#inauspicious stars

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 1: Ares, God Of War]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 5.7k

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Let’s begin with a definition.

Disaster is a noun derived from Ancient Greek: dus, a prefix meaning “bad,” and aster, or “star.” In the time when humans worshipped Zeus and Hera, Hephaestus and Aphrodite, it was believed that tragedies resulted from the inauspicious positioning of celestial bodies: a volcano erupts because of Jupiter, a returning comet brings with it a flood. There is a certain helplessness inherent in this mythology. There is predestined suffering that lies in wait until all the jewels of the sky have malignantly aligned.

Have you ever met someone who made you ache to change the stars?

~~~~~~~~~~

Gunshots explode through the lobby of the Breakers Hotel in Palm Beach, Florida; you feel the wind of the bullets as they clip by, fragmented metallic rage. Aemond is on the marble floor, blood pouring down his face, blood all over the white shirt beneath his navy blue suit jacket when you rip it open, tearing a button loose. He’s reaching for you through the jostling and the screams, leaving crimson handprints on your mint green dress. And you think: He just won the Florida primary. He’s not supposed to die. He’s supposed to be the president.

“What happened?” Aemond murmurs, his right eye dazed and only half-open; the left has vanished beneath a cloudburst of gore. Perhaps ten yards away, people have caught the assailant and pinned him against one of the vast Venetian windows until the police arrive. They’re roaring at him in red-faced fury, their closed fists strike his ribs and his cheekbones, their knuckles paint him scarlet and indigo.

“You’re alright, you’re alright.” You brace both palms over the maroon stain spreading rapidly across Aemond’s chest and press down as hard as you can. Your fingers are drenched in seconds, warm fading life. He’s bleeding to death. You shriek through the turmoil: “Criston?!”

“Is he okay?” Aemond asks faintly. He means the baby; you’re six months pregnant with his first child, his greatest treasure, his Atlantis, his Holy Grail. Aemond has already decided that it’s a boy. Sometimes you fear what will happen if he’s wrong.

“Yes, honey, the baby’s fine, don’t worry. Criston!”

Aegon is here instead, sweating out rum and ruin like he always is, hair too long, veins full of pills, colliding with you and pawing at his dying brother with untrustworthy hands. “Aemond?!”

You shove Aegon away, splattering him with blood. “Get back, he needs air!”

“Where’s he shot?! Let me see—”

“I told you to get back!”

“Goddammit, you don’t own him! He’s mine too!”

Criston has fought his way through the maelstrom and is dragging Aegon away by the collar of his frayed olive green army jacket, stolen from Daeron when he visited home after basic training, a uniform of embittered revolution worn by a man who’s never fought for anything. “Aegon, make sure someone’s called for an ambulance, then meet the paramedics at the door and help them find us.”

“But—”

“Go!” Criston roars, and Aegon scrambles to his feet and is lost within the crowd. You can hear Otto bellowing at journalists and hotel employees to make space for the fallen senator; there are flashes of cameras and prayers shouted aloud. Above your head are crystal chandeliers and a vaulted ceiling hand-painted by 75 Italian artists in the 1920s; swimming in your skull are visions of Jackie Kennedy in the pink suit filthy with her husband’s brains. It’s just before midnight on Tuesday, May 28th. Upstairs in their oceanfront Imperial Suites, nannies will be shaking awake the absent adults of the Targaryen dynasty, who retired with the children before Aemond made his victory speech in the hotel ballroom: Alicent, Helaena, Fosco, Mimi.

Criston’s hands—larger, stronger—replace yours over the gushing wound in Aemond’s chest. What did the bullet hit? His lung, his heart? He’s not speaking anymore, his right eye is closed. His bloodied hands rest open and empty on the floor. “Criston, he’s dying,” you sob.

“No he’s not. We’re not going to let him.”

“What’s the closest hospital?”

“Good Samaritan is just across the bridge on the mainland.” It’s Criston’s job to know these things, though he had been thinking of you when he plotted his meticulous notes in his day planner: in case you eat a bad cheeseburger, or trip on the stairs, or catch the flu and start burning up with fever. Aemond worries about the baby. Aegon has five children, Helaena has three, and Aemond will feel that he has been robbed of something if he does not swiftly procure a family of his own. He needs you on the campaign trail, but still, he worries.

Across the lobby, the police have arrived to arrest the aspiring assassin. He puts up a fight when they try to handcuff him and earns a nightstick to the gut, an elbow to the nose. He is choking on his own blood. Perhaps he is drowning in it. Good, you think.

“Don’t kill him!” Otto booms at the officers. “I want him alive for trial! I want him to ride the lighting up in Raiford, you keep that son of a bitch alive!”

“Aemond?” You thread your fingers through his soaked hair. What happened to his left eye? Is it somewhere underneath all that carnage, or is it gone? “Please wake up. Please stay with me. We need you. The baby and I need you.”

“He’s going to live,” Criston promises, both hands still clamped over the bullet wound to slow the hemorrhaging.

“Aemond, please…” How can he be the president with only one eye?

An old woman in a yellow striped skirt suit is lumbering close with a homemade prayer rope clenched in her fist. “A komboskini for the senator!” For his last rites. For his soul.

“He doesn’t need it!” Criston says. “He’s not dying! No one is dying tonight!”

Still, you take the komboskini from the lady, each of the 100 knots a prayer unspoken. She is a devotee of Aemond, and you must show her gratitude. “Efcharistó, aderfí. O Theós na se evlogeí.” They are some of the few Greek words you’ve mastered; you’ve used them often since Aemond announced that he was running for president. Thank you, sister. God bless you.

The paramedics arrive, splitting the crowd like a laceration, white uniforms and a stretcher to ferry Aemond away. People are wailing, cursing, swearing vengeance. Aegon has returned and is peering down at Aemond with those large, glassy, muddled eyes, afraid to ask. “Is he…is he still…?”

“He has a pulse,” Criston replies. He helps the paramedics drag Aemond onto the stretcher and strap him to it. Your husband’s shirt is now drenched in red like garnet, like cinnabar, like the poppies that commemorate the boys butchered in World War I, like the wasted blood being spilled in Vietnam, men reduced to memory. “Good Samaritan?” Criston confirms with the paramedics.

“Yes sir,” the most senior one agrees. And then to you, with great deference, with compassion that transcends what somebody can harbor for strangers: “Ma’am, there’s a place for you if you want it.”

“I do,” you say, tear-streaked face, hands bathed in blood. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

The ambulance is idling outside the main entranceway of the hotel. Criston grasps your hand to steady you as you step up into the back, and you take a seat on the red leather bench beside the stretcher. The paramedics are placing IVs, holding an oxygen mask to Aemond’s face, muttering urgently into their radio, abbreviations and code words you can’t understand, a secret language of organic calamities. High above the stars are crystalline and radiant in a clear sky. In your own chest���unshredded by metal, unpierced by rage—your intact heart is pounding.

The lead paramedic turns to you again and says: “We can fit one more person.”

It’s your decision. You are the senator’s wife; you were supposed to be the next first lady of the United States. You look through the ambulance’s open doors. Aegon stares back expectantly, his hair falling in his face, his arms thrown wide, petulant, combative, useless, drunk. “Criston.”

“Bitch!” Aegon hisses at you as Criston climbs into the vehicle. The doors slam shut, the engine rumbles, the siren squeals as the ambulance races westbound on Breakers Row towards County Road, which connects with Flagler Memorial Bridge and the mainland.

Through the rear window you watch Aegon as he stands in the white-gold hotel luminescence, becoming smaller and smaller until he vanishes, and all you can see are streetlights, and all you can smell is blood.

~~~~~~~~~~

Every story needs its cast of characters. Here are the major players in the summer of 1968.

President Lyndon Baines Johnson is in the White House watching the clocks tick towards November 5th, when his successor will be ordained. He has chosen not to seek reelection. Since his ascension upon Kennedy’s assassination in 1963, Johnson’s domestic focus has been unprecedented civil rights legislation and his War On Poverty, yet what has infected the media like blood poisoning is the war in Vietnam. On the television are napalm bombs incinerating Vietnamese peasants, caskets draped with American flags, riots being beaten down by police, college students torching draft cards and chanting “Hey, hey, LBJ, how many kids did you kill today?” Now the president is sick in body, in spirit, in heart, and this is not a metaphor: he suffered a near-fatal cardiac arrest in 1955 and another shortly after John F. Kennedy was murdered in Dallas, Texas. He will die almost exactly four years after leaving office. Had he sought another term, he would have been unlikely to survive it. The public eye is something like a snake bite; it sinks its fangs in and you hope the venom burns clean before it can curse you with clots or hemorrhages or paralysis, before it can drown you in the dark waters of infamy.

In the void left by President Johnson’s surrender, four factions have emerged within the Democratic Party. The old guard—the same labor unions, congressmen, and local political machines who have steered the platform since the days of Franklin D. Roosvelt’s New Deal—has flocked to current Vice President Hubert Humphrey. Humphrey is competent yet uninspiring, a mid-fifties Midwesterner who flinches at the unpolished fury of antiwar protests and sedately lectures Black Power activists on the dangers of “reverse racism.” He is not a threat. He is a sheep in sheep’s clothing, and this is the time for wolves.

Senator Eugene McCarthy of Minnesota is unapologetically opposed to the Vietnam War, a moral crusader, a reluctant warrior, a man who wears his lack of taste for the presidency like a badge of honor. He feels compelled to run, but he does not crave it. He thinks this makes him a saint; but Joan of Arc was burned at the stake and Saint Lawrence was roasted alive. Like Halloween candy plunked into a child’s neon orange plastic pumpkin, McCarthy has collected his own coalition, college students and posh urbanites who believe themselves to be the future of the Democratic Party. In 2016, people will conjure McCarthy’s ghost when drawing comparisons to a controversial left-wing senator from Vermont named Bernie Sanders.

If McCarthy is the future and Humphrey is the past, then former governor of Alabama George Wallace is downright archaic. He is the candidate of choice for Southern white supremacists, averse to Republicans since Lincoln and still reverent of Depression-era New Deal programs that kept them from starving to death. Wallace is best known for his promise of “segregation now, segregation tomorrow, segregation forever,” and pledges to end the chaos that has besieged America through strict law and order. Provided he loses the Democratic primary, Wallace plans to run in the general election as an Independent, hoping to peel away enough support from the major party candidates to force the House of Representatives to declare the winner and then leverage his votes to negotiate an end to federal desegregation efforts in the South. His devoted wife Lurleen just died of uterine cancer, a diagnosis which Wallace kept hidden from her for years; doctors are in the habit of informing husbands of their wives’ ailments and giving them carte blanche control over the treatment plan, which unfortunately in Lurleen’s case was nothing. She was 41 years old.

In his short-lived castle of red corridors like the marrow rivers of bones, President Johnson hides from the hippies who jeer and spit; Humphrey frowns at them, McCarthy tries to appease them, Wallace says the only four-letter words they don’t know are “w-o-r-k” and “s-o-a-p.” But Aemond climbs down from podiums to meet them like old friends. He is young, only 36. He has a brother serving in the swamps of Vietnam. He is focused, determined, insatiable; he devours every scrap of news that is printed about him and writes his speeches by hand. As the self-admitted runt of the Targaryen family, Aemond knows what it is like to be underestimated. He wants a better America, and he wants to be the president, and he wants these things in equal, relentless measure, each fueling the other until these ambitions become inseparable. He has grown up hearing slurs against Greeks and consequently has no tolerance for discrimination, which he contends is antithetical to the American Dream. He attends civil rights marches in labyrinthian cities, antiwar protests on college campuses, union meetings in coal mining towns of West Virginia and Kentucky and Wyoming, music festivals crowded with long unwashed hair and braless women, fundraisers flush with the deep pockets of the Northeastern elite. Aemond’s coalition grows each day, bleeding away strength from his rivals like a Medieval surgeon. Their flesh turns cold and anemic, while Aemond’s heart pumps scalding torrents of blood.

