#time to read another tragic romance and feel human again ;)

[walkawaytall]

I am very stressed about a thing that I can’t discuss right now that I have literally no control over, so here’s some

fanfic writer asks

that I came up with all on my own. Ask ‘em, share ‘em, do whatever.

Have you pulled inspiration from media sources other than the property your fic is related to (a plot point from a TV show that has nothing to do with the characters/setting of the fic, a line from a book, etc.)? If so, for which story? Why did you find that media source compelling?

What is your favorite paragraph from (insert story title you want to know about here, or leave it blank for writer’s choice)? Is there a reason it’s your favorite?

What is the most amount of research you’ve done for the smallest detail? What was the detail and how much time/effort went into researching it?

Share a headcanon about (character name) in (story title)!

Is there a tiny detail in one of your fics that you feel goes tragically unnoticed?

What is your favorite type of feedback to receive (favorites/kudos, comments, DMs, complete and utter silence in the pursuit of remaining unperceived?)? If comments or DMs or anything else involving a reader writing, do you have a particular type of feedback that excites you more than other types?

Share a line or paragraph you’ve written that you don’t think will ever actually be posted in anything! (Or, if you don’t hoard cut sentences and passages like I do, share anything you want that has yet to see the light of day!)

Is there a story idea you have that you would love if it could appear fully realized but that you do not think you’ll ever write yourself?

Do you prefer to read angst or fluff? Which do you prefer to write?

If you could banish a single trope to live at the bottom of the ocean, never to be seen again by any human eyes (or at least your own), which trope would that be?

Conversely, if you had to pick a single trope to read for the next seven-and-half years, which trope would that be?

What are your thoughts on slow burn romances?

Are you secretly Tara Gilesbie aka XXXbloodyrists666XXX aka author of infamous Harry Potter fanfiction serial My Immortal? (you can trust me; I won’t tell anyone, pinky promise)

Has anyone ever created anything (art, a podfic, another fic, etc.) inspired by your work? Which work? How did you feel about that?

Is there any genre, trope, or style that you find particularly challenging to write? Do you enjoy the challenge or prefer to avoid it?

Is there a commonly held misconception about one of your stories that you’d like to correct for the masses?

What does your editing process look like?

Share a headcanon relating to (insert desired theme here)!

What was the very first fanwork you ever created? (I’m talking like maybe you made a little book out of construction paper and staples with your favorite Disney characters drawn in it when you were five years old or you drew a comic about a movie you saw when you were a preteen. That sort of thing.)

Is there anything about any one of your fics that you have been dying to discuss but haven’t had the chance to?

#my asks #fic writer asks #fanfic writer ask game #fanfic writer asks #fanfic writer ask #ask away

[punkpandapatrixk]

🐌Destined Person's Spiritual Assistance in Your Personal Development—Timeless Tarot Pick A Card

[Happy Tanabata Festival!🎋Bonus content for this PAC is now Public for everyone! Read here for the whole Orihime and Hikoboshi epic romance if you love cosmic love stories~]

On the glowing surface of the moon, Time sat with Destiny, and over tea pondered the question of reconciliation. The conclusion to Yang and Yin’s melodramatic dance, Destiny told Time there was a particular issue that would need to be addressed:

In the theatre of the Universe, it was all mere performance for the entertainment of Infinite Intelligence; but the divine Lovers had been all too absorbed in their roles they had now begun to lose sight of their true Divine Nature. If they were to meet now, it would be by karma that they reunite; soon enough, tears would spill again and the Lovers would have to do another round of dance. Again and again...

One hundred thousand memories of tears, hatred, vengeance; they would drown all memories of laughter, love, compassion. Destiny said: ‘It has been a while the two Lovers battle each other. If they could learn to assist one another instead in the amelioration of Gaia’s helter-skelter, I promise by Law of the Cosmos they shall be reunited in true happiness. Forever and ever…’

And thus, here we are the sons and daughters of Yang and Yin playing out roles in the vast theatre of the Universe. Our consciousness dances back and forth emerging and submerging between the corporeal and incorporeal realms. Undoing the threads of karma we trace back the root of our service to Infinite Intelligence. Until all sadness dissolves... Until all sadness dissolves... And only memories of Love unite all beings in dharma.

[Back to Masterlist] [Part 1] [Part 2]

Pile 1 – ‘Your Highness, You Command Magick!’

Destiny’s Orchestra – Queen of Pentacles Rx

In the drama of Human incarnation, you’ve forgotten your immense power of manifestation. You were born into an environment where most of the time most people operate on poverty mindset. This could translate into various scenarios, i.e.: you were born poor so you believe poverty is the natural state of being; your parents held a poor man’s mindset; your entire society was brimming with stingy and deceitful human beings; or just… you literally grew up with a lot of limitations. All kinds of limitations, even if not financially.

-I remember how the leader and founder of X JAPAN, YOSHIKI told of his childhood: being sickly, he was always confined within the walls of the hospital and doctors telling him he couldn’t do this or that. His entire childhood was just limitations and limitations due to frail health, but he ‘unmei wo sakaratta’—he rebelled against Destiny’s orchestration.-

You have a very similar struggle with the illusion of limitation. The limitation placed in your mind is the creation of your environment, but that is far from the real divine power that you are. You’re essentially this powerhouse of abundance who’s destined for so much you will never go dry no matter how much you’ve spent on both yourself and charity.

YOSHIKI's rockumentary WE ARE X, I feel, will inspire you tons. It is because I feel incredibly strongly for this Pile: you have immense power within you waiting to be released. And that’s because you’re meant to be a Harbinger of a Revolution—like YOSHIKI himself did to Japan’s entire society!

Destined Person’s Spiritual Assistance – 8 of Wands Rx

You came into this world to play a heroic, albeit somewhat tragic, character who started with a lot of adversity. Manifestation may have been a very difficult thing for you, or if anything, at one point you’ve come to believe you can only manifest unrealistically unideal situations!

‘Honey, it’s all a Game. Remember this isn’t the true you,’ said your Destined Person from the Higher Realms. Even when the progression of your Life feels slow, your Destined Person’s Higher Self is always here with you. They act like a Spirit Guide, which may even feel like a spirit animal to some of you.

From the very beginning of your spiritual transformation—these things people call the Dark Nights of the Soul, etc.—your Destined Person’s Higher Self has been watching you closely to uphold your faith even when you feel like you couldn’t go on anymore. If you listen closely enough, you’ll hear their guidance that seems to constantly direct you towards finding ideas, artwork, public figures (including celebrities), books, movies, music, etc., that seem to remind you of your great Divine Potentials.

Path Towards Your Highest Destiny – Knight of Cups

Your Destined Person is actively seeking to wake you up from this mediocre dream of an Earthly Life. Your essence is regal, and if only you would believe it, the world is quite literally under your command—both the spiritual and the mundane worlds. There is an air of nobility to you, and check this out, this may have something to do with your DNA, too. This may be clear as day for some, and this may be rather murky for some. For example:

You could be descended from blue bloods; maybe one of your great-great-great grandparents or something was the bastard child of a nobleman LMAO; or on a lighter note, you could’ve been kings or queens in previous incarnations; or more magical still, you could be an actual king or queen of the fairies in another realm of existence. Whatever the case may be, you’ve got the regal shit. Okay? And taking full advantage of that would be to your…advantage in this incarnation, regardless of what circumstances you’ve been born into.

In fact, by this energy, I’m sensing that your Destined Person’s human incarnation is also someone who exudes an aura of regality themselves. Heed, my friends: some of you attracted to this Pile, your Destined Person could be someone in the public eye, and if you happen to already know who they are, yes, this is your confirmation. And yes… I know you’re inspired tons by their aura of expensiveness LMAO What you see in them is a mirror reflection of the sparkles you hold within yourself. Now blast~!

Isabella’s Lullaby🔻❤️

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 2 – ‘Dear Lovely, You Create Magick!’

Destiny’s Orchestra – King of Pentacles

In the theatre of Human Incarnation, you grew up thinking you must only be a certain profession that’s been approved by your society. Problem is, the range of approved professions is narrow and they’re, for the most part, boring as fuck for their rigidity and drabness. But worse still, they’re the kind of profession that would require you to really toughen up—both on the inside and outside.

And you agreed almost mindlessly because that’s the world you were born into. No question, this is the only path for me, think you. But that kills you. For little did your little self knew, you’re a natural-born artist—born into this world to flow like water and paint beautiful pictures. Pictures meant to come alive. You’re a painter of life itself and everything that comes out of you breathes beauty.

Beauty permeates you and thus you emanate beauty. If you’re able to break the spell of mundanity, you’ll naturally develop yourself as the talented artist you essentially are. Hard work may have been the setting of your Human drama, but that is not you at all. That cheatful Destiny, sending you off to an environment that’s the complete opposite of what you divinely are!

Destined Person’s Spiritual Assistance – Ace of Pentacles

-Do you notice the contrast between the King and Ace of Pentacles here?-

You were plunged into a hard setting of an environment (like everything was already settled and decided), but here your Destined Person’s Higher Self is guiding you to see things a tad differently. Sure, sure, pentacles are important, but you ought to see them from a different light.

Money/career/status… those things in themselves don’t just bring fulfilment to your Soul. It is what you do to earn money that brings true spiritual satisfaction. It is what you contribute to causes you care about that brings a real sense of meaning to your Earthly life. It is how you have carefully chosen your own path that you will be spared regrets.

Your Destined Person wants to remind you at all times that you needn’t be so hard on yourself. There’s magick in the air which you can rely upon for manifestation. But the most important thing of all is that you must see your worth with brand new eyes. Your Destined Person is someone who sees your natural gentleness, compassion, and dazzling artistic talents. They already see this even before they see you in the physical!

Path Towards Your Highest Destiny – 2 of Pentacles Rx

2 of Pentacles, especially in this deck, talks about weighing options. You’re a very considerate person, but you’re also a worrywart, and I feel that your entire Life you’ve always been the type to carefully plan ahead, but all you’re planning is out of alignment with what your Soul wants. So that’s a lot of sacrifice when you look at things from a grander scale. And not the noble kind of sacrifice.

You should take it easy and take a deep breath of release. Prioritise your mental health and do what you want from the soul—not the ego that wants to fit in and play safe. If you rebel like that against the rules of your society, who knows what might happen to for you? That’s way beyond this PAC can read because you’re meant to tread the path and see for yourself what you’re capable of creating.

Trivia: your Destined Person may be an artist themselves or just someone who truly embodies the artist spirit irrespective of what they do to make money. The essence of their Higher Self wants you to remember this: be slow, and flow with the rhythm of your spiritual/creative/passionate desires.

Isabella’s Lullaby🔻🧡

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 3 – ‘You Are Magick, My Dearest~’

-First of all, on my blog, Pile 3s tend to contain the most complex/complicated/extraterrestrial messages. And if you’ve noticed, words and sentences for Pile 3s tend to be the least logical as they’re structured almost abstractly—they’re intuitive and must be understood by your Higher Intelligence—your Soul.

Now this reading is super visual and there’s a lot more you can understand by noticing the crazy contrasts between the colourful artwork of Amano Yoshitaka and the drabness of your tarot & oracle cards. The only tarot that contains the most colour is in Rx… I just thought I needed to point this out for your analysis pleasure.

And yes… I…have decided to entirely disregard the structure I’d created for all the Piles. You don’t need that. Your message is different…-

Destiny’s Orchestra – 10 of Pentacles

Destined Person’s Spiritual Assistance – 4 of Wands Rx

Path Towards Your Highest Destiny – 7 of Pentacles

I feel very strongly that you and your Destined Person were never even separate, in a sense. On a Soul level, you were never apart. You’ve always been together and even now you’re almost like… One. If you’re currently searching for your other-complete-half like the rest of the awakening population, it’s all just a trick of the Maya—the Matrix—the Human World. Seriously, you’ve never been apart for too long nor too far.

But in this theatre of Human Incarnation, indeed you may have had polar opposite roles and experiences. Mirror opposites? I think that’s what they call such a thing. And out of the blue, I want to introduce you to the weird and tragic dynamic of The Shining Prince Hikaru Genji and his first wife Aoi-no-ue.

Aoi-no-ue was 16 years old when she was arranged to marry 12-year-old Prince Genji (already a man by Heian period’s nobility standard, I guess). The Princess was a proud woman and would not open her heart to Genji, but most of all… She felt a horrible sense of inferiority to her husband’s dazzling beauty (even at the age of 12 LMAO). Never really tasting the sweetness of Love by her own resistance, she died young by a demonic spirit.

This, isn’t the dynamic of your relationship with your Destined Person. This is a cautionary tale and one message your Destined Person wouldn’t shut up about as of right now. Here’s what they’re being super noisy about:

‘Do you see the magnificent beauty that is yourself? To me, you are the most exquisite beauty to ever exist. Blossoming more beautifully than any flower or fairy being. Your scent is the sweetest and your voice the most melodious. There’s a gleam in your eyes that simultaneously shakes my heart and puts it at ease. You are a dreamer—you weave beauty into being by just dreaming it. You are the dream—surpassing any standards of magnificence and beauty by just breathing. Your beauty is so shivering it moves Heaven, Earth and Hell.’

-Did you take a shot every time they say beauty or magnificent?-

Anyway, that last part is one reason why you’ve been met with so much hardship: enemies from Hell are actively seeking to destroy you—beginning with your self-worth. The environment you were born into did not have the capacity to understand the exquisite beauty that you are and naturally, they could not value you for your real talents or character. And then, you think you’re worthless (or simply worth less, you know) because nobody has ever told you your true value. Does that make sense? That’s why your Destined Person wanted you to know the story of Aoi-no-ue and then wouldn’t shut up with their praises...

Handsome Genji was affectionate towards Aoi-no-ue, but her inferiority complex prevented her from accepting the exquisite love that Genji was capable of giving. They were not a happy couple despite Genji’s gentleness and kind attention. Why is this important? If you haven’t come around yet, it’s because your Destined Person is also someone mega godly beautiful—man or woman or anything else in between!💗🌈💛But different from you, they know this and flaunt their beauty LMAO

NCT Jaehyun is the most exquisitely handsome man in the world, but with that attractive face and charisma he still has the audacity to say: ‘My charm? My charm is the plot twist charm. Whatever you imagine, I’m more attractive than that.’🥵

You ought to develop such confidence because that is your birth right. That is the important assistance I feel your Destined Person has offered you yet, even if only aetherically at the moment you’re reading this. As you continue to develop yourself enveloped in this beautiful loving energy, so your energetic signature comes to resemble that of your Destined One. And in this way you become a perfect vibrational match whom Destiny shall reunite fully in Love. Forever and ever…

Isabella’s Lullaby🔻💗

Time’s Healing Essence – Red Magus (Edward Kelly)

Destiny’s Gift of Reunion – Priestess of Protection

You need only to meditate upon these cards, but more so on Amano Yoshitaka’s artwork used for Pile 3 whilst listening to Neko to Inu (Cat and Dog) by Sakamoto Maaya🥰

Love yourself. Love your uniqueness. Love all that you are, My Dearest Prettiest Princess~ (or Prince😜)

Access cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Feel free to support me on Patreon if you love this kind of content🍑I create stories and tarot readings that calm the mind & heal from within🍒

[Back to Masterlist] [Part 1] [Part 2]

#Punk Panda Pick A Pic #YOSHIKI #Yoshitaka Amano #pick a card #tarot pick a card #pick a card reading #pick a pile #pac #tarot pac #pac reading #future spouse #tarot future spouse #future spouse reading #fs #astroblr #tarotblr #writblr #witchblr #faery witch #faery aesthetic #faery

[emperorverse]

The Emperor-Verse: RWBY: Saints of Remnant, a reimagined AU(More details in Keep Reading!)

Once there was a world by the name of Omnibus. Created by the supreme deity The Author Allfather through the mysterious entity The Storyteller, this world was composed of four holy and mighty kingdoms, ruled by The Author’s Patron Saints whose reign protected the people, human and faunus alike, with their mighty armies, hunters, and their own holy powers from barbarian hordes, and the hordes of The Grimm who were the incarnations of hatred of the fallen seraph Grimmel The Black and his fellow fallen angels

In the dreadful world-shattering war of Ragnarök, the glorious age of Truth, Goodness, and Beauty, and the days of Romance, Heroism Adventure, and Eucatastrophe came to a tragic end.

Now all that remains is the world that is Remnant

But there is a prophecy made by Ozma The First Time Wizard before his death at the hands of The Witch-Emperor, that one day the bloodlines of the original Patron Saints and the families betrothed to them will return to take up these powers, rally armies of the righteous, vanquish the darkness and restore the holy kingdoms and Omnibus and reign over them once more.

Sinners will become Saints

Legends shall be restored and new Legends will be born

And what was a Remnant, Shall Be Whole Again.

But until then, the Hunters lead a struggling battle against the Grimm while the modern kingdoms suffer under corruption of all kinds, both to the benefit of darker forces who have horrifying intentions for the world.

Cue Ruby Rose and her older half-sister Yang Xiao Long, they are about to enter Beacon Academy after being approved by the eccentric Professor Ozpin Pine along with the heiress Weiss Schnee and the introverted faunus Blake Belladonna forming team RWBY

Ozpin has also enrolled a few other students and transferred others.

The former forming team JNPR, and the latter being Team SSSN of Haven Academy

Ozpin seems to have his eye on all of them, but what for?

Heavily inspired by CS Lewis's series The Chronicles of Narnia

Main Ships Contained:

RoseGarden

BlackSun

Iceberg/Arctic Water

Arkos

Renora

and some other ships

Also will contain unorthodox reimagining such as Adam Taurus(He's an initial antagonist turned good) and the White Fang and Jacques Schnee and the SDC with their Canon!Counterparts replaced with substitutes among other things

Currently the concept is in the works in a series of notes.

Details of the Emperor-Verse

Now I'm sure there's some questions you probably are all asking which I assume are the same questions as my blog

“Why are you using your Religion?”

Mostly due to it being a strong foundation, notably theology, for most of my stories, there are many strong foundations of storytelling, religion, history, you can even fantasize science if you put the imagination, time, and effort into it.

After doing some soul searching and listening to the Narnia books on Audible, it became another important element in making this au and I might include elements of CS Lewis’ Space Trilogy

This AU is set in my fictional Multiverse The Emperor-Verse which Narnia is implied to exist in, or I should say had existed in(its set after The Last Battle)

“Isn’t this kind of entitled and disrespectful?”

