#battle of red cliffs

[beardedmrbean]

[a-modern-major-general]

The Han Dynasty (202 BCE - 220 CE) was the second dynasty of Imperial China (the era of centralized, dynastic government, 221 BCE - 1912 CE) which established the paradigm for all succeeding dynasties up through 1912 CE. It succeeded the Qin Dynasty (221-206 BCE) and was followed by the Period of the Three Kingdoms (220-280 CE).

It was founded by the commoner Liu Bang (l. c. 256-195 BCE; throne name: Gaozu r. 202-195 BCE) who worked toward repairing the damage caused by the repressive regime of the Qin through more benevolent laws and care for the people. The dynasty is divided into two periods:

Western Han (also Former Han): 202 BCE - 9 CE

Eastern Han (also Later Han): 25-220 CE

The separation is caused by the rise of the regent Wang Mang (l. 45 BCE - 23 CE) who declared the Han Dynasty finished and established the Xin Dynasty (9-23 CE). Wang's idealistic form of government failed and, after a brief period of turmoil, the Han Dynasty resumed.

Gaozu initially retained the Qin Dynasty's philosophy of Legalism but with less severity. Legalism gave way to Confucianism under the most famous monarch of the Han, Emperor Wu (also given as Wudi, Wuti, Wu the Great, r. 141-87 BCE) who, among his many other impressive achievements, also opened the Silk Road, establishing trade with the West. The Han also negotiated a peace, which was more or less observed, with the nomadic peoples of the Xiongnu and Xianbi to the north and the Xirong to the west which stabilized the borders and encouraged peace and cultural development in the arts and sciences. Many of the commonplace items taken for granted today were invented by the Han such as the wheelbarrow, the compass, the adjustable wrench, seismograph, and paper, to name only a few.

The Han also restored the cultural values of the Zhou Dynasty, which had been discarded by the Qin, encouraged literacy, and the study of history. The historian Sima Qian (l. 145/35-86 BCE) lived during this period whose Records of the Grand Historian set the standard and form for Chinese historical writings up through the 20th century CE. Chinese mythology and religion also developed during this time including the popular messianic movement focused on the Queen Mother of the West.

By c. 130 CE, however, the imperial court had become corrupt with eunuchs exercising more actual power than the Chinese emperor. By the time of the emperor Lingdi (r. 168-189 CE), the Han royal house had less actual authority than the palace eunuchs and the generals (who were more or less autonomous warlords) stationed at the borders of the country. In 184 CE, the Yellow Turban Rebellion broke out in response to high taxes and famine and these generals put it down.

Among them was Cao Cao (l. 155-220 CE) who, afterwards, waged war against his fellow commanders for control of the state. He was defeated at the Battle of Red Cliffs in 208 CE after which the country was divided between three kingdoms and the Han Dynasty fell. Its legacy is so profound that it continues to the present day and the majority of ethnic Chinese refer to themselves as Han People (Han rem) proudly in identifying themselves as descendants of the great ancient dynasty.

[ttoca]

Red Cliffs Wu Officers Part 1

Hope the translation isn't too bad. No, I didn't use Google Translate but I did use Wiktionary

I feel Wu doesn't get the attention it deserves and I want to change that. Promptly.

[pesky--dust]

You have no idea how big supporter of the theory that the fall from the cliff never happened I am.

Like— The first scene of the series didn't even happen because Will was so immersed in the story he was telling during the lecture. It was only his imagination; at the crime scene Will quickly receives confirmation of all his conclusions, such as the fact that the marriage was tapped and I truly doubt electricians would have been called immediately to the crime scene along with the police, ambulance and FBI. And then he is suddenly “magically” back in the classroom from the house of the victims, when he says, “Everyone has thought about killing someone one way or another. Be it your own hands or the hand of God”.

And since the first scene of the series didn't take place at all, why wouldn't it be the same with the ending? During the battle with Francis Dolarhyde, Will sees him with the wings of a red dragon, something that is unreal. He is also only imagining that.

And the fall is also from Will's perspective, so did it really happen? Or is this only a metaphor for his fall as a human being? He genuinely felt that the brutal pack hunting he shared with Hannibal was beautiful, so he finally accepts his dark nature — he falls as a good and moral man, descending into the depths of crime (ocean).

I love it so much. I'm sorry.

[upsidedownwithsteve]

A soulmate AU: Steve Harrington x fem!reader [2.6K]

THE TIMELINE

“Love is born into every human being; it calls back the halves of our original nature together; it tries to make one out of two and heal the wound of human nature. Each of us, then, is a ‘matching half’ of a human whole…and each of us is always seeking the half that matches him.”

- Aristophanes, Plato’s Symposium.

I. ATHENS, GREECE: 8TH CENTURY BC

The gods were angry.

Or so you’d heard. It started with whispers. Murmurs from the town and its people. Rumours spread across Athens the same way the breeze did at the start of summer. They said the gods were angry, furious.

How could the mortals be so silly? How could they possibly rile their gods like this? Again?

Stupid humans, foolish humans.

You didn’t understand.

But then one morning before the sun rose, you awoke to a reddened sky and a heavy wind, a storm brewing over the horizon, a dark mass you could see above the sea from your bedroom window. Preachers took to the streets then, standing on the cobbles with bells ringing above their heads, warning every person listening about the end of times. It had happened before, they said, their faces masks of horror. It was happening again.

The gardens all died, grass turning black, crops to dust, life fleeing from the ocean as Poseidon uprooted the seafloor, waves crashing against the cliff's edge. Athens turned to decay, colour slipping from the world as the gods ruled over it from the skies and sea. A punishment fit for the crime, the elders said, telling stories at the marketplace, of how their own grandparents had once been born together, joined at the heart, four arms and four legs.

One soul.

They said Zeus came from Olympus, that he’d crashed down to earth riding a bolt of lightning and he ripped the mortals apart. They said it was a bloodshed, rivers of red running through the plazas, wells turning thick like tar.

Zeus cursed everyone, you heard. Your kind had been getting too prideful, too full of ego and greed and want for more. The gods feared an uprising, they sat on their thrones and they resented to power you all craved.

So they did something about it.

With their wounds left to heal on their own over months and years, each half of a mortal was thrown to different corners of the earth, destined to spend the rest of their lives searching for the other half of their soul.

It seemed nothing more than a fable, a horror story for children, something you would never have believed. Soulmates? Someone made just for you? An impossible notion, you were sure you would have once thought, if you hadn’t already met yours.

He was at the forge when the first bolt of lightning hit the ground.

The concrete split and temples on the cliff sides shook, the tiles on each home shattering as they fell. You heard people yelling from your garden as the ground shuddered and an eerie quiet followed. A hollow silence, a calm before a storm and then something else hit the ground too.

Bigger, heavier, more powerful.

You dropped your basket and ran.

Still barefoot, you left the sodden clothes on the grass and fled, passing the sanctuary of your home, the temples beyond the rivers, the forests that came before the sea. You ran to the plaza, through the marketplace that was buzzing with fear, shoulders burning with pain as you slammed your way past everyone who ran against you. You were battling a tidal wave of townsfolk, each one crying and yelling.

You heard shouts of Titans! Furies!

People yelled out names they once didn’t dare whisper, each word said like a curse. Cronus, Crius, Oceanus, Thea. Standing on the marble steps of the Parthenon, a preacher in guided robes had blood running down the side of his face, a cut on his head matting his greying hair. He was ashen, clutching at his scribes and shouting at the frenzied crowd below.

“Tartarus has risen!” He yelled, “the gates of Hades have opened and we, foolish mortals, shall pay for our sins! The father of gods shall come for us, he shall feast upon thy flesh and bone and—”

The preacher's harrowing words were cut off abruptly as another crack in the earth opened up. The shining marble split and the man fell through, the world itself swallowing him whole. You didn’t have time to react more than a strangled cry coming from somewhere deep in your chest. You clasped your hand to your mouth, fearing you’d lose your breakfast, that you’d become too dizzy to keep moving.

The ocean was growing closer, too tall waves and swirling, dark pools buried into its depths. Ships were being sucked under, their white sails the last thing you saw before they were swallowed by Poseidon’s fury. A golden chariot raced down from the sky, sparks flying in the air as it landed on the roof of the Acropolis. More marble shattered and Ares, the god of war, had landed on earth to do his duty.

By the time you reached the forge, the plaza was running red, just like the elders had said it would. The bronzed statue of Hephaestus that guarded the entrance to the blacksmiths had come to life, the god himself taking its form as he spewed fire across the village, molten heat and steel dripping from his large hands, coal crumbling at his feet. The air smelled like ash, like fire and death.

As you searched for him - your other half - eyes wide and frantic, your chest heaving, Hades stood in the shadows across the cobbled road. Inky black dripped from him, from his robes, his skin, his mouth. He looked ghoulish until he stepped into what was left of the daylight, a trick of the sun turning his gaunt face handsome. He grinned at you, each tooth pointed and sharp and he held out a hand. A pomegranate was placed in his palm, the fruit cracked open and the ruby seeds spilling out of it like tiny jewels. He beckoned you, a voice in your head whispering, silky, sultry, full of promises that couldn’t be real.

