#but some would rather it not exist at all

[yuurei20]

What are the differences between pronouns in Japanese? Also, in a vaguely related question, is the Japanese language gendered? Like, do he and she exist? Are words conjugacted based on gender?

Hello hello! ^^ Thank you for this question!

The Japanese language is moreso about social expectations and context than it is about gender!

Japanese is not a romance language, so whereas saying "la livre" is objectively incorrect in French, a woman using the "Ore" pronoun is not incorrect--despite how it can be considered "masculine"--and, depending on region, it might not even be unusual!

More here:

If someone wanted a list of what they are/aren't allowed to say in Japanese as a (gender), they might be disappointed--it is very much not black and white ^^

Just like English, some forms of expression can be seen as more "feminine." In Japanese it is generally because of more polite or refined phrasing, while casual or direct phrasing can be described as more "masculine", but it isn't really fixed to gender!

(Leona's speech patterns are particularly fun as he will switch between formal and casual speech, and sometimes mid-sentence. Leona is showing that, while he does speak roughly, it is not because he doesn't know any better--it is deliberate! He has the refined upbringing and formal education to know how and when to speak properly, is just choosing not to do so, and reminding people of it 🦁)

Both men and women use a wide range of expressions based on context, and while certain language patterns might traditionally be associated with one gender in certain situations, everybody is adapting how they speak just all the time depending on the situation!

(Above: Riddle uses a polite form of a word with Vil, his senpai, and the casual form of the same word with Ace, his kouhai. If one, two or all three of the people involved in these interactions were to change genders, this wording would remain the same.)

"He" and "she" do exist in Japanese but they are not always used, as subject pronouns (including I/me) are generally inferred via context.

And "she" happens to be the exact same as the word "girlfriend" (彼女 / kanojo)!

Personal Anecdote: One time a male friend speaking to a stranger outside a store, explaining that a third, female friend of ours had driven us there. Normally he would have referred to her by her first name, but the stranger did not know her name, so that wouldn't have made sense. So he had to refer to her as "she," which resulted in the amusing sentence of "Kanojo drove us here...I mean, she's not kanojo, but...yeah."

To the original questions:

What are the differences between pronouns? "Ore" in Twst explained here! "Boku" in Twst explained here! "Sessha, Watashi, Atashi, Washi, Wa" in Twst explained here!

Is the Japanese language gendered? Not really! Just like English, certain phrasing can seem more "feminine" or "masculine," but this depends on a lot of factors like context and region!

Do he and she exist? Yes they do!

Are words conjugated based on gender? Not really! There are multiple verb forms and some phrasing can be described as more "masculine"- or "feminine"-sounding, but it generally depends upon your situation rather than your gender ^^

[ttrpg-smash-pass-vs]

ORCUS

VS ZARIEL

First is Orcus, the Prince of Undeath, The Shadow That Was. The 20 ft (6.1 m) tall telepathic master of undead whose ultimate goal is to wipe out all of existence so he'll finally have some peace and quiet. That said, we know he has had many biological children, so the whole "undead" thing really hasn't slowed him down on that front. He can stop time, create/animate/summon basically any undead, and can summon waves of arms to grapple and restrain! A bunch of other stuff as well, but I assume you don't need to know all the ways he can instantly kill/vaporize you. Please don't make that your end goal with fucking.

Zariel is the Archduchess of Avernus. Essentially a 10 ft (3 m) angel who got sick of heaven refusing to intervene against demons. Took a huge contingent to the first layer of hell and just started slaughtering devils and demons alike. Was corrupted because she'd rather be Evil and saving the world from demons than Good and doing nothing. "I did not fall into the clutches of evil. I rose to shoulder a cosmic burden." She can turn invisible, transform into other humanoids, make illusions, and has a surprising amount of children. Odd given how she hates being drawn away from battle. After all, that "eternal martyr battling the demons" thing isn't just about her need for justice anymore, it's to drown out the regret of what she's become in the process.

[allaboutnalu]

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[catofadifferentcolor]

Terrible Fic Idea #92: Percy/Apollo, but make it The Trojan War

Into every fandom, a time travel fic must fall - or in this case a second one, because I somehow got to thinking about the delightful PJO trope of Percy being thrown back in time to The Trojan War and realized that doing so misses out on a fantastic opportunity.

Or: What if post-TOA Percy Jackson and Apollo time travel to shortly before The Trojan War?

Just imagine it:

Everything follows canon through TOA, with one exception: rather than struggle to catch up in the mortal world following the Second Gigantomachy, Percy elects to stay at Camp Half-Blood. There he can homeschool at his own place with programs tailored towards ADHD children and still visit his family on the weekends - and not get into any more ridiculous situations in the mortal world when one of the gods kidnaps him or sends him on a quest to find their sneakers.

This, naturally, stresses his relationship with Annabeth - who, now that she's no longer living at camp full time, calls it the easy way out. But Percy is tired and struggling in mortal high school where everyone thinks he's a delinquent idiot when another option exists seems foolish. Percy and Annabeth break up and drift apart.

Enter Apollo, fresh from his latest stint as a mortal. He's trying to do his best by his children, which includes popping by camp as often as he can get away with - which in turn means spending a lot of time with Percy, who at this point is unofficially running CHB because it's not like Dionysus or even Chiron have done a brilliant job of it in recent times.

(First aid, strategy, and mythology classes are made mandatory. Percy personally ensures every demigod knows enough about self-defense to be able to survive long enough to run away or for help to arrive. Bullying is cracked down on so hard that it's this, not Percy's generally parental nature, that has people calling him Camp Mom.)

Percy and Apollo become friendly. Enough so that some of Apollo's kids assume they're dating and keeping it on the down-low so as not to draw Zeus' ire. Or Poseidon's. Or anyone else's. It's on one of their not-dates that they're yeeted into the past, without warning or explanation.

And so 19-year-old Percy Jackson and post-TOA Apollo find themselves in Ancient Greece c. 1220 BCE, roughly thirty-five years before the destruction of Troy.

The time travel is immediately obvious, as Apollo becomes the closest thing a god might experience to being high the moment they land in the past - being a powerful god in modern times is nothing like being a powerful god at the height of his power in ancient times. It's overwhelming (and somewhat alarming from Percy's POV, but kind of funny in retrospect.)

The specific date is harder to determine, but made clear when Hermes shows up and starts going on about you'll never believe what father's done now: he seduced the Spartan queen as a swan and she's laid an egg. Hera is furious - especially as they're saying the girl that hatched from it is the most beautiful in the world, even though she's only a few days old. It's nuts. By the way, where have you been? You missed the last two council meetings. Do you want Dad to punish you?

Apollo at this stage is very high. He's also been USTing over Percy for quite some time and is worried what the gods of this era might do to Percy without divine protection (smiting or seduction, it's all on the table). But mostly he's very high, and so to keep Percy close and safe he declares he's been off having the dirtiest of dirty weekends with his latest lover and that Hermes' presence is ruining the mood. So if he would kindly leave, please and thank you, he'd really rather get back to it without an audience.

This, naturally, is a surprise to Percy, but he rolls with it because 1) he doesn't have any better ideas on how to get rid of Ancient Greek Hermes so they can figure out what the hades is going on and 2) he's been USTing over Apollo ever since he recovered enough from Tartarus to start feeling attraction again.

Fueled by mutual UST, they put together a cover story that should hold the next time a god with too much prurient interest shows: Percy is now Prince Persē of Gadir - a Phoenician colony that will grow into the future Cadiz - well past the edge of the Greek world at this stage but not beyond belief for Poseidon to have visited, as it's obvious who his father is. They claim his mother is the King of Gadir's youngest sister and as such Persē had a royal upbringing, but was far enough down the line of succession that he was free to chose to sail east and explore his father's homeland. Apollo caught sight of him on his journey, one thing led to another, and here they are.

(Are there easier, more sensible cover stories? Possibly. But the UST refuses to let them consider any of them now that a fake relationship is on the table.)

Deciding what to do about The Trojan War is much harder. On the one hand, it's a lot of senseless death and destruction. On the other, without it we don't get The Iliad and The Odyssey - two of the most influential works of literature in western civilization - and Aeneas doesn't go off to Italy (leading to the founding of Rome, which would change the history of western civilization a lot). In the end, they decide to let the war happen but do their best to mitigate the worst parts of it.

And so Percy goes off and becomes a hero of Ancient Greece while pretending to be in a relationship with Apollo.

This stage of things is filed with angst from both parties, as both Percy and Apollo want a real relationship with each other but think they're abusing the other's trust by eagerly faking their relationship. There's a lot of PDA, a lot of feelings, and limited communication. It goes on for quite a while and would probably exasperate quite a few people if everyone in the know didn't think they were already in a relationship.

It's also filled with modern day Percy being confronted by realties of life in Ancient Greece. It's not just mortals knowing about - and interacting with - the gods: it's everything. It's food and clothes and language and culture and housing and travel. He can play a lot off it as being a traveler from the edge of the known world, but some of it has him asking Apollo if he's being rick rolled.

Apollo, meanwhile, is having troubles of his own. He is not the god he used to be and it's hard pretending otherwise. He tries to walk the line of doing enough to be believable and holding back enough not to despise himself, but it's a fine line, he fails often, and he spends a not insignificant amount of time worried he's backsliding.

And so it goes until 7-year-old Helen of Troy is kidnapped by Theseus to be his wife.

This, naturally, does not fly with Percy, who by this time has built up something of a reputation as a hero. He teams up with the Dioscuri to rescue Helen.

One would think this would earn him Zeus' favor. It doesn't. Instead, Zeus sends monsters to harry him for refusing to let Castor and Pollux take Helen's captors' loved ones captive and raze Aphidna for Theseus' crime. Percy manages to hold his own for quite a while but eventually, exhausted from the near-constant fighting, is gored and left for dead by the reformed Minotaur.

...and when Apollo arrives, frantic, to heal him, Percy ascends instead, becoming the greek version of Saint Sebastian - a minor god of heroes, strength in the face of adversity, and athleticism; sort of halfway between Hercules and Chiron.

Then and only then do Percy and Apollo finally get their act together, confessing to each other how much they care for the other and how much they don't want this to be fake any longer.

History proceeds apace - albeit with Persē being a second immortal trainer of heroes.

24 years after their arrival in the past, 16 years after Percy's ascension, The Trojan War begins. Despite their best efforts, there's only so much they can do - war is war and gods are gods. They are able to stop some of the worst excesses on both sides, but in the end Apollo still sends the plague that causes Agamemnon to take Briseis for his own, which caused Achilles' departure from the field, Patroclus' death, &c - not because Apollo was trying to maintain the timeline, but because in the instant he sent it he was angry and reverted to his old ways.

Troy falls...

...but when Zeus tries to use this as an excuse to ban gods from interacting with their demigod children, Apollo is able to say that's a bit extreme isn't it? with enough backing from the rest of the council that Zeus is forced to amend his ruling so that the gods are only allowed to freely visit their children on the "cross quarter days" that fall between each solstice and equinox (1 February, 1 May, 1 August, and 1 November).

This changes everything and nothing.

Time continues its inevitable march. Greece has its golden age before being conquered by Rome, which splits apart under its own weight and forms several smaller countries, which eventually spread their cultures around the world...

Apollo and Percy are there for it all. Persē is a minor figure in mythology, but never forgotten. He is ever-present in Apollo's temples - though the Church will later try to rewrite their myth so that they were merely sworn fighting partners, rather than lovers who eventually had a quite lovely wedding on Olympus (and then, at Poseidon's insistence, an even bigger ceremony on Atlantis). Percy takes over day-to-day operations of CHB from practically the moment the Trojan War ends.

...and so Persē is there the day Sally Jackson tries to get her son to camp, and is able to intervene when the Minotaur attacks on their border. He's able to meet her and her young son, Perseus ("Mom named me after you and the guy that killed Medusa since you're the only two heroes to have happy endings!"), and guide him through the trials that come with being a child of prophecy.

One day that Percy will hand Luke - who was never happy with the limited attention the gods were allowed to give their children - a cursed dagger so that Kronos can be defeated. That child will be offered godhood, turn it down, and go on to have a happy life with his eventual wife, Annabeth. He will never have his memories erased and be sent to Camp Jupiter. Gaia will not rise until long after that Percy's grandchildren are dead, and Zeus will not be quite so bullheaded when the proof of it is brought before him. That Second Gigantomachy is swift, well-coordinated, and fought without another Greek/Roman war brewing in the background.

And when they finally arrive at the day Apollo and Percy were originally sent back in time, Percy admits that while he is happy some version of him was better prepared for the war he was asked to fight in and allowed his peace afterward, he would change nothing about his own life, for it brought him to Apollo. The sunrise the next morning - on the first morning of the rest of their lives - is particularly spectacular.

Bonuses include:

Gaslighting Poseidon into believing that he's met Percy before the first time they're introduced. ("What do you mean you don't remember me, Father? You were present when I came of age! You gifted me this trident! Have I displeased you in some way?") It's an absolute masterclass that eventually manages to convince Poseidon that, yes, of course he knows Percy - and, maybe, he should check in on all his other demigod children to make sure he's not missed someone. (Two. He lost track of two of the others. Maybe he should be more careful about siring children in the future.) Apollo practically has to stuff his fist in his mouth to keep from laughing.

As much historical accuracy as can be crammed into the Percy trying to make sense of Ancient Greece chapters as possible. Think Of a Linear Circle - Part III by flamethrower levels of historical research. As much as can be shoehorned in without bogging down the plot.

