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novaursa · 4 days

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The Gods Are Cruel (and so is he)

- Summary: Maegor always thought of you. Even when you were convinced he had forgotten you.

- Paring: niece!reader/Maegor I Targaryen

- Note: This story captures Maegor's inner struggle and events before Fire and Blood.

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (just to be safe)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

For as long as Maegor can remember, you have been the one thing denied to him. He’s conquered kingdoms, brought men to their knees, and ruled with the iron will of a dragon. But he cannot have you. His own father, King Aegon, forbade it. “She’s your niece, Maegor. There are limits, even for us.” As if the blood of the dragon were not meant to twist and coil upon itself, strengthening the line.

You’re the second-born daughter of Aenys, the weakling king who, even now, sits the Iron Throne in pitiful splendor. His half-brother’s mewling reign grates on Maegor’s nerves, but it’s the distance between you that fuels his rage. You’re imprisoned on Dragonstone, hidden away like a relic too precious to behold. And for what? To preserve your innocence? To keep you untouched by his flame?

His hand tightens around Blackfyre’s hilt as he recalls the way you looked at him, the first time your eyes truly met. You were but a girl then, your hair falling in soft waves of silver down your back, your eyes wide with awe and fear. A look that has haunted him ever since, seeping into his dreams, twisting his desires into something darker, more dangerous. He dreams of you, night after night, your body beneath his, your mouth forming his name like a prayer. You, the one thing he cannot have, the one thing he would raze cities to possess.

And yet, you are kept from him. Aenys has you guarded like a treasure, a pawn in his political games. The gods themselves conspire against him, placing you always just out of reach. He has seen you only in glimpses now, from across the court or from the back of his dragon, Balerion, circling above Dragonstone like an unholy sentinel.

What do you think of him? He wonders, in the quiet of his chambers, when even the echoes of war fall silent. Do you fear him, as the rest do? Or do you feel it too—the pull between you, the force that binds your fates as surely as dragonfire and blood?

His first wife, Ceryse, lies cold and untouched in his bed, her barren womb a constant reminder of the child he was never meant to sire with her. He took her as duty demanded, but his heart—and his loins—have always belonged to you. A woman he could mold, could teach, could keep. In his darkest thoughts, he imagines how your skin would feel under his hands, how your breath would catch as he whispered your name. Y/N.

Does your heart beat faster when you think of him? Do you lie awake at night, wondering if he’s thinking of you, too? You must. You have to. Because if you don’t, what is left for him? What can satiate this unquenchable thirst that rages through him, consuming him like wildfire?

The gods mock him with every breath you take beyond his reach. They have shackled him to a woman who cannot bear him heirs, as if to deny him the legacy he was born to create. They have put you on Dragonstone, behind walls and guards and duty, as if they think any of that could hold him back forever. But he will have you. His father’s wishes, Aenys’ weakness, the gods themselves—none of it matters. You belong to him.

In his mind, he sees the two of you, alone in the Dragonmont, the heat of the beasts around you only heightening the fever that pulses through his veins. He would take you there, make you his in every way, his hands on your skin, your nails in his back. The thought is almost unbearable in its intensity. But it is only a dream, a hollow mockery of what he craves.

He remembers the song you played once, in the Red Keep, your fingers dancing over the strings of a harp. It was a haunting melody, something about love and death entwined, the lyrics slipping from your lips like smoke. It was not for him—you hadn’t even known he was there—but he felt the words like a dagger in his chest. The horror of his love. A love that destroys, that devours. And yet, he would have it no other way.

You are the one thing that could calm his rage, and the one thing that stokes it to an inferno. He could burn the world for you, if it meant seeing you by his side, wearing his crown, carrying his children. He would destroy anyone who stands in his way, even the gods themselves. Because you are his, and he is yours, no matter how high the walls they build between you.

The gods are cruel. But so is he. And he is patient. For now.

But not forever.

Exile is a bitter draught, and Maegor tastes its poison on his tongue every day. Here, across the Narrow Sea, he is surrounded by false smiles and sharper knives, an unwelcome guest in a land that does not know the fire of dragons. He is supposed to be broken, he thinks. This was Aenys' intent—to crush his spirit, to strip him of power and keep him from you. It should have worked.

But Maegor is not so easily broken.

Every day he is here, he feels you slipping further away, like water through his fingers. Every day, the distance grows, a chasm that he fears even a dragon’s wings could not cross. You must think him weak now, to have been cast aside, to have failed in taking what is rightfully his. Do you believe the stories? That he is a monster, a madman, unworthy of the blood in his veins?

He paces the halls of this foreign stronghold, his mind churning with thoughts of you, of the night they took you from him. He had almost had you, his hand outstretched, your name a growl on his lips, when Aenys’ guards pulled you away, your eyes wide with something he cannot name. Fear? Betrayal? Desire?

Aenys had raged at him, his voice trembling with a fury Maegor had never thought his spineless brother capable of. “You will not touch her! Do you hear me, brother? I will not let you taint her with your madness!” As if your purity were some fragile thing, as if you were not a dragon yourself, with fire in your blood.

His exile was swift, the king’s command carried out by his lapdog lords who dared not look Maegor in the eye as they escorted him to the ship, bound for a land that does not know him. Aenys spoke of protecting you, of preserving the fragile peace between the Crown and the Faith. He was terrified of another rebellion, afraid that Maegor’s obsession with you would shatter what little stability he had managed to cling to. The Faith would rise against such a union, scream of abomination and blasphemy, and the weak-willed sheep of Westeros would follow.

And so, Maegor was sent away like a common criminal, the dragon without his fire, the beast without his prey.

But what they do not understand, what even you perhaps cannot see, is that this does not break him. No, this only feeds the flames, stokes the hunger that gnaws at him day and night. In his solitude, he thinks of you, of the way your lips parted when you spoke his name, the tremor in your voice as you told him to stop. And beneath that tremor, beneath the fear, he heard something else—something that made his blood burn and his pulse quicken.

You want him. He knows it, has seen it in your eyes, in the way you cannot help but look at him when you think no one is watching. It is a look he has seen before, in women who knew the danger of wanting a man like him, who knew the risk and were drawn to it all the same. But you—you are not like them. You are his niece, his kin, and that only makes the desire more potent, more twisted.

It is as if the gods themselves crafted you to tempt him, to drive him to madness. They dangle you before him, a prize he cannot claim, and laugh as he claws at the edges of sanity, his mind unraveling with every thought of you. Y/N, the name a whisper on his lips as he dreams, a curse and a prayer all at once. He imagines you as you must be now, cloistered away on Dragonstone, your beauty kept hidden from the world, your spirit shackled by duty and fear.

What do you think of him now, your would-be captor, your would-be king? Do you despise him for his failure, for letting them take him from you? Or do you still dream of him, as he dreams of you, your hands reaching out in the darkness, your voice calling him back across the sea? He would come for you, if he could. He would set fire to this whole wretched land if it meant seeing you again, holding you, tasting the lips that have haunted him for so long.

But no, he is here, caged by exile, by duty, by the very blood that runs through his veins. Aenys thinks this will keep him at bay, that distance and shame will cool his fire. A fool’s hope. Every night, Maegor’s dreams grow darker, his thoughts more twisted, until he no longer knows where desire ends and madness begins.

He thinks of what he would do, if you were here now. How he would take you in his arms, heedless of your protests, your pleas. You would fight him, at first—he knows you would. But he would not stop. He would crush every barrier, break every rule that the world has placed between you, until there is nothing left but the two of you, entwined in a knot of blood and fire and desire. He would teach you what it means to be his, to be bound to him in a way that no one, not Aenys, not the gods themselves, could sever.

And would you love him, then? Would you finally see him for what he is, for what he could be to you? Or would you still fear him, still see him as the monster they have all made him out to be? It does not matter, he tells himself. Love, hate—they are two sides of the same coin, both burning with the same intensity. And he would have either, or both, if it meant having you.

He will not stay here forever. This exile is a cage of straw, and he is a dragon. One day, he will break free, and when he does, he will come for you. No more half-measures, no more hesitant glances and whispered promises. He will take you, as he was meant to, as he was born to. And if the world burns for it, so be it.

The gods think they can keep him from you. But he will show them the folly of trying to chain a dragon. And when he does, he will take back what is his, with fire and blood.

The wine in Pentos is bitter and thin, a poor substitute for the strong, dark vintages of home. Maegor swirls the goblet, his gaze unfocused, the liquid rippling like the storm inside him. He’s been here for what feels like years, a dragon caged, his wings clipped. Exile is a wound that festers, seeping poison into his thoughts, breeding resentment, rage—and longing. Always longing.

He imagines you on Dragonstone, your days spent looking out over the sea, wondering if he’s forgotten you. Do you think him weak for not returning, for letting Aenys and his lapdogs banish him so easily? The thought of your disappointment, your disdain, cuts deeper than any blade. He should be there, should have fought harder, should have…

The door to his chambers bursts open, and his hand flies to Blackfyre’s hilt, the dark thoughts scattering like smoke. But it is no assassin or enemy lord. It is Visenya, his mother, sweeping in like a tempest, her eyes alight with a fire he hasn’t seen in years. For a moment, he thinks he is dreaming. Visenya, the indomitable, the iron queen who shaped him, forged him in the heat of her will and her ambition. The only one who has ever understood him, who has ever truly known him.

“Mother,” he breathes, his voice rough from disuse.

She crosses the room in a few swift steps, her presence as commanding as ever. There is no preamble, no softening of the words that follow. “Aenys is dead.”

The goblet slips from his fingers, clattering to the floor, the wine spilling in a dark pool at his feet. Dead. The weakling king, the half-brother who took everything from him, who caged him in this foreign land and kept you locked away. Dead.

“How?” he asks, his voice a low growl, his mind reeling. This changes everything. The iron bonds of exile shatter in an instant, and all the bitterness, all the rage that has been festering in his heart explodes like wildfire.

“His own weakness killed him,” Visenya says, her lip curling in disdain. “The Faith rose against him, the realm crumbled around him, and he could not hold it together. He was never fit to rule. He left the Seven Kingdoms in chaos.”

And you. What did he leave you with? A kingdom in ruins, a throne contested, and you still locked away, still untouched, still denied to him. Maegor’s blood boils at the thought of it, at the thought of you alone on that bleak island, your beauty hidden from the world, your spirit shackled by a man too weak to protect what was his.

“He is gone,” Visenya continues, her voice hard as steel. “The throne is yours, Maegor. But you must act. The lords will not sit idle; they will scheme and plot and raise their banners for Aenys’ wretched brood. You must return, and you must take what is rightfully yours.”

The throne. The Iron Throne, forged by fire and blood, by the will of their house. But more than that—more than crowns and kingdoms and power—there is you. The promise of you, the dream that has tormented him in the long, empty nights of exile. He sees it all, now, with a clarity that almost blinds him. Aenys is dead, the gods have finally relented, and the path to you is clear.

He rises from his chair, his eyes fixed on Visenya’s face. “And her?” He does not need to speak your name; they both know who he means.

Visenya’s eyes gleam, a predatory smile curling her lips. “You will have her, as it should have been from the start. She is your right, your reward. No one will keep her from you now, not the Faith, not the lords, not even the gods. You will take the throne, and you will take her.”

The words are like a balm, soothing the raw wound of exile, of longing. He sees it now, the vision of what could be, what will be: you, by his side, crowned in Valyrian steel and dragon’s flame, the blood of your enemies soaking the earth at your feet. His queen. His wife. The one thing denied to him, now within his grasp.

Aenys is dead, and with him, the last barrier between Maegor and the life he was meant to have. He will return, he will seize the throne, and he will take you. The thought of it fills him with a fierce, terrible joy. He imagines the look on your face when he storms Dragonstone, when he bursts into your chambers, his eyes wild with the need that has driven him mad for so long. You will fight him, at first, as you must. But he will not be denied. He will make you see, make you understand that you were always his, from the moment you were born.

He thinks of the song you played that day in the Red Keep, the haunting melody that still echoes in his mind. There is horror in our love, the words sang, and yes, there is. There is darkness, and fire, and blood. But there is also something deeper, something that binds you to him in ways you cannot yet fathom. He will show you, when you are his, what it means to love a dragon, to be consumed by the flame and not be burned.

He looks at Visenya, his heart hammering in his chest. “We go to Westeros. We take the throne, and I take her.”

She nods, the fierce pride in her eyes a reflection of his own. “Yes, my son. You will have it all.”

The gods have relented, have finally turned their faces from him and given him what he has craved for so long. The throne, the power, and you. His beautiful, stubborn, untouchable Y/N. No more dreams, no more whispered prayers to uncaring gods. This is destiny, and it will not be denied.

He is coming for you, and nothing—not lords, not priests, not the very heavens themselves—will stop him. You will be his, as you were always meant to be. And if there is horror in it, then let there be horror. Let the world tremble before the fire of his love.

Because he is Maegor, son of Visenya, true heir of Aegon the Conqueror. And he will have what is his.

#fire and blood #maegor the cruel #game of thrones #house of the dragon #asoiaf #maegor x y/n #maegor x you #maegor x reader #maegor targaryen #Spotify

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crguang · 5 months

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a lover’s goodbye kiss

Are we ever truly done with grief?

angst, gn!reader, ptsd. 6k words of mourning and bitter reunions

A/N: this really got away from me, i also cried while writing it so do with that what you will. not entirely satisfied with it, but it’s okay. hope someone enjoys it regardless

Grief is a part of you. It seeps into your pores, settles in your bloodstream like cancerous chemicals and forces you to live with it, to endure the brunt of it lest memories pull you under permanently. For long-life species, grief is ironically common. The belief that Xianzhou natives are unaccustomed to death is a false one; though it is slow to come, it envelops them regardless, often twice over. The Mara curse is first. Its inevitability leaves an imprint in people’s hearts, a sort of impression they are born with and cannot outgrow. To be a long-life species is to become Mara-struck, a shell of your former self driven by bloodlust and fragmented memories. That, in itself, is death. Your body is no longer your own and neither is your mind, you are a senseless abomination destined to roam the world until someone or something delivers the fatal, long-awaited blow needed to end your misery. Though this heavy subject is not often discussed among the people, accepting that fate is done with bloodied teeth and scorched fingertips, a personal battle with grief from which you come out only somewhat victorious. Knowing that you’ll eventually be stricken by Mara is one thing, accepting that your loved ones will walk the same path is another entirely. No one talks about the worst part. Nobody tells you what you’re supposed to do when the memories fade away, replaced by the acrid smell of sulfur and a chill in your bones that you can never shake.

