#and on the bridge between life and death she was looked at by the divine mother

[universleep]

i think my currency system for lotdm is really interesting. the currency is tears, teardrop shaped glowing "glass" (read: it's technically a gem since it's the purest form of divine motherly mineral) that drips slowly from the moon each night. when consumed or placed within the body, it can heal wounds and restore the ill to health, with the amount needing to be consumed depending on the severity of injury or illness. imagine getting shot in the leg and you eat a $20 bill and next thing you know you're a paradigm of health and prosperity

#land of the divine mother #daydreams #i feel bad for orea. just a bit. #you can only be healed by the divine mother if you believe in the divine mother #and orea was one of the few people who truly rejected her presence in the world #she did not believe such a divine entity could exist in a world where suffering still took place all around her #and so when she fell ill she consumed every last teardrop she could find and only became sicker and sicker #and on the bridge between life and death she was looked at by the divine mother #all this time she had spent truly rejecting her presence #all this time she had spent helping those that still suffered in the divine mother's great lands #all this time she had spent fostering hatred and resentment in her heart #and she was looked at #recognized #removed from her livingness #and even that did not cure her. the divine mother saw her and could not save her.

[scotianostra]

January *28th 1290 saw the death of Dervorguilla, Lady of Galloway.

*Dates for this, 21st and 20th of January, and one with a different year but most say this date, also spellings of her name differ.

The Lanercost states that Dervorguilla was the “widow of Lord John de Balliol” and that she “was a woman largely endowed with money and lands, both in England and in Scotland.” It also adds in her favour that “she had a much richer endowment in the nobility of her heart, being daughter and heiress of the magnificent Alan, the sometime Lord of Galloway.” Regarding her death, it states that “She passed from the world, full of years, at Castle Barnard, and was buried at Duquer, in Galloway, a Monastery of Cistercians, which she herself built and endowed.” Looks like ‘endowed’ was a well used term in those days; at least in the Lanercost.

Arguably the most famous fact about her, in Scotland at least, is that she was the mother of our erstwhile King John, it was through her that his legitimate claim to the Scottish crown came about, she was a great-great-granddaughter of King David I. Had she lived a wee whiles her lineage would have thrown up the possibility of her being named Queen of Scotland after the death of Margaret Maid of Norway in September 1290, this would have precluded that nasty Edward I interfering with our affairs, Queen Dervorguilla, how does that sound? This alternative timeline may have been the start of a Balliol dynasty, no Bruce’s or Stewarts such is the ifs and buts of history.

While a lot of marriages were arranged to form alliances and were loveless, that is not the case with that is certainly not the case with Lady Dervorguilla and John Balliol snr, on the death of her husband, in 1268, Dervorguilla had his heart embalmed and kept in a casket of ivory bound with silver. The casket travelled with her for the rest of her life.

Poetry has been written of the love shared between John Balliol and Dervorguilla of Galloway, the Lady also founded New Abbey in Dumfries & Galloway in honour of her husband, after her own death the Monks in the Abbey started calling it Dulce Cor, Latin for Sweet Heart, and so it became known as Sweetheart Abbey.

She was also the co-founder, with her husband of Balliol College, Oxford in 1263, even after John Balliol’s death Lady Dervorguilla continued to support it, securing its permanent endowment in 1282, as well as formal statutes, a seal, and a house to study in. It’s a shame that College did not allow women students until 1979!.

If you have ever visited Dumfries you will have no maybe crossed over the river Nth on Dervorguilla Bridge, built in 1426 and named in her honour.

She was buried in front of the high altar at Sweetheart Abbey. A stone slab in the floor marks the supposed site of her burial, the actually place being lost due to the mindless destruction during the Reformation, their lost graves lie amongst the ruins, which is described as a “shrine to human and divine love”.

An effigy found by archaeologists can be seen at the Abbey, sadly the head is missing, but it is thought to be the Lady and in 2017 it was named number 10 by VisitScotland in their 25 Objects That Shaped Scotland’s History.

You can find a lot more about the Lady on the excellent website Medievalists https://www.medievalists.net/2021/03/lady-dervorgilla-collection-books/

#scotland #scottish #history #Strong Woman

[genshinemblem564]

Xenologues I-III

Xenologues contain important story elements but don't warrant full chapters, or I couldn't think of a way to link them to previous chapters.

CW: Death, threats of violence

These all take place during the timeskip.

Xeno I: Comeuppance

After Zhongli returned from the meeting, it was time for the imposter to meet their fate. People from all over Teyvat were in Liyue to bear witness, even the archons, divine beasts, and adepti were present.

The ceremony started with the usual legal stuff, such as listing off the criminal's offenses, in this case being the impersonation of a god, attempted murder, and inciting the countless other crimes committed by those that they successfully manipulated.

The imposter was brought to the chopping block and was readied for execution before the goddess gave a speech ending with.

(S/N): Has the guilty any final words?

The imposter looks up at the crowd before them.

Imp.: Yeah. Here's a few. I don't know how, but somehow, someway, I'll make you all burn. YOU HEAR ME? YOU'RE ALL GONNA...

Before they could finish, the axe came down, and the crowd roared with cheer and glee. All except for one. Hu Tao knew she should be happy, but something was causing her great discomfort. What was this sinking feeling in her chest?

Xeno II: Rememberance

You, Sharena, and Alfonse were walking through inazuma when something catches your eye. An old bridge over a small river surrounded by sakura trees.

Sharena: What's up Summoner?

Alfonse: Is something the matter?

(Y/N): I've seen this place before.

This shocks everyone.

Sharena: Don't be silly. We only just got here.

Alfonse: Yeah, and besides, you said yourself that some worlds can have several similarities.

(Y/N): No, no. I haven't been here, but I've seen it. When I was young, too young to even be in school, I had a dream about a place that looked just like this. The only difference was that this bridge was in far better condition. It was like a memory from a past life.

As you were speaking, your hand was unconsciously investigating the wooden bridge, as if something was supposed to be there.

(Y/N): *sigh* Whatever.

Sharena: Huh!?

Alfonse: What do you mean "Whatever"? Doesn't this warrant investigation?

(Y/N): No. There's no guarantee I'd recall anything if we did, and trying to force myself to remember would only give me a headache. I'll remember if I'm meant to, but that won't change much, if anything at all. I'll still be me.

With that, you walk onward. The siblings share a concerned look before following you. Little did you know, your conversation was overheard by two individuals who were rather elated by this revelation.

Xeno III: Elements and Alchemy

Albedo had invited you, Sucrose, and Mona to his lab in the KoF HQ, as Dragonspine would be too cold for Mona given her choice of attire. He had found another other worldly seed, but previous methods proved ineffective. Even now, you four were struggling to find a solution.

Sucrose: Ugh!! This is hopeless. Nothing we do is working, and (Y/N)'s advice hasn't got us any closer.

Mona: Are you certain this thing can bloom?

Albedo: It can. It's happened before, we just need the right method.

(Y/N): Hmm, I wonder. What if it's not the method but the components that need changing? More specifically, what if we're missing one?

Albedo: What do you mean?

(Y/N): The elements you all use play a part in plant growth, earth, water, air, but we're missing one, plants photosynthesize using the sun's light.

Sucrose: B-But, light doesn't exist as an element in this world.

(Y/N): Then perhaps you need some otherworldly assistance.

Saying this, you raise your hand and an orb of light forms between all of you. Everyone is awe struck by this until you pull them back to reality.

(Y/N): Well, shall we try again?

Albedo nods, and everyone pours their elements into the orb before said orb is combined with the seed. Everyone watched with bated breath, and the seed bloomed, and just like last time disappeared. However, this time, a petal from the flower was miraculously left intact.

Mona: How did you know that would work?

(Y/N): I didn't, but I had to try something else if changing the method didn't work.

Albedo: I'm more curious about your ability to harness a new element. What all do you know about elements?

(Y/N): I don't know much, but I do know this, there are far more than seven or even eight elements if you include the light I just produced. They can be categorized into three groups, core elements, sub-elements, such as metal for earth, and combination elements, ice itself is a combination of cold air meeting water. However, I have only witnessed nine elements being harnessed. You already know seven, but the last two, light and dark, are foreign to you, correct?

Albedo practically pounced on you, grabbing your hands and looking you in the eyes.

Albedo: Please, teach me to harness these elements. As an alchemist, I need to understand more about this world and those beyond.

It takes you a moment to collect yourself after such a normally calm individual expresses such eagerness.

(Y/N): Sorry, I'm not the best teacher when it comes to practical use, but if you're that eager, you're more than welcome to visit Askr anytime. There's more than a few individuals who would gladly share their knowledge.

Albedo nods in agreement, and everyone heads home.

Albedo: Today's experiment yielded more than just results. This newfound knowledge will no doubt be invaluable, but I can't help but wonder. Why is it that a single petal still remains?

___________________________________________

Xenologue II was inspired by something that actually happened to me when I was very young. It's also an interesting topic that I don't see many, or any, people making use of. Seeing visions of your past life through dreams, in an au centered around a past life, you'd think someone would have done this by now.

Also, Xenologue III is so long because it was originally meant to be its own chapter, but as stated prior, I couldn't find a way to link it to a prior chapter, and I also didn't want to wait until I could.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed these.

#genshin impact #sagau #fire emblem heroes #feh #imposter au #crossover

[fernthewhimsical]

Rainbow Symbolism

Hope and Wonder: Seeing a rainbow is one of those things that make you stop in your tracks. Often, we take out our phones to capture this rare moment, and share it with others. Seeing a rainbow brings a smile, this sudden joy, and a sense of wonder.

Promise: In Christian mythology God gave the rainbow as sign of his covenant to never again flood the Earth. There are also versions of a flood myth in Mesopotamian myth where the Goddess Ishtar wears a necklace with seven stones, as a promise that she will never let the Gods destroy humanity by floods again. In some version the necklace is a rainbow.

Pride: In 1978 Gilbert Baker made the "Pride Flag", a flag for the queer community. Baker gave meanings of the different colours, each meaning tying into the community; pink: sex, red: life, orange: healing, yellow: sunlight, green: nature, turquoise: art/magic, blue: harmony/peace, purple/violet: spirit. Before his death, Baker wanted to add a stripe of lilac, meaning community. The queer community is sometimes also called the "Rainbow Community" or the "Rainbow Family". Since the coming of the Pride flag the rainbow has become a symbol of community, authenticity, queerness, and pride.

Transgender: Besides the pride rainbow being a symbol of queerness, there are other myths that connects the rainbow specifically to the transgender community. In Albanian folk belief the rainbow is the belt of Prende (see below) and those who jump over it, will change their sex. Here in the Netherlands in the Rijnland there is a folk belief that if a boy walks underneath a rainbow while holding a basket of water, he will turn into a girl. And there are many more.

Luck: In Ireland a pot of gold is found at the end of a rainbow, making the rainbow a symbol of luck, prosperity, blessing, and treasure.

Bridges: In Norse mythology we have the Bifrost, the bridge that connects Asgard, the realm of the Gods, to Midgard, our Realm. The rainbow was also thought to be the path, or bridge, that the Greek Goddess Iris made to deliver messages from the Gods to the human Realm. And in modern culture, there is the Rainbow Bridge, a bridge which animal cross after they pass, to an afterlife where we will eventually join them. The rainbow is a symbol of travel, especially between realms, and of divine communication.

Messages: The Greek Goddess Iris is not the only one who is associated with rainbows and the delivery of messages from the Gods, as we'll see in the next section. This makes the rainbow also a symbol of divine messages, and the communication between us and the Gods/spirits.

Diversity: the rainbow is often used as a symbol of diversity in activism, politics, and commerce. All colours have equal value, and we need all of them to make a complete rainbow.

Peace: A rainbow flag has been used as a symbol of piece in several countries, amongst which Italy and Greece.

Bow: As seen in the "Rainbow Spirits" section below, the rainbow is also seen as a bow, a weapon. In England some would state that the bow is pointed at the Christian God, away from humanity, as an incentive to keep his promise.

Death: cw: child death ||Stillborn children or children who pass away shortly after birth, are also called "Rainbow Children"||

Bad Luck and Illness: Several cultures have the taboo of not pointing towards rainbows, for it would cause the finger to be bent, rot away, fall of, or something similar. The Sumu of Honduras and Nicaragua believe that the rainbow is a sign that "the devil is vexed". Looking at or pointing at the rainbow is thought to draw the attention of the devil, and therefore bring bad luck.

Enlightenment: In Buddhism there is the "rainbow body", a state of being that is the highest state before reaching Nirvana. When the rainbow body is reached it is often observed by people around them, as the body falls away and the body of pure light stays. In the Tibetan mountains this is sometimes explained as a "glory" as described above.

[Part of a Rainbowmancy series, masterpost here]

#rainbowmancy #rainbow magic #rainbow witch #rainbow #magic #witch #witchcraft #witchblr #mine #personal

[the-arbiter-general]

In the Exalting Sanctum, in the simplest corners of the Synwood Pavilion, two friends chatted;

"Hmph, General Jing Yuan sure looks gloomy lately - have you noticed?" One casually added the topic in their idle conversation with a shrug, taking a swig of his cup of tea.

"Oh, please. Someone like the General has more than time to enjoy some mundane pleasures in this long life of his." The other scoffed with little care, watching the scenery that the Court of Tranquility offered.

"Well, maybe you are right... is just that by lately, I meant... these past centuries. Sigh, whenever I see his face or even think about him, it makes me gloomy myself. Perhaps the General has gone through much more than we know." The first man who spoke replied, brows crafting an atlas of contemplation upon his forehead.

