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buttertheflame · 6 months

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Open Call for Feedback 🔎

Hi Jonerys lovers, I’m a fic writer who’s been on hiatus for a few years and I’m back. Check out the prose. Does it drone on? I’m in the editing phase…

A Normal Family

4k words, Jon x Dany, Dany POV, post-ADWD, TWOW-speculation

(excerpt from chapter 1 of a 5-part au fic, sequel to A Long Way Home)

Castle Black

Present: 302 AC

Winter

She knew it was a dream when she felt the heat, for in Volantis, the air was hot and dewey—the evening almost as sweltering as the day. At first, Daenerys thought she was breathing fire—it was such a beautiful thing—as the oily Black Walls of eastern Volantis’s old blood gained a vermilion glow in the night. Within, a labyrinth of palaces, cloisters and temples burst into flame. Then out of the ashes came waves of slaves of every designation, crying, The Princess Who Was Promised! There were dozens. The dark eye has begun to lift from her! There were hundreds. The minions of the night will lose their temples of deceit! Then there were thousands. She will bring an endless Summer, and those who die fighting her cause shall be reborn! And tens of thousands. She is Azor Ahai reborn! Wait! Wait for the return of the blazing comet! Lord of Light, herald her coming!

“Yes!” she cried in ecstasy, carried by their fervor. “Yes!”

Daenerys could not even search for her sense of shame, for her Lord would not allow it. Not even when the great river westward then rushed to meet her, and took her through valleys at the feet of countless mountains. Far ahead, the Rhoyne broke into three different tributaries, causing the air to cool with them. Below, a field of poppies dotted the earth. It is the Trident, she realized, and settled herself further in the saddle upon Drogon’s back. She remembered. Her foes would appear, armored in ice, and she would burn them all.

Instead, a lone rider came upon a hill. The red helm of a two-headed dragon took shape, dotted with four rubies for eyes. The black visor was lifted. Daenerys did not wish to see her beautiful brother die again, so she opened her mouth to warn him, but she would not be heeded. Rhaegar turned to face the antlered yellow and black rider who had trailed behind him, thus revealing an infant in his free arm. She startled as the babe, held tight to his black gleaming breastplate, gazed at him in wonder. His buoyant laughter mingled with Rhaegar’s soothing voice. The father’s lips pressed to the soft infant crown, from which sad and sweet notes rose.

“He fixed himself wholly

And laid in the earth.

Then fashioned his crown

From a field of dirks.”

Daenerys mustered up a sob so strong it caused her to wake.

After a choked beat, she found Jon Snow next to her, his back also flat to the feather bed of their private room, his face turned to train dark eyes upon her, in the gloom of the very late night or very early morning. She had not wanted to look too closely at the red priests of Essos who had called her this promised prince. It was a legacy she did not want. When his fine hands reached her face, Daenerys’s mind grew desperate. I must pursue the Iron Throne. Jon wiped away her fresh tears then drew her into his arms.

“I’m here,” he whispered. “I’m here.”

She nodded against his chest, but failed to shake the tension from her belly and limbs. Her heart quivered with guilt for keeping this from Jon, and fear, over what he had revealed to her last night. I could have become one of them, he had told her, a week ago back in Winterfell. As she wondered why hadn’t he become one of those vicious wights when his body had lain cold for two days, the guilt that followed and her grief for Viserion stayed her tongue. Then he’d promised to give her the realm and afterward settle them on Dragonstone, once the wars were won. She couldn’t help but hold onto his promise.

A family and the realm. Surely, they could have both? But given the fresh news, she wondered…could hers and Jon’s children be safe with him? Could their line be safe with him? Could she and her royal consort truly achieve this goal? A family and the realm.

She thought of the cautious, wise and bold Ser Barristan Selmy, the Commander of her Queensguard who had lost his life half a world away fighting the reignited war against the Essosi slave cities. No more than a hundred days prior, it had been in a moment of relative peace, while the killings and slayings of her people were still going on: as she considered marrying the snake zo Loraq to broker peace, Ser Barristan had cautioned against marrying for political gain only, but to also consider love. He said that her grandsire Jaeherys had commanded his children to wed, for a woodswitch long favored by her grandmother had visited the Red Keep to prophesy that the prince was promised would be born of their line.

Daenerys jerked, then pulled away from Jon.

If this prince is what Jon said it meant…perhaps he had been born to die. The thought incensed her. Did Rhaegar really do this? Could he and Lyanna Stark have been so cruel?

Moreover, if the followers of R'hllor thought Daenerys was this promised prince…had she, too, been born to die?

Another sob rose…and the contents of her half-digested dinner followed. It stunk the frigid air, but her disgust wasn’t great enough to cause her to stop; her muscles took command, demanding that she retch until there was nothing left. It took her to the edge of the bed, where she groped blindly until she found a metal sheet and brought it forth. She was dimly aware of Jon moving to stand on the stone floor. He ran a soothing hand along her back and stopped to catch her hair, as she retched into the bedpan.

“Leave me!” she gasped, mortified. “Jon, please.”

He hushed her. “Daenerys, please do not be ashamed! I’m here. Do not ask me to leave. I’m here.”

He moved the hand on her back faster and focused on the span between her shoulders, trying to coax the tension out of her muscles. Chagrined, she took his other hand, which he squeezed. It was bone dry and warm, a solid comfort she was distantly aware of, and no more.

Jon passed a hand through her hair one last time, pulling her from her haunted musings. She huffed, licked the acidic grit from her teeth, and then pulled herself back up to lay down on her side. When Jon pushed the bedpan aside to kneel on the floor, a realization came. Words are wind, she had thought, for so long, especially the prophecies among them. Yet so much had happened since the maegi tricked her in the Plains of the Lhazarene. Now that she was here beside her lover, pondering all they meant to the greater world, it was so clear to her now. There was something to Ser Barristan’s words that he and I could not have foreseen. Does everything happen the way it must? Some called it fate. Her wheezes were the only sounds as the sickness left her in a slow drip. They eventually slowed to a halt and her breaths returned to normal.

The outlines of Jon’s handsome face came into view, his dark brows pulled and lips pouting with worry as he seemed to search her eyes. She cupped his cheek weakly, and smoothed her thumb along his stubbled jaw. Weary though she was, she would not be able to return to sleep.

Leaning forward to press his lips to her forehead, Jon whispered, “That’s good. You’re alright. It’s alright, now, Dany.”

He swept the hair from her face, stroked her neck, brushed her shoulders then eventually palmed her waist. She shivered, delighting in his much needed closeness. Then he kissed her forehead again. He climbed into bed again and gently drew her into his arms, encouraging her to tilt her head back to rest on his shoulder. He rubbed light, soothing circles on her belly for many long, peaceful moments. She felt like a rock tumbling in the flow of a river’s current—unable to see yet unable to distrust its strength. What was this? Undeserved peace?

When she followed its source, she found herself musing once more.

Many ran to and fro to search for the one who was promised. Somehow, in all the Known World, the two bearing the designation had met and were in this bed, at this Wall. The Lord of Light had called upon Jon to continue his fight and gave him renewed life. Of course, of the stories she’d heard, none who had been given the kiss had been half as worthy as Jon…but perhaps His grace covered all of mankind. For, when asking R'hllor to give them a glimpse of His chosen, the red priests had seen her and him—their deeds and the shadows they cast—in the flames.

