecting their true selves.

32. Skyforgers

- Builders of floating cities and airships.

- Gesture: Hammering an invisible anvil to craft objects from thin air.

- View: The sky is a forge, and they are its smiths, creating wonders from the air.

33. Leafkin

- Plant-based beings who can photosynthesize and communicate with flora.

- Gesture: Placing a leaf in the palm to connect with nature.

- View: Leaves and trees are the lifeblood of the earth, nourishing all.

34. Sandshapers

- Desert people who can control and shape sand.

- Gesture: Drawing patterns in the sand to communicate or cast spells.

- View: Sand is a canvas for their magic, constantly shifting and changing.

35. Moonshadow Elves

- Elves who live in the shadows of the moon, skilled in stealth and night magic.

- Gesture: Casting moonlight on their face to invoke lunar power.

- View: The moon is a guide and protector, influencing their magic and lives.

36. Bloodrunes

- Warriors who use their own blood to inscribe powerful runes.

- Gesture: Pricking a finger to draw blood and create runes.

- View: Blood is the essence of life, and through it, they gain power.

37. Dreambinders

- People who can link their dreams to reality.

- Gesture: Twining fingers together to weave dreams into reality.

- View: Dreams are powerful forces that can shape and change the world.

38. Thunderclans

- Tribes who worship and control thunder and lightning.

- Gesture: Stamping feet or clapping hands to summon thunder.

- View: Thunder is the voice of the gods, a call to action and power.

39. Feywilders

- Inhabitants of the fey realm with unpredictable and chaotic magic.

- Gesture: Dancing in a circle to invoke fey magic.

- View: The fey are mischievous yet powerful, their magic a blend of chaos and beauty.

40. Mirrorborn

- People who can step through and manipulate mirrors.

- Gesture: Touching mirrors to travel or communicate.

- View: Mirrors are portals to other realities, reflecting infinite possibilities.

41. Wispwalkers

- Ethereal beings who guide lost souls.

- Gesture: Holding a wisp of light to guide lost souls.

- View: Wisps are guides and protectors, leading them through darkness.

42. Frostweavers

- Ice artisans who create intricate and magical ice sculptures.

- Gesture: Weaving ice crystals into intricate patterns.

- View: Ice is a delicate and beautiful force, capable of great power.

43. Starwardens

- Celestial knights who protect the realms from cosmic threats.

- Gesture: Drawing star maps in the air to invoke celestial power.

- View: The stars are guardians, watching over and protecting them.

44. Emberkin

- Fire-dwellers with control over embers and ash.

- Gesture: Snapping fingers to produce sparks and embers.

- View: Embers hold the remnants of fire’s spirit, representing both the end and beginning of the flame.

45. Oceanborne

- Sea nomads who can control the tides and waves.

- Gesture: Drawing water symbols in the air to summon sea spirits.

- View: The sea is a vast, living entity, a source of mystery and power.

46. Windwhisperer

- Communicators with the wind, able to send messages across great distances.

- View: The sky is a living entity, responsive to the voices of those who respect it.

- Gesture: Moving gracefully to mimic the flow of the wind.

47. Etherseekers

- Gesture: Holding out their hands to draw ether into themselves.

- View: The ether is a vast reservoir of magic, accessible to those who seek it.

48. Twilight Guardians:

- Gesture: Holding a lantern to light the way through twilight.

- View: Twilight is a sacred time, a bridge between day and night.

49. Windwalkers

- Gesture: Moving gracefully to mimic the flow of the wind.

- View: The wind is a messenger of the gods, carrying whispers of destiny and change.

50. Eclipsewatchers

-Gesture: Covering one eye while the other remains open to signify balance

- View: Eclipses represent the merging of light and dark, a time of balance and reflection.

---

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[alienzil]

DP x DC Prompt/notion # 4

So Danny has the classic reveal gone bad scenario and the Fentons try to capture him to "tear him apart molecule by molecule".

Danny escapes into the ghost zone with the help of Sam, Tucker and Jazz but he's in bad shape.

What Danny had never been told is that newly formed ghosts like himself are considered babies until they're at least a century old. Baby ghosts generally either have parents if they're born in the realms or get adoptive parents shortly after forming and are highly dependent on their guardians until their core is fully matured. Every ghost can sense a baby and has the instinctual urge to protect them (especially if they haven't been adopted yet). Every baby ghost has the instinctual urge to find a compatible parent or parents. A baby won't imprint on just anyone and will hide or run from most ghosts until they find one that they can imprint on. The majority of the ghosts that have met Danny never knew he was a baby, both because he already had his living parents and his emotional connection with them was close enough to satisfy his ghostly need for a parental bond and because, with his abnormally high power level, it never would have occurred to them to think he might be an infant. A newborn ancient is exceptionally rare and your average denizen of the realms will have never seen one. Basically, to your average ghost, Danny feels like he's eons old and any hint of "baby" they get from him mostly just ticks them off because they think he's mocking them and pretending to be less powerful than they know he is. The other ancients knew of course, but they also knew that Danny's human guardians were satisfying his needs for now and most assumed he would be adopted once they passed. Half a century or so isn't very long to wait after all and the new baby is half human so it's probably best to let these things happen naturally.

Knowing none of this, when Jack and Maddie rejected Danny it severed their connection and the backlash of losing that bond caused his Phantom self to naturally revert to a smaller form that more closely matched his actual age as a ghost. Still in shock and operating almost entirely on instinct and emotion, Danny started to search the Realms for what he had lost. He needed to find his parents.

*****

Meanwhile, John Constantine had a problem with an upstart cult that had summoned an interdimensional...something. He really didn't care. Whatever it was, was behind a barrier they'd thrown up that he couldn't breach. He'd be perfectly willing to leave them to their own mess except their whole damn town was behind the barrier so now it was his problem to fix.

Interdimensional problems call for interdimensional solutions so he'd called Bob. Bob wasn't really his name (nor was he really a he) but he hadn't objected to the moniker or the pronouns John had given him so Bob it was. Bob was an eldritch nightmare of a creature who kept the bulk of his true form politely out of this dimension and only just barely inched in for a quick visit every 20 years or so. Constantine had worked with him before, he was a pretty nice bloke for an unknowable monstrosity.

Bob fed on energy and his usual diet consisted largely of the background energy of the cosmos but he liked a special treat now and then (who doesn't?). So John made a deal with him. Bob took care of his little cult problem and John spent a very... ahem... "energetic" evening with Bob in exchange. Not really a hardship on John's part, Bob wanted more energy, not less, and knew a thing or two about how to get it.

*****

The creature known as Bob was preparing to withdraw the small portion of his presence that was currently on Earth with the human called John Constantine when another part of him noticed something. Bob smiled to himself (as much as Bob could smile that is). What a wonderful coincidence that the Constantine human's energy would be so perfectly matched to this other beings and that Bob was here at the exact right moment to assist with their meeting!

"I thank you again for sharing your energy John Constantine. It was delicious as always."

"Don't mention it mate. Look me up next you're in town and feeling a bit peckish. Always happy to oblige." John replied with a smirk.

"I will heed your words John Constantine and seek your presence upon my return. As a token of my affection for you, a small gift that you might enjoy until we meet again." Bob briefly opened a portal between the Infinite Realms and the House of Mystery as he left. He hoped his human friend would enjoy the gift. Bob had never spawned himself but he'd heard parenthood was one of life's great joys.

"Gift?" John had just enough time to say as he was hit in the face by a chirping, wriggling, excited creature.

"Oi!" John stumbled back a step as he reached up to try and pry the thing off his face. He managed to grab ahold of the damn beast and held it out at an arms length to get a look at it. Deprived of his face, it wrapped its body tightly around his arm and nuzzled its head into the palm of his hand.

John stared at the creature. It was the roughly the length of his arm, mostly black with white markings and white floating hair on a human shaped head and face, complete with glowing green eyes. It was vaguely snake shaped...or... one might say...tentacle shaped...

John gulped and pictured Bob. Bob's appearance, or what little bit of his appearance John was able to perceive, was a writhing mass of black tentacles that glowed a bright, luminous green.

So, the "gift" Bob had left him mostly had Bob's coloring and was kinda Bob shaped. Except it had small human arms and hands and a tiny mostly human head and face and... was that his nose?!

"Oh bollocks, I'm a dad!"

[hypewinter]

Clockwork clutched the bundle close to his chest as he approached the two entities.

"I am glad you could meet with me on such short notice," he greeted.

The first of the two figures looked up. She was a tall and boney woman, with ash grey skin. She wore a long black mourning dress and a veil that obscured most of her features.

"Think nothing of it old friend," came a low gravely voice. "Why have you called?"

It was then that the ancient of time revealed what was in his arms. Gently unfolding the blanket, he exposed the face of a sleeping baby.

"Something has happened to the King of the Infinite Realms," he said. "As you can see he has now become a baby. As such it is no longer safe for him here."

"He's so cute!" the second being beamed. "I just want to squish his tiny widdle cheeks!" He was practically a being of pure light but right now, he had dimmed himself to a man with blonde hair. Very reminiscent of one of his chargers.

His outburst garnered a little slap on the back of his head from his companion. "Hush," she hissed. "The child is sleeping."

"Thank you, Lady Gotham," Clockwork said.

"Of course, you may continue."

"I have called you here because I need a favor. He cannot stay here and I was hoping I could place him in your care," The ancient of time explained.

Lady Gotham stepped forward, reaching for the baby, "Of course. It would be-"

Clockwork pulled baby Daniel out of reach. "Allow me to finish. I wish for you to raise him together."

It wasn't often that the guardian of Gotham was thrown off guard but this time, she audibly gasped. "You want me to raise the child with him?" she questioned, pointing to her companion.

"Indeed. I mean no offense but the Speed Force will provide a sense of humor and freedom you will not be able to. I have seen how tortured your own charges can become." Clockwork replied.

Lady Gotham growled but the Speed Force just went back to cooing. "Awwww I get to help raise this lil guy," he gushed. "Ohhhh I'm so excited! I'll teach him lots of fun games and we can binge watch so many shows together. And and and, I'll let him try all my favorite foods. Maybe I'll even introduce him to my speedsters. I bet it will be loads of fun!"