"Oh, you worry too much, lǎo tiě. Even got the General's feelings on you?" The older man jokes, his wandering gaze stopping at the younger one with his silence.

"..."

"Eh, I was just joking. ... you know, my son is saying the same thing. He admires that damned General more than his own father..." He continues with a bitter smile, shaking his head in displeasure.

"Lee gēgē..." The younger man trails off, interrupted by the raise of Lee's hand.

"It's fine."

"..."

"Maybe you are right. The General seems gloomy lately."

"..."

"I wonder why."

"Time is not kind to anyone."

[In the Seat Of The Divine Foresight]

“If your gaze acted as weapons against me, I certainly would be in quite a ferocious battle with you, Qingzu,” with a guilt and awareness creeping up and up from his stomach, he avoids a death stare from his counselor's direction, knowing or unknowing about what she has to say about him time.

“The Seat of Divine Foresight deals with high-level military secrets, and maintenance towards those who strive against the Abundance.” Qingzu reminds, again, the hint of passive aggression in her voice doesn't go unnoticed, but what can he do from the rock solid, (and unpleasant) reminding of a truth laid bare for him at this moment?

“General Jing Yuan,” the counselor voices with an almost cold-like tone, the specks of professionalism cracking bit by bit from her. “You are aware of the impact you hold in all of the Luofu, not just in militia affair, nor holding the will of the Hunt.”

“More than, of c-” he'd retort, but he shrinks down, blending to his seat, the sight of his advisor and her bow-like hairdo walking towards infront of his desk, sending him into a slight disarray. Only slightly, of cours—“Then, surely that involves being aware to the public masses of civilians, let alone the prying Luofu press, as well?” He freezes, all in one, golden irises slowly moving away even further from her direction.

“Perhaps you should attend the Xianzhou's festivities this year,” she adds with a heavy, throaty sigh, fingers rubbing between her nose bridge. “Your position continues to stand tall, endless with vigor, as like the Reignbow Arbiter's surefire, and unending will.”

The General responses with an exhale through his nose, elbows pillared atop his desk, hands and fingers crossed together with his lips touching the base of his thumbs.

He knows, and knows it full well. “It hadn't occured, since, only those who pursue me, and against me is from the continuous ravages of the abundance.” A fault, an easy unmistakable one that slipped by his busy, busy radar.

“You have my thanks, Qingzu.”

#[ ✧ ] — Important Matters #jing yuan rp #[ ✧ ] — ooc ; eru is interrupting #This refers to the new Xianzhou animation btw. #honkai star rail rp #hsr rp #honkai star rail roleplay #jing yuan #jing yuan roleplay blog #jing yuan rp blog #star rail rp

[underratedbananawerewolf]

Fictober Day 13

Prompt 13: “Come with me, hurry” 

Fandom: Honkai Star Rail 

Rating: G 

Warnings: None 

The battle with the Lord Ravager had been brutal; a fight that had had no certain victory written beforehand. If Stelle had had the time before the battle she might have had to question what seemed to be the reckless insanity of the Xianzhou general. His entire scheme to get to the Arbor relied entirely on Dan Heng remembering enough of a past life to actually split the sea. 

The surprises kept coming; one right after another. First was Dan Heng’s true identity, and then his true power as the Lufou’s Vidyadhara High Elder and then finally Phantylia herself. Looking into her large eyes, Stelle felt that flicker of recognition. It was the gaze of the Destruction; one that had already fallen on herself once before.  

And it was one she knew she would have to face again eventually.  

“Out of ideas, Phantylia?”  

What was Jing Yuan doing? Stelle wasn’t familiar with the needling jabs against an enemy. Most of the time she was there to dispatch them as soon as she could. And if there was one emotion linked to the power of destruction, it was anger. Why the hell was the general provoking the Emanator? All he was doing was increasing her strength and they were just barely managing to stand against her.  

Or perhaps his plan had far more facets than just a way to get to the tree. 

“I’m going to turn each one of you into one of my void rangers.” Phantylia’s voice crooned in smug satisfaction. “Starting with the arrogant Xianzhou general.”  

Trapped in the Ravager’s grasp, Jing Yuan couldn’t help a grim sense of satisfaction. It was a risk he had to take, one that could end in victory or his destruction. He hoped that his carefully laid alternative plans would hold if this gamble failed. He could feel the weight of Phantylia’s will chipping away at his very being, the connection he gambled for bridging the gap between them. He didn’t have long to act. With a growl he wrenched one arm free. It was all he needed with the Lightning Lord looming up behind his enemy and shattering the initial defense. 

“Dan Heng, do it!” Agony arced through him as a spear ripped through his side, the general gritting his teeth through the pain to strike the final blow. As Phantylia’s form shattered, the hold she had vanished. At least it worked.  

A set of leanly muscular arms caught him before he hit the ground bringing out a grunt of pain from him as the gash in his side was pressed. He knew the one that had caught him, the same hands that he had ordered to stab him. Dan Heng was no longer Dan Feng but sometimes even the most subconscious memory held more power than anything out in the open.  

“Sealing the Stellaron is what’s going to take time now.” Welt Yang spoke up gravely, his eyes like all the others still on Jing Yuan. Who still insisted on standing, of course.  

“I’ll leave that to Diviner Fu.” He sighed, feeling an uncomfortable lethargy overtaking him. It was darker and colder than his usual drowsiness. Blood loss. “I’m afraid I am... spent.”  

Stelle could see his imminent collapse, baffled as to how he was still standing in the first place. Sheer stubbornness more than likely.  Being the nearest she only barely managed to catch his taller form as his eyes closed and his knees buckled.  

The starskiff ride out of Scalegorge Waterscape held a tense silence, the primary focus being aimed at keeping the Loufu’s general alive. Given his condition Stelle knew he lingered at death’s door. “I’ll go get Bailu.” She volunteered. Before anybody could argue with her, she jumped over the edge of the skiff onto the platform and took off.  

She knew she could get to the Alchemy Commission and back again far faster than any machine and the general needed a healer as fast as possible. The space anchors, seemingly a trailblazer exclusive thing, let her into the delve without having to deal with any troublesome guards. Quick eyes glanced around the plaza, noting the captured cultists, injured knights and then finally a small purple form. “Bailu.”  

The Vidyadhara raised her head at the sound of her name, her eyes widening at the sight of blood streaking down the side of Stelle’s jacket and shirt. “Stelle, are you hurt? Let me tend to you.”  

Stelle shook her head and held out a hand to the girl. “It’s not me. It’s the general. He’s the one who needs your help. “  

“The General.” Bailu whispered, fear glinting in her large eyes. Despite that she immediately reached for Stelle’s hand. None of her attendants were near, all hands being required to deal with the peculiar situation and so she didn’t have to argue with any of them.  

“Come on. We need to hurry.”  

“I’ve got my medicines.” Bailu tugged on Stelle hand as she broke out into a run. Stelle didn’t bother to explain as she suddenly reached down and hefted the girl into her arms.  

“This way is faster.” And any healer knew that timing was of the essence when it came to dying patients.  

#fictober23 #fictober day 13 #honkai star rail fic

[floatingmochi]

Thalassa

TW: Child abuse, Domestic Violence, Murder, Violence, Sexual Content

Thalassa (/θəˈlæsə/; Greek: Θάλασσα, translit. Thálassa, lit. "sea"; Attic Greek: Θάλαττα, Thálatta) was the general word for 'sea' and for its divine female personification in Greek mythology.

Eavinary is a continent in the world of Vesela. Vesela is a realm where gods walk freely in different parts of the world. Most of them are found in Eavinary. These gods aren't a lot like you're used to seeing. These gods, while they are immortal, can die just like any other mortal when it comes to being mortally wounded. They can only die from unnatural causes. Among these gods are the more well known ones. Life, Death, Sun, Moon, War, and Disease. They're the most known and the most feared.

The moon goddess is all six year old Aurora looks up to. She's read stories about this goddess, has heard how kind she is and how she could never hurt a soul. It's a good escape when you have a drunkard dad that comes home every night and beats your mother while you hide under your bed. And it goes on like that for the next ten years of their life. But everything changes when they turn fifteen and tragedy like never expected hits. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Being a little girl in a world full of gods and goddesses was certainly a difficult concept for a six year old to handle, especially when you were surrounded by nothing but bad things and evil people. 

When Aurora was six years old, her mother meant the world to her, she was her knight in shining armor and no one else could convince her otherwise. Her family lived in a relatively small village on the coast of the continent Taemora. Taemora is a sprawling landmass, characterized by its breathtaking diversity of landscapes. Towering mountain ranges, crowned with snow-capped peaks, stretch like the spine of a slumbering giant along the northern border. These mountains are rumored to hide secret valleys, where ancient tribes guard long-lost treasures. Or that's what her mother told her stories about. 

To the west, a vast, untamed wilderness unfolds, a realm of dense forests where colossal trees seem to touch the heavens. Deep within these woods, whispers of sentient flora and elusive forest spirits capture the imagination of daring adventurers.

As you venture eastward, the terrain transforms into a vast expanse of rolling, emerald-green hills, reminiscent of an artist's masterpiece. The plains were home to nomadic tribes who had mastered the art of horsemanship and whose grand caravans traversed the land in an endless dance of life and tradition.  Towards the south, the continent meets the sea with dramatic coastal cliffs that plunge into a crystalline, bioluminescent ocean. Here, hidden coves harbor pirate legends and rare, elusive sea creatures, while vibrant underwater cities of merfolk thrive in harmony with the tides.

Her mother told her all kinds of stories about the gods and where they came from, that no one quite knew, but that she did. "The Aurora Borealis, which dances in the northern skies, is believed to be a bridge between the mortal realm and the land of the gods, where the divine and the earthly converge." The soft voice of her mother echoed in her head, reminding her of how her name came to be. She'd go on and on about how the gods had blessed her mother with her existence, which is how she got her name, that she was the mortal who would unite god and man as one.

As her childhood continued, she lost faith in the gods, each new day a new bruise and the same grumpy brunette man screaming at her mother. The few times she spoke up, she shared a similar bruise to her mothers the next day. It got progressively worse into her preteen years when she started going by the name 'Rory', their mother adored their name and thought it fit them well. Their father was livid, they convinced themselves that he just didn't understand and tried to give him time. But it failed every time. Everyday, one new bruise.

Eventually, they stopped speaking all together to avoid any conflict. From ages eleven to thirteen they were silent, hardly ever spoke unless Arthur wasn't home. Arthur is what they started referring to their father as, they'd referred to him as such since they were ten.

Manipulators often exhibit a range of common signs and behaviors that can help you identify their attempts to control or deceive others.

 There were days where he was okay, the days when he was sober, the days he didn't recall any of his horrible actions and actually acted like a proper dad. One of those days, he tied a piece of pink twine into their hair and braided it down their back. 

Charm and Flattery: Manipulators often begin by showering their targets with excessive charm, compliments, and flattery. They aim to create a sense of trust and admiration.

He'd compliment it, say it was a nice color and that they should change it to look like that some day. That they'd be such a good and strong person one day and even that he was proud of them. It gave them hope.

  "..Dad?" Rory asked, glancing over their shoulder at Arthur as he braided their hair. "Yes sunshine?" He asked, a light hum in his voice. "...Why do you hurt mom?" They asked, bracing themselves for any form of violent action.

Gaslighting: Gaslighting is a form of manipulation where the person tries to make you doubt your own perception of reality. They may deny things they've said or done, making you question your memory or sanity.

  "I don't know what you're talking about, I'd never hurt you or your mother sweetheart" He said, his voice light, almost innocent sounding. "You know that don't you? why don't I make you something to eat, what would you like?" He asked. Rory paused, turning and facing him again. "My friends say that their moms talk about how you hit her with a lot of things because you drink too much" They said.

Isolation: They may try to isolate you from friends and family, making you more dependent on them for emotional support and validation. This isolation can make it easier for them to manipulate you.

    "I don't think these are good friends for you to be hanging around, they're putting this false information in your head, how about I get you more books and you can spend more time reading than trusting liars" Arthur said, going to the kitchen and starting on food, humming as he did so. "..But you hit me too, this bruise is from last week" They said quietly after having followed him into the kitchen, watching him turn to face them and come closer, kneeling in front of them. Manipulative Pity: They might pretend to be in a constant state of distress or crisis, using your sympathy to manipulate you into doing what they want.    "Oh Sunshine, I'm so sorry, I've just been under so much stress recently with trying to get a new job....I don't mean to hurt you" Arthur said, tears forming in his eyes as he started to hug Rory. "I'm so sorry baby, I really didn't mean to, I'm just so stressed and I need to be able to get a job so I can give you and your mother a better life" He said.

And they believed it.

The hope disappeared slowly overtime, disappearing entirely on the evening of their fifteenth birthday.

Rory never got much on their past birthdays, a book here and there, they were always happy with what they got. But every year their mother, Eve, never failed to get them a new birthday outfit. This year it was a pretty knee length powder blue dress with ruffles towards the bottom and they wore their pair of black dress shoes. She did their hair up in a fishtail braid and added a blush pink bow to the end of the braid.

   "Look at you, absolutely gorgeous" Eve spoke, giving their child a kiss on the cheek. The faint purple of a bruise could slightly be seen through the makeup on her face, her ash blonde colored hair draped over her shoulders covering the bruises on her collarbone and neck. Her brown eyes withholding tears in them, breathing out she put a necklace around their neck, a pink seashell with beads on each side on a leather cord. "Perfect, now you're ready" She said. Rory stood from their place at the vanity, following their mother out to the dimly lit living area, seeing a table with a small cake with a singular candle wick in it. It burned brightly, and there was a gift on the table wrapped in paper.