Hundreds of years of memories— content smiles, sun rays onto sweaty skin, cold hands in pale locks of hair, unspoken devotion— are hidden behind mist requiring immense focus to see through. You are not Mara-struck yet. Your mind is still your own, as much as it can be, and you are still alive. You ask yourself why often. Why it was her, first, and not you. Why you’re stuck living with holes inside of you when maybe you should’ve died along with the hundred Cloud Knights that had the misfortune of crossing her path that night. Loss has made you ashamed, you can’t even speak her name. It’d been erased from history and forbidden after that night, out of social disappointment and shame, but that is not why you can’t bear to utter it. It’s unfair that this is what you remember most of her; the collapsed buildings, the unbearable smell, the frozen corpses… Her beloved blade through your stomach. The way her gaze softened after a few glasses of wine has been replaced by the flash of crimson you caught a glimpse of before her sword buried itself in your guts. You vaguely recall how endearingly tight her muscles always were, how you or Baiheng had to smooth the knots out of her body once in a while. The news of her breaking out of the Shackling Prison, however, along with the screams that followed form a clear image in your treacherous mind. What use are memories if they are so fickle, so easily supplanted by horrors that quicken your heartbeat on thought alone?

If anything, you do not shoulder this immense grief alone. Jing Yuan was a scrawny, eager boy when you first met him, almost half your height and always trailing behind her like the dutiful apprentice he was. His enthusiasm lit up the training yard and his youthful determination quickly earned him a place amongst your most cherished. He would seek you out after hours of conditioning, sweat still clinging to his bushy brows, and request a friendly spar to show you what he’s learned, how fast he was getting, how swift he could slash his sword. Your position as a Lieutenant of the Cloud Knights made him look at you with naked admiration, he’d hang onto your every word with a seriousness unfit of his age and at times offered insight only a boy who had never known war could come up with. You think you remember a figure in the shade of a growing tree standing several feet away from where you and Jing Yuan sparred. Quiet as a golden eagle, diligent gaze making note of every sloppy thrust and slow retreat she would reproach her retainer afterwards, his master only revealed herself when the tip of your blade against his neck announced his defeat.

Jing Yuan was the one to rescue you on the ice. His quick intervention allowed for healers from the Alchemy Commission to reach you in time and tend to your injuries. He was also the one to end her. It had to be him, you know, but you regret your own weakness, your faltering steps and half-hearted parries— it’s a burden you wish he never carried. He bears it with a solemn glint in his eyes and an impeccable posture but he’s not General of the Xianzhou Luofu to you, and so he lets you keep him close whenever he visits your empty home. His appreciation for the comfort goes unsaid, though his shoulders stand inches lower once he sets out the door. After all, he lost her too.

You get déjà vu when Jing Yuan walks across the training yard with a skinny blonde boy in tow and introduces him as his retainer, Yanqing. His apprentice is just as eager and energetic as he was, and it’s easy to fall back into old habits when the boy eventually nags you into sparring with him. He’s talented, determined to achieve his goals, but a little too proud and overconfident. His arrogance reminds you of an old friend who once forged the sword you still wield like an extension of your arm. It’s somewhat endearing, and not entirely unearned. A part of you vaguely recalls the annoyed purse of the Sword Champion’s lips whenever your mutual friend would go on another spiel about mastering the way of the sword. Your fingertips trace the sheath of your blade at the thought.

The Stellaron crisis plunges the Luofu into disarray. It brings destruction and death to the Xianzhou on a scale that reminds you of her, of the illuminated moon in the night sky and the blood on your hands. You can’t allow the memories to paralyze you like they often do, however, so you work with Jing Yuan and the Master Diviner in order to eliminate the internal threat that pose the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus. The Mara-struck fall twice under your steel and the rest of the Abundance’s abominations quickly become light work for someone as experienced as you are. Since the Ambrosial Arbor crisis, they’ve been gathering in Stargazer Navalia the most, forcing an evacuation of all civilians to safer areas of the Luofu.

Though he has plenty of work on his hands, this is where Yanqing likes to disappear for an hour each day— additional training, he says. You trust his abilities, but today he is needed at the Alchemy Commission and is currently unreachable. No one has seen him for a while. You have an idea of his whereabouts, so you offer to look for him and relay the General’s message.

Two Cloud Knights stand guard as you enter Stargazer Navalia. Their posture straightens when they see you and they nod once in greeting.

“Has anyone seen Lieutenant Yanqing come through here, by any chance?”

One of them replies, “He was there an hour ago on an official investigation. Passed through here and went further into the docks.”

You don’t know about any official investigations but you offer a thankful nod anyway before walking past the Knights. The large shipping containers and crates create paths that workers use during the day but you figure it’d be easier to look for Yanqing if you had a better view of the area. You jump on top of a container and carefully skim the place ahead. As expected, abominations and Mara-struck lay on the floor, strewn about like discarded clothing. You follow their trail further inside Stargazer Navalia, between growing starskiffs and through already opened doors. It takes a little over ten minutes to catch up with the freshly cut-down enemies laying about as you hop from container to container. Shards of rock hard ice glimmer in the sun near the bodies, no doubt Yanqing’s doing. Honestly, that boy…

You can see his blonde hair when you advance a little further. He’s turning a corner, so you take a shortcut running above a long, empty container and land on the one behind him with a thud. The sudden noise alerts him and he swirls around with a hand on his sword, ready to attack, but you’re not looking at him. The ghost of a woman long gone stands beside him, her back to you, with a stillness that indicates she’s been aware of you before you made your presence known. The sight of her pale locks burns into your brain. The intricate design of the familiar attire she dons chokes you like firm hands around your throat, and you falter. The blues and whites and reds mix together as you blink to regain your footing.

“Lieutenant!” Yanqing straightens up, sheathing his blade. “What are you doing here?”

You taste ash on the roof of your mouth. Your fingers curl around the handle of your sword. Falling buildings, frozen corpses, sulfur burning your nostrils. Her blade through your stomach. (Hesitant fingertips against your cheeks, implied confessions, oiled palms on tense muscles.) A feeling that has been dormant for centuries stirs in your guts, snakes around your intestines and tightens your stomach. It travels through your ribcage and up your bobbing throat, forcing you to swallow it back down. There’s the slow ascent of the moon behind your eyelids with each blink and the stutter of your chest with each breath— a chill spreads over your limbs and they tense as if frozen in place. It paralyzes you; you feel mocked by the way your feet are glued to the metal under them. You are reminded of your previous weakness, of your blood on the ice and its frigidity seeping into your skin. You grit your teeth.

“Jingliu…” Her name is forced past your lips, evicted after uncomfortably sitting on your tongue for hundreds of years.

She does not move, except for the flicker of recognition that goes through her fingertips. A mirage, she has to be— a nasty trick of your fractured mind because she cannot be here, breathing, when Jing Yuan assured you of her demise.

“Huh? You know her?” Yanqing asks, oblivious to your struggle as he glances back to the woman next to him. His query confirms that she is flesh and blood but leaves no hint as to her state of mind. If she is the same as she was centuries ago, then he and the Luofu are in great danger.

“…Yanqing. The General is looking for you. Alchemy Commission.”

The boy frowns. “Did something happen? There’s something I have to finish up before—“

“Yanqing.”

He stops in his tracks with furrowed brows, displeased at having been interrupted. You finally tear your gaze away from Jingliu’s tense posture to look at him. He sees your hardened eyes and hesitates, turning towards his new acquaintance for a few seconds before clenching his jaw and nodding once. You outrank him, and though it often pains him to do so, Yanqing knows to respect the Cloud Knights hierarchy. He walks away without a word and disappears between the various shipping containers.

You stand above her, a hand on your blade, and breathe in the smell of the docks to loosen the pressure in your guts. It’s the middle of the day, the weather is warm, your skin is uncut. Blurry images of grasping hands sinking into bed sheets and locking lips fill your mind until you can’t see anything but the way her asymmetric bangs frame her face as she hovers over you, breathless. The crimson of her irises are dulled to a lustful cherry and she looks at you like she doesn’t believe you’re real. A fragment of her one-track mind and hateful heart made tangible for one night, to appease the disgusting yearning for closeness that lingers in her bones. She is not a weapon used against the Abundance and you are more than the fellow Cloud Knight that joined the ranks before she was thrusted into them. As her knuckle trails down your cheekbone to the corner of your parted lips, you are a new constant in her future, an immovable force that she cannot plan around, and she is just a woman. Not a survivor, not a fighter, she is a woman who longs for another’s recognition and gentle hands. And as she leans down to graze her bottom lip against your top one, you feel the searing pain of her blade piercing your flesh.

Blood trickles on your tongue and you realize it is from how hard you are biting the inside of your cheek. The visions are gone, replaced by Jingliu turning around to face you, her free hands limp at her sides. Her chin tilts slightly upward. She’s wearing a dark blindfold over her eyes— some part of you is grateful to be hidden from her sight— but you know it wouldn’t alter any of her abilities.

“Lieutenant…” She only says a word, trails off as if it leaves a strange sensation in her mouth. It’s not a question or a tentative statement; she utters your title with an infuriating fondness, like you’re an old friend she hasn’t seen in a while. It makes you sick.

“…You are not dead,” you state blankly.

Jingliu takes a short breath. “Not yet, no.”

There’s a sluggishness to her words and a rasp more prominent than you recall it to be. Her voice is raw and breathy like every sentence comes at a price, and you are reminded of the curse that plagues her. You don’t understand how she’s standing here, seemingly sane, when the Mara had overcome her the last time you laid eyes on her. Still, the hand on your sword tightens its hold. There’s a thousand things you want to ask, a thousand more you wish to convey through touch alone, but you cannot trust her.

You wonder if she remembers almost ending your life. You wonder if she is haunted by regret and grief the same way you are. You wonder if some part of her still clings to that stricken body.

“You can let go of your sword,” Jingliu says, “I mean the Luofu no harm.”

“And me?”

“...You?”

You swallow a lump in your throat. Your toes tingle with sudden restlessness and it thaws the rest of your limbs, allowing you to take a measured step forward. “And me, Jingliu? Will you draw your blade against me once more?”

She is silent for some time, tense, and her fingers slightly curl inward in a momentary loss of composure. You can’t tell if it’s because she doesn’t recall ever doing that or because she does and the thought brings her pain. Finally, she shakes her head.

“You are not my enemy.”

“I wasn’t your enemy back then, was I?”

“…Your trust in me is inconsequential. I came to the Luofu to atone for my sins and surrender myself to the Alliance.”

Your jaw clenches. Past the initial confusion, you feel cheated. Angry. Hundreds of years of broken memories, lasting grief and paralyzing terror have eroded you, flayed you until you are nothing but bones and ligaments. You are walking the earth as less than half a person for no other reason than this is the destiny of all long-life species. Your closest friends have either fallen or withered around you, and that loneliness has debilitated you. How utterly unfair. You have dedicated most of your life to the Xianzhou Alliance and its people, you have been selfless, understanding, devoted, and you are rewarded with injustice. The person who you once called your strength has become the main character in your nightmares, and here she stands, ready to give up the pieces that are left of her to the same people who have ostracized her out of shame for centuries. For all the unbearable pain she caused you, she came back for them. You are the one she has a history with, you are the one whose life is intricately woven with hers. You are who she should be seeking atonement from, not the Ten-Lords Commission and the Arbiter Generals.

You don’t notice how pale your knuckles are from the grip on your weapon or the heaviness of your chest quickening your breath. You stare her down with gritted teeth and Jingliu doesn’t shy away from the growing fury in your gaze.

“Inconsequential,” you repeat in disbelief, your voice a little louder. “Inconsequential, me!”

“This is what I have to do. It is bigger than you, bigger than me.”

You jump down the container to land in front of her. She simply adjusts the inclination of her head.

“Do you remember, Jingliu? What you did to me?”

Her lips form a thin line. Her lack of response angers you further. You unsheath your sword and point the tip to her own weapon resting against her hip, then to her chest.

“Draw it.”

Jingliu makes no move to obey. “I will only unsheath my blade against my enemies, and you are not one of them.”

“You are cursed to forget, but I cannot. It is in every blink, in every pause; the destruction you caused, my—” you swallow, features twisting in a pained grimace, “my blood on your sword.”

Jingliu doesn’t reply, though her fingers twitch with restraint. Her chest rises and falls a beat faster, the only indication that your words are getting to her. You know this is unfair, that you’re only contributing to the injustice you have to face as a long-life species, but anger clouds your judgment and incites this hostile behavior.

“Draw it!” You exclaim in frustration. “Unsheath your blade and face me!”

You lunge forward in an instant, your weapon raised in a practiced arc towards her neck, forcing her to move out of the way. Her body instinctively bends into a defensive stance, but she makes no move to use her sword. You repeat the motion, over and over, and Jingliu evades each strike with an expertise only she possesses. She still refuses to fight you, to revert to the mindless abomination she was that night. You force her into a corner and as your blade descends at an angle to make contact with her bare shoulder, she leaps high over your head and lands gracefully behind you.

“Must we do this?” She sounds mentally exhausted, each word is spoken through pursed lips and a quiver goes through her sword-wielding hand.

You swirl around, molars grinding in anger. “Yes! You have haunted every part of me and replaced every cherished memory in my mind! You are what I see when I lay down at night, standing over me as I choke on my own blood!”

Jingliu brings a clawed hand to her temple and utters, “Enough…”

“You are the face of my nightmares, Jingliu.” Your voice cracks halfway through the sentence. “It ends today.”