Percy and Dionysus bonding over their mutual dislike of Theseus, though Percy generally gets along with his other half-siblings, especially the ones who come to camp young enough to keep from getting big heads over being the children of Poseidon.

Though Percy adores all the children in Cabin 7 (most of whom are born via blessing this time around), he and Apollo have at least one child of their own - maybe a demigod born before Percy's ascension to sell their fake relationship? Maybe a minor god who's later attributed a different parentage by mortals? Dealer's choice on details.

It never being made clear who, or what, or how, Percy and Apollo were sent into the past. All of Percy's oddities are attributed to him being foreign or formerly mortal, all of Apollo's to the fact that he's in love with someone who didn't die before their first anniversary, and no one ever guesses time travel is responsible for their eccentricities. Or that time travel was ever an option.

And that's all I have. As always, feel free to adopt, just link back if you ever decide to do anything with it.

More PJO Ideas | More Terrible Fic Ideas

[biasbuck]

BiAsBuck’s ficrec Fridays

Less that a week to go!! Happy fraturday, and a very happy birthday to Mr Guzman. Here's another round of the fic I've been reading this week, you can find previous rec lists here.

21 September 2024

ice cream before dinner by cloudydaisies is a pitch perfect Eddie POV fic as he babysits Mara and Jee-Yun following 7x10, winning them over with icecream tuesdays, love and support. I saw so many people loving on this and then caught my eye even more with some gorgeous cover art by @walkingonawire and yes, everyone was right, it absolutely melted my heart. Just a beat for beat joy of a fic, Eddie's internal journey and the sweet bond of trust and love built between the trio, as he awaits Chris' return, and allows himself to open his heart up to Buck along the way. Beautifully written and delightful!

all you're giving me is friction by @henswilsons ahhhh such a wonderful 5+1 buddie fic in which Eddie joins the 118 and Hen is a little worried that Buck's flirting with him will cross a line...seeing as he's wearing a wedding ring. This is such a fun fic with the elephant in the room...because you know what she doesn't know you know, right? And waiting for the reveal and watching it dawn on them is so brilliantly funny in execution.

wherever you roam (you'll always want me) by @buddieism canon divergent following 7x05 in which Eddie would rather 'go to his grave repressed and miserable than ever take away from Buck’s happiness.' But in unpacking what would make Eddie himself happy, he comes to realise with some help and a look at what brought him to this point in his life that that might not be up to him. Aching and painfully cathartic and ultimately full of hope.

the cat's meow by @exhuastedpigeon GIVE. EDDIE. A CAT. (Do it for me!) When Eddie finds a box of abandoned kittens at the side of the road, he takes them to the shelter...but falls ass over teakettle for little calico Pinto (like the beans). Reluctant to let on to the existence of his new furry little friend, he keeps her close to his chest. When Buck finds out, he's unable to resist falling under the spell of her charms...or her owners. Sweet, romantic fluff...with such great character voice....and whiskers!! So freakin' cute.

glass on the pavement under my shoe by @doitbuckley a Buck POV fic under Gerrards command, taking a risk that puts his life on the line to save Eddie. But all these years later, he's not sure he's so readily okay with having to say goodbye for real, even in the line of duty. Some lyrically written introspection and growth from Buck here in the way he understands and embraces life vs death situations.

Hot Ghost Problems by @ebjameston in which Eddie is a natural born witch in a world where magic isn't a secret though he keeps it close to his chest. But on joining the 118 he meets Buck...only Evan Buckley is the firefighter who died that Eddie was here to replace. Tethered together by magic, Buck refuses to move on, and in staying around he saves Eddie along the way. With some excellent Diaz sister cameos, a brilliantly intriguing mystery, and a whole heap of magic, they race against time to save the day and might just get to keep their happily ever after. I had such a great time reading this one from 2023!

the tortured poets department by @colonoscopys more magic! 'The first time Buck touched him, Eddie blew an ambulance up.' Magic sparks under his skin, and falling in love with Buck feels a lot like when it overwhelms him with feeling. Eddie thinks he's doing a good job keeping it secret, but somethings are obvious to those who know what signs to look out for. This one felt like a little bit of magic shared, sweet, sexy and full of all sorts of sparks!

Okay let's leave it there for this week. Next week we'll have a new episode to play with! Can you believe it? I'll be on a little work trip and then a vacation so looking forward to joining you all in the sandbox soon. So excited to be back with the firefam again.

[altraviolet]

TFOne!

I enjoyed it! Spoilery thoughts under the cut.

The scenery was so artfully and beautifully done!

-The way Iacon was built, with buildings coming up from the ground and down from the 'sky,' was so pretty! Actually, it's not until just NOW that I'm realizing how that works. The buildings are basically stalactites and stalagmites underground- attached to the ceiling and floor of an unimaginably huge cave.

-The surface! A fantastic feeling of awe as the characters rode up to the surface to find the stars and the landscape and the colors. The changing/rippling surface was super intriguing and I think that some of the first canon descriptions of Cybertron included that element - constantly changing landscape - but, citation needed. The wildlife and the flora were so pretty. I personally would've loved to see more about that, but I know in a kid's movie we have to focus on other things xD

-The character designs themselves I'm not super in love with, but they're not bad, they're fine. It was fun to watch the background for familiar characters, and MY GOD the "Jazz gets doorwingies and they bounce" moment was SO CUTE! Loved that.

The writing was totally fine. We definitely get invested in the characters. It was very nice to see the friends -> enemies pipeline in action. The moment Sentinel Prime mentioned his dead fellow Primes I thought, "lol bet you killed them" and yeah. As each scene progresses, you can easily predict what's going to happen plot-wise. But, you know, kid's movie, lol. You have a pretty simple premise, a few characters, some good dynamics... yeah, it did a good job balancing all that. If it weren't a kid's movie, it could've cut back on the 'humorous' moments (or made them less slapsticky) and spent more time on other things, and still retained the positive elements :D

Some things TFOne did very well that I hope future offerings from the franchise adapt:

-focus on smaller group of characters (especially if in a movie. a comic or serialized show can support a larger cast)

-focus on NOT THE WAR. we've seen it. we've seen iiiiiit 😭 give us more 'day in the life.' mining, racing- these are all nice glimpses into previously established, normal things. TF is science fiction: leaning into the worldbuilding for Cybertronians will add soooo much to the storytelling

-no humans 🎉🎉🎉🎉 this is a personal preference of mine, of course, but I would much rather watch the robots interact with each other, and their culture and their world, than see them come to earth and do the "revealed to humans" thing for the 4000th time. also, the humans are usually so annoying. my god. let the robots be the human analogs- that is what sci fi is. we see ourselves in other worlds, etc etc.

Where do we go from here, story-wise?

A quick recap of the conflicts in TFOne:

-OP-D friendship turmoil

-Sentinel Prime('s lies) vs the reality of the world

-Cybertronians vs Quintessons

By the end this changes to:

-OP vs Meg, and by extension, Autobots vs Decepticons

(-Sentinel Prime is dead)

-Quintessons are still out there soooo...??

It's a natural segue to The (civil) War, but the external threat from the Quintessons still exists. It'd be interesting to see what a sequel did, addressing that. OP would be fighting two fronts... which would naturally push the Autobots to finally abandon Cybertron, which is what leads to Earth landings and meeting with humans. But the movie ends with Cybertron overflowing in energon: now it's even more appealing to the Quintessons.

idk man. I'd love to see a different solution to what we've seen before.

anyway, this is long enough. I do recommend seeing the movie, if you can. It's visually stunning and fun. I hope it does well so that Uncle Hasbro dumps more money into this kind of storytelling.

On a personal note, I saw this with the 2 friends I saw RoTB with last year, and afterwards, we posed in front of the giant poster stand thingy in the movie theater lobby. My friend held up a finger like ☝️ as in "one" as in TF One, lol, so now when I think of this movie it comes with that sign

TF☝️

[appleflavoredkitkats]

i will make a proper analysis post for this one day but i genuinely think the "fundy's mind" stream is fundy's magnum opus. it does so much in one short stream. it perfectly portrays the fundamentals of fundy's character while also leaving so much to be interpreted and decoded.

like of course half of the metaphors and mysteries put into that episode hinted his involvement w las nevadas. but, and i think this point stands better considering how his story was executed and concluded, i think the stream was such a perfect encapsulation of the cyclical nature of fundy's abandonment and self-worth issues. it is "fundy's mind" after all.

we see glimpses of wilbur, literal monologues of how he feels brushed aside. i think back then, our interpretations of the books were a little too literal— which was not wrong to assume at the time. fundy was having prophetic dreams, of course it was normal to think he could have been a time traveler or something of that sort.

but, in the present day, i feel like if you look into the texts of these books in a more metaphorical sense, it makes a lot more sense. there's definitely a theme about "waking up" in a metaphorical sense, but the dreams flip this phrase on its head in some sort of way, as if dream!fundy was trying to get fundy to look away from the books.

i posit that dream!fundy demands fundy to wake up because it actually shields fundy from the painful truth deeply embedded in his psyche. meanwhile, sleeping actually causes fundy to dig into this truth more as it causes him to stay into this dream world. so when fundy chooses to sleep, he's not shielding himself away— rather, it represents the metaphorical "waking up", beholding truths that he typically shies away from.

but then what is this "truth"?

well, when dream!fundy gives up scaring fundy off, he confesses to an evil someone who will destroy fundy and everything he ever loved. of course, this pertains to quackity, but here's the thing. if dream!fundy wanted to protect fundy, then he would have obviously warned him about quackity without hesitance.

i'd argue that quackity being some big baddie is half the "truth" dream!fundy is trying to warn him about. then what is the other half that's missing? i think it has something to do with the "you're not real" statements.

those seem like a scare tactic at first. if not, it does not feel like it's meant to be the "painful truth" dream!fundy is trying to shield from fundy because he says it multiple times before the actual "truth" is revealed. but i think the reveal actually becomes more impactful if you read it as "there will be an evil person out there, always, that will make you not real."

and i guess to explain— there's, like i said, a cyclical nature to fundy's issues. he follows someone, dedicating himself to the country until it all inevitably becomes futile in the end. it happens with all iterations of l'manberg and las nevadas. i've always stated that fundy is the embodiment of the nations he's apart of, and he dies alongside it whenever it comes down to it.

so when the book mentions, "you are not real", "this place isn't real", and "but he [those who left him, specifically quackity] is", i feel like it's not just talking about quackity and las nevadas. rather, if we think about it, this is literally the formula in which fundy's arcs literally follow. he becomes nothing alongside the dissolvement of a nation, because those he trusted and followed were real threats.

and what i think this dream hints in particular is that, las nevadas would be the last straw. after this, his existence becomes virtually nothing. he is rendered nothing.

which is literally what happens in the end.

fundy's storyline has always been about being sidelined, always forgotten or used as a punchline for a joke. in this case, i feel that the dream isn't just warning him about this, but rather it's literally his destiny to be forgotten. that is the painful truth dream!fundy doesn't want fundt to know. that's why he sounded so defeated by fundy's stubbornness and curiosity by the third book— he does not want fundy to know that it's literally in his fate that he ends up becoming nothing.

and, well, it's true. the last we see of fundy is when he jumped into the l'manberg crater after cutting himself off from wilbur. it's even stated that fundy didn't die to end it all, but rather to "get away from wilbur". at the same time, we see fundy donate schlatt's sword, one of his prized possessions, to the museum.

he literally cuts off one of the most integral, most defining, aspects of his character— his devotion to nationhood and those who embodied it. and after that, we never see him again. when fundy chose to choose things for himself, to separate himself from l'manberg, physically and ideologically, he's gone.

it's as if he's not real.

we never really know if fundy left for the best or the worst, really. but in the narrative of the dsmp, separating himself from l'manberg literally makes him null. that's the truth his dreams were trying to shield himself from.

[nynyhaha]

Do you think Chrollo expected the Troupe to last 12+ years? The expectations set at the start largely determine his current views. How good did they do?

Now Ofc he’d want it to ✨last forever✨ or as long as possible,but how long did he think they’d actually get to live?

Chrollo in yorknew carries himself with a confidence that the Spider will live on way beyond him,we somewhat feel like the adventure is only starting. But at the same time he is lost and doesn’t really know the direction the Troupe is heading in.

At the start he mentioned offering up their lives in order to: -find Sarasa’s murderers and get revenge -free Meteor City from crime/mafia so that no child can be kidnapped again

We know the troupe later also broke the deal where Meteorians are exchanged for money. This is a significant achievement,it implies the Spider provides enough money instead,and it hints at the fact that the previous points are already done,that Chrollo has achieved what he planned.

Those were things that he was ready to die for,things for which the others were also ready to sacrifice themselves. And that’s what they kind of expected,right?

My theory is that they greatly surpassed their expectations.

If they were still fighting for any of the above,we wording have this sense of directionless roaming around that is present in the yorknew arc. The Spiders seem to be beyond the theme of revenge unless it directly affects them. Uvo even said he hates those who fight him for revenge reasons (and I wonder why).

Maybe little Chrollo would’ve marvelled at the progress he managed to make in those years,but he probably couldn’t know how it would affect his psyche. He knew he’d become a “villain” but he probably meant that he’d be fighting for a noble end using bad means. What is that end now?

The Spider needs some sort of plan to justify its existence. For its death to be a tragedy,it needs the will to live and some goal to achieve. Or is it a question of a candle stump losing its flame once it’s burned down?

Should the Spider just retire?

