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lurkingshan · 7 months

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Once again I'm here because I'm angry. There's been a lot of talk about Boston and what Jojo wanted or not to say about sluts and whatever. I, and other people I think, were struggling with the idea that Jojo would actually want that message out. So I went to see some interviews. And got kinda shocked about one thing that he said. (btw this is an actual quote.) He was talking about Boston reasons for his behaviour Jojo: Bad people don't need to have a backstory. They are just born sluts. A bad character doesn't need... (and then the interviewer says - he doesn't need tragedy to be bad) Exactly. And then he gets asked if he thinks Boston needs redemption and he emphatically says NO. And then talking about how much fun is writing the character he says this: Boston is such a fun character to write. yeah unpredictable he's like, he doesn't care. he doesn't have morals so we just like goes with the flow. bad people? no morals? humm... i don't know... So yeah, now I don't really know what to think about it. I was wondering what are your thoughts about this. I'm still gonna watch some more of this, because I'm a masochist that needs all the information, but yeah, I thought I would share. Thanks for the space

Yiiiiiikes. Okay, first let me preface this by saying that whenever I am reading/watching something that was either translated to English or spoken in English by a person with a different first language, I try not to get too hung up on specific word choice. By necessity we tend to go for the simplest possible words to convey meaning in those situations, and thus a lot of nuance gets stripped out.

That said, the sentiment is clear: Jojo saw Boston as a villain character without a moral code that he could deploy to cause chaos wherever he liked in the story. And he is definitely conflating his villainy with sexual promiscuity, which is the worst part of this quote and unfortunately aligns with the way that finale, and ultimately the themes of the show, were written. It definitely makes me side eye Jojo and as I’ve already said, I won’t be so inclined to trust him nearly as much next time.

Only Friends, however, has more than one writer, and I don’t think they all see it this way. If you think Boston is purely an irredeemable slut, you don’t write his breakup and reunion with Nick in the way that this show did. You don’t give depth to his situation with Atom. You don’t show his sincere emotion, his hurt, and his earnest desire to be with Nick while he can. With all the info we have now and in retrospect, it kind of feels like there was a bit of a tug-o-war going on with Boston’s story.

My understanding is that Den Panuwat, one of three writers on the show, is the one who adapted the novel version of the story, and there he changed Boston’s final arc significantly. Rather than Boston fucking Atom, he made his final conflict about his dad’s political career with Boston’s sexuality being used as a weapon against him. He wrote Boston and Nick ending on good terms. And he wrote a final chapter for Boston where he arrives in New York, finds a more accepting society and queer community who accept and understand him, and thrives.

I’m sure there were some non-artistic reasons why we couldn’t get this version of the story in the show (the politics story was likely vetoed for censorship reasons and they probably couldn’t afford to show us Boston in NY, for example), but the fact that Den wrote it signals that his perspective on Boston is not fully aligned with what Jojo said in that quote above. Perhaps we have him to thank for the empathetic portrayal and humanity we did see in Boston despite Jojo’s perspective on him. And Den has another show coming soon, so maybe we’ll see a clearer read of his own perspective on queer sexual politics without the GMMTV restrictions when we watch Playboyy.

#only friends the series #playboyy the series #thai bl #shan answers

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from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras · 2 months

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The Guardian, Chapter 5

In which we find out how Mildrithe ended up in Haldir’s care and some momentous decisions are made about her future. This is the last formal chapter, though there is an epilogue still to come. Prior chapters are here: one, two, three and four.

For the final time, here’s what I’ve deemed the official art of this little story, drawn by the very generous @brigwife

**********

It was late into the night by the time Mildrithe had finished relating her tale and later still before she had calmed enough to attempt any rest. Idhrien helped her to wash her face with a cool cloth to soothe her red, puffy eyes, and Haldir sat with her at their bedside, keeping a quiet watch until she finally gave in to exhaustion and drifted to sleep.

When he emerged from the bedroom at last, Idhrien was waiting for him, and she took note of his bowed head and slumped shoulders as he closed the door behind himself.

“It’s difficult to hear so much talk of violence and death from one so young,” she said, looping her arms around his waist and resting her chin on his shoulder. “But take comfort in knowing that you brought her to safety. Whatever happened in her past, her future doesn’t have to look like that anymore.”

“I fear it will be a long time before she can put that past behind her. If ever. Any one piece of her story would be hard enough on its own, but when you put them together…” The sentence drifted to an end, and he looked down at the floor. He had seen his share of brutality and tragedy over the ages – far more than any mortal would ever see during their brief time in Middle Earth – but he had a peaceful childhood first. His parents had shielded him from the worst of the world, kept him from learning the hardest truths until he was old enough to better understand them. To have had those truths thrust upon him at such a tender age as Mildrithe’s was unimaginable to him. He wasn’t certain he would have recovered.

“Children are resilient, Haldir. She has a will to live, or she wouldn’t have made it this far. She can still thrive. And if she hasn’t given up, neither should you.”

She tightened her arms around him, and the combination of her words and her grip put strength back into his spine. He straightened his shoulders and dropped a kiss onto the top of her head. “You’re right. Fate has dealt her some heavy blows, but it also put her in our path. And maybe we can help to fix it all now.”

They sat together at a small table and went back over every part of Mildrithe’s story, trying to isolate the details that might lead them to an idea of where she belonged and how to return her there. It was a confusing chain of events, pieced together from the incomplete knowledge of one far too young to comprehend the entirety of her own situation. He already knew the end of the tale – that when the company she was traveling with had been set upon by orcs, she fled to the nearby forest during the chaos – but the beginnings were much harder to decipher. Mildrithe gave them the name of her village, but she had no sense of where it sat within the borders of Rohan. She described an unexpected attack in the night but had no real idea who the attackers were or what motives they had. And when those attackers, mocking and contemptuous, had carried her off as the sole survivor of the village, she knew the misery and terror of that long journey but not its intended destination or purpose.

Her story had come out in irregular bursts, moving quickly and more assuredly over the parts that involved only herself, but lingering painfully on the descriptions of those who were now gone – friends, neighbors, her parents, an aged grandfather, and a beloved older sister, whose last act had been to shove Mildrithe into the small closet where she had weathered the worst of the fighting that night. All those loving presences in her life, cut down in a few short minutes, existed now only in her memories, which were themselves tenuous and fragmented.

“We have the name of the village. Surely we could find it and deliver her there,” said Idhrien. “We have maps, and the people of Rohan could steer us as needed.”

“But by her telling, the village no longer stands. It was burned to the ground when she last saw it, and who would have been left to rebuild? If she seemed certain of one thing, it was that she was the only one to make it out of there alive.” He rubbed a hand across his face and frowned. “What about the uncle she mentioned? The one who journeyed a long distance to visit them at Yule last year? If he lived elsewhere, then he likely survives, and we may be able to find him.”

Idhrien shook her head. “Haleth is a very common name in Rohan. With only that to go by and no idea of where to look, I fear it would be searching for a single leaf in the forest.”

They sat for a few minutes in quiet thought, both hoping for some inspiration to guide their fruitless efforts. When none came, he stood to pace and stopped only when the first hint of morning sun appeared in the window, throwing a warm square of light into his path back and forth across the floor. He sighed.

“I told Lord Celeborn last night that I would be back early to discuss the situation with him more fully. Perhaps I should go now before she wakes up again. Can you stay with her until I’m back?”

“Of course.” She gave him an encouraging smile. “I’m sure he’ll know what to do. He always does. If she wants to return to Rohan, he’ll find the right place for her to go.”

Haldir nodded and slipped out the door, and he was halfway down the stairs before his wife’s final sentence echoed back on him with enough force to stop him in his tracks. If she wants to return. All of his plans until this very moment had pointed in the same direction – to find a way to safely reunite Mildrithe with her people. But if those closest to her were all gone, if her only memories in Rohan were tainted now by heartbreak and fear…would she even want to go? It was the simplest of questions and, yet, one he hadn’t even considered. And as he pondered it now, it led him directly to an even more unexpected thought, one that dominated his mind as he walked back to the center of the city: maybe she could stay.

***

Celeborn was ready to receive him despite the early hour, and he listened carefully to Haldir’s recitation of all that he had learned from Mildrithe during the night.

“So there is no way to find a living member of her family to take charge of her in Rohan?”

“That seems to be the case,” said Haldir. “Unless you can see a clue that I’ve missed.”

“It’s a shame.” Celeborn shook his head slightly. “But if no family of her own can be found, then the Rohirrim will find a new family for her. It will be a more complicated matter to make the appropriate inquiries, but I’m sure it can be managed. Will you and Idhrien continue to care for her until we’ve made the right arrangements?”

“Yes, Lord Celeborn. If she has to return, we can—”

“If?” Celeborn cut in and fixed him with a long stare. “I was not aware there was any question on that point, Captain.”

The intensity of his gaze sent a flush creeping across Haldir’s cheeks and neck. He hadn’t intended to provoke a debate, but Idhrien’s words were still fresh in his mind and the ‘if’ came out before he had even realized it. “I only meant that she may not be eager to go back, given all that happened there.”

“So you propose that we keep this child in Lórien instead?”

“I’m not proposing anything.” The conversation felt like it was slipping out of Haldir’s control, the words getting ahead of his own thoughts. “I merely suggest that if it made her happy to stay here, such a thing could be possible.”

“Anything is possible. That doesn’t make it advisable. She’s a child of the plains, a mortal with no connection to our people or our way of life. She doesn’t belong in our forest, where she will be without peers. Without anyone who can truly understand her or know her feelings and experiences by instinct rather than only by careful study. She will be better served by being sent back.”

Everything he heard sounded both sensible and wise to Haldir, and yet something deep within him continued to resist. And to his amazement, he found himself arguing with the most powerful man in Lórien. “But Lord Celeborn, she would not be the first child of Men to live among the elves. It’s been done before with success.”

“And it has also led to ruin and destruction.” Celeborn sighed and softened his tone. “I do not mean to compare this little Rohirrim to the likes of Túrin Turambar. There is no shadow in her spirit, I could see that well enough myself last night. But the Men who have lived successfully with elves did so because they had a connection to us already. Estel did not just wander into Imladris to live with a stranger. His coming was part of a longstanding tradition, and he was already known to Elrond. This Rohirrim has no one here.”

“She has me.” His words surprised even himself as they came from his mouth, so quick and so certain. But once they were spoken, he knew they were true feelings of his heart. He raised his chin and met Celeborn’s eye.

