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mrsgiovanna · 3 years

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The Escape Route (Yan! Don Giorno x Fem!Reader)

A request from a lovely nonnie mouse asking how the Don would handle his darling attempting to escape from his home. A bit of a drawn out scenario... I really hope you enjoy the read.

TW: Manipulative relationship dynamics, possessive behaviour, yandere behaviour

Word Count: 2.7k

Your brisk walk was slowly turning into a run as you worked your way through the busy streets of Naples. With your breathing ragged and eyes darting around to make sure nobody was on your tail, you tried to think about how best to put your escape plan back on track.

You knew that Giorno’s influence extended further than most, but you hadn’t expected him to have the power to derail every single option you had thought of to escape from his overpowering grip. You had been running around for hours now, from station to station, none would book you a ticket to anywhere, every cab ride was hastily halted after a dubious phone call… resulting in you being unwillingly ejected from the vehicle each time. So there you were, running into the more dangerous parts of Naples, frantically looking for some kind of shelter to house you while you thought of what you would do next.

Thankfully, you found a tiny inn, sparse amenities, small and far removed enough you thought, to not be on Giorno’s radar. The kindly old lady didn’t ask many questions, and you paid with the cash you had been slowly hiding away for such an event.

You couldn’t pinpoint when your relationship with Giorno had descended to this but you knew that if you stayed any longer his charming brand of captivity would best your common sense and you would be trapped forever. With Giorno, you had access to anything, no request was too demanding… in exchange though he required you to be within his confines at all times, listen to and obey his honeyed instructions with minimal fuss, and to not run off in the occasions when he did take you out of the mansion. I’m just keeping you safe he said… little did you know that the most dangerous one of all was the Don himself with his hypnotic gaze.

To give him the benefit of the doubt, it could have been much worse, he never harmed you physically, never pushed the intimacy boundaries further than you allowed… in your moments of weakness, it was you who had sought out his embrace. The absurdity of it all- vacillating between love and hate for this man, and so to protect the fraying thread that held your sanity together, you decided to make a run for it. It was not an impulsive idea, you had spent the better part of the year planning your grand escape, trying to imagine every way in which your plan could go awry and possible solutions to the problems. Ironically, this was a habit that you had picked up from Giorno himself, and should your plan actually work, it would be quiet poetic- escaping using the traits of your captor against him. You had gathered small amounts of cash here and there, not enough to rouse anyone’s suspicion, and made sure that any and all evidence of you memorizing the layout of the surrounding areas was completely erased. Perhaps the most difficult task of them all, was to lure Giorno into false sense of security regarding your disposition towards your situation. In the weeks leading up to your escape, you had flawlessly played the part of the dutiful ‘wife’, listening attentively, spoiling him with gentle touches and loving gazes, making sure to build up your affections gradually, as if they had been blooming naturally so as not to trigger any suspicion.

Finally, you saw your opportunity to make your move that morning. Giorno had to leave early to meet with a few associates from Japan, so you rose with him, and watched as he got ready, helping him with his hair and doing up his tie. Looking up to meet his crystalline eyes, you noticed he considered you with an expression you haven’t seen on him before.

“What is it tesoro? Why are you looking at me like that?” you asked in a gentle tone.

“You’re… just so beautiful… would you like to come with me today? I’m sure they would love to meet you… I call them associates but in actual fact one of them is a relative of mine. You’ll only be bored for a little while; after that we can do whatever you would like to,” he asked with a gentle smile. You thought about how you were going to answer, ultimately you knew you didn’t want to go, favoring your grand escape instead, but denying him that quickly would definitely set off alarm bells in his mind.

“Ah! Perhaps next time my love, I’m not going to be good company today, I woke up with a bit of a headache… I’ll probably go back to bed and sleep it off after you leave,”

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to make you feel any better bella, I hate the fact that you’re hurting,” Giorno cupped your face in his hands and gently stroked your cheeks with his thumbs, “get some rest bella mio, I’ll be back to check on you as soon as I can,” kissing you on the forehead he left without another word. Waiting for him to be completely out of the villa, you watched as his car exited the driveway before quietly packing what you could, mentally going over your checklist more times than you cared to count. Since your change in attitude, the staff at the villa were more accepting of your whims, partly to do with the fact that Giorno had instructed them to do so - within reason, but also, because you had won over their trust and if you had to be honest with yourself, there was nothing you could fault them for. The dynamic Giorno had with them was not ruled by fear, but rather by admiration… all of them being drawn in by his charisma. Managing to maneuver your way through the mansion and out an exit that saw you climbing over a hidden portion of the eastern wall surrounding the villa, you had finally been outside the confines of the villa on your own for the first time in well over a year.

In the car on the way to meet with his guests Giorno was preoccupied. He had noticed the gradual change in your behavior and as much as he would have loved to give you the benefit of the doubt, a nagging inclination that you might be lying always clouded his thoughts. He loved you- entirely- even though there were days in which you rejected his affections, he was patient with you… eventually you’d understand, the dangers that lurked in every corner made your captivity, as you so unceremoniously called it, a necessity. He had grown so accustomed to making decisions with little to no advice, he had adopted that stance in his personal life as well. He rationalized that once you had accepted the fact that his actions were all borne from his desire to protect you, your lives would be peaceful, until then, he would be patient, enduring your tantrums and snide remarks with the grace of an aristocrat… which only upset you further. To Giorno, you were to be looked after, protected- treasured, and so no matter how much you had tested his patience in the beginning, not once were you ever hurt or taken advantage of. Violence and shackles were much too unrefined for a gem like you, so to correct your behavior, the young don resorted to other, less threatening means of discipline.

“Don Giovanna? We have arrived,” shaken out of his musings by his consigliere, his attention was drawn to the fact that they had arrived at their destination ready to discuss the matters at hand.

“Thank you Lorenzo, would you check if the staff has everything ready while I greet our guests?”

“Of course, excuse me,” with that, Lorenzo had left, hastily attending to a call as he walked.

“Ah, welcome to Italy, I take it you and your associates have settled in well?” said Giorno with a polite bow, being mindful of the cultural conventions of his esteemed guests. Drinks were ordered and everyone present had settled down in the private lounge, except for Lorenzo who had been animatedly conversing on the phone for enough time to make his absence felt. Frustrated by what he was tasked to do, he abruptly ended his conversation and sought out Giorno to give him the news, finally, the staff at villa Giovanna had realized you were gone.

“Don…”

“The expression on your face can only mean one thing… when did they notice?”

“A few minutes ago, she couldn’t have gotten too gar given the timeframe… what would you like me to do?”

“You stay here and keep our guests company, I’ll handle this…” not even bothering to alert the driver, Giorno collected the keys from the valet and zoomed off. Making a short drive even shorter, he arrived home in foul mood, although he did assign some of the blame to himself, recognizing his fatal error when he ignored his gut feeling, he was disappointed at how easily you had managed to slip from his grasp and wondered if his staff had been plotting with you all along. He would have to address that later on though, his primary concern now was to locate you and bring you back home.

“Mista, I have a special request to make, please come to the villa, bring Fugo with you,” said Giorno in a quick call, there were few who he trusted more than his underbosses, and this task was something that required only the most competent people. After a short explanation of the situation at hand, both men had already started making calls to the relevant people in an attempt to thwart your plans.

You would think the most frightening thing about Giorno would be his god-like requiem ability. But over and above the raw power he possessed was his reach, the world seemed so small, as if it had rested comfortably in his elegant hands- and you had been getting reminders of this inescapable fate over and over again. By the time you had given up on the idea of escaping through any traditional means of transportation, you must have tried fifty different avenues, each attempt failing more spectacularly than the last. Having had enough, you resigned yourself to the fact that you would not be leaving Naples immediately, and found refuge in the outskirts of the city. You climbed the rickety staircase behind the lady as she prattled on about her day.

“Shall I get you something to eat dolcezza? You look like you could use something warm and comforting in your system. In fact, let me do just that, you get settled in so long,” said the innkeeper before you had a chance to interject. Deciding to take a shower to wash off the day, you took comfort in the fact that this place was so remote, you were almost certain you were safe for the meantime. The tiny bathroom was a far cry from the palatial one you had grown accustomed to while being in Giorno’s villa, but it served the same purpose, only this time, you had your freedom. The place was peaceful though aside from the sound of what must have been a car backfiring and the small creaks from the natural expansion and contraction of the dwelling, it was quiet enough for you to calm down and organize your thoughts. Now that you were comparatively more at ease than before, you felt the strain of the day in your body, aching muscles, sore feet and cuts and scrapes that began to smart affixed a slight grimace to your face as you rummaged through your belongings to find some sort of pain relief.

A sharp knock on the door disrupted your search. You stayed silent for a moment, contemplating if you should ignore it or answer.

“Dolcezza, I’ve brought you a small snack, you’re going to enjoy it,” you just wanted to crawl into bed and forget the day you had, but you also didn’t want to snub her kindness, you reached out to unlock and open the door.

“Buongiorno tesoro… enjoying your little excursion? Marina here was kind enough to show me to your room so I could surprise you… seems like it worked, look at this charming expression,” turning to the smiling woman, Giorno nodded for her to leave. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears, you wanted to cry, to run, to jump right out through the hazy window but your feet were rooted to the ground.

“Well (y/n) … you’ve been running around Naples for the entire day, have you found what you’re looking for?” his usual honeyed tone was laced with derision as he critically eyed your surroundings. “is this what you were so desperate to escape to? Look at this place… look at the condition you’re in… how is any of this better than everything I’ve given you?”

“I have my freedom here…” was all you could muster as your mind raced thinking of how he had still managed to find you despite all the precautions you had taken. “Giorno, how…”

“How did I find you? I always have my ways…” he said, sauntering over to the window, opening it just enough to make eye contact with whoever was outside, dismissing them with a nonchalant wave of his gloved hand. Pulling out his cellphone, he showed you the opened application, explaining that he had been using it to track your location, following the signal from the diamond earrings he gifted you on your birthday, carelessly left on when you had made your hasty escape. In all fairness, you hadn’t considered that the dainty gems were anything more than that. Feeling your legs starting to give out under you at the revelation that you were the cause of your own undoing, you sat on the bed hanging your head in defeat.

“Freedom, you say? Tell me how has that worked for you?”

“That’s not fair! You’ve basically controlled every single encounter I’ve had, and even when I thought I had escaped you by coming here, you still somehow managed to manipulate the situation…” you shouted, tears of frustration running feely down your face.

“Stop being dramatic, the world is full of horrible people, everyone is looking out for themselves, I wish you would realize that… tell me tesoro, how many people turned you away? Threw you out of their cars, made up excuses to deny your requests? Not one of those people looked into those pleading eyes and thought you were worth helping. Why? Because people are selfish…”

“You… you threatened them all, you…”

“You give me too much credit, it’s not like I was going to kill them, I hate violence, despite your disappointingly low opinion of me, even you have to admit that I’ve never done anything to physically harm you… all I want is to protect you, you don’t understand how things work out there,”

“It’s not like you’ve ever given me the opportunity to find out how things are… I”

“Some people are just meant to be loved and protected tesoro, isn’t that enough? Why would you want to risk being hurt to get a taste of something that’s actually not even worth it… you’re not cut out for this life… I’ve been here so I know this isn’t what you deserve. You’re coming back home with me,”

“But, I- “ you attempted to interject but his intense glare halted you.

“(y/n), I’m very patient under most circumstances, but please don’t test me now, I won’t say it twice…” said Giorno with a slight bite to his voice, it was clear he was growing tired of this conversation, and you were losing your will to fight back. With a quivering lip and misty eyes, you moved to gather your belongings but was stopped by the young don, arguing that he can replace whatever is there, wanting no other reminders of this transgression to follow you both back. Resigning yourself to this fate, realizing there was nowhere beyond his reach, you grasped his outstretched arm and followed him to the car to return to your life of opulent captivity. Months and months of planning all resulting in nothing, it became glaringly obvious to you that escaping was futile…

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 3 years

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When A Bird Dies

Pair: Alcina/Mia

Summary: After Mother Miranda’s death, Alcina feels lost. She uses wine to cope and Mia tries to help her find a purpose.

AN: This one shot was inspired by Rosegarden Funeral Party’s Once In A While. It’s my first time writing Mia so apologies if it’s somewhat OOC. Ngl I was kind of just typing here and hoping for the best xD

Sometimes when she gets insecure, she gets drunk. And the lady is a woefully sloppy and unrefined drunk. Sometimes she drinks when she is sad. Mia doesn’t understand why she does this, the drinks only heighten her sorrow and leave her a sobbing mess.

On these nights, Mia wishes that she could carry the lady to bed. Lift her right off her feet and tuck her in. Perhaps rub her back until she comes back to herself. Her poised and fierce self. Back to the Alcina who speaks of skinning men alive and tasting their delectable blood.

But sometimes, the woman curled up and sobbing on the floor isn’t of any intrigue to Mia. She is a pitiful thing. And sometimes a disgusting sniveling thing. Really, Mia thinks that she ought to take the woman’s wine from her. Sometimes she grows tired of what it can reduce Dimitrescu to.

“You would do this in front of your daughters?” Mia asks.

“My daughters aren’t here.”

“Yes, they’re off fetching and bedding maidens.” She comments dryly. Sometimes bitterness gets the best of her. Sometimes she finds herself slipping and lapsing into something that she isn’t proud of, not even slightly. Maybe the woman in front of her is wearing off on her. Maybe it is this village infecting her just as swiftly as the mold.

“How dare you?” Lady Dimitrescu growls. She wipes her eyes, smearing mascara and foundation. Her face is twisted into a furious, almost feral snarl. Double so with crimson of blood-wine staining her teeth. “Talk about my daughters like that…” she slurs. “I’ve never said an ill word of that Rose.”

She could slap the woman. She very well should. Dimitrescu knows well that Rose is a subject not to be spoken of. Even years later it still stings to think of having to let the baby go. To think of having to let Ethan go. To have watched them make their way out of the village with only a glance back.

To know that the mold has infected and warped her so beyond repair that she had to let the two of them go and remain here amid the other freaks and monsters. And only this one, this sorry drunk had taken pity on her. Mia supposes that calling her a drunk is a bit of a stretch. She only drinks when she thinks. And lately she has been doing a lot of thinking. She says that she thinks until her head hurts. Undoubtedly she misses Mother Miranda, the wretched beast.

Without Mother Miranda she is both stronger and weaker. She is bolder, freer. Bolder, freer, and sadder. Though sometimes Mia thinks that it is merely a melodrama, that the mutant just wants attention. And with nothing better to do, Mia gives it to the woman. Most of the time she only dimly recalls having received any affection at all.

And maybe it is her maternal side that does the talking and moving. Her maternal side that compels her to help the tall lady to her unsteady feet. “You’re going to have to stop this.” Mia sighs. “You’re a lot stronger than this.”

.oOo.

Alcina shakes her head. These days she doesn’t feel much like that. Between Mother Miranda’s great fall and her own at the hands of Ethan Winters, she has found herself feeling rather inadequate.

Her weakness now runs so deep that she can’t even bring herself to go through with her vengeance. To drive a claw through one end of Mia and out the other and deliver the corpse straight to her husband and his wretched daughter.

Right now her head hurts too much to stand, let alone skewer a woman. And even if she had the ability she is coming to find that she has quite a soft spot for Mia. To think that she has fallen so low that she finds herself fancying a human. She is lucky that her daughters aren’t here to see this. She resents it with a fury, but Mia is right. She needs to get herself together.

“Sit with me?” She pats a spot on her lap. The woman hesitates. “Sit with me.” She still hesitates but climbs into her lap all the same. “You know that I was thinking of bleeding you out? I was going to chain you to the ceiling just the way I did your husband.” She pauses, trying to detect fear or hatred on the woman’s face. It remains blank. Impassive and unphased. “I was going to taste your blood on my tongue, surely it tastes better than your husband’s. Woman…” she leans closer, hovers her lips over Mia’s exposed neck. “Women taste better. Sweeter, richer. They aren’t so dirty and stale.”

“And how does your blood taste, Lady Dimitrescu?”

She furrows her brows, admittedly, the question has thrown her. “My blood…”

“I don’t bleed.”

“Everyone bleeds, Lady Dimitrescu.” Mia seems to study her face. “You just bleed differently. I imagine that your blood tastes like wine. You drink enough of it.”

Her face colors. It helps her case very little that she is already quite tipsy. Tipsy and absurdly emotional. She understands why Mia isn’t quite so intimidated by her today. “I do not bleed.” She repeats again.

“You would hemorrhage if your daughters died. Mother Miranda died and look at you...you’re bleeding all over the place.” She reaches up and wipes a tear from Alcina’s eye. “It’s depressing and fascinating to watch.” She pauses. “I’ve looked after a mutant before. Eveline. The infected definitely bleed. The hurt and cry just the way we do. You wouldn’t even know that some of them are mutated.”

Alcina cringes, “don’t you dare compare me to…”

“Humans?” Mia asks. “You were human once.”

“That...that was a very long time ago.” And there is not one part of her that wishes to return to that feeble, delicate state. “You’d do well not to bring it up again.” Where did she put the wine bottle? But the words have already well and settled upon her, she doesn’t think that more wine can drive them out this time.

Evidently she isn’t sure what to do. Isn’t sure that she has a purpose at all anymore. Donna has her dolls and Karl has his machines. She never thought that she would find herself near the same level as Salvatore--confused and lost.

She could continue to export her wines, she supposes. But that has lost its charm now that Mother Miranda won’t be around to stop in for a taste. To dully express a fondness for the drinks.

She has her girls but they have their own lives to live and now that the weather is warming, they are out and about more often.

“What shall I do, Mia?” She murmurs.

Mia’s face softens and the woman brings a hand to her cheek. Her hand is somewhat cold but the gesture has a warmth to make up for it. “About what? Your startling bloodlust?”

“What shall I do now that Mother Miranda is gone?”

“First you can put down the bottle.” She takes it right from Alcina’s hands and puts it aside. “And then you can start living your own life again. Your way.”

She isn’t sure that she remembers how.

“You used to enjoy jazz, yes?”

“Quite well.” She nods. And she still enjoys digging out an old record every now and then.

“Well, why don’t you put a record on, we can have dinner, and discuss how to get you back into the music industry.”

“I don’t believe that I fit into the scene anymore.” And she means it most literally.

“That’s what we’ll be talking about. I’d love to get out of this village every now and again. Perhaps you can do the singing and I can do some lip syncing?”

It isn’t such a horrid plan. If nothing else, it gives her something to fantasize about. Something to look forward to. And perhaps if she doesn’t kill the woman or corrode her soul completely--they might make a fine duo.

Mia casts a smile over her shoulder.

Sometimes, Alcina loses herself. At least this time she may have help finding herself.

