#dawn settlement
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"The original "Uncle Tom",
Rev. Josiah Henson and wife; Dresden ,Canada (c1907)
Josiah Henson (June 15, 1789 – May 5, 1883) was an author, abolitionist, and minister. Born into slavery in Charles County, Maryland, he escaped to Upper Canada (now Ontario) in 1830, and founded a settlement and laborer's school for other fugitive slaves at Dawn, near Dresden in Kent County. Henson's autobiography, The Life of Josiah Henson, Formerly a Slave, Now an Inhabitant of Canada, as Narrated by Himself (1849), is widely believed to have inspired the character of the fugitive slave, George Harris, in Harriet Beecher Stowe's Uncle Tom's Cabin (1852), who returned to Kentucky for his wife and escaped across the Ohio River, eventually to Canada. Following the success of Stowe's novel, Henson issued an expanded version of his memoir in 1858, Truth Stranger Than Fiction. Father Henson's Story of His Own Life (published Boston: John P. Jewett & Company, 1858). Interest in his life continued, and nearly two decades later, his life story was updated and published as Uncle Tom's Story of His Life: An Autobiography of the Rev. Josiah Henson (1876).
Josiah Henson was born on a farm near Port Tobacco in Charles County, Maryland. When he was a boy, his father was punished for standing up to a slave owner, receiving one hundred lashes and having his right ear nailed to the whipping-post, and then cut off. His father was later sold to someone in Alabama. Following his family's master's death, young Josiah was separated from his mother, brothers, and sisters.His mother pleaded with her new owner Isaac Riley, Riley agreed to buy back Henson so she could at least have her youngest child with her; on condition he would work in the fields. Riley would not regret his decision, for Henson rose in his owners' esteem, and was eventually entrusted as the supervisor of his master's farm, located in Montgomery County, Maryland (in what is now North Bethesda). In 1825, Mr. Riley fell onto economic hardship and was sued by a brother in law. Desperate, he begged Henson (with tears in his eyes) to promise to help him. Duty bound, Henson agreed. Mr. R then told him that he needed to take his 18 slaves to his brother in Kentucky by foot. They arrived in Daviess County Kentucky in the middle of April 1825 at the plantation of Mr. Amos Riley. In September 1828 Henson returned to Maryland in an attempt to buy his freedom from Issac Riley.
He tried to buy his freedom by giving his master $350 which he had saved up, and a note promising a further $100. Originally Henson only needed to pay the extra $100 by note, Mr. Riley however, added an extra zero to the paper and changed the fee to $1000. Cheated of his money, Henson returned to Kentucky and then escaped to Kent County, U.C., in 1830, after learning he might be sold again. There he founded a settlement and laborer's school for other fugitive slaves at Dawn, Upper Canada. Henson crossed into Upper Canada via the Niagara River, with his wife Nancy and their four children. Upper Canada had become a refuge for slaves from the United States after 1793, when Lieutenant-Governor John Graves Simcoe passed "An Act to prevent further introduction of Slaves, and to limit the Term of Contracts for Servitude within this Province". The legislation did not immediately end slavery in the colony, but it did prevent the importation of slaves, meaning that any U.S. slave who set foot in what would eventually become Ontario, was free. By the time Henson arrived, others had already made Upper Canada home, including African Loyalists from the American Revolution, and refugees from the War of 1812.
Henson first worked farms near Fort Erie, then Waterloo, moving with friends to Colchester by 1834 to set up a African settlement on rented land. Through contacts and financial assistance there, he was able to purchase 200 acres (0.81 km2) in Dawn Township, in next-door Kent County, to realize his vision of a self-sufficient community. The Dawn Settlement eventually prospered, reaching a population of 500 at its height, and exporting black walnut lumber to the United States and Britain. Henson purchased an additional 200 acres (0.81 km2) next to the Settlement, where his family lived. Henson also became an active Methodist preacher, and spoke as an abolitionist on routes between Tennessee and Ontario. He also served in the Canadian army as a military officer, having led a African militia unit in the Rebellion of 1837. Though many residents of the Dawn Settlement returned to the United States after slavery was abolished there, Henson and his wife continued to live in Dawn for the rest of their lives. Henson died at the age of 93 in Dresden, on May 5, 1883.
#Josiah Henson#Dresden#uncle tom#original uncle tom#american revolution#dawn township#kent county#methodist#preacher#tennessee#ontario#rebellion#dawn settlement#john graves simcoe#province#slaves#united states of america#united states#war of 1812#african#kemetic dreams#afrakan#africans#brownskin#afrakans#brown skin
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#horizon zero dawn#horizon forbidden west#hzd#hfw#i wanna move the camera around in settlements guerrilla#i wanna take photos of aloy from every angle in a settlement#is that so much to ask for#my stuff
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horizon zero dawn | talanah 4/?
#horizon zero dawn#hzd#talanah#talanah tuesday#repeating myself ad nauseam but i really hope guerrilla lets us move the camera in settlements in h3#i'm sure they have a reason but hopefully that reason was... idk? the ps4 holding them back or something#got this shot on pc when talanah is standing outside the hunter's lodge :)#talanah khane padish#the sunhawk#hzd talanah#hzd npcs#hzd pc
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if you're still doing these 🖤 for Kit 👉👈
send 🖤 and my character will answer about yours.
lkfaf;ldkjfaslfd;jkadf of course!!!! operating on a timeline where kit and syb meet in the sheriff's department, start off fighting in the resistance together, kit joins jacob, syb is pissed about it but the homoerotic tension between them is wild and eventually she gives in and joins the two of them.
attractiveness:
repulsive / hideous / ugly / not attractive / unappealing / not unattractive / meh / no preference / ok / mildly attractive / nice looking / cute / adorable / attractive / pleasant on the eyes / good looking / hot / sexy / beautiful / gorgeous / hot damn / would tap that / perfect / godlike / holy fuck there are no words.
personality:
grating / irritating / frustrating / boring / confusing at best / awkward / unreasonable / psychotic / disturbing (affectionate)/ interesting / engaging / affectionate / aggressive / ambitious / anxious / artistic / bad tempered / bossy / charismatic / appealing / unappealing / creative (love a torture technician)/ courageous / dependable / unreliable / unpredictable / predictable / devious (affectionate) / dim / extroverted / introverted / egotistical / gregarious / fabulous / impulsive / intelligent / sympathetic / talkative / up beat / peaceful / calming / badass / flexible👀👀👀.
how likely they would have sex with them:
not if they were the last person on earth and the world was ending / fuck no! / never / no way / not likely / not sure / indifferent / I’m asexual / maybe / probably / it depends / fairly likely / likely / yeah sure / yes / would tap that / hell yes / fuck yes! / wishing that could happen right now / as many times as possible / we are already having sex.
level of friendship:
never in a million years / worst of enemies / (former) enemies / (former)rivals / indifferent / neutral / acquaintance / friendly toward each other / casual friends / friends / good friends / best friends / fuck buddies / bosom buddies / practically the same person / would die for them / true friends / my only friend.
first impression of them (work buddies days):
i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.
midpoint impression of them (ie, cult!kit and resistance!syb phase):
i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.
current impression of them (ie, jacob has two wives now and everyone's fucked):
i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.
#syb's such a messy bitch she got hit with TWO enemies to lovers arcs at the same time#zero regrets tho#and a big fat RIP to the rest of hope county#god but can you imagine them in new dawn?#they'd be THE MOST functionally self sufficient familial unit.#like yes of course they'd help joseph with the new eden settlement#i'm sure there'd reach a point where new eden has grown enough that they just kind of retreat back into the woods#within easy travel to new eden because of course they like to visit on occassion#but for the most part. they keep to themselves and survive on their own#that trio was made for hunter-gatherer life#that weird little hermit family <3#kit cross#oc: deputy sybille la roux
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i love the settlements in horizon forbidden west with all of my heart. they are all so wildly different and unique, and i’d love to start a personal project to draw them all. kind of like a love letter to this beautiful game
#horizon forbidden west fanart#horizon forbidden west#horizon zero dawn aloy#just an idea#it would probably take months though solely because of burnout#there are 27 settlements in total apparently#would be really good background practice me thinks
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I just wanted to say the aesthetics in this game are *chef’s kiss*
#Im still getting used to the controls#theyre similar but a lil different#it defitely feels like a Fallout game#but I love fallout so Im fine with that#the plot literally sounds like the NCR vs raiders and legion#another settlement needs your help!#but Im enjoying it a lot#Far Cry New Dawn Spoilers#Far Cry New Dawn#fcnd playthrough
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There is a weird segment of people who love to make it very clear they are "against the actions of the Israeli government", like every other sentence they make it a point that this is about "the Israeli government" which is boring but also ignorant because it pretends as if everything that is happening is only the Israeli government’s fault.
As if it was the Israeli government who marched out of settlements and set children and families on fire.
As if it was the Israeli government who is protesting at the Gaza border trying to prevent aid trucks from entering.
As if it was the Israeli government that burnt thousand year old olive trees and shot the people harvesting them in the chest.
As if it was the Israeli government that went into the Ibrahimi Mosque at dawn and committed a massacre killing 28 worshippers.
As if it was the Israeli government who went out with lawn chairs to sit on hilltops to watch and cheer as bombs dropped on Gaza.
As if it was the Israeli government posting TikToks mocking and celebrating Palestinian deaths.
There is a reason they are so eager to pose their opposition to be “against the Israeli government” because they need to pretend that it is only the "current Israeli government" at fault in order to maintain the illusion that Israel isn’t a genocidal entity to its core.
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dawn of man's constant low morale problem before you research the beer technology if anything is proof that indeed there is no happiness without alcohol.
#dawn of man#gaming#once you reach like 80 people there is someone dying every minute#plus apparently storms get more common after you discover agriculture???#i'm getting one per season at this point#and every thunder is a morality hit or so it seems#literally everyone in my settlement had that yellow smiley face above their head all the time#then i invented beer#and had them build 2 brewing stations#and i've never had problems with depression in my settlement ever since (so far)#i mainly planted grains for straw because i like having a literal farm and no i'm not getting rid of the goats just because i have cows now#so i'm using the extra grain for beers since i'm getting stacks of 150 of them every autumn#it seems to be working out#everything fits and my people are happy for the first time in history#this is what an advanced economy looks like#first we ate the grains now we give them to the animals so we can eat them and we use the byproduct for entertainment#'tags can't be longer than 140' tumblr is actually twitter now and no one told me
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the sunwalker's gift gn!reader, 3.3k
“What is all of this in aid of, anyway?” He asks in a lazy drawl, seemingly unbothered. “The adventuring stuff. Do we have a destination yet?”
inspired by this ask where the reader finds a ring - after a lot of searching - that allows astarion to walk in the sun, and proposes with it. enjoy!
wc: 3.3k
cw: none. gn reader, fluff, all good stuff. no use of y/n. like one vague reference to sex. that's it. liberties taken with the idea of the sunwalker's gift.
