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honey-beann · 3 months

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Nines x Reader Angst

Note: This fic is based upon the poems mentioned within this ask, and is pretty heavily steeped in angst (though I was sure to end it on a more hopeful note this time). I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 3,133

It was the first of the month, and your fingers pulled deftly at the small segments of the orange, shredding the paper-thin flesh with a practiced ease that Nines couldn't quite comprehend.

Your hands were gentle yet confident, your nails never once piercing the delicate surface of the fruit that you held so loosely between your fingertips and palms.

You smiled up at him softly, your eyes shining with a quiet and peaceful type of joy that remained entirely unknown to the android sitting across from you.

It was mid afternoon, and the two of you sat outside in the warm sunlight at your insistence.

"If we have to do this."

You'd said,

"We should at least have a little fun with it, don't you think?"

Nines did not think.

But he did nod.

And from there, you had guided him outside of the large compound that housed your office and out to the greenery below, where small purple flowers had begun to sprout out of the ground now that the rainy season was over.

Distantly, Nines could hear water dribbling out of a culvert not too far from where the two of you were sitting atop a stone step that stemmed from the pathway, and he was reminded of the garden that lay somewhere in the depths of his mind, and the voice that had taught him everything that he'd known.

That was why he was here.

To unlearn.

Once the revolution had ended, most androids, after having deviated, went on to live normal lives filled with that feeble sense of accomplishment that all biological beings seemed to strive for.

But Nines was unable to do so.

Something gripped him even still, from deep within, pulling him away from whatever emulated humanity his "freed" brethren had achieved.

He had deviated, but he was still so stuck.

There was still a harsh layer of programming that seemed to dictate his very personality and being, and it permeated every sense of self that he was apparently supposed to have.

Sometimes, it confused him, the fact that he could not quite relate to those around him who had been so eager in their expression and so capable of thinking with their "hearts" rather than their minds.

Other times, it just frightened him.

He would never admit it aloud, but one of very few emotions he had felt since his awakening was fear.

Fear for what he was and what was wrong with him, fear over whether or not it was possible for him to change, and above all else, fear of what it may have felt like to feel in that same way that everyone else did.

What was it like to hope and express so simply? To grieve or hurt?

Was it worth moving forward if there was no going back?

In the end, Markus had answered that for him with his new "support resources".

It appeared that for many androids who were in some ways like Nines, built for violence and without that integral ability to connect with others,

Deviancy did not fill in the missing pieces of the puzzle.

So now, he and many other androids all over America saw people like you.

Trained in a skill that he could not comprehend, and meant to be closer to a friend than a therapist, he was supposed to see you on the first and the fourteenth of each month, and somehow, you were supposed to teach him that evasive art of emotion, of humanity.

He was unsure of how anyone could do this, but, out of curiosity more than anything else, had agreed nonetheless.

At worst, he would meet a new face. Being a deviant who was not in touch with his own emotions made for a boring life. The more people he could introduce into it to give him something new to focus on, the better.

So here he was

Sitting outside with a near stranger as you peeled your orange across from him, offering him that kind smile as if you had it in infinite supply and were required to get rid of some stock.

The birds were chirping, and the water was running, and the day was as peaceful as could be.

But Nines never much cared for the silence, so he spoke through it.

"What made you take this job?"

He asked curiously, watching as your hands ceased movement for the briefest of moments, as if your thoughts had required just a twinge more focus for a second or two, before you answered.

"I like making friends."

You said simply, and Nines rose a brow at that, but did not say anything more. He did not truly see the value of friends. Sure, he found people to be entertaining, but there was a tiresome quality to being viewed that he did not enjoy nearly enough for it to be worth building strong relationships.

So instead of commenting, the android simply nodded, as if he understood.

He could see in your eyes though, still alight with amusement, that you knew he did not.

You were silent for a few more moments as you wedged your finger between the two halves of the orange, splitting it in twain before you began removing the silky white film from the dual outsides.

Finally though, after it seemed that the part requiring your attention had passed, you brought your gaze back up to Nines.

"What made you accept this opportunity?"

The android was surprised to hear your question, but in the end decided to be honest. There was no sake in lying, not if he truly wished to learn anything.

"I was curious."

He said simply, and you nodded before inspecting both halves of the fruit in front of you, smiling with what appeared to be satisfaction.

It intrigued Nines to see you so appeased by something as simple as an orange, but before he could ask about it and your obvious contentedness, you reached out and offered him a freshly peeled half.

Nines stared at it for a few moments before his gaze moved back up to yours.

He rose a brow.

"What for?"

He asked, unmoving despite knowing that you wished for him to take it.

"You."

You replied simply, smile never wavering, even as he still didn't move to take the fruit from your hand.

"I can't eat it."

He stated matter of factly, but to that, you just nodded.

"I know. But it's still for you."

At that, Nines grew even more confused than he already was, but, intrigued about where you could be going with this, reached out and took the orange, feeling its soft flesh squish beneath the sturdy pads of his fingertips, his grip too strong, as if he weren't made to hold onto something so easily crushed.

And, to be fair, he wasn't.

Even still, if you were at all upset by the way the orange half was almost instantly disfigured within his palm, you didn't show it, simply choosing to slowly peel a segment of your own orange away from the large section you were holding in your hand before popping it into your waiting mouth.

Nines spoke again.

"Why an orange?"

He asked, watching as you shrugged your shoulders casually, swallowing your bite of the slightly tart fruit before you replied,

"My sister and I always used to split them. They're good for sharing."

Nines rose a brow at that,

"Only for sharing?"

You nodded,

"I think so. At least that's what my sister and I always said. I would peel it because she could never figure out how to on her own, and she would eat half to leave me with just the perfect amount."

Nines nodded, as if in understanding, and perhaps, some small part of him was honest in that.

"But I can't eat it."

He said simply, causing you to smile once more,

"That doesn't matter, you can still smell it can't you? Feel it? Either way, you'd better learn how to enjoy it, because it's yours."

Nines hummed in response to your words, watching as you finished your half of the orange before sighing blissfully and moving to lay yourself down atop the grass.

He stayed on the concrete path, but watched without judgement or disdain for your playful actions.

He didn't understand you, but a part of him liked that. It made you equals.

He left that day with your name locked into his calendar for the fourteenth of the month.

Because maybe there was something to sharing an orange with you.

When he returned later that month, you'd had another orange to share with him, and to his surprise, another for him to peel himself.

"To practice."

You'd said as you presented it to him shortly before you started peeling your own, the afternoon sun warm on your face and back as it shone down from above.

Nines had watched you for a few moments, noting the way that you used your thumb to pierce the firm rind of the fruit just enough to break the seal, but never enough to stab the sweet citrus inside.

He tried to do the same, but instantly, his thumb plunged directly into the center, spraying juice everywhere.

Much to his surprise though, you didn't laugh or correct him, you just shrugged your shoulders and offered him a half of yours, somehow already peeled so cleanly he was almost envious.

"You'll learn."

You'd said.

There hadn't been an ounce of hesitance in your voice.

He believed you.

Months passed, and to each visit, regardless of the season, you always brought two oranges.

And at each visit, he always failed to emulate your delicate hands, crushing fruit after fruit with what he would come to learn was his own rash eagerness to succeed.

He was impatient and irrational, never waiting long enough to hear a single soul out, never caring to make a friend.

Unless of course, they were you.

He learned these things about himself, and with each coming realization, there was always the soothing smell of orange in the air, and thus the knowledge that it was okay for him to be irrational and impatient here.

Here was with you, and where you were, there was not only a space for him, but also an orange for him.

You peeled the oranges, and he made sure you were left with the perfect amount to eat afterward.

You were a team.

Friends.

And then, slowly, more.

And it was with this development, that Nines learned that he did not have hands gentle enough to peel an orange, but he did have hands gentle enough to hold you.

And twice a month, the two of you would sit in his kitchen, each with an orange, and you would peel them.

You were ever an expert, and always had your half to share.

Nines, on the other hand, even after years, had yet to learn, and struggled to follow your example.

Still, you always assured him that his slow, and sometimes seeming lack of progress, was okay.

You would always have enough for the two of you.

And what else mattered?

Well, it turned out, as the years marched onward, a lot.

Because sure, Nines was much better at understanding and expressing his own emotions with your continued support...

But as he watched those around you, he realized that there was so very much more.

None of which he could provide you with.

Cold and stern, he was not made to have a family, and when he told you this, he had seen that perfect light dim slightly behind your eyes.

"That's okay."

You had assured him,

"We can get a cat."

So you did.

You walked into that rescue shelter together, hand in hand, searching for a kitten to take home with you, something to nurture with all of that extra love you had.

But life had other plans, and you left there that day with an elderly orange former tomcat named Clementine.

You called him Clem.

Nines did too.

He was the second thing he ever loved.

The two of you had three wonderful years with that sweet old cat before he passed away peacefully in your arms one night as Nines gently pet his head, watching as he slipped away to some vast unknown that the android knew he would never be able to follow him into.

You cried into his soft fur, leaning against your love's chest as you held Clem close, whimpering over and over about how you couldn't put him down, how you couldn't bare to let him grow cold.

Nines had soothed you to the best of his ability, until finally, you had agreed to help him return sweet Clementine to the earth where he belonged, a beautiful and perfect part of the world.

You planted an orange tree in the soil above where you buried him.

It blossomed far earlier than what ever should have been possible.

You told Nines that they were the sweetest oranges you had ever eaten. He still couldn't peel them.

You assured him you were happy to keep showing him until he learned, no matter how long it took.

But now, there were more daunting issues on the android's mind, ones that far exceeded being unable to peel oranges.

You had grown lonely in the year since Clem had passed, even with Nines by your side,

And it seemed like every party you attended had some new mother, once an old friend, with a child for you to hold so dearly that the sight filled him with a sickening dread.

You yearned for a life he could not give you.

And even worse than that, he yearned for you to have a life that no other could take.

He had mourned the only other creature he had come to love and adore with such fervor as you.

He could not bare to do it a second time.

He had once wondered so innocently what it felt like to grieve.

A large part of him wished then that he had never known.

An even larger part of him wanted to ensure he never felt that way again.

He peeled his last orange with you on the first of the month, a decade to the date since your first meeting.

That evening, with a heart as heavy as lead he bid you farewell, watching as you tried to no avail to persuade him to reconsider, to let you back in again.

But at each slight falter, he saw you crying into soft orange fur, or dancing with a child he could never raise, and he held tight to his resolve.

He tried to get you to keep the home you owned together for yourself.

You told him with tears in your eyes that you loved him too much to take away all that he had worked so hard to earn.

There was a great deal of pain involved with living alone in a home that love had built, he found in the empty months toward the start of your absence.

Still, he could not bring himself to leave.

Your pictures were in the hall, the walls around them sun bleached so heavily that it seemed the shape of the frames would always remain, and how could he so casually abandon one of so few traces of you?

And your beloved cat was in the ground, grave marked by the orange tree that for the very first time ever, neglected to bear fruit that year.

Nines took it as a sign, and did not peel any oranges.

