#storm the sorrow concepts

[anantaru]

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓

with all the trauma scaramouche had suffered from in the past, you made it your duty to show him that it was okay to love and crave intimacy.

୨୧ WORD COUNT: 4.1k

୨୧ WARNINGS: nsfw, fem! reader, oral sex (male! receiving), unprotected sex, scaramouche & reader are in a relationship, first time being intimate, slight biting/marking, nipple play, cute scaramouche, loads of love, scara deserves it all.

for one, you were no stranger to handing out affection, love, to the person you had certainly fallen for.

he, on the other hand, had not been on best of terms with himself. Indeed, in midst the impenetrable darkness he had suffered from in the past, a faint glimmer of light had broken through him, said light being you and your person alone.

scaramouche had not fallen for you immediately, it wasn't as if he didn't feel any form of connection with you, or a somewhat higher power, he so referred to it, that has brought the two of you together with it not mattering where either of you were. Surely, the storm in him still roamed, with the fear of yet another loss feeding into his darkened thoughts of sorrow and hatred, that weren't only directed to the world, but to himself.

was him existing, enough? did he really deserve to be here and live a normal life after all, with someone he cared for? swallowing back the knot that threatened to tie in his throat, he reevaluated the thoughts he found he was surrounded with. No matter the outcome, in the end no one was able to possibly find a reasonable answer to the impractical question he would throw himself in.

nevertheless, scaramouche understood the idea of being affectionate towards your partner, more so intimate. In fact, he wasn't an idiot, if mere humans were able to wrap their mind around such concept, why shouldn't he?

he found himself rather plastered around particular imagines in his dreams, with your body bare, naked embraced tightly in his arms. It was vividly played over and over, with the building desire voicing itself without leaving. Your touch or the natural responses you'd give to him felt as if he somehow invaded your space with his disgusting thoughts.

yet still, he was unable to understand a single syllable of it. not in a way someone might think, the idea of kissing and worshipping someone's body was not a brand new thought of his. It's more that, in his eyes, if he really was about to give himself to a fragile human yet again, what would happen if something was to rip you off him one day?

with your hand in his, he searched his mind again, for something positive, optimistic, it didn't matter what it was as long as he recalled the safety that rose in him upon sensing your skin on his own.

"you're in your head again."

intentionally, you posed your question gently for him to listen to, he leaned his head to meet your eyes, not being capable to offer any form of rebuttal this time. A smile, with no resistance, dancing on your lips as you scooted over to him once more, with his hand tightening around yours.

"i wasn't in my head, I just thought about something rather hard." there it was, you giggled, the little snarky response you were waiting for. His facial expression intrigued you on this night, it contorted something it rarely did, for some reason he too, was far less argumentative, more attentive and relaxed in his antics.

"does this bother you?" you pointed towards your hand while patting your thumb over his knuckles. All movements were slowed, working against time, with your voice silent. How dearly he wanted to tell you that he in fact, adored every single moment of your touch on his own and that he would never be bothered by anything of it.

"huh, does it look like it does?" the irritation in him was growing, with scaramouche not having a single clue on how to tell you all of that without sounding like a downright insane individual. There was a rustle of fabric when he slightly wiggled himself in a much more comfortable position, with your head now resting on his chest.

judging by the way his chest was heaving as a result of his frantic breathing, you figured something was up, at this point, you knew your boyfriend better than anyone else. However, for a moment, all you craved for was to lay still and drink in the natural responses he unintentionally provided you with.

scaramouche continued to hold your hand, while his other one proceeded to wrap around your waist, trembling in his play before he stilled his fingers on you, struggling but still managing to hold himself close with his thoughts weighing him down.

following suit, you propped your chin onto his chest, silently admiring his dominant features through your lashes, the details on your lips raising in a smirk.

"something is up, i can feel it."

you really wanted to know it now, being very much aware on how much he despised whenever you were noisy with him. It was so deliciously simple to get him over the edge, too simple almost when you already noticed the slight *click* he made with his tongue.

"you've gone all quiet." the barely noticeable change in your voice rose slight goosebumps on his skin. You pulled your hand away from his hold to keep your palm on his chest.

"you're just imagining things." his lips twisted, your throat bubbling with a contagious laughter from his response. Taking a tiny, careful, approach to him once more, you slowly slid your body up so your face would now directly hover over his, thoughts swirling.

that damned spark in your eyes again, scaramouche remembered the first time he witnessed that gesture and when you looked at him in that special way, so pure, yet so passionate, in a way it was intimate too, leaving him no peace.

"maybe you're right, satisfied now?" there was a piercing bitterness in his cutting words, lifting his hand to brush his knuckles over your cheek sensually. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath, heart leaping at the contact with his touch.

who was he fooling right now? you were his partner, his love, he wondered if he should just go for what he had longed for after all.

which, he then did, might we add, in his own way.

"can you kiss me?"

it was foolish, really, if anything, scaramouche wanted to curse himself for saying something so embarrassing to you, settling his hand on your cheek while attempting to take it away. Maybe he could make you believe that he was in fact, sleep talking right now, or sick. Was he even able to get sick in the first place?

doubt stayed in his mind, when you in a sudden manner, drew your hand to his own which was cupping your cheek, carefully intertwining your fingers with each other, you shifted like water with scaramouche welcoming the pull of your weight on his body.

"always."

your fingers brushed on the column of his throat, the skin was warm and smooth on your finger tips. Scaramouche would never deny the steps you were taking right now, he enjoyed it, craved it, as a smile flickered upon placing your lips on his own.

there was a strong fluttering sensation in the pit of his stomach, finding a rhythm, practically demanding you to continue.

how much he had waited for you to kiss him like that, struggling to remain still while stifling his sounds. Warmth, your warmth in particular, for him it felt almost nauseating to have it radiate through his body in such thickened spurts.

briefly, you pulled away, resting your forehead on his own, delighted. The presumedly cold wind sighed outside, shrilling, not to mention low, adding to the fevered beat on your heart.

scaramouche set his fingers on your chin, with a little effort, pulling you back in. He wanted, no, needed this, adding his tongue. Not so much different from the dreams he would be grazed with every now and then, you slid his hand over his chest, playfully tapping your tips around his ribcage.

feeling the chill on your fingers over his shirt, he furrowed his brows lightly, laying his hand on the nape of your neck, tumbling into becoming hopeless addicted to your taste.

lets call it an arch of desire, that made you run your hand further, lowering yourself on his stomach before resting. Right now, the continues lust that seemed to have been stored for many weeks in him, drowned out all the outside noise until all he was able to hear was your erratic breathing.

catching you by surprise, he enveloped his hand around your wrist, dragging you down on where he so very much wished you to be. There was a pleasing demanding antic in his tactic, deepening your kiss as you smirked against his lips on how blunt and unashamedly he could be at times.

testing on what he might like, you squeezed him through his pants with his hands splayed on your neck, tracing his fingers over your skin nervously. Each hiss that you'd notice develop in his throat, felt as if someone lit you on fire, all too alluring.

you peeled yourself away from his lips with them glowing of saliva, slightly parted. His body was clearly tensed with him letting go of a painfully slow hiss. "is that alright?" with his eyes half open, you could still watch his dilated pupils, smoothening your hand on his semi erect member.

"can you do it faster?"

there was a twitch in his sentence, one he did not notice on his own as he lolled himself back into pillows with your hand proceeding to work on him. Scaramouche had long since teetered around the pleasure you inflicted on him, drunk on your presence alone.

silently, but ever so mindful, you squeezed his clothed groin before peppering his chest with tender kisses, lowering yourself and never stilling your hand on him. Scaramouche dropped his head, lust blinded, clenching his hand and disheveling the bedsheets under him as you proceeded to be content with your play.

the sweet and intoxicating whines he'd let you hear were drawing you into madness with how consuming they were.

your body moved on autopilot as you placed a soft kiss on his twitching groin. The air around him began to be difficult to take in, thick as syrup, slow and jarring, tinged with something fiddling with his senses.

you gave him a little laugh as he tilted his head to you, returning your smile hesitantly when you worked your way on his belt, discarding it together with his pants and boxers, pushing them down.

the breeze was stirring on his pulsating member, with it resting stiff on his pelvis. The soft rasp of his throat upon taking it in your hand was exhilarating, an extra thrill creeping at him as you kissed the tip, lapping his pre cum with a single flick of your tongue.

"fuck, more." the sheer act of submission that took place in between his legs tampered in his thoughts, marveling before him at the intense sight with your continues kisses on his rosy tip.

scaramouche felt powerful, wanted, desired, by the person he so very much cherished and loved.

you effortlessly parted your lips, wrapping yourself around him before going down easily. The nervousness and flips that went over in his stomach were replaced by pleasing caresses and skillful flicks of your tongue on his shaft.

for him, he felt weightless, watching himself disappear in your warm mouth with your eyes tightly shut in concentration. The hint of a smile remained on you with your strokes fastening. You hollowed your cheeks, stilling yourself for a tiny bit before pulling yourself up slowly.

a layer of sweat dampened the tiny hair on his nape with him grunting at every thrust now. The squelching noises flustered his state of mind, as if he was embarrassed of it, unsure on how to response to it either.

your wet muscle was notably sinful, flattened on the underside of his length with the raw texture of your tongue adding into the roughness of your sucking.

scaramouche bathed in ecstasy, truly, exhaling his breath in long, uneven bursts as you bobbed your head again, giving him a couple of final additional pushes as he releases himself in you.

"oh, fuck." his moans were bittersweet, careful and deep with his eyes tightly closed, carving his hips up into your mouth. You ran your hand over his shivering thigh in an attempt to aid him to his release, tonguing his semi erect cock and nibbling softly.

his angelic moans roamed through the room, filling it with sounds of sex and pleasure as you released him. His seed was melting together with your saliva, lewdly. You dragged the back of your hand over your mouth before swallowing his cun with his eyes fixated on the sight.

a slight pause was warranted as you caught your breath, crawling over to your lover, "are you alright?" scaramouche worried for a moment that it was too much or if he had pained you.

"i didn't hurt you? did i?"

the tiny, yet dominant fear in his eyes was evident, with you cradling his cheeks into a soft embrace. "you were perfect." seeking his lips out to pepper him in a loving smooth.

smiling indulgently into the kiss, scaramouche hummed in satisfaction and happiness, his hands falling down and resting on your chest, tugging on your dress.

naturally, you understood what he wanted you to do, short after discarding of your garment and leaving you in underwear for him to relish in. Your body was revealed to him, without hesitation he dragged you back to his hold, dominating you with his lips.

scaramouche was beginning to see the advantages of being dominant in bed, the lazy smile giving him enough reassurance to shove you into the mattress with him towering over you now. Following suit, you urged him to dispose of his shirt as well, helping him get out of it.

you returned to him, nibbling on his lips as he roamed your body with his hands, fondling with the bra before discarding it, with your panties following right after. The slight difficulties he faced with unclasping your bra left a feeling, more so, a tiny amount of panic at the idea that he might not be capable to please you sexually, with you actually enjoying it just how he did earlier.

you spotted the embarrassment in him, heavy lidded eyes never leaving his when you soothed his muscles, making his heart race with nothing more than candid handling of his body.

"have your way with me." with this proclamation, you traced your fingers over your exposed nipples to center his attention towards your chest. Of course, you did it easily, precisely, with scaramouche's eyes flickering with lust at your words.

