#chaos versus order

[kyndaris]

Chains of Oppression

By the time this blog post goes up, the US election will be done and dusted. The votes will have been tallied and we will know if the last great bastion for Western democracy will have fallen for the lies of a burgeoning billionaire autocrat or if the people will have chosen to forge a new path forward with Kamala Harris at the helm. Should it be the former, there will be many who fear the implementation of the so called Project 2025, which already looks like a page out of the communist playbook (when it comes to China and the USSR), and is certainly a manifesto for any would be dictator.

In Atlas Fallen: Reign of Sand, you play as one of the Unnamed - a lowly slave of the highly religious totalitarian regime that dominates the world of Atlas. Like manty before it, at least in the real world, there is a hierarchy. At the top sits Thelos, the God of the world, with the Enlightened - religious zealots (and who have the most power) sitting just below. Then come the nobles, the merchants, the farmers and finally the Unnamed. And much like the slaves of yesteryear, the Unnamed are considered disposable tools that none would care for if they were killed.

One day, as part of an Essence caravan, two of your fellow Unnamed go missing. Fearing for their lives, you volunteer to head out of camp to search for them. Despite the threats of wraiths in the area. These wraiths, it should be known, are creatures born out of sand and utterly vicious. They are also a means for Thelos to control the movement of humans in his rigid order based society.

It isn't long, however, before your character stumbles upon a powerful gauntlet. It bonds with you, granting the playable character the ability to double jump, dash through the air and summon forth sand weapons to do battle.

As the Gauntlet Bearer, the player character rises to become the saviour of the oppressed and downtrodden. Along the way, they also uncover the secrets of the artefact they now wield, as well as come to learn more about the mysterious entity tied to it: Nyaal.

From a story perspective, Atlas Fallen retreads old familiar ground with its focus on the dichotomy between order and chaos. Thelos, with his panopticon-esque Watcher floating in the background, represents order. Nyaal, on the other hand, represents chaos and freewill. Much like Assassin's Creed and many other games that have explored similar themes, the playable character must throw off the chains suppressing humanity. To do this, they must target the ones in power with the help of a handful of allies. In this case, it is the 1000 Year Queen, so named after becoming Thelos' puppet in ruling the humans. Throw in some God-slaying and you have Atlas Fallen in a nutshell.

What I liked about the Reign of Sand downloadable content (which was free), is that it added additional context to the world of Atlas. While Thelos is still the antagonist of the series, through the trek through the Forgotten Realms in Source, we also learn Nyaal also had a hand in shaping the Atlas we encounter - including providing humans with Essence stones and the creation of the Wraiths. And though Nyaal only wished the best for the fledgling human race, they were also blind to ramifications of their actions. Something in which they must reckon with as they do battle with their own shadow.

It just goes to show that while strict and total control is untenable, unfettered freedom can also bring out the worst in our kind. Just look at the state of the world now with the war in the Middle East. Nor should we forget how Russia invaded Ukraine.

Then, of course, there are the infamous Twitter wars as public outrage takes new form. People can be cancelled because of one comment from a decade ago, films and movies are labelled 'woke' because a woman is a main character, and online communities are split into various tribal entities. There is no longer any nuance in the world. A centrist is considered part of the problem. And even when you don't try to insert politics into your content, you will be decried as a grifter playing both sides of the political spectrum.

It's enough for this lowly blogger to want to hit reset on the entire human race. A sentiment which is shared by many of the Earth-Trisolaris Organisation in the science-fiction novel: The Three-Body Problem (a novel I'm reading right now at time of writing up this post).

Gameplay-wise, Atlas Fallen brings in a traversal system that felt fun and refreshing. It also helped speed up the slow slog of running from one part of the map to another like another game I could name.

Then, of course, there is the combat. The Gauntlet Bearer can mix and match three different styles of weapons: the axe/ hammer, dust whip and a pair of knuckledusters. While all are viable depending on playstyle, I favoured using the axe/hammer with the dust whip because of the range it allowed me. Slotting in the essence stones that helped maximise my attacks, I was near unstoppable in taking down the enemies that crossed my path.

What was a little bit different, I found, was how player character level was tied to the armour one found. The game only has a maximum level of 11, which can only be reached by upgrading the armour one receives through the use of Essence. Additionally, by upgrading armour, one receives perks to put into passive upgrades including the ability to get more tribute (the currency within the game), essence, or having more momentum to pull off special attacks. These all blended quite well with each other although I didn't feel much need to experiment once I'd found my favourites.

Atlas Fallen: Reign of Sand from developer Deck 13 is not a triple-A title. The controls are a little floaty and the story isn't something I would write home to. And yet, I did find myself enjoying the time I spent skimming across the sands and fighting off huge sand monsters. So many games coming out in the last few years have focused on being bigger than ever with little to no experimentation. But I have found the ones that stick in my mind are those trying to break the mould by telling their own fun little story. What's more, they don't try to follow trends by trying to have a huge sprawling open world or have huge budgets that can only be sustained through excessive monetisation of in-game items.

So, here's to more experimental AA games!

After all, when major game developers (and by extension, publishers) begin to crumble, they'll be the ones picking up the slack with fresh ideas and new IP. And maybe we can return to a time when games weren't politically weaponised. Or are seen by big corporations as a means to pad out their bottom line.

Time will tell who will win out when it comes to free will or oppression; anarchy and security.

[mask131]

True... BUT! (Because there's always a "but" in Greek mythology)... Kaos isn't really "chaos" in the modern sense, now, is it?

I mean... The thing that was described above was "chaos" in the sense of: someone comes in, wrecks havoc, causes mischief and mayhem, purposefully does things that break order. It is "chaos" in the sense of Eris' chaos: strife and discord. It is Poseidon's chaos: monsters and outlaws everywhere. It is Ares' chaos: massacre and violence without rhyme or reason, just for the love of bloodshed. It is Dionysos' chaos: MASS PARTY WOOHOO! And if someone says no WE'LL RIP HIM APART!

(It's also Loki's chaos for example)

But the old Chaos, the Kaos personification is... not really the "chaos" we understand today? It is still chaos as opposed to "the formed and ordered world" but very different. But unlike the deities above who purposefully do things that go against peace and balance, or introduce elements that break down order and civilization, the Kaos of the Theogony is... well it is "primordial chaos". It isn't the enemy of order: it is simply the state of the world before any form of order, shape or form was introduced. Sometimes it is just an infinite chasm, a gigantic void of nothingness from which the base principles of the world appearing ; other times it is the primordial soup which mingled all the elements and energies that later split into distinct elements.

But Chaos/Kaos is not actually the modern "chaos". It is not a force or anarchy or war or monstruosity. It is just the primordial state of all things, the raw beginning - the "primordial mud" as an Ancient author wrote (though I can't recall which one).

So yes, Chaos is chaos... but not "chaos".

Another reminder that Greek mythology is always somehow symbolic, metaphorical, allegorical, since we are dealing with anthropomorphic personifications and other embodiments of cosmic powers.

For example: Demeter has sex with both Zeus and Poseidon. Something-something about the relationship of the Earth with the Sky and the Sea (or the celestial and chthonian powers). ESPECIALLY since these relationships are said to happen at the beginning of the world, in the primordial times during which the world settled itself for what it is now.

Herakles' wedding with Hebe, the personification of youth, checks in with when he becomes an immortal god (aka, an eternally young entity). What better way to symbolize a hero escaping the clutches of death than by him becoming the husband of the spirit of eternal youth?

Why is Hestia never leaving Olympus? Something-something about her being the literal personification of the hearth, which is at the center of the house/community and does not move.

Why is Ares getting his ass kicked by Athena? Because Athena is civilization, and Ares savagery, and in the Ancient Greek mindset intelligence, wisdom and craft will always be above brutality, bloodlust and random cruelty.

Do I need to spell it out that the myth of Persephone-Hades-Demeter is about the cycle of the seasons, and how the earth renews itself and brings back life after a time of death?

And I wonder why Ares' companions during his mass-slaughters are called Phobos, Deimos and Eris - Fear, Panic and Discord... Why would the goddess that breaks harmony and sows feuds and chaos be depicted as the close sister of the god of the ravages of war and of the brutality of conflicts, what a strange mystery!

And I can go on, and on, and on. Remember, the Greek gods aren't just super-heroes or wizards (that's more in line with more "humanized" mythologies, like the Irish or Nordic ones). They are embodiments of concepts and ideas, personifications of natural forces and cosmic powers, they are living allegories and fleshed metaphors. Zeus wields the lightning because he IS the lightning and thunder. Dionysos is both the bringer of joy and madness because he IS alcohol. Hades is both the name of the god of the dead, and of the realm of the dead. Hestia's name is literaly "hearth" in Greek, Hebe "youth", Nyx "night", Gaia "earth", Eros "desire". You can write "Eris met Helios at Okeanos' palace" or you can write "Strife encountered the Sun at the palace of Ocean" and that is the EXACT SAME THING!

[Mind you to limit the gods to being JUST allegories is also a mistake not to make. Greek deities are much more than just X concept or X idea... But one part of the myths will always be, down the line, some weather metaphor or some natural cycle motif]

[inthegardenofprayers]

He paused, and for a moment assumed again his air of a schoolmaster questioning a promising pupil: ‘How does one man assert his power over another, Winston?’ | Winston thought. ‘By making him suffer,’ he said. |

‘Exactly. By making him suffer. Obedience is not enough. Unless he is suffering, how can you be sure that he is obeying your will and not his own? | Power is in inflicting pain and humiliation. Power is in tearing human minds to pieces and putting them together again in new shapes of your own choosing. | Do you begin to see, then, what kind of world we are creating? It is the exact opposite of the stupid hedonistic Utopias that the old reformers imagined. A world of fear and treachery and torment, a world of trampling and being trampled upon, a world which will grow not less but MORE merciless as it refines itself. Progress in our world will be progress towards more pain. | The old civilizations claimed that they were founded on love or justice. Ours is founded upon hatred. In our world there will be no emotions except fear, rage, triumph, and self-abasement. Everything else we shall destroy — everything. | Already we are breaking down the habits of thought which have survived from before the Revolution. We have cut the links between child and parent, and between man and man, and between man and woman. No one dares trust a wife or a child or a friend any longer. But in the future there will be no wives and no friends. | Children will be taken from their mothers at birth, as one takes eggs from a hen. The sex instinct will be eradicated. Procreation will be an annual formality like the renewal of a ration card. | We shall abolish the orgasm. Our neurologists are at work upon it now. There will be no loyalty, except loyalty towards the Party. There will be no love, except the love of Big Brother. There will be no laughter, except the laugh of triumph over a defeated enemy. There will be no art, no literature, no science. | When we are omnipotent we shall have no more need of science. There will be no distinction between beauty and ugliness. There will be no curiosity, no enjoyment of the process of life. All competing pleasures will be destroyed. | But always — do not forget this, Winston — always there will be the intoxication of power, constantly increasing and constantly growing subtler. | Always, at every moment, there will be the thrill of victory, the sensation of trampling on an enemy who is helpless. If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face — forever.’ | George Orwell. Nineteen Eighty-Four (pp. 307-308)

[prokopetz]

Because you know a lot about these sorts of things: is D&D the first place where devils and demons are distinct groups of mutually antagonistic evil entities as opposed to being synonyms for one another, or did they steal that from some obscure fantasy pulp novel from the 1960s, as so much other stuff now seen as iconic to D&D is?