Tardy.
“Here then, yes?”
A gentle dirt path carries to the town boundary, the marker one of dry wood and old brandish. Windows of amber; smoke rising to the stars, a biting chill settling on the ground as gateclose approaches.
You turn the map in hand to compare against the settlement before you.
“Think so.”
Astarion takes your arm in his, leaving the map hanging free in his wake.
It takes all the will you can muster not to take his hands in yours and spin him in some sleepy glee-bound whirl in the sheer ecstasy at the thought of what you have planned - instead pulling each other something ragged down the slope in a half-step, half-cant; giddy at the thought of Firewine by a fireplace as your breath clouds the air foggy past your heads.
You’re in a position where - maybe for the first time since the Netherbrain fell - you can see the end.
And it’s close. Ridiculously close.
You want nothing more than to drop and do it now. Knees muddied in the dew-thickened dirt clod and breeze heavy with frost under the big pale moon - teeth chittering, looking up to him;-
Gods. You can picture it. His eyes hooplike with uncertainty, the one last drip of doubt teetering on his tongue - is this some kind of cosmic joke? - a quiet whisper under his breath, a little tilt of his head. Hair rippling in the moonlight. A moment of mutability as he reconciles all you are, all you’ve become together. That there’s a future in which sincerity is all he knows moving forward.
No.
Before morning, for sure.
-
The gate welcomes you in one last waning breath as the guards head to their watch turrets until dawn, and it takes a minute to truly come to terms with civilization once more. Your eyes flit to each of the little flickering lanterns and candles in windows; to the railings adorned with browning vines and disused terracotta pots.
It’s been months since you and Astarion have been somewhat settled anywhere. Since the Absolute fell and you set off for adventures beyond anything you or he could ever imagine. Navigating the Underdark together, treading darkness above ground; wherever, it wasn’t of any real importance. You’d find lodging where you could, eat with whoever welcomed you; and you did it together.
Of course, your ulterior motive has managed to remain a secret. From clandestine discussions with the Society of Brilliance all the way back to the Gate; to fevered exploration in the deepest chasms of Sembia. Nights spent looking over the ferryboats on the Sea of Fallen Stars and discussing so many different futures the two of you could live.
He is completely disarmed and unsuspecting at your side. Radiant. Hopeful. The world is changed and he wants to see every bit he passes with eyes wide open to good fortune.
“A town called Tardy? Really?”
He sneers.
You shrug.
“It has a fun ring to it. Tardy.”
The word bounces on your tongue as you taste the mull-soak set between your teeth.
A wordless mission to stave off the chill now has you settled fireside in the closest inn with mulled Glowfire. The clock ticks and there’s lively chatter a little behind you in the main tavern room.
“The Scoundrel's Cellar, though. Now that’s a good name.’
He takes a small sip.
‘Why Tardy?”
You turn your head to him with a tight quirk of your upper lip.
“You’re asking me why?”
“Not really.’
Astarion looks at you and smiles.
‘It’s just… nice. To be able to talk at such leisure like this, I think.”
His cheeks are ruddied by the lashings of wind, the hint of a twinkle in his eyes as he reveres you. Hair a little unruly in the mop of curls atop his head but still unbelievably well-kempt for a man who's been on the road for months now. Lost wholly in his sheer exuberance, his joy in living despite the lack of a pulse. His chalice is close to his chest as he warms his hands.
You daren’t linger on your own appearance, thinking a silent prayer that the bathroom has a mirror.
It’s a long moment before you reply.
“Yes! Yes. Absolutely.”
He throws you a quizzical glance but the smile doesn’t leave his face as he shifts to look down at his drink.
“I sometimes picture having a fireplace, you know. How-’
A brief pause.
‘How nice it’d be to sit by it, on an evening like this. Home.”
Astarion stretches a palm outward to the flame and closes his eyes, basking in the scalding heat. Amber shades. Pallid skin a perfect canvas.
“What would you be doing, by the fire?” You query softly as you watch the gentle flickers of his hand, outstretched.
“I- I’m not sure.”
Something resembling a coy smile creeps onto his face, overrun by a timid quiet uncharacteristic of your long-term lover. You lean over to him and take his nimble fire-warm hand in your own. A small kiss planted firmly on the hot skin.
“Go on.’
The willing smile on your face as you egg him on, chin to palm. He tilts his head coquettishly.
‘What do you see in that beautiful head of yours? Because I can see it now - a sitting room full of tapestries and hangings; all of your design, of course. Patchwork blankets. Big comfy seats.”
“Ugh. Fine. Yes.’
Any ill-mannered jest fades almost immediately as he looks into your eyes and beams once more. He is safe here. He knows it.
‘I’m thinking big seats. Maybe-’
He brings his arms out wide.
‘Maybe this big? Possibly bigger? Somewhere to lounge, naturally.’
His hand finds yours in the low light once more, a tentative clutch as he maps out the vision in his head.
‘Soft carpets on stone floors. Incense - none of the dull stuff though, darling; only pure patchouli - and… and lanterns with glass of all colours, so the room glows with light constantly.”
“So we’ve set the scene. Then what?”
Astarion rolls his eyes at you fondly.
“And then… I don’t know. A little cat on the cushions. Books, papers scattered on the carpet as despite the fact we have those big comfy seats; I’m not seeing myself to be inclined to move Her Majesty.”
“After the cat at the Last Light?”
“The very same. But I want a girl cat. Boy cats feel… weird to me. Cats are girls.’
He grimaces and waves his chalice-hand.
‘Anyway. Her Majesty on the lounger, me on the floor. I’m drawing up patterns early into the morning. Big, thick shutters over the windows; but it doesn’t matter because the lantern light is so vivid, and you;-’
There’s a feather-soft look to him when he does look at you.
‘Oh, you.’
You become aware of him drawing small circles with his thumb, eyes unmoving; unblinking.
‘Always you. My love. Should you decide to join me in long-term domesticity-’
He plants a kiss on your hand as you did his. Your stomach is pure cream as you listen, nodding slowly with lids of honey.
‘Then you. Everywhere. Beside me on the carpet, laughing in that delicious way you do. Astride me in our bed -’
You smirk. He looks at you a little deviously.
‘Well, not just bed. Anywhere, really.”
“Is that what the loungers are for?”
A small grin.
“Maybe.’
You gesture for him to continue with a knowing grin.
‘Anyway. Yes. The future. Us. A townhouse somewhere in the Gate.” He sips slowly while pondering.
“What about younglings? You were fond of Yenna.”
The wine erupts down his pale chin in shock, eyes like saucers.
“I’m sorry?”
“Children.” You repeat, holding his gaze with firm affection.
He moves to laugh but there’s a wavering indecision in the way his brows crease.
“Is that even possible?”
“I don’t know. But if it is?”
He stops to think for a moment when the call for Grand High Lord Supreme General Admiral Ancunín - his favoured travelling name - comes from the frazzled barmaid at the front of house to signal your rooms are ready, and all discussion overruled by the fact you’re both bone-weary beyond belief.
As your hand moves to your pocket, you feel it.
Sequestered away in the little velvet box you bought from the Night Market months ago and kept for this.
Later.
-
Hours on and you’re settled. A small room with an adjoining washroom - modest, but surprisingly comfortable; and just as you’d hoped, there’s a balcony.
Astarion lounges on the bed with a large leatherbound book, looking fondly at you from time to time as you busy yourself with your recent findings, taking inventory and stashing bits away in their respectively labelled bags of holding.
“What is all of this in aid of, anyway?” He asks in a lazy drawl, seemingly unbothered.
“What?”
“This. The adventuring stuff. Do we have a destination yet?”
“No, not in particular.’ You turn to look at him over your shoulder.
‘Why? You’ve not been bothered before?”
“And I’m not now. But I am curious.’
He grins devilishly on the bed and flips the book closed, placing it next to him and sitting straight - legs crossed.
‘What’s the plan, lover?”
“Who says there’s a plan?”
He’s got you right where he wants you.
You feel yourself becoming giddy again - heart wholly aflutter. You’re aware that he’s attuned to the regular pitter-patter between your ribs and despite the conscious attempt to regulate yourself back to calm; you almost want him to find you out this way.
“Nothing. I’m just wondering where we’re - well, wandering. It’s beginning to feel a little aimless”
There’s a moment of silence, prolonged as you fiddle further with your trinkets.
“I-’
You reach for the box in your pocket and run a thumb over it reactively.
‘I’ll tell you later. I promise.”
He looks at you with a curious furrow, trying to eke out a little more information in the quiet din but you’re wise to it at this point in your relationship. You simply yield into his glance with a pleading smile.
“Okay. Okay. I’ll leave it with you. But I do expect answers!”
You heave a sigh of relief. He’s definitely picked up on it.
Once all of your spoils are packed away you take a trip downstairs to purchase more wine and request a bath to be drawn - after all, you’ve been on the road with rivers as your only source of cleanliness for gods know how long.
There are nerves. Of course there are nerves, small pins prickling from within and setting you ablaze with each new thought of him beside you for life, threads weaving a rich tableau life together. Lilting violins and piano sonatas. Finery for days. Some small townhouse, just as he’d described it downstairs.
But you found the thing you’d set out to find on your adventures. Where you head next is entirely up to the both of you.
Provided he says yes, that is.
You imagine the worst possible rejection he could give you - “No, darling. Let’s keep things as they are for now.” - and yet the thought of him calling you darling in that syrupy murmur is rousing enough to keep you afloat.
The bath is tepid, door open whilst Astarion watches from the bed between pages.
“More wine, love?”
“Please.”
Calm. Rain on the thatch roof.
He perches on the side of the washtub, one leg crossed over the other as he passes you a glass full of red. Hums absent-mindedly as he swirls the perfumed waters with a dainty hand.
Your mind drifts to the ring. How beautiful it’ll look in place.
He looks at you with that curious glint in his eye, and you roll your head to the back of the tub in an attempt at meek avoidance.
“Pretty.” He quips.
You laugh quietly.
“Hm?”
“You. Pretty. Hair all mussed like a siren. A vision.”
He lifts your wrist from the water and kisses the back of your hand a few times over, while you squirm in jest. He only retaliates by kissing you harder with a fiendish giggle.
“You’re one to talk.”
The lantern by the mirror lights the tips of his curls from behind. Angelic.
“Yes, I am beautiful. So are you. My darling.”