If Aemond wins the Democratic primary at the convention in August, his opponent will almost certainly be the Republican frontrunner Richard Nixon of California. Nixon wants the White House just as badly, and he’s much smarter than he looks. He was Eisenhower’s vice president for eight years in the 1950s and lost to the ill-fated John F. Kennedy in 1960 by a whisker; some say he did not lose at all, but instead was cheated out of 100,000 votes by Kennedy’s mafia connections in Chicago. But with the Democrats divided and their incumbent president floundering, Nixon’s timing has never been better. He was once a poor boy with two dead brothers who earned a scholarship to Duke Law. Now he will become whoever he needs to be to win the presidency of the United States.

1968 is the year of wolves. The fangs are sharp, and the bellies ache with hunger.

~~~~~~~~~~

A local deli has opened early and sent sandwiches to Good Samaritan Medical Center for the family and friends of the senator from New Jersey: ham and Swiss, cucumber and cream cheese, tuna salad, egg salad, pimento cheese, BLTs, Cubans. The lobby is filling up with bouquets of flowers and handwritten notes. You pace and count the knots of the komboskini over and over again as you wait; Aemond has been in surgery for hours. The nurses periodically bring you Styrofoam cups of hot chocolate, scalding watered-down sweetness to distract you from the fact that some surgeon is currently rooting around inside your husband’s ribcage.

Alicent—a convert to the Greek Orthodox faith just as you are, though far more zealous, far more sincere if you dared to admit it—is pleading for God to save her son as she clasps her own prayer rope. Helaena is seated beside her, eerily calm. Helaena’s husband Fosco is wandering around boredly and inflicting small talk upon the nurses, ogling out the third-story windows, playing with his red Duncan yo-yo. Otto is making a series of calls using one of the phones at the nurses’ station. Criston is there too, leaning over the countertop and speaking with Otto in low conspiratorial whispers.

Aegon is sitting alone and glaring at you. He takes a rattling bottle of pills—prescriptions that doctors are too afraid not to write for him when he asks—out of a pocket on the front of his green army jacket, spotted like a leopard with your bloody handprints. He opens the amber-colored, cylindrical container and pours two, no, three tiny white tablets into his palm. He tosses them into his mouth and washes them down with a swallow of his own mediocre hot chocolate, still glaring. You ignore him.

“How could this have happened?” Mimi says again from where she’s slumped in her chair. Aegon’s wife has a Snow White sort of beauty, but with a perpetual ruddiness in her nose and cheeks from the gin she sips constantly. You suppose it would make anyone a drunk, being married to a man like that. Her maiden name was Marina Marceline Leroux, but everyone has always called her Mimi, even the press on the rare occasions when she makes an appearance. Her children—Orion, Spiro, Violeta, Thaddeus, and little Cosmo, only five years old—are all back at the Breakers Hotel with the nannies, the same as Helaena’s. Mimi blubbers to nobody in particular: “How…? Who…? Who would want to hurt Aemond…?”

Someone needs to sober her up. You fetch a BLT off the platter of sandwiches and offer it to her. “Here. Eat.”

“I’m not hungry. Who on earth could be hungry at a time like this? I’m absolutely nauseated, I’ll never want food again—”

“Mimi, eat the sandwich.”

“Fine, fine,” she slurs morosely, then takes an unenthusiastic bite. She listens to you, all the women do. They listen to you, and you listen to Aemond, and the circle is closed and complete.

Criston is walking over now. You turn to him, needing good news, bad news, any news. “It was a Wallace supporter,” Criston says. From his seat, Aegon is watching Criston with his slow drugged gaze, listening intently. “Some bell pepper farmer from up by Jacksonville.”

“He’s been taken to the local jail for holding?” you ask, and then add: “Alive?”

“Yeah, and he already has a record. Assault and battery. His brother-in-law is apparently a Grand Dragon in the Klan.”

“What the hell is a Grand Dragon?”

“Well, it’s higher than a Goblin, but not as illustrious as an Imperial Wizard, does that answer your question?”

“Perfectly.” You smile at Criston, a pained, wry smile. He returns it and places a palm over your belly. You are still wearing the mint green dress Aemond picked out for you this morning, before he won the Florida primary, before he was shot twice by the disciple of a political adversary and laid at death’s doorstep. You are still covered in your husband’s blood.

“You’re feeling alright?” Then Criston smirks, knowing how ridiculous he must sound. “You know. All things considered.”

“We’re both fine. The baby’s moving around, I can feel it.”

“You can feel him, you mean,” Criston teases, knowing Aemond’s preoccupation with his unborn son; but you can’t bring yourself to appreciate the joke.

Aegon says to you suddenly: “How the fuck did you let this happen?”

“What?” you answer, stunned.

Aegon stands and approaches, lurching, raging. “You always have to be right beside him, in the photographs, in the headlines, in the soundbites, but you let some psychopath run up and shoot him? Twice?!”

“I thought he just wanted to shake Aemond’s hand, or maybe get a quote for an article—”

“You didn’t notice the gun?!”

“Aegon, sit down,” Criston orders.

“It happened in seconds,” you say. “You think you would have done better? You and your Valium, and your Librium, and your Percodan? You think your reaction time would have been so superior to mine?”

“Please,” Alicent moans, mopping tears from her pink cheeks with a handkerchief. “Please, don’t fight, not now…”

“We are all friends here,” Fosco adds in his thick Italian accent, yo-yoing by a window.

“You want to be the first lady so bad but you can’t handle it!” Aegon shouts, his voice echoing through the lobby. “You’re not some prodigy, you don’t have all the answers, you’re just a girl who stitched yourself to Aemond and then you let him get shot, he’s being operated on right now, maybe he’s even dying, and you still act like you’re so fucking perfect—”

“You’re mad because you know that everybody here is thinking the same thing,” you tell Aegon, cold and cruel. “That if someone had to get killed tonight it should have been you.”

Aegon’s mouth drops open; he stares at you with that slippery, opaque, stoned woundedness, pathetic, infuriating, illogically childish. Everyone else pretends they haven’t heard you. Alicent sniffles into her handkerchief. Fosco begins humming I Want To Hold Your Hand. Mimi chews sluggishly on her BLT. From the nurses’ station, Otto says, holding the phone to his chest: “It’s George Wallace. He’s calling for Aemond’s wife.” Then he waits to see if you’ll agree to take it.

Of course you will. You have to. You are acting in your husband’s stead. You go to the nurses’ station and grab the handset when Otto passes it to you. “This is Mrs. Targaryen.”

“Ma’am, I just wanted to offer you my sincerest condolences.” He has a pronounced drawl, born and raised in what he has praised as the Great Anglo-Saxon Southland. You animal, you think. You braindead bigot. “I do hope the senator makes a hasty recovery. I sure would like to beat him at the ballot box, but I have no stomach for anarchy. An act like this is repugnant to me, as it should be to any red-blooded American.”

“It was one of yours, do you know that?” you say, dripping venom. “One of your hateful ghouls.”

“I have no such knowledge. But if the shooter does turn out to be a supporter of my campaign, I disavow him utterly. He deserves a nice long sit in Old Sparky and then to meet his maker.”

“You inspire men to commit violence, and then you renounce them when they spill blood. I’m still wearing my husband’s. It’s on my hands, it’s on my dress, and I will not absolve you of blame. You are a gardener of discord. You grow it like roses or wheat. You tend to it until it blooms.” Otto is studying you, bushy eyebrows raised. “If you’d truly like to repent, perhaps dropping out of the Democratic primary would be a good start. And then you could find something useful to do, like drowning yourself.”

From whatever office he’s currently lounging comfortably in, his shoes kicked up on the desk, Wallace chuckles. “Aemond is very fortunate to have as ardent a defender as you, my dear.”

“Yes, a devoted wife is such a treasure. It’s a shame you killed yours.”

“Ma’am, once again, I just wanted to express how terribly sorry I am for your family’s hardship. I would never wish for an incident like this—”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be emboldening white supremacists then!” You slam the phone as you hang up.

Otto looks at you. He says: “Did it go well?”

The heavy double doors leading to the operating theater swing open, and a surgeon steps through them, still drying his hands with a dark blue towel. He has changed his scrubs and washed his skin, but you notice a spot he missed: a fleck of half-dried blood up by his temple. That’s Aemond, you think. That’s a piece of him.

Everyone rushes to gather around the doctor, even Mimi; she lists like a ship taking on water as she walks, gnawing at all that remains of her BLT, just a sliver of white toast crust.

“The senator is alive,” the doctor says, and Alicent cries out in relief. Criston rests a palm on her shoulder. “But we could not save the eye.”

“He’s half-blind?” you ask. There’s never been a half-blind president. There’s never been a Greek one either. And the only reason this is stuck in your mind is because you know it will consume Aemond’s.

The doctor nods. “We had to remove it. The bullet that struck Senator Targaryen in the head, fortunately, was more of a graze. It ricocheted off his skull and didn’t cause any trauma to the brain, but his eye was…” He hesitates, trying to find a more polite word than shredded, macerated, pulverized. “Destroyed.”

“You stopped the bleeding?” Aegon says, astonished. “He’s okay? He’s really okay?”

“The second bullet pierced the thoracic cavity and was lodged less than an inch from his heart. He was very lucky. We repaired the damage to the best of our ability, and I am optimistic that the senator will make a full recovery. He’s resting comfortably now, but he should be awake soon.”

“Oh, thank God,” Alicent says, glistening dark eyes raised to heaven. The salient points gathered, Fosco wanders off again, his yo-yo dangling from its string.

Otto asks: “When can he resume campaigning?”

The doctor is caught off-guard; it takes him a moment to answer. “That will depend on the senator’s stamina as he regains his strength. If he chooses to stay in the race at all.”

Otto scoffs. “Of course he’ll stay in. This is what he lives for. You really can’t give me a ballpark figure?”

The doctor is determinately impassive. “I would estimate a month or two before he can withstand the rigors of the campaign trail again.”

“California is June 4th,” Otto recalls, counting off dates on his fingers. “Illinois is the 11th, New York is the 18th…”

“Look, there are people outside!” Fosco announces excitedly as he peers through one of the windows. “Hello! Hello everybody!”

“Fosco, you idiot, stop waving,” Otto snaps. “Go sit down.”

“But they are cheering.”

“Not for you.”

Fosco, somewhat deflated, grabs an egg salad sandwich off the platter and plops into a chair to eat it. He’s dressed in a green plaid sport coat and tight white trousers, very chic, very European. You’ve never been able to imagine Fosco and Helaena being passionately romantic with each other. They’re both a bit too doll-like for that, closer to Barbie and Ken than flesh and blood, blank stares and vague ambitions.

“Someone should talk to them,” Alicent says softly. She means the crowd that is forming in front of the hospital: journalists, cops, local politicians, mutilated veterans, college kids, farmers, fishermen, women and children, the future and the past. Everyone turns to look at you.

“I’ll do it,” you volunteer. You will, you must. Aemond could have chosen a hundred similarly suited women to be his wife, but he chose you, and when he did your vows became a blood oath.

Criston accompanies you downstairs to where the crowd has gathered just outside the front entrance of Good Samaritan Medical Center. The night air is warm and humid, the stars bright. You had thought of so many things to tell these people as you’d stood in the elevator as it descended, but now your mind is empty, fearful. There are photographers with blinding camera flashes and apostles waiting with famished eyes. From the depths of injustice and poverty and war, they have come to pay their respects to the man they believe is destined to save not just themselves but their world. What should I say? What would Aemond want me to say?

“I am very pleased to share with you all that Senator Targaryen is out of surgery and regaining his strength.”

There are cheers and applause and prayers; you are still clutching the komboskini that the old woman gave you in the lobby of the Breakers Hotel. You see more prayer ropes in this flock, and rosaries too, Bibles and dog tags, copies of The Autobiography of Malcolm X and Joanne Didion’s Slouching Towards Bethlehem.

“We would like to thank you for your heartfelt support. Aemond and I are so very grateful, and he is looking forward to being back on the campaign trail soon.”

More clapping and whistling, and then the crowd waits. You aren’t sure what they want to hear as you stand in the glow of the hospital luminance; your hands are trembling wildly, so you clasp them together as you hold the komboskini. Criston glances over at you, concerned. You settle on the truth.

“The man who tried to kill my husband tonight is a supporter of former Alabama governor George Wallace and an avowed white supremacist. Any ideology that advocates for violence and prejudice is a threat to our bodies, our nation, and our souls. We will not surrender to it, not even when our lives are in jeopardy. We will not concede that hope for a better world is lost. We will press ever onward with the knowledge that God is on our side, and that the future of this country is worth fighting for.”

You are bathed in flashbulb lightning; your ears ring with the thunder of the applause. You are shaking hands now, nodding, beaming, Criston following you like a shadow as you move through the congregation. You stop to listen to a middle-aged woman in a floral dress who wants to give you marriage advice: never get bossy, don’t become selfish, remember that you are his safe harbor in the storms of life. It is your job to gift her your momentary veneration. You have beauty, but she has wisdom; or at least, that is the bargain that has been struck, that is the presumption everyone agrees upon. She must have some advantage over you, otherwise the decades she has spent in service of her parents and husband and children have been wasted, she has carved away pieces of herself to feed hungry mouths until she vanished like the doomed nymph Echo. In return, she tries not to envy you too much, not to dismiss you as foolish or frivolous or lustful. Sometimes you think that women are filled with such vicious, relentless self-loathing that it feels good to direct it at someone else for a while, to pick apart another body, to tally up the deficits of her spirit.

“Aemond is so lucky to have you,” the woman says. You can barely hear her over the roar of the crowd.

And you smile as you dutifully reply: “I think it’s the other way around.”