"don't tell me what to do."

you were so unbelievably sexy, he noticed how he started to get hard, painfully so, planting himself in between your legs while pressing himself into your heat. Your hips pushed up, straining against the bulge of his erection, pursing your mouth.

he peered lower, longing to touch your breasts and feel them on his palm as he did just that, taking one in his hand. Experimentally, he pushed his thumb over your erected nipple, curious on the reaction he might coax out of you.

tilting your head, your pulse grew stronger. You hummed deeply, complimenting his touch on you as he brought himself to your chest, dragging his rough tongue on your bud, shuddering when he gently held his lips together, pulling away. Each moan, whine or whimper he'd be able to notice from you, only fed into the strong desire to pleasure you, love you how you deserved it.

with all of his might, scaramouche tried to ignore the growing hardness in his lower region, carefully gnawing on your nipple while fondling your other breast in his hand. Dragging his head over the mounds of flesh, he swept his glistering lips over the delicate skin, a moan rising from your throat upon noticing the suck on you.

blissfully unaware, he continued to latch numerous times onto your softness, nibbling and gently digging his teeth into you. Before you knew it, he already had begun to admire the marks he had left on your chest up to your collarbone, the drift of his cooling breath soothing the pulsating areas you were decorated with.

the aftershocks that rippled through you added to the heavy spiral in between your thighs, thrills of sexual want vibrating through you. It didn't help, his relaxed state of mind let his normal defenses fall short with his cock fully erected again, resting on top of your glistering folds.

the weight of the situation began to fall down on him with a slight feeling of overwhelm and the fear of failing taking a significant change in him. Grasping on what was happening, you soothed him back into reality, taking a hold of his head to drag him to you, his body leaning on top of yours.

"we can stop if you want."

it was important for you to give scaramouche enough time to get used to this feeling. Not only the taste of intimacy itself, but the idea and patterns of gentle touching and fondling, in a loving, more so passionate way he had never experienced.

"i want this."

everything was falling into place how he had fantasized about in his dreams, for months tolerating the unbearable growing ache on his groin without the ability to voice it to you. Even little, small obstacles wouldn't get in his way this time. Nodding your head at his words, you enveloped your arm around his neck while the other one sneaked in between your bodies.

letting out a sigh of relief, you lined yourself up with the help of scaramouche. For him, there was as much frustration as pleasure right now, he couldn't wait any longer to finally feel you like this, to finally become one with his partner.

bracing himself he leaned closer to you, with his hips following suit and pushing past the agonizing tightness of your hole, muffling the throat caught moans on your neck.

It eased him out, fairytales were downright despised by him yet why did this moment feel like one? it was unusual enough to get him so silent, so cautious with his body trembling on you. The fading jolt of pain arrowed on your hole with him handling you with great caress, offering you plenty of time to get used to his girth.

"that feels." each word melted down on his tongue eagerly, sending you staggering with him whimpering at the natural hardness. "that feels really good."

with the pace increasing, you kept a firm hold on him, rubbing circles on his back while he squeezed your breasts, his fingers sinking into your flesh. The slight stuttering on his hips was noticeable, right now scaramouche was testing on what would feel the most comfortable, but also most pleasurable for the both of you.

without breaking the rhythm, he pulled himself off your neck, locking your gaze with your body stiffening at his maddening expression. With your jaw gaped open, you moaned out his name, the very name he despised in the past, but with you voicing it like that, with that particular charm in your voice, it tasted like sweet honey on a summer night.

he gazed at your neck with your head thrown back at the pleasure his hips inflicted on you, your veins throbbing with blood with the notable rush in adrenaline shooting into you. Your walls were tightly wrapped around his length, intoxicating, with your hips grinding together.

all thoughts of possible negative outcomes were drowned by the way he was fucking you. Just thinking about doing this over and over again with you from now on, scaramouche had deducted that he had indeed become addicted to the feeling of you enveloped around him like that.

his hot breathing rolled over your glistering body that was covered in sweat and perspiration, his gaze focused on your person with the original first thought in him being on how messy you looked, how filthy and it was his fault alone. Surely, it wasn't necessary to explain the sudden burst in his ego, that developed by the tinkering in his mind, not when you continued to moan together with those alluring sounds of yours.

the bubbling sensation on his groin was beginning to reach its high, with scaramouche snapping himself faster into your warmth, so fast your breasts were beginning to bounce in tandem with it, making his cock press further in you. "fuck." the delicious pleasure he experienced had him lean into your face, kissing you while rolling his hips into you with the sounds of sex being more notable.

observing you with carefulness, cautious, he displayed a crooked smile, "are you close?" sobbing softly at his words, with your climax approaching, you nodded frantically. "i am so close." pleasant emotions in you rose, running your fingertips over his chest before stilling your hand on his cheek, dragging him down.

scaramouche moaned into the kiss, he wasn't sure if he was even supposed to fully be vocal with you or be as loud as he was right now. His lips, glazed and puffy, dwelling with a satiated sigh when his pace became uneven, dragging his stiff cock on your velvety walls.

the suffocating air in the room was unfolding with his patience evaporating, a sight around of small tears dwelling in your eyes at the fastened pace. In a daze, he finally spilled himself in you, a broken moan rippling in his throat with his vision becoming blurry. Your hands urged him to come down once more with your lips pressed together on his own, whining into his mouth when you twitched at the very second you felt him fill you with his warm seed.

unable to find your voice, you cried out, shuddering with your climax washing over you, yours hand around him beginning to tremble. The heaviness of your body was certain, with your thigh muscles aching as you lowered yourself back into the disheveled damp sheets.

scaramouche stabilized himself up with one hand while he roamed your body with the other, the expectations of the act alone had been overthrown by what he had felt right now. In a way, it was impossible for him to explain it, more so did he curse himself that he didn't take the initiative sooner.

you mumbled something underneath your breath and with him concentrating on your lips, he figured out what it was, his face igniting in flames. Your mouth quirked up into a smirk upon seeing his flustered state, your posture slightly straightening with him still being buried in you.

"don't you want to say it back?"

before you got an opportunity to ask again, scaramouche rolled his eyes at you, visible annoyed. "i don't think I have to tell you that i love you." he narrowed his brows, swallowing the knot in his throat when he pulled himself out of your messy hole, his cum pooling out.

"and why is that?"

undoubtedly, you thoroughly enjoyed messing with your boyfriend, not to mention when he was embarrassed for whatever reason. "because you already know i do, are you stupid?" you snickered at his words, deciding to curve the conversation into another direction.

your gaze lowered, with the both of you being in dire need of a shower, watching the mess unfold further on the silky sheets. You savored into the intimate atmosphere when he plopped himself right next to you, indirectly opening his arms so you could slip yourself in his hold.

naturally, without pressing the matter further, you do as he craved, catching his eyes to indulge in his afterglow expression. His chest was heaving unevenly, he was still out of breath and you found that immensely adorable, more so how he desperately tried to hide it from you.

"don't look at me like that." of course, you thought to yourself, he snapped at you with his head averting your gaze. You hummed to yourself, fluttering your eyes shut with his attention pointed to the small circles you drew on his chest.

the bittersweet smile on his lips, you did not spot, and he did not want to show you.

plastered on his mouth with scaramouche finally being able to let go and experience the feeling of just living, just existing without a bigger cause he had to participate in, but to simply be there with you, with you enveloped in his arms as you drifted into a comfortable slumber, together.

do not! share, copy or repost my work. ✎ ©ANANTARU 2022

[starrailstories]

Hey! Could you write something about Blade having a keeper of time/ timekeeper s/o? ♥

first ask!!! let's hecking goooooooo

i wanted to write headcanons but then one thing led to another and it's a short story that i hope you enjoy

Blade x gn!Timekeeper!S/O — Seen in the shards

warnings: mentions of blade's depression and suicidal thoughts (canon-compliant), possibly ooc but i really really hope i wrote him well

Blade is destruction incarnate, the mara and rage and grief taking over him sporadically, like bile rising to the throat. He is an effective tool of the Hunters (ironic, isn't it? an abomination like him hardly can Hunt), and many would think that this is all he is, a bounty and a sin and a loosely held leash.

You know him differently, though. You know him in the moments of repose in-between the storm that he brings along, and in those moments, he feels like a large shard of time away from where he'd fit. It's always shards with him, glimpses of past mistakes, and battles, and memories, but mostly sorrow. You think of the ways time cracks as you struggle to keep it whole, revealing the uncomfortable truths you dare not mention to the IPC or the Intelligentsia Guild. It's kind of similar, like if you try just enough, you'll see the complete picture once again.

And he doesn't get you at first, because collecting broken shards and piecing them back is not what Blade does. Blade is all about burning bridges, throwing himself into battle headfirst, Blade does - not - get it when you show concern or worry, when you offer to share a meal, when you tend to a wound of his, when you try and protect him in battle, because he isn't supposed to be together, only apart, shatter and shatter and shatter in hopes that one day, he'll just lie there broken and dead and gone.

You care and that hurts, for some reason, hurts in a way that doesn't sate his urge to be hurt.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

"I almost pity you, Bladie. But envy you all the same," Kafka drops one day as they're sat in a boujee cafe on a planet that will experience a Stellaron catastrophe in about three system hours. She raises her cup of tea to her lips almost immediately, but he catches a hint of a smile.

"Pity, I understand, but I do not welcome it. However, what of the envy?"

Kafka set down her cup gently, in a manner that she would always do, and her smile faded.

"Soon, you would know the meaning of fear. You knew it once, but in a different lifetime. Now, you will know it again, and it will hurt in different ways. It's fascinating."

She spoke with a certainty, as if reciting a script. Possibly that was the case, and that was more sad than anything. Given a power to make anyone listen, but stuck saying words someone else wrote.

"So it will happen?"

"As much as anything said by Destiny's Slave will. There's a seed for fear in that, too. You will resent your wish and your fate, but it still will happen, even if you don't want it to happen anymore."

Right. Blade looks away, because he doesn't usually decipher the grand scheme of things. He was promised a death and a settling of the score, and he is content with that, content in the way a sword is content to rest in its sheath. Kafka reaches across the table to touch his forehead as if to impart a wisdom.

She'd point a gun to his head and he'd be just as apathetic.

"Listen. I am telling you this for your sake, after all."

There's no command behind the word, and Blade regrets this, because thinking he dislikes most of all.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

Fear is a foreign concept, but the more you reach out to him with your care, the more he starts to grasp it. He knows of your strength, he knows of your capabilities, he sees you constantly fixing time itself, reaching into the molten metal with hands exposed and heart bare, to stitch all together before the past pours into the present and the future into the past and a sea of fake stars replaces the cosmos you traverse (you told him once of a world inside an egg one time, where the sky is fake and the up is down and why does he remember these trivial things again).

But he also knows of his own strength, and how all that he touches goes awry, and that is scary — to see you reach out when he knows full well how your care might destroy you, how he might destroy you.

"You shouldn't be picking up the shards. They'd cut you," he says one time after another crack is restored and the anomaly of the Fragmentum shifts into a stable state. His sword drags on the ground, leaving a distinctly red trace. You know he isn't speaking about the timeline.

"Those are big words coming from someone carrying a sword made of shards," you smile like you always do and it hurts. Because it hurts to be cared for and treated like a person and where were you those centuries ago when dying still felt memorable and there was something besides the anger?

He wishes he fell into a timeline anomaly back then because that would mean even for a moment, being caught by you, and that is a scary thought.

"Blade?" he's zoning out. Bad. He is supposed to keep himself in check, because most people are capable of dying and he is a remarkably well-working death machine.

"I will say this more clearly: if you keep reaching out to me, you will die."

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

You don't stop because... actually why. Blade still doesn't get it. Blade doesn't speak up anymore, a sword in its sheath, but he thinks sometimes. Thinking is still a horrible pastime activity. But he does wonder about what it would have felt like to have met you earlier, when there was some feeling left in him.

He wonders if you bandaging a wound of his would make him feel safe. He wonders if the snacks you buy on the planets you visit would make him feel sated. He wonders if after a long day, sleeping next to each other would make him feel truly content.

Dangerous thoughts, yet strangely warm, like candlelight.

You plop on the bed of a dingy hotel room you two are staying at. Blade cares little about the quality of the establishment, but he does care about security, and keeping on the down low is of the essence. He stores his sword next to his side of the bed, to draw if a fight occurs.

He doesn't sleep anyway, simply lies in a dreamless haze, so nothing would catch him off-guard.

"Room's tiny. Bed's hard as a rock, too," you make small talk, untying the laces of your boots.

"Mhm," Blade hums. He thinks that there were free rooms in the hotel. With two beds in each, no less. He doesn't bring this up because it's safer to stay close together and that's the only reason.

"And it's cold."

"Mhm," he hums again. He doesn't feel much in terms of warmth or coldness.

You lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling as he checks for emergency exit pathways and makes notes of useful items.