It must be late now. Maybe late enough.
As you lift from the water - assisted by your lover’s hand - and enrobe once more, you feel it.
Now.
-
Astarion begins his usual routine of light-proofing the room and blocking the shutters as the threat of sunrise looms on the horizon.
Well. Light.
The rain doesn’t show any sign of ceasing.
Nonetheless, you feel ready. A habit you can’t wait for him to break, checking the shutters for cracks.
“C’mere.”
He turns to you and looks you over.
“Hm?”
“Come here! Please! I’ve got something for you and it simply can’t wait any longer.”
The box is light in hand, soft. You’ve checked it multiple times for the ring and all is in place.
The way he steps to you is cautious. Catlike.
“Is this the thing? Is it finally time?’
You pull him in next to you on the edge of the bed, taking both hands in yours.
‘I can see that little box. Hopefully a trinket worth the hours of agony I’ve endured waiting for you to reveal your secrets.” He grins, pulling you in for a gentle kiss.
You don’t say anything, freeing one hand to take the box.
“This is-’
A sharp inhale.
‘This is it. Wherever we go from here, it’s mutually agreed. All of it. But this is what I’ve been looking for, hence my leadership skills taking forefront again.”
“Don’t tell me. It’s a Bracing Band!’
You shove him gently and he giggles, reinforcing his clutch on your hand.
‘Okay, okay. I’m done. Show me.”
He waggles his fingers around your palm and grins expectantly. Gods. You rip the bandage off and open the box to him.
He’s seen a picture of it before - it’s in one of his books, that’s where you got the initial idea - but you know he hasn’t read it or he’d onto you weeks ago.
And he doesn’t recognise it.
“I- What is this?”
A gentle whisper as his eyes run over the golden rays cast with aged enamel.
“A ring.’
Astarion’s death glare takes a new form, this time wholly inhibited by the uncertainty in his frozen hunch.
You stand and spin to a kneel on the floor in front of him.
‘A special ring. Really, really special; in fact.’
Plucking it from the velvet, you hover the band over his fingertip.
‘Firstly though. Marry me?”
You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so completely and utterly shocked.
Mouth firmly agape as red round eyes attempt to scan yours for any sign of deceit, jowls trembling a little in the yellow lantern glow. A small gulp as his lips meet once more.
“You picked an inn called The Scoundrel's Cellar, in a town called Tardy, in the middle of a thunderstorm; to propose marriage to me?”
“Had to be here, had to be now. Couldn’t wait any longer. You’ll understand in a minute, I promise.’
You rise a little to cup his jaw in hand, sinking into a chaste kiss.
‘Astarion Ancunín, will you marry me?”
“Gods!’
There’s a brief tremor as his lips wobble, then a practised breath as he speaks. One hand reaches for your flushed cheek to mirror the gesture.
‘Of course I will, you brute. Maybe you could’ve done with a better choice in ring, of course; but I can learn to love it, I’m sur-”
“You are beyond insufferable, Astarion. Kiss me right now.”
The immediately resulting kiss is brimming with yearning. A cup full to spilling as he takes the ring in your hand whilst you put it on him.
He hunches all the way over to meet you on raised knees, grabbing at body-warmed bedclothes for one another; tenderly, in peals of quiet laughter between breaths and silent shouts.
“Wait. I’m not done.’
He’s giddy now, too. Knee bouncing.
‘There’s a reason it had to be that ring.”
“It’s hideous, pet. Give me a reason to love it.”
You spin to your feet and to the furthest shutters, opening them a slight as he watches on in guarded curiosity with the biggest smile lingering on his face.
The first hint of light.
“C’mere.”
“You’re bossing me around an awful lot today, my darling betrothed.”
The weight of the moment is colossal, ocean deep. Despite his sheer joy he won’t come willingly. The burns from the dock the day the Absolute fell were molten for weeks and you still both have night terrors ringing loud with the sound of his agonising yells.
A gentle hand extends to him.
“The Sunwalker’s Gift.”
Then it clicks. Slowly. The final puzzle piece.
“No. Surely.”
“Yes.”
“It can’t be.”
“It had to be.”
“What if it isn’t?”
“Then we have a wedding to plan in the Underdark. But I wouldn’t traipse across the realms on just an inkling, you know.”
“I know you wouldn’t.”
“Well then.’
Your hand waits expectantly, fingers mimicking his waggle.
‘Just a finger. Please.”
He sits on the bed, spinning the ring mindlessly; before he looks at you with a resolute nod.
“I’ve trusted you with far worse, all things considered.”
Astarion approaches slowly and meets your hand, interlinking your ring fingers together and waiting for your word as you position yourself within the light.
“On three?”
Three arrives and nothing happens.
Hands raised, fingers lit in a single low beam of early light. Frozen.
“Astarion? All good?”
He moves your hands wholly into the light. Nothing. Twists the tangled fingers as if examining for damage. Rain careens into the window.
“I- Yes. Yes. All good.”
Dumbfounded.
You erupt into a bubbling grin, pulling him to the balcony doors and planting another soft kiss onto bewildered lips. Looking to the worn bronze handles with a brief head tilt.
A simple, overwhelmed nod. Brows knitted together in a milky daze, mouth slack. He looks like he’s going to collapse.
The doors edge open and you cautiously step to lead him by arm.
Nothing. Not a single sizzle, no cinders. Forearm, arm, body; head.
No tug on your hand as he races back indoors. No wretched cries of pain nor gasps of hurt.
It’s a few seconds before he speaks. The sun now burns bright enough to see the streets below with razor clarity.
“The rain. My- my hair-’
Barely above a whisper.
‘Looks perfect. As it always does.’
Your eyes don’t leave him. Not once. He’s completely floored, gazing into the middle distance mindlessly.
‘Love, sit.”
You gently tug an iron-wrought balconette chair over to him and help him to find purchase atop it amongst his overwhelm.
“I- I love you. Thank you.”
“Anything. Anything for you.”
He shakes from his haze once wet through, lightning on the horizon awakening the Astarion you recognise best. Closes his eyes with a soft smile.
“You’re going to catch your death out here, you know.”
His grip on your hand is vicelike, clutching it to his chest with zealous reverence.
“Then we’ll have to have a hot bath later. Right now though, I think a celebration is in order.”
You free yourself from his grasp for two moments, barreling back inside for the last of the wine and the large bedsheet. You place both chalices on the iron table and sit beside Astarion outside in fits of laughter whilst wrapping the sheet over both of your heads. He snatches your hand back and kisses it for an age. Devoted.
“To Tardy?”
He lifts his chalice in his free hand, and you do the same in yours.
“Tardy!”
#my writing#astarion x reader#astarion#astarion ancunin#baldurs gate astarion#bg3#astarion x female reader#astarion x male reader#astarion x gn reader#astarion x tav#fluff#one shot#x reader
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LOVERS’ MORNING TEA.
ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ ━ as a new dawn greets the quaint settlement of qiaoying village, you and gaming prepare for your shared morning breakfast together. but it appears man chai’s antics this morning are much more mischievous than usual. much to gaming’s displeasure. (or craving love and attention)
gaming x reader | w.c: 879 | tags: gn reader, est. relationship, fluff
sunlight filters through the tree leaves above; soft bright streams pouring out of every gap as a mellow summer breeze travels through the air that becomes sweeter with the passing of time.
chin resting on your hand, a brief sigh escapes through your nose as you gaze upon the unperturbed green tea fields and azure skies.
compared to the ever lively and bustling dawns of liyue harbor, mornings in qiaoying village are always so serene and full of bliss tranquility.
tea merchants rise with the sound of birds chirping in the distance, greeting them anew as they prepare for the day’s work that lies ahead. meanwhile, the locals step out of their homes one by one, preparing to either hang their washed laundry or indulge themselves in a refreshing cup of fine morning tea with savoring dim sum—much like yourself.
you watch as a faint steam continues to emit from your untouched cup of tea, patiently waiting for the heat to simmer down a bit.
although many would argue that tea is best enjoyed when it’s piping hot (much to the point of burning your lips upon first sips) you prefer to have a lukewarm tea and therefore, a lighter start to your mornings.
you feel a slight nudge on your leg, drawing your attention beneath the table and at the small critter cuddling up around your feet, purring softly.
smiling, you reach down, brushing down its fur in gentle caresses, “good morning man chai.”
“gah…that’s the third time that little rascal beats me to give you the morning greetings.”
several steps away, you see gaming who appears slightly short of breath. taking a moment to steady his breathing, he eventually makes his way over to you, wasting no time to engulf you in a loving hug, resting his head above yours.
“and good morning to you gaming.” you laugh, rubbing his arms that remained wrapped around your neck, consciously leaning back into his embrace.
“oooh is that sunglo tea i smell and…” he takes a sniff at the air once more and his face instantly brightens up as he looks down at you with expectant eyes. “steamed dumplings?”
you nod. “yup! steamed dumplings made especially for you.”
a wave of happiness now surging through him, gaming gives you another tight hug before taking a seat in the stone chair beside you, fully prepared to stomach as much as he can for today’s breakfast.
the critter from before slowly begins to peek its head out from under the table, particularly eyeing the fresh batch of dumplings in gaming’s hands.
“no way man chai!” gaming quickly snatches away the basket of steamed dumplings away from man chai’s prying paws, “first you steal my morning greetings and now you want to steal my dumplings. well not this time, buddy.”
another small chorus of laughter sounds from you. “c’mon gaming, don’t you think you’re being a little too unfair with him?”
“unfair? if anything he’s the one that’s been unfair for the last three days!” gaming argues, much like a child bickering with his siblings, “maybe now he’ll think about his actions.”
though you know he’ll never admit it, you can’t help but find it adorable at how he constantly vies for your full undivided attention in small but subtle ways.
for starters, gaming has made it his sole mission to be the first person to greet you a good morning at the start of every day before he heads to yilong wharf for work. something that naturally became routine.
apart from that, he absolutely loves returning home to talk with you about any and all he’s heard or experienced on the road for that particular day. or when he’s prepared a new performance for his hobby of wushou dancing, he wants you to be one of the first ones to see it and hear your instant feedback or high praises—more so the latter.
you on the other hand, always find his cheerful demeanor and glint of excitement that appears in his eyes each time he talks to be quite endearing. and while for the most part, gaming is usually the one talking the most between you two, you’re more than content with just listening to his musings.
seeing a disheartened man chai, you give the small creature a reassuring pat on the head, offering him a piece of food from your own plate.
“there! a fed man chai is a happy man chai!” you cheer, watching him happily eat away at the food as gaming sighs with a small frown.
now in an attempt to appease an envious gaming, you slowly lean over and plant a small unexpected kiss on his cheek that catches him off guard.