Surely eternal damnation was better than a fate like this?

You moved, your body not your own, one foot in front of the other, your hand outstretched. Images flashed through your head, dark swirls of three headed dogs, rivers made of souls and gates of bones. But when they opened, there was a garden, more beautiful than the ones in Athens, with their marble pillars and fountains that led into ponds. In this garden, temples stood gleaming and tall, with maidens dancing amongst rose bushes, naked and with hair to their waists. They waved to you, more scarlet coloured fruit held in their hands and they were laughing, singing, pulling you closer--

Another bolt of lightning - bigger and louder and brighter than before - hit the ground and the maidens disappeared. The god of the underworld grinned once more before he stepped back into the shadows and turned to smoke, melting into the bloodied ground.

Zeus had landed in Athens.

And you couldn’t find Steve.

Steve Harrington, son of the town’s head blacksmith, was tending to the forge when the first god came to earth. He’d left you in bed, the threadbare sheets around you still warm, your skin littered with his leftover kisses, marks from his greedy fingers the night before. The sky had been scarlet when he walked across the plaza and in the far distance, a plume of smoke rose from what seemed like the ocean. The Methana volcano was simmering, waiting, spewing fumes of gas and dust.

A warning.

The forge cracked when Zeus arrived, the bricks splitting along with the forge floor, cobbles and bricks turning to rubble under the men’s feet. Fire and coal tumbled from the cast iron cages, half made swords of burning steel falling at their feet. The sky above rumbled, the windows shattering as bolts of lightning hit the land and people screamed, torturous sounds that made Steve run blindly out into the plaza.

Some were kneeling, their heads bent and their palms open to the sky, to the gods. A sacrifice that was ignored. Others ran, diving into buildings that immediately fell on top of them and Steve watched in horror as people dropped before him, falling like sacks, crumpled to the ground as they clutched their chests in agony. They called out their lovers' names, their voices hoarse, pleading, desperate and all at once, a crowd surged behind Steve, carrying him with them, his shoulders burning at the momentum.

He had to find you.

The market was in ruins, once fresh vegetables and fruits now smashed into the concrete, the smell of baked bread hidden under burning embers. Panicked horses fled their owners and carts, almost knocking Steve to the ground as they tried to escape the carnage. The sea level was rising, the shadows of boat sails towering over marble buildings, the hulls of ships teetering closer to pillars that once held the statues of the gods now seeking revenge. Steve had been raised to honour them, to covet them, to fear them.

And he’d never felt as scared as he did when he spotted you across the square, eyes wide and not yet finding his, your gaze too trained on the statue of Aphrodite that was crashing down too close to you. The white marble hit the floor and shattered, sending clouds of dust and dirt into the already smoke filled air and you disappeared from Steve’s sight once more.

Panic flooded him, a fear like no other and suddenly the gods that reigned from the seas and skies didn’t seem as terrifying anymore.

He yelled your name, choking on the fumes from the fires that had started to rage all around, Hephaestus riding a cloud of black coals and burning embers as he let fire pour from his palms and open mouth, a gaping maw of molten lava that dripped from and melted everything and everyone it touched. Steve flung himself to the ground to avoid the flames, crawling desperately forward before he caught himself and began to run again, hissing as the gaps in his shoes filled with shards of broken stone. Red poured from the soles of his feet but he didn’t think anything could hurt as much as the thought of losing you.

Again, he screamed for you, the letters of your name hitching in his throat, scratching like glass and more people tore in front of his path, running from the destruction. Bodies fell before him, couples forever trapped in a lovers embrace, their faces hidden in each other's chests. They became one again, four arms, four legs, two faces.

Joined at a heart that was no longer beating.

Steve didn’t want to die without you.

He found you in the rubble as Zeus moved closer, a grey and white shadow of a man, a huge hulking figure that didn’t seem real. He didn’t look like his marble castings, the statues that were gilded with gold leaf. He wore no olive laurel on his head, he bore no kind smile nor gentle eyes. Instead he held bolts of lightning in his hands like swords, like spears, throwing them at his victims with cruel precision.

A storm followed him, bigger than anything Steve had ever seen before. It turned the red clouds above the god purple and black, an inky slurry of darkness and electricity crackled between spaces. The air buzzed and Steve’s skin prickled, the static making his ripped and bloodied shirt cling to his damp chest.

Poseidon had finally shown himself, emerging from the waves, his skin a sickly green, his eyes darker than the deepest depths of the sea he came from. He held a triton, seaweed hanging from its points, his body scarred and battered from the horrors he created in the oceans. He seemed too big, a giant, an almost titan and rain poured from Zeus’ purple clouds as he advanced onto Athens.

Steve saw your arm, a limp hand from beneath a pile of stone and he cried as he lifted each piece of what was once Aphrodite. The marble face of the goddess of love smiled warmly at him and it felt mocking, it felt like an arrow to the chest.

You were still alive, barely awake, nose dripping blood and a slice across your forehead that narrowly missed your eye. You cried when Steve pulled you free, his strong arms wrapped around your torso and you clung to him, barely daring to look at the horrors that surrounded you. He smelled like smoke and fire and the metal sting of blood, but under it all, there was something like home that still lay on his skin.

He seemed frantic, calling your name over and over until you nodded and said his back, like it was only upon hearing your voice that he believed you were alive. Steve sat amongst the debris of Aphrodite and held you, your weak frame pulled into his lap and he cradled you there, your head on his shoulder and your arms around his neck.

You weren’t sure what you coveted more fiercely, the young man or your last breath.

A shadow lingered nearby, listening to the soft murmurs you shared the pretty lies you both needed to hear as you told each other it would be okay. Hades stood close, statuesque and with black plumes at the bottom of his dark robes, a midnight blue cast over his skin. He looked like he’d never been close to looking human. He held a timepiece in one hand, a golden thing that ticked too loudly and he grinned at you and Steve, watching, waiting as two creatures by his feet held scrolls of names. They were made od nothing kind, created from bone and other people’s spines, their too long tails and forked tongues that flickered over the skin of the dead as they sent their souls below.

Steve knew he’d fight a god before he let them take you.

But he didn’t get such the luxury of battling for his lover. Zeus moved closer still, rain pouring harder, electricity making his hair stand on end. The father of gods himself stood tall before you both, his eyes as white as his long hair and beard. Nothing about him softened as he gazed down at you both intertwined, blood from each other staining your lover's skin.

Steve pulled you closer, his hand cupping the nape of your neck as he pushed your face to his throat, shielding you, protecting you. You clung to him tighter, hands fisting in the rags of his old shirt and you wondered if you’d ever get to see him again. If this life was it, if this was all you were allowed.

The two of you in the ruins of Athens, the goddess of love shattered at your feet. Four legs, four arms, two faces, one soul. Connected by a heart that seemed weaker than ever in the presence of something cruel.

Silence came before the crack, the world stilling, Athens at peace. You found solace in Steve, your nose pressed to his neck as you held onto him, praying for something painless. You pushed two kisses to his skin then, the side of his throat that seemed to make your lips fizz and Steve sucked in a breath, his lips at your temple, cherishing the last touch he got of you.

“I love you,” Steve whispered and his voice cracked on each word. Tears from his eyes stream the dirt on his face, running rivers down your cheek until they mixed with your own. “I’ll find you again. In the next life, and the next again. I prom—”

A bolt of lightning, so hot it felt frozen, struck the breath of space between your chests. Something inside of you cracked then, ribs splintering as the weapon found your heart and you couldn’t feel Steve’s arms around you anymore.

You couldn’t feel anything.

[solarisfortuneia]

— glimpses of life.

misc. scenarios with them. (ft. diluc, childe, kaeya, kazuha and xiao.)

diluc ragnvindr.

“diluc, can we please, please go to starsnatch cliff today?” you plead on one fine day, tugging at his sleeve.

never one to deny your requests and always one to indulge your whims, he glances at his desk. “well, I am done with a considerable amount of work, so i don't see why we can't.” he kisses your temple and lightly pats your head. “we’ll go after lunch, beloved.”

you cheer, a sparkle in your eyes, and a million flowers bloom in his heart; an ever-growing garden.

true to his words, he takes you there later that day. while you take pleasure in the view and the feeling of the wind, he relishes in your smile and the pure, unbridled joy you exude. he's seen a thousand views over the years, but he knows nothing will ever come close to the one in front of him.