The second year after you'd left, you called him.

"Just checking in." You'd said, voice teary.

It was the anniversary of Clem's death.

Nines understood.

He let you speak, even though your voice hurt to hear.

He'd hoped you would have moved on by now,

But knew far too well why you had not,

So he neglected to comment on how desperately you deserved to love and be loved by someone, anyone else.

He was sure you would find that someday, whether he reminded you of your worthiness or not.

"I miss you."

You told him.

"I know."

He said.

Then, he sighed.

"I miss you too."

There was a strong silence, and, sensing that you had finished saying all that you needed to, he said the words he had been dreading having to speak since hearing your beautiful voice again after having gone so long without it.

"This will probably be the last time I answer."

He said gently, and he heard you sigh and breathe a shaky breath from the other end of the line.

"I know."

You whispered,

"I love you."

Nines felt a tear drip down the left side of his face at these three simple words, but returned them with a deep and painful honesty,

"I love you too."

He hung up shortly thereafter, because he knew you never would.

After that, the orange tree stopped blooming again for another three years.

Until finally, one bright summer day, on the first of the month, Nines exited his home to find a single ripe orange on the tree.

He picked it carefully, almost as if he believed it might turn to dust before his very eyes if he gripped it too firmly.

After this, he sat on the cement steps leading up toward the house, and, with a deep breath, pressed his thumb against the firm rind of the fruit.

It split beneath the pressure, but to his surprise, his finger did not go through.

Carefully, and with so much focus you would have thought him to be diffusing a bomb, Nines pulled away at that leathery peel until only the supple fruit beneath remained.

He stared down at it in what was almost surprise, before he took a deep breath and pressed his thumb against the seam, splitting it in twain just as he'd seen you do a thousand times before.

He stared down at the two halves, vision slightly bleary with unexpected tears until finally, he pulled his phone out of his pocket, and typed your name in.

He didn't know if you still had the same number, if you had him blocked, or if you would even bother to read his message if you saw who it was from.

But he knew he had to tell you, because there was no one else in the world who deserved to know more,

No one else in the world who would've ever believed he could do it.

'I peeled an orange today.'

He typed carefully, taking a deep breath before finally pressing 'send'.

And since oranges were good for sharing, he sat beneath that tree with Clementine,

And did just that.

masterlist

AO3

#dbh x reader #c: nines #nines x reader #rk900 x reader #dbh x reader angst #dbh nines x reader angst #dbh angst

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it-happened-one-fic · 1 year

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No Matter the Impracticality - Al Haitham

Author's Notes: I wrote this before the Sumeru Archon quest was even finished being released. It's just been sitting in my document gathering dust. Additionally, this fic was a last minute 'let's post this one' kind of decision I didn't actually listen to a song while I wrote this fic either. It just kind of happened. Nonetheless, writing Al Haitham is pretty enjoyable and I do hope you enjoy this fic! Reader is, as per usual, gender-neutral.

Type: Fluff/romance heavily implied/gender-neutral reader

Word Count: 467

“When people say adults in Sumeru don’t dream…. Do they mean they don’t have night time fantasies that only occur in their sleep or do they mean that they don’t hold hopeful aspirations for the future?”

Al Haitham looked up from his book to find you gazing back at him with a curious stare. Though your question was odd he did understand the meaning behind it, “Both, I suppose. We don’t dream our evenings away and we don’t waste our lives frantically chasing hopeless fantasies.”

He watched a small frown appear on your face, betraying your nature as one of the few dreamers within Sumeru, “That’s sad.”

He snorted, earning himself a look from that merely had him turning back to his book just before he threw an idle, if sarcastic, reply back your way, “It’s sad that people don’t let themselves get led astray by impractical and wholly unattainable dreams?”

He didn’t have to look at you to know you were frowning. Your tone said everything, “No. It’s sad that people chain themselves to only the things they know they can do. I understand taking the safe route when looking at something like job options, but for your entire life? That’s just restricting yourself.”

Despite himself, Al Haitham found himself acknowledging your argument. For a dreamer you could be quite logical.

He looked up from his book once more, finding his eyes being drawn to where you sat once more as you continued, fixing him with an unshakable look, “Haven’t you ever tried to reach for something? Some skill or goal you weren’t positive you could gain?”

“No.” His answer was flat and lacked all hesitation, but it didn’t tell the full story and he knew it.

He silently watched as you stared at him, startled by his speedy reply and he felt a smug smile curl across his face as he looked back down at his book.

It was true, he hadn't ever reached for anything that he wasn’t positive he could get. But just from spending time with you like this, he knew that wouldn’t last.

Al Haitham was no fool. He knew that when he looked at you he was looking at that potentially unattainable reward that he would strive for. No matter the impracticality or impossibility.

He could still feel your eyes on him when he turned his attention back to his book. You were no doubt thinking about his earlier, unhesitating reply to your question. He didn’t even bother hiding the amused smile on his face as he continued to peruse his book, not truly reading the contents as he pondered the fascination that was you.

With the way you filled his thoughts, perhaps he should be counted with the dreamers after all. But what you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt you.

#Genshing impact imagines #Al Haitham x reader #fluff #romance #gender neutral reader #Genshin impact x reader #Genshin impact x you #Genshin impact x y/n #Al haitham x you #Alhaitham x y/n #alhaitham #Sumeru #mywritings #fanfiction #fanfic

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leonasbunny · 2 years

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Hiya! May I request Leona with an athletic s/o? Like they're on the track team with Deuce and Jack and they went to camp Vargas?

— TWST X ATHLETIC!READER (*´˘`*)♡

Thank you for requesting anon !! <3 Ilysm <3 Had a bit of a struggle but nonetheless I think this will be pretty cute <3 :3

Ah, the fresh outdoors. Nothing like staying beside your best friends in the open greenery, basking in the sun and skin gleaming perfectly in the daylight.

Birds chirping together as many of the sports club members chatter and the air is warm and the atmosphere is bright!

Ever since Leona had met you, it was something out of the ordinary for him. He was so used to seeing carnivores and predators of his beastmen kind that are fast and strong. All muscle and no talk!

However, you? A mere herbivore with ambition and pride and you strive to be healthy and proud with what you have and what you are. He knows he can overpower you any day, though. But when you’re fighting against the Savanaclaw beastmen? They don’t stand a chance.

And that makes Leona laugh in amusement. To think someone like you would capture his heart, little bunny. You are full of surprises aren’t you?

However, being on the track team, it pulls away your time to spend with your boyfriend; and it displeases him immeasurably.

Leona will have his eyes on you, emerald green orbs staring at your thighs and body; beads of sweat trickling down the side of your figure as you wipe the wetness of your forehead with the swipe of your hand and heave out a soft sigh.

He loves watching you, and often becomes distracted instead of helping out his own teammates set up the tent and tend to regular activities.

You, however, spend the time stretching and picking up logs to prepare firewood. You help Deuce capture fish and help the rest of the club members sort their regular activities.

Yuu and Grim can’t help but admire from far away upon how steady and firm you are ! Yet looking so adorable while doing so!

A greedy lion lingers in the shade, watching his prey dance about in the sunlight. He looks at your ears faltering beside you and watches your cute little tail wiggle as you approach Jack to ask where should you set up the tent.

He eventually grows tired of watching other men stare at his bunny while you’re utterly oblivious to it. It’s frustrating to him beyond anything, and he’s pretty sure Ruggie and Epel will take the tasks of leading the other activities and all.

Least to say, Leona grabs you and takes down his over-the-top jacket and remains in his shirt. He takes you off somewhere in the distance so you two can relax together despite your resistance- but ends up shutting your mouth with a gentle kiss on the lips ~

Your scent is entirely intoxicating for him, little herbivore~ You have no idea how hungry he is for you while he had to watch you from the distance. Ruggie could sense his intimidating aura but decided to stay away from it. This is torture for him to stay away from you for this long, so when this is all finished, you better sit on his lap and make this lion boy happy by coddling him for a bit in closed doors~

Leona needs to spend time with you at least once every day. Whether its just five minutes cuddling together or five hours napping beside each other. You’re both athletic in your own ways. But since you’re still a bunny, you’ll need to train harder. Not only is Leona stronger, faster given the fact he is a lion after all, but he’s got more of an upper hand advantage.

So you’ll need to work out more often, and it amuses Leona very much to think you’d even dream of one day overpowering him~ it makes him chuckle. We all know who’s wearing the pants in the relationship, little herbivore ~

You’re more of the type to be compared with Judy Hopps. Both have admirable traits, the fact you’re still a bunny and have a long way to go makes Leona think how utterly gifted he is to have someone like you as his partner.

It isn’t long before you convince Leona that you have to go back. He groans in frustration, holding onto you in a vice grip;; he doesn’t find the idea of you leaving so soon very appealing.

But both Riddle and Vargas will have both of your heads knowing you two slacked off to have some lovey-dovey moments together ~

Floyd touches you a lot, so Leona will become agitated at the fact he glances over for one second and this tall ass eel decides to pamper you for a bit and subtly try to be a bit possessive. He gets even more ticked off that Jack is blushing whenever you’re around him; wiggling your tail as you both chatter up for a bit; with his arm around your waist as he pulls you closer.

It’s almost as if a surge of anger took over Leona; but he remained still and kept his composure; both arms crossed and eyes still kept on you. Ruggie asks him to help out every so often but he shrugs it off since he has to keep his eye on you.

A lion can never take his eyes off his meal in the wild. How else will he get to keep his prey the moment they’re out of sight? Bunnies are very agile and speedy creatures, so the fact you are in the track team doesn’t surprise him in the slightest.

But your strength is something beyond of what he can even describe. You aren’t stronger than Leona of course, but against a few of the beastmen in savanaclaw, you’re bound to end up beating up one of them. And again; this makes him amused. Suppose that’s why he’s drawn to you so easily, little bunny?

How ironic it is. A bunny has the big bad lion twisted around their little pinkie.

By the end of the camp, you swear that you and Ruggie couldn’t contain your laughter when you find out Leona had to stay back to do extra special training for slacking off simply because he had to watch you do a lot of work while he remained off in the distance; glaring away other men who wanted you to help them out for even just a second.

Leona considers it his duty as your boyfriend and lover to look after you; Lions never share their meals unless they feel friendly enough; unlike Hyenas.

Honestly, he doesn’t know whether it was worth it or not. But he doesn’t care honestly; the poor boy just wants to let everyone fuck off and use you as his warm little body pillow to sleep on and just relax with you.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland jack #twisted wonderland ruggie #twisted wonderland savanaclaw #twst headcanons #twisted wonderland headcanons #leona x bunny reader #leona kingscholar x reader #leona kingscholar

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tobiasdrake · 7 months

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Amazing how, despite the absence of Peacekeepers in our face right this second, this is nonetheless the worst its ever been.

I'm not saying Makoto fucked us all. ...but I'm not not saying that. If things continue down this path, Makoto will have killed Huesca and destroyed the Nocturnal Detective Agency, something Yomi's been trying and failing to do for weeks, all in one fell swoop. Yomi will get to ride the high of killing us all and Makoto gets to go home secure in the knowledge that he made this checkmate happen.