“happy now too?” you ask with a soft smile.
all he could conjure up in that moment was but a small nod. however, seeing the way his cheeks slightly reddened and the way his eyes struggled to meet yours was enough to tell you he was more than satisfied with your actions.
as if sensing his pet’s antics from a mile away, gaming instantly moves to shield you, having no desire to share any more of your attention with anyone else.
“don’t even think about it man chai!”
sigh, what ever shall you do with him.
end note: im on a streak rn of doing these late night writing sessions fr…and it’s lowkey not okay for my already sleep deprived self. BUT TBF i wanted to post something for valentines day which is now today even if it’s not entirely related to the holiday itself. i for one took this opportunity to write a little something for my son gaming :3
i absolutely LOVE his character and his story that played out during the lantern rite because as someone who had almost the exact same experience…that hit close to home. hopefully his character here isn’t too ooc and if it is well…sue me /j
#[ ✎ᝰ ] :: mae’s writing#genshin impact#genshin oneshots#genshin writing#genshin x reader#genshin gaming#gaming x reader#gaming x you#ga ming#ga ming x reader#i got no clue what this dude’s tags are </3
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- part (3/?)
#horizon zero dawn#hzd#hzd aloy#hzd photomode#hzd scenery#meridian#what’s your favourite HZD settlement??#as you can probably tell#mine is Meridian because it looks impressive
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I paid $5 to access séamus malekafzali’s latest substack on palestine, here’s the full text,
It is easy to be lulled into a state of complacency, even with military occupation.
Israel’s occupation of Palestine has gone on longer than many of us on Earth have been alive, now going on 75 years. The levels of that deplacement, blockading, and violence have ebbed and flowed over years and decades, but that hand around the neck has always remained, even if how much it constricts has a tendency to loosen and tighten. Over 200 Palestinians have been killed by Israel this year in its occupation. News bulletins of them dying, oftentimes teenagers, come up through the headlines of Palestinian newspapers and channels as often as the weather. These deaths at the hands of Israeli security personnel are not isolated incidents, with soldiers materializing on roadsides and at checkpoints as unfortunate coincidence. They are constant spikes in the waveform of an incessant low-grade hum of humiliation, imprisonment, and destruction that has made daily life a forced agreement to constantly exist on the precipice of death.
This framing is not meant to be a tired retread of the conflict between Israel and Palestine or the nature of the Israeli occupation. This is meant to be a bulwark against the inevitable framing of this latest battle unfolding around Gaza, as it will appear in the Western media in the days to come.
There is a tendency, a deep-set one, to report Israel and Palestine as two countries that are on roughly the same playing field internationally, as you might report on a war that might involve Israel battling against a place like Jordan or Egypt. This kind of coverage obscures how deeply interlocked Israel’s military operations are with the fabric of the Palestinian society.
In the West Bank, settlements and checkpoints have made Palestinian land into a kind of comical archipelago, where in addition to being separated from Gaza by a huge land border, they are also separated from traveling to communities only a stone’s throw away from them without going through significant anguish. In Gaza, while no Israeli soldiers walk the streets, all their land borders are essentially sealed, their ports almost completely blockaded. Israel’s continued occupation has been so pinpoint and precise that its planes have gone as far as bombing bookstores, and its restrictions did not let up even when the COVID-19 pandemic reduced one health organization to carrying only as many tests of the deadly disease as could fit in a car.
This is not a matter of moral justification; one does not need to constantly busy themselves with having to make a full ideological conversion before understanding this. This is a matter of cause and effect.
What is the logical expectation, regardless of politics, ideology, culture, and creed, when a population of people is thrust into conditions that can only be described as an open-air prison, where every individual is a criminal in the eyes of the military occupying power regardless if they pick up a rifle or not, because there is supposedly always the threat that they will one day?
These are the basic conditions that have preceded the initiation of Operation al-Aqsa Storm this morning. As dawn broke on the morning of October 7, only one day after the 50th anniversary of the Yom Kippur War, Hamas’ military wing, the al-Qassam Brigades, launched a military operation of unprecedented scope in its history. Hamas fighters would not only attempt to enter Israeli territory proper with ground troops, already in of itself an intensely bold action (though not without precedent in the past decade). This operation would be a combined incursion into Israel by both land, sea, and even air. Ground forces would cut the border fence into settlements surrounding Gaza, speedboats would make landings in southern Israel, and fighters from a newly-inaugurated paraglider division would fly over the border fortifications and then further inland.
Threats of an invasion of Israeli territory proper have been a staple of speeches from Hamas and Hezbollah and groups like it for years. There was a long-standing perception by outside observers that it was fanciful. An intentionally lofty piece of propaganda that fires up supporters while the real military wheeling and dealing is done under far more subtle and controlled terms, as with most militant organizations. After all, no Israeli-administered town, the ones occupied in Palestine during the initial 1948 war, had ever been taken in any war against the Jewish state since its creation, even by a combined force of multiple Arab national militaries.
That notion now can no longer exist.
At sunrise, Hamas fired a gigantic barrage of rockets into Israeli territory, a staggering 5,000 in the first wave alone. As Israeli military and police forces were distracted by fires and rocket destruction in residential areas of the country, Palestinian forces in Gaza proceeded to make their primary move.
After the sun rose, Hamas cut through the border fence surrounding Israel and sent both fighters on foot and on motorcycles into Israel. Images released by the group seem to tell a story in frozen figures. Israeli soldiers, strewn dead, caught by surprise, one having even rushed out so quickly that he put on his military gear but no other clothes except his underwear. An even grimmer story could be found in one of the IDF military dormitories, where an entire room full of soldiers had been massacred, only having perhaps seconds earlier gotten the alarm that Hamas had breached the perimeter, many of them seemingly mid-way through getting out of bed.
From there, Hamas made unprecedented move after unprecedented move. Hamas fighters moved as far north into Zikim, built on the former Palestinian village of Hiribya, and moved as far east as Ofakim, built on the former hamlet of Khirbat Futais. The Erez Crossing, for years the only legal border crossing that Israel operated with the Gaza Strip, came under full Palestinian control. Sderot, a city where Israelis had once gathered on couches dragged to high peaks to watch the bombardment of Palestinians, now found themselves facing down Palestinian fighters in their own streets.
An additional shock would come in Israel’s initial response. Amidst cataclysmic scenes like hundreds of ravers in the desert near Gaza fleeing on foot, neither the Israeli president nor the prime minister spoke in those early hours in the morning.
The Israeli high command, despite the continuous insistence of Palestinian factions that they would one day attempt to take the fight into Israel itself, had become complacent. They, like many observers of Israel-Palestine, believed the occupation they had constructed could go on forever, unburdened by the need to adapt. Israeli soldiers after all were now more used to sniping reporters and unarmed protesters than engaging in military conflict. Entropy was what was propelling the military occupation complex of the Jewish state, not a wholly active effort.
Despite an ungodly amount of Western military equipment, highly advanced anti-aircraft systems programmed to shoot down thousands of rockets, an international reputation for tenacity and strategic knowhow, and multiple victories against Arab nations again and again and again, all of it ended up being useless against a Hamas fighter flying in on a box fan and a parachute.
This failure is two-fold, and both are closely related. One is the expectation that things could go on as before without addressing the root of the issue (that being a military occupation of an entire state), and the other in expectation that those being occupied had no capacity to learn from experience how Israel’s military strategy operates, people who could then going on to capitalize on that knowledge.
There is a fundamental flaw in the perception of Western powers toward the Middle East in general and Arabs in particular that because the groups fighting with Israel or the United States are irregular, bereft of highly professional uniforms and dedicated gigantic military headquarters, that they do not have the same ability to strategize and to confront the forces that are occupying their countries. Flashes of how faulty this thinking is rear their head again and again, from Iraq to Afghanistan and everywhere in-between and around, but still the idea, unspoken as it may be, remains that they are fundamentally unequipped compared to the might they are fighting against. But Hamas has military strategists of its own, ones that understand the asymmetric situation they are dealing with, and ones that understand what the actual capabilities of Israel are, versus what their perception is.
The perception of Israel’s invulnerability versus what has actually been displayed today could not have been more different. Instead of being forced to immediately pull back, in essence making today a raid, Hamas has instead actually contested several Israeli settlements, which are still being fought over at time of this writing many hours after the initial incursion from Gaza began. A single Israeli soldier captured and held in Gaza used to capture the Israeli imagination for years; now there are believed to be not only tens of soldiers captured by Hamas, but tens of Israeli civilians as well, all now being held within the Strip. Hamas has also brought Israeli military vehicles back into the Strip, the novelty of working IDF equipment now under Palestinian control a source of celebration within the territory. Over 100 Israelis are believed to have been killed in the first day of Hamas’ attack, and nearly 1000 injured, a shocking early casualty count in an ongoing conflict where casualties on the Palestinians’ side are usually far more lopsided.
Israel’s response so far to Hamas’ operation has been to escalate rhetorically, with Netanyahu now calling this a war, and escalating its usual military strategy with Gaza, with carpet bombing now on an intense, concentrated scale. At the time of this writing, almost 200 Palestinians have been killed in Gaza in only a few hours, with that number expected to rise significantly in the days to come. Already, news has come in of Israeli planes having leveled Gaza’s second-largest building, the Palestine Tower, which housed a plethora of media offices, in scenes reminiscent of Israel’s bombing of another tower block of media offices in 2021 that infamously took out the local bureau of the Associated Press.
As fighting continues into the night in ways never seen before since 1948, the question remains: after all these decades, why now?
The ostensible justifications of what the clincher was that sparked this operation are innumerable, but two appear to be most clearly illuminated: the recent increased activity of far-right Zionists at the al-Aqsa Mosque in occupied East Jerusalem (hence the name of the operation itself), but just as well the indications that the Saudi Arabia and Israel may be close to a normalization deal, which would be the largest such development in the Abraham Accords yet. Hezbollah mentioned this operation as being a “message” and a “decisive response” to Arab nations pursuing the idea of normalization with Israel. Still, it is important to recognize that pinning the undertaking of a completely gigantic operation of this scale as just a simple message to Saudi Arabia would be reductive. As the Los Angeles Times’ international correspondent Nabih Bulos says of the matter:
“To pretend that Hamas did this to be a spoiler of KSA-Israel normalization is just downright epic in its navel-gazing nonsense.”