“diluc, look.” you call his name, and he lifts up a hand in acknowledgement. “look at what i found!”

he walks over with a curious expression on his face. you gesture to the flower in your hand, and he looks at it, confused, brows knitted. “my apologies, my heart, but i believe that’s just a cecilia?”

you shake your head with a mysterious smile dancing on your lips. “no, no, look closely, this one’s special.”

he runs his eyes over it again, analyzing the color, the shape of the petals and the green of the leaves. “it looks exactly like the others, my love.”

you sigh, dramatically looking at the sky. “no, my dear darling diluc, this one’s different from the rest,” you meet his eyes once more, and he sees mischief dancing in them. “it’s different because—” you drag it out for as long as you can. he raises an eyebrow at your familiar dramatics. “—this one right here, is the one i think would look the best in your hair.” he coughs in surprise, not expecting that answer and your grin almost splits your face in two.

“it would look quite delightful against the red, wouldn’t it?” you press on.

“whatever you say, beloved.” he tries his best to keep his expression neutral, but his voice wavers. you grin wider

“come closer, then! let me put it there for you.”

he leans over, allowyou to secure it in place behind his ear. “well, what do you think?” he looks at you, fondness swimming in crimson eyes.

“beautiful.” the one-word response takes him by surprise and a blush spreads over his face. “diluc, you’re starting to look like your hair now. you're very cute, aren't you?”

he groans, head in his palms. “whatever will i do with you?”

“love me, hopefully.” that he does, with all of his heart. 

and many moons later, you find the same flower carefully pressed and preserved between the pages of his journal. a tiny heart proudly adores the caption: a gift, from my beloved.

childe.

the day began perfectly. the sky was clear, the sun was shining, and a periodic breeze blew throughout the harbor. and it stayed that way, until childe decided it was a great day for a sparring match.

it was fine in the beginning; you were able to keep up. however, seeing as you lacked his inhuman stamina and thirst for battle, your energy drained far quicker.

after a long—too long in your opinion— session, you crumple onto the ground, exhausted beyond measure.

“come on, sweetie, you can do better than that!” he says, playfully spinning his weapon. “what happened to all that spirit i saw earlier today?” he kneels down next to you. “let’s go for another round, shall we?”

“no thanks,” you grumble. “i’m perfectly fine here. the ground and i are friends now.”

“aww,” he adopts an expression of mock disappointment, then chuckles. “although, i must admit, you really were commendable today.”

he stands up and offers you a hand. “let’s head back, i’m dying for something refreshing.”

“fine.” you huff. you take his hand and get up with a groan. you expect him to let go after you’re situated securely on your feet, but he tightens his grip and shoots you a bright grin instead.

and in spite of your exhaustion, you return it almost instantaneously.

as you walk to your destination together, he swings your intertwined hands over and over again, chattering away, and you can’t help but think that maybe the day wasn’t so bad after all.

kaeya alberich.

the long, grueling day left you an equally unpleasant souvenir to deal with: a horrible, awful headache.

kaeya, perceptive as ever, notices the minute you step through the door.

“are you okay, sweetheart?” he holds your face in his hands, concern written all over his expression.

you nod, slowly. he raises an eyebrow and gives you a long, serious glance. you correct yourself. “terrible headache. i feel like something a horse left behind.”

he chuckles lightly. “oh, my poor sweet baby,” he coos. “let’s get you something to alleviate the pain, shall we, dearest?”

he gathers pillows and blankets and makes a soft, cuddly pile for you to rest in. once he helps you settle in, he wraps you up in one of the blankets. “there we go,” he strokes your hair. “close your eyes and relax, i’ll make something warm for you.”

and make something warm he does. once you open your eyes after a half hour, you find a plate of your favorite food awaiting you.

“say ah.” a spoon enters your field of vision.

“kaeya! you don’t have to feed me!” you pout at him. “i can do it myself,”

he hums, “i know, but i want to. now,” he brings it closer to your lips. “hurry up and eat before it gets cold.”

a warm belly and an hour later, your head rests in his lap while he massages your forehead. “does that feel good?” his long, lithe fingers rub circles into your temples and gently press the bridge of your nose.

“like heaven.” you smile, “i feel much better now. thank you,” you motion with your hands. “for everything.”

“i’m always at your service, my angel. and i do it with pride.”

kaedehara kazuha.

“oh dear, it appears that our timing may have been off,” raindrops fall onto his outstretched hand, and he looks up at the cloudy sky.

“don’t worry,” you smile at him, “i’m sure i have an umbrella here with me.”

“or,” he catches your wrist before you can reach for your bag and intertwines your fingers. “we could forego the umbrella entirely, and enjoy the rain in all its glory?”

you look at him sideways, “kazuha, i love you very much, but this idea of yours could make us fall sick.”

“my lovely blossom,” he brings your hand up to place a featherlight kiss, fleeting, delicate and gentle. “if you were to fall ill, I promise you that without a shadow of a doubt, i would be by your side the whole time.”

“and what about you?”

“me?” he laughs, carefree, airy, and so very endearing, sound melding beautifully with the pitter-patter of the rain. “i’d say a small cold is worth a few moments of absolute freedom, wouldn’t you agree?”

his eyes are eager and pleading, and you cannot find the heart to deny him of his request. a grin tugs at the ends of his mouth, and you know that he knows exactly that.

“fine,” you nod your head, fighting off a smile of your own. “i suppose we could, just this once.”

“thank you, dearest.” he tugs you closer to his chest. “now, listen closely, or you might miss it.”

you strain your ears, concentrating very hard on your surroundings. at first, all you can hear is falling water, which soon gives way to chirping birds and crickets, a harmonious symphony that seems to have been tailor made just for the both of you.

“it would be a shame to let this music go to waste,” he says, bowing, “would you do me the honor of a dance, starlight?”

he pulls you out from under your temporary shelter and twirls you round and around until you’re laughing, and he is too.  your feet move in erratic motions, yet rhythm thrives in every single step. droplets trickle down both your bodies, weighing down your clothes and hair, but you pay it no mind.

and there, with him, a blur of red against the grey sky and trees of jade and olive, you think of exactly how blessed you are to have him with you.

xiao.

another week, another random disappearance. xiao looks at you suspiciously as you make an almost unbelievable excuse. “i need to go to the harbor to check if my shipment of inazuman ore has arrived,” you tell him as you fail miserably in hiding a note behind your back.

“i need to check if granny shan’s made the kites i asked her to,” another poor excuse.

he remembers every aspect of your mercantile business that you’ve told him about so far, and he knows full well that the shipment you’re speaking of arrived last month, and he knows that the kites have been delayed by another three weeks because of a priority order, yet he says nothing.

this constant cycle continues for over a month, and he stays silent each and every time, opting to give you space and not step over the threshold of your privacy. after all, you had your life, didn't you? he didn't share every aspect of his own with you, and in his view, you shouldn't be expected to either.

so he leaves it be.

until one day, he hears a faint call of his name in the wind. he recognizes the voice almost instantaneously and he teleports there just as fast. he sees you, leg stuck under a huge rock and a cart overturned on the side of the path.

“what in the name of rex lapis were you trying to accomplish?” he asks, after he’s freed you.

“nothing!” you shake your head, slowly rotating your ankle. “i was just heading back to the inn.”

he raises an eyebrow, but accepts it nevertheless. sighing, he kneels down. “is your leg alright?”

you nod. “don’t worry, the weight of the boulder wasn’t on my leg, i just couldn’t move it.”

he escorts you back to the inn, as reserved as the night, with not a single unnecessary word. only once the two of you are in your quarters does he shatter the silence.

“i have been observing you for days now,” his eyes are slightly narrowed. “what are you trying to do?”

you look down, awkwardly rubbing your neck. “this isn’t how i hoped to tell you but,” you reach for a small pouch. “this is for you.” you wait till he takes it and continue, “the reason i’ve been acting so strange lately is because i was having this made for you.”

he pulls the drawstring open and finds an amulet, made of the most delicately cut amber he’d seen till date.

“you know how amber helps to clear and cleanse negative energy?” you fiddle with your fingers, looking down at the ground. “i thought it might help you with your karmic debt. it symbolizes good luck in battle too.”

he makes a noise halfway between a snort and a grunt. “my karmic debt is not your responsibility.” he turns it around. “besides, we adepti have no need for such a trinket.”

you smile. “i know. think of it as a way to assure my peace of mind?”

“hmph.” he looks away. “fine. if that is what you wish.” his face softens. “thank you for thinking of me.”

“i’m always thinking of you, xiao. especially when you’re out cleansing the land.”

red rises to his face. “tch. you truly have no respect for an adeptus and their skills.”

he says that, yet every time you see him, the amber amulet sits just below his collarbone, gleaming proudly in the light.