This earned him another slap. "You fool, what part of the child is sleeping do you not understand? Besides, the child will need more stimulation than television and he cannot eat all that junk you call food."

Clockwork turned back to Lady Gotham. "This is why I am leaving him in the care of the both of you. Each of you provides something the other can not. Can I count on you?"

Lady Gotham stepped forward once again and this time Clockwork allowed her to take the baby. "Fear not, Kronos. I will make sure this dolt does not endanger the child. He will be safe in our hands."

"Yep!" the Speed Force added. "We'll give him the happiest childhood on Earth!"

Clockwork sighed. He knew this was the optimal timeline yet still he doubted. He leaned in close to baby Daniel. "Take care little one," he whispered. "The Realms shall eagerly await your return." Then, in an uncharacteristic move, he planted a quick kiss on the baby's head. Daniel giggled softly in his sleep but didn't wake.

Clockwork straightened looked at the two before him. "Go now, quickly. And take care."

Both nodded firmly before turning and disappearing into the portal from whence they came.

[sixteenseveredhands]

The Petelia Tablet, Greek, c.300-200 BCE: this totenpass (a "passport for the dead") was meant to be buried in a human grave; it bears an inscription that tells the dead person exactly where to go and what to say after crossing into the Greek Underworld

Made from a sheet of gold foil, this tablet measures just 4.5cm (a little over 1.5 inches) in length, and although it was found inside a pendant case in Petelia, Italy, it's believed to have originated in ancient Greece. It was meant to aid the dead in their journey through the Underworld -- providing them with specific instructions, conferring special privileges, and granting them access to the most coveted realms within the afterlife.

The Petelia tablet, displayed with the pendant case in which it was discovered

The tablet itself dates back to about 300-200 BCE, while the pendant case/chain that accompanies it was likely made about 400 years later, during the Roman era. It's believed that the tablet was originally buried with the dead, and that an unknown individual later removed it from the burial site and stuffed it into the pendant case. Unfortunately, in order to make it fit, they simply rolled it up and then snipped off the tip of the tablet. The final lines of the inscription were destroyed in the process.

The inverse side of the Petelia tablet

These textual amulets/lamellae are often referred to as totenpässe ("passports for the dead"). They were used as roadmaps to help guide the dead through the Underworld, but they also served as indicators of the elite/divine status of certain individuals, ultimately providing them with the means to obtain an elevated position in the afterlife.

The Petelia tablet is incised with an inscription in ancient Greek, and the translated inscription reads:

You will find a spring on your left in Hades’ halls, and by it the cypress with its luminous sheen.

Do not go near this spring or drink its water. You will find another, cold water flowing from Memory’s lake; its guardians stand before it.

Say: "I am a child of Earth and starry Heaven, but descended from Heaven; you yourselves know this. I am parched with thirst and dying: quickly, give me the cool water flowing from Memory’s lake."

And they will give you water from the sacred spring, and then you will join the heroes at their rites.

This is [the ... of memory]: [on the point of death] ... write this ... the darkness folding [you] within it.

The final section was damaged when the tablet was shoved into the pendant case; sadly, that part of the inscription does not appear on any of the other totenpässe that are known to exist, so the meaning of those lines remains a mystery (no pun intended).

Lamellae that are inscribed with this motif are very rare. They're known as "Orphic lamellae" or simply "Orphic tablets." As the name suggests, these inscriptions are traditionally attributed to an Orphic-Bacchic mystery cult.

The inscriptions vary, but they generally contain similar references to a cypress tree, one spring that must be avoided, another spring known as the "Lake of Memory," the sensation of thirst, and a conversation with a guardian (or another entity within the Underworld, such as the goddess Persephone) in which the dead must present themselves as initiates or divine individuals in order to be granted permission to drink from the Lake of Memory. They are thereby able to obtain privileges that are reserved only for the elite.

Though the specifics of this reward are often vague, it may have been viewed as a way to gain access to the Elysian Fields (the ancient Greek version of paradise) or as a way to participate in sacred rites; some totenpässe suggest that it may have allowed the soul to break free from the eternal cycle of reincarnation. Regardless, the overall objective was likely the same: to obtain a special status and acquire privileges that were inaccessible to most of the souls in the Underworld.

Sources & More Info:

Altlas Obscura: The Ancient Greeks Created Golden Passports to Paradise

The Museum of Cycladic Art: The Bacchic-Orphic Underworld

Bryn Mawr College: Festivals in the Afterlife: a new reading of the Petelia tablet

The Getty Museum: Underworld (imagining the afterlife)

The British Museum: Petelia tablet (with pendant case; chain)

[azrielslittleslut]

"The Lost Queen"- Chapter 1

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: A magical incident causes Azriel to unexpectedly tumble through a portal into modern-day Earth. Confused and injured, he is discovered by a compassionate human woman with a hidden past. She takes care of him and helps him discover the complexities of the modern world, completely unaware of who she truly is. Meanwhile, Azriel struggles with his conflicting desires: his duty to the Night Court and his growing love for the woman who saved him.

Their journey unfolds amidst ancient prophecies and the looming threat in Prythian. As they uncover the truth about forces conspiring against them, they must confront their deepest fears and make choices that will change their lives and the world forever.

Warnings: language, also kinda angsty, magic being weird

Word Count: 2.8k

series masterlist

a/n: hello, it's me.. the most impatient person ever. posting early because i have no self-control. enjoy!

Prythian, Present Day

Azriel stood at the edge of the Whispering Woods, his shadows swirling around his shoulders and wings. He listened intently to their whispers, knowing they would warn him of any sudden dangers. The Mother only knew what terrors could be lurking in these woods, and he needed to keep all of his defenses up to return to Velaris safely. He looked up, feeling somewhat small standing beneath the tall, ancient trees that towered overhead.

Nobody knew how the Whispering Woods were created. The legends of old said they were created by a powerful Fae guardian, long before Prythian even came into existence. Before this mission, he had read countless texts trying to uncover some information to help him prepare, all to no avail.

Still, he had decided it was worth the risk. His family and his court were in danger. Hell, all of Prythian was in danger.

The first sign of trouble had occurred a few months ago. It had started with a disturbance in the natural weather of the courts. A harsh winter had happened in the Spring Court, and a blazing summer happened in the Winter Court. Horrible thunderstorms, unlike anything Azriel had ever seen, had pounded Velaris, causing damage to the buildings in the city. In all corners of the world, the weather became unpredictable.

The blight hadn’t stopped there. It began to affect the plants, which in turn caused absolute turmoil in the agriculture of the courts. Az had heard rumors of plants growing rapidly, while others died altogether. Some people were starving while others were rejoicing.

The last straw had happened once it started affecting the magic. Azriel remembered the day Rhys’s power completely gave out, almost causing the Night Court to descend into utter turmoil. Suddenly, his power had returned in such an overwhelming wave that he had blacked out for a few moments. He could no longer use his daemati gifts because, sometimes, he would inadvertently project his thoughts into someone else’s mind, or he would get overwhelmed by the thoughts of others.

Azriel had never seen his brother in so much distress, not even when Feyre had been pregnant. His ability to lead the Night Court was being questioned, as he was unable to remain stable enough in his magic to rule.

This is why Azriel stood at the edge of this ancient forest, searching for an artifact that probably no longer existed. The Moonstone Amulet was rumored to have the ability to heal the land. Supposedly, it can harness healing magic, soothing whatever dark forces were at work.

The only problem: nobody had ever seen it. Its existence was all based on legend and hearsay, but Amren was convinced that it was placed in these woods centuries ago by an ancient Fae goddess.

Now, the trust had been placed in Azriel to find the damned thing. He had agreed, of course. He hadn’t questioned Rhys as his brother had borderline begged on his knees for him to start a search. If anyone could find it, it would be Azriel.

The Spymaster of the Night Court never failed a mission, especially when those he loved were in danger.

Azriel took a deep breath as he stepped into the thick mist of the woods. “You are immortal,” he murmured to himself, recalling the words that had gotten him through the darkest times. “You are very hard to break.”

Although it was dark, the air shimmered with a strange glow. The mist was so thick, it clung to every surface. Azriel squinted his eyes, struggling to see through it.  He relied on his shadows to guide him, listening to their soft voice.

This way, they murmured into his ear. Follow the pulsing.

In the distance, Azriel could indeed hear a faint pulsing sound. It sounded like the beat of a war drum, only softer and less threatening. He felt a wave of unnatural calm wash over him, easing his nerves. He walked on, feeling like he was in a trance, but he couldn’t stop. The pulsing got louder and louder, and his heart started to beat in time with the rhythm. Even his shadows had calmed, content to lounge on his shoulders as he stumbled through the dead leaves.

Suddenly, the mist parted, revealing an opening in the trees. The pulsing beat stopped, and Azriel groaned as a tidal wave of ancient power washed over his body. He came back to himself, blinking rapidly as the fog cleared from his mind. He staggered back, unsheathing Truth-Teller from his thigh. He held the blade high and level, and he willed his mind into a cool calm. His cobalt siphon pulsed, preparing to strike against any danger.

Another wave of that power roared through the clearing, knocking Azriel down to his knees. His siphons winked out, the swirling blue in them turning black, as if they had been drained. It took his five centuries of training to keep his hold on his dagger.

His shadows swirled around him, preparing to winnow him back home. “No,” he snarled at them. “I have to finish this.” He stood on shaking legs, taking small steps forward until he stood at the center of the clearing. He stopped as a faint glow caught his eye. It had an iridescent sheen, and he could see the moonlight reflected in it, almost like a mirror.

The Moonstone Amulet.

Under normal circumstances, Azriel would have let himself feel a little prideful at his discovery. After all, he had just found a lost artifact. But these were not normal circumstances, and if he were being honest, he was about to shit himself in fear.

Without thinking, he ran towards the glowing light, reaching out his scarred hand to grab it. His shadows surrounded him once again, ready to take him far away from this gods-forsaken place once he had it in his grasp.

His fingers had barely touched it when everything went to shit.