"Sometimes I wish there were no anomalies or Stellarons out there. Then we wouldn't have large bounties on our heads and we'd be able to afford all the good hotels."

"We wouldn't have met then. And this room is sufficient."

Blade says sufficient, but for the last while, he found sufficient lacking. He wanted good things, despite being undeserving, and it hurt, too, because he knew all too well what happened to the good things in his life.

He lies down next to you, six inches, seven hundred years and a universe apart.

"Would we? I'd still have found you, I feel like."

It feels weird to hear this. He remembers how you once got hurt because you tried to block a hit meant for him. It was a long time ago, before that could hurt. It wasn't anything serious, but now, guilt eats at him each time he notices the faint scar on your shoulder. He drifts his gaze left, and there it is, a reminder.

And he also sees that you're cold.

What comes next is a whim and Blade never acts on whims. But he turns on the bed and drags you into an embrace.

"You wouldn't have liked what you've found."

Because then he'd be a mara-struck abomination, immortal mess of ginkgo leaves and dripping bile and the same names roared so much that no one would hear what he says. He still is like that, just somewhat grounded.

"You always decide for me. But isn't it up to me to weigh my choices, Blade?"

No, he wants to say, it's not. He's been mortal and stupid before, and that was his mistake. For that, he must pay a price. He doesn't want you to be hurt that way because you, unlike him, don't deserve this.

But he says none of it, as you raise your hand and touch his cheek and it's warm and it hurts—

His voice breaks, in both anger and fear, "I don't want you fixing me. I know you want to pick up the shards and glue them together. But you will regret that wish."

He isn't Yingxing and he won't be Yingxing ever again. What was him died on the Xianzhou Luofu, and it died again and again and again until what was left couldn't recall the deaths any longer. Then, a mess of shards, an empty husk, he was Blade, and he couldn't ever go back.

You smile gently at him.

"I know. If you ever decide to piece the shards together, it should be your choice and not mine, and I have no deal interfering with that. But still, I want to see all of you, Blade. Broken or not."

It's scary because admitting that he wants you to see him too would mean accepting that it won't change a thing. The script is merciless and uncaring. Even if he allows himself to love you, he is already destined to die as part of the performance. It's scary because it changes everything. It's scary because it changes nothing.

He shifts on the bed, so that you're face to face.

"May I kiss you?"

You close the distance first, as you always do, and he, for the first time in seven hundred years, feels seen.

[haveyoulistenedtothisalbum-poll]

Tracklist:

War Of Wrath • Into The Storm • Lammoth • Nightfall • The Minstrel • The Curse Of Feanor • Captured • Blood Tears • Mirror Mirror • Face The Truth • Noldor (Dead Winter Reigns) • Battle Of Sudden Flames • Time Stands Still (At The Iron Hill) • The Dark Elf • Thorn • The Eldar • Nom The Wise • When Sorrow Sang • Out On The Water • The Steadfast • A Dark Passage • Final Chapter (Thus Ends...)

Submitter's Note: Nightfall in Middle-Earth is a concept album that follows parts of the Silmarillion, from Tolkien’s legendarium.

Spotify ♪ YouTube

[physalian]

Incorporating weather elements into your narrative

*Picture me in shock over 11 new followers in 6 days after a 3 week dry spell: Thanks everybody!

Short this time! Weather and climate as worldbuilding are kind of like adverbs. Adverbs, as a concept, are not book kryptonite (despite what all the people screaming about how using better verbs is always the answer want you to believe). Adverbs should just be used with intent and not be redundant, which I’ve said before.

Basically, why use an adverb that doesn’t actually tell us any helpful information about the verb that the reader can’t already presume? “She smiled happily,” well, yeah, as you do. “She smiled sorrowfully,” okay, now that’s an expression I can work with. Why is she smiling sorrowfully? Why does she think she must smile through her sadness? Clearly it’s failing, otherwise the narrator wouldn’t note that the smile is sorrowful at all.

There’s a reason “talking about the weather” is the butt of the joke. It’s generally seen as boring and inconsequential to either party and used to just fill otherwise awkward silence. A quick sentence for sensory details is great. Repeat details that don’t dig into those sensory elements are not.

Your weather is no different. Why are you describing it if it serves no purpose to the scene? Everyone’s default unobtrusive day is different, but unless stated otherwise, people are going to assume it’s either day or night with mildly clear skies and tolerable heat and humidity. Talking at length about average weather that doesn’t impact your character’s emotions or choices, or the tone of the narrative, is a waste of effort in my opinion.

As in, describing the perfect day while a charcater is stuck in an office and unable to enjoy it? Yes. A character getting groceries and it's 72 and sunny and look at all the boring shapes of the clouds and planes flying over head while I get zero input on how the character feels about any of it or why this detail matters? Fluff and filler.

If your book is chock full of poetic fluff, go ham, everybody's ideal narrative is different. I like mine lean, otherwise I get bored by all the fluff while I wait for the book to remember it has a plot.

Weather fits into one of those little buzzword bingo cards where, if the author is taking an aside to describe it, you know it’s going to be important later (or at least it should be important later if the author didn’t just forget about it). Weather tends to be used as foreshadowing and is used as metaphorical shorthand everywhere.

If I write about a character going off on a quest and I tell the reader that clouds are growing in the distance, there’s a 70/30 chance I’m not just talking about actual clouds, but the threat of the enemy, some sinister plot our plucky heroes are ignorant of. Stuff like:

A red sunrise

Black/grey stormclouds

The ambiguous “rain/storm” that’s coming

A chilly wind picks up

An oppressive heat wave settles over the land

Fictional weather is so entrenched in metaphor and allegory that no matter how cliché it gets, watching or reading a funeral scene where it’s not grey and rainy feels insincere and not somber enough for the tragedy unfolding. You can avoid this by having your characters hate that it’s not raining for their funeral, as if even God doesn’t mourn their dead friend and the rest of the world moves on uncaring.

Same vibe as Halloween decorations in broad daylight. Or Christmas decorations in the Florida 80 degree December. Fall without the changing colors of the leaves. The mood is completely wrong.

“It was a dark and stormy night” sets the reader up for something serious, perhaps mysterious and dramatic, not a cheesy Hallmark romance. Weather as tone is extremely helpful. Not describing it is better than picking the wrong weather for your scene, unless you're trying to be ironic. Weather is practically its own character, depending on how much it matters to your story.

Fantasy and abnormal weather should be treated like any other scene descriptor element. It’s not enough to just drop in a detail about how there’s a 20% chance of blood rain at noon. If this is meant to be metaphorical or foreshadowing, despite being “blood rain” maybe it’s not an ill omen. Maybe it’s a magical fertilizer and a farming boon that graces the land, you gotta clarify.

Personally I’d fixate on the blood rain and want to know much more about it, just as much as I’d want to know about the rest of the town. I don’t need you to explain why it exists, it can exist just for funsies without serving any plot purposes, but I definitely want some more detail about the blood rain, it sounds cool.

—

TLDR; Weather cannot be untethered from its metaphorical and tonal implications, it’s just too entrenched in fictional associations. With that said, if weather in your book isn’t important at all to the story, randomly describing the sunny day at length is like describing the grass of a random lawn—we all know what random grass looks like. Unless the state of the lawn matters, it’s fluff. If it doesn’t service the character’s arc, the themes of the story, the tone of the scene, or the plot in any way, it can be skipped beyond relaying to your readers on the time of day and some sensory details like if it’s hot or windy or humid.

[reunionatdawn]

The beauty of Axel's original character arc

"I thought a lot about that. Should I leave him as he was or should I bring him back again? However, when I considered the people that Lea wants to bring back, his existence plays a big role. I think Lea has successively become a key character." (Tetsuya Nomura)

Nomura said that he debated whether to bring Axel back to life, or to leave him as he was. The fact that he wasn't sure meant that his KH2 character arc must have felt complete somehow. So, I'd like to take a look back at Axel's original storyline in KH2 and why I liked it so much. I thought his death worked very well as a beautiful and satisfying (albeit more bittersweet) ending to his story. In many ways, I found it to be much more poignant than his storyline in KH3.

“Is that how to treat a best friend on coming back from completing a long mission!” “I don’t recall becoming your best friend.” (Another Report: Roxas—Somewhere in Time)

Roxas was closer to Axel than any of the other Organization members. But he obviously yearned to have best friends his own age. That is why he was best friends with Hayner in his dream world, even though he didn't know them in real life. And he didn't even remember Axel. In other words, Roxas and Axel were not really best friends. In the short story that was included with the Japanese version of KH2FM+, Axel was the one who was insistent on using that label.

Hayner: Well, I doubt we can be together forever. But isn't that what growing up's all about? What's important isn't how often we see each other, but how often we think about each other. Right?

The whole concept behind Nobodies was that they had no hearts, but they still had their memories from the time when they did. So, the writers undoubtedly had some idea of what each member's backstory was like. In the original KH2, the writers chose not to explicitly tell us anything about Axel's past. But based on his behavior, we would be able to ascertain that he probably had a best friend when he was still a human. However, he was already a grown up. His summer vacation must've ended a long time ago. He could no longer be with his best friend, and he needed Roxas to fill that void.

Roxas: Organization XIII… they're a bad group. Naminé: Bad or good, I don't know. They're a group of incomplete people who wish to be whole. To that end, they're desperately searching for something.

One of the biggest themes in KH2 is that of duality. In Hinduism, the universe is said to be made up of two complementary opposite forces called Shiva and Shakti. Shiva is the masculine force and is known as the destroyer or transformer. He is associated with chaos, darkness, and the element of fire, which symbolizes purification. Shakti represents light, order, and the feminine nurturing aspects of the universe, giving birth to new life. She is associated the element of wind, which symbolizes life energy and creation.

Axel's moniker is "おどる火の風". It translates to "Wind of the Dancing Fire" or "Dancing Fire's Wind". This is my theory of what the deeper meaning was. One of the most famous depictions of Shiva is that of him dancing in a ring of fire. This version of him is known as known as Nataraja. The rhythmic movements of the dance are said to cause storms and destruction. And there's a backstory to the dance.

In Hindu mythology, Sati immolated herself out of intense devotion to her husband Shiva when her father insulted him. When Shiva learned of Sati's death, he was overcome with grief, sorrow, and uncontrollable rage. Shiva carried Sati's lifeless body on his shoulders and began to perform the cosmic dance of destruction.

In KH1, the reports mentioned how Ansem amplified "storms" in the subjects of his experiments on the darkness of the heart. The kanji used (���) can refer to a literal storm or it can also be used metaphorically to describe an intense emotional state. I suspect that the original idea in KH2 was that Axel's best friend was killed during an experiment. And this event caused Axel's heart fall to darkness, turning him into a Nobody. It's probably the reason why Axel was so delighted to assassinate Vexen by setting him on fire.

Axel: Let's meet again in the next life. Roxas: Yeah. I'll be waiting. Axel: Silly. Just because you have a next life…

The imagery of Shiva dancing within a circle of flames represents the eternal cycle of birth, death, and rebirth. Shiva performs the dance and destroys the universe, but this destruction is eventually followed by rebirth. His lover Sati was reborn as the goddess Parvati and reunited with Shiva as his other half. Their combined form represents unity in duality and cosmic balance. In KH2, Axel did not think he was going to be reborn. And that was the basis of his storyline.

Naminé: We may not have homes. But there is someplace I want to go… And someone I want to see… Axel: Same here.

Nobodies had a strong thematic association with death and the afterlife. In KH2, Naminé was the ghost girl living in the haunted mansion. In KH3, she was an incorporeal star in the Final World, the metaphysical place where people go when they have strong attachments and cannot pass on to the other side.

A Nobody was the spirit that went on even as its body faded from existence. They were very similar to the Unsent from FFX, which was another game written by Kazushige Nojima. Axel was created because his human-self had strong sentiments. He desperately wanted to be with his best friend forever. And this unfulfilled dream, ironically, kept his body and soul tethered to the realm of light.

Kairi: Maybe…waiting isn't good enough. Axel: My thoughts exactly! If you have a dream, don't wait. Act. One of life's little rules. Got it memorized?