~~~~~~~~~~

There is a television mounted on the wall in Aemond’s room. The news coverage, the volume turned way down low, oscillates between his own near-assassination and the stalled peace talks in Paris. Representatives of the United States and North Vietnam cannot agree, and so each day more body bags are flown home to return the bones of the nation’s sons and fathers to Missouri, Alabama, Idaho, Maine, Wisconsin, Maryland, Arizona, California, New Jersey, everywhere else. Someone has to end it. Aemond will end it.

“I dreamed I won Florida,” your husband mumbles, and that’s how you know he’s awake, here in a hospital bed and wearing IVs like strings of Christmas lights around a pine tree.

“You did,” you tell him, gently smoothing back his hair from his forehead. His left eye—where his left eye used to be—is bandaged; his words are soft and labored. “Humphrey was second. Wallace got third. But you won. And you’re going to be okay.”

“McCarthy?”

“It seems you’re devouring his coalition.”

Aemond’s lips slowly curl into a grin, triumphant. “It is God’s will.” And this is what he always says. It is God’s will that he survives, it is God’s will that he wins the presidency, it is God’s will that you give him sons.

“Yes,” you agree, lifting his right hand to kiss his knuckles. Then you press the komboskini you’re still carrying into his weak grasp. It means more to Aemond than it does to you. “Yes it is.”

Aemond sinks into unconsciousness again, morphine and dreams that blur with reality. There will be pain soon, and plenty of it, but he is free from that impending truth for now. You rise from your chair to tell the rest of the family that Aemond is beginning to wake up. Alicent and Criston will want to speak with him.

When you open the door, Aegon is standing there: an eavesdropper, a trespasser. He glares at you with his large wet ocean-blue eyes, hazy with pills, glinting with resentment. Reluctantly, you step aside to let him in. Aegon wobbles as he passes you and has to grab onto the doorframe to steady himself, scrabbling like a trapped animal.

“You’re a disaster,” you say, caustic like acid, biting, repulsed.

Aegon whirls and jabs his index finger against your chest, bloodstained mint green wool bouclé by Chanel. “You’re a vessel. You’re a cow. And one day he’ll be done with you.”

You feel something hitting you like a bullet, cracking ribs, piercing lungs, tearing muscles and ligaments. Your lips have parted, but you can’t fathom words. Aegon has said many things to you—bitter things, belittling things, things in mixed company, things when you’re alone—but never this. For the first time since you met him two years ago, he has won one of your sparring matches. He has the upper hand. He has wounded you.

Aegon can see this, certainly. But he doesn’t seem pleased with himself. He looks a little shellshocked, like he can’t quite believe he said the words, like maybe if given the chance again he wouldn’t take it. But the moment is over now, and you can’t get time back, it is a thread that unspools until every inch is gone, spent, tangled in a thousand webs.

Aegon staggers into the hospital room. You flee from it. Out in the lobby the phone at the nurses’ station is ringing again. They’ll all be calling now to give their requisite sympathies. Humphrey counsels prudence, McCarthy prays for peace, LBJ offers the empathy of someone who has felt the cold gaze of Death in his own doorway, Nixon praises Aemond’s resilience and quotes the ancient philosopher Seneca: “There is no easy way from the earth to the stars.”

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon x y/n #aegon x you #aegon targaryen ii x you #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen fanfic #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader

[paranoid-rhythm]

Fate/Grand Order COMIC à la carte PLUS! SP Showdown!

Ashiya Douman VS Dioscuri

TL & Typeset by yours truly.

Right, so, edited to add AU's commentary below.

Au's commentary

【Douman】

I think that due to his position as an onmyouji and as a bonze, he places an emphasis on formality and rituals. Whatever his motivation may be, he can't help but go through these motions (though there are times that he stops abrubptly), it's like "if he has to do it anyway, it's more interesting to do it this way." In addition, it was a confrontation against the Dioscuri.

The Dioscuri, gods who connect with humans through "rituals" that play an important role in religion and faith, and whose way of being can be influenced and altered by man, in contrast with Ashiya Douman, one who blasphemes even gods themselves, one who guides humans by "looking up to the heavens and divining the stars." The ritual was brought about when Douman thought that he wanted to perform the steps to carry out the purifying ritual (monomi^), but he did not want to be the one to be shut in, so he made someone else disappear instead.

(^物忌み - monomi; an onmyou practice of shutting oneself inside the house on inauspicious days to avoid misfortune.)

In simpler terms, it's an act to purify one's body and soul by cutting off impurities, as such, Castor was furious at not only being suddenly separated from his sister, but also for being judged as "defective." (Although Castor's anger was at the forefront, his bond level is assumed to be high, because he rushed into the scene, out of concern regarding the abnormal situation, and for his Master's safety.)

【Dioscuri】

・Castor's Saint Graph is deficient, due to his separation from Pollux (derived from the Dioscuri interlude). ・In addition, it was difficult to stop Douman with a god's power, as due to Douman's spell, it was a situation where no divinity other than Douman's was functioning.

As for the "stronger truth (for the Master)" that Holmes mentioned, at this part, the Master was reminded of Dioscuri Castor's return gift from Valentine's, St. Elmo's Fire. One aspect of the Dioscuri is being the guardians of navigation, the guiding light, the "star" shining in the heavens.

Castor's return gift, based on the circumstances of the event scenario, is interpreted here as a blessing given by the Dioscuri only to the Master. A "truth" that was clear to the Master, that even if no one else knew about it, without any doubt, they have received this blessing. At that moment, the Master, who is the key figure in this divine ritual, overrode the "Dioscuri" by strongly recognizing them as "stars" rather than the "twin gods". Thus, this is the process that allowed Pollux to be revived.

【The Master of Hell】

Though it has various meanings, it revolves mainly about Seimei's episode with the "Taizanfukugun", and the "Taizanfukugun Festival^".

(^An onmyou festival, revering "Taizanfugun", a god from ancient China that was syncretized with the Buddhist king Enma, and was believed to rule over human lifespan and fortune. It was a popular festival among court nobles during the Heian period, and it was the festival that the onmyou family, the Abe clan, excelled at.)

Taizanfukugun is a major deity in onmyoudo, in Buddhism, considered as one of the ten kings of hell (sometimes equated with King Enma). The main implication of this image is that he is able to interfere with even the forces of hell and use them as if they were his own.

In this sense, Seimei should be the one who's more suited for hell, so what point would there be if the Master falls into hell? Would there be any meaning after that? In the first place, the Master would certainly not fall without a fight. And if they decided to, they would jump in without hestation, which is for Douman, also infuriating.

How does Douman see the greatest onmyouji? Did he collectively likened that person to the emotions swirling around him? Was it through the story of that person's resurrection, their travels through the world of that time, that equated to them easily conquering even Hell? Or is it something else entirely?

Whether he gives it his all or not, I feel that for Douman, there seems to be a fundamental ambiguity in self-affirmation, making him think "If I'm like this, then that person must be even better", regardless of Douman's own level of ability.

【Companion/Attendant】

When the Master pledged that they were determined to take Douman with them, even if it meant dragging him along with them, I wanted to show a "contrast" that showed their difference from Seimei, expressed through the rather exaggerated "Master allowed themselves to be accompanied / Seimei will never allow himself to be accompanied."

It's like "I said I liked apples, but he didn't say he liked apples. So he must hate apples.", something to that extreme. From Douman's point of view, that's how it must have been.

Furthermore, most of the passages in which Douman refers to Seimei are all from his perspective.

-The following is a digression -

・Sanson and Asclepius These two were the ones originally from Showdown Part 1. Originally, there was no scene in which these two talked to each other, but I hope those who read the previous comic will notice it.

This too, is a story about "humans" and "demigods (children of Apollo)".

(By the way, I was able to draw Asclepius in his second ascension for this FGO comicalized series.)

・At the beginning, I wanted to make the Master upset by making (Douman) say, "I killed her,'' but the response got boring so I changed it up.

・Buddha's great vows - this is the Bodhisattva's vast desire to save all sentient beings. In short, this was a hugely sarcastic remark towards the Master, as if to say "Your determination and your theatrical declaration are both truly admirable!" However, it also suggests that even if they would have to get various people to help their cause, the Master might just be able to pull it off.

・I was able to finish Holmes' panels in just one day.

・The last panel I drew was Douman's left side.

#fate/grand order #FGO #Ashiya Douman #Dioscuri #Castor #Pollux

[hearta54]

He's A Distraction (Central Cee x Reader)

Summary: You're a dedicated student and going to Cambridge and become a doctor is your stars and heavens. To make that happen you have to move schools, a boy was never meant to be part of the picture. But Cench looks so good in it...

Word Count: 2 472

Notes: Sorry this is a bit long, I would love if you guys would send requests.

You scroll fixatedly on your laptop, scanning the screen in intense concentration and stopping each time something caught your attention. Reading the Cambridge Medicine webpage was an addiction; in the past you had tried to dissuade yourself from accepting this, but how could you not when it always stared blankly back at you? Addictive but productive, each time you re-read the sentences you had engraved into your memory you grew closer to your dream. And when you closed your eyes at night, you saw yourself in lavender scrubs and a pearly white lab coat; living your dream of being a Cambridge Alumni doctor.

Three A*s needed for entry motivated you to be an excellent student. You didn't mean to behave exaltedly but your current school was inadequate in innumerable ways. Today in biology, there hadn't been enough dissection kits, so the class had taken notes robotically and brushed over the practical. Defeated, you remembered how you had trudged home dubious; how could a school implore success in its students and not have the right resources? A memory of sitting in an examination room at Queen Victoria's Sixth Form Academy unnerved you, yes, you had sat the scholarship examination. It had been strenuous and the competition in the room had been palpable, even so, you didn't feel as if you could compete successfully. Falling asleep, you were plagued by these worrisome thoughts even in your dreams.

Obnoxiously the sound of your alarm erupted immersing the room and awakening you. Each morning when you woke up, a void would open gaping at you, existing ostentatiously: It was a persisting sense of loneliness at first; an innocuous reminder to cherish time with your parents. But this was difficult when they both left for work as the sun just began to emerge teasingly over the horizon. Your mother worked as a university professor, such a nominal salary for an intelligent woman, and your dad worked as a nurse; anyone could tell you nurses were underappreciated, numbers didn't have to. A smart knock was being emitted from the hallway, who was at the door?

A postman adorned in fluorescents held a letter for you to take, when you hesitated a second too delayed, he dropped it, walking swiftly to his flagged motorbike and zooming down the road. A Queen Victoria's Academy insignia? You felt so inauspicious as you leaned on the door prying the seal delicately open. Covering your face with your hand you peaked at the verdict through the intricate gaps between your fingers. "We would like to congratulate your success on the recent Academic Scholarship examination and invite you to accept a scholarship place with us." No words can grasp your joy it's transcending.

Yawning tiredly, you stretched placing your feet into your fluffy slippers, the night had gone and went without a wink of reprieve - you were consumed with nerves for the day ahead: Your first day at Queen Victoria's Sixth Form Academy. Opening the door, you walked across the creaking timber to make breakfast alone as you did every morning. You were befuddled to see your mother occupied in the kitchen handling an assortment of kitchenware ,readying a breakfast spread; usually you would just eat cereal; before you were pancakes, fresh fruit niftily cut, orange juice and array of salivating dishes.