His shadows dispersed, recoiling as a power he had never felt pelted his body. His skin turned to ice, and he was frozen where he stood. The wind stopped. All sound stopped. It was as if time itself stood still.

Azriel looked at the reflection in the stone, and a terror he had never felt washed over him. He could see figures, like people moving about. He saw great metal things roaming across the land. He saw massive buildings and bright lights. He felt as if he were having an out-of-body experience.

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe.

Bright light seared from the stone, hitting him in the head. He fell back hard against the earth, unable to keep Truth-Teller in his hand. His wings were bent at an awkward angle, causing him to cry out in agony. A deafening ringing sound filled his ears, and he fought like hell to stay conscious.

He wouldn’t die like this. He had a court to protect, to defend. He had his friends, his family…

Reality warped and shifted, and Azriel dug his fingers into the cold ground as voices and whispers filled his head. They echoed softly, their words carrying a strange cadence. It was a language he had never heard, but he slowly started to understand. The words flowed over him, punctuated by an accent unknown to the world of Prythian.

His heart stuttered and his breath was sucked out of his lungs as he was pulled into the stone. He cried out as he heard a voice speak, so cold it was devoid of all emotion.

“Across the veil, in worlds apart,

A warrior's heart seeks its counterpart.

Where ancient blood and shadows meet,

 The lost queen's reign, his fate shall greet.”

Maybe he would die like this.

For a moment, faces flashed across Azriel’s blurred vision. He saw Rhys and Feyre laughing as they watched Nyx. He saw Nesta and Cassian in the training ring with Gwyn and Emerie. He even saw Elain, working diligently in her beloved garden. He heard Mor and Amren laughing together, but the sound and sights were gobbled up by the throbbing pain in his head.

He had failed them.

As Azriel’s body was pulled apart, he sent out a quick prayer of forgiveness to the Mother. Protect them. Help them.

At last, he closed his eyes, welcoming the sweet darkness that overtook him.

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

New Orleans, Louisiana, Present Day

High above mountain peaks, you soar through the sky, wings ablaze with fire. Down below, you can see a battle raging, the forces of light and darkness clashing with brute strength. On silent wings, you descend into the chaos, igniting the enemy with the flames from your wings. You hear them scream as they burn.

You hear people cry out and cheer in a chant of victory.

“Rise up!” they roar as you fly overhead. “Rise up, rise up, rise up-“

You jolt awake, sitting up straight in bed. Your body is covered in sweat, and the sheets are tangled around your waist. You place a hand on your chest, forcing yourself to calm your breathing.

This was nothing new, so you didn’t know why these dreams still affected you. You have been having some variation of the dream since you were a child. At one point, your parents had been so distraught, they thought it was best to take you to a psychiatrist.

“She just has an active imagination,” the woman had said. You had laughed internally at the diagnosis while you were staring at the degrees lining the walls of her office. She had a lifetime of student debt, and the only diagnosis she could offer was an active imagination.

Apparently, you still had an active imagination twenty-five and a half years later.

Once your heart rate calmed, you looked over at the clock on your nightstand. Three o’clock in the morning, on the dot. For some reason, you always wake up from these strange dreams at this time. You laugh softly, remembering what the locals always said about “the witching hour.”

A time when supernatural activity is heightened, and the veil between worlds is at its thinnest.

You didn’t believe in all of that voodoo bullshit. Your body just hated you, and it always woke you up at the most ungodly hours.

With a loud sigh, you decided it was best to do what you always did when this happened: go for a walk. You still had a few hours before your shift at the hospital, and that was the only way to clear your mind. Plus, you knew it was better than any medicine that a phony psychiatrist would have given you.

You quickly threw on a hoodie, a pair of black leggings, and some tennis shoes. You didn’t bother doing anything with your hair, even though it was plastered to your face from sweat.

Who was going to see you at this hour anyway?

Making your way out of the front door, you breathe in the smell of the bayou. The air was thick with the scent of cypress and oak trees, and the earthy smell calmed your nerves. This was why you had decided to move out of the city once you were old enough.

Bayou St. John was located next to City Park and the bayou, but still close enough to the city for work. Overlooking the water, your cottage in the small town was the epitome of Southern charm. It has a front porch with hanging baskets of flowers and vines. It was traditional Creole style, but still modern enough that you didn’t feel old living there. You had saved for years to purchase the place, but all of that work had been worth it.

Making your way down the gravel driveway, you turned right at the edge of the water. You smiled at the sound of the cicadas singing their songs to the twinkling stars above. It was a calm night in the bayou, and you silently thanked your past self for moving here.

You took back your thanks when you felt a presence fill the air. You stopped walking, and even the cicadas went silent. Your breathing was loud in the now-silent night. You shivered as you felt an otherworldly cold come over you. You wrapped your arms around yourself, holding your hoodie close to your body.

“Fuck this,” you murmured to yourself, turning around to walk back to the house. The strange feeling in the air intensified, and the air started to shimmer around you.

What the actual fuck?

You broke out into a sprint, your eyes locked on your front door. You were so close. Only a few more seconds and you would be back inside the safety of your home. Your mind scrambled as you tried to think of what to do. Do you call the cops? Do you call your parents? Were you still dreaming?

Yeah, that’s it. You were still dreaming.

You started to shake yourself, trying to wake up.

From the corner of your eye, you saw something move in the water. You stopped running, slowing down to a jog. More than likely, it was an alligator or something, but your curiosity had you jogging over to it.

You started to walk towards the form, taking small steps until your feet almost touched the edge of the water. It was black, wrapped in something that looked like leather, almost scale-like. You bent down, turning your head to the side to get a better look.

You remembered laughing at horror movies with your friends, wondering how the main characters always managed to get themselves killed.

Well, this was how.

Despite the warning bells going off in your head, you reached down to grab onto the scales. Beneath your fingers, you felt warmth, as if it were alive. You pulled, leaning back against the damp earth for leverage. The form was dead weight, but it moved with you as you haul it out of the murky water. Once it is pulled free, you were able to get a good look.

You scream as you see a hand, a fucking hand, lying against the grass. It was covered in brutal scars, the swirled and smudged skin covering every inch. You covered your mouth as you saw black hair through the darkness, splayed in wet tendrils on the grass.

There was a body outside of your house.

You scrambled back, trying to get away. How did they get here? Are they alive? Do I need to call the cops now?

You stood up and started to pace, cradling your face in your hands. “Breathe,” you tell yourself. “Just breathe. It’s just a body in the bayou. Nothing weird about it.”

All right, it was really weird. But if you were honest with yourself, your whole life had been weird. Between the strange dreams and the constant feeling like you didn’t belong here, you had grown accustomed to seeing weird shit happen.

You decided it was best to at least haul the body the rest of the way out of the water. That way, when the cops got here, you could say you tried to help the poor soul.

You pulled at the person’s clothes, your muscles straining at the weight. He was definitely a man. Beneath your fingers, you could feel cords of muscle, and a part of you was sorry that you hadn’t met him while he was alive.

As you finished pulling him out of the water, he rolled onto his back, and you were stopped dead in your tracks as you took in the most beautiful face you had ever seen. He was all sharp angles, with full luscious lips that looked rather kissable.

“Stop thinking like that. He’s dead, you freak.” Still, he was rather pretty to look at.

You looked at his chest, taking in the straps crisscrossing over it. They looked like they were made to hold weapons or something. Maybe he was into cosplay? You knew many hot men who were into that. You were so caught up in your thoughts that you almost didn’t see his chest moving.

Holy shit. He’s breathing.

You fell onto your knees beside him. You started to slap his face as you said, “Sir! Sir, wake up!” You did nothing to hide the panic in your voice. Had he inhaled water? “I need to call an ambulance.”

You started to stand but were stopped by a hand wrapped around your wrist. Slowly, you turned around, and you were met with a hazel-eyed stare.

Eyes that were full of confusion… and utter agony. You met his gaze, and you filled your eyes with as much compassion as you could.

At that moment, there was an inner voice inside your head, telling you that your whole life was about to change.

I should have just stayed in bed.

tag list: @starofanotherworld @lilah-asteria @melmo567 @xxemmarldxx @a-frog-with-a-laptop @saltedcoffeescotch @that-one-bibliophole @happyt0exist

[soulofapatrick]

I Like Your Mind - Edward Cullen x female reader

Summary: As soon as you meet Edward, you're both drawn to each other with an intensity you never expected

Words: 2.2k

Warnings: None

Y/N’s POV

I step into the Cullen house, my heart racing in my chest, and my mind filled with a mixture of fear and fascination. Bella has brought me here, introducing me to the family of her new boyfriend - Jasper Hale - and I can hardly believe where I find myself. I know their secret, the one they’ve been hiding from the world, the fact they’re vampires. And I know Edward can read minds which makes the whole situation even more daunting. But, as Bella races off to find Jasper, I’m left alone I the living room, taking in the stunning surroundings. 

The Cullens’ house is unlike any place I’ve ever seen. The air is heavy with an unspoken history, and everything within is both timeless and modern. A grand piano rests against one wall, a dark mahogany masterpiece, and the soft notes of a melody linger in the air, a testament to the musical talents of the family. On the opposite wall, a massive bookshelf houses an impressive collection of novels and ancient texts. Their spines form a spectrum of human knowledge, artfully arranged. 

My gaze drifts to the floor-to-ceiling windows that frame the room, offering a breathtaking view of the dense, ancient forest that surrounds the house. The trees stand tall and proud, their branches intertwined like guardians, protecting the Cullens from prying eyes. The afternoon sun filters through the leaves, casting dappled shadows that dance across the polished wooden floors. 

As my eyes linger on the tranquil forest, my imagination takes flight. I envision myself running through the woods, feeling the cool, damp earth beneath my feet. The leaves would crunch softly with each step, and the intoxicating scent of pine and damp earth would fill my senses. My heart would race, and a rush of adrenaline would surge through me as I lose myself in the untamed beauty of the wilderness. But, what captivates me the most is the idea of running through the forest in the rain. The thought of raindrops falling like liquid diamonds from the heavens, pelting the leaves and creating a gentle, rhythmic melody, sends a shiver of delight down my spine. In my daydream, I am drenched, my clothes clinging to my skin as I twirl and leap through the woods, liberated and carefree.