Disagreement isn’t necessarily malicious, and entitlement is not inherently bad if its your opinions and subjective feelings which people are entitled to.

Tolkien was heavily inspired by his distaste for how Shakespeare handled certain concepts, such as the Ents when he was upset and dissatisfied that there were no walking talking trees in the Enchanted Fortest of Macbeth, and the Valar Aule the Smith and the origin of the Dwarves make him something of an Anti-Prometheus

Not to mention Philip Pullman, the author of His Dark Materials Trilogy, made it out his distaste how CS Lewis made the Chronicles of Narnia and his overall beef with Christianity, and nobody seems to take issue with that.

I’m not saying the direction RWBY went with V3 or Pyrrha and the rest of the cast potentially ending tragically in some way or another is objectively bad, it was just not my taste

And I am not saying every normal RWBY fan/RWDE person who liked it is an elitist about it nor are all of them trying to insult me and attack me personally or say my ideas are bad

Nor I’m not trying to change canon or its “trajectory” , nor am I doing this to spite Monty, especially when I never knew the guy. This is a difference in handling ideas and concepts.

I’m doing my RWBY AU, which will most likely be revamped into an original story since it takes a whole different directions with the characters and world, but it's mostly because with post V3 and now in retrospect I saw what this world, characters, ships and other ideas could have been all in a story I believe is worth telling. And I was disappointed that it wasn’t.

I mean yeah it's also due to personal tastes and preferences and subjective feelings, at least I’ve been told, but I also try to integrate that in a meaningful way.

So I hope you all enjoy what I have to offer, which will most likely be put on AO3 and FanFiction.Net, and who knows, I might get a few artists to commission to redesign some characters or illustrate some scenes if anyone is up for it.

#rwby au #rwby rewrite #I think #does it count as one? #or something else? #black sun #iceberg #rosegarden #arkos #renora #rwde #does this count as rwde #The Emperor-Verse #team rwby #team jnpr #team sssn #ruby rose #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #weiss schnee #sun wukong #neptune vasilias #scarlet david #sage ayana #jaune arc #pyrrha nikos #nora valkyrie #lie ren #oscar pine #professor ozpin

[optiwashere]

You mentioned in your Shadowheart essay (the one about her characterization with regards to Shar) that there is a lot to be said about Viconia, the role she had in trying to shape Shadowheart into a good Sharran, and Viconia's role in BG2, and I'd be curious to read your thoughts on that?

Sure thing! Although, to be honest, I don't have nearly as much to say on Viconia as I did in that essay because BG3 is just closer in my mind than 1/2, and there's less focused characterization of companions in the previous games.

In BG2, for those that aren't aware, Viconia was a romanceable character, and her entire romance — as there wasn't really a "personal quest" other than that — leaned heavily on the fact that she was a drow as well as helping her see that it's okay to trust people that you care about. Back then, drow were all Lolth-sworn by default, and Viconia had to flee the Underdark after she had a crisis of conscience and refused to sacrifice a human child to the Spider Queen. Lolth branded her a traitor, and her entire life became searching for some semblance of protection and safety from the goddess. This led her to the path of Shar by the time you meet her in BG1 and later in BG2.

The events of BG1+2+Throne of Bhaal (ToB) that BG3 considers canon don't include the Viconia romance (she dies in that case by a drow assassin in an epilogue) which means that Viconia is still Neutral Evil, and that she is likely still running from Lolth in the events of BG3.

After the confrontation at the House of Grief, and referencing Viconia's default non-romance epilogue, she has another crisis of faith as she essentially states that she doesn't understand now what the point was in murdering her previous cult of Sharrans in Waterdeep. In the ToB epilogue, she actually insulted Shar by killing that cult for betraying her. In my opinion, everything that she's doing with the artifact in Shar's big ole divine game is just to get back in the good graces of the Lady of Loss so that she can feel safe again. That is a gigantic red flag for someone trapped in the cycle of abuse.

Viconia has been the subject of Lolth's ire for over a century as of BG3, and (unless I've missed dialogue with her, which is completely possible) that means she's probably had to really appease Shar to make that work. In BG2+ToB, if and only if you pursue her romance, the Bhaalspawn is the one that helps her with Lolth's servants. Without that, she has to turn to someone else for that protection: Shar. And to appease Shar, a serial divine abuser, she has to perpetuate the cycle of abuse I talked about in that post. With Shadowheart in the mix, it shows us (in my opinion, there's not a lot of textual support in BG3) that Viconia is exactly what Shadowheart is going to become if you don't get her away from Shar.

So, to me, the key takeaway is that Viconia is an abettor to the abuse Shadowheart deals with, and over a long enough period of time she's become extraordinarily desensitized to anything that surface life could have done to help her, as a person, deal with her paranoia over Lolth and, frankly, anyone else. She never learns to trust others and instead falls entirely into the "Let's Make Her Worse" hole of becoming someone fueled entirely by hatred — hatred for Lolth and for probably all surface-dwellers. If you send Shadowheart down the dark route and she becomes a Dark Justiciar, Viconia represents the future that Shadowheart is going to turn into. Nobody is trustworthy unless you can rule over them with an iron fist, and even then you have to be ready to kill them at a moment's notice.

Viconia is that puppet I talked about in the essay, doing as Shar wishes without thinking because she has no real control over her life beyond making her goddess happy. She exchanged one horrific manipulator (Lolth) for another one, and barely seems to notice. It's a pretty tragic fate for her, and sparing her makes it even worse because she might try and go back to Shar for forgiveness without any sort of history of trusting others that she would have gained in BG2+ToB. As a mirror for Shadowheart, she's what it looks like when everything goes wrong.

#hey you can ask me things! #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #bg2 spoilers #on an unrelated note #not getting grey delisle back to voice viconia was a maaaaaajor bummer #the new VA did a perfectly fine job but it's just not right to me

[aquaristintern]

hiii for the ask meme, how did you discover it or get interested in the show? an unpopular opinion? and/or have you read or watched anything because it was referenced in the show? :)

Hey!!! Finally getting around to answering this haha.

How did you discover it or get interested in the show?

It was actually @minim236 who inspired me to watch it back when I had my old blog! Anyway, the trailer had Jacob Anderson in it and I was like Greyworm ok let's go! And although I had not read the book or watched the movie yet, Claudia the child vampire is so well known I already knew about her, so was interested in that concept. Naturally, she became my favourite character :)

An unpopular opinion?

I feel I have soooo many unpopular opinions haha, but I'll say what I think is my most unpopular one, just because I feel like I'm following the right people here who won't mind:

Lestat as a character just does not compel or interest me in any way. I don't care about Loustat, about Lesmand, or any other relationships that involve him. Sam Reid did an amazing job, and got me drawn to him initially, but by the end of episode 3 I was getting a bit, well, and by the end of Episode 5, all sympathy for him went out the window, as did my interest. And full respect to other people who are still invested in his character btw! But I feel like because they made the abuse blatant rather than just brushing over it, many book fans were pissed, so now had to argue contend with a whole bunch of people not liking their special boy whom they've cherished for years. I disagree. I feel like the writers did a brave thing by not brushing over the negative impact Lestat has throughout the entire series. They, in a way, made the relationship more human and real, as this type of abuse is unfortunately still very normal today. They're not showing him through rose-tinted glasses, they're asking you to really look at it, so it'll be much more of a writing challenge to make him likeable and redeemable again to the general audience. It's an interesting concept, but until then, I just don't care at all about him! I don't feel anything when it comes to the romantic scenes between him and Louis either now, and I'm not excitedly waiting to explore his side of the story in the future seasons. The appeals to 'them being vampires' and 'this is supposed to be a gothic romance' has no affect on me, not because I 'can't handle dark subject matter', but because.... Lestat's not really imo the complex character everyone makes him out to be. His behaviour is actually pretty predictable and there's not that much there for me to work with, even as a villain. It's just: sad boy with tragic backstory ends up repeating cycle of abuse that was inflicted on him. Is extremely lonely with an ill temper. Uses dominance to feel in control and to hide his massive insecurities. Is "bad" but secretly has a heart of gold. Mommy/daddy issues. Loves usually only one person more than anything and it's seen as his salvation, but struggles with that relationship because he's emotionally stunted and can't communicate properly. It's something you've seen a million times already. It's what makes the much more layered and harder to grasp characters like Claudia and Armand so much more interesting to me, the vampires who are the most vampire-like of them all, yet ironically get a lot of hate and are mischaracterized from the same people who shout 'they're vampires!', but that's another discussion for another day.

Have you read or watched anything because it was referenced in the show?

I have! I watched Nosferatu, and read Madame Bovary and Marriage in Free Society, although I was going to read Madame Bovary anyway because my little sister heavily recommended it (she massively likes 'unlikeable' female characters and compared her to Anna Karenina, which she didn't like as much due her being too likeable. Which is funny because apparently Tolstoy originally wrote Anna to be an ugly, evil, conniving character who hurt her completely innocent husband and lover and son, but as he was writing, the character became more and more beautiful and sympathetic, and the husband and lover became more incompetent and unkind). I currently have The Doll's House and Nausea next on my list! (I really need to read The Doll's House, it's been on my list since I watched Bojack Horseman lol).

Although this probably doesn't count, because of the after show podcasts, I was inspired to also read The Gilda Stories because they had Jewelle Gomez make an appearance. I ended up being a bit mad afterwards because I soooo wished I read this book in high school, as I was an angry teenager still in the closet then, and this book might have helped me calm down a little lol. There's just something so different and radical about the way Gomez writes her vampires: in a lot of other media, the vampire/monster finally obtains the ability to have cathartic releases of rage due to their isolation/repression and/or abuse, but here, her main character opts for kindness, compassion, and community each time (she still uses violence and murder if needed to defend herself and others, but doesn't let violence consume her entire being). That was very refreshing, having the character be able to do so much damage and take revenge without consequence, yet instead find more fulfillment in the bonds they make with others and refusing to let other people bend her right to actually, well...live.

#thanks for the ask! <3<3<3 #iwtv #interview with the vampire #anti lestat de lioncourt #ask games

[sidprescot]

i uhhhh finished 1899

(spoilers for all episodes below the cut, don't read if you haven't finished watching!)

GOD this show!!!!! i have been screaming internally for like 10 hours now and this is going to be so incoherent sorry

who else thinks the space ship at the end is just another simulation and the start of another loop? the season beginning and ending with maura waking up to a 'letter' from her 'brother', the ship also being called the prometheus, the technology also seeming out of place for the time period, being trapped in the vastness of space instead of the vastness of the ocean but it's still a prison.... could be totally wrong and it's just parallels but i trust nothing and no one on this (space)ship

literally every character on this show is so fucked up (affectionate) i am studying them all like bugs

i did guess that the boy was maura's son but i thought daniel was either an older version of him or her brother, the husband reveal fully knocked me on my ass because up until that point i was convinced they were setting up a maura/eyk romance which i 100% think was intentional clearly they have some connection outside of the simulation and the heart wants what it wants when you have amnesia lmao it's so valid of her tbh i too am making eyes at andreas in that coat

also hear me out what if daniel and elliot are both dead in the original reality (or never existed at all) and the versions of them that we see are actually AI created by maura to cope with her trauma... seems like elliot at least is dead or dying considering the grave bunker and his memory in the chair... if maura is the creator of the simulation, maybe she's also their Creator? what if she can wake up but they never can

tinfoil hat firmly ON

or alternatively what if daniel is actually the antagonist leading her deeper into the simulation OR maybe they're both literally exactly what they seem to be and he's just a guy who loves his wife and wants to save her from herself and also her fucked up family and also maybe loves his son sometimes i am sooooooo full of shit lmao it's 3am bestie

also i was NOT expecting olek and ling yi to fuck me up like that... they speak the language of LOVE ok do not perceive me

and speaking of that i've seen some people say that they feel like the simulation reveal took away the gravity of the death scenes but it didn't at all for me, for one everyone jumping overboard like lemmings off a cliff while you hear their bodies thunk thunk thunk was fucking haunting and that was the bulk of the deaths, but also i just think the implications of the whole thing fuck me up more on a psychological level when it comes to the main characters... they are all doomed by the narrative, new liver same eagles, this is going to happen again and again because they can't escape their emotions, they can't escape love or hate or rage or fear or desire or grief, they can't escape what it means to be human no matter how deep into their dreams and nightmares they go at the core nothing ever changes and it's fucking tragic

in other words, i ugly cried through most of ep 7

and then there's the triangle symbolism, the tattoos, 'what is lost will be found', 1011, some of the names being anagrams, etc etc

THERE ARE SO MANY LAYERS

everything is too real nothing is real at all they're alive they're dead they're in purgatory they're in a hell of their own making they are the glitch in the matrix they are the (literal) bugs in the code i am going to scream

actual footage of me making this post

also i am definitely going to gif the show but i have a really busy week coming up and i'll be out of town for most of it so it might be a while unfortunately but just know the gifs are coming eventually they are living in my little brain as we speak

ok i'm going to shut up now if you read this far thank you, i love you, and i'm sorry lmao

#(inhales deeply) #(screams) #rj.txt #1899 #1899 spoilers #i made a short post and then was like no #i am going to release the demons from my drafts

[kateubanks]

#1 Sylvia Plath and the Adolescent Girl

The year is 2019, and I'm in my senior AP Lit class because I was obviously that brand of over-achiever. We were assigned to write in-depth analyses of poems of our choice, preferably from one of "the greats."

I landed upon Sylvia Plath because Google told me she was "edgy and different," and I chose "Morning Song" because the title sounded pretty. Top-tier decision-making.

Here's the poem. In short, it focuses on her feelings towards motherhood, specifically in a child's earliest days. I won't go into too much detail on this poem. If you want a better discussion of it, check out this great post I found.

So. There I am, all of seventeen years old, writing about how motherhood might change a person's life -- how the reflection in the mirror will look unfamiliar, how you begin to value another's existence over your own. Meanwhile, my largest issue in life is paying my rent. Which, to be fair, isn't a great issue for a teenager to have. The point is that I know nothing about motherhood, and I'm very good at bullshitting because I got a 96 on the paper (damn formatting; it'll get ya' every time).

Despite my inability to relate to its intended meaning, I loved the writing. It was flowery and sweet on the tongue. I could read it over and over again without getting bored. Each word had a new meaning after every read. When the project ended, I used my grungy tip money from a certain nameless drive-in to purchase a Sylvia Plath poetry collection at my local Barnes and Nobel.

And thus, the love affair began. I was hooked. It was the first time I felt that literature -- as lifeless as it may appear -- understood me. A woman who lived a much different life than mine decades prior had been able to translate my feelings into words, and the stars had aligned perfectly for me to discover her one fateful Tuesday morning in English class.

The human condition never changes, no matter the circumstances. Romance is always romance, and a suicidal teenaged girl is always a suicidal teenaged girl. She'll always think of red poppy fields when she sees her own blood. She'll listen for her father in seashells. She'll believe that she can come back to life, whether it's 1963 or 2015.

So, all of that being said might seem antithetical to my argument moving forward. . .

This is from an article on Sylvia Plath as America's "cinematic sad girl":

Because Plath's work has become synonymous with pain and suffering, her name is watered down to nothing more than a tragic figure instead of one that, despite her suicidal tendencies, possessed profound hope.

As a whole, we tend to look down upon things that teenaged girls enjoy. Look at Twilight, and Uggs, and Starbucks, and basically every young-adult romcom. We see them as trivial, basic, or *gasp* girly. Because there's absolutely nothing worse than being associated with women (the horror!).

Let's be clear. This sentiment is rooted in sexism. I believe something to this degree occurs a bit with our dear Plath, with a dash of good, old-fashioned, mental health stigmas. Another except from our previous article:

There are countless examples of other characters in film and television using The Bell Jar or Plath's name as a synonym for 'depressed,' 'complicated,' or 'overdramatic', emphasizing her misinterpretation in the cultural lexicon.

Why do I care? I love Plath. I'm not claiming that the bulk of her work isn't about her struggle with mental health, or that you should love her, too. Just to post the question: is the issue Plath's focus on her mental health, or that too many teenaged girls relate to her, so we must shit on her because something that women enjoy must be awful?

And with that, I will leave you all with a short list of some of my favorite Plath poems.

Lady Lazarus

On the Decline of Oracles

Fever 103°

Wreath for a Bridal

Ella Mason and Her Eleven Cats

#sylvia plath #plath #essay writing #literature #poetry #writing #personal essays #poetry analysis #analysis #12possums #kateubanks

[susandsnell]

🌻

I almost missed this one!!

I'm a big fan of all kinds of gothic romances, absolutely morally bankrupt characters (and the fucked up ways they might fall in love or lust or obsession or something in between), villains and foes and psychosexual nightmares, all that good stuff. I do not believe fiction needs to be moral or didactic in this respect. I say this as a preface to what I have to say next because I think it's a genuinely unpopular opinion:

This is an Edward Rochester hate zone.

I cannot abide this man. I hated him when I was thirteen, and I hate him at twenty-five. (I believe I once wrote "he should have gotten crispy in that fire" in some free reading assignment or other.) His Byronicisms all fall just in the wrong way for me, in large part because they are gross in a way that feels painfully real that isn't fun to read about, and they aren't tempered by any traits to recommend him. I find him not at all interesting and entirely unsympathetic. The only time I ever liked him was when he was doing the most with the drag act, but even then that was pretty loaded.

This all makes him a realistic jerk so he is perhaps well-constructed and well-written, but I for the life of me have never gotten the appeal of this dickwad. He's so mired in his own privilege and unearned self-pity that I genuinely find him to be insufferable. This is a bit bizarre to me as I have adored characters who have done objectively far worse and behaved far more cruelly and violently than he ever did, but again, as asserted earlier - I can get into an awful person being awful if they're doing so in a way that's interesting to witness, and/or if this is balanced out by humanizing elements. Heathcliff abuses women and children and kills innocent animals and he's still intensely sympathetic. Sweeney Todd did all of that and I feel for his plight and love his wry sense of humour and capacity for deep love. The Vampire Chronicles' entire thesis is that even the truly monstrous among us are made human by their ability to connect to art and to one another. To clarify, I know that a character need not have suffered/had a tragic backstory to be sympathetic or interesting just as people we know don't require xyz to be deserving of compassion (for instance I enjoy Dracula being The Worst because he's interesting, he's irredeemable with some zazz), but in terms of what he feels and how he acts, I cannot find any avenue for this connection to come in. I know that it's not uncommon as a modern reader to feel horror for Bertha Mason rather than at her (and it's not '''purity culture"/Puriteens/whatever paper skinned English majors are coming up with now to dismiss any critical discussion of books they like to feel this way!), and this plays a large part in my reading, but he's also cruel and dehumanizing to Jane in a way that feels very much like a Victorian era equivalent of negging/overpraise, which strikes exactly the wrong nerve in me compared to other destructive romances I've liked. That's not to say that one is more or less realistic than another, and comes down to personal bias, but I feel what I feel, and this is a free opinion sunflower emoji ask lolol.