"Mum why are you not at work?"

"I wanted to drive you for your first day, I can't begin to express how proud dad and I are," she said beaming excitedly.

You sat at the kitchen visualizing your mother's small, slightly dated and mediocre car driving alongside the avant-garde and luxurious cars of your new peers. Your stomach knotted half ominously and half guiltily. She seemed so happy to drive you and had sacrificed work to drive you, your inner monologue whispered insisting to take the bus would leave your mother forlorn.

"I'm glad you're taking me; I didn't really want to take the bus on my first day anyways."

Lies.

The academy's tree-lined boulevard was now in sight, driving alongside it now; planting your face against the misty window, eager to catch a glimpse. Your mother's car was now aligned with the curb which signaled a convenient space to leave; grudgingly you opened the door slowly as if peeking into a foreign world - in a way you were. You breathed in a long breath of courage as you slung your bag across your shoulders.

"Bye mum, thanks for the ride," you said, genuinely grateful.

"My pleasure darling, I love you, see you after school." Your mother grinned, pride cascading her face and carved smile lines. Guilt ebbed slowly as you watched your mother drive away. As her car dissipated to a speck in the distance a humble maroon car pulled to the curb, your mother had dropped you off with a car of a similar stature. You felt an unspoken sense of camaraderie. I'm glad I have someone to share the embarrassment with.

A boy emerged who appeared to be in the upper-sixth form - your year. He didn't seem ashamed of his car or even the slightest bit alienated; instead, he was confident, you could read if from his aura: it preceded him. Staring now, you saw his dark hair which was styled into jaw length box braids. His cutting cheek bones were iridescent, catching the sunlight, and you marveled at the softness of his plum bottom lip...

"I love you mum, thanks for the ride," he spoke to his mother with a genuine smile.

"I couldn't say no after you begged for a ride, could I? Have a good first day, Oakley."

What! He had asked for a ride. The guilt came gushing back, you weren't like him, yes you could relate about your car which was vain and face level. But he appreciated his mother wholly and wasn't attempting a façade to fit in with the elitism around. You felt a searing pang of shame. Frozen in thought you only broke out of this state when you felt dark coffee eyes meeting your gaze. The dwindling blare of the lesson bell dismissed you from the intense, awkward situation. Walking towards the office to meet the enrollment officer you chastised yourself sternly: This was the year of academic success entailing A*s, boys could tear down everything you had worked so hard for in a painful heartbeat.

The enrollment officer had distributed timetables to the small group of scholarship students; some of them gave a condescending air: Almost as if the fact testing had terminated slipped their minds, but most were nice and proffered kind but shy smiles, clipped at the edges with perceptible nerves. You navigated the halls wearily searching for your chemistry lab, the school was grandiose but tastefully understated. The look of old money attracted your gaze, it was a world away from where you had come. Walking the winding stairs, you see your chemistry class meters away from the landing 'room 299.'

Having arrived ahead of time allowed you to peruse the chemistry lab, it was a spectacle. Advanced modern equipment, granite bench tops, the most powerful microscopes... It left you speechless. You were broken from your trance by your classmates trickling in slowly and the booming voice of your new chemistry teacher.

"I am Dr. Olsen, I have a doctorate of chemistry from Oxford itself, trust you are in more than good hands," he paused to chuckle at his own joke but carried on when the students unreciprocated his mirth.

"This is the only chemistry class in the upper sixth form, that should allude to the arduous nature of the course. Therefore, to maximise your concentration I have taken it upon myself to devise a seating plan."

Dr. Olsen trailed off when the class began to groan resentfully.

"You can thank me when you receive your A-level results at the end of sixth form. Right then, in the back row, Y/N and Oakley Caesar-Su, Veronica Windward and Yasser Malik ..."

Oakley, You had been seated next to the boy from earlier this morning. You knew you shouldn't be smiling to yourself, chemistry was an imperative A-level. You weaved yourself to the back row and sat next to him.

"Hi Oakley," your voice had manifested much more timidly than you had expected.

" Yeah hey y/n, call me Cench, only my mum and tired old teachers like this one call me Oakley."

You giggled unexpectedly, he grinned back his gaze lingering. As Dr. Olsen droned on about Titration you took down notes studiously, beside you Cench was doing the same; writing down notes swiftly. You couldn't help but notice his handwriting was neat and prettily round, looking at his notes you dropped your pen. From your stool you reached down to retrieve it, on the way back up you bumped heads with Cench who had thoughtfully wanted to help.

"Oh my days, I'm sorry y/n, you good?" He was asking searching your eyes for signs of hurt.

You went to assure him you were okay when you got cut off by no other than Dr. Olsen...

"You two in the back Oakley and y/n quiet please."

"I am sorry Dr. Olsen I was just _"

"I don't want a justification take notes like everyone else, or get out," he said belittlingly.

Your cheeks got hotter as the class snapped their necks rubbernecking to witness your embarrassment, you looked at your notes mortified.

"Look, Dr. Olsen, You don't have to chat to her that way, she bumped her head and I was seeing if she was okay, yeah." Cench's jaw was locked making his cheek bones even more enunciated.

" Don't talk back Mr. Caesar-Su, detention after school." With an angered demeanor he resumed his lesson. You fought away guilt as you continued taking notes, if only I had gripped my pen tighter.

Trailing the halls advancing towards the exit, you're clouded with gratitude tinged with empathy for Cench, you hadn't meant to get him in trouble. Nor had you meant to tarnish his reputation in front of the strictest teacher. In your periphery you see Cench and your heart soars.

"Hi, Cench, I'm so sorry about earlier, I didn't think you'd get in trouble for trying to help."

"Don't worry about it y/n, that prick shouldn't have -"

"Right, students before we go into the room, these are the rules of after-school detention..." A teacher drawled these words with an expression of boredom.

You gave Cench an apologetic look over your shoulder before you opened the door, you were met by a smile and a shrug of the shoulders from Cench. The whole way home your mind is scattered with intrusive thoughts of him, you don't want them there but you don't want to fight them away either.

Cench's POV:

Detention dragged on just as I thought, thoughts of y/n appeased this listlessness because thinking of her had made it bearable. As we had worked on our assignments in silence I had chosen to continue my English literature essay. I could say I had not made much progress because the silence which filled the room was unsettling, but really it was because it was y/n who occupied my mind. Y/n with her guileless smile, her sharp and dazzling intellect, the clocked tick some more and I spent the time like this: Thinking up an interminable list of why I like y/n. Really and truly I had only met her today, but something about her...

Wrapping a towel around my waist and drying my wet braids, I hear a ping from my phone. 'You have received an email from..." It's a notification from the enrollments officer. Is this about today, I know I went overboard but I wasn't gonna let that prick talk to y/n like that.

I check what she has to say and she's saying I have to pick an extra-curricular to fulfil my scholarship expectations. That's calm, I'll join the Charitable Cause Club, I heard y/n is in it.

Y/N's POV:

At your desk you're riddled with inconsolable worry. In two days will be the chemistry exam which will make thirty percent of your semester grade. Staring at the notes in front of you which feel insurmountable you begin studying. It is well after midnight when you finally turn off your lamp and resign to sleep.

Cench's POV:

Standing around the classroom I see y/n, her eyebrows are nearly touching in what looks like worry while she reads her chemistry notes. I never thought she would panic during exam season, I think she's the smartest in our whole class. Watching her worry like eats away at me I really don't like it.

Lying awake on top of my covers despite the cold. My mind turns to y/n for the infinite time and I stop randomly at the Starbucks order she has in the morning sometimes. A regular matcha latte with two pumps of vanilla syrup and a strawberry icing doughnut embedded with fresh pieces of strawberry. Trust man's not simping... it's deeper than that.

Y/N's POV:

At 7am on a Friday morning, the library is empty. The comforting silence interrupted sporadically by the tinkering of the librarian. Today, is the day of the chemistry exam and no matter how much you study you don't feel ready for the exam. You feel warmth on your head, the feeling of someone watching you so you glance up straight into coffee eyes. It's Cench leaning on a bookcase your favourite Starbucks order in hand. Your heart skips several beats.

"Hi y/n, your such a neek you know, studying at this time." Cench says this as his eyes flick across your face, enthralled.

"I don't know, you can never be prepared enough," you retort, trying to fight a smile from showing on your lips but failing.

"I don't know about that, you'll do great, your as smart as you are cute. Which makes you very smart."

You feel your cheeks getting hotter and you stare blankly at your notebook.

Never taking his eyes off you Cench puts the drink and a paper bag down on the table.

"I got you a little something, good luck, yeah."

You watch him as he walks away, with his bag slung over one shoulder. Suddenly you are filled with the confidence he has in you.

Taking a few sips of your matcha leaves you refreshed, reaching into the paper bag your heart squeezes when you see a strawberry covered doughnut. How did he know. Looking inside the bag for napkins you see a strip of paper, unfolding the paper you read the message.

It says: You should go out with man. Scrolled on the bottom is a phone number.

You gasp earning a reprimanding look from the librarian. Your mind wanders visualising what your date with him will be like.

...

THE END

#one shot #x reader #central cee #cench #romance #fluffy #classical piano #fanfic #fanfiction #y/n #imagine #uk #ukrapper #central cee x reader #central x you #central cee fan fic #writer

[ninjasmudge]

What are your thoughts on the two other monkeys? Idk if you ever heard of them, but it's the Red Bottom Ape and Long Armed Gibbon.

i actaually had some pretty lore heavy origin story hcs for those guys a couple of years ago, but i dont think i ever posted them. ill put some of the old art here and paste the lore under a cut cause its LONG (replaced the old swk and maq in the last pic with some more recent ones bc my hcs for them changed so much lmao)

their lore was well researched i spent days on it but it was a couple years ago lmao, its based on the principals they represent plus which of yin/yang they represent

long armed gibbon- can seize the sun and the moon, distinguish the auspicious from the inauspicious, and manipulate planets and stars

gibbon was born when a seed from a fir tree fell from heaven to earth. it landed on top of an eroded mountian and a tree started growing. after several hundred years, when the tree stretched high enough and was wise enough and the pine cones had gone from dark purple to blue, the trunk split one day at sunrise on a blue misty morning and gibbon walked into the world

red-buttocked horse monkey- who has knowledge of yin and yang, understands human affairs, is adept in its daily life and able to avoid death and lengthen its life

horse was born from a drop of water flung from a trough in heavens stables (part of the reason swk was so pleased to guard the horses when he went)

when she fell to earth she became a river that people often visited and talked around and played in. from this she came to understand human affairs. she also found she could help creatures avoid death or prolong their life by feeding their crops. when she knew enough, she climbed out of the river at sundown and walked into the world

sun wukong, the wise stone monkey- who knows transformations, recognizes the seasons, discerns the advantages of earth, and is able to alter the course of planets and stars

stealing from nezha reborn where the myth goes that when nüwe patched the sky, the leftover stone was where swk came from, but im changing it to one of the tiles that was used to create the furnace was dropped, leaving a monkey sized gap where he could later on slot into to keep himself alive in there. the tile was knocked out of the basket by the wind and fell to earth and this was the only one that landed on ffm. you know the story here, he absorbed chi from heaven AND earth which is why hes so powerful

six eared macaque- who has a sensitive ear, discernment of fundamental principles, knowledge of past and future, and comprehension of all things

macaque was born very suddenly when a piece of moon rock broke off and fell to earth on a new moon. the resulting meteor created a huge and sudden flash of light in a forest which created hundreds of stark shadows at once. the shadows condensed and the resulting being wouldnt have lived if it hadnt been a new moon because he needed the next hours of darkness to collect himself into a full being. but before the night was done, a new monkey was born who was able to hear everything in the radius he had collected shadows from, which if youve ever seen a meteor flash, is a long way

somethin interesting abt the things that created them- swks tile was actually heavenly, which is why he represents primarily yang (heaven). his was the only one that was CRAFTED BY heaven. gibbon and horse are both from something that fell from heaven and then the earth changed its form (the tree grew on earth from a heavenly seed, and the drop of water became a river) whereas macaque, representing the yin is fully of earth, the meteor that created him was from heaven but he didnt directly come from the meteor, he came from the shadows it created on earth. his only connection is to the earth

#yeah i just never posted any of it for some reason #i think there was more lore but idk where it is #mk #ask #ig ill put it in the tag since its a bunch of art #lego monkie kid #monkie kid #mk art #my art #also idk why this post is fucking breaking tumblr the two middle pictures show up side by side on mobile and above on desktop #i cant edit it from here either i tried to move the readmore so that it cut off gibbons part #and i just cant do ANYTHING

[dorothygale123]

I'd say I'm becoming a nerd, but that ship sailed a long time ago. I guess I'm just expanding my nerdiness to other areas.