What is important to always return to is that eternally governing line above everything: the low hum of constant occupation, and who has been causing its spikes. Israel’s government, its most far-right in its history, has been on the warpath almost immediately from its inauguration, with figures like Itamar Ben-Gvir and Bezalel Smotrich, now thrust to the forefront, doing everything large and small to provoke a Palestinian response. The hope is that the inevitable Palestinian response can mobilize the Israeli society, that it can be swiftly defeated by the Israeli military, and that the Israeli state can use such an opportunity to impose its sovereignty over what little of Palestine governed by Palestinians remains, and perhaps even what lies beyond it.
But that formula relies on the Palestinian side only accepting being provoked, themselves having no strategy of their own outside of firing rockets and yelling on television. Military occupation breeds a feeling of annihilation, but that annihilation is enclosed with it inevitable feelings of rabid and desperate hope, inspiring within irregular groups desires to try things never tried before. These are not always guaranteed to be successful: one may look at Aleppo when rebel groups managed to come together and break the siege on the city in the final stages of the battle, only for it to fall in the months to come anyway. Nevertheless, there is a real perception within Israel, communicated out to the world by its media and by its intelligentsia, that it is a nation on the verge of internal collapse, brought to the precipice by far-right forces it has let fester for decades without envisioning its eventual conclusion.
What does looking at how Israel is faring now communicate to Palestinian factions in Gaza? What do young people in Gaza, who make up 47% of the Strip’s population, imagine might lie ahead for them as they see these events unfold? What does a Hamas fighter imagine might be possible when, as the writer Josef Burton says, he exits a 25 by 7-mile space he’s never left in his entire life?
#reading#palestine#from the river to the sea 💗#I’ve debated caving and giving séamus my money many times before and today was like well. okay 👍🏻
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“Just One Good Thing”
summary | it’s hard to love someone who is broken, and even harder when two broken people love so deeply it hurts. (art credits: @/pastahands on twitter).
warnings | not proofread/vent writing, scaramouche lore spoilers, brief graphic depiction of death, illness, loss, profanity, TW heavy mental health topics, self-hatred, dissociation, depression, suicidal thoughts/ideation, graphic description of self-harm wounds, fear of abandonment, guilt, reader is hospitalized
genre | angst, hurt, comfort
word count | 2.5k
pairing | wanderer x reader
✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧
This was not the first time the puppet experienced betrayal.
How could you have known? It was long before you came into existence, hundreds of years of anguish buried in layers upon layers beneath his artificial constitution. He had once been but an innocent, naive babe with the world sparkling in the reflection of his violet eyes, meant for something greater. He had once fulfilled a purpose.
To be brought into the world against your will, crafted from the divine hand of a grieving Archon, only to have every semblance of your being ripped from you and cast aside in the name of so-called mercy—is a fate akin to death itself.
You never knew his past.
How he was once an eccentric named Kabukimono who wandered from Shakkei Pavilion and made friends with the blade smiths of Tatarasuna. His first taste of human life was amid a blazing furnace and the clamoring of a hammer onto hot metal, learning what it meant to labor and create. He had grown to love the little village as his own, playing with the children and sipping on the bitter taste of tea leaves with his comrades.
The puppet who had called himself Kabukimono was painfully ignorant to the cruelty of fate.
He could have never fathomed the day he would hold the future of his village in his trembling, pale hands as the toxic Tatarigami fumes envelope him in chemicals. There he climbed deep inside the Mikage Furnace, the unique resilience of his artificial body left unharmed by the inhospitable temperatures glowing hot against his divine skin. Any normal human would’ve perished a thousand times over.
Inside the foreign device that promised to save his home lay the bloody, withering heart cut fresh from his closest companion’s chest.
“You are a human, Kabukimono,” Niwa had insisted with a soft smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, a comforting hand resting on the eccentric’s shoulder. “You just don’t have a heart.”
Yet there the puppet stood, his voice robbed from his aching throat, cradling the very essence of his friend’s humanity in his palm.
It was his fault. What a foolish creature he was to ever involve himself with humans, whom he could only bring suffering. His tears were evaporated instantly as the grotesque realization dawned on the distraught young Kabukimono. He would later discover that he had been betrayed by a man who introduced himself as Escher but was known among the Fatui as The Doctor.
The dirty pads of his bare feet had thumped through the rocky village path and down the dirt roads leading to the outskirts of the rural Inazuman wilderness. Crows rustled in the trees and flapped their feathers into the sky, jeering at the desolate and abandoned settlement.
The village should have been evacuated. All who could have been saved were rushed as far away as possible from the poisonous Tatarigami. Rows upon rows of homes and businesses were eerily vacant. Kabukimono, in his watery hysterics, had not paid any mind to his surroundings, leaving behind the only home he ever had for good.
That is, until he stumbled across a young boy who lived under an old sakura tree. Kabukimono immediately felt the void in his chest wrench with visceral guilt upon learning that the child’s parents were crafts-people. The house was utterly empty except for the lonely little boy.
For as much as the puppet wanted nothing more than to rid himself of human companionship, he felt responsible for the loss of the boy’s parents. He had an obligation to see that he was taken care of and safe from the Tatarigami. If he could not have saved his friends, perhaps he could atone for his sins in raising the orphaned child—who reminded him too much of himself.
“Promise me,” Kabukimono spoke up with a bit of a hoarse tone, his voice cracking with emotion, extending a shaky hand to the young boy. “That we can be family. I will watch over you.”
“Like a big brother?” asked the innocent boy with a hopeful smile. He wouldn’t have to be alone anymore, taking the eccentric’s hand in his own. “I’ve always wanted one… I promise, we will be family.”
For a short while, the puppet had learned to push the turmoil plaguing his conscience to the back of his mind. His focus had shifted entirely to ensuring the boy’s safety and happiness, trying to scavenge food for him and exchanging stories under the moonlight. Although, Kabukimono flinched with each cough from the boy that shattered the silence between them as they went to sleep.
He hated that he recognized the symptoms. The residue of the Tatarigami had somehow infected the child, no doubt. A dreadful thought occurred to him—perhaps he had given the sickness to the orphaned child after what happened at the Mikage Furnace. The idea was enough to eat him alive with worry. Kabukimono had secretly prayed that the boy would endure the illness.
The puppet had worked tirelessly to give him the best he possibly could. If his coughs were dry, he would fetch him water. If his stomach rumbled, he would prepare some Lavender Melons. If he needed a friend, Kabukimono would be there to hold his hand as he slept like a guardian angel.
The day the elderly sakura tree shed its pretty pink blossoms was the day the boy was found unresponsive.
Kabukimono, too, found himself hollow and devoid. What did it mean to be family? What did it mean to love? What was the point of having such worthless emotions?
A blazing inferno consumed the darkness of the night sky. Crackling embers swirled and smoke bellowed in the rural countryside as a rickety house succumbed to a hellish fate. No one was there to witness the flaming spectacle. No one to help, or save the vacant violet eyes of a nameless puppet who clutched a small doll in his lap.
It was laughable, truly, how sick and twisted the world could be. The puppet couldn’t fulfill his creator’s wishes, nor could he befriend humanity, or have a heart of his own. Oh, to perish in a fiery death would be far too simple for Celestia’s liking, wouldn’t it?
For five hundred years, Kabukimono, Kunikuzushi, Scaramouche—no matter who he became—the feeling of inadequacy remained.
His divinely-created body was an immortal prison, shackling him to his sins. As a Fatui Harbinger, no needle, blade, or poison of the Doctor could kill him. No enemy or magic of the Abyss could ultimately break him. The puppet was built to withstand the likes of the Cataclysm that had taken his creator’s sister, yet the scars of these experiments litter his fair skin are a reminder that he is indeed alive.
Wanderer vividly remembers his dark fascination with testing his limits in the depths of his dissociation. Anything to serve as penance for the irreversible destruction he had inflicted upon his friends, his family, and his home. If he was lucky, perhaps the Doctor would find a way to end his misery or the maddening darkness of the Abyss would swallow him whole once and for all.
Even forsaking his autonomy and identity as Scaramouche to ascend to godhood would be a fitting death for the puppet. After all, the Everlasting Lord of Arcane Wisdom would never bow to his emotions like a weakling. Losing himself to infinite knowledge and truth would be a good ending, despite the insanity that would befall him.
All that mattered is he would cease to exist.
But it was you who defeated him, in all his might and glory as a fake Archon pumped full of divine wisdom and the sludgy remains of dead gods. It was you who found him after he tried to erase every part of his worthless being from Irminsul, and helped him pick up the pieces of himself in the aftermath.
The reality that lies within Irminsul had given him a new perspective as the Wanderer. Though he retained the poignant memories of his sins, Wanderer made sure to carve a special space in the void of his artificial body just for you. His savior.
Not a single one of those instances—absolutely fucking none of them—could ever compare to the morbid and desperate pit of despair that ravages Wanderer at the sight of your fragile body curled up in a white hospital gown. You are hooked up to a myriad of monitors and machines, wires and tubes tangling your frame like chains. The distant beep of the electrocardiogram is burned into Wanderer’s mind.
It’s your heartbeat, and the very reason for his continued existence. You had been reduced to small blip on a computer screen.
The hospital room was otherwise silent. The windows had the blinds slightly drawn, a cool ray of moonlight washing over Wanderer’s disheveled indigo hair from behind. Even if you were unconscious, Wanderer had wanted to tuck you in for the night, but he was terrified of hurting you. The fluorescent white light above your bed was off, bathing you both in warm darkness.
In the late hours, all Wanderer could do was stare at you with eyes reddened from crying, his crimson eyeliner smudged at the edge of lashes. He would occasionally lick his dry lips, which were chapped and peeling. The sting of the dead skin on his lips being tugged between his teeth was a momentary release from the overwhelming anxiety dwelling within.
His thin fingers are intertwined with yours on the hospital bed, one of the few ways the puppet can keep himself grounded in this moment. Every once in awhile, he’ll give your hand a gentle squeeze followed by a few broken wishes for you to open your eyes again. To see the life in you and hear your sweet voice again.
Sometimes it would get to be too much. Wanderer would raise your hand and kiss your knuckles with hot, salty tears pricking at his eyes. The stinging sensation would force his eyelids closed, sorrow streaming down his stained cheeks. He was sure that this was a result of his own shortcomings.
Your arms are wrapped in bandages with a few stitches here and there lying underneath. A deathly pale color flushed your beautiful face. And oh, Archons, those eyes of yours he had always adored endlessly were sunken darkly into your face, hidden in your slumber. His gaze drifted to your lips, still full and pink, perhaps his last vestige of hope as they parted for your sacred breaths.
To imagine you’re suffering as much as he had in his past is utterly unthinkable to Wanderer.
The only difference is your fragile mortality. He knows your pain now, he can see it carved onto your wrists in what must have been a frenzied meltdown.