I understand Jane Eyre and like most of it. I understand what a huge step it was as a protofeminist work, the reversing of the power balance by having him be humbled and reliant on her by the end, the emphasis on Jane's freewill and self-worth in the face of her horrific struggles and turmoil.

I cannot grasp wanting to be around this man for more than five minutes. Truly no judgment to those who get something out of this guy, but I just Don't See It.

#posts that will get me kicked out of gothic literature fandom #i'm interested in hearing people's counterpoints on why they like him #less so in debates on this post lolol #no judgment to anyone on either end of this love you all xoxo

[redheadlesbianfreak]

the fandom ask: either tmnt 2003 or mario (cause i've seen you reblog luigi (the king) and i am curious)

Oh man, this is going to be a hard one to choose! I think I'll do TMNT 2003 because it's on the brain right now. Keep in mind that I haven't watched Fast Forward or whatever tf season 7 is called (I think it's Back to the Sewers??). Believe me, I tried... I don't like it.

The first character I ever fell in love with: April in her biker outfit.

My ultimate favorite character: Michelangelo. It's always going to be him. Donnie is a very close second (love their dynamic).

Prettiest character: Karai and April.

My most hated character: It's easily The Ancient One. That guy is just a bundle of offensive stereotypes, good god. I also really don't like Utrom Shredder very much.

My OTP: April/Casey! I love these two in this show.

My NOTP: I really don't like Raph/Joy wtf was going on with those two lmao. I also don't think that Leo/Karai was meant to be read as romantic at all, I think they had a tragic friendship. Not sure where people got that from (other than them being a guy and a girl). I'm just grateful that romance wasn't a huge thing in 2003 save for April/Casey.

Favorite episode: This is a really tough one for me because there are so many episodes I love from this show. I adored all the famous episodes that everyone talks about, such as Good Genes, Same As It Never Was, Insane in the Membrane, etc. So I'll say The Darkness Within because I loved the horror in that episode. Shoutout to "Grudge Match" and "The Christmas Aliens."

Saddest death: Oh man, that monster Bishop made where it turned out he used to be a human with a wife and family. Also, pretty much everything that happens to Baxter Stockman. He doesn't die, but his fate is even worse than death.

Favorite season: Seasons 2-4 is where the show is at its strongest. I think it's a tie between seasons 2 and 3.

Least favorite season: Season 5. I still enjoyed myself, but oh boy, does the quality tank for this season.

Character that everyone else in this fandom loves, but I hate: The Ancient One. Once again, this guy's portrayal is so racist, why does nobody talk about this???

My 'you're a piece of trash, but you're still a fave' fave: Bishop. He's probably my all-time favorite TMNT villain. I love this guy, what a fantastic villain.

My 'beautiful cinnamon roll who deserves better than this' fave: DONNIE. POOR GUY. He's just a nice dude who takes care of the homeless and tinkers away, stop tormenting him!

My 'they're kind of cute, and I lowkey ship them, but I'm not too invested' ship: Leosagi, which is a controversial one because we don't know Leo or Usagi's canon ages. This is another one I get but I'm not super into it. Most of the time, this ship is fanon, and it kinda feels like people make a huge deal out of this ship because they want a romantic relationship to ship. I don't really get that appeal when it comes to TMNT but to each their own.

You may have noticed that I didn't answer many of the ship questions and that's because TMNT 2003 is one of my gen fandoms. I love the familial relationships and friendships in this show, but there aren't many ships I'm super into. I love watching TMNT to see a bunch of mutant dudes become a dysfunctional and sweet family. <3

#tmnt 2003 #ask game #sorry for answering late i had a super busy week #thank you for this ask it was super fun! #maybe i will do something with super Mario bros #because i love my boy luigi

[yukitscne]

An in-depth look at your muse.

—    basics.

▸     is your muse tall/short/average?

I just looked up the average height for men in Japan and he’s definitely tall. If you think it’s cheating that he can shapeshift to look however he wants, I have some good news: he’s definitely a big and tall fox, too.

▸     are they okay with their height?

Again, he can change his height to be whatever he wants. It was his choice, so he’s definitely good with it.

▸     what’s their hair like?

Fluffy! His hair is as soft as his natural fur. It’s a little but scruffy, and it’s a little grown out.

▸     do they spend a lot of time on their hair/grooming?

On his hair specifically, we come back to the shapeshifting point. When it comes to his tails, though, you better stock up on conditioner because he’ll use it all and spend the next two hours in the bathroom drying and brushing them.

▸     does your muse care about their appearance/what others think?

Yes, absolutely. I don’t feel like this needs much more explanation than that if you know anything of Yuki.

—    preferences.

▸    indoors or outdoors? Outdoors!

▸    rain or sunshine? Sunshine. It means he can go out and bound around without getting all wet, and thunder frightens him.

▸    forest or beach? Forest, since he is a woodlands creature.

▸    precious metals or gems? Gems! He finds them pretty, of course.

▸    flowers or perfumes? Flowers, but only because perfume, especially recently sprayed, can be too overwhelming for his sensitive nose.

▸    personality or appearance? Appearance. He likes being around people more if they look cute with him, but of course he wants someone who’s the kind to enjoy affection and cuddles.

▸    being alone or being in a crowd? Neither. Being alone makes him antsy and he doesn’t want to be in a crowd unless he’s the centre of attention. A small group of people - again, as long as he’s receiving the majority of the attention - is good.

▸    order or anarchy? Typically order, but he is a fox and they are known for causing mischief...

▸    painful truths or white lies? White lies. He’s intelligent enough to know when most people are lying but as long as the lie benefits him, too, he’d rather live it.

▸    science or magic? Magic - it’s what gives him his power, after all.

▸    peace or conflict? Peace.

▸    night or day? Night, since foxes are nocturnal, but he’s awake quite a lot during the day since that’s when all the humans are.

▸    dusk or dawn? Dusk; same reason as above.

▸    warmth or cold? Warmth! But he does have a thick layer of fur, so he doesn’t get cold too easy anyway (which probably makes the cold harder to handle).

▸    many acquaintances or a few close friends? That’s a tough call. Yuki wants to be loved by as many people as possible but, of course, he wants those people to actively adore him. For that reason, it would probably have to be a few close friends were he to choose between these.

▸    reading or playing a game? Totally depends on his mood. The persona he puts on for everyone enjoys gaming, especially with another, but the part of him which seeks knowledge can’t resist a book, particularly those which centre around philosophy or asking the big questions in life (and, of course, his cuter side loves romance).

—    questionnaire.

▸     what are some of your muse’s bad habits?

Letting himself be taken advantage of. That might sound more like a personality trait than a bad habit, but the addiction is what causes him to keep chasing it. Even if he tries to swear off it, it’ll be almost impossible for him to resist the praise and affections of others.

▸     has your muse lost anyone close to them? how has it affected them?

The loss of his best friend is literally what made him how he is today. Had the child the subject of his companionship not lost his life so tragically, Yuki wouldn’t put on his cutesy act, nor spend so much time around humans vying for their attention.

▸     what are some fond memories your muse has?

Again, his fond memories all revolve around the same child. You might think, given how close he gets to others, he might have a lot of cherished memories - nobody else he’s met means that much to him. All he’s looking for is that high in the form of validation he receives. Even though he considers many people to be his friends, the reactions he has to anything he does with them, even things the other person might consider to be amazing moments they’ll look back fondly on forever, are very surface level and rarely run any deeper.

▸     is it easy for your muse to kill?

Outside of hunting prey as foxes do, absolutely not. When it comes to murder, he could absolutely never do something like that.

▸     what’s it like when your muse breaks down?

He’ll change in a click of your fingers. The light from his eyes will fade, the smile on his face gone. He’ll be quieter than usual, much more reserved. You won’t see any part of the fun-loving, attention-seeking kitsune you always do; instead, it will seem like someone completely different. If you ask questions, be ready for short responses which might not completely answer what you were seeking. When he breaks down, he wants to be alone. Don’t bother him; it might be days or weeks before you see or hear from him again (at which point he’ll be his usual bright, bubbly self).

▸     is your muse capable of trusting someone with their life?

Yuki gives out his trust so quickly it’s foolish. He knows it’s foolish. He’s not going to stop.

▸     what’s your muse like when they’re in love?

Yuki feels that he’s incapable of falling in love with anyone.

Tagged by: @ofhope (thank you!) Tagging: @discipulusmaleficus, @lepticus, @veiledfox, @ilestlesoleil​, @from-across-the-stars​ (for anyone you like!), @heincus​ (for the first character u think of upon reading this) and anyone else who wishes to do this, please tag me!

#i love the absolutely heartbreaking turn this took in the last three answers :')))) #you should probably know ✧･ﾟ headcanons

[mz-elysium]

rereading wormwood

man, that was a lotta words

City of Fallen Angels

I think I finally realised why Blackout feels so “odd one out”, even tho it’s got the most attention (and is like 30% longer)

1: Sundown

fairly standard “normie enters fantasy world”

a whole lot of my grief over my mother’s death and the life that is forever outta reach

very little of VTMB, but Orsay and Rubio are kinda spicy

Monroe is unsavoury, but capable and competent; reliable

2: Blackout

holy crap, so dark and depressing. literal world of darkness.

Charlie and Jack staying in unhealthy relationships (and then he gives Ryuko another chance) is so painful

Monroe losing his goddamn mind (and thinking trauma-bonding with Hawthorne is love)

Zari literally drowning in undealt-with emotions (cough cough, my mother died from a brain tumour). actually getting depressing flashbacks, reading haunting descriptions of hospitals

but...

Mercurio being a sweetheart. LaCroix and Barty giving a hope that there is a better Ventrue. fucking hell Barty, I forgot how much I loved him.

the starting inkling that Ashley maybe (somewhere) has a heart

the extremely strange queer friendship between Ashley and Charlie

also, burning Disneyland is somehow so cathartic

I can also (maybe bc I wrote it) pick out scenes that I lifted from my favourite books, at the time of writing. Not saying, but if you recognise them, that’s uh... my failing as a writer lmao.

3: Daybreak

i was... surprised how light-hearted it is???

funny, kinda clever, very smooth

extremely well-plotted and paced -- like, reading it, i can track the plot beats and there’s no lull at all; shorter chapters are breezy to read

romance and action and angst and happy endings

MALKAVIAN PROPHECY! GEHENNA! SABBAT! CAINE BEING VAGUE!

Jan Pieterzoon admitting his great V20/BJD plot thread, of Hardestadt being in torpor and mixing memories

Ryuko doing his best to be a good egg

Velvet Velour being very sexy lesbian (and all of Ashley’s children implied -- not stated, still might change that -- to be trans)

Ashley (somehow) becoming a sympathetic character and doing the right thing -- again and again, until the world rewards them

much much more VTMB

LaCroix, tragically but expectedly, losing his damn mind and being betrayed by his whole court

the origin stories of Victor Temple and Fiona (from the webseries, LA By Night)

Caine interrupting LaCroix’s Disciplines surrounding the “blood of the Last Daughter of Eve” and letting vampires make their own choice

Zari, inadvertently, saving them all and having no idea of the weight of her actions

Monroe and Angels winning because, again and again, having resisted the Beast and ultimately choosing to risk it all on acting like humans -- faith, honesty, compassion, lending a helping hand

the absolute chaotic violent mess of the ot3: Monroe/Ashley/Hawthorne

i actually did not realise until this that Monroe’s lovers are Ashley and Audrey and I need to chance it and can’t bear to lmao like, he’s got a type, apparently. so funny but that sucks.

the epilogue punch of “what happened to Petra? ... oh, right, Hawthorne killed her children”

powerful hopeful ending for everyone, with threads into SF

Blackout is SO DARK in comparison and has a very tepid unhopeful ending that I’m almost wanting to make this one big story.

Daybreak is 100% what I wanna write. It was literally me just writing what I want to read. It sounds so arrogant, but I fucking loved it, start to finish. I was so busy reading it I didn’t touch up the things I had intended.

Oh well.

Now I get to go plan the Bay by Night............

#vtm: wormwood #rereading wormwood #finally done #thank caine and christ

[aajkenaam]

heed my woeful cries, oh patroclus!

do not leave me such;

flash your kind, gentle eyes,

warm lips i long to touch;

help my memories stay upright

let your face be a reminder, a crutch,

of the shunned truths, the dreadful lies;

these bloody seas and angry skies,

without you, it is all too much.

- achilles, perhaps.

#the poem is mine :3 #this book has destroyed me #i cried so much #how am i supposed to handle this #how am i supposed to live laugh love like this #not me turning to tumblr as a way to cope and ending up crying even more #help take this hurt away #time to read another tragic romance and feel human again ;) #the song of achilles #tsoa patroclus #tsoa #tsoa achilles #tsoa poem #greek mythology #madeline miller

[rae-gar-targaryen]

amor fati [druig x fem!eternals reader]

A/N: Ya girl is back and officially posting writing again. I know it's been a while, but thank you for sticking with me. I didn't think I'd write for Marvel again, but, well, like all of you, I was just taken by Barry's performance as Druig, who (along with Makkari) quickly stole the whole movie for me. Keep an eye out for an upcoming TASM!Spidey and/or Matt Murdock fic, as well. Might as well go full-tilt Marvel now… 

This piece is probably a cliché, but oh well. I hope you like! Please tell me what you liked, what you didn't, and what, if anything, I should do for Druig in the future. There is a playlist for this, as well. 

Reblogs are always appreciated! 

Pairing: Druig x fem eternal!reader (Reader’s legend is that of Artemis, the hunter goddess. No Y/N); some Drukkari x reader, if you're looking. 

Word Count: 16.1k of eternal love, the stuff that poems are made of, and my usual abuse of simile and metaphor. Cotton candy sweetness -- but careful, lest it dissolve between your fingertips. Who said romance wasn’t a little tragic? All’s well that ends well.

Warnings: my writing is its own warning, angst, eternals-style heartbreak (y'all have either seen the movie or read enough fic to know that our boy leaves), canon-typical violence, misuse of power. Also? Smut, so 18+ ONLY -- touching, biting, outdoor naughtiness, mutual masturbation, and other things that occur more than once in here, okay? 

Summary: A love for the ages, yours and Druig's feelings for one another have persisted throughout time and distance. Stoic as Druig is, winter snow melts in the light of spring, and a little hunter has held his heart in her hands for millennia. Gently traipses through the plot of the movie.

---

By starlight, everything was serene. A luminous, crescent crown.

Your awakening was like the warp and the weft, weaving the threads that comprised your personhood through a grandiose loom. It was simultaneously soft and scraping – A yarn-like itch behind your eyelids compelled you to open them, only to be met with a room full of strangers. 

You saw him then -- eyes of twinkling, galactic starlight. Serene. 

You tilted the corner of your lips in a soft smile, hoping to convey similar softness. Welcoming. And his face? His face remained stoic. Passive.

As you would come to learn, as history unfolded, it all was positively Austenian. Dickensian. Shakespearean, maybe?

Here he was: The crystalline-eyed boy with raven hair and blooming-lily skin, so superior in his indifference. Who carried himself with a power that transcended time. A cool, quiet tempest. Burning insight and demand into the deepest corners of a mind, like the golden, fiery sun.   

There you were: The doe-eyed girl. Quick in wit (and to anger), the sharpness of your tongue second only to that of your arrows. Fearsome, to be sure, but soft for him. (As he would be for you). Graceful and generous. A flower known to bloom by the silvery light of the pale moon. 

There was no way to know it when you awoke. But the two of you would be wrapped in one another throughout eternity, as threads pulled tightly around a finger, woven through a loom. But perhaps you had been before then, if man could comprehend a “prior-to” eternity. If you could remember a time before now.

But forever is made of little nows...

Perhaps this is where Austen, Dickens, Shakespeare, and the like would come to draw their inspiration. From the legends of godlike warriors who would cross the universe, if it meant even a moment together. Who guarded and tended the fragile sapling that was the human race. Who stole clandestine moments to bask in one another, exchanging endearments and creating traditions that would become symbols of love throughout time. Everything starts somewhere. 

For the very moment you opened your eyes in the cool, eerie light of the Domo, you were invigorated with purpose. You had awoken with Arishem’s booming voice in your ears, permeating your mind. Dictating to you. To protect the human race of Earth. To defeat the Deviants. 

You padded softly across the chamber, smiling and nodding at your fellow Eternals, introducing yourself as you went, until you stood before him. Rugged, roguish, and still somehow boyish, he stood with his arms clasped behind his back, appraising you. His black armor replete with details of curving, curling red, his eyebrows quirked as he looked down at you, awaiting your word.

You gave him your name, holding out your hand for him to take.

“Druig,” he responded, the lilt of his accent strange and soothing to your ears as he clasped your hand gently in greeting.

You nodded, a warm smile gracing your features as you looped his hand through your arm and made to cross to the nearest window together. 

“Are you excited?” You asked him; the feel of his arm was warm against yours as you took in the marble-like appearance of the planet you were assigned to. Comforting. “This is my first assignment since leaving Olympia … ‘Earth,’ you sighed. “I wonder what it will be like.”

Druig chuckled softly at your eagerness, taking you in as you observed the blue-green planet of Earth through the glass of the Domo. 

Your armor was rosy, copper-like in appearance with striking details of silvery-blue twining its way across your body, as the red did with his. 

Fitting, he thought. That your very warmth should be reflected in the very nature of your kit. Not just anyone would immediately approach Druig and hold his hand. He wasn’t exactly known for his sunny disposition on Olympia. 

Was he? 

Yet, here you stood fearlessly by his side as though you belonged, your eyes shining by the light of space, ethereal. By starlight, everything was serene. 

Not for the first time since he had met you did Druig find himself quirking his brow in assessment of you. Intrigued. For what could someone so seemingly gracious, gentle, do in battle against Deviants, of all things?

“Ta. Well, we’ll know soon enough, won’t we?” Druig answered both your question and his own musings before another voice snapped the moment. 

“It is time,” your leader – Ajak, your mind supplied – spoke. Summoning you all to prepare yourself for the journey to Earth. 