[rgbstatic]

I had a dream about the next gimmick of the life series. it didn't have a name, Grian's voice became jumbled when he would say it, but if I had to name it I'd call it Ladder Life or some joke about the climb of life.

it started in a super flat world, no structures, and in the center was this giant structure that went up so high you couldn't see the top.

it was made of layers, very huge squares, the bottom being the largest.

the gimmick was all of the resources you would need would be on different layers, and you had to find a way up. you could tower up a side, break through the next layer, etc.

but, every so often these layers would get smaller, and smaller, until the tippy top at build height which was only a few blocks wide. some of these layers, as you got higher, may also have obstacles right like ice or falling blocks.

the life system still worked the same.

however, depending on the stage of your life, you'd be allowed to do different things

greens could climb up and down between levels as much as they wanted, though at a certain point up there was a barrier that, if a green tried to cross it'd knock them back, possibly far enough for them to fall all the way down

yellows have pretty much unlimited movement up and down, with no limits except for like the top 10 layers or so.

reds would respawn at the green-yellow barrier and reds can ONLY climb up, or fall down an edge and clutch in some way, then they can go back up. they can also access those top layers.

tango had built a player launcher to skip layers up, and some people tried to cheat the system. others would just climb up the ladders and try to play it safe. some tried to own whole layers and charge people to pass.

the final battle was between two reds, Joel and Martyn on the tippy top layer. Martyn knocks Joel off and thinks he's won, but the death message never comes. Instead Joel got the Caves and Cliffs achievement, and he water clutched at the bottom.

Martyn has a choice, to follow or wait. Martyn decided to fall a few layers, and a few more. He has no idea where Joel is or what layer he's on, so he peers over edges looking, ready to take another leap down when suddenly he's smacked off, and with little preparation he falls, and a death message is in chat.

Joel whoops and hollars and starts celebrating, not noticing the layers below him quickly disappearing, until the ground is swept below his feet and he falls.

[prettyboypistol]

What if... stuff that m!reader does/can do that makes the mercs flustered? even if its just making them a little embarrassed i need to know!!!

What You Do That Flusters the Mercs! || TF2 x M!Reader

Scout

He likes watching you socialize with people, you naturally lean on walls and tilt your neck up when you laugh- god damn, you look so hot when you laugh!

For some reason, when you throw things and catch them. He has no idea why it just makes his heart skips a beat.

When you focus and your eyebrows knit together and it deadass just stares at you.

Soldier

DISPLAYS. OF. POWER. Deadlift something. Throw an enemy off a cliff. Threaten a Spy and scare him. Solly will never fucking recover.

Independence and general "coolness" makes Jane stumble over his words! You don't need a man, yet you still ask him to assist you? He feels so honored!

Asking for help casually, like said above. When you extend your hand out to grab something from him it makes Soldier scream internally.

Pyro

The fact that you're kind to people makes them like you. You're sweet and polite and cordial when you want to be. You're not annoying or hard ot read or obnoxious- you're just kind.

When you take your time with things to understand them. They daydream about spilling all their secrets to you.

Protectiveness really flusters Pyro. One time in battle, Pyro was cornered. You slammed the Scouts with a metal pole and growled that "nobody touches our Pyro!". They haven't stopped thinking about that. Nor will they ever.

Demo

Tavish is enamoured with your sense of humor. He loves how you're quick to make a joke and open to laughing at anything.

Can't help but blush when you stare at him. Yeah, half of the times you stare, you're spacing out, but Tavish still looks away and is flushed a pretty deep red.

The joking flirting??? YEAH HE STARTED IT BUT THAT DOESN'T MEAN YOU'RE ALLOWED TO BE THAT HOT

Engie

Hard work and general work ethic.

Dell is super insecure about the fact the finds you super hot when you're sweaty. After a battle or working out is when Dell seems to linger around, stealing glances at you.

WHEN. YOU. PRAISE. HIS. INVENTIONS. That replays in his head all week long.

Heavy

He likes to watch you spar with people with stuff like wrestling/boxing, especially when you swing Scout around like a baseball bat.

There was one time where you and Heavy were in a tough spot against the enemy team, down by 4 kills. There was just something in your eye that had a light of fire and determination. Seeing that is how he fell for you.

Cook for this man please he will love you and blush forever.

Medic

CASUAL KNOWLEDGE ABOUT MEDICAL PAPERS AND SCIENTIFIC STUDIES. GOD YES.

Cooing with his birds??? He wants to pick you up and spin you around and kiss you and-

He really likes when you challenge him. You give this confident smirk and your tone shifts that make Medic want to just scream about how handsome you are.

Spy

Spy's a man with refined taste. He likes his men like he likes his wine: aged finely and polished to perfection. He likes when you're classy and get onto the others about acting crass and classless.

If you can dance, Spy absolutely pulls some strings to have you two on a mission where you two are in matching suits and dancing together.

Spy once was muttering to himself in french and you catch him and you just lean over the back of the couch, look down at him with a knowing smile and just respond in french as well "now now, a lady shouldn't scowl like that." He knew you meant it as a playful insult, but he blushed wildly under his mask.

Sniper

Mick's downright horrendously flustered when you make eye contact with him. You're a tad shorter than he is, so you looking up from behind to him makes Mick shake in his boots.

Bro please don't grunt/groan in effort at anything. He will NOT stop thinking about that.

When you accidentally look at him during missions. He's always keeping an eye on you, so when you stare back at him it makes his heart flutter.

[instacarma0798]

Title: memories bring back you

Ship: Natasha R x Reader

You were dead. You were supposed to be dead, but Natasha was staring at your body as you slowly inhaled and exhaled and the monitor beeped beside you. She had watched you die. You flung yourself off the cliff and hit the ground. It should have shattered your bones, crushed your lungs, caused irreversible damage, but you were laying right next to her breathing with the help of a breathing machine.

It was a few days after Tony snapped his fingers, someone surviving, and Steve returning the stones. It was "normal" for a while during the time when everyone was getting their lives back together and sorting out the giant mess.

But when everyone met up at the new spot Tony wanted to build the new compound, an alert pinged Tony's phone that a body was discovered at the old site. Your body.

They had all rushed there as quick as possible to find you lying in the battle stained field. Your body was cold to the touch and had a hazy orange glow - barely visible and no one paid any mind to it, but you were alive.

They rushed you to hospital, which was where you had been for the past week, breathing with the help of a machine.

When Natasha first met you, she didn't expect to start dating you. She honestly never expected she would have a partner in her life, no one was supposed to want her after what the Red Room did. Especially when you tried to kill her after your first meeting, she thought the two of you wouldn't be friends.

She reached out to hold your hand, the limb still cold in a contrast to the fact your heart was beating and the warm room. Your fingers hung limply around her own, but the room started spinning. Orange fog closed in on Natasha's vision and she blinked to clear it. Through hazy vision she could make out Wanda entering with a bowl of soup before the world went completely black.

<__________>

Natasha crept through the doorway of a familiar building, the window locks rusted and the window pane yellowed with age. She slinked through the dark room and took a seat on the couch, removing a gun hidden underneath the coffee table and resting it in her lap.

It felt as if she was watching through someone else's body, but at the same time it was her own. She could almost feel the blood moving past her bones and under her skin. Shivers ran down her spine, but the physical body remained lax with a lazy smirk.

The door to the room opened, hinges in need of oil, and a light was flicked on, barely illuminating the room. You stood there, knocking the breath out of Natasha. Joy filled her, you were alive and awake! She moved to get up and hug you. At least, she thought she did. Her body remained in place, legs crossed and arms folded neatly in her lap. You yanked a gun out of your jacket and pointed it at her, finger already on the trigger.

Natasha's mouth moved of it's own accord, "Tsk," her tongue clacked against her teeth, "There's no need for that."

You quirked a bushy brow at her in silent question, mouth forming an even tighter line.

Her legs uncrossed on their own, the movement feeling stiff yet seeming fluid and practiced, "You've been making a lot of noise for someone so small."

The redhead's eyes scanned you up and down patronizingly, bringing out a light blush on your adorable cheeks, but your finger on the trigger remained unwavering. She wasn't sure why she hadn't been shot yet, you had every reason to shoot her at first sight, but you didn't.

By this point Natasha realized this was a memory. If the way her body didn't react the way she wanted it to, your appearance did. You wore sleek black clothes that fit tight to your body - you hated tight fitting clothes, but back then you wore them for convenience. The way your hair was carefully pulled into a bun that she knew you made sure was perfect every morning. Your eyes were darker than before, a metaphorical shadow settling over them and forcing you to look a few years older than you were.

Natasha stood, her legs feeling heavy but the action so normal, and she waltzed over to you. You stumbled back, legs tripping over each other and finger dangerously tugging on the trigger, but you didn't shoot. She smirked at you, a knowing one that conveyed slight conceit. If the gun shook slightly, past Natasha pretended not to notice as she leaned in.

"Go ahead," she murmured. Gosh, she had such little care for her life in the early SHIELD days, "You won't shoot me."

Your brows formed a near perfect line across your forehead as you scrunched your nose in frustration before unscrewing your face and lowering the gun. With harsh movements you shoved it into your jacket and took a few cautious steps away from Natasha. She grinned in a catlike manner before stating her proposal.

The words reached her ears muffled as the world spun once more and an orange fog clouded her vision. Pain consumed the back of her brain and before she knew the world went black once more.