Much like making picky distinctions between wizards, sorcerers and warlocks, the general idea of making "devils" and "demons" distinct classes of supernatural beasties pre-dates Dungeons & Dragons in popular fiction, but the specific definitions that D&D uses are basically only applicable to D&D; every work of sword and sorcery fiction I'm aware of that distinguishes between the two terms does so differently.

For example, in Robert Aspirin's "Myth Adventures" series, "Devils" are a specific race of extradimensional aliens who coincidentally resemble pop-Christianity's notion of the Devil (i.e., red skin, goat legs, etc.), while a "demon" is simply any sapient being who's been magically summoned from another dimension. Hence, Devils are sometimes demons (at least when they're away from home), but – unless there's a convention or something going on – the majority of demons in any given dimension are not Devils.

To the point, I can't think of any particular work of pre-1974 (i.e., pre-D&D) sword and sorcery fiction whose demons-versus-devils split hinges on Law and Chaos in the same way that D&D's does; I suspect that the game's authors simply took the pre-existing notion of demons and devils being different things and pasted the terms onto a straight lift of Michael Moorcock's "Eternal Champions" cosmology (which doesn't use either term) – though if anyone is aware of a prior case of fantasy fiction specifically associating "devil" with cosmic Order and "demon" with cosmic Chaos, I'd love to be corrected!

(As always, if anyone would like to offer a counterexample, please check the publication date first; works published after 1974 post-date Dungeons & Dragons, so they're no help here.)

[gdinthehouseee]

Running: CHOI SEUNG-HYUN x READER

summary: bigbang and 2ne1 get invited to play against each other on running man, and seung-hyun realises he's having a little too much fun toying with you...

word count: 4643

tags: fluff; flirting, teasing, sneaking around, suggestive/steamy but no actual smut

ao3 link

“Today’s guests are—BIGBANG versus 2NE1!”

The studio erupted with cheers as the camera panned across your two teams, standing face to face like rivals about to go to war. On one side: BIGBANG. Smug. Confident. Standing like kings of the game already. On the other—your side: 2NE1. Fierce. Cunning. Ready to prove everyone wrong.

You locked eyes with Seung-hyun, standing just across from you.

His lips curved into that infuriatingly lazy smirk. “Ready to lose?”

You scoffed. “You mean, am I ready to crush you? Absolutely.”

Ji-yong snickered, throwing an arm around Seung-hyun’s shoulder. “Ooooh, she’s coming for you, hyung.”

Seung-hyun just tilted his head, eyes never leaving yours. “I’d like to see you try.”

The set buzzed with barely-contained energy, a mix of sharp competitiveness and laughter crackling in the air. Two legendary groups stood facing each other, throwing taunts like daggers, but the real game had yet to begin. The lights glowed overhead, casting a faintly golden hue over the teams as the cameras circled to catch every moment. The room smelled faintly of fresh paint and polished floors, the air-conditioning cool against your skin—a deceptive kind of chill when compared to the heat of the impending battle.

You could feel it in the way Ji-yong stood with his arms crossed, in the way Chae-lin squared her shoulders beside you, in the way Daesung kept shifting from foot to foot like he was already preparing to bolt, in the way Minji was already stretching her legs in preparation. Every moment leading up to the game was thick with tension, crackling with the promise of chaos. Although, as you looked at everyone else, you noticed that Seung-hyun simply smiled at you. Slow. Unhurried. Like he already had plans.

A few minutes later, after the boys had gone ahead and gotten into their starting places, it was now your group’s turn to get into position. When you stepped into the office building, the mood shifted.

The high ceilings loomed overhead, stretching into the dim-lit halls, their fluorescent lights humming faintly. The walls were lined with cubicles and glass windows that reflected your team’s movements as you passed them. The air smelled faintly of coffee and office supplies—mundane, ordinary. But beneath that was a tension so thick you could almost taste it.

Your sneakers barely made a sound against the sleek flooring, yet you could hear footsteps in the distance. Somewhere beyond the open floors, on the upper levels, BIGBANG was already moving. Your heart thrummed. Somewhere above you, Seung-hyun was waiting.

You inhaled slowly, steadying yourself.

“GAME… START!”

And just like that—the chase began.

The second the announcement rang through the speakers, the world exploded into motion.

CL was the first to move. “Split up!” she ordered, already darting for the stairwell, her blonde hair flying behind her. Sandara was close behind, her laugh trailing through the air as she disappeared down the hall. Minji took off toward the elevator, nimble and quick, vanishing before you could even process her direction. 

You didn’t hesitate—you ran. Your sneakers barely made a sound against the smooth floor, your breath quickening as you ducked around a corner. The office building was huge, a maze of endless hallways, glass partitions, and abandoned desks. Perfect for hiding. Perfect for traps.

Somewhere behind you, a shout. You glanced back just in time to see Ji-yong barreling after Sandara, their voices echoing through the space. The game had barely started, and they were already in full pursuit. Your lips curled into a grin. Good. Let them chase her.

You turned sharply, cutting across an empty meeting room, the scent of dust and stale coffee filling your lungs. Through the glass panel, you spotted movement—Minji slipping into a cubicle, her eyes darting as she crouched low. She was playing the long game.

You, on the other hand? You weren’t built for waiting. Another hallway. Another sharp turn. The pounding of your heartbeat against your ribs. You could hear your own breath, hear the distant chaos of other players scrambling, hear the sound of—Footsteps. Close. Too close. A slow, deliberate stride. You barely had time to react before a shadow loomed into your path. Your stomach dropped.

Seung-hyun.

He emerged from the dim-lit corridor like a hunter stepping into his domain, hands still tucked in his pockets, as if he had all the time in the world. His dark eyes flickered with something sharp—something dangerous.

“You.”

It wasn’t loud. Just a single word, smooth and taunting, like he was already savoring his win.

You skidded to a halt, whirling on your heel to escape—

He lunged. You barely had time to gasp before his arms caged you in, his palm catching the wall just beside your head. Trapped. For a split second, neither of you spoke. Your breath was still uneven from the sprint, chest rising and falling, but he? He wasn’t even out of breath.

You swallowed, lifting your chin. “You’ve got me cornered.”

He smirked, tilting his head slightly. “That I do.”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Are you gonna rip my name tag off, or are we just standing here looking pretty?”

“You think you can outrun me?”

“No.”

His gaze flickered, like he was waiting. So you took your shot. Leaning in, just enough to let your breath tickle his jaw, you whispered, sweet and teasing, “But maybe… if you let me go now, I’ll owe you something later.”

The moment stretched.

A beat.

Then—

Seung-hyun laughed. A deep, rich sound, like you’d just amused him beyond reason. His free hand lifted, trailing along the curve of your back, slow and dangerous, before his fingers brushed the very edge of your name tag. You braced yourself—ready for him to rip it off, ready for that smug grin and inevitable teasing, but instead his fingers skimmed past your name tag and landed on your waist.

Your breath hitched.

“What are you doing?” You asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Seung-hyun hummed, low and thoughtful. “I should take your tag…”

His thumb brushed lightly along your hip.

“…but I don’t really feel like ending this just yet.”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, gripping slightly. You were supposed to be running, supposed to be playing the game, but with him looking at you like that—like he was more interested in you than winning—you felt the rules blur.

“You’re gonna get caught if you stay here,” you murmured.

He smirked. “Then we better be quiet, shouldn’t we?”

And then—

His lips were on yours. It was slow at first, teasing, like he was savoring the moment, testing the waters before fully diving in. His hand rested lightly against your waist, fingers grazing the fabric of your shirt, but even that simple touch sent a shiver up your spine. He wasn’t rushing—no, he was taking his time. Letting the anticipation build, letting the warmth of his breath mingle with yours, drawing you deeper into the moment.

And then you kissed him back. That was all it took.

A quiet hum vibrated against your lips before Seung-hyun’s grip tightened, fingers curling against your waist as he pulled you closer. You barely had time to react before your back met the wall, the cool surface a sharp contrast to the heat between you. His other hand lifted, sliding up the curve of your spine before tangling gently in your hair, holding you in place like he had no intention of letting go anytime soon. The game, the cameras, the fact that your teammates were still running for their lives—it all faded. Right now, there was only this. The press of his lips, the way he tilted his head to deepen the kiss, the way his fingers absently traced circles against your hip, like he was memorizing the feel of you. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, like he wanted to take you apart one deliberate touch at a time. And when his tongue flicked teasingly against your bottom lip, you gasped, your fingers tightening against the fabric of his shirt.

That reaction made him smirk. You barely had time to process it before he took advantage, pressing in deeper, more insistent, stealing the very breath from your lungs. His lips moved with a confidence that sent your pulse racing, a silent challenge woven between the teasing flicks of his tongue and the way he pressed his body just that much closer to yours.

You shouldn’t be doing this. You should be running. But when his thumb brushed along the side of your jaw, tilting your chin just right so he could kiss you even deeper… who cared about the game?

Having said that, you can’t help but make this a little more exciting. This is Running Man, after all. 

A sharp giggle slipped past your lips as you twisted out of his grasp, breathless and flushed. His hands almost caught you again—almost. But you were quicker, slipping past him just as he reached for your name tag.

“Cheater,” he exhaled, his voice husky, his smirk downright dangerous.

You didn’t stop. You couldn’t. The rush of adrenaline mixed with the lingering heat of his kiss, making your legs feel weak even as you bolted down the dimly lit hallway. Your heart pounded in your chest, though whether it was from the chase or the fact that Seung-hyun had just kissed you senseless against a supply closet door, you weren’t sure.

Damn, he’s fast.

You could hear his footsteps behind you, unrelenting, each one heavier than the last. The man was hunting you now. And judging by the utterly amused, predatory grin you knew he had on his face, he was enjoying this way too much.

“Where do you think you’re going, jagi?” He called, his voice echoing in the empty corridor. “You think I’m just gonna let you run after that?” His laughter followed you, deep and taunting, sending a thrill through your veins. 

You were in trouble.

Turning a sharp corner, you nearly crashed into a stack of boxes—someone's poor attempt at a barricade from an earlier chase. Your sneakers skidded slightly against the polished floor, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t afford to. Your only hope was to find one of the girls and regroup, because if Seung-hyun caught you again you wouldn’t be getting away a second time.

“Gotcha.”

No, you don’t.

At the last second, you twisted, dropping low just as Seung-hyun’s hand lunged for your wrist. His fingers grazed your skin—so close—but you were already moving. You ducked under his arm, pivoting sharply before taking off in the opposite direction.

“Shit—!”