What, then? Was He faithful? Had he held her life in His hands the way a hen huddles chicks beneath her wings? Had he watched her all this time, patiently waiting for her to acknowledge Him? Was He as good as His word?

Her soul had quieted some, enough for her to sense an answer…

A whisper upon the wind.

____________________

Jon had sent for the maester. Once he returned, he helped her to finish building a fire in the hearth, with good humor and quips that no queen should ever tend to such a task. Much needed light and warmth filled the air and brought her once more into his arms. In a quiet voice, he suggested they speak as little of Samwell Tarly as possible, for it was likely that he would send word back to the Citadel about him, the novice who had fled with stolen items of knowledge. Though Archmaester Theobold had no proof, he certainly suspected Samwell. Daenerys was certain that the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch would be furious with the ordeal. He did not strike her as one who enjoyed dealing with the unexpected. In some moments, neither did she. Especially today, it would seem.

“Your assessment of Dolorous Edd is correct,” Jon chuckled. “But why should he enjoy it?”

“He seems quite good at it, to have lasted longer at his post than you,” she teased. “We should all enjoy what we are good at.”

“We should. But we don’t.” He did not jest as she thought he might; instead, a frown had taken his features. “Our Sworn Brothers once called him Sam the Slayer. He was training under Maester Aemon as a steward; I sent him to the Citadel to forge a link or three, not to become a stealer. But I suppose Euron Greyjoy’s threat to Oldtown convinced him to return quickly. This matter…it is something the Lord Commander will have to deal with.”

“With your help, I am sure. Those letters of yours must be invaluable to him.”

His frown deepened, brought on by some aggravation unknown to her. Did he still feel guilty for giving counsel on the Night’s Watch operations? Perhaps his discomfort was prudent. He allowed her to part from him with some reluctance. She could feel his gaze upon her back as she moved to the small table near the lone glass window, musing. In Winterfell, Samwell had told her that her great uncle Aemon Targaryen had loved her, that he had wanted to help her, but he died once their party had docked at Braavos. With her chin in hand, tears blurred her view of the dark courtyard far, far below. Would this great uncle of mine have known Rhaegar? Did they somehow discover his prophecy together? Did he approve of his designs on the realm? What even were they? It was still early enough that dawn light was still hours away. At its appearance, their task to march their army of two-thousand men to fortify their designated castles on the Wall, would come too soon.

“My love…I have never seen you so ill! Did last night’s turnip stew somehow disagree with you? I know you prefer simple dishes.”

Jon knew she desired some space. He had moved to the desk on the other side of the room and leaned against it. Despite the brief respite of earlier, her mood had soured with the taste of bile in her mouth. She raised one shoulder in answer. “It was simple enough.”

“Your dream. Do you want to tell me about it?” Growing irritable, she sighed again.“What I said last night, of my mother’s line…it upset you, didn’t it?” She startled at his accuracy, and his voice rose again, now tremulous. “Was it a dragon dream you had?”

“I…” The babe in Rhaegar’s arm flashed before her eyes. Her heart quickened. “I don’t know.”

The silence that followed was just as painful.

“I am so sorry, Daenerys. I will be more careful.”

“No,” she said quickly. “No, Jon. Don’t be sorry for anything. I need you. Don’t hold anything back from me.”

Not again, she thought. Never again.

“Sweet Daenerys, don’t be afraid. You have me. I’m yours.” He tracked slowly toward her. “I just…I cannot hurt you again. I will not do that again. I would rather die.”

The sudden knock at the great door announced the arrival of Buford of House Belmore. Jon reached her, and passed a soothing hand down her back, then casted pained looks at her even once they turned to scour through their chests to make certain their clothing was decent enough for company: Daenerys in an ankle-length undersilk below a wrapped woolen shift which she tied at the waist, Jon in an undertunic and leather breeches. Once their boots were on, she soothed his pain with a kiss on his cheek and enjoyed his small smile. Then he opened the door and allowed the maester of Castle Black to enter. The other man was overly tall and not yet aged, with light brown hair turning gray at his temples, thin locks cut neatly across his forehead and around his large ears. Eight chains formed a rather tight link around his neck and brown rough spun robes, but they did not weigh him down. Carrying his medicines in a hide, he tucked it under his shoulder then bowed to the Dragon Queen and her royal consort, the King in the North. A steward training under the maester came behind him with a contraption that folded out into a table. As the maester rested his hide and rolled it out on the table, the steward asked for the location of the bedpan. Once he had it in hand, he exited the room and closed the door. Maester Buford thanked King Jon for sending for him so quickly, then sat down to work.

It was a stilted conversation—not much was said, for which she was pleased. Daenerys wanted to get through his examination without any more shame than she was already feeling. He felt below her jaws to test her glands, then asked her to open her mouth of which he looked inside with a small candle, finishing with a check to her pulse at the wrists, then testing the tension of her belly. The maester did not know them, so after concluding that all was well initially, he spent the next few minutes choosing an herbal potion for her to drink over the next fortnight. Once the small vial of purple liquid was in her palm and she was chewing a piece of sourleaf to cleanse her mouth, he looked between the young rulers and folded his palms in his lap.

“If I may ask, your grace…when did your moon blood last come?”

She could not answer the question directly. “It comes in fits and starts.” But he merely blinked at her. “My cycle is not regular.”

“Has it always been this way?” When she would not respond, he said, “Forgive me, Queen Daenerys, but I have heard the story of your previous pregnancy, some years ago, in Essos.”

“My son is not here with us, is he?” she snapped. “Forget those stories—I tell you now, he was not viable. That is what the healers said. He could not be carried to term.”

“I…see.” He trembled, as if afraid. “I am truly sorry, Queen Daenerys.”

Jon shifted on his feet, but said nothing. He squeezed Daenerys’s fingers.

“Forgive me, Maester Buford.” She swallowed the remains of the bitter leaf. “Already, it has been a long morning. And the blood of the dragon runs hot. You see, I often wish my son could have come into this world to experience it for himself.”

Jon sucked in a wet breath and snuck a hand into the nape of her hair; something far too intimate for their guest to see.

But his touch was grounding, and preceded a memory that followed on the heels of her shaky gratitude. It was like standing on the shifting grains of Dragonstone’s cold beach. There, many weeks before they had discovered the island’s northern caves, she had shared with Jon the tale of her dragons’ births upon Drogo’s funeral pyre, as the red comet had passed from west to east. His quizzical requests for more details made her overcome with grief, and so with sympathetic lines around his eyes, he had beseeched her. Say anything about your past, and I will not turn away. Tell me everything, and I will not turn away. The salty Autumn air had filled her tongue, as Rhaego’s name lingered among the virulent waves. She could almost see Jon’s stunned features, sense the comforting strength of his arms around her, and catch the scent of his borrowed furs. It was the first time she had cried in front of him.

Now, she covered her hand with his, when it found rest on her shoulder.

“I understand, your grace,” the maester replied. “It is a great shame. But from what I can see, you have done well to carry on, for which we who aim to fight the dead are grateful. Perhaps the Gods will grace you once more.” He passed a glance over to Jon, and then gave her a small smile that almost reached his eyes. For all intents and purposes, the examination of this maester was not as cold as she had feared.

Curiously she asked, “Do you have any gods, Maester Buford?”

“I follow the Old Gods, your grace. Like my father before me, and his father before him.”

“The Vale is your home,” Jon said, speaking for the first time. “Your brother Lord Benedar holds Strongsong…and has stayed in Winterfell to support my sister Sansa for many moons, now.”