They sat at the table, smiling at their mother as they unwrapped their gift, letting out a soft gasp when it was unwrapped. It was a leather bound book, upon opening it the pages were blank, it was a diary. "Oh...it's beautiful" They said softly. "Thank you mom-" They started, the door slamming open seconds later. The wind from outside blowing out the candle wick on the cake. It was Arthur standing in the doorway, very clearly intoxicated, it very quickly went quiet. 

Abusers may overreact for several reasons, and it's important to note that their behavior is not justified or acceptable. Overreactions are often a manipulation tactic and a form of control. 

    "Did I miss you singing happy birthday?" He asked, his words slurring from the content of alcohol in his body. "No, I was just about to sing" Eve spoke up timidly. Arthur nodded towards her, motioning for her to start before pausing. "Wait, the candle isn't lit, can't you do a single damn thing woman? its a fucking candle for a cake and you can't even light the fucking candle, what the hell is wrong with you? useless bitch" He said. 

"There's no need to overreact Arthur, it's Rory's birthday, I think you need to tell them something" Eve said. "I can react however I damn well please, and I don't need to tell her shit, I created her if anything I should be celebrated" He said. "Them, we talked about this, they don't like us using she or her, please don't disrespect their wishes Arthur...they're fifteen" She said. "Good! then I can go ahead and marry her off so she can stop wasting my time" He scowled. "Over my dead body you will" Eve said, gaining a bit of a back bone for once during the past fifteen years of her marriage. "She's my baby and you are not getting rid of her" She said.

Arthur went silent, sitting on the chair, avoiding eye contact. Eve cut him a piece of cake, bringing over a plate and handing it to him. "You know Eve, you really should be careful with the phrasing of your sentences" He said, grabbing the hand of hers that held the knife and twisting her wrist and grabbing it and stabbing her in the abdomen. After that first motion, he couldn't stop, he had dropped the plate and started stabbing erratically, all over here body. The blood soaking into the wood floor and her struggling to try and crawl away and failing as Arthur stabbed into her spine, stopping her ability to move her legs and she just let out weak cries and screams while reaching for Rory. Her child that stood only a few feet away, eyes wide in shock and unable to make a single noise or move a single inch as they watched their mother being butchered by the man who they used to call their father.

Control and Power: Abusers often seek to maintain control and dominance in their relationships. In some cases, killing or threatening to kill their victims can be seen as the ultimate way to exert power and instill fear.

Running was all they could do. Their heart was pounding loudly in their ears, feeling like it was about to jump out of their chest. Their breathing became shallow and rapid, it began to feel difficult to get air into their lungs, they collapsed to the floor behind their locked bedroom door. The faded echoing of slamming on the door. They felt hot and cold at the same time, and their chest felt like it was squeezing itself harshly, their hands were shaking. They felt nauseous and dizzy. They needed to move, they knew they needed to get out. They needed to run. They didn't know where to go, but they needed to run.

 Panic is often accompanied by an intense and irrational fear that can be triggered by a specific situation, object, thought, or physical sensation. This fear is out of proportion to the actual threat, and the individual may have difficulty explaining or rationalizing it.

They set their sights on the window in their room, they blinked but suddenly they thudded to the grass outside their bedroom window and then they were running. They spread their wings out of their back and tried taking off the ground, jumping, crying, unable to catch their breath. They heard a crash from inside the house and gave up and started running and didn't look back. They couldn't turn back, not now, not ever. Their mother was dead. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Please stay tuned for new chapters every other Sunday on Wattpad. This is a story based on my minecraft lore based SMP called Wisper SMP, streamed on twitch every other week, told from the perspective of the water goddex Rory and things that have happened in their life.

#original character #original story #lore smp #nonbinary main character #lgbtq #minecraft #work in progress

[greysfic]

Dogma of the Vasnok Cult

GENESIS

Long ago when the world was young, the gods filled it with life in abundance, and looked upon it from outside, and were pleased.

The mortals looked back across the void, and longed to know the gods, and built a moonlight bridge they could cross to enter the world.

Thus the gods walked among mortals, primal and serene.

But the mind of a god is alien, immortal and impossible. Cruel in their sport, destructive in their excess. Tyrannical in ambition, and selfish in thought.

The mortals began to regret what they had done, but how can one bring war against a god?

In this time of wonder and terror, the gods made Vasnok, Who Births Wonders. A Living God, Divinity in Flesh, loving and fecund. She and Her progeny loved and were loved by mortalkind, and spread throughout the world. The gods, unchanging and infertile, grew jealous but could not strike Her down.

And so they cursed Her and Her children. Where once they brought life, now they could multiply only through death. Where once they were immortal, now they needed the blood of mortals to live. Even the sun was made to hate them, and burn them in its light.

The gods, disgusted with the world they had made, returned across the moonlight bridge and destroyed it behind them. Many mortals now feared Vasnok, and so She, Her children, and Her faithful fled to the dark corners of the world.

EXODUS

To preserve Her flock, Vasnok slept and transformed. In this time, the adherents of the gods hunted Her people to the brink of annihilation, hoping to win back the gods' favour, for they had forgotten the gods had not loved them as Vasnok did.

She awoke as That Which Hunts The Unrighteous On Umbral Wings, and protected Their flock in secret. They hunted the wicked in their beds and traveled between hidden shrines to join Their people together. In time, They found a homeland far from the other kingdoms and led Their faithful there. For a time, all was well.

TRIBULATION

Now Vasnok sleeps again. Their children and priesthood defend the faithful, and defend Their sleeping form, even as fanatics from a neighbouring land seek their destruction and foreigners call them blasphemers, monsters.

Vasnok will rise again when the time is right, and He will be called Destroyer, That Which Scours Clean The World-Canvas.

#world building #ttrpg #fictional religious texts #writing

[late-to-the-fandom]

The stress of running a rebellion is affecting Renathal's sex life. The Maw Walker is as helpful as ever. Rated E for explicit (yep, there's smut here). Read here on Ao3 for triggers and tags

Takes place many months prior to Taking the Tremaculum, before the imprisonment of Denathrius

Renathal closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and tried to concentrate on the beautiful Nightborne beneath him.

The Maw Walker lay spread out for him, naked and pliant, like the most delectable feast; her long hair a dark halo fanning across the sheets of his Sinfall bed. The gift of her exquisite body was something he knew she did not give to just anyone and he certainly never took it for granted, but even more rare and precious was the gift of her time. She was probably the busiest, most sought after being in the Shadowlands. There were a hundred places she could be and things she could be doing, many of them of great importance, Renathal knew, and she had chosen to snub them all and come here to do ... well ... him.

And he was not doing very well.

Renathal's fingers dug into the Maw Walker's hips, as he ground against her again, frustration leaking into his movements in spite of himself.  What was wrong with him tonight?

He had been looking forward to this moment all week - an exceptionally trying week and one he thought would never end. Denathrius' loyalists had kept up a constant siege against the Bridge of Banishment, the Stone Fiends' attacks had disrupted his communication network, and the marauders lurking in the Ember Ward had attacked the Sanctuary of the Mad, damaging the lift and sparking a litany of inconveniences and complaints from everyone in Sinfall. It seemed his Sire meant to inflict on his rebellion a death of a thousand cuts; Renathal could sense their momentum bleeding out little by little with every new minor setback.

Through it all, Renathal had pictured this evening, when the Maw Walker had promised to be here no matter what. His greatest fear through the week had been that something more urgent would steal her away, but she had kept her word, had arrived in his quarters only a few minutes late, robes freshly cleaned and eyes sparkling with anticipation like some divine vision. And to repay her for her effort he himself could not seem to rise to the occasion.

What was holding him back? Renathal wondered furiously. He wanted it, wanted her - there was a tension curled so tightly in him he thought he might burst from it. But no matter his rhythm or his pacing, no matter what he grabbed, or kissed, or sucked, he could not release it. It was maddening.

The Maw Walker shifted sharply underneath him, and Renathal became aware the flesh trapped in his tightly clenched fingers had turned white. He relaxed his grip on her hips, turning his attention on her breasts instead. The warm flesh that bunched deliciously between his fingers, not to mention the way her body arched into him automatically whenever he squeezed, were pleasures Renathal had not grown tired of. He lowered his mouth to one of her dark nipples, rolling it in between his sharp teeth, waiting for her high-pitched cry.

Because there was her to think of as well. Renathal knew he was not imagining the Maw Walker's responses were more subdued than usual. Little hums of pleasure instead of the breathless gasps and impossible-to-stifle cries to which he had become so addicted. She was a surprisingly vocal lover considering how implacable she was in all other situations. But tonight.... as Renathal let his fangs graze that perfect hardened bud, he could tell her noise was less robust than it was the last time he had done this, her body still languid against the bed instead of taut and responsive to his every touch.

Which was more than merely embarrassing; it was worrisome. If this - whatever it was between them - stopped being enjoyable for her...

Renathal grimaced as he released her nipple and leaned up to bathe his strangely quiet lover's neck and jaw in sharp, desperate kisses. And what was this between them, anyway? That was another of the many dilemmas troubling Renathal at present. He had not found the right occasion to broach that conversation yet. And if he did not step up his performance it was likely he never would. The ever-busy Maw Walker would find an excuse to bow out of their stolen moments together. Courteously, of course, but no less painfully for him. And the thought of losing this... whatever it was... made him feel almost as mad as he had in the Maw.

Which meant he had to do it right. Renathal's lips finally reached hers and he clung to them like a font of anima, but even her tongue tracing his fangs could not reignite what was fading in his body. His mind raced frantically, searching for something new, something he had not tried. He had planned this whole evening down to the last atmospherically-placed red candle, and everything had gone as smooth as glass.  Why wasn't it enough?

The thrust of her hips meeting his petered out, and Renathal knew he had failed. Again. The way he had failed against Denathrius, failed to protect his fellow Venthyr, failed his entire charge to the Shadowlands as Harvester of Dominion to keep those in his realm from betraying their purpose. Was there nothing he could do correctly?

The Maw Walker's knees locked around his hips, and Renathal knew what was coming. He let her flip him, moved with her as she guided him back to the bed and sat gently astride him. He closed his eyes to avoid seeing the look on her face. Disappointment, or pity; or that look she wore before a fight or at court, like she was fitting together pieces of a puzzle; analyzing what was wrong so she could make it right.

Just once, thought Renathal bitterly, he would like to be the one solving the problem, saving the day. Saving her. But she never needed it. She, unlike him, always succeeded at everything she did.

The Maw Walker's hand caressed the side of his face, her thumb stroking the sharp angle of his cheekbone, but she still did not speak. It was not comfortable like their usual silences. It was a silence that held expectation, and Renathal disliked it.

"I fear I am a bit preoccupied tonight," he said, trying for casual chagrin.

"With what?"

The Maw Walker's voice betrayed nothing, and Renathal sighed. He suddenly felt exhausted.

"Oh, merely... everything."

"I see," she said slowly. Her fingers crept up his forehead, nails lightly scratching his scalp as she ran her hands back through his hair. "Were you planning on using this time to solve every one of Revendreth's problems and I interrupted?"

Renathal gave a short huff of mirthless laughter and finally opened his eyes to look at Revendreth's champion.

Sure enough, the Maw Walker's face was back to smoothly impassive, a small smile at her own joke the only expression. Nothing to indicate what she had been doing only minutes ago, except a small patch of color left in her cheeks. 

"How do you do it?" murmured Renathal, her hand combing through his long hair lulling him into a trance.

Her eyes widened slightly.

"Do what?"

"One minute, you are ... the Maw Walker! Saviour of the Shadowlands. Un-killable, indomitable. And the next ... you are in here with me..." Renathal felt anima rush to his groin again, and his voice came out lower. "So yielding ... so submissive.  Begging me to take you without a trace of pride."

The little shudder that ran through the Maw Walker at his words made her squirm against him, and Renathal heartened. He still seemed to have some effect on her; that was a good sign. If he could just concentrate, focus on being here with her and not on the hundred and one problems he somehow had to solve. Renathal attempted to flip his lover over, ready to try again, but she held his hips in place with her knees. He let himself fall back against the bed, lifting an eyebrow at her. Not that he could not have forced her over easily if he tried; not that she would have minded, he was certain. But the Maw Walker had never stopped him doing anything before, and Renathal was apprehensive about what that meant.

"Do you trust me?" she asked. Her hand had left its hypnotic stroking of his hair and now traced his jutting collarbone with a gentle nail.

Renathal gazed up at her, infusing the word with all the sincerity it deserved. "Entirely."

She smiled at that; a true smile, warm and glowing. He thought it was what moonlight must look like.

"Then close your eyes."

It was a soft command, left open for him to decline. But Renathal did as she bid him.

The Maw Walker leaned over him; he could feel her hair tickling the side of his face. Her lips met his just for a moment before ghosting over his jaw, then down his throat, pausing to nip at his cold skin along the way. Each tiny attempt at a bite she graced with a precious kiss or a small, sweet lap of her tongue. It was nothing dramatic, nothing she had not done before. But Renathal thought it felt somehow ... different, more sensational, this time. Maybe because he could not see, only feel. Or maybe because the Maw Walker was gentler than usual, almost tantalisingly so.

She reached his chest, her tongue and teeth working in tandem, leaving little ghosts of kisses beside her blunt-toothed mortal bites. Eyes still closed as she had commanded, Renathal reached out his hands for her, caressing the soft planes of her shoulders, enjoying the warm, smooth skin.

Until her hands took his, firmly, and tugged them away. Renathal's eyes shot open.

