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sallow-gaunt · 11 months

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Some headcanons linked to Ominis and his blindness, because I adore him:

This is sort of implied/generally accepted as canon anyway: Ominis’ blindness is a result of generations of family inbreeding due to his family’s obsession with blood purity. As if he needs yet another reason to despise his family…

Ominis mostly reads using Braille; it’s a language created by a Muggle in 1821 that consists of raised dots in various patterns to symbolise letters, words or numbers.

He taught himself Braille just before going to Hogwarts - I mean, who else was going to help him learn? His parents? His older siblings, who are just as awful and all about pure-blood supremacy?

Speaking of his family, they are predictably NOT happy about their son using a “made up language created by Muggle scum” - it’s one of the small ways Ominis is able to say “fuck you” to them because he KNOWS they hate him reading using Braille

When he first meets Sebastian, the other boy is utterly clueless that Ominis is blind. It’s only when he sees Ominis take out his wand, the tip blinking red to help him navigate, that he’s like “woah what is your wand doing?!?” When Ominis explains why, he just knows Sebastian is grinning as he goes “that’s amazing!” And then, ten whole seconds later, “wait, you’re bliND?!?”

Anne slaps her twin brother on the arm for that, rolling her eyes as she scolds him. Even though he can’t see them, Ominis knows he’s met his best friends for life right then and there.

Hogwarts textbooks do not come in Braille, regrettably, and so Ominis finds that he’s soon relying all too heavily on his friends to read to him (which is embarrassing quite frankly because he KNOWS how to read, he’s educated, it’s just not in the right format). The teachers, however, aren’t too happy about Anne or Sebastian (depending on who gets there first - they’re both competitive about being the one to help) reading out loud in the middle of class, and of course things go wrong when Sebastian starts moving Ominis’ hands around to show him the right wand movements for certain spells

As a result, Ominis soon falls behind in class - not because he’s stupid or bad at any of the classes, but simply because he’s unable to read what potion ingredients he needs, unable to read descriptions of spells or anything like that

The professors do understand and they wish they could do more to help, they truly do; all of them have been to Black several times asking if perhaps it’s possible to allow him extra time and space so that he can have someone read out ingredients to him, or perhaps to try to find a spell that’ll help him by reading for him. While Black is indeed friends with Ominis’ father, he doesn’t do a thing to help in that regard.

There are not very many blind wizards, but he’s able to do some research - with Sebastian and Anne helping, of course - and after a trip to the Restricted Section that was most definitely NOT approved by a teacher, they accidentally run into Madam Scribner who is NOT very happy.

“It’s important!” Sebastian protests. “Ominis can’t read his textbooks, and he can’t even read instructions for wand movements!” All three of them are given a warning - their only warning, they’re told - and sent away. Before he leaves, however, Scribner pulls Ominis aside and quietly tells him that she’ll see what she can do.

As it turns out, there is a spell that can transfigure textbooks into braille copies, but it’s so rarely known and used that it takes weeks of Scribner, Nurse Blainey AND Professor Weasley all researching in their spare time (Ominis, Sebastian and Anne are also still researching secretly). Because of how rare it is, none of them know how effective it will be but they give it a try anyway. It takes a few goes before it works, and Ominis hesitantly puts his fingers to the page to make sure it’s all correct - thankfully, it is.

Over the years, Ominis tweaks the spell a bit so that it’s more effective because sometimes there are still errors and he’s really tired of having to repeat the spell four times per book he wants to read before it actually works. It’s probably not the best idea to alter an already difficult and not always effective spell, but screw it, he just wants to read some damn books by himself

His grades do improve after this spell… although he still hates potions. Potions is his worst subject, which isn’t surprising given he can’t SEE the colour of whatever he’s boiling, so how is he supposed to know when it’s green or pink or a light blue? Sebastian or Anne usually let him know if it’s gone REALLY off colour, but they know he doesn’t want special treatment just because he’s blind. He sulks most potions lessons, wondering why he can’t just buy all of what he needs from J. Pippin’s shop instead of wasting time attempting to brew them

Still, at least most of his potions don’t explode - compared to Garreth Weasley’s little experiments, Ominis’ attempts at potions are relatively tame all things considered

People think that just because Ominis is blind, it means he also can’t hear them or that he’s some kind of defenceless innocent creature - they couldn’t be more wrong. Once he knows the correct wand movements, he’s incredible at duelling - his wand is an extension of his hand, given that it helps guide him around the castle, and so his bond with it is intense, which definitely helps fuel his spellcasts even more

Also Ominis totally knows ALL of the Hogwarts tea - the fact people underestimate him means they don’t realise he’s listening in, that he hears it all… And it’s not just the students he hears the gossip about - he knows an impressive amount about the teachers too 👀

Ominis LIVES for the tea, I tell you, absolutely lives for it like the snarky king he is.

#this will maybe (probably) have a part two featuring reader / mc #hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #sebastian sallow #anne sallow

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misfitantoinette · 6 months

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A digital drawing inspired by the book cover of Breaking Dawn and the Persephone imagery of Midnight Sun. Like the original book cover, the pawn represents Bella as a human, fragile in Edward’s mind and dispensable to other vampires as a meal. The queen is meant to symbolise Bella’s transformation from human to vampire, (mirroring the Persephone imagery - from goddess of spring to queen of the underworld). I chose to swap the colours of the chess pieces that are used on the original book cover since red felt more in line with the colour of a newborn’s eyes. (It also allowed me to blood stain the pawn and the flowers so I could gradually turn the colour scheme from white to red, which fits with the themes of the first half of Breaking Dawn, given how close to death Bella was after giving birth to Renesmee).

I had initially planned to do this as a polymer clay piece using an actual fillable hourglass as I wasn’t particularly confident that I’d be able to execute this idea through a drawing or painting very well, but the hourglass was only fillable from one side so I had to shelve that idea 😅 So this took a long time to finish as I kept procrastinating (I’ve literally had this initial sketch in my notebook for over 2 months now) since I was gutted that I couldn’t do it as originally planned 😂

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blueberrypancakesworld · 5 months

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TLB - Blood red lips - Door.14

warning : kissing, flirting (tiny tiny tiny smutish if you look closely)

The calendar

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

David :

On the occasion of Christmas, the four boys bought a matching lipstick not only to match the red shining apples but also the red candles and the red Christmas baubles. But most fascinated by it was David who equated the red with the red of fire and flames. He loved it when she came to them at night with the lipstick and he watched the red almost obsessively. Until he moved towards her, stepped out of the shadows and whispered to her, ,,Lips as red as fire", he knew her heart was beating faster and he wanted more of her. His cold leather gloved fingers ran over her neck until she took the cigarette in his other hand between his fingers. ,,I love you," she heard his voice as he came closer and pulled her into a greedy kiss. She tasted the smoke and the blood running through him. He pulled her closer and when they broke away she could see that his lips were the same blood red as hers.

Dwayne :

Christmas the time of love for some and the time for presents for others. But for Dwayne, it was nice to see his brothers and his heart getting along. They felt at ease and the winter only brought them closer together as it got darker faster in Santa Carla. But during this time, it was above all his passion for his love that kept him captivated. Whenever their shared love came to them he watched her from his silence and saw her lips. The dark red colour, even though it resembled blood, symbolised love for the tall black-haired man. ,,Your everything is my love," he had told her one dark Christmas night and pulled away from the wall. He walked over to her and saw the warmth on her cheeks. ,,You are everything," he whispered to her, lingering over her before pulling her into an intimate kiss, his hand going to her hair and pulling her closer to him. Knowing that her blood-red lips would rub off on his.

Paul :

Paul loves Christmas, the bright colours and the sweet smell that seemed to taint the blood of the victims. But above all, he loves playing in the snow with his brothers, having fun throwing the snow on his heart and summoning an artificial snowflake fall for her. But when she came into the cave with the red lipstick one day, the blonde seemed to fall in love again. The colour not only matched her eyes and hair, the colour matched everything, it seemed to make her stand out in a new way and the blonde had to pull himself together to attack her. ,,My angel, I'm yours," he said and playfully knelt down in front of her before pulling her rapturously against him and kissing her. Her lips left red marks on his lips, neck and cheek. ,,You're beautiful," he said dreamily as she let go of him and he floated through the air, almost cartoon-like, as he winked at her.