As you took your place alongside the others, you couldn’t help but feel the elation coursing through you. The determination. You would protect this planet with everything you had. Whatever time you had to learn the beings of Earth, and your fellow Eternals, was like a book waiting to be pored over.  Your lives stitched together, piecemeal, made by some unseen, Celestial force. Woven. Throughout eternity, woven. 

How could you have known just how much, little hunter?

— 

In some ways, fighting was as easy as breathing, as weaving. It’s what you were made for, wasn’t it? 

As you and your fellow Eternals progressively cleared each corner of the globe from the Deviant infestation, you learned to operate together. To move as one to defeat the beings that threatened the development of this planet. 

Somewhere along the way, between the immeasurable conjuring of your golden arrows to fire through the bow you could weave at will, it became, well, fun. Centuries spent side by side with the universe's finest warriors had taught you a thing or two. And as humanity had developed, thanks in part to Sersi's gentle patience and Phastos's ingenuity, so had you.

As Thena and Gilgamesh cut through their enemies like tissue paper, you and Kingo would offer coordinated support through the benefit of distance attacks and hawkish aim. Determined and quick, you never missed. Kingo made for an excellent partner, releasing the beaming power of the sun from his fingertips as though it was nothing. Shooting down Deviants, the two of you covering the backs of your fellow Eternals, and working seamlessly in tandem. 

Kingo would offer you a smirk when he connected with his mark, and hollered a “nice shot,” when you aimed true. Whether the two of you had a running competition as to who could strike the most targets from the greatest distance was for the two of you to know, and for no one else to find out. The tally marks surreptitiously etched into the corner of the Domo were for the two of you alone. 

And Ajak -- a mother in some ways and the commander of a battalion in others -- saw fit that when you weren't fighting the deviants, you spent ample time training to fight deviants. 

It was this training time where you would partner with those Eternals whose skills were the most unlike your own – trying to prod the blur that you knew to be Makkari with a plinking, blunted arrow. Or seeking to best the taciturn Druig in hand-to-hand before he could bewitch you with eyes of molten gold. 

Truth be told, Druig was no slouch at close-quarters combat. But against an opponent with the coordination and entrenched anticipation of an archer? Besting you was no small feat. If he could best you, that is.

The two of you traded blows as easily as you traded quips. Druig, so usually reserved, flourished. He was agile as he jumped and spun to avoid your strikes, twirling around you to make his move.  You dodged his attempted strike to your face, using the momentum to lean back and swing your leg to knock Druig’s from under him. As Druig’s shoulders met the floor, you rolled, fluidly conjuring a small dagger, which you brought to his bare throat. Meeting him with the weight of your forearms against his shoulders to keep him fixed to the floor. 

You beamed down at your quarry, batting your lashes. An innocent smile – for no being with a smile so bright could have done what you just did, right? You? Topple someone so fearsome? Never. 

“Don’t toy with your food,” Kingo called to you teasingly, unable to contain his chuckle at your position over Druig. “Leave the poor boy with some pride, archer.” 

“Pride?” You quirked a brow down at the man below you, shifting your weight to stand above him and offering a hand. “Do you feel proud?” You teased. 

Druig clasped his warm hand into yours, panting lightly with the exertion of sparring, and allowed you to hoist him to his feet. Using the momentum of your pull, he leveraged himself into crowding your personal space, swarming your senses with nothing but Druig as he smirked back at you. 

“Of you? Immensely, hunter,” Druig breathed so that Kingo couldn't hear, the cadence of his accent a pleasant hum against your ears. 

He released your hands, circling you as though preparing to spar once more. As a panther would, replete with inky hair and coiling muscle. 

“You’ve felled your prey bravely. What deviant could stand against you?” 

You snorted, pleased with Druig’s teasing demeanor, a warm little thrum coursing through you. He could be quite charming when he wanted to be. Time and gentle patience had taught you that he wasn’t always as dour as he could be with the others – given the right circumstances. 

Or perhaps the right company?  He was never quite so cross with you or Makkari. 

“Perhaps you think too highly of the threat you pose, dear Druig. For what are men compared to deviants?” you asked, your eyes tracking his progress around you. 

Druig’s pacing ceased at your words, his eyes a brewing storm as he swept a glance up and down your form. Stepping to close the gap between the two of you once more and deliberately brushing his shoulder into yours, he paused to look down at your profile before he passed you by. 

“Be on your guard. I am no mere man, little hunter,” he murmured, leaving your side with a parting wink. 

Your gaze never left Druig as he departed, making his way down the verdant-lit halls of the Domo. Leaving your body buzzing pleasantly with something as you recalled the way his lips had ever-so-slightly grazed the shell of your ear as he taunted you. 

Just one of many threads serving to weave you both together, twining colors of dawn, of star-crested trees, and a crown of holy branches. Of breaking tides and moonlit swaths. You couldn’t choose the threads within the loom, obsequious at the facile hands of fate – or something else. 

— 

Clearing corners of the globe did allow you to take in the many splendors of this planet, as you had so hoped all those years ago on the Domo before coming to Earth. To allow you to get to know the people of Earth, your fascination with them and their development as endless as their apparent fascination with the Eternals. 

But it wasn’t just the people of Earth that held your attention. 

Nature had offered an escape, a reprieve from the endless conflict with the Deviants. You did not seek the next battle, as Thena did. Nor were you as entrenched in development as Phastos.

No, you preferred to spend your days exploring the countryside, climbing rocks, swimming in the ocean. Tending to the deer in the forest.

One such day found you enjoying the lake near where you had settled. It was an atypically quiet day, and cool babbling was soothing to you as you observed the clear water, taking in the colorful rocks like a rainbow embedded beneath its surface. The fish paid you no mind as you waded in, unable to help yourself. 

“Not t’ cold, is it?” You turned at the smooth, accented voice of Druig as he made his way through the treeline, coming to stop along the shore near where you had waded in, hands folded as he observed you in the sunlight. 

“I don’t mind a bit of cold, demeanor or otherwise,” you acknowledged. “Besides, the humans bathe and wash their linens here. If they don’t mind it, I don’t see any reason why I should.” 

Druig snorted at that, wading his way into the water not far from where you stood, the current gently rippling around your bodies.

“I've heard them talking about you, you know. Sprite's been spinning her web of tales in every city we dock,” Druig said offhandedly as he tossed a stone atop the clear lake, rippling the water’s previously-unblemished surface with the skips of the smooth rock. 

“Oh?” You plucked a unique-looking grey-blue rock from the shallows, your dress bunching in the water and flowing about your knees. “And what do they say?”

You turned over the rock you had chosen in your hands, noting, pleased, how its shade was so similar to the eyes of the man who stood beside you, plucking and skipping stones of his own.

“They call you Artemis. Some call you Diana. Others Selene. Different names for the same, stunning entity. Goddess of the forest, the hunter, the protector of young women throughout their land." 

You laughed. 

“That’s a kind and gentle way to describe conjuring arrows to destroy Deviants in bloody battle. Are you sure they aren’t referring to Sersi instead?” you chirped, leaning down to trail your fingers through the cool, clear water, admiring the way the blue of the rock looked so striking when held beneath the surface. 

“And what of your legends?” You queried. “So powerful that Sprite has invented an entire mystical order to explain away the one man who can grasp a million minds. The druids. Does that not tickle your pride somewhat?”

“An attempt to make me sound useful and utilitarian, perhaps?” Druig tossed another stone, ignoring its skipping progress across the water’s surface in favor of wading gently closer to where you stood. 

“Even so. Solitary folk they are, eh? The druids. So Sprite says. Any truth to that, then?” Your eyes tracked his progress as he disrupted the cool river’s surface to stand by your side.

Druig shrugged, coolly, but still affable. Willing to banter with you a bit more. The stretch of patience he would extend to you, to your conversations, after centuries still never ceased to amaze you. You often wondered what it is that had separated you from the others. Why he would extend these courtesies to you, to Makkari, and offer you glimpses of himself. 

“You know I prefer solitude if I am gifted it. Too many minds around and it gets a bit … crowded … up here.” Druig made a motion with his hands, circling around his head. “Like the buzzing of so many busy little bees,” he sighed. “But you know my power. You know me.”

You shuddered a bit at the heat that had laced Druig’s voice. “Do I?” You looked across the water, teasingly refusing to meet Druig’s gaze. “And what do you suppose my estimation is?” 

“Other than finding me roguishly handsome, you mean?” Druig teased. 

Your eyes widened at Druig’s jest. Although, in every joke, a kernel of truth. Had he been reading your thoughts? 

“Bah!” You huffed, “Don’t be a scoundrel. Especially not with someone who can best you in a fight.” 

“You still think you can best me, then?” Druig challenged, his voice light and bantering. 

“Oh, I know I can,” you bent your knees ever-so-slightly below the water, ready to spring should Druig challenged you. “You think I would expel all of my energy when we spar? Please.”  

“I could always just compel you to lose,” Druig said, tapping his chin as though deep in thought. 

“You would have to be faster than Artemis to do that,” and with that, you pounced, lurching forward and giving Druig’s shoulder a purposeful shove, causing him to slip on the stones beneath his feet topple into the water with a resounding splash, the sound cracking against the trees. 

You laughed as you backed away toward the shore, out of Druig’s reach as he broke the surface of the water, spluttering.

If you had thought he resembled a large cat before when you were training, the comparison was certainly apt now. He fixed you with a glare as he shook the water from his hands, and then his hair, now wet and matted to his head, his clothes stuck to his form, dripping. 

“Cheeky, hunter,” Druig breezed, his voice taking on a low timbre, but with no hint of malice, as he waded toward the shoreline, giving way to the chase you were leading him on as you darted from his grasp. 

He bent at the shoreline, dragging his hand through the water and attempting to splash you as you ran down the shore. 

Druig certainly could be fast when he wanted to be, you thought, too little too late as he closed the gap between you, catching you with an arm around your waist and causing you both to topple onto the pebbled shore. 

 You laughed together, Druig taking the moment to stroke a stray hair at your crown back into place.

“How could we have never met on Olympia?” you asked him, softly, “I feel as though I should have known you my entire life. And yet … we have only met now. It hardly feels fair. Years without the discovery of one another.” 

“We know one another now,” he shrugged, knocking an affable shoulder into yours as you sat beside one another, taking in the lake once more. 

Druig’s company was easy. Summer rain, the soft tapping on glass, warm, sweet and refreshing. 

You reached for the canvas bag you had brought with you that rested near where you had stopped together on the shore, pulling a fiery-hued orange from the depths of your bag. 

“Is this where Makkari keeps getting these then,” Druig asked as he watched you peel the orange. “She’s always snacking on them.” 

You nodded, offering Druig a wedge, its skin visibly thin and membranous by the light of the sun, ready to burst with zinging, crisp flavor on your tongue when you bite into it. 

Druig held up his hand to you, making to refuse. But you gently took his wrist, opening his palm to you and placing the wedge in his hand. You had opened the rind as you were slowly opening yourself to him, splitting the orange down its center and offering to share. To share its brightness, its sweetness, as you would endeavor to share yours. 

"You need to enjoy yourself more. The world is full of small treasures waiting to be discovered. Take a page from Makkari’s book,” you bit your own wedge, Druig taking in the little slip of juice that made its way from the corner of your mouth. 

He shrugged, following suit and biting into his own wedge. 

"Do you like them?" You asked through a mouthful of sweet, zipping orange. 

He nodded softly, savoring the sweet, syrupy flavor. “And Makkari?”

"She likes sharing with me," you shrugged.

Druig’s brows quirked at that. He knew you knew that he was also close with Makkari. How he would anchor the quicksilver woman in tender moments. And she, him. He had hoped it wouldn’t be a point of contention as you and he developed into … whatever you were that felt dangerously like affection. 

It seems he was mistaken; for you and Makkari were clearly also … affectionate.

To you, Makkari was milk and honey. Sweetness, nourishment, home.  Druig was oil. Rich and incendiary. He was the sagebrush you smelled in the desert before a storm – A cautionary comfort you could never quite quantify. 

And as the traipsing trail of time slipped past, thick like honey, you were eager for this to unfold. The path before you now lay, heavy and unblemished, like freshly packed and fallen snow. Tread lightly, little one, lest you sink too far. Or mar the surface of yours and Druig's tenuous friendship. 

And the  humans, it seemed, had grown to adore their protectors. 

And your friendship -- no, that seemed too soft a word … partnership?? -- had blossomed. Sharing your observations on humanity, sparring, your cheeky little intrigues with Makkari, helping her "obtain" treasures she sought. Your sniper's eye was good for more than just combat, after all...

And, at the celebration the humans had held for you within the stronghold of Babylon’s walls, you basked in the warmth of the evening from your chosen perch. 

Watching Sersi dance with the humans. Watched as Sprite weaved her tales with the accompaniment of shimmering, golden illusions. Watched as Makkari haggled with the townsfolk. You had turned down Kingo and Gilgamesh's offer of a drinking contest in favor of observation. Perhaps you were waiting for the offer to dance, instead?

“You know,” Druig pushed himself off of the wall at the periphery of your vision, his lilting voice breaking your thoughts, “I asked Makkari where she got some of those artifacts to trade. She started to mention something about them being won in a ‘shooting contest,’ before becoming suspiciously forgetful. You wouldn’t know anything about that would you, dear hunter of mine?” 

Druig ambled his way over to where you held court, your gaze fixed solely on him now. 

“Now, Dru, you know I respect Ajak’s rules far too much to aid in any kind of scheme where thievery is involved. Besides, were they really thieved if I won them fair and square?” You smiled at him then, a quick flash of tilted lips and teeth, like a fox might bare its teeth at its prey. 

The flicker of ferocity behind your grin was a direct juxtaposition to your usually-calm demeanor, and the softness of the dress that adorned your body. So different from your usual stiff, copperish armor. 

A heady combination, Druig thought, your contradictions continuing to surprise him. 

“And what did Makkari promise you in return for your assistance?” Druig stood before you, arms clasped behind his back in apparent repose. But you knew better. Lightning roiled beneath his skin, in the contrasting gold-and-blue of his stormy eyes. He merely awaited his moment. 

“Alleged assistance, my love,” you teased. “And Makkari’s and my arrangements are our own. No business of yours …  not unless you ask nicely for it to be your business.” 

At the heated lilt of your teasing voice, Druig’s mind was awash with the possibility and entendre of what you had said. 

“You’ve compelled me to ask, but for my own self–preservation, perhaps I’ll save that for later,” Druig replied, circling you slowly. “That’s a lovely dress, by the way.”

You smiled at his compliment, your desire to tease gone as you felt flush at his compliment. Almost shy. You shifted on your feet. 

“I almost feel more comfortable in my armor, but Kingo insisted. He’s got more of a flair for this sort of thing than I do, anyway,” you offered, glancing at your Apollo from across the room as he laughed with Gilgamesh at Sprite’s illusions. "And some of the women in the village made it for me." 

The upswing of a new song caught your attention, and you turned to the man beside you, who was likewise observing the others. Ever-watchful, your Druig. 

The two of you had shared tender moments. Conversations far too personal to be purely platonic. Hell, the two of you had even shared a few kisses over the years. Embraced. Held one another in private moments just for the two of you. Or three of you. But the urgency to progress something wasn't really a factor when you lived forever. 

Nevertheless, yours and Druig's… whatever you might call it… had not really progressed past a certain point. Call it respect for the being you knew to be reserved in his affection, but you didn't feel the need to be overly-physical it it wasn't something he had instituted.

That doesn't mean the desire wasn't there. At least on your part. The burning thrum of something just shy of need. The hope to hold onto Druig as more than just your friend. To press the planes of your skin along his in quiet moments. To feel his hands caress parts of yourself that no one else would. His hands were quite maddeningly beautiful, weren't that? Craving the resplendent mutualism of shared ardor.

Had centuries not been long enough? So, while you didn’t know what came over you, you felt compelled to ask nonetheless – 

“Would you care to dance?” You piped up suddenly, your own voice (or perhaps the suddenness of your own courage) causing you to jump a bit, like a startled fawn. 

Had you really just done that? No sense in playing coy now.

You gestured at the circling crowd. 

Ah. So, perhaps it was a foolish request.

Druig quirked a brow at you, tilting the corner of his mouth into a barely-there half smile. For his part, he seemed to hesitate a tad before taking in the magnitude of the crowd and responding,

“I’m not much of a dancer, I’m afraid, love,” he replied. “Besides, can’t have anyone knowing I have two left feet.” 

You tried to quell the rush of icy disappointment and proverbial cold water his response had shot through you.

“I’ve seen you fight, Dru, your feet are precisely as they should be,” you teased gently, masking the mild sting of rejection you felt with a joke. “Ah, well.” 

With that, you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, and patted his arm softly before making your way from the room, and outside of the city walls. 

A blurring rush came to a stop beside Druig as he watched you go. He turned to find Makkari at his side, a stern look fixed to her usually-gentle features, prominent chin jutted in Druig’s direction and eyes awash in a frown. 

“Why would you do that?” She prodded at Druig, her hands flying. 

“I’m not much of a joiner,” he responded, signing back his dissent to your invitation. 

“She just wanted to spend time with you. Even you aren't that dense. Go on, go find her. You can thank me later,” Makkari was insistent, shoving him in the direction of the door you had left from. 

“Nosy,” Druig chuckled, rolling his eyes over-dramatically to ensure Makkari would see, before smiling at her in thanks and following your path.

Your invitation to dance had taken him a bit by surprise. It's not as though the two of you weren't … affectionate with one another, by any stretch. And it's not as though he didn't want to be. 

The thought of the two of you sharing everything together had crossed his mind. Of course it had. The idea that you would feel even an ounce of the ardorous devotion he felt for you was a heady one.

And there it was -- devotion. 

Druig was no fool, far from it. He simply wouldn't allow himself to be flung into anything without first understanding the parameters involved. It's not as though his reserved demeanor was a secret amongst his fellow Eternals.

Moments spent with you… by the lake, in his chambers on the Domo, gentle teasing and the tug-and-pull of something more in the heartstrings between you. While the long life Druig had been gifted was full of many moments, those with you, those with Makkari, these were his favorites. 

That he could have all of you was a thought he only desired to entertain if it could come to fruition. And now, the possibility was so very tangible, he could feel it beneath his fingertips. It felt like the brush of your lips, the gentle promise of something more.

Druig made his way to find you, determined. 

You had sat yourself outside of the city walls, staring at the moon as it hung over the city. It was luminous, as though it, too, wanted to join in, to celebrate the Eternals’ victory. 