His startled exclamation only fueled your laughter, a bright, taunting giggle that echoed down the hallway. Seung-hyun spun to chase, but he was half a second too late. You were already gone.

“You little—” His words cut off into a low, amused growl, and you didn’t have to turn around to know he was grinning.

You could feel it. His pulse-pounding excitement. The thrill of the chase. But this time? You were faster. With each quick turn and narrow escape, your laughter only grew, a light, musical sound that sent a shiver down Seung-hyun’s spine. He couldn’t stop grinning. Even as he skidded around a corner, eyes scanning for any sign of you, he knew. You’d slipped away. For now.

Slowing his steps, he raked a hand through his hair, chest heaving from the chase. His tongue ran over his bottom lip, still tingling from where you’d kissed him.

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head.

“Clever girl,” he muttered to himself.

His gaze flickered down the empty hallway, eyes narrowing in thought. You’d gotten away this time, but the game wasn’t over yet.

“There you are!”

Ji-yong rounded the corner, slightly out of breath, his eyes shining with mischief. He looked far too amused.

Seung-hyun exhaled a small laugh, shaking his head. “Don’t say it.”

Ji-yong smirked. “Oh, I’m definitely saying it.” He crossed his arms, tilting his head in mock sympathy. “Did she outrun you?”

Seung-hyun let out a low, knowing chuckle, eyes still scanning the hall for any movement. “Not for long.”

Ji-yong hummed, clearly entertained. “You’ve got it bad, don’t you?”

At that, Seung-hyun finally looked at him. “What?”

“You’re smiling like a damn lovesick fool.”

“I’m just enjoying the game.”

“Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Seung-hyun sighed but didn’t argue. Instead, he nodded toward the end of the hall. “Where’s Daesung? We need to corner them before they regroup.”

Ji-yong straightened, all teasing set aside in favor of strategy. “Last I saw, he was chasing Chae-lin toward the main lobby. If we cut through the side stairwell, we might be able to intercept them.”

Seung-hyun nodded, already moving. “Let’s go.”

As they took off toward the stairs, Ji-yong shot him another amused glance. “You sure you won’t get distracted again?”

Seung-hyun didn’t even look at him when he replied, voice low and certain. “Oh, I’ll find her again. And this time… she won’t be getting away.”

The pair moved quickly, cutting through the side stairwell with practiced ease. The air buzzed with energy—anticipation thick between them. They could hear the distant shouts and laughter from the others as the game carried on through the sprawling office building. Ji-yong gestured towards the hallway in front of them and continued planning, “they’ll try to regroup. If we block off the exits, we can trap them.”They’ll try to regroup. If we block off the exits, we can trap them.”

Seung-hyun nodded, already scanning for signs of movement. His pulse quickened. He knew you were close—he could feel it. And then, as if on cue, a flash of movement at the far end of the hall. A blur of familiar colors.

You.

Seung-hyun’s lips curled into a slow, thrilled grin. “There she is.”

Ji-yong followed his gaze, his own eyes lighting up. “And she’s alone.”

Seung-hyun didn’t wait. Didn’t hesitate. He took off.

A breathless giggle escaped your lips as you pushed forward, ducking around a corner just in time. You could hear him closing in, his deep, unrelenting laughter echoing through the halls.

“You can’t run forever, jagi.”

Your stomach flipped at the way he said it—low, teasing, just the right amount of warning.

But you weren’t about to make it easy for him.

Your eyes darted around, searching for an escape. The stairwell was too far. The open hallway left you exposed.

And then, you noticed a supply closet. You didn’t think. You acted, not without briefly thinking about how many conveniently placed supply closets there were in this place. Ducking inside, you pulled the door shut, pressing your back against the cool wall. Your breath came fast and shallow, heart hammering in your chest as you listened. Silence.

For a moment, it seemed like you might have gotten away—

Oh, fuck.

The doorknob turned. Before you could react, the door swung open, and Seung-hyun stepped inside. His silhouette filled the doorway, tall and unshakably confident. The dim light from the hallway cast shadows over his sharp features, but you could still see the smirk on his lips. You backed up instinctively, but there was nowhere to go. He closed the door behind him, sealing you both in the tiny space.

“Nice try,” he murmured, voice low and edged with amusement.

Your pulse jumped. “How—?”

He chuckled, stepping forward until the distance between you vanished. “I heard you laugh.”

Of course he did.

His hands found your waist, fingers curling just enough to make you shiver. His breath ghosted over your cheek, his body so close, so warm. Then, once again, his lips found yours. Fingers skimmed along your jaw, tilting your chin up just enough to deepen the kiss, hot and demanding. You gasped softly against his mouth, and he took the chance to nip at your bottom lip—a silent reminder that he’d caught you.

But when his hand moved to where your name tag sat on your back, he paused. You waited, pulse racing.

Seung-hyun hovered there for a moment—debating. Then, instead of ripping it off, he smirked against your lips and whispered, “run again, jagi.”

Your breath hitched. He was letting you go. A slow grin spread across your face as you pulled back, eyes flickering between his in the dim light.

“I’m starting to think you enjoy chasing me,” you teased.

His thumb brushed over your lower lip, gaze dark and absolutely unrepentant.

“Maybe, I do.” He murmured. “But next time, I won’t let you off so easily.”

You didn’t wait to find out if he meant it. With a final, breathless laugh, you slipped past him and ran. He didn’t chase. Not yet… but Ji-yong did. The second you burst out of the supply closet, your heart still racing, your lips still tingling from Seung-hyun’s kiss—Ji-yong was there.

“There she is!” His voice rang out like an alarm, and before you could even process it, he was sprinting after you.

You pushed forward on instinct, your legs burning as you tore down the hallway. Footsteps pounded behind you—fast, relentless, determined. And then, a second pair. Seung-hyun had joined the chase. 

“Are you serious?!” You shrieked, barely dodging around a filing cabinet as Ji-yong lunged for you.

“Oh, I’m dead serious,” he shot back, laughter bubbling in his voice. “You think you can just escape unscathed after cornering him like that?”

“Escaping is part of the game, genius!”

Seung-hyun’s voice was right behind you now, smooth and teasing. “Mm. You didn’t seem too interested in escaping a minute ago.”

Your face burned. Shaking your head, you pivoted sharply at the end of the hall, veering toward a side door. If you could make it to the stairwell—you had a chance.

Ji-yong caught onto your plan instantly. “Oh no, you don’t!”

You let out a breathless giggle as you heard him speed up, but the laugh was cut off when you suddenly slammed into someone else.

Strong hands grabbed your arms to steady you, and you looked up to see—

Chae-lin

Her eyes widened. “You’re alive?!”

“Not for long!” You gasped. “Run!”

Without hesitation, she yanked you forward, the two of you making a break for it as Ji-yong and Seung-hyun sprinted after you. Your heart was hammering. She was pulling you along at full speed, her grip firm as you dodged and weaved between obstacles. The stairwell door was just ahead—so close.

“We can make it!” Chae-lin panted.

Ji-yong was nearly on your heels. “I don’t think so!”

With one last burst of energy, you and Chae-lin threw yourselves through the door, slamming it shut behind you. For a split second, everything was silent. Then—

A thud against the other side, followed by a dramatic, frustrated groan.

“Damn it!” Ji-yong yelled.

Seung-hyun’s deep laughter rumbled behind him. “They’re good.”

Your chest heaved as you looked at Chae-lin, wide-eyed and still buzzing from adrenaline. 

She smirked. “We just pissed them off, didn’t we?”

A slow, satisfied grin spread across your lips. “Oh, absolutely.”

The two of you didn’t stop moving until another two floors down, ducking down between the monotone office cubicles, desperately trying to mask your heavy breathing so you could listen out for any other movement. And you had barely caught your breath when the walkie-talkie at Chae-lin’s hip crackled to life.

“Unnie, where are you guys?” Minji’s voice was low but sharp, like she was trying to keep quiet while urgently getting her point across.

Chae-lin snatched it up. “Hiding. What’s wrong?”

“They’re regrouping.”

A cold trickle of adrenaline slipped down your spine. You and Chae-lin exchanged a glance. Minji and Bom were supposed to be on the other side of the building, throwing the guys off your trail. If they were calling instead of keeping their cover, it meant—

“We think they’re coming for you.”

“How do you know?” You asked urgently.

“Ji-yong’s been asking around,” Bom muttered, also not trying to conceal her voice. “And he’s been sticking with Seung-hyun this whole time.”

Your stomach dropped. Seung-hyun was coming. The knowledge sent a hot jolt of anticipation through your body, an unsteady mix of excitement and dread.

“We have to move.”

“Where?” You quickly scanned the empty office space. Nothing but desks and matching chairs. “If they know we’re here, we’re trapped.”

“There’s a break room up ahead,” she said, already gripping your wrist. “We can at least—”

A door slammed open somewhere down the hall. The sharp, echoing sound sent a shockwave through your system, freezing you in place. Then came the footsteps. Fast ones.

Chae-lin’s grip on your wrist tightened. “Too late. Let’s go!”

And you did. The two of you tore down the corridor, weaving between cubicles, your footsteps pounding against the carpeted floor. The stale office air whipped past your face as you sprinted, lungs burning, heart hammering. Somewhere behind you, the footsteps multiplied.

“They’re splitting up!” Minji’s voice came through again. “Ji-yong’s circling around to cut you off!”

Chae-lin let out a frustrated curse. “They’re herding us—”

Then, rounding the corner, you saw him. 

Ji-yong. 

He was already moving before his eyes even fully locked on you, lips pulling into a wolfish grin. “There they are!” He called out, voice ringing through the space.

You barely had time to react before she yanked you backward and took off in the other direction, dragging you with her. But it didn’t matter. Because ahead of you, another figure emerged from the shadows.

Seung-hyun.

He stood just at the mouth of another hallway, posture relaxed, watching you with an amused tilt of his head. The dim lighting above flickered, casting shadows across his sharp cheekbones, making his smirk look all the more devilish.

Your stomach twisted. Not with fear. But something else.

“We’re sandwiched.”

“Go,” you whispered to Chae-lin.

She snapped her head toward you. “What?!”

“They want me,” you said quickly. “Not you. Revenge for earlier. If I distract them, you can slip past—”

“Absolutely not—”

“Go.”

You didn’t give her a choice. You shoved her toward the nearest opening and spun on your heel. And then you ran. The moment your feet hit the ground, Seung-hyun’s gaze zeroed in on you, like a predator recognizing its prey. His smirk widened as you sprinted toward him.

“You’re bold,” he mused, voice low, smooth—just loud enough for you to hear over the pounding of your heartbeat.

You weren’t slowing down.

“Yeah,” you shot back, “and you’re predictable.”

At the last second, you faked left—then dove right. For a split second, you thought you had him. But Seung-hyun was faster.

The moment you slipped past, his arm shot out. A strong grip locked around your wrist, yanking you backward so forcefully that you collided into his chest. A startled gasp escaped your lips. Before you could regain your balance, he moved—spinning you, pressing your back against the wall, his body caging you in.