When Axel asked Kairi if she wanted to "see" Sora, he was referring to her meeting him in the afterlife because he was planning to kill them both. A similar form of wordplay was also used in the Japanese dialogue. His intentions were made apparent by his outstretched hand. He wanted Sora to become a Heartless again. So, he probably planned to accomplish that the same way he became a Heartless.

(Japanese Translation) Axel: We're quite similar, aren't we? Both of us want to meet our important friends. Don't you think we're like comrades?

In the KH universe, when a person dies, their heart returns to the light of Kingdom Hearts. Since Axel didn't think he had a heart, he thought there would be nothing left of him to live on after his empty vessel was destroyed. Even if he wanted to die and be reborn to meet his best friend, he couldn't. He was driven by intense loneliness.

Some Kingdom Hearts fans think there's something romantic between Axel and Roxas and that Disney stopped that from being made explicit. Is that true? Have there been things Disney have stopped you from doing? Nomura: In terms of the relationship between Axel and Roxas, we never intended anything like this and this is actually the first time I ever heard of it! We don't want to openly negate how the fans have come to enjoy the characters, but it was not something the creative team intended. Axel and Roxas are the best of friends and that's their primary relationship. 

Axel's intense yearning to see Roxas once more made fans question his orientation even back in 2005. Akuroku was quite a popular ship back in the day and many players saw romantic subtext on Axel's part. I do agree that Axel is easily read as queer. But the creative team was not trying to imply that he was in love with Roxas. I think it was his human best friend that he was really in love with, and Roxas just reminded Axel of him. When he was with Roxas, he felt like he was with his best friend. And that's why he wanted to die by his side.

(Japanese Translation) Axel: When I was with him, it felt like I had a heart too. That kind of feeling... I feel it with you too... The same...

When Axel said, "the same", he was referring to how Sora reminded him of Roxas. But I believe that we were invited to read between the lines and wonder if he was also referring to a human best friend that had already passed on. Ultimately, Axel's original KH2 arc was not about being together with Roxas forever. Roxas merged with his other half and became whole. He would live on within Sora.

In some Hindu traditions, "Sati" also refers to the act of a widow willingly participating in a self-immolation ritual on her deceased husband's funeral pyre. It was seen as an expression of devotion and loyalty and also an act of peerless piety which was said to purge her of all her sins. The widow would achieve spiritual liberation (moksha) not only for herself but also for her deceased husband. This meant that both would be freed from the cycle of death and rebirth (samsara). The widow was thought to be reunited with her husband in the afterlife, enjoying an eternal spiritual existence with him.

To help Sora reunite with Kairi, Axel self-immolated. After he died, Nojima probably envisioned that he would meet his dead best friend again, who was waiting for him on the other side. He had attained moksha, which represents the final goal of human existence in Hinduism, where the soul is liberated from the cycle of samsara. And that's probably why Nomura wasn't sure whether it was better to bring him back to life or to just leave him as he was.

"I never thought he would grow as much as he has. We originally planned to have him exit upon being defeated by Roxas during the opening of KHII, but all the staff, myself included, were strongly inclined to have him keep playing an active role after that. It's possible he will have things to do in the future, too. I tried to put that into his 'see you' line in KH2 FM+." (Tetsuya Nomura)

When KH2 was written, the writers probably had not envisioned a preexisting relationship between Saïx and Axel. But after its success, they decided to expand on the Organization's backstories, and came up with that idea. Isa was based on the original concept that was implied in KH2. Axel did have a human best friend, and that loss had a profound influence on his relationship with Roxas.

If Axel's human best friend was supposed to be literally dead in KH2, then him only being Norted is a major retcon, yes. But it was a retcon that would allow for the eventual reunion of Axel with his best friend in the physical life. Like the Phoenix rising from the ashes, he could resurrect him from the dead. And that was the underlying idea of making Lea a Keyblade wielder in the first place.

Lea and Isa's backstory is one of the missing links of the KH series. By all means, it should have been depicted many years ago, in the defunct Birth by Sleep Volume II. This is a shame because it left their relationship extremely underdeveloped, and their reunion was largely glossed over in KH3 as a result. Because of this, I thought Axel's storyline in KH3 fell flat, and I thought that his ending in KH2 was more impactful. But I may change my mind if we finally get to see more of Axel's long overdue backstory in Missing Link.

[cringefaecompilation]

i hate the "dorian is going to join ludinus to spite the gods for taking away his friends" concept so much. i could just reblog that one post that says "people criticizing the gods does not mean they support the vanguard" and call it a day but this is part of a worrying trend of villainizing the cast members of color who don't support the gods wholly. even within the hells not everyone is devout.

ashton? literally said they refuse to worship the gods, period. that if they want his help they can ask him themselves. imogen? her guilty conscience towards the concept of killing her mother and her own sorrow at being neglected by the gods makes her also uncertain if she trusts them fully. laudna? is seen as inherently evil by every paladin in a five-mile radius because she’s undead. and if predathos takes a big munch out of vecna’s face, delilah’ll shit herself and die and free her from her grasp permanently.

and yet they all desire ludinus’ head on a stake and do not trust the vanguard nor believe what they are doing is right.

do i think orym and dorian are going to butt heads over their viewpoints on the gods? naturally! it’d be weird if they didn’t! but i just cannot see a universe in which dorian storm would backstab the surviving people he cares about over spite. he’s angry, he’s hurting, but he’s not going to trust a genocider. neither would deanna or FRIDA despite their compunctions and questionings.

honesty, the person i’m scared of getting corrupted by the vanguard is dariax. cults specifically go after people that feel isolated or lost, and dariax just got abandoned by all of his friends after a god pushed them apart. poor guy is a perfect pawn if ludinus ever stumbled across him.

[lilacura]

Haven’t I given enough?

Pairing: Yu Jimin x Reader

Genre: Angsty ANGSTTTTTTT

Summary: In the shadows of Y/N's past, a mysterious encounter with Jimin unfolds, unveiling a love tainted by secrets and a heart-wrenching betrayal. As whispers of deception linger, Y/N confronts Jimin, pleading for answers. The story leaves readers captivated by the enigma of their fractured love, yearning to unravel the mysteries that lie beneath the surface.

Y/N's life unfolded like a tragic tale, marked by the shadows of her birth. A mistake, they called her—a burden that shattered her family. Her father vanished, leaving behind echoes of abandonment, while her mother's resentment cast a relentless gloom over Y/N's existence. Love was an elusive concept in her world, with no siblings to share the weight of solitude.

-

In the dimly lit rooms of Y/N's childhood home, the air hung heavy with tension and the weight of unspoken grievances. A younger Y/N sought solace in the presence of a mother whose love had turned into a distant memory.

"You ruined us, Y/N," her mother's voice, cold and unforgiving, cut through the silence like a knife. "Your father left because of you. You were a mistake, an unwanted burden."

The echoes of her mother's cruel words reverberated through the room, each syllable etching a wound in Y/N's tender heart. Tears welled in her eyes as she desperately yearned for a mother's embrace that never came.

"Why can't you be more... more like someone worth loving?" her mother spat out, the words poisoning the very air Y/N breathed. The comparison to an idealized version only deepened the wounds, a constant reminder of her perceived inadequacy.

As Y/N clutched onto a threadbare teddy bear, seeking solace in the only comfort she had, her mother's disdain continued to rain down like a torrential storm. "Haven't I given enough?" She whispered wide-eyed and tearful. The weight of rejection became an unbearable burden on the fragile shoulders of a child.

"You're a burden, a mistake. I wish you were never born," her mother's harsh declaration hung in the air, a declaration that echoed in Y/N's mind for years to come.

-

As the pages of Y/N's life turned, the introduction of Yu Jimin marked the emergence of a new chapter—a chapter adorned with the delicate hues of blossoming love. Jimin, the charismatic captain of the college basketball team, became the beacon of light in Y/N's otherwise desolate world. In her, Y/N discovered a sanctuary, an oasis from the haunting shadows that had cast a perpetual gloom over her existence.

Their love, tender and poignant, unfolded like a rare flower in the garden of Y/N's sorrow. The once-barren landscape of her heart found itself adorned with the vibrant colors of happiness—an emotion that had long eluded her tormented soul. Jimin, with her warm smiles and gentle gestures, breathed life into the dormant corners of Y/N's being, and for a while, the world became a place where joy was more than just a distant dream.

In the symphony of their shared moments, a subtle shift occurred, casting Yu Jimin in an unexpected role—a character that evolved from the warmth of affection to the cold embrace of distance. As the seasons of their intertwined lives changed, Jimin, once the charismatic captain who ignited a sanctuary in Y/N's heart, became an enigma veiled in chilly detachment.

The laughter that once echoed like a comforting melody began to dissipate, replaced by an unsettling silence that hung heavily between them. Jimin's gestures, once filled with tenderness, took on an air of calculated precision, leaving Y/N to navigate the shifting landscapes of their relationship with an increasing sense of unease.

The warmth that had enveloped Y/N like a gentle embrace slowly waned, replaced by a perceptible chill that settled in the spaces where affection once thrived. Jimin's eyes, once a haven of understanding, became distant, betraying the secrets of emotions left unspoken.

Unspoken distances, subtle as the fading light of dusk, crept into the fabric of their connection. It was as if a frost had settled over their once-blooming love, leaving Y/N to navigate the delicate petals of their romance now veiled in a subtle layer of ice.

In the presence of Jimin's chilling demeanor, Y/N found herself standing at the crossroads of uncertainty, her heart navigating a landscape that seemed foreign and unfamiliar. The sanctuary that Jimin had once provided transformed into a labyrinth of unanswered questions, and Y/N, once embraced by the warmth of love, now grappled with the piercing winds of emotional detachment.

As Jimin's distant presence cast shadows over their shared moments, Y/N couldn't escape the subtle but unmistakable transformation. The once-charismatic captain became an elusive figure, leaving Y/N to traverse the landscape of their changing connection with a heart now shrouded in the cold winds of uncertainty.

The revelation unfolded in a moment of unsuspecting vulnerability. Y/N, traversing the quiet corridors of the college, stumbled upon a conversation never meant for her ears. Huddled in a corner, Jimin's friends exchanged furtive glances, unaware of Y/N's silent presence.

In hushed tones, their words carved wounds deeper than any before. The truth echoed in the confessions of Jimin's accomplices – a bet, a heartless game that persisted long after its cruel initiation. Y/N's heart tightened as the details unfolded, each word a dagger plunging into the sanctuary she had so desperately sought.

Y/N pressed herself against the cold wall, hidden in the shadows, her heart pounding in rhythm with the cruel revelations unfolding before her.

Jimin's friend, Taehyung, chuckled, oblivious to the storm brewing in Y/N's soul. "I can't believe Jimin still hasn't ended it with her. How long is this bet going to last?"

Another voice, Aeri, joined in with a callous laugh. "I heard she's dragging it out just to see how far she'll go for her. It's like she's living in a fantasy, and she's enjoying every moment of it."

The words struck Y/N like a thunderbolt. Each syllable carved a wound deeper than the last. She clutched at her chest, attempting to muffle the gasp that threatened to escape.

Yena, Jimins closest, chimed in, "Seriously, she's been through enough. When is Jimin planning to break it off?"

Taehyung replied callously, "I guess she's having fun stringing her along. It's like watching a movie, and she's the unsuspecting lead."

As the weight of the truth bore down on Y/N, she whispered to herself, "A bet... I was just a pawn in their heartless game."

She staggered away from the clandestine gathering, the corridor spinning as her world crumbled. Tears welled in her eyes, but she held them back, refusing to break in the presence of those who orchestrated her heartache.

The echo of Taehyung's laughter lingered in her ears as she retreated into the lonely darkness, her sanctuary now tainted by the bitter taste of betrayal. In the shadows, Y/N clung to the remnants of her shattered heart, haunted by the cruel dialogue that had unraveled the illusion of love she so desperately believed in.

She clung to the shadows, hidden from the gaze of those who unwittingly unraveled her world. The cruel revelation seeped into her consciousness, poisoning the fragments of joy she had fought so hard to assemble leaving nothing but the cold embrace of solitude. And in that quiet corner of the college, Y/N's world shattered, a casualty of a heartless bet she never knew she was playing.