#Alcina Dimitrescu #Lady Dimitrescu #Resident Evil #Alcina/Mia

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ayuuria · 3 years

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Yashahime Translation: Animage Magazine February 2021 Issue

Please do not repost this translation without my consent! This includes screenshots of any type and amount. If you wish to share this translation, simply link to this post.

For more information regarding the use of my translations, click here.

Regarding the Boy Whose True Colors Are Unknown

Riku, the mysterious person with a good smile and speaking words with profound meaning. He enshrouds not only Towa and the others of course, but also the viewers in smoke. Is he actually the Yashahime’s enemy? Ally?

The boy who proclaims to be “A pirate come ashore”, Riku. The figure of him showing a kind smile and talking quickly makes him seem like your typical nice guy at a glance. However, his speech has every bit of shadiness mixed in it.

The first sign was when he called the apple he received from Towa a “Forbidden fruit” (translator’s note: this was written in English). Most likely, he likened it to the story of the Adam and Eve written in the Old Testament; but why does he know about it when he lives in the Feudal Era? Also, the part where it seemed that Kyuuki of the Four Perils and Riku knew each other is of interest. Then above all, there is the dangerous statement he made to Shikabaneya Jyuubee, “I will take care of the Yashahimes, who hold three of the Rainbow Pearls, myself”. What exactly is the reason for him to go so far for the Rainbow Pearls…?

While leaving a strong discomfort, it seems that Riku will be on the move again in episode 14 after disappearing from the center stage for some time. What is the expression Riku shows before the evil mountain god, Homura, who’s heart has been stolen by a human girl? Even continuing into episode 15 which according to Riku’s voice actor, Fukuyama Jun, will be “A pretty big episode”. There is no mistake that Riku’s existence holds the key to the story of “Hanyō no Yashahime”. The strict prohibition on his words down to the details cannot be overlooked.

Character Bios

Riku The person who requested the subjugation of the Four Perils to the corpse shop. He is gathering the Rainbow Pearls and after Kyuuki’s death, he retrieved the purple Rainbow Pearl that she held.

Shikabaneya Jyuubee The owner of the “Corpse Shop” that deals in demon bounties. He lends money to Moroha and has her slay demons as repayment. He possesses the green Rainbow Pearl.

Takechiyo He can transform into a giant and fly the sky, so he runs around a lot as a means of transportation for Towa and the others. Miroku seems to be involved behind why Takechiyo works at the corpse shop.

Towa She has a kind personality, but she does lose her sense of reason when her little sister, Setsuna, is in danger. As she is a half-demon, she loses her demonic powers and turns into a human at the start of the lunar month (new moon).

Setsuna Normally, her “seething demonic blood” is sealed with Miroku’s Buddhist powers. In episode 13, the seal is released, and she repels Tōtetsu of the Four Perils. Unlike Towa, she does not turn into a human at the start of the lunar month.

Moroha A bounty hunter. Lately, she has been unable to retrieve the heads of the demons she defeats and collect bounties which has been the source of her worries. Just like Setsuna, she does not transform into a human at the start of the lunar month.

The Corpse Shop’s Big Client

Riku, who puts a large bounty on the Four Perils’ heads, is a “special client” to Jyuubee. To Riku, Jyuubee is someone who he told “I only kill those I love” and revealed part of his thoughts to. It appears that the green Rainbow Pearl that Jyuubee possesses also has something to do with Riku. We are curious about the two’s past!

Darling Yashahime…?

Riku and Towa met when a lost Riku asked her for directions. Then he introduced himself to Setsuna and Moroha after they fought Kyuuki. According to what Riku told Jyuubee, since he loves the Yashahimes, he is thinking of finishing them off himself. What is the reason…?

Hatred Towards the Four Perils

Riku’s prejudice against the Four Perils is to the point that he bluntly says “This is why I don’t like you” to the dying Kyuuki. He says the reason is because “(They are) unrefined”. On the other hand, Kyuuki knew Riku’s name and it appears that Riku and the Four Perils are acquainted with each other. Does he also have some sort of connection to Kirinmaru who controls the Four Perils?

The Evil God Who Loves a Human

In episode 14, Riku gets involved with Tamano, an extraordinarily beautiful human girl, and the evil god who loves her but has an excessively burning jealousy, Homura. A human and an evil god. When Riku sees a love that goes beyond race, he shows an expression different from what he’s shown Towa and Co, Jyuubee, and the Four Perils so don’t miss it.

Riku Knows Everything?! The Voice of Riku, Fukuyama Jun

Forbidden from revealing anything, even to his fellow voice actors?! The young man full of mystery, Riku

— From the beginning, what sort of impression did you have of the work “Inuyasha”?

Fukuyama: It was a show that started around the time I started receiving roles in animation work as a voice actor. At the time, it was a long series by Takahashi Rumiko-sensei that came after “Ranma ½” so from the start, it was getting a lot of attention when it began serialization. There were even talks of an anime adaptation. I remember there was chatting among the young people like “Who exactly is going to do the voicing?” “It can’t be anyone other than Yamaguchi Kappei-san?”. The work continued for many years and many of my fellow voice actors took part. I myself did not make an appearance but I had the impression that it was a “far away but familiar work”.

— This time, did you audition for the role of Riku?

Fukuyama: I did not. It was a discussion that happened suddenly, but I received a direct inquiry. It was right about the time when my schedule was a mess because of the COVID crisis, and I remember the correspondence being like “Are you able to take part in the recording schedule?”. For roles without auditions, generally there are multiple candidates so it’s normal to wait a while until the decision is made. However, this time I got the role soon after I received the inquiry, so I was a little surprised. Then, about the same time, the production of “Hanyō no Yashahime” was announced. After that, I started looking for the work that it was based off, but it didn’t exist. I became doubly surprised like “Oh, this is an original work!?”

— Riku is a character with a lot mysteries, but exactly how much do you know about Riku’s back bone?

Fukuyama: The information is to a level that I can’t say anything at this time. They explained to me his position within the work and what would happen to him before hand at the recording studio. Using that as the standard, during the first recording, I had a feeling they told me detailed points. Riku can appear to be androgynous when he doesn’t say anything, but when he actually speaks, he addresses himself as “Oira”, purposely says expressions in a tone of voice that’s almost like a fool, and knows words that he shouldn’t know. The biggest impression I got from him was that he could be considered a major supporting character and I felt that moving in secret isn’t quite what his position is. On top of that, after finding out additional information that I can’t say yet, he’s a more important character than I thought. The staff have told me “Please don’t say anything about Riku to the other cast members.” “We want them to enjoy this too” (laughs)

— That is amazing! It seems Riku’s mystery has a connection to the core of the story.

Fukuyama: Please look forward to finding out (laughs). In the first place as of right now, not only do we not know what intentions Sesshōmaru had behind his actions, but it’ll be a little while longer before we know the full story of the drama that is being spun. To viewers, I think this aspect will make them excited, uncertain, and anxious.

By Being Outwardly Suspicious, His True Intensions Are Wrapped in Smoke

— In contrast to Riku’s Edo-like phrases, you somehow feel a sense of refinement from him. Do you take care in that aspect when playing him?

Fukuyama: When reading the script, I wanted to effectively capitalize on the foolish tone of voice. As I continued to act like that, I think I started leaning towards the feel of an Edo person. However, you can blend the “impression felt from the script” and the “impression created from the image” in animation, so as a result from matching up the length of the lines to the image of the story, that may have become the impression that TV viewers got. Now that recording has progressed, when I think back, I’m glad I didn’t stick with the impression I got from the first script. The expression he shows Towa and the others, the Four Perils, and to other people are subtly different from each other so if I had completely contrasted those, his character image would probably have either changed or become blurred. When I first started, I was glad the image kept me in check.

— So Riku’s character comes together from combining the voice acting and the image acting.

Fukuyama: Yes. In today’s recording (the day of the interview), different from the way he speaks to Towa and the others, he showed an expression that he hasn’t really shown until now. In terms of what’s being broadcasted soon, Riku’s way of speaking breaks the 4th wall in episode 15. He’s a person who shows a lot of different faces so until we reach the heart (of the story), I want him to remain a character that’s hard to grasp.

— In terms of acting, do you receive any instructions from the staff?

Fukuyama: I was given the following order “We want you to bring out more shadiness than what’s depicted”. In terms of Riku’s position, as a way for me to show the character, I moved in a way that made it difficult to figure out what he is as much as possible. If you can visually see that he’s up to something, I would make it not show with my words more than necessary. However, I also thought “There’s no point hiding that he’s obviously acting shady, so I actually want viewers to really understand that”. By doing that, his intentions instead become less obscure as result is what I’ve come to understand as I play him.

— He certainly seemed like a good person but also felt shady when he made his first appearance in episode 7. It was completely suspicious for him to call the apple a “Forbidden Fruit”.

Fukuyama: In beginning, I thought I wouldn’t show any suspiciousness in front of Towa. While the base of the character is the same, I didn’t want Towa to harbor any sort of suspicion. However, with that line, I was told “You can bring out his shadiness”. In order to wrap the story in smoke, I think they’re going to show everything in that way.

Riku Seems Like He Can Obtain Things That Modern People Cannot Have

— It seems that recording is done with only a few people, so who do you record with?

Fukuyama: It’s quite spread out. We record with people we interact with the most in that episode so the group changes with each time. The first time, I was with Hosoya (Yoshimasa) who plays the role of Kirinmaru and then after that I was with Koyama-san (Tsuyoshi) who plays the role of Shikabaneya Jyuubee. On top of that, there was a time when I was with members of “Inuyasha”… By the way, today I was with Fairouz Ai (the role of Takechiyo). This work is the first time that I’m co-acting with her but man she’s a lively young person (laughs). You can tell she’s really enjoying the work, so it makes things easier.

— Please tell us if you have any memorable moments in the recording studio.

Fukuyama: When I’m with the cast of “Hanyō no Yashahime”, I get the impression of “This is a new show”. Around the time when Riku debuted in episode 7, there was a nervousness like you’ve only just started running. However, when I was with the “Inuyasha” team, it felt like a class reunion. The air between Yukino Satsuki-san (the role of Higurashi Kagome) and Kappei-san (the role of Inuyasha) felt like they’ve been working together for a long time and I thought “Oh, so this is “Inuyasha”!” The “level” of difference between each of the recording (groups) is what I found interesting.

— Among the episodes that have already aired, which scene was especially memorable for you?

Fukuyama: The episode where Riku debuted left a big impression on me. His aura when he’s moving behind the scenes and his aura of “No no, he’s shady but he doesn’t seem to be two faced” when he met Towa. The difference in his behavior was fun to act out. Like when he spoiled that Kikujuumonji was something he stole right after giving it to Towa or when he suspended the river water, drank it, and said “Anyone can do it if you focus your mind”. For a first appearance he had a lot of information, so viewers were probably confused. Towa being Towa, she didn’t seem bothered at all and it’s like “At least be a little cautious!” (laughs). I think you will understand the back and forth (between them) better if you rewatch it after watching more (of the story). With the expression “Pirate come ashore”, you’d probably think “Then isn’t he a bandit?” but there’s probably a fixation to that. That expression is also important.

— Now then, what are the highlights going forward?

Fukuyama: In due time, I think you’ll understand that “Riku knew everything”. However, on one hand if he’s an enemy, it would be contradictory and if he’s an ally, there’s a lot of things off. You’ll end up coming back to “Then what’s his objective?”. With that, I would like everyone to enjoy imagining what his position and future development will be. Among the latest upcoming episodes, episode 15 is a big one. While many mysteries will be revealed, instead of feeling refreshed, I think you’ll end up wondering what’s going to happen from there on. Once again, I feel it’s a very elaborate screen play. Also, in episode 17, Riku is going to move a little differently than he has up until now and in episode 18, Sesshōmaru and Kirinmaru will be making extensive appearances. I think this is going to be a very satisfying episode for “Inuyasha” fans so please look forward to it.

— We would love if you could comment on this month’s illustration (P. 37~)

Fukuyama: I see it’s an illustration of Takechiyo telling the reader “Your head’s too high!”. But in actuality I don’t think Takechiyo really knows who Riku is. I’m sure Takechiyo most likely sensed that he’s someone that you can’t reveal his actions to other people but in the end, Riku is a client. Riku’s immeasurable aura is properly expressed in this illustration. Boy does he have the nerve to show this attitude in front of people (laughs).

— Going forward, could you tell us an illustration scenario you would like to see?

Fukuyama: I’m sure “Inuyasha” fans will want to see “Sesshōmaru comforting a newborn Towa and Setsuna” right? Maybe Jaken getting his body pulled all over the place by the two babies is something that might appear in the main story. However, I have a feeling we won’t get to see Sesshōmaru protecting the kids. Thinking with Riku… How about something like Riku holding a PS5 (Play Station 5). Riku seems like he would have things that even we modern era people can’t get our hands on (laughs).

— (laughs) Now lastly, please give a message to our readers.

Fukuyama: I can’t say yet what sort of actions Riku will be taking from here on, but by the time all of you are reading this, I think you’ll have figured out his stance somewhat. I’ll be happy if you’re able to anticipate what’s to come while imagining it, but probably at this stage, I think what you can image so far will be different from the direction that the story is going (laughs). I will also be looking forward to what will happen to not only Riku but to Sesshōmaru and Kirinmaru as I attend recordings. It would be great if you can fully enjoy it until the end.

Q. Who’s Your Favorite Character?

“I like Homura who appears in episode 14. How do I say it, he feels like a person who’s true to his desires. The result that awaited him afterwards was impressionable. Also in episode 2, there’s the cameo appearance of the hoodlums from “Urusei Yatsura” that looked old fashioned, which was great. Then there’s Kagome’s younger brother, Souta! Though he knew about the existence of demons and time travel from his childhood days, it feels like he’s someone who has transcended (laughs)”

Q. What Is Your Impression of the Three Girls?

“I interacted with Towa in episode 7, but regarding Setsuna and Moroha, I heard their voices for the first time on air. I watched without gaining information beforehand, so I felt moved in a sort of refreshing way. The cast is either 12 years or younger than me, but I could feel the world of “Inuyasha” begin continued in their acting. They made me interested in “what will it feel like recording together with them?”. Including Fairouz-san, I’m happy that there are so many talented female voice actors.”

#Yashahime #hanyou no yashahime #yashahime: princess half demon #translation

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idontblushsrry · 3 years

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Do You Know That I Do Love You

Chapter 1: Do You Still Think Of Me Fondly?

Next>

Word Count:

Warnings: Some swearing, smut in later chapters

A/N: This is purely self indulgent at this point. I will get my black nobility/courtly romance fic and it just so happens to be with Han Ju-Do from Yona of the Dawn (great show if you ask me I think everyone should watch it and that it deserves more but, whateverrr) I don’t know how many chapters this is going to have, I thought 2 but maybe I’ll do 3 or 4 it all depends on what I feel like is gonna complete the story the best. Reader is black, she has a Korean last name to match with the rest of the show characters. Spoilers ahead for parts of Yona Of The Dawn anime/manga

A/N Pt.2: This is based off of the concept of courtly love but w tweaks bcus I have like no ability to stick with angst permanently, like if asked nicely, I’ll do a happy ending (Also Reader and Ju-do are both single so). This fic is also based of this song if you want to get into the vibe.

You’d been told tales of the Crimson Dragon Castle just nothing could’ve compared to the majesty of seeing it in person. The gates opened and guards announced your arrival as your carriage pulled inside. You stared in awe at the sheer size of it while your attendants whispered something to each other that you didn’t quite pick up on.

“What was that?”

You turned and your attendants immediately went silent, squirming and failing to meet your gaze each time you tried to capture them in it.

“Nothing milady just the talk of lowly servants that you shouldn’t concern yourself with.”

You could tell though from the guilt in her tone and the way the other attendant looked as though you’d have her thrown out if you heard what she said that you knew they were discussing the reason you’d even come to the palace. You were much too old to be an unmarried woman and the constant rumours of your status ranged in believability, the most outrageous being that you were a succubus and having a husband would get in the way of your appetites.

When you’d heard it, that made you cackle because you were the furthest thing from a succubus.

It’s not like you felt ashamed of being a virgin, you were a grown woman after all, and it’s not as though you were the sole heir to your family’s name. You had plenty of siblings to carry on the family name. The issue lied in the fact that you were the oldest, your family tradition dictated that none shall marry before the oldest and as such you’d been on the receiving end of anger from your siblings, parents, potential suitors, and all in between.

When your father first proposed the idea of marriage to you, many of your siblings were still too young to care or remember. You could feel the concern coming from both of your parents as they urged you to meet with suitors from other clans and families. And you could feel their growing rage as you rejected one after another.

Now nearing two decades later, your siblings, the ones who were unconcerned with your marital status so long ago were now resentful of you. Many of them had approached you individually and together with their grievances, claiming you were holding the family back and restraining them from true love, all the things you’d heard before.

They’d brought those same complaints to father and he brought up the idea of a palace visit to you. No not in so few words nor with such direct intent but the message was there. He’d brought the idea up while you fed the fish in your private reserve.

‘I think that this place is too stifling of your abilities my dear. I’d like for you to go to the Crimson Dragon Palace in my stead, I’m getting rather old and the whole thing is nothing but a diplomatic affair anyways, I’m sure you can handle it.’ You were going to turn down his offer. Not consciously out of spite but because you knew what he wanted you to do. His words seemed like the ones of a trusting father but the undertone of ‘return with a fiancé or I’ll disown you’ rang clear as a bell through your head. You may have been stubborn but you weren’t a fool, your family had grown impatient with your antics and if this behavior continued, they’d send you packing without so much as a goodbye.

You’d contemplated that idea and thought up the pros and cons to being disowned. It wasn’t until you heard two maids whispering outside your room that night that you made your decision.

‘Poor Master Seong I heard that Lady (Y/N) is preventing him from meeting his heirs.’

‘Eh? What do you mean, how could she do that?’

‘She refuses to let any of her siblings get married and as the next clan head, any marriages from her siblings that occur before her own are forbidden.’

‘Wow! Really, then why won’t she just get married already?’

‘Who knows.’

By the following night you were in a carriage on your way to the castle. Coincidentally with the two maids that spoke ill of you that night. It seems that they still haven’t gained the ability to shut up even when it’s in their best interest.

The carriage pulled up to the guest exit and you didn’t have to wait long before the carriage was opened by one of the palace servants.

“Welcome Lady Seong”

You were rushed to yet another carriage that would take you to your quarters while your attendants followed someone else to the servants’ quarters. For the first time in the weeks it’d taken you to travel here, you could feel yourself begin to truly relax. The servant next to you was stiff with rigid and tense shoulders especially compared to your unladylike and unrefined composure. But, they were quiet. You weren’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth and you didn’t particularly feel like talking to ease the tension in the carriage, so, you ignored it. Most of it was coming from the servant not knowing how to react to you anyways.