“So that’s what this is about? Your wish isn’t just to see her stay in Lórien, but to see her stay with you.” He pursed his lips and thought for a moment. “If she wants to return to Rohan, you will take her, Captain. If she wants to stay, I won’t presume to tell you or Idhrien what to do with your own household. But I urge you to think this through. What seems like a good idea now may be something you all grow to regret in the future. Decide carefully.”

He rose to leave, and Haldir bowed his head before turning to walk back home again.

He couldn’t really account for his own words and behavior that morning. The depth of his attachment to Mildrithe continued to surprise him. As someone who always knew his own mind, it was disorienting to discover his feelings only as they came from his lips. And even while he was still reeling from those discoveries, the invocation of Idhrien sent a fresh wave of uncertainty over him. He had discussed none of this with her in advance and had no real idea how she would feel about his burgeoning hope to keep Mildrithe in his life. Their partnership was sacred to him, and he would do nothing that lacked Idhrien’s full support. But he felt a nervous flutter in his chest at just the idea of raising the question, and he hurried his steps to get back to her as quickly as possible.

***

When he returned home, Idhrien was no longer at the little table in the front room. He could hear the quiet murmur of voices from further back and followed them to the doorway of his bedroom.

Mildrithe was awake again and wearing one of Idhrien’s tunics as a dress. They were curled up together, and Idhrien had one of his sketchbooks in her hand, the one he used to create little forest scenes during his off hours on patrol. She was turning the pages for Mildrithe slowly and talking about the scenes as she went, spinning an impromptu tale that he couldn’t understand but that seemed to hold Mildrithe’s rapt attention.

He kept quiet and stood just outside the room, watching the two of them cuddled together and looking so comfortable. So natural. So right. A powerful feeling welled up in his chest, a rush of happiness and contentment mixed with melancholy and longing, and a thought crystalized in his mind with absolute clarity. This is something that I want.

Idhrien broke off mid-sentence to look up in his direction, and he realized that she had heard his thought in her own mind. She gazed at him for a moment, an unreadable expression on her face, before Mildrithe, too, looked up and saw him there. She rushed out a bunch of enthusiastic sentences, pointing frequently to the sketchbook, and he waited patiently until she was finished and Idhrien could translate for him.

“She likes your pictures of the fox and the fawn, and we’ve decided that they met and became friends in the forest. She wants you to teach her to draw so that she can make a whole book about their adventures together.”

He smiled. “I would be happy to teach the fawn how to draw.”

Idhrien set the sketchbook aside and said a few words to Mildrithe, and they rose from bed to have breakfast now that Haldir had returned. Idhrien nearly emptied their pantry, piling options onto the table for Mildrithe to choose from, and soon she was deep into her own enjoyment as she sampled all sorts of cakes and breads and fruits that were new to her. With Mildrithe thus engaged, Haldir took a seat at Idhrien’s side and covered her hand with his.

“You must think me irrational and foolish.”

“You’re many things, Haldir, but you have never been either of those. I know you and your heart. You are not a rash person. If this is something you feel drawn to, I know that it must be a deeply rooted feeling.”

“That doesn’t make it any less ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous how? That you see someone in need and want to help? That you had an intense experience that bonded you together? That you have love in your heart to give?”

He squeezed her hand. “That I could expect my wife to share those inclinations suddenly and without warning?”

She sat back in her seat and took a long, deep breath. “It would be ridiculous to think that I could understand everything of Mildrithe and your experience together from the small time I’ve had to take it in. But my natural impulse is to want to support you in all things, just as you do for me. And it’s not as though we’ve never talked about having young ones around.”

“This is very different than an elf child of our own making.”

“Yes. And you should go into this very clear-eyed about the implications and consequences of that. For her and for us.” She smiled at him. “But I am willing to try.”

He pressed her hand to his lips, overwhelmed with relief and gratitude, but she leaned in closer to him and looked him directly in the eye.

“But Haldir, she must want to stay. The choice must be hers, always.”

They both looked over at Mildrithe, who peered up at them from behind her pile of treats, aware from the energy in the room that something momentous was being discussed.

“Will you tell her?” he asked. “Explain to her what her choices are. Make sure she understands what they both mean and that only she controls the choice. That she can take as much time as she needs or ask as many questions as she wants or change her mind at any point.”

Idhrien drew her chair closer to Mildrithe and spoke for many long minutes. Mildrithe asked one or two questions but otherwise sat in silence. At times, her eyes widened or brow furrowed, and she looked increasingly troubled the longer that Idhrien spoke. He took a few deep breaths, readying his own expectations and making sure that he could greet whatever response she gave without outward disappointment on his face.

When Idhrien finally finished speaking, Mildrithe turned to Haldir once more and asked him a question directly. A tear or two welled up in Idhrien’s eyes as she listened, and he watched anxiously, unsure of what could be said that would have that effect on her.

“She asks if you think her parents would be disappointed in her for leaving Rohan.”

He swallowed hard on the lump that immediately formed in his own throat. Having been through so much, she was still thinking of others, and his heart wrung with pity. He reached across the table to take her hand. “I think they would be sad about what has happened, but they would be even prouder of you for how strong you are. And more than anything, they would want you to be happy. That’s all that any of us want. Choose whatever will make you happiest.”

Mildrithe listened to the translated answer and thought quietly for several minutes before speaking again to Idhrien.

“She wants to tell you something herself.” Idhrien nodded at Mildrithe, who got up and walked around the table until she was standing before Haldir.

She looked him directly in the eye and tapped her own chest before uttering one of the only words they had in common: “Lórien.”

He drew in a sharp breath, hardly daring to believe that he understood her correctly, but a quick glance at Idhrien confirmed everything and he thought his heart might soar right out of his chest. He scooped up Mildrithe and reached for Idhrien, and for a time he held onto them both, his mind bouncing rapidly from joy to terror to wonder and relief. Amidst all the turmoil, though, one feeling rose above the others, and he breathed out that feeling in his very first words to his new family. “Thank you.”

**********

Note: You’ll see an appearance of osanwé here, a concept Tolkien developed but didn’t often use explicitly. It means, essentially, the interchange of thought, and all peoples are capable of doing it as long as both minds are willing/open (though humans rarely master it, so it’s much more common among Ainur and elves). That’s canon. And I think because they are married and their connection is so deep, it can happen between Haldir and Idhrien even when he isn’t consciously intending it. As partners, their default is to be always open to each other, and when he has an insight as powerful as this one was, he can’t help but share it with her even before he realizes that’s what he’s doing.

@emmanuellececchi @konartiste as requested

#lotr #lord of the rings #tolkien #haldir #lórien #mildrithe #last chapter #minus an epilogue still to come

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hollandorks · 2 years

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shadows in the night

battinson!bruce wayne x f!reader

epilogue

summary: more than a year after the events of middle of the night, y/n and Bruce are happily engaged and working to lower the amount of crime in Gotham. However, a new killer calling himself the Riddler has other plans for their happiness…set during the events of the movie, mostly canonical, some changes made to fit the story

a/n: I literally can’t believe this story is over. I started writing MOTN in March this year, and it has been with me ever since. Almost 9 months straight of MOTN and Battinson. I’m so thankful for this story and the community it brought me and how much fun it’s been over the course of these months! I could write an entire essay on what it means to me and about the people this story brought into my life, but I’ll keep it short and sweet for now.

I’d like to note that I kept this short on purpose--it’s just a glimpse into their future, and I didn’t want to bog it down with too many details. However, I do plan on including at least one more oneshot (maybe more).

(PS: @captain-ariel-rogers you’re welcome)

Series Masterlist

word count: 2807

Every tragedy in his life had led him there, to a home full of love and laughter, even amidst the shadows that came in the night.

The wind on top of the signal tower was unforgiving as Bruce waited next to the spotlight. It was March already, but winter had refused to release its claws from Gotham.

Things in the city had changed, and not all for the good. Not all for the bad, either.

Bella Reál had proven herself time and again to be a more than capable mayor. She thrived in the chaos, in the uncertainty, and had whipped Gotham into shape so quickly it had made Bruce’s head spin. Despite all of the crime, despite how many nights his signal shone in the dark, the new mayor had wrestled control of the city back into the hands of the good.

The trial had started in December as planned, despite the flooding and the wreckage of the city, mostly due to Bella Reál’s firm hand. It had taken weeks, draining them all, but in the end every single man had been convicted on multiple counts and been sent to prison for decades if not the rest of their lives.

For a while, as y/n was forced to relive her trauma on the stand, she had become a shell of herself. She had been withdrawn and quiet throughout the ordeal, the weight of the world holding her down despite Bruce and Alfred and even Gordon doing their best to share her burden. Her nightmares had worsened and Bruce had forced himself to come home earlier and earlier each night simply to be there for her.

But the closer the trial got to its end, the more fiery she became. Her shoulders had straightened and she had thrown herself into rebuilding not only the Gotham Project, but the Renewal Fund as well, and even several other smaller projects that went hand in hand with helping the city.

And she had planned their wedding. She wanted to get it done right, as Bruce had requested, but she also didn’t want to wait.

He was, to put it plainly, in awe of her.

And now, as March started to draw to a close, still wrapped in an unseasonably late winter, their wedding day loomed.

Bruce wasn’t sure what he was more nervous for–the meeting he was about to have with the newly appointed Commissioner Gordon, or the wedding day itself.

He fiddled with a hair tie he kept looped on his utility belt, a habit he had developed in the past year and a half.

It wasn’t too long before the elevator in the tower started rattling its way upwards.

Bruce inhaled sharply and fought against nervously tapping his foot or pacing back and forth. He forced himself into stillness as the doors slid open and Gordon stepped out. The man cursed and burrowed more deeply into his coat.

“Couldn’t we have done this inside?” Gordon called out.

“Light’s warm,” he said softly. It was true–the giant spotlight radiated warmth, more and more the longer it was on. Gordon shivered as he came to a stop next to Bruce. He rubbed his hands together to warm them. Bruce was glad for his own gloves, a newer pair that y/n had made him get that were thicker and lined with fleece. She’d forced him to winter proof his suit, for which he was grateful even if he had grumbled about it at the time.

“Been a while,” Gordon said as they both looked out over the city. It had been a while–things had died down over the past several weeks to the point where the signal was rarely needed. Bruce mostly patrolled on his own and used police scanners to find out where he was needed. “How you been, man?”