The rain washes away all my worries and fears, leaving only the exhilaration of the moment. It's as if the world, with all its complexities and complications, has melted away, leaving only the simplicity and purity of the rain-soaked forest. It's a feeling of utter peace, a sense of being one with nature and the world, a sensation I've longed to experience again. 

Lost in the serenity of my daydream, I sense a subtle presence to my right. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and a strange but not unwelcome shiver runs down my spine. Slowly, I turn my head to see one of the Cullen brothers standing there, a striking figure with sharp, chiseled features. He exudes an air of quiet strength and confidence, and I can't help but admire his physical appearance.

As I take in his feature, I quickly realise that this isn’t Jasper, as Bella would undoubtedly be with him if he were here. Besides, Jasper is known for his blond hair, which contrasts with the dark brunette locks of the Cullen brother beside me. His eyes, however, remain a shimmering gold, and their intensity is captivating. 

Going over Bella’s description, I recall that she mentioned Emmett to be big and buff. Emmett is tall and muscular. He has dark curly hair and dimpled cheeks. Despite his intimidating appearance, he is light-hearted and carefree. This man in front of me is almost quite the opposite with perfect and angular high cheekbones, strong jawline, a straight nose, and full lips causing my heart to quicken with a sudden realisation. In a hushed voice, I tentatively ask, “Edward?” 

The name hangs in the air between us, my uncertainty evident in the way I speak his name. The Cullen brother gives a small nod, his eyes holding a hint of amusement and there’s a small smile on his pretty lips as he says, “Hello.” His voice is a velvet whisper that sends a shiver down my spine. My cheeks heat up in response, and I can’t help but feel flustered by his presence. Turning my face away from him, I gaze out at the enchanting forest, using the breathtaking view to regain my composure. 

But just as I start to calm my racing heart, I sense his movement. Edward is moving closer, somewhat hesitantly as if he’s scared to do so but he moves so close I can feel the coolness of his chest against my back. The physical proximity is both thrilling and nerve-wracking, and I can’t help but wonder what his intention are as I continue to look out at the tranquil forest. 

The peaceful silence in the room is broken by Edward’s soft voice, barely above a whisper, “I like your mind,” he admits, his words sending a rush of warmth through me, “It’s quiet.” 

His words wash over me like a gentle caress, and I can’t deny the intrigue of his interest in my mind. It’s a compliment I could never have anticipated, coming from a vampire who can hear the thoughts of others. The intimacy of this moment is palpable, and I can sense the internal struggle within him, as if he’s torn between his desire to touch me and the realisation that we’ve only just met. 

Despite my rational thoughts screaming at me to maintain my distance, I surrender to the magnetic pull of Edward Cullen. My back leans into his cool, sculpted chest, and the sensation of his icy hands on my hips sends a shiver of anticipation coursing through me. It's as if the enchantment of the Cullen house, the breathtaking view of the forest, and Edward's irresistible presence have combined to create a spell that I am unable, and unwilling, to break. 

Closing my eyes, I allow myself to become completely enveloped in everything Edward. I’m hyperaware of how he feels behind me, the firmness of his chest pressed against my back, the subtle rise and fall of his breath against my neck as if it’s a force of habit for him despite vampires lack of need to breathe. His scent, a delicate blend of lilac, honey and sunshine, fills my senses and intoxicates me, wrapping me in a warm, inviting embrace. 

The moment feels intensely romantic, the air electric with the unspoken connection between us. I know that Edward can read my thoughts and perceive my view of him, and in this vulnerable instant, I choose not to resist. I grant him access tot he unfiltered depths of my desire, allowing him to see and feel the passion that simmers beneath the surface. 

The tension in the room crackles, the rain outside intensifying as if mirroring the fervour building within us. It's a clandestine dance of two souls drawn together by an unexplainable force. In this silent, electrifying embrace, I become an open book for Edward, my thoughts and desires laid bare, and I can only wonder what he'll make of the desires that race through my mind like wildfire

With a slow and deliberate movement, Edward turns me to face him, his eyes open and unguarded. They flicker with a hint of vulnerability, as if he, too, is uncertain of the depth of this connection. His gaze drops to my lips, and I can feel the warmth of his breath on my skin as he hovers close. His fingers twirl my hair around them, an intimate gesture that feels like an attempt to memorise every part of me that he can reach. The air crackles with anticipation as I hold my breath, my heart pounding in my chest, The world outside seems to fade away, leaving only the two of us in this electrifying moment. 

Edward’s gaze remains locked on mine, a silent promise of the depths of emotions and desire that lie beneath the surface. In the hushed room, our shared anticipation and vulnerability create an electric tension that’s impossible to ignore. His lips are tantalisingly close, and I can feel the coolness of his breath as he hovers near. It’s as if he’s about to kiss me, his intentions clear in the smouldering depths of his golden eyes. But he hesitates, his voice barely a whisper as he mumbles something about not being able to stop once he starts, a confession laden with both longing and restraint. 

Unable to resist any longer, I tangle my fingers in his tousled hair, an intimate gesture that communicates my desire and intent. With a gentle, yet urgent push, I guide his face the rest of the way down until his lips finally meet mine. 

As our lips meet in a hesitant and guarded kiss, a complex swirl of emotions and desires floods the space between us. Edward, despite his initial restraint, can’t help but respond to the fiery connection we share. His lips, cool and soft, brush against mine with a caution born of a lifetime of self-control. The kiss begins with a tentative exploration, as if he’s testing the boundaries of this newfound intimacy. 

The initial hesitancy slowly gives way to a growing intensity, and I can sense his need for more. His grip on me tightens ever so slightly, fingers digging into my hips, a delicate balance between desire and restraint. His response is careful, as if he’s constantly aware of his vampire strength, wary of causing any harm to me. The kiss deepens, his passion building, and the chemistry between us becomes an irresistible force that pushes us further into uncharted territory. 

With a slow and deliberate movement, he begins to walk me backwards, his lips never leaving mine, until my back makes contact with the cool glass of the windows, drawing a gasp from me. It has Edward smiling softly, golden eyes a little glazed as if in a trance of disbelief this is happening before his cold nose bumps my neck, making my pulse jump. I should be scared by how close he is to my jugular but I don’t feel any fear or anything, especially when Edward places a soft kiss on my jugular, a silent acknowledgement of the temptation that throbs beneath my skin. His lips are cold, but their touch is gentle, sending shivers of desire coursing through me. 

My hands tangle back in his soft locks, guiding his lips back to mine, their coldness a stark contrast to the burning passion that courses between us. In that moment, I am both vulnerable and empowered, willingly allowing myself to be drawn further into this intoxicating dance of desire. 

Each kiss makes me feel more alive, more connected to a world I never knew existed. The world outside may be drenched in rain, but in this electrifying embrace, a different kind of storm rages, a tempest of emotions and desires that we can’t control. His lips, cool and velvety soft, meet mine over and over again in a symphony of fire and ice, a fusion of elements that ignite a burning desire deep within me. 

His body presses against mine, a solid and unyielding presence that leaves me feeling both vulnerable and empowered. The contrast between his cool skin and the heat of my own sets my senses ablaze. As we deepen our connection, the room seems to spin around us, and I lose myself in the feeling of everything Edward. 

The room is charged with our passion, and I can feel it deep in my core. Every kiss is like a secret, a stolen moment in a world that is entirely our own. We lose track of time and space, our lips locked in an intimate dance that only intensifies the fever that has drawn us together in the first place. 

But then, like a bolt of lightning in our own private storm, I hear Bella’s joyful squeal. Edward pulling away from me, and I let my face fall into the warmth of his chest, overwhelmed by embarrassment. As I hide from the world, I can feel the soft rumble of amused laughter in Edward’s chest, a sound that both soothes and electrifies me in equal measure. 

“Fuck yeah!” Bells shrieks with joy and I flip her off over Edward’s shoulder as he wraps his arms around me, stifling a laugh as he can probably hear all of my silent insults and embarrassed thoughts thrown Bella’s way. 

“It’s okay.” He murmurs, fingers carding through my hair and I just hum, letting my eyes flutter closed in contentment. I don’t care how quick this is happening, all I know is I need Edward and no-one else so I’ll live with the embarrassment if it means I can have Edward. 

“You have me.” 

                           ┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

TAGS: New Tag List Form

Twilight Masterlist

[transform4u]

I'm a pretty weak and small nerd fresh out of college. Sometimes I wonder what life would be like as a huge burly lumberjack in my prime of life. Can you transform me into one?

You sit slouched on the couch, the glow of the TV casting a flickering light in the dim room. The documentary about the Appalachian mountains plays in the background, showcasing rugged landscapes and dense forests that seem worlds away from your current reality. It's been months since graduation, and the weight of unemployment presses heavily on your shoulders. Living back with your parents wasn't how you envisioned your post-college life.

As fatigue pulls at your eyelids, you surrender to sleep. Suddenly, you find yourself standing at the edge of a vast, untamed forest. The air is crisp with the scent of pine and damp earth, and an inexplicable sense of familiarity washes over you. You step forward, and with each stride, you feel a subtle transformation taking place—a gradual aging that mirrors the passing of years.

At 25, you navigate the forest with youthful vigor, your movements agile and curious. You learn the rhythms of the woods, tracking animals and marveling at the beauty of untouched nature.

By 28, you've honed your skills. Hunting becomes more than a pursuit of prey; it becomes a communion with the wild. You understand the patterns of life and death, survival and adaptation.

At 30, a sense of mastery settles within you. You no longer just hunt; you become a steward of the land. You learn to read the forest's whispers, to tame its challenges with patience and respect.

Approaching 35, you feel a deep connection to the wilderness. It's not about conquest but about harmony. You forge alliances with the creatures of the forest, earning their trust through mutual understanding.

Then, at 37, a profound shift occurs. A surge of power surges through you, and you begin to grow taller—not in physical stature, but in presence. The trees around you shrink beneath your newfound height, their canopies bowing in reverence. Your senses expand, attuned to the heartbeat of the forest, the flow of rivers, the rustle of leaves.