“Aye. But I must correct you, King Jon. I have no brothers but those in black.”

Jon paused, and then he chuckled.

The maester continued. “Perhaps Benedar would have left me as castellan instead of our cousin, but I am already a maester, and I am quite comfortable here at Castle Black. It is the lot that life has cast for second sons and such. But you, King Jon, have risen above all odds.”

Daenerys understood why this maester thought such a notion would be appreciated by Jon, but she knew it was another matter he must worry about. She gestured for him to make himself comfortable, but he gently refused and continued standing at her side.

“All odds.” Jon seemed to weigh the words. “I didn’t do it on my own, ser. Neither did I seek it. If any of our—your brothers ask, please relay that message to them.”

A wrinkled brow relayed the question, Why should it matter? But the maester was wise not to speak so insolently. Ponderously, he shifted his hands on the makeshift table. He could sense that he was being dismissed.

“Very well, your grace. Queen Daenerys, you should eat smaller meals with greater frequency, if the sickness returns on the morrow.”

She eyed him warily. Did he, too, think she was with child? Could he sense that she wasn’t yet certain if she wanted to be?

He moved to his feet, then inclined his head to her. “Only if. In any matter, the vial should be consumed once daily for a fortnight, as I have said. It was a pleasure to have your private audience. I look forward to serving you both in this Great War.”

Somehow, Daenerys doubted that. He did not seem as single-minded as Jon and Samwell’s stories of Maester Aemon. If anything, he seemed to be all talk with little bite. Perhaps it was the least one could hope for, to make one a good maester. As she mused with an absent frown, Buford Belmore rolled the hide holding his vials and instruments closed, then bowed to them both. Daenerys thanked him with as much sincerity as she presently could, as fear slowly snaked around her heart.

Once he neared the door, Jon called after him. “Maester Buford, as you are aware, Queen Daenerys and I are not here to take a tour of the Wall. I hope that when our army has finished its task, we will meet with you again, and discuss other matters with Lord Commander Tollett. Until then, I wish you good fortune in the wars to come.”

Though Buford Belmore’s brows rose to his neat fringe, he obeyed at once, bowing again to them. At the opened door, the steward fetched the table, folded it up and then followed him out. Once the door shut, the crackling fire in the hearth resumed its prominence.

“Why did you say that?” Daenerys asked, craning to meet Jon’s eyes.

“He should know that I will be thinking of him. I do not want him to be the cause of Samwell’s downfall. What will we do if the Citadel found it within them to track Sam down and try him?” He shook his head. It was growing light outside; light enough that his black curls looked less like one mass, and revealed their individual beauty. “I am always thinking of you, as well. Do you really think you could be with child, Daenerys?”

Her gaze turned even softer, eyes tracking the hope and fear lining his face. She had once bared her shame to him and watched with tearful awe as it fell into his hands. What would he say now, that he was called to share this burden once more? She pulled him close by the waist, then tilted her head back until he kissed her. Relief loosened her tongue.

“I hope,” she whispered against his mouth. “And yet I do not hope. I do not think I would deserve something so beautiful.”

“Deserve?” He pulled away, with gentle fingers at her chin. “You are the most deserving! You are the most patient, the most kind. You have never tried to stop understanding me.”

“It is easier than you think, Jon Snow.”

“So you say.” Ignoring her evasion, he gave her a tremulous smile. “My brother and sisters say I am a pain. But you…are a rare, unearthly thing.”

She turned her profile toward him, yet he followed on shifting feet; beautifully quiet, always quiet and thinking. She tried to brace for what would come next, but when he spoke softly, as if to avoid spooking her, she was caught away again.

“Daenerys, what do you think Rhaego would have wanted from you? He would have not wanted you to be ashamed. You were tricked into losing him.” A sob came up her throat, just as wet as the one that had preceded her episode. Unperturbed, Jon drew his arms around her. “I know it is hard, and you have been so brave to have come so far. But I believe you will have to become braver, to bring a child into this world.”

“Bravery has nothing to do with it.” She hesitated once the words were out, although she couldn’t quite call it a snap, weary as she was. Jon did not take offense, nor did he judge. In fact, the preserverant brightness in his eyes carried her gently down that river.

“Forgiveness, then. Rhaego would have wanted you to forgive yourself.”

“He…” Daenerys hiccuped.

“He would have wanted you to be happy. Isn’t that so, my love?”

After a beat, she nodded against his chest, for the second time that morning. It was absurd. Despite being so unceasingly vulnerable on the morning of a march, this was too important to dismiss, delay or bury. Jon knew it well. Now, it was he who hesitated.

“I should have told you this long ago. If you would like…he could be as much mine as he is yours. My sweet Daenerys…” He brushed her silver-pale hair behind her shoulders, trailing the fingertips there as he went. He whispered in her ear, stirring her aching heart further up and up. “He should not be mourned alone, nor remembered alone. I can bear this pain with you. Please, let me.”

It was madness. Although there had been the recent loss of her dearest child Viserion, Daenerys had all she wanted. Across Essos, hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions, of people whose chains had been broken; their cries of freedom reached the ears of each and every god, as they worked with each other to keep it so. A place to vie for in the hearts of the men, women and children of Westeros; and in that place was a war to fight and people to bring peace to. In Jon Snow, a friend, family, a lover—and at his side, home. She had leaned on the certainty of these things for so long…had made herself content with them for so long…that the slim possibility of bearing a living child for him—while Mirri Maz Durr’s impossible prophecy echoed in her ears—caused Daenerys to snap shut upon herself like a timid creature in a shell. It was a misguided try at protection. It was not her nature, for she was blood of the dragon. In fact, she knew she was hurting herself, hurting them. But he was wrong. Her cursed womb was still barren, and was not his burden. Nothing had happened to not make it so.

“Jon, what if…what if there is nothing but pain in store for us? Nothing but grief and blood and smoke?”

He surprised her again, and immediately calmed the tempest.

“Then I will ask you now, of myself.” His sudden smile was brilliant. “Who could love a dragon?” Her wide eyes gave answer enough. He understood her, then. Of the two of them, it was hard to say who had doomed their line more. “Daenerys, even if there is only you and me…then every moment with you is one I will cherish.”

“Even now?” she asked quickly, greedy. That too, she would need to hear again.

“Especially now.”

It was a vow. Even if her bout of illness was a fluke, or if she couldn’t bear a living child, or if they failed to ensure Winter gave way to Spring… They could still be happy. At her stunned silence, he squeezed her once more, then gently pulled away, to trail his hands down her waist and land at her hips. Her softly trembling arms came around his shoulders and she felt utterly safe. Through the lone window, dawn light cut across the floor and landed at their feet. Time slipped away more quickly, as they shuffled to their feet. The fullness of their dancing hearts could not be contained, and so they touched foreheads, swaying in the incandescent beam.

“It is something to think on, while we are separated. I will wait for your answer,” he murmured, then smiled again when she kissed his cheek as a prelude, lips lingering on his stubble, hands finding purchase on his arms. “This, you should also know before we march. After we left the outlaws in the Ice Cells yesterday, I spoke with Edd. I am not yet certain our men will be safe with the Watch.”

She swallowed thickly. Indeed, his long-standing discomfort was prudent.

“What is this about, Jon?”

His face grew long and sullen, and he worked his mouth - as if holding back a scream brought on by a haunting specter. Peace, her lover had found, yet rest, he had not.