The air in your lungs vanished.

Seung-hyun was right there, his chest rising and falling steadily against yours, fingers curled around your wrist, keeping you in place, while his other hand rested on the wall above your head. The scent of him wrapped around you—clean cologne, a hint of sweat, something warm and intoxicating as his fingers then began to trail higher, grazing your collarbone, your throat—light, just enough to make you shiver. Your breath hitched.

“You gonna tag me out,” you murmured, “or just stare at me all day?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he hummed, voice a lazy drawl. “You have a habit of running away. Maybe I should hold onto you a little longer this time.”

This time, you decided to initiate the kiss and you felt his hand rest on your cheek. His torso against yours pressed you harder into the wall, his head tilting just enough to deepen the kiss yet again, and he brought his other hand down from the wall to grip your waist. If you weren’t so close, you would have missed the soft groan he let escape.

Naturally, you took this opportunity to regain the upper hand.

Your heartbeat thundered, the heat of Seung-hyun’s kiss still tingling on your lips as you made your move. You twisted sharply, slipping under his arm in a desperate bid for freedom—

As always, your boyfriend was quicker.

A strong grip caught your wrist, yanking you back with startling force. Before you could even yelp, he spun you in his grasp, your back colliding with his chest as he pressed you forward. You barely had time to catch your breath before you felt it. His hands, one sliding up to pin your wrists against the wall above your head, the other resting firmly at your waist, fingers curling just enough to remind you that you weren’t going anywhere. His breath was warm at your ear, his chest solid against your back.

“Going somewhere?” Seung-hyun murmured, his voice silky smooth, dripping with amusement.

You swallowed hard, every nerve buzzing at the feeling of him behind you, the heat radiating from his body.

Damn it.

You were trapped—and he knew it. But two could play at this game.

You exhaled slowly, relaxing into his hold just enough to feel his grip shift slightly—like he wasn’t sure if he should be holding you this tight. You could use that.

“I don’t know, baby,” you hummed, letting your tone turn soft, teasing. “Are you sure you want to eliminate me?”

He chuckled, the sound deep, low, and entirely too smug. “Pretty sure. Why?”

You tilted your head slightly, letting your cheek graze his jaw, your breath warm against his skin.

“Because,” you purred, drawing out the word, “if you let me go, I could make it up to you.”

His grip tightened involuntarily at your waist. You pressed back slightly, just enough to brush against him, feeling the way his body went rigid behind you. His breath hitched. You smiled.

“Come on,” you whispered, lowering your voice into something sweeter, more coaxing. “You don’t really want to end this so soon, do you?”

He didn’t answer, but you felt the way his fingers twitched against your waist, the way his breathing deepened, just slightly. You slowly, deliberately, rolled your hips back against him, just enough to feel his body go completely still.

“If you let me go,” you continued, voice dropping to a near whisper, “I promise…”

You paused, letting the words hang between you, feeling the tension coil tighter.

“…I’ll make it worth your while.”

His breath was uneven now, his grip just slightly looser, like he was considering it.

You almost smirked.

You’d won—

RIP.

A sharp tug at your back. Your stomach dropped. Now it was your turn for your breath to hitch once again, and you froze at the realisation that had just dawned upon you. Your name tag. 

Seung-hyun chuckled, the sound infuriatingly smug as he lifted it over your shoulder, dangling it right in front of your face.

“Cute,” he murmured, breath hot against your ear, voice thick with amusement. “Really, that was a good try.”

“You—”

“You almost had me,” he admitted, mocking sympathy in his tone.

Your jaw dropped in disbelief. “You let me think I won.”

He grinned, pleased with himself. “Of course I did,” he said smoothly, before leaning in, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “And it was adorable.”

Your entire body burned—half from embarrassment, half from sheer rage. Seung-hyun patted your hip, far too pleased with himself, before stepping back. You turned just in time to see him casually tossing your name tag to the floor.

“Better luck next time, sweetheart.”

taglist: @thanosscrossmain @maskedcrawford @mirahyun @riddlerloveb0t @onyxmango @sherrayyyyy @seunghyunwifey @mattsturniolosbabymama @redhoodedtoad @bettelaboure @cinnamonbear22 @xxxicddbr88 @infinetlyforgotten @babygirlewis @loveesiren @tulentiy @babyrvis @ldydeath @wcnderlands @eru-vande @breakmeoff @petersasteria @tweedledumb08 @forevervibezzzz1

[whencyclopedia]

The Marduk Prophecy: A Historical Document of Mesopotamia

The Marduk Prophecy is an Assyrian document from between 713-612 BCE, found in the House of the Exorcist in Ashur. It narrates the travels of Marduk's statue from Babylon to lands like Hittite, Assyrian, and Elamite territories, prophesying its return by a strong Babylonian king. This prophecy was likely written during Nebuchadnezzar I's reign (1125-1104 BCE), celebrating his victory over the Elamites, who had captured the statue, and his subsequent return of it to Babylon.

Historical Context and Significance

Nebuchadnezzar I's Victory: The document was crafted to emphasize Nebuchadnezzar I's role in restoring Marduk to Babylon, highlighting the importance of a king's duty to his deity.

Political Themes: The prophecy leverages historical events to illustrate political themes, such as the alliance with Hatti and Assyria versus the rivalry with Elam.

Mesopotamian Naru Literature: It follows a common narrative technique where historical events are retold with poetic license to make a political or religious point.

Marduk in Mesopotamian Mythology

Marduk, son of Enki, became the king of the gods after leading them to victory over the forces of chaos, led by Tiamat. He established order and created humans as co-workers with the gods. Marduk was extremely important to Babylon, especially during the reign of Hammurabi and up until the Persian rule.

The Statue's Travels

The statue's journey included being taken by the Hittites, Assyrians, and Elamites at different times. It was returned to Babylon by Nebuchadnezzar I and later by Esarhaddon. The statue remained a central figure in Babylonian festivals until its destruction by Xerxes I in 485 BCE.

The Significance of Marduk to Babylon

Marduk was not a distant deity; his presence was deeply felt in Babylon, and his statue was a symbol of his residence among the people. The absence of the statue during times of conquest led to significant cultural and religious disruption.

The Final Fate of the Statue

The final destruction of the statue is attributed to Xerxes I during his conquest of Babylon, a claim supported by Greek writers like Herodotus, despite their accounts being criticized for inaccuracies. The lack of further mention of the statue in historical records supports this narrative.

Learn More

The above summary was generated by AI using Perplexity Sonar. To read the orginial human-authored article, please visit The Marduk Prophecy.

[internetdaddy98]

The Ties That Bind Us - Chapter 3

Previous | Next

[Series Masterlist]

Content Warning: Gunshot injuries; blood; medical procedures; I have 0 medical knowledge; if I've missed any warnings, please let me know.

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The sun was barely up when you walked into Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center, coffee cup in one hand, badge clipped to your scrub top. Daylight streamed through the rotating doors—mocking, almost, in its calm. Unlike the night shifts that had swallowed you whole in adrenaline and triage chaos, today felt like stepping into unfamiliar territory. You preferred the dark. Things made sense in the dark, sharper instincts, fewer witnesses. But today, you'd be working under the full scrutiny of fluorescent lights, bustling staff, and most importantly, him.

You’d barely set your cup down at the nurses’ station when you heard Dana’s voice.

“Dr. Williams,” she said, clipboard under her arm. Eyes warm and friendly “You’re here early.”

“I like to see what I’m walking into,” You replied, sipping on your chamomile tea, “Chaos is more polite when you greet it first.”

She gave a low chuckle. “You’ll fit right in alright.”

As you headed towards the lounge, you began to take in the place that you had come to know after hours. The hospital felt quieter during the day, or maybe you were just getting used to the hum of codes, psych holds, the unrelenting stream of mayhem. You were nine weeks into your fellowship, and while that hardly made you a seasoned veteran, the initial fog of disorientation had lifted. You knew which nurses worked nights versus days, which CT techs were the fastest, and which vending machine had the good stuff. 

You caught a glimpse of Dr. Robby’s back as you entered the lounge room, and he headed towards Dana. You hadn’t talked since that night after the Pittfest shooting, but he had become a constant thought, threading in and out of your days like a song you hadn’t meant to memorize.

You wondered what his story was. The real one. Not the rumors from the other residents—something about a patient he couldn’t save, about working too many shifts and not enough sleep.

The lingering shadows of that night in the Pedes' room had remained with you for days after. But today you’d be working together again. Officially. Attending and fellow. Supervisor and learner and you were willing to learn. 

“Dr. Williams,” Robby greeted you at the nurses’ station, glancing at you through his glasses, before returning to look at the tablet in his hand. “You look awake. What’s your secret?”

You smiled as you leaned over. “Excessive caffeine and existential dread.”

He let out a soft chuckle, the kind that came from deep exhaustion. “Ah, the classics.”

“Good morning, good morning come on over. We have a new face joining us today,” he began, inviting the residents and interns to huddle around both of you.

“This is Dr. Williams, Emergency Medicine fellow fresh from night shift”, Robby continued to introduce you to the team as you smiled and waved at everyone. ”If I’m not available, she is the person you find”, Robby added.

You started walking the floor together, reviewing labs and orders, updating notes on the fly. You noticed the way he read the chart notes like he was trying to solve a puzzle that had a missing piece.

He had a way of listening that made patients lean in a little closer, and a way of speaking that made families breathe easier, even when the words weren’t good. Every patient came with a rhythm: neuro checks, vitals, med orders. Robby didn’t micromanage. He observed. Nudged gently. Asked questions that made you think but didn’t corner you.

He didn’t hover when you took charge of a GSW to the abdomen. Didn’t flinch when you suggested changing the antibiotic order for the open tib-fib. When you slipped on a word explaining a FAST scan to a med student, he seamlessly jumped in—not to correct you, but to reinforce your point.

He had a way of making space for people without shrinking himself. And you couldn’t decide if that made him more or less intriguing to your wandering mind “So Dr. Williams,” he said between cases, “day shift treating you better than night?”

You breathed out a laugh, “I haven’t had anything thrown at me yet,” you said. “Seems promising.”

He grinned—really grinned—for the first time that morning. “Give it time. We haven’t hit the lunch rush.”

Throughout the day, you slipped into your role instinctively—leading the ABCs, calling for chest x-rays, ultrasound probe in hand. Robby stood behind you, watching. You could feel his presence like static electricity on the back of your neck.

“He's hypotensive,” You called out. “FAST is positive—right upper quadrant.”

“Good eye, Dr. Williams,” Robby murmured. Then, louder to the room: “Prep for trauma laparotomy. Notify OR.”

It wasn’t until the patient was off to surgery that you realized your hands were shaking just a little.

Later, after a long stretch of back-to-back trauma codes and one surgical boarding nightmare, you caught a break in Abbot’s spot. You leaned over the rails, looking out, chewing a protein bar like it had personally wronged you.

You heard the emergency door creak open and shut, you looked over your shoulder to find Dr. Robby walking towards you.