Exhausted and betrayed, Y/N summoned the strength to confront Jimin in the dimly lit room where they had once found solace. Tears, like crystalline messengers of her shattered soul, glistened in her eyes as she turned to face Jimin—the once-charismatic captain now a haunting specter in the tragedy that unfolded.

"Haven't I given enough?" Y/N's voice, a fragile whisper, quivered with the weight of emotions suppressed for too long. Each word was a plea that hung in the air, a desperate question echoing in the hollow spaces of the room.

Confusion flickered in Jimin's eyes, a momentary lapse in the stoic facade. "Y/N, what are you talking about?"

A heavy silence lingered as Y/N took a steadying breath. "I overheard your friends, Jimin. They were talking about a bet—a game with my heart. Was it all just a cruel joke to you?"

Jimin's eyes widened in realization, and for a fleeting moment, vulnerability replaced the usual composure. "No baby, no, let me explain—"

Y/N's voice, sharp with pain, cut through the air. "Explain? How do you explain making me believe in a love that was never real? Every shared moment, every whispered 'I love you'—was it all just a facade for your amusement?"

Tears streamed down Y/N's face as she continued, her voice choked with emotion. "Why, Jimin? Why would you do that to me?"

Jimin, desperate to salvage the remnants of their unraveling connection, reached out. "Y/N, please, it's not what you think. I never meant to—"

But Y/N, unable to bear the weight of the betrayal, cut her off with a heart-wrenching cry. "Is it true? Tell me, Jimin, is it true?"

Desperation and disbelief etched across Y/N's tear-streaked face as she reached out, begging Jimin to deny the devastating reality. "Please tell me I heard wrong, Jimin. Please, tell me your friends were just kidding. Tell me I didn't invest my heart in a lie."

Jimin, caught in the tumult of the moment, hesitated. The room hung heavy with the unspoken tension, the air thick with the crushing weight of shattered trust. The plea in Y/N's eyes mirrored the shattered fragments of the sanctuary they had built, and for a moment, the haunting realization of the irreversible damage settled between them like a palpable ache.

The words hung on the precipice of Jimin's lips, but the truth remained elusive, trapped in the silence that stretched between them. The seconds ticked by, each one a painful reminder of the irreversible breach that had occurred in the fragile tapestry of their love.

The room, once a witness to stolen kisses and whispered promises, now stood witness to the heartbreaking confrontation between a love that had dared to hope and a betrayal that threatened to shatter it all.

a/n: #livelaughloveangst

[adickaboutspoons]

By the Neck; or, Pearls Mean Tears

I know we all love the idea that Ed snatched the pearl necklace from the neck of one of the guests (or possibly even the bride herself) on the wedding party boat, and how that ties in with his re-painted bride dolly and his longing to be Stede’s bride. I’ve been responsible for propagating the idea myself. So I hate to rain on our parade, but, oh my v. dears? We were wrong.

Stop looking at Ed’s soft, open mouth and beautiful, haunted eyes for a second, and take a glance at the bottom of the frame at what’s tucked up next to the left lapel of his big Blackbeard duster (srsly, how did I not notice those ridiculously oversized lapels in the trailer? I am so dumb sometimes). And lest you think that he, perhaps snatched the necklace sometime between unleashing “the kids” and the camera cutting back to him nonchalantly enjoying some cake? Here’s the necklace on “the day before that,” visible just under the curve of the top pistol on his chest:

And here it is again “the day before that,” two pearls on the strand just barely visible as he’s lighting his pipe:

So sorry my v. dears, but no. the pearls don’t represent his desire to be partnered with Stede. But that’s ok - we already have a piece of neckware that represents that: Stede’s cravat. Which Ed donned specifically so that he could die in it…

And we know that he did that, because he was only wearing the pearl necklace and his habitual gold chains from the first season just before he babygirled his way right into the path of the storm. (Also - since the crew were huddled in the hallway leading to the captain’s cabin just before they came out to find Ed angling the cannon toward the mast, do we reckon he already had it on him when he came out to take the helm? Maybe tucked away in his pocket? Where he used to keep his silk?)

But! When Ed gets to the Gravy Basket, only the pearls remain.

Similarly when he’s manacled to the railing after he awakens from his coma, he’s only wearing the pearls. There’s no good Watsonian reason to take the cravat and the chains, but LEAVE the pearls. If the characters were worried about him choking, it would make sense to remove ALL the neckwear. If Stede wanted his clothes back for some reason or Ed didn’t want it now that Stede’s back and he’s mad at him, removing the cravat makes sense, but why remove the jewelry that rightly belongs to Ed, meaning he’d still have his chains along with the pearls. If it was a matter of the crew taking Ed’s valuables as an asshole tax or something, then we’d expect chains AND pearls to be gone, leaving just the cravat. I can’t think of a single in-universe reason why only the pearls would stay.

That tells us that the pearls are SYMBOLICALLY significant to his character concept and, especially since they show up in the Gravy Basket where EVERYTHING is symbolic, integrated into his concept of self.

So if not all the bridal stuff, how ARE we meant to interpret them?

Well, first, pearls are tied to the sea, and I think it’s fair to say that in almost all iterations of his identity, Ed sees himself intrinsically linked with or near the sea (The Pirate Blackbeard, The Kraken, the Impossible Bird that never returns to land, Jeff’s Inn by the Sea, Blackbeard’s Bar and Grill and other Delicacies and Delights and Fishing Equipment, and Fisherman Ed). But various mythologies posit pearls are the tears of gods or goddesses, intrinsically linking them with expressions of sorrow. And beyond that, there’s What Pearls Are - an irritant that has to be smoothed over with layer upon layer of visually appealing cover to make it acceptable.

We know that Ed thinks he’s profoundly unlovable. He admits it to himself in as many words in the Gravy Basket, but we’ve known this from season 1 when he confessed to Stede that he’s not a good person, and that’s why he hasn’t any friends. We see plenty of people with whom he is on friendly terms, like Jack or Anne and Mary, or who respect or admire Blackbeard, like his crew and Spanish Jackie, and Jeff easily wins over the crowd on the French Party Boat, but Blackbeard and Jeff are protective personas he cultured like layers of nacre. They’re not Just Ed.

Just Ed made himself profoundly vulnerable and kissed a boy on a beach. Just Ed got abandoned on a dock. Just Ed got told that it would have been better if the English had killed him.

So I think it’s significant that he and Stede exchange their second kiss when he’s been stripped of his pearls in exchange for a cat bell.

This is Ed devoid of all the signifiers of his self-constructed identities - just like on the beach with his clean-shaved face and standard-issue academy uniform - no pretenses to hide behind. He’s able to be soft and vulnerable and honest - expressing desire and being receptive of it, clearly establishing his needs and boundaries. He’s able to be Just Ed and be loved and accepted for it.

So what does it mean that, once the cat-bell era is over, Ed choses to put the pearls back on?

I think it’s telling that, after a brief interlude with Ned Low, we start episode 6 with Ed in two scenes where he’s in a state of low-grade anxiety over the fruits of his Kraken era. First, we see him scanning a horizon for a storm that he can feel, but not see, which, as pointed out by @edsbacktattoo is more or less a premonition about the impending arrival of Ned Low, whom Kraken!Ed goaded into coming for him by breaking his consecutive raid record in a bid of passive suicidality. Then, we have Ed’s room of gilded guilt. All this represents, to Ed, tangible evidence of his inherent toxicity - the rotten core of him that has to be smoothed over.

I think it’s also significant that the pearls are there for the sex scene at the end of the episode.

Unlike the scene at the end of episode 5, this is NOT Ed giving and receiving love on his own terms. Ned’s appearance was his fault - the result of his recklessness and self-destruction, and Stede is the one who has paid the price for it. Ed consents to sex, though he wanted to take things slow, and is not really ready, but it’s by no means enthusiastic. It’s relenting. It’s a way of smoothing things over for and with Stede rather than addressing the underlying agitation.

Even though Ed rids himself of his leathers - the last trappings of his Blackbeard persona, dropped overboard just like the bride doll he painted in his image - he keeps the pearls when he assumes his “just a regular guy” guise.

Because this isn’t really Ed expressing and embracing his authentic self. Fisherman Ed is just another palatable persona (a whim borne on the back of one caught fish, because if the people in his life are going to keep telling him he’s whim-prone, he may as well lean all the way in and prove them right, right?). All the same underlying anxiety about being unlovable is still there, and it’s thrown into overdrive now that everyone wants a piece of Stede. After all, if he REALLY loves Stede, would it not be best to release him from the obligation of being tied to someone so fundamentally damaged? Let him find someone who can TRULY make him happy now that he can have his pick? So he picks a fight to push Stede away - tells him that their first time together was “a mistake,” tells him that he’s leaving (again), tells him that fishermen and pirates (read: Ed and Stede) have nothing in common.

So, while they are lovely, and he wears those fine things well, I hope that we might soon see the end of the strand of pearls. Because for Ed, pearls mean tears.

[bloomingdayswithyou]

Can i request lucifer with a reader that’s dealing with writer’s block? thank you ^^

Ink and Despair

Pairing: Lucifer x gn!reader

Words: 775

A/N: hi anon! since you didn't specify the gender I made them gn. If you want me to change that please tell me so!

Writer's block was the cruelest of afflictions, and you found yourself ensnared by its unforgiving grasp. Staring at the blank screen of your laptop, you sighed in frustration, the cursor blinking mockingly at you. Your thoughts swirled like a storm within your mind, a cacophony of half-formed ideas and tangled sentences. It was as if the well of inspiration had run dry, leaving only the arid wasteland of your imagination.

Sitting at your desk in the cozy attic of the House of Lamentation, you tapped your fingers rhythmically against the wooden surface. The room was dimly lit, save for the soft, ambient glow of a desk lamp. Outside, the rain pelted against the windowpane, a symphony of sorrowful echoes. Lucifer had advised you to stay inside for the evening, given the inclement weather, but you couldn't help but feel that the storm within you was far more tumultuous than the one outside.

Lucifer himself sat across from you, engrossed in a tome of ancient texts. His silver hair gleamed in the lamplight, and his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose lent him an air of scholarly elegance. The faint scent of his cologne wafted over to you, mingling with the subtle aroma of parchment and aged leather. His presence was both soothing and intimidating, as he was the personification of wisdom and responsibility in the demon world.

With a heavy sigh, you rested your head in your hands, frustration building to an unbearable crescendo. "I just can't do it, Lucifer," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper.

He looked up from his reading, concern etched into his features. "Is something troubling you, my dear? You seem quite distraught."

You bit your lower lip, struggling to put your feelings into words. "It's this damn writer's block. I have a deadline approaching, and I can't come up with anything. I'm letting everyone down."

Lucifer closed his book and placed it carefully on the desk. "Ah, the dreaded writer's block. It plagues even the most creative minds." He stood and walked over to your side, leaning against the desk. "Perhaps I can offer some assistance. Tell me, what's the nature of your assignment?"

You explained the concept of the story you were supposed to write, and Lucifer listened attentively, his fingers gently tapping his chin in thought. After a moment, he smiled reassuringly. "I see. It's a common theme, but I'm sure we can find a unique angle to approach it. Let's brainstorm together."

His offer warmed your heart. With his guidance, you began to bounce ideas back and forth, and slowly but surely, a plot began to take shape. Lucifer's eloquence and deep knowledge of literature and history lent a richness to your story that you couldn't have achieved on your own.

As the hours passed, you lost track of time. The storm outside had transformed into a gentle rain, and the attic felt like a haven of creativity. The chemistry between you and Lucifer was palpable, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of kinship with him, despite his usual stern demeanor.

Eventually, the story was born from your shared efforts. It was a tale of forbidden love and redemption, set against a backdrop of celestial and infernal realms. The characters came to life, and their struggles mirrored your own in overcoming writer's block. It was a story that resonated with your own journey, a testament to the power of creativity and perseverance.

Lucifer read the final draft aloud, his voice like a mellifluous symphony, bringing the words to life. "I must say, my dear, this is a remarkable piece. You've managed to capture the essence of human resilience and the indomitable spirit of creativity."

You blushed, humbled by his praise. "I couldn't have done it without your help, Lucifer. You're not just a scholar and a leader but a true inspiration."