The cool, quiet air was necessary after being exposed to the heat of the party. And … something potentially more embarrassing. But for the second time that night, a familiar brogue interrupted your thoughts.

“And what are you doing out here?” Druig called, coming to sit beside you, legs propped up to allow an arm to sling over his knees, reaching for your hand. “Were you not enjoying the festivities?” 

The gentle nature of Druig's rolling accent put your mind at ease. His tone implying repentance, an olive branch.

"Oh, I was. But someone wouldn't dance with me," you pouted, rising to your feet and brushing off your dress to twirl away from Druig's grasp playfully. And perhaps to mask the small bit of hurt that you had felt. 

But, now that the two of you were a respectable distance from the crowd, not to mention the prying eyes of your fellow Eternals, you felt perhaps Druig might be willing to engage. That the two of you could have a moment just for you, as you had so many times over the years. Something to cherish. You loved the others, but they could be so nosy.

Druig chuckled in spite of himself, a low, clear sound, like breaking thunder in the middle-distance of a cloudy day, his eyes never leaving your form.

"I've never been much of a joiner. You know very well I prefer to watch you," he said with a shrug, his voice taking on a heat that you would follow, directly into the burning sun if you must. 

You wouldn't back down now. He had sought you out, after all, hadn't he? 

No more tenuous dancing of an anxious doe. You were a fearsome hunter, after all. And if he could toy with you … well, turnabout was fair play.

"You would rather watch me than move with me?" 

You were coy, your lips pouting in a teasing smirk. You reached for Druig, lacing your fine-boned fingers through his firm, warm ones, pulling him up to sway with you and guiding his hands toward your hips. 

Your grin faltered slightly as you looked up at Druig through your lashes, his icy eyes melting with the warmth of his gaze upon you. His fingers were still laced with yours, which you used to your advantage as you continued to guide his touch over your hips, a gentle graze over soft curves, with only the stars in the heavens to watch over you, twinkling and winking their approval of your loving flirtation, your steady adoration. 

Druig dropped his forehead to touch yours, his eyes never leaving yours as his towering frame leaned into your swaying figure. 

Breaking one hand free to trail up your side, Druig grazed your chin with molten, idolatrous fingertips, letting them come to rest on the side of your jaw, as though it were the most natural resting point for him. And perhaps it was.

"You know I would move however you asked, goddess of mine," he rumbled. "You need only to ask."

"You would?" You murmured, bringing your free hand to read on Druig's chest, where you could feel the low, steady beat of his heart. "And that's enough for you, is it?"

"I would. The eternity we've been given is not enough," Druig's thumb that was resting along your jaw is now pressed into the plush of your lower lip, which he drags lightly down, his eyes following the movement. "For I could never have enough time with you."

You had lived for thousands of years; knew you would live for thousands more yet. But this was what you had been waiting for. This must be your purpose, Arishem be damned, to be loved by the man before you. 

For In all of that time, nothing compared to the feeling of Druig's lips on yours, nor the feeling of his touch to your skin. Nothing compared to what rushed through you, heated lightning and a rush of euphoria, of honey, as he held you outside of the city’s formidable walls. 

In Druig’s arms, you had found your own stronghold. 

You had once thought this type of love was for humans. For stories. Or just for Ikaris and Sersi. You did not think you would feel its keen sting, its quavering devotion, its promises and it's aches. 

But he had pressed his lips to yours. And As Druig’s mouth moved, slightly fumbling before becoming insistent when met with the soft petals of your lips, your resolve crumbled. 

“And I’m sorry about earlier,” Druig murmured his apology into your lips. “I would dance with you from here to eternity, and I lo–” his voice broke, “I love you.” 

You smiled at him then, beaming and radiant as one of your golden arrows. As the sunlight peeking through the forest trees. As only the goddess Artemis could. 

“Well then,” you murmured, your lips brushing along Druig’s… brushing, but never pressing, “I suppose you’ll just have to show me?” 

He had smirked then; his face, so normally smooth and impassive, quirked into a manner so self-assured. 

The moon and the whispering wind were the only witnesses to your moment alone. To the way Druig’s hands had slid beneath your skirt to brush along your thighs and through your folds as he held you tighter, tighter, impossibly tighter. To the honey-dipped slip of his tongue into your mouth, the warmth of his firm arms around yours, guiding you to the earth in the shadows of the great wall behind the both of you.

To the way he cradled your head as though you were the most precious gift. 

And would you be the goddess of the hunt if you did not seek out your quarry in kind? 

You had caught Druig’s wrist as he strummed and stroked his way to and through your glistening folds. You were nothing if not disciplined, the urge to seek out your prey its own kind of gratification to you. 

You flipped the two of you then, resting atop Druig’s hips, and caging him into the orbit that was your sheer power, leaning over him to tease, to stroke, to lick your way into his mouth. To press your own marks into the beautiful pallor of his throat. To roll your hips over his and feel all of him beneath you. 

As you divested him of each layer of cloth, you had left no part of him untouched, unwanted, your warmth surrounding him as you sank onto him. 

Truly, only nature would witness to what you and Druig had shared. To your gasps and moans into the others’ mouths. To the way you had dug your nails, crescents mirroring the moon above into his shoulders, his back. As you surged your hips into the rhythm between the two of you, poetry for yourselves alone, with a crest and a declaration shared only in this moment. To the way he had shattered alongside you, sharing this moment with only you. 

Weaving your way. Its own kind of dance. And you would twirl about one another until you couldn’t any longer.

And you had told him you loved him too. The genuine smile you were rewarded with would be something you would savor in your dreams for years to come. 

— 

But time has a way of twisting your ambitions. And the breaking point comes in Tenochtitlan. Amidst the fires, chaos, the fall of another Empire.

As the smoke and the popping of flames and guns alike rose around the Eternals, Druig’s mind was similarly aflame – burning with churning thoughts of war, the feeling of sticky blood beneath human hands as the people in the city below fought on. He tried to push it from his mind – tried to render himself immune to their conflict as Ajak had so frequently bid. But how could he? When he could hear their thoughts of unrest. Feel their blistering, itchy hatred for their so-called enemy?

When Thena broke beneath her Mahd Wy’ry, Druig felt himself splintering, too. Not in the same exact manner, but … beneath the crushing weight of waves of blood, historical conflict magnified throughout the millennia. One could only take so many human lives lost – the lives his Selene held so dearly – before it all became too much. 

“Do you have any idea what that does to someone after centuries?” Druig bellowed, refusing to meet his beloved’s eyes. Compelling the mortal men below to drop their weapons, Druig turned his rage on the others. On whomever would challenge him. On Ajak. On Ikaris. 

But, oh, you did. You had some idea. For to feel the heart of your beloved in so much pain was splintering you, too. If the weight that broke you did not come at the cruel, gnarled hands of Mahd Wy’ry, it would surely come with the fracturing of your family. If Druig were to leave now … well, even Eternals felt pain. 

The tears stung at your eyes as you watched Ajak plead with Druig to embrace Arishem’s purpose. A fool’s errand, you knew. Once Druig had set his mind to something, he would be loath to change it. Each word hurled between the two split your heart a fraction more. You could bear it no longer.

You stepped forward, opening your mouth to speak – but not before Kingo could sweep his arm before you, gently catching your waist. Turning to him, the pleading question in your eyes was met with morose understanding, with a bidding invocation from his heart to yours to please, don’t make this worse. 

You shook your head softly, gently removing his arm from you as you made toward Druig, but not before your beloved could strike the final nail into this coffin – 

“If you wanna stop me, you’re gonna have to kill me,” Druig hissed, turning on his heel and sparing an unreadable glance at you as he descended the stone steps of the temple, the men he had compelled making to follow him into the woods. 

You were so beautiful in that dress he earlier said he had admired. So soft and beautiful, a stark contrast to the smoke and violence that was drowning his senses. To the foggy commands he had implanted in the men’s minds, bidding them to stop fighting.  

Druig knew you would follow him – had dared to hope that perhaps you would come with him. Surely, he thought, you would see things his way. As the others had not. 

You padded down the steps behind him, Ajak’s sorrowful glance following your form as you trailed after your beloved. Knowing she would either lose two children this day, or that you would return with less of your heart than you had left with. An untenable situation, the outcome outweighed by the cost to the both of you.

“Druig,” you cried, “Druig! Wait, please!” 

The way your voice had broken over the word “please” caused Druig to stop, turning on his heel to watch you make your way toward him. The smoky, red fury smothering his heart dissipating slightly as he took in the desperation in your expression. 

“I won’t go back, hunter, please don’t ask,” Druig spoke before you could meet him. “She’s wrong, and you know it!” 

You faltered in your steps, approaching your beloved cautiously, as you would a skittish, newborn fawn in the golden wood. 

“My love, you know Ajak means well,” you spoke softly, tenuously, so as not to stoke the flames you could see licking their way behind Druig’s eyes, feeding his fury. “You know she loves you. We all do.” 

“Whether they do or not, I won’t be a pawn in Arishem’s game,” Druig clipped. “Not while people suffer needlessly. Look at them, my love. You love them. How can you let them … do this?” Druig gestured at the destruction around you.

“Because I have to trust that this … thirst for war, like all thirst, will eventually be quenched,” You knotted your hands into your skirt, the anxiety wheedling it’s way through your bones. “I don’t know if the humans will ever achieve harmony, but isn’t it up to them to try? Isn’t it an expression of our love to let them try? To trust, to hope?”

Druig scoffed, a harsh noise to your ears in its derision. 

“Up to them? Beneath the weight of their greed? Their jealousy? Their violence? They are buried,” Druig pleaded, eyes wild. “I can unburden them. You know I can.” 

"By controlling them! You think you know more than them?" you pressed, unable to believe just what you were hearing from the person you thought you knew so well.

"Please, love,” Druig scoffed, “I know I do. I can see into their minds. I know their limits. I know their weaknesses.” 

You could not believe what you were hearing -- as the remnants of the battle raged in the distance beyond you, you felt the rising bile of scourge and the heat of conflict rising within yourself. The man before you prided himself on being collected. A little derisive at times, sure, but never cruel. Never so casual in disinterested supremacy.

"We're meant to protect them, Dru,” you urged softly, firmly. “To help them. Not to rule them. It is not our place."

"But it can be mine,” he stepped toward you, fingers outstretched as if to take your hand. 

You stepped back, shaking your head and withdrawing from him, pulling your hand away so that his fingers could not meet your own. You tried not to notice the subtle flinch, nor the flash of pain behind your beloved’s eyes as he saw you retreat from him. Drawing away as you would draw your shortsword from a defeated Deviant, detached in your victory.

But you felt no pride in this. This was not victory. 

You tried again. 

"Your place was to be beside me, and mine beside you. Is that not what you want?" The wind blew the smoke from the warring fires around the both of you, swirling your skirts and stinging your eyes. Yes, that was what the prickling behind your eyes was. It had to be. Druig would never make you cry. 

"That can still be, my Selene, my Diana,” Druig implored, the usually cool lilt of his brogueish accent was now tinged with what you might mistake for panic. If you did not know him any better. Druig did not panic. “Come with me. We'll watch over them together." He reached for you again. 

You shook your head, trying to shake the smoke from your scratching throat and the tears from your eyes. 

Couldn’t he see this was tearing you in two? Splitting you to the bone? 

"That -- that's not our purpose, Dru. It's -- it's perversion. Our duty is sacrosanct, our gifts from Arishem himself, and you mean to use yours to corrupt that duty. To corrupt your purpose. Corrupt them. Corrupt us."

Druig's eyes flashed, a licking, complex damasque of anger, heat and betrayal.

"Is that what you would think of me, my love?" He spat the last word, carefully avoiding meeting your eyeline where he could see the glimmer of tears forming along your lashes. Better to look above you, to look down upon you. Through haughty eyes and the slope of angular cheekbones. “So powerful as to destroy even us? Can you not see that the purpose you speak so highly of is flawed? That perhaps we can do more?”  

"I don't know what to think, Dru," you whispered, stepping forward and reaching for him this time, for his palm, yours outstretched. “I -- I’m so confused.” 

As your fingers grazed his hand, he yanked it away, perhaps more violently than you had done moments before. As though your touch were as cutting as one of your arrows, laden with weighted, creeping poison.

"But,” you implored again, ignoring the rush of hurt his actions had wrought, “I know you're not right all of the time. None of us are. We're not perfect -- how can you say you're fit to do this? That you know what's best?”

"We know more than they do. They’re feeble, flawed – but I can keep them safe! We can keep them safe,” he pressed, noting the way your hand was still seeking his.  

You gazed upon Druig’s features, twisted now with the heated passion of his speech, awash in the darkness of the night sky and the shadows war rumbling around him; his eyes flashing a blue-grey, a troubled sea roiling in a storm. A painfully unfamiliar mask comprised of features you once recognized. Intimately. 

How unlike the usually cool, impassive face of the man you had come to love. 

“We can’t,” you murmured, your eyes meeting Druig’s once more. “I can’t. We should stick with the others – we cannot walk this world alone.”

Druig scoffed, but before he could berate the others whom you would choose to stay with over him – Ikaris, with his bullheaded, proud devotion to Arishem; Ajak with her secrets, her unyielding sense of purpose; Kingo, the Apollo to your Artemis, whose sunny disposition you would never wish to be parted from -- and how he would follow Ajak and Iakris both to the end; Sersi, too delicate to stand up to anyone  – you broke him with your words, again.

“With or without the others, with or without you, I will guard these people, love them. But I won’t control them. We are not gods.”

“You’ve been talking to Kingo –” 

“No, Dru. They deserve their freedom -- freedom to choose, freedom to love ...” you trailed, finally capturing Druig’s fingers in your own, stepping into his space and bringing your hand to delicately graze the peak of his cheekbone. His hand atop yours, destined to follow yours in its journey, mapping the familiar landscape of his own face through the beauty of your hands.  

Druig tilted his head down toward yours, his lips mere centimeters from meeting yours, foreheads not-quite brushing -- a gesture still so tender, even in absence of actual touch. Your affection had always had an atmosphere, an orbit. 

“Even the freedom to hurt? When I could prevent it?” He murmured to you, eyes downcast to your lips, your gaze upon the fan of his lashes. 

“Yes, love, even that," you sighed, shaking your head softly. 

“And what of your freedom? Do you not choose to love me?” Druig lifted his hand away from its place atop yours, a cool breeze caressing the backs of your fingers in the absence of his touch. 

He trailed his fingers to you now, mirroring the path your touch had taken, this time upon your own face. Cupping your jaw gently. The two of you now locked in a crescent moon’s embrace, arced and amorous, but not quite complete. Not quite whole. 

“I have no choice but to love you,” you whispered into his lips, “for I fear I wouldn’t recognize myself without the pieces that belong to you. You are everything to me. Of the gifts this eternal life has given me, I could thank Arishem for you each day, and still not have enough time to express my gratitude. For you, for Makkari, for the pearls of love this life has bestowed,” you paused to catch your breath. Were you really about to deny him once more? “But, Dru, this is wrong. We cannot leave the others, cannot abandon our purpose to protect, as we have been asked. You cannot leave us.” 

You tore your gaze from your beloved’s, the tears you had fought so hard to cage now slipping freely down your cheeks, gliding coolly over the corners of your downturned mouth. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Druig’s face fall, as his shoulders set. A pillar of resolute sadness. You could feel his tension; the climbing heat within him at your stubbornness. 

Your mind was moving a mile a minute. The world fell into a wash of white-noised nothingness, the army of those men Druig had bewitched stood, unnaturally silently around you. 

Everything around you was fading, as your thoughts flitted from scenario to scenario, through doubt and distrust, before finally – a previously-unfelt rosy calm washed its way into your mind, settling and easing, soothing you --

Was this plan really so bad? Could it really be so bad? When had Druig ever steered you wrong? It was reasonable, wasn’t it? There was so much you didn’t know, and Druig would be there to guide you, as he had promised he would be. Together in all things, with Druig, Druig, Druig … 

The pleasant haze of your thoughts was rudely interrupted by a sharp, puncturing arrow of doubt within yourself, an uncomfortable prodding and wriggling sensation through your brain, deflating the rosy cloud as you met Druig’s eyes -- 

– Only to discover they were unfocused, far-seeing, golden. 

Suddenly, you were awash in white heat, blue flames tearing their way through your body as you realized what he was doing. Rage.

“How dare you?” You bellowed, stepping forward and shoving Druig by the shoulders. “You think you can control me, as you control them? You really think so little of me, that you can alter my ‘feeble’ mind? I won't be what you say because you say it!” 

You gripped his wrist, squeezing, so that he might feel the weight of your words. You had never truly raised a hand against him before; even when the two of you were training together, you had always pulled your punches. But this? You were livid with him now. And you knew that Druig would be defensive, in turn.

His mind was racing, full of memory, of that night outside of the city – your keystone moment of passion. A core memory.

Remember this love, for surely you would never feel anything like it again.

Of the night when perpetually-young lovers wrapped themselves in one another, awash in the heat of one another and the haze of summer. Druig’s lily skin burned alongside yours, bright and entirely incandescent, awash with the glow your attentions had wrought upon him. 

You had pulled Druig ever-closer, closer, closer to you, breathing his name into his ear as you moved together beneath gleaming heavens. A reverent whisper of your voice that made him feel entirely godlike. The rest of the world may as well have been made of tissue paper – transparent and prone to crumbling beneath the strength your love had imbued. 

To look at you, Druig knew the starshine clarity of your honest eyes would be the last thing he desired to see on this planet should he be forced to leave it.

But, but, but … he could not bring himself to meet them now, for the fear that yours would reflect only derision, revulsion at what he was about to do. He truly had savored that night. And other nights like it. And every moment of affection between then and now. Of shared orange slices and stolen moments in quiet corners. Spoiling, curdling in his mind through this disquiet. Through his cruel words. The quickest way to kill you was to poison your heart – the heart that loved him so. 

"So much for your love, then," Druig spat, his touch abandoning your face to peel your fingers from his, flinging your hand away from its rightful place along his skin. 

He would be finished with it all. Even if it meant being finished with you.

Druig turned on his heel, retreating into the forest with the people he had compelled at his back, their unnaturally-uniform steps marching in unison, in time with the heavy thudding of your heart. 

You watched him go, his form fading into the darkness, stealing your heart away and carrying it with him, ripping it from your chest and into the depths of the forest, forever with him --  though he didn't know it. Or if he did, it was not enough to make him turn around. To come back to you. You would forgive him already if he would just turn around. 