Anyway, MORE MYTHOLOGY!

So in Journey to the West, the Buddha explains that there are 4 'spiritual primates' that don't fit into any categories for immortals or types of creatures. Fans of Lego Monkie Kid are likely familiar with 2, the Stone Monkey Sun Wukong and the Six Eared Macaque. The other 2, the Long-armed Gibbon and the Red-Buttocked Baboon are a lot more obscure. They only get a brief mention in JttW because the focus of the chapter they appear in is Macaque, but the idea of a set of super powerful Immortal monkeys is just too fun to pass up, you know? So I've been thunking my thinker.

What if each primate was associated with a different realm (mortal, heavenly, lunar, and underworld) and element? I know the 4 elements (earth, water, wind, fire) are a western idea rooted in alchemy and eastern mythology has 5 elements (earth, water, fire, metal, wood), but there aren't 5 monkeys and this is just a thought experiment and not me trying to force western ideas onto eastern culture.

Got it? Good.

Now, Sun Wukong is very solidly earth because he's, you know, a rock. No surprise there. He was also born in the mortal realm and spent most of his life there, so we'll call him the celestial primate of the mortal realm while we're at it.

The Six-Eared Macaque is another easy one. A lot of LMK fannon associates him with wind, inferring that his heightened hearing has something to do with wind magic. He's also very closely tied to the moon because of the line in "Shadow Play" where he directly compares the Warrior (himself) to the moon. So Macaque is the celestial primate of wind and the Lunar realm.

Now here's where we get a bit more speculative and start using information creatively. There are 2 monkeys, realms, and elements left I want to use, so let's start with the monkeys so everyone has a baseline understanding.

The Long Armed Gibbon (Gibs, from now on) is described as being able to "seize the sun and moon, shorten a thousand mountains, distinguish auspicious from inauspicious, and manipulate planets and stars."

The Red Buttocked Baboon (Babs for short) has "knowledge of yin and yang, understands human affairs, is adept I'd daily life and can avoid death and lengthen its life."

Starting with the realms because they seem easiest to assign, I would give Gibs the Heavenly realm because of its ability to move around celestial objects like the sun, moon, planets, and stars. This leaves the Underworld to Babs, which I think fits nicely because their "knowledge of yin and yang" and "understand[ing] of human affairs" would make them a good assistant to the 10 Kings of the Underworld.

Next comes the 2 remaining elements, water and fire, which are a bit tricky because it could go both ways.

Gibs could be fire because the sun and stars are giant balls of burning plasma, but also water because the sky/heavens are often associated with an ocean or other bodies of water in several different mythologies. For example, in Egyptian mythology, Ra sailed his boat through the sky every day, while in early Abrahamic belief the sky was a huge dome with water on the other side, and rain happened when floodgates were opened to let the water through. In Chinese myth specifically, the Milky Way is often depicted as a river that is sailed through by various deities.

Babs could fit with fire as well because underworlds and hell-adjacent places are often shown to have fires to torment and punish the sinful dead, no surprise there. But there is surprisingly a lot of water symbolism in the realm of the dead as well. For example, some people may be familiar with the Japanese idea of the Sanzu River, very similar in concept to the Greek River Styx, as well as the Chinese Huang Quan/Yellow springs.

Personally I would pair Babs with fire because he has red in his name, making him the celestial primate of fire and the Underworld.

That leaves Gibs to be the celestial primate of water and the Heavenly realm.

I feel pretty good about this, but if anyone else has other ideas I'd love to hear them.

Sh*tpost Masterlist

#lego monkie kid #lmk #sun wukong #journey to the west #liu er mihou #six eared macaque #jttw #long armed gibbon #red buttocked baboon #crack theory #my theory #chinese religion #chinese mythology #4 elements #cool connection #no books this time we die like men #i've put more effort into this than i have most of my school or college research papers #maybe i should've been a mythology major... #shadowpeach #mythology sh*tposting #mythology #mythology and folklore #jttw inspo character ideas

[theharetic]

Lego Monkie Kid | The (Magic) Long-Armed Gibbon

This is a commissioned piece from @chewwypepsicola. Please do not repost or reuse this work for anything and support the original artist.

“ The third is the Long-Armed Gibbon who can seize the sun and the moon, shorten a thousand mountains, distinguish the auspicious from the inauspicious, and manipulate planets and stars.”

Journey to the West

It’ssa late introduction, but meet Xī Tiānkōng, the magic armed gibbon! She’s one of the four celestial primates who do not fit into any categories. With her magical hanfu, she’s able to perform powerful magic and skills that can shake the Earth and the stars above.

#lego monkie kid #monkie kid #monkie kid oc #lmk #lmk oc #fan character #Xī Tiānkōng #magic armed gibbon #long armed gibbon #journey to the west #commissioned art #art by ene/chewwypepsicola #artists on tumblr

[g0j0s]

#desi tumblr #desiblr #desi tag #desi aesthetic #poetry #poets corner #indian dark academia #desi culture #desi poetry #desi stuff #indian #indian poetry #indian women #indian literature #indian writers #desi love #desi core #history #indian history #desi moodboard #desi women #desidarkacademia #desi dark academia #old bollywood #desi things #indian tumblr #shayari #desi writers #desi academia #indianpoet

[swatithestar]

Barbie through the lens of ardra and punarvasu ☆

The main star of the film Margot Robbie is an ardra sun with a punarvasu ascendant. In the movie she represents stereotypical barbie and everything about her is perfect. She wakes up perfect, goes to sleep perfect and lives in the perfect barbie world. Until she starts facing drastic changes, her body has cellulite, her feet are now flat and thoughts of death run through her mind. She ends up on a journey to leaving barbieland and entering the real world to find her owner and figure out what’s wrong with her..

This theme of facing reality is very ardra in the sense that these natives have to go through suffering and destruction to ascend spiritually. Ardra is the star of oppression, its shakti is the power to make gains in life through greater efforts. One of ardras symbols are a diamond, it represents strength and transformation, going through the dirt to realize its fullest potential. Another symbol being the teardrop represents warmth and compassion. Ardra is known as “the moist one” and its diety is Rudra the god of storms. A storm is a destructive life force that clears and refreshes the environment. When Barbie starts feeling human emotions like crying and laughter, she feels a sense of relief. This reminds me of the story of how rudra was born. Rudra was cast out of Brahmas forehead out of intense anger and wailed furiously. Rudra means the wailer, the howler. Brahma gave Rudra the advice that destruction must be balanced, measured and contained. To meditate upon godhead to calm you and make you auspicious. Ardra empowers humanity to destroy, forget and let go of inauspicious things. In 2 different scenarios, Barbie had to enter a state of meditation to be able to gain the messages she was searching for. Once to figure out where the girl who played with her was and the other time was when barbie was unsure of who she wanted to be after seeing the human world. Everything she once knew has changed and left a mark on her, she couldn’t go back to her old self. Ardra is man realizing the “true” state of creation and wanting to escape from it. The creator Ruth wasn’t surprised that Barbie would take on a life of her own, she knew that she had a greater purpose. She asked her if she was ready to take on everything that comes with being human, including mortality. Barbie then held her hands, closed her eyes and just felt. Felt all the memories and emotions she would have as a human, and most importantly as a woman.

Punarvasu is the rainbow after the storm. It translates to the return of the light; “punar” meaning repeat and “vasu” a ray of light. Punarvasu is the star of renewal and its shakti is the power to give substance to things. When Ken took over Barbie’s dream house, she fell into a deep depression with no hope of things turning around. She felt ugly and like her life had no meaning anymore. Until sasha’s mom gave a speech about not needing to be perfect and realizing the beauty all women already hold within. This speech was empowering and moved all the barbie’s into taking back their home. Punarvasu’s symbol is a quiver of full arrows; the arrows represent movement and hitting the target then returning to the destination. I think it’s also important that that speech came from a mother, punarvasu’s diety is Aditi. Aditi is the mother of gods, the goddess of abundance and the universal mother. She represents boundlessness, a limitless sky; space is the womb within which all lives develop. You would think that a movie about a doll would be catered to younger girls but it was actually really heartbreaking for women my age and older. You see the movie was a realization that our mothers were once girls just like us, they too had big dreams and aspirations but they sacrificed a lot for us to have a future. Punarvasu is the 7th nakshatra sharing both gemini and cancer. It is a focused gemini energy, focusing on others well beings. On the cancer side it’s all about nurturing, caring and loving others. It is a mother teaching her children wisdom of life. Now this is a connection of my own I think ties in, turning 24. I’ve never felt adulthood or womanhood more than I have at 24. 24 is the age in which our moons mature and like many, I too believe in the 12 year cycles in our lives along with the wheel of profection years in astrology (starting from the 1H at age 0). Punarvasu is all about repetition, Aditi herself has many rebirths. And with 24 being a 1H protection year, it is all about the self, the body and who you are at your core. Being ruled by the moon, Cancers naturally have rounder faces, fuller cheeks and curvier bodies. I have noticed how at this age my body has felt more matured and developed. There has also been a huge emphasis on my health from what I’m eating/consuming to being more active and practicing mindfulness everyday. But back to the movie, Barbie was made as a symbolic message for all women to express themselves. She was named after the creators daughter showing an importance in mother-daughter relationships. Entering adulthood and womanhood is hard but it is a life lesson, at this point in age it is us who have to help ourselves. No one is going to work for us and we certainly can’t wait around for anyone else to do what we know we’re meant to do. We have to believe in ourselves and create the lives we desire. This is why Ruth responded to Barbies request of making her human that only she can do that. Just like our mothers did, they may have had to leave home and move to a different country to create better lives for us. Going from Ardra to Punarvasu, there’s an importance of having to help ourselves first in order to be able to help others. It starts with you first. Only you can create harmony after the storm ❤️

#barbie #ardra #ardra nakshatra #punarvasu #punarvasu nakshatra #vedic astrology

[journeytothewestresearch]

Ty! On that note, what is the most accurate translation when describing the Four Monkeys? The Red-Buttocked Monkey in particular because you’ve got translations like horse monkey, baboon, and possibly mandrill? I’m also interested in their abilities and would please like a reliable source on what each is capable of.

Your best source for the abilities of the four primates is JTTW. I have altered Anthony C. Yu's translation of the names to make them more accurate:

“The first,” said Tathagata, “is the Stone-Monkey of Numinous Wisdom [Lingming shihou, 靈明石猴], [1] who Knows transformations, Recognizes the seasons, Discerns the advantages of earth, And is able to alter the course of planets and stars. The second is the Red-Buttocked Horse-Monkey [Chikao mahou, 赤尻馬猴], who Has knowledge of yin and yang, Understands human affairs, Is adept in its daily life And able to avoid death and lengthen its life. The third is the Long-Armed Gibbon [Tongbi yuanhou, 通臂猿猴], who can Seize the sun and the moon, Shorten a thousand mountains, Distinguish the auspicious from the inauspicious, And manipulate planets and stars. The fourth is the Six-Eared Macaque [Liu’er mihou, 六耳獼猴] who has A sensitive ear, Discernment of fundamental principles, Knowledge of past and future, And comprehension of all things. These four kinds of monkeys are not classified in the ten categories [of life], nor are they contained in the names between Heaven and Earth” (based on Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 3, p. 115). 如來道：「第一是靈明石猴，通變化，識天時，知地利，移星換斗；第二是赤尻馬猴，曉陰陽，會人事，善出入，避死延生；第三是通臂猿猴，拿日月，縮千山，辨休咎，乾坤摩弄；第四是六耳獼猴，善聆音，能察理，知前後，萬物皆明。此四猴者，不入十類之種，不達兩間之名。

One late-Qing source, New Dialect (Xinfangyan, 新方言, early-20th-c.), associates “horse-monkey” (mahou, 馬猴) with various iterations of Chinese terms for macaque monkeys:

"Bathing-monkey” (muhou): “mother-monkey” (muhou); mother-monkey (muhou): “full-monkey” (mihou) – these are called “horse-monkey” (mahou), the sound of each one changing [in turn]. 沐猴：母猴；母猴：彌猴，令人謂之馬猴，皆一音之轉。(the original doesn’t have punctuation)

And since the stone-monkey is Sun Wukong, the celestial primates consist of three macaques and one gibbon.

