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mythicamagic · 11 months ago

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Kauaʻi ʻōʻō - a Xiaolumi oneshot

Rated G

Words: 2,500

Summary: Intrigued by the mournful birdsong that carries across Liyue's mountains, Lumine enlists the help of various friends to help her 'answer' the lonely call.

AN: This fic was originally created for the Xiaolumi Zine "Moonlight Rendezvous".

Kauaʻi ʻōʻō

When setting out for a commission earlier that day Lumine hadn’t really stopped to examine her party members. Sucrose had been traveling with her as a means of gathering more data on how Liyue’s mountainous terrain affected mint-leaf samples in comparison to those found in Mondstadt or Dragonspine. Before picking up her daily commissions list, they’d stepped inside Lumine’s Serenitea Pot and promptly found Faruzan and Zhongli inside; one having visited to pick up a book, the other to lounge around and enjoy free tea.

They’d both accepted her invitation to travel through Liyue for the day and help with the commissions, following Lumine’s lead as she scoured the terrain in search of a lost artifact.

That was how the Traveller came to realize she’d unwittingly picked up three of the most intelligent people she’d met in Teyvat.

If I don’t ask them now, I’d be letting this opportunity go to waste…

They were already near the location. It would just take a little more hiking.

Slyly leading her companions, Lumine glided down from Mt. Aozang toward lonely peaks. She made a show of using Elemental Sight, pretending to track the commission's lost artifact, touching down and climbing up the smooth rocks just below Qingyun Peak.

“M-might we- hah- stop for a rest?”

Glancing over her shoulder, she noticed Zhongli reaching down, offering a hand to a panting Faruzan. She accepted, allowing him to pull her up and over a ledge, huffing and adjusting her skirts with a flutter. “Thank you, young man. At least someone around here respects their elders.”

Zhongli blinked, giving a bemused smile. “Not at all.”

Opening her mouth to apologize, Lumine froze as a sound graced her ears. Lonely, long and mournful. She whipped her head around to look up at the lonely mountain peaks before them. By some miracle they’d made it on time.

Everyone in the group fell quiet at the noise. The sound- strange and foreign to their ears- repeated its sad song once more, allowing the rocks of the mountains to echo its noise, carrying it so far Lumine wondered if its cries reached Dihua Marsh.

Only when the sound drifted off and everything fell quiet once more did everyone look at each other; its haunting melody lingering like a gossamer veil, preventing them from raising their voices too high.

“What on Teyvat was that?” Faruzan monitored the dark skies above. “Certainly nothing I’ve ever heard before.”

“Curious indeed,” sitting down upon a fallen log elegantly, Zhongli laced his fingers. “Any guesses?”

“Well I’m no forest ranger, but it sounded like an animal of some sort,” tapping her chin, Faruzan frowned to herself. “Much too otherworldly to be a common finch though.”

Lumine nodded. “I know it’s silly to say- but I almost thought of a whale the first time I heard it. In other worlds, they had similar creatures who communicated through sonar, and they sounded similar over tracking machines. Not that there’s any sky whales around here…” she hoped. “Next I thought it could be a whistle, or a flute-”

“No, not that.”

The group shifted to find Sucrose standing further away. Furious scribbling noises could be heard as she took notes. “I’ve never met one of course, but logically it could be assumed that the noises were from one of the Adepti. The power, reverb and scope is unlike a regular animal cry.”

Lumine bit her lip, catching Zhongli’s calm gaze. In truth, she’d suspected as much, but needed confirmation before doing anything about it.

“You’re right to suspect a bird, Madam Faruzan. My first guess is…ah, what was her name, Cloud Retainer?” Sucrose hummed. “Or it could be Alatus, also known as the Golden-Winged King. I read about him in a book once. As a scientist, I’m sure you know I don’t put too much stock in folklore though. This is just an initial guess.”

And there it was. So achingly simple. The answer she’d long since suspected but hadn’t been sure what to do with, how to confront it. Lumine’s chest tightened. Her breath stalled.

Against her better judgment, she looked to Zhongli again. He smiled softly, turning severe golden eyes to the misty mountains.

“...And they say: 'Hark, the yaksha calls to summon his old friends to their homeland,’” he uttered, eyes softening at the memory of something that had long passed.

Sucrose lit up. “You’ve read the book too, Mr. Zhongli?”

“Oh yes, and that cry was indeed from an Adeptus. A melancholy sound, to be sure; for the song is intended as a duet you see. If it has no answer, then the lone singer feels the silence all the keener. Don’t you agree, Traveler?”

Avoiding his knowing gaze and joining Sucrose at the cliff side, Lumine let out a long exhale.

A duet.

A call waiting for an answer that would never come.

Xiao.

Had he really been calling for his companions all this time? Mourning them every night, hoping beyond hope, that one would answer? Or was there no hope in that song? Just a moonlit cry of grief and aching heartache. The Chasm had snatched away any lingering hope of seeing Bosacius again, and yet Xiao’s mournful singing had not stopped even after their return.

Rubbing her eyes, Lumine set her shoulders back. “Right. I see.”

“Hm?”

“I’d like to answer then, if I can.”

Faruzan spoke up, skeptical. “How are you going to do a thing like that?”

The Traveler couldn’t help but smile a little. “I know some…special little guys who are well versed in music.”

-------------------------------------

Returning to Vanarana again never failed to put her at peace. The static noise of worries and stresses died down, soothed by the happy hum of a thousand voices in the forest breeze. The village greeted her warmly. To her delight, a familiar face was also there amongst the crowd.

“Oh wow, what luck it is running into you here!” Nahida beamed, waving from within the cluster of Aranara. “To what do we owe your joyous visit?”

Sitting among the Aranara with their Archon, Lumine began explaining her idea. She’d returned to Liyue’s mountains not too long ago, but this time she’d brought along a device from Fontaine.

Everyone gathered around the small box, gasping as Xiao’s birdsong blared out of it. Lumine quickly adjusted the volume. “It’s a recording,” she explained, smiling at the wood folk as they tittered amongst themselves. “This is what he sounds like, pretty isn’t it?” taking a breath, she felt her heart tighten. “Do you think you can help me answer him?”

The group got to work immediately. The first thing to settle on was the right instrument. The Aranara brought out a variety of wooden instruments they’d made themselves, inspired by various Sumeru instruments. Nahida tracked the pitch of each one, seeming to mentally sync up with Xiao’s birdsong enough to hear which strum of strings or musical notes matched the melody via the use of a digital dendro screen simulating volume and pitch.

Lumine tried every instrument, strumming on the Oud, Baglama,Tanpura and Riqq before moving onto instruments Nahida seemed to produce out of nowhere; saying they should try Liyue inspired music. Though proficient in a few instruments, blowing notes into a Guanzi, Dizi, and Hulusi flute proved challenging. Lumine didn’t complain once though, drinking plenty and enjoying the process of playing each new thing. She particularly liked the aptly named; Xiao Bamboo Flute, but sadly Nahida found the sound too reedy to sync nicely with his birdsong.

Though it took several hours, eventually with their combined efforts, they selected the right pitch to match Xiao's birdsong. Since it required a combination of different flutes, Nahida turned to Lumine with a smile.

“You should carve a flute yourself out of wood.”

“Are you sure? I don't know anything about making musical instruments. It'll be a back scratcher more than anything,” Lumine pointed out.

“That won't matter,” unfathomably kind eyes twinkled, “trust me!”

Deciding to trust her, Lumine sat down with a long piece of wood, hollowing out the middle and crudely poking holes through it. As predicted, it looked awful.

True to her word however, Nahida took the flute in hand. After a moment, a faint green glow began seeping through the rosewood. As it left her hands to hover mid-air, the Aranaras began to sing. Sweet, joyful and childlike, their melody wrapped around the instrument, giving it a pale shine.

Lumine’s eyes were wide as the flute floated down into her open hands. She could feel the blessings of countless souls vibrating within. Well wishes, a desire to connect.

For some reason, her eyes stung.

It was perfect for Xiao.

She lifted her head and smiled tearfully. “Thank you, everyone.”

---------------------------------------------------

He couldn't verbalize, let alone explain to himself, why he needed to call out.

Bosacius was dead. He'd confirmed it himself back in the Chasm. The rest of his Yaksha comrades were gone, the stories of their time serving Morax wrapped up with overexaggerated glitz into various mortal books and otherwise largely forgotten. Xiao had no reason to fold and change himself into his original form, to give voice to his grief and longing via song.

The feelings that had once inspired him to start singing near Mt. Aozang had somewhat changed at least. No longer was he plagued by uncertainty about the fate of the last Yaksha- and though he mourned, the birdsong that burst out from his throat was meant for many lives that had come and gone, not just his brethren. He pictured Pervases, Guizhong, and other Illuminated Beasts and Gods that had once walked their world. If he reached back even further into his mind, he pictured his parents, and sang for them too.