You closed your eyes to think of the last time you felt truly happy and all your defeated mind could conjure was an image of a chubby outstretched hand handing you a six-petaled flower.

“Milady? We’ve arrived at your quarters.”

You stepped out of the dark carriage into the courtyard of the place you’d be staying. Only to find that this courtyard was slightly nicer than you’d expected a standard nobles courtyard to be. There was an abundance of flowers, rocks lining the foliage. A bridge that spanned a small river that begun with a waterfall. Birds, a gazebo lined with jewels in the far corner, and the fragrant scent of jasmine flowers.

The servant, seemingly unfazed by the extravagance, urged you to follow her with a motion of her head. Her feet leading you through the courtyard with practiced expertise, you managed to keep up with her strides by clutching your dress up some and resisting the urge to gawk at every element passing you by.

She brought you to a spacious room similarly sized as the room you slept in back home. The room was relatively bare save for a large bed pressed against the wall in the center of the room, a wardrobe, vanity and an incense holder among other things.

She turned to you and bowed before turning to leave. “Before you leave, what’s your name?”, she froze as though she wasn’t expecting you to actually speak to her. She turned back to you with a close eyed smile.

“My name? It’s Ha-Neul”

You’d received the first and arguably the most difficult of your diplomatic duties when within 3 days of your stay, you were being summoned by King Suwon. While the letter came as a shock to you, you nearly had a heart attack when you learned you’d be meeting in the King’s personal tea gardens. You’d take it as a compliment, however, you were 1) essentially all alone with no one to back you up should you fail to be adept at conversation and 2) you’d only met the new king as a boy and in passing, you were somewhat underprepared and knew nothing more of him than what you’d heard in passing.

‘No. Don’t think like that (Y/N)’, you looked at your reflection in the mirror, your braids hung down, the tight coils of your hair wrapped up inside of them as they hung down from your scalp to frame your face. ‘You are more than capable, if it weren’t for your intelligence, you wouldn’t have made it this far. You can do this.’ You took a look at your outfit. It was unfit to meet the king. But before you could begin working yourself up into another nervous tizzy, Ha-neul knocked on your door, her consistent rapping against it breaking you out of your anxious reverie.

Ha-Neul was truly a miracle worker. She’d managed to make your previously tense body appear completely calm and put together with a few twists of her wrists and some careful thought into what she’d have you wear to meet with the king.

By the time the carriage had stopped, the anxiety in your gut had settled to a deep thrum that would remind you of its presence at the very center of your being but wouldn’t seize control of your body. This mercy provided by your anxiety allowed you to put one foot in front of the other like you’d done since you were a child, albeit with a more conscious effort.

You’re led by a flurry of servants and guards to where Suwon was sitting so tranquilly in his tea gardens. It was amazing how much he’d grown since you’d last seen him but those same features he had as a child seemed to have aged with his spirit. You didn’t know why but you got this deep guttural feeling that he’d done something akin to a betrayal of himself. It showed oh so subtly in the way he drank his tea with an air of practiced indifference that he tried to cover with a layer of oversaturated artificial happiness.

“Lady Seong, it’s good to see you. I hope your quarters are to your liking.”

Showtime.

You bowed respectfully to him before replying, “Yes, the room is lovely and even more so the courtyard. I’d love to speak with the person who designed it. How have you been your majesty?”

You’d hoped flattery would work with him, all your cues were being taken from him but it was near impossible to get a read on him. You kept your tone and demeanor light and cheery but eve still that was all he was giving you. It was like he was trying to gauge you at the same time.

Oh, you realized embarrassingly belatedly, this is a test.

The new king couldn’t afford any threats to his power and securing allyship while weeding out untrustworthy people was the most effective way for him to achieve that in lieu of starting a full-scale war.

But Kouka didn’t need that.

Since you were attending in your father’s stead, he’s likely assumed that you’re the new head of your clan, ‘If only he knew’.

Well, if it’s a test he wants then a test he’ll get. Two could play that game and you always were very good at mind games.

It feels as though it’s been about 30 minutes of you and King Suwon exchanging formalities, trying to see who’d crack. But finally, the tea and snack get delivered and you realize that for now, you’d reached a stalemate with the King. You could count it as a win but judging from the fact you still couldn’t tell what he was thinking, you mentally conceded to the standstill with him, and from the sigh he let out it seems he’s resigned himself to the same fate.

“Let’s eat then shall we.” he says good-naturedly, like the careful tension of your previous exchange never happened, so you nod in agreement. Waiting for him to take the first bite and sip before following suit. You close your eyes and simply enjoy the gentle floral taste and aroma of the tea. You take a moment of respite in the tea and neglect your surroundings for a moment.

You hear big clunky footsteps hurry their way down the hallway you and Suwon are staying in before, “My King, I apologize for my lateness, and while inexcusable, I hope that you can forgive me.”

You recognize that voice, you move to open your eyes at the same time the man stands up and before King Suwon can get his answer out, you interrupt him with “Ju...do?”

He looks down at you with a sneer looking ready to give you a tongue- lashing for interrupting the King and calling him out of his station. Before a look of recognition flashes in his eyes and he looks away hurriedly, calling your name with a formal “Lady Seong, I didn’t know you were at the castle."

Ok, ouch. Few things hurt worse than the person you’d spent an embarrassing amount of time fawning over as a teenager (and young adult) dismissing you with such a dismissive and cold formality.

You’d already fucked up by interrupting the King and you weren’t about to fuck up again by not responding to a General when directly addressed by one. “I didn’t know you were at the castle either, General.” If you were nothing more than a formality to him, then he’d be nothing more than a formality to you.

Yes you were aware of how petty and flimsy that logic was. He hadn’t seen you in years, of course he was going to be cordial with you. But the other part of you, the person who was heartbroken by the same man who stood in front of you right now, someone that you thought you buried long ago, hoped that calling him General hurt just as much as hearing him call you anything but (Y/N).

#yona of the dawn imagines #black reader #x black reader #han judo #han judo yona of the dawn #akatsuki no yona #general judo x reader #han judo x reader #yona of the dawn x reader #general judo #general han judo #pls lmk if yall like this #or if you watch yotd #there isnt a really big fandom for it and i am searching pls #idontblushsrry #x reader #anime imagines #imagines #smut

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incarnateirony · 4 years

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15.11 and moving forward

Some of you may have seen my Putrefied in Purgatory video surrounding 15.09. Putrefaction is the reduction of a material to its barest state for a new foundation, rotting away to the alchemical Blackened state to rebuild on new stages of whitening (which seemed to crest in 15.10 for Dean), then yellowing and reddening en route, though for completion there's other stages ahead of us (as per what I lended towards in Philosopher's Gold, also 15.09 video.)

But I think what I need to do is discuss the tree.

SO MOVING FORWARD, WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON IN ALCHEMY AND QABBALAH SPN LAND. GLAD YOU ASKED, NOBODY.

I *AM* gonna need you to bear with me right now, because I’m about to data-dump out a bunch of information and then go back over and explain how this is connecting to what Andrew Fucking Dabb and company are doing actively, episode by episode. If you don’t get it on first read, that’s fine, once I start putting it in terms and concepts and show stuff you get, scroll back and re-digest in frame.

Okay so, let’s drop some points. You may have remembered me making early videos of Belphegor as the ruler of Thagirion after 15.01 (x) and later, one called Worthy of Love for Tiphareth (x), but not before he who blocks and hampers the heart guides walked them through flames they were not yet ready to access (x), causing an unlevel involution between the Three Principles with Castiel reaching a reddening while Dean sat in darkness and Sam struggled to maintain his own light.

This is going to become very important to my babbling, but the concept is that there is a nega/void/blockage version of the tree that has “evil” versions of each node. Tiphareth’s shadow is Thagirion. Tiphareth is the essence of love, true and genuine. It dominates the heart chakra, and its disputer, Belphegor, the blocker, is he who does not believe in love and observes marriages for dissent and further aggitates the blockage in the path. Sound familiar?

This Sephira is in some respects the most important of all. It is the centre of the whole system; it is the only Sephira below the Abyss which communicates directly with Kether. (Think crown/godhead/source -- white node #1) It is fed directly from Chokmah and Binah; also from Chesed and Geburah. (I’ll... get into these another time, they’re a higher segment) It is thus admirably fitted to dominate the lower Sephiroth; it is balanced both vertically and horizontally. In the planetary system it represents the Sun; in the system of Tetragrammaton it represents the Son. In other words, the Son is an interpretation of the Father in terms of the Mind. [Tiphareth is] thus representative of [the four] elements at their practical best. (Book of Thoth, p.181)

You don’t say. (vaguely screams into fist about who and what the Mind is and who and what the Father in this Aeon is)

Soft Husband Gaze Dot Gif not found in tumblr search so I’ma nab and tag another by @starsmish

Dean and Cas’ blowout over Jack, “you’re dead to me”, was over Cas knowing something was wrong with Jack, and not telling them, and Dean’s anger leading to distrust.

That was putrefied in purgatory, everything laid bare. And while they haven’t had their heart to heart yet (that big good omens energy shot is probably from 12, a bobocuda episode like The Future was), here–

Cas already had his gasping, shocked, clutched reunion with the son. Sam came home and gave a squeeze too.

But Dean walked up, put a hand behind his son’s neck, stared deeply into his eyes to see if it was him. And, as if doubting himself, looked to his somber husband, who silently communicated and affirmed it, and Dean knew, and trusted, and believed, and their son was home.

Someone launch me to jupiter please

oh wait neverfuckingmind, Dabb and co are working on that shortly.

Tiphareth, the heart, is the central vein, the power between godhood and the terrestrial earth as manifest in Malkuth.

I had pointed out the choice taste in Dean emerging from black in a white suit to look into yellow light and past red drapes in 15.10 and that Dean seemed to be approaching his whitening, but that’s even truer now.

The phases I speak of bear relevance to these.

Just--humor me and see earth as the blackened base from the human perspective, even if the blackened base of the Shadow of Man lies beneath the Ain Soph (which I’ll show some inverted trees for later). I’ve spoken of lunar light in regards to the whitening before, and it even rose in my Reflection video about crucifying the ego before it was too late (x) (please mind the video was made a year ago now based on hermetic pattern spec) “The moon gives me her secret, a confidant; as full and bright as I am, this light is not my own and a million light reflections pass over me.”

(aside re: crucifying the ego, it’s about removing the blackened snake of our unrefined parts of the self, similar to putrefaction, so a step we just crossed)

In alchemy, albedo is one of the four major stages of the magnum opus, along with nigredo, citrinitas/xanthosis and rubedo. It is a Latinicized term meaning "whiteness". Following the chaos or massa confusa of the nigredo stage, the alchemist undertakes a purification or rectification in albedo, which is literally referred to as ablutio or absolution – the washing away of impurities. This phase is concerned with "bringing light and clarity to the prima materia (personal material)". But the transmutational state is ... well.

“The whitening phase is ruled by the moon and as such is reflective, in that it does not have its own light. The maturation of the whitening happens via reflection and is often described as mirroring. The reflective processes, of thinking and feeling, dominate the direct experiences of intuition, sensation and imagination. Knowledge is King, and Mystery is banished by the whitening ego's searchlight. Perfection is idealised, and imperfection seen as weakness. Immediate gratification is expected. Nothing is allowed to mature. Lacking true wisdom, we are children in adult's bodies. Our leaders lack the vision to see the real problems, and the guts to really change things.

“The first main goal of the process... highly prized by many alchemists... is the silver or moon condition, which still has to be raised to the sun condition. The albedo [whitening], is so to speak, the daybreak, but not till the rubedo [reddening] is it sunrise. The transition to the rubedo is formed by the citrinitas [yellowing], though this, as we said, was omitted later.” (x)

Now let’s take a look at how that applies to Yesod in the middle pillar, above Malkuth, both of which gain power from light *elsewhere* -- that is, Tiphareth.

Of Yesod:

“After the double excursion into misfortune, (Hod and Netzach) the current returns to the middle pillar. This Sephira is the seat of the great crystallization of Energy. But it takes place very far down the Tree, at the apex of the third descending triangle, and a flat triangle at that. There is little help from low, unbalanced spheres like Netzach and Hod. What saves Yesod is the direct ray from Tiphareth; this Sephira is in the direct line of succession. (Book of Thoth) “

Yesod is that subtle basis upon which the physical world is based....It is the Astral Plane, which in one sense being passive and reflecting energies from above is lunar, even as the moon reflects the light of the sun. The Astral Light is an omnipresent and all-permeating fluid or medium of extremely subtle matter; substance in a highly tenuous state, electric and magnetic in constitution, which is the model upon which the physical world is built. It is the endless, changeless, ebb and flow of the world's forces that, in the last resort, guarantee the stability of the world and provides its foundation. [...] The general conception of Yesod is of change with stability. (Regardie, 1994)

So let’s take a quick aside on that double journey into instability in Hod and netzach, and I’ll leave everyone to think of how this correlates now.

The position of Netzach is doubly unbalanced; off the middle pillar, and very low down on the Tree. It is taking a very great risk to descend so far into illusion, and, above all, to do it by frantic struggle. Netzach pertains to Venus...and the greatest catastrophe that can befall Venus is to lose her Heavenly origin. (Book of Thoth, p.182)

The sphere of Hod represents on a very much lower plane similar qualities to those obtaining in Chokmah. It is the lower plane, first primitive version of union and sharing between the divine masculine and feminine (SPN video recs [x], [x] ) as mirrored to Netzach’s above details.

So we’ve got... lesser unions *scrolls over 15.9* cast down Mark wedding, check, from a blackened putrified base of Malkuth not yet even fully acquiring its own awareness of reflected light in Yesod or Albedo. 15.10 Dean does seem to start gaining some sense of light and dream, if reflected off of imaginings of others while coming out from behind the curtain *checks* but it’s not fully manifest yet. Now the heroes struggle through descending into illusion and frantic struggle, questioning all they know in existence, or their “luck”. *checks*

Now, Fortuna tells our heroes a good deal of what we knew they needed to hear. In the end it really isn’t about their luck. Heroes aren’t extinct, but it’s not about playing god’s game, it’s about playing their own. The divine feminine told them the secrets of the gods and, in a way, it is the steps towards mastering their human sovereignty.

Notice the lunar card path lending towards the lunar Yesod node, for example, even using arcana -- given this is Grey’s system, there’s a few others.

Uh, ignore the given card/highlighted path for now, that’s there for reasons you may recognize that I’ll bang on about elsewhere.(Aeon, for the record, is basically the same as Judgement and World=Universe, and Lust=Strength different naming system -- you’ll notice the second names on the first chart apply here, though in a matter of descending vs ascending. A few are different; and I’m not gonna pledge up and down which version Dabb is using, so I’m more going to take the raw idea that works across multiple models)

In the interim -- and defaulting back to Tiphareth after following the path of the Sun through Art, towards the philosopher’s stone of unabridged love, marriage, the sun and the son, the moon reflects the light of the sun, the Rising Sun, albeit not yet back to its proper reddening -- the yellow familial light I’ve banged on about in this show, even beyond our romantic pairings. The sun had been lost and the family and the three principles fell into chaos, needing to rebuild. And yet, as Castiel brings home Jack, we see the growth even in these few episodes:

With pain and distrust betrayed in purgatory, over having failed to communicate issues with Jack, once everything was laid bare and rotten to base to rebuild in Purgatory, Dean looked to Castiel after doubting himself staring into Jack’s eyes to know if their son was truly home, and by a look, he knew, and accepted, and as weighty as it was, that family was complete.

Back to Tiphareth as the four elements in harmony, we have our future playing field here.

I will tap back to Hod reflecting Chokmah though, at a lesser value, by citing some points of Chokmah: “male creative energy, wisdom and the expression of a single idea in terms of duality. It transmits the idea of the divine unity to its feminine counterpart, the understanding, somewhat as a man transmits the essence of his character to his wife so that he perceives his inmost nature, itself unintelligible to him directly, by observing the flowering of that essence in his son. “

Cough. blossom.

Anyway,

the yellowing is upon them all now, in actual harmony, with the return of the sun by which to reflect their light in Yesod, but furthermore, to step forward.

Hm. What saves Yesod is the direct ray from Tiphareth.

Their su/on. Is home. And the yellow light, if faint at first, as they come to speak, has returned, lingering between them. The yellowing itself comes from moving into a form of being where one’s own soul is less a reflected light of the grand scheme of things and one’s own personal, generated light, and that is landing upon us shortly.

To like, fully break down this path shit I’d have to go full like alchemical sermon here, but I’m more trying to map out just how artistically rendered this show is using these paths.

So where do we go now? The crown, Kether, is our goal. But we’re not ready to Priestess rocket straight that direction, as much as there’s still a strong overshadow of Kether upon them, even if the Star’s light descending leads towards hope.

But we’ve left the primitive base triangle now. Geburah and Chesed await.

Geburah:

The introduction of the number Five shows the idea of motion coming to the aid of that of matter...The result is a complete upset of the statically stabilized system. Now appear storm and stress. (The Book of Thoth, p.180)

Despite the fact that Geburah is a feminine potency, as are all Sephiros [sic] on the left-hand column of the Tree, practically all its attributions are male and vigorous...This is not confusion of thought, but a recognition of the necessity for equilibrium." (Regardie, 1994)

Geburah represents on a much lower plane the Sakti force-element attributed to Binah. (Regardie, 1994)

The quality of Geburah is summed up in the general idea of strength and power and force. Its card based attributions are strife, disappointment, defeat, and worry. That which the heart must overcome with strength.

Chesed:

Lots of crazy mystic math involved but summarily Righteousness, Mercy, and Love, combining seemingly diverse ideas.

"below the Abyss"; therefore, in practice, it means solidification, materialization. Things have become manifest. The essential point is that it expresses the Rule of Law...The manifestation promised by Binah has now taken place. Chesed...is the highest idea which can be understood in an intellectual way. (The Book of Thoth).

These are given to travel to Chokmah (which I’ve noted already) and Binah��“For she is omniform as Love and as Death, the Great Sea whence all Life springs, and whose black womb reabsorbs all. She thus resumes in herself the duplex process of the Formula of Love under Will" (Little Esssays Towards Truth, "Love") - planetary association Saturn, so you may.. *gestures back at other videos* (x)

Like... Rowena’s Reverse Womb Symbolism Dot Jaypeg, “Death is an infinite vessel.” (reminder drop x)

“In short, Binah is the substantive vehicle of every possible phenomenon, physical or mental” (Regardie, 1994)

opposite chokmah, as above mentioned in the masculine presence of the union to meet the godhead.