If they have achieved all of their previous goals,the answer could well be yes. Sadly those goals aren’t milestones that you have to reach once and for all,but Meteor City’s safety is fragile and needs maintenance.

And yet,it’s never stated as the reason why the Spider has to keep moving. Maybe to the characters it’s obvious,but we as the audience can only speculate. Also it would make the problem way too simple.

“Oh the Spider is still needed back at home” Ofc it is,duh,but that’s not enough to satisfy the quest for meaning.

It would be interesting if the Troupe started out as a team that’s some sort of necessary evil (and the backstory chapters present it in such light) but now that all it’s done it’s no longer necessary so just evil, but they don’t see it as such.

You know,a band of child soldiers that grew up and is now terrorising the world because their original purpose is completed.

But how is the Troupe unnecessary when it’s the solution to the Mafia problem? It’s rather that they don’t know how much more that can do and how much of that will matter at the end.

No one is forcing them. All of their duty is “self inflicted”,they chose to carry that burden.

Are they suffering from success?

Chrollo thought on the way to avenging Sarasa he might loose his own life or some of his friends. He made that commitment still,and then they all survived. Ok,they lost number 8 & 4,but those weren’t original members and it’s still lucky that the rest made it all the way to yorknew. Yk,after they’ve already done what they wanted (and yes,they have already found the murderers,fight me on that, I KNOW its the truth).

So Uvogin and Pakunoda didn’t die on the way,but after they’ve arrived at the top.(But at the top there was nothing :()

Is that to say that they could’ve hopped off and lived a safer life? At this point they were unable to. Much like Chrollo,they might not have a proper self outside the Spider. AND YET the reason it hurts so much is because they died for the Spider after it lost its main goal. This is why Chrollo quickly needs a reason to ground it all since they couldn’t have died for nothing.

There must be a reason why they’re still doing this other than “we can’t otherwise”, right?

RIGHT?

In conclusion, Chrollo is what happens after one survives the “Kurapika arc” and completes his revenge. He might be free to live on,but after he threw away his life and morals already,this existence looses meaning and so do all deaths for the sake of it.

[ddreamywitch]

Chapter Five - No Plan

knight!Benjicot x princess!reader

word count: 3k

a/n: do you guys enjoy reading from benji’s perspective?

song: No Plan - Hozier

You won’t look at him.

It’s quite seriously driving him insane.

He knows he’s overstepped, broken his oath in some ways even.

He is sworn to you, of course, to serve and protect nobody but you, but he is part of a system, a machinery of knights and guards, who, at all cost, must report back to the king.

He wasn’t ever going to snitch on you. But maybe he should have put his foot down.

Were any of the happenings of the past few weeks to come to light, he is almost certain that he will lose his head for it. Or they’d find some other creative way to rid themselves of him.

Had he been stricter upon finding out about your meddling in the arts of healing, perhaps you had never gathered the guts to sneak out by yourself, you’d have never found yourself in the hands of some lowlife scumbag and he wouldn’t know how well you fit into his arm curled around your back.

Then you might still be speaking to him.

Well, you had spoken to him. An hour into your carriage ride you had leaned out the window to tell him to have Fury saddled, already tired of being confined.

Throughout everything, he kept feeling an overwhelmingly deep rooted sense of pity.

He gazes up at the sky, grey clouds gathered above, knit together so tight you couldn’t see the blue hiding behind.

He doesn’t remember the last time he had pitied somebody so much.

Of course, he felt bad for the impoverished, the sick, the depraved. But this was almost sickening; his stomach twisting in uncomfortable ways, each time he thought about your fate.

A girl like you is rare to come by in the place you had grown up in. He does not understand how you could even exist, an enigma, given the people you had been around your life. Though your sister and brother were respectable for the most part, there was something innately warm about you.

As he contemplates he almost resents you again, like he had in the beginning of his knighthood.

How could you be so good?

It is frustrating really, to be around you and watch the way people bend to fit around you, to feel your presence and grasp your attention.

At first he had assumed it to be your status, that got everyone so riled up, but he understood rather soon that, that isn’t the case.

People tried to approach Prince Tristan and Queen Cordelia as well, but around you it seems to be something more honest.

He thinks about your handmaiden and you, the way the two of you giggle each time you are together, the way the cook without request organises your favourite pastries for you.

For fuck’s sake even young children and animals were drawn to you like a moth to the light, despite not having the slightest comprehension of who you are and what importance you held.

Your dumb horse damn near tries to kill anyone that nears it besides you.

It is ridiculous really.

Yes, ridiculous.

He doesn’t understand it.

From now on he would not fall for this anymore.

Benji is a strong soldier. He’s killed. He’s hurt. He’s bled. He would not fall for something as silly as that girlish charm you had. One might think you are actually a witch, with the way you mesmerised the people.

He glances at you in front of him, back straight as a board. There’s a shiver to your unnatural posture.

“Your highness?”, he calls out and he almost can’t believe his own hypocrisy.

“Yes, Ser Benjicot?” You don’t turn around to face him, so he forces his horse alongside yours.

Suddenly he feels silly, back to being a young boy. Or a dog that can’t help but return to its owner. “Are you cold, princess?”

You don’t even spare a second to look at him. “I am quite alright, do not fret.” You’re cold. Closer now, he can see the goosebumps that trail your arms through the translucent fabric of your sleeves.

You’re almost dressed for a funeral, your gown a deep shade of purple.

The king had frowned at you that morning, Benji had seen the way his thick brows had pulled together, lips pulled into something reminiscent of a pout.

He himself was more so wondering how you had managed to get on your horse with the ten thousand layers of tulle and frilliness you were heaving around.

“Do you not wish for a cloak? If you were to get sick you would need to return to travel by carriage,” Benji finds himself warning you.

That does trigger a reaction in you; a deep sigh. “Fine then,” you mumble.

Benji doesn’t like this. He can’t help but feel responsible, the events of last night must be heavy on your mind.

It was all confusing and annoying to him. Nobody had told you to leave the castle, least of all him, but still he faults himself for not having been there sooner.

You had your troubles but you had never been confronted with men who’s inappropriate fantasies aren’t confined by the code of conduct at court.

It doesn’t take long for somebody to appear with your cloak.

With all the fabric it almost looks as though your horse is the one wearing the clothes.

For a few more wholly uncomfortable moments of silence Benji trots along your side, until he decides that it’s likely best to give you time.

Your journey goes on until shortly before sunset. There are still two days worth of travel ahead of you and so one of the guards rides ahead into town and organises a stay for the night.

Benji could see the exhaustion in your face as you’re helped off your horse, wincing and stretching without much decorum.

The servant who helped you looks away in uncertainty. His cheeks are flushed. Benji wants to roll his eyes.

The inn is surprisingly nice; one of the two kingsguard members with you informs him that it is because a lot of merchants pass through this town when travelling to the capital.

You are smiling at everyone, saccharine sweet and Benji wished he didn’t notice the way you are twisting the ring on your finger nervously.

As it seems, spending almost every single waking moment with you for the last cycle of the moon, does take its toll.

Without much ceremony you leave supper early and excuse yourself to your bedroom, your new handmaiden close behind.

She’s a nervous little thing, a mouse-like girl, much younger than Marion and entirely overwhelmed by your presence it seems.

Benji hasn’t heard her say anything yet that wasn’t some variation of an apology.

It is terrifying to be responsible for a princess.

He should know.

He takes a gulp from the beer in front of him.

Ser Corrigan taps his fingers against the table, only remotely in sync with the fiddler in the corner of the room.

“D’you think she’ll be well with that Baron?,” he pipes up.

Benji doesn’t register that he’s being spoken to for a few moments.

“Don’t know. But if he takes after his sister, I should have serious doubts that they will get along,” he answers.

Corrigan nods to himself.

The fiddler plays an old ballad, one of a kind queen long dead, the fire crackles in the room and the night crawls on.

Benji is not on watch duty, so he allows himself more of the not-good-yet-not-bad beer they serve here before he heads upstairs as well.

It is long past midnight by now and it suddenly strikes him that he should have spoken with Ser Corrigan.

He has no friends here.

His room is at the highest floor of the building, guards stood at the top of the stairs.

You are right across from him. The only two people that are to sleep here.

His eyes linger on your door and his fingers itch to knock and ask about your wellbeing but he doesn’t.

He cannot find rest. Of course not.

The last few weeks catch up with him, ghosts that had constantly been in his periphery and have finally clawed their way into his mind.

His uncle sending him away.

The isolation inside the castle.

You.

He tosses and turns, yearning for comfort.

He won’t find it in here and so he decides perhaps fresh air might help him.

He slips out of his room and realises he isn’t wearing his boots.

Then he hears it.

Distant, through the thick of the oak door, he hears your sobs.

He knows he can’t ignore it, even though he lingers for a moment.

He throws one glance at the guards at the end of the hallway, neither of them having noticed him.

Benji steps as lightly as he can across the wooden floor and without so much as the thought of a squeak he slips into your bedroom.

Your eyes are swollen and bloodshot when you look at him, mouth dropped into surprised ‘O’.

Neither you nor him speak until you do at the same time.

“Are you–”, Benji asks.

“I didn’t mean to-” you interrupt.

Silence again. Benji waves his hand for you to go first.

“I didn’t mean to be loud,” you whisper. “I couldn’t sleep.”

He hums in agreement. “Neither could I.” He leans against the door. “And you weren’t loud.”

You’re sitting at the foot of the bed, your hair and robe both somewhat disorderly. “My apologies. For scaring you last night.”

His arms cross and uncross again when he thinks that he might intimidate you like that. “Don’t worry.”

“Benji?”

The name sounds so different when you say it. It rolls off your tongue like river-tumbled pebbles through a creek. A sweet and calming sound.

“Yes, princess?”

Your cheeks are reddened again. “Perhaps you could keep me company? I don’t sleep well outside my own room.”

You look so young like this, he thinks to himself. A vulnerable doe-eyed girl. To be married soon.

What was to happen to you, with your unbelievable innocence? That you should invite a man into your chambers after last night, is more than naive.

He remains where he stands.

“Please?”

How can he refuse you?

You shuffle to sit with your back to the wall, beckoning him to take a seat next to you and he complies.

He struggles to comprehend his innate urge to be useful to you.

“Do you think I’ll find some common ground with him?”, you ask.

Benji sighs. “I’ve not met somebody who doesn’t like you since coming to the capital.”

“You didn’t like me.” You prod at him with one accusing finger.

Your shoulders almost brush when you’re sitting like this, the tiniest sliver of space between them. It feels tantalising.

“That’s an exaggeration. I was merely…,” he trails off. What was he? What is he now?

He watches you shrug. “I do not blame you. It seems I am in a much similar position now. Sent away to a place far from home to spend my days with someone I do not know”

“I told you that there’ll be a way to find some arrangement,” he reminds you. “Mayhaps he’ll not even want you after all.”

You snort. “Did you not just claim the opposite?”

“Well yes, but you know at first glance, perhaps he’ll think you’re too much of a troll.” This is something that once again could cost him his tongue if you were ever to snitch on him, but for now you laugh quietly to yourself.

“Were you always so rude? I’m sure your mother didn’t raise you to talk to ladies like this.”

He looks down at his hands, the scars, the rough parts of it. Yesterday evening on the way home he held yours in them and then after you had clicked his nose back into place, such a gruesome and nasty act from your delicate nimble fingers.

He wonders what his mother would think of you.

“Firstly, you are still a witch and not a lady. And no, she didn’t.”

You know, of course, that his mother, much like your own, is six feet under, engulfed by cold wet soil. You know every noble house in the land. Perhaps you know his own house's history better than he does.

You twist to look at him. “What was your mother like? Your parents?” Then you realise the forthrightness of your words and stutter a bit. “I mean- if you should want to tell me.”

He shrugs. “It matters not. We are bound either way.”

That stirs you the wrong way. “I do not want you to do everything just because you feel you must. I told you so.”

Benji chuckles. “You did not. You told me to be civil or be silent, otherwise you’d order me executed.”

Your back straightens. “I was of course not being earnest, Benjicot.” Red spots dot your neck and cheeks, borderline outraged.

“How was I to know? You got so serious on that beach, you little witch, who knows what potion you could mix into my breakfast.”

He had of course not feared for his life. Just his ego.

Benji clears his throat. “My mother was very headstrong. She knew her place in the world and she knew what to do with what she had. She kept my father on his toes. I don’t know if they were a love match but they had their own dynamic. They were most certainly friends.”

You’re smiling a bit now and decide to lean against the headboard again, feet shuffling beneath the blanket.

“She was a bit like your sister, I suppose. They both have a certain quality about them. I think. The memory blurs with each day.”

“Cordelia likes you, I believe. She is quite selective with who she deems respectable.”

“She’s a bit scary.”

You slap his upper arm, your hand lingering there a moment longer than needed. His shirt is made from much less soft fabric than your chemise is and he wonders what you would think about that.

“She isn’t scary, she has been through a lot.”

“Your family seems a bit fucked,” he says before he can stop himself. Blood rushes to his cheeks. “Uh- Pardon me, I-”

But you laugh. Loud and clear and Benji wants to remind you of the guards outside but he can’t bring himself to.

Better to see you laugh, even if your cheeks are still puffy from tears shed prior.

“No we are. We are. Maybe if our mother had been with us longer, we might have turned out differently. But Cordelia and Tristan aren’t so bad.”

“Neither are you. It really just is the king that’s making problems.” His head drops a bit. “If anything I’m fucked.”