“You did well down there, kept your cool,” Robby said once he stood beside you. “Nice work leading that.”

“I was a little worried you’d grab the probe out of my hand,” you admitted, only half-joking.

You left out a long breath.

“Is it always this insane during the day?” you asked, looking down at the ground floor of the hospital.

“More noise. Fewer excuses,” Robby replied.

There was a beat of silence before you added, “Thanks for not micromanaging me earlier.”

“I didn’t need to,” he said with a shrug. “I trust you.”

There were so many things you wanted to say. About how you still dream of the Pittfest victims. About the guilt that creeps in when you laugh too freely or go a day without remembering the patients who coded in your arms. But instead, you just stood there in silence.

You stayed a little after shift change, scribbling down notes, double-checking charts, not quite ready to leave. You finally stood, stretching the stiffness from your spine, when you felt his presence.

“Thanks for today,” you said.

“You didn’t need me much,” he replied. “That’s a good sign.”

“I still want to learn from you.”

Robby looked at you, his gaze suddenly serious but not cold.

“You will. But don’t forget you already bring something to the table. You’re not just here to follow. You’re here to lead.”

Your throat caught, just a little. And you nodded.

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This fic is a 25 parter that kinda took a life of its own

[ashthesalamipiece]

Haiii could you do mom f!reader x dadkatsuki and reader that can’t cook… like at all.. and she wants to learn so katsuki shows her and eventually everyone likes her stuff :3

"Explosive in the Kitchen"

Pairing: Dad!Katsuki Bakugou x Mom!F!Reader

Genre: Fluff / Slice of Life / Humor / Domestic

TW: None! Just good ol' kitchen chaos and love

---

You stare down the pan like it personally insulted you. Smoke is curling up from the charred remains of what was supposed to be pancakes, and the fire alarm is making your toddler cry in the background.

Katsuki bursts into the kitchen like he just heard a villain crash through the window.

“The hell did you do this time?!”

“I—I was trying to make breakfast!”

He scoffs, snatching a towel and waving it at the smoke detector. “Trying to murder the kitchen?”

You pout. “Shut up.”

Bakugou glances over at your son, who's rubbing his teary little eyes and clinging to his stuffed Dynamight plushie. “Oi, come here, lil' bean.” He hoists your kid into one arm effortlessly, flicks the stove off with the other, and then turns back to you with that signature look—equal parts unimpressed and fond.

“You really wanna learn to cook that bad?” he asks, voice softer now.

“I just wanna make one meal without setting off the alarm,” you mutter. “I’m a mom. I should be able to do this stuff.”

He snorts. “You’re a great mom. You just suck in the kitchen.”

“Thanks, babe.”

“Come on. I’ll teach you.”

---

The first few lessons go... predictably bad. You nearly cut your finger trying to julienne a carrot (he snatches the knife away and gives you a look), and you somehow set rice on fire—rice. Bakugou looks personally offended by that one.

“You put it in a pot and add water,” he groans, massaging his temples. “You don’t broil it!”

“Okay but it said high heat—”

“No one means that literally!!”

Still, he doesn’t give up on you. He teaches you how to hold a knife properly, how to test oil with a wooden spoon, and how to tell when onions are "sweating" versus "burning."

You start small—onigiri, tamagoyaki, miso soup—and he stands behind you, arms wrapped around your waist, guiding your hands, muttering instructions into your ear in that gruff but secretly gentle voice.

And when you get it right, even once, he grins.

“Not bad, fire-hands.”

“I don’t even have a quirk like that.”

“Still cooked like a villain with a grudge at first. You’re improving.”

---

A few weeks later, you make dinner all by yourself while he’s out picking up your son from daycare. It’s nothing fancy—curry rice, a salad, some fluffy steamed eggs—but you plate it with nervous pride.

When he walks in, he pauses. Sniffs the air. Raises a brow.

“You didn’t order takeout?”

“Nope. I made it.”

He stares at the table. Then at you.

Then he takes a bite.

And another.

And another.

Your son giggles as he shoves rice into his mouth with baby chopsticks. “Mama food good!”

Bakugou wipes his mouth, leans back, and grins like he’s already writing your name in the Hall of Fame.

“Look at you,” he mutters, “goin’ from arsonist to housewife.”

You roll your eyes, cheeks warm. “Don’t push it.”

He kisses your cheek anyway. “I’m proud of you.”

You beam. Because yeah—you finally didn’t burn the house down. And your little family loves your food. That’s more than enough.

[solxamber]

Reaper's Guide to Romance - Idia Shroud x reader

When reaper Idia Shroud is assigned to collect your soul, he can't help but come up with increasingly ridiculous excuses to spare you.

Idia Shroud wasn’t having a good time. He never expected to enjoy being a grim reaper, of course. But this? This was torture. Every time he was assigned to take your soul, something in him short-circuited, and he’d find the dumbest, most illogical reason not to do it. And now, his reaper colleagues had started keeping a list—an actual, physical list—of his increasingly absurd excuses.

Today, they were gathered in their usual spot—an ethereal break room (don’t ask)—and once again, Idia was trying to justify why you were still, you know, alive.

Riddle Rosehearts, the epitome of order and rules, was glaring at Idia with a look that could melt steel. His clipboard (obviously) was ready, quill poised for judgment.

"So, Idia, why didn’t you reap this time?" Riddle asked with a sigh, clearly running low on patience.

Idia’s hair flickered with nervous blue flames. "W-Well… they were having a tea party!"

Riddle blinked slowly. "And?"

"And, you know, you can’t just interrupt a tea party. It’s like, super rude! Imagine, they’re just about to take a sip of perfectly steeped tea, and bam! I swoop in with my scythe, just ruining the whole vibe!" Idia flailed his arms, wide-eyed. "It’d be chaos!"

Riddle’s eye twitched as he wrote down: Excuse #101: Tea party interruption is ‘chaotic.’

"You… can’t be serious," Riddle muttered, but with Idia, this was business as usual.

"It’s a thing! You know, tea etiquette! I figured you’d get it!" Idia added defensively.

"That is the most ridiculous—" Riddle started, but Idia quickly mumbled something about ‘strict standards’ and slinked away before Riddle could go on another tirade about tea etiquette versus grim reaper duties.

Leona was next, leaning against a pillar, his usual half-lidded gaze fixed on Idia with a mix of amusement and disdain. "So what’s the deal this time, Shroud? Too busy playing video games or something?"

Idia groaned, rubbing his temples. "N-No! I had a valid reason this time!"

"Uh-huh. Let’s hear it." Leona’s smirk was all too ready.

"They were napping!"

Leona blinked, his smile vanishing. "Napping?"

"Yeah!" Idia nodded enthusiastically. "I mean, come on. Napping is sacred! You of all people should get it! Would you want to be woken up by some creepy reaper dude hovering over you like, ‘Oh hey, time to die, sorry about your nap?’ It’d totally ruin their REM cycle."

Leona snorted, shaking his head as he scrawled on the list. "Excuse #102: ‘Napping is sacred.’ You’re unbelievable, Shroud."

"It’s just… common decency, man!" Idia whined, knowing full well Leona was probably internally agreeing but couldn’t resist giving him a hard time.

Leona waved him off. "Next time, just bring a pillow or something."

Azul was perched behind a desk, his fingers steepled in that smug way he did when he was about to make Idia squirm. "Let me guess, you’ve come up with another… creative justification, Idia?"

Idia winced. He really didn’t want to get into this one, but here he was. "W-Well, they were in the middle of a… negotiation."

Azul’s eyes gleamed. "Negotiation?"

"Yeah, you know, like, a super important deal! I couldn’t just cut in and ruin that!" Idia blurted, waving his hands around. "You of all people should get it, Azul! I mean, contracts and deals? Imagine, they’re about to secure the best terms, and then I show up like some kind of… death interruptus. I’d be killing their vibe!"

Azul smiled, entertained. "Killing their vibe, Idia? Or their chance at a good deal?"

"Both!" Idia exclaimed, a little too loudly.

Azul chuckled as he scribbled down the next entry: Excuse #103: ‘Interrupting contract negotiations would kill the vibe.’

"Honestly, Idia, if you spent as much time reaping as you making excuses for them, you’d be the most efficient reaper of us all," Azul teased.

Idia mumbled something incoherent and slunk off, hating how right Azul was.

When Kalim found out about the list, he was nothing but sunshine and encouragement. He didn’t even seem to mind that Idia was epically failing at his job.

"So what happened this time, Idia?" Kalim asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet, excited as ever.

"They looked… too happy," Idia muttered, cringing.

Kalim’s smile widened. "Aww, that’s sweet! You didn’t want to take away their happy moment, right?"

"Y-Yeah, exactly! How could I just roll in and ruin it? They were, like, glowing! Not literally, I mean, but they had that look, you know?" Idia stammered, running out of words to explain himself.

Kalim beamed. "That’s so thoughtful of you, Idia! Good vibes are important!" He turned to the list, which was rapidly filling up. Excuse #104: ‘Couldn’t ruin the happy vibes.’

Idia, still flustered, muttered, "It’s not like I wanted to let them live…"

Vil stood there, arms crossed, looking like he’d just tasted something unsatisfactory. "So, Idia, what excuse do you have this time?" His tone was all but dripping with disdain.

Idia hesitated. This one was even more ridiculous than usual. "W-Well, they were in the middle of their skincare routine."

Vil’s perfectly arched brow shot up. "Their… skincare routine?"

Idia nodded furiously. "Yeah, like, you know the ten-step thing? They were deep in it—cleansing, exfoliating, moisturizing, all that jazz. You can’t just take someone’s soul mid-routine! Their skin would freak out from the stress. I’d be responsible for, like, eternal breakouts."

Vil stared at him in utter disbelief. "You’re telling me you let them live because of… skincare?"

"Hey, good skin is a serious commitment!" Idia defended, folding his arms.

Vil sighed, jotting down the next entry: Excuse #105: ‘Interrupting skincare would cause eternal breakouts.’

"I’ve never heard something so… absurd, yet strangely respectful," Vil muttered, rubbing his temples.

Finally, Malleus stood before Idia, arms crossed and looking ever so regal. He tilted his head slightly. "So, Shroud… what is your reason this time?"

Idia stammered. This one was, without a doubt, the dumbest excuse he’d ever come up with. "U-Uh… I got lost."

Malleus blinked. "Lost?"

"Yeah! There were… gargoyles."

"Gargoyles," Malleus repeated, deadpan.

"Look, I got distracted by their craftsmanship, and then I, uh, took a wrong turn," Idia said, voice shrinking by the second.

Malleus, maintaining his composure, glanced at the ever-growing list. "I see. Excuse #106: ‘Got distracted by gargoyles.’ A most… unique excuse."

Idia could feel his soul slowly withering under Malleus’s cool gaze.

Idia had managed to avoid reaping you so many times that even you had started to notice something was up. You weren’t sure why the world’s most awkward reaper kept showing up and then… not doing his job, but it had gotten to the point where you couldn’t help but laugh about it.