Some cuts are lighter and faded, meaning this certainly isn’t the first time you hurt yourself. Other gashes in your arm are deeper and swollen, each one weighs on the puppet’s heart greater than the last. He couldn’t count how many times you must have taken that razor to your wrist. Wanderer silently curses himself for letting this happen to you.
“How stupid could I be? Letting her away from me,” he quietly lamented with his head in hands, fingers curling around his indigo locks tightly. “I had just one good thing.”
Rocking himself gently in the chair next to you, Wanderer continuously tugs at his hair to an almost extreme degree, unable to handle the anger, betrayal, and sadness overcoming him. He was practically attached to you at the hip, he should’ve noticed when your voice faltered or when your eyes betrayed your words. He should’ve seen the signs of you slipping through his fingers.
Even if every day wasn’t perfect, even if sometimes you both said hurtful things to each other, neither of you never truly meant it. Wanderer couldn’t bear to imagine not waking up next to you, the morning sunlight kissing your silhouette like an angel. He never thought that he’d find his purpose in you, in the most mundane moments that he cherished so deeply.
He knew you had a history of mental health struggles. So did he. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to give you his everything—fingers entwined and sweat glistening on your bodies as he made you his for the umpteenth time.
The echo of the puppet’s soft sobs dissipates into the emptiness of the hospital room. His whole body is shaking with emotional agony. It’s the first time in centuries that he has allowed himself to feel vulnerable like this. How could he not when the love of his life—the meaning of his existence—had tried to take themselves out of it?
Wanderer finally releases his hair, taking your left hand again and passionately pressing his lips to your bare ring finger as an unspoken promise. You both had worked so hard to love better and be better. He wasn’t about to give you up.
There would never be another you in eternity.
He couldn’t bear the heavy burden on his heart anymore. Carefully, he pulled the thin blanket back and climbed into the hospital bed next to you. His fingers trembled at the contact, feeling your faint warmth. Wanderer gently pulled you close so that your head was safely tucked into his chest and he could rest his chin on your soft hair. He sighed, covering you both in the blanket once more.
Sobs tugged at his chest and his grip on you momentarily tightened. Though tears glistened at the corner of his broken violet eyes, Wanderer blinked them back with a shaky breath. You were in his arms and his world was made whole again.
“I love you, (Y/N),” his voice is gravely and barely audible. “I love you so fucking much… don’t you dare think otherwise.”
The puppet nuzzles his nose into your scalp, breathing in your familiarity like it’s home. He begins to play with your hair gently, combing and caressing your soft strands with his fingertips painted in black.
“You scared the shit out of me, you know…” Wanderer kisses your hair, closing his eyelids for a long moment to memorialize the feeling of your skin on his lips. “But I’m gonna get you out of here, baby. I’m gonna get you help, okay?”
His toned arms keep your body pressed to his, wanting to feel every part of your being entangled with him as it should be. The tickling sensation of your little breaths on his neck brought a small smile to his face because it meant you were sleeping comfortably and most importantly, alive. You were the missing piece in his puzzle, fitting perfectly into place with him.
“It’ll be okay. Everything will be okay,” the puppet whispers to you, hoping you could hear and feel his love in every way, shape, and form possible. His words also served as an assurance to himself because in this moment he felt so helpless, seeing the wounds on your precious skin.
“I won’t let anything hurt you anymore,” Wanderer solemnly vows, his voice slowly but surely trailing off as he succumbs to his exhaustion with you held close to his heart.
“Goodnight, my love.”
thanks for reading! reblogs are appreciated! my masterlist.
#wrote something much darker for a change#been listening to ‘heather’ by ruby haunt💔#[opulent dreams].✿#[dreams of delusion].✿#genshin impact#genshin#genshin impact imagines#genshin imagines#genshin x reader#genshin angst#genshin wanderer#wanderer#wanderer x reader#wanderer angst#genshin scaramouche#scaramouche#scaramouche x reader#scaramouche angst
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horizontober 2023 | 9: cruel
#horizontober2023#horizon zero dawn#hzd#lansra#she popped into my head immediately when i saw this prompt#it was hilarious trying to get this shot tho - i chased her from the spot where they do the lantern ceremony to up here#then tried to get her to stand still - but she always turns to look at you#and my best technique for taking pics inside settlements has been to stand/crouch directly behind npcs and then hide aloy in photomode#but she *wouldn't stop turning to look at me!*#and if so much as one braid on aloy's head touched her she'd walk away and i'd have to start over lol#hzd npcs#chromatichorizon
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Watching, Wanting
A/N: Hello! (its been awhile) I just wanted to indulge in my love for Boromir (ft some faramir bc i love my brothers). Very vague plot if you squint. It's a bit spicy, but nothing explicit!
Reader gets sent out in a storm by Faramir and turns up at Minas Tirith soaked.
Boromir x Reader
Gender-neutral reader
Rated: TEEN
2.3k words
---
The low hills of Emyn Arnen at your feet gave way to soft fields and in the distance the Anduin meandered through the landscape. There were dark clouds on the horizon, grey and heavy, and the faint earthy scent of coming rain was in the air. If you rode fast, you could make it to the city in a few hours, but judging by the clouds, you would be riding right into the storm anyway. You sighed and turned to Faramir. “Are you certain this is of such vital importance that I have to risk getting soaked to the bone?”
He nodded. “My brother requires these maps. I would have sent it with the trade carts this morning but it slipped my mind.”
“Rather uncharacteristic of you,” you muttered, raising your eyebrows at him.
He shrugged, an easy smile on his face. “My mind has been occupied of late. It is no easy feat, establishing a settlement.”
You softened at his words. Eowyn and Faramir had been working from dawn to dusk the past few weeks and the spring rains had been slowing construction and delaying the new workers and settlers journeying to Emyn Arnen.
“Very well.” You tucked the long, flat wooden box into your pack and buckled the waxed canvas securely. “I’ll be off now.”
“Safe travels, my friend,” he grinned and waved.
You swung onto your horse and, with a flick of the reins, started off down the road. As the grass and trees sped by, your thoughts drifted to Boromir.
You had become friends with Faramir first and, in the months Boromir had been away from Minas Tirith, you had helped coordinate the Ithilien Rangers from the city. Boromir had been civil to you when he returned, respectful of your battle and logistical strategies, but distant outside of the war rooms and planning councils. But something shifted one evening.
It was one of the many victory dinners, a smaller, more intimate one for The Fellowship and close companions. The hobbits had pulled you into their game of roughhousing and somehow you had ended up sprawled on top of Boromir. He had been large and solid underneath you, his hands heavy on your waist. You looked up into his grey eyes and your breath caught in your throat.
After that, it seemed as though his eyes were always on you. Across dinner tables, across courtyards, even, once, from across the throne room in full view of everyone.
You thought that with the end of the war, there would be no need for much contact between you and him, that all you would ever do is look, but Faramir had unofficially appointed you as a representative between the city and Emyn Arnen.
There had been so many afternoons spent with Boromir, shoulder to shoulder, pouring over maps and trade routes, so many nights spent eating across from each other in the low light of his private dining room. Yes, he was brave and proud and a fantastic tactician, but all that seemed to vanish when you saw him.
Really saw him.
Him with sleeves rolled up, exposing his strong forearms. His hair tied up, the pale column of his throat on full display. And those training breeches, somehow loose and tight at the same time…
What would he look like sprawled on your bed? Eyes glazed and chest heaving, hair mussed and lips parted. His breath hot in your ear, his voice low and raspy.
Thunder clapped overhead and rain started to fall on your overheated skin. The drops were cool and refreshing and you tipped your face to the sky.
How were you to spend another evening, another moment, in his presence? It was maddening, the way his eyes would blaze, the way he would draw close to you but never touch.
Why would he not act? It is true that you did not hold as high a standing as his family, but the brothers never seemed to care about such a thing. Even though that may be true, surely he understood that it was not as if you could do anything — it would be far more impertinent that you, of a lower standing, should be the first to move.
You shook your head and tightened your grip on the reins. You would ride back tonight to Emyn Arnen, even if you had to make the journey in the dark. It would be too much to spend another night near Boromir only separated by a few doors.
-
Boromir rushed down with the panicked servant who had burst into his study. What was his brother thinking? Sending you to Minas Tirith in the storm? He rounded the corner and found you shivering and dripping onto the polished marble. Someone had already taken your cloak and pack and you stood in your soaked clothes and saturated boots, clutching a wooden box. He swallowed at the sight of the fabric clinging to your form and strode towards you.
“Riding in such a storm is madness. What was so urgent it could not wait until morning?” You shoved the box into his hands and he stared at it for a moment before shaking his head. “Come, let us get you warm and dry first.”
He led you to his rooms and sat you down before the fire. “You cannot stay in those clothes,” he said, handing you some towels and a blanket along with some of his spare clothes. “You will catch your death.”
“But, Boromir, it is not proper —”
“I do not care. I would rather some impropriety if the alternative is illness or death.” He turned around and faced the wall. “I will not look until you are sufficiently… dressed.”
For a moment, he thought you were about to protest some more until he heard the slick swish of your clothes. He could imagine you, peeling off your layers, bare skin tinged orange by the fire. Heat crept up his neck to his ears. By the gods, he needed to control himself. He squeezed his eyes shut and drew a ragged breath in.
What sort of delightful torture was this? How many days had he spent beside you, close enough to breathe in your scent? How many nights had he spent staring at his bedroom door, willing you to walk through it?
He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the sound of your wet clothes hitting the floor. He had to be proper. A gentleman. A man of honour. He had to be mindful of his position and standing. Yes, his brother had appointed you various titles and responsibilities, but whatever they were, they were still ranked below his own title of Captain of Gondor.
He had heard too many stories of people being swayed and persuaded by the nobility — he would not allow you to feel obligated to reciprocate his own selfish desires simply because he was ranked higher than you were.
There was the rustle of cloth, the whisper of cotton on skin, and he fought the images of you donning his clothes. Oh, how will he ever wear that tunic ever again and not think of you?
You were wonderful and smart and were filled with endless ideas for new laws and trade. But in his quiet moments, he wondered what you would feel like under his touch, wondered what sort of sounds you would make.
How would you say his name? In a whisper? A gasp?
In a cry of pleasure?
He spied the wooden box you had brought with you on the side table and shook his head. Damn Faramir for putting him in such a position! What could possibly be so important?
“I, um — I’m just going to look at what my brother sent. Do not be alarmed by my movement,” he said and heard you hum in assent.
With slow, measured steps, he made his way to the box and opened it.
“Faramir said you needed maps,” you muttered behind him.
There were maps indeed, but they were just the regular sort that anyone could buy at the market cartographer. He frowned, rifling through the parchment, and pulled out the envelope tucked in between the papers.