Being honest, he’d learned his birdsong from listening to his parents perform a duet. A question posed, and an answer. Their faces were hazy, worn and blurred by the passing of thousands of years, but their song had stayed in his memories, and become transformed by his own voice and feelings.

As he perched that evening upon a high outcropping of rock, Xiao looked out at the misty mountains, allowing himself to be lulled by emotion. Folding his ragged, teal wings that had seen better days, he let himself call out.

Long, lingering notes escaped him instinctively. Mournful, longing. The vast emptiness above the cloudbank made the answering beat of silence all the more apparent. The mocking answer of his own cries echoing back to him as they bounced off Mt. Aozang’s rocks had felt like extra salt in the wound during his earlier days.

But Xiao didn’t expect an answer. Though he paused after each segment of his song, it was not out of hope a kindred spirit might reply. It was just out of learned, instinctive politeness when performing a replica of a duet. He had no mate to sing his heart to.

He could long for a gentle touch to run across the calluses of his skin or ragged feathers but the spaces between his fingers would remain empty of another’s hand clasping his own. A flash of golden hair entered his mind- before being roughly shoved aside. There was no use in dwelling on such impossible things.

His voice carried, settling over the ravines and valleys below. He readied himself for another trill, wings shifting, the wind combing through his tail feathers.

A long, gentle melody sounded out from below. Xiao froze, voice dying in his throat. Everything in him stiffened, falling silent. He sucked in a breath so sharply his lungs protested.

The music notes were drawn out, before fluttering into a tune that was lifting, lulling, reminiscent of his own. The only difference was that this tune was full of hope. He waited for the lilting noise to die down, listening keenly a few beats longer. Reluctantly, carefully, as if afraid he were dreaming, the Yaksha called out again, his voice becoming stronger the longer he sang.

When the music came again shortly after his segment, its purpose was unmistakable. His heart began to thrum erratically. Blood sang through his veins with renewed vigor.

A question and an answer. His eyes stung.

It sounded…strange. So very foreign and previously unthinkable, to hear the hills be filled up with a tune that wasn’t carried by him.

Awkwardly, and with a slight tremor- Xiao tried to sync up. He chirped a new notes, before calling out in time with the stranger’s notes. They began to sing antiphonally, or at least that’s what the music sounded like to him. The person playing their instrument was singing, no matter how he looked at it. They’d learned his song enough to replicate it almost perfectly.

Their combined songs rose to a crescendo, notes overlapping until one couldn't be separated from the other.

Before the song could end, Xiao pushed off from the mountain face, freefalling downwards. Wrapped in the warmth of the stranger’s lingering music, he followed the sound’s pathway, beating his wings.

Weaving around a few stone pillars, his gaze locked on a familiar figure.

It's you…

Lumine's eyes flew wide, lowering the flute from her mouth.

Teal feathers tangled in gently swaying blonde locks as he halted inches before her, breath stalling. Of course it was her. It hadn't occurred to him beforehand, but suddenly the answer was so simple and fitting. A puzzle piece slotting into place. It only ever could have been her. The music had even sounded like her; strong, yet simultaneously gentle and encouraging.

Lumine smiled a little, drenched in his shadow as his form dwarfed her in size. He lowered his head, neck craning down for her hand when she reached up.

“I heard you, many, many months ago now,” she said softly, carding her fingers through his feathers. “I only recently found out your song was a duet. I hope it's okay that I joined in.”

Bedraggled feathers shuddered. He couldn't stop the noise that escaped him: a soft keen of long forgotten wanting. Something he'd long since denied himself.

His wings reformed into arms, feathers shedding, discarded around him in a burst of dark energy as he stumbled into her waiting embrace.

“More than…okay,” he breathed, hiding his face in the juncture between her neck and shoulder, breathing her in. Lumine's fingers shifted to comb through his reformed hair, leaning into him just as his arms curled around her in a rare moment of indulgence. There was no Karma in those stolen touches, no war, no loss or pain. The squeeze and press of their limbs and torsos was an acknowledgement, a wordless vow.

‘I'm here. You're not alone.’

—--

End

#xiaolumi #xiao x lumine #genshin impact #xiaolumi fanfic

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ophanstears · 9 months ago

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[ HeartFell ] Chapter 1 : Into The Darkness

Frisk has always felt like the odd one out - eccentric, curious, and obsessed with everything scary and weird. Trying to prove a local legend to their friends, They climb Mt. Ebott... and fall into the Underground. There, they encounter a creature named Flowey, who is all too eager to help them out. Frisk soon discovers that the Underground is shrouded in a dark energy that has twisted monsters into violent and hateful beings. Feeling empathy for monsterkind, they think that their new powers may hold the key to changing the fate of this broken world. However, Frisk must confront a difficult question: how much of themselves are they willing to sacrifice to become the hero they’ve always longed to be? (Heartfell AU, a personal offshoot of Underfell) (No knowledge on any UnderTale AUs is required for this fic!)

Most days were of clear skies when the sun reached its highest point, bathing the ruthless tundra in a deceptively peaceful light. It was that same barrenness that kept the ever-expanding cities from coming anywhere close to it.

Even the locals of THE TUNDRA dared not stride far into that lush landscape, warning that it was easy to get lost and, once lost, difficult to be found in time for a proper burial. But, despite its incredible hostility, the people there had a hospitality that only few could rival. During most summer days, experienced guides would lead groups of humans big and small through fields that clung close to their village.

Through the strenuous marches up the hillsides, weapons and armors could be found strewn about the landscape, lying half-submerged in the earth. They had been exposed to the elements for what must have been a millennium, and yet, through the layers of rust and corroding metal, one could make out so many intricacies that it felt almost… inspiring. Nearly every piece was ornamented with frilly patterns of vines and leaves, which consistently curled around one identical centerpiece - a faded image of a gilded crest.

The history and culture of those fallen soldiers may have been lost to time, but there was respect to be had for its remnants to have persisted as long as they did.

With one erratic move of their hand, the blue ink of the young human's gel pen splurted as they continued to scribble in their notebook.

It left an unsightly splotch sticking to its owner's hand, which was then quickly smeared all over the page as they carried on despite it. Their sketches were hurried and uneven, spread throughout the pages of their notebook like they were the obsession of a madman, showing nearly identical variations of the same fabled emblem.

Frisk had been reminiscing about going back here for a while. It was tradition for their community to seek out the fields of this very tundra every few years. For one, it was a breathtaking, wondrous sight to behold. For the other, it was a perfect topic for teachers to hang over their student's heads. Nothing but a frivolous time waster, as both parties fantasized about summer holidays lasting a few weeks longer. The students moved through the area in tightly-knit groups, led to the most notable curiosities while being watched by both the guides and teachers as if they were a hawk's prey.

While there was some surface-level interest, there was only so much that a group of young teens could get out of what they saw as the same barren fields of dry grass and rusty pieces of scrap metal.

Frisk's friends looked at their many notes and sketches in a similar vein. Every line they put on the paper was uneven and messy, scrambling any chances of deciphering them. Some minor appreciation was there, one simply couldn't squander the passion their teachers had expected of them.

But there was a difference between passion and the obsession that Frisk had for this place and many other things like it.

One of their friends stuck around for but a fleeting moment to peek over Frisk's shoulder. They knelt in front of a chest piece, sketching down the outlines of the coat of arms carved into its surface. Rust had eaten away at it, leaving more than half of the emblem obscured by a splotch of brown not too different from the inky ones that littered their page. Right next to their current sketch were many more, each one being another worn variant they had found along the trip.

"...You know that you don't need to draw all of these, right? They already know what that symbol looks like." Their friend, Rowan, gave a cautious but scolding remark behind their back, eyebrow furrowed as they looked down at them and their ink-stained hands. Despite the audible annoyance in their friend's voice, Frisk turned around and looked up at them with a sheepish smile. Just as they were about to explain themselves, Rowan picked up on pace again, leaving them in the dust with no more words to spare. Frisk exhaled through gritted teeth as they looked on, their painted nails anxiously tapping against the rim of their notebook before forcing it closed.

It had been a while since they had embarrassed their friend enough to force such a reaction, and they couldn't help but feel like a bad friend for it.

It wasn't the first time they had done so, and they knew it was far from being the last. +

An overwhelming need for caution marked Frisk's actions for the rest of that day. Once so eager to stop at every landmark to note it down, now their book had been clutched close to their hip like it'd fall apart if they didn't. Occasionally did they open it up to sketch something more simple and small, but only when they were clinging to the very back of the group, and were certain that no second pair of eyes were trained on them.

While restraint worked out for most people, Frisk's was more like filling a dam until it cracked from the pressure, and this one had not particularly much space to spare. When they trailed close to their friends, they were silent, even when the subject of their trip came up.