One day, after catching him lurking around awkwardly—again—you decided to confront him.

"Okay, I have to ask," you said, leaning casually against a tree. "Why do you keep sparing me? It’s not like you’ve been subtle about it."

Idia flinched, his hair flashing a bright blue as he tried to think of a response. "I-I don’t… what? N-No! That’s not…!"

You raised an eyebrow. "You didn’t take me because of tea parties, naps, gargoyles, and skincare routines, didn’t you?"

Idia froze, his mouth hanging open as he realized you somehow knew everything. "H-How did you—?"

"Lucky guess," you said, grinning. "So, what’s the real reason?"

Idia shuffled awkwardly, avoiding your gaze. "I-I just… I couldn’t… I’m not good at this, okay?! Reaping, or talking to people, or…" He trailed off into his usual nervous mumbling.

You chuckled, stepping closer to him. "Well, you know, if you keep sparing me, I’m gonna start thinking you like me or something."

Idia’s hair flared bright pink at your teasing, and he backed up a step, nearly tripping over his own feet. "W-What?! Like you?! No, no, that’s… that’s crazy! I mean, sure, you’re… cool, or whatever, but that doesn’t mean—"

You grinned wider, cutting him off. "So, you like me?"

His face flushed redder than his hair had ever glowed, and he stammered incoherently, "N-No! I mean… Y-Yes? I… I don’t know! It’s not like I’ve done this before!"

Your laugh rang out through the quiet air, and Idia looked mortified. You couldn’t help but find his awkwardness endearing. "Wow, Idia, I didn’t know grim reapers could be this cute."

"C-Cute?! Don’t… call me that!" He looked like he was ready to melt into the ground, but he couldn’t take his eyes off you.

You stepped closer, smiling mischievously. "Alright, alright, I’ll stop messing with you. But if you’re that bad at taking souls, maybe you should stick to something you’re better at."

"Like what?" Idia asked, blinking in confusion.

"Like… taking me out for dinner instead," you suggested, your voice playful.

Idia’s eyes widened, and he gaped at you, absolutely dumbfounded. "D-Dinner?! You’re asking me out?!"

You laughed again, the sound light and teasing. "Well, you’ve spared my life at least ten times now. I think I owe you one."

For a moment, Idia just stood there, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. His brain seemed to be buffering. "A-A date? With me?"

"Yeah, with you," you confirmed with a wink. "Unless, of course, you’d rather finish your job and reap my soul?"

Idia practically jumped. "N-No! I-I mean, yes! I mean… I’d rather not… do the reaping thing. I-I can’t believe this is happening…"

You smiled softly, watching him fidget nervously. "So? What do you say? Dinner?"

Idia’s mind was racing, and his hair was flickering wildly between blue and pink. "I… I guess… y-yeah? Yes! Yes, I-I’d like that…"

As he stumbled over his words, you couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head fondly. "Great. It’s a date, then."

Idia’s heart was practically doing somersaults in his chest, and he could hardly believe what had just happened. As you walked away with a cheerful wave, he stood there, frozen in disbelief.

Lilia, who had been quietly observing the entire thing from the shadows, stepped out with a gleeful smile. "Ah, young love! Isn’t it wonderful, Idia?"

Idia groaned, burying his face in his hands. "L-Lilia, please don’t…"

But Lilia was already laughing, delighted beyond words. "It’s about time you stopped making excuses, my boy! Now go get ready for your date! You’ve got a life to live—or, at the very least, a dinner to survive."

Idia mumbled something about how his life was over, but despite his grumbling, there was a small, awkward smile on his face. After all, he’d just managed to get a date without even trying… even if it had taken about a hundred failed reaping attempts to get there.

Masterlist

[wheatbreadfuckyeah]

Flirting with death [Viktor x Reader]

Summary: In a chaotic lab, Viktor’s sharp words and irritation mask a reluctant respect for your brilliance. Amid playful tension and unspoken bonds, Viktor values your presence even when you had just point a loaded gun to his face.

Sigh sighh sighhhhh— hope u like it!

——‐——◇——‐——◇——‐——◇——‐——◇——‐——◇——‐——◇——‐——

The lab was dimly lit, its usual atmosphere of sterile precision clouded by a curling haze of smoke that seemed to blur the lines between order and chaos. The rhythmic hum of machines filled the air, punctuated by the crackle of open flames and the volatile hiss of chemicals bubbling in makeshift glass contraptions. Tonight wasn’t about calculated progress or meticulous breakthroughs. It was one of those nights where discipline surrendered to the thrill of reckless, unbridled creation.

You slouched in your chair, exuding an air of devil-may-care rebellion, the faint glow of your cigarette casting flickering shadows across your face. Smoke curled from your lips like ghostly ribbons, dissipating into the stale air. Scattered before you lay your tools of choice: experimental compounds, volatile tinctures, and haphazard notes scrawled in a frenzy. “For society,” you murmured between puffs, your voice dripping with mockery, barely concealing the grin tugging at your lips. A wheezy laugh escaped you, your shoulders shaking as you revel in the memory of your latest antic.

“And then... oh, you should’ve seen her face!” You doubled over, the chair creaking beneath you as your laughter echoed off the metallic walls.

Across the room, Viktor’s golden gaze flicked toward you, his work momentarily forgotten. He sat stiffly at his workstation, tools in hand, precision etched into every line of his posture. But your laughter, grating, relentless, and manic, broke through his focus like a hammer shattering glass. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he seemed to weigh the merits of ignoring you versus addressing you. With a heavy sigh, he set down his tools with almost exaggerated care, the quiet clink of metal punctuating the tension. He straightened slowly, leaning heavily on his cane as he turned to face you, his expression carved from stone.

“Do you find something amusing,” he began, his voice low and measured, though his words carried a serrated edge, “or have you simply decided to abandon what’s left of your sanity?”

“Oh, Viktor,” you wheezed, wiping a tear from your eye, “if you’d been there, you’d have died! I said—”

“I think,” he interrupted, his tone cutting through your words like a scalpel, “you’re doing enough of that on your own.” His cane tapped softly against the floor as he stepped toward you, each movement deliberate, his irritation barely contained. “Whatever concoction you’ve ingested this time is clearly interfering with—”

Without warning, you spun your chair around, the wheels screeching against the floor. The motion was theatrical, almost comical in its abruptness. Then, with a flourish, you produced a pistol, the barrel levelling at Viktor’s face in one smooth motion. The laughter died instantly, the air between you crackling with tension. Viktor stopped mid-stride, his eyes narrowing as his gaze locked on the weapon. There was no fear, no hesitation. Only a sharp, unyielding intensity that could have sliced through steel.

“You’re testing my patience,” he said quietly, his voice as cold and steady as ice. His eyes flicked to the gun, then back to you.

"You won’t shoot."

“Oh, am I?” you teased, your grin widening into something equal parts dangerous and playful. “Come closer and find out, sweetheart.”

Viktor’s expression didn’t waver. He took another step forward, unflinching as the muzzle pressed lightly against his forehead. The room seemed to hold its breath. Then, with an infuriating calm, Viktor raised a hand and pushed the barrel aside, the cold scrape of metal against his temple doing little to faze him.

“Are you quite finished?” His tone was flat, his exasperation simmering just beneath the surface.

You exhaled, the gun lowering as a smirk curled across your lips. Leaning back lazily in your chair, you took another drag of your cigarette, blowing the smoke directly into his face. Viktor’s nostrils flared, and for a brief moment, his eyes closed, as if summoning every ounce of restraint to keep himself from throttling you.

“Relax,” you purred, rising unsteadily to your feet. You swayed slightly, but the swagger in your step was undeniable as you sauntered closer to him. “You should try living a little, Viktor. Who knows? You might even enjoy it.”

“I live just fine,” he shot back, his voice cool and clipped, “which is precisely why I’d prefer you didn’t endanger mine every other day.”

You laughed, ignoring his protest as you reached out, your fingers curling beneath his chin. Tilting his face toward yours, you studied him, your gaze sharp and deliberate. “You know,” you murmured, voice low and teasing, “you’re even prettier when you’re annoyed.”

A flicker of something passed through his eyes; exasperation, perhaps, or the faintest trace of reluctant amusement. But then, with a sharp motion, he brushed your hand away, his expression caught between irritation and resignation. “And I,” he replied dryly, “apparently enjoy flirting with death to tolerate you.”

Your grin widened as you leaned closer, your breath warm against his cheek. “Truth be told,” you whispered, the words a velvet challenge. “You’d miss me if I wasn’t here.”

He scoffed, turning away from you. “Miss the noise? The smoke? The endless catastrophes?” His sarcasm was as sharp as ever. “Yes. Terribly.”

Your laughter erupted again, full-bodied and rich as Viktor returned to his workbench, muttering under his breath. “It’s a miracle,” he said to no one in particular, “that I’ve survived working with you this long.”

“Oh, come on,” you teased, stumbling forward to lean against the edge of his desk. “You love this. You love me. Admit it.”

Viktor didn’t look up, his hands deftly manoeuvring the delicate tools before him. “If you’re done waving guns around and inhaling poison,” he said evenly, “sit down. Or better yet, go to bed. I’ll clean up your mess—”

Before he could finish, you shifted, accidentally knocking a delicate glass tube off the desk. It shattered on the floor, the sound slicing through the air. Viktor froze, his head turning slowly to fix you with a withering glare.

You shrugged with a sheepish grin. “Oops.”

“Again,” he finished bitterly, the word dripping with resigned disdain.

As you backed away, triumphant, you caught the faintest flicker of a smile tugging at the corners of Viktor’s mouth, a fleeting, almost imperceptible sign of something softer beneath his usual layers of irritation and sharp retorts. It wasn’t care, not in the traditional sense, but respect. A grudging acknowledgement of your brilliance and a grudging tolerance that spoke volumes. Viktor would never admit it, but he respected you. And maybe, just maybe, he cared enough not to let you go.

[everythingisamazing]

Viktor’s story, especially with the addition of Mage Viktor, becomes an exploration of chaos theory versus fate. While the "fate" aspect is made explicit through exposition ("In all timelines, in all possibilities") and the montage of Mage Viktor dropping different runes into Jayce’s hand, the element of chaos is mostly implied — primarily through the recurring butterfly symbolism.

Note: I’m not saying the butterfly only represents the “butterfly effect” or chaos theory. Like most metaphors in Arcane, it is layered and multidimensional. But: There is one scene where it seems to signify exactly that.

Before diving into that, I want to briefly summarize both chaos theory and the way fate functions within Arcane:

Chaos theory explains how small, seemingly insignificant changes — like a rock falling into a stream — can lead to massive, unpredictable consequences in natural systems (such as rivers, weather, or clouds), even though those systems obey consistent rules.

Fate in Arcane is best captured by Viktor’s question to Singed: “Do you believe in fate, doctor? Our paths carved before us, guided by an invisible hand?” That is: lesser beings being moved by the will of something more powerful.