Marko :

Marko's favourite colour was the blood red of his victims and seeing the red on the snow was his perfect Christmas. Seeing the blood colour the snow red and the warmth of his dismembered victims seemed to transfer to him. But after a long, dark, blood-red night, he returned to the cave covered in blood. He saw her heart beating in the dark and, above all, saw her red lips, which he first thought were blood, which is why he appeared next to her. ,,You flatter my heart," he murmured and his bloody fingers ran over her lip, seeing that it wasn't blood and he seemed almost disappointed. Before he pulled her into a kiss, her hiss amused him as he bit her lightly, tasting her blood. ,,Now it's perfect," he said, pulling away from her and seeing the small trickle of blood on her lips that had stained his.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#tlb 1987 #the lost boys 1987 #tlb david #tlb dwayne #tlb paul #tlb marko #david tlb x reader #dwayne tlb x reader #paul tlb x reader #marko tlb x reader

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dislyteshack · 2 months

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i need to gush about li xiao stuff or else

i love the like divergence you know?

when you first look at him you feel power from him from not only the pose but the attire and all. it all looks etheral

li xiao gives off an appearence of being untouchable but really hes hanging on by a thread.

you would think he has everything together, with how he holds himself. he fits in perfectly as someone else born into the highlife of tangton. the aspects feel practiced because since hes only adopted into the upperclass. of course he has to mimic the air of old money

OH YEAH its really cool how its practical too since based on limited info + tu he seems to be pretty hands on with his job and likely needs to move around alot so it makes sense for it to not only be fancy looking but also good for a fight. the sword also makes it clear he is willing and ready to fight which also ties into backstory stuff that would bleed into him

and! the sword based on someone i know who went clicking it looks like an anti cavalry sword used in the past by the chinese

i said it in a previous post but its actually this

its a changdao for anyone who didnt click

theres implications of him using it to go after bigger targets like maybe...

miramon

or espers.

plays into himnot being on top no matter what, politically or literally.

always the middle man , never anything more. only anything less. his outfit being not too extravagant like say councilor li in the new event shows this too. there's no billowing cape, no random cane , just his sword at his waist if he needs it. while li xiao is valued , hes just not ever valued more than others who have more inate power given to them

i love how hes in all white to symbolise purity of sorts. because thats how he attempts to come off as.

then theres the extra colours that act as a contrast to compliment the rest of his colourscheme otherwise the white is overwhelming.

the strips of black mar him+ the black in the shoes , it represents sins he cant be washed clean of because of what he undoubtedly commited and hes aware of that.

in certain symbolism black represents solemnity + its used as a representation of yin

whats extra cool is yun chuan wearing mostly black with stripes of white and li xiao in mostly white with strips of black. the yin yang symbolism there with the paths they ended going down is an inversion of their designs.

another thing is that using black in a certain way like copywrriting could conotate things like corruption and greed, things li xiao definately ended up bending to in a way

i also really like the red that could either be seen as xiao simply matching with the rest of the radiant guard or as a represenation of the blood on his hands indirectly from the false alarm or more directly with him allowing the experiments to take place. facliating their continuation

red in symbolism can actually be one of destruction or good fortune. honestly it fits with li xiao's life technically having good fortune since his talent was noticed by the li clan while also showing the self destruction that did him in

then theres my fav part which are his eyes which are either scarlet or reddish orange im not too sure but either way.

AIGHT also the bits of green in his belt might be a decoration but! just to put this down

green also has conatations with purity

intresting how alot of what goes into xiao's design attempts to potray purity + his actions (trying to atone/ fufil chuan's promise by unironically trying to change tangton for the better) but in the end that illusion is shattered in truth unveiled.

Ngl I think it's the themes of attempted purity in li xiao that endears me to him alot because I feel chronic guilt in a way it's very therapeutic to talk about him

Because I like unpacking what an extreme he is and his actions.

There's a very clear tragedy there in that he could have just been a plain good person albeit forgettable

The hook of the story of truth unveiled to me personally is while also highlighting the justice system and different ways of dealing with it there's also that other side where even if you wanted to gain powers to cut it at the nip you just can't if you aren't born into it

Maybe I'm just a bleeding heart for clinging to the tragedy of it all instead of moving on as the games themes encourage but it's always nagging at me

#dislyte #dislyte li xiao #dislyte yun chuan #design details #rambles

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sweetestpopcorn · 2 months

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Hi! I know it was mentioned in the show (I don’t take anything there as canon.) but I read in Fire and Blood that when Maegor and Visenya were about to burn Oldtown the Hightower Beacon shone green. Do you think this could have possibly influenced Alicent’s choice of favoring the color green in her wardrobe and naming her party The Greens. I can see no other reason why she would do this. Rhaenyra favoring black was obvious since it was the main color of the Targaryen sigil. But the Hightower banner was grey and white. Unless she had green eyes or simply liked the color I don’t see any other reason why she chose green. Also I think she is type to make a subtle statement and would it also show her true nature during the earlier days. What do you think about this?

Hi there and also sorry about this delay (this is a common theme in my asks in case you have not noticed XD).

I will admit I actually did not even remember this detail but yes it is accurate and I have seen the relevant book passages confirming it. However, there is no indication whatsoever that this was the reason why Alicent chose to wear Green. Several reasons that I will now list below.

This detail came out only with Fire and Blood in 2018 while the Princess and the Queen and The World of Ice and Fire where the character of Alicent Hightower and her feud with Rhaenyra was first introduced came out in 2013. I find it extremely unlikely that this was something George already knew/planned yet kept hidden for all these years, especially since in The World of Ice and Fire the entire history of House Targaryen is told so this detail could have easily been included. And for those of you wondering, no, George had not planned about 95% of the Dance in advance. He wrote most of it for The World of Ice and Fire. Indeed, over the years he changed a lot and until 2012 for instance, Rhaenyra's husband was Lyonel Strong, before that it had been a Lannister, and the character of Daemon did not exist, nor Alicent, nor most others.

2. The tourney in which Alicent wears green and Rhaenyra wears black and red was never presented as an Alicent moment. It was a Rhaenyra moment where she proudly wore the colours of her House in a time in which Alicent and House Hightower had been conspiring against her and Alicent herself was already casting seeds to create whispers around Rhaenyra's reputation - i.e., when she famously asked who protected Rhaenyra from Criston.

3. If indeed that was the reason for the Green dress, and ignoring my last two points, why wasn't it ever said? There was plenty of opportunity yet that motive was never presented.

What I think is much more likely is that the green is either simply symbolising the Reach - where Alient comes from from - much like Black and Red are symbolising Rhaenyra's House and who she is and/or it is also a symbol for who Alicent is used by the narrative.

Green is both a colour associated with greed but also with envy materialism and judgment, all characteristics we know canon Alicent to have and what her actions demonstrate. Green also symbolises growth, and indeed Alicent's influence had been growing a lot in court, as we know that the court was divided between the party of the Queen - the Greens - and the party of the Princess - the Blacks. At the same time green and black also clash in a sense and contrast with each other.

Personally this explanation makes a lot more sense to me as the green dress would serve as a very effective yet fast way to characterise the character of Alicent, and illustrate the mood at court.

And to end this allow me to share the brilliant illustration that @lovelyonism made of this iconic moment between the Princess and the Queen.

PS: All of this is only about the ASOIAF books and has no relation whatsoever with the redacted lizard show.

#rhaenyra targaryen #canon rhaenyra targaryen #alicent hightower #canon alicent hightower #the princess and the queen #fire and blood #the rogue prince #house targaryen #valyrianscrolls #popcorn answers

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eliamartel · 1 year

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HoTU Visions | Kings Landing

I knew the description of Vaes Tolorro in ACOK evokes Dany walking inside a destroyed Kings Landing - A "sun washed" city (Aegon VI/ Martell imagery) bearing "scars of fire" (duh) but I didn't know that the six alleys coming together symbolises Kingslanding until I read @une-nuit-pour-se-souvenir meta on Viserion & Aegon vi.

Attaching screenshot

This is significant as Daenerys encounters six passages coming together in a chamber inside the House of the Undying too. I read her HoTU chapter again and realised that, all of scenes she experiences here, when taken together, symbolises the destruction of Kings Landing

Before entering the House of the Undying, Pyat Pree instructs Dany to always choose to enter the first door on the right if she's in a room with 4 doors, and to always climb up if she encounters any stairs.

Oval room with six passages leading out from it

The fourth room was oval rather than square and walled in worm eaten wood in place of stone. Six passages led out from it in place of four. Dany chose the rightmost, and entered a long, dim, high-ceilinged hall. Along the right hand was a row of torches burning with a smoky orange light, but the only doors were to her left.

Inside the chamber with six passages (symbolising Kingslanding), after Dany makes a choice to enter the rightmost lane, she enters a long hall with many doors on the left and no doors on the right. Only torches lighting the way were on the right wall.

Walking in the hallway; sounds from the walls and closed doors

The mold-eaten carpet (...) served to muffle her footfalls, but that was not all to the good. Dany could hear sounds within the walls, a faint scurrying and scrabbling that made her think of rats. Drogon heard them too. His head moved as he followed the sounds, and when they stopped he gave an angry scream. Other sounds, even more disturbing, came through some of the closed doors. One shook and thumped, as if someone were trying to break through. From another came a dissonant piping that made the dragon lash his tail wildly from side to side. Dany hurried quickly past.

While walking, she hears rats scurrying within the walls, something is trying to break through one door, and the sounds from the third door made her dragon lash his tail wildly. What it means exactly? -> Not sure but Drogon is agitated by this

While walking forward in search for a door on the right (the correct door to proceed furthur if she wants to survive the House of the Undying), she sees some visions through the open doors in the rooms on the left.

Vision 1 - War

In one room, a beautiful woman sprawled naked on the floor while four little men crawled over her. They had rattish pointed faces and tiny pink hands, like the servitor who had brought her the glass of shade. One was pumping between her thighs. Another savaged her breasts, worrying at the nipples with his wet red mouth, tearing and chewing.