Bruce almost frowned. He didn’t realize that they made small talk now. “Fine,” he said.

“Good, good.” Gordon rubbed his hands together again almost absently, then glanced up at Bruce. “So, what have you got for me?”

Bruce couldn’t help shifting slightly from foot to foot. He hoped Gordon didn’t notice. But he was a good detective, a good cop–he likely did notice even if he was pretending otherwise.

Finally, Bruce said, voice gruff and nonchalant, “I have to…step back for a couple of weeks. I wanted you to know, in case you needed me and I didn’t show.”

He’d wavered back and forth, over and over again, between telling Gordon he was leaving and simply disappearing. But he cared for the city too much and had eventually decided that he couldn’t leave without telling someone. Y/n had agreed that Gordon was the best choice–he was trustworthy and likely wouldn’t press for information.

“I figured as much,” Gordon said. Bruce’s eyebrows drew together behind his mask. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll look out for things here, even turn the light on and off and spread some rumors. Make it seem like you’re still around.”

Bruce opened his mouth, then closed it again. “Why?” he said, the only question he could come up with that wouldn’t sound suspicious.

Gordon gave him a sly look then shrugged. “I want you to enjoy your honeymoon.”

The world fell away from Bruce’s feet. How could Gordon possibly know that was Bruce’s reason for leaving? He had no idea who Bruce was. Or at least, he shouldn’t.

“Wh-what?” Bruce said. He silently cursed the stammer in his voice that likely gave it all away. His heart thundered in his ears. Everything went utterly quiet in his mind, every thought wiped out by a wave of pure shock.

Gordon spread his hands innocently. “I’m just saying, man, if you were getting married this weekend and if you were about to go on your honeymoon, I don’t want you worrying about the city. I can take care of things for a couple of weeks.”

Bruce struggled to remain still, to control his breathing, to reign in the panic building in his chest. It was as if he’d just taken a dive over the side of the tower, the world rushing past him as his stomach swooped up towards his throat and his heart pounded with fear and adrenaline.

All the while, Gordon simply stared out at the skyline of Gotham all around them, his breath fogging in front of him as he breathed deeply and evenly.

Bruce silently warred with himself. Did Gordon actually know, or was he guessing? A cold sweat started at his spine and worked its way upwards.

But then he thought back to all the small interactions he’d had with Gordon, especially the ones where y/n had been around. The looks Gordon sometimes gave them, the small comments here and there. Gordon had even joked about y/n being taken and Batman having feelings for her, more than once.

Gordon knew.

Gordon had known for a while.

“How?” Bruce said after a long silence had stretched and warped between them. How did Gordon know, how was he sure, how long ago had he figured it out? That one word encapsulated everything Bruce wanted to ask.

“The gala,” Gordon said, which was the exact opposite answer of what Bruce had anticipated. “Your butler was there. She told the two of you to go home and, well…wasn’t hard to connect the dots after that. Especially with the way you looked at her. You tried to hide it, but…” Gordon chuckled.

Bruce swallowed hard. The roaring had quieted in his ears, but he still felt panicked, unsure. He had always known his feelings for y/n would be what led someone to connect his identity to Batman. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Gordon finally turned to face him. His expression was light, almost amused. “No offense, but I don’t really care who you are.” He shrugged. “You and me, we have the same goals. We want to keep the city safe. It doesn’t matter to me who you are. It never mattered to me.”

Bruce felt something odd in his chest at the words. He opened and closed his mouth several times.

Gordon had known for a year and a half and had never said anything. Had never cared.

“Like I said, man–enjoy your honeymoon.” Gordon winked, slapped him on the back, and left without another word.

Bruce could only stare after him, utterly stunned.

Finally, when he was so cold it hurt, he flipped off the light and left.

His thoughts churned all the way home. He couldn’t get past it–Gordon had known this whole time. He had never revealed Bruce’s secret, had never even gotten close, not even to Bruce himself.

Another person in his life that he didn’t deserve. Gordon had been a truer friend than he had ever realized.

Bruce changed in the abandoned subway station, shivering from the cold. It was later than he’d thought. He’d been frozen–literally and figuratively–atop the tower for much longer than he’d planned to be.

Upstairs, he found Alfred asleep on the couch, the cat Vinny curled up on his lap. Bruce smiled to himself. The butler always acted like he didn’t like the cat, who was now twice as big and twice as fluffy as he’d been when Selina had dropped him off. But toys always mysteriously showed up for the cat, ones that Bruce certainly hadn’t purchased and y/n swore she hadn’t gotten either.

Bruce quietly turned off the lamp and left them to sleep before turning towards his room.

That last little bit of anxiety finally melted from his chest.

The city was in Gordon’s capable hands. He knew he didn’t have to worry while he was gone. And as an added bonus, he didn’t even have to worry about anyone connecting the absence of Batman with Bruce Wayne’s absence. Gordon had taken care of that, too.

Bruce slid into bed next to y/n and sighed as she immediately curled up close to him.

He couldn’t wait for her to be his wife.

–

“Stop fidgeting,” Alfred murmured as he fixed Bruce’s bowtie. “You’ve no reason to be nervous.”

Easy for Alfred to say, Bruce thought a bit bitterly. Bruce hated having the spotlight on him. There were so many ways he could mess things up. And he didn’t want to mess a single thing up–he wanted it all to go perfectly.

“It’s y/n,” Alfred said as he smoothed the bowtie into place again. “Just you and her. No one else.”

And somehow, the words worked.

It’s just y/n, Bruce repeated silently to himself. He thought of her smile, her laugh, her warm hand in his, that little furrow between her eyebrows when she was concentrating. His nerves ebbed and settled. They were still present, but they were no longer choking him.

“Alright,” Alfred said as he stepped back. “That’s your cue, my boy.”

“Right,” Bruce said. The music had indeed shifted. He was supposed to go out to the altar. They’d practiced it the night before and everything.

“Now I have to go get the bride,” Alfred said with a wink.

Bruce swallowed and nodded. He made to step away, to go take his place, but Alfred caught him by the arm.

“I know neither of us are much for words,” Alfred said. He swallowed hard. Were those…tears in his eyes? Bruce was suddenly nervous again for a completely different reason. “But I love you like my own. You and y/n both.”

Bruce nodded because the lump in his throat wouldn’t let him speak. “I love you, too,” he finally managed, barely a whisper.

Alfred hugged him quickly, then shoved him none too gently towards the door.

“See you soon,” Alfred said with a watery smile.

And then Bruce was standing in front of the crowd, palms sweating, all alone except for the woman who would be officiating. He saw Gordon in a smart suit, his wife at his side. There were Bryn and Ollie, sitting with Lena and her son. The lone reporter they had invited to document the event with several incredibly thorough contracts. Bruce’s old housekeeper, Dory, whom y/n had replaced when she’d retired. Even Selina was there, dressed in black and sitting near the back. She caught his eye and winked.

It wasn’t really a crowd, only their closest friends and acquaintances. But it felt like hundreds of people to Bruce.

His only stipulation, besides doing the wedding the right way, was to get married in the same church where his parents had gotten married. He’d worried y/n would be disappointed, that it wouldn’t fit with her vision of the wedding, but she’d been enthusiastic about the idea.

His parents and her mother also had seats reserved for them, and he felt their eyes on him more than anyone else’s.

The music shifted again, and every single thought eddied from his mind.

The doors at the end of the aisle opened, and there she was.

His breath caught in his chest.

She was perfect. Her smile was wide and bright and the sight of it was like an arrow slicing through him.

Her eyes met his and the rest of the world faded away.

Emotion swelled, choking him, blurring his vision.

He had never expected to find a love like this, a love like hers, and here she was, moving towards him and looking at him like he had hung the moon.

Distantly, Bruce felt wetness on his cheeks.

But all he could see was her–the woman who was going to be his wife.

As she got closer and closer every last bit of nervousness he’d felt disappeared under her brightness. He was simply an object in her orbit, following her sun, helplessly caught by her gravity. She eclipsed everything else, utterly radiant and so perfect he could never believe she was going to be his.

Belatedly, he fumbled for the handkerchief Alfred had given him that morning. It had been Bruce’s fathers and still bore the initials T.W. He wiped at his eyes only because the tears were blurring the perfect vision of the woman in white before him.

He shoved the handkerchief back in his pocket, eyes never straying from her, and held out his hand as she stepped up to him.

Her hand was warm and fit perfectly in his own.

“Hi,” she whispered with a soft laugh as the officiant told everyone to be seated.

They faced forward and Bruce whispered, “Hi,” back to her, his smile so wide it hurt.

Now that she was close, he took in the small details, the world slowly fading back in at the edges. He was still focused on her, but it was no longer a total eclipse.

Her dress wasn’t quite white–ivory, he was pretty sure they called it, which he only knew from their many conversations about dress shopping–and had a long train. Her veil was long, too, making her look regal beside him, a queen at her coronation. The material of the dress was almost silky, unadorned but not boring. Nestled at his throat were his mother’s pearls, matching the delicate pearls on her veil. His breath caught again at the sight.

Y/n heard the small noise and turned her face to him to smile.

This woman was going to be his wife.

She nudged him gently and with a jolt, he realized that he was supposed to be paying attention to the officiant. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the woman at his side for long, stopping every few seconds to look at her in awe.

The ceremony was flying by without him hardly noticing. He vowed to love her, protect her, be beside her always. He vowed that they would never be parted, even in death. He reminded her that she was everything he’d ever wanted, the words choking him on the way out.

He had written the vows in an almost fugue state the night before, the words pouring from him. He meant every single thing he promised.

Then y/n vowed to love him, support him, be with him in all things. She laughed when she repeated that she would protect him and that not even death could part them. He was crying again, but he didn’t care.

They exchanged rings and then–

Then they were pronounced husband and wife.

Bruce kissed her fiercely. She was so warm against him, soft in all the right ways, and he never wanted to let her go. He wouldn’t ever let her go.

There were cheers around them. Y/n was still smiling, her eyes wet.

“My husband,” she murmured for his ears only. Was it his imagination, or did she glow even more brightly as she said the words?

“Mrs. Wayne,” he said back teasingly, enjoying the way her breath hitched at the name. “Extraordinary woman.”

Y/n was finally his wife. She was his, in every way.