Lucifer's lips quirked into a rare, genuine smile. "Thank you, my dear. You possess a unique talent for storytelling, and I was merely here to provide a nudge in the right direction. Now, I suggest you rest. You've been working diligently, and you deserve a break."

You nodded, grateful for his guidance. As you closed your laptop and prepared to retire for the night, you couldn't help but feel a renewed sense of purpose and inspiration. Lucifer's presence had not only helped you overcome your writer's block but had also enriched your life in unexpected ways.

The storm outside had passed, and the sky was clear. In the quiet of your room, you knew that with Lucifer by your side, you could weather any creative tempest that came your way.

.

.

.

[katerinaaqu]

"The man who came to know many cities"

Did you know there is a local tradition regarding Odysseus in which the king of Ithaca was the founder of Lisbon/Lisboa the capital of Portugal 🇵🇹?

This information was brought to me by my dearest friend @artsofmetamoor (go and check her awesome art!)

If you are a fan of Iliad and the Odyssey check out this amazing design of a high fantasy armor inspired by Mycenaean designs and the description of Odysseus's helmet!

So the myth goes as follows;

At some point during his wandering about (and funny story how I cannot find a definitive answer if that happened during the events of Odyssey or if it happened during the redemption journey which Odysseus had to take after and if the latter is true it would be hilarious if Poseidon decided to be petty af and decided to throw one last storm to Odysseus sending him to yet another detour for no reason 🤣🤣🤣🤣)

Anyways during one of these wanderings Odysseus found himself to Portugal to the area of the current city of Lisbon. He and his men became enamored by the beauty of the location and impressed by the fertility of land and the strategic position, Odysseus decided it would be a good spot to set a new city; spreading the culture to the area and at the same time create a good and strategic spot

However as it happens to Greek mythology in general and to Odysseus in particular, the area was inhabited by a beautiful goddess. The goddess was half human and had a serpentine tail. And, surprise surprise, she falls in love with Odysseus

(I swear to God this guy is a goddess magnet 🤣🤣🤣🤣 like...dude! 🤣👍)

The goddess wanted to make Odysseus stay with her and become her husband. Odysseus of course was eager to return home to his wife (or extra careful because he learnt his lesson with beautiful goddesses "asking" for him to stay! 😅😆) he decided to leave another man in his place (that guy must have been either the luckiest guy in the world or the most unlucky take your pick hahahaha)

When the goddess discovered the substitution she became furious and tried to catch the fleeting ship with her tail. When she filed to do so, she threw herself in the sea and died of sorrow for her beloved one run away

(Goddammit Odysseus the Heartbreaker! 😂😂)

From her huge body were created the seven hills of Lisbon (and I assume the lucky or unlucky guy Odysseus substituted himself with was left with a nice new city all by himself lol 😆)

Yet another unknown story regarding mythology that would be nice to be heard more! Hehehe see? This dude just went to yet another place hahahahaha 😂 🤣 😆

[tealfling]

A/N: It’s the first day of winter break and I’m sick (hope it’s not that flu that’s going around).

Let’s do that sick character trope everyone likes. Let’s go with Amaranth bc she’s still my favorite girl and bc she’s a cleric. Kinda proof read.

Probably going to strain canon a little bit, maybe bring in some more DnD concepts. Idk.

Astarion x Amaranth (named f!Tav), references to previous sexual encounters, but not smut 18+

S: Amaranth gets a little spell sick from a flower, Astarion fusses over her, and keeps her company until she feels better.

Unwell

It got worse so fast. Amaranth thought to herself. It hurt to think. There's an invisible pressure in her skull. Like her head was held in an ogre's grip and he means to crush her. Amaranth was lugged onto Wyll's back. It was so hard to focus. She couldn't make out their words. Her throat hurt. It was so dry. It pricked. Every attempt to speak failed. Her chest was heavy and her breathing labored. I just want to lie down.

The sun hung low preparing to set as Wyll's call cut through camp. Shadowheart. Not a good sign if the party enters camp calling for a cleric. Wonder who's hurt. Astarion thought amused. But then he remembered the other group cleric should be with him.

"A little help here!" Karlach's voice calls. Not a good sign at all.

Gale and Shadowheart were the first to meet the party. Astarion was in his tent finishing washing up after his supper. He flung the bloody rag in the wash basin and pulled on a fresh shirt.

"What in the hells happened to her?!" Gale exclaimed upon seeing Amaranth. The tiefling's normal deep amethyst color was so paled she was almost lilac. She was limply laid over Wyll, her tail nearly dragging the ground. Dark circles hung from her eyes.

"I'm not sure. She seemed fine, then suddenly she had trouble talking, and then this." Wyll shrugged.

Shadowheart lifted the back of her hand to the tiefling's cheek.

Amaranth whimpered in relief. "C-cold." Her word broke in her dry, raspy throat while she leaned into the half-elf 's delicate hand.

"Lady of Sorrows guide us. She's burning up. Almost as much as Karlach," Shadowheart stated, placing her other hand on Amaranth's face. Radiant light filled the raven haired woman's eyes and her hand glowed warm with healing magic. But the purple tiefling didn't respond. "It didn't take," whispered Shadowheart.

When Astarion had exited his tent, he had every intention of teasing whichever new found friend was foolish enough to get injured on what should have been a rather easy mission. Wyll, Karlach, and Lae'zel were all a little bloody. He could smell their dry crusted blood from his tent. What he didn't understand was why Wyll had a pale purple tiefling draped on his back. The pit of Astarion's stomach twisted. He couldn't smell a fresh wound from her, but she wasn't moving. Why was she so still?

"What's going on?! What's happened!? What's wrong with her!?!" He demanded storming toward the group.

In her feverish daze, Amaranth locked onto his voice, even if he was only a white blurry glow.

"Not to sound- ungentlemanly- but could someone else take her? She's a bit heavy," Wyll whispered.

Amaranth mustered all her strength to push off of the warlock's back, attempting to mutter apologies for her weight as she tried to slide off him. Her balance was completely off when she freed herself and she swayed wildly.

"Pay no mind to him, he can hardly lift his own blade," Astarion hissed at Wyll as he deftly grabbed Amaranth by the arm and pulled her into him. Gods. Her skin was so hot it surprised him that his own flesh didn't sizzle. "What's going on with her?!" He barked again, petting the back of her hair and caressing a hand on the back of her neck while she leaned into him. He cupped her feverish cheeks in his hands looking her over. She looked positively ill. He returned his hands to her neck and forehead in some pathetic attempt to cool her down.

Amaranth hummed in relief. Astarion's body was always perfectly cold. When the hand on her neck slid up to her forehead it felt the pressure in her skull ease. She lifted her face to him. There was a weak smile on her lips and her gaze seemed hazy, unfocused. She gripped Astarion shirt with one hand for balance as she used the other to rummage in the dagger pouch on her hip. Astarion was supporting all of her weight when she pulled out a blue dagger. She flinched. It was quick, almost missable. "I made this for you." Her voice was hoarse and broken, not its usual canter. He lightly pried it from her fingers.

"Oh," he paused, unsure of what to say. He really didn't need another dagger and currently was more interested in whatever ailed her. "Thank you, Darling."

"May I see that?" Gale asked with an outstretched hand.

The vampire eyed the wizard narrowly, "She just handed me this gift and you already want to eat it? I think not. It's mine."

"For Mystra's sake. I'm not some carnival sword swallower, I don't want to consume your new dagger. I just want to inspect it. Something doesn't seem right." Gale said exasperated.

"Ugh, fine." Astarion dexterously flipped the blade in hand offering the handle to Gale.

"Thank you," Gale said, grabbing the dagger in hand. He immediately winced in pain with an ah and let it fall to the ground.

Astarion protectively pulled Amaranth into him further, turning her away from the dagger. It hadn't been painful when he held it.

Gale looked at Wyll, "Where did you say you went today?" The wizard rubbed his aching fingers.

Wyll explained the teleporting to and from the Underdark, and how their leader had figured out how to use the forge at the Blighted Village.

"That certainly explains things," said Gale stepping back from the dagger further. He continued, "Sussur Trees are known for their anti-magic fields. The blooms will leech magic from mages and silence their ability to cast. Did you not feel its effects, Wyll?"

"I never went near the tree. There were Hooked Horrors surrounding the tree that we fought off while she collected the bark."

Gale sighed, "Of course she did. Alone. Short term exposure to the tree or any part of it like blooms or bark are easily recovered from, just a temporary gap in casting. But it sounds like our leader carried the bark of tree then the dagger made of it's essence for sometime, essentially magically exsanguinating herself. So worry not Astarion, I'll have nothing more to do with that new dagger of yours. I hope its service in your capable hands proves worth the effect it took to obtain it though. As for Amaranth, no amount of healing magic will help her just now. Luckily for her, this ailment is akin to a flu or pneumonia. Rest and fluids are the key! She should be right as rain in a day or two. Best get her to bed."

The crew divvied up. Gale put himself on soup duty. Shadowheart took Amaranth to her tent to help her out her armor and wash her up. Astarion only relinquished the tiefling bc he felt like she'd be more comfortable with Shadowheart undressing her. Ripping off her clothes in lust was one thing, this was...a different kind of intimate. He wanted to do it, but he wasn't sure he was ready to unpack all the implications that would come from the act. Or if Amaranth would want him to do so.

Astarion instead got everything Shadowheart needed to prepare Amaranth for bed, then he gathered his new dagger from the ground. It was weighted well enough, with an interesting tree pattern, and a faint blue glow. Dangerous to magic casters, huh? She'd made this for him and made herself ill in the process. Why was she so damn stupid? That's why using her as a target was so easy. There's no way she had it that bad for him, surely. Astarion knew he was good, but not 'make one senseless and stupid' good. No, this was all her own foolish habit of people pleasing. Something she didn't have to go through such lengths for, certainly not for the likes of him. He decided to hide the damned thing in his tent for now, he couldn't look at it while she was so sickly.

He returned to Amarnath's tent, pacing outside until Shadowheart called him to get the water bowl to fetch fresh water. When he entered, Shadowheart had the other woman cleaned and wrapped in blankets on the bed roll. Amaranth for her part, was weakly trying to kick off her covers. He wasn't sure if her brow glistened from being washed or sweating, those extra quilts surely weren't helping.

Astarion tsked. "You know she hates that! That's far too many blankets," he fussed kneeling to adjust the bedding. "Don't wrap her so tightly. You need to leave room for air to circulate."

Shadowheart rolled her eyes. "Well, if you can do better, why don't you?"

"I can and I will. Your service is no longer needed," he snapped.

"Fine." Shadowheart flipped her ponytail and left the tent.

Amaranth shakily grasped Astarion's hand when it was within reach. "My Star?" She croaked.

He paused. Something squeezed in his chest before he responded as cheerfully as he could muster, "Yes, my pet? How can I help?" He brought his other hand to her cheek. She leaned into his cool palm, but her glassy eyes stayed in him. Each breath a struggle. Her skin was nearly uncomfortably warm. This was terrible. How could those idiots let this happen? They should have been paying more attention. He should have gone. If only he could make her better. Seeing her like this was.... distressing. Knowing no healing they had at their disposal would help was--awful.

Through unsteady breaths Amaranth said, "Can you h-hold me? I know you don't like to be t-touched and I-I hate to ask, but I just really want to snuggle with y-you." Her eyes watered a little and her voice cracked as she pleaded. "Your cold feels n-nice," she added, as if there needed to be some reasoning excuse for him.

Gods. That was heart wrenching. He was beginning to think he'd made a grave mistake. This woman would be the death of him. He'd chosen the wrong target. As true as her statement might be, she was also wrong. He craved her innocent soft touches. Time and again her tender caresses had shown him that she could melt him, break him down, and re-forge him into something new. He liked her touch, it's the fact that he wanted it so badly considering what he was doing to her that repulsed him. But she never touched him like anyone had before, in fact this was the first time she'd ever asked him for anything. Even then, the look in her eyes told him she'd already resigned herself to be denied. As he should, it would be the right thing to do. But Astarion wasn't known for being selfless, he liked when she allowed him to be selfish with her.