Symbolises war in Westeros

Vision 2 - War Crime

Farther on she came upon a feast of corpses. Savagely slaughtered, the feasters lay strewn across overturned chairs and hacked trestle tables, asprawl in pools of congealing blood. Some had lost limbs, even heads. Severed hands clutched bloody cups, wooden spoons, roast fowl, heels of bread. In a throne above them sat a dead man with the head of a wolf. He wore an iron crown and held a leg of lamb in one hand as a king might hold a scepter, and his eyes followed Dany with mute appeal.

The Red Wedding where Robb Stark was killed under guest right by House Frey. Daenerys will commit a similar war crime in Kingslanding, attacking and killing Aegon VI and his army despite their surrender

There is also a wolf king watching with his eyes following Dany -> This is Robb at the red wedding, but I think this also symbolises Jon after KL blows up mainly because of -

Inside the tent the shapes were dancing, circling the brazier and the bloody bath, dark against the sandsilk, and some did not look human. She glimpsed the shadow of a great wolf, and another like a man wreathed in flames. - AGOT Daenerys VIII

and

What sort of man can stand by idly and watch his own brother being burned alive? - ADWD Jon IX

More here

Vision 3 - Dany's yearning for a home

She fled from him, but only as far as the next open door. I know this room, she thought. She remembered those great wooden beams and the carved animal faces that adorned them. And there outside the window, a lemon tree! The sight of it made her heart ache with longing. It is the house with the red door, the house in Braavos. No sooner had she thought it than old Ser Willem came into the room, leaning heavily on his stick. “Little princess, there you are,” he said in his gruff kind voice. “Come,” he said, “come to me, my lady, you’re home now, you’re safe now.” His big wrinkled hand reached for her, soft as old leather, and Dany wanted to take it and hold it and kiss it, she wanted that as much as she had ever wanted anything. Her foot edged forward, and then she thought, He’s dead, he’s dead, the sweet old bear, he died a long time ago. She backed away and ran.

Dany's yearning for a home sparked her desire to conquer westeros and sit on the Iron throne.

After this room, Daenerys runs forward until she gets out of breath and could run no more.

The long hall went on and on and on, with endless doors to her left and only torches to her right. She ran past more doors than she could count, closed doors and open ones, doors of wood and doors of iron, carved doors and plain ones, doors with pulls and doors with locks and doors with knockers. Drogon lashed against her back, urging her on, and Dany ran until she could run no more.

Drogon urges her on as she runs past many open and closed doors -> the presence of her dragons urges her forward on her journey to conquer Westeros

Part of her would have liked nothing more than to lead her people back to Vaes Tolorro, and make the dead city bloom. No, that is defeat. I have something Viserys never had. I have the dragons. The dragons are all the difference. - ACOK Daenerys III

Vision 4 - Burning of Kingslanding

Finally a great pair of bronze doors appeared to her left, grander than the rest. They swung open as she neared, and she had to stop and look. Beyond loomed a cavernous stone hall, the largest she had ever seen. The skulls of dead dragons looked down from its walls. Upon a towering barbed throne sat an old man in rich robes, an old man with dark eyes and long silver-grey hair.

“Let him be king over charred bones and cooked meat,” he said to a man below him. “Let him be the king of ashes.” Drogon shrieked, his claws digging through silk and skin, but the king on his throne never heard,and Dany moved on.

King Aerys wants to burn Kingslanding. Aerys was prevented from blowing up KL as Jaime killed him before the orders could be passed onto the pyromancers guild. Daenerys will succeed where Aerys failed, because she has dragons unlike her father

Vision 5 - Three heads of the dragon

Viserys, was her first thought the next time she paused, but a second glance told her otherwise. The man had her brother’s hair, but he was taller, and his eyes were a dark indigo rather than lilac. “Aegon,” he said to a woman nursing a newborn babe in a great wooden bed. “What better name for a king?”

“Will you make a song for him?” the woman asked.

“He has a song,” the man replied. “He is the prince that was promised, and his is the song of ice and fire.” He looked up when he said it and his eyes met Dany’s, and it seemed as if he saw her standing there beyond the door. “There must be one more,” he said, though whether he was speaking to her or the woman in the bed she could not say. “The dragon has three heads.” He went to the window seat, picked up a harp, and ran his fingers lightly over its silvery strings.

Sweet sadness filled the room as man and wife and babe faded like the morning mist, only the music lingering behind to speed her on her way.

Three heads of the dragon - Aegon VI (“What better name for a king?”), Daenerys (He looked up when he said it and his eyes met Dany’s) and Jon (“There must be one more,") -> Dance of the dragons 2.0

The end of the hallway

It seemed as though she walked for another hour before the long hall finally ended in a steep stone stair, descending into darkness. Every door, open or closed, had been to her left. Dany looked back behind her. The torches were going out, she realized with a start of fear. Perhaps twenty still burned. Thirty at most. One more guttered out even as she watched, and the darkness came a little farther down the hall, creeping toward her. And as she listened it seemed as if she heard something else coming, shuffling and dragging itself slowly along the faded carpet. Terror filled her. She could not go back and she was afraid to stay here, but how could she go on? There was no door on her right, and the steps went down, not up.

There is no door on the right in the entire hall -> No right path to proceed after she makes her choice in Kingslanding (oval room with six passages)

All doors are on the left, darkness is creeping after her, and she hears something shuffling and dragging itself to her which terrorises her (It might be the thing that was trying to break through the closed door in the beginning of the hall). She chooses to enter the last door on the left.

Two more rooms - Aftermath of blowing up KL?

She blindly runs through 8 more rooms, (choosing the right door every time) until she stops to take a breath, in this room (room 9) a vision of Pyat Pree(actually a pale, wormlike creature) tries to trick her towards him. (Maybe assasination attempt? By someone disguised as a man with blue lips/or a warlock/or a priest, since this was only a pale/wormlike creature disguised as a vision of pyat pree) Daenerys' quick thinking saves her from him.

She exits that room with a door to the right, climbs the stairs and enters a door made of Weirwood & Ebony (This part may be related to Arya as the door is similar to the door of the House of Black and White). Inside that room(room 10) there are 4 people (again these 4 people try to trick her, second assasination attempt?), Dany snaps out of their haze when Drogon starts gnawing at the door(Drogon's behavior saves her) and she exits through a door on the right. In the next room she meets the undying ones, who give her visions

#text #hotu #asoiaf speculation #anti daenerys targaryen

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chromiumagellanic06 · 29 days

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The Silver Knight: Warrior, Princess, Wife

Daemon Targaryen/Original Fem [Targaryen] Character

Chapter 10: A Wedding

MASTERLIST

Summary: A wedding. A joust. Some simping.

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: nothing, really

The Sept. Sept – Hept – Seven, referring to the Seven New Gods that prevailed over the Faith. It was filled with people, nobles, high merchants, children old enough to not disrupt the proceedings, and guards. There were a lot of guards.

Princess Naera Targaryen stood behind a mostly closed door in the most prominent Sept in King’s Landing, running her fingers over a clear red ruby within an iron crest that dangled from her neck, as she pondered the customs. It was the door behind the Crone and the Stranger, though she did not know the reason. The Crone symbolised time—the future, perhaps? The Stranger held little significance to her.

Her father stood beside her, looking the best at his health than he had in a very long time. His maesters had outdone themselves, it seemed.

The High Septon’s quiet, drawling voice echoed through the Sept within, reading some prayers and extracts from the Seven-Pointed Star. It did not help that it was the same book which had been cited to Princess Alysanne before she married her brother who later came to be known as King Jaehaerys the Reconciler—there were none more deterred by their ways than those who held Faith in the Seven Gods. Naera did not understand why her family agreed with the commoners and their beliefs in this regard, when the commoners so rarely hid their dismay over the marriage of brother to sister as done in he Targaryen family.

House Targaryen had been fueled to stray above the petty crowds, as it was obvious in the height of the Iron Throne above those who stood on the grounds, as it was obvious in the soaring might of the dragon riders above the main populace. They were above them—as they had been, for a hundred years, and a thousand years before that also.

She stared through the inch-thin parting of the doors before her. She could see solemn light, and crowds, and the High Septon leaned over his book between the statues of the Mother and the Father. A stair below and to the right stood Daemon, dressed in black, arms clasped calmly as he struggled through the prayers—struggled, yes, for she knew him better than to think he felt no irritation or ire. She recognised faces by the statues—Aegon, by his height, Helaena, by the dress, Rhaenyra and Laenor, and her two older sons, and Aemond by the black spot of his eye-patch—she almost pitied the boy, were it not for his crime—and a woman in Green, extravagantly dressed, with a gleaming golden Seven-Pointed Star at her neck. Queen Alicent. Yes. That is why the dragon dared heed the wishes of the sheep. Her weak father was the reason.

Naera made an effort to not frown but pulled her arm away from her father. Not for long. Yes. House Hightower of Oldtown shall soon fall. She shall ensure it. The Greens shall forever be defeated, as Aegon’s enemies had been. The dragon does not concern itself with the opinion of the sheep, and it was time they returned to a reign ruled with Fire and Blood, and not compromise and faltering diplomacy.