From this elevated perspective, you see the interconnectedness of all life. You witness the delicate balance that sustains the forest, each creature playing its part in the grand symphony of nature. You are no longer merely a participant; you are a guardian, a sentinel of the wild.

As you stand there, bathed in the ethereal light of the dream, you understand that this transformation is more than a fleeting vision—it's a revelation of your true self. A call to embrace your role in the intricate tapestry of life, to protect and preserve the beauty that surrounds you.

And as the dream gently fades, returning you to the couch with the soft glow of the TV illuminating the room, you carry with you a profound sense of purpose and a newfound connection to the wild places that stir within your soul.

As you stride deeper into the heart of the forest, the trees part to reveal a quaint cabin nestled among the ancient pines. Each step you take seems to reverberate with newfound strength, muscles bulging and veins pulsating beneath your skin. There's a raw power coursing through you, transforming your physique with each passing moment.

Your thick gut of muscle expands, filling out as if sculpted by the very essence of the wilderness itself. Every fiber of your being burns with a primal fire, shedding away the remnants of city life and academic knowledge that once cluttered your mind. In its place, a rugged simplicity takes hold—a deep-seated connection to the land, to the rhythms of nature that dictate your every breath and movement.

Memories flood your mind, transporting you back to your upbringing in the rugged Appalachian mountains. You recall the simplicity of those days, where good Christian values and self-sufficiency were the cornerstones of life. Hunting for your food, chopping wood for warmth—these were not chores but rituals that connected you to the earth and defined your existence.

In your memories, you were a burly, manly figure—a true lumberjack of the mountains, living a life of hard work and simple pleasures. The echoes of your father's teachings ring in your ears, guiding your hands as they wield an axe or mend a fence. You remember the proud, confident stride of your youth, tempered by the wisdom and experience of years spent living close to the land.

And beside you, in your thoughts and dreams, is your hot southern wife—a woman as strong and resilient as the mountains themselves. Together, you inhabit the cabin in the woods, where the smoke from the chimney mingles with the scent of pine and earth. She stands by your side, sharing in the joys and challenges of a life lived in harmony with nature.

As the sun sets, casting a warm glow over the mountains, you find yourself lost in thought about your wife. The memories of her beauty and strength fill your mind, and suddenly you can't resist any longer. You take her by the lips and passionately kiss her under the stars. Her soft blonde hair whispers against your skin as she responds to your advances with equal fervor.

Your hands roam over her curves, feeling every inch of her body that has become so familiar yet still excites you beyond measure. She moans into your mouth, arching into your touch as if begging for more. You both stumble back towards the cabin together, driven by an irresistible desire that only grows stronger with each passing moment.

As you enter the cabin, the warmth of the fireplace greets you both. Without breaking eye contact or losing momentum, you guide her towards it and lower her gently onto the rug in front of it. The flames dance across her skin as she lies there before you, eager for what comes next.

You undress each other slowly but surely, taking your time to savor every touch and glance between one another. When at last you stand naked together by the fireplace, there's no denying how much heat has built up between them—both literally from its warmth and figuratively from their passionate connection.

Without further ado, you climb on top of your wife and position yourself at her entrance; she meets your gaze with a mix of anticipation and love as she wraps her legs around yours tightly while arching up into your touch even more fervently than before.

You stand tall and formidable, a testament to the rugged life you've embraced in the heart of the wilderness. Your frame is broad and muscular, shaped by years of hard work and a deep connection to the land. Every movement exudes strength and purpose, from the deliberate swing of your axe to the confident stride that carries you through the dense underbrush.

Your face is weathered, etched with lines that tell stories of resilience and endurance. A scruffy beard frames your jaw, flecked with hints of grey that speak to the passage of time and the wisdom it has brought. Deep-set eyes, sharp and observant, reflect the keen awareness honed through years of navigating the intricate patterns of the forest.

[sapphicseasapphire]

Once upon a time, there was a Princess and a Knight.

There were others as well: Champions hailing from the far corners of Hyrule, innocent civilians, soldiers for the crown…

And a world ending evil.

The kingdom of Hyrule knew of their impending doom, they knew of the Great Calamity that threatened their lives. And so, the Princess prepared to protect her people by offering her prayers to the Goddess Hylia, giving every last ounce of herself in order to unlock the sealing power that she supposedly possessed.

Around her, the kingdom of Hyrule made its own preparations. Ancient automatons were discovered deep in the heart of the land and, piloted by the Champions, would be an asset to the Hyrulean Army. Guardians would act as foot soldiers, Divine Beasts would deal a heavy blow.

All in all, the kingdom hoped. They were well equipped for the battle ahead of them. The Princess’s knight wielded his sacred sword with confidence. The Champions piloted their Divine Beasts with valor. The Princess continued to pray for a power that would never come.

It would end up being their downfall.

Faceless bodies, nameless faces, all lost to the maw of the Calamity. The Champions had perished, their weapons becoming deadly prisons. The soldiers had fallen, slain by the very Guardians meant to protect them. Though, in her desperation, she tapped into the wellspring of power within herself and managed to save herself, it was not enough. In her lap was her knight, and he was not breathing. She had lost.

She had lost everything.

The blade of the Master Sword, tarnished in blood and muck where it rested in her knight’s limp fingers, reflected her tears as she cried over his lifeless body. All was silent, save for her sobs and shaky pleas. She begged the Goddess for forgiveness, for her knight to magically start breathing once more. She cursed Hylia for allowing this to happen, for ignoring her all these years, for taking the lives of so many.

The Goddess had ignored her in the past, and she had no qualms ignoring her now.

For the first time in her life, surrounded by the skeletons of corrupted Guardians, by the lifeless forms of the fallen, the princess was alone.

She was truly alone.

After the battle, the princess was discovered by the Sheikah, who ushered her to safety. The Kingdom was lost, buried somewhere beneath the ruin and carnage that surrounded her. She brought her knight with her, one last escort, she told herself. The princess could not bear to leave him there, alone with the emotionless automatons that had stolen his life away.

She walked beside him as he was carried from the battlefield.

When it was safe, she laid her fallen knight to rest in a quiet forest near his hometown, where the mountains had shielded the village from the worst of the Calamity and the sea breeze rustled through the leaves on the trees. The static sound was a comfort to the princess as she placed a blue and white flower onto the mound of upturned earth. Six feet under an unmarked grave lied a young man- just a boy- who deserved better. He had defended her until his very last breath, cursed to bear the responsibility of wielding the Blade of Evil’s Bane, destined to fight an impossible battle.

It was always going to end like this.

The princess did not have time to mourn. She entrusted the Great Deku Tree with the Master Sword, her heart aching with the knowledge that the sacred blade would no longer be wielded by her brave knight. Hyrule would have to wait for the cycle to begin anew, but in the mean time…

She had a job to do.

With nothing left to loose, the princess marched straight to bones of Hyrule Castle, where the beast of Calamity Ganon circled ominously above. With her sealing powers finally available to her, the princess was ready for one final fight.

But there’s an intrinsic magic in the balance of nature. The more religious Hyrulean citizens might even say they see Hylia herself in the glorious orange and pink sunsets, in the gentle hum buzz of the forest, the rolling majesty of waves. Life thrums under one’s feet if they walk too far off the paths across Hyrule.

It is no secret that there are spirits that roam the wilds. A select few claim to see lively children of the forest, playful little gremlins with the face of a leaf. More commonly seen are spirits called Blupees, mysterious, their eerie blue glow visible to everyone in Hyrule. No one quite knows their origin, but it is said that they’re the result of pure earthly magic bursting at the seams with heavenly light.

And such light, such divine grace, needed a place to go. It worked its way into the fallen knight’s lifeless body, slowly but surely revitalizing him. Some might say Hylia herself cradled him in the palms of her hands and breathed shimmering life back into his lungs.

The process of revival changed him fundamentally, though it only took a month at most. The knight was robbed of his memories, his body becoming almost unrecognizable. His hair became ghostly white, his skin flowed a gentle bluish hue. He had become a forest spirit with no recollection of the Hylian he once was.

Hyruleans citizens might occasionally see him in dense forests or scorching deserts. He wandered about the lava pools of Eldin for a time. Aimlessly wandering the wilds. Those that saw him called him the Child of the Mountains, believing he had a connection to the elusive Lord of the Mountain that he so closely resembled.

Years passed, and the Child of the Mountains was spotted less and less often. A century after the rise of the Calamity, no one remembered the knight that had fallen in battle. No one noticed the upturned earth of that unmarked grave. No, the nameless knight was lost to time.

The Child of the Mountains remained the topic of folklore all across Hyrule, an otherworldly presence that was so rarely spotted. But things began to change for the forsaken kingdom. Divine Beasts stopped their rampaging, towers and shrines went from vicious orange to soothing blue. Still, no one connected the dots until Calamity Ganon itself was defeated and the fabled Child of the Mountains was spotted after the battle bearing a familiar blessed sword.

He disappeared completely after the war was won.

Somehow, the princess had survived the century long battle against the malice, and she had been quick to order a search for her knight. But that’s the thing about spirits: if they don’t want to be found, there’s just no finding them.

Still, the princess would not give up on him. Not again. She’d seen him, briefly, after he’d slain the monstrous Calamity. Her knight was still in there, she was sure of it. She will stop at nothing to bring him home.

. . .

Some notes!

• Wild is kind of sort of immortal. He can’t die unless he’s killed. (He’s been alive for a century and is vibing)

• Wild spent the entire century between waking up and fighting Calamity Ganon just… wandering in the woods like a lost child. Freaks out the locals but eh, he doesn’t really care.

• Of all of the Links, Wild is the least… human. He has no memory of ever being Hylian. All he knows is the wilderness.

• It sounds like bells and chimes when he walks, just like a Blupee!

• LOVES shiny things! Distracted very easily

• Mostly nonverbal. He communicates mostly with his antennae, though he doesn’t really have anyone to communicate with. He can speak telepathically with other spirits and the Great Deku Tree.