The Maw Walker made a noise of disapproval and shook her head. She dragged his hands up over his head the way he had pinned hers often before. Only her hands were so small it took only one of his to hold both her wrists. He wondered in amusement how she planned to keep him there, then winced at an unexpected prickle of freezing cold.

It was not painful, only surprising. As an Arcanist, the Maw Walker rarely used frost magic, though Renathal knew she was capable; and she had certainly never used magic on him when they were together like this. But, as he tried to separate his hands from each other and met resistance, there could be no doubt: the Maw Walker had frozen his hands together to the top of the bed.

She met his shocked gaze, hers full of laughter and lust, and whispered against his open mouth, “No hands. Stay still."

Her little orders chafed against Renathal's need for control, and he could not decide if the friction was unpleasant. He flexed his fingers experimentally, but they were held fast enough to prevent his fists closing. Trust in his Maw Walker notwithstanding, Renathal had a few choice words he would like to say to her about this, but she had re-positioned herself already, crawling back down his chest, and tracing the muscles of his abdomen with her lips and tongue. He did not know if his shiver was from her attentions or her ice.

The Maw Walker took her time tasting every inch of his cold skin before sliding in between his legs. This, too, she had done this before - a memory Renathal particularly enjoyed revisiting - and he waited breathlessly for that wet heat to devour him. But the Maw Walker turned her head, continuing her stream of slow, heavy kisses down his thigh instead.

Never had Renathal thought he would dislike a kiss from his Maw Walker, but her mouth was decidedly not where he wanted it. He thrust his hips in a gentle reminder of what she was neglecting, but she acted as though she did not notice - or did not care. He waited in growing impatience as she finished her slow ministrations - first on one side, then the other - and Renathal was sure she was letting her hair brush against his cock on purpose just to torture him. He had never known the Maw Walker to have such a cruel streak. Perhaps she had spent too much time in Revendreth, he thought bemusedly.

When her lips finally skimmed the tip of his dripping cock, a deep groan escaped Renathal without his consent. The Maw Walker lifted her head and met his eyes. She let the little drops of red anima linger wetly on her mouth before licking her lips, and Renathal decided he was ready for the torture to end. Every fiber of his being was quivering with anticipation; waiting for her to descend, to swallow him into that perfect mouth. But the Maw Walker did not move. She hesitated above him, the tip of his cock just under her chin, and his hips twitched, instinctively trying to get closer.

Renathal could not fathom what the Maw Walker's plan was. If she was waiting for him to beg her, she had misunderstood him greatly.

“Maw Walker," he said hoarsely, the syllables all rough edges. "Attend your prince."

There was a hint of threat in the half-sarcastic words. It made the Maw Walker smile; a wicked thing that crept slowly up the sides of her face. She dipped her head as if to comply, but merely trailed more faux-innocent kisses down the side of his cock. Renathal's teeth ground together at the feeling - so good and so inadequate - until, at last, her lips parted and she let her tongue gently lave at his shaft.

The Maw Walker worked her mouth down until she ran out of length and just kept going, her lips and tongue doing all the work while her hands pressed gently against his thighs to hold him still. Her fingers traced delicate patterns on his jutting hip bones as she continued to lap at him languidly. Another time, Renathal might have had more patience for her teasing, but he was full to bursting with frustration, and her refusal to do what he wanted or be where he needed her so furiously was wearing on him.

He called her name this time, his voice a warning growl. The Maw Walker merely hummed against him, then pulled away entirely.

Tossing her hair behind her, she slid backwards to the edge of the bed, out of Renathal's reach. Ignoring his low notes of protest, she sat back on her heels, long legs spread, giving Renathal a glorious view of every dusky purple inch of her. The distraction momentarily took his superfluous breath away. Her hands abandoned his body in favor of her own, her fingers spreading and rubbing gently, exactly where he so desperately wanted to be. And desperation boiled Renathal's anima.

Was that her plan? To tease him until he wept? To deny him until he lost his mind entirely? This was an exercise in trust, Renathal supposed, and he did trust the Maw Walker, implicitly; but, at the moment, he was not sure he agreed with her.

Renathal clenched his hands against the ice of her spell and felt something crack. Water was dripping down his wrists, the magic obviously weakening without her concentration. He could wiggle the tips of his fingers, but still not quite free his hand.

"It would be best… not to try my patience, Maw Walker."

Any Venthyr would have cowered under the undisguised menace in the Dark Prince's voice. But the Maw Walker ignored him. She was no longer even looking at him. Her eyes closed, she leaned back and canted her hips toward her own fingers. Renathal knew she could not possibly get them as deep as she preferred, but she still sighed as if in pleasure. Her other hand now circled her own nipple exactly where Renathal's mouth had been earlier, and he growled again, the frustration beginning to eat him alive.

The Maw Walker had never denied him anything. He trusted her with his very existence. And now, when Renathal needed her most, she would simply tease and tease and give him nothing. He no longer knew if the fire in his body was desire or rage, no longer knew what he would do to her once he got his hands on her.

Renathal said her name again, and every decibel of his voice held the echo of dominion.

"Come to me.”

Renathal might not have a medallion any longer, but he still possessed eons of power, and even the Maw Walker could not ignore his direct command entirely. She opened her blue-white eyes, dark with desire and sparkling with mischief.

"Come and take me, Prince of Revendreth."

Whether her husky whisper contained the power to release her spell or to simply snap the last of his self-control, Renathal could not tell. Because as soon as he flexed his hands a final time and felt the ice shatter, he stopped thinking of anything at all except launching himself onto his Maw Walker.

His hands were wet and freezing, but Renathal had no thought to spare for how that might feel to her skin. He dragged her to him, nails scraping against whatever parts of the Maw Walker they found first, but the feel of soft, warm flesh was not enough to bring any sort of balm to his body's furiously-coursing fire. It was an entity of its own now, beyond his ability to stifle, and it demanded everything.

Renathal yanked her legs out from under her and the Maw Walker fell backwards, her head hitting the edge of the bed with an audible thump, her dark waterfall of hair spilling over the side. Some far distant part of Renathal worried about that, but worry of any kind had no hold over him anymore. He had thought he knew need for the Maw Walker, but this was a new thing entirely. He was a creature driven by absolute necessity without thought for anything but its satisfaction.

Gripping her thighs in a vice, Renathal spread her legs and, at last, drove himself inside her, reveling in the way the Maw Walker moaned his name: a husky, broken surrender. He leaned over her to watch her face as he thrust - in and out, in and out - a slow rhythm intended to punish her teasing, but he could not maintain it for long. That unbearable heat in his core was Renathal's only compass. It guided him deeper into the Maw Walker, setting a pace to match the crescendo of her cries; now keening wails, as he bent her legs over her shoulders, leaning in to tug at her lips with his fangs.

It was barely a kiss, more a capture, and through it Renathal's amber eyes burned into hers, wide and yearning. Every single part of the Maw Walker was his, and she would know it.

"You think to undo me?" Renathal barely recognised the heavy, throaty rumble as his own voice. "Mine is dominion. And you are my domain."

The Maw Walker's voice in return was all breathy ecstasy, the only time Renathal ever heard it pitched so high. And he was the cause. That sent more anima to his groin, and he tilted her hips further to reach still deeper, her accompanying cries full of words he could barely interpret.

"Yes yes yes my prince take it it's all yours.”

Words failed Renathal. Coherent thought abandoned him. He could only pound the Maw Walker into - and nearly off of - the bed. Take. He would take. He would take everything she had to give him, and then more. He would use every inch of her, and she would worship him for it. Renathal could feel her clench around him, her body begging him for his essence, and he, her Prince, would oblige.

His climax hit him all in a rush. Its momentum ripped a guttural sound from Renathal he could not control, could barely hear over the thudding of anima in his ears. This was right. This was perfect. This was bliss. He continued to thrust as he savoured the feeling of spilling into his Maw Walker, the instinct to give her everything, all of him, pounding like a heartbeat through his body.

It was a few minutes before Renathal was aware of himself again. He suddenly realised his forehead was crushed against the Maw Walker's, the little whimpering notes of her comedown blowing strands of hair across his face. He groaned, and took stock of his body. His legs shook slightly from the awkward position. His fingers ached for some reason, but he had to look at them to realise he was gripping the Maw Walker's calves so tightly her mortal bones might break. Retracting his nails from her flesh, he watched drops of red blood fall where he had gouged an unwitting tattoo. The sight of the viscous liquid shocked Renathal back into conscious, rational thought.

He sat up, letting the Maw Walker's legs fall to the bed, inspecting her where she lay. Her arms dangled off the bed behind her, her hair a sweaty, tangled mess; her chest rose and fell rapidly and Renathal's own anima leaked from between her splayed legs. He knew he ought to feel some shame at reducing the Maw Walker to this. But that primal part of him she had freed reared its head in satisfaction at the sight of her so utterly used. By him.

The Maw Walker's eyelids fluttered open, head turning slowly to search for him. She met Renathal's apprehensive gaze. Apparently not ready for words, she could only hum contentedly. But for once, she seemed unable to stop emotion invading her face, and she glowed with adoration at him.

Renathal relaxed. The injuries on her legs notwithstanding, the Maw Walker did not seem in any particular discomfort. Quite the contrary. She smiled gingerly and stretched out a hand for him, not quite able to reach his body without moving which she showed no inclination to do. Renathal contemplated relocating them both to a better position on the bed, agreed it would be too much effort, and let himself collapse beside her.

The Maw Walker stroked a hand lazily along Renathal's face, then into his hair, the better to tug him to her lips without lifting her head. Her kiss was a messy, clumsy thing that spilled across his mouth and into his goatee.

"Feel better?" asked the Maw Walker when she finally broke for air.

Renathal imagined his smile must be a mirror of her own as he ran his fingers through her tangled dark hair, pushing it out of her bliss-tinged eyes.

"As always, my dear, you have the solution to every dilemma."

She laughed at that, and leaned her body into his. The way her hips arched longingly against Renathal's brought an uncomfortable thought to his mind.

"Did I - or rather, did you-"

"Yes," she interrupted firmly. "And yes. And yes."

It was Renathal's turn to chuckle softly. He let his arm trail down her back to grip the soft swell of her rear, molding the flesh between his fingers in absent pleasure. The Maw Walker shifted, giving him a better angle, and accidentally smearing the blood on her leg against the sheets. Renathal closed his eyes, repressing a wince, regret for his actions creeping closer now his need had abated.

"I am sorry. It was not my intention to hurt you. I fear I got a bit ... carried away."

"Well, I did provoke you rather terribly."

"That is no excuse."

"Renathal," and the gentle way the Maw Walker said his name made him open his eyes. “I ... appreciate your concern for me. But ... you cannot hurt me.” She put a finger to Renathal's lips to stop his protest. “You can’t. I don’t think there’s anything you could do to me that I would not want. And if there was, I wouldn't allow it. You must stop thinking I can’t handle all of you.”

The Maw Walker wet her lips, speaking slowly as if her words weighed down her tongue. "You are an ... extraordinary leader, Renathal. Your control over yourself - over everything - is … astounding to me. And you will need every ounce of that to succeed in this rebellion, but ..." She propped herself up on her arm to lean over him, looking at every part of Renathal's face but his eyes. “When it’s just us ... you don’t have to hold yourself in check. I can take you entirely as you are.”

She placed a soft kiss on his forehead and leaned back, examining her handiwork: Renathal's slightly dazed face and unfocused eyes as her exquisite words washed over him. Apparently satisfied, the Maw Walker let her head fall back against the bed.

“That’s the answer to your question, by the way.”

Renathal had to wrack his overwhelmed brain to remember his earlier bemused query. 

“Out there, I am the Maw Walker," she continued, pronouncing the moniker with a wry twist of her lips. "I am ... what everybody needs me to be. Powerful, or decisive, or indomitable, as you say. But here with you..." The Maw Walker sighed deeply, smiling up at the ceiling. "I can be ... the other part of me. That doesn't want to make all the decisions or solve everyone's problems. That just wants to ... receive."

She let her voice trail off, her confession clearly exhausting her. Renathal, on the other hand, could feel himself rising again. Anima pumped through him in a hot and powerful thrum. Had the Maw Walker ever been so willingly open and vulnerable with him? He could not recall it if she had. And to hear her secrets, to know this was a part of her only he could have...

Renathal reached for the Maw Walker's face, rubbing the long nail of his thumb across her lips. Obediently, they parted, and he let her lave his finger briefly, before leaning in and replacing it with his mouth. This kiss was one of dominion, deep and slow and possessive, a survey of an estate now his. 

"I trust you with myself," the Maw Walker murmured against his lips, when Renathal paused to allow her a breath. "And I don't trust very many. Trust me. With you. With this."

She wound her fingers into the strands of his long, pale hair and let her eyes travel the length of his body languidly.

"With this?" Renathal flattened himself against her, grinding his naked cock against her thigh, and she moaned, "Yes..."

"Can you take more?"

His words were a low purr against her ear, and it worked on the Maw Walker like magic. With a sharp gasp, she arched against him, her body seeking his on instinct.

"Yes more please!”

Her whimpered words were quick and breathless; her hands, soft and powerful, clutched at his back, trying to force him more fully against her. But Renathal evaded the Maw Walker's scrabbling nails. He sat up, noticing as he did so how much lighter he felt than when he had first been astride her. He was not sure exactly how much time had passed since the Maw Walker arrived in his rooms; it could not have been more than an hour, but it felt like a different age. Sitting up straighter, cracking his neck, a satisfied smile curled past Renathal's fangs. This was the most like himself - like a Harvester; like the Prince - he had felt since before the Maw.