Now, the scene that gave me a bit of a brain-gasm when I remembered it: Child Viktor, playing with his toy boat. He sets it in the stream, but stumbles and falls. The boat is carried off, and he follows it — directly into the cave, where he meets Singed.

And that’s exactly why the butterfly shows up here.

Because if that toy hadn’t floated off, none of this would have happened: Viktor would never have met Singed. Singed would never have given him access to Shimmer — which allowed Viktor to experiment on himself with the Hexcore. Singed also created Warwick, whose blood transforms Viktor into the Arcane Herald.

(Side note: I’ll write a separate post about Singed one day. I know this blog is Jayvik-centric, but that old man is my favorite character - the way he’s the silent centerpiece of the entire narrative.)

Everything that changed in the world because of that meeting, might not have happened, were it not for the flow of the river - something that NO character in Arcane, no matter how cunning or powerful, had any influence or control over.

I also keep coming back to Viktor’s line as the Arcane Herald:

“The divine intersection between order and chaos.” It’s dropped into the narrative without much explanation. At first glance, it seems like a throwaway grand line. But I think it’s key: this is what godhood means in Arcane’s universe.

To stand at the crossing point of chaos and fate. Because yes — Mage Viktor becomes powerful enough to exert fate-like influence over others (like Jayce). But still, there are forces entirely beyond his control. The Arcane Herald is the next and presumably final step in this evolution.

Now, to close this off, I am going to repeat something, I already mentioned in one of my older posts: Rather than viewing Arcane as a show that abandoned its political narrative after S1, I find it more satisfying to view the show in its totality as a philosophical exploration of oppositions, such as chaos vs. fate.

Every character’s struggle, every political thread, every moment of tragedy — is intertwined with something as tiny and random as a child setting a toy boat in a stream.

[mandoriana]

In a kingdom divided between reason and mystery, between the order of the sword and the chaos of sorcery, two heroes emerged—destined to collide… and to change everything.

Lordbug, the Crimson Knight, was born and raised under the weight of law and tradition. From an early age, he learned that magic was dangerous—something to be fought, an invisible enemy that threatened the stability of Camelot. Clad in armor marked with the symbols of honor and duty, he swore to protect the realm with justice and discipline—even if that meant fighting those who wielded supernatural gifts.

Hexcat, the Shadow Cat, is his complete opposite. A prodigy of sorcery, he grew up a nomad, surviving on scraps, ancient secrets, and forgotten creatures. To him, magic is life, freedom, and connection to everything Camelot tries to deny. His spells are swift as the wind, his mind a labyrinth of irony and strategy. For Hexcat, breaking rules is part of the game… as long as good comes out on top.

For a long time, they were rivals. One hunted the other in the name of their beliefs. Each encounter was a clash of ideals: blade versus spell, honor versus freedom. But the world changed—and so did they.

When a greater threat pushed the kingdom to the brink of collapse, the two realized that together, they were more than just weapons of opposing sides: they were balance. Lordbug’s discipline and Hexcat’s creative chaos became a precise dance—an unexpected partnership that saved Camelot more times than its people know.

Now, they fight side by side. Not because they agree on everything, but because they trust each other—even when the world doesn’t trust them.

They are light and shadow, rule and rebellion, steel and spell.

They are Lordbug and Hexcat, the unlikely heroes of an age that needs them both to survive.

Lordbug, Hexcat, Mistifox

[anonymoussoulx]

Chapter 2 of The Last Divine has been released!

Hi everyone!

We're kicking off the weekend with a bang! Chapter 2 of The Last Divine has been released!  Aside from the content update itself, this Chapter will come with a few other significant changes. 

Updates with chapter two will include:

Choices that raise affection with a love interest are now marked with a heart

The music in chapter one has been changed to create a more immersive experience

The Divine Dominions points system has been adjusted so that players will now discover their specific abilities in Chapter 4 (which will allow me to incorporate more choices associated with that between now and then)

A Light Version of The Last Divine will now be published with every major update, which will be available for players who prefer to read with a light/beige background and darker text (versus a dark background with white text)

Updated Personality Titles

Important!- In order for Chapter Two to run without encountering a bug that will prevent you from reading most of the chapter, players will have to restart the game from the beginning of the first chapter. Using a prior save file will result in an error. 

A huge thanks to all of my beta readers! You guys helped me sort through the chaos and really figure out what I wanted this chapter to be. I want to thank 0650snno/solrein, PLanManz, and starshinegirls, as well as the rest of my beta readers for all of their help and feedback! If you are a beta reader not listed here that would like to be listed, please check for an email from me :)  Major changes to the versions you all ready will occur when MC and her companions arrive at the town of Burthrope.

Regarding future updates, it will probably be a few months before my next significant update due to IRL stuff that will have me out of commission for a couple months. But moving forward, this is what you can expect to see:

the ability to toggle music on and off (this one is kicking my ass, I've already tried implementing it twice haha)

the ability to change text size and font 

more MC customization options (freckles, piercings, scars, amab or afab, additional hair colors)

a riverbed scene between MC and her chosen LI :)

Thank you so much to everyone who's waited patiently for this update! I've been a huge fan of all the IFs and visual novels the insanely talented creators on this site post, it's wild to finally be dipping my toes into the other side of things myself. Even more wild to think people are actually interested in what I'm writing! As always, I would love to hear your thoughts on the chapter! Feedback is so helpful in letting me know what works well and what needs some extra help haha!  

Check out the second chapter here!

Happy Gaming! 

Anonymous Soul

[luimagines]

Modern Dance (1800 Follower Raffle)

Our second place winner was @mickleloaf!!

They asked for a somewhat continuation of The Chain Hanging out in Modern! Reader's House, in which they find the music/Just Dance. Which you can read the "first part" right here.

You don't have to read it to get this one though.

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

“Alright boys.” You called their attention when the sun had already set and the movies had run their courses. After the Lion King, you had put on Pirates of the Caribbean and Kung Fu Panda- which probably wasn’t the best idea because now the boys were taking turns punching and kicking each other in an effort to replicate the movie. “We’re going to change the pace a bit.”

“By doing what?” Wind held a pillow threateningly over Sky’s head. The poor boy had fallen asleep a while ago and was dead to the world for all anyone knew. You had no idea how he managed to sleep through the chaos but everybody has a skill.

“We’re going to dance.” You grinned and turned on the video game console. “I’ve been meaning to introduce you to all our music, but there’s too many genres to choose from and you all have way too much energy for this time of night. We’re going to burn it all off.”

Many of the boys had settled down, watching in fascination as you turned on the systems and switched the controls. They all sat up a little straighter when the colors of the game turned on. It took a controlled effort to get them to step away form the screen instead of shoving their faces up to the characters.

You scrolled through aimlessly and picked an easy level to begin with.

“Rancher, Captain?” You asked sweetly. “Can you help move some of the furniture out of the way? I’m going to put multiplayer mode. We can have up to four at a time.”

“Meaning?” Wild chipped in, helping the other boys push the couch and the tables out of the way.

“Whoever dances the best or most like the person on the screen, wins.” You say gleefully. And maybe just a tad hint of evil.

These boys were competitive. You were to see them at each other's throats… metaphorically. …Mostly.

After giving a few more orders to clear the space, you stepped aside and  selected the song. With a gleam in your eyes, you pointed at Wind, Wild and Hyrule. “You three versus me. Come on.”

Wind jumped front and center without hesitation, Hyrule walking forward with a curious tilt to his head. Wild was the only one who was hesitant to step up to the “platform”, so to speak. It made you calm down a little bit and smile softly. “Relax. It’s not magic. Everything you see will stay there. Just like the stories I put on earlier.”

“Do we even get an example?” Hyrule tilts his head.

“What do you think you are?” You giggle and start the song.

At once the lights flashed and the music started. Having already played this song a number of times, you knew the beats by heart and continued the routine without missing a strike or a pause. The other boys… were less coordinated. …But that’s you being generous.

You think Wind might have smacked Warrior by accident at some point in the attempt to do the moves, but you blame the Captain. He shouldn’t have been that close then.

You win the round. Perfect score. 100%, unsurprisingly.

“I want to go again.” Wild growls. “That’s not fair. You didn’t explain what we were supposed to do properly.”

“I’m next.” Legend raised his hand. “I actually did a dance battle before.”

“No. That means you wait.” Four shoved him playfully. “Give the rest of us a chance to make a fool out of ourselves before you dominate.

You laugh and turn to Time. “Do you want to try, Old Man?”

He grins before shaking his head. “These old bones of mine aren’t as spry as they used to be. I’m content to watch.”

“If you say so.” You shrug, already thinking of ways to wear him down just so he could dance to at least one song.

You step out so that other boys can step in and have a turn. Warrior, Four, Wild and Twilight take the next round. You tried to find another easy song that they would be able to follow without much difficulty, but here is where their competitiveness came through.

Wild tried to trip up Warrior. Twilight pulled on Wild’s hair. Warrior ‘nudged’ Twilight straight into the couch and Four won the round by blaming the hits that he dealt straight onto the other boys.

In an effort to save your house from burning down prematurely, you switched them all out and danced the next round with Wind, Legend and Hyrule.

No one wanted to wake up Sky.

You picked a harder song, if only to trip up Legend. But you should have known better. Not only did he already admit to doing a dance battle before, he already had two rounds to watch and observe what not to do and what to do to get points.

He would have almost won if you didn’t know about the bonus points for hitting the striking pose on the right beat.

“WHAT!!” He screamed. “How did you get double the points!?!?”

“You have to hit it with enough passion.” You teased and kept dancing.

It was the needed points for you to win the round, but goodness, did he give you a run for your money.

Switching out again, you began to work and tease and wear down Time to get him to dance.

It didn’t work.

Within the hour the boys started to fall asleep one by one. The others with the energy to do so helped move them to a bed roll and away from the dance floor so they wouldn’t be trampled on once the wrestling started. Because wrestling would start. That was not an if, but a when.

Time actually went down after Twilight did. Between those two and Sky, the other boys were way more hyped and loaded with sugar that they still needed to work off.

You played for three hours.

The only one that lasted the longest was Four and even then, you were willing to bet he could have kept going if you weren’t ready to fall over and pass out yourself. You groaned and turned off your console. “I’m going to pay tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“I haven’t moved like that in a long time.” You steal the couch and throw your legs over Sky. You’d doubt he’d mind. “I moved muscles that hadn't been moved since I was last home… I can feel them yelling at me.”

Four chuckled and also got down to take the lounge chair. You envied him. He was small enough to sleep comfortably there. “You won most of the matches. I’ve never seen you swing your arms around with such reckless abandon.”

“This is my house.” You grumble. “I had to defend my title and my territory… Besides, you’re all just as, if not, more competitive than I am. There was no way any of you were going to go easy on me.”

“Fair enough.”

“Good night, Link.” You smile, allowing your guard to fall for the first time in months and finally get some needed rest.

“Good night.”