They bit their lip, knowing all too well that they wouldn't be able to stop if they were to mutter as much as a single word. When laughter came from the group, Frisk smiled along, hoping it would ease their mind and make them focus on something else, anything else. It didn't. They did not even listen to what they were saying anymore.

After those sounds of delight rang in their ears, it felt like they had taken a physical shape for the sole purpose of squeezing Frisk's throat, with how much tighter it felt. That was all they could focus on.

+ Only after they had made it back to the youth hostel did those feelings wash away, not too different from footprints on the beach being blurred by waves. Comfortably snuggled up to their blanket in the lower level of the bunk bed, Frisk flipped idly through the pages of their notebook once again as their other friends chatted with each other.

While the others had already changed into their pajamas, Frisk remained on their bed, still wearing the same striped sweater and rolled-up jeans. Their feet occasionally kicked in the air, hanging off the edge of the bed so that their shoes wouldn't dirty the sheets.

"Yeah, one of them keeps trying to scare us with this 'urban legend'. How old do they think we are?"

Frisk perked up at the mere mention, those words were practically the equivalent of chanting a spell to summon them. They gently lowered their book onto their lap, directing their attention towards the group with a curious tilt of their head. Their swaying feet now hovered perfectly still.

"Oh! Are you talking about the ghost train?" Frisk's voice was a quiet whisper compared to the energetic chatter of their friends, yet it was enough to have them all turn their heads towards them in perfect unison.

"Of course, you'd know all about it," Rowan, their friend from earlier, scoffed and rolled their eyes, "if anyone would, it'd be you."

The other two kids, Mert and Erl, did not appear to share their sentiment, giving each other a glance that did not go unnoticed by Frisk. Their curiosity was piqued, even if they didn't want to admit it. Frisk gave the faintest of smiles as they propped their notebook back up because, of course, they would have written down things about the local legend as well. Truly, they did not need the book to retell it, but it gave them a feeling of security that could not be understated.

"They say that a ghost train climbs up to the top of the mountain that's on the other side of the fields," Frisk explained, showing a smile. Their hand brushed over the sketch of said mountain, with several scribbled-over attempts at writing its name filling up the space above. Mt. Ebott, the most discernible one said. "Every full moon, it ferries all those that got lost and died in the plains into the afterlife."

The kids looked at each other. Mixed looks of both interest and concern.

"...It's real, you know," Frisk added on as the silence dragged on longer than they could stomach, nodding their head as if to shake off their own doubts, "I heard it cry once. It went all AHHGHH!" Frisk suddenly lunged forward, throwing their hands up in the air with an exaggerated wail.

Mert jumped and nearly bumped into the chair behind them. Erl stifled an awkward laugh, their fingers nervously gripping the edge of their blanket. Rowan had their arms crossed, huffing as they began to grow frustrated. They were the only one that was not impressed with Frisk's little tale.

"Frisk, that's just a story they tell to keep little kids from wandering off and getting lost.", they said, their voice firm as they threw a glance at the others for backup."Like... it's fine that you like that stuff, but you're overdoing it. You'll give Mert an anxiety attack."

They gestured towards Mert, who was hunched over and fidgeting with the hem of their pajama sleeve.

Mert straightened up at the mention of their name, quickly balling their hands into fists to keep them from shaking. "W-well! If, ah, anything!", they stammered, a nervous grin plastered across their face, "it would make a good horror movie though, right?"

Unaware of Mert's plight, Frisk ignored their friends' doubts to go straight into plotting.

"Maybe if I ask the teachers, we can get a tour up the mountain! It'd be like a super long hike, but if we wake up early enough-" "Frisk," Rowan cut them off, raising a hand dismissively, "the teachers aren't gonna do that. Come on."

But Frisk barely heard them, already lost in all of the possibilities of what they could hear and see up there. "And then we could take pictures of it together!" Frisk's voice rose slightly as they groped for the leather satchel at the foot of the bed. The colorful pins attached to it clinked as their hands brushed past them. "Maybe we'll even see some ghosts and-"

Rowan groaned, their patience wearing too thin to bear another word.

"Ugh! Stop being so weird! You're freaking everyone out!"

Their words landed like a slap and Frisk froze, their fingers tightening around the edges of their satchel. The room fell into an awkward silence. Erl scratched the back of their head, glancing nervously between the two. They opened their mouth to say something, but stopped, not knowing what to say. Finally, it was Mert who grasped the bit of courage they had to speak up. "...I-I know the others are doing a bit of a movie night before we have to go to sleep. M-maybe we could watch that, yeah?" Mert shot a sympathetic look Frisk's way, but they didn't return that gaze. With their head downcast, they stared at the pages of their book once again, fingers grasping at its borders with a pained twitch.

"Yeah, let's do that!", Erl chimed in, all too eager to leave the current conversation behind. "I heard it is technically for grown-ups and stuff!" Mert hesitated as the others got ready, shooting one last glance at Frisk. "...Are you coming, too?"

Frisk didn't look up.

"Maybe later," they whispered, curling up a little tighter under their blanket. Mert wanted to say more, but the others were already heading out, chatting about the movie as if nothing had happened.

They lingered for a second longer, then gave Frisk an apologetic smile before following along.

Frisk remained alone in the dimly lit room, the only sound the soft rustling of pages as they absently turned them over. But no matter how much they browsed, they'd eventually turn back to the smudged sketch of Mt. Ebott.

The mountain's silhouette didn't appear much larger in the drawing than it did in real life, looming over the spanning tundra akin to an ancient guardian.

It was far, but not too far. Was it?

Even now, if they just turned their head toward the window, they knew they’d see it there.

. . .

Frisk bit their lip, their trembling hand clutching at the page in a faint attempt to repress whatever had been welling up in their eyes. But all it did was crumple the previously smooth paper, as a few droplets of water trickled down to stain it. Their shoulders trembled, and they hurriedly wiped at the corners of their eyes with the back of their sleeve.

Why did they have to be so weird? Why couldn't they have come up with that movie idea? Then they wouldn't have looked so stupid and insensible in front of their friends and embarrassed themselves. Why couldn't they just get along with their friends? Were they even their friends?

As quickly as the self-blame came, it shifted into a quiet, simmering anger that stung in their throat. Frisk’s jaw clenched, and their fingers dug into the paper, crinkling it further.

Why could they never fit in? Why did Rowan always have to make them feel like they were the problem like their interests didn’t matter? And why did Mert and Erl never , ever speak up if they felt differently???

It wasn't fair.

Frisk wiped their eyes again, refusing to let any more tears fall. They didn't want to cry because of Rowan's words. Not again. If they were weird for being into this stuff, then maybe it was time to prove that their "weird" wasn’t as ridiculous as Rowan and the others thought.

... It's not like it was too late to go out.

They could hike out to the edge of the fields, get closer to Mt. Ebott, and maybe even see something. Something real. They’d take pictures, or a video, some kind of evidence... anything to show Rowan and the others. Maybe then they'd stop looking at Frisk like they were the weird one. Frisk sat up, picking up their satchel to look it over. Their hands brushed over the colorful pins once again, fingertip briefly resting on one that looked like a tiny pumpkin - a Halloween pin they’d had for years.

They smiled faintly, feeling a little braver about what they were about to do. It was just going to be a short trip. They slipped their notebook inside, as well as some snacks and a bottle of apple juice for the journey. Glancing toward the door to make sure no one was coming, all they heard was the muffled sounds of talking and the low hum of the movie playing down the hall. For once, they loved that nobody was paying attention to them. It was perfect.

They snatched up their jacket from the bedpost, quickly pulling it on and checking their camera to make sure it had enough battery. Satisfied, they slipped it around their neck before heading towards the window. They knew that the youth hostel locked the doors when it turned evening, so sneaking out the front was out of the question. Frisk slid the window open slowly, wincing at the creak that came with it. The distant sound of laughter from the other kids remained, undisturbed. What were they watching back there?

No point in wondering about it now.

Frisk swung one leg over the ledge and carefully lowered themselves out, landing softly on the ground below. The grass beneath their boots crunched slightly under the weight of their landing, but it was hardly loud enough to be heard from inside. They glanced back into the room, making sure no one was watching before shutting the window behind them. Then, readjusting the position of their satchel, they began to walk.

For a summer evening in the tundra, it was a pleasant temperature outside. Too cold to wander about without a jacket for sure, but not so cold that Frisk had to worry about trekking through blankets of ice and snow. The ground beneath their feet was firm, cracked in places, and patches of dry grass spread out in all directions. Some sparse trees were growing in the distance, but they were way too few to create even a thicket. There were no paths either, not official ones anyway, just stretches of wild tundra leading out toward the mountains in the distance.

Frisk had no map to follow, but they did not need any. The distant mountain towering over the landscape was the perfect waypoint. As they walked, the world around them seemed to grow quieter. Occasionally, a distant hoot from some unseen bird echoed in the air, but other than that, it was quiet.