Naera ran her fingers along the edge of the cloak on her back—ash black, as the remnants of a most disastrous fire, with a blood-red dragon—a dragon has three heads—inscribed in a circle. Fire and Blood, but perhaps she just needed to rediscover her fire—perhaps the man, her uncle, her blood who she had never really known, who stood irate, about to wed her would help her. Perhaps, he’d warm and rekindle her lost flames with his own fire.

Before she guts him, of course. Although, perhaps the pyre of his funeral shall burn her with a delight so strong, a kind of joy which would burn through her blood for all her life. Perhaps.

The doors were heaved open by priests from within, and Naera gave her father her arm. The crowds hushed silence as the King walked in his daughter, his Visenya Returned, down the aisle to where the High Septon stood. Every step felt numbing on her feet, a strange anticipation boiling in her throat—the urge to destroy, surely, but she did not like the sensation. It felt like she had seconds before she had been enslaved for the first time, with no hopes for escape, the way she had felt every second in Stygai before the world came crashing down, the way she had felt when Raiden had first taken to illness. Nothing good came of this feeling.

Naera did not look down; she did not dare blemish the rites and her family. No, she wore the Targaryen cloak with pride, despite the implication, despite the sighs of contempt and aversion at her blood. It had not been her choice, she thought. This was the crown’s disdain to bear and it was an insult to the King to ignore.

Naera looked up to the blinding morning sun that gleamed through the windows, and her own regal lilac eyes caught those of nourishing soil brown. Elysabeth Tyrell stood in a gown of gold and pink, as the rose she was, a teasing look stuck on her beautiful face as she stood closer to the Septon than the rest, ready to receive her cloak.

Her father grasped her arm a little tighter as they ascended the stairs to the Septon—to Daemon, who stared down at his struggling brother with a shielded stare of pity, and then looked upon his Valyrian bride, and smiled. Viserys settled to the side, standing on the left, behind his dear daughter, besides the Queen, and their children.

Naera ascended the final stair alone, her footsteps echoing in the silence, and she stood before her smiling uncle—smiling, still, at her decorated face, her silver hair, and at her silver gown, her black cloak, and he refused to stare between her breasts where the red ruby dangled. He would not let himself be reminded of that ordeal, tubis daor—not today.

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection,” and Naera turned with mincing steps to face the statues behind her. She felt Daemon lift up her cloak and saw Lady Tyrell accept it with glee, and he spread another fabric—near perfectly identical—across her shoulders, and yet it felt heavier than her maiden’s cloak, as though a symbol of the weight that came with the ties of marriage. It crushed her from within, and without. Naera turned once the cloak was secure, trying her best to keep herself from frowning.

Suffer through this night, and relish in what comes after.

“My lords, my ladies,” the Septon drawled on, “we stand here, in the sight of gods and men, to witness the union of man and wife,” and Naera thoroughly frowned at his words. Man and wife—not husband and wife, then it should be man and woman. To denote a woman by her man is the simplest form of enslavement. “One flesh, one heard, one soul, now and forever.” No. It would not be forever, Naera knew. Nothing is forever.

She turned to face the Septon, as did Daemon. She held out her hand, and he covered it with his own, as the Septon wound a white ribbon round their joint hands, once, twice, thrice, until he approached seven loops. The Septon spoke as he wound the ribbon around their hands, “Let it be known that Naera of the House Targaryen and Daemon of the House Targaryen, are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.” His hand over hers felt warm, comforting, caring.

“Look upon each other, and say the words,” and Naera turned to Daemon, their hands still held.

They spoke the names of the New Gods of the South, in unison, “Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger,” and never breaking their flow and rhythm, never cracking their unison, Daemon spoke, “I am hers, and she is mine.”

Naera spoke in a voice quieter than Daemon’s, but heard nonetheless, “I am his, and he is mine.”

“From this day, until the end of my days,” he finished.

“From this day, until the end of his days,” and the threat in Naera’s voice went unnoticed by all—by the Septon, by Elysabeth Tyrell, by her father, and her step-mother, and their children, and Rhaenyra and her family. It went unnoticed by every man and woman in the Sept, other than Daemon.

He tightened his grasp on her hand, smiling fake yet again, but she knew the joy of finally attaining his Valyrian Bride outweighed the possibility of losing her by the worth of a thousand lives. Soon enough, his eyes twinkled with the spark he must hold for a lady wife he has wanted for very long, and he still refused to glance at the ruby and all it represented.

“With this kiss,” and his voice adopted a dulcet tone she had never heard in it before, “I pledge my love.” And the destruction of House Hightower, was that which he did not voice. They knew—oh, they knew the promise very well. Naera couldn’t resist a smile, oh, to watch the perfect Alicent cower and weep to her false gods after all she holds dear is gone, and Naera yearned for the kiss that would promise it all. Daemon leaned forward, tilting his face to the side, the heat that radiated off his face, his eyes, his hands adding up to be too much, and pressed his warm lips against hers for a moment only—a moment of fire and storm that sent a chill down her spine, before pulling away. Yes.

“In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity.” In perpetuity. Naera blinked, as the High Septon unwrapped the white ribbon. Daemon’s eyes smiled down at her, as did his lips, but Naera heard, in the euphonious voice of the woman from her dreams, or do I have my facts wrong?

I wasn’t there, your grace, a deeper, lower voice answered, quieter, smaller, inferior.

No, of course not, the voice of the Conqueror, the Targaryen Princess, the Breaker of Chains echoed in Naera’s mind, but still, an oath, is an oath, and an ounce of guilt ran down Naera, and in perpetuity means…what does in perpetuity mean, Lord Tyrion?

Forever, surely, Lord Tyrion, whoever he was, spoke.

Forever, and the voices faded away. Naera blinked. No. This was a sham wedding—it was not binding, it was not a promise—valar morghulis, all men must die, and she held no obligation to them all. Didn’t she?

“Are you alright?” Daemon asked her frozen face, concern colouring his joys.

No. No, no, no.

“Of course.”

There was always a portion of theatrics that came with tourneys. The cheers of the spectators, the clink and clutter of gamblers handing their silver and gold to barterers, the whispers amongst high nobility all boldened the knights. The thrumming of drums in a rhythmic setting boiled anticipation. To feel the heave and weight of one’s armour, to hear the hammering of one’s horse’s hooves against the mulch-ridden ground, and to stare into the eyes of your opponent, all those feet away, through the cages of one’s helm, was brilliance.

Daemon rode out on his horse—midnight dark, to match his obsidian armour. He heard the crowds and their cries and their praises, and it cemented a sort of pride he couldn’t source elsewhere. There were a series of knights lined up, bearing the emblems of houses on their chests, their horses lined up in a row—He always chose first. A man dressed in red and black announced his ordeal, as he rode past each and every mounted knight to find one worthy.

The first he faced was Jason Lannister, with his silken cape of red and gold and a lion that roared within. Dragons didn’t duel with Lions—no. The next was a Stark, and a Bolton, and Daemon had no desire to fight a man who stood no chance—no. Baratheon, Hightower, but he had already injured them before, so no. He passed by the Tyrell rose who dared have his beauty tainted, but oh, Targaryen.

With her wedding gown still in place beneath gleaming silver armour, and it made sense why she had chosen one with wide ankles—his lady wife, his beloved niece, his Naera had been serious about the tourney. The cloak he had settled on her shoulders just hours ago now acted as a cape, though hidden behind a sheer white cape that glowed in the sun, and when Daemon passed his horse by her, he saw a lilac eye wink through the bars of her helm. Well, he decided, as he turned his horse and lowered his lace to her shoulder.

“Prince Daemon Targaryen, Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, has chosen his opponent…” and the man was certainly confused beyond words, but he found them nonetheless, “It is…Princess Naera Targaryen, Princess of the Seven Kingdoms, and, uh, the Silver Knight!” The crowds roared aloud, about to witness a match that wouldn’t be seen for another two hundred years at the least.

The man backed away thus, as Daemon approached the King’s bracket, his black stallion clucking its way to the front. “I request the favour of the Heir to the Iron Throne—Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen,” and if his old love did resent him for caving up thoughts and memories she had buried away, she did not show it.

“Good fortune to you, uncle,” she announced with a diplomatic smile and threaded a wreath of green leaves and yellow blossoms through his lance. He heard claps and excitement of those who watched, and wondered if he should be gentle—what would they think of him, if he disarmed his lady wife. Surely, that he was cruel and merciless, Maegor Returned, as she was Visenya—nothing they did not already believe.

Naera’s grey horse approached the bracket also, as Daemon took his place by one edge of the track. He saw the irritation on her face as she flicked off the visor of her helm, for he had known without a doubt that his niece would have asked the favour of her own sister.

“I ask for the favour of his grace, King Viserys,” and the crowds took a minute to register her request before they cried out in approval—this was hardly a conventional match, of course. “Shall I have your blessing, father?” Naera used her words to coax her laughing, joying, priding father off his chair. He fetched a wreath of gold and twine and dropped it through her iron lance.

“I wish you victory, Silver Knight—my Visenya Returned,” said the King, after which, he returned to his seat, and the happiness was evident on his ageing features. Naera let her horse neigh and directed it to turn and take its place on the opposite end of the track. The drums were beaten with vigour, with a rhythm long imbued into Daemon’s mind from all the tourneys he had won, and as the beats came to a still stop, he reined his horse to stagger and run forth, aiming his spear at an angle meant to disarm—to not hurt his lady wife at all.