When your weapon comes down to strike her this time, its steel meets Jingliu’s specially crafted blade. She uses the momentum of her parry and pushes you back with so much force it sends you flying, your back colliding into the side of a shipping container. You rise to your feet with a shaky breath.

The clash of swords rings in the air as you move between incubating starskiffs and metal crates in an emotional dance. Street lamps fall, stationed starskiffs are cut in two, jade wheels are damaged and incubators break. Jets of their liquid explode everywhere Jingliu returns your strikes with stronger ones, and soon you’re crashing into yet another door. Blood trickles down your nose. There’s a nasty cut on your hip that will require medical attention. You stand, unwavering, and pounce towards the other woman once more. Jingliu grits her teeth as her parry brings your face close to hers. The distinct melody of her blade in movement fills her ears and the ground shakes under her feet. All around you structures are falling, narrowly missing you.

Your muscles strain with exertion but with the feeling comes a strange sort of relief that only intensifies when Jingliu has you pinned to the pavement, swords previously discarded some feet away with an experienced flick of her hand. You’re both breathless for a long moment and for the first time since her reappearance in your life, you don’t taste smoke in the back of your throat.

The pink of her parted lips is the same shade it was almost a millennia ago. The world blurs and you see a flash of a moment long passed of the two of you in the same position; Jingliu’s smug smile hides the sun from view and the bustle of the training yard resumes the minute her victory is announced. When you blink your way back to reality, only a few seconds have gone by. You stare up into the blindfold, chest heaving. Your fingers hesitantly lift to graze the apple of her cheek. One of them slides under her veil and her hand wraps around your wrist to stop you from going further.

Her name is a breathy exhale past your lips. Her shoulders suddenly tense and her head tilts away from you. The moment breaks as she separates from you, rises to her feet and takes a couple steps back. Almost immediately, Cloud Knights rush to the scene in formation, followed closely by the General and his retainer. You let out a sigh, gaze raising to the clear sky. You lose yourself in its endless blue, a heaviness in your chest, until Jing Yuan’s outstretched hand appears in your vision. Jingliu is gone when you accept his help and stand with difficulty, along with Yanqing and the squad of Knights. Jing Yuan wraps a strong arm around your shoulders, steadying you, and you make your way back in silence.

He doesn’t leave your side even as you step into your home and make a beeline for the bathroom. His arms are crossed over his chest and he leans on the doorframe as you rummage through your cupboards for bandages and disinfectant. You find what you’re looking for after a couple minutes and sit on the toilet seat, lifting your armor over your head and discarding the bloodied shirt underneath. The cut on your left hip stings when you gently inspect it. It’s deep enough that it won’t be able to close on its own but not life threatening. You softly apply disinfectant so it doesn’t get infected, clenching your jaw at the pain.

“You should let the Dragon Lady take a look,” Jing Yuan finally speaks up, “or the Alchemy Commission have other experienced healers. They’ll treat you in minutes.”

You almost roll your eyes. You’ve been patching up wounds before he could hold a sword.

“Pass me the stitches.”

He complies, tossing you the plastic box on the counter. You catch it with a hand. Another silence settles between you as you sink the needle into your skin and tighten the thread, occasionally sucking in a breath. The space lingers with tension but neither of you acknowledges it until you break the thread of the stitches and apply a large bandage over the wound. You sigh tiredly and raise your head to meet his guarded gaze.

“Why did you lie, Jing Yuan?”

He takes a moment to reply. There’s a hint of guilt in his golden irises. “…I thought it to be the best course of action at the time.”

You don’t blame him. The days following Jingliu’s departure from the Luofu are a blur, hidden behind a smoke screen so thick you might as well have forgotten them. You only recall the sting in your throat, raw from how much you cried, and the darkness of your bedroom. Jing Yuan was there, as much as he was able to, so he must remember those days better than you; how shattered you were, like fractured shards of glass swept under the carpet. You can’t fault him for wanting to bring you closure.

You rise from your seat and put back the supplies in their rightful place. Jing Yuan steps aside as you walk out the door and watches you disappear in the bedroom for a change of clothes. You grab the first top you see and shrug it on. You don’t bother fixing your hair, you just make your way back to the living area to put on your boots and grab your discarded sword near the door. Jingliu should have been brought to the Shackling Prison after her arrest, so this is where you’ll go.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Jing Yuan says from behind you, making you pause. “We don’t know how stable she is.”

“She seemed stable enough.”

“For now.”

You turn to face him. “Then, why are you here? We both know bars can’t hold her.”

“I wanted to check up on you.”

“...I need to do this.”

Jing Yuan only shuts his eyes in defeat and nods once. He doesn’t follow you when you leave the house and shut the door behind you.

You have no issue getting into the Shackling Prison and acquiring Jingliu’s cell number. It’s not a place you visit often despite your position, the memories it holds have a way of consuming you and leaving you clenching your throbbing head. You navigate its somber hallways and silent cell blocks with an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. Your steps are swift, determined. You don’t stop to think about what you’re going to say once you’re face to face with her again. Jingliu is being held in a special containment chamber only used for dangerous criminals, with two Cloud Knights standing guard in front of the reinforced steel door. They look at each other when you plant yourself before them.

“No one gets in, General’s orders,” one of them says.

Your relationship with Jing Yuan is not a secret and often opens a lot of doors for you but encountering soldiers eager to please is a common occurrence. You have a few dozens under your command, they’re usually easy to deal with. However, the day has been long and you’re lacking the required patience to do so.

“Take it up with Jing Yuan, then.”

You push past them and they hesitate to stop you, glancing at each other. They grip their lances tighter when you open the door but don’t move as you enter the cell and close it after you.

The chamber is big enough to hold a single bed and a toilet in the corner, though its grey walls make it seem smaller than it is. The room would be casted in total darkness if not for the dim glow of the singular lightbulb on the ceiling. Jingliu is seated on the untouched mattress, legs crossed and palms flat on her knees. Her back is straight, her blindfold in place even in the low lighting, and you seem to have caught her in the middle of a meditation. She doesn’t speak as you stand awkwardly near the door, a hand curling around the handle of your sword in search of familiarity.

A couple minutes pass in tense silence with only the gentle buzzing of the electricity crackling through the lightbulb. You take that time to observe Jingliu for any sign of Mara. The even movements of her chest indicate her calm state of mind. Apart from the veil, she looks exactly the same as she did centuries ago; there’s no trace of the curse on her, and you are suddenly reminded of the first time you noticed her— you were the previous Lieutenant’s apprentice and she was a thin, pale girl haunted by nightmares of burning planets and suffocating fumes. That day, she crossed the training yard with a limp and cuts over her body, shattered sword held tight in one hand. You hadn’t gone out onto the field yet, your master didn’t think you were ready, but Jingliu had and you remember thinking that despite her poor state, she must be stronger than you. She would walk back at the end of each day with splintered and bruised skin and you would sneak her a glance, wondering what enemy she could have encountered this time. She was forced to survive and grew on the battlefield long before you did.

While you both learned the way of the sword, you did it to protect and she did it to cut down the object of her nightmares. Together, you climbed the ranks of the Cloud Knights and surpassed your masters. The burden of war brought you closer and your relationship transformed over the centuries; from comrades, to friends, to the one she went to whenever she craved peace from the visions plaguing her, to something more. You are deeply embedded in each other, her life story is yours and your mind is hers. The Mara curse might twist your perceived memories of her but it could never erase the affection you hold for her. It’s precisely because she means so much to you that thoughts of her have been tormenting you so.

Jingliu raises her head in acknowledgement and you’re brought back to the present with a blink.

“Sending you to interrogate me,” she says with a short exhale, words slow and raw, “how cruel.”

“That’s not why I’m here.”

She doesn’t reply, waiting for you to continue. You swallow the emotion in your throat.

“I’m here for closure.”

You take your eyes off her and turn away, facing the blank wall with a hand in your hair. You take in a slow breath and exhale through your mouth as fatigue begins to take over your limbs.

“You don’t get to come back,” you start. “After all those years, you don’t get to reappear and trail all those memories along with you. You said you were seeking atonement from the Alliance. So you remember, then.”

Jingliu is silent for a moment. Your back makes contact with the wall as you sit on the floor with your legs limp before you. You don’t look at her, instead staring at your covered toes.

“…I remember the voices,” Jingliu says softly, “so loud I couldn’t hear anything else. I remember people, the ice… you.” She takes a breath and shakes her head. “I am aware of the hurt I’ve caused, of the sins that cannot be erased. They will follow me until the end, but I cannot let them hold me back.”

“From what?”

“From cutting the heart of a star.”

The turn of phrase transports you back to a drunken evening and Baiheng’s contagious laughter, to the sweet aftertones of fruit in red wine and the flush in Jingliu’s cheeks as she stares at the setting sun. Flashes of that day appear in your mind; Baiheng’s ridiculous dares, your shared competitiveness, Jingliu’s tipsy kisses as consolation prizes. The unexpected memory warms you.

“Revenge, then. Even stricken with Mara, this is what you hold on to.”

“I was never satisfied with letting our enemies come to us.”

That much is true. Jingliu only ever plays the offensive.

Your head turns to face her. “Do you remember us? Even I only recall bits and pieces, now.”

Jingliu’s pointer finger taps her knee for some time. Then her chin tilts to the left, towards you.

“Bits and pieces, yes…” she repeats pensively. You wish you could see the pinch of her eyebrows. “You used to hate losing to me in duels.”

“Of course you’d remember that.”

There’s a hint of a smile on Jingliu’s lips. A light silence descends between you. It’s strange, being in a confined space with someone who you thought long dead; even stranger conversing with Jingliu after everything that went down with Yingxing and Imbibitor Lunae, with Baiheng, and the Luofu’s growth that she didn’t get to witness. You never thought you’d have a chance to see her again, let alone hear her voice speak back to you. Your fingertips twitch with the desire to hold her close.

“I forgot to ask, earlier,” you say, “about the blindfold.”

“It keeps me from seeing that which pulls me under the influence of the Mara. I have pushed past the limits of my mind a long time ago, but… the reprieve it gives me is welcomed.”

“Your will is admirable. Always was.” You think for a few seconds, then speak up hesitantly, “Will my touch be a trigger?”

Jingliu is slow to respond. You see her lips part to let out a sharp exhale and notice the new tension in her shoulders. You feel selfish for needing a semblance of the intimacy you once shared when her mind is so fractured and fickle. The feeling tightens your throat.

“…It shouldn’t.”

Your emotions threaten to consume you as you stand and wipe your palms on your thighs. You take some steps forward, hesitating when you reach the bed. Her head tilts backward as if staring at you through the cloth over her eyes. With a gentleness that surprises even herself, Jingliu uncrosses her legs and outstretches her hand. Your fingertips touch hers and with a flick of her wrist, slowly lace with hers. She pulls you into her, your knees on each side of her hips and your nose in her shoulder; her freezing hands travel over the expanse of your back and her head dips to breathe in the smell of your hair. You pinch your trembling lips and squeeze your eyes shut to keep the tears at bay, but it’s no use when you can feel the empty sockets that loss has dug inside of you over the years fill up with tenderness. A quiver runs through you. You feel Jingliu’s shaky breath near your ear as she pulls you tighter into her. Your arms wrap around her with as much emotion and warm tears roll down your cheeks over her frigid skin. Her touch makes you whole again, if only for a moment— she is tangible against you and not a fragment of the darkest recesses of your mind. It would seem unreal if you couldn’t feel the softness of her flesh beneath your fingertips.

“How lonely you must have been,” Jingliu mutters into your hair. You know she relates.

“I mourned you,” you manage to say, voice tight. “I’ve accepted that you’re gone. I won’t grieve any more.”

“Good. Then allow me a proper goodbye.”

You cry into her for a long time. Jingliu simply holds you closer with a hand on your back and fingers buried in your hair. You won’t see her again, she will be tried and judged on the Xuling and will go back to being a ghost of your past years. You only hope that this time the memories will be softer, full of her touch as she cleans your cuts; the curve of her mouth when you whisper good morning into her shoulder; the exhilarating sensation of her lips on yours after an exhausting day of wielding the sword. She remains your strength even as your tears dampen her clothes, with the scent of her around you and her breath in your ears, you feel strong enough to let her go. You lost her to the curse of the Abundance once, but she won’t slip through your fingers now. Regret and shame fade away, replaced by this new warm memory of you in each other’s arms. Her unnatural coldness expands your heart instead of constricting it and you let go of the collapsed buildings and acrid sulfur in the air; there’s only Jingliu’s lingering fondness and her calloused palms on your body. In this confinement cell, you say goodbye to a part of you.

#honkai star rail #hsr #hsr jingliu #jingliu x reader #gn!reader #hsr x reader #hsr x you #jingliu x you #hsr angst #hsr fanfic #honkai star rail jingliu

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ticklygiggles · 3 months

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Definitely not a sleepover | Uenoyama, Hiiragi & Shizusumi

A/N: Second to last fic commissioned by Max (@wertzunge)! Thank you so much for your patience and support Max! I hope you enjoy this one! Thank you for inspiring me to finish Given hehe. I hope they're not too ooc!

Summary: He could have been spending the night with Mafuyu, but why was Uenoyama stuck with these two?!

Words: 1k+

Uenoyama couldn't believe that he really swallowed every word Hiiragi said to convince him to spend the night at his house.

“It's going to be a very special night training, Ue! You cannot, by all means, miss it. Otherwise you'll be a trashy guitarist.”

Special night training my ass! Uenoyama thought as he found himself in front of the tv in Hiiragi's room. He wasn't quite sure when it happened, but when he realized, Hiiragi had put on a musical and the three of them had gathered under the kotatsu, a large bowl of popcorn in the middle of the table. Not even twenty minutes into the movie, huge tears were already streaming down Hiiragi’s cheeks and he wiped the snot off his upper lip with the sleeve of his sweater.

On the other hand… Shizusumi next to Hiiragi watched the movie with disinterest, Uenoyama thought even boredom, while he stuffed his mouth with popcorn, his cheeks puffing out like a squirrel's, and when he had swallowed the bite, he gobbled down a chocolate bar or a bag of chips.