<___________>

This time when she came to, a small line of sweat dribbled down her forehead and she could once again feel a smirk on her face. Natasha's feet danced around your punches, occasionally throwing one of her own, but amused at your frustrated expression.

You threw a punch wrong, stumbling forward as Natasha dodged - grabbing your hand along the way. She tugged you over her shoulder in a judo flip and you hit the mats with a thud.

"Ugh," you groaned, head lifting before flopping down on the mats, "This isn't fair."

Natasha let out a breathy laugh, "Give yourself time маленькая луна" (Little moon).

"I still don't know what that means," you complained, eyes closing.

"C'mon," she prodded you with her foot, earning a glare from you, "Get up, we still have 15 minutes."

You groaned once more, but hauled yourself to your feet and got into a fighting stance.

"This really isn't fair," you complained once more throwing a punch towards her abdomen, "You're not even sweating."

Natasha ignored your words, catching your punch once more and tripping you, falling down alongside you. She landed atop you, legs trapping your waist and hands pinning your own. You squirmed, but your attempts were fruitless. The redhead smirked down and raised an immaculate eyebrow at your struggles. A small pout was given to her in return.

"I repeat my earlier statement," you said, cheeks blushing, "This is not fair."

Her mouth opened with a remark that she didn't remember before the orange fog returned, her brain clouding with blank thoughts. Natasha screamed internally, frustration building up inside her and bubbling inside of her chest, she wanted to stay here with you. But the world clouded over and it was dark once more.

<_____________>

When her vision cleared once more, Natasha was in lounge clothes - simple sweatpants and a hoodie. She had a computer in her lap as she typed away on what looked like an old mission report, but the words were hazy as if she didn't remember it properly.

Soft footsteps echoed through the area as you entered, sliding on your socks part way.

"Hey Nat?" you called distractedly as you approached her, but still entranced with pulling a splinter out of your finger, "Do we have any nutella cause last I checked there was none but I think Tony just ordered groceries - or Pepper ordered groceries."

"I think so," she murmured, still focused on her mission report.

Faintly there was a response of "great" and you disappeared for a minute. Natasha wasn't sure why this memory was playing until you returned holding a jar of nutella in one hand and spoon in the other. You flopped down on the couch next to her, legs touching before grabbing the remote.

"You mind if I turn on a show?"

Natasha shook her head, still engrossed with her mission report. She wished she could force her past self to look at you, she wanted to see you clearly once more - your perfect eyelashes, your now casual clothes, your little beanie, but her eyes stayed on the computer.

A show played in the background, she wasn't sure what, but the redhead could hear you scrapping nutella off the sides of the jar. Time passed, Natasha wasn't sure how much before she felt a thud on her shoulder. Her fingers froze in their rapid movement, and she finally got a good look at you. Your head was rested on her shoulder and you looked years younger from the first memory, but still tired.

Dark bags hung under your eyes, apparent even as you slept, and frown lines rested by the corners of your mouth. She knew you hadn't been sleeping well with all your nightmares, but she didn't notice it was this bad. You rarely fell asleep around anyone, in fact you had never fallen asleep outside of you own room. Even when your eyes were drooping and speech was slurred, you had adamantly refused to fall asleep unless you were alone.

Tentatively she moved to reach a hand up to tilt your head back when it started falling off her shoulder, but the stupid orange haze entered her vision again. Natasha tried to fight it, mentally forcing herself to stay in the moment, but the fog persisted and the memory faded into the background.

<______________>

The world faded back into view and Wanda was walking through a door with a bowl of soup in her hands. She smiled at Natasha, unaware of the redhead's internal conflict, and said something Natasha didn't process.

She looked around the room, where was she? You laid next to her on a medical bed, a heart monitor beeping next to you as a breathing tube was hooked up to your face. Her hand was clasped tightly around your cold one and Natasha yanked her hand away. Shoving her chair back, Natasha stood and took a few steps away from you.

"Nat?" Wanda gently placed the bowl of soup down on the sole table in the room, "You ok?"

"She- I" it was one of the only times Natasha couldn't formulate words, "She-"

"She's ok," Wanda soothed, taking Natasha's hand in her own, but the older woman yanked them out of Wanda's hold. The younger woman frowned, but took it in stride, "Nat? Your worrying me."

Natasha took a deep breath, opening her mouth to say something before your heart monitor started going crazy. Loud, chaotic beeps filled the room as your eyes shot open. Your limbs flailed around before reaching for the oxygen mask and ripping it off and stumbling to tug the IV out. You scrambled out of bed, ignoring both women's rushed attempts at stopping you as you stumbled over into the corner of the room. Your hands grasped for something, presumably a weapon that wasn't there.

"Y/N..." Natasha raised her hands placatingly and took a soft step towards you.

"Wait, Natash-" Wanda tried to warn her, but before she could finish the sentence you launched yourself at Natasha. Slim, cold hands wrapped around the redhead's neck as her back hit the floor.

Orange haze threatened to take over Natasha's mind once more before red wisps of magic pried you off and restrained your struggling form. The ex-widow took a big deep breath before standing and staring at you with a hurt expression.

"Y/N?"

You spat at her, spit pooling near her shoes.

"Who the fuck are you and how the hell do you know my name?"

[c-losur3]

506 words, strangers to lovers, he falls first and continues to fall harder. Another of my drabbles for Damian, slightly inspired by Suburban Legends/Gold Rush. >> No names mentioned, no warnings, overwhelming pining + fluff.

I offer, Damian Wayne going on the one gala date he swears that he won’t enjoy begrudgingly. Alfred smoothens his tie, for reassurance because the tie is already perfectly done anyway. There’s hesitance in his features. Bruce assures him that the girl he’s set to be his date is his age and won’t bore him. It’s a coin flip, really. However, curiosity kills the cat.

So, Damian Wayne leaves the manor, suit perfectly creased, ready to bite the bullet.

When they reach the gala, you're there, waiting at the start of the red carpet. It's a breathtaking sight, you're a breathtaking sight. There's a knowing glance from Bruce, and there's an elbow nudge from Dick, who cheekily reminds him to close his mouth, lest flies fly in.

He's quick to dismiss his awestruck gaze. He guesses you'll bore him; he prays you do. So that it makes falling softer. It makes this figurative cliff he's ready to jump over for you, easier. He guesses wrong. You make the stuffy event more than bearable, you make him want more of you, you make him want to toss you his heart.

That's why he finds himself escorting you back home. As you pull on his tie to kiss him, he finds himself never wanting this night to end. It's been a few days, and he's been wanting, craving, to see you again. You, your charisma, crooked smile, endless patience and grace.

He's been shamelessly looking up who you are, grasping at the straws to find out who exactly you are. You, the mystery who has captivated him since the night you both met. Alfred the cat is judgmental, wise eyes gazing at him as he spends the next few minutes looking at your long list of achievements, the next more impressive than the other. That's why at the next charity event, he finds himself asking Bruce to invite you as his date again. There's a sliver of a smile of his father, who puts on a poker face, trying his best not to smile proudly in front of his son. An I-told-you-so is in order, but he's happy, nonetheless. Time passes quicker than expected. This time, he sees you part the crowd effortlessly as you walk toward him. It may be a Wayne event, but it's shaping up to be one that you're the star of.

You were so magnetic it was almost obnoxious. Damian's never had to battle for someone's attention as much as he did with you. It's worth it, though. As you both exchange numbers on the balcony, the starlit night illuminates Damian and you. You chorus that you two should meet outside of these events, and Damian's ready to melt, and perhaps die happy. It's unusual, and it's definitely not what he expected; to fall and fall harder with a stranger his father set him up with. It's a welcome surprise. After multiple dates, quick coffees evolve into domestic mornings with each other, and that's when he knows, he knows that you're the one.

[luna-lovegreat]

Anyways crazy how Dink's blade is only charged/cursed/coward juiced when he's mad

They're not always in danger from it.

It's never cursed until someone hurts him, then he's pissed and goes after that person. He is very predictable.

It's a normal sword when Wars stabs him off a cliff, and next battle he goes straight after Wars. With the first appearance of the sword's anger vibes

And Sky sends a sword beam after him.

So Dink goes after him next, with the red blade. But then the master sword said No, and Dinky fled again

Heck yeah you go fi evaporate the red hatred sword

Twilight went after him, but the sword is just shiny metal, since he doesn't have a grudge against Twi.

But then Twi kicks his ass and he retaliates

Dink is just toying with them 'till he's pissed.

It shows what a coward he is. He brings monsters, but only fights one on one. He won't fight a group, just whoever made him mad. (I want to see him against Four, since he hasn't fought more than one at a time)

It is unnerving looking back- he had his blade ready with both Sky and Wars. They didn't know it, but they were close to getting a cursed wound like Twi's

So he has a very clear pattern: he fights, he gets hurt/mad, and he goes for revenge with the curse on the sword.

.... which is concerning to me because based on his current actions... he's going for Wild next.

[lemon-boy-stan]

May I request Childe, Kaeya, Diluc, and Thoma with a tsundere s/o who is trying to work up the courage to tell the guy that they love him for the first time?