You tug at his sleeve. “I think you’re alright.”

“I am a liability, you said it yourself. And I did terrible as the head of my house.”

“Yes, because you were a child when your father passed. It was right after your eleventh name day, was it not?”

Benji shrugs. He had failed either way and after three short years, everyone had campaigned for his uncle to take the reins until Benji was of age. And then by the time he was, he didn’t care for it, preferring battle and combat to the rigid authority. And now he is here. In your bed.

“Let’s not dwell on it.”

Your hair is so close. He doesn’t understand how you could always smell so wonderful, even after a day’s worth of travelling. Especially with the heavy layers you wear.

This also bothers him.

It seems everything about you is equally fascinating and bothersome to him.

“Tell me about your home. I’ve rarely travelled to the Riverlands, my father does not enjoy the weather there.”

He bites back the comment about how your father likely doesn’t appreciate the weather because he is too prissy to be rained on.

“It’s wonderful. It’s green as far as the eye can see. I suppose you would enjoy riding your horse there.”

“Tell me something interesting. I know what the land looks like. I want to know what you did there. I want to know what your life was before this. Perhaps I can restore some of it. Maybe even bring your old lover to court.”

You had tried to said it carelessly but the way you stumbled over the word lover gave you away.

He ignores it. “I do not have a girl waiting for me. Matter of fact, I think they’re all glad I’m gone.”

You scoff. “What? What were you doing, you rake.”

He laughs lowly, feels it rumble deep within his chest. “That is not a topic I wish to discuss with someone of your sort.”

“What, a woman? You imbecile, just because-,” you start and he doesn’t need to look this time, he’s certain that the red spots are back on your skin.

Benji cuts you off before you get mad enough to have them spread all over. “No, not a woman. A princess of the realm. The realm’s delight, even. I will not be the one to spoil you, I’m sure Marion already did enough damage.”

“I’m not a child,” you huff. “I’ll be wed sooner than later as it seems, I’ll know either way.”

He shrugs and as he does he suddenly realises your head was resting against his shoulder. Immediately he regrets the movement, tries to bend in a way to return you to your previous position. You fit back perfectly, all the while you’re suppressing a vaguely impolite yawn.

“I won’t do it either way. And I won’t tell you the tales of Bloody Ben either, if that’s what you’re looking for,” he explains. “You were shocked enough by the events in the alley, I do not want your head filled with gruesome images of violent men.”

Your eyelids are drooping. “My god Benjicot, will you just tell a story,” you grumble.

His mind races to find something, some memory of his that he wants to share with you, and finds that there are very few.

He’s never been ashamed of his tendency to brutality and he isn't now. He applies it when needed and fairly so. It really isn’t his fault that so many people wanted to see a glimpse of it, prodding at him with razor-sharp insults to get to him. Especially those god-forsaken Bracken boys.

“I fell from a tree as a little boy,” he says, to his own wonder.

He feels your giggle in his bones. “What?”

“Yes. I climbed it to prove a point to some cousin or something, I don’t remember and I remember thinking that I was falling to my death.”

“Goodness Benji, don’t you have a happier story.”

He shushes you. “Just wait until I get to the good part you impatient witch.”

You resign and he keeps going on about how he had clambered his way up the tree barefoot at seven years old, how that had been the moment he understood that he had a fear of heights and how he spent ten hours in that tree before gathering up the courage to get back down by jumping, so in all honesty he didn’t fall, but he did promptly land upon his sword instructor who at that moment decided that Benji was his most precious diamond in the rough, because what kind of insane person would jump down and from that point on their friendship had bloomed.

Then after that story was done he kept on going.

Takes of his childhood, his friends at home, his visits to tavern which he discreetly censored to not come across as vulgar.

He can’t pinpoint at what moment you fall asleep but soon enough your snores begin to fill the room, your head still propped against his biceps.

He figures he should get up but he really and strongly does not want to do so.

Instead he moves you, carefully, with much more care than his own hands are used to, until you are horizontal.

He almost manages to scrape together enough discipline to leave you, but then you do something…peculiar.

Though sound asleep, your fingers curl around the fabric of his pants next to your hand, like a child grasping its mothers skirt in some odd way.

Benji doesn’t get up.

He doesn’t sleep for a second, instead he remains exactly as he is.

This is fine, he figures. What are knights for if not full-time protection?

taglist:

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[miiserableee]

( 𖤘 ) ▸ tumbling the tumbled : scaramouche x fem! reader !

scaramouche have always found you to be a pill he can't seem to swallow . you were always too hard to ignore , too easy to wish for . he spent his whole highschool thinking you'd remain being nothing as he so desperately hopes , but is now oftentimes sleeping with dreams of you and how you've tumbled his existence .

(!!!) mentions of reader being a cutie patootie ! tsundere to the highest level scara ! cuddly reader & scara ! modern!highschool! au again cause that's all i can ever write AHAHAHAHAHA lmao :D ooc characters ! 1.5k words !

"Oi , wake up ." scaramouche was never the most decent , but he's long since learnt to mind his own business . so , why does he bother with you ? sleeping so leisurely by the far corner of this massive library .

well , maybe it's because , it's been more than half an hour since the bell rung . it's way past lunch break . you ought to be in class . just as him . he isn't quite sure if you're as uncaring of being late or absent for a period or two . he's seen you wake up on time countless of times like clockwork , like a bot programmed to be up and about at the most appropriate of timestamps .

scaramouche , aggravated , scratches at his scalp and messes up his own bedhead . he had also just woken up from his nap . fuck , this really itches him the wrong way for some reason .

he can't seem to walk out , trust him , he's tried .

he glares at you , like that'll do anything while you're playing sleeping beauty . perhaps looking for a needle to prick you with will give him the best outcome , and ability to sweep his meaningless frustrations under rugs .

"Wake up , L/n ." he rearranges his words for the , god knows who time . you remain with no showing of signs of being the least bit disrupted by this , attempt of being awoken . and that's on the said attempts not being in the gentle side either .

one more glare and he'd probably have digging knives for eyes . he clicks at his tongue and took his phone out . it seems it's been 35 minutes , well , it doesn't really matter if he goes to class or not . his classmates were raring in the groupchat , about how their teacher was busy attending on a sick student to practice any lectures .

the vibrations of the notifications having been what awoke him . he looks at the sleeping you again and wonders if he could set his phone vibrating and wake the hell out of you too .

he chose against it as he remembers your close bond with one of his friends . a nagging fit from two chatterboxes will have to grate at his ears for a long while . heizou and kazuha really have a knack at befriending odd people . you setting the best example yet .

there's venti too . that guy really loves your every atom .

right , xiao is kind of way past just knowing you too so he'd really have to go through it if he did something atrocious to you , or at least that's what kazuha will word anything of what he does as a teasing to you would be in the aftermath .

aether would probably join the nagging crew .

he sighs and sits himself on the seat by the right to you . you didn't budge despite all the noise his intentional display of being inconsiderate have played too near you .

cupping a hand to a cheek , he rests on his elbow and ponders over nonsensical things . what else to do when you have almost an hour to waste until the next period begins ?

he looks at your face .

he's seen that face multiple times this year . it's a bit annoying how often , but he's gotten used to it .

you came from the same reading club as the five guys he hangs out with . he was ushered to join said club too but he'd rather do other things .

you didn't have much going on for you . plain and quiet , always on your heels and never at all looking directly at him . well , at least until the formal introductions done by venti was laid ahead .

your e/c eyes really struck at him that time . your eyes feeling oddly perfect being on line as his . it's a shame that your eyes are closed now , as you sleep .

seeing you sleeping so deeply he wonders if your sleeping position is really any that seemingly comfy . he copies you and dives more into pondering .

there were moments wherein you two only had each other as company , excluding this one . the majorities of these was when you two slept hours in the library , reasons and spots utterly different but that's besides the point .

there was a moment when he had to aid you with a wounded arm from an incident in class , he even had to attend to your wound himself . there was that time he gave you a handkerchief of his own when he walked in on you crying in class , at dawn , the class yet to begin , the classroom empty , you with a book and weeping silently .

you two were also paired for a project once .

all those moments together , vulnerabilities and opportunities leading doors of creaking opening , yet you never felt all that special to him , he never felt the need to pry those doors open fully . since to him you were ,

just , some girl his friends are all sheeshaw-sheesh over .

saying you were the most responsible , strong and capable person they know .

scaramouche could only scoff in mind . if only they knew how much of a vulnerable , naive and careless of an existence you truly can be at times .

helping someone from falling badly and hurting yourself in the process . crying just because a character wanted to buy his mother's favorite croissants but couldn't . staring aimlessly at everything the moment you're left alone . saying the most unnecessary things with just a whiff of awkward silence .

he stares at your braided hair .

that was one of those rare acts of yours , you were never one to tie your hair .

he feels sleepy again . he didn't even feel his eyes close . thinking of you is so tiring , it drags on for too long . at times , it even comes to points where he just thinks about you all day long .

"Scara ?"

scaramouche blinks , hearing your voice . he blinks again and again , in a daze . "You dozed off ." you were sitting between his legs , his arms around you .

oh right , you slept here last night and you both woke up past afternoon and decided to have food delivered and watch movies while , eating .

the delivery must have taken so long that he fell asleep . what a deep dream , he almost forgot all his rage in his stream last night .

"Sorry . Is the food here ?" he asks and you shake your head , leaning back after and landing said head on his shoulder . that's good , he didn't want you to eat alone .

your phone back on the table as you reach for his cheeks and squish at them . "Not yet , a few more minutes , the driver said ."

instead of his brows twitching at what you said , he only asks you to sit the other way around and face him .

that , you did . so different from how you would've flinched before at every touch on you he did .

you sit with your legs rested on his thighs and your hands on his shoulders . you tilt your head to the side a bit and smiles .

"You haven't had enough cuddles ?"

"I just , want more ." he kisses your cheek before he pulls you closer to him . arms around you and massaging your back . he leans on the couch and sighs .

"Are you hungry ?" he sounds a bit worried . "For cuddles ? Now that you're being all clingy , yeah , yeah I am ."

"I was asking if you were famished for food , but that's good to know ." scaramouche was never at all near to thinking that your relationship of just being too-far-to-be-friends would now be , this intimate .

"What did you dream about , anyways ? You kept grumbling ."

"I dreamt of that time we slept in the library until it was time to go home ."

"Oh ? High school , right ? When we were 2nd years ?"

"Yeah ,"

"I was wondering why you were beside me when Venti woke us up . They wondered too and asked why you were there and was sure you were awake because you had seen-ed in the gc hours before . Then you said you didn't leave , just because . But like , why really ?" what a detailed recollection , nothing beats your memory after all .

"I don't know . I must've been attracted to you some way even in those moments , despite not being completely aware yet ."

you pull back from him with your brows meeting and he laughs before you say a thing . "Didn't you ask me out before we graduated High School ? You mean , you've liked me since we were in our 2nd years ?!"

"Why are you so shocked ?" the two of you now were 3rd years in college . struggling to even be 4th years next semester , or maybe just you .

"Because ," you trail off and pause completely . "Because ?"

his thumb press a bit on your sides , his hands on either side of your waist . keeping you there , he feels you want to just stand and walk out .

"Because , oh ! The delivery's here ! I'll get it !"

he watches you hurry your way to the door and stays there for a bit . smirking to himself . seems to be stuck in the memory train today , he remembers one thing one of the guys said after a month or two of you two being introduced to each other .

"You know , Y/n seems interested in you ."

perhaps , heizou is worth believing sometimes .

SCARA-LiNE / WORK NAVi !

[bomberqueen17]

moo

there is a cow lying in the park across the street being very idyllic in the morning mist.

last night we finally asked at the front desk if this hotel has a pool. it does. it closes at 9pm tho. the guy gave us directions and we went to find it. it was a four-minute walk at fairly high speed, through several fire doors, down several hallways i would never have guessed were part of this building, and there was absolutely no signage of any kind. but there's an attendant. so it feels to me like. they should want someone to know about this so they can justify the cost of the attendant???

anyway it was a truly wild odyssey. we arrived like ten minutes before closing and the attendant was like "..... can i help you" very weary-politely and we were like "no! we just wanted to find the place!" and he was visibly much happier then and told us all about it.

my new phone is huge and clunky and one of the camera lenses is slightly damaged, but the lens that works is really good so i did take a bunch of good photos and at some point i will organize and present them. today is another outing, however. and i will take even more photos of this outing.

i looked at my credit card statement and in fact they did *not* charge me a hundred quid to not fix my phone, they only charged me for the new phone and then the new-new actually-working phone on top of that.

the cellphone store clerk also asked us, since we'd admitted to being americans, who we were voting for, and when we answered, he said "she's totally going to win! i have asked eight americans recently and seven of them said her!" and dude was like, diplomatically, sir, the sorts of americans who travel to europe are going to be disproportionately the ones who vote like they know there's a rest of the world that exists, so your sample might be skewed. i was still being horrified that an american traveling abroad would admit to supporting That One. blggh if you're going to be a troglodyte stay the fuck home, you don't deserve europe.

i said "politics have been sort of weird here yah?" and he was like "people here aren't political" and i said "what a luxury!"

he also was like "your election affects us though" and i was like "that is a true and reasonable statement."

last night i ordered fish and chips in a restaurant and i had made conversation about how much nicer the weather was than i'd prepared for, for this trip, so the waiter was like ah is it your first fish and chips and i was like oh i used to live here, rather than attempting to explain to him that actually fish fries are a regional specialty in buffalo and they are remarkably identical to the experience here only we have better side dishes XD (srsly britain try german potato salad sometime it's p great as a potato delivery vehicle and it also includes bacon)

i will say when i came here as a teenager i wound up with a really weird accent, but on this trip the combo of traveling with a fellow american and also not being immersed in it to the same extent and also not being seventeen means my normal accent has just gotten slightly stronger i think. i mean also i was here for most of a year then, and this hasn't even been a week, so.

ok time to go out on the balcony and take a picture of this persistently scenic cow.