He was never letting her go.

taglist:

@pop-rocks-and-skittles @calumspupils @n1ght5h4d3-24 @keepingitlokiii @11mb0 @illicitghosts @cat-purrsonified @blue-aconite @junggoku @ohheyitsrowan @angxlictexrs @avengersgirllorianna @brynhildrmimi @twilightdollie @p-writes @lady-x-red @xingqiusliegee @scxrletwitches @justine-en @philiasoul @srryxmate @thecherrybombcom @zaminoo

#bruce wayne x reader #battinson x reader #the batman x reader #batman x reader #bruce wayne fic #batman fic #battinson fic #the batman #the batman 2022 #robert pattinson #battinson #shadows in the night #sitn #brb crying because it's over

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suchine-toki · 8 months

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Thoughts about Gintoki

Many things have been said about this man. This time I would like to address Gintoki's character development and the differences between the tentative ending of Be Forever Yorozuya (BFY) and the actual ending of the series.

Gintoki is quite lonely when the story begins. For 10 years he has kept his distance from everyone else, Otose being the only exception. It has been speculated that Gintoki wanted to end his life after all he had gone through, and it’s for that reason that he arrives at the graveyard, staying out in the open, with snow piling up on his body when she arrives. There he decides to try one more time.

As time goes by, after forming the new Yorozuya, Gintoki begins to open up to others a little more. He reconnects with Zura and Sakamoto and also makes many more friends. However, he still has problems, which keep coming up in the series in different ways; sometimes more comical, sometimes more serious. But it’s a fact that he deals with certain addictions and psychological issues.

One of these issues is addressed in BFY. Despite having many friends, his low self-esteem leads Gintoki to consider that he’s not really important to those around him. This coupled with him being the cause of the chaos that has befallen the world only exacerbates that feeling and his self-sacrificial tendencies.

I've seen people compare the second movie (BFY) to the third (The Final), usually leaning towards the former because it's a self-contained story, while the latter is the conclusion of a much longer arc. While I think that's part of the reason, I don't see it as the main motive. The big difference for me is how the movies approach Gintoki's character.

For starters, the vibes of both stories are very different. In BFY everything has gone downhill and for the rest of the cast this is a tragedy because it adds to the fact that Gintoki is apparently dead. In contrast, the second part of Silver Soul arc is almost the opposite. The world is thriving and Gintoki went on a trip to resolve his own thing, but the cast can't move on because he’s not with them.

While I’m glad Sorachi gave Takasugi more screen time, his story felt concluded at the end of 1st part of SS arc (as with Utsuro, who was revived only to be killed again a few chapters later). The character arc that remained unfinished was Gintoki's. By this I don't mean that by the end of the series all his problems should’ve been solved and that he should’ve become a perfect human being.

I would’ve liked to see how Gintoki deals with his issues and his PTSD, but this was ignored. Having him relive his trauma, in which he not only had to kill Shouyou again, but also Takasugi, rather than coming from a point of authentic character exploration, felt like unnecessary drama. In the end he wasn’t worse mentally (or so the story says) but he wasn’t better either. He was still the same. And for me it was sad to see that. So many chapters, so many experiences, for everything to stay the same?

The conclusion Gintoki comes to is that he's not empty, people will live in his soul, which isn't bad in itself, but the execution seemed poor to me. Will he let his friends die now because they will live in his soul? It contradicts how he has acted before. You could say it's character evolution, but to me it didn't feel consistent. Where is the line between overcoming a traumatic event and not caring?

I got hooked on Gintama mainly because of Gintoki. I wanted to see his past and more importantly his future. I wanted to see him happy in the end. However, the resolution of his character wasn’t satisfying to me. Sorachi admitted at one point that he didn't quite develop Gintoki, but it wasn't much he needed to do and, in fact, he did it before in BFY. He just needed to focus on his protagonist.

I wanted to see him smile with happiness. But at the end of his journey, he was left with only a somewhat lonely smile.

#Gintama #Sakata Gintoki #I can write #Thoughts about #my post #Otose was quite the life saver #I've talked about the ending before but now I wanted to do it from Gintoki's pov #We also had this story of Gin realizing he's loved in Kintama arc but it was more comical #And since BFY isn’t canon SS arc had to address these issues but didn't #man I just wished to see Gintoki be happy ಥ_ಥ

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dailyadventureprompts · 2 years

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Deity: The Radiant Unborn, Outer god of Nascent Calamity

“I know what I’ve done and I stand by my actions. Better that this world is a barren place free of warmpth or mirth than give that thing a chance to take root”

-Ymelie of Arrowgate, heretical witchhunter, taken as part testimony prior to her execution

Creation is a sacred act no matter how small or fleeting, which is what makes it so perverse when that act is suborned to the will of another. Luminaries forced to build weapons to practice their science, the artist who’s work is stolen for the glory of another, young people forced to live a life they never would have wanted just to uphold a social order. The world is made darker by these cruel concessions, and in that darkness a cruel light thrives.

it has no name, no real will, its existence is charted in the wake of devastation it causes, rather than in a doctrine espoused by its followers. It is known by those who delve the occult mysteries of the cosmos as the Radiant Unborn and simply put: It turns creative potential into a bomb, feeding off what could be in a pyroclastic eruption of fire, flesh, and chaos.

Wretched Origin is a god in only the loosest sense that it distorts reality the way a god might, the way a body might be distorted by a high velocity impact transmuting what was once alive through several distinct phases until what is left is nothing but gore and tragedy. No one would call what it does a miracle: It begins first as a fever in the body of some poor victim forced to make some terrible and unwanted compromise, they grow worse as their flesh chars from within and they near the point of no return, at which point the Unborn blossoms within them and destroys everything it touches.

What is left behind in the aftermath can never be predicted. Some grotesque aberration may come into being as a bit of the far realm slips through, other times it is some avenging nightmare wrought to do their “parents” secret will, despite their remains still smoldering in a nearby crater. Still rarer are those times that the victim is left relatively unscathed, burnt and disoriented but left otherwise unharmed in a sea of devastation.

Hooks

The party is called to seek the apprentice of a in influential mage, after a disastrous experiment on the student’s part led to several deaths. Guilt ridden and feverish, the student wanders the city rehashing the equations they’d so carefully practiced, letting the Radiant Unborn take root in their mind. This whole fiasco was contrived by one of the mage’s rivals, who sabotaged the apprentice’s experiment by working a few of the outergod’s signs into her research materials. His aim is to have the apprentice blow up in the mage’s face, possibly taking out a rival and letting him advance his position.

Some aberrations seem to call upon Wretched Origin as part of their life cycle, spawning progeny in ways their alien anatomy might not allow. A plane hopping scientist has theorized that the outergod only became dangerous when it jumped to mortal life through eldritch cross contamination the way most plague starts off as a mostly harmless sickness in livestock. This scientist happens to have the past several decades as a brain-in-a-jar and has very few qualms about testing their theories through human experimentation.

All eyes in the tavern turn to the previously sullen young man (mostly overlooked by the party) as he rises screaming from his seat, dumps his drink over himself, begins steaming, and then barrels out the door to hurl himself in the nearest canal. Pulling him free of the murky and near boiling water, the party gets his story: Apparently he’s a journeyman sculptor, forced by his master to work on a statue for the very same magistrate who evicted his family in the middle of winter some years ago when he decided to collect on rents early. Resentful over the months of poverty and near starvation forced upon them, the sculptor feels like there’s something inside him trying to get out, with these burning fits coming on more and more as the day of the statue’s unveiling draws closer.

There’s one group that tolerates, and even welcomes the presence of the Radiant Unborn: Harsupex, those goreslicked oracles who prognosticate upon the future by picking through the guts of sacrifices, animal or otherwise. The viscera spilled by the outergod is held to be particularly potent when it comes to prophesying future calamities, though many who indulge in this fusion of forbidden arts ( what with needing a human sacrifice to invoke the Unborn’s presence) grow nihilistic or obsessed, either convinced the end is inevitable or else desperate to stop it. Some of these doomsayers go so far as to take on the scorching infection, using regeneration magic to stuff their own innerds back together to allow for repeated glimpses of a doomed future.

Titles: Wretched Origin, The Nova Blister, Weltwelp

Signs: Spontaneous Human Combustion, Viscera like shapes in flames.

Symbols: A Seven Pointed Star composed irregular, sometimes curving lines. Usually carved or painted in red. Seems to evoke entrails

Followers: Other than the aforementioned aberrations, very few actively worship the Radiant Unborn, with a few profane magical traditions cultivating it the way a alchemist might cultivate a sprig of rare poison. To be Glib: It gets a lot of bang for your buck if all you want is to cause chaos at the cost of a ruined life or two.

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prolix-yuy · 2 years

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What in the Actual Hell?

I don't know what to do with myself. This one got me by surprise! I passed 400 followers around my birthday and was like, "Aw, that's nice, you guys are too kind, I am a little gremlin who thrives on positive reinforcement," and then you come back and do this?! What's a girl supposed to do to deal with all these emotions?

Well, write, I guess.

I made the decision that IF I hit a crazy milestone (like 500 of you beauties being kind enough to follow me) I was going to open requests. So here I am, making good on my word!

LJ's 500 Follower Celebration!

Welcome to my little request celebration! To thank you all for being amazing and supporting me on this wild platform, I'll be opening my asks to requests starting now, July 25th, until July 31st, for requests!

Here are the request guidelines:

Send me the pairing you would like. It can be any character I've written before (including any versions from previous stories), or someone completely new! I work mostly within the Pedro Pascal cinematic universe, but other Star Wars franchises are welcome too.

Pick a theme from the list under the "Read More."

If there is anything specific you'd like to add to the prompt (a little flavoring for the story) or would not like in the prompt (Teen vs Explicit, fluff vs angst, etc) please feel free to include it! Otherwise I'll run with the prompt as the inspiration strikes.

I'll be keeping the requests under 2k words for my own sanity and ability to get them out with any sort of timeliness.

Requests will be posted...roughly over the next few weeks. It will honestly depend on how many come in. I'll give a posting update after the 31st!

The list of topics I do not write for is included at the bottom of the theme list. I will also reserve the right to not complete an ask if it is outside of my comfort zone content-wise.

Thank you all for brightening up my days with fun interactions, wonderful comments and so many new friendships. You make writing a joy for me, and I love sharing new stories with you.