These lovers must still walk different paths for a time, but will meet across the void of hidden knowledge before standing at the crown, if only after facing their strife and personal strength, taking the understanding of the moon and fortuna, to not play another’s game, to blossom into holding one’s own light along with completion in the family unit, and to find wisdom in the hidden things between them, by which the aged hermit, the hierophant, he who held the unofficiated wedding’s gold, the incomplete, lesser manifestation at Hod, and formerly cast it down -- as his foundation to approach the crown.

At more immediate, Netzach is also led forward by Fortune or Fortuna towards Chesed. The Hermit, a role Sam has heavily embodied on his Hierophant path, crosses from Tiphareth. As the one that impressed Fortuna, Sam is likely the one to hold the torch of her words right now, and figure out how to make Chuck play their game. Whereas Hod travels the road of the Hanged Man, each to find their strength sourced upward from Tiphareth, the heart, the sun, the son, the marriage, the family light, the yellowing, with adjustment through Tiphareth removing some of the pillar of severity and the hanged man road ahead of the struggling, still separated union.

Death descends from Binah to Geburah, enacting her volatile change and meeting the path of the hanged man, empowered by heart and adjustment; the hierophant will meet and become the hermit at Chesed. The path of the united lovers is an inevitability in any system rising from the heart towards the path of the hanged man in affiliation with the divine feminine, death's forces included; and the hierophant enacts the emperor on way to the divine masculine. The Emperor and Empress' marriage will end up being the fundament by which to face that final triangle of upper creation.

For those of you who remember me banging on about Art/Temperance versus Lovers arcana all goddamn hiatus, enjoy seeing them spawn out of Tiphareth there.

Here the red eagle and white lion commune and share in their parts, for the restoration of the golden orphic (x) child and great work under the hands of the Hierophant against the pillars of overseeing divine fem/masc (here represented in Adam and Lilith, other versions Adam and Eve)

Just... honestly just read this (x) if you want to know more about how each of these elementson those cards correspond to the above paths.

So I guess this is a really long magical way of shipper Sam is gonna have to get these two knuckleheads cosmically married and complete before standing as the godman and subverting the allfather with the rebirth of the heart and their su/on. And hopefully not have Eileen recreate the Rowena thing on the way. Or Cas for that matter.

The complete deconstruction of the lovers in purgatory was necessary, having been in the cursed and evil, inverted tree and blocked at Tiphareth. Now we can build forward in light and knowledge and the sovereign journey of man, even if it has its pitfalls and misfortunes. The Empress’ marriage to the Emperor makes foundation for the Fool (which isn’t what it sounds like) and the Magician’s completed work, finalizing the top triangle of unity to complete their magnum opus against god. Man created the gods, and are to soon prove themselves the equal of him.

And that’s my rambling because I suck at teaching this shit.

*nervous chuckling for potential ways for Castiel’s deal to work out right now*

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stiltonbasket · 4 years

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chancellor of the morning sun: first meeting, mingjue (childhood)

In which the Jin cousins are more trouble than they’re worth, and Nie Mingjue thinks about his future wife; or, part 3 of the nielan au that has completely taken over my brain.

Part 1 | Part 2: Lesson (Youth) | AO3

Nie Mingjue hates being the eldest disciple in his generation, sometimes.

According to his father, that means he has to guide the rest of his peers and be a good example to them (which Nie Mingjue doesn’t mind, since being the oldest means he’s better than the others at everything). But being a good example also means putting up with them, which is particularly torturous because the two boys closest to his age are Jin Guangshan’s son and nephew; Jin Zixun is two years younger than Mingjue is, and Jin Zixuan is a year younger than his cousin, and both of them are so infuriating that Nie Mingjue wants to die on the spot when Jin Guangshan comes up to him on the discussion conference’s recess day and tells him to mind the two boys on his behalf.

“They haven’t been to Qishan before, so if I leave them by themselves they’ll just get lost!” he says jovially, clapping Mingjue on the shoulder and ushering his son forward. “I have business with your father, so I’ll come back to fetch them when the audience is over.”

Nie Mingjue nearly opens his mouth and asks the man if he looks like a nursemaid, but then Huaisang tugs at the skirt of his robes and asks for candy—which is when Mingjue realizes that he does look a little like a nursemaid, if a rather grumpy one.

“I will take good care of them, Jin-zongzhu,” he replies, making a short bow. “This disciple is grateful for your faith in him.”

After Jin Guangshan disappears, Nie Mingjue comes to the swift conclusion that neither of the boys is any more tolerable than they were when he saw them last—that is to say, not tolerable at all. Today’s topic of conversation isn’t actually how wonderful Jin Zixun supposedly is, like it was last time, but it’s almost worse somehow; because the Jiang clan is here in Qishan too, and that meant that Jin Zixuan had been forced to go greet his intended with his mother earlier that morning.

Jiang Yanli is a sweet girl, honestly. Nie Mingjue can’t imagine what Jin Zixuan hates about her so much, since the girl herself seems to care about everyone and everything. She and her brothers have often been to visit Qinghe with their parents, and Jiang Yanli sometimes made everyone soup after training despite being a guest there.

“That’s all she knows how to do,” Jin Zixun snorts, when Nie Mingjue points this out. “Make soup, and run after her two precious didis. She’s the most empty-headed girl I’ve ever seen, too—Auntie had to introduce her to me five times before she could remember who I was.”

I wish I could forget who you were, too, Mingjue thinks gloomily, for want of anything polite to say. I’ve lost half of my brain just trying to change the subject to something decent. Like sabers. Why can’t you two blockheads settle for talking about sabers? No one knows respect for their elders, these days.

“Mother says her being nice is enough,” Jin Zixuan groans. “But she’s so boring. The girls in Lanling are so much better, Nie-gongzi. They’re pretty, and the ones in my classes are all good at cultivating, and they can do everything I can. Why couldn’t I have been engaged to one of them?”

“Exactly! Jiang Yanli isn’t as talented as her mother, or as good-looking. What was Auntie thinking?”

“I like Yanli-jie,” Huaisang pipes up, from somewhere around Nie Mingjue’s waist. “You’re just jealous that Zixuan-xiong has such a nice girl to marry, and no one will ever marry you.”

“You—”

“Huaisang!” Nie Mingjus scolds, desperately trying to hold back laughter as A-Sang meets his gaze with a mischievous gleam in his eye. “Say you’re sorry, now.”

“Did A-Sang say something wrong?” his little brother wonders innocently. “Yanli-jie’s going to marry Zixuan-xiong, and Gege’s going to marry Maiden Lan! Who’s left for Zixun-xiong?”

And then Nie Mingjue remembers why he had been so nervous about this conference, because today is the day he will meet his betrothed for the first time.

He doesn’t know much about Lan Huan, save for what little his parents have told him. Father said that she was very kind, and that her cultivation far surpasses Nie Mingjue’s and even most of the elders of her clan; no one knows why, exactly, but Mother says it was because of Lan Huan’s mother, and how Lan Huan was born.

“What is she like?” Nie Mingjue asked, when his father told him that his future marriage had been settled. “Is she strong? And good-hearted?”

Those are the most important considerations for the future Nie-furen, after all, so Mingjue never understood why Fuqin had only laughed at him. “She is wise beyond her youth, A-Jue, and capable of running a household, and when she is grown, I think you will have to fight her if you wish to lead your night-hunts yourself. Young Mistress Lan was delighted to hear that we have A-Sang, though, so she sent along a gift for him.”

The present was a fan painted with white cranes and pine trees, and A-Sang had loved it. Nie Mingjue is certain he knows enough about Lan Huan to like her, since she sounds perfect from what Fuqin said, but—will Lan Huan like him?

What could she possibly find in him to like, when he doesn’t have so much as a shred of delicacy about him? Nie Mingjue knows nothing about art, or music, or the proper way to pay court to a girl, because the Qinghe Nie clan has always found matters of combat and justice more interesting; and this is despite having grown up with Huaisang as a little brother and Lin Daiyu as his stepmother, since she plies A-Sang with paintings and poetry and tries to get Mingjue to enjoy them, too. Nie Mingjue is brash, and loud, and surely everything Lan Huan must think of as crude and unrefined, though she will likely never say so even if Mingjue is intolerable to her.

It sounds like a very dark future for such a good maiden, to be married to someone who might never make her happy simply because Mingjue is too coarse and blunt to even know how to begin trying.

“Uh, Nie-gongzi?” he hears Jin Zixuan say, followed by a light tug at his sleeve. He notes that Jin Zixun seems to have left them to beg his aunt for money again, thankfully, but Jin Zixuan is still here because nothing in Nie Mingjue’s life can ever be wholly perfect. “Um, Mingjue-xiong. I think Huaisang is gone.”

Nie Mingjue comes to an abrupt halt and looks around. No one is in sight but a few Wen guards lazing about in the sun, and a group of ladies clustered around a jewelry stand with Madam Jin and Jin Zixun in tow; a small boy dressed in white and Nie grey would stand out like a sore thumb in this place, and Huaisang is still nowhere to be seen.

And the bottom drops out of Mingjue’s stomach, because Huaisang is gone.

His baby brother is lost and alone, and it’s all Nie Mingjue’s fault.

#nielan #chancellor of the morning sun #nielan arranged marriage au #the untamed #lan xichen #nie mingjue #mo dao zu shi #my fic

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lilzebub · 4 years

Text

Vacations and Vows

Thanks @thegildedquill for the prompt for the Mando’a Challenge! Had a blast writing this one, obviously, since it almost hit 7k LOL. Mando x reader Summary: The Mandalorian meets a ruthless failed Jedi, who somehow manages to navigate the intricacies of the man beneath the beskar. He whisks her away on vacation to pose a very important question that’s been weighing heavy on him.

Prompt: Gett’se (nuts, or brave)

Word count: 6.9K

Warnings: Mandalorian typical violence, minor description of injuries, some season 1 spoilers.

Thanks @thegildedquill for the Mando’a Challenge! Summary: The Mandalorian meets a ruthless failed Jedi, who somehow navigates through the intricacies of the man beneath the beskar.

Prompt: “gett’se”, Mando’a word for ‘courage’, ‘nerve’ or ‘nuts’ (generic) Word count: 6.9K

Warnings: Mandalorian typical violence, light mentions of injuries, season 1 spoilers

“What’s wrong?” The deep voice from the captain’s chair jarred her from her thoughts: not only from the sudden, almost deafening onset of sound in the otherwise silent cockpit, but his sporadic initiation of conversation. She wasn’t entirely sure how long she’d been staring out into the black void of space that laid before the ship. Ten minutes? Maybe twenty? “Uh, yeah. I’m fine. Just thinking, is all.” She relaxed back into the seat, fingers blindly trained on the edges of the domed crib beside her. A sharp intake of air. Was that a laugh? “Don’t hurt yourself.” She cocked her head towards him, incredulously. “What are you thinking about?” He continued, not turning his helmeted head. “Oh, you know. Just everything, I guess. We’ve been on the run for…How many years now?” Pressing the autopilot button, his chair swiveled to face her, expressionless as always. He slumped down, placing his elbows on his beskar clad legs. “Five years? Six?” The subtle tilt of his helmet told her that he hadn’t really considered it until she brought it up. He peered at her through his visor, suddenly glad that she was unable to see his eyes, trained on her petite form.

She was a far cry from the drunken brawler he had met all those years ago, and his lips, hidden behind beskar, tugged into a semblance of a smile at the vivid memory. The newly failed Jedi stood in a darkened back alley of Canto Bight, chest heaving after escaping from a mob of angry gamblers. Her gift with the Force allowed her to cheat her way through a game, winning her a substantial amount of money. Giddy, and moderately tipsy from the free drinks, she shoved credits into the pockets of her long, satin dress, fingers brushing against the lightsaber strapped to her leg. As the young woman navigated her way through the slimy underbelly of the city, blaster shots rang out: her keen senses knew it was only a couple of blocks away, and she stealthily navigated towards the sound. The moment she turned the corner, her heart lurched. Momentary flashes of silver were illuminated in the firefight, and she could see all of the shots were trained on one individual. “I always have to root for the underdog, don’t I,” she whispered under her breath, hiking the skirt of her dress up to remove her lightsaber. With a running start, and a drunken stumble, (Y/n) activated her lightsaber, illuminating the alley in a sunset gold hue, and sized up no less than 8 people nearly surrounding the figure. Slashing through the one that stood directly between her and the figure under attack, she turned, pressing her back towards the cold feeling of what she quickly recognized as beskar. “Who…” the voice called to her, before she quickly cut him off. “We can discuss formalities later, Mandalorian. For now, I’ve got you.” Another round of shots flew directly towards the pair, and she deflected them with ease with the saber. For a moment, the Mandalorian paused and watched the woman in the long dress, admiring the way she fought: she clearly had training, but there was a chaotic element, something unrefined, about the way she took out her enemies. Singlehandedly, the woman took out all but one of them, with the Mandalorian vaporizing the assailant in one swift motion. She sheathed her lightsaber, hiking up her now filthy dress to replace it in its holster. A cocky grin plastered her face, as she reached out towards him. “I’m (Y/n). I’d love to chat more, but seeing as how you’ve clearly made some enemies, we should probably get this show on the road. You got a ship?” The helmet tipped forward, a subtle nod of affirmation. The motion would be the only invitation the woman would receive from him. The Mandalorian turned mumbling quietly to himself about the woman’s apparent mental state, a deathwish, and she followed.

“Definitely closer to six.” The woman hummed, propping her feet on the side of his captain’s chair, wiggling her bare toes. “I’m getting a little….antsy.” “Antsy? About what?” His voice held no indication of what he was feeling. Fear, perhaps? The Mandalorian knew the day would probably come that his traveling companion would grow weary and branch off on her own, leaving him and the Child for good. He could never tell her how badly he wanted her to stay. She had become his best friend, his closest confidante, and a mother figure to the child. “You know….Like maybe we could make a stop for a couple of days. Like a vacation or something. Take the kid and visit Cara or something.” It wasn’t completely lost on her that he exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “I don’t know, Din. I feel like I’ve been staring at the inside of this ship forever. I want to see a sunset, put my feet on solid ground.” She frowned when he didn’t immediately respond. The captain’s chair swiveled back to its original position. “Diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin,” her whine drawled, awakening a slew of butterflies in his stomach. “I’ll see what I can do.” He answered succinctly.

The sound of the docking ramp woke her from a peaceful slumber. Stumbling from her cot, she slipped on a loose, knee length dress and boots, scrambling to see where the Mandalorian had taken her. The hulking figure stood poised at the edge of the ramp, cradling the small bundle. “Navarro? This really your idea of a vacation?” She glided to his side. The child cooed at the sight of her, making grabby hands in her direction. Din slid the child into her arms, silently admiring the care with which she held him. She is the perfect dichotomy of deadly and nurturing, he thought to himself as he continued peering down at her out of the corner of his visor. “No, quick pit stop,” he placed his hand behind her elbow, guiding her off the ship, towards the center of the city. The small gesture of physical contact caused a flame in her cheeks, as she quickly adjusted the baby to sit on the swell of her hip. “CARA,” (Y/n) screeched, passing the child to Din to fully engulf her dear friend in a tight embrace. “It’s been so long!” Din joined the pair, and the child gurgled and cooed excitedly. Cara reached down and stroked the child’s long green ear. “Hello there, little one! What do you think about staying with Aunt Cara for a few days while your mom and dad go have some fun?” She peered pointedly at the Mandalorian, knowing full well that he was blushing under his helmet at the implication of their partnership. (Y/n) glanced quickly at Din, mouth fully agape, then back to Cara. “We couldn’t possibly inconvenience you like that!” she protested, “I mean, this guy is getting to be quite a handful, with his….thing. You know. *the Force*” she mouthed silently, knowing that Force users are generally unfavored, sought after by Imps. Cara found purchase under the child’s arms and pulled him gently away from (Y/n). “Look, if I can handle all the weird shit his mom does, I can handle whatever he can do. You two haven’t had any time to yourself in years now. Stay the night here tonight, we’ll catch up, and you can get an early start in the morning after a night of good sleep and a full belly!”

(Y/n) was one of the few women Cara knew that could drink her under the table. Cara narrowed her eyes as the woman giggled, leaning into the shoulder of the heavily armored man. Through heavy wheezing and laughter, she continued her story. “You should have seen the look on Din’s face when I sabered the guy clear through the chest right before the guy pulled the trigger on him. I have saved your ass SO many times.” Cara doubled over in laughter. “Really? ‘The look on his face’??” She tipped the flagon of alcohol towards her mouth, spewing a bit in her fit of laughter. “So you’re telling me you’ve seen his face?” (Y/n) bristled a bit at the comment. “Well, no, of course not. But I know what he’s thinking sometimes, I can feel it. So I can….imagine, I guess?” She peered up at him with big, glossy eyes. “Right, right. So is that part of the ‘Force’, or the fact that you two are clearly hopelessly in love with each other?” (Y/n) shot her gaze towards Cara, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion, mind reeling. Would that really be that far beyond the realm of possibility? She knew she would be lying if she tried to deny it, instead opting to lean forward, away from Din, and grab her drink off the table. Certainly, their relationship held a peculiar degree of intimacy: what some would consider a simple gesture, such as revealing their real name, was a huge step in her friendship with the Mandalorian. They sat in the hull of the ship in silence after acquiring a particularly difficult asset, the pair both bleeding from fresh injuries. Through heavy, altered breaths, he finally spoke. “You really don’t have to stick around. Bounty hunting is a dangerous business.” Thuds of beskar hitting the cold floor punctuated his sentences, as he peered over at the woman through his visor. She had hastily stripped out of her minimal armor, revealing a startling amount of bruised and bloodied flesh underneath, a large gaping wound staining red the pale flesh of her upper arm. The Mandalorian quickly averted his gaze down to his own wounds, barely visible through the cloth of his underclothes. “I’m not made of glass, Mando. I was one night away from becoming a Jedi Master…you know. Before I ran.” A hiss escaped her lips as she staunched the bleeding from a deep vibroblade cut. His curiosity was piqued. “Seems like a lot of effort to go through just to run off at the last second.” He slid a medkit across the floor over to her, as she busied herself with the next most severe wound. “Do you know anything about what it means to become a Jedi, Mando?” she asked, no hostility in her voice. “Hm. I imagine it’s similar to my Creed.” Bacta spray coated his split knuckles, his gloves discarded to his side. “Well. Because of my…skills…I was taken away from my family as a child. Told to surrender my entire past, my entire self. And for what? To come of age and be told I can never get married or have a family, can never pursue anything that would fulfill me. I couldn’t have anything. So the night before I swore my oath, I took my lightsaber and ran. I didn’t stop running for what felt like an eternity. Hopping from planet to planet, swindling, fighting, killing if I absolutely had to.” Her wounds tended to, she laid back on the cold floor of the Razor Crest. She exhaled. “Honestly, it’s for the best. I’m having too much fun now. And now, all of my choices are my own.” Turning her head to peer at him. “What about you? What’s your story?” “My uh…parents. Got killed. I became the Mandalorians’ foundling. They raised me, and I adopted their Creed as mine. I owe them everything. It’s why I kept the Child as my own.” Suddenly, she reached across the space between them, taking his bare hand in her own. He was taken aback at first: this marked the first non-violent physical contact he had had with anyone in a long time, especially skin to skin. It felt foreign, but something else. Pleasant. “Mando….I’m so sorry.” He laced his fingers through hers, earning a quiet gasp. “Din…Din Djarin.” His voice through the modulator was breathy, as if the words escaped from him on their own volition. She quickly rolled onto her side and pulled her hand away, much to his chagrin. More confidently, he spoke again. “I would like for you to call me Din.” In one swift motion, he reached towards her, initiating the contact again.