“Me.”

to be continued

If you’ve read this far, thank you. You don’t have to have read the first fic, A Long Way Home, to give an opinion on the prose. The prose in that fic was more succinct. Now my muse is calling me to meander through Dany’s introspection, since there’s extremely personal stuff going on…on the morning of a military march. I worry that the inner monologues drone on for too long. Thoughts?

#books #asoiaf #asoiaf fanfic #jonerys fanfic #jonerys #daenerys targeryan #jon snow #otp: we could live together #my writing #writing stuff #*#this is a draft #I’d like to edit it a few more times #but I need direction #from fellow jonerys lovers #gimme gimme #your thoughts

17 notes · View notes

queersrus · 1 year

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Hi, Fukase anon here! Sorry, It never occurred to me that people may have a hard time coming up with things for characters they don't know a lot about. Sorry :( /gen

Anyways, I really love the clown and red theme ideas! Also, since Vocaloid is technically a music software, I was thinking some music-themed names as well! Also, as long as this isn't too specific, could you maybe do some X-themed things since there's a lot of Xs in his design?

I also like the idea of the darker, edgier themes, but I'd rather not have anything explicitly horror/slasher/demon related... as someone who kins Fukase, being associated with that stuff brings back some rough memories :( /nm

I'm sorry if I'm being too specific or picky or anything like that, and I hope everything I've said makes sense! Once again, thank you in advance :)

no worries!!

heres some names and pronouns based of red, clown, dark/edgy themes and the letter x!

Music names:

muse, musa, musica, musette harmony melody, mic, major, minor clef, capelle, capella, cord, chorus note key tone, tempo, timbre bar, beat, bridge, bass, blue, blues sheet, strum, song, singer, sang, string, sonata, soul acoust, adagio, allegro, andante, arpeggio, amp, alto, aria instro, instra, instrumenta rythm/rhythm, ryme/rhyme, rock, rocker orchest, orchestra pitch, pop funk

list here, here

red names:

Altemur, altan, autumn, apple, amaranth, alhambra, alroy danla, desire, desiree parichat, phoenix, pepper, poppy/poppie cher, cherry/cherrie/cherri, crimson, clifford, copper, candy/candie, currant, carmine, carmin, chili, coral, corsen, clancy maroon, merlot, mahogany, mohagan blood, brick, berry/berrie, blush, burgundy, barn, burn, blaze ruby, rust, rusty, rose, raspberry, redd, rede, redde, reder, redi/redie/redy, reddet/redet/reddett/reddette/redett/redette, redeta/reddeta/reddetta/reddeta, redin/redine, redina, redino, roso/rosso, rufus/rufous, rowan, rosa, rosie, roisin, rory, radley, rudyard, radcliff, redmond, redman, rumo, russel/russell, rohan, redford, rufina, reeding/reading, reed, rogan, roone, roth garnet, ginger, gough scarlet, sangria, strawberry, sienna, sorrel/sorrell jam wine, watermelon fire, flame, ferrari, flan/flann, flannel, flanner, flannery, flyn/flynn, flanna vermilion, venetia imperia tart, torch hazel, harkin

clown names:

Joseph, john, joey grock oleg emmett/emet/emmet/emett bozo, barry ronald krusty penny, pogo, pinto charles sunshine weary, willie albert, antonio, arthur daniel, david, demitri/dimitri, Demetrius/demitrius tinsel

actually found a whole wiki here

Dark/Edgy names:

dusk, dagger, draven, drake, draco, damon/daemon, damion/damien/damian grey/gray, gunner/gunnar, greer keir, khaos, knox, kestrel umbra, umbro poison, pain/payne asteroth/astaroth, asher, ammo, astrid chaos, crow, coen, chase, casper, caspian, cassian, carter, cage, colton hades, hemlock, hex, hunter, hawk, harper somber, sombre, sombra, serpent, snake, saber, stone, storm, slade/slayde, sparrow, salem, snow, smoke, slayer necro, natrix, nox, nix, nyx, nero, nash branwen, briar, blackwell, blade/blaid, blair, blase/blaze/blaise raven, reven, requiem, rhapsody/rapsody, rogue, ryder, ryker, raze, razer eris, elysium, ebony jinx, jett/jet, jack, jason lucien, lucius, lock/locke viper, venom, vlad, vane/vain/vein, veil, vee/v wolf/wolfe trix/tryx, trixie, thorn, tyren/tyrin, tirent, torrent, tyranny, toxin, tank, tempest, tanner zeke, zena fox, flask, falkner, falkon/falcon onyx/onix, obsidian xena

X names:

xen/xene, xavier, xena, xeno, xenon, xeon, xero, xerox, xyx, xyr/xyre, xyra, xray, xeny/xenny/xenie, xenia, xander/xzander, xyla, xyler/xylar, xia, xavi, xylia, xylitol, xioa, xu, xan, xanth/xanthe, xanthus, xavia, Xinjiang, xinia, xenophon/xenophone, xayvion/xavion, xochitl, xio, xion, xiona, xiomara, ximena, xanthia

many here

red 3rd p pronouns:

list here and here

clown 3rd p pronouns:

list here and here

edgy/dark 3rd p pronouns:

list here, here

x 3rd p pronouns:

xe/xem, xy/xem, xy/xyr, xe/xyr, xy/lo, xylo/phone xyi/lotl, x/x's, ex/ex's, ex/exes, xay/xem, xay/xyr, xie/xem, xie/xyr xe/no, xeno/xenos, xeno/morph, cross/crossed, cross/crosses, x'ed/out, exed/out, ex/amble

hope these help!

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queenofcandynsoda · 1 year

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Sol Fertilis Holidays: January to June

January

1st- New Years Day: The celebration of the Gregorian New Year.

17th- National Alpha Day/Day of White Chrysanthemums: It is the day of celebrating Alphas. Their families and staff would give them white chrysanthemums. Their Omega spouses would stay with them at the Living Room as their cooks prepare a four course dinner.

February

1st- Fertility Fest/Day of Lilies and Snowdrops: It is the day where people celebrate the upcoming spring with feasting and bonfire dances. Couples would bring their young pups to the church to be bathe in spring water to symbolized cleansing. It is also a day of spring cleaning where people deep clean their homes for the spring or have their staff do it.

14th- Lover’s Day/Valentine’s Day/Day of Red Roses: It is the day where couples come together to give gifts, have dinner, and attend mass. Pleasure Gardens are closed at this time.

March

8th- International Women’s Day: It commemorates the history and achievement of women in Sol Fertilis.

17th- Victory Day: It is the celebration of Sol Fertilis’ victory in World War III. It is celebrated with a military parade in Olympia, banquets, and parties in either parks or Pleasure Venues.

Spring Equinox- Fest of Beer/Day of Planting: It is the first day of spring. Families would plant flowers and farmers would prepare their crops. An alewife would be giving beer to the other ranks and making sure that an Alpha’s brewery is in good condition and serving the household. In church, Gamma Plus Lar would sacrifice a cow to mark the end of the Vesta Luna half of the year.

April

3rd- Party Foundation Day: It is the anniversary of the creation of the Progressive Natalist Party, which is the combination of the conservative Unified Amendment Party and the liberal Independent Labor Movement. The Progressive Natalist Party, also known as PNP, is the party that led to the creation of Sol Fertilis in the Western Region before expanding its influence to the rest of the world.