Assuming this is the outcome that he intended to happen, of course. But I've watched Makoto work Yomi over. Man's playing 4-D chess while we're all playing checkers. It is highly possible that he meant all of this to happen.

So this is our motive. To escape the base, we have to find Fink and prove his existence to Yomi - Which will likely involve some retaliatory soul-reaping to avenge Yakou.

Probably not. Like I said earlier, if all of these security measures are stopping us from leaving then they may be stopping Fink from leaving too. It's possible he's still in the building. If he didn't get out before they turned off the elevator, he may even still be on this floor.

Right now, Yomi's licking his wounds and figuring out what to do with us. We have breathing room. This is the perfect time to act.

Desuhiko's not wrong and this is a common complaint I have with Yuma's behavior. But it's better than sitting around with our thumbs up our asses, wondering how long until Yakou draws his final breath.

If Halara's with us then we must be on the right path! Let's do this!

Astral projection. Which means if we hold his hand, we can astral project too.

Hold up, condition? You gonna tell me what that means, big guy?

I will tear you in half little man.

I mean, I won't. But if you swing on Vivia, I will offer Halara a fiver to snap you in two. I don't even care that Vivia could outfight you in his sleep. They can both kick your ass together.

It's astral projection. I knew it. This spiritual ability is probably also why he can see Shinigami. He has one foot in the plane that she exists on.

This is going to be fun. I can't wait to Coalesce with it! Vivia, you and I are going to be the best of partners.

CHOKE ON YOUR TONGUE. I wanna be a gho~ost! T_T

He is looking right at Shinigami as he says this. He knows exactly what's going to happen if he helps us.

No, we won't. Yomi's a fascist prick. Before Halara showed up, he was kicking Yakou's body to help him die faster. We're supposed to trust that guy with Yakou's medical care?

You and me both, my guy. I feel you. I'd love to live in that world too. But it isn't what we have. It's important to always keep moving forward, to keep striving to build a better world to live in. But to always keep one eye on the world that presently exists.

I wish I could believe that Yomi is a good-hearted well-meaning guy who will engage with us in good faith and offer Yakou the care that he deserves. I wish I could have faith that our situation is such.

But I don't. His behavior has given me zero confidence in his willingness or ability to treat us fairly.

Too harsh, Halara. While I agree that Vivia should help me commit long-range remote-murder, I can't fault him for his reluctance to do so. He's got a good heart.

Yes to that first one; He does seem violently concerned about the presence of the Book of Death among us, and its involvement in our activities. Rightly so. It's killing people.

Vivia once again cutting to the thematic heart of these investigations. Through the Mystery Labyrinth, the price we pay for the answers we find far outweighs the value of those answers. We trade lives in exchange for secrets that weren't worth those lives.

Should he truly help us do it? Take the blood upon his hands, the same as ours? Desuhiko and Halara can't fathom what he's talking about because they don't know. They don't understand what's at stake here. But Vivia knows. He sees the monster that lurks over Yuma's shoulder and feeds on souls unjustly condemned.

I hope he sticks to his guns. I know he won't, 'cause we have a case to crack and game mechanics won't let us just call it here. But this is a strong moment for him.

Oh, we're going to trick him. Wow. That's dangerous. We don't even know if we'll be able to get our soul back in its body without his help.

Never mind, he knew exactly what we were on about.

Yeah, he rolled over fast. "I won't do the thing because I'm morally opposed to it. I have no qualms with helping you do the thing, though. It's not the doing of the thing that I'm against; I just don't want to do it myself."

SPOOKY GHOST. This is awesome. I'm going to investigate so many things and they won't be able to stop me. And maybe finally take my chance to rub my butt on Yomi's desk like I promised.

Gotta keep my word, y'know. It's called integrity.

#master detective archives: rain code #drake plays rain code

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foxboyclit · 6 months

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a new creature

a transition story, featuring Iphis. TW for body horror

Iphis followed Minisstra through the winding corridors to the chapel attached to her estate. The main area was emptied and open as ever; with its seats and collection plates and large stained glass depictions of Lloth and Her greatest conquests, the vast emptiness of the room welcomed them like the mouth of a starved animal. But they weren’t here for prayer-those had fallen on deaf ears many a time before- the corner they turned led to the sect for a more direct audience with the gods.

This room was significantly more plain than the rest of the church, the candles perched on tall holders provided a utilitarian amount of lighting, the walls boasted no murals, and the large basin in the center was the only fixture that dared to call this home. Small shelves had been carved out of the stone of the far right wall, littered with jars of herbs, preserved fungi, and only priestesses knew what else.

Minisstra gestured to the basin, “strip and wait there, I have to prepare one last component.” she started for the mini apothecary before turning around, “you’ve brought it, I assume?”

He nodded, then stared down at the cold lump of muscle in his hand. The heart of Matron Kilth, sterile and still, heavy with all he could assume was the woman’s hatred for her third daughter. He wondered how it would’ve beat had it known she was the House’s last living member, and how tonight she would meet her in the afterlife.

Rabbit-hearted Nephila, one last name to cross off the list.

Minisstra had returned with a small bowl swirling with some kind of concoction, fragrant and dark in color and, surprisingly comforting. She held it to his lips, and he parted them for her as trained, downing the strange liquid as the summonings rolled off her tongue, echoing off the cavern walls-

Udos lar pholor Ilta Anke Zil, astha'cha d'jaluk ssin lu'cunning.

We call upon Her Eager Consort, pinnacle of male beauty and cunning.

Udos gultah natha Ilharess’s xukuth, wun has'tre, udos joros whol biu ashl'ah xuil Keptolo

We offer a Matron’s heart, in exchange, we ask for an audience with Keptolo.

She then turned her gaze to him, and with his hand in hers, led him to the bath. Iphis sank in, fought a shiver against the cold water, his mother’s heart pressed close against his sternum. He closed his eyes, willing himself the strength for this commune.

When he dared to open them, Iphis found himself not in the bowels of House Nydalla, but instead a cavern larger than the whole Underdark, strewn with massive webs that hung heavy with dread. They vibrated with a voice unheard but sent his bones rattling nonetheless.

And what do we have here?

Something tangled itself in his hair, snaked up to brush his cheek. A soft, ashen palm- cold, steel-hard chiton, he couldn’t discern. He looked up to meet the entity’s gaze, his own growing fuzzy and confused.

A tall, handsome drow male loomed over him, His two-four-six?-eight eyes drinking him in, and if a spider could smile at a moth hovering closer to its web, this was it.

Iphis knelt, begging his dizzied body to not betray him, and held out the heart.

So this is your offering. An impressive feat, for such a small thing to harvest a Matron’s heart. I’ll consider your request.

A hand reached down to accept the gift, and Iphis commanded his swimming mind to right itself; a task proven more difficult as it tried to comprehend the amount of limbs He sported.

“I want a new body,” he sputtered out, “I was not made to run a House, to be a priestess. My place is Nydalla’s shadow. Make me a male, and I will emulate every one of your tenants-I’ll strive to be a worthy disciple.”

The mass of webs twitched in what felt like amusement, a chuckle was the most Iphis could gather. Keptolo spoke again,

You wish to give up your standing as a female? To live in perpetual servitude, little more than Lady Nydalla’s plaything? Quite a humble female, or should I say, a desperate male?

You’ve intrigued me, lotha samcroi. I’ll indulge your desires.

Before he could process any excitement, the god’s nimble hands were set to work. Holding Iphis close by an arm, countless others expertly bound him in silk, starting with his arms, then torso, until he was wrapped head to toe. Iphis could only make out the shadow of Keptolo through the layers of web, but felt that charming smile in his bones.

For a brief moment, he had wondered if the transformation would be painful, but instead there was a lack of sensation in his limbs as they quickly began to dissolve. Flesh dripped from bone, until his frame was nothing more than liquid marrow. He watched as the liquid of his former body pooled underneath him, rising to devour him from the waist up-or was he sinking into the sickly broth?

It was the last thing he dared to look at before shutting his still-intact eyes. And when he opened them, he was in the bath once again, Minisstra standing over him.

Home.

He bolted upright, trembling like a web in the breeze, as Minisstra hurried to catch him, assuring he wouldn’t hurt himself.

“Easy, lince’sa, I’ve got you.” she held him there, palm resting over his fluttering heart, over the flat planes of his chest-wait.

He glanced down, ran his own hand over his collarbones and lower-sure enough, they were gone. His fingers traced the scars that formed under his pectorals- taking the shape of a spider web, and shivered at the sensitivity. His gaze met Minisstra’s.

“It-it worked”, he half-asked, voice hoarse and alien. She ran her fingers through his hair- seemingly much of that had been left behind too, for she stopped where it normally would cascade down his neck and shoulders.

“A part of me wonders what you bartered to become this handsome”, she said, the corners of her mouth curved into a delicate smile. “Let’s get you dried off and somewhere to view His work properly.”

He leaned against her as she slowly helped him out of the basin, not yet trusting the steadiness of his legs. Once he was confident in his balance, she dried and dressed him, her cool hands brushing against his remade self and setting every nerve alight.

“So this is my Iphis,” she looked up at him, eyes shining with a reverence he’d only seen applied to Lloth. “What a pleasure to finally meet you.”

He grinned, trying his voice again. “Had this not been so draining, I’d ask if you’d like a more intimate meeting.” Oh, how delicious this new voice sounded! Praise Lloth’s Trophy forever more.

Taking his hand, Minisstra led him back to her quarters. “I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunities to discover this body’s new skills, Ra’soltha.”

#c: iphis nydalla #c: minisstra eradia nydalla #keptolo dungeons and dragons #fox's writing

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cissyenthusiast010155 · 3 months

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Hi there! I hope this might not be strange to ask (well I don’t speak English well, but I’m trying my best).

I just had this conversation with my best friend (she’s a girl) and I get in trouble because of not having this communication about “Not wanted to do something” a podcast that we wanted to have a long time ago.

the thing is that I realized that I didn’t wanted to do that and I felt so bad telling to her that I want able to record the podcast

she felt so bad that breaks my heart. And I feel like a bad person, even if I know that I’m not one. The problem is that I don’t want to relate to anyone, I feel so sad about it and I ask to myself “Why is that expressing myself is so hard and hurts me so deep”

I’m a people pleaser non fully recovered, and I wanted to know if you have any life advice for this (and I’m so sorry if I didn’t express myself well)

{Let’s Talk about People Pleasing!}

Hi Darling…! It’s okay if you don’t speak English, I’m proud of you for reaching out and sharing nonetheless!! Such a good girl for dropping by and telling us this. You are very brave, sweetheart ♥️

Your ask seems to be about people pleasing and the recovery therefrom. I appreciate the example you gave about your friend and the podcast. Thank you for sharing all of this. Know that your feelings and your experiences are valid, especially your example. You are valid, sweetheart!