Beneath him, his Maw Walker squirmed in a restless attempt to gain more friction, and Renathal's laugh was soft and wicked.

"So greedy, Maw Walker."

“Mmm... I confess," was her coy reply.

And if she could still joke, thought Renathal smugly, then she was not nearly desperate enough.

"I am willing to forgive you for your, admittedly, exquisite torture,” he said, abruptly adopting a formal tone of address that made the Maw Walker blink in surprise. “But binding me without my consent…” Renathal clicked his tongue. "Too far. I believe some small... atonement is in order." 

He trailed a long claw-like nail from the hollow of her throat to the dusky skin between her heaving breasts, leaving the faintest of visible scratches and making the Maw Walker gasp again. Renathal's smirk was comfortable on his face as he bent down to murmur against her lips:

"Let us begin.”

Read Part 3: An Ember Court to Remember | Visit the Masterpost

#prince renathal #Renathal x maw walker #Renathal x reader #Renathal x OC #Renathal fanfiction #romance #smut #Rated M #revendreth #fanfiction #shadowlands #world of warcraft #writing #rated m #the harvester of dominion #light & shadows

[the-crimson-crows]

Epilogue: The Eternarchs

The Eternarchs viewed the world, watching their creation burn. Still, the screams could be heard, the pleas for redemptions. 

Pleas that came too late. 

Mortals only wanted redemption when faced with death. 

They laughed bitterly as they heard the mortals pray to gods, gods that were deaf to their cries. No god could save them from their inevitable fate. They had failed the test. And now they burned. 

Yet each laugh was tinged with sorrow. After all, which creator did not view their creations as their own children? It was truly a shame. Such hope had been held, that perhaps the mortals would learn. Yet each time, they failed. 

It was starting to take a toll. 

They had witnessed countless worlds rise and fall, their hopes soaring with every new spark of life, only to be extinguished by the same mistakes, repeated through the ages. They’d shepherded innumerable amounts of their children, each time hoping that their children would learn from their past. Yet, as the flames consumed Elysios, the weight of disappointment bore down upon them. Greed. Selfishness. Arrogance. Corruption. It was as if they went hand-in-hand with mortality. Some might argue that these traits were what made them mortal, what contributed to their beauty. That they fought through these urges and persevered. After all, without darkness, there was no light. 

Yet as the Eternarchs watched their children fall prey to these mistakes again and again, they questioned if there was any point anymore. Perhaps there was no light without darkness, but it seemed that the mortals were unable to see beyond just light and darkness. There was only the good and the bad, and the bad always overwhelmed them in the end. It always won. 

They recalled all the past children they’d nurtured, the tender affection they’d held for each one. Each world had been unique, cherished like a work of art, sculpted with divine hands. They all fell, eventually, grandeur crumbling into ruin. 

The Eternarchs looked at the mortal who lay sprawled in front of them. Aria, her name had been. Aria, who’d given them hope for the briefest of seconds. Aria, who’d bridged the gap between species. Aria, who’d failed them, like every child did. She’d been so selfless. The same as every heroic child they’d had. She’d dared to love the world, to love everyone. And see how the world repaid her. With death. 

She’d defied them. Sacrificed herself in vain, hoping to save the rest. Alas, if only the act of a single child could change their decision. The other one—Nyraeth—had been the same. Yet she’d not been willing to sacrifice herself for the greater good, but for Aria. 

Was that selfless or selfish? Perhaps love inherently was both. 

Nyraeth cried over Aria’s body, at first. First it had been sorrow, but then it had turned to anger. She’d thrown herself at the Eternarchs with the fury of the broken-hearted, the blind tears of the devastated. You saw her heart, the love she had, she’d screamed in grief. Why did you let her sacrifice herself if everyone else was going to die as well? Are you truly that heartless? She was dead now, too. Such nobility from a kind so prone to folly. They took comfort in the fact that, if there was an afterlife, perhaps the two were together. 

The screams were gone now. There was now just an overwhelming silence, the silence of absolute death. The silence of another failure. Only echoes were left, echoes of the hopes they had. Hopes now gone in the newest failure. 

The Eternarchs sighed. The arrogance and greed of their children had destroyed their chance of salvation as well as the world. 

And now they must create new children. 

#original writing #my writing #sad writing #this is from my current wip #children of elysios #coe #why did I write the epilogue instead of actually writing the story? #we'll never know #procrastination at its finest

[buyofficialpainting]

Solitary Orpheus: Unraveling the Melancholy Mystique

When thinking about legendary figures who encapsulate solitude, Orpheus, the mythical Greek musician and poet, is a character that comes to mind. Often depicted as a lonesome figure in art, literature, and music, Orpheus embodies a potent mix of passion, artistry, love, and loss. Today, let's explore the concept of the "Solitary Orpheus" and unravel its mystique. 

The Orpheus Myth: A Brief Recap

In Greek mythology, Orpheus is a figure blessed with extraordinary musical talents. With his enchanting music, he could charm all living things, even stones and rivers. The tragedy that befalls him is equally profound: he loses his beloved wife, Eurydice, to a snake bite. His grief is such that he dares to descend into Hades, the Greek underworld, to retrieve her.

He sways Hades and Persephone, the rulers of the underworld, with his heartrending music and is allowed to take Eurydice back to the land of the living under one condition: he must not look back at her until they reach the surface. In a moment of doubt, however, Orpheus turns to ensure she follows him, losing her forever. Thus, Orpheus becomes a tragic figure, mourning his lost love and living in self-imposed solitude.

Solitary Orpheus: The Power of Loneliness

When we refer to "Solitary Orpheus", we focus on his loneliness, a critical facet of his identity shaped by love, loss, and remorse. Orpheus' story is an exploration of solitude in its most profound form, suggesting that our most significant creations often emerge from our deepest sorrows.

Orpheus, in his solitude, played the most soul-stirring music, echoing the pains and pangs of his heart. His artistry was his catharsis, his means of understanding and dealing with his solitude. This theme resonates with many artists and creative thinkers who often delve into their solitary spaces to ignite their creativity.

The Role of Art in Solitude

The figure of Solitary Orpheus is not just a testament to the sadness of one man but is a symbol of the transformative power of art. Through his music, Orpheus made sense of his grief, expressed his longing, and touched the hearts of both gods and mortals. His art transcended his loneliness, transforming it into something universal and deeply moving.

Orpheus' story also reminds us that art can act as a bridge between the human and the divine, the mortal and the immortal, and life and death. It is through his music that Orpheus negotiates with the gods, explores the underworld, and attempts to bring back his lost love.

Orpheus: The Eternal Muse

The story of Orpheus has served as a muse for countless works of art, literature, music, and even cinema. The image of the "Solitary Orpheus" remains a potent symbol for artists grappling with themes of love, loss, and loneliness.

From ancient Greek plays to contemporary movies, Orpheus' tale has been told and retold in countless ways, always focusing on his solitude and his artistry. In each interpretation, Orpheus emerges as a figure that embodies the very essence of the human condition: the capacity for great love, the inevitability of loss, and the solace that art can provide.

Conclusion: Unraveling the Solitary Orpheus

The "Solitary Orpheus" is a powerful symbol that continues to captivate our collective imagination. As we contemplate his loneliness, we are also confronted with our own moments of solitude and the emotions they evoke.

Orpheus' story serves as a reminder of the dualities we navigate in our lives — love and loss, joy and sorrow, companionship and solitude. In many ways, Orpheus's music gives voice to these universal human experiences.As we unravel the story of the "Solitary Orpheus", we are invited to reflect on our own experiences and consider the role of art in expressing, understanding, and ultimately finding meaning in them. In the end, like Orpheus, we might find that our solitude can lead us to profound insights and a deeper connection with ourselves and the world around us.

[scotianostra]

January *28th 1290 saw the death of  Dervorguilla, Lady of Galloway.

*Dates for this, 21st and 20th of January, and one with a different year but most say this date, also spellings of her name differ.

The Lanercost states that Dervorguilla was the “widow of Lord John de Balliol” and that she “was a woman largely endowed with money and lands, both in England and in Scotland.” It also adds in her favour that “she had a much richer endowment in the nobility of her heart, being daughter and heiress of the magnificent Alan, the sometime Lord of Galloway.” Regarding her death, it states that “She passed from the world, full of years, at Castle Barnard, and was buried at Duquer, in Galloway, a Monastery of Cistercians, which she herself built and endowed.” Looks like ‘endowed’ was a well used term in those days; at least in the Lanercost.

Arguably the most famous fact about her, in Scotland at least, is that she was the mother of our erstwhile King John, it was through her that his legitimate claim to the Scottish crown came about, she was a great-great-granddaughter of King David I. Had she lived a wee whiles her lineage would have thrown up the possibility of her being named Queen of Scotland after the death of Margaret Maid of Norway in September 1290, this would have precluded that nasty Edward I interfering with our affairs, Queen Dervorguilla, how does that sound? This alternative timeline may have been the start of a Balliol dynasty, no Bruce’s or Stewarts such is the ifs and buts of history.

While a lot of marriages were arranged to form alliances and were loveless, that is not the case with that is certainly not the case with Lady Dervorguilla and John Balliol snr, on the death of her husband, in 1268, Dervorguilla had his heart embalmed and kept in a casket of ivory bound with silver. The casket travelled with her for the rest of her life.

Poetry has been written of the love shared between John Balliol and Dervorguilla of Galloway, the Lady also founded New Abbey in Dumfries & Galloway in honour of her husband, after her own death the Monks in the Abbey started calling it Dulce Cor, Latin for Sweet Heart, and so it became known as Sweetheart Abbey.

She was also the co-founder, with her husband of Balliol College, Oxford in 1263, even after John Balliol’s death Lady Dervorguilla continued to support it, securing its permanent endowment in 1282, as well as formal statutes, a seal, and a house to study in. It’s a shame that College did not allow women students until 1979!.

If you have ever visited Dumfries you will have no maybe crossed over the river Nth on Dervorguilla Bridge, built in 1426 and named in her honour.

She was buried in front of the high altar at Sweetheart Abbey. A stone slab in the floor marks the supposed site of her burial, the actually place being lost due to the mindless destruction during the Reformation, their lost graves lie amongst the ruins, which is described as a “shrine to human and divine love”.

An effigy found by archaeologists can be seen at the Abbey, sadly the head is missing, but it is thought to be the Lady and in 2017 it was named number 10 by VisitScotland in their 25 Objects That Shaped Scotland’s History.

#scotland #scottish #medieval history #the balliols #history #sweetheart abbey

[artsyhobi]

Cursed

Divine Gods!BTS x reader

series masterlist

Chapter one, Calico Cat.

characters: mortal!fem!reader, god of the moon!park jimin, god of the sun!jung hoseok, god of death and darkness!min yoongi, god of the four elements!kim namjoon, god of time!kim seokjin, god of nature and life!jeon jungkook, god of mischief!kim taehyung.

a/n: hello ! i hope you enjoy this first chapter, i actually took inspo from Goblin (which is a kdrama i absolutely loved ;;) and i'm sorry in advance for my poor writing, but english is not my first language ...

trigger warning: mentions of blood, violence and death, curse words.

tag-list: @greezenini, @fangirl125reader, @motherofbludgers

Min Yoongi sat on the throne, his legs elegantly crossed as he rested his forearms on the armrest. He slightly raised his left arm so that the tip of his index finger could lightly brush against his lower lip, his eyebrows mildly furrowed in a focused expression.

The black-haired man continued playing with his lip, then reached for something in the pocket of his silk pants and held the object in the palm of his hand: it was a vintage pocket watch entirely made out of gold, with a ruby located right at its center. The hands of the watch moved mechanically, producing a “tic” sound that resonated in his mind like an irritating echo.

Yoongi hated time. What was ironic, though, is that he had too much of it: he had an Eternity.

Yoongi glared at the antique object once more. A satisfied smirk appeared on the corner of his lips, depicting anything but an innocent smile. He stood up, adjusting his coat and grabbing his black bowler hat in a swift movement before taking some steps forward: as he walked, the dark throne room surrounding him became gradually more distant and, in a matter of seconds, the man was walking in the busy and snowy streets of Seoul. The snow crunched under the soles of his shoes, the snowflakes that landed on his coat immediately melted, and as he passed by, nobody seemed to notice his presence.

The street was crowded with people rushing to purchase the last Christmas presents, couples holding hands, and kids eating strawberry cotton candy. Disgusting, thought Yoongi as he curled his nose.

“One minute and thirty-three seconds.” He murmured to himself, turning into a deserted alley after checking the correct street name on a brick wall nearby. As he walked, the bright white snow became dirtier until there were just a few clusters of it on the side of the path. It started snowing heavier.

“Fifty-eight seconds.”

“I told you there were consequences!” A hoarse male voice shouted in the distance. Yoongi stopped hands into the pockets of his coat. “You’re a worthless bitch!”

There was a loud bang, followed by two others, and a feeble female voice asking for help. No one could hear her, and even if her cries reached someone’s ears, no one would help her since - according to Min Yoongi - humans were nothing but greedy mortal souls that enjoyed the sufferings of others. They were too occupied with spending their money on materialistic goods and developing toxic, violent, and possessive relationships. They were human beings but had no humanity left in their hearts.

He approached the poor woman laying on the ground, her hand resting on her stomach: blood was gushing out of her bullet wounds, dripping down in a pool of crimson absorbed by the snow. Tears streamed down her face as she whispered the same words over and over again, “Help me”.

He crouched down beside her and tilted his head, observing her like a detective inspected a victim. He knew that her time was up and that she was destined to die there, alone, desperately waiting for someone to find her.