This was ridiculous! When was that stupid training going to start?! Of course never! Uenoyama had been fooled! Feeling like the vein in his forehead was about to burst with every sniffle he heard from Hiiragi, Uenoyama stood up, grabbing his jacket.

“Since I see you two are very busy with your special training or whatever, I'm leaving!”

“Huh?!”

Tch! To think he had to give up the chance to have a sleepover with Mafuyu just because of Hiiragi's silly games. He's so infuriating!

“I don't have the time to waste it with you. I have things to do and- ack!”

Something closed around his ankle and prevented him from taking another step; Uenoyama fell face first against the wooden floor and gasped as he felt a pillow saving him from a blow that could have possibly killed him. Face flushed with anger, he turned around and saw Hiiragi gripping his ankle tightly. He opened his mouth to shout something, but instead of a scream, almost hysterical laughter came out as he felt fingers wiggling underneath his socked toes.

Hiiragi was tickling him?!

“What- AHAHA! S-Stohop! What ahare you d-dohoing?!” Uenoyama tried to wriggle his foot out of Hiiragi's grip, but it seemed like he had an iron shackle around his ankle. Hiiragi skittered his fingers up and down Uenoyama’s sole, tickling the ball, the arch, the heel and under and between his toes.

Uenoyama had always been a ticklish person, his sister had made sure to remind him about that during most of his childhood, but as they started to grow up, the one sided tickle fights had stopped and Uenoyama barely got tickled after that, but it seemed that no matter how much time could pass, he would always be a ticklish.

“You cannot go, Ue,” Hiiragi said with a mischievous grin on his face as Uenoyama squirmed and banged his fists against the floor. “This is actually a special training for you! We decided to teach you how to smile more, otherwise, you see, Mafuyu will stop loving you, right, Shizu-chan?”

“Mhmm,” Shizusumi hummed uninterested, his eyes still fixed on the tv and his mouth full of popcorn.

Uenoyama growled, “YOU-! He w-wohon’t- ack!” He squealed embarrassingly loud when he felt Hiiragi’s fingers climbing up his leg, his thumbs pressing against the back of his knees and rubbing at the muscles, making Uenoyama cackle.

“Look at that, Shizu-chan! Uenoyama really can laugh! I thought it was impossible!”

“S-Stohop tickling mehe!” Ritsuka thought he never hated being ticklish that much until that moment.

A deep blush was spreading across his cheeks and no matter how hard he tried to stop laughing, the cackles would easily escape from between his lips as Hiiragi scribbled at the back of his knees. Uenoyama didn't even know he was ticklish there, which added more to his embarrassment. He made sure to write down the spot on his mental list of embarrassingly ticklish spots on his body.

“H-Hiirahahagi, you b-better s-stop or ehehelse- ahaha! N-Not there! Nohohot there!”

Hiiragi's nimble fingers found his ribs next and Uenoyama laughter not only increased in volume, but it also became more frantic and panicky, making his laugh sound high pitched.

“You're doing very well, Ue!” Hiiragi said, chuckling mischievously to himself. “At this rate, Mafuyu will not hate you anymore!”

Uenoyama growled again. Since when did Mafuyu hate him?! Gathering all the strength he could, he was able to lift himself a little and throw Hiiragi off him. The other boy fell on his back and whined before suddenly startled laughter poured out of him.

“AHAHAHA! N-Noho! I'm s-sohorry! I'm sorry! Sh-Shihizu-chahan! Hehelp!”

Uenoyama laughed evilly, in the heat of the moment, he even straddled Hiiragi's waist, his fingers going to town all over his torso, jumping from his ribs to his tummy and then to his sides and even under his arms. Hiiragi looked almost childish, his cheeks were pink and his mouth was stretched out into a bright, happy smile.

He can smile like that, huh? Uenoyama thought, perhaps a bit too distracted to notice Hiiragi's fingers coming closer and closer to his ribs until it was too late and he found himself cackling again as Hiiragi pushed him off and pinned him.

“You want to play, huh? Let's see if you- AHAHAHA!”

Uenoyama wasn't sure how, but this whole situation had become a war. In one moment he had the upper hand, tickling Hiiragi until he was shrieking, but at the next, he was the one squealing and laughing his head off. Some other times it was the two of them filling the tiny room with hysterical peals of laughter as they both squeezed the other's sides or ribs.

But, Uenoyama had to admit it, he was simply too ticklish, and Hiiragi had found that rib that always made him see stars. He thought he was going to die laughing. It was such a shame he didn't get to say goodbye to Mafuyu and his family. What an embarrassing thing it would say in his epitaph: 'Beloved son, brother and boyfriend. Died from a tickle attack.' That was a bit-

“Ack! Sh-Shizu-chan?! I was getting Ue, why- ack! Aaag! Nohoho! STOHOP!”

Uenoyama was too busy trying to stop the giggles still pouring out and catching his breath to notice that Hiiragi was currently suffering an attack just as intense as the one he was subjected to. When he finally could sit up, he saw Shizusumi pinning Hiiragi's arms under his knees, his hands lost inside the short sleeves of Hiiragi's shirt, his fingers digging into his armpits.

Poor Hiiragi was pink in the face, laughing hysterically and kicking his legs like a mad man. Uenoyama almost felt bad for him, but he deserved it for being so annoying. Shizusumi had probably had enough of his noise and silly games, but Uenoyama jumped in fright when Shizusumi turned to look at him with some kind of smirk on his lips.

“Hiiragi was too mean right now, wasn't he, Uenoyama?”

He looked so scary!

“U-Uh… yes.”

“I wasn't! I wahahasn’t, plehease!”

“Why don't you come here and help me get him back, hmm?” Shizusumi invited him, his fingers not stopping for even a second. “If you're brave enough, you can tickle his hips, he's very ticklish there as well.”

Hiiragi begged not to and that was enough to convince Uenoyama. The guitarist smirked and sat over Hiiragi's legs, his hands latching to the other's hips, pinching and squeezing until Hiiragi was in hysterics. His laughter was kind of nice, just like his singing voice. Uenoyama thought that Shizusumi and him were making him sing in some kind of way and that made him chuckle softly.

“You can also try his stomach. Right in the center, yes. You can vibrate your fingers- yes, just like that.”

“Sh-Shizu-chaHAN! D-dohon't be m-mehean! I'm dyiHIHIng!”

“Behind his ribs as well.”

“Shizuhuhusumi!”

Hiiragi was tickled until no laughter came out and Uenoyama got worried his voice would get damaged from laughing so much and so hard, but Shizusumi reassured him, saying that he usually tickled him like that and he could sing perfectly well afterwards. Uenoyama was not surprised at all, that sounded very ‘Hiiragi’, after all.

He watched the poor vocalist sprawled against the floor, breathing heavily with his arms still above his head, although Shizusumi wasn't holding him down anymore. He was just slightly sweaty, and blushing to his ears, but overall looked fine and the smile on his face just refused to disappear. Uenoyama could feel his own lips curling into a little smile as well, but he stubbornly tried to hide it.

“Hey, Ue,” Hiiragi called him, still laying on his back, a bit breathless. “What about I show you where exactly Mafuyu's most ticklish spot is?” Uenoyama perked at that and he nodded. Hiiragi smirked. “Hehe, I'll even teach you how to tickle him right, and our kind Shizu-chan will help us.”

Uenoyama looked at Shizumi, confused. The drummer was staring daggers at Hiiragi and Hiiragi was smirking at him.

“Because, you see, Mafuyu and Shizu-chan here share tickle spots.”

At that, Shizusumi got up at once, startling Uenoyama. He was ready to run out of the room, but Hiiragi caught him before he did so, and made him fall face first just like he did to Uenoyama. He was quick to straddle him and Uenoyama was surprised when he heard Shizusumi’s laughter. High-pitched nothing like his usual voice, but still a bit too deep to sound scary.

“C'mon, Ue! You'll definitely make Mafuyu the happiest if you know these secrets I want to tell you!”

Uenoyama blinked, seeing the scene before him and wondering what the hell was happening, but it didn't really matter. He smiled and nodded, holding Shizusumi's arms as Hiiragi told him all about how to tickle Mafuyu in that spot that was making Shizusumi lose his head.

He definitely was not expecting this evening to go like this– after all he was there for a special course or whatever… but he couldn't lie and say he wasn't having fun. Well, a sleepover with Hiiragi and Shizusumi wasn't too bad after all!

#given #given tickling #uenoyama ritsuka #yagi shizusumi #kashima hiiragi #ticklish!Uenoyama #ticklish!hiiragi #ticklish!shizusumi #tickle fic #tickling #mia's commissions #commissions #commission

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captain039 · 2 months

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Playing pretend Part 2

Aemond x reader

Warnings: Gore, swearing, intimacy, tension, niece/nephewcest , Targaryen incest, reader is Rhaenyras daughter, if I spell something wrong I don’t care 😂, AOB, anxiety, anxiety attacks

Sorry it’s fast paced wanna get to the good bits xD which will happen next part xD

I don’t know how family’s work. He’s your uncle not cousin but also your husband… fucken noice 😭😂

Previous part <-

Playing this game is you hiding in this bedroom for now. Your things are still yet to arrive by boat and you no doubt have two guards or more by your door to ‘keep you safe’ gods give you strength. The room feels wrong and cold, you hate how nice the bed looks, how nice the lying chair is, hells you hate the perfect fire place. You feel as if someone put something in a drink and clouded your vision so you don’t see what this place really is, falling apart and broken.

It’s a struggle to calm yourself, you pace the room for hours, scent two alpha guards outside with a pissed off sour smell, the room feels like it’s getting smaller and smaller. You sit on the bed, your things still in cases and boxes no Layla to talk too either. Layla was one of your servants, around your age, one of the few other omegas at Dragon Stone keep. You miss your mother, your brother also. Your father lingers your mind. Daemon isn’t really your father, but he’s the only one you’ve known to stick around the longest besides Harwin and Laenor. Your hair is a strange mess of white and a random patch of brown underneath, a reminder you aren’t pure Targaryen. Thankfully you can hide it unlike your other siblings. A knock comes before the queen mother walks in and you stand abruptly and bow.

“Please don’t” she says a hand resting on her upper stomach. You frown slightly but stop your bow and leave the bed.

“The wedding will be in a week, I’m yet to break the news to Aegon, though my trusted advisors are aware” she pours herself a goblet of wine before taking a long sip and you nod in answer.

“Shall I remain here for till the wedding?” You say, Though the thought sounds horrible and excellent at the same time.

“That would be best, I’ll have some servants bring you whatever you need, a seamstress will need to come by also” Alicent takes a sip again and sighs. You watch her, she’s tired under the makeup, despite her well put together look.

“I cannot visit often, do not leave this room” she finishes and in an instant she’s out the door.

You sag staring at the now empty cup she left and wondering what the hell you were thinking.

No contact is ideal for the first few days besides food being brought, a bath being run, you can sit and ponder your stupidity in silence. It’s ok till you’re plagued with dreams of a one eyed prince and questioning your sanity in these four walls. A seamstress does come, roughly handles you despite your royal bloodline, sneers when you do things wrong before she’s gone out the door with swears she doesn’t want you to hear. By the fourth night you’re awoken by ruckus, your door opening and slamming an angry king walking in, guards, a prince and the queen mother. The kings yelling, spitting and kicking against the restraints and you’re utterly confused by such behaviour.

“Go back to your room Aegon! You’re drunk my king please sleep it off!” Alicent yells at her son and now it makes sense. What doesn’t make sense is Aemond standing in front of you, hand on his sword like a deadly shield. What also doesn’t make sense is his inviting scent that makes your body shake as the guards and the Queen mother manage to remove the king from your room. You let go of the breath you held in shakily seeing Aemond glance over his shoulder at you before leaving without a word.

The wedding day feels more like trial to your life long sentence in prison. You’re dressed, hair ripped into place, makeup slapped on your face. It wasn’t truely all that rough, in your mind it was though, you might as well have shackles as you walk into the throne room. There’s hundreds of people, there’s too many smells, too much chatter and mumbled, the music is too loud and sounds like a child composed it. You struggle to breathe having dreamt of this day where your brother or Daemon walks you down the aisle to marry maybe for love, in less hostile situations, a small ceremony like your mother and Daemon had, maybe along the cliffs, or the beach. Your eyes blur over occasionally as your guided down the middle and to Aemond. His back is still turned, the red and tan robe looking strange on his body compared to the normal black leather he wears. The wedding being held in the throne room was Aegons idea it was also Aegons idea to have an old Valyrian ceremony, he sat on the throne, the priest in front of him. You stand on shaky legs beside your future husband and to be mate, he doesn’t look or acknowledge you as the priest begins the ceremony. It’s long and your shaking doesn’t die down, neither does your rapid breathing. As the priest ready the cloth to wrap around your hands Aegon sits up and takes it from him, along with the ceremony dagger You hesitate moving as you slowly face Aemond, his eyes trained on his brother.

“Come now brother, let’s not make a scene” Aegon says an uneasy smile on his face. Aemond finally turns to you. Aegon hands Aemond the dagger. As his hands lift you force yourself not to flinch, you suck in a breath as the knife tip goes into your bottom. Your heart pounds in your ear as the pain stops. Aemonds thumb replacing the sting gentle before he draws a small line on your forehead in your blood. You take the knife from him and red flashes before your eyes, a vision of your brother dying to him and his dragon. You could end that feud right now, a brother for a brother. Aemond knows what you’re thinking, the glint in his one eye, the way his pupil blows and his lips tighten. He’s daring you to do it. You stare a long while before you lift the blade to his bottom lip and slice. You add more pressure, an angry flash going past his eye before it’s gone and you hand Aegon the knife back before pressing your thumb to the wound then to his forehead. You take the knife again, slicing your palm, then Aemond his, you press your hands together as Aegon wraps the binding cloth around your hands and the priest continues his prayer. You watch the blood trickle from Aemonds lip that dragon fire in your heart flaring. You take a small breath and frown slightly at the smell of pleased alpha. Aemonds eye narrows as he repeats the vowels given before the priest says them to you.