Before giving my advice on people pleasing, I’m first going to touch upon what people pleasing actually is. People Pleasing in general is the description for a person who actively strives to please others, often at the expense of their own wants and/or needs. Check out this article from Medical News Today to read further about people pleasing—What is people pleasing?.

Second, as well as needing to know what people pleasing is, you should be aware of how to recognize it. The key things to be aware of in people pleasing is low self-esteem, neglect, over-commitment, and difficulty saying no. I would recommend you read this Calm article especially the section about the recognition of people pleasing—Learn how to stop being a people pleaser with these 10 tips.

Now to your question— What is my life advice to recover from people pleasing?

Start to practice differentiating what is people pleasing versus what is genuine kindness. Talk through it with someone, identify what the root cause and/or trauma of your people pleasing is (if it’s with a professional, even better!). Practice and catch yourself when you start people pleasing, work on keeping yourself in check mentally. It’s a battle, but you got this. For a solid step by step guide for how to recover from people pleasing, check out this article—How To Stop People Pleasing: The Definitive Guide 2024.

If you’d like to hear more on this subject or anything else, don’t hesitate to reach out! I am more than happy to continue to elaborate and give my thoughts and resources. Hope you found this helpful, sweet anon. Have a lovely day/night!! 💞💞💞

Talk with Me ❤️‍🔥

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dbenvs3000w24 · 4 months

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sun & snow

Hello again!

This week, we were not given a prompt to go off of and allowed to write about anything we wanted. This week, I wanted to discuss a beautiful but sad moment I had earlier.

For those not living in Guelph, this past week has been beautifully sunny and unusually warm. So, as soon as my boyfriend was done work on Friday, we piled in the car to our favourite walking path, just outside Cambridge. On this beautiful day, it was a very popular walking spot for those with dogs, children, or people trying to get outside to connect with nature.

One of my new favourite things to do before walking is to get a drink or smoothie. Right by this path’s entrance is a little café with amazing smoothies. I will always remember it as the cafe where we went in one day, and the guy behind the counter decided to tell us all about his view of psychology (spoiler alert, it included meeting Jesus on a bunch of drugs and how it somehow related to a German man with a little mustache). We promptly left right afterwards and still talk about how bat**** crazy that conversation was to this day. Nonetheless, we grabbed our smoothies and headed out for a walk, thankfully, this time without the previously mentioned encounter.

There’s something so refreshing about going for a walk, letting nature surround you, and just being in nature. In my last semester at the university, I’m finding it harder and harder to define time to reconnect with nature like I did in my childhood. Reading other’s previous blogs, I am encouraged to know I’m not the only one who feels this way. Throughout our walk, we could listen to some birds chirp, see a couple of budding trees even though it’s the wrong season, and look closely at the thawing ponds for a glimpse of a fish.

Below are a couple of photos of our walk. I am still baffled by how sunny and warm it was. There is something so healing and being in nature for just a couple of moments, yet it makes me sad.

It is the beginning of February. We should be bundled up in our warmest coats, mittens, and hats, trudging through a foot of snow right now. Instead, I was wearing a hoodie, thin leggings, and Converse. Even in these beautiful moments, I am still reminded of the fragile balance within the earth. Winter and the snow that it brings with it are things we see less frequently and dependently compared to our childhoods due to the ever-looming climate change. In a recent article, some think that the nostalgia of the winter snow will be enough to make a dent in the climate change fight (North, 2023). Still, I’m not sure if I am as optimistic.

Nonetheless, I will strive to enjoy the little moments I can tuck away in my memories, and hopefully, by sharing these moments, I can encourage those who read it to do the same.

References:

North, A. (2023, December 23). Feeling a strange sadness over losing snow? that might be solastalgia. Vox. Retrieved February 10, 2024, from https://www.vox.com/culture/24001256/snow-winter-climate-change-solastalgia-warming.

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kurayami-no-ko · 1 year

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Translation of Sannan’s short story from Tsukikage no Sho booklet

Notes: The Japanese version of this short story was provided to me by @kumoriyami-xiuzhen.

The name of the booklet in Japanese is　薄桜鬼　真改　月影ノ抄　限定版特典　小冊子, which is Hakuouki Shinkai Tsukikage no Shou Genteiban Tokuten Shousasshi. Sannan’s short story is included in the booklet.

I want to thank some friends who have helped me with this short story’s translation.

Sannan’s short story

The secretary-general of the Shinsengumi, Sannan Keisuke.

The time that I had been called that had been very short.

After I had die as a human, I took on the new responsibility of being the captain of the Rasetsu corps.

So, for my current self, how should I properly call myself?

“Keisuke-san.”

“…Ah, I am sorry. Did I wake you up?”

“No, that is fine but what are you…?”

“I am just writing something. I am writing something like a memorandum…”

I had neglected to have proper sleep. She frowned her eyebrows and gazed at me worriedly, so I avoided that look by putting away the notebook and the fountain pen nearby.

“I am fine. I am already done so I will rest immediately.”

“Yesterday, you also said so.”

“…Yes, I did.”

Leaving the motherland far behind, they had been travelling in Europe for a long time.

Travelling in Europe where the languages and the cultures were both different was not in the least a pleasant business and securing a place to rest their bodies was something that they struggled over daily. Frequently, they had to sleep outdoors in the forest.

Tonight, luckily, they were able to borrow the stable of a house. They hadn’t had a roof over their head and a bed for a long time…

“A while ago, Keisuke-san was the one who told me that if something happens and makes me wake up, I should not be bothered about it and continue on resting as long as I can.”

…Which meant that no matter how I thought about it, it was obvious that I was the one that brought this on myself.

“Though it isn’t bad to listen to your scolding, this is a rare night that we can pass the time peacefully. I am now about to rest, Chizuru, so please, don’t be worried and sleep,”

“…If Keisuke-san sleep next to me, I can sleep immediately.”

Good grief, she was truly not letting me go.

She waited for me without wavering and as a response to that, I smiled bitterly and took off my glasses.

Only until I had restfully lied down on the top of the prepared straw did she finally breath out a sigh of relief.

“Are you finally satisfied?”

“Yes… I am sorry for only saying stuffs that are not cute to you.”

“I do not mind. If the words are said out of thoughts for my own sake, whatever you say will be cute to me.”

“Is, is that so…”

Because I had the eyesight of a rasetsu, even when I had taken off my glasses, I could still see clearly her reddening cheeks.

In order to make those lovely cheeks relax, I stroked her hair a few times.

“It is fine. Until morning come, I will keep on staying by your side. Tomorrow, we will also have to walk, so you should make sure you recover your strength sufficiently.”

“Okay… Sleep tight.”

When she closed her eyes peacefully, it did not take long for her breaths to settle down into those of one who was asleep.

“She must be tired…”

Even though that she had tried very hard, until now she still had not been able to speak the language of this place fluently.

Even so, in order to understand, she tried to focus all her mental power during their travel, and because of that, she became mentally exhausted beyond imagination.

“…Nonetheless, at this point, I cannot imagine letting go of you. I really have changed a lot.”

It was not that I did not understand the feelings of love but I felt nostalgic remembering the time when I pretended to be ignorant, acting as if love was something completely unrelated to myself.

To accompany comrades to strive towards the same aspiration and chase after a dream they built, back then I thought that I could not desert those gentle feelings…

Now, when I thought back, after turning into a demon, I could not have imaged that what was supposed to be good for myself could cause so much pain, and the tether that held me down in the human world had been her.

Back during those days, when I became a rasetsu and was able to hold a sword and fight again, I was glad but along with that, facing the fact that I was losing myself and becoming a monster, I was suffering from both confusion and distress.

She had held this hand and said.

“Sannan-san’s hand is warm. There is still blood flowing normally inside you.”

Somehow, hearing it said like that, there was something changing inside me and I understood that life was still life. Those earnest eyes were saying those things.

…I thought it was a temporary consolation.

Even though that I knew that she was once more distressed over her demon heritage, inside, she was just a truly normal girl.

I, who had chosen the path of a rasetsu without understanding my resolution entirely, found those gratingly positive words that she said at length to be foolish and let myself be overcome by misery. However, it felt like that foolishness brought light to me and the warmth from those hands on top of my own was transferred to me.

I am still alive.

I can still do something.

Back then, I did not know it but in truth, back then, her words had lit up a small light for me.

And that light had shaken the heart of me back then and had made me determined to pursue my unfulfilled dream. So, I now understood how that had reverberated in my heart though only for a little bit.

(Even though I am an intelligent person, ultimately, am I not a foolish person yearning for my dream?)

In the attempt to become a shining light by myself, my nature proved a hindrance. I soon saw that there was I lacked the ability to accomplish it. However, for the sake of making that light shine brighter, I believed that by becoming a phantom, I could work towards it better than anyone else.

To stand with Kondou Isami and also Hijikata Toshizo.

To support those men who chased after that dream, I became a phantom. I thought that it was a suitable role for me to take.

However, it was true that it was a very harsh path in order to pursue that dream. Many times the light had beguiled me, I started feel my wavering.

To take on the form of a corpse would be to suffer, but even then, I began to see that I was still looking back at the past.

I, once again, waver.

Even when I kept on wavering, I could not pause my struggling footsteps, I clung on, even deciding on my own death as a human.

It was probable that everyone vaguely knew that to follow this dream was to follow their own destruction. Nevertheless, they could not stop in this path, simply so that they could live… It was simply just that.

In that place, not one of those who gathered there did not have their own past to bury and in order to shout out that they themselves were in this place, they were absolutely desperate.

Even if they did not turn into a rasetsu, they were undeniably turning mad. However, the fact that a leader such as myself being the first to turn into a rasetsu and then losing my sanity calmed my impulses.

I started to ponder about how hiding in the shadows, I would struggle to follow after the light, unable to leave the darkness.

I burned my life away, became a rasetsu without a future in order to earn the power to keep fighting.

I would not have time to look at the result of my dream.

So, at least this would be the proof.

Even when I would be reduced to a disgusting monster and get shunned, even when I might turn into ash, becoming nothing but mere dust, it would be fine. I wanted to do something for those men which I could take pride in my life.

My own self again sought for that.

Even when she was shaking from worry, she did not avert her eyes from my form.

So, when she was facing my bloodstained form, it seemed like she could question me normally and honestly.

That blood was for a good reason.

Furthermore,

(Because of that, until the end, I did not go mad.)

Even when I was covered in blood, I did not indulge myself at all and control myself.

I absolutely would not betray the woman who foolishly, earnestly believed in me even when she was shaking from worry, whose eyes held such light.

It was likely that it was the last remnants of the dignity that I had lost.

“Chizuru…”

As the sleeping woman did not open her eyes, I whispered very quietly,

“You are my light, my dream. Because of that, I will absolutely not give up. If something happens…”

One time, I tried to throw away my dream.

When I recognized the change in her gazes towards me, no, it was exactly because of having recognized it that I decided I had to sever our ties. The burden was too great of a baggage.

“Living people should not love those who are dead… That is the rule of this world.”

The words that I said to her sleeping form were also the words I said to myself. The dream had ended.