“S-Sir…” She mumbled, some blood running down from the corner of her mouth. “P-please help me…” Her hand desperately clutched the hem of his coat, smearing it with her blood.

Yoongi sharply exhaled and rolled his eyes, turning his head to the side.

“Fancy seeing you follow me everywhere I go, Jungkook.” He stated, reluctantly standing up to face a man leaning against the brick wall, his arms crossed.

“Did you miss me?” Jungkook grinned.

He seemed almost like an angel since the clothes he wore were entirely white. His blond hair brushed against his shoulders, and a pair of long crystal earrings hung from his ears, sparkling as soon as they moved. Yoongi, on the contrary, was his polar opposite: his short wavy locks were as black as pitch, and although his eyes were a dull brown, they almost felt like looking into two holes, black as a night without stars.

“Seokjin sent me here to stop you from reaping her soul,” he affirmed, playing with the many rings he wore on his fingers, “It’s not her time yet.”

Yoongi scoffed, slightly amused at his statement. “Don’t you see the three holes on her stomach… Or do you need a magnifying glass? I am the one who decides if she dies today, not that Doctor Strange wannabe.” He took some steps toward him until his face was a few inches away from his, “I don’t take orders from a teenager.”

Jungkook furrowed his eyebrows, the slight grin disappeared. “These are not my orders but his, and you know you must obey him.” He lightly shoved Yoongi’s shoulder without interrupting eye contact with him, trying to remain calm. He kneeled beside the woman and caressed her hair, a sad smile depicted on his pink lips, while Yoongi stared angrily at the two.

“Don’t even think about it, Jungkook, her soul is already mine.” He said through gritted teeth.

“It is, you’re right.” The blond whispered and delicately put his hand on the woman’s chest. “But not now, Yoongi, you will have to wait.”

“Wait!?” Yoongi exclaimed in disbelief, and then frantically ran a hand through his black locks, “This has to be a joke, is Taehyung with you?”

“He is not,” He responded as a gleam of light formed under the palm of his hand, turning brighter by the second, “I haven’t seen him in ages.” This time his tone was lower, and his expression had darkened. Yoongi nodded, having no interest in knowing what had happened between the two friends.

“I suppose you won’t tell me why Seokjin wants to spare her life.”

“He just told me to stop you, nothing more.”

Yoongi pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. “Lies,” he snarled, “you are his little obedient puppy, Jungkook, we all know it.”

Jungkook inhaled the sharp, cold air and smiled as the woman opened her dark eyes. “I’m not here to fight, Yoongi, so you can insult me how much you want.” The blond took the now conscious woman into his arms and glared directly at his former friend. “But nothing will change the fact that you’re on your own now.”

Yoongi turned around, ready to argue back, but there was no trace of Jungkook.

The black-haired man remained still as he watched the empty spot, sighing, a strange feeling at the pit of his stomach.

20 years later

“Chung-Ae, we’ve already talked about this!” You groaned in annoyance, sinking your face into your Pikachu plushie. “I’m happy here!”

Chung-Ae sat on the counter, her arms supporting her as she gave you a stern look. You peeked, escaping the protection of your plushie, noticing that she wore purple lenses - although her stare was as scary as it had always been -.

“You’re a twenty-two-year-old living in an old house, with your three cats, and working in a cat-café.” She emphasized the “and” as if working in such a wonderful place was something to be ashamed of.

“That’s the best life!” You exclaimed as you sat comfortably on your sofa. “I mean, why would I need to move to Seul with a bunch of horny people when I could just spend the rest of my life in peace?”

Chung-Ae sighed loudly.

“They’re not just a bunch of horny people. They are my friends.”

You parted your lips to respond, wanting to remind her about the last party you both had attended, but she cut you off.

“Y/N, you live alone in such an abandoned area, it’s dangerous; it even takes you more than an hour to reach the café.” She slid down from the counter and sat next to you, putting her hand on your shoulder. “Trust me, I know that you’re attached to this place, but it doesn’t work for you anymore.”

She was right, you loved that place. Your grandparent’s house was located in the countryside, in a small rural village that was scarcely populated. The few young people remaining had started moving to bigger cities such as Seul or Busan, but not you. You adored waking up to the sound of birds chirping in the morning and the gurgling of the river. You got used to being alone, and you didn’t mind it. You couldn’t understand why Chung-Ae tried to force you to move with her, but she was rather determined, and you knew she was going to insist.

“Chung-Ae,” you reached for her hand and squeezed it delicately, a small smile forming on your lips. “You know I can’t leave, I promised my mother I would take care of this house.”

“You have to stop living in the past, Y/N.” She firmly stated. “This house is falling apart, and so is your life. Moving to Seul with me is your best option.”

Her eyes stared into yours for a few seconds, and you felt unreasonably guilty. You knew how much she cared about you, and you were constantly giving her “no” as answers. She retracted her hand, reaching for her purse right beside her, before standing up. “You still have time to think about it. You know that, right?” Her hand was on the doorknob.

Your mind wanted to decline her offer, but your heart told you otherwise, so you just nodded.

“Take care, Y/N.” And with that, she closed the door behind her, leaving you alone once again.

You finally took a deep breath running your palms down your face in an exasperated manner. Chung-Ae was your childhood friend, and she had always been by your side. You had met her in elementary school: she was popular amongst your class since her father was a renowned lawyer who worked for big celebrities, but you - on the other hand - weren’t as popular. You weren’t a social butterfly and preferred spending your time playing with the stray cats in your neighborhood.

You stood up and walked toward the kitchen, deciding to make yourself a homemade chicken noodle soup. You put the ingredients on the counter and started to chop the carrots into strings. As you were about to grab something, you heard a strange noise coming from outside: you reminisced Chung-Ae’s words and felt a shiver run through your spine, but you shook your head, mentally reassuring yourself that it must have been a wild animal.

You grabbed the celery from the fridge, deciding that you would drink some strawberry milk while waiting for the soup to cook. However, when you closed it, you were taken aback by a calico cat sitting on the floor, right in front of you. Your eyes were wide open in surprise since your three cats were all black, and you crouched down. “Hello, little one,” you gently smiled as you observed the little creature staring at you with a pair of light blue eyes, “I wonder how you got in…”

You inspected the room looking for any open windows but soon discovered you had closed everything. When you turned your gaze back to the cat, it was gone. Puzzled, you stood back up, massaging your temples. Am I hallucinating? You asked yourself before resuming your dish.

After literally devouring your delicious meal and doing the dishes, you headed to your room, where you found the windows wide open. You didn’t remember leaving them like that, but you also didn’t mind the fresh breeze coming from outside. It was a quiet night of July, and the moon was shining vividly in the sky, its brightness being the only source of light in the room. As you approached your bed, you couldn’t help but notice the shape of a cat on the window ledge, but when you came near, it had mysteriously vanished.

"Okay, Y/N, you're probably tired." You told yourself while sitting on the bed. As you laid down, feeling the freshness of your newly washed sheets, you heard another sound and then a chorus of meows coming from the living room. You sighed, reluctantly standing up, wearing a hoodie before walking down the stairs.

"What is it, guys, did you hurt yourselves?" You asked as your three black cats, Luna, Mars, and Pluto, continued meowing toward the front door. You groaned, "Alright, I will check."

You weren't ready for what you were about to see: you expected nothing but pitch darkness or that calico cat that was apparently haunting you now. But as you opened the wooden door, you froze on the spot at the sight of a man leaning his arm on the doorframe.

Because of the darkness, you could only see his silver hair reflecting the moonlight and a pair of light blue eyes staring at you in curiosity.

"Hello, little one."

#bts ot7 x reader #bts series #kim taehyung x reader #bts imagine #bts x reader #bts fanfic #park jimin x reader #kim seokjin x reader #kim namjoon x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jung hoseok x reader #min yoongi x reader

[strangerthings4theories]

Billy Is A Christ Figure, a.k.a. He Will Die And RISE AGAIN

This isn’t a radical statement. Literature and film teem with “Christ figures” who symbolically (or literally) die and rise again. Billy is just one of the Duffers’ additions to a long, venerated tradition.

Let’s dive in, shall we?

>>Billy’s story lines up with the Christ figure concept.

I really like how Christopher Lansdown explains it:

Christ figures in literature are - when done well - characters who relate to the rest of the story as Christ related to the world. [Salient features include...]

1. Saves the world from the effects of the misuse of free will. 2. Has a dual-nature where one of these natures is what allows #1. 3. Bridges the gap, in his person, between the two natures. 4. Sacrifices himself willingly for the sake of the world. 5. In sacrificing himself, takes the problems of the world into him and conquers them, thus saving the world from them. 6. Comes back from the sacrifice because of his other nature.

Billy’s storyline hits several of these notes already. First, he saves the world by sacrificing himself willingly. Second, he’s presented as having two natures: his corrupted monster-self (the bully in S2; the puppet of the Mind Flayer in S3) vs. his innocent child-self. (You could describe him as being human and divine too. I’ll get to that in another post.)

When he stands up to the Mind Flayer at Starcourt, he begins the process of integrating his two natures. That’s why he looks so childlike here: his innocent child-self is coming out for the first time in years.

All that’s left is for him to “come back from his sacrifice.”

>>The Duffers infuse Billy with Christ symbolism.

The most obvious example, imo, is the special necklace they gave him. The genius @aeon-of-neon​ figured out that his necklace is a Lady of the Pillar medallion - i.e., a depiction of Mother Mary with baby Jesus. 

On its own, the necklace tells an incredible story. It suggests Billy is symbolically the Christ child, and at some point his mother - symbolically the Virgin Mary - had the medallion blessed to protect her son. (I think we all recognize Neil wouldn’t give a shit about protecting Billy.)

The show reinforces that reading in subtle yet mind-blowing ways. In his last shot in S2, Billy is pictured in front of a Christmas tree. This associates him with the meaning of Christmas, which is the birth of a child who will save the world.

In the sauna in S3, Billy passes in front of a poster for the Hawkins Fourth of July parade. A lot of people have latched onto the “American” symbolism here (as they should - I’ll address that in another post). I’ve even seen people talk about the stars on the poster giving him a crown of thorns or saintly halo. But I haven’t seen anyone mention that the poster gives him a crown of stars like Mary, Queen of Heaven. 

"A great and wondrous sign appeared in heaven: a woman clothed with the sun, with the moon under her feet and a crown of twelve stars on her head. She was pregnant and cried out in pain as she was about to give birth. Then another sign appeared in heaven: an enormous red dragon with seven heads and ten horns and seven crowns on his heads." (Revelation 12:1-3)

Combined with the necklace, this small detail suggests his mother, aka the Virgin Mary, is watching over him as he battles the Mind Flayer, aka the Dragon.

Now look at this screenshot again--

See how prominent his necklace is in the frame? That’s not an accident. The Duffers had to direct and light this shot just right to achieve the desired effect. If you look closely, Dacre is standing in an awkward, unnatural position. I can practically hear the Duffers saying, “Shoulders forward, Dacre... a little more... now tuck in your abdomen and push your chest out... that’s it!” All while they’re trying to avoid getting too much light on the necklace. It needs to be well-lit but not washed out.

All that work was for a good cause. The shot suggests Billy’s mother is with him in his moment of sacrifice. He’s just reclaimed her memory, and now he’s honoring it as he lays down his life for the world.

Yeah, it hurts :)))) but there’s more to cover...

...such as Billy’s crucifixion poses.

The crucifixion pose is common enough in film that it gets its own entry on TVTropes. The first sentence of the entry? “It’s very common for a character who just performed a Heroic Sacrifice to be lying with their arms outstretched like the crucified Jesus.” 

We see that with Billy multiple times.

In the sauna, El lifts Billy in the air right before she deals the “death blow.” He hangs there for a moment, arms outstretched. My inner Christian teenager thinks of John 3:14-15: “Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man [Jesus] be lifted up [on the cross], so that everyone who believes in him may have eternal life.”

To really drive the point home, the Duffers put Billy in the crucifixion pose AGAIN, at the moment of his actual death, while he shouts at the Devil. (The Mind Flayer is symbolically the Devil/Satan. Stick a pin in that, we’ll come back to it at another time.)

The Mind Flayer then kills Billy by impaling him (Christ being impaled by the spear, anyone?), and Billy falls to the ground, arms outstretched yet again.

Guess who else dies sacrificially... and gets Christ symbolism at his moment of death?

It’s less obvious with Hopper; he isn’t shown with his arms outstretched. Instead, the Duffers give the crucifixion pose to Joyce right before she deals the “death blow.” She is in the pose on Hopper’s behalf.

Take a screenshot at the right instant, and the beams of electricity shooting out of the “key” machine even form a cross behind her. 

(This scratches the surface of another subject: the STRONG PARALLELS between Hopper and Billy. Stick a pin in that, too... *sigh*)

Well, guess what. We already know Hopper’s coming back. David Harbour even compared his return to the resurrection of Gandalf, the Christ figure of the Lord of the Rings:

"Gandalf the Grey who fights the Balrog and then becomes Gandalf the White. It’s the idea of the resurrection of the character. And mythologically, Hopper, in a sense, had to change. I mean, you couldn’t go on the way he was going on. He has to resurrect in some way. So it was a great opportunity to do that. So we’ll see a very different guy going forwards. The same guy but in a different vein.”

"[He] had to change... [he] couldn’t go on the way he was going on...” Doesn’t that describe Billy exactly?

»»————-　✼　————-««

Ugh, there’s a lot here, guys. I haven’t even touched on all of Billy’s Christ symbolism yet. I’ll have to save the rest for another time.