Tsundere reader telling Genshin men "I love you" for the first time

Tsundere: Tsundere is a Japanese term for a character development process that depicts a character with an initially harsh personality who gradually reveals a warmer, friendlier side over time. The word is derived from the terms tsun tsun and dere dere.

Genre: fluff! Enemies to lovers. Warnings: none. A/N: anon asked for Thoma, but I haven't met him yet so I'll do my best!! Featuring: Diluc, Kaeya, Childe, Thoma. Also, apologies, I didn't realise these would end up being so long. Hope you like it anon!

DILUC

Honestly, you both hated each other. Diluc was not the kind of person who got close to people. He didn't look fondly upon rule-breakers either, and you just seemed to bring trouble with you everywhere. His fondness for you, however, grew over time, in battle, where you'd come running to him for help.

Of course, despite your snarky remarks to him, Diluc never minded saving your butt. "Master Diluc, always such a show-off," you'd tsk loudly, making him grin and roll his eyes. "Of course, I'm only a show-off for you, my dear." Diluc would attempt to kiss your hand. You'd grab his wrist, flinging to the ground.

It didn't help. Diluc was helplessly in love with you. And what Diluc wanted, Diluc got.

You'd been feeling differently towards the man, but you didn't know what it was. He made you laugh, more than you wanted to, he made you extremely shy, he made your cheeks all red. It was only in battle did you realise what you felt.

A surge of panic shot through you as Diluc fell to the ground, sword clattering. You let out an elemental burst, defeating the remaining enemies, running to his side, lifting him up. "Master Diluc, no! You can't die now. You can't. You can't die, I love you." Tears falling onto his face.

Diluc stirred, smiling up at you. "I'm sorry, my love, say that again?" Smirking, making your ears go red. "I will throw you off this cliff if you ever do that again!" You shrieked at him, pulling him close and hugging him. He laughed softly, "I highly doubt you'd ever be able to throw me."

KAEYA

The Cavalry Captain. He was the most annoying, insufferable person you'd ever met. And he seemed to THRIVE when annoying you. He knew you could probably beat him up if you tried hard enough, but that didn't stop him from challenging you to duels and fights (much to your despair, you always lost in sword-fighting).

You thought Kaeya was just naturally competitve. You thought your persistence in trying to do better than him, impress him, was just because of his personality, not because you liked him. Soon, your friendship, or rivalry, turned into a relationship.

Most of the time with your friends when you'd bicker, it was always the two of you joking around. But this time, the argument blew up Angel's Share. "For the love of..." Diluc rolled his eyes, "can one of you just tell me what's going on so you stop causing a scene?"

You puffed your cheeks, eyes watery. Kaeya rolled his eyes too, "she's overreacting, as usual. It's perfectly fine. She thinks something will happen to me, but it won't, I always end up lucky." You crossed your arms, making a loud, defiant noise.

"I don't want him to go!" You shrieked, glaring at Diluc, "it's too dangerous and he'll get himself killed and I -" Diluc cocked his head, amused. "Yes, Traveller?" You bit your lower lip, not daring to look Kaeya in the eye. "And I love him," you whispered. Diluc's eyes widened. There was a loud crash next to you and you jumped. Diluc grinned, covering his mouth to hide his laughter, "I think my brother loves you too."

Kaeya had fallen off the stool, and was lying on the ground.

CHILDE

There was just something about him that made him punchable. Maybe it was his daring personality, his lack of care, his flare for rule-breaking. Or it may just be his face. Anyhow, whenever the two of you were together and whenever he let out a "hey, girlie" from his mouth, you'd put him in a headlock or kick him in his crotch.

This apparently did not stop him from being helplessly in love with you. Often Tartaglia found himself reciting ways to ask you out in the mirror. And, when he enacted on them, often you'd punch him.

And although you would never admit it to yourself or anyone, you'd grown a strong fondness for the boy, a crush even, and you finally had the courage to ask him out.

Pretty soon, your relationship was in full swing.

Childe went out of his way to spoil you, bringing you the best foods, taking you to the most expensive places on dates. It was on one of these dates, where he truly shocked you, presenting you with a gift that was so beautiful you cried.

"Archons, Childe!" You gasped loudly, for once at a loss for words. Tartaglia bit his lip, "why? What's wrong? Do you not like it? I can return it..." But you shook your head, letting out a defiant noise, putting it on. "No! I love it so much. I love you so much, Ajax." And Childe almost fell of his seat as he stuttered out the words, "I love you, too."

THOMA

It was obvious. A little too obvious. Anyone and everyone knew, even you. Thoma was, undeniabally head over heels for you. And you? You despised him. He was just trying too hard!

He was always coming with you on commissions, following you around since the day you met so much that your friends had called him your shadow. It was only when he saved you in battle did you finally feel something for him.

"You're so rash," he murmured, placing bandages on your arm. You giggled softly, feeling a bit drowsy and silly from the medicine. "You're so cute, Thoma!" You giggled, booping his nose. He scrunched his face and you giggled again.

"I love your hair," you sighed dreamily, "mm, love when you look after me all the time. Love when you save me, love... love you... Love Thoma soo much!" You squeaked, slapping your hand over your mouth at the last part. Thoma froze, shell-shocked. You giggled again, pulling him close. "Oops! I um, I didn't mean to say that!" Pressing your lips against his.

He chuckled, "mm, and I'm sure you didn't mean to do that either, honey."

GENSHIN IMPACT MASTERLIST

NAVIGATION

I'M SORRY THESE WERE SO BAD AND CRINGE 😭😭😭

[a-modern-major-general]

The Han Dynasty (202 BCE - 220 CE) was the second dynasty of Imperial China (the era of centralized, dynastic government, 221 BCE - 1912 CE) which established the paradigm for all succeeding dynasties up through 1912 CE. It succeeded the Qin Dynasty (221-206 BCE) and was followed by the Period of the Three Kingdoms (220-280 CE).

It was founded by the commoner Liu Bang (l. c. 256-195 BCE; throne name: Gaozu r. 202-195 BCE) who worked toward repairing the damage caused by the repressive regime of the Qin through more benevolent laws and care for the people. The dynasty is divided into two periods:

Western Han (also Former Han): 202 BCE - 9 CE

Eastern Han (also Later Han): 25-220 CE

The separation is caused by the rise of the regent Wang Mang (l. 45 BCE - 23 CE) who declared the Han Dynasty finished and established the Xin Dynasty (9-23 CE). Wang's idealistic form of government failed and, after a brief period of turmoil, the Han Dynasty resumed.

Gaozu initially retained the Qin Dynasty's philosophy of Legalism but with less severity. Legalism gave way to Confucianism under the most famous monarch of the Han, Emperor Wu (also given as Wudi, Wuti, Wu the Great, r. 141-87 BCE) who, among his many other impressive achievements, also opened the Silk Road, establishing trade with the West. The Han also negotiated a peace, which was more or less observed, with the nomadic peoples of the Xiongnu and Xianbi to the north and the Xirong to the west which stabilized the borders and encouraged peace and cultural development in the arts and sciences. Many of the commonplace items taken for granted today were invented by the Han such as the wheelbarrow, the compass, the adjustable wrench, seismograph, and paper, to name only a few.

The Han also restored the cultural values of the Zhou Dynasty, which had been discarded by the Qin, encouraged literacy, and the study of history. The historian Sima Qian (l. 145/35-86 BCE) lived during this period whose Records of the Grand Historian set the standard and form for Chinese historical writings up through the 20th century CE. Chinese mythology and religion also developed during this time including the popular messianic movement focused on the Queen Mother of the West.

By c. 130 CE, however, the imperial court had become corrupt with eunuchs exercising more actual power than the Chinese emperor. By the time of the emperor Lingdi (r. 168-189 CE), the Han royal house had less actual authority than the palace eunuchs and the generals (who were more or less autonomous warlords) stationed at the borders of the country. In 184 CE, the Yellow Turban Rebellion broke out in response to high taxes and famine and these generals put it down.

Among them was Cao Cao (l. 155-220 CE) who, afterwards, waged war against his fellow commanders for control of the state. He was defeated at the Battle of Red Cliffs in 208 CE after which the country was divided between three kingdoms and the Han Dynasty fell. Its legacy is so profound that it continues to the present day and the majority of ethnic Chinese refer to themselves as Han People (Han rem) proudly in identifying themselves as descendants of the great ancient dynasty.

[acozysoulwrites]

Almost too late | Monkey King (Netflix 2023)

Description: While helping Monkey fight a demon, one of it’s clones stole you away, the Demon promised Monkey that you’d never be seen again… but when you come back, Monkey can no longer keep his secret. [Angst/ love confession]

➜ Requested by @kaycode1999 : I LOVE your head-canons/writings for Monkey King 2023. Could you do one where Wukong maybe thought the reader was killed by a demon or something but then he sees them and it’s both a love confession and first kiss?

a/n: Thank you! i’m so glad you love them! I absolutely love this request !! This one got away from me.. sorry!