[taihua]

thoughts on peixin? 👀

Took me forever to get to this one because apparently I have a lot of thoughts on peixin and needed to type them out on my laptop rather than on mobile!

I'll start with my boring "what fits with canon" answer: obviously it's a non-canon ship, but I generally don't think Pei Ming and Feng Xin are very close or spend a lot of time around each other. Feng Xin is a known loner who doesn't spend time in heaven, and Pei Ming is busy seducing women (I think he's arguably bisexual in theory but in practice he just likes women too much to bother seducing men). There isn't even really any overlap in their territories to justify the idea of them helping each other, since Lang Qianqiu's in the middle. One of my favorite throwaway lines is Nan Feng calling the Peis "weirdos" in Book 1. Fanon overestimates how close they are by consistently having them be friends or hang out regularly.

Having said all of that... TGCF is the "side characters only exist to prop up Hualian" book, so there could have been a lot of interesting interactions between them if she took the time to actually work on Feng Xin's character and I am mad about the missed opportunities :(

I love the "God of Love who has a lot of casual sex" paired up with the "God of Sex who fears intimacy and has only had one serious relationship in his 800 years of life." Feng Xin should ask Pei Ming for help dealing with the horny prayers and Pei Ming should be delighted to share his knowledge with One Of The Guys and that should lead to the weirdest makeout session Feng Xin has ever had. It would be funny first but eventually they can have deeper conversations about what it means to be soldiers, their relationship with royalty/authority, love and loss and broken friendships...

And then my final thoughts are that I like any kind of dynamic that doesn't have Feng Xin as the sexy big-titted lampshade to Mu Qing's OOC crying traumatized little meow meow. Peixin has the potential to highlight some different sides of Feng Xin's character--it's simultaneously a friendship where he doesn't have ancient baggage to worry about so he can relax a little, but he also can't relax because being around Pei Ming is an inherently flustering experience and by the time Feng Xin realizes it he's probably in too deep (or maybe Pei Ming is in too deep ifkwim)

[fatallyaddictedtofiction]

My Spn Finale Thoughts:

As the ending of a show: 7/10

As the ending of Supernatural : 2/10

Let's start with the super obvious: things that Dont Make Sense.

Dean didn't know vampires were real until some way into s1 (ep16?) and yet knew John's journal almost off by heart, but never saw the clown mime vampires written into the journal? Hm.

At the start of the episode, we have Dean saying something like "to honour their legacies all we have to do is keep living" then literally dies 20 minutes later, completely dishonouring Cas' sacrifice

Where the Hell did Miracle go???

Who was Sam's blurry wife? Why wasn't she in any of the photos on the mantelpiece? Speaking of, where were all of Sam's friends, like Charlie, Kevin maybe, Ellen and Jo etc? Jody and Donna??

Why would Bobby say Cas helped when we don't even get to see him (i will come back to this thought later on)??

Stuff I liked/tolerated:

The CONCEPT of the emotional Sam and Dean talk

OG number plate on Baby

Ellen's Roadhouse

Sam getting to have a family

Stuff I didn't like:

How the emotional talk was done. 1st off, why is the camera focusing on their hands so much, why did they touch foreheads ew? Also Sam's "you can go now" was completely uncalled for like, did he want Dean to die???

Obviously how Dean died. He could have been sent into outer space with the Mark of Cain, he could have been locked at the bottom of the ocean in a Mal'Ak box, he could have stayed in Hell forever, but no. A rusty nail on a hunt he probably didn't even want to do,, he was applying for a JOB.

Jack didn't get to have a childhood and grow up. It would have been so much better for emotional connection to have Jack de-aged to grow up as a normal kid instead of Dean Jr whom we had NO emotional connection to, and only existed to say the same like to Sam that Dam said to Dean.

No representation for the girls or any of the side characters in general.

No resolving Dean and Cas. At this point I wouldn't care what they talked about but they should NOT have only briefly mentioned him just so he wouldn't have to show up.

DEAN DIDNT GET TO LIVE A LIFE. Thats all hes ever wanted. At some points even more than Sam. He had a job application and could have made himself a life but no it was his destiny to die like that or something (more on this later too). Tbf id rather him live his life alone than with a random person we've never seen before (that or Cas but they obviously couldn't choose that one)

My idea of what Actually Happened (aka Chuck Won Theory):

They try to separate the idea of destiny and Chuck's pre-written path, but they are one and the same. 15x20 is exactly the unsatisfying, mediocre ending Chuck wants to punish them with.

Dean's heaven is designed to make him want to stay. Everyone he loves within reach, the mention of a Cas that isn't in the empty (leaving Dean with no motivation to free him of hes 'already out') and the promise Sam will eventually arrive.

Chuck's ending still happened. One of them still got killed. Chuck's still pulling the strings and they are all still in the Hamster Wheel.

Overall: it ended the show. It didn't end Supernatural.

@hostofthepersever @duomaxwellandducks

[suusoh]

check this post out for context :)!! but anyways— weird cryptid johan, who can't be killed for some reason, but enjoys seeing you endearingly try anyways.

---

You try to bury him alive.

Maybe the trick isn't to kill him, but to keep him contained. Not give him any chance to come back from the dead, or regenerate his injuries. Locked away. In a dark, tight, crummy box like he deserves.

You wipe the sweat off your brow and neck, grease and grime mixing in with your body fluids and staining your shirt. At least the dirt mound is smaller now, an estimate of maybe... maybe 15 more shovels at least, and the bastard would finally leave you alone for a good while.

Maybe you should leave flowers, a nice little sentiment of peace.

Or maybe you should let a dog do it's business all over, you don't really care about what to do afterwards. You're just glad you got the cement part over.

Having to combine all that cement mix, carry heavy buckets to pour all over his casket, and waiting for it to dry was back-breaking. But it was a necessary precaution no less; anything to ensure you never see those god-awful eyes stare at you again.

Hah, rest in peace you son of a bitch.

...or daughter, or something.

Come to think of it: was he— it— even a guy? or even had an existing gender at all? Gender is rather... more of a human thing after all, creating a definition to categorise ourselves. To categorise other humans.

And that thing, obviously, is nowhere near to what can even be considered human. Seeming to switch out of skins as if it were merely switching out shirts for the day. Even morphing itself and contorting its face and body into the image of a dead relative of yours one time.

(It got it wrong. It copied the image from a family picture, but family pictures never contain faces of disappointment, do they? That's where it made a mistake, by copying that camera-ready smile and looking at you warmly.

and that's how you knew something was wrong.)

As confusing as it is by itself, another thing bothers you. See, it could easily copy anyone, at any given moment. Anyone. From a distant childhood friend to the everyday mailman.

Yet it leaves you stunned at times that it chooses a somewhat... "consistent" body, if you can call it that, when it comes it visit you. You'd expect it to come to you wearing your classmates face, or donning the look of an innocent child, or if it really wants, it could do something closer to home again.

But... no. It actually, presents itself with this certain appearance for some reason.

It didn't resemble anyone from your past or of significance to you, so using this look leaves your tormentation out of the list (surprisingly); it doesn't look like your ideal type either, so definitely not seduction. You have no idea who this is.

Perhaps a collage of features the entity chose to mix and match, or is it an entirely copied form of an already existing person? If so, then why him? Who is he?

A young man.

Blonde, tall, and pale; a crisp matching blazer and pants ensemble that never seemed to wrinkle.

Blue eyes.

Blue wretched eyes, you're absolutely sure you've already drove a pen into, or cut out with a knife, numerous times into a bloody squishy mess that leaves you crying after. But no matter what, those eyeballs always seems to come back as good as new the next time you see them again. Untouched in its place and doll-like, a bit too squeaky clean and a bit too perfect.

It makes your skin crawl.

Breathe... you're almost done.

You take a small break, lowering your self to sit on the muddy dirt ground, groaning when your backaches serve as a reminder of being hunched over all day; you toss the shovel aside and take in much needed breaths.

Something ice-cold and wet touches the back of your neck.

You jolt forward. shocked. disgusted. Quickly using your hand to cover your nape. Eyes shooting open and twisting around to whatever the hell just did that.

A singular bottle of water is held in front of you. You freeze.

"Tired?"

He asks, gentle expression resting on his face, still holding out the cold bottle with his hand to you.

A hand without even a single trace of blood, dirt, or cement on it, not even a single speck hiding under the fingernails.

No.

No No No No.

He's here.

He's not 8 feet underground stuffed in a dark wooden box, with a sheet of cement weighing on top of it to prevent him from crawling out, and layers and layers of dirt ensuring to push him down with added pressure.

He. Is. Here.

And he is smiling at you, whilst handing you a drink. In his neatly pressed clothes that look picked straight from the dry cleaners. And now everything you did, for the past 39 hours of sheer labor and desperation, is reduced to absolutely— nothing.

"I apologise for not telling you sooner to save you the trouble."

You don't need his comfort; the emotions he invokes in you will never come close to resembling comfort.

"But at the very least, it's not all for naught: you've found another method that doesn't quite do the job yet."

He’s still holding out the water for you, but it’s the way he extends his hand that makes you stare at the synthetically still limb in front of you, nothing about it human or natural—more akin to a statue covered by a thin layer of skin.

After lingering in a still state of suspended animation— his hand moves. The action so sudden, you flinch a bit. This elicits... something from him. You're not sure what reaction he's supposed to be portraying right now, was he supposed to be... chuckling? Or gasping in some weird way? The sound never making it past his throat as he just continues staring and making that noise. You don't like it.

He brings the bottle closer to your lips, wordlessly encouraging you to drink. A twitch in his fingers suggests he’s trying to recalibrate the functions of his human body, retrying to hold the bottle correctly; more naturally. More... gentle. Fluid.

He smiles again; it doesn’t make you feel good. The tug of his lips is a mimicry; you're sure he's borrowing someone else’s mouth right now, still trying to appear as "comforting".

"We'll just have to try again, won't we? I’m sure you’ll find plenty of ways to keep disappointing yourself."

[nightswatchdisbandmentera]

I have a few jumbled thoughts about the ending of the Long Night, especially as it would relate to the whole idea of “the dragon has three heads”. The Long Night represents a disruption in a larger, cyclical framework—a period where imbalance overtakes the natural order. And within this context, I see each ‘head’ of the three-headed dragon as uniquely responsible for restoring balance and bringing the world back into harmony. Each ‘head’ embodies a distinct facet of restoring balance to the world, yet they work together, either in tandem or sequentially, to set things right once more. So I’ve been trying to tie together some thoughts I have regarding what each being in this triumvirate is uniquely suited to do. Because I personally don’t think any one person will be responsible for being the hero, as that just seems so antithetical to this series; and I also think the Long Night is just way too multifaceted to be ended by a singular action or person. 

This is what we know about the Long Night:

“Oh, my sweet summer child,” Old Nan said quietly, “what do you know of fear? Fear is for the winter, my little lord, when the snows fall a hundred feet deep and the ice wind comes howling out of the north.Fear is for the long night, when the sun hides its face for years at a time, and little children are born and live and die all in darkness while the direwolves grow gaunt and hungry, and the white walkers move through the woods.” “You mean the Others,” Bran said querulously. “The Others,” Old Nan agreed. “Thousands and thousands of years ago, a winter fell that was cold and hard and endless beyond all memory of man. There came a night that lasted a generation, and kings shivered and died in their castles even as the swineherds in their hovels. Women smothered their children rather than see them starve, and cried, and felt their tears freeze on their cheeks.” Her voice and her needles fell silent, and she glanced up at Bran with pale, filmy eyes and asked, “So, child. This is the sort of story you like?” “Well,” Bran said reluctantly, “yes, only …” Old Nan nodded. “In that darkness, the Others came for the first time,” she said as her needles went click click click. “They were cold things, dead things, that hated iron and fire and the touch of the sun, and every creature with hot blood in its veins. They swept over holdfasts and cities and kingdoms, felled heroes and armies by the score, riding their pale dead horses and leading hosts of the slain. All the swords of men could not stay their advance, and even maidens and suckling babes found no pity in them. They hunted the maids through frozen forests, and fed their dead servants on the flesh of human children.” (Bran IV, AGoT)

We focus so heavily on the Others—understandably so—that we often overlook some crucial details. The Others don’t exist in isolation. They arrive in the wake of an extreme winter, which enables their existence for they are “demons made of snow and ice and cold” (Samwell V, ASoS). And with the sun and its heat gone, they move within the darkness. So confronting the Others in battle, in and of itself, does not end the Long Night. The true struggle lies in addressing the elements that allow them to exist in the first place. To fully defeat the Others, our heroes must first restore light and the balance of the seasons.

No single character in this series has the ability to achieve this on their own. Even the key magical protagonists are only equipped to address certain aspects of the conflict. That’s why the dragon must have three heads, each embodying a crucial responsibility: one to restore the natural cycle and end the long winter, another uniquely positioned as the antithesis to the Others, and a third tasked with confronting darkness by bringing light back into the world.