Here is my article on the four celestial primates:

#Four Monkeys #Sun Wukong #Monkey King #Journey to the West #JTTW #Six Ears #Six-Eared Macaque #lego monkie kid #LMK #four celestial primates

[peony-flowerking7]

The Long-armed Gibbon: Yuan

Seize the Sun and Moon,

Shortened a thousands mountains,

Distinguish Auspicious from Inauspicious,

And Manipulates planets and stars

I am trying my best research for this monkey, it a bit difficult because of how Wu Cheng'en never did write about the other two monkeys. We only got like a short poem of it, but since the book is basically like. "Hey YOU DO WHAT YOU WANT" which is very appreciated Wu Cheng'en. I do wonder if we are going to see the other two primates in Lmk.

But anyhow I'm making my own head cannon of this monkey until we get her in the show! Hopefully idk, but this is my design of the Monkey. I would like to explore my head cannons now.

Yuan or Gibbon, from what I can think of is that their athletic and very skill with poetry, art, science and magic of course. Their powers are cosmical or dimensional magic, with also being able to control the balance of fortune and misfortune. Might think more later.

Since her design is based on luck and bad luck I went to research my little heart out and Red in Chinese is a lucky color but everybody knows that. This is literally color theory or something. White symbolizes mourning or death and black is also a unlucky color. But these are her normal clothes, their regular clothes could be considered more detailed.

Yuan backstory is something I'm working on but know that she, Wukong and Macaque were friends at some point. At some point they were friends but a mistake happened and now Wukong doesn't want to see her. (For now) Macaque doesn't entirely hate her, he can understand some part of it. He was just too full of rage and conflicting emotions to go find her.

Yuan has a big interest for humanity though, because of their interests for science the way humanity can create anything as long as they know their limits and have their hubris check. She is a good observer and has been watching over humanity and their process over the last thousands maybe even millions years ago.

I want to like do something with Yuan something dramatic. But I don't want to tell you guys because I like surprises especially for you my subjects! Maybe when I progress more and get the story cleaned out I can revealed more? Idk let see how it all goes. I'm just so proud of my works lately. Especially these monkey's.

Also she's not a fighter, just know that. Prefers to use words instead of fists, she knows she can be defeated easily so she avoids fighting at any cost. Not a coward move, they just think things can be resolved if words are involved.

Is she considered an oc? I don't think so since this is an interpretation.

Edit: I want to add that Gibbons don't have eyebrows so she shows emotions by her posture, elbows and their face like as you can see the fur on their face is like a eyebrow. I want to animated it actually.

#monkie kid #lego monkie kid #lmk #The long-armed Gibbon #monkie kid art #lmk art #lego monkie kid art #lmk au #monkie kid au #lego monkie kid au #lmk monkey #monkie kid monkey #Lego monkie kid monkey #journey to the west #journey to the west au #journey to the west monkey #peony art #monkey character #lmk fandom #monkie kid fandom #lego monkie kid fandom #character interpretation

[i-am-a-fan]

Dude. I need to know about the tails.

I

Am

Invested

In that headcanon. I wanna hear a whole lore dump on your thought process on the latest peice

(If ya want ofc)

so. You wanted to hear my whole lore dump huh?

Please keep in mind that I am well aware that this is SUPPPEERRR off script for the show. This is just kinda like me playing with it like silly putty.

Link to artwork

Spoilers underneath and also long text.

Okay. So it stems from a lot of places.

First I’ll talk specifically about the tails since I think they’re the easiest to explain.

Tails:

The tails from from the season 4 special and the idea that Mk’s Kaiju form has three tails. That’s kinda what inspired it at the beginning.

I’ve outlined what I believe to be the tails in red so it’s easier to see.

Then we have Mk’s name sake in the Chinese dub (I think) Qi Xiaotain which roughly means “little sky” or “little heaven”.

If Wukong is the Sun, and Macaque is the moon, then would it not make sense that Mk, the one caught in between them is the sky?

I always try to draw Wukong’s tail to look like a fire ball, Macaque’s tail to look like a crescent moon, and Mk’s tail to look like a cloud.

Thus, you get the three tails that make up the controlled Kaiju form :D!

I also added the detail that the cloud swirl, what it outlined in orange, comes before wukong’s and Macaque’s tail to show that this feature is special to MK.

Samadhi Fire/ Teal Coloring:

The real thing that started everything was my crazy theory that Mk is the next person to get the samadhi fire.

The original smashing fire was also blue, which is why I made the painting be mixed with teal and yellow.

Link to Mk and the Samadhi Fire

I go into a LOT more detail in that post, but I’m almost certain that one of these 3 things happened to the samadhi fire in the show.

1. It got destroyed with the Lady Bone demon

2. Redson got it back and is unaware of it

3. Plot armor/ unexplained disappearance.

If it’s the first one, then onto the next topic.

Celestial Monkey(?):

I really hope that Mk turns out to be yet another celestial monkey, and if he is, I think it would make the most sense that he’s the “Connected Arm Gibbon” who can “seize the sun and the moon, shorten a thousand mountains, distinguish the auspicious from the inauspicious, And manipulate planets and stars.”

To me it makes the most sense since Mk is already somehow connected the the heavens and the planets.

More so, when Mk uses the Skeleton Key on himself, we get this frame… one that shows us a type of cosmic entity.

Plus, all the times that Mk has a cataclysmic power that shakes the universe.

If you combine this with the eye theory by @ imminent-danger-came , it seems like there’s some other version of MK that is watching and controlling what is happening to the Mk we are following.

- Eye Theory/ Eye Motifs with Mk

- Other Mk theory

There’s also the saying that the fate is written in the stars, and there’s a storyline relating Mk with destiny/ fate and how he can either be doomed to repeat it or change it.

If a version of Mk can truly control the stars, maybe by doing so he can change his fate as the harbinger of chaos.

Adding on, and with @spoofyleaf ‘s contributions, other Mk might be some protective seer of our MK. As seen in “Cooking with Chang’e” episode, Mk seems to simply be able to gain abilities from time to time and lose them.

Tang even comments on this and questions it, and if tang is our Normal Guy ™ who stands in as a Narrator and informant for the audience, then we can assume that this is not normal.

Referencing back to that image, look at the protective stance that the celestial version has over Mk, it’s almost protective of them (how I got inspired for the stance in the image).

Which brings me to the last part:

Reality Manipulation:

If Mk can gain new abilities when it is needed, and has the ability to control fate, does that entail that he has some sort of affect on the reality he’s placed in?

If so, that’s where I took creative liberties. If the Samadhi fire WAS destroyed, and it WAS the ultimate weapon for anything, wouldn’t someone who is obsessed with keeping everyone safe, try to reforge it? Wouldn’t the perfect person be someone who can change reality as they see fit? Wouldn’t that be someone who can distinguish the promising from the unpromising? Wouldn’t it be someone whom the bone demon tried to recruit again, and again? Wouldn’t the ultimate wildfire be wielded by chaos itself? Wou-

#lmk qi xiaotian #lego monkie kid #lmk #lmk theory #lmk analysis #honestly? I doubt this is the case and I hope I’m explaining this well because I’m so tired #speck rambles #long post #monkie kid #lmk mk #lmk season 4 #I wanna give credit to the other theorists and people whom I’ve shared my theo #my thoughts with. if you don’t want to be tagged. forgive me #but also check those people out! #lmk samadhi fire #I sleep now

[quitealotofsodapop]

I've had a funny thought. What if the other two celestial monkeys, Gibbon and Baboon, were still alive, they were just off-planet? Like, moved to the Andromeda Galaxy far away, to get away from whatever bullshit and trouble they caused (because of course they did, they're celestial monkeys after all) and have been living there only with Buddha contacting them once in a while with messages on stuff going on (and since it is a different galaxy, it takes a while for the messages to go to them).

I am saying this, because I had the funny image of them finding out about MK (and later the twins) and they wanted to meet the others finally.

I dunno why they were moving like 1930s cartoon characters when meeting the fam in my minds eye, but they were.

And got knocked away by SWK for that. But it's all good later. So many stories shared.

Seeing how the Long-Armed/Connected Arms Gibbon is apparently able to quote "Seize the sun and the moon, Shorten a thousand mountains, Distinguish the auspicious from the inauspicious, And manipulate planets and stars." It would be easy assume they're probably an extremely powerful astral creature.

Meanwhile ol' Red-Buttocked Horse Monkey/Baboon is just; "Has knowledge of yin and yang, Understands human affairs, Is adept in its daily life And able to avoid death and lengthen its life." which is just being socially aware.

It would be hilarious if they were the OG troublemakers, like even to a degree that the Buddha had to step in. Probably drove the last few Celestial Emperors nuts with how much nonesense they got up to. Sun Wukong and Macaque may have even known them as when they were very young. Eventually they just went on vacation to a different galaxy and never came back (and all of the Realms sighed with relief). They likely chill amongst the stars along with banished/exiled Celestial Beings - Princess Zhinu and her family to name a few. This doesn't mean that they don't still cause trouble for Earth however.

Gibbon: "Hey Babs! Look at this little guy!" *holds out an angry-looking lump of cosmic energy* Baboon: "Hmm. Looks like a piece of Hundun left over from when the Heavens and Earth were one in the same, Gibs." Gibbon: "...wanna see how far I can chuck it?" :3 Baboon: "Aim for China, I wanna see if it'll causes a ruckus for the new divine Emperor." Gibbon: *winds up the energy lump like a baseball and chucks it*

*Many years later in the Celestial Realm* Lao Tzu, looking through a telescope: "...oh damn. I should tell the Emperor about that weird comet coming straight towards Earth."

I love the mental image of the Gibbon and Baboon moving like rubberhose cartoon characters - the long arms on Gibbon and the legs on Baboon just moving like they're Cuphead NPCs. Maybe so many eons in deep space does that to your movements. Meanwhile poor SWK and Mac are terrified.

#long armed gibbon #red buttocked horse monkey #journey to the west #lmk #lego monkie kid #the monkey king and the infant #the monkey king and the infant au #lmk mystic monkeys #gif warning #lmk the other celestial primates #lmk character ideas #lmk gibbon #lmk baboon #lmk backstory hcs

[imminent-danger-came]

So, I love the Eldritch Abomination MK TheoryTM. Really hope they are going for something like that. I do wonder, though, if they'll do this by making MK secretly one of the other celestial monkies. There are two appart from Wukong and Macaque mentioned in JTTW, though not much is said beyond "They exist, they are called this and can do that." The one I am thinking of is the Long Armed Gibbon, who's said to be able to move the sun and moon. The show does cut out to space a lot when MK does something big with his powers.

“The first,” said Tathagata, “is the Stone Monkey of Numinous Wisdom, who knows transformations, recognizes the seasons, discerns the advantages of earth, and is able to alter the course of planets and stars. The second is the Red-Buttocked Horse Monkey, who has knowledge of yin and yang, understands human affairs, is adept in its daily life and able to avoid death and lengthen its life. The third is the Tongbi Gibbon, who can seize the sun and the moon, shorten a thousand mountains, distinguish the auspicious from the inauspicious, and manipulate planets and stars. The fourth is the Six-Eared Macaque who has a sensitive ear, discernment of fundamental principles, knowledge of past and future, and comprehension of all things. These four kinds of monkeys are not classified in the ten categories [of life], nor are they contained in the names between Heaven and Earth.” (Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 3, p. 115).

(A Quick Study of the Four Celestial Primates from Journey to the West)

EAMK Theory™ has the potential to be applied in a lot of different ways, which is part of the reason I'm so fond of it! Maybe MK is a celestial primate, maybe he's something else, who knows!

But, say MK was originally a celestial primate...