"Oh, my poor little sweet, how could I say no to you in this condition?" He purred. There was a flicker of joy in Amaranth's eyes as she smiled weakly, a glimpse of her normal brightness. That in itself had been worth it to Astarion. She feebly tried to gather and rearrange pillows, but Astarion was quick to move in and overtake the task. Her pillow collection had grown increasingly since his nighttime visits had become more frequent and prolonged. He could scoff at how she always accommodated other people (even him) over herself, it made him fluff a pillow a little too aggressively and Amaranth had noticed.

"Astar-?" She started worryingly.

"Shhh, my dear, you want to snuggle? Come closer," his said velvetly, snaking one arm under her neck while using the other to pull her close. He allowed her to adjust for a moment, somehow she found a way to bury a horn beside his neck so she could rest her cheek on his throat. Once that was settled she quickly tangled her other limbs amongst his, locking her legs over and under his, curling her tail around his calf. Karlach had said tieflings didn't like their tails messed with because they could be easily broken and they only touched their tails to their most trusted friends- or lovers. Astarion felt like his heart was in his throat. Amaranth trusted him, actually trusted him. He hoped her blind faith didn't come back to haunt them. She grabbed his hands, smacking one to her forehead with a delightful sigh. The other she laced her own behind his and placed his palm through her opened shirt on her chest, just below her throat. He could feel her heart, thumping, hard at work trying to gather the energy to heal. Astarion gently smiled, pressed his hand to her chest, and squeezed her fingers as if encouraging it to heal quicker.

He rested his chin on her head, taking in her minty scent, feeling her heart, listening to her breathing. Counting the moments until she finally settled into some form of sleep. Astarion felt so warm. And not just physically. This was a first. No one had ever asked this of him before. She had wanted this to comfort her, but it was oddly comforting to him as well. He unexpectedly, released a small kiss on her forehead and risked waking her by embracing her in closer. If only this moment could last forever.

Shadowheart threw open the tent flap. She halted, absorbing the scene before her to insure she was seeing correctly before commenting, "My, don't you look comfortable."

"Well, when our fearless leader requests a cooling touch, who am to deny her? It is an honor and a privilege to play 'personal icepack' for our incapacitated leader. At least someone gets to benefit from my undead chill," he said pompously, lounging back further. "And for my part, I get to relax on a bed of pillows- exempt from all camp chores, mind you- while lying under the most beautiful woman in Faerûn? Please. Of course I'm comfortable. I can't think of a place I'd rather be," Astarion boasted. "So don't think if asking to trade places."

Shadowheart rolled her eyes, "Well, then, here's fresh water, towel, and Gale says the soup is almost ready," she paused looking over the pale tiefling. "But I think we should just leave her be. She can eat after she rests."

"Of course she can! I'm not disturbing her for Gale to stroke his culinary ego." Astarion bit, quietly stroking at the back of the sleeping tiefling's sliver head. There was a slanted look from Shadowheart instead of a reply. Her eyes trailed down from Astarion stroking Amaranth's hair to the parts of their limbs exposed from the sheets where a purple tail tied around his ankle. "What?! What are you looking at?"

"Oh, nothing," Shadowheart hummed mischievously. "But you might want to be careful, Astarion, or people might get the impression you have a beating heart." She teased over her shoulder, exiting the tent. Gone before Astarion could find a free pillow to chuck at her.

Amaranth squirmed on Astarion's chest. "Hush, my sweet, go back to sleep." He shushed, gathering her close.

"You think I'm beautiful," she meekly questioned. He could feel her lip move over his throat, her warm breath ghosting over chest.

Shit. She was awake? It'd be easy enough to play off. "Of course, Darling. I'm a man of exquisite taste. Would I settle for anything less? You're pure perfection."

"You're the only person besides my father that's called me beautiful."

How depressing was that. What was he supposed to say? Every day he noticed something else about her to admire. He didn't know which god had sent her down, but they had definitely put in the work. "Then I suppose it's to my benefit that other people are blind. Your beauty is mine to relish in and I don't plan on sharing." Astarion huffed. He didn't really know what to say. He really did find her utterly, devastatingly gorgeous, but how was he supposed to explain it all. Doing so would only complicate things anyway. Either way, how could he just picking things about her that were wonderful? She was a better mirror than him. Oh. He lifted his finger to the tip of his ear, sure enough there was a wayward curl wrapped around it. This is her favorite one. He thought, twisting the curl around his finger. A fluttery feeling danced in his stomach. Shit. Her and her poetry.

"Do you like the dagger?" Thankfully her hoarse voice ripped him from the rabbit hole he was crawling into and broke him back.

"You mean the thing that drained you of your magic more grievously than I've ever drained you of your blood? Yes, let's talk about that," he sneered.

Amaranth pushed off his chest to face him. "You don't like it?" She sniffled.

"Oh no you don't! You put that pouty lip away right now, sweetheart." Astarion grabbed her shoulders to help keep her up right. He made an exasperated noise with his tongue when he saw her eyes water, "I never said I didn't like it. It looks like a very nice dagger and I'm sure I'll use it to violently end the lives of many wizards- while imagining they're Gale, of course, but Darling. Look at you." He grabbed her face. "Look at the state you put yourself in to get a dagger of all things. You're practically a shadow of your former glory. Luckily, Gale says you'll regain your magic, but who knows how long you'll be indisposed. It was an absolutely inane thing to do to mess with something you're unfamiliar with alone. Gods, it's hard enough with you triggering traps all the time, now I have to worry about you touching plants?" He grazed a hand over her head, her fever was coming down. Astarion grabbed Amaranth's water flask and held it to her lips.

"You worry about me triggering traps?" she asked before taking a sip. The first one went down smoothly so she braved a larger gulp.

That made her cough and Astarion pulled the flash away. "Darling, if you blow up in a trap, I will also, blow up in a trap, and I'd rather not. Honestly." He thumbed the remaining water from her lips and swept the silver hair from her face. "No, the lesson here, my love, is that I need you to be more selfish. You care too much about other people, and I need you to worry about yourself more."

"But I wanted you to have a new dagger. One isn't even enchanted and the other we found in a roast. When I saw the instructions for the forge contained a dagger, I just...thought of you," Amaranth fidgeted with her hair.

"And now I'm one dagger deadlier and you're missing your healing abilities that I've come to rely on so dearly when all the stabbing goes wrong. If you want to think of me, think like this: How can I keep my beautiful vampire companion alive?"

"But I'd thought it's pretty."

"It is pretty, but I don't see what that has anything to with this. Honestly, you don't normally worry about such things, that flower must have really done a number on you," Astarion said.

"I just wanted you to have it because I know you like pretty things," she replied softy.

"Yes, well, I could just grab you the next time I want a pretty thing to fi-," Astarion cut off his sentence with a cough.

Amaranth's eyes widened, wondering why Astarion cut off his sentence. His pinking ears confirming it would have been racy.

"Ahem," Astarion collected himself, "It seems like you're feeling a little better. If you're well enough to argue, you're well enough to eat." Astarion elegantly popped to his feet. "I'll fetch you dinner. Hope you're prepared for Gale's soup."

"I guess. You'll come back right?" Amaranth seemed worried.

Honestly, she was acting more clingy that normal. Astarion smiled, "Of course, Darling." It was a nice stroke to his ego. He tried not to dwell the other brain stroke he almost had.

Astarion went to grab her supper, but ended up arguing with Gale over his choice of tea. Amarnath doesn't care for tea so why bother preparing something if it's not the kind she likes?

Amaranth was sitting up when he entered her tent. He fussed as he tried to make sure she ate while the others kept popping in to check on her. Eventually, she tired, re-tangling herself around him as she drifted off to sleep. Astarion ran his fingers through her hair until he entered mediation.

In the morning, Amaranth popped up cheerfully planting an exaggerated kiss on Astarion's cheek.

"What was that for?" His groan obviously fake, as he stirred.

Amaranth planted another one closer to his ear, "Thank you."

"For what?" Astarion said propping himself on an elbow. Amaranth admired his disheveled look.

"For staying with me, obviously," she rolled her eyes. She lifted her hand. He brow pulled as she concentrated on something and a golden spark sputtered from her fingers, but nothing more happened. "Tank's not full yet I guess, but I feel it, it's there." She said softly. When she went to stand Astarion grabbed her arm.

"Where in the Nine Hells do you think you're going?" He snapped.

"Um, out?" Amaranth tilted her head and scrunched her face.

"Why?"

"Um, because we have a list of shit to do to free us of these parasites?" Amaranth tried to stand again.

Astarion pulled her back into bed, "You're not going anywhere until you can cast something. I don't often agree with listening to Gale, but here I must concur that you need bed rest until you're up to your normal capabilities. If that means another day in bed then so be it."

Amaranth pouted, then smiled, "Will you stay with me?"

"Why, so I can wait on you hand and foot again? Like some nursemaid?" Astarion said pointedly.

"Didn't you say you liked lying on my bed of pillows? Free from the burden of camp chores?" Amaranth wormed her way around Astarion where she could whisper in his ear, "Under the most mildly attractive women in Faerûn?"

Astarion flipped Amaranth to the side so he could face her. "Don't you dare misquote me. You know I think you're beautiful, almost as beautiful as myself and I won't settle for less," he preened. "But... That is a thought. I can think of several activities to do under a beautiful woman that don't require magic, and several more over them." His eyes darkened and his tone lowered as he pulled her body close, nuzzling into her neck.

Amaranth leaned back palming his chest, weakly pretending to keep him at bay. "Sorry, Darling, my nursemaid says I'm not cleared for such strenuous activities." She teased dodging neck kisses.

He rested his head on her shoulder with a sigh. She was right. Her body needed rest to recover. He would feel worse afterwards if she was weakened again. "Fine. You're right." He said finally into her collar bone.

Tsk. "Awe. You gave up so easily. It's fine though, we can just cuddle." Amaranth said petting his white curls. "After breakfast though, I'm really hungry."

Astarion laughed, "Of course, my dear. You need to regain your energy. Maybe we can revisit your restrictions with your nursemaid later when you're more- energized." He pecked her lips before leaving to get her breakfast.

[kiliinstinct]

One-Shot Master List

┈➤ Table of Contents ◬Mature ✮Featured

◘ Fairy Tail

➸ One Shots

Primal: ◬

Soft Caress: ◬

Dancing Flames: ◬

Tease: ◬

The Mood: Rekindled: ◬

What Doesn’t Submit:

Progression of Attraction:

Don’t Think About It:

Under The Starlight: ◬

None The Wiser: ◬

Under The Table: ◬

Wash Away My Tears:

The Matching Scale: ◬

Settling With Insecurity: ◬

The Morning After: ◬

Then It All Flips:

A Moment In Time:

Mindsplitting:

Mistletoe Claim:

Sun In The Rain:

Difference In Opinion: ◬

All In: ◬

Fire Sprite No. 5:

The Concept of Ready:

M.U.T.B:

Warm Comforts:

Untitled Guardian Angel AU:

Have You Missed Me?: ◬

Brother’s Wingman:

In The Garden:

Stood Up:

EOTW:

Refinement:

Transient -

The Secret -

A Slushie a Day

The Forbidden Temple

Taste Test -

In The Closet ◬

His Sun and Stars

Hand of Sorrow

Hyper Focus

Side-Lines

Closure

Snowflakes on Shadows ✮

A Celestial Promise ✮

◘ Genshin Impact

➸ One Shots

Of Rumors And Almond Tofu

Magnetism ✮

◘ Misc.