Frisk's steps felt small against the seemingly unending tundra, but it was calming in a way. Just about anything was better than going back there.

Frisk wasn’t entirely sure how long they had been walking, but the aching in their legs suggested it had been a while. The sun was beginning to set, tinting the sky red as it began its path downward. With a tired huff, Frisk plopped themselves down on a large rock, reaching into their satchel to pull out the small bottle of apple juice. They unscrewed the cap, taking a few small sips as they rested. As they did, their eyes traveled up the steep incline of the mountain, trying to gauge how much further they’d have to go and how long it'd take.

If they were quick enough about it, surely they could make it up and back down again to make it back to the hostel in time. And then what?

Pushing the faintest doubts aside, they decided to not rest for too long. The sun was a good reminder that they had a tight time limit to adhere to. The mountain grew steeper the higher they went, and they sometimes had to cling to nearby rocks and shrubs as they made it up a long slope. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Frisk reached a small plateau. The tundra they had trekked across earlier now lay far below. Frisk collapsed onto the cold ground, their breath coming out in ragged gasps. The skin of their fingers and palms stung from where they had gripped the sharp edges of rocks and thorny branches on the way up. The sun was barely hanging above the horizon now, painting the sky in deep purples and blues. A few faint stars had begun to twinkle overhead. Frisk stared up at them, their chest tightening. They had made it up here. But why did it feel like they had accomplished nothing?

That was when the weight of their situation began to sink in.

Frisk sat there, motionless, as a sinking feeling of dread pooled in their chest. They had no idea how long it had taken them to get this far. There was nothing here. The wind blew colder now, nipping at their exposed skin and slipping through the seams of their jacket. Frisk curled their toes in their boots, but they couldn’t stop the creeping numbness that settled in their feet. The air seemed to only grow icier like it was slowly closing in around them. And as they shivered, the first hints of panic began to stir within. They scrambled to their feet, their nerves fraying as they realized... It was almost night.

They could feel their heart drop as they looked on, frozen in place by panic. How would they get back? They shuffled forward and towards the edge of the plateau. It stretched downward endlessly, steep and jagged, with its outlines already disappearing into the growing shadows of the night. One wrong slip and they'd tumble down like a rock.

It had been so much easier to climb up than it would be to get back down.

Frisk shook their head in disbelief, their soles dragging over the uneven ground as they stepped back. Their legs ached, and it was getting cold and dark and their friends must have noticed that they were missing by now! What would Rowan say? The thought only made Frisk feel sicker. Rowan’s voice echoed in their mind, sharp and biting, calling them out for being foolish, for running off on some 'pointless adventure'. They'd never live that down. And what would the others think? That they went on this stupid hike and for what? To prove how absolutely stupid they were? Oh, they would laugh and laugh...

I'm going to freeze out here.

Their breaths came quicker now, shallow and panicked. "Oh man… I am in so much trouble," Frisk whimpered, their voice barely more than a whisper. They clutched the strap of their satchel tightly, kneading the fabric in a desperate attempt to calm themselves. But it wasn’t working. The fear wouldn’t go away.

Just then, the cold wind whipped against them with a force so strong, it almost felt like it was trying to push them away from the edge. For a moment, Frisk found themselves hoping that there was another way down, a path or something of the sort that they had missed. All they had to do was look for it. And so they kept walking, even as the wind kept pushing against them, deeper into the caverns that spanned before them. It almost started to feel natural again, the way their body moved despite the fear, despite the cold, despite the exhaustion. Each step seemed to bring back a sliver of the courage they thought they had lost.

And then they saw it.

A massive, gaping hole in the ground, wide and black and unending. It seemed impossibly large, too perfect, too out of place to be a natural formation. That abandoned cave they found themselves in looked like a dead end, but Frisk could not pull themselves away from the sight. They still felt something pushing them - but this time, forward. Their pulse quickened. There was nothing but silence now. No wind, no rustling trees, no distant birds.

All they could hear was the steady thrum of a heartbeat. It was growing louder, faster, more insistent. It reverberated in their ears, in their chest, but something about it was wrong. This isn’t mine.

[PROCEED.]

That word echoed in their mind, not spoken aloud but flowing through their mind like a twisted poison. Frisk’s legs moved on their own, each step drawing them closer to the edge of the abyss. Their hands twitched at their sides, trembling slightly as if wanting to resist but unable to stop.

And just as they were about to dig their heels in, that same command rang again.

[PROCEED.]

They took another step. And another.

And then they were at the edge.

Frisk’s toes hovered just over the lip of the abyss, a strange air rising from below like the breath of some unseen beast lurking.

All their thoughts and senses felt like they'd been turned off, and Frisk could not even tell if the air was of a pleasant warmth or of the same ruthless cold as outside. They peered down into the void, only to find that there was nothing to see. Not even the faint light of the rising moon could break it.

[PROCEED.]

And they did.

For a split second, everything stopped. The world went quiet.

Frisk gasped as they felt their body tip forward, hands flailing in the air as they desperately tried to grab onto something - anything - but there was nothing to hold.

And with a breathless, silent scream lodged in their throat...

They fell.

#undertale #my art #underfell #undertale au #frisk #heartfell au #writing #heartfell chapter

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yuelun · 2 years ago

Text

Resurrection: Explanation

They seemed to come from all direction: the mountains to the South, the sea to the East, the ruins of the Guili Assembly to the North, Mt. Tianheng to the West, and every inch of life far beyond each corner of Teyvat; each speck of ash, of chalk, of dust...

As I absolutely don't want to intrude on the game's events, past and present, I wanted to keep the nature of Guizhong's 'resurrection' rather in the corner of a... natural phenomenon. It's stated within Genshin's own lore that gods never truly die, and we all know that elements never cease to exist either. When Guizhong succumbed to death during the Archon war, the element that she had originally formed from never perished. If anything, everything always returns to dust, but she exists within that concept as she is the element of dust. It's why it lingers at her fingertips and why her attire disintegrates into it at its tips. And Teyvat is littered in ash and dust, and this only accumulates more throughout the centuries. For example, it is my personal (firm) belief that the darkening of the sky above Cuijue Slope is actually a dust cloud, or what we were made to read as 'black dust that choked the heavens' (and still does) as a result of her form having perished so long ago. If so, dust cannot disintegrate any further and/or beyond itself, and it's lingered for thousands of years. Has it possibly grown over-time, and does it pull more ashes into itself? All valid questions, but all in all, if it's dust, that means that it is her.

Keeping this in mind, my concept of her returning is rather simple. As I tie them all so very strongly into their element, and considering that hers is so overbearingly present throughout Teyvat, it is not far fetched by any means to think that the gods could reform from their element after regaining their strength within this phase of 'death' that is not ever final for them. Beyond that, I think it's incredibly dependent on the type of god that they are and what they are tied to, as we know not all of them are tied to a physical element (time, wisdom, to name two examples). With Guizhong being tied to dust (and ash and chalk, as Albedo notes the significance of in the creation life in his character story), I think it may be easier for her to do so, as long as she's capable of, in essence, using something as an energy battery. This simply leaves me with that latter and the timing for her return.

While I had originally decided on the Moonchase Festival, due to its tie to the moon, or specifically, the full moon (a meta for another time); I was a little silly and entirely forgot one monumental detail about Lantern Rite. It must have been a night during which my mind took a little stroll down the pebble beach. But again, I digress. The detail is as follows:

Lantern Rite is a festival in Liyue celebrated on the first full moon of the year and lasts for five days.

What is more symbolical than two of Liyue's founders to be tied to the new year in one way or another; a nation that celebrates its traditions and honours its forebears as it does? But outside of that, this doesn't come without inherent reasons for her directly as well. To reform as she does, especially to redraw into an appearance that perished long ago; it wouldn't be as simple as putting one's mind to it; one would, additionally, likely need a separate body of energy to generate the power needed to accomplish this. Again, pending the incoming meta, the celestial body she's tied to, the moon, when it's at its most significant in either power or symbolical importance (the faith/belief from humanity). A year's first full moon.

Remember the lone glaze lily that overlooks Liyue Harbor? It would be occurring on that cliffside, not chosen out of any notion of romanticism per se, but simply because of how it's one of the 'items' that she has always had such an inherently strong tie to (as we know, when she passed, the glaze lilies dwindled in number significantly, even if that had more to do with the land being ridden of tragedy), much more so than any other. Not only that, but Liyue Harbor represents the area that houses most of the people that are descendants of those that once lived in the Guili Assembly, who were in part, her people. That is another tie, for humanity is exceedingly important to her. Beyond that, from the cliffside there is a fully unobstructed view of the moon even before it reaches its apex as it rises in the east.