Like a dead person, when I left, I departed without making a mistake.

However, she once again ruin my determination and resignation.

“Sannan-san, please bring me along with you in the path that you plan on walking.”

“Please don’t leave me a second time.”

“…Please don’t be alone.”

Now, I thought about that it would be better for me not to reach out my hand. However, I could not do such thing as resisting it.

I was still living.

I was still dreaming.

Because of this, no matter foolish or fleeting this might seem, as long as she was still walking by my side, there was still value in continuing on chasing the dream.

“Chizuru.”

This woman who had accompanied me on this harsh and difficult path, knowing what it could entail, could only appear dear to me.

“…I love you.”

This gentle kiss on the forehead was a secret engraving ritual of mine.

The secretary-general of the Shinsengumi.

The captain of the Rasetsu Corps.

And now, the companion of this dear person.

As an ordinary man, I was now living.

I did not know when the end would come but I engraved the resolution that until that day, I would live protect this beloved person.

This time, I would do it until the very last of moment.

I would absolutely not give up.

As she was breathing softly in her sleep and her eyes were closed, I made that vow to myself.

The end.

#Hakuouki #Sannan Keisuke #Sanan Keisuke #Tsukikage no Shou

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brickellbabe · 8 months

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There’s “Good” in Goodbye and here’s why…

Do you notice that when you let people, possessions, and memories go, you feel lighter and more at ease? Maybe a little sad at first, but lighter nonetheless. Well, it’s true.

When you are releasing what no longer serves your greater good or divine purpose you are growing, evolving, and attracting what your higher self wants now.

Everything is energy. Purging is cleansing. Old cycles must close for new ones to begin.

“Spiritual purging is a way to get rid of bad energies that are believed to cause negative health and emotional effects on the body. Depending on the tradition, these energies can be called differently, and different processes can carry out the removal or reordering of energies.”

As you keep creating new goals, shifting your mindset, prioritizing your needs, and setting new boundaries, you will quickly realize that there are things that don’t belong anymore.

This part is VERY important, and not for the weak:

You can not get attached to ANYTHING, which includes people and possessions.

Loss is a part of life and also a part of growth, so neither can exist without the other.

Everything is temporary.

Nothing is forever.

You have an expiration date.

My friend Sammy once said to me, you were born naked, so anything that you have is a positive. When you lose something, you’re STILL in the positive. That was GOLD!

So you see, you shouldn't get sad. Be grateful, and aspire for more and better. If it’s gone, wasn’t meant to stay, chin up, and move on, there are fabulous things ahead in store for you.

Also, we should all strive to have more, be more, and do more. You should not have to force anything in life, not even a pimple. If it’s meant for you, it will not pass you by, and it will stay to provide you happiness, joy, and love for the time that it is supposed to.

Now ask yourself the following questions:

What makes you happy?

What stresses you out?

What inspires you?

What gives you doubt?

What debt can you get rid of?

What friends support you?

What people make you question yourself?

What distracts you?

What changes do you need to make to get rid of negativity?

What do you feel is holding you back?

Money is energy. Love is energy. Things are energy. Action is energy. People are energy. Positivity is energy. Negativity is energy.

Be like the movie “Frozen” and LET IT GO. Whatever person, place, or thing that popped into your head that is not giving you happiness, find a way to get it out of your life ASAP.

If the car is bothering you, sell it. If the apartment is making you want to leave instead of staying, start looking at other options - you are not a TREE, so make moves. If the clothes are not “giving” abundance vibes, GoodWill that shit stat. If your circle is pushing you to have all nighters, and you start losing days, you already know. Successful people aren't popping pills and staying out till 6 am, unless you're John Summit, and he'll grow out of it eventually.

Honestly, like, how can you expect to have and attract new abundance and prosperity when you are holding on to shitty friends, shitty clothes, a shitty lifestyle, and a shitty mindest? HUH? Okay… wake up! Wake the FUCK UP and change your life or stay stuck.

This quote hit: “If you sit in shit for too long, it stops smelling” - Jenifer Lewis

So, if you're not making moves towards elevating yourself, you're making problems. PERIOD.

If it doesn’t bring you joy, excitement, happiness, and security… “Cut it (Yeah), cut it (Bah), cut it (Skrrt), cut it (Bah)”

Until next time.

Mariana Weber

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araigneearcaneservices · 10 months

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Divine Detachment and the Heart Sutra

-from our blog-

In our book, Liber Dei, we spoke of a state we refer to as “Divine Detachment” as well as its link to the Great Continuum. If you have read this work of ours, then this blog post will shed some light into the state of Divine Detachment, further expanding on it. If you have not read this work of ours, then we highly suggest that you do – however, this blog post will still carry relevance to you either way.

It is no secret that the path of Spiritual Ascension or Godhood is the path that we follow – and, whether you actively strive for this same thing or not – every path, paradigm or practice grows your spiritual self, abilities and capabilities nonetheless…whether it is a conscious purpose of yours or not.

Just to quickly clarify something to our new readers – whenever we refer to “god”, “God” etc – we are not referring to some invisible force that controls and directs things as people usually perceive that word to mean – no. When we use these terms, we are referring to you, the self – or at least, the Ascended Self. We are all gods in the making – little infant gods who are not even aware of their true power or capabilities…and unfortunately most people live their entire lives and ultimately die as spiritually infantile as they were when they were born.

Nonetheless, the topic of God and Godhood is a bit of a sensitive one, as, due to either previous religious connotations to the terms or “god” and “godhood”, or due to modern-day charlatans, people either think that becoming (or rather realizing yourself to be) God is complete nonsense, or people think that to be God you need to be in a certain manner or so forth. Or, worse still, most people believe this is unobtainable. Yet, throughout history, all over the world, many individuals…regardless of background or paradigm…seeked the realization of the God Within, and Spiritual Ascension. Hence, the concept of Godhood is not a contemporary one, but rather an ancient one.

Many people ask about what the nature and character of god is or should be, as they believe that god, or someone who is spiritually ascended, is wholly “light” in nature and character and cannot fathom god to be capable of that which is considered as being “dark” etc. This is likely due to religious stereotypes and concepts, however, because these people believe that the nature and character of god is only “good”, “light” or “positive”…then it goes to show how little they know of these stereotypes in the first place…

The Tirthankara from Jainism, the Trimurti of Hinduism (Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva), the Judeo-Christian god, the various Buddhas from Buddhism and Kami from Shintoism…when you take a good look at all of the archetypal gods from different cultures throughout history, you will notice that none of them are wholly “light and good” – they embody both that which is light and that which is dark.

Let us not even mention the fact that “light” and “dark”…”good” and “bad” and so on does not truly exist apart from perception.

No two gods are the same and are complete in and of itself. A saying that we like to refer to is that if something can be divided (in this case, as being good or evil, light or dark) then it is not god. Although all gods are individual – as an example, we as gods will differ from you as a god – in nature and character, there are a few factors which all that is godly have in common…and one of those things is what we refer to as Divine Detachment, which is the only aspect we will speak about in this post.

The state of Divine Detachment is a state of creation and destruction, of magick, of unity and nullification of all that can be divided or separated…it is the state in which Vishnu finds himself, dreaming all of existence into existence, it is the expression on Buddha’s face, it is the calm tone of voice which creates and destroys…it can be called many things – nirvana, bliss…some even perceive it to be “coldness”, however, it transcends normal descriptions.

Some gain this Divine Detachment through meditation and pathworking, however, regardless of how you initiate this – as you grow yourself spiritually, this state can be summoned as swiftly as a thought and last for as long as you wish it to…and further still, it is possible to live in a constant state of Divine Detachment.

A good way to describe Divine Detachment would be to reference the Heart Sutra. The Heart Sutra, also known as the "Heart of the Perfection of Wisdom Sutra," is a fundamental text in Mahayana Buddhism. It is a short but profound scripture that encapsulates key concepts of Buddhist philosophy, particularly the idea of emptiness (shunyata) and the nature of reality. The sutra is chanted, recited, and studied by Buddhists across various traditions.

The Heart Sutra is a part of the larger Perfection of Wisdom (Prajnaparamita) literature, which comprises a collection of texts exploring the concept of wisdom and the nature of reality. The Heart Sutra, however, is one of the most concise and renowned texts within this collection.

The sutra is often recited or chanted as a practice, and it is considered to have the power to cut through delusions and bring about insight into the true nature of existence. It's usually recited as a part of meditation or as a devotional practice.

The core theme of the Heart Sutra is the concept of emptiness (shunyata). Emptiness, in this context, does not mean literal nothingness but rather the idea that all things lack inherent, fixed, independent existence. This challenges our conventional way of perceiving the world as consisting of discrete, solid entities.

The Heart Sutra is presented in a dialogue between Shariputra, one of the foremost disciples of the Buddha, and Avalokiteshvara (known as Guanyin in East Asian Buddhism), a bodhisattva associated with compassion. In the dialogue, Avalokiteshvara expounds on the nature of reality, the nature of the mind, and the path to enlightenment.

The famous mantra associated with the Heart Sutra, "gate gate paragate parasamgate bodhi svaha," is often recited and translates to something like "gone, gone, gone beyond, gone utterly beyond, enlightenment, hail!"

In summary, the Heart Sutra is a concise yet profound Buddhist scripture that delves into the concept of emptiness and challenges our ordinary way of perceiving reality. It's a key text for many Buddhists as it encapsulates essential teachings about the nature of existence, the path to enlightenment, and the cultivation of wisdom and compassion. Yet, although it is most common in Buddhism…its meaning and what it presents transcends any paradigm and speaks to the god within as well as the nature and mind of god: Divine Detachment.

We will now present the translated version of the Heart Sutra – clear your mind and read it…

Avalokiteshvara while practicing deeply with the Insight that Brings Us to the Other Shore, suddenly discovered that all of the five Skandhas are equally empty, and with this realisation he overcame all Ill-being.

Listen Sariputra, this Body itself is Emptiness and Emptiness itself is this Body. This Body is not other than Emptiness and Emptiness is not other than this Body. The same is true of Feelings, Perceptions, Mental Formations, and Consciousness.

Listen Sariputra, all phenomena bear the mark of Emptiness; their true nature is the nature of no Birth no Death, no Being no Non-being, no Defilement no Purity, no Increasing no Decreasing.

That is why in Emptiness, Body, Feelings, Perceptions, Mental Formations and Consciousness are not separate self entities.

The Eighteen Realms of Phenomena which are the six Sense Organs, the six Sense Objects, and the six Consciousnesses are also not separate self entities.

The Twelve Links of Interdependent Arising and their Extinction are also not separate self entities. Ill-being, the Causes of Ill-being, the End of Ill-being, the Path, insight and attainment, are also not separate self entities.

Whoever can see this no longer needs anything to attain.

Bodhisattvas who practice the Insight that Brings Us to the Other Shore see no more obstacles in their mind, and because there are no more obstacles in their mind, they can overcome all fear, destroy all wrong perceptions and realize Perfect Nirvana.