“I do” you say. It dawns on you your first kiss is going to be from the enemy, in front of hundreds of people, in front of the false king. It doesn’t happen though, Aemond turns to the crowd as the prayer finishes and claps and cheers echo. You force a smile, wincing when the cut on your lip tears more. You’re all but dragged out of the throne room, thankful to be free of that place but now bound to it. Aemond hasn’t let go of your bleeding hand, his grip tight as there are more cheering and clapping from crowded hallways. You don’t know where he’s leading you, hopefully back to your room, you weren’t focusing when you were escorted out.

When you come to door you know it isn’t your room as Aemond forces the doors open and his scent hits you in the face. He tugs you in and you finally tear your hand from his, the cloth going to the ground. You stare at it, the binding cloth, intricate details lining the outside, the soft look, the symbol it is. It feels as if your heart is on that floor too, discarded and now useless.

Next part ->

#x reader #aob #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #alpha Aemond #HOTD

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a-french-coconut · 4 months

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Protector of youth

Chapter 2: Astyanax (Zeus)

Troy falls.

The Greek plunder the city, kill the soldiers and rape the women, enslaving the children.

Such is the victor's right to do so.

It doesn't mean Apollo has to like it. No, the sun's heat is burning, scorching the flesh of the greek army every time they step under his vengeful eyes.

Only when his sister is up in the sky does their torment stop. He cannot interfere more, his hands tied by fate and doom, no matter how much he wishes to pierce Agamemnon's throat for enslaving Cassandra.

He idly follows Odysseus' fight, hear him command his troops about where to attack or where to find Helen.

Hermes's descendant is good fighter, strategic and yet brutal. He can see why Athena favours him.

But why is he leaving the battlefield ?

He's headed toward the palace, who does he hope to find there ?

The royal family is either dead and in shackles, there is no one left.

Except...

Scamandrius

Hector's child, still a mere babe.

And yet, he is fated to do great things, to avenge his whole city should he survive this terrible night.

Thunder rumbles in the sky, the clouds taking the form of an eagle, the royal bird guiding Odysseus to Scamandrius' bedroom.

He barges into his father's room, Zeus looking in a pond Odysseus.

"Father, please stop this !" He begs, half way on his knees when the King of Olympus stops him.

"The son of Hector must die, Apollo, his fate is settled."

"Father," he grits, "with all due respect, that is not true. Scamandrius' life does not necessarily end tonight."

"It will and that is my final decision."

Zeus' voice leaves no place to argumentation, the King has chosen and Apollo can only bow.

It's all he seems to do.

"I shall leave you then," he says, his voice clear from any bitterness and resentment, "I do not wish to see yet another child die."

"You will stay," his father orders, "You have grown too attached to mortals, let this be the last one."

When Apollo doesn't get closer, Zeus grabs his shoulder and forces him toward, his other hand gripping firmly his neck, to prevent him from turning his head.

When Odysseus hesitates, try to find other solutions, Apollo feels hope.

Take him with you, raise him as your child, King of Ithaca. He will not harm you or your family.

A sizzling pain on his neck interrupts his telepathy, black dots obscure his vision, thousands of volt jumping on his skin.

"Don't temper with fate," Zeus snaps, "I don't want you hurt son but you must understand this is for your own good."

His father's voice in gentle even though he still has an iron grip on him.

"Mortals are not worthy of such devotion from your part, it is they who adore us, not the contrary."

"I'm the protector of youth, it is my duty to-"

"And I'm your King. Tell me Apollo, who do you serve first ?" His father's voice takes a dangerous edge, "Me or yourself ?"

"You, father," he gulps, shame churning his stomach as Odysseus takes Scamandrius and goes stand on the wall surrounding the burning city, "you are the King."

Andromache screams, her cries piercing Apollo's heart.

I'm sorry Andromache, I'm sorry.

When Odysseus drops the child, eyes teary and full of remorse, Andromache's cries of sorrow echoes in Apollo's ears, the sight of Scamandrius' body making his heart clench.

He hopes Hades have mercy and bring the child to his father, in Elysium.

Finally, the grip on his neck loosens and he can get away from the horrible vision of the blood-splattered earth and the shattered body laying on it.

"Look at me, son."

Zeus grabs his face, a tender but yet firm hold.

"You are one of my favourite children, and I only want the best for you." he says with a soft voice, "and sometimes, you need to be taught things with a certain... brutality. But remember that I only do it for your good."

"Thank you, father."

He nods and let go of him.

"You may go now, you'll have work to do with all the epic songs this war will create."

He bows and quickly leaves the chambers, finding solace in Olympus' gardens.

He cries the whole night, mind haunted by Scamandrius' laugh turning into screams as he falls, until it is time for the sun to return once more.

#epic the musical #astyanax #scamandrius #apollo #zeus #odysseus #trojan war #the illiad

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saunne · 1 year

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HSR Theory - Bailu is set up to fail by her Preceptors

or "we may have an ongoing political overthrow attempt"

Okay, I'm relatively new to HSR but I've been going through lore pages up and down for almost 8 hours now and I need to talk about it.

I started by looking into Dan Heng lore (obviously), which of course led me to the whole Dan Feng + Blade + Jing Yuan + High Cloud Quintet etc mess... and you get the general idea. And there are several things that struck me as odd.

And these things make me think that Bailu, the adorable little Vidyadhara supposed to inherit the title "Imbibitor Lunae" formerly carried by Dan Feng/Dan Heng is currently set up to fail by the same Preceptors supposed to guide her.

A bit of Vidyadhara politics

Each ship of the Xianzhou Alliance has at the head of its Vidyadhara community a High Elder, a Vidyadhara who has developed "more draconic features such as horns and a tail" (Only special Vidyadhara can turn into dragons). They are responsible for the well being of their people (Source).

Those High Elders, when young, are tutored by Preceptors, senior Vidyadharas. Bailu is currently under their tutelage, while Dan Feng was tutored by a certain Lady Xuepu.

However, while the High Elders are the rulers, the Preceptors still have some political clout :

In the case where the high elder cannot lead, the Council of Preceptors assume governance in their place : "The Preceptor Council is a stop-gap measure for when the High Elder position is vacant or governance is untenable" (Source)

The Preceptors have the power to strip the current high elder of their name and power and elect a new one in their place should the circumstances deem fit to do so.

Imbibitor Lunae

This title belonged to Dan Feng / Dan Heng before what was named the "Imbibitor Lunae Sedition" the exact details of which are still unknown.

After the Sedition, Dan Feng was captured, and his punishment was carried out: he went through the rebirth process and his subsequent incarnation, Dan Heng, was held in the Shackling Prison for a period of time before being exiled from the Luofu.

This leaves the seat of High Elder vacant, and thus puts the Preceptors in position of power.

However, Imbibitor Lunae's position is particularly important within the Luofu, as they are the ones tasked with watching over the seal of the Ambrosium Arbor.

Their mastery of cloudhymn magic (Dan Heng's shown ability to split Scalegorge Sea in half) is obviously an important part of that and Bailu showed some talent in cloudhymn magic : "since the high elder has already demonstrated her powers of calling lightning and commanding the waters" (Source).

Bailu's character stories also tell us directly that she is meant to inherit the position of Imbibitor Lunae : "Only after her coming-of-age ceremony will the Preceptors confer the title of Imbibitor Lunae on her."

So, what's wrong in this whole story ?

First Problem : Dragon Transmutation

Jing Yuang is the first to tell us about the "dragon transmutation", a certain power that Dan Feng supposedly possessed that should have passed to Bailu, but didn't.

By logical association, we can assume that this "dragon transmutation" has something to do with the "Transmutation Arcanum": "It is apparent that either her dragon heart is in some way damaged, or the "Transmutation Arcanum" has not been carried through in full."

In the Preceptor Assembly Chronicle Fragment, it is said : "Our solemn responsibility is to confiscate the Transmutation Arcanum and the Orb of Abysm from Dan Feng to uphold the continuation of the Ichor Lines."

Ichor :

The Vidydharas are called Long's Scion because they are their descendants : "It is commonly thought that the source of Vidyadharas' immortality is different from that of Xianzhou natives and Foxians. The Vidyadhara race did not gain immortality from the Plagues Author. Instead, as the descendants of Long the dragon, the majesty of the Permanence flows in their blood." (Source)

However, the two objects mentioned are important, because we learn their use in Bailu's character story : "All past high elders, after receiving the "Orb of Abysm" and the "Transmutation Arcanum", will re-experience the events of their dragon ancestors' lives in dreams. [...] Although such dreams tend to be fragmentary and difficult to understand or interpret, it is after all the only way our kind have of coming close to the Permanence."

Meaning: The High Elders can dream of heir ancestor's life, Long's life, tand thus come closer to their Path, The Permanence.

Also, there is another instance of "transmutation" present in the Vidyadhara's history : "Teacher says that back then, we could use our powers derived from Long to change the form of any creature, as easily as children playing with modeling clay." (Source)

Imbibitor Lunae is known to be a title passed down from generation to generation and there's a strong possibility that it's always been Dan Feng and his previous incarnations, given the statue looking very much like Dan Heng (March even asks if it's of our brother) that we see at Scalegorge: "High Elder Yubie, bearer of the Azure Dragon's legacy, spreading clouds and rain to bless all living souls. Unstunted by 90 rebirths, just as the Alliance remains strong after 300 years." (Source)

This could indicate that the goal of the High Elders could be to recover access to this power granted by Long (which could have disappeared with Long, which would have made the Vidyadhara's home world uninhabitable)… or even to transform one of their High Elder in a new Aeon of Permanence.

Second Problem : Bailu's Power was Sealed

Bailu's particularly draconic appearance is important, given that she has both horns and a tail. Which is an extremely obvious symbol of her power as Vidyadhara (Only special Vidyadhara can turn into dragons).

However, we learn that this power was sealed : "I have instructed one of our finest crafters to make the Dragonhorn Pilory to shackle her tail, to prevent a loss of control over her powers and a repeat of the disaster of the Sedition of Imbibitor Lunae."

But if High Elders are expected to commune with Long's Path, it seems like a terribly counterproductive decision.

Third Problem : Bailu's Growth

Then comes the problem of her growth. As indicated somewhere above, the title of Imbibitor Lunae will only be entrusted to her by the Preceptors when she comes at age.

Except that Bailu is not growing :

"It is the same as regards my own health. It is now six or seven years since I first sprouted horns, but I have not grown taller in that time." (Source)

"Still no physical change in the high elder. She has not grown." (Source)

Which leads to the following statement : "The gist of my reply was that Lady Bailu is still young and in need of the assistance of the Preceptors." Preceptors who, as a reminder, are in power as long as the seat of High Elder is vacant.

This lack of growth is not considered to be of concern "as slow development is common among Vidyadharas", but I'm just going to take the opportunity to slip an idea. I'm sure you've seen Dan Heng's theory of de-aging rather than reincarnating properly ? I will make a post dedicated to this whole de-aging thing but one thing to say :

And if it was not Dan Heng who had rejuvenated, but Bailu who was prevented from growing up ?

Fourth Problem : Preceptors Monitoring

Bailu herself gives us her feelings about the way the Preceptors control her and we can say that she is not really happy about it : "I am sure it is because I have those horrid Preceptors watching over me all the day long. If a child does not get out to run about, how will it grow tall? Healers who read this case study, when will you release me? I am not some truly wicked ne'er-do-well. Why am I so closely guarded?" (Source)

However, there is one sentence that strikes me even more strongly as the Preceptors are deliberately setting up Bailu for failure :

"Are you trying to waste my talents?" (Source)

According to Jing Yuan Characters Story III and IV : Dan Feng, the most recent Imbibitor Lunae, joined the High-Cloud Quintet and together they accomplished many feats: drove out the Borisin invading Thalassa, destroyed the alliance between the Houyhnhnms and Wingweavers in the Abundance Axis, rescued the Xianzhou Yuque and defeated the living planet Ketu Mirage, becoming one of the most prolific Vidyadhara of his time.

While Bailu on the other hand seems to be guarded very closely, restricted to her activities as a healer with her powers sealed and the impossibility of inheriting her title unless she undergoes a growth spurt, which is still long overdue.

Final Problem : Preceptor Assembly Chronicle Fragment

I don't think it can be any obvious than that, honestly. It is said clearly in the text.

"Therefore, I propose that the Luofu Vidyadhara should temporarily move away from the rule of the high elder and instead submit to rule by the council of Preceptors, to ensure [Missing]"

"Xuepu's message rings loud and clear. She wants to take advantage of [Missing] being cut off to completely replace the High Elder position with the Preceptor Council."

"I am in agreement with you. The High Elder system is an outdated one, handing over power to a single chosen one. This has caused countless tragedies in the history of our kind."

So we have at least two Preceptors, Xuepu and Fenghuan, who actively wish to overthrow the solitary rule of the High Elders and instead institute "power to the people" (or in this case the Preceptors).

And with the power vacuum caused by Dan Heng's exile and the fact that his possible successor, Bailu, might not have been born yet/still a tiny child…

Yeah, I think we're seeing a discreet ongoing political overthrow.

Addendum : The Ten-Lords may be involved in the whole scheme (as well as Jing Yuan, which puts certain things said to Dan Heng in a whole different light)

"The elder's voice is youthful, but it sounds weary and emotionless" : The term elder here could refer as a Preceptor instead of a High Elder since they are the "senior" Vidyadharas. I have the feeling that it could be the same people talking with "Unfeeling Voice".

Also, "if you can complete this I can assure you a seat in the council of Preceptors" ?

PLEASE.

#hsr theory #hsr bailu #hsr dan heng #hsr dan feng #hsr imbibitor lunae #hsr 1.2 #xianzhou luofu #honkai star rail #honkai star rail theory #I spent the whole afternoon + night searching and typing this #I HAD to get it out of my head

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backjustforberena · 6 months

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Rhaenys's evolving view on female succession and female power:

Forgive me, this is going to be quite a long one, because I got far too frustrated with people. I wanted to take a specific look at Rhaenys and her trajectory throughout the first season, when it comes to the crucial question surrounding female succession because it's fairly unique in HOTD, being both a deeply personal issue for Rhaenys, despite her remoteness to the core conflict, and she's one of the only female characters to undergo a radical change in her opinion as the years go by.