By now, you can see where I’m heading with this, right? I believe the three heads are Bran, who represents summer and stands as the antithesis to winter; Daenerys, whose dragons are the direct counter to the Others; and Jon, who occupies a more complex role as both the one who harnesses light and embodies it. Beyond this, each of these characters has been positioned as a chosen one, with distinct yet mirrored magical destinies that set them apart from the other POV characters.

I’m reminded of a quote from Arya’s POV in Dance:

One time, the girl remembered, the Sailor’s Wife had walked her rounds with her and told her tales of the city’s stranger gods. “That is the house of the Great Shepherd. Three-headed Trios has that tower with three turrets. The first head devours the dying, and the reborn emerge from the third. I don’t know what the middle head’s supposed to do….”

While I have more detailed thoughts on this passage, for now, I believe Daenerys represents the first head, Bran the third, and Jon the middle. Each head is tasked with a unique responsibility—one that is specific to them, that the others cannot fulfill. To end the Long Night, the three heads work together, but each plays a distinct part. There is some overlap, particularly with the middle head, who might serve as the balance between the extremes, yet each figure is positioned to occupy a particular space within this framework.

So I want to lay my thoughts here and see if we can get some wider discussion 👀 

The first aspect of the Long Night - and perhaps the most important if we’re thinking of what makes it happen in the first place - is the long winter that precedes it.

Bran looked down. There was nothing below him now but snow and cold and death, a frozen wasteland…  (Bran III, AGoT)

This winter provides the very elements that sustain the Others: snow and ice. It’s this aspect that I believe extends humanity’s struggle during the Long Night. With an almost endless supply of ice and snow, can our heroes truly defeat the Others through direct combat alone? I really don’t think so. The abundance of snow, accompanied by a persistent cold, suggests that new Others can continuously be ‘created’. While this is largely speculative given how little we know about them, I find it compelling that the Others seem to materialize out of the darkness itself (see Prologue, AGoT). And when Sam kills the Other in Storm, it simply dissolves…

Sam rolled onto his side, eyes wide as the Other shrank and puddled, dissolving away. In twenty heartbeats its flesh was gone, swirling away in a fine white mist. Beneath were bones like milkglass, pale and shiny, and they were melting too.

And that might not mean much in and of itself, but I’m inclined to think of the ADWD prologue:

The white world turned and fell away. For a moment it was as if he were inside the weirwood, gazing out through carved red eyes as a dying man twitched feebly on the ground and a madwoman danced blind and bloody underneath the moon, weeping red tears and ripping at her clothes. Then both were gone and he was rising, melting, his spirit borne on some cold wind. He was in the snow and in the clouds, he was a sparrow, a squirrel, an oak. A horned owl flew silently between his trees, hunting a hare; Varamyr was inside the owl, inside the hare, inside the trees. Deep below the frozen ground, earthworms burrowed blindly in the dark, and he was them as well. I am the wood, and everything that’s in it, he thought, exulting. A hundred ravens took to the air, cawing as they felt him pass. A great elk trumpeted, unsettling the children clinging to his back. A sleeping direwolf raised his head to snarl at empty air.

The Other and the human skinchanger dissolving after “death” is so fascinating. And it raises many questions. Death wasn’t the end for Varamyr as his spirit went into his wolf. So is that the same with the Other who also dissolved into white air? As long as magic and suitable conditions (i.e., winter and all its elements) exist, then the Others can never truly die and thus could take on another form?

If that’s the case, then winter itself must be addressed to cut off the Others’ vital resources—along with the magic that sustains them, though we’ll get to that later. And who better to combat winter if not Bran Stark of “Winter-fell”?

Now you know, the crow whispered as it sat on his shoulder. Now you know why you must live. “Why?” Bran said, not understanding, falling, falling. Because winter is coming. […] Bran touched his forehead, between his eyes. The place where the crow had pecked him was still burning, but there was nothing there, no blood, no wound. He felt weak and dizzy. He tried to get out of bed, but nothing happened. And then there was movement beside the bed, and something landed lightly on his legs. He felt nothing. A pair of yellow eyes looked into his own, shining like the sun. The window was open and it was cold in the room, but the warmth that came off the wolf enfolded him like a hot bath. His pup, Bran realized … or was it? He was so big now. He reached out to pet him, his hand trembling like a leaf. When his brother Robb burst into the room, breathless from his dash up the tower steps, the direwolf was licking Bran’s face. Bran looked up calmly. “His name is Summer,” he said.

Bran’s wolf, a reflection of his own identity, only receives his name after Bran glimpses his magical destiny. With winter’s horrors looming, Bran must become the summer that rises to challenge it.

As the Prince of Winterfell, Bran’s title and inheritance—rooted in the Stark legacy from the first Long Night and Bran the Builder—signify a dominance over winter. He is the summer prince, heir to the place where “winter fell, defeated”.

“And who is Summer?” Jojen prompted. “My direwolf.” He smiled. “Prince of the green.”

Prince. The man-sound came into his head suddenly, yet he could feel the rightness of it. Prince of the green, prince of the wolfswood. He was strong and swift and fierce, and all that lived in the good green world went in fear of him. (Bran I, ASoS)

Because winter brings death to the land, summer is needed to restore warmth, vitality, and breathe life back into the world. And that’s why Bran’s identity not just as the “prince of the green”, but as the last of the greenseers (of course once Bloodraven kicks the bucket) puts him in a unique position during the Long Night. 

He will be the one to end the winter.

I’m still piecing together what this might ultimately look like, as we need more information about greenseeing and how Bran may fully harness it. However, from what we do know, it seems greenseeing is extends to earth magic—shaping and manipulating the natural world, as seen with events like the Hammer of the Waters. Additionally, greenseers can perceive past, present, and future, which essentially aligns with the passage of time. And isn’t that what the cyclical nature of the seasons embodies? Time flows, and with it come physical changes in the land: winter brings barrenness, spring rebirth, and summer growth. Humanity needs someone who understands this cycle and possesses the power to influence the earth itself.

Since Bran has already glimpsed the heart of winter, it’s possible he will find himself returning there, perhaps retracing the steps of the last hero. Additionally, the Isle of Faces and the God’s Eye, rich with weirwoods and sacred significance, seem like fitting locations for him to play a pivotal role in restoring balance; especially when we consider his role as a Fisher King/Grail figure who is linked with the renewal of once barren land. Whether Bran has to dig deep into the earth’s roots or manipulate the flow of time itself, the Long Night cannot end without his dominance over winter.

However, while restoring the balance of the seasons is crucial, neutralizing the immediate threat posed by the Others and their thralls is extremely important- and that’s where Dany comes in!

That night she dreamt that she was Rhaegar, riding to the Trident. But she was mounted on a dragon, not a horse. When she saw the Usurper’s rebel host across the river they were armored all in ice, but she bathed them in dragonfire and they melted away like dew and turned the Trident into a torrent. Some small part of her knew that she was dreaming, but another part exulted. This is how it was meant to be. (Dany III, ASoS)

I’ve argued before that, of our three chosen ones, Dany is the best suited to take on the role of military commander—and I don’t think that’s a far-fetched claim. She has one of the cleanest and most impressive military records in the main series, proving herself a formidable tactician. Not to mention, she commands the dragons—living embodiments of fire—who have been positioned as the direct counter to the Others, creatures of ice. While the Others bring cold and death, Dany and her dragons are fire made flesh, a force of life and renewal.

There are other narrative arguments for why Dany’s role is going to be so heavily militaristic. 

Until one day Prince Rhaegar found something in his scrolls that changed him. No one knows what it might have been, only that the boy suddenly appeared early one morning in the yard as the knights were donning their steel. He walked up to Ser Willem Darry, the master-at-arms, and said, ‘I will require sword and armor. It seems I must be a warrior.’” (Dany I, ASoS)

“No one ever looked for a girl,” he said. “It was a prince that was promised, not a princess. Rhaegar, I thought … the smoke was from the fire that devoured Summerhall on the day of his birth, the salt from the tears shed for those who died. He shared my belief when he was young, but later he became persuaded that it was his own son who fulfilled the prophecy, for a comet had been seen above King’s Landing on the night Aegon was conceived, and Rhaegar was certain the bleeding star had to be a comet. What fools we were, who thought ourselves so wise! The error crept in from the translation. Dragons are neither male nor female, Barth saw the truth of that, but now one and now the other, as changeable as flame. The language misled us all for a thousand years. Daenerys is the one, born amidst salt and smoke. The dragons prove it.” (Samwell IV, AFFC)

“Azor Ahai, beloved of R’hllor! The Warrior of Light, the Son of Fire! Come forth […]” (Davos I, ACoK)

Azor Ahai is said to be a warrior, and while Dany doesn’t fit the traditional image of what that means, she is still an active participant in warfare. Moreover, one of the central aspects of her character is her role as an agent of freedom:

“…this Mother of Dragons, this Breaker of Chains, is above all a rescuer.” (Tyrion VI, ADWD)

She has spent much of her arc directly combating slavery which might seem unrelated, but the Others come with their own type of bondage in their creations of undead. The slavery of the Others is not just physical, but spiritual, and Dany’s role in battling them aligns with her fight for freedom. She isn’t suited to combat winter itself, as Bran is, but her strength lies in physical battle, which Bran is not. To put it another way: if Bran is Frodo journeying into the depths of Mordor, Dany is Aragorn, turning Sauron’s eye with her dragons and leading the fight to defeat his armies.

But I don’t think her role ends there. 

The Others are not dead. They are strange, beautiful… think, oh… the Sidhe made of ice, something like that… a different sort of life… inhuman, elegant, dangerous. SSM

I’ve already mentioned that beyond the elements of winter—snow, ice, and cold—the Others are sustained by magic. Building on the idea of the Other dissolving into mist, it’s possible that magic is what binds these beings together: magic fuses a consciousness with snow and ice into a corporeal entity. So, in addition to battling them physically, our heroes—and Dany in particular—may have to confront this magic that gives the Others their form and power.

“Half a year gone, that man could scarcely wake fire from dragonglass. He had some small skill with powders and wildfire, sufficient to entrance a crowd while his cutpurses did their work. He could walk across hot coals and make burning roses bloom in the air, but he could no more aspire to climb the fiery ladder than a common fisherman could hope to catch a kraken in his nets.” Dany looked uneasily at where the ladder had stood. Even the smoke was gone now, and the crowd was breaking up, each man going about his business. In a moment more than a few would find their purses flat and empty. “And now?” “And now his powers grow, Khaleesi. And you are the cause of it.” “Me?” She laughed. “How could that be?” The woman stepped closer and lay two fingers on Dany’s wrist. “You are the Mother of Dragons, are you not?” (Dany III, ACoK)

The birth of Dany’s dragons seems to have strengthened fire magic, tying her deeply to the very fabric of magic itself. The AGoT bookend suggests that the Others’ ice magic and the dragons’ fire magic may be connected, part of a larger magical ecosystem, or perhaps opposing forces that coexist on opposite ends of the spectrum. Ice and fire, death and life—both seem bound by the same mystical forces. Given Dany’s connection to magic and the fact that the reemergence of her dragons parallels the resurgence of the Others, she seems best suited to combat the magic that enables the Others to take form—serving as an inverse to her bringing dragons to life. And this underscores her dual role as both a destroyer and creator of life

The specifics on Dany’s confrontation with the Others and the magic that creates them remains unclear. She could venture to the heart of winter/the Lands of Always Winter and face the source of their power, creating narrative symmetry between the dragons of the Lands of the Long Summer and the creatures from the Lands of Always Winter. Alternatively, she might find herself in the Isle of Faces if her dream of fighting the Others at the Trident is fulfilled literally. The Isle, with its rich magical ecosystem, would be a fitting place for such a climax.

Bran, too, seems destined to go to the Isle of Faces (I’m a firm ‘Bran, King at the Gods Eye’ truther). This could be where their paths cross and their roles intersect. Bran, with his deep connection to nature and time, might provide Dany with guidance on how to engage with magic and influence its effects on the world. With Bran’s knowledge and Dany’s firepower, she could then deliver the final blow. While much of this remains speculative, what is clear is that their roles complement each other.

And that leaves Jon, the “light bringer”.

They said the words together, as the last light faded in the west and grey day became black night. “Hear my words, and bear witness to my vow,” they recited, their voices filling the twilit grove. “Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honor to the Night’s Watch, for this night and all the nights to come.” (Jon VI, AGoT)

It’s important to see Jon’s primary function as an extension of his current role. He is a man who watches for the night—a sentinel standing against the encroaching darkness. This role is deeply embedded in his identity, and it’s fascinating to see how it manifests in his prophetic dreams.

It’s black inside, and I can see the steps spiraling down. Somehow I know I have to go down there, but I don't want to. I'm afraid of what might be waiting for me. The old Kings of Winter are down there, sitting on their thrones with stone wolves at their feet and iron swords across their laps, but it's not them I'm afraid of. I scream that I'm not a Stark, that this isn't my place, but it's no good, I have to go anyway, so I start down, feeling the walls as I descend, with no torch to light the way. It gets darker and darker, until I want to scream." He stopped, frowning, embarrassed. "That's when I always wake." (Jon IV,AGoT)

Last night he had dreamed the Winterfell dream again. He was wandering the empty castle, searching for his father, descending into the crypts. Only this time the dream had gone further than before. In the dark he'd heard the scrape of stone on stone. When he turned he saw that the vaults were opening, one after the other. As the dead kings came stumbling from their cold black graves, Jon had woken in pitch-dark, his heart hammering. (Jon VII, AGoT)

The Winterfell crypt dreams contain many intriguing elements, but I’ll focus primarily on two key motifs: death and darkness.