17th-National Gamma Day/Day of Purple Jasmines: It is the day of celebrating Gammas. They are given gifts and jasmines by their spouses and employers. For some Gammas, this is the day that they would meet their future spouse via National Matchmaking Service.

May

1st- May Day/Labor Day: It is a celebration of Sol Fertilis workers and the blessing of Bona Flora, one of Mars Soul’s many children. Omega pups would play with the Maypole, collecting flowers, weaving flower garlands, and crowning the May Queen, or May King. The Omega pups would wear pink or vermilion clothes with floral designs. For the Labor Day, all of the Beta Neutral, Minus, and Gamma Minus workers would get a day off with a large bonus. They would celebrate in beer gardens, cider houses, and nightclubs.

Second Sunday- Mother’s Day/Day of Pink Carnations: It is to commemorate mothers.

26th- Constitution Day/National Foundation Day/Sol Fertilis Day: It commemorates the creation of the Sol Fertilis constitution and the expansion of its influence once the world sees how successful its birthrate is.

June

6th-Military Foundation Day/Day of Poppies: It is the anniversary of the creation of the Sol Fertilis Military. It is celebrated with a military parade.

Summer Solstice- Festival of Midsummer/Mars Sol Day: It is the first day of summer. It is celebrated with games, parks, picnics, amusement parks, parties, and fireworks. In a church, a local priest would call in a Gamma Plus Lar to dance on the ground. The priest, who is an Alpha, brings in their Omega spouse and dance with them. This is to represent the high sexual energy that Mars Sol has for his wife, Venus Bellona.

#dystopian omegaverse #omegaverse au #Sol Fertilis #Holidays #dystopia #dystopic #dystopian #omegaverse

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therealityhelix · 1 year

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Shards of the Nexus: Seeker and Seer

There was someone who knew all along.

Song: Dark Necessities- RHCP

@cardwrecks @captainbaddecisions @miasmacaron

?~?~?~?~?

Vaporous atmosphere, set by complex lighting made to seem simple, sensors at every second step. Enveloped in felt, fine sandalwood fibers, an ember line of precious oud, winding through dim, sleeping halls. It was comfortable here, calm and quiet, for all that she was an intruder and would have to leave soon. But she wondered why the entrance was here, within a home? Usually they were in more liminal spaces: turnpikes, truck stops, the last gas station at the edge of a town.

The answer whispered to her in the study, the form of a china cabinet filled with the tools of one who could see. The obsidian mirror, the quartz sphere, the pendulum, the teacup. Silver-green mugwort bundles, bouquets of dry poppy pods. Perhaps this was why?

But intruding on the home of another sorcerer was a dangerous faux pas, and she heard the click of the hammer before she sensed them behind her, louder in the velvet half-light even than the bullet it promised.

“I feel obliged to inform you, miss, that I have impeccable aim. Do with the information what you will. I know I am going to~”

Voice like a cappuccino candy, heroin haze smoothed over chinchilla fur. Danger, yes, but the choice was hers.

Kindly given time to form a magical shield...could she stop bullets? She hoped not to find out tonight, but she was the interloper here, and was not unused to inviting danger with her presence. She could still run, if she had to.

Reflected in the cabinet glass, elegant Deco flow. Vermilion pop, olivine and marble, a malachite mantle, heavy and defining. Orchid petals opening in halo. Beautiful.

“Oracle?” she asked.

“Not quite.” they answered.

“Augur.”

“Upon occasion.”

The reflected face lined up with a figurine within the cabinet, a leonine creature of magic and mystery.

“Sphinx.”

“Now you're on the right track! And you? A traveler of some kind?”

“Right track.”

She turned slowly to face the...person. There was light in the olivine, the swirling mantle of the earth. This person saw her, and saw her, in ways she was unable. They recognized her.

“So it begins.” they whispered.

“What does?”

Smile sardonic, turned inward.

“I guess we'll find out together. Fancy some tea, young lady?”

Like a flight of birds, this one, directions unknown, delicate anemone petals flung by the wind. A familiar sentiment. The offer was a pax and she could return that kiss of peace should she want to, but they still knew far more than they were letting on.

“Much obliged.”

She followed through muffled halls, into a highly organized kitchen. Sterile and stylized. She began searching through the cabinets.

“Whatever are you doing?” they asked.

“Gonna help set the table? Where are the cups at?”

A smile, a silken rope, teasing but not cruel.

“Missouri.”

“Pardon?”

“Specifically, rural northwestern Missouri. I'm right, aren't I? I am~”

“How did you...Is that what you saw?”

“I saw...impact. Nothing more can be described. No, I know your place of origin from the way you speak. And your instinctive drive towards cooperation tells me your community was small and close-knit. You tell me everything I need to know, merely by being yourself.”

Swirl of approval, pomegranate and chocolate. Admiration and...memory. She had always found self-assured intelligence to be endearing. If a bit of arrogance went with it, well, so much the better.

“Impressive.”

“Isn't it?” they preened. “However, in the big city, a host has greater responsibilities. Go back to the study and make yourself comfortable. Oh, but first~”

They held out their delicate, gloved hand.

“My name is Edward Nigma. I go by the moniker 'Detective' more often than not, because that is what I am.”

“Helix.” she said, bending over the offered hand to press a quick, playful kiss to the back. It drew a silver bell of a laugh from them. “It also has some significance.”

“I know.” they said. “Go on now. I'll get everything ready.”

And 'everything' meant everything. Not just a quality oolong, but rich cream and large sugar crystals, small squares of shortbread, glazed madelines, finger sandwiches, each exactly the same size and shape, and a bowl of mixed fruit which had been organized by type.

“You look as though you might not have eaten for a little while.” they pointed out. “Indulge. No use in letting anything go to waste.”

She didn't actually know how long it had been. World by world, time was not static. It might have been a day. It might have been more than a year. It was so hard to keep track, so she lived almost exclusively in the present.

“Thank you.” she said, sincerity in every syllable, loading up her dainty china plate.

“Just remember the kindness. Reciprocity is a valued quality here.”

“I am sorry. I have little to give.”

They leaned forward, setting down their teacup, all refined etiquette in contrast to her country manners.

“You have something I prize above all else. Information.” Hunger of a different type, a great looming creature slavering behind tsavorite civility.

“What could you want to know from me?” There were many who looked at her magic and saw only power. A weapon they could wield, while disregarding the mind that still existed behind it. Those did not enjoy the privilege of her company for long.

“There is a mystery that I am unable to look at from the angles I need to solve it. I believe you are able to experience things in ways I am unable. You see, there is something of a paradox I have recently become aware of: I am not the only Edward Nigma to exist. Somehow, there are more of 'me'. The same person, and yet each distinctive. Different faces, different ages, different voices, and yet all fitting into the same niche in their own respective worlds. Are you able to tell me how that can be?”

Strange, very strange. They were Aware.

“You know about them. Do they know about you?” at their nod, she continued. “Not many can safely handle the knowledge. That there are worlds upon worlds upon worlds, nearly endless in their scope. But you can see them, can't you? Only from within, but you are Aware. There is a sort of...'Nexus' I guess is the best word for it.”

“And you can see it from the outside?” her turn to nod. “What does it look like? How do you perceive it, from beyond the edges of reality?”

“A gnarl of beads in the bottom of a jewelry box, frogspawn, a ganglion tangled in on itself...are these boys yours?”