Rhaenys is "The Queen Who Never Was". She goes from believing she will be Queen and capable of being Queen, to being publically denied her birthright and passed over specifically due to her sex, thus cementing the idea that no woman can ever be Queen. This becomes a primary source of hurt in Rhaenys: the rejection, the frustrated ambition and the inability to escape a moniker that becomes her legacy and a shackle. She can't get away from the fact that she is not Queen. She cannot get away from being reminded. She will carry this all throughout the series. For nearly 30 years (I think, the timelines are weird).

A natural defence, and a perverse one, is to then prop up the patriarchy. To assume that the system cannot be touched. Because if the system cannot be touched then it can't be anything personal to do with Rhaenys that she failed. She didn't have a chance in the first place. Much better, and easier, to cope with that than to confront the idea that it was a very, very personal rejection. That they could stomach a woman, just not you.

MORE UNDER THE CUT

This "comfort" gets attacked when Viserys names his daughter as his heir. The man they chose over her because she was a female... then bends the rules to make his daughter sworn as Princess of Dragonstone. If a girl can be the heir... then what was wrong with Rhaenys?

And so we get to Episode 02. Does Rhaenys think that Rhaenyra is going to be Queen? No. But here's the thing... no one else does. This is not Rhaenys being overly cynical. It's not her being bitter. It's her reading of the room as she sees it. She even says: "Oh, how I wish that could be, Rhaenyra." - but if Rhaenys sees the power as being with the men, then the men have already denied better candidates than Rhaenyra.

Is it bitter? Sure! Is she aggressive towards Rhaenyra? Kinda, but they both dish it out to each other. But is she wrong? Nope. That's the whole drive of the conflict. Rhaenyra is equating her position to Rhaenys's failure. And yes, being a named heir is something Rhaenys never got. But there's no stability in that, certainly not at this point in the game.

Does Viserys naming Rhaenyra change Rhaenys's view? No. Rhaenys doesn't see that as a step forward or an indicator that the realm is willing to accept a Queen. She sees it as one man making a decision for an interim period. She will know that it was done out of a political necessity to have an heir other than Daemon. It's not done because Rhaenyra is special or because Viserys has suddenly changed his mind over laws of succession - it's for selfish reasons. It's for political reasons. If it were always Viserys's wish then Rhaenyra would have been named heir the second that Viserys ascended. He didn't. Instead, he's only now lumped her with a title but he's not given her any duties beyond that.

And Rhaenys has no reason to think that, if a son is born, Viserys won't drop Rhaenyra like a hotcake. No reason whatsoever. Because it's not just about a father's opinion but a King's responsibility. It's about what the realm thinks and what Viserys is willing to bat for and, at this time, we don't know he's going to stick to his guns. And even if he does, Rhaenys knows conflict is inevitable: "Whether it’s to my daughter or to someone else’s, your father will remarry sooner than late. His new wife will produce new heirs, and chances are better than not that one of those will be male. And when that boy comes of age and your father has passed, the men of the realm will expect him to be heir, not you."

This conversation is tainted by Rhaenys's own ambitions and political placement at the time as well. Rhaenys is in the middle of trying to have her daughter marry the King. The advantage of that is mainly in the fact that if her daughter is Queen and gives birth to a son, Viserys will name him heir. Because that is the order of things, that is stability, and the realm needs to be stable. Rhaenys doesn't want to sacrifice her 12-year-old for ambitions that will never bear fruit. So, she clings to this idea as a way of making it a good one. As a way of making it a sensible one and a successful one.

If Rhaenyra was an only child or only candidate? Sure, Rhaenys has absolutely nothing against a woman being Queen. It's not a case of: I couldn't be Queen so you can't in any active way by Rhaenys - it's not her actions that are doing this, it's not an idea or a trajectory that she's necessarily powering. It's a recognition of the world they live in. It's a reality, for her, that will happen with or without her intervention because Rhaenys is aware that, when it comes to the "men of the realm" her actions mean very little. If they ever listened or valued her, she would have been on the Throne, after all.

And, at this point, Rhaenys has kind of got a stake in Rhaenyra failing because that could potentially mean a grandson of hers on the Throne. Either way, it is not her responsibility and there's nothing she can actually do, being roleless, other than to put Rhaenyra on her guard or else to make sure Rhaenyra doesn't get her hopes up. Rhaenyra needs to actually be Queen to create a new order.

So the conversation has many meanings. It's a warning, it's advice, it's education, it's wise, but it is also a threat. Rhaenyra cannot be powerful, cannot be the heir, because then what would that potentially mean for Laena?

Then we skip forward three years or so and get to Episode 05. Rhaenys no longer has the same view as she did when speaking to Rhaenyra in Episode 02 because something very crucial and drastic and surprising has happened that makes her rethink: Aegon has been born and Viserys still keeps Rhaenyra as his heir.

That's not the outcome Rhaenys had been expecting. That anyone had been expecting. We see that expressed by Jason Lannister and Otto and Hobert Hightower. It's heavily implied that people were generally expecting that when the King had a son, he will be the new heir and not Rhaenyra. But Viserys has gone against expectations and upholds Rhaenyra's claim and her eventual accession.

We never ever see Rhaenys questioning Rhaenyra's succession. Rhaenys never says that Rhaenyra shouldn't be Queen or that she won't be Queen. Rhaenys believes in Rhaenyra's claim so much that she and her husband betrothed their son to her. They do this in the expectation of Laenor being King-Consort and their heirs sitting the Iron Throne.

What Rhaenys does express, however, is the continual steadfast belief that a male claimant being around will lead to conflict if they are not careful. That it is dangerous. Corlys subdues this somewhat by saying it would be daft for anyone to try anything, given the Velaryons being on Rhaenyra's side is a slam-dunk ("our house controls the realm's navy and half its dragons").

Rhaenys is starting to see the reality of a Queen on the Throne being a far greater possibility. Just not without difficulty. And then everything happens with Laenor and the kids and Rhaenys just sort of ends up in a position where she hates everybody by the end of Episode 07. But her actions never threaten Rhaenyra or her chances of succession and Rhaenys never expresses any wish that Rhaenyra not ascend to be Queen.

Expressing caution or dislike or anything negative about Rhaenyra's succession or Rhaenyra as a person is separate from how Rhaenys sees the validity of Rhaenyra's claim and the idea of female succession.

An identification of dangers and a wish to confront those dangers to mitigate them (particularly surrounding the Driftmark succession chat with Corlys and her viewpoint on the boys' paternity) is not indicative of an invitation to those dangers. Quite the opposite. And you can attribute her lack of action over Laenor's "murder" as a recognition that Rhaenyra will be Queen i.e. whether Viserys is alive or dead, she is untouchable in this matter. Justice for Laenor is unachievable due to Rhaenyra's status and power, as well as a recognition of Rhaenys's own lack of power.

Rhaenys in Episode 08 is a purely independent creature. And I mean that both in terms of "teams" and in terms of her husband. Corlys hasn't been around in six years. She is acting on her own. She's still bound to him in terms of running Driftmark and her power being contingent on his (should he die, she is left with nothing). She's aware of his wishes but until Viserys walks into that room, it is not politically safe for her to abide by them, unless she wants to get taken down a peg alongside Rhaenyra and/or become a threat to the Greens.

This is where things sort of take a turn from Rhaenyra's succession to women's agency in general and, particularly, how she interacts with the idea of the patriarchy aka the system at the time.

There is GREAT indication that she was not going to do what Corlys wanted. Rhaenyra acknowledges that Rhaenys's intentions are different to hers - that's why she needs to broker a deal with Rhaenys, so that she will back Luke. And backing Luke is what Corlys would have wanted. Ergo, if Rhaenys's original plan was not to back Luke, then she wasn't going to do what Corlys wished.

She does, in the end, because the power in the room changes and she weaponises Corlys's name and her relationship to Corlys to safeguard herself. This recognition of her own limitations and the political landscape is another reason why she doesn't push for Baela as Lady of Driftmark. Believing a woman can and should rule or has a claim does not mean that that overrides every other survival instinct, especially if it would not be successful and would only invite danger for herself and for Baela. It would be utterly futile to bat for Baela.

When Rhaenys speaks to Alicent, she is not being hypocritical. She's not even trying to threaten Alicent or take her down with the line regarding toiling for men or with prisons. She's empathising, just as much as she is trying to unbalance her. It is figurative language that recognises Alicent's plight and Alicent's position within it and how Alicent sees herself.

Rhaenys has spent her life in the space between. A woman who could have had all the power, but was relegated to a position where she can only claim a small amount, either against other women or through her husband. She sees the heights she could have reached but has been made to wade in the mud. She uses soft power, political power, propelled by frustrated ambition and has been relegated to silence as much as she has to being in the position to speak. She has never "won", even in the previous episode. She has only survived.

There is an argument to say that Alicent has much more power than Rhaenys. She is Queen. She says she is a true Queen. But Rhaenys sees the limits that Alicent has placed on herself. She does not wield the power of a Queen. She has little agenda of her own other than that of her father, her husband and her son. She does not even have ambition: she has never pictured herself on the Throne - in the position of ultimate power. Rhaenys is the one locked in a room and yet Alicent is the desperate one.

I could say more but I won't, but Rhaenys is not hypocritical with Alicent. The point is this: Rhaenys's view on the patriarchy and the amount of power a woman can claim for herself is light years ahead of Alicent's. Rhaenys sees and knows a woman's capability. She sees the strength in their sex. She knows they are made for more. Alicent cannot. Alicent doesn't, due to Alicent's experiences. Rhaenys compliments Alicent, and Alicent cannot even accept that: it comes back to duty, rather than a skill or a trait.

Alicent, also, asks for Rhaenys's support because Alicent views Rhaenyra's cause as hopeless and bloody. It will destabilise everything: that is her worldview. When she brings up Rhaenys's claim and her capability for the Throne, it's not to flatter her and then say "so help me usurp another women", it's comparing them. If Rhaenys, with all her claim and her strengths and her spotless reputation, couldn't be suffered as Queen, then what hope does Rhaenyra have in being accepted? Rhaenyra, who has broken every single rule and has a less clear claim than Rhaenys did against Viserys. This is not an argument that Rhaenys agrees with.

In Episode 09, Rhaenys still wholeheartedly backs Rhaenyra. There is a distinction between believing Rhaenyra is the rightful heir and starting or going to war on her behalf because Rhaenys's priorities are still the lives of her husband and grandchildren and she doesn't know if there will be a war or what that will look like. But from the beginning, Rhaenys accuses Alicent of usurping the Throne. Rhaenys unequivocably sees Rhaenyra as the rightful heir and the heir her cousin wished to succeed him.

Her journey then, through Episode 10, is not only seeing Rhaenyra as the rightful heir, but a worthy one. It's not a choice of not backing her claim, it's a choice of whether or not to fight on behalf of that claim.

And it's also about Rhaenys taking her own power. Her instinct is to do what she's been doing for 30 years (there or thereabouts). What she's been doing for so long that it's muscle memory, even if it's not instinct. She wants to hold the ones she loves, and flee to safety. She doesn't want to head straight into conflict and feel like she's putting her loved ones in danger. It takes Baela (who has not been burnt, who is still young and hopeful and idealistic) to remind her that there is another way. And that Rhaenys is more than capable of picking that way: she can fight.

Anyway, those are my thoughts. Inbox open if you agree or disagree. I love talking about this sort of a thing.

#house of the dragon #rhaenys targaryen #hotd meta #bad meta #<- this tag is ironic but now habitual for me to sort my posts x #but this post was clawing its way out of me

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bestworstcase · 4 months

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To add to the conversation about the themes of Maidens and Ozpin controlling them being not a good thing, it was only the third Maiden power did we get someone willing to work with the team. Both Raven and her predecessor said no to working with Ozpin. (It's not exactly subtle that Qrow does end up speaking with the not yet known to him or the audience Spring Maiden in Volume 4 and being told no. And at no point does Oz or him talk about convincing someone that doesn't want to work with them.)

hardly a novel thing to point out but it’s so very telling that the conversation surrounding the spring maiden in v4-5 is entirely framed in terms of "raven has spring" and "mounting a retrieval force" because, as qrow puts it, "raven won’t give up her most prized possession without a fight."

the maidens literally just. aren’t people, in the inner circle’s eyes. they’re objects. tools. weapons. something you can possess. it’s not even that the inner circle doesn’t care whether the maidens agree or not; they’re dehumanized to such an extreme degree that the idea of a maiden having the capacity to make choices isn’t recognized at all.

which rwby starts to unpack in atlas. fria is an elderly woman with dementia who isn’t allowed to see anyone but the designated heir—she is being actively medically abused for the sake of destroying her capacity to Remember anyone else but winter. penny, ironwood says, is under his complete control. and then it is her act of disregarding ironwood’s wishes to accept the winter maiden herself (to protect winter! to ensure winter’s safety! this is not only what penny wants but also what she was ordered to do) which leads him to the realization that he was incorrect—that penny is not an object—with the result that nearly every choice ironwood makes in v8 is motivated by his fixation on getting penny back under control. similarly he believes he has winter so well-trained that she isn’t Capable of betraying him, and when she proves him wrong he tries to kill her, and it’s the winter maiden, given to her by penny as a gift, that protects her / allows her to free herself from him.

which is to say, the maidens who choose to help teams rwby & jnpr can do so only after Liberating themselves from the systematic dehumanization and control of the inner circle—consent becomes possible only after the maiden breaks free of her cage.

this is also one of the reasons i think gil is the summer maiden. bc there’s this pattern. the vaults are shackles for every maiden except cinder (who becomes a maiden in defiance of the man who Set Up this system and then immediately kills him). in raven and in penny + winter we’ve had explorations of what this looks like in relation to characters who are notionally on the same side as the vault-keepers (none of them want salem getting her hands on their relic), with the atlas arc forcing the kids into open conflict with ironwood Because they see penny/the maiden as a person who can make choices.

a situation where the summer maiden is involved in the inner circle or even just neutral risk retreading the same ground. whereas. a maiden who is an adversary who (like salem albeit for different reasons) Cannot Be Beaten (because she represents half of vacuo and killing her will make her a martyr, ripping the kingdom apart) feels like the natural place for this narrative to go next. what happens if the maiden says no? for real this time. how do you persuade her, compromise with her, what reason do you give her to work with you?