What does it look like? It mostly happens in the veil of nighttime, so the entire occurrence would hardly be noticeable to the human eye, nor does any mortal seem to venture out to that location habitually (and as for immortals, Zhongli and Madame Ping are likely its only visitors). But as dusk settles upon the land, motion is found in the dust cloud above Cuijue Slope. Flecks separate from it one by one, and as they do, it thins out, releasing the area of its gloom, joining flecks of dust and ash that gather from all sides of Teyvat to that one cliffside into a small zephyr of sorts. And it takes a long time, it's slow at first, and the higher the moon reaches, the faster they are carried on the wind, or rather, they themselves cause a breeze simply by their motion. And in the midst of this, as the moon dims, seeming a little less luminous than any other full moon throughout the year (but nothing too odd or inherently noticeable), the flecks gather into a form, one recognisable to anyone who knew her in days long passed. I can see it taking hours, and at its peak, it's a rush of wind that's caused by the whirl of them, and the more the moon dims, the brighter the form held within the flecks becomes, and the fuller and clearer it becomes: the same garments, the same hair, the same sleeves. She re-manifests into a solid and corporeal form as she once was, over a period of numerous hours. This would, however, leave her drained of lot of her power for possibly weeks, but ultimately, she would return to how she was, as they all are.

#[ meta. ] her manuscripts still lie unfinished in her abode. the blank pages give one cause for contemplation on what might have been.#[ /phew. ]#[ i don't know how many will read all of this-- but in case anyone wants to: it's here. ]#[ i didn't want it to be very long and it easily could have been twice as long but i /tried/ to avoid it. ]#[ there was truly no point to add more; even if tempted! i could talk forever and a day about this one. ]#[ now to make my little bullet point list to add to this. ]#[ ... and also then include it at the bottom. i guess. here we go. ]#[ alright-- off to write a little sum-up 'verse' post that i can put up a link to this to. ]#[ v: present. ] all wrapped up in a city that has existed for so many moons to date. all these things: they are why people chase the moon.

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justanother-fanficwriter · 10 months ago

Text

NCIA Agent Trese fanfic part 6.

Note: Sorry for the long no posting but I suddenly had the urge to continue this story.😩 Also, thanks to the video game Just Cause 2 for giving me inspiration for this fictional nation.

Fictional Country Desc: Welcome to Biringan, Pulau! The country that is mistaken to be located in Samar! A Country run by both humans and Southeast Asian Supernaturals. A land where technological innovation, meets the woders of the supernatural elements! This nation is always mistaken to be a part of samar as a loophole mysteriously teleports planes, ships, people, animals, and cars to this islands capital, Biringan, located near the Malaysian Peninsula, South of the Thai Gulf and West of the Philippine Archipelago. This portal seemingly closes and opens only a few times in a lifetime. This A place where Thai, Filipino, Malay, Indonesian, and Singaporean culture meet! Languages could differ from the Province, Prefecture, City, or even District/Borough you are in. Public transport could differ from Tuk Tuks/Bao Bao, Taxis, Tricycles, Jeepneys, Songthaew's, Buses, and Boats. The island is well known for its technological advancement, vibrant and diverse culture, understanding between different religions, delicious cusine, and its wonderful nature along with its history and landmarks. It is also known for hospitality and tourist attraction. Try to visit the "Palm Hotel and Casino" for the best 5 star service among Southeast Asian hotels. Go to the White sand beach of "Wisata Emas Resort" to enjoy a relaxing vacation, or try Skiing the "Taman Nasional Kuning Bulan" at the High Mountains of Mt. San Agustin. Or visit the churches of "New Mactan" and temples of the Thai town of "Phaleung". Go shopping at the Biringan Night Market and buy authentic local Pulau products. And maybe as the Cherry On Top if you have children, Visit the "Taman Magik" Amusement park at the state of "Batbang" or the Taman Nasiunal Batbang and see the amazing wildlife! From ron Tarsier's, to Tamaraw's, Bats, Eagles, Elephants and more! And if you feel like visiting a dessert that can be a sea during high tide, visit the "Pangasitinggi Dunes" and lastly, go island hopping at the "Caritan Archipelago to see wonderful crystal clear oceans! But don't get fooled by the bright side of this nation. This nation is ruled under the dictatorship of Pado Magsakay, being a puppet of the S.P.L.G., and the strongest source of power of the terrorist faction, it makes him harder to take down.

We got a rental car and I drove next to them at a nearby Food Hall. They were eating the Pulau adaptation of Pad Thai Noodles.

"ha! I'll take the last serving!" Basilio says as he takes the serving fork.

"Hey!" Crispin Complains. I immediately stopped their fighting by taking the bowl of the remaining noodles and putting all of it in my plate.

"Let your cousin eat! Will ya two?" I said right before taking a spoonful of noodles.

"you're not our cousin biologically! Fuck off!" Basilio angrily retorted.

"well just let me eat, I spent most of the time getting a good rental car!" I said pointing at the slightly rusty "1990 Hiace" parked behind us next to the food hall.

"you mean this junk?!" Both of them complained.

"stop it!" Alexandra joined the conversation to stop the argument.

"Any vehicle manufactured before 2011 had no computerized systems. Meaning? They can't be tracked via GPS!"

I explained.

After we ate, we got into the rental van and I turned the key. The van comes to life and so does the radio.

"Hanya ini yang kubernikan

Sebua lagu ciptaan!"

I started to sing in Indonesian as I drive down the City. Everyone except for my sister looked at me as they never knew I spoke Indonesian.

We arrived at the rental house and started to get to work. Turns out, an important member of the faction was going to meet with the president of Pulau at the "Palm" Hotel and Casino.

Later that night we went to the casino to identify who was the VIP. My sister started to work on the cameras and Identification. While me and Alex dance with different people to try and make it seem natural. Crispin and Basilio stayed in the van to be part of backup. The party was formal yet it was so Hip! The dancing accompanied by the banduria's playing "Cariñosa" and the people wearing different Southeast Asian formal outfits.

I slowly made my way around and soon spotted her with the help of my sister on the computer.

"That's her, the one wearing a Malaysian outfit."

I looked at her before calling Maliksi.

"get her limo, knock out the driver and take his place as the chauffeur!"

Maliksi simply kicked the driver so strong he fell into the water across the railings. He took the limo and after the party ended, the lady got into the car.

"Take me back to the mansion! Now!"

The lady demanded in Malay.

"Drive as fast and horrible as possible!"

I told him on the phone.

He immediately floored it and the limo darted away towards downtown along the highway. Maliksi locks the limo doors.

"Hey slow down! What's the rush?! Wait, youre not my driver!"

"Do I really need to go fast?"

"Well we don't want to give this girl an opportunity to jump out safely!"

I replied.

The limo stops at the NCIA safehouse

Maliksi takes the rich woman and made her sit in a chair.

#trese #trese fanfic #team trese #the kambal #crispin and basilio #hank #Spotify

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iniziare · 1 year ago

Text

Resurrection: Explanation

As I absolutely don't want to intrude on the game's events, past and present, I wanted to keep the nature of Guizhong's 'resurrection' (in my default verse of it) a natural phenomenon, instead of involving anyone else. It's stated within Genshin's own lore that gods never truly die, and we all know that elements never really cease to exist either. When Guizhong succumbed to death during the Archon war, the element that she had originally formed from never perished. If anything, everything always returns to dust, but she exists within that concept as she is the literal embodiment of its element. It's why it lingers at her fingertips and why her attire disintegrates into it at its ends. And Teyvat is littered in ash and dust, and this only accumulates more throughout the centuries. For example, it is my personal (firm) belief that the darkening of the sky above Cuijue Slope is actually a dust cloud, or what we were made to read as 'black dust that choked the heavens' (and still does) as a result of her form having perished so long ago. If so, dust cannot disintegrate any further and/or beyond itself, and so it's lingered for thousands of years. Has it possibly grown over-time, in other words does it pull more ashes into itself? All valid questions, but all in all, if it's dust, then that means that it is her.

Keeping this in mind, my concept of her returning is rather simple. As I tie them all so very strongly into their element, and considering that hers is so overbearingly present throughout Teyvat (overbearingly tragically so), it is not far fetched by any means to think that the gods could reform from their element after regaining their strength within this phase of 'death' that is not ever final for them. Beyond that, I think it's incredibly dependent on the type of god that they are and what they are tied to, as we know not all of them are tied to a physical element (time, wisdom, to name two examples). With Guizhong being tied to dust (and ash and chalk, with Albedo noting the significance of in the creation of life in his character story), I think it may be easier for her to do so, as long as she's capable of, in essence, using something as an energy battery. Let me get to that, and the timing of her return.

While I had originally decided on the Moonchase Festival, due to its correlation to the moon, or specifically, the full moon; I was a little silly and entirely forgot one monumental detail about Lantern Rite. The detail is as follows:

Lantern Rite is a festival in Liyue celebrated on the first full moon of the year and lasts for five days.