With every step Druig took away from you, you could feel your heart cracking. You opened your mouth to wail, release some of this pain that had suddenly washed over you at the reality that the other half of your soul was marching out of your life. But no sound escaped your lips. 

Instead, you fell to your knees, your intricately-woven dress that Druig had complimented mere hours before now dirtied, as you looked to the heavens, more tears soundlessly escaping down your cheeks.

Praying for Arishem to guide you. For no Eternal had died before, but this pain? Worse than pain of battle. This must be what death is, you thought. It wasn't a quick, clean end after which your soul would know peace. No. It was a serrated knife that sawed slowly, uncaringly through you with the cadence of departing footsteps, leaving you to bleed alone until nothing was left.  This was not something even Ajak could heal.

Makkari had found you then, stock-still on your knees, staring at the spot where Druig had vanished into the treeline. She had rested her head against your cheek, silent through your sobs.

Remember this pain; its burn unique. For surely, you would never burn so wholly from within again.

Promises, promises.

—

Now, your family had found you at your homestead in Guadalajara. On the outskirts of the city. 

Sersi, ever the gentle diplomat. Ikaris, the man intent on becoming king. And Kingo, the sunshine through the trees of your forest. And … Kingo’s delightfully human friend. 

Never they mind that you had built a life for yourself. That after Makkari had found you five hundred years ago and told you of Ajak’s parting words – “When we meet again, tell me what you’ve found…” that you had found a corner of the world with sunshine. With greenery. With bursting flavor and color. With the life you had always imagined you could have had if you had been born mortal on this planet. 

But without a partner.

Sersi and Ikaris had broken the news to you. Kingo there to soften the blow. Of Ajak. Of Gilgamesh. Of the Emergence. Of the true purpose of the Eternals on Earth. 

“So,” you mused, as they sat around your table, steaming mugs of freshly-brewed Mexican coffee before them. “Druig was right, after all. The design was flawed.” 

You looked up to meet Kingo’s eyes – his chocolate orbs melting into yours with soft, serene understanding. That you would mourn Ajak. That you would mourn the lives you had led, tainted by deceit. 

“No wonder we never remembered one another from Olympia,” you intoned, taking a sip. 

Your family urged you to pick up your bow. Whether the plan was to delay the Emergence, or to merely stave off the Deviants, you were needed, they had said. 

So, here you were, trudging behind your family, to where the others stood. Phastos, with hands ringed in gold, ready to create something to once more save humanity. Sprite, with her sharp wit and illusions. Thena, ever the stoic warrior, though never the same since she and Gilgamesh had left as she crumbled beneath the weight of her Mahd Wy’ry. And … him. 

"My beautiful, beautiful hunter," Druig purred when he met you, trailing a finger from one of your shoulders, over your collarbone, to the other, walking in a semi-circle around you to rest his chin on your shoulder, tilting his chin slightly so as to whisper to you, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Did you miss me?" The low, even hum reverberated from his mouth, straight through you.

The easy breeze of Druig’s lilting accent surrounded you, tickling your ears and pricking them with familiarity and warmth. 

And here, you hadn’t decided whether you had forgiven him, yet. 

You closed your eyes, letting the feelings the familiarity of his voice brought forth wash over you. 

"You are … you are -- insolent" you spluttered, “¡Atrevido!” 

Presumptuous. 

“So that’s a yes, then,” Druig smirked. “I missed you, mo shíorghrá.” 

You conjured an arrow that slipped between your index and middle finger, flipping him a rather rude gesture with the weapon of your own making as you stalked off, Kingo chuckling at your back. 

They had mentioned unearthing the Domo, of finding Makkari. And the sooner you had all started, the sooner it could end. 

One way or the other. 

Still, you couldn’t deny what it had made you feel – to see Druig again. And you’d had a feeling he had known it, too. If the flickering grin of his full lips had been any indication. The sunglasses were of no obstacle to you. For your hunter’s eyes knew his too well. That they danced behind the dark glass, ever teasing you.  

The return to the Domo had brought memories long-buried. Of days spent with the object of your affection (and current object of your avarice).

Of one memory in particular: 

You had smiled bashfully, wanly, eyes diverted downward as you lightly shove Druig's shoulder.

"Don't tease me, Dru," you chuckle. "It's unbecoming of a man of your particular ability."

Druig was silent as he brought his hand up to cup your chin, trailing his fingers along your jaw, light as the tickling of leaves that dance upon the wind as he traces his way down your neck and along the peaks of your collarbones, feeling the evenness of your breath beneath his fingertips.

"I do not tease, darling." His eyes locked with yours.

"What a shame," you countered, "sometimes unbecoming can be fun."

Druig pressed his fingers into their resting place along your collar, pressing his ardor firmly. How sobering his gaze could be -- as clear, cool and shocking as the river, wild in wintertime. 

"You can tell me what you feel, can't you, little one?" Druig broke his gaze from yours  to whisper in your ear, nuzzling the curve of his nose along the shell of your ear as he did so, feeling of warmth. 

"I…," you trailed, "you know what I feel for you. I won't stroke your ego."

"Perhaps I just like to hear you say it."

You sighed, relishing in the feel of Druig's lips near your ear, over your cheek, and pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

"Who invented this as an expression of devotion, I wonder," you murmured, drawing back from Druig, your lips separating, noses still brushing.

"The kiss? Who knows. Maybe we did?"

"You cannot think us so important as to take ownership of every human development. That's … generous."

"Maybe it's innate, then," Druig pondered, his eyes gazing upon you as he propped his head in his hand. He did not need to render his eyes gold in order to determine that the gears in your mind were turning. He'd rather wait until you chose to share a fully-formed thought. How wondrous the conclusions of your mind could be.

"Is it innate to us because it is innate to humans? Or is it the other way around?" You wondered aloud. "Are we awakened knowing how we choose to express our love? Do we all recognize love once we've felt it, and are all drawn toward the same compulsion to express it?"

Druig barked a laugh.

"If you were human, perhaps you would have been a philosopher," he mused, reaching across to his night table to pour himself water from the pitcher that rested there.

You wrinkled your nose at the thought.

"I don't think so," you said. "I'm not suggesting you can't think properly out of doors, but I quite think I would prefer to contribute through the use of my hands."

"You don't give your mind nearly enough credit," he said, taking a drink, his eyes never leaving you over the rim of his cup. 

Sensing your protest, he continued, "I think I could be considered an expert on the subject." 

He had wrapped his arms around you then. 

Now, now that you had been reunited, and the plan unfolded (though you were still wary of Ikaris), Druig had stopped you on your way out of Phastos’ lab. Pleading you for a word. 

Ever unable to resist him, you acquiesced. Standing next to him beneath the cool light that emanated from the halls of the Domo. As it had all started. You hadn’t traded words with him in over five hundred years. And now you stood before him, the man you had given yourself to, bidding him to speak. To say anything that would ease the lashing pain that you had felt amidst the fires of war as he had marched his army of compelled men into the forest of the Amazon, and beyond your keen archer’s sight. 

“You know why I chose the forest, don’t you?” Druig asked.

You shrugged, cool and indifferent. 

“The convenience of proximity? Where they found you … Those were the same woods where we were all those years ago?” You queried, voice level. The “when you left” remained unspoken, removed from the end of your sentence; though, Druig didn’t need to be a mind reader to know it was there, hanging between the two of you. 

“Because, love, in all of Sprite’s stories, you were the goddess of the wood. The hunter. I know it’s where you would feel most at home,” Druig turned his head from you. “If you had ever decided to find me, to choose me, I wanted you to find a home. Someplace you would love, as you once loved me.”

You remained silent, mulling over Druig’s words. It was austere. Foreign, this silence between the two of you. And Druig’s revelation was an olive branch, of sorts, as well as a surprise to you. You had thought Druig would not want  to see you again after you had stayed behind. 

“Would you have let me?” You asked, “After everything? Choose you, I mean. Would you have welcomed me with open arms after we left one another alone in the fires of war?” 

Old habits die hard, and resentment is left to fester, filling your gut with rot. Corrosive. And the storms within his Druig’s beget flashing lightning when he looked at you, splitting you to your core and burning you from the inside out. 

Druig shuffled his feet, weighing his words before answering. 

“I think of that day by the lake often,” Druig admitted. “When our friendship was young. How much time has passed since. And now, here we are, at the end of all things on this planet. Before it was too late to say anything, I would tell you how I regretted leaving you that day. How I longed to reach for you. To tell you I was wrong. But only if you would hear it?” 

“I would hear it,” you murmured. “But, Dru, you weren’t wrong. You were right. I was wrong. About Arishem. About our purpose. I shouldn’t have said what I did.” Tears welled in your eyes, your voice breaking over the admission you had weighed in your mind for centuries. 

“Thena would have a field day,” you sniffled. “Look at me, crying before a man.” 

Druig shushed you, turning to touch you at last, to cup your face in his warm palms, thumbs skating over the apex of your cheeks to wipe away the silent tears as they fell. You thought the world would end and you would waste away after millenia before feeling the tenderness of his trailing touch smoothing over your skin one last time. It was a revelation. A gift from whatever Celestial force was listening. 

“Sweetheart, I wouldn’t have you cry over this. I shouldn’t have asked you to choose. Between me and them, our family, the humans,” Druig softly brushed his lips to yours for a fleeting moment, as if to brush the surface anew. To wipe away the tears and leave the surface of your mouth with something pure. “You were right – we never were better than them. Look at us now. Can’t we both have been a tad right, and somewhat wrong?” 

You chuckled weakly through the breaking remnants of your emotion. 

“That would make us so remarkably normal wouldn’t it?”

They say lightning never strikes twice. Never to meet the same corner of earth, leaving it with an eruption of destruction and then bereft of feeling. But you knew that to be untrue, for the same feeling bloomed and burned within you every time Druig turned his gaze to you, flashing quickly through the gale. His eyes stormy, his affections quick and ferocious. Not for the first time, nor the last, would you say your beloved was so like lightning. 

And you found yourself awash in the amorous wave of feelings you had always felt with him. No matter how much time had passed. 

“I missed you, my hunter,” you folded your way into Druig’s arms, burying your head into his chest and allowing his arms to wrap around you. To hold you for a moment before the end of all things. “Now what do you say we save the world?” 

You pressed your hands to Druig’s chest, palms flat, pushing yourself from his embrace and tilting your chin up to look into his eyes, the wave of relief you had felt at Druig’s forgiveness replaced with mirth and the promise of a challenge, to do battle together again once more. 

“Think you can keep up with me, then?” You trailed a finger along his jaw to tweak his chin, spinning a conjured arrow at your side in the other hand. “We’ll see, amor.” 

Druig watched you walk away from him, ready to do battle. It was a welcome of some comfort, knowing that as he watched you walk away it was nothing like the way he had walked away from you 500 years ago. That you would be by his side as they combatted the Emergence.

You donned your armor once more, prepared to become the hunter once again.

Thread can be used to patch. Even your prior hurts. To right wrongs and make your picture whole again. If only you nudge them along a little, with willing fingers and strength of mind. 

— 

Ikaris’s betrayal was nothing less than heartbreak of the cruelest kind. As you prepared to merge to lend your power to Druig, the pain of Ikaris and Sprite’s defection were additional wounds on top of your already heavy heart. You had lost so much in such a short amount of time. 

And while you understood Kingo’s decision to leave rather than fight, you wouldn’t like and say it didn’t make you question which side of this debate that you were on. 

“You know you’re my favorite, dear Selene,” Kingo had smirked, bending down from his considerable height to press a gentle kiss to the crown of your head. “And I’m glad you’re okay, after all this time. And that we’ve found each other again. But I can’t do this. Please don’t hate me.” 

And when Ikaris had shown up to disrupt the uni-mind and to stop Druig and Sersi? When he had flown down from on-high and tossed Druig away like he was nothing, you saw red. 

You had never conjured your arrows to fire at another Eternal before. Not with the intent to harm. But you refused to pull your punches now, as you took aim at Ikaris in the sky. Covering Makkari as she struck her blows. 

Ikaris flew over you, attempting to shoot your bow from your hands with the beams from his eyes. 

You worked quickly, wishing for Makkari’s power as you dodged, rolled and leapt away from the surges he fired at you. 

"Stop this Ikaris,” you shouted at him as you shot an arrow in the direction he was flying, grazing his shoulder as he zipped past. “This won't work!. A true leader is unselfish. You can’t do this," you pleaded.

"And what would you know of it?” Ikaris called back to you, “What would you know of how to lead?” He landed before you, squaring his shoulders. “You choose to spend all of your time with a man whose ability is telling others what to do and think. Hardly an unselfish leader."

Heated rage flooded your body at his mention, his insult, of Druig. Quickly, you drew, taking aim for Ikaris’ heart. 

“Hardly the same thing, and you know it. Stop this or I’ll stop you.” You anchored the string of your bow to your chin, ready to fire. “You may be able to fly, but I’ve always been faster.” 

Your distraction had worked, long enough for Makkari flit by you and to knock Ikaris from his feet, the two of you continuing to hold him at bay. 

As the battle waged on between Ikaris, the Deviant, the Eternals, Phastos’ uni-mind had worked once more to allow Sersi to freeze Tiamut. It was a victory that didn’t feel like a victory, for now you had lost Ikaris, as well. The weight of battle, of the endless conflict that you learned was responsible for advancing the universe, felt heavy on your shoulders, abridging your feelings of relief at having stopped Tiamut. Was this what Ajak felt during the entire millenia of her burdened leadership? 

The appearance of Druig making his way across the sand, had eased this bleak weight somewhat. As he embraced Makkari, embraced you, you felt the faint glimmer of what you might call hope. For if you were together, maybe you could use what you had learned to help other planets.  

To do something actually good. Together. 

—

Time heals all wounds. Who knew that better than beings who had been alive for millennia? Losing Ajak, Gilgamesh … even Ikaris … and now the others who had gone when you had only just met again. 

Perhaps this was your curse, to feel everything too deeply. Perhaps it was penance for having a power capable of taking lives. Ever trapped in your own head.

The ache that had taken residence in your chest since learning of Ajak's death rattled dully behind your heart. Not even the success of abating the Emergence, of once more helping humanity, could ease it. You had, after all, only recently come to terms with five hundred years of loneliness. 

But sitting wedged on a couch with the two who had become other parts of your soul would certainly help.

You munched on your pizza, seated on one end of the Ajak's couch with your thigh pressed into Makkari’s, Druig on her other side. Phastos's son, Jack, had presented you with a half of the orange he had absconded from the kitchen with, with Thena’s aid, as Phastos scolded Thena for conjuring her weapons near his child. 

“But dad!” Jack whined, “Artemis was showing me her bow-n-arrows earlier, and she and A-thena are so cool.” 

You shrugged from your place on the couch at Phastos’ swift, accusatory look, arching a brow. 

“Makkari made a good point, you know. He’s ten, P. I’ve been shooting arrows since the dawn of time. He could pick up a bow at ten," you called to him, not eager to leave your perch on the couch with your beloveds. Not when you had only just  been reunited.

At Jack’s eager look, Phastos sighed, weary, rubbing his temples. You all seemed determined to drive him to an early grave. 

“Oooh-kay. No babysitting with Auntie Thena or Auntie Artemis.” 

You rolled your eyes, a smile nevertheless making its way across your lips as you split the orange half Jack had given you into its preordained wedges and passing them to your partners. Your fingertips first brushing Makkari’s, as the sticky orange sweetness passed from your hand into hers, and then to Druig. You pressed the remaining wedge to your lips, winking at them and settling back into your seat, keen to relax before you all were to depart. 

And when that time had arrived, you and Druig traipsed through the tall grass to the Domo, his hand in yours, Makkari on your other side, pressing her warmth into your waist. 

Before your group had departed, you had pressed a kiss to Phastos’ cheek, bidding Ben and Jack goodbye. Giving Jack a hug, you surreptitiously passed him one of your golden arrows with a wink – the arrow was blunted of course. By the time Phastos noticed it and had his subsequent heart attack, you would be long gone. Far from Phastos’ delicate, spinning rings and anxious-parent wrath. 

You settled once more into the space of the Domo, Makkari breaking off from the two of you to make her way to Phastos’ lab and her collection of treasures – some of which you had definitely, legally, helped her obtain. Never anyone mind. 

As you made your way down the hall, you brushed your fingertips over the corner with the tallied etchings of yours and Kingo's not-competition, a mild pang of sadness accompanying the ache in your chest.

You had wished Kingo was there to tell you goodbye. The Apollo to your Artemis, bidding you on your way with a sunshine smile and a wish for luck.

You and Druig made your way to his chamber, the room where you had spent so much time together, debating and discussing humanity, spirituality. Where you had discovered more about yourselves and one another. Where Druig had expressed his love for you time and again. 

You made to cross the room and settle yourself amongst Druig’s collection of pillows, as you had done countless times over the course of your years together. Never missing a beat at making yourself at home, no matter how much time had passed. 

“Wait,” Druig caught your wrist. “I have something for you.” 

“Oh?” You turned into his arms. “Was it this?” Fluidly shifting to the tips of your toes, you pressed a kiss to Druig’s lips, capturing his lower lip between your full ones and sucking lightly. Druig sighed softly into the kiss, his grip on your wrist tightening. 

Druig broke from you, looking down his prominent cheekbones at your countenance, his eyes flitting between yours and your sinful mouth. 

“Temptress,” he purred. The washing waves of his cerulean eyes reflecting his internal debate – to give you your gift, or to kiss you again? Five hundred years was so long a time to make up for.

The latter won out as he struck like a snake, decisive and agile, fastening his lips to the base of your jaw and trailing them down the elegant plane of your neck, tilting your head back as you groaned at his attention. The vibration from your throat a pleasant hum against his full lips. 

"Druig,” you sighed, “We've been alive for thousands of years … Helped nearly every conceivable language develop, and yet …” 

At the feeling of Druig's warm lips pressing firmly into the column of your throat, trailing down to kiss along your collarbones peeking through the soft collar of your shirt. The feeling of your voice reverberating beneath his attention as you graced him with your affectations, drowning one another in your mutual ardor, you found the will to speak.

"... Yet I'm not sure words still yet exist that would adequately convey the depth of my emotion, my feeling for you. But I can show you." You wound your fingers through Druig's soft hair, tugging lightly to break him away from your neck and bringing his eyeline back to yours. 

You are the knife I turn inside myself; that is love.

Druig's crystalline eyes sparkled, a dizzying oceanic effect that made you feel as though the world had turned upside down -- for, surely, stars did not shine during the blue-skyed daytime. Or perhaps they did, as evidenced by the mischievous, adoring, cerulean gaze of the man before you.