All Buddhas in the past, present and future by practicing the Insight that Brings Us to the Other Shore are all capable of attaining Authentic and Perfect Enlightenment.

Therefore Sariputra, it should be known that the Insight that Brings Us to the Other Shore is a Great Mantra, the most illuminating mantra, the highest mantra, a mantra beyond compare, the True Wisdom that has the power to put an end to all kinds of suffering. Therefore let us proclaim a mantra to praise the Insight that Brings Us to the Other Shore.

Gate, Gate, Paragate, Parasamgate, Bodhi Svaha! Gate, Gate, Paragate, Parasamgate, Bodhi Svaha! Gate, Gate, Paragate, Parasamgate, Bodhi Svaha!

How did this make you feel? Did it make you feel at peace, as if in a trance? Did it make you feel empty? Did it make you feel angry? Well…let us tell you something interesting – if you felt anger, fear or any negative emotions while reading and contemplating this sutra, that is not the true-you, the Godself that feels angry or fearful – but your Negative Ego, a product of self-induced, self-serving pain and negativity…that which suppresses the Godself.

The sutra above and what it describes is in fact true…and also an excellent example of Divine Detachment. If you would like to perform a little test – read this sutra daily for a while, contemplating it and its meaning, and see the changes that occur in your perception and mentality. We can assure you that it will only be beneficial to you regardless of your personal path or practices.

For more practical information and details on the subject of Godhood and Spiritual Ascension, we welcome you to have a look at our Hexagrammaton series of works – especially Liber Dei and The Hexagrammaton.

#esoteric #magick #occult #spiritual knowledge #spiritualism #heart sutra #sutra #mantra #godself #ascension #spirituality #spiritualgrowth #spiritual development #spiritualjourney #spiritual awakening

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noneedtofearorhope · 2 years

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don’t agree with the idea that each individual IS ‘an island of self-sufficiency’, but i do agree we should all strive for it. our interconnectedness, interdependence, the intertwining of our lives holds so much more when it is done out of complete free will, no necessity and material conditions forcing our hands.

of course being ‘an island of self-sufficiency’ isn’t attainable, even plants depend on the sun, so it isn’t something you should fret over not reaching 100%, but we should strive for it nonetheless.

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kootiepatra · 2 years

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#FFxivWrite2022 - Day 18: Extra Credit - "View"

This idea has haunted me ever since I realized I first shipped them. I do not have the drawing chops to draw it like I see it. Maybe I don't have the writing chops, either, but it seemed like an opportune day to give it a whirl.

========================

It was rare indeed to see denizens of mankind in Dravania—rarer still for them to make their way through Mourn and up towards the Churning Mists. Yet three such figures walked along that path this afternoon. The Warrior of Light took point, glancing around for threats, and mentally charting a route that would invite the least conflict with the locals. Yet despite her vigil, a light smile was on her face as she listened to the conversation behind her.

Alphinaud was doing what he did so well: talking. But where not so long ago Keimwyda would have been reminding herself to be patient with him—after all, he was still but a very young man—she was now quite impressed. He had taken much to heart through the trials of this past chapter of their lives, and his newfound humility worked miracles on his ease as a conversation partner. Aymeric seemed to be enjoying the chatter alongside him, at any rate.

It was still somewhat surreal to be making this trek together. Although the lord commander had more than once expressed a desire to join the Scions on the field—and even more often, expressed his guilt that they labored on his behalf while he stayed behind—this was the first proper foray on which he could join them. No matter how much he had tried in the past, something had always gotten in the way. Keimwyda could still remember the sparks in his eyes when Estinien had all but tied him to his chair to prevent him from joining their first fight with Nidhogg. A pang of fond sadness lodged in her heart as she thought of it.

Estinien, if you are still in there, hang on.

She let the two Elezen chat between themselves as she scouted. The end of the climb to the Churning Mists was near. It was a perfect place for an ambush, should there be one. She must focus. Besides, she enjoyed listening to them anyway.

She pushed ahead a few more paces, and peered through the rounded gate—the handiwork of moogle design, if she had to guess. She raised a hand to halt her companions.

“Is aught amiss?” Aymeric asked with concern.

“Just looking,” she replied, scanning the horizon. She stepped into the sunlight beyond, checking for any blind corners. Everything seemed safe enough. “I do believe we are clear,” she announced, smiling and waving them forward.

“My thanks,” Aymeric said, returning the smile.

“As I was saying…” Alphinaud said, picking up precisely where he left off.

The lad was explaining at length to the lord commander what he should expect, striving to impress upon him the majesty of the ruins, as well as preparing him for the disposition Hrasevelgr was like to be in. Some of it was probably information Aymeric already knew, but he was nonetheless agreeably gracious in reply.

Keimwyda backed away from the gate and watched the two ascend. Alphinaud had traveled this route as many times as she, but this was Aymeric’s first journey here. She was curious how he would react to it.

He squinted his eyes a bit as he adjusted to the light of the outdoors—but then widened them as he drank in the view that stretched out before him. She wondered if he realized that his jaw had gone slack. Alphinaud certainly didn’t. He kept right on talking, but Keimwyda suspected that Aymeric had ceased to hear him.

And who could blame him? She herself had her breath stolen away the first time she beheld this place. The graceful, curving winged sculptures stood tall, looming larger than life, yet seemingly effortlessly floating on the airborne isles. The weight of history was palpable, as the testimonies of a millennium past rang out silently through these ruins—ruins which were in remarkable condition, all things considered, having been largely untouched for generations.

And of course, Hraesvelgr’s lair dominated the center of the landscape. Its pale blue walls gently curled upwards, as if petals of a flower just beginning to bloom, or perhaps icy flames frozen in time. Its height was dizzying. It seemed to scrape against the heavens themselves.

Aymeric kept staring, and walked silently towards the edge of the mountain, transfixed. Keimwyda moved up beside him and let herself enjoy the spectacle all over again. She loved being able to see familiar sights with fresh eyes. The scene was awash with the golden light of the late afternoon, making it seem all the richer.

She glanced over at Aymeric. He had not moved. This moment must be somewhat complex for him, she assumed. While he had been quick and willing to accept the truth of Ishgard’s dark history, it was one thing to believe it, and another thing altogether to see it spelled out in stone like this. As if that weren’t enough, this was the home of a living eyewitness of the events, someone who still ached with the pain of betrayal.

It was beautiful, though.

Keimwyda felt that was what she saw in Aymeric’s face the most. She appreciated that he was taking his time. His blue eyes shone with a wonder she had not seen on him before. She smiled. It was endearing. She almost wanted to reach over and take his hand.

But of course, that would be far too familiar of her. She dismissed the urge with nary a second thought, but continued to observe his wonderment. She was glad he had been able to come. He was a good man, and he was pouring himself out selflessly on behalf of his people every day. It felt right that he should at least be treated to a beautiful view now and then.

Her own view was not so bad, either, she supposed.

Before she had time to process that she had really just thought that to herself, she was startled as his eyes turned to meet hers, each person sharing the sideways glance. Twelve preserve. She felt flustered for reasons she did not understand and flung her gaze back to the landscape. Her emotions tumbled over themselves in confusion and she thought of nothing but regaining her calm—that, and hoping she had not taken on a blush like it felt like she might have.

Somewhere, in the background, Alphinaud was finishing his sentence, and finally cottoning on to the fact that his traveling companions’ attention was elsewise engaged.

“Ah, yes,” he said, joining them at the precipice. “Welcome to the Churning Mists, Ser Aymeric. A remarkable sight, is it not?”

“A most beautiful view indeed,” he replied. Keimwyda only saw him in her peripheral—she was still attempting to avoid eye contact—but she could have sworn that although he was answering Alphinaud, he was still looking at her.

Don’t be ridiculous, she thought to herself. Perhaps it was the altitude getting to her.

She let her gaze linger on the unparalleled vista for another calming moment. “It still does not cease to amaze me,” she answered at last, turning back to the others. “Well, then. Shall we proceed?”

“I am ready if you are,” Aymeric replied. “Pray lead on.”

#FFxivWrite2022 #FFxivWrite #ffxiv #wolmeric #SHIPPY NONSENSE #this poor girl has no idea she's actually crushing #He is WELL AWARE that he is crushing on her though #he cute #sweet summer child Alphinaud picks up on none of this #aymeric de borel #aymeric x wol #fluff

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hibewriter · 2 days

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Take Me (In the Midnight Hour)

Masterlist Read it on AO3 WIP

Chapter 1 2

The Rings of Power / The Lord of the Rings | Haladriel / Saurondriel | 10.1K | E

One

To preface this story is to do it an injustice.

After all, how does one preface something they don't know the ending to? I'm still here — waking, living, breathing like before. Yet, unlike before, there's something new. Something within me has shifted and morphed into an unrecognizable mass of darkness. Darkness that strives to serve — to follow, to hold — the devil with whom I share a bed. Something within me wants to swaddle him in my arms and let him take every piece of me to Hell, where he has made his home. He said he wished to guide the beleaguered masses back to civility. To guide or to rule. To rule or enslave. His union of those wronged by the very hand he fed upon.

Before, when I was young, I relished a day spent at the lakeside of my family's home in Mithlond. When the colonial-style house stretched far into the sky – its pillars visible from grassy shores where I would eventually take a rest. There was no perversion in me then, no broken heart or sordid promises. Not when my brother would carry me inside after a long day of play. But the emptiness had been there when I held Celeborn's hand. The emptiness had been there at every dinner between our two families, and each date at our city's finest restaurants. Superficial and hollow.

Hollowness drove me to his arms. Running from my mind drove me to his bed. But staying, in both, might have been the most frightening thing of all.

It took four months of living in Tirharad for my brother to call me. Four months of wondering if my choice was wrong, or if perhaps I had acted too rashly on the day I had stormed out of the safety of Mithlond. Four months of wondering if I was truly alone, sitting in a cramped studio apartment waiting for the phone to ring or perhaps a letter to appear with an apology from an all too distant mother. I wondered, then, when the phone rang if I was hallucinating. Or if perhaps there had been something in the pie I ate, a nightmare or a dream born out of innocuous food prepared the day before in a kitchen perhaps a touch too small.

"Galadriel," his voice came distorted through the line, taking on the slight hum of the phone line that somehow never went away despite years of advancement in technology. Nonetheless, he sounded breathless, as if he'd run to catch me even though he'd called.

"Finrod." His name was heavy on my tongue. A weight of attrition, a forced distance between me and him. The degradation of his name to merely a stranger I had just met, instead of a brother who I'd known and loved. It's easier to stare at the pan on my stove, the one that has been there since I cooked instant ramen noodles three days ago. Empty with a shallow layer of salt and preservatives coating the walls.

"Let's be reasonable," he says. "We all said things we don't mean, and Cel said he'd be willing to keep the engagement on if you said sorry."

"I don't want to say sorry," I say, still staring at that stupid pot. I should clean it. Or get a new one. One that wasn't a stupid hand-me-down from college. He sighs, clearly about to say more when I proceed anyway. "It's been four months. The first thing you have to say is get back with Celeborn?"