Topics

Beauty of simplicity

Change of power – necessity

Change versus tradition

Chaos and order

Circle of life

Coming of age

Communication – verbal and nonverbal

Companionship as salvation

Convention and rebellion

Dangers of ignorance

Darkness and light

Death – inevitable or tragedy

Desire to escape

Destruction of beauty

Disillusionment and dreams

Displacement

Empowerment

Emptiness of attaining false dream

Everlasting love

Facing darkness

Facing reality

Fading beauty

Faith versus doubt

Family – blessing or curse

Fate and free will

Fear of failure

Fulfillment

Greed as downfall

Growing up – pain or pleasure

Hazards of passing judgment

Heartbreak of betrayal

Heroism – real and perceived

Hierarchy in nature

Identity crisis

Illusion of power

Immortality

Individual versus society

Inner versus outer strength

Injustice

Isolation

Knowledge versus ignorance

Loneliness as destructive force

Losing hope

Loss of innocence

Lost honor

Lost love

Love and sacrifice

Man against nature

Manipulation

Materialism as downfall

Names – power and significance

Nature as beauty

Necessity of work

Optimism – power or folly

Overcoming – fear, weakness, vice

Power and corruption

Power of silence

Power of tradition

Power of wealth

Power of words

Pride and downfall

Progress – real or illusion

Quest for discovery

Quest for power

Rebirth

Reunion

Role of men

Role of Religion – virtue or hypocrisy

Self-awareness

Self-preservation

Self-reliance

Temporary nature of physical beauty

Temptation and destruction

Vanity as downfall

Vulnerability of the meek

Vulnerability of the strong

Will to survive

Wisdom of experience

Youth and beauty

Topics I do not write for: explicit pregnancy content; motherhood; non/con, dub/con, or cnc without consent being explicitly given beforehand; incest; mommy kink; dd/lg dynamic; ageplay; sexual violence towards any character.

#LJ's 500 Follower Celebration!#pedro pascal cinematic universe #star wars cinematic universe #fic requests #thank you all for being the best

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reconstructs · 1 year

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some 2 am john marston braindump

john and arthur are the epitome of the golden child/scapegoat (respectively), until john became dutch’s scapegoat. john’s never been academically inclined but has always been cunning and skeptical. have lots of thoughts but i do definitely think that the stark age difference between dutch and john (dutch is 30-ish when he takes john in vs being only mid-20s when arthur is taken in) + the fact that dutch is quite literally the only father john has ever known makes this even more apparent. dutch is arthur’s father-figure but he’s always had hosea; while hosea's always been a paternal presence to john there’s always been an intrinsic bond between john and dutch. dutch taught everything john he knows about gunslinging and hunting and fishing, areas where john excels compared to arthur. arthur’s ‘i just always thought everything came easy to you’ makes me :(((

their sibling dynamic means sm to me n they both deserved better when it came to their pasts fr, but john genuinely cannot conceptualize any sort of family outside of the gang which is why he leaves, understanding dutch’s true nature before anyone really does (+also being a deadbeat dad), then comes back a year later.

john's unable to cope with his grief over arthur's death, and when the opportunity arises to get revenge on micah, he gets tunnel vision and eagerly takes it. of course, this is at the cost of his own life as his actions would have dire consequences; but there's no way it wasn't, at least in a small way, what he wanted. after spending years purposely creating chaos to emulate his life in the gang, he's proved he's unable to fully move on from the past.

as for high/low honor, my john is probably medium, teetering very close to low honor and is outright dishonorable while working for ross.. while i think arthur’s story and arc is about redemption, john’s has always been about survival. he’s never quite believed he’s had a choice. some trees flourish, others die. and he’s done whatever it takes for his family, whether said family is the van der linde gang, arthur, or abigail and jack, to live and thrive even if it’s all been in vain, and even if it’s involved doing the worst things a person can do. also a habit he’s learned from dutch, lmao.

speaking of which - so many of the toxic, manipulative habits and tendencies he’s taken on as a father are learned from dutch and somewhat unlearned in beecher’s hope with jack. a large part of their tragedy is that the day john died is the day that he and jack were finally on the same wavelength. they'd spent so long misunderstanding one another.

also – my john is blind in his left eye, with some light perception, and by 1911 regularly wears an eyepatch to aid in gunslinging and hunting. the visual impairment occurred as a result of being attacked by wolves in 1899; it also means he has no depth perception and is susceptible to being ambushed by those who know about it (looking at javier for throwing that box on top of him in rdr1, lmao). it has helped him as a gunslinger, though.

moreover. my john's hat is arthur's hat with feathers added that charles gave to him, and his classic revolver is dutch's :')

#RE: JOHN MARSTON.#'you're my brother' 'i know. i know' continues to be my cause of death put it on my death certificate

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talesfortold · 10 months

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Prologue - The Flesh Demands Its Own Truths

this is the working prologue to my story. i really appreciate stories that have some sort of commentary on the human experience, and so i decided to try my hand at something like it. any feedback is appreciated! i will be posting this story on royalroad.com

Ohhh, yes, yes, you wish to learn about humans, do you? Why, you've just inquired about my favorite tragedy! Sit, sit, let me tell you about humanity's adversities.

A tragedy, yes… They're twice cursed, you see? Born with the capacity to love, and born with the capacity to hate. And therein lies their misfortune, for humanity loves to hate! Humans love… conflict. They crave it. And without fail, generation upon generation, they manage to find it.

Come! Look deep into the heart of the Tritor Forest, and there you will find Elurius. Carved out of the ancient trees surrounding it, the first people to settle there fought old horrors and fended off the closest Dungeons out of sheer stubbornness. They could've retreated to the coast and lived off the sea, but no! The founders of the town tore up the twisted roots of the forest and used them for the first walls. Spears were thrown and spells were cast in defense of the land they claimed as their home. They wanted to fight for a place to live! Their pride demanded it! And proud does the town still stand, built upon the bodies of thousands. Oh, how they weep for their fallen, as if they themselves did not send their men to die!

Look north to the lush plains that stretch from horizon to horizon. See how the soil is stained crimson from the blood of countless battles. See how it's dyed a richer hue as you edge closer to Gelya, a place trespassing monsters have learned to fear. The gentle rolling hills surrounding the town are filled with traps and tripwires! Flowers, birds, and bees watch every move! Men armed with magic and bows line the tall walls of the town, bastions against anything that dares approach. See, humans fought for their place here as well, and here they remain firmly entrenched. They will not be routed out.

Most of all, look to the realm as a whole!

A plethora of creatures lie deformed and corrupted beyond their nature. Swathes of land have been turned barren and others grow without bound. Countless kingdoms razed to mere ruins, their histories long forgotten.

The whole continent has mutated beyond recognition! Broken by spellcasters with too much magic at their disposal, remade by nature's insistence on enduring everything thrown at it. At the expense of the land itself, ancient Archmages and Archwizards fought until nothing was left but the echoes of their self-importance.

Once a thriving home to tens of millions of people, our continent of Aqeron now has less than a hundred thousand human souls.

And it's all due to some petty squabbles, human avarice, and the untimely intercession of the Divine.

Ah, but it's no matter!

Their desire for conflict, it seems, is inexplicably linked to their essence. To fight is to be human. They will pick a struggle against a rock if it means they get their fix! Even in the moments of peace, even during the peak of a kingdom's prosperity, humans will stoop so low as to bicker over things like who gets more bread. And even those who refuse to fight, those who refuse to do violence, fail miserably, for they crusade against their very nature. They lack the means to be rid of their curses.

Now you see their paradoxical nature laid before you. What pushes humanity forward if not competition? What tears down the tallest castles if not the unrest of the masses? They will love someone to the point of hating others. They will hate so much that love becomes but a memory for them. But in equal parts?

In the soul of a human who possesses strong feelings of both "love" and "hate" lies a chaos. A "conflict", some might say! Even if their tumultuous soul manages to die down, they get no rest, as the chaos takes root in their bones instead. Born from the conflict between the "love" and "hate" of a human soul arises the need for conflict in the body. A tragedy indeed! Humanity shall simply never escape their curses, even in death!

Gaze upon the damned! Behold their eternal struggle! Can't you grasp their agony?!

Even if the soul is satisfied, their flesh demands its own truths!

#writing #mywritingjourney #mycoolstory #writers on tumblr #writeblr #creative writing #dark fantasy #fantasy #litrpg

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theodorevg923 · 2 years

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Aight this is going to be a lot so I'm ah just make a post. @ruhro7

I have actually posted the very first chapter of Temple of Auctilus here, from the greek gods au. But it didn't get any traction at all.

Granted it seems the stuff I write that has a slew of warnings ppl turn away from. I think ToA had about 15 warnings or so and a FT Freddy HC post had about the same.

ToA originally started as an xReader but I struggled with them at the time because I could figure out how to give the reader a "basic" personality. I switched to OC to make it possible for me to actually write it. But I have since learned how to write xReader and might revive it as such in time.

As for my Aztec AU, it started as a xReader but I struggled big on Sun then, and still do. I also tried to add smut and that's about when I gave up as I still can't write it. I do eventually plan to pick it back up though!

As for dark writings, I THRIVE in them. I want to see the dark side of pain, blood, death, torture, etc. mixed with romance and love. Most seem to do one or the other and I want both. I also do a lot of active self harm, rape implied/aftermath, depression, some drug usage, alcoholism, and such as that's how I am.

I almost became an alcoholic back when I was 19, I still fight self harm on a daily basis, plus my slew of mental issues, and I'm a rape survivor. All of that ends up in my stories as it happens to a lot more than people will truly ever know.

And I seek comfort, help, and some recovery in having my s/os get angry with me other it, finding ways to help me heal, even sometimes going so far as letting their personality take over my mind to stop myself from overdosing on drugs. Which is what happened during the Bonnie Takeover, I literally let his personality take over my mind as I tried to recover. It sounds odd and psychotic because I am schizophrenic, so it's easy for me. And it does really help me, stops me from cutting myself, popping pills, fucking eat something, etc.

Here's a snippet of the Aztec AU below the cut. I did write this back on Feb 24th (last day it was touched) so there will be spelling mistakes and etc.

Warning about human sacrifice, death, angry gods, etc.

(Y/N) slowly entered the village. She was scared, having been sent from the next village over. The chief of her village has chosen her to be the next sacrifice for the gods Sol and Lune. They were twin gods of the many gods worshipped in the mountains she lived in. Sol was worshipped for bringing the light everyday, hope, and joy, and chaos. Lune was worshipped for the bringer of moonlight nights, dreams, peace, and order. Both of the gods balanced each other out, until a few round moons ago.