“Oh my gods, (Y/n), are you EMBARASSED?” Cara continued laughing, sloshing her drink. “Your eyebrows are about to disappear into your hairline.” She stumbled to her feet. “I’m going to go check on the baby.” She navigated through Cara’s small lodging towards the room that held the child’s crib.

“Really, Din? REALLY? You haven’t told her yet?” Cara leaned forward, chastising him. His helmet tilted slightly as he stretched his arms across the back length of the seat. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Cara.” “So you’re telling me. That you’ve been traveling together for five-“ “Six,” he interrupted. “SIX years, and you haven’t told her that you love her?” He cleared his throat beneath his helmet. “She is the bravest warrior I know. I show her that I appreciate her service every day. That’s why I’m taking her on a vacation. She fights beside me well, and cares for the child as if he’s her own.” Shifting his weight, he glanced down the hallway she had gone down. “Din Djarin, you are staring down that hallway waiting for her to come back. You love her.” “She left the Jedi order so she could have some sense of normalcy. Marriage. A family. I cannot give that to her.” He husked angrily. Cara paused, blinking at him for a moment. “But you already did. Do you think it’s normal for two people to gallivant around the galaxy together, raising an adopted child together? Honestly, when you told me you were coming to visit, Greef and I made a bet: he said you two would already be married by the time you got here. I said you would announce it when you arrived.” “It is not the Way,” he replied simply. “I happen to know that Mandalorians can get married. The Armorer loaned me some books on the Creed. Maybe you should go talk to her.” “She still here in Navarro?” His interest was piqued. “Yeah, maybe you should go see her before you guys head out.” She stood, stretching her arms above her head. “And on that note, I’m going to bed.”

Din crept down the hallway towards the room with the crib, noting the door was slightly ajar. Peeking inside, he saw the child nestled against (Y/n), both fast asleep. Sighing heavily, he exited the building, in search of the Armorer.

The new covert wasn’t far from the old one. A handful of Mandalorians in their armor spread out in the comfortable common area, a handful of children toddling about. He couldn’t contain the swell of pride in his chest, seeing how the tribe was starting anew, with a fresh generation of foundlings. “Ah, Din. It’s been a long time.” A voice called from behind him. He turned, regarding her warmly. “How is the child? Where is the foundling?” “He’s with his moth-…Uh, with my traveling companion.” He barely caught himself. “Ah, a companion? The woman from the siege of Nevarro?” Her voice lilted in what could only be described as amusement, his near slip up wholly noticed. “Yes,” he replied in short. “A failed Jedi Master.” “A dar’jetti. Interesting. She understands the Force, then. Did you choose her companionship for her to teach the Foundling?” She busies herself with a gauntlet from the forge, not looking in his direction. His shoulders slumped, “She put her life on the line for me. She fiercely protected the child and I. More than once. First time on Canto Bight.” “How long ago was that?” Placing the gauntlet on the armory shelf, she turned, as if to urge the truth out of him. “Six years,” his voice was nearly a whisper. “So you have been traveling together for six years. Has she seen you without your helmet? Have you made her your riduur?” Tilting her helmet inquisitively. “You are raising a foundling together. It is a practical decision; we can extend the protection of the Covert to her. Aliit ori’shya tal’din.” He struggled for words, finally resigning to silently hooking his thumbs into his utility belt, shaking his head ‘no’. The Armorer walked over to him, placing a gloved hand on his shoulder. “If you take her has your riduur it is still within the Resol’nare. To remove your helmet in front of your family...It is the Way. It is right, and just, a clan of three.” With that, he turned on his heels without a word, finding his way back to Cara’s homestead.

Din arguably never slept. Between the Child, piloting duties, and watching over (Y/n), he had learned to rely on as little rest as possible. It was no surprise when Cara rose that morning that the Mandalorian was comfortably reclining in the common space. “Morning, Mando! You find the Armorer?” she plopped down on a tufted cushion beside him. “Mhm” he answered flatly. A silence hung thick over the air, as if Cara was waiting for something more. “I’m taking her to Canto Bight. Called in a couple of favors.” She clapped her gloved hands together. “You’re taking her to the place you first met because you’re going to ask her to marry you. I KNEW it.” “Keep your voice down,” he husked. “I need you to take some of these credits from the last bounty, go with her to buy some clothing before we leave.” The creaking of a door startled the pair. (Y/n) dragged into the room, the Child toddling behind her. “Good morning, Cara, Din.” She stretched, and Din regarded her clothing. Her shoulder was exposed from the loose linen top she wore, her black jodhpurs torn and frayed from numerous falls. Since joining him, her style had become simple and practical, but all he could think about was the long dress she wore when they first met. “Um, good morning.” Din stood awkwardly. “Cara is going to take you shopping before we head out. Is that alright with you?” (Y/n) leaned down and picked up the Child, eyeing Din suspiciously. Glancing over at Cara who by now had a shit eating grin plastered across her face, she nodded slowly. “Sure, that sounds like it could be fun.” “I will take care of the baby until you two get back, cyar’ika.” The Mandalorian closed distance and collected the child from her. Before she could react, he leaned his helmet down, pressing it gently to her forehead. “I will see you soon.”

The two women meandered towards the market, (Y/n)’s face still flushed. “You know what that was, right?” Cara asked when they were out of earshot of her dwelling. “That was like, the equivalent of kissing by Mandalorian standard.” She dragged her hands down her face, “I KNOW what it was, Cara. I just don’t know WHY. What the HELL was that?! Was that MANDO’A? WHAT DOES CYAR’IKA MEAN?” He had only ever spoken to her in his native tongue once before, and the low growl of his words always sent a fire straight to the flesh of her neck and face.

Everything had gone to hell in a handbasket. They were cornered, bruised, and broken, under heavy fire from just beyond the cantina doors. A booming voice had just called the Mandalorian by his name, and the woman clutched her saber so tightly that the skin of her palms began to crack. Despite the debris from the ammunition and explosions digging into her knees from where she crouched behind the bar, his name being revealed to everyone wounded her somewhere deep behind her ribcage. Something sacred that he had gifted to her out of trust and mutual respect, shouted with indifference to the seemingly infinite number of troops as they pinned the group down.

The rag-tag group desperately clamored for some promise of an exit, a path to safety. The medical droid turned child protector had uncovered a small opening that could potentially lead the group to safety, but there wasn’t much time. Cara, Karga, and IG-11 crouched towards the small opening and began moving forward. (Y/n) scrambled towards the hole, turning to make sure Din was close behind, only to see him collapsed on the ground, unmoving. She scrambled over to him, tapping the side of his helmet. “Din! DIN? You have to get up, we have to go NOW.” As she slid her hand behind him to try to assist getting him up, she found that he was covered in something dark and slick. Blood, and lots of it, was seeping from a wound that was concealed by his helmet.

His breath came through the vocorder in slow pants. “(Y/n) I’m not going to make it. You take this, take the child, and get to safety.” He pressed a necklace with the emblem of a Mythosaur into her palm, then reached up to press his gloved hand to her cheek. “The covert. They’ll know…..know I sent you.”

Years of Jedi training had taught her about stoicism. It had taught her about loss, and death, but nothing had prepared her to say goodbye to the Mandalorian. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, as she violently shook her head in protest. “No, Din. I’m not leaving you. I will slaughter every Storm Trooper that comes through this door. I will slay Moff Gideon myself and watch the light leave his eyes. I swear this to you.” She looped the necklace around her neck, and slowly stood up, flicking her golden lightsaber and taking a fighting stance.

“Cuyir gar gett’se?!” The Mandalorian wheezed through his vocoder, struggling to catch his breath. “Don’t do this, the child needs you, you’re his mot-.” He stopped speaking abruptly, and she screamed for IG-11 to assist he Mandalorian.

Several Storm Troopers pressed their way inside, and the only thing she could focus on was holding them off for long enough for IG-11 to get Din to safety. As they fell one by one, a much larger Storm Trooper entered with a flamethrower and began spraying his flames towards her. Her palm pressed forward, as she used everything in the Force to keep the flames at bay. Her strength began to falter, as she peered down to her side. The child had waddled up beside her, and she quietly pleaded for him to get back. “Baby, please. Please, you’re going to get hurt. You’ve got to go back.” He raised his tiny three fingered hand and mirrored her position, and the flames began quickly receding. They soon engulfed the Trooper, and she clamored to scoop the now unconscious baby from the ground, running past IG-11 and the body of the Mandalorian. Cara chuckled to herself, “So now that it’s just the two of us, be honest. You’ve got it bad for him, don’t you?” “No shit, Cara. You can only be stuck with someone on a floating chunk of metal for so long before you start to think they look pretty appealing,” she rolled her eyes. “How long?” Cara guided her into a vendor stall, lined with dresses and garments. (Y/n) traced her fingers absentmindedly over the lush fabrics, deep in thought. “Uh, remember the story when he was getting jumped by the eight dudes in Canto Bight?” She picked up a long black dress with an open back. “….You mean the night you met? Are you insane?” Cara looked at her incredulously. “You’ve kept your shit together for six years, without even giving him a hint that you were feeling something?” Her skin flushed. “NO. I was just gonna say this dress is very similar to what I wore that night. GEEZ, Cara, I didn’t even know him yet.” Cara huffed in frustration. (Y/n) draped the dress over her arm, and placed her hand on Cara’s shoulder. “I can’t describe it. Let me just….show you, okay?”

It all came at once as a flood: everything was suddenly warm, like the heat of the sun on a perfect day, or the way spotchka burned just a little on the way down. It was a small, smoldering pile of cinders, giving way to an unquenchable blaze. The feeling of being surrounded by cool, blue water, and a fearless feeling of sinking all the way to the bottom of the sea. The undeniable sensation of falling from some high distance, unsure of when you’ll reach the bottom.

Cara’s eyes opened. “Damn, (Y/n) could you warn me before putting me through the ringer? I didn’t know that was a thing you could do.” (Y/n) turned towards the dark dress, and shrugged her shoulders. “This is the one.” She gestured to this shopkeep, shoving a handful of credits into their hands. “Let’s get out of here. I need a vacation.”

The Razor Crest docked in Canto Bight, and (Y/n) could barely contain her excitement, a stark contrast to the man behind the beskar. “if you would like to get dressed, I’m going to run an errand. Will you be ready in half an hour?”

(Y/n) peered at herself in the small mirror as she dabbed a deep rouge color to her lips. The dress glided behind her as she strode towards the weapons cabinet and pulled out her lightsaber, still in pristine condition. The high slit of the dress allowed her easy access to strap the weapon to her leg. The loud hissing of the ramp to the Razor Crest alerted her to Din’s arrival, and she stood expectantly awaiting the moment he got to lay eyes on her.

The man in the shiny beskar paused in front of her, his helmet tilting downward to take her all in. “You look….” He paused, seemingly choking, noticing the Mythosaur necklace he had given her during the siege situated on her chest. “Really nice, (Y/n).”

She smirked, enjoying how flustered he seemed to be. “You look pretty nice yourself, Din. Did you shine your beskar up just for me?” He quickly nodded.

“I uh….wanted to look as nice as I could for this. Are you ready to depart?” He gestured towards a speeder at the bottom of the ramp. “I got a speeder with a sidecar so you wouldn’t have to…um….straddle it in a dress.” She broke into a giggle, which swelled into a belly laugh.

“That’s surprisingly thoughtful of you. I really can’t believe you pulled all this together for me. Thank you so much.” “Don’t thank me until you see the rest. There’s a lot more to see tonight.” He held out his arm, chivalrously as they walked towards the speeder. “Do you trust me?” She thought for a moment. “Well, that depends. Are you making this nice for me so it’s an easy let down? You’re dumping me back off here or something?”

He scoffed. “No, never. I’m not sure what I would do without you.” The sincerity in his voice caused her to falter a bit. He regained his stoic composure quickly. “Keep your eyes closed, I’ll tell you when to open them.” The speeder ride felt painfully long, and a bit disorienting. She had absolutely no concept of space, nor any idea where he might be taking her. The whirring of the speeder engine slowed to a halt, and she could vaguely make out the sounds of waves crashing somewhere nearby. The Mandalorian disembarked, and strode around to gently lift her from her seat.

“Okay, you can open your eyes now.” His voice through the vocorder gravelly beside her ear.

The woman wasn’t prepared for what sight was in front of her. A large dock surrounded by blue ocean stretched out before them, leading towards a large yacht. The sky was beginning to display a twinge of orange and pink, reflecting off of the gently rolling waves. (Y/n) looked over at the Mandalorian, speechless for the first time since they had met. “Din, this is really too much. It must have cost a fortune in credits to get this boat. And if I recall correctly, you HATE the water.”

He shook his head. “I had a few favors to call in from some associates here. This is yours to enjoy while we’re here.” She jumped up and down gleefully, and began running towards the boat. It never ceased to amaze him her ability to run in high heeled shoes.

The pair embarked on the yacht, and she watched puzzled as Din entered coordinates into the GPS system. The boat began moving towards some undisclosed location, and she ran towards the front of the boat. She perched herself against the railing, staring down as the waves passed quickly as the boat sped along. Innumerable fish passed by, many species she had never seen before. Din stood back and watched her, arms crossed, an immense amount of hidden enjoyment spreading across his features. The young woman quickly turned back towards him. “So where are we even heading? I saw you input some coordinates.” She kicked off her shoes to the side unceremoniously, enjoying the freedom to move about.

“I know a spot.” He answered plainly.

“Hmmmm, a place where you dump the bodies?” She chided, eyeing him suspiciously.

“No. Just a place I thought you might like to see. I don’t imagine you got to enjoy many spots in Canto Bight during your time here.” She thought for a moment.

“You’re right. Most of the time I was just ducking out in alleyways. I think I only even got to see the coastline twice during the time I was here. And never like this.” The setting sun caused her to squint her eyes a bit as she peered out, and the Mandalorian took that time to really take her in: she was truly beautiful, all pointed features and sharp angles. He very seldom had the luxury to see her this way, without lines of worry across her forehead, or thinking deeply about how they were going to capture the next quarry. She consistently held a brave face for him and the child, so much that it was often easy to forget that she was a living being. For a moment he tried to imagine her other life, one where she was a hardened Jedi master: fierce and unrelenting, but also quiet and solitary. He thought, that life would have never suited her, she was like a wildfire, wild and unquenchable. Her smile when she held the child, or the attitude she so quickly gave the Mandalorian when he agitated her. No, she felt far too much to be confined by the life of a Jedi. She looked back over to him, smiling.

“You know, sometimes I actually can feel what you’re thinking. You try to keep your thoughts quiet, but sometimes you’re so loud in there.” She shook her head, almost embarrassed. “You’re right, though. That was never the life for me. I’m a little bit too erratic for the discipline they expected from me.” He moved towards her, placing his hand tentatively on her shoulder.

“There’s nothing shameful about that. You’re impulsive at times, wild even. But you know, sometimes I’m not sure this is the life I want to live either.” She gazed at his hand for a moment, before turning her attention to the T shaped visor, confused at his confession. He continued, “There are many days when I think maybe it’s time to take off the armor, to give all of this up. Maybe settle down with the kid somewhere and try to have some normalcy.”

“Din, where is this coming from? The Creed is your entire life….” The boat sputtered to a halt, and he gently guided her to turn back around: all that could be seen around them was a beautiful sunset undisturbed and untouched by the Canto Bight skyline. Her mouth hung open in shock. “Din, I’ve never seen anything like this before. Every planet I’ve seen, in all my travels. Nothing this beautiful.”

“Neither have I.” He spoke softly, and she smiled back towards him. She immediately noticed his visor didn’t face the sunset, he was looking down at her. “(Y/n), I want you to do something for me.” He clasped both her hands in his, shocking her at his blatant display of affection.

“After you put all of this together for me? I’ll do literally anything you ask of me.” She winked at him.

He slowly lifted her hands to the edge of the beskar helmet on his head, exhaling shakily. Her fingers traced the cool metal that shielded his face from the world, as he let go of her hands. She felt herself starting to tremble at the immense amount of trust her placed in her, allowing her to touch his helmet. His hands now found purchase at her waist, another action so intimate she felt her heart swell.

“I want—I want you to take it off.” His voice was uneven and gentle, as though he couldn’t believe the words had slipped out to her so easily.

“Din, NO,” she quickly removed her hands and tried to pull herself from his grasp. “Your Creed. I can’t see you without it. Why the kriff would you want to give that up now, after all this time?” His grasp on her waist didn’t falter, instead pulling her in closer to him. She slapped her hands on his cuirass, agitated. “I won’t let you throw away your entire life for me.”

“I don’t have to ‘throw away’ anything for you, cya’rika. All these years you’ve traveled with me…You’ve followed me to the ends of the earth to protect the child…OUR child. You have never betrayed my trust, despite your absolute ruthless nature. I want to give this to you.”

Tears began welling up in her eyes. “You can’t, Din. As much as I wish I could say yes, we can’t. I know what it means to throw away everything you worked for, but I made that choice. Your Creed is everything to you.”

“I don’t have to give up my Creed to show you my face…” He spoke barely above a whisper. “We’re a clan of three. Aliit ori’shya tal’din: Family is more than blood.” He echoed the phrase the Armorer had told him.

“I’m familiar with Mandalorian customs, Din: You can remove your helmet in front of your child.” She grew increasingly more agitated and anxious.

“Or…my riduur.” She shifted her weight nervously.

“Din, I’m familiar with customs, not the language. I don’t even know what that means.”

His hands moved to grasp hers again, placing them on his helmet with more conviction. “Wife. It means, my wife.” “Are you….are you asking me to…?” He nodded. “You’re not just messing with me right now?” He shook his head in response, and she began a combination of laughing and crying all at the same time.

“So will you do it?” He whispered softly, and she squeezed her eyes shut tightly as she lifted the helmet. A quiet hiss echoed around them, as the sun began to dip just beyond the horizon. Din took the helmet from her, and placed it to the side. “Open your eyes, (Y/n).”