Out of the 2 other primates, the Long Armed Gibbon definitely feels the most applicable to MK:

seizing the sun and moon,

shortening a thousand mountains,

distinguish the auspicious from inauspicious,

and manipulating the planets and stars.

It's also interesting that both the stone monkey and the long armed gibbon are described as "altering the course/manipulating the planets and stars". It's hard to say anything more on the matter because we know so little about the other celestial primates, but in regards to long arms.....

#yes maybe I *am* reaching with that last one what of it #Literally. Who knows. Who knows! #asks #eamk theory #lmk theory #lmk #lmk MK #lego monkie kid #monkie kid #really had a brain blast with the ''distinguish the auspicious from inauspicious'' one #LIKE HMMM. THAT IS WHAT MK DOES A LOT ISN'T IT. ''Hey come on it'd be sooo beneficial if we worked together!''

[cuprohastes]

Tell me Hu-Man, what is this thing you call "Cou-gar"?

Garfield "Garf" Blooms and her pocket Husbeast, Un-Named Male paused while savagely mauling a 12mm Penta-bolt that had managed to prevent her from accessing the cooling lines she was supposedly checking.

"Hey Dave," the Atrix female said to the female Tsin who was working a diagnostic wand into one of 38 inspection ports.

"'Sup. my Graak?" said Dave The Human.

"Well you're officially a human male, so I have a Human question for you." Garf stated, as she tucked Un-named into her pouch using a finger on his snout, pulled her apron shield up and adopted an unladylike stance to put her considerable weight into either shearing the bolt off or demonstrating the superiority of purple kangaroo dinosaurs. "I heard, Grak! Someone being referred to as a Coo-gah. GRAAK! But when I asked what that was, Nnnng MOVE DAMN YOU! GRAK ON YOU AND YOUR ANCESTORS! Oh there we go. Uh yeah so I was told it was a human-male thing. So...?"

Dave The Human, rubbed her chin. "Ah right right... Not a Grak, mate." she said. "I mean officially of course I know, proper Human stuff, that. But unofficially, no Idea."

Un-Named said "Grak?! Grak!" from Garf's pouch. She gave Dave a rippling blue look, and said "Now look. You taught him a dirty word".

Dave adopted a pose of wounded innocence. "Who do you think taught ME?" she said.

So Garf, (Licenced Life Support Specialist, Interspecies nutritionist, and three time Station Yo-Yo champion), Dave the Human (Tsin female and Human male, Class Five structural Analysis specialist, Doctorate in Human studies from Eilwohm Academic) and Un-Named Male (Small, cute) finished making sure that nobody was going to get broiled on one side and flash frozen on the other, put a Self Sealing Stem Bolt into the hole the Pentabolt came out of, had a short but very moving funeral for the Pentabolt before they consigned it gravely to the recycling system.

After that they went to find some Humans to interrogate.

Of course that meant Dave the Human. Banjo and Cowboy were both at the table, And the EVA specialist who called his suit Oscar and docked at port 43.

And because EVA 43 was there, so was Atrix and Atrix. Those three were virtually in each other's pouches, Garf noted.

"Allright dudes?" said Dave the Human and shuffled up the cafeteria bench so Dave The Human could get in and drape her short tail over the back.

Garf and Atrix did the Atrix Stare and flickered a whole bunch of stuff at each other, then got opposing benches and dumped their little guys out onto the table to socialise.

Atrix never sit side by side if they can help it. They like to keep an eye on each other's faces.

Garf tried to recall the EVA 43's name. She was always started when she saw them because that's good old 43 right there, seen them around for years, had a huge face-off at the last Yo-Yo tournament, but if anyone asked for a description, they just never seemed to come to mind.

She was momentarily distracted by Atrix who was running a side-channel of literal colour commentary.

"You picked a name out?" Garf asked casually. Atrix rattled her claw tips on the table, replying, "I was going with Vulva, but apparently it's inauspicious. Dave are you OK? You seem to be choking on your water?"

Dave confirmed that he was in fact OK. Banjo, a dark skinned man with great taste in makeup said he was just checking to see if he'd evolved gills.

"So!" said Garf, "I heard there's a human term: Coo-Gah?"

Cowboy snickered. "Did you ask Dave?" she asked, and Dave The Human nodded. "Yup. Told her it was a Human thing." she said.

Dave the Human and Banjo seemed delighted. "Ah hum, human Cultural Studies!" said Banjo, and Dave the Human added, "This is gonna be a riot."

All five humans clustered up to discuss it.

"It's got to be Stars." Cowboy said and the Daves pulled their communicators out. Dave got through first.

"Stars?" said Garf and looked out the window. Un-Named male said "Grak." and she said "Oh... Stars Like Seeds In The Field?"

"Yeah" said Cowboy "Hang on..."

Dave unfolded his tablet and propped it up at the end of the table so it could see everyone. The Dave Squad chivvied EVA 43 around to sit at the end.

Sars looked out at everyone, did the Atrix Stare at Garf and Atrix. "OK... what's the gig?" she asked.

Banjo was grinning delightedly and put his hands flat on the table. "The brief is that EVA 43..." EVA 43 made a noise of protest but apparently, Banjo couldn't recall their name either. "... is under thirty, single and at a bar." Someone slid EVA 43 a drinking tumbler and they shifted for more of a lean, getting into character.

"Uhuh, Oh got it! OK this will be fun" said Star.

Her voice dropped, getting a little husky, raspy. Garf didn't know how she'd managed that but it was impressive.

"Well hello there sweetie, what's a nice boy doing in a dive like this?"

Garf's eyes bulged and Dave The Human looked stupefied.

"Jsut havening drink... ma'am" 43 stated and swirled his tumbler of water.

Star shot back, "Oh well, Mmm, Mama likes what she sees... maybe you can buy me a drink."

Garf thought she was starting to get it, and shot a look at EVA 43, and was surprised to see his face had changed colour.

Humans, it should be noted, are fascinating to Atrix, partly because they're not a nice dusty purple colour and they always seem to be saying only one thing with the colour of their face. And then they put on cosmetics and sometimes it's just colour, and sometimes it's like a hilarious mis-translated slogan and some poor human is walking around with their face stating nonsense concepts. Atrix face colours are not words, they're more fuzzy, and conceptual. Right now EVA 43 is giving all the Atrix at the table the impression they would like a juicy fruit.

For the next couple of minutes, Stars flirted with EVA 43 in a way that had Dave, Banjo and Cowboy sobbing with laughter, and Dave The Human very bemused. Stars was laying it on thick, and several statements didn't really parse.

"It's innuendo," whispered Dave The human "And double entendres"

EVA 43 tried gamely to keep up but soon was blushing and stuttering. "OK OK, enough! Dammit Stars Like Seeds In the Field, now I have to get an Atrix pin up for my locker."

Stars was very amused. They poped back up their regular speaking voice "Oh any time, that was hilarious. Y'all OK? Someone check on Cowboy, I think she stopped breathing."

"Thanks Stars!" Cowboy said as Dave mimed CPR on her. "We owe you a drink!".

EVA 43 fanned themself. "That woman was writing a check her biology cannot cash." they said and downed the tumbler of water.

Cowboy nodded. "One of the best voice actors in the business, but her first love is stellar cartography." she said proud of her colleague, "Also she did the samples for the station computer system." she added with a cheeky grin. Everyone considered this. The Station's Human Language voice was notably male.

"Wow." EVA 43 said, "That is impressive range."

"Damn' straight." Stars stated and reached to end the call. "See you around, Space Cowboy!"

#humans are fun #humans are space bards #humans being weird little guys #humans are space orcs #atrix #Station Stories #Garf #Dave The human #Dave the human

[lmk-aus-galore]

“There was only one place the Celestial Monkey could flee, one where even his own brotherhood couldn’t find him.”

“The hiding place of the Monkey BrotherHood.”

“It consisted of the Four…Strongest Celestial Primates created into the world.”

The Red-Buttocked Horse Monkey

“Has Knowledge of the Yin and Yang,Understands human affairs and adept in its daily life, able to avoid death and lengthen its life”

The Long Armed Gibbon

“Can seize the sun and the moon, Shorten Mountains, Distinguish Auspicious from inauspicious and manipulate planets and stars”

The Intelligent Stone Monkey.

“The Great Sage Equal to Heaven Sun Wukong, Knows Transformations, Recognizes the Seasons, Discerns the advantages of Earth, and is able to alter the course of planets and stars”

The Six-Eared Macaque.

“A sensitive ear, discernment of fundamental principles, knowledge of past and future and comprehension of all things.”

Making a whole ass AU for them, I’m just calling it ‘Primate Brotherhood AU’ for the way they are ordered, that’s how old I headcanon each of them are.

#lego monkie kid #lmk #mk lmk #lmk mk #lmk sun wukong #lmk monkey king #monkie kid #lmk macaque #jttw #journey to the west #Four Celestial Primates #Primate Brotherhood AU #chikau mahou #Tongbei yuanhou

[ncisfranchise-source]

The NCIS franchise will be airing its 1,000th episode on April 15, and CBS Studios President David Stapf has been involved in every single one of them. Because he was head of CBS current programming at the time, he even participated in the development of the mothership series from Day 1 because it originated as two back-door pilot episodes of an existing show, JAG, that aired in April 2003. He was in on all casting sessions and still remembers Pauley Perrette’s audition that won her the role of Abby in the room.

Scheduled against then-Fox juggernaut American Idol, NCIS, about a little known branch of the U.S. military, got off to an inauspicious start, finishing its first season ranked #26. By Season 7, it was the most watched TV drama, holding its own against Idol, and became the most watched program overall three seasons later while also ruling syndication.

CBS’ Entertainment President Amy Reisenbach has been with the show since Season 8 when she was assigned as the day-to-day current executive on the drama and quickly became a fan. At the time NCIS had already spawned one spinoff, NCIS: LA. It was followed by NCIS: New Orleans in 2014; the franchise’s first female-led offshoot NCIS: Hawai’i in 2021; the first international installment, NCIS: Sydney, last year; as well as the upcoming prequel NCIS: Origins for CBS, executive produced and narrated by Mark Harmon and starring Austin Stowell as Leroy Jethro Gibbs in the 1990s; and an Europe-set Tony & Ziva spinoff for Paramount+, starring NCIS alums Michael Weatherly and Cote de Pablo.

The latest pickups make NCIS the largest procedural franchise ever with five current series. They also will help grow the franchise’s global audience, estimated to be more than 300 million viewers in 2023 by producer CBS Studios, which has licensed it in over 200 markets, and the franchise’s staggering current U.S. tally of 4.37 trillion minutes viewed.

In an interview with Deadline, Stapf and Reisenbach, who was promoted to the CBS Entertainment president post in November 2022, discuss expanding the NCIS universe, how the latest additions came about and potential crossovers. They provide an update on the Tony & Ziva spinoff’s title, production start date and possible cast additions, and on the renewal status for NCIS and NCIS: Hawai’i. The duo also address the prospects for Mark Harmon to appear on NCIS or Origins and for a potential Perrette and Scott Bakula return to the franchise, share plans for further NCIS installments, and how big the franchise can get.

DEADLINE: NCIS: Sydney just got picked up yesterday for a second season. What about NCIS and NCIS Hawai’i? Are you already working on their renewals?

REISENBACH: Like we talked about it a couple months ago, NCIS is a cornerstone of our schedule. The actors love doing it, and the writers continue to fire on all cylinders. As far as the future, we’re thrilled to have them on the air and they want to keep doing it, so we’re going to keep doing it.

DEADLINE: So it’s looking good for NCIS and Hawai’i to come back next season?

REISENBACH: It’s still only March, and we haven’t made all of our deals and decision-making so it’s a little early to officially confirm anything.

DEADLINE: Sydney was used as strike contingency last fall. What was the impetus to bring it back to CBS with the strike over? Are you going to use it as a summer series?

REISENBACH: I can’t tell you where it’s going to air yet because we haven’t figured that out to be honest. Again, that’s sort of the too soon to tell category. But the show resonated, it was the number one show until we brought back the rest of the schedule. It came on and did really well without much of our launch platform.

We had a great launch campaign for it, if you remember, we did these amazing upside-down promos during football that got a lot of attention. So I think just the fact that it launched with very little original programming surrounding it and did so well, it has earned a spot back on the schedule at some point for sure.