Naera, at the other end, rode faster than he did, for she understood that the strength she did not possess would come with the speed her lord husband could not gain, and angled her spear further out into his space—to harm, and not just disarm.

Her armour caught the glow of the noon day’s sun, but her momentum made it all blur into a streak of silver, and as the cape of red and grey-black that hung off her back caught wind in the air, they clashed spears with a brassy, deafening blast of metal and wood.

Daemon’s spear cluttered against her wooden shield, splintering the wood and streaking the symbol of the dragon. Naera’s spear caved in a metal place near his shoulder, throwing him off his balance, and she turned, as her grey stallion blared past, to watch her uncle’s midnight dark horse cry out and run, throwing him off its back and down to the muddy, mulchy ground.

His arm collided against the fence pole, sending a crackle of pain through his shoulder.

There were at least a thousand men and women—and as the Rogue Prince was demounted by his new lady wife, every single man, woman, and child shored up a riotous, thundering uproar. Daemon pushed his way to his feet, gasping and groaning.

Oh. She was not bluffing, it seemed.

Naera turned her stallion, and shouted, “Get him a sword!” Happy.

A squire approached Daemon, holding out the sheathed Black Sister. Oh, he had been wrong—how terribly wrong. He watched Naera dismount her horse, tugging off the heaviest of her armour around her shoulders and arms, and dropping it to the ground, but leaving the breastplate in place. He watched her remove her jousting helm, letting her silver hair fall across her shoulders.

Daemon unsheathed Dark Sister with a shrill sound, throwing away his helm, making his way towards Naera as the man from earlier announced their intentions. Naera held a thin blade, not very strong or sturdy, but he did not know what to expect.

“First blood,” he named his terms, and she hummed her approval above the noise of the people.

“Very well,” but neither of them failed to notice the panic in the King’s eyes as he leaned against the veranda, face contorted in worry. Eh.

Naera held her blade in her high hand, extending it straight, as though it was a part of her arm. Daemon lunged at her, his sword aimed straight, and she leaned away, stepping back, not daring to try her hand at a straight clash. No, Naera instead leaned away, stepped back, whipping her grey gown against the wet mud, and swiped her sword against dark sister as it heaved down, and again, and again—three quiet hits and her sword pointed at Daemon’s face. Ah.

He drew a long breath, whipping around and slashing at her, but Naera—his Naera, leaned away, again, and again, and she managed to catch him off guard with a drastic flip of her hair, and pushed down her leg against his chest. Daemon slipped against the mulch, colliding against the ground yet again, and Naera pointed the thin, flimsy blade at him, at his neck, and the fear of the nights before returned.

A man has lost to a girl, he almost heard her say, but with the fear turning to singed panic, and the panic being the fire that fueled his blood, he kicked her down onto the mud, staggering to his feet, and Naera had already twirled back to her feet—agile, elegant, quick. He watched the silk and silver of her gown tear and screech at the hems, but it did not matter. Nothing mattered—not when her eyes were smiling unlike he had ever seen them do.

Naera clashed her sword against his armour, against his Valyrian Steel Blade, and it clattered off into two pieces. She hissed at the loss, taking a large step backwards, and lunged at Daemon with the broken blade, aiming at his neck. Daemon pulled the blade out of her hands, throwing it somewhere near the shouting man who informed the people of their deeds.

Daemon heard the pitched sliding of metal against metal, as Naera unsheathed the dagger he had once gifted her. Oh, she was being sentimental, in a way.

He gasped a laugh, clutching Dark Sister as hard as he could, and he slashed at her again, and she knelt down to avoid it, piecing her second blade through the joint plates of his obsidian armour. Daemon groaned out in pain, and Naera was again throwing him down with her weight, her Valyrian Steel dagger striking across his cheek in a blur of grey and silver.

Daemon faced the skies, and he watched Naera raise her dagger, coated in his blood, smiling, happy, almost ecstatic, he’d even dare word. He felt warm blood pour down his face, and the sting of a wound well cut spreading through his mind.

Every woman in the crowd—Rhaenyra and Elysabeth in particular, screamed out their joys at her victory, but the face of King Viserys, clapping at his daughter’s victory shone through the rest.

“Well, husband?” Naera held out a hand, silver hair settled down on her shoulders, as she replaced the blade by her waist. Her lilac eyes gleamed brighter than her hair, and her breastplate shone with the light of the sun. The lines on her face had settled, a suppressed smile eating away at her face, Silver Knight. Daemon accepted her hand, unable to fight a smile. He had never enjoyed losing—who did?

He did not leave her hand once he stood but instead raised it above their heads, despite the ache in his leg and on his face. He left her arm hanging high, and wrapped both his arms around her waist, and raised her up higher. The shadow of the tracks escaped her, and the tilted sun illuminated her. The shimmer of her armour blinded him, but he looked on, at her blooming high-set cheeks, her rosy, smiling lips and her eyes—oh, her eyes, which he was sure were amethysts worth more gold than this world could own. She was perfect.

Naera laughed as she did, like a shower of crystal rain after a decade-long drought, like a wakening light in the darkest of hells, and like a little child after receiving praise or a maiden after receiving a flower from her long love. He couldn’t resist—did not wish to resist the grin that befell him.

He had lost.

He loved it.

MASTERLIST

#daemon targeryan #original female character #house targaryen #house of the dragon #daemon x oc #daemon smut #daemon targaryen smut #team black #house martell #dance of dragons #melisandre of asshai #melisandre #daemon x y/n #daenerys targeryan #azor ahai #dreams #fanfiction #archive of our own

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oblivions-dawn · 4 months

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Virana Flower Crowns

Because as much as I'd love to go into all the flower crowns I have in mind, my girls come first WHEEZE

Vigdis: snowberries, deathbells, gleamblossoms

Snowberries represent Vigdis' childhood. For those of you that have read Petrichor, you probably remember that her father used to call her 'little snowberry.' Not only do the berries reflect this, but their red colour is akin to the shade of blood. She feels that her father's blood will forever stain her hands; that she is at fault for what happened to him. Deathbells are symbolic of her life after her father was killed. She was involved with bandits for over a decade, where she became numb to human emotions and murdered many people. The transition from the red of the snowberries to the cool violet of deathbells also represents her life losing its once vibrant colour. Deathbells are also found in Morthal, where Vigdis' journey in Petrichor begins--so while they symbolise the passing of one aspect of her life, it also marks the beginning of another. Gleamblossoms are found only in the Vale. In Petrichor, it's Serana that notices them for their strange beauty in such a dark place and admires them, briefly unaware that, for a moment, Vigdis watches her do so. The flowers ultimately represent Serana herself for Vigdis, for the vampire has become this soft, unexpected light in the hunter's darkness. It's also one of the moments where Serana starts to truly break through the thick walls Vigdis has constantly kept up to protect herself. It's a symbol of hope for them.

Serana: jazbay grapes, harrada, gleamblossoms

Before you yell at me and tell me I should've used nightshade or deathbells, hear me out. Jazbay grapes are a purple berry plant found in Eastmarch, in the volcanic tundra. They grow nowhere else, as they are extremely difficult to cultivate. The grapes, then, represent Serana's struggle to thrive while living in Volkihar Keep. Her parents had expectations that she felt she could never meet, and thus, suffered for it. However, like the jazbay grapes, she persevered--although she ends up paying a very heavy price for doing so. Harrada is a thorny plant found in the Deadlands. I chose this plant to represent Serana's connection to the Daedra, and thought this plant was also fitting because she eventually does obtain Mehrunes' Razor in Petrichor. I find it rather fitting that a previous worshipper of Molag Bal ends up with the Prince of Destruction's dagger, especially since Serana more or less destroys everything her family once stood for. The sharp thorns are also symbolic of the pain her decisions ultimately cause her. And, of course, the gleamblossoms. Vigdis is the same unexpected light to Serana, who approached the vampire hunter because she saw no other way to stop her father from enacting his plans. It symbolises the relationship that slowly blossoms between them, which both most likely had considered impossible. But of course, even in the darkest places, life is hopeful, and always finds a way to thrive.

#Senu Dialogue #Skyrim OC #Vigdis #Serana #Serana Volkihar #Virana Art #Had a lot of fun writing this out hehe #Hopefully it's articulated well enough ;w;

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dribs-and-drabbles · 8 months

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Laws of Attraction ep 6

I'm late this week because I'm having trouble with iq, so I've had to wait for the subs on youtube...and the wait has been painful. But here we go!

Oh please, getting Tinn all jealous. Yes, Silvy, shut your woman up.

I loved the song going into the flashback. This is going to hurt, right?

IT'S SO GOOD TO SEE THEE SMILE! 😍 But they can't fully get away from Thatthep (all that blue). (You'll have to ignore the one31 logo, and the poorer quality screenshots). Thee, who offers Tanthai an escape for a while, but carries the burden of the truth about Tonkhao (the green bag), whilst Tanthai can't fully escape his father (the blue over his heart and head). But look at how balanced they are otherwise - black and white, ying and yang.