Brother,
Forgive my deception, but I hope my interference will be forgiven. Aragorn has written to me saying he is on the verge of tearing his hair out at the sight of you two. Eowyn and I are not faring much better here in Emyn Arnen with the constant pacing and faraway looks my, our, friend has whenever they return from the city.
I pray you spare all of us any more heated longing stares.
Best of luck,
Faramir
The nerve of his brother! To send you out in the storm simply for the purposes of… of… matchmaking! The paper crinkled in his grip and his eyes wandered down to the scrawl at the bottom.
P.S. I am not so foolish as to send them out in anything threatening. Spring storms may be chilly, but hardly dangerous.
That mollified him little and he grumbled.
“Is anything the matter?” you asked. “Were they damaged in the rain?”
“No, not at all. It is nothing. Simply my brother being… my brother.”
He read the letter again. Pacing… faraway looks… heated stares… Was his brother implying…? No, that could not be, could it? But, then again, perhaps he did not imagine the way you would linger in the sitting room after dinner or how he would feel your eyes on him sometimes. Your expression was always unreadable, careful and controlled, that he could hardly be sure of what you felt for him. If you felt anything at all.
And yet, Faramir’s letter…
Your bare feet shuffled on the stone. “You may turn around if you wish.”
He folded the letter away and replaced it along with the maps into the box. He turned and his stomach clenched at the sight of you.
You were bathed in the warm light of the fire, your skin aglow, incandescent in the dim light. His tunic was loose on you and the front ties of the collar were undone, revealing the skin of your chest. His eyes wandered down to the pile of wet clothes on the floor and he spotted, what were unmistakably, underthings, heaped on top.
Heat flared low in his belly and he glanced away.
You. Naked under his clothes. Valar help him.
-
Boromir had that look in his eyes again, all aflame and intense, except he was directing it at one of the tapestries on the wall. You glanced down at the wet clothes at your feet. Well, he could not have reasonably expected you to keep your underthings on, could he?
He was still staring at the wall. His jaw was tense and his hands were clenched by his sides. You took a step forward and he stood straighter. His eyes cut to yours for a moment, smoldering with want, before they went back to the wall. He took a shuddering breath and you took another step.
Perhaps if you couldn’t act, you could make him act first instead.
You fought a smile and walked to stand before him. You could smell him fully then, his familiar musk mingling with cedar from the scent he favoured.
“Boromir,” you whispered.
His eyes snapped to you and he swallowed.
“Boromir.”
You tipped your head to the side and parted your lips.
“Boromir.”
He crashed his lips against yours, his hands coming up to cradle your face. He deepened the kiss, his chest rumbling in a low moan when your fingers curled into his shirt. He tasted like the bitter tea he favoured after dinner. His hand drifted down, skimming your waist before coming to rest on your hip. Your nails scraped at the nape of his neck and he groaned.
His body was warm, hot even. He pressed himself closer to you and you could feel him, hard, against you. Heat pooled in your stomach and you moaned his name. His hand slipped under the hem of your shirt and he pulled back for a moment. “Is this alright?”
You nodded and tipped your head back. “Don’t stop.”
“I’ve… wanted this… for weeks,” he said, kisses drifting towards your jaw. The delightful scratch of his beard was followed by soft, warm lips as he worked his way down your neck. “Wanted you.”
“You should have done something.”
He smiled against your skin. “I’m doing something now.”
His lips paused at the curve of your neck and shoulder, sucking for a moment, as his hand slid up your side, his touch gentle but demanding. Your fingers fumbled with the ties on his tunic and tugged on the fabric. He pulled it off and tossed it to the side and he stood flushed and grinning before you. You trailed your fingers down his solid chest, past his stomach, following the light dusting of hair down.
“Maddening man, you —”
There was a knock on the door and you yelped, startling away from him.
“Who is it?” he asked, voice low and rough. He cleared his throat. “What is the matter?”
“Should we prepare a hot bath for your friend in the spare room?” The servant’s voice was muffled through the door.
His eyes darted to yours before a smirk spread across his face. “There is no need for that, thank you.”
There was the sound of retreating footsteps and you exhaled. Boromir let out a relieved chuckle and pulled you towards him.
“Sending my warm bath away?” You threw a challenging look at him. “How ever will I get warm?”
“I can think of a great many ways.”
“Will I like any of them?”
“I think you will find that you’ll like all of them.”
He dipped his head, capturing your lips, and tugged you in the direction of his bedroom.
---
I never realised just how quick things can head into a mature rating until I wrote this lmao. Not sure if I will ever write smut but well ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (maybe)
Tags: @sotwk @ass-deep-in-demons @thetempleofthemasaigoddess @hippodameia
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In the mood for...
Apr 19th
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1. Hi, I'm looking for fics where WWX is drunk/high and LZ noncons him @thehappyyellow
the sweetest dream would never do by honeyandviscera (E, 2k, WangXian, Modern AU, Dark LWJ, Somnophilia, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Body Worship, Breaking and Entering, Drugged Sex, Stalking, Come Eating, Unreliable Narrator, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat)
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2. Hey, hope you guys are well. For itmf, any opwwx! recs? Preferably completed please. Thank you for your time!! @tinyfoxpeach
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3. Helloooo Just came here jajsjs I'm desperate, lately I was thinking about some caveman! Or prehistoric ice age wangxian but I could not find something like that :( any rec? (Tysm for this page)
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4. more fics like lwj's big dick agenda? or just fics lwj being possessive. thanksss!
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5. Love your blog!!!!thank you for the hardwork!
Would love some disabled/chronic health issues wei wuxian pretty please 💖💖
🔒 the thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break by RoseThorne (E, 91k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Soulmates, Self-Esteem Issues, Fix-It, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, PTSD, Handfasting, Panic Attacks, Getting Together, First Time, Aftercare, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, /Referenced Torture, Scars, Chronic Pain, Golden Core Reveal, First Time, Switching, sex-related injury, LWJ Stays at the Burial Mounds, LSZ is a Wèi, Good Sibling JC, Dissociation, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Disability, Scheming NHS, Disabled Character)
🔒 a star called sun by thelastdboy (E, 120k, wangxian, SL/XXC, JC & JYL & WWX, JYL & LWJ, WWX & WN & WQ, JYL/JZX, Canon Divergence after Xuanwu Cave, Fall of Lotus Pier, But worse!, Power Imbalance, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Not Everyone Dies AU, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Canon-Typical Violence, Sunshot Campaign, Miscommunication, Heavy Angst with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Major Character Injury, Loss of Limbs, Chronic Illness, Seizures, WWX’s Three Months in the Burial Mounds, Wēn Remnants Live, Wēn Remnants Deserve Better, WWX Creates a Sect | Yílíng Wèi Sect, Additional Warnings In Author’s Note, Hurt/Comfort, Selectively Mute LWJ, Service Animals, Crows)
The Darkness Before Dawn by PsycheStellata707 (M, 113k, wangxian, Angst with a Happy Ending, Time Travel Fix-It, Canon Divergence, BAMF WWX, Attempt at Humor, PTSD, Oblivious WWX, WWX-centric, Blind WWX, Sentient Burial Mounds, Everyone Lives AU, Except Those Who Deserves to Die, Oblivious Pining, Not Canon Compliant, WIP)
🧡 the river brought you here by chilianxianzi (Not Rated, 11k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, POV Outsider, Amnesia, Past abuse, Strangulation, Found Family)
please don’t let me be misunderstood by sysrae (T, 3k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, getting hit by cars, Past Child Abuse)
some foolish thing I've done by sysrae (M, 4k, wangxian, Modern, College/University, partial hearing loss, Past Child Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, the real OTP is everyone x therapy)
🔒 how to make your dad fall in love with your high school teacher in five steps; the complete and bulletproof guide by ravenditefairylights (T, 90k, wangxian, modern, coffee shop au, nonbinary LSZ, hurt/comfort, trauma, past abuse, past domestic violence, healing, hurt WWX, found family, hospitalization, therapy, single parent WWX, pining, teacher LWJ, unreliable narrator, chronic pain, queer platonic relationship, genderfluid WWX, autistic LWJ, fluff & angst)
🔒 some things go forward by everythingispoetry (T, 73k, WangXian, Modern AU, Hospitals, Teenage Drama, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Happy Ending)
Cure by Yukirin_Snow (M, 100k, WangXian, XiCheng, XuanLi, Modern AU, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Character, Cancer, Medical Procedures, Medical Jargon, Romance, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Love at First Sight, possible trigger warnings) Wwx has cancer, happy ending. It's a really good fic. I love it.
Rest is Resolution series by MarbleGlove (T, 32k, JC & WWX, JYL/JZX, JZX & JGS, LQR & LWJ, wangxian, Fix-It, Post-Sunshot Campaign, this might be crack, Niè Cultivation, BAMF NHS, BAMF JYL, Canon Divergence, Madam Lan Backstory, Getting Together), but especially the first one, Elder, an Aesthetic It's WWX without his golden core leaning into needing assistance
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6. Hiii! For the next itmf, I’m wondering if anyone has read fics inspired on creative reality shows? I’d love to read about wangxian having to team up for something like baking impossible or blown away. I hope y’all are having a great day, thanks!
❤️ Knight Hunt! Phoenix Mountain by travelingneuritis (E, 51k, wangxian, modern, dating show, Modern Cultivation, but in the silliest way possible, Reality TV, the juniors are interns, Smut, Illustrations, low-stakes pining)
Wangxian Strictly AU Series by Selenay (E, 135k, WangXian, Modern: No Powers, Dance, Strictly Come Dancing Fusion, Ballroom Dancing, Dancer!WWX, Violinist LWJ, Pining While Dancing, Oblivious WWX, Gratuitous Costume Descriptions, Gratuitous dancing descriptions, Slow Burn, Ballroom dancing, Established Relationship, Romantic Fluff, [Podfic] Falling to the Rhythm by semperfiona_podfic (semperfiona))
Previously, on LEGO Masters by trippednfell (M, 55k, wangxian, Reality TV Show Contestants/Judges, Modern, Mutual Pining, Forced to compete together, strangers to reality show contestants to lovers, there's only one bed, Platonic Cuddling, Autistic LWJ, WWX Has ADHD, Grief/Mourning, Wangxian miss their moms, so much pining, More Pining than LEGO in this LEGO fic, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, POV Alternating, Lego Masters AU, Not YZY friendly, Dysfunctional Jiang family dynamics)
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7. Do you by any chance know if there's any fic about the kid playing hanguang-jun role and the kid playing to be the yiling patriarch of that bunch of kids playing to be cultivators? As they have no names idk where to start looking. I'm in the mood for something wholesome 😌 Thanks in advance!