• Flora never expected him to come back. He was dead for good. But when a spirit with the same face as her fallen knight suddenly arrives at the castle after a century to kill the thing she’s been fighting, she was in disbelief. She recognized him which freaked him out and he ran away.

• He’s been wearing the clothes that he was buried in this WHOLE TIME.

• Subject of Hyrulean folklore, everyone has different thoughts on what he is. They all know he’s a spirit. But is he friendly? A protector to the people? Guardian of the wilds? He’s seen pretty rarely and encounters are short and quiet. Sometimes he’ll stare at the person, sometimes he’ll try to fight them, sometimes he’ll just run away.

• Chaos gremlin

• I love him very much

Original Character Sheets!

Sky’s Origin!

Time’s Origin!

[gingernut1314]

Little Game Pt. 2

Dracule Mihawk x F!Reader

Summary: Mihawk has found you once more after a month of hunting after you--a month of playing your little games. Found you in yet another poor excuse for a bar, except it seems you have forgotten all about your game. Forgotten and were dulling your usually sharp sense away with drink after drink. But Mihawk hasn't forgotten. Your game is still on and he plans on winning.

Tags: angst, fluff

Word Count: 4.9K

Setlist:

Emotions

I Wanted to Leave

A/N: I'm soooo sorry it's been such a long time! I'm in my last year of college and it's absolute hell on earth and the work is insane. Anyywway, there's no spice again, but I'm slowly getting there! I hope you all enjoy! 🩷

↞ to One Piece Masterlist | Request Rules | Blog Navigation ↠ Part 1 | Part 3

Mihawk had traveled thousands of miles from his Marine-ravaged home. Had smuggled himself onto cargo ships and luxury vessels to get to island after island. Had begged to join the first pirate crew he could find so he might learn to sail and build his strength. Had begged on his knees, forehead bowed so low it had touched the ground with anger-fueled tears in his eyes to the first swordsman he could find to teach him the delicate art of the blade. 

Had begged on hand and knee to every swords master he came across to teach him. To help him draw closer and closer to that end goal he would do anything to achieve. 

He would become strong. Become the greatest swordsman the world had ever known and then he would lay waste to the Marines. He would spare them no mercy, just as they had spared his home no mercy. Just as they had spared his mother no mercy. 

It was a goal--no, a vow bound by blood and death herself that led him here to this small island. An island covered in ancient, towering trees. An island home to a secluded and unknown people. Home to the greatest swordsman of a long-ago era. A swordsmen who had lived 180 years and had never lost a fight. 

His yellow eyes scanned the dark wood he had been warned was full of monsters--devils waiting to tear any traveler brave enough to enter its thick, fog-filled brush. His last master had warned him many men had gone in looking for the great swordsman to learn from him, just as Mihawk, but they never reached his log cabin at its center. They had hardly stepped foot into the wood before its guardian attacked. 

Mihawk calmly stated he would be the first to make it. Would face this Guardian of the Wood and all its devilish monsters and win. He would find the great swordsman and prove to him he was worth his teachings.

The forest hardly looked dangerous. Especially when he spotted the yellow-gold petals of marigolds that he could see littered the leaf-covered floor. 

No monster in sight. No devil. No Guardian. 

Mihawk placed his hand over the hilt of his sword at his side and started into the dark forest. Had just passed a rather large bunch of marigolds when someone landed on the ground before him, having hopped down from their spot amongst the treetops. 

Mihawk scolded himself for not having spotted the figure, knowing he would have seen them had he not been so preoccupied thinking about devils. The tip of a naginata pressed into his chest.

“Are you a pirate?” The voice that came from the figure was silky and calm, yet held dark danger within its melody. It was a voice unlike any other Mihawk had heard and its wielder was just as rare. You looked like some wood nymph. Like the mystical yet deadly creatures Mihawk had heard sung on the lips of pirates and sailors alike come to life. 

“I am here for Rivers Achilles.” You frowned deeply, that sharp blade never leaving Mihawk's chest. He looked you over carefully. Looked over your well-trained stance, one only gained from practice and patience Mihawk knew all too well. Took in the fact you must be around Mihawk’s own age of fourteen. No. He could tell you were older. A year--maybe two. 

“Do all you pirates have a monthly meeting to discuss such originality?” Mihawk narrowed his eyes the slightest bit. Watched your eyes spark like you enjoyed his small reaction. 

“I do not have time to waste on some dirt-smug girl.” Mihawk saw you were hardly dirt smugged. You were pertinently clean as if you had washed before climbing up into that tree. He said it to snuff out that spark of enjoyment you had gotten from baiting his temper. An anger he was slowly training himself to wrangle away. “Now. Move before I move you.” 

You laughed. A small thing that grew into an all-out bellow. It was a laugh that matched your darkness. Your rareness. It had Mihawk blinking, as if stunned at its sound.

“You step another inch in my wood, pirate, and I will break your nose.” You threatened, that dangerous tone laying in the background of your voice pooling thick like venom to its forefront. It was--intoxicating to hear. A sound Mihawk wanted to drag from you again and again. 

“Are you the Guardian of the Wood?” Your shoulders rose and pride swelled in your eyes.

“If you have heard of me then you have heard of what I have done to many a pirate such as yourself. I make them disappear--vanish them from the face of the earth.” Mihawk watched you slowly. A slowness that sparked anger in your eyes. 

It was an anger that Mihawk knew too well. An anger that matched his own in intensity and fury like some twin flame. Someone had hurt you--had taken someone from you, just as those Marines had taken his mother. Had left you feeling so weak and empty it left that anger to fester and grow out of control in you, just as it had in him. It was an anger he wanted to lash out at. One he wanted to direct his own anger at. 

“I thought you would be--” He paused, letting his eyes roam over your body again in a bored manner. “--more.” That fiery anger flared brightly. Had your knuckles going white wrapped as tightly as they were around the staff of your naginata. “How disappointing to find you are just some feral, dirt-covered girl.” Oh yes--yes there it was. Such anger. Anger to match his own. Anger that would rival him like none other ever could.

Mihawk had hardly seen you move before you were bringing the staff of our naginata to ram into his nose. A sickening crunch sounded in Mihawk's ears as pain flared in his face, nearly blinding him. 

A pain that blinded him from seeing you move to kick him hard in the chest, sending him flying out of the woods and back onto the black sand of the beach he had just landed on near minutes ago. 

His anger flared then, but he could only blame himself. He had been distracted by your own anger. By your dangerous voice and your rare beauty. Stupid, idiotic distractions on his part. 

“A runt such as yourself should know his place.” You hissed as Mihawk shoved himself to his knees, wiping the blood from under his broken nose as he laid his yellow eyes on you once more. Found you had left the darkness of your wood and stopped before him looking like some vengeful goddess fallen straight from the heavens. “My father does not wish to waste his time training the likes of pirates. Weak pirates such as yourself, runt.” 

Your father was Rivers Achilles--yes, it made sense now. Your rarity made sense. Your strength and skill. Your father was no ordinary man, therefor his offspring would be just as inordinary--spectacular. 

“I am no runt and I am not weak. I will pass you. I will bow before Achilles and he will train me.” Mihawk declared, cold sea water spraying at his dark leather boot-covered feet. “Your little game will do nothing to stop me from becoming the greatest swordsman this world has ever seen.” 

That excited spark flashed in your icy eyes again. A spark that flickered and twirled with your anger. A wicked, cat-like grin crossed your face--a grin that was so stunning it nearly stole Mihawk's breath away--did steal it.

“Game on.” 

Mihawk had been tracking you for a month now. A month longer than he liked, but you never gave up the chase. Never slowed or stopped long enough for Mihawk to grab hold of you. All he ever saw of you was the trail of perfect chaos you left behind. 

He had followed you through the North, South, East, and West Blues. Had followed you into the Grand Line, full of all its dangers, and back, only to follow you right back into its mysterious waters. And just when he thought he had caught up to you, would have you within his grasp, you had disappeared like smoke between his fingers. 

Despite how long his pursuit of you had taken, he found it excited him. Had him looking forward to the coming dawn, something he had long ago started to dread. 

He assumed it was because you excited him--had always kept him on his toes. You were a rare woman. One that had always challenged him in skill and wit--that matched him as perfectly as one could match another. 

Part of him wished you would just give in. Come with him back to Kuraigana Island and let him indulge you in every luxury he had ever wanted to give you. It was a foolish wish, but one he held regardless. One he knew would never come true unless he won this little game of yours. 

A game you seemed to have forgotten for the night, because here you were, in another run-down, dirty, overcrowded bar on some backwater island in the Grand Line, drunk out of your mind. It was unlike you, to be this careless. Not when it came to your games--when Mihawk was playing them just as you had wanted. 

But there you were, downing the last of your beer, hardly grimacing at the taste as he knew you usually would, too drunk to even taste it. There you were, looking so--exhausted. It was an exhaustion Mihawk knew too well--that weight heavy on his shoulders as it seemed to do you. An exhaustion that had Mihawk pausing. Almost had him leaving this too-small bar and all its too-drunk inhabitants. 

Almost. 

A drunk man bumped into Mihawk with a slurred apology, but he hardly heard it. Hardly even felt the pathetic man running into him. Not when he was so close to you. Not when he was so close to winning the game you had started. 

“Why is it you continue to frequent such nightmarish establishments?” Mihawk's voice should have had you sobering up. Should have had you scrambling to escape back out to sea and leave him and this island far behind. But his voice--so smooth and calm and utterly bored had you tingling in excitement. 

You had missed his all-too-calm dementor. Had missed him, his face, and his stupid hat. 

On a small hiccup, you turned to look up into those piercing yellow-gold eyes you had missed the most. Eyes you wished you could look into forever.

With your thoughts fogged nicely thanks to the copious amounts of alcohol you had consumed, you had no embarrassment or strength for good decision-making when you placed your palm over top of his hard-earned abs. The warmth of his skin seeped into your freezing fingers as you ran them over his skin. 

“Mi-hic-hawk.” You purred up at the unamused man, all but fighting against your hiccups. You flashed him a sly grin. “How’d you find me?” You slurred horribly. 