A photograph on the desk, three young men, one no more than a child, and a curious empty space where something had been clipped out. They reached out of the frame with inquisitive expression; gooseberry glass, lapis in amber, pistachio ice cream, and...a poisoned spill of radium paint from shattered uranium glass. Its impression filled the void in the picture, crying for recognition.

Something had been there once, and its memory burned.

“I can't say they are truly mine, exactly. I've no children of my own. But we occasionally take that function with each other. It's an odd little family we've built, for certain, but it is ours alone.”

“Where is he?” she murmured idly, more to herself than anyone else, but the Detective plucked the frame from her curious hands, and placed it pointedly back on the desk, facing away.

“The...others?” she asked.

“Some of them. But go on. Our worlds are...tangled? Is that why we can reach each other?”

“I believe so. The realities tighten and twist, become 'threadbare' in places and easy to pass if you know the areas where the boundaries are weakest. There will be more. As the worlds wend, more will come into contact and rub thin. Foundational entities within each may become Aware of it. I don't know where that will lead. I've never seen a multiversal configuration like it.”

“You don't come from within this Nexus?”

“No. Much farther afield. Far enough that I feel there wasn't an Edward Nigma in my world, and if there was, they would have been highly derived. Maybe not even named the same thing. So different as to be unrecognizable.”

“Or perhaps you simply never met them. How long have you been traveling?”

The slightest smile, but it stretched her face like a scar.

“Since the day I died.”

A small frown, only the tiniest crease between the eyebrows.

“You are not dead, Miss Helix. Or do you insinuate that you should be?”

Mona Lisa silence.

“I see. I could say the same for myself. And yet, such as we are not meant to accept that. Now please, continue.”

“Reciprocity.” she repeated and pointed to the picture frame. “First, I wanna know about them.”

They sighed softly, but that was the game among mystics. They wanted information from the outside; she wanted information from the inside.

“Very well. Tell me Miss Helix: do you have a family?”

?~?~?~?~?

Detective’s original blog can be read here.

Artist: me

Artist: @cardwrecks

Artist: Shyfluffy (deactivated)

#shards of the nexus #Riddler Family #Detective!riddler

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tragicallymisunderstand-ing · 2 years

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I want to drink in the light of this evening

The dark teal of the water

The tan gold of the field

The vermilion poppy and the spray of white foam

The sun as if someone had punched a hole in the tissue paper sky and shone a light from behind

We stood North of Baits Bite Lock and C joked:

Here you are on the other side of the lock where years ago you always turned back-

Now older,

Wiser,

And on dry land.

#poetry #artblr #artists on tumblr #art #light academia #writing #writblr #writers of tumblr

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quiet-kunoichi · 6 months

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"Happy birthday, you weapon of mass destruction." He hands her the bouquet of bright vermilion poppies and quickly shoves his hands into his jacket pockets to hide his nerves. Ino, whose help he’d refused vehemently, had insisted he buy roses. But that tired cliché makes him sick to his stomach, and he has no doubt that Kimi will share his sentiment. Besides, he can think of no better flower to epitomize her than one that blooms on battlefields. Or that’s so dangerously addictive. (1/2)

[ birthday asks || @ 'anon' || tunes ]

poppies as a symbol of remembrance; death and rebirth.

Truthfully, Kimiko despised these gaudy 'anniversaries'. There was nothing to celebrate about a day like today — She'd survived made it another 365-odd days around the gargantuan burning ball of gas, so fucking what? A birthday seemed absurd when there was no picturesque family to celebrate with; if anything, it was a mere reminder of what she continually spent her life without. So while she had become more obviously withdrawn, her usually shrewd beau had been acting increasingly strange in the days leading up to her birthday. Naturally, the ever-suspicious Tamashi had taken notice of this change in his demeanor, because not one minute element about the Nara was lost on her. So as he approaches with a swath of vibrant petals barely concealed behind his back, Kimiko feels herself bracing for some imaginative blow. She'd never been adept at receiving gifts; which only exasperated this unfamiliar tango between the two. Scintillating pools of gold widen into medallions as vermilion poppies crowd her face, fingers clasping the bound stems just before his own digits tuck away into the confines of his jacket pockets. It takes only a moment before a rouge touches her face; or perhaps it could be blamed on the autumnal chill biting her cheeks with vengeance. Headlight beams swing back up to catch her buck in a lingering stare. Lips of black honey parted, but in some stroke of genius on his part, she was infuriatingly without words. Of course, the obvious dismissive phrases come to mind: 'you didn't have to do this' and the like, but why snuff out this rare display of romance? Certainly, he knew her well enough by now to ascertain that she was not expecting any gifts. And similarly, she knew that he wouldn't have gone out of his way and exert efforts in a situation he didn't feel appropriately deserved it. Before she could reclaim control of her own vapid tongue, Shikamaru plucks the particularly plump spliff from behind his ear and presents the blissful vice for an equally proportionate price. This dowry was by far the one that would singularly earn him her hand in unholy matrimony. Kimiko has to all but tear her gaze from that sweet treat, a salacious smile pulling at the corners of her lips. That old spark suddenly reignited after days of steadily holding a dampened flame. Damn this man and his incredible prowess at weaseling a way into her heart. Tucking the bouquet into the crook of her arm like a freshly born babe, Kimi's hand blankets itself over his own in favor of merely snagging the joint with the dexterity of a thief. "Mm, it's a tough call.." Her voice is a titillating purr, coquettishly taunting him while looking up through an awning of dark lashes. "I suppose if you're twisting my arm, then there's really no way around it, is there?" Simpering with a coy pout plumping her lower lip, Kimiko stretches up onto her toes to reach his ear, free hand grasping a domineering handful of his jacket collar to pull him down. "Thank you," She murmurs against the shell of his ear, placing a succinct kiss against the prickly stubble peppered at the top of his jawbone before rocking back to her heels. While he had been noticeably distracted, Kimiko had discreetly slipped the joint from his fingers and tucked it into the hem of her bra. "So, will it be your place or mine?" His girl grins impishly up at him, an incarnate of the devil Herself.

#can we have the cake and eat it too? 👀#getting more and more tempting to @#when will this game of anon end?#s.#it took a while but #only the best for the best

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ariamoonfox99 · 8 months

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I have recently gotten obsessed with Jujutsu Kaiden and I’m all for it. Though making on oc, was it worth it, maybe. Going through the trouble of creating a whole background and technique for her is challenging to say the least. She’s still a work in progress. I need ideas. 😭😭😭

All I can say is that her name is Yamabuki Tomoe, a young semi-grade 1 jujutsu sorcerer who poses as a shrine maiden at temples to exorcise curses.

Personality

Yamabuki is an introverted girl who has little to no social skills but acts like she’s not bothered. However she has her ways of showing kindness and despite being shy around new people and even people she knows, she ends up putting on a professional front when greeting others, seldomly speaking in one word responses. Others who know her for a while have experienced a softer side, sometimes tugging on the hem or sleeve of a person’s clothing to get their attention.

During missions- solo or with a partner or group- she’s completely focused on exorcising curses, a devoid expression is usually on her face when she’s tasked with keeping lesser curses at bay if there’s a larger curse on a group mission. Solo and partner missions is where she really lets loose a bit of an unhinged side when it comes to curses at her level. She makes sure to tell her partner beforehand to stand back since her technique might accidentally target them too. She may come off as cold but she generally does care for her partner’s safety, the last thing she wants is for them to be injured because of her cursed energy suddenly going out of control that it not only affects the curses in the area but as well as her partner. In the end when the job gets done, she’s immediately fawning over their injuries and making sure nothing happened while she was fighting. Once they arrive back at the school, her professional act is back on for the report.