Okay, I think I've settled on a theory as to why Thatthep seems to be blue-coded -> on one hand he puts on a front of the positive attributes of the colour - loyal, stable, confident - being on the political stage, but on the other hand, in reality, he's the negative side of blue -> cold, self-righteous, unfriendly. We'll see if this stands by the end.

Oh we get to see Thee's backstory!.. And it's always because one showed kindness to another as kids that they fall in love 😂

They may have run away from the father and the issue of Tonkhao's death but the green light is still behind them.

I love how shameless Charn is on the moped.

Charn in white! I first noticed Charn in White in ep 4 when he admitted to his failings, and that he's evil, to Tinn and his grandmother. I noted that it could symbolise Charn starting to change for the good - like coming back to a blank slate before re-finding who he really is under the trauma. And it seems so fitting that Charn wears so. much. white this ep, in the place that his trauma started and where Tinn's able to reach through his hard exterior more than he has done thus far. It's also interesting that when Charn transitioned from nice-lawyer to evil-babygirl-lawyer he also wore white.

I need to take a moment to talk a bit more about the white but also about Tinn's blue...the blue that is for loyalty, stability, and calm...because blue and white are used together A LOT this ep: The moped and helmets, the clothes Ploy and her beautiful mother wear in the photo - which is held up by Charn in white and then Tinn in blue, the sign on the door, the singer, the audience when Tinn sings, Charn and Tinn's clothes on the second day, Ploy's top, Charn's pj's later, and others I might have missed. It's really hammering home that this ep is about them, together, with Tinn's reliable presence while Charn re-finds himself.

Omg the singing 🙈 but these two are freaking adorable! What a fucking confession. I have second hand embarrassment.

Thatthep is really having this conversation in a public hallway?! He is an idiot. (Also more blue with him and Wit).

Thee and Tanthai have gone to the country to escape but it means they're surrounded by green, even the green light behind them inside the hotel lobby is still there - in reality they cannot run away from the issue.

Tanthai really did say 'I only want one room/bed' 😂

Did the village chief sell the village out and cause Charn's mother to die?

Oh how I love the dramatic music 😂

I also want to mention/confirm that I think Charn's true colour is also blue...I mean, these speak for themselves.

Oh god, Tanthai and Thee are adorable together when they can be happy. Ok. I'm sold. Tanthai has converted me. I want both of these two to be happy now. (And is this indicative of who they are too? Maybe the green that follows them isn't connected to Tonkhao but is who Tanthai could be without his father? Or maybe because of his father - boredom, lack of life and stagnation. And Thee is an earthy brown - dependability, security, and safety...?)

*sips tea* Charn's backstory! The Drama! Yep the village head took the money and sold them out. Ok, wow, that's a villain origin story. The red blood of revenge. (Oooo I actually predicted this after ep 3).

I'm taking another moment out to talk about yellow now. Because Charn's mother - who up till now has mainly been seen in shades of pink - is wearing yellow when she is killed. Symbolic, maybe, of Charn's happiness dying with her.

Yellow, which could also symbolise the happiness that Charn once had when doing the Right Thing as a lawyer (his shirt, which may just be the light making it look yellow), the happiness that Tinn is becoming for Charn (the light block and the woman connecting/in between them) and the happiness Thee and Tanthai are finding with each other away from Bangkok (the bedsheets).

Whose arm is that and should we know?

Charn's go to is fire. Is he a pyromaniac?

Film and Jam are phenomenal in this scene but what is the sound design 🤦🏼‍♀️ And someone must have written a meta about this reflection... Ah yes, here. Thanks @respectthepetty!

THE HAND IN THE HAIR!? 😭

Oh the patpran parallels. Not just the 'rate me at sex' but also 'can we stay here? It's ok, I know we need to go back'.

Thee is the best.

Oh no, Charn, what are you doing?!

Oh I still ADORE this show with all my heart. I have been thinking non-stop about it since this ep aired on Sat and I'm so happy I've been able to finally watch it. I so so so want to be confident and say that the preview is a fakeout and making us think Charn is still going to go after Thatthep's power but I really really want to hope that he has changed...that Tinn helped him re-find his morals. But it is a bit unrealistic that he would be 'fixed' by one fuxk. 😂 But we'll see.

[ep 1] [ep 2] [ep 3] [ep 4] [ep 5]

#laws of attraction #laws of attraction the series #I still ADORE this show with all my heart #I have been thinking non-stop about it since this ep aired on Sat #and I'm so happy I've been able to finally watch it #I need to watch it on iq though #not only to see it earlier #but also because the quality is MUCH better

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blueepink07 · 9 months

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These are mostly just thoughts of Kazui's MV. I can't really call it a theory or something, because I don't think I'm able to put my thoughts into words right now... But I really wanted to share what I found, so bear with me!

Kazui's main theme, regardless of theory, is lying. Considering that white, black and gray are prominent in his MV, I decided to search a little bit what these non colours mean.

I will put some information regarding these colours. (feel free to skip, because the picture below already summarizes the main point)

White lie

"In this model, white lies are altruistic as we seek first to help others, even at some cost to ourselves.

In practice, there are shades of white and what we tell ourselves are white lies are often tending more towards gray than pure white.

Even when we lose out significantly, there is arguably always some benefit, for example in the way we feel good about our actions and how others praise or thank us for our selflessness."

Gray lie

"Most of the lies we tell are gray lies. They are partly to help others and partly to help ourselves. They may vary in the shade of gray, depending on the balance of help and harm.

Gray lies are, almost by definition, hard to clarify. For example you can lie to help a friend out of trouble but then gain the reciprocal benefit of them lying for you while those they have harmed in some way lose out."

Black lie

"Black lies are about simple and callous selfishness. We tell black lies when others gain nothing and the sole purpose is either to get ourselves out of trouble (reducing harm against ourselves) or to gain something we desire (increasing benefits for ourselves).

The worst black lies are very harmful for others. Perhaps the very worst gain us a little yet harm others a great deal."

Red lie

"Red lies are about spite and revenge. They are driven by the motive to harm others even at the expense of harming oneself. They may even be carved in blood.

When we are angry at others, perhaps because of a long feud or where we feel they have wronged us in some way, we feel a sense of betrayal and so seek retributive justice, which we may dispense without thought of consequence."

Now into the MV:

At first, the MV is prominent in white, due to the background. This, in my opinion could mean, "the calm before the storm", basically the time before he started to feel guilty for lying.

The white background represents his "white lies". Hinako already had a crush on him at the beginning of the MV, so despite that Kazui didn't feel feelings of love for her at that time, he still proposed to her. Maybe he wanted her to be happy, but also to please others, perhaps his family. He put his feelings in second place hoping that he will truly fell in love with Hinako, and so we have the "white lie". (Note: I'm saying white lie, but even that white from the MV isn't really pure and sometimes leans to gray, because, after all, it wasn't a really selfless act since Kazui probably seeked approval from his family and wanted to experience the feeling of being loved).

As we progress further though, we start to notice the appearance of black in the background.

It starts with a little, this being before the proposal, but it starts to significantly appear more.

When they are walking down the stairs, the text that wraps the screen is white and black.

I think this symbolise that the marriage is where everything starts, when Kazui is starting to see that his white lies aren't so innocent and they slowly transform to black as Kazui reflects more on his actions.

This part shows as well the contrast between white and black lies. He is the "perpetrator", the liar, and his wife is the "victim" of his lies. Hinako is coloured in white, the veil is gray and the background is black. It's like a metaphor for the lies which are progressively getting worse in their relationship.

He starts to see his lies as an act of selfishness, Kazui starts to think bad of himself. A cold hearted person who used Hinako for her love to seek approval and to be "considered normal". A green apple amongst a sea of red ones, like he is hiding his true identity and feelings so he can accommodate and find peace in his life.

When he is looking at Hinako he can't ignore the feeling of guilt that is slowly swallowing his heart. His "white lies" when he is with his wife and the purity of her love makes Kazui to see his lies as worse and worse. The completely black background with him at the bar, without any white text to indicate a trace of an selflessness act is gone. He is already in the progress of wanting to clean his chest and admit to his wife what he truly feels.

The glass that falls could be a symbol of him trying to let go of this "addiction of lying". The drink is white, meaning that Kazui wants to stop these "white lies" and this pointless facade. (The content has other colours too, but white is the only one that persists in all these four phases).

And so he finally confesses, and the background transforms from white in completely red.

I believe that this silhouette is the personification of all his lies and guilt. The innocent white lies from where everything started, the black lies that changed his perception of himself. The white is significantly less, showing that he views most of his actions as him being just selfish... Kazui feels remorse and believes that he is a bad person for what he has done. That's why he is shown eating the dove, destroying this relationship so violently.

The MV's are influenced a lot by the feelings of the prisoners during the interrogation. He hasn't forgiven himself and so he portraits a much exaggerated version of what actually happened. If in his first MV he is shown in rather good light, here he tries to portrait himself in a rather bad light. His first MV is called half, it's like this second MV is the other half, the other version.

The "red lie" here could be exactly this exaggeration. It isn't beneficial for him to show this scene so violently, not it is beneficial for us when we try to chose to forgive or not forgive. He is angry at himself, at his hopelessness, he is still lying to Es as he didn't show his true self. It's like his fighting with his own lies and hopes that Es will free him from them...