She slowly opened her eyes to the man before her. The rays from the finally setting sun settled upon his golden tan skin, framed by loose brown curls. Her hands shot up to her mouth in shock. “Din, you’re…..hot? Like, I knew you had swagger, but you’re….you’re a vision.” He looked at her shyly, and began to laugh. “Stars, and your smile? I can’t believe you never told me how beautiful you were underneath that tin can.”

He wrapped his arms around her waist, and leaned towards her so dangerously close that their lips were almost touching. “I mean, I figured all this time you thought I looked like the child.” She reached up to touch his face with nothing but reverence and adoration.

“You could have been a Mon Calamari under there and I would love you…” She paused, her cheeks flushed with her confession. His gloved hand cupped the side of her face, and she leaned into him, never breaking eye contact. “I love you, (Y/n).” She released his face and threw her arms around his still armor-clad shoulders, pressing into a tentative kiss.

“I will marry you, Din. Under one condition.” She murmured, lips still hovering close to his.

“Anything you want, cyar’ika.”

“You gotta start teaching me Mando’a.” She felt his chest move, as laughter began bubbling up from deep within him. “Hey, it’s not funny! You keep slipping in words and phrases and I’ve been in the dark this whole time!”

He brushed his lips against her forehead. “Okay, anything you want to know.”

“When we were on Nevarro, and you were….um…dying. You said something. What was it?” He pulled back and thought about it for a moment.

“I’m pretty sure I told you that you were nuts.” Her fist connected with his shoulder. “OW, what was that for?”

“All this time, I’ve been sitting here, thinking that you were professing your love with your dying breath. And you were just telling me that I was CRAZY?”

He gently thumbed over the necklace he had given her. “In a way, I was. Gar cuyir gett’se. You’re the bravest, most fearless, insane woman I have ever met. Cyar’ika, my beloved.”

The pair had spent their travel time back to Nevarro, with Din patiently teaching her phrases of Mando’a, particularly phrases for their wedding vows. They had made the decision to have the ceremony performed on Nevarro, with the child, Cara, Greef Karga and the Armorer present, even though Mandalorian weddings were a simple exchanging of words. As they approached the docking bay, (Y/n) seemed to vibrate with excitement. The hatch opened, and the pair could see Cara laughing with the baby settled on her hip, and Greef Karga gesticulating animatedly.

(Y/n) practically skipped off towards the group, Din following slowly behind. He was still tentative; he didn’t know what to expect with their news. As (Y/n) approached, the baby wiggled and writhed away from Cara, and she plopped him down watching him waddle over and clasp onto (Y/n)’s leg.

Cara eyed the pair carefully, cutting between the two of them. “Something’s different, isn’t it? You’ve got an awful lot of spring in your step to just have some vacation afterglow.” (Y/n) turned, smiling at the Mandalorian.

He nervously cleared his throat, and moved to stand by her side, dwarfing her in his height. “I have asked (Y/n) to be my riduur.”

She proudly bounced on the heels of her feet. “Wife. That means wife, everyone. He’s been teaching me Mando’a on the trip back.” Everyone gaped at the pair, the baby cooing and sputtering excitedly. “What’s everyone staring at?” For a brief moment, seemingly suspended in time, everyone was too shocked to speak. Greef Karga broke the silence by stepping forward and clapping the Mandalorian on his pauldron covered shoulder.

“I knew you had it in you, Mando. I’m glad you’re keeping her around. She’s always been crazy enough to get things done.” He shot a quick wink over to the woman, who beamed up at the expressionless helmet.

“She certainly is, which is why she wants to go ahead and do it today.” As if the baby knew what Mando was saying, he began cooing and gurgling excitedly. He reached down and stroked the child’s slightly furry head. “We would like all of you to attend as our witnesses. Mandalorian wedding vows are a simple exchanging of words, but we would like for all of you to be a part of it.”

Later in the day, as the blazing sun hung above the city, the group found themselves in the Mandalorian covert. The Armorer greeted the group warmly and led them to a common space with comfortable seating. Din and (Y/n) stood before them, hand in hand, as they began to recite the vows he had taught her on the flight back to Nevarro.

“Mhi solus tome. Mhi solus dhar’tome. Mhi me’dinui an. Mhi ba’juri verde.” Din clasped his gloves hands on her cheeks, pulling her towards him. Gently, he pressed the forehead of his helmet to her, and she beamed back at him.

“So that’s it? You’re married now?” Karga slapped his hands to his knees. The Armorer nodded.

“Yes. Mandalorian custom dictates a simple exchange of words as a binding marital contact. This is the Way.”

(Y/n) strode towards Cara, collecting the baby. “Well that’s it little guy, I guess I’m officially your mom now.”

The Armorer nodded her head in agreement. “A clan of three. Go forth and raise warriors.” (Y/n) chuckled.

“I think warrior, singular, is about all we can handle right now. I think our little clan is finally complete.” She gazed at his visor adoringly. “Now, we better get back to work. I blew a bunch of our credits at the casino on Canto Bight. Karga, got any pucks for us?” The group stared at her incredulously, as Din wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

“I told ner cyar’ika no using the Force to cheat. We didn’t need their security ruining her vacation.” She shrugged under his weight.

Karga grumbled. “Nuttiest bounty hunters in the entire Guild. I swear, they were made for each other.”

The baby cooed happily between them, and (Y/n) felt her chest swell with pride. After all those solitary years, the brutal Jedi training, she finally felt as though she had the entire galaxy within her reach. The things she so outrageously dreamed of, prematurely stolen from her in her youth, restored by a fifty something year old child, and a man clad in armor as impenetrable as his heart: a family all her own. A clan of three.

#mandoachallenge #themandalorian #mando #mandoxreader #dindjarin #din djarin #fluff #romance #themandalorianseason1spoilers #themandalorianxreader #dindjarinxreader

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sinnergism · 4 years

Text

[ Mood Test ] SebaCiel AU: 1960′s Paris

Paris, 1968

Sebastian watched the smoke curl in the evening dusk above the yawning street below, and thought about the boy sitting on his desk behind him.

Paper crackled as he turned a page. Clothes rustled with an occasional shift of his hips. The boy was still reading, on that lone reading desk that Sebastian kept cramped in his apartment. He had been reading for hours while Sebastian had tidied up the apartment as best he could and had taken cigarette breaks at regular intervals to slink back and watch him from the dim corner beside the window.

The boy would only ever look up sometimes to stare off into space, as if reciting a passage back to himself, to try to commit it to memory. Sometimes, he would do it long enough so that, after minutes of Sebastian staring at him, he'd finally become cognizant of Sebastian's watchful gaze, and roll over his eyes to meet it.

He always averted them again right away after that. Quick enough that he would not have to see the grin that sliced Sebastian's face.

But even within those fractions of moments, Sebastian saw all that he wanted to see. That twitch in his eyeballs, and the pulse that would slowly spread over his fair British skin for minutes after he'd looked away. The way his spine stiffened and his shoulders locked and his toes curled, just a little.

Maybe today would be the day, then.

Sebastian closed his lips around the cigarette, inhaled deeply and exhaled with, "I must say... I'm intrigued."

The boy stayed silent.

Sebastian breathed out the smoke, watched it curl in on itself and dissolve in the room.

The boy's eyes finished their sojourn across the line he was reading, and, with the snobby air of finally deigning his comment worthy of a response, said, "Yes, your ongoing intrigue with life has been well-established. Will you still be talking about phenomenology? Before we go on about this, shut that window, if you're going to insist on chain-smoking; I'm getting chills."

Sebastian took a defiant drag off his cigarette. Took time to enjoy the slow palliative pulse of the nicotine. Then extinguished the flame in the ashtray on the windowsill and shut the window with a click.

He turned around and leaned against the frame of the window. "Most things I say are in some way or another about phenomenology. Though what I'm wondering at the present moment is not so much an analysis on the nature of it but a question that naturally presents itself if logically following its tenants. Tell me, Ciel, how long has it been since you came to Paris?"

Ciel looked at him sharply. The boy seemed to know that that wasn't really what Sebastian was asking, but seemed to also not know what he was really asking, so he just said, "Three months, a week, and two days."

"Ninety-eight days, hmm. And how many of those have you spent here with me, in my apartment?"

The boy rolled his eyes. "If you want me to leave, just say so."

"Ah, but that isn't what I said, is it? Pas du tout."

"What is this about, Sebastian? You're getting more than enough out of this, aren't you? I paid for that, if you recall." He gestured toward the mahogany bookcase in the corner.

Heavy red sunlight gleamed on the polished wood. It was getting dark. Only a little more now, until the sun would be gone completely, and the boy would leave, as he always did, to march down the streets of Canal St Martin toward that fancy place he rented all by himself near Neuilly-Auteuil-Passy, where all the rich people lived.

Sebastian wondered if the boy ever stopped along the way to stare out into the Seine, stared into its black depths, and thought of all the things they'd been talking about. Or would he be thinking of that family he left behind in England that he would not speak about? Was the distraction that Sebastian provided enough?

What is on your mind when you're alone in bed in this foreign city, little lordling?

With a smile, Sebastian said, "You know I would let you borrow those books you like so much. You could read them within the privacy of your home. At the Café de Flore. At Les Deux Magots. Or a quiet river bank along the Seine." He dropped his smile, and took a few seconds to pretend he was thinking hard. "Hmmm. So many possibilities. No need for you to be here, really. No need for a superior British noble boy to enter the enclave of a morally suspect Frenchman, and even less of a need to stay."

The boy's temper roused: Sebastian saw it in the sharp look he sent over. The boy pushed the book forward a little as if to stand up in indignation.

The boy reigned in his temper in time though; he stayed silent. He regarded Sebastian coolly. Dissected him. Daring him to speak the truth.

But ah. Sebastian always said the truth, but he wasn't going to just lay it all out. Where would be the fun in that?

Besides, he'd just caught a glimpse at the book Ciel was reading: Being and Time by Martin Heidegger. Hmm.

"I find you interesting enough company," Ciel said. "Your proclivities aside, I will not deny that you make for better conversation than most other people."

Proclivities. Sebastian was silently grateful for the many, many tourists whose portraits he'd drawn along the churn of the Seine or along the gothic awnings of a cathedral. Without them, his English would be far too poor to take full advantage of the excellent diversion this boy provided.

"Which makes you feel good?"

"Stimulated." Quickly: "Intellectually, that is."

"I wasn't talking about the conversations," Sebastian said, "But sure. The conversations are what you're here for. You do enjoy the times we've spent debating at the cafés with my friends, didn't you? Your intellectual appetite is forecious.”

“Voracious,” Ciel corrected him.

“Eh bien. Voracious, then. Of course: from the Latin vorare. To devour. Which is what you do, with knowledge. You are just a being made up of rational thought, aren’t you? Cogito ergo sum."

"Yes."

Sebastian gave him a sharp smile. "And why did you agree with that, if you're currently reading an entire book dedicated to the notion that being is being in the world?"

"... You baited me and didn't give me time to think," Ciel said scornfully. "And apart from that, the fact is that I would be a very undiscerning reader if I agreed with every book I read; we can have this discussion when I've finished it. Besides, Descartes' ideas on reality, and not necessarily Je pense, donc je suis can be interpreted as an ontological proof of existence for thought itself. The main premise of that particular quote is that there can't be thought without a thinking entity -- so the thought proves the existence of this entity, the being -- but it also more generally asserts the existence of thought itself. One cannot simultaneously deny the existence of thought while one does so using thoughts. The existence or relevance of all other things -- including my possible motivations -- is neither proven nor disproven. This has nothing to do with your assumptions."

For some reason, Ciel preferred to quote philosophers in French, even when Sebastian first introduced concepts in Latin. Sebastian didn't know the reason but was amused by it anyway.

"You're right," Sebastian said.

The boy glowed with pride.

Sebastian smiled. "Do forgive my provocation; it was a mere diversion. Un peu d'amusement."

"Which seems to be your being's primary motivation," the boy said with a chill.

Sebastian smiled. Ciel was quite the precocious student, though still sometimes unrefined in thought, and woefully resistant to the embodiment of that philosophy which he was so attracted to.

He understood Sebastian's ideas, grasped them quickly and curved them around the edge of his mind. It made the part of Sebastian that loved to teach positively giddy inside.

But there was another aspect to this boy, as well: the one that resisted the logical consequences. That refused to follow the tracks to inevitability. The logic gate that guarded the logical necessity of following the truth not just in mind but in body and spirit were still closed, but opening up only bit by bit, and that part, ah...

Perhaps it was time to give it a little push.

"There's also a Latin de cuisine version of Descartes' most famous quote. Ah, how do you English say it…"

The boy blinked. "Dog Latin?"

"C'est ça. Dog Latin. Well, they do say that unexpected brilliance can be found in the simplest minds…"

Ciel raised an eyebrow and waited.

"Coito, ergo sum," Sebastian said. "Through coitus, I am."

Sebastian had given it a fifty-fifty chance whether the boy would find this awfully amusing or amusingly awful. The scales tipped in favor of the former when he stifled one of his rare laughters. "Oh. That's. A little clever."

Sebastian shifted his legs forward, crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned against the window. The coldness of the glass against the back of his turtleneck made him shiver, once.

Maybe it hadn't been just the glass, though. "So?" Sebastian prompted the boy with a raise of one eyebrow. "This diversion aside, I was making a valid observation. You seem awfully fond of staying here with me. Alone." He pushed himself off of his causal position and threw a look out the window. The rococo-style building on the other side of the street was already enshrouded in shadows.

"Your lack of tact is shocking, but not unexpected," Ciel said coldly. "As is your lack of imagination when it comes to my reasons."

"Ciel," Sebastian, and gave him a quick smirk, "I think you'll find my imagination is as fine as it is vivid. As is yours, judging by the way you look at me."

In the ensuing silence, Sebastian sauntered over to his desk, and slowly, carefully, deliberately lowered himself on its edge.

The boy's spine straightened. He looked up at Sebastian. A frown cut over his eyebrows, but there was also a leap of nervousness that made his lower lip quiver and his eyes flicker up and down Sebastian's form once, from the line of his hips up along his black turtleneck and to his face.

"Enough of that," Sebastian said, calmly and decisively. "Let's not talk about what you think anymore. Although what I'm going to ask you is something you're doubtlessly thinking about already..."

Sebastian leaned in. And closer.

The boy never batted an eye.

What he did do was swallow. Thickly.

Sebastian led his voice drop and drop to something barely above a whisper, and said, "Tu veux?"

You want to?

The boy inhaled sharply.

Sebastian's eyes flickered over to the corner, behind Ciel, toward Sebastian's bed.

Ciel's eyes followed him. They widened in realization as the full weight of the implication settled in. He looked back at Sebastian.

This precious, this willful, this obstinate boy in front of him looked nothing if not reluctantly aroused.

And, through the thrill of that little victory, Sebastian dropped his tone just a little lower.

"Tu veux... ou pas?" (Update October 2020: this fic has now been reworked into a longfic. Read it HERE :))

#lbr Sebas is probably getting his teeth kicked in for this #or maybe not?#Ciel is 18 in this but I couldn't find a natural way to include his age in the text #can you guess how old Sebastian is?#mood test #test was successful btw #this will be a fic #but this won't be canon to it #Ciel will be different #sebaciel #sebaciel fanfiction #my writing #Je suis an unapologetic francophile #self-indulgend to the T #I DUNN CARE #coffee & cigarettes

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churchyardgrim · 3 years

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#2 from the d&d ask meme? it is a fantastic question

before they met their party, what was their main goal?

oooo excellent opportunity to plug my boy’s four page backstory that i just realized i never posted here!

tldr Silas wants to study a perfect immortal in order to defeat death, bc death insulted him once and he never got over it hghdfg

Silas Edelhart has a problem. That problem is death.

He was born to minor nobility, old money making use of their hereditary ambition to generate new money on the merchant routes, and he was lucky enough to not be his father’s preferred heir; he was allowed to take to academia, or else join some priesthood and curry favor with the lesser sons of other noble houses. He chose academia.

He was enamored with it. The libraries! The minds to learn from. The men. The women! The men. The only disappointment was that apprentice physicians did not get invited to many parties, something Silas was hard at work remedying when he was presented with an unwittingly significant patient.

A farm hand from outside the city had been delayed in reaching them for medical care, and his injuries - an accident with a plow, they were told - had gone gangrenous. He was insensible with fever, and would have lost the leg even if his people hadn't taken so long in getting him to the medics; as it was, despite amputation and efficient treatment for blood poisoning, he expired overnight, in Silas's care.

Silas was crushed. He had done everything right, double and triple checked his protocols, and still the man had died. “No one blames you, of course,” one of the senior physicians said to him, “these things simply happen.”

Maybe they ‘simply happened’ to other people, Silas thought bitterly, but he was better than that. He had decided the man would live, and his performance had been flawless! The terminity of a mere natural law to stand in the way of his will was intolerable. Incensed, Silas threw himself at his studies, dead set that it should never happen again.

Resurrection magic wasn't what he was after initially; he only wanted to keep the living where they were. But he found quickly that the popular consensus was that healing magic could only do so much, and most simply accepted its failures as they did any other misfortune. So he hunted out spells to wrench the dead back, hidden and fragmented in books his instructors only grudgingly let him read. Time would tell if they would be enough, however; none of the accounts of their use he had read gave any indication of the effects being permanent. It would be so embarrassing, to put so much work into defying death only to have his prize killed in a careless accident! He would not settle for anything less than complete immunity from death.

His practice only pushed him deeper into this conviction; plenty of his patients lived, much improved from treatment, but a few still died despite his efforts, reigniting his rage at death every time. He began to get a reputation for it, and some of his peers started tactfully funneling away those patients that seemed likely to die with or without medical care, to spare themselves his rants. Many of them thought his anger came from an insult to his skills, but this was all wrong; he knew his skills were exceptional, the failure was not his.

It is the gods’ fault, Silas decided. The gods had set this wretched law in place, to kettle and humble mortal creatures. But... no, the gods themselves are yet subject to death, have died in scores. So, death is a greater power than even them.

But in one book, ill-used and forgotten, Silas found mention of a god returning from death. A resurrection on a divine scale. And once that possibility had revealed itself, the hints between the lines of other books made themselves apparent; someone had performed that resurrection, exercised mastery over death in such a way that it left Silas’s mouth watering. How? How had it been done?

The next few months of frantic research and evasion - the concern from his tutors was enough to warn him that no one wanted him to go looking for this - led him eventually into the university’s vaults. To a broken-legged construct, dormant, containing a withered, desiccated hand. Not the hand of the godly resurrectionist, no, but the hand of someone who, certain books implied, might have been a devotee of that individual. A relic of a necromantic saint.