(<- potential here for a reprise and inversion of ozpin’s advice to ruby in v1: if you’re not always performing at your absolute best, what reason do you give others to follow you? well, if you’re not treating others like human beings whose choices and freedom matter, what reason do you give them to stand with you? as always the curative for the poison of guardians and martyrs is coalition, which is harder in many ways but also healing.)

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utapri-translations-uuuu · 8 months

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The Beginning of the Tragedy - Translation (悲劇の開幕)

Please do not repost/retranslate without permission.

Translator's notes can be found at the end and are marked with an asterisk.

I have also made a version which includes the members' notes found in the script.

[A bet between God and a devil - Heaven]

A strong spotlight suddenly shines on Mephistopheles.

Mephistopheles is before God in Heaven.

Mephisto: Life is a stage. How will you live until the curtain of death falls?

He spreads his arms and inquires strongly.

Mephisto: That is a problem that has existed since mankind was created into the world. What will you achieve and what will you gain…?

He lightly shakes his index finger.

Mephisto: However, humans are granted very little time. Their soul is bound by the shackles of life, and, over time, aging wears down the body and death arrives… Although the duration of life varies, death comes to everyone equally.

He writhes wistfully and hugs his own body.

Mephisto: Even in that finite time, humans are foolish and plagued by worry. Sinning and following the wrong path…

A small flame emerges from his index finger, which he extinguishes by blowing on it.*

Mephisto: The insolence of overestimating oneself and being conceited… Only being able to get pleasure from looking down on others. The greed to have more than one can handle. Not knowing that selfish desires drive others away…

He thumps his chest and clenches his fist tightly in hatred.

Mephisto: And the feeling of jealousy towards those who are better than oneself! Feeding the flames of resentment, unaware that it stirs up more misery!

He shudders and holds his head between his hands.

Mephisto: Unreasonable feelings that emanate from not getting one’s way. Excessive anger drags people into a whirlpool of madness…

He swishes his cloak loudly.

He turns around and addresses God.

Mephisto: But that’s precisely why it’s so interesting! Don’t you think so, my Lord…!?

It’s so bright that the true form of God cannot be seen.

God: Devil Mephistopheles… Let us hear your case.

Mephistopheles takes a step forward.

Mephisto: They say humans were created in the image of God, yet they are imperfect and filled with greed! Isn’t your creation tarnishing your name…?

He moves like a beast, exemplifying their foolishness.

Mephisto: They hide from the eyes of the Lord, and they do deeds that are no better than those of beasts behind His back. Even those who appear to conduct themselves righteously. They have not a shred of reason!

A small flame emerges from his index finger, which he extinguishes by blowing on it.*

Mephisto: Reason is like the flame of a candle before the wind in the face of desire. Completely useless!

God: Is that all you have to say? Why do you raise such complaints?

Mephisto: Of course! Not because… it’s amusing, but because it’s so pathetic and egregious! Do you want to leave alone these humans who are nothing like you, but who are acting presumptuously under the authority of the Lord!?

God: Not all humans are without merit. Do you know Faust? He's a scholar, an outstanding human being.

Mephisto: Faust…? I’m sure he is without human failings, right?

He leans back as if surprised.

Mephisto: Doing things like miracles on the daily! Giving to the needy and standing by the weak… The kind of deeds that others should use as inspiration…?

God: No. However, I would say it is very human-like. To think, worry, and hesitate… that’s human nature. But I believe that in the end, he will choose the right path.

He claps his hands in exaggerated happiness.

Mephisto: … You believe! Ha-ha! Belief alone won’t save anyone! That’s why the human world is in such a terrible state!

He opens his arms.

Mephisto: Let’s make a bet! Who is right, me or you…? Are humans good… or do they succumb to evil?

God: Yeah, I’ll leave it to you. Do as you please. Since Faust himself seems to be at an impasse about the path that he should follow.

He clasps his hands tightly in front of his chest, excited.

Mephisto: Oh, this is getting fun! The greatest gamble of all time! Will man win or will the devil win…?

God: Fate has been set in motion. Whatever the outcome, let’s accept it.

Mephistopheles is full of motivation.

Mephisto: I’ll use all of my power to seduce you… I’ll sweetly and gently… make you fall into hell! Take a good look at the skills that have successfully been used to toy with great kings and virtuous saints!

God: If you underestimate humans too much, won’t you end up giving him an advantage?

Mephisto: What nonsense!

He bows slowly and in a very ceremonious way.

Mephisto: I’m going to show you all the misery and despair around the world… It’s the beginning of a stage filled with sin and taboo~!

[Title call/Titular line]

All: Faust Last Cantata

Notes: Repeated line in the script? I believe this might have been a mistake, and it was intended only for the second instance.

#uta no prince sama #utapri #translation #english #quartet night #qn #drama cd #dramatic masterpiece show #faust #faust last cantata #reiji kotobuki #ranmaru kurosaki #ai mikaze #camus

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aurora-313 · 11 months

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I've been openly critical of Thousand Year Blood War since its weekly manga release way back in late 2010s. It was so immemorable that I'd legitimately forgotten it, and by extension Bleach, existed until the announcement in 2022.

The revelations presented require so much backreading and contradicts earlier established facts, it make it difficult to tolerate. Interpersonal reveals reflect incredibly poorly on many characters, demonstrating in some cases outright negligent tendencies in their duty of care towards others and themselves.

(Masaki, Isshin, you don't have to tell him everything but its not hard to teach your god-child basic safety and the supernatural equivalent of 'don't run in oncoming traffic'. The fact neither did of you did, makes you damned irresponsible parents imo. Almost like your powers were retconned into existence without thinking through the rammifications, huh?).

The sum total of my issues are too numerous to mention but my biggest issue is theme of fate in Bleach; how it applies to Ichigo's desire for self-determination and how TYBW in particular gleefully pisses all over that.

While fate and destiny can be aspiring things, they are by definition traps. Confines. Set parameters that must be fulfilled. As a result two primary attitudes exist in response; one must rise to meet the occasion gloriously or defy it to forge one's own path (success varies).

Ichigo's opinion has always fallen into the latter category.

Ichigo wanted to destroy fate. Wanted to negate its unfairness. To remove its strangling shackles from his life and those he cares for. To quote:

If fate is a milestone, then we are the grist. There is nothing we can do. So I wish for strength. If I cannot protect them from the wheel, then give me a strong blade, and enough strength... to shatter fate.

In essence this is how Ichigo wants express his agency and self-determination, by protecting others. He wants to defend the downtrodden from the unfairness ugliness of reality. An agency he gains through obtaining Shinigami power from Rukia.

Or so he believes.

Problem is, every arc and especially TYBW exposes that theme as a total lie.

Whenever Ichigo believes he's expressing agency to combat whatever ill fortunate awaits those he wishes to protect, he is in fact playing into the hands of others.

He believes he's making an active choice to defend and guard and protect, but in reality Ichigo has never had a choice in anything, merely the illusion of one. Worst of all Ichigo never realizes most of his choices are illusions.

With every subsequent arc, the sad truth is that Ichigo is enslaved to fate. Shackled to its designs since the dawn of reality. Enchained by the literal gods and devils on his shoulder. At one point, fate even turns Ichigo's own body against him as his Quincy blood forces him to slay the previous Soul King.

In his drive to break fate's confines, Ichigo becomes its ultimate poster boy and enforcer.

But in a sad yet classic prophetic twist; Ichigo believes he's actively fighting an unfair destiny.

A destiny written by the Soul King's Almighty eons ago.

In a word, the Almighty is omniscience. First held by the Soul King and later Yhwach.

Conceptually, omniscience and free will cannot co-exist. The world is self-determination or pre-destination. There's no middle ground.

This in mind; the Soul King knew precisely how he would die. He knew a Shiba scion would eventually gain the power to release him from his torment eons upon eons after his sealing under the compulsion of Yhwach's Quincy blood, then slay Yhwach to replace him.

In other words, Ichigo's desire for self-determination was the greatest lie of this story. His every action and reaction were predicted and cemented since the dawn of time. Taken to its logical extreme, Ichigo arguably had no free will at all (absolutely fitting because he reads like a damn automaton in the last arc). He's a pre-programmed organic robot blindly following the path set before him by his creators, there's no error codes (ie. questions or hesitations) because his programmers told him exactly the right command prompts to set him loose.

And almost as the ultimate spit in the face for Ichigo's futile wish for agency in his own fate? Yhwach curses him in the end. Cursed Ichigo with a prophesy that at the moment of his greatest happiness, Yhwach will return to crush it to dust.

Meaning Ichigo is now destined to carry that curse for the rest of his days, his days as a human, his days as a soul, possibly even after his soul death and winding up in hell.

By the avatar of fate's own command, Ichigo is never permitted to find true happiness again.

Which actually rather neatly explains why Ichigo seemingly retired from shinigami work after the war concluded. And a rather damning indication of his marriage to Orihime and his own son.

When is Ichigo at his happiest? When he's engaged with the spirit world. What's he done in the ten year timeskip? Cut himself off from the spirit world. When does Yhwach show up again? The first time Ichigo engages with the spirit world after ten long years.

All told, its a rather tragic tale, isn't it?

Then again, I suppose that could be Kubo's intention. The more Ichigo tries to fight fate, the more fate bitch slaps him and tells him 'get back in your lane.' And Ichigo, after years of being thoroughly defanged, bows his head and obeys.

If that's so, then I congratulate him on delivering such a tragic despair-filled message.

#everything after Soul Society's complete bullshit anyway #bleach #ichigo kurosaki #yhwach #soul king #fate #anti tybw #anti bleach ending

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misc-obeyme · 4 months

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-🐆 You know I think that's exactly why it's taking them so long to release the new season, because they have to much plot holes to cover. Is it the whole Lilith thing again? Eh, let's not get into that subject. What made sense to me, probably just my mind filling in the blanks, is that MC eventually, gradually regained some memories, a bit at a time, while the brothers remained sort of like a constant memory that is a core one (I hope I am making sense). It could be also that Solomon used some magic to help MC stabilize memory wise. Or just shown pictures on his DDD. A lot of plot things in this game (especially implied sex scenes, for obvious reasons) are left blank. Usually they aren't that important but in this case they are! So hopefully they do explain deeper in the new season. Also the term "time soup" sort of made sense to me, since I stand by the theory that time cannot be linear as we think it is. So if mc, from their present, went back to the past, mc brought all the memories and experiences with them. Meaning, the past is "changed" but not really. Just like it was changed in season 1 in og where mc was killed, but not really. So the time soup thing started wayyyyy back in the lore. Because if, they went back to the past, in a linear timeline, I think it would have left much less effect on the brothers and on the way everything unfolded. For example, the whole Cocytus journey. Mc presumably had an affect on the brothers even back in the celestial realm (I was just re-reading season 3 of og where mc ate Solomon's sandwich and was sent back in time) so Lucifer would have been locked up in Cocytus either way, but what did release him from the shackles? Did the brothers go after him even without mc? Did he still had his outburst against Diavolo? Was it that it is a time soup and mc was destined, in the this world logic, to hurtle back in time to this specific point and help the brothers, who know them but not really, who have a pact with them but not really? Also, in hard lessons, what the hell did Solomon made the brothers do to repay him for breaking them free from the curse that changed their personalities? Did he make them take a pact with him??? If that's true, I am mortified, really. See, I can ramble for more, but I don't feel bad about it lol, though you of course don't have to either! I don't only request your rambles, now I demand them, it matches my own!

I'll just go and watch dr who, my head is hazy, at least that show makes more sense with time travel If you watch it too, did you see the episode with Jinxx?? It was SO good.

I mean, they sure do have a lot of plot to resolve in the upcoming season! I don't know how far in advance they plan the story, but it feels very disjointed most of the time lol.

MC's memory issues never really registered for me, tbh. I always interpreted it as an MC who still has all those memories from OG? I was under the impression that they changed some of the story in the first lesson of NB, but I never went back and replayed it. So I told NB at the beginning that I knew the brothers and I guess that left out the part about MC having lost their memory? Or perhaps I just forgot about it???

I just always played it as MC remembered everything from the start, so I haven't really considered that part of the story too much. But I think the idea that MC's memories slowly come back makes sense. Or that Solomon filled them in, since there's plenty of time where they're living together for him to do that. It seems odd that they wouldn't at least mention either of these things, though, even if they didn't show it happening.

I don't have a problem with the "time soup" theory in a more general sense. I've read about theories where time is not linear in our actual reality. I just don't like it as a storytelling mechanic. Lesson 16 really confused me. I didn't realize what had happened until I read it again and until I had seen other people's thoughts on it. MC went back in time, but then one MC just disappears? It made no sense to me.

The issue I have with the time travel stuff is that it's a mess to figure out. I think it's good that people can kind of work it out in a way that makes sense to them, but nobody's idea of the time travel shenanigans in this game are the same. Everybody's interpretation has been different from what I've seen. They never established any rules for their time travel, so it's just confusing.

Hmm. Okay, so here's how I think about it. In this case, the time travel is part of magic. And when you have magic in a story, you have to make up the rules for it yourself. My experience has been that if you're going to use magic as a plot device, you have to set out specific rules for how it works. Otherwise, just about anything could happen. That's the part I don't like. The rules aren't clearly defined, they're just soup and that means nothing to me.

They could say time is not linear. They could say that in the original version of the past, MC wasn't there and that means anything could have happened. Maybe the events were similar to what they were when MC was there. But they could have been completely different. Maybe Lucifer didn't even end up in Cocytus at all. It's impossible to say what happened in the original version of that timeline.