#The last part it's not really that well explained #Maybe I will redo it in the future but I want to know what do you think about these thoughts #I am not really pround of how I said these things and sorry if it's rather confusing #anyway I feel bad for Kazui and for his wife #They were both victims in this relationship #milgram #milgram kazui #kazui mukuhara #thougths

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mysterycharacterflowers · 11 months

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A bouquet of red spider lillies, forget-me-nots, purple hyacinth, deadly nightshades and white lillies

Why these flowers were chosen and their meaning: Spider lillies: Death, final goodbyes etc. Often used in funerals and grown around cemeteries.

Forget-me-nots: self-explanatory, but also a symbol of true love. Which in this case is subverted.

Purple hyacinth: deep sorrow, regret and a desire for forgiveness. I think this one's particularly interesting because it doesn't symbolize her directly but is, rather, very strongly tied to the impact her death had.

Deadly nightshade: also self-explanatory. Symbolises betrayal. In addition -- a plant that's (both in her universe and ours) historically been used for its poisonous properties.

White lillies: purity of the departed, when talking about death. Also for white of snow.

Four out of five flowers here are a popular choice for funerals/are associated with death. She died really young, betrayed, at the hands of the person she loved and trusted a lot, so I thought it would be fitting. Also in terms of color -- all of these together in a boquet would look like a splatter of blood on snowy and rocky terrain, which is fitting to the circumstances of her death as well.

Description:

This character died more than three thousand years the story she is from takes place. She is related to the protagonists in two ways: first is that she's probably their great-...-great grandparent's sister. Second is that they (2 twins) look very similar to her in terms of facial features.

This is significant because the guy who killed her ends up surviving and meeting them.

He's a changed man at that point. But at that singular moment when he sees one of the twin's faces for the first time, he has to Contemplate and battle a bajillion flashbacks. Which is a good thing because otherwise he would've probably ended up killing said twin. So, indirectly, she also saved her great-..-nephew's life at least once.

She lives on, very strongly, in her killer's (former lover's) memory. It's not a "haunting" or even "regret or sorrow" sort of thing, per se, but it is there. What matters the most is that he denies himself the thoughts of her because he can't admit to making a (ginormous) mistake and also because even if he wanted forgiveness, there's no one left to give it. So he just represses it further.

So that guy could become what he wanted to become above all else, one had to give up what they treasured most -- could be a thing, a person, or an action. So her killer had to trick her and then carve out her heart and eat it in order to prove his loyalty to his overlords and gain what he desired. Problem is -- he ended up detesting that as well (for other reasons). So not only was her death tragic, it was also essentially for nothing.

Her actual personality has been erased through time (fancy for "she's defined more by the impact she's made rather than by her actual self") but she did have an affinity for magic and was also very fond of crows.

TLDR: woman killed, influences the rest of the story in many unforseen ways, gives killer ptsd which he denies having for the rest of his extremely long life until he doesn't.

(The pictures were taken from these sites: red spider lilies, forget me nots, purple hyacinth, deadly nightshade and white lilies!)

#mysterious character flowers #mysterious character: bouquet of red spider lilies - forget-me-nots - purple hyacinth - deadly nightshade - white lilies

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aemontargaryen-bloodraven · 1 year

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Jon Snow & The Trees With Faces

In Jon V, ADWD, Jon comes across three trees, the Ash, the Chestnut and the Oak. The way those trees are described and the fact that the number three always says something significant seemed to me that these three trees indicate phases of Jon's life?

The Ash Tree

The first tree that Jon encounters is an Ash Tree,

"The drunkard was an ash tree, twisted sideways by centuries of wind. And now it had a face. A solemn mouth, a broken branch for a nose, two eyes carved deep into the trunk, gazing north up the kingsroad, toward the castle and the Wall." Jon V, ADWD

The Ash Tree on the whole symbolises Jon's duty as a Stark, to the Nights Watch or the Nights Watch itself. It is called the "drunkard", which is a nice call back to Jon's first chapter where Jon got too drunk because he was upset and blurted out that he wanted to join the Nights Watch.

Also, the fact that it is twisted sideways is intriguing because the Nights Watch is not what it was once before. Its purpose and state are twisted, it was meant to keep the Others Beyond the Wall and not the Wildlings. The same can be said about the Starks as well.

And now it has a face again - Jon's. Jon is solemn, "lord Stark's sullen bastard" is of a "broken branch" of the Starks (female line, Lyanna's son) .. "two eyes carved deep" ... He's always been presented as observant "You don't miss much, do you Jon?"

The tree is gazing up the Kingsroad toward the Castle and the Wall, which is again a throwback to when Jon realises that he had no place else to go and that Wall was where he had to be.

He had no destination in mind. He wanted only to ride. He followed the creek for a time, listening to the icy trickle of water over rock, then cut across the fields to the kingsroad. It stretched out before him, narrow and stony and pocked with weeds, a road of no particular promise, yet the sight of it filled Jon Snow with a vast longing. Winterfell was down that road, and beyond it Riverrun and King's Landing and the Eyrie and so many other places; Casterly Rock, the Isles of Faces, the red mountains of Dorne, the hundred islands of Braavos in the sea, the smoking ruins of old Valyria. All the places that Jon would never see. The world was down that road … and he was here.

Once he swore his vow, the Wall would be his home until he was old as Maester Aemon. "I have not sworn yet," he muttered. Jon V, AGOT

He ultimately does swear his vows and chooses the Wall and he has, throughout the story been focused on the North, Castle Black and the Wall.

The Chestnut

Growing.. beside an icy stream, where its eyes could watch the old plank bridge that spanned its flow. The chestnut was leafless and skeletal, but its bare brown limbs were not empty. On a low branch overhanging the stream a raven sat hunched, its feathers ruffled up against the cold. When it spied Jon it spread its wings and gave a scream. When he raised his fist and whistled, the big black bird came flapping down, crying, “Corn, corn, corn.” Jon V, ADWD

As of ADWD, he is creating a bridge between the Wildlings and South of the Wall. He is assimilating them in the North by marriage, taking hostages and making them guard the other Castles of the Nights Watch.

Though the tree is leafless and looks skeletal, it's not dead just in stasis, just like Jon is in the Nights Watch. He is leafless because till now he keeps cutting his connections from his blood/Starks/family. While in the Nights Watch, Jon has done what was within his power and more to set things to right but he is getting stagnant at the Wall.

The tree's bare brown limbs are not empty, the sap will flow, it will put out leaves. The sap flows, it did flow when blood called, his little sister, Arya was in danger. He is the blood of Winterfell.

Mormont's raven is there. The Corn King has been buried/dead. The raven saying, Corn King Jon Snow is this part of Jon's arc.

The Corn King is a sacrificed fertility figure, either a god or sacred king. Jon does die at the end of ADWD, but will return to life to play his part in the War to come, possibly with his third eye opened and bring restoration to the land somehow.

The Oak Tree

Just north of Mole’s Town they came upon the third watcher, carved into the huge oak that marked the village perimeter, its deep eyes fixed upon the kingsroad. That is not a friendly face, Jon Snow reflected. The faces that the First Men and the children of the forest had carved into the weirwoods in eons past had stern or savage visages more oft than not, but the great oak looked especially angry, as if it were about to tear its roots from the earth and come roaring after them. Its wounds are as fresh as the wounds of the men who carved it.

The oak is huge and great ..and Jon may become a huge (great) figure, and Kingsroad is again mentioned, that was when he looked at Kingsroad again this time it is what is coming from the South (Ramsay, Bolton/Politics of the Realm).

Not a friendly face, Jon won't be a friendly man when he comes back to life either. He would be especially angry considering what he has experienced.

Jon while "dead" may learn what he needs to learn about himself. And the wounds that he was given during the assassination would be fresh as well. He is not going to trust anyone easily, considering how betrayed he will feel after not only being dead and then revived but also learning that he has lived a lie and was sent to the Nights Watch with that lie.

While his wounds are still fresh, he will tear his roots from the earth, get away from the Nights Watch, down the Kingsroad again and will come roaring after his enemies.

#Jon Snow #Canonjonsnow #ASOIAF #valyrianscrolls

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memryse · 1 year

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Category: M/M

Fandom: Witchcraft SMP

Relationship: Scott Major | Smajor1995 / Milo

Warnings: implied self-harm (for blood ritual purposes), mild gore, referenced character death, angst

Summary: Convallaria majaris: lily of the valley. In the language of flowers, the lily of the valley symbolises “return of happiness”.

in all my years of fandom this is my first ever fic posted to ao3. What the hell did witchcraft!scott do to me man

Scott ordinarily preferred to do these things by moonlight, but the thought had occurred to him that too much natural light could hurt Milo’s eyes, so the basement it was. He’d drawn out a new summoning circle in the room where he used to keep his sacrifices, once, twice, thrice checked that it was perfect, and at last gently placed Milo in its centre. Ever so gently, just to be safe, since he was mostly rotted away by now. Both of them were. He was used to that, used to the stench and foulness of it all, it was really the clean air that made him sick now, but it was different when it was him. His gaze instead fell on Milo’s clothes - once a simple white linen shirt and brown trousers; he had never wanted an elaborate funeral, and who was Scott to rob him of that too - now all stained grey from the dirt. Unavoidable, really, but Scott couldn’t help but feel guilty anyway. He’d get him new clothes when they were done. Nicer ones.