DEADLINE: In expanding the NCIS franchise, you originally took the traditional route, replicating the general formula in a new location with LA and New Orleans. Then in close succession, you ordered Hawai’i and Australia-set Sydney, which have a similar setup, followed by the pickups of prequel Origins and the Tony and Ziva spinoff this year. When did that accelerated expansion master plan start and where are we in it right now?

STAPF: The master plan started a long time ago. We had NCIS. It certainly worked well enough to spawn a spinoff, LA, which also worked really well, that was on for 13 years, I think that show doesn’t get the credit it deserves as expanding the franchise but also deepening the love of the franchise for viewers.

We knew and always wanted to expand it, but when you’re dealing with a franchise, you don’t want to oversaturate the market, you don’t want to dilute the value of each individual show. So it really comes down to somebody coming in with an idea for a show that could stand on its own and could be part of the franchise but is wholly unique from any of the others. Hawai’i certainly did that in the way that it was unique, a female lead, set in Hawaii. We were just coming off Hawaii Five-0, a very successful show. People love that setting, it plays well over the globe.

REISENBACH: There is a big military presence too in Hawaii that makes sense.

STAPF: Sydney certainly was not intended for the States. The strike afforded the network the ability to utilize it but that was going to be P+ Australia and Network 10. I would love to say we didn’t get lucky, that it was planned, we knew it was going to be as great as it is. But we got lucky, that show is really well done. It very much has the DNA of what makes NCIS work, humor, family, etc.

In the case of Origins, Mark and Sean Harman had this idea with [writers] David North and Gina Monreal, and they brought it to us. I was like, oh my gosh, this idea is great. Commissioned a script, the script was even better. So it’s like, okay, can this show exist within the framework of the franchise we have? And we do believe it can, particularly because it’s a prequel. And because NCIS has been on for so long and Mark’s been gone for a while, there’s genuine interest in, how did Gibbs become Gibbs, who was that guy? So again, there was an organic reason to do it vs. us just saying, let’s just throw on another NCIS.

Tony and Ziva, it’s one of the most unrequited love stories for the audience, the audience loved Tony and Ziva. And in the audience’s mind, and in our mind, they left too soon. So, reuniting them with a global audience is the intent on that show. And because it’s going to be on Paramount+, it can exist within the universe without, in our minds, cannibalizing anything else.

REISENBACH: I would also add just two things to that. One, I think that [CBS President and CEO] George Cheeks arriving [in 2020], he really embraced the show and saw the potential and immediately identified that as an area to be looking at when opportunities arise. And I think the [NCIS-LA-Hawai’i] three-way crossover we did, the fact that it was so successful for us. The fans loved it so much and the actors and the writers loved doing it, and it showed that they love the opportunity to see these worlds and these characters collide.

DEADLINE: You mentioned how Origins came about but not the Tony and Ziva spinoff. How did it originate?

STAPF: Michael and Cote have been talking about this show for years and years and years. So they were the ones that cooked up the rough edges of the idea, went to [writer] John McNamara, along with us, saying, we’d love to do this show. And the timing was right.

DEADLINE: Did that happen after the end of Michael’s other CBS show, Bull?

STAPF: They had started talking about it before, somewhere after they had both left NCIS. Put yourself in their shoes. They’re constantly getting hit up by fans as to, oh my god, I miss you. When are you going to be back together, what happened to your child and all that stuff. And so, again, I keep saying it but there was an organic reason for this show to exist, it was almost like a fan demand for it.

DEADLINE: You mentioned that they may have left too soon. Why did they leave so soon?

STAPF: In the fans’ minds. They would want them on for a 100 years.

REISENBACH: Well, both of them were on the show a long time.

STAPF: A really, really long time.

DEADLINE: Do we have a title for the Tony and Ziva spinoff yet?

STAPF: Not yet.

DEADLINE: Amy, are you jealous that the spinoff didn’t come to CBS?

REISENBACH: Hm, jealous? Yeah, a little bit, I’m not going to lie, sure. I’m a Tiva fan like everyone else. BTW, the phrase Tiva was one of the original couple names that ever existed, I don’t think we get enough credit for that.

But we all work together. We are all one ecosystem, and I have no doubt that Origins and the shows that live on the network will drive viewers over at P+ and likewise their show will send them back our way, and that’s what matters most, that people are watching it and I think, it’s such a treat for the fans no matter wherever it airs.

DEADLINE: Was there even a conversation for the spinoff to air on CBS or was it always supposed to be a Paramount+ show?

STAPF: No, it was always designed to be a streaming show.

DEADLINE: Would the premiere at least air on CBS in the tradition of P+ shows with CBS history such as Star Trek: Discovery or SEAL Team?

STAPF: It’s a good question. We haven’t dealt with it yet. We don’t start shooting until summer so I’ll start annoying Amy with that sometime this summer.

DEADLINE: Is there a possibility for other former NCIS cast members to join Michael Weatherly and Code de Pablo in the new series?

STAPF: In all honesty, as it’s designed now, no, but never say never.

DEADLINE: This is your second internationally-based NCIS spinoff after Sydney, which is interesting since NCIS is a unit of the U.S. military that does not exist abroad. You found two different ways to extend the franchise beyond the U.S. Do you have ideas for more offshoots in other areas of the world and how are you going to pull that off?

STAPF: There could be but we don’t look at the setting or the geographical location determining what the story should be. It’s more about what’s a good story to tell, where would this organically happen? We’re constantly fielding pitches and coming up with ideas of our own. But you don’t want to rush anything, you want to get it right. You certainly don’t want to, like I said before, dilute the shows that are on by having too much on or having any that are on that aren’t of the quality of the rest of them.

DEADLINE: Do you have anything currently in development in the NCIS universe?

STAPF: Nothing that’s close enough to talk about.

DEADLINE: But in the plan, is there a timetable about maybe adding a new series to the universe every couple of years? You’ve announced four in the past three years.

STAPF: If it organically comes about, and there’s a reason for that show to exist, then yes. But we’re not looking at it as a math problem of, we want two every four years…

REISENBACH: It’s not like when they announced Star Wars and they said, there’ll be a new Star Wars movie every year. We don’t have a plan like that.

STAPF: We don’t want a plan like that.

DEADLINE: Amy mentioned the success of the three-way crossover. What are the possibilities, particularly for the Tony and Ziva show, to be part of NCIS crossovers? Can they appear on NCIS? Michael recently did a cameo in the David McCallum tribute episode. Was it tied to his work on the spinoff?

REISENBACH: I can speak to the cameo. That was just Michael wanting to honor David McCallum, and we thought it was important as well to make sure that we tied in iconic characters like that. He just wanted to show up and was game to do it because of his love of the show.

STAPF: And his love for David. it was such a nice moment for the fans too.

DEADLINE: And in terms of potential crossovers?

STAPF: There could be. We’re not there yet, writers room just started on Tony and Ziva.

REISENBACH: With Origins, I don’t see a possibility because it takes place in the past but we’re always looking for opportunities. It was obviously a shortened season, so it was tough to do that [with NCIS and Hawai’i] this year. Otherwise we would have. We’ll keep looking for those opportunities for sure.

DEADLINE: On Origins, Mark Harmon is an executive producer and a narrator. He could appear in flash-forwards. Is this something that’s you’re considering? And is there a possibility for Mark to return to NCIS one day?

REISENBACH: The door for Mark is always open, It’s really up to him. In terms of flash-forwards, I don’t think it’s something we’ve talked about, that doesn’t feel like the DNA of that show to me, at least right now. But you never know, when we’re in Season 10, we’re taking creative risks and having fun. So if that’s something Gina and David wanted to tackle down the road, we’d be open to it.

DEADLINE: You have brought back a few actors from other NCIS shows, LA‘s LL Cool J is now on Hawai’i. Is this something that you’re planning to continue, keeping the universe going? Can we see New Orleans‘ Scott Bakula pop up somewhere; we haven’t seen him in a couple of years.

STAPF: It’s really writer-driven. As Amy said, we’re open to anything and everything. So if any of the writers have a good idea, and it feels organic, and more on story and make sense versus just doing it to do a stunt, sure, we are open to it.

REISENBACH: [LA‘s] Daniela [Ruah] has been directing, she started directing on LA, she’s directing on Hawai’i and NCIS mothership this year as well. I think when you get into this universe and become a part of the family, we’re always happy to have you back in any capacity.

DEADLINE: What about Pauley? Is there a possibility for her either returning to NCIS or you doing a new show around her character Abby the way you treated Tony and Ziva?

STAPF: Not a bad idea. We haven’t talked about it or thought about it. We love Pauley, and she’s always welcome in any of the NCIS franchise, but it hasn’t come to us from the writers and/or from her. I kind of was kidding when I said, it’s not a bad idea but it’s genuinely not a bad idea, she was a beloved character.

DEADLINE: NCIS was a late bloomer, rising to the top of the rankings later in its run. It seems like it was one of those shows that just stuck around, something that maybe wouldn’t have happened in today’s environment when shows get canceled much faster.

STAPF: Except it was around its second or third season, Armando Nuñez, our head of distribution, called me and said, are you noticing what’s going on with NCIS internationally? I was like, no, that’s your job. And he said, it’s exploding. Every market it was in, it was doing extraordinarily well. It was selling really well, which was always a surprise to me because it’s about a unit of the military that nobody had ever really heard of. And it was a very American military [show] so I figured it’s not going to work over there, but it did.

So it was a bigger hit globally than it was in the U.S., and the U.S. sort of trailed it. It really started to take off — maybe it wasn’t number one — but it climbed in the ratings precipitously. I think in year four or five, it became hey, this show is doing something.

DEADLINE: Over the years, NCIS has dealt with major cast departures, including Mark Harmon, the deaths of showrunner Gary Glasberg and David McCallum, behind-the-scene changes. To what do you attribute the longevity of show which continues to be at the top of the ratings?

REISENBACH: For me, I attribute it to the fact that there’s always been a core feeling that the people who write the show, the people who produce it, the crew and the actors, no matter whether they were there from the beginning or not, they understand the DNA of the show, and they’ve always stayed true to that.

Nobody who’s come in has ever been like, oh, well now I need to fix it. Everyone understood it’s a concept that works, it’s characters that work. And it’s not about those specific characters, but the type of characters and the specificity of the characters and the love that these characters show each other so openly that I think has transcended, no matter who’s running the show, or who’s been on the show at any given time.

STAPF: It’s sort of wish fulfillment TV. You want to know that there are people like this in the world that have your back from a law enforcement agency angle, but it’s also a fun workplace show, and the bond that they have and the sh*t that they give each other and the way that they interact, is comforting.

The show has a ton of heart, humor, always has a good mystery. And I think there’s something comforting to, the bad guys are always identified and put down by the good guys or our guys. And that happens on an episodic basis. I think that the comfort of that has hit the right chord with the audiences for 21 years and will continue on for another 20 years or something. I honestly believe this franchise will never get stale.

REISENBACH: I think being in Season 21 doesn’t lower the degree of difficulty. If anything, it makes it harder. They’ve got 400-plus episodes behind them of quality shows, and the fact that they continue to hold themselves up to such a high standard. As long as they’re shooting for the stars — and all the shows really are — we want to keep doing them.

DEADLINE: Do you have a dream NCIS spinoff? What do you want to see from the universe going forward?

STAPF: Just that it continues to resonate like it is. There’s a stat like 300 million people watched an NCIS last year. Clearly, globally, it’s resonating with viewers. So to continue that, the level of quality on the shows, along with pleasing and garnering the audience that we’re getting. And it’s kind of fun. It’s wild to think that there’s five NCIS series.

REISENBACH: But also unique.

STAPF: Exactly.

DEADLINE: Is five as big as it gets in terms of how many NCISs you can sustain at the same time?

STAPF: Not necessarily. It will come down to the individual shows that we develop. I think if there’s the right timing and fit within the universe, then it doesn’t have to be limited to five.

REISENBACH: We are always asking and challenging not only the writers who are pitching to us but ourselves, why now? Why does it need to exist, what feels fresh?

DEADLINE: So what is the goal? The NCIS franchise is hitting 1,000 episodes. Do you think you can get to 2,000?

STAPF: For me the goal is that in 10 years, there’s other people sitting in our seats that are watching over NCIS.

REISENBACH: Where am I going? I just got this job.

STAPF: OK, in 20 years.

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