[httpsoftbunni]

The Universal Gesture of the Raised Right Hand

The raised right hand, a gesture seen across various religions, spiritual traditions, and artistic depictions, carries with it profound symbolic meaning. This ubiquitous gesture is often linked to themes of blessing, protection, authority, and enlightenment, and has been shown in the iconography of deities, spiritual leaders, and mystics for millennia. Its recurrence suggests it is more than just a physical movement; it embodies a universal archetype that is deeply ingrained in human consciousness. Through examining the gesture's origins, symbolism, and often suppressed meanings, we can gain profound insights into its role as a bridge between the material and the divine.

Core Symbolism Across Traditions

At its core, the raised right hand symbolizes reassurance and spiritual power. Across different traditions, it conveys a sense of divine protection, authority, and the dispelling of fear. In Hinduism and Buddhism, this gesture is epitomized in the Abhaya Mudra, which translates to “gesture of fearlessness.” The Buddha, often depicted with his right hand raised to shoulder height, palm outward, uses this gesture as a symbol of peace and protection, calming the fears of the devotee. Similarly, Hindu deities like Vishnu and Shiva adopt this mudra to bestow blessings and offer divine assurance.

Christian and Cross-Cultural Depictions

In Christianity, the gesture is closely associated with Jesus Christ, who is frequently depicted raising his right hand in a benediction, signifying the transmission of divine grace and spiritual power. Mary, too, is shown in similar contexts, her hand raised in a gesture of blessing. The raised right hand also carries significance in Sikhism, where Guru Nanak's gesture symbolizes divine truth and guidance. Even in occult traditions, figures such as Baphomet incorporate this gesture to represent the balance between the spiritual and material realms, echoing the principle of "as above, so below." The universality of this gesture underscores its association with spiritual authority across various cultures.

Esoteric Meaning and the Right-Hand Path

Beyond its religious and spiritual meanings, the raised right hand also has esoteric significance. It is often seen as a symbol of the "Right-Hand Path," a concept tied to righteousness, divine order, and enlightenment. This contrasts with the "Left-Hand Path," which is often associated with hidden knowledge or rebellion against established norms. This duality—light versus dark, order versus chaos—encapsulates humanity’s ongoing journey to balance material existence with spiritual transcendence.

Prehistoric and Ancient Origins

The origins of this sacred gesture stretch far back into prehistory. Before the advent of organized religion, prehistoric shamans—spiritual leaders adept at navigating altered states of consciousness—likely used the raised right hand as a nonverbal form of communication with higher realms. Cave paintings dating back over 30,000 years show figures with raised hands, suggesting a deep, intuitive connection between this posture and spiritual invocation. As civilizations emerged, this gesture became more formalized within religious and ceremonial contexts.

In ancient Sumer (around 4000 BCE), gods and rulers were often depicted with raised hands, invoking divine authority. Similarly, in ancient Egypt, deities like Osiris and Isis are frequently shown with their hands raised during sacred rituals. The Indus Valley Civilization (circa 2500 BCE) integrated mudras, symbolic hand gestures, into their early yogic practices. The Vedic texts (circa 1500 BCE) codified these hand gestures within Hindu rituals, associating them with the control of energy and blessings. Buddhism later adopted the Abhaya Mudra, as exemplified by the Buddha, who used it to calm a charging elephant sent by his cousin Devadatta, symbolizing serene power and protection.

An Archetype Across Cultures

Despite regional differences, the raised right hand has consistently symbolized divine connection across cultures. Its prevalence suggests an archetypal truth embedded in the collective human consciousness, one that spans time and geographical boundaries.

Esotericism and the Mystical Hand

In esoteric traditions such as Freemasonry and Hermeticism, the raised right hand goes beyond a simple gesture of blessing. It symbolizes the oath of initiation into higher knowledge, invoking cosmic truths that transcend ordinary understanding. The human hand itself is often viewed as a microcosm of divine creation, with its five fingers corresponding to the pentagram—a symbol of balance—and the five elements: earth, water, fire, air, and spirit. Ancient cultures believed that certain hand positions could channel energy flows within the body or invoke universal forces, further amplifying the significance of the raised right hand.

Duality and Balance in Symbolism

The duality inherent in this gesture reflects broader cosmic principles. The right hand is often associated with light, order, and divine authority, while the left hand is linked to chaos, hidden knowledge, or rebellion. This contrast is vividly illustrated in occult symbolism through figures like Baphomet, who is depicted with one hand pointing upward, toward the heavens, and the other pointing downward, toward the earth. Baphomet embodies the balance between opposites, serving as a reminder that spiritual enlightenment requires the reconciliation of dual forces.

Suppression of Esoteric Knowledge

Yet, beneath these surface meanings lies a deeper layer of significance, one that has often been suppressed or reinterpreted throughout history. Many cultures embraced the raised right hand as a sacred symbol, but its more esoteric meanings have often been obscured by religious institutions seeking to control spiritual knowledge. The myths surrounding pre-flood civilizations—such as Atlantis—speak of societies that possessed profound knowledge of sacred geometry, cosmic cycles, and spiritual science. This knowledge was likely lost or deliberately erased after catastrophic events reshaped human history.

Early Christianity, too, contained mystical teachings that were later suppressed by institutionalized religion. Gnostic texts describe Jesus as a teacher of self-mastery, rather than blind submission to external authority. Concepts such as reincarnation, which were central to early Christian thought, were removed from doctrine during Church councils. Similarly, the role of Mary Magdalene as an equal spiritual leader was diminished to reinforce patriarchal structures. These omissions serve to obscure Christianity's esoteric roots, favoring dogma over personal enlightenment.

Sound, Frequency, and Vibrational Truths

In addition to these religious suppressions, the science of sound and frequency also holds a key to understanding the deeper significance of the raised right hand. Ancient civilizations understood that sound shapes reality, a concept encoded in sacred languages like Sanskrit and Hebrew. The standard tuning of modern music (440 Hz) contrasts with ancient systems such as 432 Hz tuning, which is believed to harmonize with natural frequencies. This shift may represent a deliberate attempt to disrupt humanity's connection to higher vibrations, further distancing the masses from their spiritual potential.

The Moon and Frequency Control Theories

Some esoteric traditions even suggest that the Moon, with its perfect size for eclipses, may have been artificially placed in Earth's orbit as part of a control mechanism for human consciousness. Its presence raises questions about its origins and whether it serves as a frequency regulator, locking humanity into specific vibrational states.

Ultimately, the raised right hand represents more than just a symbolic gesture; it embodies humanity's shared spiritual heritage. Its presence across cultures suggests that it encodes universal truths about enlightenment: mastery over physical reality through alignment with cosmic laws, protection from ignorance, and guidance toward higher planes of existence. Yet, much of its deeper meaning remains hidden beneath layers of historical suppression and reinterpretation. By rediscovering these lost meanings—whether through ancient texts or modern esotericism—we can begin unlocking humanity's full potential for spiritual awakening.

The raised right hand, as a timeless and powerful gesture, continues to beckon us toward greater understanding and unity with the divine. It is a symbol that transcends time and culture, offering us an ancient key to uncovering the profound mysteries of the universe. Through it, we are reminded of our intrinsic connection to higher wisdom and the eternal quest for spiritual enlightenment.

[skyward-current]

argus: the fragility of conviction

(this analysis goes out to @7thedisasterdyke because i believe she's the strongest argus soldier in all of global – who's saved up 700 pulls to P5 her on release and has all of her voicelines downloaded as MP3 files lol)

argus as a character is defined by contradictions. outwardly, she is stubborn, conservative, and resistant to change; however, she's simultaneously weighed down by persistent anxiety that betrays her hardened exterior, consumed by a fear of helplessness that characterizes horror movies. this duality is set up right off the bat when argus refuses to give barbara a ride due to her nyctalopia, citing her professional duty or an unwillingness to interfere in others' affairs. yet, almost instinctively, she turns back out of worry. it is this push and pull – her desire to appear unshakable versus her deep compassion – that bleeds into her every behavior.

her dynamic with kayla, particularly in the scenes that blur reality and hallucination, reveals the fragility beneath her convictions. the hallucinations invoked by tuesday push argus to her breaking point; tuesday exploits fear, and she wraps her fingers around the core of argus's anxieties – the town who employs her service, and above all, kayla. as a mercenary, argus prides herself on faith in utility and action – she has no right to pause or doubt, only to follow orders like a “mindless tool", said the kayla who's a product of her own psyches. it stings, because it implies she has no personality beyond strength nor identity beyond her role. she dismisses ghosts and supernatural phenomena, relying instead on said strength and alertness to hold herself together (hence the over-reliance on picrasma candies.)

in the next pivotal moment, when doubt creeps in on a quest for clarity, the hallucinated kayla demands, "if you think i’m not kayla, then why don’t you kill me now?" the taunt is met with the barrel of argus's gun trembling, which symbolizes how her hesitation is no longer a perceived weakness but is a sign of her resolve unraveling. the real kayla, or at least what bluepoch wants us to believe, is trapped behind the motel's mirror; or to argus, she is more tangible and human, alive somewhere else – both entirely separate from the illusions. yet, even the thought that she should act (and at any other time she would) – that she may have killed kayla, any version of kayla, out of mercenary instincts – becomes her greatest nightmare. argus couldn’t bring herself to make the slightest attempt to challenge the ghost’s authenticity, as her deepest fear that it was truly her dearest friend was beyond what she could consciously accept.

argus's design is inspired by greek mythology, or more specifically, the story of hera and argus panoptes mirrors this relationship. argus, the hundred-eyed giant, was hera’s vigilant servant, alert to every detail but ultimately betrayed by his own immobility when hermes lulled him to sleep. likewise, argus’s unwavering focus on her role as a “tool” leaves her blind to the emotional truths around her. the kayla of argus's imagination takes on hera’s role here – unrelenting, watchful, and, at times, harsh. when kayla says, “no living thing is born to suffer,” it’s as if she is shaking argus awake from her black-and-white, do-or-don't personality.

argus’s story then possesses certain elements of classical tragedies whose characters are driven by a fatal mixture of doubt, ambition, and fear of powerlessness (oedipus rex or macbeth, to name a few). their desire to take fate into their own hands leads to their untimely demise, whereas compromising with second opinions might've served them better.

the key difference, however, is the flicker of humanity that remains in argus. hesitation becomes her first taste of salvation in the face of "kayla" spitting out "what’s with the hesitation anyway? it’s not like you give a damn about other people’s lives. ” she does not shoot, despite the chaos and pressure around her. though she fears powerlessness, her decision to stop – her refusal to act blindly – signifies growth. funny enough that her confrontation with this fake kayla is less about tearing down tuesday's illusions with force but about shedding argus's own illusion about who she's supposed to be, a step toward defining her morals outside of her duty.

ultimately, argus's arc is a haunting reminder that true strength lies not in the absence of fear or doubt but the willingness to confront them. like hera’s loyal giant who could not see his own fate, argus teeters on the edge of destruction. yet, where others fall, she trembles, pauses, and begins to stand.