Jon is the most natural fit for the middle head of the dragon because he exists at the intersection of extremes: light and darkness, destruction and renewal, death and life.

When the spirit stepped out of the open tomb, pale white and moaning for blood, Sansa ran shrieking for the stairs, and Bran wrapped himself around Robb’s leg, sobbing. Arya stood her ground and gave the spirit a punch. It was only Jon, covered with flour. “You stupid,” she told him, “you scared the baby,” but Jon and Robb just laughed and laughed, and pretty soon Bran and Arya were laughing too. (Arya IV, AGoT)

While Bran is connected to summer and warmth through his magical familiar, Jon possesses a unique sensitivity to death, embodied by his bond with Ghost.

He sniffed at the bark, smelled wolf and tree and boy, but behind that there were other scents, the rich brown smell of warm earth and the hard grey smell of stone and something else, something terrible. Death, he knew. He was smelling death. He cringed back, his hair bristling, and bared his fangs.  Don't be afraid, I like it in the dark. No one can see you, but you can see them. But first you have to open your eyes. See? Like this. And the tree reached down and touched him.  (Jon VII, ACoK)

Furthermore, Jon’s fate at the end of ADWD implies that through his death and eventual rebirth, he becomes a ghost in his own right—caught between life and death, existing yet not fully alive. This intertwines with his connection to darkness, as Jon straddles the boundary between light and darkness: a shadow.

All in black, he was a shadow among shadows, dark of hair, long of face, grey of eye. (Jon VII, ACoK)

“I can show you.” Melisandre draped one slender arm over Ghost, and the direwolf licked her face. “The Lord of Light in his wisdom made us male and female, two parts of a greater whole. In our joining there is power. Power to make life. Power to make light. Power to cast shadows.” “Shadows.” The world seemed darker when he said it. “Every man who walks the earth casts a shadow on the world. Some are thin and weak, others long and dark. You should look behind you, Lord Snow. The moon has kissed you and etched your shadow upon the ice twenty feet tall.” Jon glanced over his shoulder. The shadow was there, just as she had said, etched in moonlight against the Wall. (Jon VI, ADWD)

Shadows, like ghosts, are echoes of something once tangible. They arise from obstructed light, existing in a realm that is neither completely dark nor wholly bright, hovering between presence and absence. They highlight where light is absent. But shadows also exist only in the presence of light, revealing the delicate boundary between illumination and the lack thereof. 

So building on that idea, it’s significant that Jon’s frequent journeys into the Stark underworld, where death and darkness prevail, take a pivotal turn in ASoS when he becomes vividly aware of light fading in real time.

He dreamt he was back in Winterfell, limping past the stone kings on their thrones. Their grey granite eyes turned to follow him as he passed, and their grey granite fingers tightened on the hilts of the rusted swords upon their laps. You are no Stark, he could hear them mutter, in heavy granite voices. There is no place for you here. Go away. He walked deeper into the darkness. "Father?" he called. "Bran? Rickon?" No one answered. A chill wind was blowing on his neck. "Uncle?" he called. "Uncle Benjen? Father? Please, Father, help me." Up above he heard drums. They are feasting in the Great Hall, but I am not welcome there. I am no Stark, and this is not my place. His crutch slipped and he fell to his knees. The crypts were growing darker. A light has gone out somewhere. "Ygritte?" he whispered. "Forgive me. Please." But it was only a direwolf, grey and ghastly, spotted with blood, his golden eyes shining sadly through the dark…

This is particularly noteworthy because of a similar, parallel dreams:

That night he dreamed of the feast Ned Stark had thrown when King Robert came to Winterfell. The hall rang with music and laughter, though the cold winds were rising outside. At first it was all wine and roast meat, and Theon was making japes and eyeing the serving girls and having himself a fine time . . . until he noticed that the room was growing darker. The music did not seem so jolly then; he heard discords and strange silences, and notes that hung in the air bleeding. Suddenly the wine turned bitter in his mouth, and when he looked up from his cup he saw that he was dining with the dead. (Theon V, ACoK)

The fires that ran along the blade were guttering out, and Jaime remembered what Cersei had said. No. Terror closed a hand about his throat. Then his sword went dark, and only Brienne’s burned, as the ghosts came rushing in. (Jaime VI, ASoS)

The ASoS crypt dream runs parallel to Theon’s ACoK dream and Jaime’s ASoS dream, with a common element: the presence of death and growing darkness.

While the crypts are inherently dark, Jon perceives when other sources of light are extinguished—true to his role in the Night’s Watch, which is to keep vigil against encroaching darkness. This ability to sense the fading light underscores his ghostly nature, where he reflects light while simultaneously existing in a state of absence. It also highlights his role as a shadow, existing in the blending of light and darkness. As both a shadow and a ghost, he can navigate these dual states, acting within the world’s transitions between day and night.

Which brings us to what I consider a continuation of Jon VII; while that chapter is marked by a lack of light, this next chapter is characterized by an abundance of it:

Burning shafts hissed upward, trailing tongues of fire. Scarecrow brothers tumbled down, black cloaks ablaze. ‘Snow,’ an eagle cried, as foemen scuttled up the ice like spiders. Jon was armored in black ice, but his blade burned red in his fist. As the dead men reached the top of the Wall, he sent them down to die again. He slew a greybeard, a beardless boy, a giant, a gaunt man with filed teeth, and a girl with thick red hair. Too late he recognized Ygritte. She was gone as quick as she’d appeared. The world dissolved into a red mist. (Jon XII, ADWD)

At some point between these two dreams, Jon found (or even created) light and he wields it as a weapon. And it’s clear that Jon’s sword in this dream is the actual manifestation Azor Ahai’s Lightbringer:

“In ancient books of Asshai it is written that there will come a day after a long summer when the stars bleed and the cold breath of darkness falls heavy on the world. In this dread hour, a warrior shall draw from the fire a burning sword. And that sword shall be Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes, and he who clasps it shall be Azor Ahai come again, and the darkness shall flee before him.” (Davos I, ACoK)

Lightbringer has two major requirements: to give off heat and to illuminate. Jon’s sword does both!

We’ve seen a number Lightbringer-esque weapons (e.g., Beric’s and Thoros’), but Stannis Baratheon’s sword is the most intriguing proxy.

Davos knelt, and Stannis drew his longsword. Lightbringer, Melisandre had named it; the red sword of heroes, drawn from the fires where the seven gods were consumed. The room seemed to grow brighter as the blade slid from its scabbard. The steel had a glow to it; now orange, now yellow, now red. The air shimmered around it, and no jewel had ever sparkled so brilliantly. But when Stannis touched it to Davos’s shoulder, it felt no different than any other longsword. “Ser Davos of House Seaworth,” the king said, “are you my true and honest liege man, now and forever?” (Davos IV, ASoS)

While Stannis’ sword is visually dazzling, it is, in essence, a well-made fake. Its bright glow meets one of the two requirements for “light-bringer”, yet its impressive variety of hues with no actual heat serve as a clue that it is not the true sword of heroes. When the world cloaked in darkness, a weapon that shines as brightly as the sun is undoubtedly a powerful symbol. And Stannis’ sword is bright….

….but it’s almost too bright. His sword emits the wrong kind of light—one that is all glamor with little substance. This great conflict is referred to as the “war for the dawn”. So what humanity needs is a reminder of the dawn itself:

As a red dawn broke in the east, Grey Wind began to howl again. (Catelyn X, AGoT)

A swollen red sun hung low against the western hills when the gates of the castle opened. (Catelyn IX, AGoT)

Dawn and the sun are often associated with red hues in the text, a color heavily tied to fire (e.g., House Targaryen and R’hllor). Stannis’ sword gives off light, but it lacks the essence of true warmth. In contrast, Jon’s sword is the real Lightbringer: it is hot enough to burn against the cold and it radiates the actual red hues of dawn, thus illuminating the world around it.

Jon’s role as the archetypal fantasy protagonist necessitates a magic sword—Lightbringer will be his Excalibur; his Anduril. But more than just being a weapon, his Lightbringer symbolizes the transition from darkness to light. Dawn, a moment of transformation, begins with deep red hues that retain the shadows of night before blooming into the full brightness of the sun. Like the early dawn, Jon straddles the line between night and day, existing between life and death, darkness and light. As the middle dragon head, he embodies balance.

I’m not really sure how that plays out in the endgame; hell, I still can’t figure out how Jon will “forge” Lightbringer in the first place. But he has to end up somewhere for his arc to reach its magical climax. I’ve speculated that Bran and Dany might find themselves at the Isle of Faces or the heart of winter. The latter is a strong possibility for Jon, especially if he too recreates the last hero’s journey; not to mention his connections to snow and winter. But he could also return to the Wall, a mighty structure that symbolizes the boundary between life and death. The Wall is also imbued with ancient magic that radiates outward (e.g., strengthening Mel’s magic and prolonging Maester Aemon’s life). Therefore, it could serve as the ideal location for Jon to reignite and wield the light that has long been hidden.

Though Bran, Jon, and Dany each have distinct roles in restoring balance, their actions are deeply intertwined, with shared themes across their arcs. Jon and Bran connect through their existence in darkness, as seen in their ACoK dreams. All three share connections to death: Bran inhabits the realm of the dead (Mel I, ADWD; Jon’s ACoK wolfdream), Jon embodies a ghost-like nature that straddles life and death, and Dany is called the “bride of fire, daughter of death”. Additionally, Jon and Bran are linked to winter, and both Jon and Dany share the legacy of Azor Ahai and Lightbringer, with dragon breath also echoing the red hues of dawn. Together, they are not just separate forces but three heads of the same dragon, working in concert to ensure that the Long Night ends and the cycle of life and death continues.

TL;DR:

The dragon has three heads, each with a unique role in maintaining the cycle of balance, despite their overlaps in common themes. Bran, the Prince of Winterfell, embodies summer and inherits the legacy of the kings of winter, making him the most suited to confront the Long Night’s origin: winter itself. The Long Night cannot end without Bran’s triumph, as winter represents death while summer signifies new life. Dany, linked to the ebb and flow of magic and the direct antithesis of the Others, is best positioned to engage them in battle and counteract the ice magic that enables their existence. As the perfect manifestation of fire magic, she serves as a powerful weapon, embodying the theme of destruction by being “breaker of chains”. Meanwhile, Jon straddles the boundaries of light and dark, life and death, destruction and creation. His unique position allows him to navigate these extremes, bringing forth the lost light while holding back the consuming darkness. As the embodiment of balance—dead yet alive, icy yet fiery—he ensures the proper equilibrium between these forces.

Dragons, symbols of life, fire, and summer, starkly contrast with the cold death represented by winter and its children. Daenerys, as the Mother of Dragons, embodies the nurturing aspect of life, actively bringing forth new existence by counteracting suspended states of life (e.g., awakening dragon eggs and freeing slaves). Bran, representing youthful vitality, symbolizes young life that is both born and maturing. Jon occupies a unique position in the middle; he is like spring, a new life emerging from darkness, akin to an awakened dragon—life once petrified but now revitalized. Together, these three form a multifaceted dragon that embodies various dimensions of life, each contributing uniquely to the fight against the Long Night.

[bucketfullofstrawberries]

Today I shall be explaining how Edgar (Narrator), Mae (Curator) AND Inferos (TK) came to be.

Everyone buckled in? All ready? Alright! Here we GO—

The Creation Process / History.

Many millennia ago, The Universe was simply a mish mash of chemical compounds. Molecules weren't even established to be, they just simply.. Existed! It's unknown where the existence of everything had originated from. Now, there are many theories that hold up ideas of the origins of everything. Most Famously discussed being, of course, The Big Bang, estimated to have occurred 13.8 Billion years ago.

The Universe allegedly began as a tiny, high-density fireball, which spontaneously combusted and thus expanded as space. The Universe cooled in time, and with cooler conditions The First, simple elements began to form; Hydrogen, Helium and Lithium. Hydrogen being the main factor of the three. Gradually, gravity drew matter together which supposedly formed The First Stars & Galaxies. From here, Galaxies collected into into a mixture of Groups, Clusters & Superclusters, whereas some stars started to die within Supernova Explosions; their chemical remnants begun seeding new generations of stars, bringing their legacies to be long lasting but ALSO enabling the formation of New, rocky Planets. And one of those Planets, of course, just so happened to be Earth.

Now, somewhere, in-between all the kerfuffle, situated within the plentiful explosions and deaths of Stars and such alike , Larger Stars had begun to Collapse at the end of their Life Cycles. This brought into existence the first Black Hole. Now, A Black Hole, By Google Definition; A region of spacetime where gravity is so strong & nothing, including light & other electromagnetic waves, has enough energy to escape it.

The Theory of General Relativity predicts that a sufficiently compact mass can deform spacetime to form a black hole. At the time, obviously, these were a Rare Phenomena in the passing time of Space, and so contact with them involving an involuntary object had a slim chance of creating some Huge Reaction, seeing as Black Holes quite literally "Eat", in layman's terms, anything in its path. Nothing in existence, at that time, had ever had such a Strong Energy Scale to Escape, let alone Combat the likes of a Black hole. So nothing was capable of stopping them on their Daunting Path of Destruction. That is, until the introduction of an unfamiliar, foreign object in spacetime.

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

Lucidae Ignis in Aeternum, L.I.A.