──────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────────

It happened so fast that Monkey couldn’t do anything about it. Not in time anyway. The demon had summoned their clones and before Monkey knew it, he’d been surrounded. He knew that he couldn’t die, it wasn’t himself that he feared for. You had disappeared and though he had told you to stay back, he knew you’d secretly followed him into battle.

He should have said something. He should have let on that he saw you trailing behind him, failing miserably at the stealth skills he’d tried to teach you. Yet he hadn’t, and now you were gone. His mind wouldn’t stop spinning, replaying the events that had unfolded just days ago.

──────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────────

“Monkey!!”

Your voice called out to him, silencing the rage ringing in his ears. His eyes flashed back to their normal state, the red draining from them at the sound of your pain stricken cries.

“What-” Monkey let’s go of the demon, his hand aching from the grip. His eyes darted around the village, clone after clone, he felt dizzy.

“You let them go!” He growled, tackling the demon. “Call them off!” He demanded, eyes red and full of fury once more.

The demon smirked. “No, great Monkey King. If they are your weakness, i will take them” It rumbled, evil sending a chill down Monkey’s back.

Monkey was growing desperate. After your last cry, you’d fallen silent. He was worried. The demon was right, you were his weakness and he hated you for it.

“Argh- fine!” Monkey shoves the demon into the ground before rushing towards you.

“Y/n!? I’m coming! Talk to me!” He begged, there were tears in the corner of his eyes and he was unable to hide the worry as his voice rose in fear. He was about to cry over you? What was this?

By the time Monkey reached the place you last cried out from, you were gone. After a moment, Monkey realized that not only you, but the clones were gone as well.

“No” He shakes his head, eyes frantically searching the now burning, empty village.

You were gone. His pebble was gone.

─────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───���─────

Monkey hadn’t stopped searching for you, he tore apart the entire village day in and day out. The only thing he found was your necklace. The necklace you never took off. It shattered his heart knowing that he could have prevented this. Not only that he could have saved you, but knowing that he could have saved the one person who had ever shown him any kindness or love destroyed him.

He should have been nicer to you.

──────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────────

Monkey sits at the edge of his cliff. He had returned here in a last desperate attempt at finding you. Remembering that time he told you that if you ever got separated, to return to the cliff where his rock remained.

Only you weren’t here, and his heart had broken further.

Monkey sits with his head in his hand. He flicks a rock from the ledge, watching as it plummets down into the green forest below. Part of him hoped it would hit the elder one.

“Hey…”

Monkey’s grip on stick tightens at the sound of a voice and he whips around.

Then, tearful bloodshot eyes meet puffy swelled eyes and stick falls to the ground with a whir. Monkey stands there, arms at his side, mouth agape, stunned.

“I told ya’ you couldn’t get rid of me that easily” You chuckle weakly, holding your side and wincing.

As soon as you speak, Monkey darts towards you and scoops you into his arms, spinning you around. It’s as if all life rushes back into his face upon touching you, he squeezes you tightly, causing you to whimper in pain.

“Oh- sorry” He sits you down. “I- i thought i lost you” Monkey whispers, your hand still in his.

“I escaped, but only barely. Some of the towns people were with me…” Your voice trails off. “They weren’t so lucky”.

Your words go in one ear and out the other and Monkey feels his chest tighten. He has to tell you. He can’t keep pretending he doesn’t care anymore, not after this.

“Listen I…” Monkey pauses, his eyes soft as they stare into yours. “I…” His brows furrow, you can see how much he’s struggling.

“I love… you” He finally says, his hand squeezes yours tightly.

You’re shocked. Monkey? Loves me? And he just confessed? Maybe you should nearly die more often.

“Monkey…”

“Just say something” He says, eyes darting away nervously. “Get it over with already” He’s preparing himself for rejection.

Instead, you pull him into a kiss, his tail shoots into the air and his eyes widen.

You put your hand on the back of his head, pulling him further into the kiss. Suddenly you feel his tail wrap around you and he leans closer.

When you pull away for air, he speaks.

“I’m never letting you go into a battle ever again” He says sternly.

“Fine”

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[tetragonia]

Masters of the Air characters as aesthetics

John 'Bucky' Egan

Bucky was a golden hour, warm hues of gold and amber casting a soft, ethereal glow over everything. Giggles and banters over a sip of liquor. He was a low hum in a pub, filled with chatter and joy. Bucky was a worn sheepskin jacket, familiar and comforting. Waves crash against rugged cliffs, vivid colors pop against a backdrop of blue skiess. He was gentle and dominating, yet he asked to be taken care of behind closed doors. Back arching high against the bed sheet, hands pinned and left marks everywhere. He was a smoky jazz club alive with the sound of saxophones and clinking glasses, the sound of people laughing so loud until the stomach hurts. Grass stained knees. Running through the rain without an umbrella. He was classical music blasting from a cheap speaker. He was Apollo playing his instruments.

Gale 'Buck' Cleven

Buck was a calm before a storm. A misty forest enveloped in fog, with towering trees draped in moss and winding paths leading to hidden glens and secret clearings. He was both silent movies and thunderstorms that you'd feel inside your chest. Raised eyebrows and cold hands, pinching the bridge of your nose. Watching a painting a bit too long before the gallery was closed. Long walks to the library. Winter winds and freezing hands, subtle glances across the room. He was soft murmur of reassurance and a gentle touch behind the doors. Consensual and always asked if it's okay. Dark red lipstick, chilled red wine. A quaint cottage nestled in the countryside with a thatched roof and ivy-covered walls, surrounded by a garden bursting with fragrant herbs and vibrant flowers. He was Hestia tending the sacred flames.

Harry 'Croz' Crosby

Harry was the swirling feelings in your stomach night before a trip. A vintage typewriter sitting on a weathered wooden desk, surrounded by stacks of yellowing paper and antique books. The soft autumn sun. He was handwritten letters and cracked statues. Silver waves lapping at the shore and seashells scattered across the sand like scattered jewels. The rattling of rain against the window, messy and needed direction. He was scribbles and ink stains, messy notebooks, and the tea kettle whistling in the silent morning. He was urgent and hurry, but comforting afterwards. He was everything about pleasure behind closed doors. A disheveled bedroom with rumpled sheets and discarded clothing strewn across the floor, with posters peeling off the walls and sunlight filtering through grimy windows. He was Poseidon guarding with his trident.

Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal

Rosie was a vintage record player spinning vinyl records, filling the room with the warm crackle of music. He was sweet smiles and clear eyes. Paper planes. Overgrown rose bushes. That one song you always skipped but ended up loving it. He was tweed jackets and loose blouses. A field of wildflowers stretching out as far as the eye can see, with colorful blooms dancing in the breeze and the scent of earth and pollen filling the air. Gentle and nurturing, caring and soft behind the doors. He was a giver and always maintained satisfaction. He was pink-tinted blush. A pair of combat boots scuffed from countless adventures. Smiling at strangers on the street. He was all kind and modesty, but also Athena leading battles.

[chibsandchill]

A blood red setting sun

Fandom: HOTD (House of the Dragon) 

Pairing: Aemond x GN!Dragonrider!Reader (reader’s house is not specified)

Warnings: Death, toxic relationships, Aemond needs therapy (like a lot), sui§ide, Dark!Unhinged!Aemond, bad language, blood and gore (described), unreliable narrator (Aemond), grammatical and spelling errors. This is a dark fic

Summary: Rhaenyra changed her mind and sent you instead of Daemon to guard Harrenhall, and a battle between you and Aemond one-eye ensues far above the Gods Eye. Inspired by Love crime by Siouxsie and the Hannigram cliff scene. 

Masterlist

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Alys clung to his back, her breath warm on the side of his neck. It made his skin crawl, 

he loved it. 

That feeling of wrong that washed over him every time they touched. The disgust that sprung down his spine when he joined himself with her. How his breath caught in his throat when she kissed him, when she pressed herself against him, 

the instinct to flee. 

It was familiar, 

unlike with you, 

when everything felt right. 

Aemond shifted forward in the saddle once he spotted the charred ruins. Alys moved closer, her rounded belly pressing against him to the point of discomfort. Disgust rolled in his stomach at the thought that she carried his bastard. He tugged her closer still, chasing the feeling, and yet, despite his efforts it ebbed away, just like it always did. He chased and chased like a dog with a bone, 

but even that would abandon him. 

Aemond scoffed and pushed her arm away. He would push her away, off his dragon were it not for the fact that he was addicted to her. She was a witch, 

his Alys. 

His. 

It rushed through him again, the loathing. It set his nerves on fire, his chest aching and heart screaming in protest, 

oh how he loved it. 

“There, my Prince.” Alys whispered in his ear. It made his skin crawl. Oh, how he loathed her touch. 