"Show me?” At your nod, Druig understood. “So you would surrender control to me, my little hunter?" Druig murmured, his voice suggestive, a warm and pleasing bolt of silk against your skin.

The idea was a heady one, leaving you feeling drunker with power as the moments passed. Ironic, really. Everything was a bantering game between you and Druig, a display of companionable, bursting power met in equity. You, a marksman of singular focus; he, a man with a mind that was able to bend others to his will. 

The thought that you, the most powerful being he knew, would surrender yourself, the most secret corners of your mind, to him was enough to make him weak in the knees. And he was supposed to be the one with unsurpassed will. 

A promise to give him the thing he had tried to take before your separation all those years ago – the thing that tore you apart, to willingly allow him to use his power on you. The magnitude of your assent was not lost on him. 

Druig’s fingers skated along your arms, down your sides, to rest at your waist, his eyes never leaving your form as your eyes fluttered closed at his touch. 

You disentangled your fingers from Druig’s hair to bring a hand to grip his chin between your thumb and forefinger, nuzzling his nose with your own before trailing down to brush his lips with yours once more. The petal-like trace of your lips along Druig’s jaw whispered the long-held truth of your devotions into his skin. 

“You don't need your tricks for me to bend to your will,” you murmured, your lips brushing the skin of Druig’s cheek, “I'll bend however you like.”

A rumble emanated from your love at your proclamation. A subtle purring from Druig’s chest at your promise. 

“You don’t trust me, little hunter?” Druig murmured. “Trust that I know your mind … your body? Hm?” Druig’s hands slid from your waist, down your curves.

Druig guided you down to lie back on the pillows you had been heading for before, shedding his leather jacket as he went and allowing it to drop to the floor with an unceremonious, soft thump. 

Druig turned his attention to you. The stylishly torn jeans and simple, soft tee you had tucked into them were nothing but a nuisance to Druig now. Though you were delightfully beautiful in your modern garb, it was an obstacle to be absconded with as he became a man of singular focus. At the promise of what was to come; of what you would allow.

You reached for your beloved, allowing him to fold his body over yours as your lips met once more. Druig trailed his hands to your waist, where you swore you could feel his fingertips burning through the soft material of your shirt. 

You thanked whatever deity was listening for allowing you to feel this way again. 

Memories of your night together outside of the walls of Babylon flashed in your mind as Druig tugged your shirt from your waist and up, over your head, cradling the back of your neck as he did so. Always tender, courteous. 

The winking promise of mischief danced behind your hooded eyes as you looked up at your beloved from his place above you, a soft smile gracing your lips. His cheeky little hunter. Fox-like in disposition, quick and intuitive. True to your nature, you struck, shedding Druig’s shirt with quick, lithe fingers, and baring the pale canvas of his skin to you. 

As you made for the button of his jeans next, Druig caught your wrists. His grip firm, but not punishing, he leveled you with a glare you could only describe as warning. Guiding you back once more, Druig hovered over you, like waves returning at the turn of the tide, rushing and momentous. 

Druig squeezed your wrists before releasing them, allowing his hands to map the skin of your arms, your torso, reveling in the feel of you beneath his fingertips, every plane and prickling goosebump that awoke at his touch. 

The rasp of his skin along yours was something both you and he had thought you may never hear again, never feel again; and now that you had, you wouldn’t relinquish them so easily. And nor, it seemed, would he. 

He leaned forward, kissing his way down your neck, your chest, unclasping your bra and trailing his lips and hands down your torso before you knew what had happened. Your eyes fluttered closed at Druig’s affections, his touch ever-present and bordering on overwhelming as the honey-heat burning between your two bodies climbed, washing through the rest of the room. Druig’s attentions trailed golden lines of heat along your skin, sending sparks of starry champagne bubbling their way through you. 

You pulled Druig closer to you, winding your arms around him and bringing your legs up around either side of his waist, lacing your fingers along the back of his neck and threading your way through his hair, tugging lightly to bring him back to your eye-level.

You captured his lips with yours once more, nipping a teasing bite into his plush lower lip, delighting in the flush of the blood beneath the skin of his lips as a result of your attention. That his body still reacted to yours. You tugged again at his hair, causing him to groan into your mouth before breaking yours away. 

“I trust you, my love,” you hummed. Druig’s fingers teasing their way ever-closer to your center as you tugged his hair, the two of you panting into one another’s mouths. “You have my body. You can have my mind.”

At your declaration, Druig pressed his lips once more to yours, grinning wolfishly into his kiss. With no more preamble, the sky blue of his eyes bled gold, your beloved now nestling himself in the warmth of your mind, not unlike how he had in your body time and again throughout your centuries together. 

This was nothing like the time before in Tenochtitlan when he had tried to encourage you to leave with him. Then, your mind had been battered with conflict. Tormented with your inability to mend the fractures in your family, to soothe the ache wrought by their warring beliefs. A stormy sea frothing and roiling. Trying to appease him.

Now, your mind was balm. It was smooth, drifting snow. Crisp and even, as you gave yourself over to your beloved. It was the shining sky during a winter’s night – clear and bright, despite the surrounding dark. Every star alive, and all was shimmering lavender.

Another night in the sway of the flower moon.

Druig was awash in the warmth, the romance of your mind. The gold of his eyes was reflective of the rosy gold of your amorous thoughts, of your suit, of you. He could die happy amidst the loving, blushed hue that surrounded you every time you looked at him, thought of him, of your past, of your reunion, of your future. 

Every bit of the impulsive, pure love of Romeo and Juliet, none of the tragedy. Not anymore. You were besotted with him, amorous in the deepest sense, sure as the moon hangs in the night sky. 

Druig’s kisses were pure, like lake water. Blue-green and brisk, drowning you in its depths. A stark contrast to the heat of the room, yet, ironically, the cause and the symptom of said heat. His aura -- strength and subtle amusement, so like derision -- a tinge of cockiness… you supposed these things came from the ability to know the depths of a mind, to control it if he so saw fit. 

He would do anything you asked, because you asked it. And so, it seemed, would you … but only for him.

"Lie still, my love," Druig bid, your legs dropping from their place around his waist as he pulled back to kick off his boots and the remaining articles of his clothing.

You watched your beloved bare himself to you from behind the honey haze of Druig's influence that clouded your eyes. He leaned over you again, hooking his fingers in the belt loops of your jeans to tug you down the mass of blankets and pillows to meet his body, slotting yourselves gently together.

Reverent was the only way to describe the way he was looking at you now, trailing his fingers along your torso to pop the buttons of your jeans.

"Will you undress for me, Selene?" Druig's voice was everywhere. Inside your mind, in your ears, echoing in your mouth like the taste of copper.

You did as Druig bid, your hands following the familiar lines of your body through the strange filter of your love's mind. Rendering your own touch foreign to you, get familiar all at once. 

What a strange dichotomy, your mind whispered to you from somewhere far away. 

"Isn't it nice like this?" Druig breathed, "So … compliant."

Your head was buzzing, full of warm pleasant thoughts that hadn't been there before, thoughts of touching yourself, of trailing your fingertips along your breasts, across the plains and valleys of your body. Of sliding them through your now-damp folds. 

You could distantly hear yourself, sighing in pleased gasps at the touch that was yours, but also not-yours.

Druig felt himself harden as he knelt before you, over you. He had dreamt of you nearly every night for centuries. He wouldn't let slip the opportunity to touch you, to make his dreams a reality. 

That he could make yourself touch you in all the ways he had dreamt … that you wanted him to. He could feel, hear your assent, pleasant in your thoughts.

He watched and dictated as you slid a finger inside of yourself, swearing he could feel the warmth of your core as it registered in your own mind at your touch, as you teased your own body. First one finger, then another, slick building. Swearing that he could register the heat climbing through you, as though it was his own, as you fucked yourself on your own fingers, hips rolling to meet your touch.

“Feel your way,” Druig coaxed, his hands sliding along your thighs. 

A keening moan tore it's way through you at his words. When had your other hand cupped your breast? The rolling of your nipple by your teasing, plucking fingertips was like kindling to the fire building within you.

Was it your own idea, or was it Druig's, that had you withdrawing your fingers from your center, sliding the wetness gathered there along Druig's length, and pumping him slowly as he leaned over you. Overwhelming your senses. 

Your touch on his body. The taste of his kisses in your mouth. The sound of his groans in your ears. His thoughts melding with yours in a pleasant, burgundy haze that tasted vaguely warm and metallic.

Druig's touch replaced yours along your own body as he allowed you to continue toying with his. Willing you to touch him as he liked best, while he made to kiss you again, his fingers slipping down to glide through your soaked, heated folds before swirling over your clit. 

The heat in the room continued to climb as Druig played and plucked at your body. His grip on your mind began to slip as your collective pleasure climbed. You were coming back into your own mind, your own body as you were simultaneously inching closer to unraveling.

Even in his lovemaking, Druig couldn't resist cleverness and irony, it seemed.

You used your newfound faculties to release Druig from your grip, to pull him over you, his body dwarfing yours. To tug him closer, closed, closer to where you wanted him. Druig's fingers continued to toy with you, fingers curling inside of you as his thumb delicately traced and pressed against your clit. You wiggled your hips, desperate for more, wrapping your legs once more around Druig's tapered waist. 

"Please," you gasped, eyes locked with his molten ones, swirling like melting ice in the heat of your passion.

You gripped Druig's arms, scratching at his shoulders, his biceps, his back, everything you could reach as you felt yourself inching ever-closer to your peak.

Druig could feel that you were getting closer at his hands. Could feel the way you clenched. The way you throbbed around his fingers. Could feel the ache in your body as he toyed with it, and with your mind. The way you bucked your hips into his hands.

"Will you tell me what you want, my little hunter?" Druig teased from his position stop you, leaning into your space to whisper hotly into your ear. "I'll do what you ask," he parroted your words from earlier.

"Please, Dru, w-want this -- w-want you," you whimpered, a broken moan cracking it's way through the end of your plea at a particularly, deliciously cruel curl of Druig's fingers inside of you.

"Of course, love," his tone would have been cruel, would have been mocking, if you hadn't known that was all part of his little game. You rolled your hips again at his tone, willing him to do something now.

Even if he wasn't capable of reading your thoughts, the intention would have been enough.

Druig slid his fingers from your core, causing you to emit another broken whine, this time at the loss.

Quick as a flash, he lightly swatted your thigh.

You yelped, meeting his haughty eyes with a glare of your own. 

"Don't be insolent, hunter," Druig rumbled, inclining to press his front to yours more fully, bringing a hand to your throat and pressing lightly along it's column as he hissed into your ear, "Little girls who whine don't get what they want. I won’t help the ache you feel if you aren’t nice."

"Please, my love," you urged again, sweetly, sweetly. 

Druig chuckled darkly, nodding as he lined himself up with your center, hand still wrapped loosely around your throat as he surged into you. 

And oh. The throbbing emptiness you had felt without him was almost worth it if it meant you could feel so full, so whole, now.

You gasped into Druig's mouth, pleased with the groan he emitted in turn at being once more inside of you. Ever-haughty.

He met your lips with a nipping bite as he began to thrust into you, your hips rocking to meet him in kind. At this rate you were certain your lips and throat would feel the sting of his teeth, of his grip, for days. A blooming feeling rushed through you at the thought, the flickers blending into your pleasure.

Everything was swirling. White, fogged glass like looking out at a winter snowstorm.  Blinding, stark pleasure building within you both.

"Missed you, Selene," Druig whimpered, his moans becoming slurred as he rocked harder, rougher into you. His needs outweighing the control he prided himself on.

Druig relinquished his grip on your throat to rub once more at your clit. 

You knew Druig wouldn't last much longer if the cadence of his thrusts, his gasps, was any indication. You had wanted to take more time to mark him, to make him yours. A swath of purpling blooms growing along the expanse of Druig’s pale skin beneath your lips, blossoming beneath your attentions in equal parts pleasure and pain as you toyed with him in perpetuity.

The thought was enough to spur you forward, ever-closer to your peak. You settled for gripping, scratching at Druig's back, causing him to groan. Your touch on his body, your hands -- so very wanted.

Your orgasm washed over you at a particularly clever thrum of Druig's fingers, rolling your hips against him to ride out your high, clenching and releasing as Druig followed after you with a drawn-out groan.

You took in the sight of your beloved, delightfully open and so removed from his usually stoic demeanor in moments like this. Just as you remembered. He was panting lightly, skin flushed and lightly glistening with the sweat from your encounter, eyes starry and far-seeing.

He was beautiful. Like this, yes. But ever-so. And he was yours.

You pressed a lingering kiss to the corner of Druig's mouth as he withdrew from you, the two of you in no hurry to disentangle, but gently righting yourselves.

"I missed you too, my love," you said softly, trailing your fingers over the peak of his cheekbone. "I don't wish to be parted from you."

You don't know how long the two of you lay together, enjoying the feeling of the other's body pressed into them, of even and serene breathing. Perhaps the two of you had even drifted off, dreaming of the promise of a true eternity together.

When you were ready to emerge, the two of you had dressed, orienting yourselves before going to find the others. Druig had arranged his jacket once more over his shoulders. He crossed the room to you, standing over you and pressing his forehead to yours, closing his eyes and once more allowing himself to feel your presence alongside his. 

You leaned into his touch. Allowing yourself to greedily bask in this moment. No matter how many moments your long life had graced you with, few had carried this magnitude. Few had made you feel as safe, as wanted, as you did with the man before you know. 

"I love you, Druig," you speak plainly, firmly. No quaver of doubt in your voice.

At that, Druig broke from you softly. Digging into the pocket of his leather jacket for the gift from before, shoulders flexing beneath the fabric as he withdrew his hand from the pocket.

His palm upturned, revealing the gift he had been keeping for you for centuries. In the hopes that he might see you again to give it to you. 

“You mean more to me than their silver and gold. But if this is how I can show my love on this planet, I'll do it." 

With that, Druig slid a delicate rose gold band onto your finger, causing you to smile warmly at him, at the symbol of his eternal bond to you. 

“I wonder who invented this as a gesture of devotion,” you had mused. 

The memory, which had taken place in this very room, clearly prominent between the two of you. The symbol, reminiscent. 

“It is beautiful, Dru. But you know I don’t need objects to reflect or accept your love,” you affirmed. “It is enough to be with you. By your side. To receive your warmth.”

With that, you slid your arms across Druig’s shoulders, divesting him of the leather jacket so quickly he would have thought he had imagined it had it not been for the cool air biting the now-bare skin of his arms. 

“So much for not needing an object,” Druig chuckled, bumping his shoulder into yours. 

You slipped Druig’s jacket over your shoulders, Druig’s body heat soaking into your skin like the radiance of the sun through the silky lining of the jacket, the zippers at the cuffs clinking as you adjusted the garment to your form. 

“What?” You shrugged at Druig’s look of mild surprise. “I said I’d like your warmth. What are you going to do? Fight me for it?” You challenged, arching your brow at him as a golden arrow weaved its way between your fingers, tapping it against Druig’s thigh in playful, mock-warning.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, mo shíorghrá,” Druig chuckled. “Keep it. ‘T looks better on you anyway.” He slid a companionable arm over your shoulders as the two of you made to leave the room and find the others. 

“We can agree to disagree on that, but I’ll hang onto the jacket until a quorum is reached,” you teased, bumping your hip against Druig’s as you walked in tandem down the hall of the Domo toward Phastos’ lab where you could hear Makkari sorting through a pile of what sounded like books.

“Benevolent of you, really,” Druig pressed a kiss into your cheek, brushing his nose across the prominent bone there. “Suppose we have time to decide.”

As you made your way into the cool light of the lab, Makkari greeted you, placing her warm hands in yours. You wrapped your arms around her, delighted in your reunion now that you all could breathe and enjoy one another’s company again, departing on another adventure. Together.

The next thread warping its way through the loom of your lives. To and fro, to and fro. Together you remain, body and soul. 

–--

Tagging: @aphrogeneias @luxurybeskar @youhavemysaber @thematthewmurdock @inklore @joannasteez @blessedboo @cinewhore @superhoeva @themarcusmoreno @vaxxildan @justanotherblonde23 @spoopyredacted @ifimayhaveaword @phoenixhalliwell @forever-rogue @cryptidcody @noturjacky @flightlessangelwings @bendro-pascarnes @pettyprocrastination @agirllovespaghetti @jenrebloggingfics @steeeeeeeviebb-deactivated20220 @imogenswitchbolt @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @artsymaddie @wvndasmaximoff @moonlight-prose @cryinginsanity @miss-me-jack @xthenewgurlintown @calsjack @raegansthings @acciosiriusblack @druigsgold​ 

#druig x reader #druig x female reader #druig x fem!reader #druig x eternal!reader #drukkari x reader #eternals fic #druig fic #eternals #marvel #marvel fic #barry keoghan #mcu #mcu fic #druig x you #druig x ofc #druig fluff #druig angst #druig #marvel eternals

[ellesliterarycorner]

What My Followers Want to See More of in Female Characters

My favorite thing in my WIP is all the badass female characters I have. I love writing about the bonds, friendships, relationships, and rivalries between them. It makes my little heart so happy! And, I will be the first person to admit that I hadn’t even thought of some of the things you guys suggested on our little instagram poll, but I cannot wait to add some of them to my story! Even though we’ve made so many leaps and bounds with the way female characters are portrayed, I still think we’ve got a long way to go, and if you guys include half of the stuff you suggested in your stories, then I think we’re gonna be okay. Once again, I didn’t change anything that you guys wrote, so there are gonna be some repeats on the list, but this time just because the list was getting so long, I did take out a few things if I saw that several other people had suggested it!

“Nerdy” or sporty girl who gets a love interest without a makeover or changing herself 

super girly femme characters shown as a complex person

making her own decisions, if good or bad

a strong female character without a tragic backstory 

gender non conformity!! 