➸ One Shots

Our Hearts Talk On The Ice - Yuri on Ice 

A Realization From Ice Cream - Yu Yu Hakusho

Before The Storm - Legend of Zelda

➨Return to Master List ➨To Multi-Chapter List

[straynoahide]

ainulindalë meta (II)

Index post here

Themes and comparison

the narrative of the ainulindale is divided into three themes (T1, T2, T3, for short), musical segments that occur in sequence in the 'timeless' halls, the Ainur and God's transcendent abode. the timeless halls are different from the Void.

each has a similar narrative structure: first we are told something about Eru (an action, or an emotion), then there's a description of the beginning to the musical segment, followed by an event (related to the Discord, that breaks the Harmony), followed by development(s).

for T2 and T3 we also have a comparative description to the themes before. T1 has nothing to compare itself to, as before was silence.

in addition, i think we could add an 'aftermath' (A) and analyze a similar sequence, so we can make an overall discussion for each (T1, T2, T3, A). i think we can map how the structure/sequence of the music matches the periodization of the ages, the sequence and meaning of events in the overarching narrative of arda. i might go on a lot of metaphysical tangents while i do that.

so first i'm going to go through each point for the themes and the aftermath, comparatively. when all the parts are laid out i'm going to discuss that correspondence with time-reckoning, lore events, and themes that have mostly to do with tolkienian theodicy and eschatology - like the doom of men and apokatastasis.

this includes discussing some heavy (both christian, but really universal too) anthropo/theological concepts. so on to it:

T1: -Eru: Eru teaches the Ainur to sing collectively (as a 'choir' capable of harmony) by playing each their part, filling their role -Beginning: Harmony of the Ainur -Event: Discord of Melkor 'to aggrandize his role' -Development(s): Storm of sound -Comparative description: n/a

T2: -Eru: Eru is amused ("smiles"), raises his left hand -Beginning: Second Theme "gathers power" and finds "new beauty" -Event: the Discord rises "in uproar" and "contends" -Development(s): War of sound "more violent than before" / many Ainur "sing no longer", others "joined the Discord" and Melkor "has mastery" -Comparative description: the Second Theme is "like and yet unlike" the First Theme

T3: -Eru: Eru is displeased ("stern") and raises his right hand -Beginning: Third Theme is "first gentle" but "gathers power" in "profundity"; it is described as 'deep, wide, slow', blended with "immesurable sorrow" from which its "beauty chiefly comes" -Event: Discord tries to "drown" the theme by "violence"; it is described as 'loud, vain, endlessly repeated', itself with little harmony but "unity of its own" in 'clamorous unison' -Development(s): the more triumphant notes of the Discord are 'woven into' the 'solemn pattern of the theme' / the Halls and beyond "shake with tremor" -Comparative description: the Third Theme is unlike the other themes - conceived by Eru alone, unknown to the Ainur 'in counsel'

A: -Eru: Eru is angry ("terrible") and raises both hands -Beginning/Event: a Piercing Chord -Development(s): Silence & Melkor's Shame -Comparative description: n/a (the music ceases) - until there should be a "New, Greater Music" with the Children (Elves, men, etc) aka a Second Music. The Ainulindalë is thus the First Music (a "Great" music), distinct from the Second; all Themes discussed are of it.

Discussion

The First Theme is the most straight-forward. Eru is teaching the Ainur each their own role, preparing them for the intended Harmony that would produce creation in its state of grace: Arda Unmarred, the world before Melkor's corruption.

Melkor, the most powerful Ainu from the get-go, seeks to aggrandize himself, actually, to take on the role of creator. this is clearly, in the beginning, about his desire to imitate his creator and create. creation is good; there is no inherent desire to surpass, destroy, or spoil.

while you can argue the imitation of god is intrinsically hubristic and bad from a human perspective, perhaps it is more plain to simply say it is a kind of attempt from melkor to attain 'full' divine capacity, and leave value judgments to the (literary) creator about whether such an apotheosis is good or bad or neither. I think Tolkien answers that through his envisioning of the Second Music.

at any rate, to create Melkor needs sth called the 'Secret Fire' or Flame Imperishable that is within Eru itself, so he can't get it. he doesn't know it, and he clearly thinks it is possible for him to attain it, so he seeks it in the Void.

in seeking this he leaves the rest; he is already different by nature -all of them are distinct from each other, individual and free-, but Melkor also becomes more unlike the rest in this darker way out of his own actions. he is in the Void only with his own thoughts, and thus his worries are concerns are for himself alone.

i think it is interesting we are told about assigned roles (by a figure of authority) and not natures. Ainur are to play their part in a symphony, that possibly God has fitted to the natural qualities of each, but they are roles nonetheless. nothing says that one Ainu could not have played the role of another.

Melkor's conflict is to fulfill his assigned role. so this is important: when it's God's time and he returns, Melkor is able to sing in Harmony but he chooses not to. Melkor is free and exercises his freedom in this manner. it is not his nature to break from his role, it is his chosen option.

and it's not just about singing differently (quality) but something about quantity or "how much" he takes for himself. the metaphorical "space" he occupies in the melody being greater ('aggrandize') than was presumably assigned to his role.

this behavior produces the Discord because it does not match with what the rest is doing. the manner God instructed them to fulfill their roles within the whole was not intended for Melkor's rebellion, it was intended for Melkor's assignment.

but Melkor is only truly concerned with his role and not with the whole symphony. he is a part, but he becomes totalizing and the part changes the whole from perfectly harmonious to imperfectly dissonant. the harmony and unity in the First Theme are broken.

it's described as the "storm" of sound.

a storm, so we're supposed to think of thunder. big noises associated to fires and danger that startle us because it is, well, unpleasantly coming out of nowhere from our perspective.

Melkor's sound is unexpected, loud, unpredictable to the rest of the Ainur who have not strayed in his singular pursuit, which itself comes from his singular, god-given nature.

there's a combination of qualities we are given as naturally Melkorian, (1) being mightiest among his peers -thus having no real equal in power (not necessarily the same as strength)-, (2) a strong and relentless creative desire, (3) a restlessness that drives him to the Void to seek out what he longs for (through the Secret Fire) - to fulfill his nature instead of his role.

it will later become unavoidable to think about whether Melkor (among others) has or doesn't have, retains or doesn't retain, redeeming qualities. I think it doesn't matter in that these are qualities explicitly stated in the narrative as god-given gifts. not only that, i think it's a wrong frame of thought. Melkor exists, so they are qualities period: without any of them, Melkor wouldn't be Melkor.

he would be less able/unfree to alter creation and sub-create, unmoved to do so, or apathetic despite wanting to - and we may post hoc wish for this or see this in a positive light - but he wouldn't be the individual spirit created by God in any of those hypotheticals, so clearly the Creator hasn't created a Melkor-less world, just like he hasn't created a world without any other spirit of child. we are where we are, just like the Children are in Arda.

[secretly-an-automaton]

Dannymay days 4 & 6:

Wander / immortal au

Phantom travelled.

It was one of the few things that Phantom knew, one of the few endeavors it could still manage with its ever-degrading personhood.

Although, perhaps ‘travel’ wasn’t the right word–once it might’ve been, when its form was substantial enough, solid enough around the edges to contain a purpose, but that, along with anything else that might have brought Phantom closer to ‘person’ rather than ‘shadow of a person’, ‘echo of a person’, or ‘barest whisper of what might have once been a person’, had been lost to it over so many years. ‘Travelling’ implied one had a destination, which, too, was too solid of a concept to be contained by the remnant that was Phantom.

So, perhaps Phantom did not travel. Perhaps it was more apt to say that Phantom wandered.

Locations and the names of those locations were as lost to it as anything else, but sometimes, the feelings they invoked–might’ve invoked in the person it once was–would hit Phantom like tiny ripples against the hull of an unmanned boat, long after its passengers had been dragged off by some storm the boat had forgotten. They were rarely good feelings; sorrow, mourning, and regretful familiarity were the words Phantom might’ve put to them, if it were still capable of such a thing. It might’ve wondered what had become of the life it once had, to leave nothing behind but these empty buildings and the sour taste of loss in the air, if it were still capable of such a thing.

Since it was not, Phantom wandered instead, through empty halls like an entity worthy of its moniker.

AO3

Masterpost

[zazzander]

Translating the Prophecy of Seven into Latin:

In light of the fact that the current version of the prophecy isn't done very well at all. I decided to try and translate it myself! This is bringing me back to Latin 101 lol, but it's pretty fun.

Seven half-bloods shall answer the call,

Septem filii deorum curam respondebunt

The Latin word for "demigod" is literally heros, however, the translation is "halfbloods". This is tricky. A literal version of this would probably be semisanguines, however, I believe the intent is to refer to children of gods (rather than legacies). So I've made this filii deorum, "children of the gods".

I used the word "curam" for "the call". It can mean that they are answering a command / charge (I think). But it also means they might be answering/reacting to:

an attendant, guardian, observer.

anxiety, grief, sorrow

trouble, solicitude

So basically they're responding to this Big Concern or to Hera herself (the "guardian"). I like the ambiguity of it. And the English phrase "the call" is a decent translation of such an ambigious phrase.

To storm or fire, the world must fall.

Aut ab procellae aut ab igni, Terram cadenda est

I had some fun with grammar in this one and learned what a gerundive is - wow! Anyway, this version is less ambigious on what is falling exactly. Because "Terra" = "Gaea", the personification of the earth.

The verb comes from cado, which has several meanings related to "fall" such as "fall in battle", "fail", "loose strength", or "die". This fit nicely :)

I used the term procellae rather than tempestas for storm because the latter is more general and can refer to any type of weather, as well as seasons etc.

So this reads more like: To storm or fire, the Earth must fall. But it's close enough.

An oath to keep with the final breath,

Fidem ad ultimam animam praestabitur

Okay, so I think in the context of the story, this phrase is closer to the concept of keeping one's word. Like "Leo kept his word to Calypso" / "Leo fulfilled his promise to Calypso". And in that case, in Latin", fides is the best term. Rather than the straight-forward sacramentum, which I believe is used in more formal contexts only.

I put this phrase in the passive tense because it doesn't actually say who's keeping the oath. In Riordan's original Latin the sentence adds a mysterious "we" - this doesn't work for obvious reasons.

The translation of "breath" was kind of tricky. In Riordan's version it's spiritu which I think is okay, but on the face of it, anima is better. Anima refers to both "breath" and one's "life / soul". So if I'm right, to give the indication this is a death, anima works better.

Another translation of this is: An oath will be kept with a final breath

And foes bear arms to the Doors of Death

Et inimici arma ad Ianuam Leti ferent

So this really depends on what Riordan meant by "bear arms". There are two meanings:

carry firearms

wear or display a coat of arms

Neither of these really match what I think Riordan was going for. I think his intention was that a battle would take place. The second meaning fits this in a way, armies traditionally "bear arms" when they are about to fit. In which case, it would be signa ... ferent.

However if the idea is simply that they're carrying weapons, then it's arma ferent. I think, based on how it's presented, the second option makes more sense.

I have made a couple other changes compared to the original Latin in the books as well:

It's inimici "enemy, rival" rather than hostes "enemy if the state, hostile".

And Leti not necem. This is because the Doors of Death are named after Letum, the god of Death. It's also in the genitive case now (yay!).

A fun part of this version is that it can also mean both: And foes carry arms to the Doors of Death & And foes endure war at the Doors of Death.

So together:

Septem filii deorum curam respondebunt.

Aut ab procellae aut ab igni, Terram cadenda est.

Fidem ad ultimam animam praestabitur,

Et inimici arma ad Ianuam Leti ferent.

What do y'all reckon??

[blossom42069]

The Infinite chase

Perfection lies in an endless dream, A whisper lost in an eternal stream. A beacon cast in a boundless night, Elusive star beyond our sight.

Its allure is a distant, glowing trace, A spectral touch we cannot face. An infinite loop in a timeless chase, A mirage that drifts from our embrace.

Love, on the other hand, is a myriad of words, A billion echoes in flight, like flocks of birds. It’s a tangle of thoughts and tangled threads, A symphony of hearts and unspoken debts.

It’s raw and wild, a dance unplanned, A storm of feelings too vast to understand. In the mess of moments, it sways and bends, A chaotic waltz that never ends.

We’re human, flawed and deeply real, A mosaic of pain, joy, and how we feel. Our lives are a canvas of vibrant stains, Of laughter’s peaks and sorrow’s pains.

Perfection is an infinite line, A concept pure, but never mine. Love is the messy, the grand, the true— A paradox of colors, ever new.

To be human is to wade through the fray, To find beauty in the disarray. In every tear and every embrace, We discover a truth in our shared place.

So let perfection drift on its endless tide, And love in its chaos be our guide. For in the imperfect, the messy, the real, We find the essence of what it means to feel.