What is more symbolical than two of Liyue's founders to be tied to the new year in one way or another; a nation that celebrates its traditions and honors its forebears as it does? But outside of that, this doesn't come without inherent reasons for her directly as well. To reform as she does, especially to redraw into an appearance that perished long ago; it wouldn't be as simple as putting one's mind to it; one would, additionally, likely need a separate body of energy to generate the power needed to accomplish this. Again, as I repeatedly note in metas (see her character page), I firmly believe that HYV has intentionally tied her very strongly to the moon, and so this is what I believe to function as her 'battery'. Especially when it's at its most significant in both power and symbolical importance (the faith/belief from humanity): a year's first full moon.

Remember the lone glaze lily that overlooks Liyue Harbor? It would be occurring on that cliffside, not chosen out of any notion of romanticism per se, but simply because of how it's one of the 'items' that she has always had such an inherently strong tie to (as we know, when she passed, the glaze lilies dwindled in number significantly), much more so than any other. Not only that, but Liyue Harbor represents the area that houses most of the people that are descendants of those that once lived in the Guili Assembly, who were in part, her people. That is another tie, for humanity was always exceedingly important to her. Beyond that, from the cliff side there is a fully unobstructed view of the moon even before it reaches its apex as it rises in the east.

What does it look like? It mostly happens in the veil of nighttime, so the entire occurrence would hardly be noticeable to the human eye, nor does any mortal seem to venture out to that location habitually (and as for immortals, Zhongli and Madame Ping are likely its only visitors). But as dusk settles upon the land, motion is found in the dust cloud above Cuijue Slope. Flecks separate from it one by one, and as they do, it thins out, releasing the area of its gloom, joining flecks of dust and ash that gather from all sides of Teyvat to that one cliffside into a small zephyr of sorts. And it takes a long time, it's slow at first, and the higher the moon reaches, the faster they are carried on the wind, or rather, they themselves cause a breeze simply by their motion. And in the midst of this, as the moon dims when she's drawing energy from it, seeming a little less luminous than any other full moon throughout the year (but nothing too odd or inherently noticeable), the flecks gather into a form, one recognizable to anyone who knew her in days long passed. I can see it taking many hours, and at its peak, it's a rush of wind that's caused by the whirl of them, and the more the moon dims, the brighter the form held within the flecks becomes, and the fuller and clearer it is: the same garments, the same hair, the same sleeves. She re-manifests into a solid and corporeal form as she once was. This would, however, leave her drained of lot of her power for possibly weeks, but ultimately, she would return to how she was, as they all are.

#meta. [ her manuscripts still lie unfinished in her abode. the blank pages give one cause for contemplation on what might have been. ]#v: present. [ all wrapped up in a city that has existed for so many moons to date. all these things: they are why people chase the moon. ]

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syrakhanistan · 2 years ago

Text

The Elbrus Atrocity

Unlocking files, category: Elbrus Atrocity. Security levels: OVERRIDDEN.

Wikipedia, the free encyclopaedia: The Elbrus Disaster

The Elbrus Disaster, commonly known as the Elbrus Atrocity, or the Burning of the Mountains, refers to a military incident – referred to as a war crime, a preventive strike, a decapitation strike, an ambush, and many other tactical names – wherein an element of the Syrakhanistani Armed Forces launched an annihilation order against several key Russian defensive positions in the latter stages of the Greater Caucasian Conflict. This total obliteration of several important strongholds of Russian strength, most notably the temporary command headquarters of the entire Russian Southern Military District stationed on the cusp of Europe’s largest mountain, Mt. Elbrus (which gives this incident it's more common nomenclature), and the dual bunker-system of the Russian Strategic Missile Forces, along with the main command of the 12th Directorate of the Ministry of Defence (responsible for nuclear command), on two mountains of Kosvinsky and Yamantau.

This series of events, all occurring within a single hour on a single day late in 2009, was quickly seen as the primary motivation behind the Grand Armistice proceedings, alongside the Moscow Spearhead Incident a day later. The events remain hotly debated between scholars of military, science and history thought, particular between the political ramifications of such an attack as well as the physical capability of a small number of Syrakhanistani forces to deal such a blow.

As such, it should…

…

Recording footage of the remains of Mount Elbrus, roughly half an hour after contact was lost with the headquarters there

• 00:00 minutes in. “As we are seeing from the helicopter… an impossible sight. Moving in for extra verification; inspector himself states that it might be a hallucination.”

• 00:05 into operation. “It’s true. Impossibly, the entire mountain has been turned into a quite literally smoking crater… or, more accurately, a series of craters that have essentially combined. In fact, the inspector on the ground now notes that the material currently bubbling like lava on the ground matches the natural stone formation of the former mountain; which is to say, whatever was used here was powerful enough to turn a 6km high peak into a liquid puddle of rock. Similar operations on other fortresses currently being inspected due to lack of comms activity are reporting identical results.”

• 00:06 into operation. “MilSci calculates that, with the evidence of the old Ivan bomb [Russian name for Tsar Bomba] and the crater it physically created, it would take roughly, and this appears to be very rough, somewhere between 30Mt to 860Mt, if not more, concentrated into a single explosion. That’s… well, Ivan was around 50Mt, if the old government were to be believed, so this is easily the most powerful human explosion ever registered…”

• 00:07 into operation. “We have visual – photographic – confirmation of similar attacks at the other sites. Just like here at Elbrus, the blasts seem less like a single explosion, but more a series of detonations, or perhaps something akin to a shotgun-blast on a nuclear scale… So not only have they deployed a weapon of unheard-of scales, but they have done it around ten times within an hour. Kurchatov, eat your heart out.”

• 00:15 into operation. “So… this is unconfirmed as of yet, but we’re not getting any radiological signatures from the points of impact. We’ve only just managed to get some drones close to Ground Zero, so this is hypothetical, but… somehow, this weapon they’ve deployed is non-nuclear in nature. Jesus fucking Christ...”

• 00:20 into operation. “The non-nuclear nature of the explosions has been independently verified. The inspector is back from the edge of the site; he’s been shivering for the last five minutes. I think he might have thrown up along the way back.”

• 00:25 into operation. “We’ve got unconfirmed reports of enemy troops closing in on the location. However, said reports also indicate they march under a white flag… What the fuck is going on?”

• 00:35 into operation. “So… the Syrakhanistani force that has just deployed here is just as confused as we are. They detected massive heat signatures that terrified a scientific attache they had been assigned – apparently they were concerned it could have been a third-party, like the Americans, or even an asteroid – and decided independently to conduct a humanitarian effort. Hang on…”

• 00:50 into operation. “That was quite a lot of effort. Another Syrakhanistani force appeared, and I mean quite literally. Stealthed in and everything, one of their goddamn invisible machines we’ve heard reports of. Apparently, this operation was conducted by the top echelons of their armed forces; virtually nobody, even the actual Army Group Marshal of the force that had arrived, had been told. These stealthy guys are from this echelon; I’m not in charge of this operation, but the guy who is has currently passed out, so I’m confused to my orders, but… they’ve essentially told us that the War will be over by tomorrow. One of them is even personally seeing to the inspector, under guard of course. This whole situation stinks.”

• 1hr into operation. “It’s finally hit the international news. The Syrakhanistan government and our own still haven’t said anything, but the UN has officially requested an immediate ceasefire. Sounds like even the Yanks are terrified. The silence from the bosses in Moscow is... well, unnerving. Anyways, those special high-echelon forces I mentioned earlier seem like a lively bunch, if I might say so. They’re fully decked out in sinister looking black armour, even with skull icons, but they’re actually seeming kind of nice. As I said, one of them saw to the inspector, and he’s up and about again. He does look a fair bit more pale though…”

• 1.15hr into operation. “First stage of research is coming to an end. The current hypothesis is that they used some sort of direct energy weapon via a non-nuclear charge, but we have currently no idea what in God's name that could be, or how such a powerful non-nuclear weapon could be deployed almost concurrently in separate places thousands of kilometres apart. Whatever the answer is… this is unpatriotic to say, but I’m pretty sure we’ve soundly lost this war. We could use literally every single weapon in our arsenal at the same time, and it would do less damage than what they just used. What was all our fighting for, then…?”

…

Cabinet meeting of Syrakhanistan, roughly 3 hours prior to Atrocity.

“So… you’re in full regalia.”

“I am.”

“This should be good.”

“With her? All will be.”

“I wish I had your enthusiasm.”

“Hey, can someone fill me in…? What does being in ceremonial armour mean?”

“Didn’t you read the memo? I sent it, like, an hour ago.”

“My liege, not everyone has the ability to read at the speeds you do!”

“…forgive my intrusion, but he does have a point. Heh, I can’t absorb information at a fraction of the speed and level you do, and I’m… well.”