Silas stole it, of course he did. Made use of a debt owed by an engineer of the local guilds to repair the construct housing, and treated it as a treasured prize. Such mysteries, opening to him now with the artifact’s communion; he graduated quickly from books to practice, retreating into his own rooms to make frogs twitch and test ancient ideas on the animation of flesh. He took on fewer and fewer patients, withdrew from the society of his peers… for the most part.

Sera Mournleaf was brilliant. Sera Mournleaf was intense. And some days, Sera Mournleaf was the only thing that could distract him from his work. An elf with connections, she did him many favors in getting him subjects to work on, meat with which to test his theories, and had an insightful and sparkling mind with which to discuss the less publicly acceptable aspects of spitting in the face of death. So what if she stayed up later than him some nights, reading and rereading his notes. So what if every time she visited her aging human father she came back slumping with worry. He cannot expect things to be about him all the time!

Besides, he had little focus to spare for things not his research, now. He had been forced to take up the shovel himself, more than once, to find fresh bodies that would be more difficult to trace back to him - they keep a close eye on the university morgue, he learned better than to try that more than once. And he had had no small success, stripping corpses of their unnecessaries and stitching the most promising parts to one another, speaking to his prized relic with equal parts demand and prayer.

The results infuriated him at first. Lurching, wretched things, no better than flesh constructs, most of them had to be destroyed; that shriveled hand granted Silas holy fire as easily as it had clues to the resurrectionist arts. But he persisted, and grew to view them as necessary stepping stones towards a greater perfection. He grew more bold, more reckless, and felt himself forever on the verge of a cataclysmic revelation.

It was not to be. He was found out. The right word in the right ear brought the law crashing down on his shoulders, and he watched them burn his experiments with a guardsman kneeling on his back. It was broken, all of it, his research carted away in boxes (fewer boxes, maybe, then he thought there should have been), and Silas himself thrown in prison to scream his rage at the uncaring stone.

The trial was a farce. Somehow, Silas's family managed to find reason enough to pull half the lawyers in the city to his defense, while at the same time making it very clear that under no circumstances was he to darken their doorstep ever again. In the same two hour span his prospects went from life imprisonment to a mere slap on the wrist of exile, and then summarily informed that he had been neatly removed from the last will and testament of his every living family member. It was a very trying day.

At the end of it he was stripped of his qualifications, most of his wealth confiscated, and ejected from the city with his mouth sewn shut with wire; an archaic punishment for heresy, invoked here merely as sorry consolation on the part of the law that they couldn’t execute him outright. In the proper spirit of the thing, he should have left the stitches in place and let himself starve, and in deference to the bare truth of his crimes Silas endured it for three days before getting sick of the whole thing and cutting himself loose.

He had managed to keep his precious relic in its construct housing, the only thing worth bribing a minor official to sneak out of evidence lockup, and he quickly put distance between himself and wretched Misthaven, thinking nothing but bitter thoughts towards his betrayer. Selfish, horrible Sera; she had gotten cold feet, most likely. Come over all moral about what he had been doing, let slip to the magistrate that perhaps she knew who had been plundering the city's burial grounds at night. Well! She will just have to wait and see, won't she. Wait until he can begin his work again, reach as yet unseen heights of resurrection. Then he would return to Misthaven and enact some fitting revenge, on her and all those who had a hand in ruining him.

(Miss Mournleaf could have argued, the better part of a year later, that his unwitting parting gift was revenge enough. Babies scream like they’re being murdered, and the damn thing looks just like him. She left it with the nuns and got on with the business of saving her father.)

And so he wandered, working as a physician in small towns and middling cities, trying his damndest to reestablish his research in some capacity. But his funds never stretched that far, and neither did the patience of his neighbors; more than once he had to flee under cover of night, for misdeeds real or imagined. Most of these were unmemorable affairs, and only irritated him. Once, the mercenary paid to kill him proved a delightful match, in combat and energy, and the man made an affair of running away with Silas, and Silas ended up growing remarkably fond of Cassian Hellier, for all his unrefined brutishness. They still keep in touch, whenever either of them is in civilization long enough to hire a messenger to carry letters.

A decade passed in this fashion before Silas began to hear rumors. Travelers between worlds, fading in and out of unearthly mist, serving a genuine immortal. He seized upon these threads, passion alight again; a near perfect undead, far superior to the wretched things he had managed to raise back in Misthaven, yes. He would follow the travelers, seek out their master, see what, if anything, of the rumors were true. If they are... he would study, and learn, and replicate the results. And if not? Well, the corpse of even a lesser undead would be a beautiful thing.

#dnd #silas #boyo's a death cleric/graveyard rogue and i LOVE HIM #Anonymous

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fanyiyimdzs · 4 years

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Mo Dao Zu Shi: Chapter 5

Masterpost

Previous chapter

Only a few days passed before Wei Wuxian realized that he may have made a mistake.

The donkey he had stolen was way too hard to please.

It was only a donkey, but it refused to eat anything other than fresh, tender grass with dewdrops hanging from the leaves, and shunned any blades which showed the slightest hint of yellow. When they passed by a farmhouse, Wei Wuxian stole a few stalks of wheat to feed it, but it only chewed a couple of times before—“pfeih!”—it launched them back out, its spit louder and more resonant than any human’s. Not only would it barely eat, it also refused to move, and if Wei Wuxian tried to make it, it would throw a fit, jumping and kicking at him with its hind legs. His life suffered several close calls. What’s more, its braying was agony to the ear.

It had no redeeming qualities as either a mount or a pet!

Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but think fondly of his sword. It was most likely hanging on the wall of some grand clan now, exhibited by the chief as a trophy of war.

Dragging the donkey with him come life or death, he ran a few lengths of road toward a large field belonging to some nearby village. The glaring sun beat down from above, and he sought shelter under a big scholar tree on the embankment between the rice paddies. The thick shade beneath the verdant leaves was dark and cool, and there was an old well where the villagers had placed a bucket and a ladle so that passers-by could quench their thirst. Once the donkey had run here, it absolutely refused to budge. Thus, Wei Wuxian jumped off, slapped its venerable hindquarters and said, “You sure must be a magnificent, prosperous being. You’re even fussier than me.”

The donkey sneezed at him.

While Wei Wuxian passed the time a hundred different ways, a group of people trekked in his direction along the crisscrossing paths in the distance.

They wore bamboo baskets on their backs, linen shirts, and straw shoes; they had the rustic, earthy appearance of rural villagers from head to toe . Among them was an almost delicate and pretty young woman with a round face, who had perhaps walked under the harsh sun for too long and wanted to sit in the shade and drink some water. But when she saw the donkey tied to the tree, braying and stomping discontently, and the wild-haired lunatic with red and white pigment smeared all over his face sitting next to it, she became frightened and wouldn’t approach.

Wei Wuxian had always considered himself protective and caring of women, so seeing her state, he moved to create space for her and went to bother the donkey. Only once the travellers saw he was harmless did they relax and come near. Each and every one of their faces were bright red and drenched in sweat, some fanning themselves and some fetching themselves water. The young woman sat by the well, and, seemingly knowing Wei Wuxian had intentionally made room for her, gave him a tiny smile.

Among the group was a man holding a compass, who gazed out into the distance. He then looked back down, bewildered. “We’re almost at the foot of Dafan Mountain. Why isn’t the needle moving?”

The compass he was using was no ordinary compass; its markings were different, and its needle didn’t point north. It wasn’t a compass of the cardinal directions, but an “evil wind compass”, used to locate fierce, malignant spirits. Wei Wuxian knew then the people he had met were a family of poor, unaffiliated cultivators. Outside of the illustrious, moneyed houses of cultivation, who spent their spare time contemplating the poetry of white snows and sunny spring days, there were also quite a few of these kinds of small, unrefined, closed-off, and self-taught families. Perhaps they had rushed from the village to beg for shelter from a big house that they had some relation to. Or perhaps they were out on a night-hunt.

The middle aged leader waved everyone toward the well for water and simultaneously said, “Your compass is probably broken, once we get back I’ll get you a new one. We’re less than five kilometers from Dafan Mountain, so we can’t rest for long. We’ve suffered the winds and the dust the whole journey—if we relax here, the people behind will pass us, and all our effort’ll be wasted.”

Indeed, they had come to night-hunt. Many cultivators, fond of literary pursuits, called roaming the four corners of the land, exorcising evil spirits “roving hunts,” and since their prey typically came out at night, the hunts also became known as “night-hunts.” Though there were many houses of cultivation, only a few became truly famous. If their ancestors had not accumulated prestige and prosperity, ordinary houses could only earn respect and reputation through their own achievements, and climb the hierarchy of the cultivation world by their own sweat. Only by seizing a brutal monster or calamity-bringing spirit would their names start to have weight.

Seizing evil things was what Wei Wuxian was best at, but the few days he’d been running around on the road breaking into graves, he had found only minor ghosts. He still lacked a ghost that could help him trample his opponents, so he decided he would also go to Dafan Mountain1 and try his luck. If he found a useful one, he would catch and deploy it.

The cultivators had now rested enough and were preparing to take off. Before they left, the round-faced young woman took a half-green, half-red apple from the basket on her back and passed it to Wei Wuxian. “This is for you.”

Wei Wuxian reached out to receive it with a big smile on his face, but the donkey raised its head, bared its teeth, and bit at the pro-offered fruit. He hastily grabbed hold of it. But when good fortune came, so did clever ideas; seeing the donkey endlessly salivating over the little apple, Wei Wuxian picked up a tree branch and a fishing line, tied the apple to the branch, and hung the apple in front of the donkey’s head. The donkey smelled the fragrant scent of the apple, and lusting after its sweet flesh, chased the fruit that was always just a little out of reach. Head raised and charging ahead, the animal ran faster than any colt Wei Wuxian had ever seen, leaving clouds of dust trailing behind it.

The donkey didn’t stop running, and thus they made it to Dafan Mountain before nightfall. Wei Wuxian only figured out how to write the mountain’s name when he reached its base. From far away, it looked exactly like a venerable, open-hearted, squat Buddha—thus it was Dafan Mountain, and the small village at the foot of the mountain was therefore called Fojiao Village.2

The number of cultivators who had gathered far exceeded Wei Wuxian’s expectations. It was a mixed crowd, like a lake where both dragons and schools of tiny fish swam. The cultivators wore a dizzying, blinding array of colours and resembled a parade of restless flowers as they walked up and down the street. But for some unknown reason, everyone had a nervous expression on their face. They couldn’t even spare the attention to laugh at Wei Wuxian’s ridiculous face.

In the center of the main road, a crowd of cultivators gathered, speaking solemnly. They seemed to be arguing and spoke loudly enough for Wei Wuxian to hear them from a distance. At first the discussion was calm, but it grew more and more agitated as it progressed:

“I don’t think this place ever had any soul-eating beasts or ghasts in the first place. That’s obviously why no one’s compass needle has moved.”

“But if there really is nothing, how could seven of those villagers have lost their souls? They couldn’t have all come down with the same bizarre disease, could they? I’ve never heard of such a disease!”

“Just because the compasses aren’t pointing to anything, does that necessarily mean nothing’s here? They can only point in a general direction. They’re not that accurate, so they can’t be completely trusted. It’s possible there’s something around here that can interfere with the needle.”

“Don’t you remember who invented these compasses? I’ve never heard of anything disturbing the direction the needle points.”

“What exactly do you mean by that? Why are you asking such weird questions? Of course I remember evil wind compasses were invented by Wei Ying, but just because he invented something, doesn’t mean it’s gorgeous and perfect. Aren’t people allowed to question him?”

“I didn’t say you weren’t allowed to question him, or that his things were gorgeous and perfect. There’s no need to spew mud everywhere, your highness!”

They began to argue in a different direction, and Wei Wuxian rode his donkey past them, laughing merrily. Even though so many years had passed, his ability to whip cultivators into verbal duels and tongue clashes had not diminished. “Once you hear the name ‘Wei,’ you’re forced to fight”—so the saying went. If there was a vote on who possessed the most extensive and long-lived fame among all cultivators, who could win against him?

In all fairness, the cultivator who had questioned him wasn’t wrong. The evil wind compasses in use were only the first edition, and indeed left something to be desired when it came to accuracy. Originally, Wei Wuxian had worked to improve them, but who told people to destroy his home before he was done? So he had no option but to inconvenience everyone and continue to force the inaccurate, first edition compass on them.

In any case, most things that eat flesh and chew bone were low level, such as walking corpses. Only refined, elegant, high level beasts and vicious ghosts could eat and digest souls. To consume seven in one go—no wonder there were so many houses gathered here. This prey was no small matter—it was only natural that the compasses made a few errors.

Holding the reins tightly, Wei Wuxian leapt from the donkey’s back, grabbed the apple, and held it in front of the donkey. “One bite, just one bite. Hey! You almost bit off my hand.”

He took two bites of the other side of the apple and shoved it back into the donkey’s mouth. While he reflected on how he had been reduced to sharing an apple with a donkey, someone collided with him from behind. He turned and saw a young woman who, even though she had walked straight into him, seemed to find him beneath her notice. Her eyes were dull and lifeless, her lips were molded into a slight smile, and she refused to tear her gaze away from a certain direction.

Wei Wuxian followed her line of sight into the distance, where a solemn black mountain top lay—Dafan Mountain.

Suddenly without warning, the young woman began dancing.

The dance was wild and violent, as though channeling a beast baring its fangs and brandishing its claws. Wei Wuxian watched the young woman with bright interest, but another woman lifted her skirt and ran towards them, threw her arms around the dancing girl and cried, “Ah-yan, let’s go home! Let’s go home!”

With all her strength, Ah-yen threw the woman off and continued, smile still plastered on her face, as though animated by some kind of hair-raising obsession. The older woman had no option but to chase the girl all over the street, wailing, tears dripping down her face. To the side, a street peddler said, “Hell’s bells, Blacksmith Zheng’s Ah-yan’s run out again.”

“I feel sorry for her mother. Ah-yan, Ah-yan’s husband, and her own husband, not a single one’s in good shape...”

Wei Wuxian strolled around the village, eavesdropping, collecting bits and pieces of idle chatter from the people he walked by, and pieced together the strange sequence of events that had unfolded.

On Dafan Mountain, there was an old graveyard housing the people of Fojiao Village’s ancestral graves, where the villagers would also bury and raise grave markers for unnamed corpses on occasion. One evening several months ago, when thunder rolled and the sky flashed with lightning, the wind and the rain pounded down upon the area, scouring the mountain the entire night. A patch of earth atop Dafan Mountain collapsed, triggering a landslide—this patch of earth happened to be the exact patch on which the graveyard was located. Thus many old graves were destroyed and others were exposed to the elements. Lightning struck, blasting and blackening both the coffins and the bodies inside.

After this episode, the people of Fojiao Village became extremely uneasy, prayed for blessings, and then rebuilt the old burial mound, believing that this would settle the matter. But who knew from that point onwards, Fojiao Village would suffer so many cases of lost souls?

The first victim was a lazy bum who was poor as a rat and spent most of his days loafing about. Because he enjoyed going up the mountain and catching birds to pass time, he just so happened to be stuck on Dafan Mountain the night of the landslide. Though scared half to death, he was blessed with good fortune—nothing happened to him, at least on that night. But strange things began to occur only a few days after he returned. He suddenly found a wife and was married with much fanfare, sparing no waving banners or beating drums, claiming he would live a life of merit and virtue and pass his days with this promise in mind.

The night of the wedding, he drank himself blind, fell into bed, and didn’t get up. When his new wife called his name, he didn’t react, and only when she pushed him over did she discover that her groom’s eyes were blank and lifeless and his body was as cold as ice. Aside from the fact that he was still breathing, there was little that distinguished him from a corpse. He ate nothing, drank nothing, and continued on in this state for many days before finally being peacefully buried. The poor bride became a widow despite barely having been married.

The second was Ah-yan from the family of Blacksmith Zheng. The young woman had just been betrothed, but only a day after, her fiancé was bitten to death by wolves while hunting on the mountain. After she found out, the same fate befell her as befell the lazy bum. Happily, however, her disease somehow cured itself after a period of time. Yet from that point onward, she began to suffer from lunacy. She went outside every day to dance for people, smiling the entire time.

The third was Ah-yan’s father, Blacksmith Zheng. To date, there had been seven victims in total.

Wei Wuxian mulled over the matter and determined it was most likely the work of a soul eating ghast, rather than a soul eating beast.

Though the difference between their names was only one word, they were entirely disparate beings. Ghasts were a type of ghost, but soul eating beasts were a type of fae. According to Wei Wuxian, the sequence of events was most likely this: the landslide demolished old graves and lightning split open coffins, releasing a long dormant ghast from among the bodies. If this was the case, the state of the coffins and presence of any seal traces upon them should suffice for confirmation. But the Fojiao Villagers must have already long re-buried the burnt coffins elsewhere, and reinterred the bodies—there would be very few vestiges of the ghast's resting place.

In order to climb the mountain, Wei Wuxian took the sloping road from the village. He hopped on his donkey and slowly ascended. After traveling a while, he encountered some people wearing dark expressions climbing down.

These people had cuts and scrapes on their faces, and seemed to be talking to each other all at once. The sky was dusky, and they all jumped in fright as they ran face-to-face into someone made-up like a hanged ghost riding atop a donkey. They shouted angry words at him, circled around, and continued down the slope at rapid clip. Looking back on them, Wei Wuxian wondered whether they had been defeated by their intended prey and were now returning from their night-hunt empty-handed. He pondered a little more, slapped his donkey’s hindquarters, and the two clambered up briskly.

He had left at the perfectly wrong time and missed the group’s grumbling.

“I’ve never met anyone so unreasonable!”

“He’s the head of such a big house, why does he have to come here and compete with us for a single soul eating ghast? He must have killed plenty when he was young!”

“But what can we do? We can hardly do anything about him being a Clan Chief. Whichever house you offend, you must not offend House Jiang. Whoever you offend, you must not offend Jiang Cheng. There’s nothing to do except pack our bags, accept our fate, and go!”

________________

Translation notes:

1 Wei Wuxian, having only heard the name of the mountain, mistakes 大梵山 (lit. “Big Buddha Mountain”) for the homophonous 大饭山 (lit. “Big Meal Mountain” or “Big Rice Mountain”).

2 Fojiao means “Buddha foot.”

Next chapter

Masterpost

#MDZS #mdzs translation #wei wuxian #wwx

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autisticlalna · 5 years

Text

caution & crisis, part 2

fun fact: i wrote all of c&c over the course of about 2 days and am now just splitting it up into chunks so its easier to post. this might be one of the only times i do this. someone please stop me.

caution & crisis: 1 / 2

Grian finally found out that his shadow has a power, and decided to counter it in a very stupid way. now he’s lost in another dimension, and its up to him to find a way out... or up to the other Architechs to find a way to save their missing friend.

content warnings: jigsaw does some more bastardly actions, discussion of abandonment + isolation

Grian was falling.