Being openly children and not changing her mind about it

chubby and flaws and not having a crush with every cute boy they see 

girlie girls who are still really powerful 

self reliance but still having emotion, not being ice cold but not needing a a man 

lesbians who’s entire character arc isn’t about them being a lesbian 

having body insecurities eg wanting to be flat-chested

women in politics and women that have classic “man” as well as “woman” characteristics 

independence 

be less oblivious lol and more like real people who pick up hints 

not dead caring moms.

comic relief female characters

not minding about liking “girly” things/ having a bunch of friends who are boys but there is no romance between them 

being a mother doesn’t mean giving up ur dreams and settling for less,

having mcs that actually make smart decisions 

a bad ass character that loves kids and wants to have them in the future

not taking abuse cause they think it’s love 

ball gowns and pretty stuff for themselves and not for a mission or anything 

more bold female characters since many females are shown as shy 

having a big appetite 

female characters who can be cool without having to wield swords 

willingness to do domestic work with a cheerful heart 

women whose strength is their intelligence 

women who are not afraid to be feminine or strong 

strong mother figures 

girls that are the lead in their relationship over the boy 

more actual girly interests 

the women you least expect to sing the best 

strong women who like feminine stuff 

being happy without a romantic relationship 

black females being protected or vulnerable for once 

ending up single 

hanging out with male friends with no romantic subtext 

females who aren’t super pretty

ultra femininity (pink, dresses, glitter, makeup) that isn’t seen as bad/evil/weak 

allow them to look up to/admire male peers rather than feel inferior or as if they have something to prove 

traditional “femininity” isn’t regarded as weak! Can cook/sew/clean and it’s normal : )

Female characters who are funny and make quips 

soft, kind women, who are still powerful. I don’t like the mean strong girl stereotype : (

Not forced strong women. Just relatable and human ones. We all have strengths and weaknesses 

less insecurities. Yes, we all have those, but it’s becoming stereotypical, mostly in YA 

I want them to be strong without being upright bossy 

strong women who also embrace their feminine side 

a girl with menstruation

ego actions- I feel like only male characters can throw ego actions while fem characters are classified selfish 

nonbinary female characters 

has a twin 

sarcasm and general impoliteness without making them the bady guy 

them being warriors or soldiers and that’s normal, nobody questions it 

villains and manipulating 

autistic female characters 

being single throughout the story. Some people like being single, thank you very much 

not being the perfect pretty little thing. Having an interesting personality and thoughts, dreams outside of relationships and being a badass 

a morally grey female character like y r those only men 

girls and women in healthy relationships with personalities aside from their S/O

girls who can be strong and confident while still being emotionally vulnerable 

also, girls who own huge “aggressive” dog breeds

groups of girls doing really impulsive things together like all guy friend groups do 

strong, but not jerks about it and not looking down on things like sewing/cooking/etc 

shyness that doesn’t need to be “fixed” or overcome 

well written romances- straight and gay (ie not ones that objectify one partner or the other) 

“strong female characters” who are gentle and caring! Tough doesn’t mean heatless! 

women who care more about the plot than their inconvenient love life 

girls who empower other girls and don’t play into internalized misogyny 

i’d love to see women putting forward their ideas and having their voices heard more : )

Strong in their own way, not just hands on fighting stuff. Like mentally strong 

less who are arrogant and rude to the male protagonists who they fall in love with anyway 

More LGBTQ+ women! 

Oh and more female protagonists who stay single 

being average looking, not a hot model and being okay with it 

Not falling for “bad boys” 

saving herself or another character from a dangerous situation 

not wanting marriage or children and people being okay with it 

not obsessed with  looks 

being good at math and sciences 

not being sexualized constantly (or at all) 

being just friends with straight male characters 

being like other girls 

having a life outside of romance 

to not need a man, but also not to be a stereotypical “bad girl, I don’t need man” authors need to find a medium between the two 

drinking, swearing, anything deemed “masculine” 

confident women who embrace both their femininity and masculinity

empowering other women

somebody with variety of interests and skills that are shown to be important to her badass female characters who are genuinely kind/even loving 

strong women who don’t discredit the model of the ideal woman of the time in historical fiction 

older women protagonists! I’d love to read about middle aged female heroes

females that aren’t afraid to be themselves 

strength without being a “baddie” or at the expense of others 

emotional sensitivity that isn’t linked to mental illness, men, or a weakness in character 

a chaotic neutral female protagonist 

physically strong/skilled female characters that remain feminine and aren’t femme fatales 

female characters that don’t particularly fit into a trope as that’s not really realistic

#writing women #writing female characters #creating characters #characters #writing characters #writing resources #writing ref #writing reference #writing references #writing tips #writing tip #writing advice #writing #writers on tumblr #writblr #writersofig #writers of ig #writersofinstagram #writers of instagram

[ohnominamino]

An Essay on Love in Evangelion: 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon a Time

Evangelion: 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon a Time is a movie about love in all its forms. From the love of family, friends, and neighbors, to the compassion we feel for people we have never met. The movie reminds us that love is something we continuously gain, lose, and choose, again and again. Which love is greatest? In my opinion, the answer to that question is left up to interpretation. In this essay, I will give my own personal interpretation on certain character interactions and what I believe we are meant to take away from their Rebuild portrayals. 

The character I will start with is one I’ve noticed the most outrage over from people who haven’t seen the movie and read out-of-context spoilers: Kaworu Nagisa. 

Kaworu is a beloved character among many Evangelion fans, especially those who are members of the LGBT+ community. He is a canonical love interest of Shinji Ikari and I want to reassure people that this final movie does not change that fact. However, it does not make the couple blatantly endgame either. This skirting around the couple might make some fans upset, and while their feelings are completely valid, I do not think they fully understand the difficulties faced by LGBT+ people in Japan, nor do they understand the way that romance is typically conveyed in Japanese storytelling. (I recommend watching “Is ‘Yuri On Ice’ Good Gay Representation?” by James Somerton for more about storytelling nuances.) 

What have we been shown about Shinji and Kaworu’s love? The good news is, anything you read into the original TV series and End of Evangelion is completely true for the Rebuilds— because Kaworu is the same Kaworu. This movie proves Evangelion is a single universe set on repeat, and that Kaworu and Shinji meet each other every loop, and in each, Kaworu is trying to make Shinji happy. Within the final movie, Shinji becomes aware of the loops and chooses to break the cycle and free Kaworu from his pain. 

What does the relationship between Shinji and Kaworu teach us? I believe the purpose of their love is to show the audience that first, in the words of Kaji, “love has no gender.” Second, I believe Kaworu’s love in particular is a warning about basing your own happiness solely upon another person. There are parallels drawn between Gendo/Yui and Kaworu/Shinji. Gendo could not exist without Yui, and so he was willing to destroy the world to be reunited with her. For Kaworu, it was not the destruction of humanity, but the destruction of himself that defined his tragedy. What’s important within the final movie, in my opinion, is that Shinji does not reject Kaworu’s love. With the insight he’s gained from remembering past loops, he sees Kaworu’s love and appreciates him, but he also sees his suffering and wants to ease it. He helps Kaworu into a new world where he can seek his own happiness and find balance in his life (something his father did not have). 

While Kaworu and Shinji are not seen as an explicit couple at the end of the movie, it’s significant to note that, when he sets Kaworu free, Shinji holds out his hand to Kaworu as a promise to stay together. Over the course of the movie, Shinji comes to accept his connection to others through accepting touch (in the form of hand holding and hugs from Rei, Misato, and Gendo); however, Kaworu is the only character in the movie who Shinji initiates physical contact with and that speaks to how much Kaworu means to him. This simple gesture, in my opinion, keeps the door open for Kaworu and Shinji to be a couple one day, after Kaworu has found more balance in his life. 

If I were to write an entire essay about Kaworu, it would be titled, “Out of the Coffin: How the Resurrection of Kaworu Nagisa Buries the Tragic Lovers Trope” because this movie truly does just that. 

Another potential love interest for Shinji for many years was Asuka; however, unlike with Kaworu, the nature of this relationship is not left up to interpretation by the end of the movie. Before her big final battle, Asuka tells Shinji, “I think I loved you back then” (regarding their time in middle school) and Shinji, during Instrumentality, tells Asuka, “Thank you for saying you loved me. I loved you too.” It is past tense. 

What does this relationship teach us? It’s a beautiful way of showing that we can love people, and grow and learn, and let go when we no longer fit each other. Letting go is an integral part of life. Whereas other Instrumentality scenes involve touch, Asuka’s, mirroring the ending of End of Evangelion, has a distinct lack of touch. Shinji sits with his arms around his knees and Asuka turns her body away from him. He gives her his thanks and he sends her off to find her peace. Asuka and Shinji teach us that it’s okay to grow out of relationships. You can appreciate what they were to you at the time they happened and move on. 

What about Rei? To be honest with you, this movie is less about Rei’s relationship with Shinji, and more about her relationship with the world. Rei teaches movie viewers about the simple pleasures of living. While Shinji is in mourning for the first quarter of the movie, Rei (as “Sokkuri”) is learning about crop growing and community, the wonder of babies and kittens, the joy of the bath after a long day of fruitful work, and the power of words and picture books. At the end of her life, she only regrets not having more time to spend with the people she loves. In Instrumentality, Shinji accepts her hand when it is offered to him, which I hope signifies he is ready to see life as she had come to during the final movie. 

Rei teaches us that we can love living and to not take our limited time for granted. 

Next, we move on to parent figures: Gendo and Misato. I think they both represent people ill suited to the role, who do the best they can despite it. Gendo, as mentioned for Kaworu above, is a warning about defining yourself by your relationship to another person (Ikari, afterall, is Yui’s name). He is also a lesson in how people mourn and how they can lash out. Misato, like Gendo, felt herself a poor parent, and while mourning the loss of Kaji, she gave up her child to be raised by other people, but, unlike Gendo, went forward to put all her energy into protecting humanity. Both of them reach out to hug Shinji within the movie and he accepts them where they are. 

While I wouldn’t say the movie shows that Shinji forgives Gendo, it does show his making an effort to understand and make peace with what others have done. For Misato, it is fair to say we can still hope for a better future, even when it feels like everything is crumbling around us. Her self-sacrificing love for her son and the whole of humanity is what enables Shinji to then save the people he loves (via the spear of Gaius). 

In the movie, we are also shown friendship. Touji, Hikari, and Kensuke are important members of their community who maintain open communication with those around them and respect others’ boundaries. They are patient and kind and represent the importance of being present. They teach us to meet people where they are and support them how we can, whether it’s giving them a warm meal or giving them space when they need it. 

There are many more characters that could be talked about, but today I am going to end on Mari. Mari’s love is physical. She enjoys being in people’s personal bubbles. She cuddles Asuka and helps trim her hair, she gets into Gendo’s space at college, and at the end of the movie, she reaches out her hand to Shinji to help him stand up from his seat. Upon first glance, some viewers might take Mari and Shinji’s final scene to be romantic, but the reality of it is this: We do not, and cannot, know what kind of love she is meant to represent in his life.

We do not know Mari’s relationship with Shinji because they hardly interact in the movie. She clearly cares about him, but in my opinion, it comes from a place of duty and compassion— Mari was friends with Gendo and Yui. She has been there since he was born. (If we take the manga to be canon, then Mari even had romantic feelings towards his mother. Her hairstyle and glasses are from Yui. At the end of the movie, Mari has changed her hairstyle, which to me implies she has moved on, and “getting” with Shinji would be a thematic break.)

Additionally, their conversation, while flirty, is very much one that implies they haven’t seen each other for a while. Mari is someone who is very physically affectionate. With everyone. If someone ignores that and focuses on the fact she gets into Shinji’s space and claims that’s romantic, they better acknowledge it’s possibly romantic with Asuka, who we see far more intimacy with. When Mari flirts, Shinji flirts back and her initial reaction is surprise, “Wow, you’ve learned to talk back!” Her purpose is clear. She is there to remove the DSS choker from his neck. 

Personally, I love that Mari is the one to close the movie, for the exact reason that we do not know her relationship with Shinji. For Mari to have an assigned role would be to say, “This kind of love is most important,” when the entire movie was spent showing us each love is of equal importance in the balance and building of our lives. (It’s wonderful to see those types of love embodied across the platform from Shinji at the end of the movie: Rei and Kaworu, who, just like in End of Evangelion, could signify the ability to connect with others and be loved.)

If you view Mari as a romantic love interest, then I think it speaks to the value that you as an individual give to romance rather than what the characters themselves are feeling. To me, Mari, the character who was created to “destroy Eva,” is a symbol of all love. When Shinji takes her offered hand and then pulls her to run into the new world, it’s a symbol of balance. The give and take of any kind of relationship. 

We are the product of every relationship we have ever had, from our parents to the people we once loved, from our friendships to any other person we want to stay connected to. Evangelion: 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon a Time is a story about these relationships. It is a story about love. 

#rebuild of evangelion #kaworu nagisa #shinji ikari #asuka shikinami #mari makinami #rei ayanami #misato katsuragi #gendo ikari #thrice upon a time #kawoshin #essay #movie review #shinkawo

[nightfoot]

So I’m not a historian, but I just finished posting my medieval AU fanfic that included a medieval trans character, so I thought I’d ramble a bit about some of the research I did prior to writing it.  There’s this idea that Western society believed in an absolute binary of men and women until Stonewall happened and introduced Western cis people to the concept of gender not being rigidly set in stone, but that’s just not the case.  So here’s a brief overview of some specific cases I found along the lines of “Medieval and early modern people were thinking about gender too.”

The first is the one I think about most often.  This is actually a little bit after the medieval period, in the 16th century, but still interesting.  There was a person in the little town of Vitry-le-Fran ois who lived as a man. He was married to a woman and worked as a weaver.  Tragically, his marriage lasted only 5 months before someone recognized him as “[birth name]” and he was tried and condemned (for the crime of using a dildo).  But, he was given the option to go back to wearing skirts and live as a respectable woman.  He rejected the offer, and chose to be hanged rather than live as a woman.

I just think about him a lot, and how much I wish he could come to the 21st century and see how the world has changed.  He is also the person I always think about when I see the claim that all trans men in history were just “women trying to live with more freedom.”  Because if it was only about trying to live a better life, then choosing any life at all would be better than death. 

The second story involves another person from France in 1601.  Thankfully, his chosen name was recorded - Marin began sleeping with a woman while they were both working as chambermaids in Rouen, but after a few weeks, he told her he was in fact a man, and proposed marriage.  Before their marriage, though, Marin was accused of sodomy for being a “woman” trying to marry another women.  However, he plead his case and asked for a medical examination, and after a genital exam, the doctor declared Marin had “a hidden but functional penis.”  I read this as him being intersex.  The court demanded he dress as a woman for 4 years in hope that the situation would clear up, but after those 4 years passed, he was allowed to go back to presenting as male, married his wife, and lived the rest of his life as a man.

This story is interesting because it demonstrated that people in 1601 were ready to accept “huh! sex and gender are complicated! I guess it is possible for someone to change from one thing to another!”

And the reason they accepted this is because of the “one sex model,” the idea that male and female are just two ends of a spectrum and all humans fall somewhere on that spectrum with the potential to shift position.  This model is not exactly correct, because they also believed that it had to do with body temperature and that if a woman’s body temperature raised too much she would spontaneously grow a penis, but it is very interesting that 400 years ago, academics realized that sex is much more complicated than “you’re either A or B” but in our enlightened 21st century, we have to argue about that again.

Cross-dressing saints are also common in hagiography.  One example is Joseph von Schönau, a celebrated monk who joined the abbey of Schönau in 1187 after a life of travel in Europe and the Middle East.  What’s interesting is that during his deathbed confession, when he came clean to the priest about all his other secrets and sins in life, he said nothing about his sex.

There is another story I recall that, for the life of me, I can’t find the source for now.  In that one, a saint lives his entire life in an abbey as a man. During his life, a local woman accused him of fathering her child.  He could have easily disproved the accusation by explaining that he didn’t have a penis, but instead accepted the child as his and accepted the shame and disdain from his fellow monks.  They only realized he couldn’t have been the father after his death. 

My next two stories are fictional:

The first is the 13th century French story Roman de Silence.  This is the story of a woman whose father needed a son to inherit, so when she was born, he decided to raise her as a boy.  Throughout the story, personifications of “Nature” and “Nurture” argue over which of them determines who a person is.  Throughout the story, Silence becomes a knight, captures Merlin in a prophecy twist (of the “no man can defeat Merlin” sort), reveals her sex in the end and marries a king.  I actually think it’s more interesting to read Silence as a trans woman, despite being what we today would “assign female.”  She was assigned male by her father, and grows up feeling conflicted about this.

Silence isn’t an example of a real life trans masc knight, but the story overall is exploring the question, “What exactly is it that makes someone a man vs a woman?”  This says to me that Medieval People Were Thinking About This Too, and the idea that man and woman could be more complicated than looking at a baby’s genitals has been around for a long, long time.

My favourite fictional story is Yde et Olive, another 13th century French romance.  This one tells the story of Yde, a princess being forced into a marriage she hates.  Rather than go through with it, they dress as a man and run away.  Over the course of Yde’s adventures, they learn how to fight with a sword, take down bandits, and end up as a knight in a foreign king’s court.  The king is so impressed with Yde that he arranges for them to marry his daughter, Olive.  Yde confesses to Olive that the marriage will never work because of his sex, but Olive says she doesn’t mind and will keep their secret, which, y’know, #Bi Princess.  But someone overheard the conversation! And now the king will have them put to death for same-sex relations! (even though... he’s the one who insisted they marry).  Yde prays to God for a miracle, and God responds by magically transforming Yde into a cis man.  The day is saved and Yde lives happily ever after as a man with his wife.  They have a son named Croissant.

My research mostly focused on transmasc stories, but I have to at least add the suggestion to read up on Choisy, an 18th century French transfem person.  She wrote a novel (Histoire) about a child who was raised as a girl with no idea that having a penis meant people would think she was a boy.  When her mother eventually tells her that she is “male,” she simply does not believe it.  She goes on to marry a Marquis, and realizes she must tell him that she is allegedly male, only for the Marquis to tell her that he is, in fact, "female.”  They go on to live happily ever after as a t4t couple.

Anyway, as I said, I am not a historian and this is not academically rigorous, but some interesting stories I came across while researching.  I wouldn’t say any of these suggest that trans people were common and accepted by broader society throughout history, but they do show that people over the centuries have been thinking about gender, what it means to be a man or woman, and how the line between those can be blurry.  This is far from being a 21st century exclusive discussion.

Unfortunately, hand-wringing hysteria about trans people is also nothing new, because I also came across several instances of medieval writers fretting about the idea of “men disguising themselves as women to sneak into convents and have sex with nuns.”  Truly, the world never changes. 

Sources:

Ferguson, Gary. "Early Modern Transitions: From Montaigne to Choisy." L'Esprit Créateur 53, no. 1 (2013): 145-57.

Hotchkiss, Valerie.  “Clothes Make the Man: Female Cross Dressing in Medieval Europe.” Garland Publishing, 1996.

#trans history