But true indeed, there you were. Waiting for him by the ruins and the great old tree. Your dragon stared them down when he ordered Vhagar to land. No respect, no… fear, either of you, he thought, for both dragon and rider neither flinched nor moved away when he landed his Queen of Dragons recklessly close. 

“Kinslayer!” You named him. “You came at last.”

He helped Alys down from Vhagar. Her touch chased away the delight he felt at hearing your voice again. “I hear you’ve been seeking us.” 

“Only you.” 

“Hm.” A smirk grew on his face. “I rarely leave my Lady’s side.”

You frown at the sight of the witch’s belly. “Clearly. I see Aegon’s lesson stuck after all. Tell me, Lady,” you turned to Alys, “did he cry as he spilled himself inside you?”

Your fire excited him. He found he didn’t even mind that it was his past you used to tear at the frayed edges of his wounded heart. It was you he had cried to that day Aegon had taken him to the brothel. He had cried as the old whore forced him to his peak, 

a whore who looked like Alys. 

Perhaps that’s why he chose her. So he can relive it time and time again. So that when he dreams he can hide in your arms again, where you press him to you to the point of pain. It grounded him, 

unlike now, 

Aemond felt untethered, like a kite who’s string had been cut and was left to waste away in the wind. 

His witch stood tall. Perhaps a bit too tall. Rigid. “Hardly.”

“Ah,” you lean back against the tree, “you’re upset about the gift I left you, witch.”

Alys tensed and wrapped her arms around her stomach. Aemond wanted to look at your hands but he refused to tear his eye from yours. Were they bloodied with Alys’ bastards? Or had you scrubbed and scrubbed until your hands bled. Were your arms marred with tiny scratches as they fought back? 

How did it taste? 

How did it feel to have your soul tainted with their blood? 

Could you still taste the iron on your tongue as he did? 

You were the same, 

tainted, 

doomed. 

You had left them all in a pile. Poor Alys could barely recognize them, much less identify what pieces belonged to which of her children. She had cried that night as he took her. He had licked the tears from her face and her misery warmed him. 

He wanted to thank you for it, 

for the high. 

Could you do it again? 

“I had thought murdering children was Daemon’s brand of cruelty.” 

“As did I, kinslayer.” You worried your lip between your teeth, face a perfect mask of indifference. “I do believe the saying to be ‘an eye for an eye’, not ‘an eye for a life’. Let’s not forget about sweet Lucerys,” you pouted and stepped closer. “He was Rhaenyra’s favorite, you know. Was it worth it?”

Always, he wanted to say. 

Aemond the One-eyed kinslayer with a heart as black as the night he slayed his nephew. 

“No.” 

“Liar.”

Perhaps a little. 

“And how is the whore of dragonstone, hm? I hear they heard her screams all the way to Dorne.” Aemond placed Alys in front of him, pressing himself against her. “And her daughter? A sign from the gods. My sister is more beast than woman. It is not so surprising then to find our uncle rutting into her so.” 

“You think I am here for her?” You laughed. 

Aemond bristled at the sound. He stood before you, a warrior, bloodied and proven, 

and you laugh. 

“No, Aemond,” his trousers tightened despite Alys pressing back against him, “I am here for you. It is time we end this. It is time we see who will win this deadly game. Say goodbye to your whore.”

Alys twisted in his arms with outrage, but Aemond said nothing. He wanted to disobey, if only to see what you would say, 

what you would do to her, 

to him. 

Would you tear the bastard from his arms? He tightened his arms around Alys. Would you? Could you see it in his eyes? The desire? 

Take her, he urged you in his mind. 

Take her. Take her. Take her. Take her. 

Take me. 

In his dreams you called him ‘yours’. 

Eager to chase it all away, Aemond forced Alys around and pressed his lips against her hard and fast without an ounce of kindness. They were already bruised from last night and she twisted in his hold to get away, 

but he wouldn’t let her. 

She saw much in the fire, his Alys. Surely she saw into his very core and knew the beast that waited there, ready to devour all that tries to take what belongs to another, 

what belongs to you. 

Piece by piece Aemond fed Alys to it. 

Who did you feed to your beast, Aemond wondered, or had you left it starving until he returned? Did you wait for him like you swore? He refused to believe you had. He did not. So you did not. What if you had? If he touched you would the beast take him? Would it turn against him? 

He wanted to try.

If you consumed him, 

he would be glad. 

You had lain with another. You must have. Or else… He refused to believe you had not, refused to believe that you had not betrayed him for that meant that it all was for nothing. 

He could see it in your eyes. You taunted him with it. A piece of you had been given to another. It must have been. It had been. He could see it. He saw the lack of it. You lacked it. You could not give it to him. It was gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. 

Just like you. 

Where did you go? 

He tore his face away from Alys and pushed her out of the way. 

There. 

You were mounting your dragon. 

The die had been cast, it seemed. Now to see who would survive this dance of theirs. 

Aemond clambered up the chains to Vhagar’s saddle. 

“Kinslayer!” You interrupted him as he was about to fasten the chains around him. He looked up, and there you were. Upside down in your saddle. He scowled. “Don’t bother with the chains. This won’t take long.”

“Soves!” Aemond barked at Vhagar, who grumbled and growled in protest at his tone, but the she-dragon obeyed. 

Your dragon was smaller and swifter than the old she-dragon, and quickly the pair of you disappeared in the clouds above. Because of her size Vhagar was much slower and had taken to ascending in ever widening circles, forcing them out over the vast lake. The waters of Gods eye shimmered like molten copper under the setting sun. It was rather peaceful, Aemond thought. 

And then, 

your dragon emerged from the clouds from his blindside. Teeth like swords wrapped around Vhagar’s throat and talons ripped and ripped at her soft underbelly. Vhagar twisted in your dragon’s hold, tearing herself further at his teeth in her desperation to be free. 

“Vhagar!” He shouted in horror. 

Her roars of pain echoed across the land. She turned and turned, lashed out with her tail, her claws. 

“Dracarys!” Aemond commanded her. “Dracarys!” 

Fire spouted from her maw, so bright that it looked like the clouds themselves caught on fire. 

Your dragon let go so that he could get a better grip but Vhagar banked to the side and the two dragons grappled at each other. Talons tore at hide until blood rained down on the fishermen below. 

And yet, through it all, you remained quiet. Such was your bond with your dragon. It needed no words. 

Vhagar’s claws caught on the soft underbelly of your dragon, and her teeth on his wing, but the she-dragon was dying. Her great wings slowed down, her fire a mere ember glowing in her throat. Your dragon bit at Vhagar again with renewed vigor, undeterred by her talons cutting straight through entrails. 

“Oh, kinslayer!” Your voice echoed in the wind. 

He looked up and only managed to draw his dagger as you leaped from your dragon. You slammed into him and your sword through him. Aemond gasped and sputtered. You were touching him. 

Skin against skin. 

Your face against his. 

Blood coated your teeth. 

You had never looked more beautiful. 

He barely noticed Vhagar’s dying shrieks, or that the three of you began plummeting towards the water. 

The feeling of her, 

it rushed through his veins, 

burned up his skin. 

Your chest heaved, but you smiled at him. You smiled and pressed yourself closer to him. Would you impale yourself on your own sword to get closer? Bleed into him as he bleeds into you. For what was this but you killing yourself? You and he were the same. 

Then you gasped, and Aemond was broken from his trance. 

You were still falling, 

falling together. 

But his dagger? You had fallen straight onto it. Red gushed out onto his hand. Horror filled his chest. He brought his hand up to his face. He wanted to cover his eyes and pray, pray, pray until he woke up in his bed and this was all a bad dream. 

He hardly felt his own pain over the pain in his heart. The beast rattled at the bars of the cage, breaking his ribs to crawl out of her chest and be reunited with you. 

Aemond’s eyes flew open at your touch. Calm acceptance waited for him in your eyes. He knew then that you also knew that this would never end in any other way. You were never meant to survive the war, for what was there to live for if not the other. You were always meant to burn together, 

die together.

Happiness. You were happy, 

happy with him. 

He could see the water now. It would be your grave. But you would be together. He wondered if you knew what would happen when you decided to jump from your dragon. Had you seen his dagger? Was this your design all along? To die together at each other’s hands? 

The one piece of you that you could give to no other. It was his. 

His. His. His. His. He was yours. 

Yours. Yours. Yours. 

You brought his blood coated hand to his mouth, and without looking away he licked at the wetness there. You pressed it harder against him and he licked and licked until it was gone and his face was stained with you. You. You. You.

You threw yourself against him again, your lips pressed against his. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. But it was perfect. He chased your lips as you pulled away. You had never looked as beautiful as you did then, lips smeared with blood and wide-shot pupils. 

You clutched at his tunic, to bring him closer or push him away? Aemond didn’t know. You pulled and then you pushed. 

And then, 

blackness. 

Aemond looked up. 

A blood red setting sun. 

Water filled his lungs. He didn’t feel cold and it was okay, 

because he had you in his arms, 

and now you would never be apart.