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8. Itm A) miscarriage fics where it causes problems in wx marriage.
B) girl dad wwx
C) cat dad wwx
Please find all of them in >20k or atleast 10 k. Please. Thankyou.
Rise of the Divine Oracle by BlakSalt (T, 291k, WangXian, Boy Love, Hurt/Comfort, Romance)
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9. hi! :3 itmf junior-central fics :) can be any combination of the quartet. ship fics are fine but no sizhui/jin ling pls bc they are cousins in my heart. thanks!! @monstergreentea
🔒 blue flies buzzing by RoseThorne (T, 2k, JL & LJY & OYZZ & LSZ, JC & WWX, wangxian, LSZ & WWX, LSZ & LWJ, LSZ & LXC, Gossip, Rumors, Mentioned Wen Remnants, Sect Leader Yao Bashing, JC & WWX Reconciliation, NHS is a Little Shit, POV LJY, POV Third Person, Threats, Justice, Cultivation Discussion Conferences, LWJ is LSZ’s Parent, LJY Being LJY, Podfic Welcome)
🔒 hills and rivers are waiting by LtLJ (T, 15k, wangxian, Post-Canon, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Domestic Fluff, Family Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, the family that hunts demons together stays together, and doesn't murder each other, Case Fic, BAMF WWX, Mojo's post)
💖A Dramatic Reading by pupeez4eva (Not rated, 5k, wangxian, post-canon, humor, public confessions, curses, getting together)
❤️ Tragedy is Not the End by Hobbsy3 (T, 358k, wangxian, Time Travel, Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Golden Core Reveal, Canon Divergence from Qiongqi Pass, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Yunmeng sibling bonding, good dad wwx, good dad lwj, JZX Lives, JYL Lives, Junior Quartet Dynamics)
Would You Come Home? by s6115 (Not rated, 46k, WangXian, Junior Quartet Centric, Time Travel Fix-It, Canon Divergence, Junior Quartet Dynamics) Might work, though it's a little more Sizhui centric, but it's a very lovely showing of their dynamic in a low stakes setting
❤️ grow by cafecliche (T, 14k, WangXian, Age Regression/De-Aging, Character Study, Post-Canon) link in #12
You Bring the Colour by fuddy_duddy (rainier_day) (G, 12k, wangxian, art school, art restoration)
🔒 Yearning by Sanguis (T, 9k, WangXian, LingYi, Modern AU, Professors, Established Relationship, Married Couple, Bunnies, Pre-Relationship Secrets)
climbing up that coastal shelf by Sour_Idealist (T, 15k, JC & JL & WWX, JC & JL, JC & WWX, JL & LSZ, JL & WWX, Post-Canon, Mutually Unrequited Forgiveness, JC & WWX Reconciliation, Family History, Generational Trauma, Discussion of Canonical Abuse, Awkward Attempts at Communication, mentions of past JC/WQ, Fairy is a good dog)
history by tongzhi (T, 16k, LSZ & WN, JC & LSZ, LSZ & WWX, LSZ & LWJ, LSZ & Wen Remnants, LSZ & Juniors, LSZ & MM, Post-Canon, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hopeful Ending, LSZ gets angry, LSZ and JL refuse to take their family's trauma forward, jiujiu is the best, Character Study, MM abolitionist queen)
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10. itmf any pregxian fics! thank you for your hard work admins :)
Reluctant partner by sacrificial_fawn (G, 31k, wangxian, LXC/JGY, Modern, Mpreg, Family Reunions, bonding over your shared trauma, Reluctant Bonding, Married Life, Supportive LQR, Past Miscarriage, LXC's excessive use of kaomojis, Male Lactation, non-graphic birth, LQR tries to be a good uncle but he doesn’t know how to, Intersex WWX, JGY can hold the baby as a treat, LWJ can have words and verbs as a treat, Slight OOC) very sweet imo, it has a bit of Meng Yao and Wei Wuxian friendship, it's also a teene tiny bit sad
All I Want by Selenay (E, 47k, wangxian, Modern, Mpreg, Post Holiday Romance, Consequences, Reunions, Idiots in Love, wangxian attempt to be sensible adults about it, they are very bad at it, Teacher WWX, Rating earned in later chapters, Handwavey Biology)
Until The End by abCEE (M, 365k, wangxian, canon divergence, communication, established relationship, sunshot campaign, mpreg, canon typical violence, WWX has new golden core, canonical character death, happy ending, fix-it of sorts) He's not pregnant for a large portion of the fic, but it's not an insignificant amount of time.
Impermanence, Transience, Permanence by Best Bepsy (BepsyGray) (E, 39k, wangxian, canon divergence, unplanned pregnancy, mpreg, gore, sunshot campaign, assumed miscarriage, medical procedures, childbirth, golden core reveal) I'd be surprised if you haven't already read this one, but it's one of the few ones of the genre that I like.
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11. Hi!! For itmf, is there any fic where Lan zhan and wei ying personality swapped? It only temporary but the chaos cannot be contained @chibiizzy
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12. hey admins, any fic recs on wei ying getting injured or sick and lan zhan takes care of him or just anyone who gets very worried about him?? thanks <3
🔒🧡 rain falls and soaks into the earth series by RoseThorne (T, 57k, WangXian, WIP, Near Death Experience, Attempt Drowning, Madam Yu Bashing, Recovery, No war AU)
Rotten Work by ShanaStoryteller (Not rated, 63k, wangxian, JL & WWX, post-canon, Protective WWX, Protective JL, POV JL, JC & WWX Reconciliation, eventually, Reluctant Matchmaker JL, this kid is doing his best, Pre-JL/LJY if you squint)
How to Treat Your Injured Yiling Laozu by merakily (T, 3k, wangxian, Chronic Pain, Whump, Love Confessions, Literal Sleeping Together, Burial Mounds, Golden Core Reveal, LWJ has a lot of feelings about WWX being in pain, Hurt WWX)
hunters seeking solid ground by Attila (E, 23k, wangxian, Canon Compliant, discussion of canon character death, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, bed sharing, Getting Together, Yearning, Literal Sleeping Together, Really Excessive Amounts of Hurt/Comfort)
something left to save by androids_fighting93 (E, 57k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, No Bloodbath of Nightless City, JYL Lives, Not Everyone Dies AU, Hurt/Comfort, single dad wwx, Sick Character, Golden Core Reveal, the lightest d/s dynamic if you squint, handjobs, Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Dynamics)
Heart of hearts series by apathyinreverie (M, 40k, wangxian, WIP, Dark LWJ-ish, Not Cultivation World Friendly, Amnesia, WWX gets to be Not Okay after the BM, Recovery, Possessive LWJ, Possessive WWX, Protective LWJ, not nearly as dark as the tags make it sound, Golden Core Reveal, Hurt WWX, Caring, WWX Goes to Gusu, ridiculously self-indulgent, Canon Divergence, Amnesia, some definite manipulation, but not everything is as it seems, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, Domestic WangXian, Fluff, WWX happily atticwifing away, Sunshot Campaign, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ)
❤️ grow by cafecliche (T, 14k, WangXian, Age Regression/De-Aging, Character Study, Post-Canon)
What's Wrong With Him? by GrapefruitSketches (G, 2k, JYL & WWX, JYL & LWJ, JC & WWX & JYL, wangxian, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt WWX, Pining LWJ, POV JYL, Canon Compliant, Oblivious WWX, Unconscious WWX, Concerned JYL, JYL Knows Everything)
let the yoke fall from our shoulders by occultings (microcomets) (G, LSZ & LWJ, LSZ & WWX, wangxian, LWJ & LSZ & WWX, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Character Study, Mentions of Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Gusu Lan Juniors Dynamics, let capricorns cathart agenda, Happy Ending, Family Feels, Established Relationship)
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13. Itmf serious fics. Where wwx has personality like he has in 12 moons n a fortnight, he's so mature there uk. Ik that fic has funny and crack moments too, but it's mostly feels and serenity there, more fics where wwx is like that please?
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14. Hello. Thank you for all the hardwork.
For the next itmf I'm looking for fics whe WWX is not the only one to be resurrected.
Or where he is resurrected in other people bodies (I have seen the fic comp here ).
Thank you once again @anime-trash-parody
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15. itmf,,, a fic where wwx atracts the supernatural, the divine, the eerie,, like he has a connection with the burial mounds or the dead in general, they like him, they are atracted to him; spirits and deities like huli jins or like the fliwer maiden are also atracted to him or interact with him,,, does what im saying even make sense?
Ad Oblivione by Baph, HikariNoHimeWriter (M, 70k, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Temporary Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, POV Multiple, Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Identity Reveal, Golden Core Reveal, Cultivation World Critical, Not JC Friendly, Abusive YZY, Angst with a Happy Ending)
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16. itmf any fics where they actually end up meeting baoshan sanren when going to or while doing the core transfer
Can't Tell Me Nothin by natacup82 (T, 35k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Everybody Lives, Family Feels, Communication, BAMF Women) They don’t meet during the transfer so it might not quite be what u have in mind but she does do something about it.
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17. Would love some genius modern wei wuxian extra if the juniors are involved thank you 💖💖💖💖💖
💖 One Can Keep A Secret (If He Does Not Know It’s There)by H_Belle (T, 5k, wangxian, NHS & WWX, modern w/ cultivation, inventor WWX, secret identity, identity reveal, YLLZ WWX, rogue cultivator WWX, pining LWJ, WWX pov)
living in my memory/living in my mouth by tardigradeschool (T, 32k, wangxian, modern w/ magic, reincarnation, college/university au, hurt/comfort, sharing a bed, light angst, nightmares, epistolary, pining, friends to lovers)
🔒 care by everbrighter (T, 35k, LSZ & WWX, wangxian, modern w/ magic, resurrection, family bonding, getting to know each other, past character death, pining)
🔒 The Second Jade of Lan's late but incendiary sexual awakening by KizuKatana (E, 41k, wangxian, First Time, LWJ's Horny Grip,LWJ does not know what hit him, and yet somehow he still realizes it before WWX, canon wangxian dynamics, college AU, LWJ starts off annoyed at WWXBut quickly discovers both his competency kink and a caretaking kink, Genius WWX)
i really want to know (who are you) by Stratisphyre (M, 19k, wangxian, LQR & WWX, Modern with Magic, Golden Core Reveal, Single Dad WWX, Reasonable Authority Figure LQR, Allusions to violence and murder, Hospitalization)
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If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***
#wangxian#mdzs#wangxian fic recs#i'm in the mood for a fic#the untamed#wangxian fic search#wangxianficfinder#long post
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