Until then, I’ll leave you with this very interesting song from Billy’s official Spotify playlist...

Muthafucka I’m back From the dead I’m about To raise hell Out of my coma I’m ready to show ya That season of my life is done...

»»————-　✼　————-««

P.S., all of this explains why Dacre proposed the idea that Billy’s mom was literally a virgin. It’s batshit crazy and makes NO sense... unless he and the Duffers were discussing Christ imagery for Billy.

»»————-　✼　————-««

The “Billy Is Alive” Meta Series

For updates, follow the hashtag #billy is alive meta

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove is alive #billy hargrove meta #stranger things theory #stranger things 4 #stranger things #stranger things analysis #stranger things meta #stranger things 2 #stranger things 3 #film analysis #chief jim hopper #hopper #jim hopper #billy is alive meta #christ symbolism #christ figures #ohbillyboy

[axther]

𝐍 𝐎 𝐁 𝐎 𝐃 𝐘

𝐈𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐮𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬. || 𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐱𝐢𝐚𝐨 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

warnings: falling from a great height, yandere, obsessive behaviour 

taglist: @ererokii​, @patt-writes-stuff​

i’ve hit 200 followers!! <3 thank you all and I am super grateful for each and every one of you! 

Nobody understood Xiao. 

His life was riddled with contradictions. He was tossed from one foul life to the next, with pain and horror at every corner. He felt he deserved it, knew he did. But was it so terrible to want something more than to just wait for his inevitable death? Was he such a coward to want to feel alright? 

Nobody understood him. 

There were very few that even attempted. The traveller and Verr Goldet were the only ones he really considered to be his friends, but nothing more. He didn’t speak to them unless they approached him first. He just stood on the highest balcony of Wangshu Inn and wondered how long it would take for him to die if he leapt. 

But then he saw her. 

She was, in a word, moonlight. It was one of the lonelier, quiet nights at the Inn and right after the Lantern Rite Festival. There were even some Xiao lanterns, oddly enough, still laying around. The moon was rounder and brighter than Xiao had ever seen, though it might’ve just been because of her. She walked the docks, barely a whisper of a person with a glow all about her. The stars and the sea seemed to have a gravitational pull around her, lapping at the sky and docks, trying to touch even the air around her. She was divine in every right, and for the first time in years, Xiao felt the world around him melt away. This was different from any of the other times that he felt the distance between him and Tevyat. Tevyat was rough, sharp and serrated like a knife when he wandered into the depths of his mind. But this time, it was smooth. It was a pillow for him to sit on as he watched this random woman walk past the pier and into the quiet market. 

He leaned against the railing, carefully watching her stop by the bridge and pause. She held her hand out, and a small, white crystalfly fluttered to life in her palm. She seemed to whisper soft words to it, and Xiao felt a deep tugging in his heart. He wanted to know what she said, how it would feel if she whispered into his ears on quiet nights like this. Maybe what her hand, on his back, would feel like. Were they calloused? Scarred? Or were they soft? Long or short nails? 

Xiao placed his head in his hands, feeling almost human as he stared at her. The dress she wore was simple but glowed even amongst the dim lanterns. She was a walking beam of moonlight, and Xiao realised with a growing feeling of dread that she wasn’t human. No, the way she stepped and the little wings in her hand proved otherwise. The way that no one batted an eye at her, but simply went on with their sickly sweet night proved otherwise, the way that she was too beautiful and too whole proved otherwise.

She was a moon spirit, Xiao realised. 

He broke from the balcony to see her move again, dashing to the other side in hopes of not missing a glimpse of her. Something in him recoiled at the sight of her, sick, but he shoved it down. No, she was too beautiful and sweet and kind to make him feel disgusting. No matter if she was an adeptus, a spirit, or even Rex Lapis in disguise. No, she was something far beyond. And so was Xiao, he realised. Something in him longed for her in a way he hadn't felt in so, so long. And as she set the little crystalfly free, she turned and looked up, soft eyes going wide at the sight of Xiao. They were like the moon themselves, bright and so comforting that Xiao never wanted to let go. He was leaning over the side of the balcony, near falling over, hoping that she could never break eye contact with him again. But she slowly turned, walking back to the pier, and Xiao realised she was leaving. 

Something in him snapped. 

He leapt down from the balcony, hopping from eave to eave as fast as he could. He felt delusional, drunk on something he hadn't tasted in years. His heart raced and his head pounded as he slammed into the pier in a way that would've killed any lesser man. She was barely in front of him, and for a second, Xiao caught a whiff of some sort of distance, addictive scent-qingxin, rich and divine. It made him almost dizzy, and for a split second, he wanted nothing more than hold her so tight in his arms that the scent oozed out of her like blood and she would stain him forever. Qingxin was marked for him forever, rotting his head and leaving it all hollow. 

"You-!" She gasped and clutched her hand to her heart. "Are you alright?!"

Her voice was melodic, a sweet, holy song that made his head feel heavy. He didn't realise he was panting until he saw her concerned gaze fall upon him, the lonely sinner. 

"I..." At once, all words seemed to escape Xiao. They were stolen by her satellite soul, sucked in and kept for her own. Was this her own greed, or her unknowing iron grip? Was Xiao going mad? 

"Please, sir!" She put her hand on Xiao's cheek, and it was cold like he dipped his head into the ocean. It was so, so cold, and Xiao leaned in as a man starved. "That fall...though, I don't think you're human..." 

"Xiao." Xiao's voice came out rougher than he ever thought he was capable of, and he shut his eyes. "I am...Xiao." 

"Xiao?" She started pulling her hand away, but Xiao snapped his arm up to keep it in place. It made his head stop pounding, and the night seem so peaceful. 

"Wait." He seemed only capable of one word at a time, but he was fine with it. Being even in the presence of her was enough for him. 

"Oh, no..." The young woman trailed off, still trying to tug her hand away. "You've..." 

"Your name?" Xiao interrupted before mentally kicking himself. How dare he stop such a song from flowing? Who was he before this glorious angel? 

"YN-! Oh!" She gasped, finally ripping her arm away. "I must go, I'm so sorry..." 

"Wait!" Xiao barked, but she managed to sidestep him and start backing slowly towards the end of the pier. He felt like he was about to convulse, and collapse into a thousand little shards of glass. "No, don't go!" 

"I shouldn't have come..." YN whispered, looking horrified. "I didn't think the rumours of you being here were true..." 

"Does it matter?" His voice was rough, and he realised this was like a predator chasing prey. YN's pretty little eyes were wide, flushed with concern and horror. 

"Yes! Oh, gods, I'm so sorry!"

"Just stay here," Xiao murmured, drunk off of her pleading. "You can right whatever you've done wrong." 

"It's not that simple..." YN whispered, gasping as Xiao took a sudden extra step and took her shoulders into his hands, gazing up into her eyes. 

"Please..." Xiao felt almost thirsty, dizzy and drowsy at the thrill of her being so close. "You can stay the night." 

"I have to go..." YN's eyes flickered nervously over to his hands, gently pulling them into her own if only to get him to let go of her. 

"I..." For a moment, just a single, spotty moment, Xiao felt something in him wake up. What was he doing? What did he do that made this sweet young woman look so horrified? Why? Why? 

But then it was gone, like the crystalfly in the breeze. And it was too late. 

YN had booked it to the end of the pier and Xiao had to launch himself, hurling his spear barely an inch from her and opening his arms. He could feel her dress on his skin, the flurry of movement, the soft gasp that made his ears ring. His arms were almost around her hips, he almost had her all to himself-

When she erupted into a thousand pearly crystalflies. 

Xiao fell to his knees, arms closing in on nothing as they all fluttered out of his way and towards the lake, and he froze. The world stopped turning, the lake stopped churning, and the moon mocked him cruelly. His head was pounding, his arms hurt, he felt like every breath was going to be his last. 

And Xiao howled. Xiao howled like an injured dog, screaming and begging for that last moment of peace that made him think everything was going to be alright. 

This wouldn't be the last time he would see her, Xiao thought. No. He was going to tear apart Liyue, Tevyat, and even Celestia if it came down to it. 

All for her. How romantic. 

"Did you know, Traveller?" Verr Goldet was talking to the Traveller, humming softly as something screamed ever so distantly. 

"Hm? What's up?" Paimon squeaked, tilting her head alongside Aether. 

"There's a legend about moon spirits around here." She pointed to the balcony, up to the great full moon. "If you see one, you'll go mad with love upon seeing something so ancient and beautiful. Legend had it that they disguise themselves from mortals, leaving only the adepti and archons to see them and only coming out at a full moon. I wonder how it is if an adeptus sees one." 

"That's weird to bring up." Paimon frowned, and Aether nodded. "Did something happen?" 

"Be careful around Xiao, Traveller." Verr Goldet stared with a dark look at the balcony. "Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, it can all come crashing down." 

Nobody understood Xiao. And nobody ever could. 

#xiao x reader #yandere xiao #moon spirit reader #genshin x reader #yandere genshin #genshin oneshot #xiao #x reader #brain go brr #tw yandere

[crystalirises]

FundXD au thrid part? Maybe the final confrontation between Dreamxd and George? imagine George offering to take Fundy's place, but XD teases him because he obviously only loves Fundy now (before Mumza saves the day!! or whatever you had planned if you already had something in mind).

Not me accidentally posting it separately. But anyway, here's the third part! I'm sorry it took so long, hope you enjoy this.

But yeah anyway, please do take heed of the trigger warnings. This is probably now what I consider the darkest and the most uncomfortable one-shot I've written. Like in terms of themes, yeah I am just: oh wow I wrote this huh...

So yes, please do heed the warnings and do not read it if any of the the warnings make you uncomfortable.

TW: Forced Relationships, Forced Kissing, Forced Marriage, Possessive Behavior, Captivity, Implied Harm, and A Lot of Dark Implications

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28886223/chapters/84740365

“A radiant day for a wedding, do you not think so, my fox?” If only the mattress could swallow him whole. He buried his face on the silken sheets, pressing the pillow to the top of his head, wondering if he could suffocate himself if he tried really hard enough. “Beloved? You’re quiet.”

He rolled his eyes, holding back the urge to scream.

After a moment, he felt the twist of vines against his ankle, gently pulling him away from underneath the covers. Fundy let himself be dragged, having learned the hard way that clawing at the bed to keep himself from getting dragged was a bad idea. He shuddered at the bad memory.

“My darling star, don’t you agree that today is a splendid day for our wedding?”

No, he did not agree. There was no day where he’d ever even consider marrying the god.

“I don’t feel well. Can we move the wedding?”

“Do not lie.” The room turned colder, the chill of ice piercing through his skin that he nearly buckled underneath the pain. Then in just a second, the cold was gone. He was still in his their bedroom, the sunshine filtering in through the glass-stained windows, bathing the room in a kaleidoscope of color. XD was holding him by the elbow, their spherical head never faltering in its cheery smile, if one can call it a smile. The god pulled him into their embrace, holding him with such warmth that Fundy wanted to cry. They shouldn’t be so comforting. “You are well.”

“Ya…” Fundy felt like throwing up, “...well…”

For a god who had lived as long as the world, XD was not as patient as Fundy had hoped. It had only been a week, but the god had given up on Fundy’s flimsy excuses. Fundy had used every excuse that he knew: headaches, fevers, coughs, even “fainting” that one time XD had actually gotten him to stand on the altar. They had grown tired of waiting. Fundy turned his head towards one corner of the room, their wedding outfits only seemed to mock him. He shivered within the god’s hot touch, XD didn’t seem to notice his discomfort, but they noticed the way he was staring at those, arguably, beautiful outfits. XD led him towards them, holding him by the arms.

“I could change your suit if you wish, anything for you, my fox.” Fundy paled, refusing to look at the suit now that it was in front of him. It was in a beautiful hue of orange pastel, decorated with a pastel green flower pinned to its chest. XD had chosen to wear a dress for the wedding, and if Fundy wasn’t being held there against his will, he might have even blushed at the thought of the god in a dress… walking down the aisle. It was a mostly white dress which faded into a pastel green in the middle and into a forest green at the bottom. “You could wear a dress if yo—”

“No.” Fundy already loathed the suit, he wouldn’t know what he’d do if he had to wear a dress. At least XD didn’t mind, though - and Fundy knew it was stupid to feel - he found it somewhat adorable that XD wanted to wear a dress. The wedding dress suited them, even if Fundy didn’t want to marry them. The god hummed behind him, a low sound that had no lyrical or musical tone to it whatsoever, before picking him up. He shrieked, holding tightly to the god’s shoulders.

“My dear fox, the wedding will be divine, it shall take place the hour between day and night.” Fundy had a few hours of freedom. Then… He clenched his hands, angered that he no longer had his claws to tear into the god’s skin. “The wedding venue has not changed from the last time we tried to marry, but, sweet fox, would you wish for any new changes? What do you wish for?”

His only wish was to go home.

The god leaned down and Fundy knew what was to come. He closed his eyes, letting the god do what they wanted. Maybe he should have heeded his papa’s advice. Maybe he shouldn’t have befriended the god who seemed too kind to be true. Maybe he should have stayed at home and lived a normal life instead of searching for… he didn’t even know anymore. But he knew he missed his home, he missed his dads. He missed the normal life in their little cabin in the fields.

Once the god leaned away from the kiss, Fundy let out a sigh. “I want cake.”

---

“Wil, I love you, but now is the time for your ritualistic shenanigans.”

George tapped his foot on the muddy ground, placing his head in his hands as Wilbur ignored him for the tenth time. Wilbur had refused to say what his secret was, in favor of showing what his secret was. If George had known that said secret would involve Wilbur drawing intricate symbols in the mud, George would have gone deeper into the forest on his own instead.