There was no wind whistling in his ears like when he did a high-speed elytra dive, no rush of adrenaline telling him to push it, to wait ‘til the last second to fire his rocket and skid just above the ground while Ren or whoever else decided to challenge him hit it at terminal velocity. There were no clouds up above him, no light, nothing but darkness surrounding him as he dropped into infinity. It reminded him of his trips to the End; it brought up memories of flying out into the farthest islands with Tango, with nothing to catch him if he fell.

Like he was doing now.

His mind spun with questions. What just happened? Somehow, Jigsaw had dragged him into… well, the Shadow Realm, he guessed. Wherever shadows went when they weren’t summoned to the Overworld. If this endless void was all there was, though, then… He actually felt a little bad for them. He’d be pretty grumpy too if he got yanked out of the endless void only to get stabbed for sweet loot and sent back.

Just when Grian was wondering if he was ever going to stop falling, ground rushed up to meet him. The collision knocked the wind out of him; he half-expected to be exploded into items and XP orbs on impact, and every part of his brain was telling him he should not have survived it, but… here he was. Laying on the ground in another dimension, disoriented and with no idea how he was going to get out of here.

The landscape around him was made of what looked like an unrefined version of the black stone that made up the construction of the shadow temples back on the Overworld-- reminiscent of obsidian, but with the texture of smooth stone as he ran his hand over it. He was surrounded as far as he could see by void, broken up only by massive rough black stone cliffs and mountains that stretched up to build height. He’d been lucky to land on one of many ledges sticking out of one of the taller cliffs; below him, outcroppings jutted out of the massive pillar-like formation in the vague approximation of stairs leading down deeper into the flat darkness. Grian shivered.

He craned his head back to look for where he’d fallen from and saw nothing but the shimmering patterns of the dark sky. There was no Grian-shaped hole he’d dropped out of, as hilarious as the mental image was to him, just… more darkness. Had he mentioned it was dark yet? At least his eyes were starting to adjust to the minimal light.

When staring into the abyss got him nothing, he settled for staring down at himself instead, the only splash of colour in this entire place that he could see. Everything else was just varying shades of black and grey. A thought occurred to him-- what if there were mobs here? He stuck out like a sore thumb. Would he be able to fight them off?

He needed to find shelter. He had plenty of food on him, but that alone didn’t mean he’d be able to survive in a strange, hostile dimension he didn’t understand. With nothing else to do, Grian drew his sword and journeyed deeper into the dark.

It wasn’t long before he was completely, utterly lost.

Maybe going down had been the wrong idea, but it hadn’t looked like going up was going to do him any favours either. The further down he went, the darker it got-- he’d heard the phrase “darker than dark” before, and this place seemed to take it to heart. He’d tried to mark his path with torches, at first, but the instant he even held one in his hand the light would go out; after several tries, he’d given up and instead taken to mining out some of the stone every ten blocks or so to build tiny landmarks of “hey, I’ve been here”. Pale particles danced around in the air like fireflies; it wasn’t until Grian had ventured even further into the all-consuming darkness that they got bright enough and common enough for him to recognize them as the triangle particles the shadows constantly gave off. They kicked up off the ground with each step he took, blowing and twisting in an unseen wind; he watched as some of them stuck to his jumper like glitter, then twinkled and burnt out.

He’d been at this for a while now, and he’d seen no sight of there being any inhabitants except for him. That sounded wrong in his head-- there had to be mobs here, right? This was where the shadows were from, so why hadn’t he found any? He thought he’d seen glimpses of something out of the corner of his eye-- something gold, the feeling of eyes boring into his back-- but every time he’d turned to look he’d just seen more clouds of particles. It was starting to seriously creep him out, but it wasn’t like he was able to do anything about it.

He sat down under a rocky overhang and sighed, feeling the cold atmosphere sink into him. The last message his communicator showed was an advancement notification; he’d tried sending several messages, including whispering Xisuma, but all of them had failed to deliver. Whatever this place was was wreaking havoc on his connection to the rest of Hermitcraft; hopefully it was a bug, rather than a feature, but either way it meant he was completely cut off from everyone.

“This is how I die,” he moaned. “Banished to the shadow realm for my idiocy.” He flopped down on his back. “I hope Mumbo builds me a nice gravestone. Puts an inspirational quote on it.” His voice echoed in the silence. “Who will take up the mantle of Poultry Man when I’m gone? Iskall? Someone needs to be dispensing egg-y vigilantism!” Still no response from the desolate world. Grian pulled his communicator back out as if it would have started working again in the few minutes since he’d last checked. It hadn’t, obviously. He was starting to get restless.

“...what if they never find me?” Grian asked in a small voice that sounded loud in his ears. The possibility was starting to feel very, very real. What if he died here but just respawned back up at the top, in an endless loop forever like Bdubs dropping from the sky? What if no one ever found out what happened to him other than a mysterious advancement notification? What if Jigsaw ran loose on the server forever, killing and torturing everyone it pleased until it got bored?

“What if they never find me?” a far too familiar voice mocked. Grian froze as something landed on the overhang and dangled down to stare at him: a highlighter-yellow glowing copy of himself with solid black eyes. Grian gasped as he sat up and fumbled for his sword; the mysterious mob gave the impression of rolling its eyes (or so he guessed, it wasn’t like he could tell) and dropped down onto the ground in front of him. Ignoring the sword pointed at it, the mob grabbed him and hauled him to his feet to snarl at him. “You should’ve thought of that before you did something so… so stupid!”

Grian leaned back as far as he could with the mob holding him fast. Great, so this clone of him was mean, too. Just his luck. Except… He tilted his head a little. The mob had a pair of familiar triangular spiral markings on its cheeks, the same black as its eyes. The same markings he’d seen far too often, and the same markings that had been one of the factors behind a certain shadow settling on a certain nickname.

No way. He stared at the mob, incredulous. “Jigsaw?”

“Aaaand we have a winner!” Jigsaw let go of him and crossed its arms. “Congratulations, Grian, here’s your prize: being trapped in the Shadowlands! Because some~body decided to spoil my fun just when it was about to get good…”

Grian crossed his arms as well in a mirror of his… shadow? It felt weird calling it that. It looked more like living light, glowing in the dark like he sometimes joked about Keralis’s shadow doing. If he squinted, he could see pinpricks of lights off in the distance-- what he’d assumed to be more of those triangle particles were most likely far-away shadow echoes dotting the landscape, ike Endermen in the End. “It was worth it,” he snapped. “At least you’re here too, instead of running off and hurting my friends…”

Jigsaw exploded into raucous laughter. Grian took a step back as his shadow doubled over, clutching its stomach; it wiped at its face once its laughter subsided, although a malicious giggle still worked its way into its voice. “Oh, Grian, Grian, Grian… You really have no idea at all, don’t you?” It lifted its head up, flashing black teeth at him in a fierce grin. “This isn’t really me, Grian! This is just what gets left behind. You can’t cast a shadow without a bright light, you know~!” Its horrible laughter rang in his ears, echoing off the cliffs and into the endless void. “And guess what? As long as you’re here, you can’t do anything to stop me! Even your stupid sword is about as good as a butter knife.”

“Yeah?” Grian snapped. “Well-- well you look like butter, so--!” Jigsaw gave him an unimpressed look as his sword swing swiped right through it, like he’d taken a swing at someone else’s shadow instead.

“You really need to work on your one-liners,” Jigsaw grumbled. “Ah, but it’s such a shame that you won’t be there to see your friends beg once I’m through with them…~ Oh well! I’ll just have to tell you about it. Give you the play-by-play.” Another useless slash that did absolutely nothing passed through the shadow, and it gave an exaggerated yawn. “Well, bye-bye, Grian! Have fun being lost in the dark~”

“Wait!” Grian grabbed Jigsaw by the sleeve. “How-- how do I get back?!”

His shadow lolled its head back over its shoulder to look at him with that awful catlike smile that made Grian seethe with rage. “You don’t!” it chirped. “Didn’t you hear me earlier? You’re trapped! Hope you enjoy the view, because it’s the last thing you’ll ever see.” It flashed him a wicked grin, then vanished into a cloud of triangle particles before Grian could reply. He stood there, arm still outstretched from where he’d been holding his shadow, and stared at the drifting particles in despair.

Mumbo frowned down at his communicator. “Grian has made the advancement… ‘Into The Abyss’?” he read aloud. Iskall nodded from where he was looking at his own device; Murmur made an unhappy noise, and the diamond-eyed Architech held it out so the shadow could see the message as well. Chat was already starting to flood with questions from the other hermits; no one had seen Grian, nor had anyone heard of any new advancements that had been added in the latest patch. Enter the other two members of Architech, who were equally confused and worried about the radio silence from their missing friend.

“No, but, look at that--” Mumbo scrolled up in chat and jabbed a finger at an alert from a few minutes before the mysterious message. “ ‘Grian’s shadow has been summoned’-- that means he summoned Jigsaw again.” He winced as he felt rather than heard a rumble of static; the glittering particles around his shadow jittered about like leaves in a storm until he placed a hand on its back and Murmur eased off with an apologetic look. "I'm not happy about it either," he admitted. "What's he doing?"

Iskall shrugged. "Whatever he did, it got him an advancement." He tapped the green text; a tooltip popped up, and he frowned as he read it. " 'Reach the Shadowlands'," he read. "Murmur? What's the Shadowlands?" It started signing rapidly in response; Iskall waited as its summoner tried to keep up.

"He says it's where the shadows are from," Mumbo translated. "It's another dimension…" The three exchanged glances. "You get there by-- I'm sorry, what?"

Murmur repeated the gestures, only a few of which Iskall recognized. The Architechs had been learning ASL with varying levels of success; Murmur's inability to talk made it a necessity, but Iskall only knew the basics and military sign thanks to the annoyance that was his own shadow. Killshot could talk, he was pretty sure-- but it preferred to view conversations with Iskall as "understand me or die". Mumbo, meanwhile, was around his shadow 24/7, so learning how to communicate was vital.

"You… use your shadow… as a portal?" Mumbo struggled. Murmur gave him a thumbs up. "Why? I mean-- why would you go there?"

"New dungeons?" Iskall suggested. "Maybe it's like why we go Endbusting-- you know, raiding dangerous dimensions for loot." He adjusted the straps of his elytra and checked his communicator again before putting it away. "We should go to the shadow temple-- make sure it's all clear when he gets back. It would suck if he came back with all this cool stuff and then got jumped."

Mumbo and Murmur both nodded in agreement. “Sounds good,” Mumbo confirmed. “Just… watch your back, okay? I don’t like the thought of his shadow being on the loose…”

Despite the threat of Grian’s shadow looming over them, though, their trip to the shadow temple was rather uneventful. There were no traps, no ambushes, or really any sign of Jigsaw at all; Mumbo still moved cautiously, unwilling to let his guard down for even a second, but they got all the way to the entrance without any interruptions.

Somehow that made it worse. Was this a new form of psychological warfare? Was Jigsaw taking a page out of Killshot’s book and going into hiding until they’d even forgot it was summoned so it could spring, unexpected, and kidnap them or shove them into its newest trap before they had any time to react? What if this was all just part of its game-- disposing of Grian, then baiting out all the hermits so it could do whatever it wanted to them?

Iskall raised an arm and Mumbo walked into it. “Something’s wrong,” Iskall muttered. Mumbo squinted for any signs of redstone; in the low light, it would be easy for someone to hide pressure plates or tripwires, but try as he might he couldn't see anything. He told Iskall as much, and the bearded hermit shook his head. "No-- you can't see it? Look at the walls."

Confused, Mumbo did as instructed. There. Just barely visible was a pattern shifting over the walls and entryway; it stuck to the stone like a shiny film, although nothing happened when he poked at it. Behind him, Murmur tensed up and took a step back despite its altered instincts instructing it to stay as close to its summoner as possible. "It… it looks like its enchanted?" He turned to Iskall, wondering if that could really be the case. Iskall shrugged.

"Looks that way. I'm not sure how… you can't really enchant buildings, right?" Mumbo returned the shrug. Iskall stuck one leg through the doorway, sword at the ready. Nothing. "...Huh." He took another step in, then another, and Mumbo followed behind so that Iskall wouldn't leave him in the dust.

Murmur hovered near the door anxiously as its summoner headed deeper into the temple. It had a bad feeling about this. None of this had felt right, not since the advancement notification, but the two hermits pressed on anyway. "Wait--" Murmur braced itself, then stepped over the threshold as well. A wave of static washed over it, causing it to falter, but… but it was inside now, completely fine if a bit rattled. The static effect was still there when it took a step back out of the structure, but it wasn't preventing it from leaving. Murmur hopped back-and-forth a couple of times, adjusting to the uncomfortable feeling of passing through the near-invisible barrier, then remembered oh, right, Mumbo and ran down the hall after them.

"Grian?" Mumbo called out, uneasy, as they drew closer to the door to the summoning altar. The chest of materials was half-open, like someone had forgotten to close it in their hurry; there were no new signs placed, no books shoved in the chest, nothing Grian could've used to leave a message. It was like he'd just… vanished.

The door opened easily when Iskall tried it. The trio of would-be rescuers filed into the room and looked around; just like every room before now, it was empty. Grian hadn't even replaced the armor stand.

"Boo!"

Mumbo & Iskall screamed as a patch of darkness on the ground shot up into a three-dimensional figure. Grian's shadow cackled and hunched over, hands on its knees, before collecting itself and grinning at the group. "Hi there! Did you miss me?"

"No," Murmur hissed. Jigsaw pouted.

"Well, that's just rude." It leaned against one of the pillars and made a show of checking its nails. "Let me guess… you're here looking for Grian, aren'tcha?" It tucked its hands away in its pockets and leered at them mischievously. "I guess you haven't heard the news, then!"

"News..?" Mumbo knew that, whatever Jigsaw's plan was, he was falling for it. His shadow stepped in front of him, bristling and shooting Jigsaw an intense glare; he leaned around Murmur to try and see, even as his shadow shuffled around to try and stay as a barrier between him and the dangerous entity taunting them. "What news?"

Jigsaw's grin was venomous. "Grian's gone! Never coming back! Fell out of the world, lost in the void, whatever you'd like to call it!" It laughed at the look of horror on Mumbo's face. "I gave him a one-way ticket to oblivion!"

Iskall… didn't look impressed. "You're lying," he drawled. "We saw the advancement. Why would Mojang add a dimension you can't get back from?"

"Ah-- Er--" Jigsaw was taken aback. "Well… because…"

"And if Grian isn't here to stop you," the hitman continued, "why are you still here?"

"B- Because--" The flat black of Jigsaw's skin turned a bit darker as the shadow flushed with embarrassment. "Because shut up, is why!" It was now Iskall’s turn to look smug as the shadow scrambled for a better rebuttal. “Maybe I don’t wanna, huh? You ever think of that? Maybe-- Maybe--”

It clicked. “You’re… stuck?” Mumbo asked, incredulous. “Like-- like you’re trapped here?” The mysterious barrier came to mind immediately. Jigsaw’s angry seething was all the answer the Architechs needed.

Murmur turned around and got Mumbo’s attention. It’s so Grian can get back, his shadow signed with a look of dawning realization. He can’t leave!

“HEY!” Jigsaw barked. “Don’t turn your back on me! What’s-- what’s he saying? Murmur! Hey!” Murmur ignored it. Iskall muffled a snort of laughter; with the danger removed, Jigsaw was… more like just an annoying brat.

“He’s saying you can’t leave,” Mumbo translated, more for Iskall’s benefit than Jigsaw’s. “You are stuck!” He couldn’t help it-- he laughed. “We can just leave you here!”

“NO!” He’d let his guard down. Jigsaw launched at Mumbo and grabbed him by the suit lapels, eyes burning with fury. “I am not a joke! Stop it!” Its deathgrip released suddenly as Murmur yanked it back by the jumper and tossed the rowdy shadow to the floor; it tried to get back up, but was stopped by Iskall pointing a sword at him. “...you know that doesn’t do anything, right?”

“Yes,” Iskall admitted, “but it’ll feel good.”

Jigsaw sat cross-legged on the floor and crossed its arms, scowling. Iskall kept his sword leveled at it, while Murmur stepped back in front of Mumbo to act as a shield. After a few minutes of the stand-off, Jigsaw grinned and leaned back to look up at them. “Besides,” it teased, “even if you could kill me, you shouldn’t~ You kill me, you kill Grian’s only exit! So no asking Killshot for help this time~”

Iskall’s eye widened and he took a step back. Jigsaw rested its head in its hands and smiled, pleased with itself. Mumbo tapped Iskall on the arm and the two and a half Architechs got into a group huddle to whisper at each other. “What are we going to do?” Mumbo asked, worried. “If he’s right, then… then Grian’s stuck. How do we get him out?”

We could leave him there, Murmur suggested as a mean joke. It wasn’t so much as Murmur hated Grian, just… highly disapproved of just about everything he did when it came to his shadow. Mumbo gave it a distraught look. “Sorry,” it said out loud with a sheepish expression. Back to signing: Jigsaw’s right about being Grian’s exit. Killing him is not going to work.

Iskall listened as Mumbo translated, then smirked. “Hold on, boys, I’ve got an idea.” He clapped them both on the back and broke away from the huddle to turn and face Jigsaw again. “Sooo, Jigsaw…” The shadow perked up as it was addressed. “So if I’m understanding this right… Grian’s out of the picture for now, yes? There’s nothing stopping you from doing whatever you want to anyone on the server?”

“Correct!” Jigsaw beamed. “Why, are you volunteering?”

“No, it’s just…” Iskall folded his arms behind his back and kicked at the floor. He tilted his head back to hide his smile as he continued. “Well, you can’t leave, though, right? At all?”

Jigsaw hesitated. “...I don’t like where this is going.”

Target locked. Iskall leaned down so he could look the living problem in the eyes. “Sooo… as long as Grian is in the Shadowlands, you’re stuck. You can’t do anything. Ever. No more traps, no more pranks, no more kidnapping, no more chaos, no more fun, no more games…” Jigsaw stared up at him with dawning horror. “Sure, we can’t kill you, but… you know there’s other shadow temples on the server, right? We can just… y’know, board this one off. Seal it up. Leave you here.”

“You wouldn’t,” Jigsaw gasped. “You’re-- you’re not that cruel!”

Iskall smirked. “Wanna find out?” He straightened up and spun on one heel, then spread his arms to escort Mumbo and Murmur towards the door. “Let’s go tell Xisuma the good news, eh? Maybe Admin can find a way to get Grian back…”

“W- Wait! No! Nononono-- DON’T LEAVE ME HERE!”

#txt #hermitcraft #shadow people au #I KEEP. FORGETTING MY WRITING TAG #here we go boyyyyyys #hermits #leo.rtf

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