He lit the candles first, spreading a warm glow across the room. It was oddly romantic, Scott couldn’t help but think. Necromantic candles were typically bone-white, so for the first time he’d opened the box Milo used to keep in the attic of their old cottage. Hand-made, from their beehives out the back. For special occasions only, he’d always say.

He placed the ritual items around Milo - a demon heart, a totem of undying, the usual - and sprinkled the salt from the inside of the circle. He took out his athame from its sheath, almost robotic in his movements. It occurred to him that he’d left his Book of Shadows upstairs, but thankfully, he didn’t need it anymore.

He took a single breath, and wiped a sheen of sweat from his forehead, as well as the strands of long black hair that stuck to it. A small clump came away as he did so - crap. He hastily summoned a tiny soul flame in his palm. It devoured it in moments, until its eerie blue glow was all that remained. He’d scour the floor after he was done. Just to be safe.

The ritual was the easy part. Trivial, really, for a Supreme Witch. He knew this, he remembered the forbidden rites better than he remembered his own face by now, but it wasn’t only him at stake this time. If he failed, then…

He hadn’t failed before. He wouldn’t this time.

He steadied himself with a second breath, and released the first sacrifice from his staff. They were dead before they even had a chance to process their sudden freedom, let alone scream. Scott let the corpse fall to the ground, sprawled in a heap of broken limbs like it didn’t even have the decency to die neatly for him. He was almost tempted to rearrange it a bit, he couldn’t stand the thought of Milo having to see something so grotesque, but- no, he’d have to hope it burned away during the ritual. The blood was already starting to dry. A gash of it rended the innermost circle in two uneven halves, and pooled by Scott’s feet, where the uneven brick flooring was slightly lower. A smaller spray of red now also mottled Milo’s sleeve. Scott winced slightly when he saw it. Another reason to treat him to new clothes when he woke up.

For the second sacrifice, Scott turned the blade on himself.

It was almost laughably simple, really. The first sacrifice was simply the fuel; what truly gave the ritual its power was the sacrifice of a Lich-bound soul. It probably wasn’t supposed to be the caster’s own soul, he had supposed, but he’d have to make do. He could always replace it later.

He didn’t even feel the pain before his skin began stitching itself back together.

And so did Milo’s.

The candle flames rose higher, higher than any candle should until they seemed about to brush the ceiling of the room, and roared with an equal intensity. They burned so thickly that even had he been able to cross the salt line, he was now trapped within the circle’s limits unless he sacrificed a second soul. Shadows crept up the walls, moving unnaturally behind the wavering candlelight like tendrils. As suddenly as they had risen, they returned to a normal height once more, and everything was still.

Scott fell to his knees, energy not yet replenished from the blood loss, too transfixed to do anything but watch the ritual unfold. Vaguely, he registered a dampness on his knees where they had sunk into the blood. He watched as dirt shook itself loose from crevices in bones, followed soon after by the larger pieces of rot, falling away and disintegrating in mid air. Pallid rotten flesh began to knit itself together, and from it emanated more healthy flesh, weaving into nerves, muscles, organs, life. Hair sprouted from Milo’s head, the same colour as it always had been - a little longer and more unkempt, but it was so unmistakably Milo. Faintly, Scott could hear the soft sound of a heartbeat - and then slow, deep breaths, as though Milo were merely deep in a peaceful, restful sleep. As slowly and gently as he could, he rested Milo’s head in his lap, and waited.

Moments? Days? Years? later, Milo stirred. With bleary eyes still only half-awake, his vision locked onto Scott. Even in the dimming candlelight, Milo’s eyes were still the most beautiful Scott had ever seen. He could have drowned in them, once.

“Morning, sunshine.” Scott tenderly ran a blackened hand through Milo’s hair as he spoke, and smiled down at the love of his life.

Milo’s eyes widened in surprise, in recognition, in-

“Sc-scott?” Milo’s voice was barely more than a whisper, vocal chords hoarse from disuse, and he coughed slightly before trying again, “I thought I- where’s Scott?”

Scott frowned, confused. Perhaps the ritual had unintended side effects. “I’m right here, Milo. You’re back, I- I brought you back.”

-in fear.

With a slight grimace of exertion, Milo pulled himself into sitting upright, out of Scott’s arms. Scott didn’t resist.

“No, you’re not my Scott. You sound like him, and I don’t know what you’ve done with him, but you’re not him. My Scott is fair-haired, he’s healthy, he’s- you’re not even human. Why are you pretending to be my Scott? What do you want with us?” Milo demanded, voice still frail, but palpably terrified.

Fuck, he’d made a mistake. He’d messed up. He must have. There was no way Milo wouldn’t recognise him - he knew he looked a little different, sure, but he was still Scott. He could fix this. All he needed to do was to jog Milo’s memory, help him make the connection. He took out the flower from a pocket in his robes and held it out for Milo to see, an ember of soul fire floating below his hand to illuminate it.

They sat there in silence for a moment, only the humming of the soul flame breaking up the otherwise deafening silence.

“Is that…” Milo trailed off, not knowing how to find the right words, but Scott nodded.

“Not the exact same one. That one… didn’t last long. But I kept this one,” he elaborated. He didn’t tell Milo about how he’d taken the lily and pressed it into Tiff’s hands, begging her to preserve it, and she’d agreed on the condition that he stayed in the air on his broom whenever he entered her lands. He’d kept that promise for a time, at least until he no longer had need for a broom, and then it just became tedious. By that point, him staying in the air wouldn’t have protected her plants anyway. Tiff hadn’t been able to save the original lily - the rot was just too far advanced, she said, and she’d never even seen necromantic rot in books - and so Scott had flown back to their cottage for the first time since the competition had begun and picked a second one. With Tiff’s enchantments, this one didn’t shrivel at his touch, nor did its petals start to blacken and fall off. He had left it in a vase to mark the grave, and a second one by Maxwell’s.

Milo remained silent for a few moments, staring at the lily. Eventually, he gingerly took it from Scott. Their hands brushed against one another for a fraction of a second, until Milo’s hand shot back as though he had been burned.

“Scott… you’re so cold.” he murmured.

Scott didn’t have an answer to that.

“Are… are you even breathing? Have you looked in a mirror recently?”

Scott still didn’t answer for a while. And then, quietly: “…I can’t.”

“What have you done to yourself?”

Milo’s voice cracked a little - not from hoarseness.

“I couldn’t live without you.” was all that Scott could manage in response.

This time, it was Milo who had no answer.

Instead, he went to place the lily in his shirt pocket, not knowing what else to do with it, needing to do something with his hands - but stopped mid-motion. He tilted his head, frowning at something Scott couldn’t see, and tugged slightly on his shirt sleeve.

Ah.

“It’s mine,” Scott said quickly, “I’ll get you a new one. Whatever you like.”

As if noticing his surroundings for the first time, Milo’s eyes swept around the room: the circle, the candles, the Nether walls. Perhaps too late, it occurred to Scott to cast a glamour behind him. He didn’t dare risk turning to check on the sacrifice’s corpse.

Finally, Milo’s gaze fell on Scott again, an indescribable emotion in his eyes. If it were directed at anyone else, Scott would have called it pity.

“Scott… I loved you. More than anything else in this world, or in any other worlds. I still love you. Do you really think this is what I wanted? You destroying your own soul?”

“I couldn’t live without you,” Scott repeated, helplessly. He was the most powerful being in the world. Supreme Witch. Lich. Defeater of death. And yet, he was so easily undone.

“I… I need some fresh air. The smell, it’s- it’s giving me a headache.” Milo said at last. Their conversations had never used to be this awkward, never this stunted. Milo had always known what to say.

Scott nodded, and with one skeletal hand gestured behind him. “There’s a trapdoor that way,” he said, moving to help Milo stand as he spoke. Milo had already stood up before Scott could do anything. “I’ll be up in a moment. Wait for me?”

Milo left.

Scott broke the salt circle first. He hadn’t wanted to have to do that in front of Milo.

He undid the glamour on the sacrifice - what remained of it, now ashen bones strewn haphazardly in roughly the shape of a person. He collected them into a smaller pile; he’d move them to the other room later. Finally, with a quick motion of his hand, he extinguished the candles. He ascended the ladders with dead silence.

Scott opened the trapdoor to bright sunlight, brighter than he’d seen in months from beyond his blackout curtains. His front door, wide open, swinging slightly on its hinges in the breeze. It was all so bright that it seemed to burn Scott’s very core away; more rot crept up the side of his neck, as though to shield him. And, as some part of him had expected all along, his love was nowhere to be seen.

It wouldn’t be hard to find him. He’d left footprints in the rotten soil, painting a clear trail of exactly the direction he had taken. Scott was a thousand times faster than a human on foot. He had also, of course, taken a taglock from Milo’s hair. It would take him mere moments to find him.

But Scott did not do that.

The Supreme Witch stayed where he was, and if there had been any water left running through his body, what he did might have been called sobbing.

#mem writes #scott smajor #wcsmp #wcsmp milo

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