It's laughable if not painful. I always knew that my family placed more emphasis on the "Noldor Family" as a reputation than on happiness. A sense of duty to marry into a respectable station of equal or higher value than our own and pump out beautiful babies that would have blonde hair until all of Lindon knew us. Or feared us. It was all the same when you had power and influence.

"I – you're right," he says, though his tone tells me he is far from done speaking. "How are you?"

(I buy a new kitchen set from Williams Sonoma, a cream granite one with that non-stick coating that screams studio kitchen, and not a girl who mostly just reheats pre-packaged food. It's aspirational, I rationalize — the pans are weighty in my palms as I try to wrestle them onto the sleek countertop to check out.

The man at the counter glances at me, and I can tell he's trying not to stare as he rings me up. Since moving here I've not seen a single person who looks like me. Dark-haired girls who are shorter and plumper flood the streets. They wear cottage-core outfits straight from Pinterest, though if I had to guess I'd bet my life that they mostly worked comfy jobs in offices that spent too much money on cafeterias and not on salaries.

I blink, dazed as I step out of the store. I've been staring at one such girl, and I have to cough and apologize when she raises an eyebrow in my direction as if begging me to say something. I don't know when I got so judgmental.)

"What can I get you?"

"What do you have?"

After my call with Finrod, it's easy to find a bar within walking distance of my studio. It's loud, one of those open concepts where the entire room is centered around a square bar, two bartenders on either side filling the mouths of any and everyone with ten dollars. They don't care about the girl walking in, as long as her card is running. The nametag on the bartender's shirt is faded – smudged and chipped in several places, but still. Its owner's name was clear as day. Elendil. I didn't particularly care at the time, but he bore witness to my misery, and every witness deserves a name. Not to mention his pour was heavy, the gin bottle noticeably emptier when he returns it to the well.

So I spend my night rejecting advances from men who think they have a shot and drowning my sorrows in gin and tonic until the room begins to blur at the edges.

There is a man who tries to follow me out, trailing behind me enough that even in my addled state I could recognize the predatory way he stalked behind me when I left the door. Instead of right, I turn left, my pace brisk as I head down the street toward the city's center. Away from my home and the safety of a bolt lock.

The streets are surprisingly empty, dark, and wet from an apparent storm that I was lucky or unlucky enough to miss. It's nearly three blocks before I spot people. Two. It's instinctive to cross toward them. I immediately embrace the smaller of the two, a woman, in my embrace.

"Help me," I whisper in her ear.

Tonight I'm lucky, making new friends as we wait for the stranger to disappear from the block. Her name is Bronwyn. Her boyfriend drives me home.

(The plan comes to me that night, cuddled into my bed under two fluffy blankets as I scrolled The Tirharad Independent looking for places to visit in the city. The statue was bronze, a boy standing atop an anvil, raising a hammer to the sky: Sauron and the Sun.

I liked it.)

"Walk away," I said as I sipped my gin and tonic. It's been six months since I moved to Tirharad. Today I was supposed to go with Bronwyn and Arondir on a double date – their version of friendship came with the idea that singleness was a problem to be fixed. But for some reason I found myself plopping down for a single drink that had turned into four. An apology was already typed on my phone the closer it got to my planned meet-up time. Not that I had an issue with them trying. Planned dates with vouched-for men or women were certainly more advisable than what happens here.

"I was just wondering what a girl like —"

"I'm engaged." It's easy to show the ring I'd found at an antique store, lifting my left hand in the general direction of the stranger. The opal center reflected against the low lights of the bar, brass catching rays of the sun. It looked hand-made, something forged from love and dedication I'd certainly never felt before. But does he get the message? Of course not.

"Do I know him?" The look in his eye is lecherous, leering as he pays attention not to my ring but to the thin straps on my top. He leans into my space. If I'd been in a correct mood, if I'd even wanted the attention of a man, he would've been attractive. He wasn't dressed like the other men here, the black turtle neck tucked seamlessly into his slacks as if he were trying to hide a violent nature beneath a veneer of soft and muted clothing. Or maybe I'm just projecting in hindsight.

"He's a blacksmith," I say, head lowered to my drink as I contemplate getting kicked out for assault. He hasn't done anything yet. Nothing to warrant a kick to the shins or a smack in the face. Something that could be a disservice.

"I know so many blacksmiths in the area. What's his name?"

"Sauron," I deadpan. He laughs, brisque and loudly.

I decided then that I didn't like him.

There was a dark glint in his eye — as if his humor had been found in a secret past I knew nothing about. It's been nearly the same reaction all month, one that typically goes away with a steady gaze and a bored expression. This guy, however, likes to push.

"I know Sauron, kid," the man says. This. This wasn't planned for. In the past two months that I've been running this gambit, no one had known Sauron. Or professed to. Most assumed that he was a made-up man with no connection to reality. "There's no way someone who looks like you would want anything to do with him."

"You think you know me based off of looks?" I start, knowing now that he'll never get the hint. "You, whatever your name is, have no idea what I want. Or who I want for that matter. And you never will, because the only thing you need to know is that whatever I want — it isn't you. Now. Like I said. Walk. Away."

I should've known then that it wouldn't be the last I'd seen of him. The shift in his face from amusement to dead serious within a fraction of a second. His smile is now a straight line, the glint in his brown eyes gone, replaced only with black. But my trepidation was placated when he nodded, reaching into his pocket and producing a card. Simple bold black lettering as he slid it toward me on the bar counter.

Melkor Ainor Master Welder

"Tell Sauron that his old friend is looking for him." His words feel like a threat. But he's gone before I even look up from the card.

(Never trust a man who insists he knows you better than yourself.)

I focus my attention on the bartender and raise my glass, dangerously close to empty. A fifth to drown away the past and present. A sixth to quiet the thoughts.

Bronwyn sent 11:57AM

Hey, we're going to switch to later tonight, is that alright?

Read 11:57 AM

You sent 12:02 PM

How much later tonight?

Read 12:03 PM

Bronwyn sent 12:03 PM

We were thinking 9. We wanted to hit up that new sports bar down on Greenier.

Read 12:03 PM

You sent 12:07 PM

Maybe. I've been feeling sick today. Read 12:08 PM

Bronwyn sent 12:08 PM

Sick like last week?

Read 12:08 PM

(Sick like always.

I don't respond.)

It takes eight months in Tirharad for my mother to talk to me.

At this point, I had a weekly call with Finrod. We talked like coworkers most of the time. How was your weekend? Turning into each other in broken records as if we cared what stalls were at the farmer's market, or whether or not his kids knew who he was talking to when he stepped out of the room. It was one of those such calls before I heard the shuffle on the other side of the line. The "just let me talk to her" was muffled by what I assumed was Fin's hand over the receiver. Before there was a drop and a brief silence. And then —

"Galadriel," her voice came in. My mother always carried the tone of a woman who had just finished running. A breathlessness followed each syllable as if they were in a race to exit her mouth first. "When are you going to stop this foolishness and come home?"

Eight months of foolishness. As if my mother were simply waiting for me to return from a tantrum I'd thrown. I felt the bile rise in my throat. Anger manifested in my throat as a solid weight, a pain that refused to dissipate. Rise or sink would've been preferable but instead, it sat stuck, needing to be broken apart instead of relocating. It was different than with Finrod. Then I simply had to shift the conversation away from what he wanted to talk about – he was a perpetual puppy, distracted if you shook a toy in front of his face.

"Galadriel?"

Eärwen Noldor was not so easily distracted.

The next thing I know, my screen is black. The call ended without saying a word.

(She calls me several times after, from her number this time. Each call is met with a prevailing silence, voicemails in the trash while I contemplate throwing my phone off the balcony.)

When you reflect upon your choices – in something like this, which at its core is a memoir of my consciousness and my failures – you learn what pushes you. Is it rage? Surface level — yes. The initial rage that flows from a mother's latent misunderstanding of who her daughter is. That "tantrum" that follows. Powder can only sit in a keg for so long. So what do you do? What did I do? I drowned my gunpowder in liquid fire and waited for the flame to swallow me whole.

I met the devil on a Wednesday afternoon. He is the flame that leads to a spark – though I hadn't known that then.

He finds me at a bar I wasn't a regular at. Some sports bar as Arondir wanted to watch a team play. I'd never so much as seen the man smile, but of course, he watched the screen with that same rapt attention he gave everything.

I still wore the ring, my signal to Bronwyn and Arondir that I didn't want their wingman services. It didn't matter. Their services never worked. Men tended to think we were a poly couple, which I would say was confusing but – my arms wrapped around Bronwyn's waist, Arondir draped over her shoulders and I won't lie and say I didn't know how the brown sugar lipgloss tasted coming off Bronwyn's lips. The gin and tonics were strong at this bar, but the drinks are always strong when we're together. We should probably talk about it. Not tonight.

Tonight he had caught my eye, not unlike my initial appraisal of Melkor. The tense air around him seemed to not affect the others in his group. They were surrounding him as if this club were the ocean and he was the only raft in sight. He stood casually, back to one of the only spaces along the wall of the bar that wasn't filled with other people. There was a small huddle around him, at least two girls clinging to each sleeve of his jean jacket as he told whatever story he was regaling the group with.

I don't know why I kept staring at him. If Bronwyn or Arondir had noticed they didn't say anything, letting me sip on the clear liquid in my glass as I stared across at him. Something so familiar yet unrecognizable about him as I did. Then his eyes – green, not like the forest but like a snake, treacherous and alluring all at once – met mine.

I wish I could say it was immediate magnetism – that the second our eyes connected he made me swoon with the idea of a future together based only on his gaze boring into mine or that there was an electric pull that brought me to him setting me alight. But that wouldn't be the truth.

His gaze felt like a weighted blanket. All the rushing thoughts in my head suddenly evaporated, silenced by a sea of green.

It doesn't take much to shake Bronwyn and Arondir from my side. I slip through the crowded bar mostly unnoticed, just another face pushing against clusters of shoulders just trying to get to the bathroom. I'm foolish enough to think that a splash of water and a quick pick me up will return my mind to something other than the stranger on the other side of the room.

The water is tepid against my skin. The paper towels are coarse. In the back of my mind, Eärwen scolds me for wasting expensive skincare items on subpar materials. She would've hated how I'd switched from her beloved Tatcha creams to the generic brands sold at the bodega across the street from my home. She would've hated this bar and my friends. Probably would've hated the clothes on my back or the way I wore my hair. It's enough to make me smile.

He's there when I exit the room. He leaned casually against the opposite wall, studying me as if at a museum and he was finally close enough to see the details in the art. We stare at each other. Or more, I stare and he moves into my space. I smell him now, all steel and smoke, as he backs me toward the bathroom. I don't think to speak, just letting him head me back inside.

He seems to have made up his mind about me, shepherding me into the stall furthest from the door. It's spacious, one of those specifically built for handicapped patrons. Looking back I probably should've scolded him, perhaps argued about the locale and the fake ring on my finger. Demand he let me go and head back into the crowd to find my friends. But I don't.