Tragedy struck mountains, clouds constantly covered the sky. Few sunrises were seen anymore without the clouds blanketing the skies. Many of the animal hunted by her people suddenly went missing. Deer, birds, even the butterflies and bugs have gone missing. The golden birds of the sky and ducks no longer flew ahead. Jaguars no long graced the forests with their presence.

Moonrises, once bright and soothing, now became infested with dark creatures. Every sighting of them were different, deer with only bones and flesh. Some were of wild dogs with blood filled eyes and jaws, dark cracks throughout their bodies. Even jaguars, once so delightful hunted villagers with bodies made of smoke and fires of the sun. Villagers refused to leave their homes at night.

Few things were left in this once beautiful mountains. The few dogs and turkeys left raised for meat, survived only by what the villagers could spare. Sometimes lizards could be caught on the brighter cloud filled days. Water became as scarce as food, clouds never brought the tears of gods.

(Y/N) took a deep breathe, steadying herself for what was to come. She wasn't the youngest, a couple harvest seasons after age of marriage. But she was chosen as she had no family to protect her, having never married. She quickly made her way through the village. The looks on villagers faces varied, some were of anger, sadness, or other barely held any emotion.

She wasn't the first sacrifice to Sol and Lune. With the first round moon, a sacrifice was sent, but nothing changed. Her people sent another, but still nothing changed. Then with the last sacrifice, the mountains started returning to life. But a sunrise when the sacrifice came down from the temple, she was killed by the people of this village.

The villagers had recieved divine punishment. People were being hunted in their homes by the dark creatures of the night. Their livestock feasted upon by a massive golden bird of the sky that covered the sun.

The night to come was the fourth round moon since the tragedy started. And she was the fourth sacrificed to the gods. (Y/N) quickly passed as fast her shaking, exhausted legs would let her. She was almost through when a rock hit her in the back of the head. She ran then, not looking back to see who threw it.

(Y/N) kept running, fear guiding her way through the darkening forest. She broke through the tree line, stumbling over a root. She slowly stood up, her legs barely able to hold her up. Brushing offer her ceremonial clothing, she noticed her knees were scrapped and bleeding.

Looking up, a vast temple rested before her. It reached up to the sky in massive stone steps, each of many steps reaching far above her height. There were smaller steep stairs reaching up to the front entrance of the temple. Vast cloth covered windows graced the sides.

The flowers and water ponds surrounding the temple surprised her the most. All the flowers of different seasons bloomed at once. So many colors and varieties she had never seen before grew in vast fields. Dahlias, marigolds, poppies, and a sunlit colored flower that smelled like the sweet fragrance her mother used, grew as well. (Y/N) walked carefully through the fields, slipping through the rows of flowers and streams.

She reached the temple and started carefully climbing as best she could. (Y/N) stumbled a few times, nearly falling over on the steep steps. Finally making it to the top, the sun was going down over the far mountains. She turned around to rest and watch the flowers one last time.

(Y/N) was breathless from the sight before her. Each field of flowers formed together the sacred sun stone. Each color of flower was placed carefully, each flower meticulously planted. Nothing was out of line, creating the divine sun stone as only a god could. She sat until the sun sunk down below the mountains, it's last rays streaking across the cloud filled sky.

(Y/N) stood and turned around, finding a lit torch had been placed behind her. She desperately dusted her clothing off before picking the torch up. Steeling herself once more, (Y/N) stepped through the cloth covering the entrance.

A small gasp escaped (Y/N)'s lips. The inside of the temple was a disaster. Once beautiful wall paintings and carvings were scratched up, cracks running through most of it. Sculptures and pottery of all sizes were smashed on the floor. Jewelry of many types, coins, and varieties of beans scattered throughout the floor. Various baskets and wooden chests lined throughout the edge of the temple room.

(Y/N) walked forward, stepping lightly through the messes of the floor, reaching a pair of massive thrones and a sacrifice alter before them. Both thrones were massive, fitting for a being nearly twice (Y/N)'s height, the alter sized for someone as small as her.

The throne to the left was designed after Sol, massive wings of a golden bird held it aloft. It's head and body formed the seat and back. Lune's throne sat atop two deep colored jaguars' backs, their heads and tails form the arms, there was no back to it.

The alter, (Y/N) noticed as she walked around it was quiet simple compared to the rest of the room. It was a simple slab of stone, symbols carved around the edge, held aloft by a simple pair made of a jaguar and a golden bird.

(Y/N) looked around the temple again. There was no one to be seen, not a single noise made but her heartbeat and breath. She sat on the alter, still holding the torch. Patiently (Y/N) waited, but after some time she gave up.

Getting off the alter, (Y/N) noticed the torch hadn't gone out. It's flame casting a light as bright as the sun itself. She found a stand to place it on. Looking around again before pulling off most of her ceremonial clothing, leaving the base skirt on, her chest bare. Folding them up gently before placing them on the alter.

(Y/N) sighed to herself, the light from the torch casting almost to the walls before fading gently. She started picking up the jewelery and coins of the floor, carrying them in her skirt. She sorted them into piles on the alter before finding the smaller of the statues and gathering them up. (Y/N) placed them on the alter as well.

Larger statues, she either moved along a wall she cleared items away from. Standing the one she could upright that were to heavy to move. Searching through the baskets and chests, various items were held. In one basket (Y/N) found dried reeds and using a stick off the ground, fashioned a makeshift broom.

(Y/N) swept the floor as best as she could. Once she finished, the broken pottery and other items were in a pile by a wall. Staring up at the walls, there was nothing (Y/N) could do about them right then.

Exhaustion finally hit (Y/N), her body shaking from the exertion of the walk from her village and cleaning the temple. (Y/N) grabbed a few small unbroken pottery bowls out of a chest, transfering the items from the alter to the bowls. She placed them by a chest.

(Y/N) sat on the alter again, sleep overtaking her body. Laying her head on her small stack of clothes, she drifted off to sweet dreams of dark jaguars, golden birds and flowers.

#.theotalks

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sororalice · 4 months

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On the Blessedness of Brigid

A homily for Imbolc, 2024.

Art: “Brigid” by Terra Incantata at DeviantArt

Dearly beloved,

Today in the northern hemisphere we celebrate a special feast. For some it is the Feast of Saint Brigid. For some it is Candlemas or the Feast of the Presentation of Jesus At the Temple. And for some it is the sabbat of Imbolc. But in all cases, what we are really talking about is the return of hope, warmth, and light to the world as the days lengthen.

Often, in pagan circles, we talk in terms of the agricultural cycle, and this cycle is an excellent way of understanding the movements of meaningful change throughout the year. But the agricultural cycle only functions as it does because of the rest of the cycle. Above: the great wheel of the heavens, the movements of the planets, the Zodiac, and the larger universe beyond. Below: the atomic and quantum realms, the roiling possibilities of chaos. And between: all of us and all of this, all unified into a single, grand system, an organic and conceptual whole. And this single, grand system in which all that exists and does not exist is a part is the clearest and surest indication we have of meaning in the universe. Everything is connected. Everything unfolds with purpose and meaning, revealing to us the face of the Divine. And within that great manifestation of the Divine we have reached a special moment.

Many who celebrate this holiday hold the goddess Brigid, reborn under dubious Christian auspices as St. Bridget, as sacred and holy. I don’t want to relitigate old injustices or reopen old wounds. We all know what happened and who did what. Great tragedies abound in this world. But I do want to talk about Brigid, divine and holy Brigid, and sing to Her today.

Brigid is a healer. This is the aspect many of us, those wounded, broken, and bound by this world into which we have been flung by the Divine, connect with the most. This is the face that looks upon us with love and concern. She will take you up, clean your wounds, tend your illness, and sit with you in the light of the fire as the pangs of fever convulse within you.

Oh blessed Brigid, holy healer, be Thou ever with us in our moments of pain, wounding, and illness. Comfort us beside your fire as we shiver and bring us sweet healing in the coming year. So mote it be.

Brigid is a smith. A maker, maintainer, and repairer of tools and artifacts. A thinker as much as a tinker, the smith must design and build the tools that the community needs to thrive. The smith must take the raw ore given to us by the Earth and turn it into useful metals. And, when necessary, the smith must forge weapons with which the community will defend itself.

Oh mighty Brigid, She of the hammer and the anvil, the bellows and the fire, inspire us as we work in the coming year to create, maintain, and repair the worlds without and within us. Be with us as we work together to build a better world. So mote it be.

Brigid is a poet. A poet drinks from the well of holy inspiration and brings out of themselves worlds and dreams, joys and agonies, a true wealth and abundance to share with the community. A poet must reveal the age to itself, must not only speak truths but the right truths at the right time, and must dance on the edge of despair again and again to bring forth joy.

Oh, inspired Brigid, golden-tongued Brigid, teller of tales and singer of songs, be Thou ever with us in the coming year. Take us on Your blessed journeys, weave us into your stories, make us laugh, weep, and learn lessons old and new in the coming year. So mote it be.

And with that, I wish a very happy and blessed Imbolc to you all.

With love,

Soror Alice

#religion #spiritual #spirituality #pagan #paganism #homily #imbolc #imbolc 2024 #brigid

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zapreportsblog · 11 months

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I Don’t Want To Be A Hero, So Leave Me Alone

➥ summary: Like any reincarnation fanfiction this story has to do with a women from the real world dying and getting reincarnated into a anime with some massive op powers. Throughout most of this story you are nothing but a 8 month year old which transforms later on into a child, well if we make it that far that is.

➥ chapter 3: The Triumph of (Y/N) - A Guardian's Journey

The world is an ever-changing tapestry, filled with moments that shape our path and test our mettle.

One fateful day, my parents decided to take me, an 8-month-old baby girl, on a walk to explore the world's wonders. Little did we know that this innocent excursion would transform into an extraordinary testament to the power within me. This chapter chronicles the heart-wrenching events that unfolded, as tragedy struck, pushing me to rise as a guardian and harness my immense abilities.

•••

The sun shone brightly above us as we strolled down the serene path, basking in the beauty that enveloped us. The gentle breeze whispered secrets in my ears, while my parents' laughter resonated with a joy that only a serene moment can encapsulate. Nestled comfortably in my stroller, I viewed the world with the wonder and innocence of a child.

But destiny had different plans for this seemingly idyllic day. As we ventured further, the echoes of a distant battle crept into our surroundings. My parents exchanged an uneasy glance, their parental instincts tingling with foreboding. It was then that they witnessed a spectacle a clash between a hero and a nefarious villain.