“You are being sloppy.” You hummed as you brought your other hand to run along his skin, taking in his warmth and power that all but radiated off of him in dangerous waves.

“You always know just how to--hic-- sweet talk a girl.” You said, running your hands around his waist, where they disappeared under his dark jacket. Where they felt the equally as strong muscles lining his lower back. “Say something mean to me again, Mihawk. Pretty--hic--please.” 

Mihawk blinked down at you for a single moment before swiftly removing your hands from his body. You pouted, going to grab for him again, but he brushed you off once more. “Stop.” You whined pathetically, “You’re being mean.” 

“You asked me to mean,” Mihawk said the fact simply in that overly bored manner he hid behind. With a huff, you stopped your attempts at touching him and crossed your arms over your chest. 

“I didn’t say sh-hic-oo me away.” 

“You are drunk, Y/N.” You rolled your eyes dramatically, turning back around on the bar stool you sat on to find the bartender again. 

“And you’re not. It’s --hic-- boring.” You hissed as the bartender came over. “I will have your finest beer and my --hic-- best friend will have your oldest wine.” The woman’s eyes darted to Mihawk making you fix her with an icy glare. Her eyes looked a little too long in Mihawk's direction. Had looked over his face and body for too long. “Don’t look at him. I can only look at him.” She was quick to snap her eyes away, her face going pale in utter fear.

“Y-yes ma’am. We-we only have a red blend from a year ago.” You sighed.

“He will deal with it.” 

“Y/N, we are leaving,” Mihawk said as the woman rushed off. You gave another dramatic sigh, turning back to face him. Those yellow-gold eyes had never once left you and you couldn’t help but enjoy being in their sights. 

“Mihawk, we are--hic--not. I just ordered.” He continued to look unamused. Continued to fix you with his own sharp stare. One that never quite seemed to overpower your own. “Is it because I ordered you bad wine?” 

“Bad wine or not we are leaving.” You narrowed your eyes up at him. Narrowed them so sharp you willed them to cut him open. 

“It’s my--hic--day off. If you are going to be a party pooper then you should --hic-- leave.” It was the exact opposite of what you wanted him to do, but you had landed on this island to get drunk. So drunk you would hopefully wake up with dark spots in your memory.

“I will. With you.” He insisted. You rubbed your eyes roughly, that exhaustion you had come here to escape returning with a vengeance. 

“You are such an --hic--asshole.” 

“Poetic.” Mihawk monotoned. You hissed, yanking your hands away from your face and flinging them up in the air.

“I’m drunk, Mr. Smarty-Pants. Leave me be.” Your beer was placed before you and you were quick to scoop it up. The bad glass of wine went untouched by Mihawk. “Do you want to know --hic-- something?” You asked the bartender who hesitated. Hesitated and stayed after you fix her with your icy glare once more. “This--hic-- guy acts all tough but really --hic-- he wants to leave because all these people are making him--hic--itchy. He’d rather just sit on his pert little ass in the dark.” You said, a giggle leaving your lips. 

The bartender’s eyes darted back to Mihawk and you slammed your fist on the countertop, making the glasses rattle and the bartender nearly jump out of her skin. “I said don’t look at him.” You watched her chest heave up and down in fear as you took a long sip from your beer. “Talking about pert little asses. Mihawk once ran naked--”

“Enough, Y/N.” Mihawk all but commanded you, making you tense. It was a command you bristled at--made your anger begin to heat in your chest rather quickly. Too quick for you to grab hold of and control, especially when you were this drunk. “We’re leaving.” 

“Fuck you! Fuck you and fuck the Marines and --hic--fuck you again.” You hissed, standing from your stool only to nearly fall off it in the process. Mihawk stayed planted in his place, even when you ran into him during your oh-so-graceful fall. “You can’t tell me what to--hic--do.” 

“You are stumbling around like a no-good drunkard. Collect yourself.” You stomped your foot and pushed Mihawk with another hiss like some child. The swordsman hardly seemed to even feel your attack. A fact that had you seething and going to do it again, but he grabbed your wrists in a tight hold. “Enough.” He commanded again. You yanked against his grip but it stayed strong. 

“Let me go.” You hissed at him, yanking again. 

“We are leaving. Whether you do so on your own two feet or I carry you out makes no difference to me.” Your anger surged in your chest. Surged in defiance at his orders. You were not one to be ordered around. Especially by him. 

“You will unhand me this instant or I will--hic--break your nose.” Something flashed in Mihawk's golden eyes. Something--sad. A sad that called to your own sadness which had been welling and pooling within your chest for years now. Pooling to the point of near flooding. A flood you resorted to drinking to dam it up. 

Mihawk’s grip around your wrists fell, but he made no sign of leaving. Made no sign of moving a single muscle from his spot before you. Made no sign of giving up on his declaration of leaving this bar with you in tow.

In your drunken state, you thought this was a perfect opportunity to draw your black blade, which you had left uncovered at your hip. You swung, your muscles moving on near memory, at the frustrating swordsman before you, causing the bartender and a few people around you to scream out in fear. 

Mihawk sidestepped your attack and before you could blink, your sword was skillfully pulled from your grasp and you stumbled forward with a roar. “Give it--” Your words were cut off by a yelp as Mihawk grabbed you up in his strong arms, throwing you over his shoulder. 

Your right shoulder hit Yoru’s hilt painfully and you had to quickly throw your hands out to stop your face from colliding with the black blade strapped to his back. Mihawk wrapped an iron-like arm around your thighs to keep you in place before starting for the exit.

Your vision blurred from the sudden movement, but it didn’t stop you from pounding on Mihawk’s powerful back and kicking your feet as best you could in your weak attempt to escape. His hold on you never lessened, only seeming to tighten in your struggle. 

“Let me go, Mihawk!” You shouted, pulling yourself up enough to try to catch of glimpse of his face, only for his stupid hat to hit you in the face. You gave a frustrated little growl. “This is not fair! I’m drunk!”

“Drunk or not, you started the game. I plan on finishing it.” You huffed in frustration, punching his back once more to no avail. 

The bar fell away and soon you were being carried through the night-filled streets of the backwater village you had found. You continued to fight against his hold until your stomach stirred nauseously and your vision blurred to the point you could hardly see. 

With a pathetic moan, you let your body go limp against his back, your body bouncing with every graceful step he took. It only made your nausea grow, but you were too dizzy to do anything about it. 

“Tire yourself out?” Mihawk asked something like amusement finally filling his smooth voice. 

“I’m going to vomit all over your fancy little sword.” You murmured, making the man sigh deeply through his nose. 

“Are you serious?” You moaned, feeling bile rise in your throat. Your world spun and blurred around you as Mihawk dragged you off his shoulder, a movement that only had that bile rising sharply and your mouth filling with hot spit. You were placed on your feet, but your knees gave out with little warning. Tiny rocks dug into the flesh of your palms and into your kneecaps. 

You cursed, taking deep breaths of the chill night air, hoping to settle your upset stomach. Maybe you had overdone it on the drinks--but unfortunately for you, this is what you had set out to accomplish, and sober you knew she wouldn’t have to deal with all of this nastiness. 

You had just opened your mouth to relieve your aching stomach when strong hands collected your hair away from your face. Hands that held your hair in a manner so soft you hardly felt it. You vomited before you could think much more on whose hands were holding your hair up. 

“Why were you in that bar, Y/N?” Mihawk asked, voice low and so--gentle. As gentle as the man could make it seem. You huffed in and out deeply, catching your breath.

“Why do most people go to --hic -- bars? To get drunk.” You hissed as best you could between breaths. Bile rose in your throat and your stomach rolled once more. Gods--

“Yes,” He sighed, annoyed at your comment. “But you don’t go to bars to get drunk. Not when you are set on a task. Not ever.” You huffed a moan before throwing up once more. 

“I’ve changed.” You huff out, catching your breath once more. Mihawk was quiet behind you. A quiet that ate at you more than you wished to admit. Your vision blurred again. But it was a blur that had nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with the tears welling in your eyes. 

You had drunk too much. Way too much if it was bring you to tears. Tears you could do nothing about to control, not in the state you were currently in. Not when the man making you cry was behind you, holding your hair like there was nothing wrong between the two of you. Like you were back on your home island, stealing alcohol from your father and sneaking off to the only bar on the whole island. 

Your home. Your father. Your forest. All gone. Just like that in the blink of an eye. How had it happened? How had you let it happen? You had been your home's Guardian, just as your mother before you, and her mother before her. It had been your job, your responsibility to protect it from such dangers. 

It had been your life's purpose and you had failed. Failed and lived. Lived when you should have died protecting it.

“Y/N--” Mihawk started, but you swatted his hands away as you turned your body away from your puke. You buried your face in your hands to keep the swordsman from seeing your tears. From seeing your weakened and broken state. 

“Leave me be. Please.” You all but begged. Gods you were pathetic. So far from the proud and strong person you had once been in your youth. So old and angry and tired.

“I’ve seen you at your lowest. Some sick and a few drunken tears are hardly going to deter me.” He said on a sigh like you should have already known that. 

You pulled your face from your hands to glare at him where he knelt behind you. To tell him to leave on a venomous hiss--to throw insults his way, but his hand disappearing into his jacket pocket caught your eye. It reappears with a golden hair clip, diamonds sparkling in the lamp lights as he showed it to you. 

“That’s my--” You started in disbelief. 

“You forgot it on my ship when you left.” He said, handing it to you. You took in gently in your hands and before you could even begin to process everything, his hands were in your hair once more. He gently pulled and twisted it, mimicking how you had done your hair a million and one times before without so much as a thought of his ever-watchful gaze. His free hand plucked the golden clip from your hand and nestled it securely in your hair. 

He had kept it. Had not only kept it, but had kept it on his person. Kept it close and ready to use if you ever needed it once more. 

When he was done, you turned to stare bug-eyed up at him, tears still refusing to halt their endless fall. Calm. He was always so calm. A calm that frustrated you and grated on your nerves to no end, but was such a familiar, comforting presence. A presence you had yearned to be around more than you yearned to hunt down every last Marine you came across. 