Her technique is somewhat flower based but her main motif is spider lilies. Albeit similar to Hanami but more based on flowers than plants altogether. While Yamabuki cherishes her technique, she’s also afraid of it because of how much damage she does to a curse that she can’t help how painful it feels and wondered how it would feel for her if it was used against her. Thinking back to when she first used it on accident when her cursed energy burst, she was scared half to death afterwards that she ended up locking herself up in her room after recovery but in the end, mulled over everything Gojo had said to her and to what she can do to use her technique without restrictions and for good instead of on impulse. So here she is now trying to master her technique without worry of losing control of her energy.

Innate Cursed Technique: Foreboding Garden

Flower of the Reaper

-Scatter (Chirabaru)

-Embed (Umekomu)

-Bud (Tsubomi)

-Bloom (Saku)

Dreamy Opium Poppy

-Releasing what appears to be a dust cloud from her kosode sleeves when in actuality, is a cloud of pollen imbued with cursed energy that smells like opium poppies. This is meant to weaken or disorient curses that breathe in the fumes and possibly sorcerers.

Domain Expansion: Garden of Hell (Jigoku No En)

-A black void that houses a field of red spider lilies, an illusion of the caster being consumed by their opponent’s attacks or techniques will appear but what is really happening when they move is that they step on the minefield of spider lily bulbs and the bulbs are small enough to not be noticed until the maturing process nears completion. That is when the victim will start feeling a crawling feeling until it’s too late and their body breaks out in dark veins that look like roots and soon the signature flowers forcibly break the skin with white buds that drain blood from the victim to gain their vermilion color and bloom. The petals scatter towards the caster all the while keeping the victim alive to feel that pain until their inevitable demise or until their body is a mess of red petals and blood, works on curses, sorcerers and non sorcerers alike.

-The domain started out as incomplete with just half the size of a rugby field when Yamabuki accidentally first used it and her cursed energy overloaded her body to the point where she activated it without warning that it took out a small horde of curses as well as a grade 2 curse that tried to attack her only to be consumed by the flowers as they sprouted and bloomed inside and outside its body. Only then did she collapse until she was found by Gojo who took her to the hospital and talked her into becoming a jujutsu sorcerer to help her control her waterfall of cursed energy and her technique.

Nowadays she can create a complete black void that depends on her target and the amount of spider lilies and other flowers she can produce as a medium, this ranges from a simple domain to the size of a train station or an elementary school. The most common form is for spider lilies to bloom on the body or the toxins of another flower to weaken her opponent as a guaranteed to hit.

Reverse Cursed Technique

(You get the gist of it)

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu sorcerer #jjk oc #jjk ocs #jjk fanart #self insert

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illustratus · 1 month

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Pastoral (detail) by Rupert Bunny

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poemoftheday · 1 year

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Poem of the Day 30 March 2023

Female Fashions for 1799

BY MARY ROBINSON

A FORM, as any taper, fine ;

A head like half-pint bason ;

Where golden cords, and bands entwine,

As rich as fleece of JASON.

A pair of shoulders strong and wide,

Like country clown enlisting ;

Bare arms long dangling by the side,

And shoes of ragged listing !

Cravats like towels, thick and broad,

Long tippets made of bear-skin,

Muffs that a RUSSIAN might applaud,

And rouge to spoil a fair skin.

Long petticoats to hide the feet,

Silk hose with clocks of scarlet ;

A load of perfume, sick'ning sweet,

Bought of PARISIAN VARLET.

A bush of hair, the brow to shade,

Sometimes the eyes to cover ;

A necklace that might be display'd

By OTAHEITEAN lover !

A bowl of straw to deck the head,

Like porringer unmeaning ;

A bunch of POPPIES flaming red,

With motly ribands streaming.

Bare ears on either side the head,

Like wood-wild savage SATYR ;

Tinted with deep vermilion red,

To shame the blush of nature.

Red elbows, gauzy gloves, that add

An icy cov'ring merely ;

A wadded coat, the shape to pad,

Like Dutch-women — or nearly.

Such is CAPRICE ! but, lovely kind !

Oh ! let each mental feature

Proclaim the labour of the mind,

And leave your charms to NATURE.

#poetry #poem of the day #poem #mary robinson

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kathycrabbeart · 1 year

Photo

Just loved @katinkabelleart 🌺"Boots & Blooms" solo exhibition at the Merc Gallery, Temecula running thru March, 2023🌺 I also loved hearing about the deep meaning behind the choice of boots in her work, especially the army boots with poppies (outlined in vermilion) sprouting out of them to help us remember those who fought and lost their lives in WWII. @temeculatheater #temeculaart #temeculaartooening #temeculaarts #temeculascene #katinkabelleart #temeculawinecountrygallery (at The Merc in Old Town Temecula) https://www.instagram.com/p/CpWg5cBuIsm/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#temeculaart #temeculaartooening #temeculaarts #temeculascene #katinkabelleart #temeculawinecountrygallery

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josephinesliteraireblog · 1 year

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The Poppy War - R.F Kuang Deel 1

Hallo beste lezers,

het is vandaag 1 januari, het school leven begint stilletjes aan zich weer in mijn brein te nestellen en ik dacht om even mijn literaire geweten een beetje op te frissen en daarmee nu mijn blog bij te werken en mijn lezers te informeren!

Er zijn al 11 dagen verstreken en eerlijk gezegd heb ik nog niet zo veel gedaan. Het enige wat ik tot nu toe heb gedaan is slapen, sporten, eten, feesten, lezen en repeat. Ik voel me als een opgeblaasde olifant met de hoeveelheid eten dat ik heb geconsumeerd de afgelopen dagen. Hapjes, Kidibul, mini pizza's, kalkoen, chips, raclette, brochettten, krokketen en nog veel anderen dingen worden vollenbak bediend en ik kan het maar niet laten om er meer van te eten!

Maar nu stop ik over het eten en ga ik ietjes meer over de literaire dingen praten:

Ik was enkele dagen geleden geobsedeerd geworden met het boek The Poppy War en ik had het uitgelezen na 2 dagen. Het is nu in mijn top 5 beland en ik wil niet anders dan het tweede boek lezen, maar hij is nog niet aangekomen nadat ik het had besteld online.

The Poppy War is geschreven door R.F Kuang. R.F Kuang heeft onder anderen ook andere boeken geschreven dat op mijn "to read" staan, zoals Babel en Yellowface.

De uitgeverij is Harper Voyager en het boek heeft in totaal 544 pagina's.

Het boek gaat over Fang Runin (oorlogswees) uit een klein plattelandsdorpje in het zuiden van Nikara. Ze is doodsbang om door haar pleegouders te worden uitgehuwelijkt aan een oude, rijke koopman, dus bedenkt ze een plan waarmee ze haar kleine dorp kan verlaten. Rin studeert twee jaar voor een test waarmee ze haar dorp met een volledige beurs kan verlaten voor een militaire academie genaamd Sinegard. Haar leraar helpt haar hiermee na lang overleg, daardoor was ze meer gemotiveerd om harder te werken en binnen te geraken. Ze test binnen Sinegard, en iedereen is verbaasd en vervolgens weet ze te ontsnappen aan het oordeel en de convictie van haar dorp.