Then MC goes to the past and changes things. No matter how careful MC is, their presence alters the past irrevocably. And Solomon is there, too, so potentially altering things even more.

Okay, I could accept all that. But having everybody in the past feel that there's something special about MC's guest room? Having glimpses and memories of a future they couldn't possibly have any knowledge of? This is the part that makes no sense. Does this mean that those characters all had those same memories in the original version of the past, the one where MC didn't show up? If time is a soup, does that mean that all these characters are experiencing all those timelines simultaneously and can have memories of all of them all the time whether MC is present or not?

If that's the case, how come the characters didn't have any memories of MC in OG? Season three hinted that MC may have impacted them in the Celestial Realm, but those memories never manifested before that incident. If time is a soup, shouldn't they have had those memories of MC from the very start?

My issue is that they just threw this in there because they're trying to explain away what they've already done. It doesn't feel like they went into this story with any of these intentions (and like to be fair they probably didn't).

I just feel like they could have explained the time travel in a way that meshed better with the story we already had.

And you know while I don't think Solomon made them make pacts with him, I can see him suggesting it! I suspect they'd have been like um no not on your life buddy lol. I love him so much.

OH BOY well, anyway, you demanded rambles, so here it is lol!!! This is just me getting WAY too into these details. I don't usually do this because in the end, it doesn't really matter! I'm willing to overlook this stuff because I love the characters so much. And I also very much believe that everyone should interpret the story in the way that makes the most sense for them! This is just my personal opinion, I think everybody's opinion and interpretation is valid!

I've definitely seen stories that handle time travel much better. I never did get into Dr Who, but I have heard good things!

#there's plenty that this story has issues with #this is just one of the bigger ones imo #obey me #obey me nightbringer #🐆 anon #misc answers

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raptorrobot · 2 months

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I love playing toys!!

How do you think Icarus would be if all the bad stuff didn’t happen to him and he remained an angel up until the events of the Ultrakill game?

What was the designed process like for Icarus (both prime and angel)? Were there any details you had solidified all the way through or things that changed over time?

ouhhhh what an interesting query !!!!

genuinely in that case i think 3-2 would be a dual fight with both of them involved. that's gabriel's guard dog ! he's still going to be taking that seraph everywhere with him !

icarus prime also wouldn't be canon in this scenario either ! no divorce fights no attempted suicide no second death just two angels against the world

and; oughh . i love this second question so so much. i will be yapping about it under the cut

why explain the basics when i can just show them ! here's icarus' first ever ref sheet compared to his most recent one;

yeauh . big differences

most notably: he was not originally a prime soul, he was just a fallen angel ! hence the shackles and funky satanic imagery patterns on him

the scariest part: AH !!!! TWINK !!!!!!! he was SO skinny back then it almost makes me Sad looking at it now . it was an intentional design note, as at this point in his development i wanted him to look like an emaciated animal - but his fatness is so important to him now that seeing him without it is DEEPLY jarring

some consistencies: his hooves, claws, and head have always remained consistent in his design ! i've just always loved the shape language of them too much to change . i actually tried to phase out the more animalistic parts of him (hooves & claws) when developing him into a prime soul (to be more consistent with the two canon ones) but i just. couldn't . they were so integral to his design at that point that i couldn't imagine him without them . and of course, his head is pretty much the exact same from the point of conception; the cross-face, dual horns and head wings have only changed via stylistic evolution and nothing more <3

colours: they're So Different now . since he originally belonged to heresy rather than violence, i really wanted to hammer in that red - which persisted up until somewhat recently, when i phased it out for the full blue/silver scheme . his prime form and angel form now share an almost identical colour palette, which i think is fun ! another reason for getting rid of the red was because i wanted him to stand stark against the colours of violence (specifically red & white); as minos does wifh gluttony and sisyphus does with heresy. it also makes him look softer :]

in regards to his angel form; i cannot find any old refs of it unfortunately but the change in that design has been even MORE drastic . though one thing that has always been super important to it is the silver metal; he has always supposed to look like a subordinate . being bereft of colour and the brighter hues of angels like gabriel is a Very Important Contrast that i like emphasising

the black metal in his design is a recent change though ! it used to be silver and white up until recently, not silver and black . the reasoning behind this one is that i'm a sucker for dark colour schemes in armour and it looks cool . it's an excuse to make him look more intimidating too since he's a bodyguard !

#icarus prime #icariel #violent sun #he's so cool . did you guys know that . did you know i love him so much

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luna-light-eclipse · 6 months

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YOU SAID YOU HAD NO ASKS AND IM FIXING THIS.

LITTLE TRAVELLER WOLF. remember. I Do. i remember everything, luna. And am i still thinking about the light-suppression cuffs and the moths and the Eliksni and--

Think about it again,,, always bleeding a liquid light, trying to stop the hatchlings from trying to eat it (still crying). the family that basically adopted them while they were out of it, and who they stayed with when they were themself again. the wolf plushie...

I never forget,,,

Saladin watching someone he’s always seen as a powerful warrior deteriorate into something almost akin to a child but it is not quite that either- no it is something else, something wrong. A slow acting poison ending in death set upon Wolf by the people they should have been able to trust the most.

Do you remember Wolf in the wilds? Travelling alone to a destination they don’t remember? Resting in hunter hideouts they had made or been trusted with, admiring the light of the stars, and the moths of course.

The Traveller only wanted its favoured guardian back, taken from it for being too good, too powerful. It can do nothing but give away as much as it can until its power is warping the foundations of Wolf’s body and soul into a form that cannot remember itself. Saladin looks upon Wolf whose arms glow with bright white Light, whose fingertips are ever so slowly beginning to melt into nothing. At the near ever-present liquid Light tears running down one side of their face out from under freshly replaced bandages. Their body is covered in fissures, bodies shouldn’t do that they think- for a moment until the very capability of thought is gone again.

This Light is a gift. Each time Wolf looks upon their wounds they know that they are loved. This Light is a gift that leaves everyone questioning if Wolf is even human anymore. They can see through walls, hear what no one else can. The Traveller speaks, they alone hear it.

Then once they are free from their quite literal shackles they remember the hands that stemmed their bleeding, who cried once their blood stopped running red, who walked them through the city and bought them the one thing they had ever wanted.

Eliksni arrive to the city and Wolf can feel the Traveller welcome them, even if the humans do not. It is awkward, always, for they worship the traveller and it’s Light is Wolf’s body. There is little else left. Though they are not alone in their stilted interactions with Wolf- no one is quite sure about how they are supposed to speak to them, to the one the Traveller loves. Except for the ones who held them together when no one else would, those ones still treated them as human.

The Eliksni endure the animosity thrown at them. Ask for nothing from no one. They have endured, they do not need gifts to survive. But the Traveller still answers their silence, through Wolf’s voice it tells them that they’ve found peace, finally, they’ve done good, they can have the Light now.

…But not in so many words, Wolf has never been one to speak after all. Let everyone decipher their actions instead.

#luna’s brainbox #content box #destiny #destiny 2 #Little Traveller Wolf #HI YES I AM SO SANE ABOUT THIS AU #an ask for me?#:D #all these emotions do no justice to Wolf walking up to Misraaks and giving him a Ghost that they formed IN THEIR HANDS then just leaving.#and also Wolf holding hatchlings my beloved #SO SO SANE ABOUT THIS AU #the weird religious vibes that I adore writing (I know some people would be weirded out by this but I just can’t help myself)#the found family #the guilt for mistakes made and the aftermath of that #the conflict of being loved so earnestly even when that love hurts because the Traveller is far beyond humans and doesn’t quite get it #they’re trying but that disconnect is there and permanent #chews on AU and rotates it in my mind

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dahvampire · 8 months

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I'll start this thing with the premise that I've only seen BNHA's anime, so I'm at the end of the events of season 6 and I don't know anything else from the manga. So, that's also a spoiler alert for anyone who isn't at my same point.

God I really, really despise Enji Todoroki.

Endeavor is a great hero, don't get me wrong: always on point, efficient with criminals, saves people and yada yada yada. Public interactions aren't his forte but anyone has his weaknesses, so it's fine.

But boy, boy if he's shitty. A shitty father, a shitty husband, a shitty person in general.

How can you beat your six year old son to the point of making him sick just because you're salty you're not at the same level of someone else? How can you try to erase your first son's suicide attempt that he did because you first indoctrinated him about being the n°1 hero since he was four and then discarded him at eleven because he couldn't keep up with your expectations? Enji told Touya his life was defined only by being a hero, and then he snutched the dream he put in his son's head from him when he was still a child. No wonders Touya didn't exactly take it well, his father just said he's actually worthless because of something Touya can't even control - the affinity that his body has for cold temperature.

And okay, maybe Enji wanted to keep him safe avoiding him to train, but the adult approached the situation wrongly from the start, since Touya's birth, for fuck's sake.

When Touya became useless, Enji focused his fixation on Shouto, feeding sibling rivalry to Touya and making him easily jealous of him because his younger brother became their father's focus of attention - and love, in his mind - .

Let's put the kids beside for a second.

Enji married Rei for her quirk, that's common knowledge, he even admitted it. After he finished using her for his convenience and after probably treating her just like he treated Shouto and Touya, he pushed her 'til the breaking point and then accused her of being unstable while the only reason for her unstableness has always been his presence in her life. We had a snippet of Rei before she married Enji, and she was a perfectly fine woman. Maybe reserved, but fine.

Then, Enji happened. She lost her rights on her body, the man married her just to breed a valuable heir after all. She lost her rights as a mother, because I think Enji hasn't ever allowed her to interfere with Touya and Shouto's education and lives in general, just think about how Touya treated her when she found out he was still training in secret. She lost her connections with the world, too, I guess, because I don't think she would be free to go and come at her will, considering how Enji thinks about his family members as his properties.

Then, she slowly started to lose her mind to the point of disfiguring her own child because his eye reminded her too much of the man she was forced to live with even though she clearly dreaded him, and she lost it. She crumbled under the pressure of what Enji did to her and to her children - that I guess she never actively tried to protect, maybe to save herself from the man's wrath, maybe because scared of aggravating things - and Enji took her out of the picture without even try to comprehend why she did what she did.

I'm not saying that she isn't guilty about the whole situation, I'm saying I can see her redemption arc. I can understand it. Now she's free of the shackles that held her down the whole time she was with Enji, and she wants to try and do something to make amends. I can see it, I can understand it.

What I cannot understand is the thing they're trying to do with Enji's redemption arc.

Like, are you kidding me?

He's an abuser, a manipulative man who hides himself behind a façade of ideals and stoicism, a person who looked his own kid in the eye at the age of eleven and told him he was not enough for his father and should get lost with his other two siblings, casted aside since birth because they too didn't meet his expectations.

Fuyumi is still hanging by the threads of hope that someday they will be an happy and functional family, but those threads started strangling her a long time ago, and I think she didn't even realized it yet.

And Touya.

God, Touya. He attempted suicide by the age of fourteen, being it consciously or not. Maybe he actually did it on purpose, maybe his emotions took the upper hand on him, but his mind couldn't accept the fact that his father's love was so conditional. Touya tried his best to satisfy the man, and Enji never acknowledged him beside to berate him for training without his permission. And Touya still tried, tried, tried to be seen by the man that put himself at the center of his child's universe since Touya was young enough to comprehend what heroes were.

No wonders Touya broke that night on Sekoto Peak, no wonder he died.

No wonder Dabi was born.

He's the incarnation of Touya's resentment after all, of the hate he feels towards Enji, towards the society that idolatries the hero without looking at the man, without understand that the monsters people fear aren't always the criminals and the villains on the streets, but hide themselves in plain sight, under a spotlight.

Touya was fourteen, he had all his life in front of him, and he still chose to trust the man he called father to care for him even without the incentive of his quirk, and his trust, his prayers fell on deaf ears.

I don't know yet what happened after Sekoto Peak, I guess what remained of Touya was find by someone - maybe Shigaraki's doctor himself -, put back together and brought back from the dead. And Touya didn't know what to do with the time that someone else borrowed him, so he set himself on the path of revenge to find some sort of justice for himself.

I'm not saying that Dabi's modus operandi is right. He's a murderer and his ways are almost always extreme, and his mind clearly isn't in the right place, but I can still understand him, his motives.

An hypothetical reception arc.

Before everything else he's a victim, after all, just like Rei.

Dabi wants to avenge what's remaining of Touya, of his inner child, and the only way he finds fitting is to take Enji's life to compensate the life Enji took from him.

Enji, on the other hand, doesn't deserve it.

He has seen that his ways were wrong only when everything came crushing down on him, and he cried on his hospital bed about being a terrible person after all the years he spent without questioning even one single time his actions.

How many times he made Touya cry? And Shouto? And Rei, Natsuo, Fuyumi? And his own fans, for God's sake? How many people he deluded without realising it, without even thinking it was an actual chance of him doing wrong?

Nope. Sorry, nope, I'm not fine with that. I don't think he deserves the pardon of all the victims of his actions, or surely he doesn't deserve to be forgiven so fast.

I don't approve the death of characters only because I don't like them, I know that's not how it works and it's simply stupid wanting someone dead just because, but fuck if i want him dead. Like, actually dead. Maybe it's because what he represents hit a little too close to home, maybe it's because I can't see a possible way to actually redeem him without stomping again on everyone he hurt, maybe I just can't stand him, I don't know.

I don't even know if I actually want Dabi to be still alive, at this point. I really like him, his character, his dramatics, but he's a dead man walking, literally. Maybe death would put an end to his suffering, maybe confronting Enji would be so cathartic to actually help him to recover the parts of his mind that he lost in the flames, in the walls of the house he grew up in, among the discouragements and the conditioned love he almost drown into.

The only thing I know is that I really hope Dabi lives long enough to see Enji's ashes scattering to the ground, being them the ashes of Endeavor's legacy or the ashes of his own body, cremated by Dabi himself.

#boku no hero acedamia #my hero academia #dabi #endeavor #anime #character analysis #bnha

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