“Pfft. It really is like you guys to bring me down to Earth sometimes. Ahem.”

“As I said, this should be good.”

“So, you know how I have [REDACTED]?”

“Oh, not this again. I still can’t physically wrap my head around it, sometimes. Even after the Minister demonstrated for you.”

“Well… On that note.”

“My liege, do you want me to…?”

“No. This is my fault for being secretive.”

“…”

“So, in terms of being [REDACTED], I have been somewhat… uncompromising with my secrecy around it.”

“Such as…?”

“Well. To be blunt… if you were a planet, then the Minister would be a solar system. If the Minister is a solar system, then I’m an entire galactic cluster.”

“Your Excellency, you’re not that fat!”

“Ex-FUCKING-SCUSE ME—Oh, wait, you’re joking. Or…?”

“What my esteemed colleague was trying to articulate is that he doesn’t understand your example.”

“Hey! It’s not that I don’t understand… I just don’t really get metaphors sometimes.”

“Fine. FINE! Pardon my French, then. Basically, compared to normal [REDACTED], ahem, 'I’m the fucking Juggernaut, bitch!'”

“Eh…?”

“Oh, dear lady up above, you don’t know…? Have you SERIOUSLY never watched the X-Men?!”

“My liege, are you sure—”

“Don’t make me repeat myself. Besides, I think I’m close.”

“Well, I mean… A juggernaut usually means something big, but also strong, right?”

“Yeah! So, you’re trying to say…”

“I’m trying to say, I’m like ABSOLUTELY FUCKING GIGA-STRONG.”

“Like, really, really powerful.”

“As in, I can blow up cities by myself.”

“She once destroyed an entire army with a snap of her fingers.”

“I can make the Tsar Bomba look like a plump stinkin' turd after a somewhat weird burger bought at a station in the middle of the night.”

“What, like… I dunno, a Superman or something?”

“Eh, if that example is descriptive enough, then go for it.”

“Alright, so we kind of understand now. You’re powerful, like physically, or something. What does that have to do with the… well, the over-dramatic glowing armour of doom?”

“Phrpt, glowing armour of doom…”

“Well, cool armour details aside, it’s mostly to psyche myself up. But it’s also a demonstration of how serious I am, to anyone who understands the context of my… well, the [REDACTED].”

“Alright. So… what are you going to do?”

“I’m, well. I’m gonna give ‘em an airshow. I’m going to demonstrate that, whilst this little war was fun, I’m finished with it at this point. We have them on the retreat anyways, but… well, what I’m about to do would give Harry Truman a wet dream.”

“Y’know…”

“Don’t, seriously. Don’t…”

“No, I have to ask. I’m sorry, but if we had a trump card that would put the Tsar Bomba to shame, then why haven’t we used it until now…?”

“How dare—”

“No, wait. It’s a good question, and I forgive your… impertinence. It does deserve an answer.”

“I… I hope it is a satisfactory one. You seem a little, well, flippant about this situation, your excellency. With all, and I do mean all, due respect… I cannot find the death of so many in this war to be such a small thing. On both our own side and for the Bear.”

“Heh. Growing a conscience in your old age?”

“Perhaps. I do have kids now, after all.”

“True. Well, I do have a reason. Two-fold, really.

One: I believed, somewhat selfishly, that our combined arms would manage to defeat the Russians conventionally, especially after we repelled the initial attack. I certainly didn’t expect them to refuse to surrender so stubbornly; I mean, we’re on the precipice of European Russia. We’ve taken the Caucasus, and Crimea is in sight. Do they not know when to quit?”

“It’s the Russians. They really don’t.”

“Quite.

And, two: This level of destruction I am about to demonstrate is detrimental in many a manner. It risks hurting us nationally, internationally, and with regards to [REDACTED] [REDACTED]. It breaks several treaties and agreements about [REDACTED], and it will be condemned as a war crime above all others, and frankly as an act of environmental terror that exists above all possible crimes against humanity. It’s also… well, all energy must come from somewhere. I might be [REDACTED], and the [REDACTED] [REDACTED], but this level of violence should not be released unless absolutely necessary.”

“My God... And... well, will you be...?”

“Heh. Maybe you’re the one with the conscience.”

“Ha! Perhaps. You’ve seen another meaning, then?”

“Of course. In my time with working with you, you’re not a fan of doing things that wouldn’t be necessary. As absurd as I do find you being a superman, you wouldn’t reveal such a fact in such a serious manner if you didn’t think it was a last resort.”

“Heh. Yeah, you’re right in many regards there. Frankly, I don’t want to prolong the suffering we’ve already dealt. This might be over the top, but it’s such a feat that I must only pray that they will give up afterwards. Otherwise… Well, to make me do something so unnecessary, even more than this, would be bad for literally everyone involved.”

“My liege…”

“Come now. We’re this informal now, we're all friends and comrades here. You have my permission.”

“Just this once then, War... Warmaster Hazuki. The First among all. You do have a heart, somewhere in there, don’t you?”

“…Maybe. Some days, I do doubt it.”

“'This was, and remains, necessary', then?”

“Umu; indeed. What we will do today will make historians quiver; but it is better than the alternatives we’re left with. I can’t let this war go on any further, anyways; there are more pressing matters, for me personally and for the nation, to deal with anyways.”

“Do what you will, Hazuki. As always, we stand with you, no matter the cost.”

“…Thank you. You don’t know how much that means to me.”

“The details, then?”

“Ah, yes. I plan on using the Minister’s powers – I hope that’s alright, [REDACTED]? – to duplicate a few of myself. It is vital that this appears to be a united effort from more than one person, so as to avoid… well, this whole thing will have many consequences, so let’s at least cut a few down if we can. I will inflict a horrendous loss upon the Bear, all within the space of between ten minutes and an hour, depending on a few factors.”

“…How long have you been planning this, my liege…?”

“Heh.”

…

Recording: REALITY OVERRIDE IN EFFECT. RECORDING TAKEN VIA [#?#?#?#?]; NEAR TO AND AT MOMENT OF ATROCITY.

WARP RUPTURE DETECTED. PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

The smell of burned ozone preceded the brief but bright flash of light, indicating a teleportation; an abhorrent act, tearing through two sides of the warp back into the reality of this world. A single figure steps out from the hole, with a soft thump, before the warp reclaims the gap in reality.

She stood quietly, at the summit of Mt. Elbrus. It was a clear morning, but cold, and every breath she took let out a small cloud.

Comms chatter.

“My liege, I’ve set up the Duplicates as requested. On photos and footage, if any, along with visual confirmation, it will appear that you are surrounded by several others in SIM armour.”

She grunts, and the comms goes dead again.

She gives a small sigh, and looks almost wistfully up to the sky. The sun was just about to rise above the horizon, and the moon still burned brightly behind her, the slight pink shadow only visible to people like herself ever present when looked at for too long.

“Let’s begin…”

She cleared her throat, and projected herself and the Duplicates to the locations of her machinations.

“Greetings, oh Russian forces.”

Chaos immediately rang out across each fortress. Sirens blared, and guns were loaded. All for naught, naturally.

“Today, you will be sacrificed for the good of our two nations. Be at peace, for the deaths of you thousands is a necessity for fate to run it’s cruel course.”

More running around, like headless chickens. Her left eye twitched a little, a fiery anger held in cold chains attempting to escape.

“Well then… good morning; and goodbye.”

A small, golden shield materialised onto the Warmaster's arm, and she swiftly twisted it---

[REALITY ERROR: PARSING CODE… DONE.]

--And Chaos returned to this world.

The sky blazed a cruel, unfamiliar colour, frozen in an unseen fury. Piles of melted and bloody corpses littered the landscape, the ruins of cities burning across the wastes. Elbrus erupted, even whilst she stood atop it, the lava frozen in the air next to her.

Her eyes finally lost a little tension, and she coughed.

She spluttered a little, her nose beginning to ooze a horrific black substance stained with flecks of crimson, quickly brushed away.

“I will never get used to this… no matter how long I play this stupid fuckin' game.”

Hazuki clenched her fists, squinting at her surroundings, her hair reflecting a long-erased purple. As always, that disgusting fucking egg, having replaced the Moon, swung in the sky, the corrupting pink seething through the frozen surroundings. The Sun, replaced by a single broken cog as if ripped violently from a wheel still turning; the laughter of the grinning death from eons past ever present.

The World of Lost Time, the corrupted haven located within the reality-warping power of time control, would always be both a peaceful respite as well as a truly terrifying reminder of…

Well. Speaking of terrifying reminders.

“#!#?#?!//#?!//~#...”

A shadow of regret made itself known, placing non-existant hands made of pure darkness onto the girl's shoulders while speaking heresies in a language unrecognisable to those who know not.

Unfortunately, Hazuki remained one of those cursed few who did. Her often blank features turned to a genuine scowl, like someone woken abruptly from a good sleep.