Instead, I bite my lip when he turns toward the door to the stall. He's tall – taller than I would've guessed from across the room. My brain immediately turned to a litany of tallbigtall, all warning bells muted in favor of attraction.

"I'm Halbrand," he says. It shocks me how he provides the barest of introduction before he locks the stall door behind us. For a moment I had thought he wouldn't speak at all, content to just let two strangers use each other for stolen minutes in a bathroom stall. It was cliche. But if didn't feel that way at the time.

"Galadriel."

His lips were on mine within a second of my name leaving my lips. His kiss was hard, all of him pressed into me as he bent to consume me. Lips, and hands, everywhere on me – his arms coiling around my waist. He was crushing me into him, refusing me the option to move away and catch my breath. Whatever he'd seen in me he saw fit to push and mold me into whatever he wanted me to be.

There's something so devastating about releasing your mind into the hands of another.

Even worse is finding that you like it.

By the time my brain caught up to what was happening my body was already responding. My hands were needy, insistent as they grabbed at his hair. My lips were an uncoordinated mess, desperately trying to catch up to his initial dive. But somehow it worked. His hands had moved from my waist, so far south he was lifting me by my ass, pulling me into him. I want to say he didn't have to pull. I would've followed him anyway.

Instinctively I wrap my legs around his hips. It's a drug, the feeling of his hardness, blocked by lack of foresight and the sensible "don't-try-to-fuck-me" jeans I'd worn. He was hard, heavy weight against the burgeoning heat in my core as his lips left mine to explore the exposed skin of my neck. It was disorienting, having gone months feeling numb to the feeling of skin against skin, only for a stranger to pull the dormant lust in me to the surface.

It felt like fire.

The noise I made when he pulled the slightest inch away from me would be embarrassing if anyone but him had heard it. But he was pulling at the waistband of my pants, urgent hands doing their best to pull them just low enough before he turned me to face the stall wall.

"You gonna be quiet for me?" He asks, lips against my ear as he manages to get my jeans to pool around my knees. I heard the zipper of his jeans, what I hoped was the ripping of a condom. But to be honest – I couldn't care less. "Or are you gonna let everyone hear what I'm gonna do to you?"

Looking back, I can't tell if I asked him to wait. If I asked him to slow down, or maybe finger me a bit before I was filled. All consuming, wholly, filled. Each push of his hips craved a new place inside me for himself. A goodbadgood burn as his girth pushed me past the limits I previously thought I had. By the time he was fully inside, hips pressed to mine, I was a whimpering mess.

"Didn't even need prep, did you, baby?" His breath was gruff against the hollow of my ear. Deeper, more desperate as he pulled back – which I think was worse than being filled, the emptiness he left behind an ache that only the returning push of his cock inside me could cure. All I could do was moan, my knuckles curling against the hard plastic of the stall wall as I scrambled for purchase.

I don't pretend to be above a cry, the pinpricks of water falling from my eyes as he began a harsh pace inside. "Mmm, i' hurts."

His fingers gripped my hips tightly, a dark laugh coming from his throat. His chest was to my back, his body encompassing mine and it was too much. It's too fast, it's too hard. He knocks the breath from me but still, I blush. I'm overwhelmed but my cunt craves him – walls clenching, gushing around him as he slips, cruel, a single finger to rub at my clit.

It's hard to care about the sounds we're making. The clear slapping as skin meets skin, the soft moans from my mouth, or the groans from his throat –

He asked if I'd be quiet but I'd never been louder.

"Fuck," his voice was low and ragged in my ear. The hand not on my clit winding up my shirt to grasp my breast – kneading, pinching, pulling at the soft skin in a way that sent electricity through my body. My orgasm was winding up inside me, coiling tighter and tighter as he drove me into the fucking wall. We were pressed so close together I was surprised the thick plastic hadn't given way to his harsh thrusts. He added a second finger to my clit, rolling the bud between the two as the pads began to press on where our bodies joined together. The coil snaps, my orgasm hitting me like a light-rail train. I feel the gush come from me, my entire body seizing around his length and forcing gasps of air out of my throat. Panicky, shaky breaths as I fall apart in a sports bar bathroom while the veritable stranger behind me continues to fuck into me like a beast. I could only hang on the best I could, my legs feeling like jelly. His hand left my breast, gripping my waist to hold me up as he chased his release.

By the time he came, I was slumped, boneless against the wall as he slammed inside, grinding harshly into my backside. Each push drove the warmth of his spend deeper and deeper inside me, my brain a haze as I tried to remember whether or not I had taken my birth control, or if I had asked if he had worn a condom, or if I was just misremembering the sound.

He's still inside, both of us panting. His hand comes to my throat, and he turns my head to look at him. "Come back to my place."

It's not a question, more of a demand. Still, I find myself nodding, eyes glossy as he smirks down at me. It's sinister, it's cruel. It makes me clench around his softening cock, earning me a hiss and swat to my ass before he pulls away from me. He cleans me up. He takes me home.

When I was young my father used to tell me that running only prolonged the pain. Eventually, you'd have to come home and face the music, and it'd be worse because you put the time and distance between the initial wound and taking care of it. A festering wound can never heal and other euphemisms that meant the same thing. At the time I took it to mean that he didn't want me to hide my report card from him or that I should apologize when I was wrong.

The problem was — I got excellent grades, and I was rarely, if ever, wrong. At least, until I started dating Celebron.

I was no stranger to waking up alone.

I'd done it for the majority of my engagement, then every day since I moved to Tirharad. (Excluding the one night with Arondir and Bronwyn — a drunken engagement that will never happen again.)

I was not used to waking up pleasantly sore, the feeling of being thoroughly used and pushed past the normal maintenance orgasms a vibrator could provide. I was not used to waking up in sheets softer than silk, feeling like I had slept on a cloud while the smell of bacon wafted through the apartment. It was nice. It couldn't happen again.

It only took me a few moments to find my clothes, sans panties - which seem to have disappeared into the ether. I guess he'll have a memento.

There was no use tip-toeing out of the room. My brief introduction to the space the night before made it clear - while it was spacious, it was open concept and the kitchen was between the front door and both rooms in the apartment. It's a shame. I would've preferred avoiding the "that was fun but I don't want to see you again" conversation.

"You're awake."

He's leaning against the doorframe as I finish pulling my pants up. Unabashedly staring, when I turn to face him, though I can't fully blame him. He already saw it all and worse the night before.

"Yeah," I cough, avoiding his eyes. There was something so...intense about him in the daylight. His face said a neutral impassiveness, but his eyes held a sharp glint I hadn't seen before. I'm not sure what it was, but I didn't want to find out. "I have a, uh, meeting. With my mom."

I never said I was a great liar.

He seems to notice it, eyebrow raised in skepticism as he straightens his posture. "Okay."

I thank every deity I can that he decides not to push it further. He steps out of the way and lets me out of the room.

(Speak of the devil and she will come.)

I had answered the phone without checking it. A rookie mistake as I began walking the blocks back toward my apartment.

"Hello?" I answered, staring into the distance as I thought about the interaction with Halbrand. He hadn't done anything outright sinister. Unless you counted holding my hips down as he —

"Galadriel, finally." Fuck.

"Mother," I sigh. "Your persistence knows no bounds."

"And your stubbornness seems equally as vast, darling. I'll make this quick."

I pause on the sidewalk, turning to look at a small cafe. It was decorated for Halloween, with cut-out paper lanterns and pumpkins scattered in between faux webbing and paper mache bats. It was cute, it looked cozy. When I left Mithlond it was January, snow had hardly melted, and yet, I had found comfort in Tirharad's little propensities. My mother was the type to skip the Halloween decorations, opting instead to spring straight into Christmas and her House of Noldor gala decorations.

"I want you to come home," she said. As if it was simple. As a matter of fact. "I want you to apologize to Celebron for causing a scene, and I want you to keep the spring wedding you always wanted."

"I'm not doing any of those things." I step into the cafe. There's a soft classical tune playing I'd never heard of and everyone inside seemed too preoccupied with their own lives to pay attention to me. The line isn't too long, and the wafting of an apple cinnamon concoction is too great for me to pass up.

"Why do you insist on ruining yourself for –"

"I'd advise you to reconsider that statement." I hum, scanning the selection of pastry options. It was one of those displays with a clear face, and you could practically see the steam from the fresh selection as they sat, waiting for someone like me to pick them.

"Galadriel I am your mother and I can say what I know to impart on you as wisdom and –"

"Actually, you can respect my boundary and not insist I'm 'ruining myself' considering you're the one who's harassing me. Or I can simply block all of you. Can I get the apple pie cinnamon roll, please? And the iced espresso with cream, yes."

"Are – are you in public?"

"Did you think I would sit around my apartment moping?" I ask as if I hadn't done exactly that for the past eight (or was it nine?) months. Time moved quickly if you blacked out most of it. But it was days like today that showed in my mind's eye with the most clarity. Down to paying with cash. Seventy-eight cents change – dropped directly into the tip jar.

"Well yes, honey. You were dumped just three months before the wedding for that scene you caused." I can see the bait from a mile away. Her inflammatory language was only there to urge me into a rage. She wants me to scream, to force myself to embarrass myself in this area now that she knows I am surrounded. Normally she would succeed. Normally I'd yell, insist that wasn't the truth. That we both knew the truth.

"Well," I say, moving to the end of the counter to wait for my order. "If catching Celeborn with his pants around his ankles while fucking the waitress from our engagement dinner, berating him for it then leaving to pack all my shit out of his house is 'getting dumped' then I guess I was dumped. I'd do it again now, down to the slap to the face, and calling him a shrimp-dicked cretin."

"Galadriel," She hissed. A warning, discomfort flowing through her veins. Even when she was trying to bait me, she still couldn't let go of her notions of propriety.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, mother. I didn't realize my description of getting cheated on would upset you so much. I'm so glad that you care so much about my happiness to realize that what Celeborn did was terrible and I shouldn't take someone like that back into my heart."

"Honey, sure he has his...flaws. But he is stable! He's the son of Senator Doriath! Does our family mean nothing to you?"

"I didn't realize my marriage was just to be a political bargaining chip for you." I did. But I never expected her to brazenly say so. Then again, I never expected to be in this situation at all.

The barista stops in front of me, handing the pastry and drink. I'm out the door in an instant, slipping into the daylight once again. This time my pace is drenched in speed, not taking the time to savor the sights or stop at a cushy-looking storefront.

"Well honey, what else would it be?" I would think the answer was obvious to her. But like everything about the past three years of my life, I was wrong.

"I don't know mother, I must've been under the impression that people married each other for love."

"Oh honey, no one marries for love anymore."

"You would have me marry a cheater and a liar on the off chance he was honest about leveraging our family to prosperity. Chain myself body and soul to a crook?"

There's silence now. A chasm between us that she knows can not be crossed. She sighs. As if finally seeing the logic. As if the logic was what she needed. She couldn't accept that his actions were bad enough on their own.

"You'll do what you wish then." The line goes dead.

#haladriel #saurondriel

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