In Sinegard wordt Rin echter met nog meer discriminatie geconfronteerd dan in haar dorp. Er wordt op haar neergekeken vanwege haar armoede en haar donkere huidskleur, aangezien de meeste studenten uit de hogere sociale klassen komen. Rin ontmoet een vriend, een jongen genaamd Kitay, en ze ontwikkelen een hechte vriendschap. Ze maakt ook een rivaal van de zoon van de Dragon Warlord, een jongen genaamd Nezha. Haar rivaliteit met Nezha heeft tot gevolg dat Rin uit haar Combat klas wordt verbannen na een onbevoegd gevecht. Aangezien de instructeur, Master Jun, een purist was die gelooft dat mensen met een lagere sociale status niet op de Sinegard Academy mogen leven en studeren. Om er zeker van te zijn dat ze de proeven doorstaat en haar tweede jaar op Sinegard haalt, begint Runin boeken over gevechtskunsten uit de bibliotheek te halen. Ze oefent op de lege tuin en binnenplaats die zou worden gebruikt voor de Lore-klas van de studenten, maar die geen van de andere studenten ooit bezocht. omdat hun Lore Master nooit kwam opdagen. Tijdens een van haar oefeningen onderbreekt meester Jiang haar en stemt ermee in haar de vakken te leren die ze nodig heeft om de proeven te doorstaan en te slagen. Naarmate Rin meer bedreven raakt in de vechtsporten, staat Jiang erop dat ze Lore belooft/zweert dat zelfs de beroemde vijfdejaars Altan de training niet zo snel had opgepikt als zij. In eerste instantie wil Rin dat niet, maar hoe meer ze leert over wat Jiang kan doen, realiseert ze zich dat hij haar pad naar ware macht is, dat tegen alles waar Jiang en de lessen voor stond tegen aan ging. Rin roept per ongeluk een god aan, The Vermilion Phoenix, tijdens de Trials en Jiang is de enige die het vuur in haar kan kalmeren. Daarna belooft/zweert Rin Lore en zet ze zich in voor het pad dat haar een sjamaan zal maken en haar toegang zal geven tot onnoemelijke macht. Jiang probeert het evenwicht in haar aan te moedigen en niet voor macht te kiezen, maar Rin is vastbesloten om de machtsverhoudingen in haar voordeel te gebruiken.

Rin vervolgt haar studie onder Jiang totdat de Federatie van Mugen, een eiland voor de kust van Nikan, de oorlog verklaart. De Federatie (het leger van Mugen) marcheert naar Sinegard en de studenten worden allemaal opgeroepen voor de oorlog. Sinegard valt bijna, maar is uiteindelijk gered geweest door Jiang en Rin toen ze hun sjamanistische krachten blootlegden. Jiang verdwijnt en Rin wordt van de Cike-divisie verscheept om haar te beschermen tegen de machtsstrijd tussen de Twelve Warlords. Daar staat ze onder het bevel van Altan Trengsin, een voormalige leerling van Sinegard en de laatste van een uitgestorven ras genaamd de Speerly. Altan probeert haar te leren hoe ze de Phoenix kan roepen, terwijl de Cike en verschillende andere divisies proberen de Federatie van Mugen ervan te weerhouden de stad Khurdalain te veroveren. Tijdens het beleg is Rin niet dichter bij het naar believen aanroepen van de Phoenix, maar ze maakt wel een nieuwe vriend.

Nezha en de Vijfde Divisie worden gestuurd als versterkingen voor Khurdalain. Rin en Nezha sluiten vriendschap na al de jaren van rivaliteit, juist voordat hij door gasaanval van Mugen wordt gedood (in het volgend boek zie je dat hij eigenlijk is gevangengenomen, ik had het opgezocht omdat ik geen geduld heb als er iemand "sterft" en ik moet het altijd voor de zekerheid weten). Kort daarna stelt de Cike Seer Chaghan vast dat de Federatie op weg is naar Golyn Niis, de oorlogshoofdstad van Nikan. Wanneer de Cike bij Golyn Niis aankomen, vinden ze volledige en totale verwoesting. De Federatie had onuitsprekelijke wreedheden begaan tegen de burgers en soldaten binnen haar muren en was toen blijven marcheren. Deze genocide maakt Rin en Altan woedend. Altan bedenkt een plan om de sjamanen in Chuluu Korikh( een gevangenis voor te machtige sjamanen die in goden zijn veranderd) te bevrijden om een niet te stoppen leger te vormen. Wanneer ze echter bij Chuluu Korikh aankomen, beseft het paar de fout van hun plan en dat degenen binnen de berg vaartuigen zijn voor hun goden en hun menselijkheid hebben verloren. Een van de sjamanen, Feylen, de oude meester van Alan, ontsnapt uit de berg en verdwijnt voordat Rin en Altan hem kunnen tegenhouden. Terwijl Rin en Altan binnen waren, omsingelde de Federatie de berg en aangezien ze de goden niet kunnen oproepen terwijl ze in Chuluu Korikh waren, worden Rin en Altan gevangengenomen.

Altan en Rin worden gedrogeerd met opium en naar de testfaciliteit gebracht waar Altan als kind gevangen zat(op dit moment zat ik dus te huilen terwijl ik aan het lezen was). Tijdens een geval waarin zij en Altan allebei gedrogeerd zijn met opium, neemt Altan haar mee op een spirituele reis door het verleden van Speer, waar ze praten met de Speerly. Rin ontvangt de zegen van de geesten van Speer en wanneer ze uit hun gedrogeerde toestand komen, slaagt ze erin de Phoenix op te roepen en een ontsnapping voor zowel haar als Altan te organiseren. Er zijn echter te veel Federatiesoldaten, dus offert Altan zichzelf op zodat Rin als ontsnapping naar het eiland Speer kan zwemmen. Terwijl ze op Speer is, ontdekt Rin de ondergrondse tempel van de Phoenix en sluit ze een overeenkomst met de Phoenix om de hele Federatie van Mugen uit te roeien. Ze brandt met het vuur van de Phoenix voordat ze het strand van Speer op kan kruipen. Drie dagen later wordt ze wakker op een schip dat wordt bevaren door de Cike (een groep van Sjamanen, waar Altan vroeger de leider van was. Het zijn een soort huurmoordenaars voor de koningin van Nikan) Kitay is ook op dit schip en hij informeert haar hoe ze de eilanden van de Mugenese volledig heeft vernietigd door een lang slapende vulkaan te activeren. Kitay walgt van haar beslissing om dit te doen, maar Rin voelt nauwelijks spijt van de dood die ze heeft veroorzaakt, aangezien ze het een noodzakelijk offer vond om Nikan te redden. Chaghan en Qara gaan vervolgens aan boord van het schip, aangezien ze door Altan op een missie waren gestuurd om een dam in het noordelijke deel van Nikan te vernietigen, waardoor de vlakte beneden onder water kwam te staan en ook duizenden mensen om het leven kwamen, dat niet alleen Federatie soldaten waren, maar vooral Nikanburgers. Aan het einde van het boek realiseert Rin zich dat zij en andere sjamanen hun eigen lot moeten bepalen en dat hun keuzes niet door de goden worden gecontroleerd. Ze neemt de beslissing om de goden te gebruiken als vernietigingswerktuigen en verwoesting uit te storten op al haar vijanden die nog op Nikan zijn achtergebleven.

Ze maakt een belofte om iedereen die medeplichtig was in de massa-moord op het Speerly volk te verwoesten.

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