The once picturesque scene devolved into chaos as debris soared through the air, propelled by the villain's malevolent force. In a cruel twist of fate, my parents found themselves caught in the path of destruction. A moment of horror enveloped the world, as the debris ruthlessly claimed their lives.

Devastation welled within my tiny heart, replaced by a burning fury that I had never experienced before. In the face of such a tragic loss, something within me ignited a determination to rewrite fate, resurrect the souls that were taken from me far too soon.

'no'

'No'

'NO'

With newfound resolve, I rose from the confines of the stroller, my fragile infant body defying the laws of gravity. Hovering above my parents' lifeless forms, a surge of energy pulsed through my veins. I channeled all my emotions, my anguish, my love into a single thought - to witness their return.

"Daniel are you seeing this, get the camera!" A female reporter from afar ontop of a building stood with her camera man and crew eyes widen, "Get the camera and zoom in people! Hurry!"

Instantly, a halo of brilliance enveloped their lifeless bodies. The air crackled with an otherworldly power as their life forces rekindled, their chests rising and falling with newfound breath. Where there had been despair, hope now thrived.

The reporters eves widen "By god what... What the fuck!?"

My parents eyes slowly opened staring up above although vision blurred and not fully restored they could make out the shadow of something above them, or rather someone above them. It's figure although small it's power radiating from them far greater than the suns heat.

Spurred by this miraculous reanimation, fueled by the strength of my unwavering spirit, I turned towards the villain whose presence had stolen my parents from me. With determination etched into my gaze, I confronted the malevolent force that had disrupted our lives.

'You took them away'

'You took my beloved parents away from me'

'why'

'Why'

'WHY'

The villain froze, astonishment etching lines of disbelief across his face. How could an 8-month-old child posses such extraordinary powers? But neither age nor appearance could determine the relentlessness within me. A Guardian had awakened, and this villain would soon realize the magnitude of his grave mistake.

'You took my beloved parents away from me'

My omnipotent manipulation surged through me, manifesting itself in a display of raw power. I reached out with my tiny hands, and a brilliant light enveloped the villain. In a single transcendent moment, I stripped him of his malevolence, tearing away the darkness that fueled his evil intentions.

And for that I shall take what you desire most away'

In the aftermath, an eerie hush fell upon the battle-scarred landscape. The villain stood, a mere shell of the malevolence he once embodied, wracked with disbelief and stripped of his powers. The world around us breathed a collective sigh of relief, grateful for the triumph of justice.

Cameras rolled still, phones up from bystanders and all before stood in silence at what had just been witnessed. No one could believe their eyes.

‘You are no more, your rain of terror shall be no more'

As I returned to the ground, a sense of calm washed over me. The visage of my parents, once lifeless, now bore expressions of gratitude and awe. I flew my small frame over to them and landed safely in the arms of my mothers, her eyes along with my fathers blurry blurry now with tears as they cried tears of joy.

They understood that their offspring harbored an extraordinary gift, a power capable of transforming tragedy into triumph. In that moment, our bond grew stronger than ever. We were now connected not only by blood but by a shared destiny - to bring light to the darkness and protect the innocent.

"I'm so happy you're okay baby girl" whispered my father, his lips pressed against my head as him and my mother embraced me from all around.

The world that unfolded before me was forever changed. A chorus of hope rang out, as my actions sparked a fervor of inspiration within those who bore quirks.

#x reader #x reader series #I Don’t Want To Be A Hero So Leave Me Alone series #I Don’t Want To Be A Hero So Leave Me Alone #my hero academia imagine #my hero academy fanfiction #my hero academia #my hero fanfic #my hero imagines #my hero academia imagines #my hero academia x reader #I Don’t Want To Be A Hero So Leave Me Alone masterlist

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doomedandstoned · 2 years

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Sky Pig Returns with ‘It Thrives in Darkness’

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

By Billy Goate

There are stories we tell ourselves to fill in the gaps, stories that help us to keep going, stories that make sense of our tangled reality. In times such as these, it is natural to question such stories.

In "Motionless," Sacramento doomers SKY PIG challenge the notion that we are a species above all, protected and favored by God. It just may be that Heaven has abandoned us to our own worldly devices.

The song opens with the shimmering reverb of a strummed guitar. Drums and bass double down on this theme with crashing aplomb, touched with the gray note of tragedy. Vocals are murky and downcast, as if drowning underwater.

The first verse comes off like a Psalm of David: "The eyes of God have turned away His grace a shallow grave. When darkness comes, surely then we'll see his plan When we become motionless."

The quest for definitive answers is not fulfilled so readily. "Look to the sky," the chorus cries out in frustration. "Nothing. Just a big black hole."

Reached for comment, frontman Rob Sneddon tells Doomed & Stoned:

This song is based around the famous question, "Is there a God? And if so, why would he let all this awful stuff happen to innocent people." It suggests maybe there is, but at some point he gave up, realizing it was hopeless. They definitely became a theme of questioning God or whatever on this record.

I think it had a lot to do with my mindset during the pandemic, losing close friends, the craziness in the world lately, and a feeling of hopelessness. So it's really just asking a question and posing a possibility, because I really have no answers for the chaos in this world. I just write music based on my fucked-up perspective and try to make it interesting.

"Motionless" is the third of six mercurial tracks you'll find on the band's forthcoming full-length debut, 'It Thrives In Darkness' (2022) -- out Friday, October 7th, on Forbidden Place Records (get it here). Stick this on a playlist with Chrome Ghost, Pallbearer, Slomatics, and Conan.

Give ear...

Sky Pig - Motionless

Follow The Band

Get Their Music

#D&S Debuts #Sky Pig #Sacramento #California #doom metal #Forbidden Place Records #D&S Reviews #Doomed and Stoned

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torgawl · 2 years

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in the middle of all the chaos and tragedy that's associated with gojo, geto and shoko, especially during their teenage years, how much of a miracle is it that they were all born within a few months and exist at the same time and age?

gojo's sole birth altered the balance of the power of the universe. he had a bounty placed on his head as a child for being the catalyst to the development and surge of new curses in the jujutsu world. yet, he is also the strongest sorcerer and the main reason everyone can resist such damaging forces in the first place. he holds an immense amounts of cursed energy and a dangerously powerful technique. moreover, he inherited the rare ocular within the gojo family, six eyes. gojo, himself, has used buddhism references and his existence is like that of a god. even if, ultimately, he's nothing but human and has his own achilles' heel.

geto, on the opposite end, was condemned with the ability to consume curses and manipulate thousands at the same time with high reserves of cursed energy. he was a nobody but was elevated to gojo's position and together they formed the strongest duo in opposing forces against curses. even after traumatic experiences, having lived through his internal struggle of what being a sorcerer was and the consequent moral shift that made him want to address the real root of the problem, his interests were on behalf of jujutsu sorcerers. he wanted to save them from the inevitable path in the life of a jujutsu sorcerer - death. his downfall is the prime reason, an alternative path is even mentioned within the story. and part of the motivation behind other characters' will to made their mission of helping the younger generations, like gojo or nanami.

shoko was granted the rare ability to use a reverse cursed technique to heal others, becoming the motivation for her career path as a doctor in this universe. she is the only reason jujutsu sorcerers can pursue a long-lasting career, as she fuctions as a ongoing annulment of death. she is wuite literally clung to her postion considering there's no one else able to take her place and nobody wishes to risk that source of comfort (if we can call it that) within this reality.

if jujutsu society has someone to thank to be able to thrive in the current conditions is, partly or majorly, to the three of them. so it's nonetheless curious that the higher-ups want to take gojo out of the picture so much. especially, considering geto is technically dead. shoko is the last one standing and i think it's safe to say she most likely feels the pressure of her position. we don't know what happened after shibuya and she barely got any development within the story. but it's curious to see that the jujutsu society was so fast to place the weight of the world on three teenagers and make them almost a security system. even more intriguing now, knowing this ground they place their feet on is on the brink of rupture and the only other candidates to deal with all this mess aren't necessarily on their side. after everything, what allows the current students to live a, somewhat, better reality is the existence of gojo, geto and shoko. it would be a waste if in the end, the new generation doesn't realise their true enemy and fight not only against curses but against the main responsibles for the destruction of so many youths. maybe that's why gojo must be away from the picture right now. maybe that's why the sudden suspicion on tengen is important. i am not sure but i hope things do change at a point in time. and it would be even better if that change parted from the younger generation because that would be the necessary step for the original trio to almost reach the point of completed mission. i don't know if this makes much sense but i do believe there has to be a positive something coming out of all the bad things that they were subjected to. and i just hope it's something subtle yet impactful!!!

#anyways i was buying things online and was invaded with more sashisu thoughts #and this adds absolutely 0 to the conversation but you know what whatever xd #sashisu #gojo satoru #suguru geto #shoko ieiri #jujutsu kaisen #jjk spoilers #my post #jjk ��

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fuwametal-writes · 3 years

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Edelgard Working Together with TWSITD Makes Zero Sense

I wouldn't qualify people suffering because of their Crests under the Crest system of nobility as the same thing as suffering under the rule of the Church of Seiros. This is the very reason why I honestly believe that none of Edelgard's actions in terms of conspiring together with TWSITD make sense.

She suffered under the Crest system of nobility and was experimented upon by Those Who Slither in the Dark because the Crest system of nobility allowed cracks and gaps to manifest within Fodlan society where TWSITD were able to thrive, but she never came into contact with the Central Church which Rhea leads until she entered into the Officer's Academy.

For a majority of her life, Rhea and the Church of Seiros were non-entities that were not responsible for any of the tragedies that befell her, and while, through logical thought, one might be able to identify the Church's maintenance of its doctrines as the force responsible for keeping the Crest system alive as the status quo, which in turn created the cracks in society where TWSITD were able to thrive and gain influence from, that still does not mean that they were the parties directly responsible for the suffering that Edelgard has experienced. It thus seems strange for the Adrestian Princess to pin the Church as the party ultimately responsible for her suffering and come to the conclusion that she must first defeat the Church working together with TWSITD, or in other words, her oppressors before dispatching of her oppressors... somehow... later on.

Even if the actions of the Church were responsible for creating the butterfly effect that would eventually lead to her torture, her siblings' deaths, and the downfall of her father's dynasty, it's just strange that even when those who are directly responsible for these atrocities are staring her straight in the face, she still seems to believe that all of these are the ultimate responsibility of the Church, and not as the further result of an even longer-standing conflict caused by none other than those who seem to have no trouble hiding their millennia-old vendetta against the Church.