[ ❝ Lucidae ❞,The term given the Brightest Star of a Constellation, Latin origins; the feminine singular of ❝ Lūcidus ❞, meaning ❝ Bright, Shining ❞ , ❝ Ignis in Aeternum. ❞, Latin origins; Meaning ❝ Fire Forever ❞, or rather ❝ Eternal Fire ❞ ]

This star-like-Giant of the Galaxian Empire was the largest existing ball of burning plasma known currently to Particular Knowledge of some, beating the Current Largest Known Star, UY Scuti, a Red Hypergiant standing at 1.188 Billion Kilometres, and somehow forming to be 156 Trillion Kilometres in size. That, in itself, is large enough to fit Five of our Solar System's within, and then some. It seems impossible, but at the same time. Existence as a whole is nothing far from what one would consider impossible. Yet here we are. Within Galaxies and Galaxies, Universes and Universes filled with who knows what.

Perhaps Stars even Bigger than LIA lie out there. Somewhere. LIA, as been theorised, has been said to of formed from Two Red Dying Hypergiants drawing close enough to one another at similar Low Levels of Combustion & existing at a Semi-Molten state to Weld Together, when Gravitational Forces between the two were strong enough to drawn one another in. This process of welding them to one another causes a sort of Infinitely Regenerative Source of Plasma Energy to power both stars and eventually merge them into one massive Hypergiant reaching lengths beyond general comprehension.

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It just so happens that both LIA, and The Black Hole, which was later on dubbed Nexis, a relatively small black hole compared to ones that may exist today, co-exist in the same region of space, which would inevitably cause their paths to collide, one way or another. Time goes by, space goes on. And it's not long before Nexis's strengthening pull manages to catch LIA in its undefeated fury.

But, being such a large supply of energy, The Strength of Nexis must be pushed to its extremes to be able to reel in this Goliath for its own personal gain. And so, the two fought for their individual, eternal reign. Like warriors. Until both succumbed. They collapsed onto one another. And something new was born.

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In some Stories, Folk Law & Myths carried across galaxies, it's been told through generations that these two Beasts of the Dark may have not been just... heartless monoliths, doing what they did simply because that's how things worked. Without any true, meaningful purpose other than just. To be.

As a matter of fact, It's strongly believed, by the few that tell the tales of the Universe, that these Giants had souls. Souls that had driving motives. Souls that felt for one another. And some found that tale to be as beautiful as it sounds.

And, if those tales were to be found true.. then it surely was. Tales etched into stone, written in old Greek, are the best source we currently have that depicts such a story. After thorough translation, this is what story was once told to be, and laughed at by the faces of many other highly religious figures;

❝ In the Times of Dark and Treacherous, the Lights of the Night were Dark & the Skies were Scary, Humanity was yet to be shaped out of the mud, and everything was Unorganized and Frail. Before our figures of Hierarchy came to be and ruled over our land, Two only dwelled in the Blank Canvas of The Dark. Brave Warriors. Who fought to keep Balance.

Elpída, Guardian of Distant Hope and Eternal Life, she fought for honour, to keep Light burning so the Dark would be luminous.

Maraíno, Executioner of Decay and Damnation, she fought for Power and took Life to Reign.

The Two Warriors Danced a Deadly Dance to Glorify their Ambitions in an Infinite Ballroom. It was a Fierce Battle. It was a Valiant Battle. And it kept Peace.

Their Battle could have been Eternal, everlasting, but at a point they both grew weak. Energy was forced to be used sparingly. Both that once wielded power and thrived off of it had turned that power into a channel for spite, a fuel for meaningless rage, and thus was no longer fruitful.

And once she had become frail, The Light of Elpída was dim. And the Hope she sought out to keep alive felt dismissed.

Maraíno cried out to their rival as they both came to a halt;

' The Light I once seeked from you to take has dimmed. And so it holds no value to me. So tell me, Darling Light, Why do I still seek you? '.

The Guardian answered with but another question;

' The Destruction you brought onto the existence of life has long since stopped as you have grown weaker. And you concentrate your time on my defeat. Yet, Why do I still fight you? '.

The Executioner had no answer to offer. And pondered upon this riddling response. And The Guardian spoke once more.

' Perhaps we fought for our ambitions once long ago, but I don't believe that to be the truth as we speak. ' she said, drawing closer to The Dark. Yet The Executioner did not try to defend itself. She allowed the touch of The Light to meet its faltering visage.

' Perhaps we fight now because we do not wish to be alone. I am the Light that illuminates you. Your soul encapsulates me. I have fought against it.. but now I fight to stay beside it. '. Once again, The Executioner could not reply. But it seemed as true to the two of them, whether they were to come to an agreement on the matter or not.

The battle had ended as suddenly as it had sprouted. The two held a gentle embrace around one another and uttered . And with the last of what they had, a spark in the Universe lit. And The True Empress that breathed life into our bodies had been born d from their dying light. It was born from two set souls, souls that had found their true purpose. To make life flourish. And to leave the Universe with company. With Life. With Hope. ❞

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This tale has long since been forgotten, and remembering it at any point should be taken with a grain of salt. Believe it as simply a mystery of space, or as a story of great ambition. Either way, what remains true is that both entities collided. And with that collision birthed an unusual form of life, something that was capable of capturing, creating, controlling. It was a mighty force.

It's believed, but not confirmed, by some that the fusion of both Hypergiant's actually caused the LIA’s core to become a type of White Hole, or at the very least something similar, as it did not collapse onto itself but instead rebirthed as something entirely new, and phenomenal at that. But the interruption of Plasma from LIA’s outer surface prevented any sort of Wormhole from forming.

It, instead, forced remaining light nuclei to merge with one another simultaneously, forming dozens of heavier nuclei that released enough energy to be able to bond with early specimens of hard light collected together in a nearby nebula ; ultimately creating an infinite, solidified source of energy that had someone managed to become its own organism.

This Theory stands as The Theory of Everlasting Creation, and believes in the existence of an all-powerful, essentially living, thinking organism that holds the ability to create existing, and even non-existing, elements, substances, materials, mixtures and compounds at will, with no finite limitations on how much it may create or be capable of creating, as well as also being able to deconstruct and destroy the prior at the same time.

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With all of this established, we may now bring our focus on this ‘hypothetical’ organism, or some may even refer to it as a Deity of sorts.

In Theory, this natural phenomena has created a God. It cannot die. And it can exist for eternity. With its purpose being to keep balance, and create. If it so chose to take that path.Thus, making it the perfect candidate for a Godly Figure. And in the future, it might just have been considered one by a select few. Early Astronomers who sought out the mysteries of space, perhaps. Who’s to say?

This being would be referred to as “The Creator” when humanity caught onto its presence, which was certainly fitting, considering the circumstances. However, long before humanity even had a name, the being itself had already come to find an alias of its own. It called itself “Mae”. Which would later be established as a word that correlates to “God/Goddess”, or “Beautiful”, in Gaelic/Celtic meanings. Or “Mother” in Portuguese; also oddly fitting. For more reasons than one. Which brings us to our next point:

What she created.

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Now, obviously, there came a point in time where living organisms had begun their own evolutionary pipeline. This was not brought upon the universe by the likes of she. As a matter of fact, this evolutionary advancement is something that fascinated her. Despite being an overpowering organism of creation, these life forms had formed themselves all on their own. She had no involvement with it whatsoever. And that alone caught her attention. In no time, she’d become fixated on this Planet and its independent growth. Even during the early stages of life, she kept a watchful eye on every little detail.

Single-celled organisms were fruitful and multiplied into multicellular life. From here, these organisms branched off into a vast variety of Chordata, which were primarily based in bodies of water and adapted to such in terms of diet and anatomical structure. Her attachment to these organisms grew further as she saw their development now leading into much more complex territory; Tetrapoda now becoming part of the equation as four-limbed vertebrate, which had not only become amniotes as they started to roam the land, but had also began to become more adapted to both aquatic and land based worlds in order to branch of FURTHER than what was initial expected.

The introduction to land brought upon more evolutionary expansion. The planet was now given Mammalia and Primates. They were full-on land dwellers at this point, roaming the Earth freely and seeking out new places to thrive and evolve further than they already had. And from there, amidst the rest of the world’s wonders, we were given the beginning of the Human Race… and they turned out to be a species the god had become quiet.. QUITE.. infatuated with..

She admired them.. From the way they came to be to the fact that they, too, were capable of creating things if they really set their minds to it..

They were interesting little things. She felt linked to them in ways that were difficult to describe.

And through keen observation, taking note of their strengths and their flaws, and discovering what exactly brought them such differentiating characteristics and experiences, she had an idea beginning to spark.

She wanted to create something like them.

She wanted to create an ideal model.. The PERFECT humane specimen..

Something that was so similar to their kind yet so completely different at the same time. Something that had their traits but something she could teach to achieve things like she could.

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So, with that brewing idea in mind, she began to experiment.

Surprisingly, despite Mae being perceived as something to be high and mighty and capable of pretty much anything, there were a lot of failed attempts & mistakes in the process. Obscure looking body shapes, a multitude of mish-mashed limbs, misplaced facial features that made her creations look uncanny.

But the main problem was that despite the effort she put into each individual attempt – none of them were capable of living freely. Which was the beautiful thing about humanity; they had their own desires, thoughts, ambitions and feelings. They did what they wished to do of their own accord. Nothing held them back.

And it had nothing to do with having a functioning mind. Or a beating heart. If anything, things like that were a primary human set-back. She knew this.

But the question was what exactly CRAFTED them into their own, distinct person if it wasn’t the thoughts of the mind or the life pumped into their hearts.

Eventually, though, she discovered that indescribable something simply by digging deeper. Thinking outside of the box, so to speak.

Each life on Earth appeared to have their own respective source of internal light. It was an incomprehensible thing to most, undiscovered by man and embedded deep within the heart & mind. But somehow, Mae was able to wrap her head around its existence.

A soul.

A magical thing. Founded upon clusters of stardust cumulated together in the central core of billions upon trillions spread out across universes.

Every soul was unique to its bodily host. Not a single soul was the same. Each feeling and experiencing things differently to one another.

A soul was something ever changing, that may link with another soul if bonds were grown enough to pull them together. Once a soul had linked with another, it was almost impossible to separate them. Only if the negative forces of attraction between souls grew too fierce would a soul be forced to separate.

Mae had discovered this phenomenon to be Soulmating. And it came in a multitude of different forms. Alongside hundreds and hundreds of differentiating characteristics that made up what a soul was.

These souls were intricate. And beautiful. And it was something Mae came to find precious.

And thus, she set herself the task to try and replicate such a thing. Create that unique essence of life, thriving off of its own undying light.

And eventually, with perseverance, self-encouragement and a hefty amount of elbow grease (despite very much not having elbows),

She did it. She crafted a soul. A perfect soul. A soul full of brilliance and undiscovered mystery. And a body, to keep that soul alive, to give it a face and name. To let it grow as a person. A person. Her own, darling creation. Which she looked upon with pride. And held her hopes high for to achieve the perfection she had perceived. And so, she gave it a name. Amor Aeternus. Which was a mishmash or words curated by the Romans of Earth. Two words, in Latin; Meaning

“Eternal Love”.

That was what it was called. Eternal Love. She had no reasoning as to why she named it this way. But she felt compelled to do so nonetheless.

But oh,

How fitting that name would be… ♡

However that name would one day develop into the man we know now as Edgar Vincent Marlowe... not just a Narrator, but a storyteller...~

..............................................................................................................................

Now, Highlighting THIS aspect;

Amongst all those failed attempts there was merely one out of thousands that was seemingly quite different. To say the least...

One that, miraculously, had a grown consciousness. The ability to live despite, by technicality, being categorized as the unliving. A small soul that formed on its own accord that would never of been noticed because of how fragile and simple it was. Attached to this unflattering malgamation of a body that was just BARELY keeping onto a humanoid figure.

...and yet, despite its perseverance to live; it never was noticed.

In fact, it was completely disregarded... and forgotton.

But this soul saw everything it could of had. And this soul never forgot. Never forgot how its chance at life was taken from hands of boiling flesh and instead given to another. Something more appealing. More successful. More putridly perfect.

And in itself it grew to hate. It grew to be full of jealousy. To be scornful, and full to the brim with resentment towards the being that he could of been. With a want to tear down everything that this Prince of The Stars had acquired and someday take his place. Show the universe that he WAS worthy of that status. He was special & capable enough to experience what this Brother of sorts of his had already experienced.

And so, he gave himself a name. To express his scorching, eternal flame of envious greed in bold. To overdramatize himself and show his self-proclaimed "upper status".

Stella Natum Inferos. (or "Inferos" for short.)

Meaning Star-born Hell Beast.

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is our Keeper of Time. The one who keeps the Wheel Turning and the one who could stop that Wheel at any given moment.

This is the Story of two Brothers, not bonded by blood but the eagerness & naivety of a joint Creator. One, Blissfully unaware and Blessed; Attune to the gift of Giving and a Heart of Gold, a Soul pure and true. The other, Scornfull & Painfully Aware; hateful and seething deep down only wishing for approval, and to be adored.

"The stars made you their own; you are adored and shine bright. I was cast out, sentenced to to be forgotten; denied acknowledgement and stripped of my life. You will always try to find a way to love. I dance with the tangled webs of resentment. You do not know me. I wish I did not live aside you."

And perhaps... this burning hatred held by one shall finally cut through the thin veil that keeps the two apart.

Their story is still being told, after all.....and a Story needs an Ending~

...and ending that may come sooner than possibly anticipated. You'll just have to wait and see.. ♡

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