Hesitantly, he reached for you. So hesitantly he gave you enough to slap him away, but you made no move to do so. Made no move to stop him as he brushed your tears away with his thumb. 

His touch sent your eyes watering all over again. His touch and his actions were so gentle and kind and so utterly unfair. So unfair because you couldn’t give in. Not now. Not for a long, long time. 

Gods how you wanted to give in. 

“I can’t--I can’t go with you.” You said in a low, grave tone. Mihawk brushed his thumb over your cheek once more before pulling away, making you feel that cold aloneness you had been trying to chase away with drink. He gave the slightest of nods. 

“I know.” He said just as lowly, his face seeming to harden further. You watched him grab your black blade, which he had placed on the ground beside him. He resheathed it at your side skillfully and reached for you again, grabbing you under your arms and lifting you to your feet. You swayed like a great gust of wind had blown into you, your drunkenness having yet to wear off. 

Mihawk hardly made a single sound before he was lifting you off the ground once more. Made no sound as he prompted you to wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. You did so without much thought, the action having been memorized by your body.

It was something the two of you had done many times over the years, whether it be you clinging to his back or front. Whether it be because you were too drunk or injured to walk, you would cling to him and he would hold you tight. It was something he had grumbled endlessly about the first few times you’d insisted upon it, but had slowly grown used to it to the point he would pick you up as such without your prompting. 

Your eyes catch his own briefly. Eyes so bright they were like the sun. A sun your soul begged to orbit one more, but your pride beat it down. Had you looking away and placing your cheek on his shoulder, taking his rose and expensive cologne scent deep into your nose so that you might hold on to it for that much longer.

Mihawk felt like a teenager again, holding you like this. It was--refreshing, though if anyone of importance saw him in such a way, there was sure to be trouble. But for now, in this small village in the middle of the Grand Line, he could get away with it. Could hold you close and keep your seemingly ever-cold body warm. 

He had marked where your ship was docked before he had ever docked his own, so finding it again was hardly a chore. 

Your ship was just a tab bit larger than his own, still designed for a single crew member to sail, but large enough for a much more spacious sleeping quarters and kitchen. That had been something you had complained about endlessly when having sailed with him on his own ship. 

He readjusted his hold on you so he might open the door that led to the inner workings of your ship. It was neat and tidy, just as his own was, though the walls covered in numbers and markings were unlike anything on his own ship. 

They were Marine branch numbers, ones you had come across during your journeys. Underneath each number were tally marks which he assumed represented how many ships you had destroyed flying those same numbered flags. The branches you had completely whipped off the face of the earth he found were crossed out. 

It was impressive how many Marines you had wielded your perfect chaos against. Impressive and worrisome because he knew as the number grew, the more you would be noticed. And the more you are noticed, the more likely it was they would send another one of the Warlords to slaughter you. 

Garp had warned him of this the last time they spoke. Had commanded Mihawk to get you under control or you would be spared no mercy. It was Mihawk's first and final warning to stop you before you got yourself killed. 

And as much as Mihawk wanted to take you away to his new home, to keep you out of the prying eye of every last Marine and pirate that sailed the seas, he knew he needed to wait. To play your game and win it, or there would be no victory. No having you back by his side. 

You had fallen asleep sometime during the walk, so you made no fuss as Mihawk placed you in bed. You merely grumbled something in your sleeping state as he pulled your boots off and took your sword from your side, propping it against the wall.

He watched you for a long moment. Watched your softened features as you slept. 

So rare. You were too rare to let go. To give up on and allow to die. You were Mihawk’s twin flame. A flame he would fight and die for if given the chance. You were the only person alive he would truly bend to. 

And bend he did by letting you go. By playing your little game. A game he vowed to win the right way.

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[rue-with-the-tarot]

Athena, Goddess of Wisdom, Guardian of Civilization; dressed in a robe of silver and jewels, laden with golden armor, clutching the spear in one hand and the olive branch in another, ready to defend viciously what is hers and then rule with justice, peace and prosperity after all is over. Athena who stands among the marble columns, keeper of ancient scrolls, a golden helmet with a glorious plume atop adorned on her head, to guard the most precious resource; the mind. The Polis honors her as its most sacred guardian, for dangers ever lurk, but the Eye of Pallas is ever pervasive. The picture of the Ancient Goddess.

Athena, Modern Goddess, still needed after her temples were torn asunder and forgotten. Athena, whose monuments were reduced to old relics, but still standing thousands of years after the ancients perished. They who embrace a new age, who still reigns wearing precious clothes and adornments, but has also worn military fatigues, draped in camouflage, because humanity still finds reason for war and someone has to keep families together while we wage it. She has worn gas masks on the streets, helping protestors build shields and amplifying voices over speakers. She is one with modern technology, fitting comfortably in with the Age of Information. No tech on earth is confusing or out of place with them; it probably seems barbaric. “When will you dismantle those bombs and build a better world with the scraps?” She asks. The picture of the Modern Goddess.

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 121

There have been tales throughout time of it, in many forms and in many places. Some would even argue that it’s about different things, mere coincidence lest legends be really true. Of beasts and guardians and creatures of great destruction all wrapped in one. 

Some tales have long since been forgotten, left to dreams and dust  until they were merely stories. Insatiable monsters trapped in legends told at night, and guardian spirits lost to the sounds of day. The being whose body formed the land they stood upon, whose blood powered everything around them as they turned their prayer to false gods that would not save them. 

They abandoned their dead and ways of old, turning towards false light and fear of shadows growing. They pray to false idols while damning those who warn them in the same breath, denial dancing on their tongues while they know the truth all the same. 

Their pride and hubris dances amidst their veins, fear an alien feeling as they ignored the warning signs, so certain in their own power and creations. 

And yet, the rocks still shift, something great, something Ancient awakening. Metal collapses with dying screams, great swaths of earth crumbling as it shifts, scales that had not seen sun for uncountable eons revealed as the land devoured itself. 

The ground opens in wounds of green, revealing what had once been sleeping, as large as the world itself. Death giving way to life in a cocoon, an egg, the lives of many given to give birth to one entity, a being caught between, given life amidst the stars. 

[bahislionaaagiris]

What If There Were Cats in "The Rings of Power"?

The TV series The Rings of Power transports us to a world full of mythical creatures, epic battles, and ancient civilizations. However, one curious question arises: what if cats existed in this universe? How would these enigmatic creatures, with their unique behaviors and personalities, alter the course of events in Middle-earth?

1. Elves and Cats: A Natural Affinity?

Elves, known for their grace, wisdom, and connection to nature, might find cats as kindred spirits. Like the elves, cats possess an elegant and mysterious nature. Elves, who live long and value beauty, could have easily welcomed cats into their cities like Rivendell or Lothlórien. Imagine an elven lord, such as Elrond, with a regal cat perched beside him as he discusses matters of great importance. These cats would be majestic, likely with long, shimmering fur that glows under the moonlight, much like the stars the elves adore.

In addition, elven magic might even influence these cats, granting them the ability to sense hidden dangers or even the presence of the One Ring itself. They could be guardians, alerting their elven companions to unseen threats with a subtle flick of their tail or a knowing glance.

2. Dwarves and Cats: Unlikely Companions

At first glance, the relationship between dwarves and cats might seem more strained. Dwarves are gruff, industrious, and often focused on crafting and mining, while cats are independent and aloof. However, cats' agility and curiosity would be an asset in the vast underground cities like Khazad-dûm. These nimble creatures could serve as pest controllers, chasing away small creatures that may infest the dwarves' halls.

Over time, some dwarves might even grow fond of these agile creatures, appreciating their independence and usefulness. A dwarf, returning from a long day in the mines, could enjoy the quiet companionship of a cat curling up beside a warm forge.

3. Hobbits and Cats: A Perfect Match

Hobbits, with their love for comfort and simple pleasures, would likely be the best match for cats. The hobbits’ peaceful homes in the Shire, with their cozy hearths and quiet gardens, would be the perfect playground for cats. A hobbit’s home might often be seen with a content cat lounging in the sun, chasing after insects, or curling up by the fire as a hobbit enjoys their second breakfast.

Hobbits are known for their love of quiet company, and a cat’s calm presence would be the perfect companion. Cats could also play a significant role in the hobbits’ daily lives, perhaps even offering them a sense of security and protection against unwanted intruders like mischievous creatures or even orcs.

4. Sauron and Cats: Dark Alliances?

Sauron, the Dark Lord, may not initially seem like a character to appreciate cats. However, cats have long been associated with cunning and stealth—traits that Sauron would find useful. A dark, shadowy breed of cat could have been bred to serve Sauron’s purposes, acting as spies or messengers. These cats would be feared throughout Mordor, their glowing eyes peering out from the darkness.

Perhaps they would even have a magical connection to Sauron, acting as his eyes and ears in the far corners of Middle-earth. Imagine Frodo and Sam, journeying through Mordor, being silently watched by these dark felines, reporting back to Sauron with every move.

5. The One Ring and Cats: A Curious Conflict

The One Ring’s power is to dominate and control, yet cats are famously independent and difficult to subdue. This dynamic could create an interesting conflict. Would a cat be tempted by the Ring’s power, or would its natural aloofness protect it from the Ring’s influence? Perhaps a cat would be the only creature able to carry the Ring without falling under its spell, given their indifference to most things. Frodo, instead of a companion like Sam, might have had a clever and detached cat to help guide him through his journey.

Conclusion

In the world of The Rings of Power, cats would bring an intriguing mix of independence, mystery, and charm. Whether they’re lounging in Rivendell, scurrying through the mines of Khazad-dûm, or slinking through the shadows of Mordor, cats would undoubtedly add an extra layer of complexity to the already rich world of Middle-earth. With their unique personalities and behaviors, they could either be allies or foes, but one thing is certain: cats would make a lasting impression in any realm they inhabit.

[annunakitty]

Other games: The ancient evil has come from its far realm through space and time to take over the earth and only the Guardians can stop it

Warframe: What if one unstoppable killing machine had a baby with another unstoppable killing machine. Also what if old man yaoi