After a few more seconds of agonizing silence and waiting, Wilbur finally stepped back, gesturing for George to come near him. He raised a brow, choosing to stand beside Wilbur despite the nagging voice in his head telling him to leave and go look for their son. George took in the symbol that Wilbur had drawn. He’d traced a circle in the mud, and within the complex lines, George could make out five symbols. The lines merged to showcase a woman. In her right hand, she held a blade. In her left, there were musical notes and discs emerging from her palm.

At the bottom of the symbol, the lines converged to create a pair of angel wings.

“Wil, is now the time to show me that you can draw—” He cut himself off once Wilbur started to chant under his breath. He stepped back, doubt racing through his mind. George had never been interested in magic, being more talented in redstone and engineering, but he feared those who excelled in the practice. Magic meant gods, and gods meant double-edged deals. “Wilbur…”

The symbol began to glow a light gray hue, the smell of metal and death tainting the air. His fear doubled, but he didn’t try to run off. Nervous as he was, he trusted Wilbur, his dear husband.

A splash of cold landed on his cheek, he brushed it away, but then a downpour of rain began to fall around them. The ground turned muddier, nearly grasping onto their legs. George looked up, furrowing his brows at the sight of sunlight. It was raining despite the warm sun rays that were filtering in through the trees. The intricate symbol wasn’t affected by the sudden storm, its glow intensifying underneath the torrent of water. George didn’t know why, but he felt sick. A sickness that wasn’t nausea, it was worse. Like someone had taken a sharp pickaxe and started to chip away at his heart. He held a hand to his chest, grasping for Wilbur’s arm with the other.

Wilbur’s chanting had grown louder despite the rain, almost like he was fighting against the noise. The light gray glow had taken over the entire drawing, the lines scorched away by its brilliance. Then the world began to shake, and for a moment, George could hear screaming.

He slipped once the earth started to sink. Wilbur pulled him up just as the ground gave way, the symbol had caved in, going deeper and deeper until he could see bright red. He shuddered, but Wilbur held him close. He had half a mind to throw his husband an irritated glare. If his husband would stop with the theatrics for a moment and actually tell George what his secret was, then maybe he wouldn’t be second-guessing everything that's happening right now. He glanced back down at the hole. Wilbur had just opened a gateway to the underworld. Despite the red lights of the underworld, the chasm let out a chilling cold that seeped deep into George’s skin and soul.

“You’re a hellspawn, is that the secret? If so, it was not much of a secret I already knew that, Mr. Soot.” Wilbur rolled his eyes, pressing a kiss to George’s cheek. Once Wil had left George on stable ground, he watched as his husband walked close to the chasm. Wilbur reached down a hand. George wondered if Wilbur was asking to get kidnapped. “Wilbur, the dead can’t help us.”

“You’re correct. Zombies are pretty shit at… everything. Skeletons… perhaps.”

George took a breath through clenched teeth. He knew Wilbur was worried about Fundy too, but he couldn’t afford to waste anymore time with Wilbur and his shenanigans. XD had taken their son, a wish god had taken their son and George knew the god would refuse to let Fundy go.

“Wilbur, please. We need to find Fundy. XD would do anything they could to keep our son from ever leaving them, we have to go.” He pleaded, but Wilbur was too busy looking into the chasm.

George loudly sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. The rain continued to pour around them, and if he didn’t hurry, he’d lose his way down the forest path due to the mud that was beginning to drown everything in its path. He turned to leave, but then a voice broke through the silence.

“A sunshower…? Did you forget to tell your own mum that you're getting married, Wilbur?”

---

Fundy flitted about the room, pressing his hands against his ears as the rain continued to pour outside. He didn’t know why XD had thought it would be romantic to marry one another while a storm threatened to destroy the land, but the constant tapping of the rain on the ground was beginning to grate on his ears. Despite the heavy rain, he hated the warm sunlight even more.

Why couldn’t the weather just be either gloomy or happy? It was a mockery of his life.

He glanced down at his suit, fixing the green flower so it wouldn’t fall off by accident. He didn’t know what XD would do if anything were to ruin their “special day.” He huffed, pressing his head against the glass window. He could see the neverending forest from there. XD had insisted that they live on one of the highest trees in the forest. They wanted to give Fundy a good view.

When XD had first shown him their abode, Fundy had been ecstatic to see the entire forest. He collapsed on a nearby chair, putting his head in his hands. Now everything felt like a big joke.

It was so wonderful before, but he saw through the roses, and now knew their thorns.

He looked back up, worried for a moment that XD would be standing in front of him, ready to whisk him away to the altar. There was a shift of movement at the right side of the forest, perhaps XD reimagining the wedding venue now that the rain had completely ruined the god’s chosen outdoor setting. He took momentary pleasure at the thought of the weather going against the god’s wishes. No, today was not a radiant day for a wedding. But Fundy knew that a “little” storm wouldn’t stop the god. They were too excited, too eager to get the ceremony over with.

Fundy winced, maybe his constant escape attempts had been the cause of that rush. It had only been a week since the god had taken him captive and kept him in their domain, but Fundy had spent every day trying to find a way to escape. He’d given up after the fifth escape… after… Fundy pulled his knees close to his chest. He didn’t want to think about it. But he had to. He had to keep a reminder in his mind about how much he loathed the god and what they’d done to him.

The first attempt wasn’t even an attempt, it was him screaming until XD forced him to sleep.

The second attempt had begun the moment the god had gone into stasis, or the godly equivalent of what was sleep. The god’s hands were wrapped around Fundy, keeping him close to their chest, but Fundy had managed to sneak away after hours of slowly moving. He’d gotten to the door of the bedroom, unlocking it with a bobby pin that he’d found in one of the drawers. He’d gotten down the tree by the time XD realized he was gone. They’d teleported him back to the bedroom, vines growing against the surface of the door, effectively keeping him locked inside.

The third attempt was Fundy painstakingly cutting through the clump of vines after XD had left him to prepare for their wedding. He’d gotten through half of them by the time the god had come back. They’d been disappointed in Fundy, sad that he hadn’t even gotten dressed in his wedding suit yet. Then in a blink of an eye, the vines had grown back, with even more thorns than before. Then XD had whisked him away to the wedding venue, where Fundy then pretended to faint.

The fourth attempt was Fundy getting so frustrated that he took a chair and threw it at one of the windows. The glass shattered on impact, and he’d quickly tried to squeeze through the space, not caring for the shards that pierced his skin. XD had not taken that escape attempt all too lightly.

The fifth and last attempt… he’d convinced XD to give him some sand and gunpowder.

The god had been furious, even more so than what they’d been after the fourth escape attempt. Fundy had nearly killed himself in the process and had even attacked XD out of anguished rage.

Well… XD made sure Fundy could never attack them again.

Fundy sniffed, wiping at his tears. He didn’t want to be crying at his own wedding.

---

It was odd to have a wedding without a wedding officiator. Fundy kept his gaze on his hands, his fingers trembling each time XD traced his knuckles with their thumb. He could feel his throat dry up, his head heavy with nausea that he thought he was actually going to faint and fall over.

“Do I take Fundy Lore-Soot as my lawfully wedded husband?” XD paused, “I do.”

Fundy found it ridiculous. XD had taken up the mantle of wedding officiator, and if Fundy didn’t know any better, he would think that he was part of some comedic play or some big cosmic joke.

“And do you, Fundy Lore-Soot, take the god of wishes, XD, as your lawfully wedded spouse?”

Fundy gritted his teeth, he could feel the god’s magic in his throat. He could barely breathe a few seconds ago, but now it felt like he needed to speak like his life depended on it. “I do. I do. I do.”

He trembled, uncontrolled anger racing through his veins. It was torture to say ‘I do’ once, but the god forced him to say it three times, like Fundy was as desperate as them to get married. XD pulled him close, their gaze hot against his skin. He wished he would melt, that he could melt against the god’s touch and be swallowed by the grass. Anything that could set him free.

“Then by the power vested in me as the god of wishes, I now pronounce us married for eternity.”

The god leaned close, “I may now kiss the groom.” Fundy tried to move back, but the god had formed one more pair of hands. One hand held his hands, curled gently around his wrists. One hand was cupping him by the waist. One hand was on his chin, pulling his face up and towards them. The last hand was at the back of his head, pushing him forward and keeping his head in place. He closed his eyes, losing himself in his mind, refusing to accept what was happening. He focused on the life he’d lost, and his dads who would no doubt why he never came back to them.

After what felt like a lifetime, the god finally let him go.

Well, they didn’t. But they’d stopped kissing him in favor of picking him up.

XD laid him down on the altar.

Fundy blinked, holding onto one of XD’s hands out of fear. The god chuckled at the “endearing” display. “H-hey… the wedding’s over, ya? Time to head home, right? W-what are you doing?”

“The ceremony is not yet over, my star.” XD tilted their head, “You are still mortal.”

Any thread of cooperation they had established broke with that proclamation. Fundy screamed, pushing himself away from the altar just as a series of golden chains rose up from its sides. They wrapped around his arms and his legs, pulling him back down on the altar’s marble surface. He wailed, tears slipping past his eyes. He thought he’d only endure it for this lifetime, that the god would have no choice but to give him up to death at some point in the future. XD watched his struggle, summoning an intricate dagger. “Don’t worry, my sweet fox, I shall make it painless.”

“I OBJECT!”

---

George pushed past the leaven doors, not caring that the action caused the whole entrance way to collapse to a flimsy pile of autumn leaves. He stood at the end of the wedding venue, drenched from the rain. His heart beated loudly in his chest, his ears ringing as he made his way down the aisle. Wilbur was still by the entrance. George had told him to wait before he actually entered.

“Papa—” Fundy’s scream was cut off with a hand, the god having swiveled around to face whoever had dared to ruin their perfect day. George kept walking down the aisle, anger racing through his bones. His son looked so frightened. He clearly didn’t want to be marrying the god.

“Let him go, XD.”

“Why ever shall I do such a thing, my dearest friend, Georgenotfound? I have no intention of ever letting my newly wedded husband leave me. My old friend, I believe you are a few seconds too late. Fundy and I are married.” He heard Fundy scream out a protest, muffled by the hand that the god had left. George could see the tears on their son’s face, and his gaze turned towards the dagger that the god was carrying. He took the chance to look behind him, catching Wilbur’s pale gaze. His husband was looking at the dagger. “Leave before I cast you out. You are tresp—”

“I’ll take his place.”

The only sound that could be heard was Fundy’s fit of screaming. Wilbur was silent. XD had merely tilted their head, the god’s cold gaze meeting George’s eyes, piercing right through the goggles that he wore. He swallowed down the sickness he felt at the thought of marrying the go. XD had been his best friend once, and George had never thought of them in any other way. But the god had taken his friendship as romantic affection. “Fundy doesn’t love you.” The god reeled back, the ‘XD’ carved symbol on their head disappearing, only to return as golden chains that surrounded their white spherical head. “You and I know he doesn’t love you, and neither did I.”

George shook his head, “But I am willing to stay with you if you let him go.”

He met his son’s eyes, holding Fundy’s gaze for as long as he could. He worried it might be the last time they’d ever see each other again… if it went wrong… George shook his head. It won’t go wrong. He turned back to the god, the chains still present. “We could pretend like nothing has changed. I could stay here with you for all of eternity. We could be friends again, you and I. It must have been lonely when I left. You were never really great with making friends with others. We could try again. Just you and me, stuck in this forest forever. Like how it used to be. I won’t run away anymore. I won’t leave you ever again. Let Fundy go, and I’ll stay with you forever.”

The god was silent. For a moment, George thought they would agree. Then the ground disappeared from underneath him and a large hand was painfully gripping him by the leg. “No.”

Sharp cold pierced through his leg. The god glared down at him, “You are nothing to me.”

XD looked over at Fundy, “He… He is everything to me now.”

George placed his arms over his head, preparing himself for the fall. He heard the loud screech, and then his leg was free. He closed his eyes, but instead of hard earth, he fell into a pair of warm arms. He opened his eyes, embarrassingly laughing once he’d realized that Wilbur had caught him. His husband placed him back down, looking at his leg with worry when George stumbled. It wasn’t broken, but XD’s sharp cold magic would keep him from properly walking for a while.

Wilbur helped him away from the angered god. George looked up, watching as the hand that was previously holding him rotted away. XD screeched, turning to them, their golden chains glowing with a blinding light. A scythe appeared within view, striking the wish god right on their face.

The Goddess of Death entered the wedding venue, a disappointed look in her eyes.

“You should have let my grandson go, God of Wishes.”

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

Ambiguous ending but uh... I have preferred ending and it's def not the bad one.

Clarification for the title (which can't be seen here but is in the ao3 version): So a sunshower is a weather phenomenon where it is raining despite there still being sunshine. While the rain is not as heavy as a storm, I changed the rain here to be that like a rainstorm despite the sunlight that is still present. The reason for this is because where I'm from (or at least according to my mother) when a sunshower happens, that means a kapre and a white lady are getting married (or well, other Filipino mythological legends are getting married).

I just think with XD here being a somewhat monster of a god... well, poor Fundy having to marry him.

The sunshower is basically an indication here that a god is getting married, that's why Mumza asked Wilbur if he was getting married (also Wilbur is the god of music here, not all that powerful against a wish god).

#fundy #dreamxd #dreamwastaken dsmp #fundywastaken #fundXD #wilbur soot #georgenotfound dsmp #georgebur #goddess of death kristen #dream smp fanfiction #dsmp