It is so incongruous for Edelgard to not see how it would be much easier and much more sensible to purge those who slither from the cracks of Fodlan society with the help of the Church and then fill in those cracks with reform so that they can no longer resurface when we know how meticulous and brilliant she is, and especially when we know that she is a mere few steps away from unlocking the truth that Thales and his dead-eyed cronies are pulling a fast one on her. We'll discuss more of that later.

We see over and over again over the course of the story without it ever being shown to us or told explicitly that TWSITD were pulling the strings behind all of the conspiratorial happenings in Fodlan through the underbelly of corruption that has festered over the course of centuries of the Crest system of nobility being in place. This system was created through the influence of the Church in order to establish order following the War of Heroes, but by and large, a lot of the suffering caused by the Crest system is not caused or meted out by the Church, but by those who hold positions of power within the system - people like the nobles of the Insurrection of the Seven who were seduced by the wiles of TWSITD who promised them greater power within the system through their strange means. When we consider this angle, we see that really, Edelgard's anger at the Crest system of nobility is justified, but that her anger at the Church is (and this is important) not wrong, but misguided. I'll explain why.

Rhea formally instituted the Crest system as a way to fill the power vacuum in Fodlan and prevent the continent from falling into chaos again following her victory against Nemesis and the Ten Elites, but remember that the system of ruling over the masses with the power of Crests was not created by Rhea, but by the Agarthans who used Nemesis as a tool to enact genocide upon the Nabateans.

Remember that it was the Agarthans who guided Nemesis and his band of bandits to pillage Sothis's body for the purpose of obtaining the Crest of Flames and the Sword of the Creator, which they then used to wipe out the Nabateans, drink their blood and take their bones, from which they obtained more Crests and Relics with which they could rule tyrannically over the people of Fodlan. With the end of the War of Heroes, Seiros had the opportunity to reveal the truth and abolish the Crest system of power that existed within Fodlan entirely, but she was not in a state of mind to do so, grief-stricken by the death of her mother and the genocide of her kin.

In a cruel, twisted kind of way, the blood running through the veins of her kin's killers and the weapons they fashioned out of the bones of the people that she loved were the only reminders of her family that existed. Therefore, I believe that her decision to instate the Crest system of nobility as the official system of governance in Adrestia through her influence as the head of the Church was motivated by her desire to preserve the vestiges of her kin's memory. To ensure that they don't simply fade into obscurity, and to be able to keep them close to her in a way - even if it is twisted.

I don't know what kind of manipulation Edelgard had to have gone through for her to come to the conclusion that the most effective way to topple TWSITD and their influence over Fodlan was to first eliminate the Church rather than work with them to topple TWSITD and then work with them to enact systemic changes to the way that Church and State interact within the continent to ensure that no one suffers under the dated Crest system (and also possibly go through dialogue to slowly bring to light Fodlan's true history - because obviously, none of that surfaces in the ending of Crimson Flower either).

Edelgard had part of the real history, but clearly, TWSITD cherry-picked the most convenient parts of that history to show Edelgard while obscuring the most inconvenient parts to her such that she would cultivate a vendetta against the Church as the perpetrator behind all suffering in Fodlan when TWSITD are the ones who are truly causing suffering by manipulating local nobles and satellite Church leaders to cause unrest and instability.

Does that justify Rhea's swift execution of heretics? No, of course not, but if Edelgard weren't already so set on her ways in the beginning of the game, she might have been able to gauge by Rhea's reaction to the appearance of the strange mages that she conspired with as the Flame Emperor in the Monastery that the Church was diametrically opposed to the very people that she was conspiring with in the first place for reasons incongruous with what Thales has led her to believe, and that maybe, her anger was misguided... and that she was taking a very, very roundabout way to achieving her goals that would not bear her the full truth of the matter... and maybe even that the Church would gladly help in the purge of TWSITD.

Not that that matters because she wrongly believes that she already has all the answers in her hands, which we know is untrue when we learn the whole truth from Rhea's own mouth in Verdant Wind. TWSITD played Edelgard like a fiddle. They had two main goals, 1) to destroy the Church to exact revenge on Seiros, and 2) to rule the world, and they were able to exploit Edelgard's anger and her ideals as a means to the first one.

This all makes even less sense when you consider that in order for all of this to have come to pass, Edelgard would have had to trust the words of her abusers fully and take their word for what the true history of Fodlan really is... What reason would she have to believe everything that TWSITD had to say about Fodlan's history is true when 1) they were the ones who experimented on her and implanted the Fire Emblem into her, 2) are not working with her in good faith, and 3) it is clear that they are also in the business of hiding even more information from her?

In fact, what reason would she even have to believe everything she said in her speech, particularly these two lines: "The leaders of the church have misused its creed to fulfill their true desire - to rule the world," and "They gathered gold and lived in extravagance," when it would have been plain to her from her months in the Monastery that 1) the Church is largely uninterested in interfering with Empire, Kingdom or Alliance politics except when heresy against the Church is directly involved or in preserving peace from petty bandits where nobles request their aid, 2) she would have seen how far removed from extravagance lifestyle at the Monastery was, and most importantly, 3) she came into contact and interacted with so many students and just... people in general who would have challenged and even shaken those beliefs?

Let's not even stray from point 1 in the previous question that I posed. As I've already said before, her suffering was never directly at the hands of the Central Church because as we see in the game, the Central Church has little influence over the Empire where the Western Church has more influence and because the Empire, unlike the Kingdom and the Alliance, has its very own Ministry of Religion. Even the game's narrative betrays any reason that Edelgard might have had to bear a grudge against the Church in particular and work with the very clearly evil group of shadowy figures because the game goes out of its way to remind us over and over again that the Church has had very little influence over the Empire's religious affairs in recent years - which has led to the rise of heresy within the Western Church, which, since Edelgard was working as the Flame Emperor, she should have known was also the handiwork of TWSITD.

She should have known from spending time in the Monastery that Rhea was less concerned about the loss of influence in the Empire preventing her from levying Church taxes on the Empire and more concerned about the actual heresy against their doctrines that they were committing. More damningly, she should have known that this concern of Rhea to protect the doctrine of the Church was not about maintaining the status quo of the Crest system because what the Western Church was preaching did not undermine the doctrine that Crests and Relics were Sothis's blessings and thus did not jeopardize the Crest system that revered Sothis as Goddess, but rather about maintaining her legitimacy as Archbishop of the Church such that Fodlan could have a unified faith among other reasons that she may have but is not forthright about, as she may have learned if she had taken the time to earn Rhea's trust and learn layers deeper into the truth.

As players, we do know that beyond maintaining her legitimacy as Archbishop, Rhea wanted the people to have a common faith in Sothis because she is still grieving the death of her mother, and that over the centuries, she has almost somehow deluded herself into believing the faith of her own making.

So then, was she fighting for religious freedom? No, because she didn't give a damn about the Western Church either, and because what the Western Church was teaching wasn't reflective of the true history that she apparently wants to bring to light... but never does in the end.

And now, the final nail in the coffin.

The people that Edelgard came into contact with in the Monastery. Let us talk about Marianne and Lysithea, yes?

Marianne bears the Crest of the Beast, and because of that, is visibly disturbed by any discussion of Crests. She has suffered much because of the Crest system and the prying eyes that look on at her and cast suspicion on her. While Edelgard and Marianne do not have supports, surely, she would have seen how Marianne would have reacted to the mere mention of a Crest, and yet all the same, she would have seen how she chooses to believe in the Goddess anyway, and how she did not begrudge the Church, even when it would be very easy to do so as the Church is, after all, responsible for teaching the doctrines that uphold the Crest system. Would this not have cast doubts on the beliefs that she held about the supposed injustice of the Church?

But I concede that Edelgard may not have been paying much attention to Marianne. They barely know each other, after all. It's a shame we don't have someone who experienced basically the exact same thing as her yet didn't begrudge the Church as the reason for her suff-

Wait a minute.

Lysithea von Ordelia. Here is a student that she knows was also experimented upon in the same manner as she was, and yet, she does not begrudge the Church in the same way that she does. Their support conversations are quite heavy, Edelgard trying to reach out to Lysithea as kindred spirits who know exactly how the other feels, and we learn that Lysithea does believe the Crest system and the obsession with the power of the Crests to have been responsible for her and her parents' suffering, but she doesn't speak a lick about the Church. Not to Edelgard, not to Claude, not to Byleth. Why? Because Lysithea has elected that the Church itself was not responsible for her suffering. Plain and simple. It would have been just as easy for Lysithea to also believe that because the Church was the entity responsible for putting the Crest system into place, that they are also ultimately the ones responsible for her suffering just as Edelgard believes... but she doesn't. Would this not have at least made Edelgard question her beliefs even just a bit? Seriously.

And to speak of commonfolk around the Monastery, what does she make of the orphans that the Church takes in? And all of the devotees that the Church extends its mercy and aid to? What did she make of the fact that following Remire, the Monastery took in its orphans and its survivors? Seriously.

What of the Almyran boy that Rhea treats equitably just like any Fodlani person that she holds audience for? What of Cyril? Does she see Rhea's kindness to the boy and how this boy is grateful for saving her from a life of indentured servitude and think that it is insincere?

Would any of these encounters with the people in the Monastery not have allowed her even a little leeway to question her alliance with TWSITD?

Don't you think that it would make more sense for Edelgard to also be mistrustful of TWSITD enough to want to learn more about the Church and the history that underlies them to verify the veracity of her cause before deciding who to confide her motivations in fully, acting as a double agent with the side that wins her over with the truth to win peace and carve out her destiny in her own terms, free from the shackles of those who would keep her in line for their own ends?

It just seems so asinine to me to see Edelgard playing right into TWSITD's hands and it frustrates me to no end seeing how IntSys made such a chump of Edelgard when she's such a good character. I will never let IntSys live this down. Edelgard working with TWSITD makes zero sense. Try as you might to change my mind as to why Edelgard siding with TWSITD and declaring war on the Church was necessary, but know that if you do, I have barely even scratched the surface and I will have an answer ready for you. It's sloppy writing on IntSys's part and Edelgard deserves better.

#fe3h #fe16 #fe3h edelgard #edelgard deserves better #fe3h rhea #rhea also deserves better #why do the lords of fe3h have so many trust issues #this could have all been avoided if they had just sat down to talk #edelgard critical #edelgard discourse

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