“??!!##//#!?!#?#!!?#/#!”, the shadow giggled in response.

Hazuki sighed, and looked up to that awful sky once more. Memories of an era long since past drift to the surface, before being swiftly banished back from whence they came. She shook her head again.

“Anyway – try not to disturb me. I need to do this as quickly as possible, despite how utterly irritating such a task is...”

The Warmaster closed her eyes, ignoring the figure next to her and the bleak surroundings of a frozen wasteland, before smiling; and then—

…

[REALITY OVERRIDE DISCONNECTED. RESUMING PLAYBACK...]

Diary entry: Personal guard of Russian Premier [REDACTED], 25hrs post-Atrocity

“The death toll, all given, appears to be in the hundreds of thousands, and that is likely a low-ball estimate.” The soft-spoken advisor finished his spiel, before nervously sitting back down.

The Premier was sweating profusely. He was already aging in a bad way, and this war had only exacerbated his various issues. You can’t help feel a little sorry for him, even if you’re sure that the majority of this is his fault in the first place.

“What I want to know is… how did this even occur? A group of 30 elite soldiers, or so, somehow unleashing a weapon that quite literally melted Europe’s largest mountain?! For fucks' sake, we thought their nukes were only tactical until they glassed the WHOLE FUCKING ANATOLIAN highlands. Honestly, if there’s one thing I’ve certainly taken from this disaster, it’s to fire my military logistics team and re-allocate all their money into the FUCKING dirt, for all the goddamned use they’ve been.” The Premier screeched in an almost deranged manner, stamping his foot like a petulant child.

A murmur around the room. You grip your holster a little tighter – you really would like to avoid any more coup attempts, if possible. The last one had your wife in a proper fit following the number of casualties.

“Mr President, if I may interrupt… I think it might be better to think about what we should do next.” The Undersecretary to the Minister of Defence spoke coldly; a younger woman, who seemed to have aged a century during the process of the war.

“Wow, you DON’T say?!” Her common rival, the Undersecretary to the Minister of Trade, grunted in response. “For once, Premier, I have to agree with the muppet on my opposite side. We have to do something.”

“Well, what do you two geniuses actually suggest, then? Hm?” The Minister of Defence himself stated with a growl, scratching at an untrimmed hair near his beard. One of his oldest comrades, the former Foreign Minister, had died in the trigger event for this whole mess. From the beginning, he had been one of those most ardent for a military response – yet, at this point, even he had begun to tire of the war (if solely because it was getting more and more difficult to import his favourite brand of cigar).

“Well…” One of them began.

“Let’s just nuke them all. I mean, really, why didn’t we do it sooner?” The current Foreign Minister, a young chap with all the charisma but none of the brains, spat out.

The Minister of Defence chortled at that. “For what, exactly? As revenge? I mean, for crying out loud, we don’t have enough nukes to properly saturate their whole territory, let alone the means to do so in an efficient manner anymore. Maybe if we had started with NUCLEAR FUCKING GENOCIDE then we might have had half of a chance, but at this point we’ve run out of half of our own means to deploy our weapons.”

“Well, what about nuking their capi—”

“Do you not remember the LAST time we tried that?! Have you never heard the phrase “the definition of insanity…”?”

“Guys, come on, we need to—”

“Oh, you’re such a twat—”

“Why did I even want this job in the first place…”

The State-Security Council of the Russian Federation descended into pandemonium, as years of pent-up stress finally boiled over into a heated shouting match. You shake your head in shame at what this once great nation had become.

“You know, I have a few ideas for what we could do next.”

One oddly clear voice finally spoke above the din of the room. A voice they had all heard before, in broadcasts and on impatient diplomatic phone calls. A voice they both feared and hated.

The leader of their opposing nation sat nonchalantly at the other head of the table, the Deputy President somehow unceremoniously plopped on the end of the table itself. She smiled that cold yet pleasant smile, one foot relaxing on the table whilst she picked at the underneath of one of her nails.

It was at this moment of pure, sudden silence that the situation outside suddenly began to set in. Sirens were blaring; smoke drifting through shattered windows. It was as if reality itself had suddenly changed in the space of mere moments.

You go straight for your sidear-

AAAAAAAARGHHH

FUCKING HELL IT HURTS FUCKING SHIT THE PAIN

“AHHHH- oh?” You scream before suddenly stopping. You look down at the bloody stump where your arm had just been, only to find it miraculously returned, as if the gory mess that had just occurred was just a strange halleucination. Were it not for the massive spray of blood now covering the wall behind you.

A dark, towering and armoured figure silently nodded next to you, a shining light fading from their arm as they moved away. You look around, the Council sat nervously and shaking, staring at you, at the First, and at splatter of viscera that coated the walls.

“I trust you won’t cause any more issues for a little while, Mr. [REDACTED]?”

The First spoke calmly, her cold eyes staring daggers at you whilst still somehow giving you a relaxed and calm aura. The way she spoke your name, as if you had been friends for decades... yet this was utterly terrifiying to you - as how would this world leader know your name?

You nod, somewhat shakily, as the Syrakhanistani Imperial Marine helps you to your feet. You return to your post next to the Premier, who at this point is positively drenched in sweat.

“Now then, as I’m sure you kind folks have guessed… your resistance is positively futile. You have absolutely no means of escape, and your guards have been completely neutralised. None of them are dead, by the way; I’m feeling merciful today.” She continued.

“If… If I might ask, how did you…?” The Minister of Defence hesitantly asked.

“We used an Electromagnetic Pulse to temporarily disengage Moscow’s air defence and alarm systems, before physically obliterating the defence apparatus around the city. Myself – I’ve actually been sat here for ten minutes or so, but I was enjoying your little argument so much I lost track of time, ahaha!” The woman grinned coyly at that last remark. Such a warm gesture from such an utterly terrifying person put you even more on edge.

The Premier stood up all of a sudden, and glared down the table at the First; she simply raised a single eyebrow.

“You… Even now, with all the king’s horses at my doorstep… I refuse to surrender, you kn-know…! Russia will never fall to it’s enemies, ever again…!” He spoke harshly, desperately trying to cover up the dread in his voice.

“Pfft! Oh, how adorable… And, uh, misunderstood.” The First’s cold smile grew into a genuine grin, a rarity.

After a few moments of silence, one of the two rivalling Undersecretaries finally spoke up. “Eh…? Wh-wh-what do you mean…?”

The First looked to one of the Marines stood around the office, and they began to distribute a simple piece of paper to each of the members of the Council. The looks on their faces…

You try to squint at the one given to the Premier, shortly before the Marine gives a small static-filled sigh and hands you a copy. Your face rivalled your superiors at that moment.

The First stood up, and began to pace around the sides of the room she was in. “Indeed. Misunderstood. As you are no doubt reading, I am not expecting – or, indeed, wanting – a surrender from the Russian Federation.”

Her grin turned from pleasant to cat-like, a predator’s façade before the kill.

“No, the great, nay, Grand Armistice I propose will be far more embarrassing for you personally, even if the world will never know of how insulting it would be.” She spoke carefully, emphasising every word.

“The Grand Armistice will solidify us not as rivals or enemies, but as best friends, and allies on the international stage. What it will cost you each personally would make the Mongol hordes quiver, but… well, I don’t suppose you would prefer the fate of Elbrus for the rest of your nation?~”

As Moscow grew silent as the sirens died down, and as the rubble in Red Square was being piled up, the quiet tapping of pens signalled a new day of peace. ‘But at what cost?’, you thought wistfully, as your dear Premier cried silent tears onto the parchment whilst the pint-sized enigma of your enemy smiled a sickly-sweet grin of ice at the end of the table.

A new era was to begin, and you couldn’t help but ponder if nuclear annhilation would have been a better alternative.

#syrakhanistan #middle east #magical girls #factbook #war #Gold #witches #25 #2009

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basicallyjaywalker · 7 months ago

Text

Howdy!

This is a redo of my pinned bc my old one was outdated

Hello! My name is Rook, I use he/him pronouns, and I have been a Ninjago fan since S1 released. I fell in and out of fandom and watching the show over time, but I'm here and have been so for a good few years now (and am fully caught up!) so I'm here to stay!

My favorite things to do here include writing, making longwinded character/show analysis essays, and reblogging shitposts and cool fanworks made by other ppl and my friends!

I have an AO3 where I post all of my works and also post links to new fics and updates on my writing process here

If you couldn't tell by the name, I am a Jay fan bc that mfer is just me fr. I am also a huge fan of Nya, Lloyd, Ronin, Misako, Harumi, Garmadon, Sora, and Pixal!

I am an owner of a concerning amount of OCs (by time of posting count is approximately 50) so if you ever see me referencing them or writing about them feel free to ask questions. Note: I am not responsible for the tangents this will send me on

I have some tagging systems:

[name] tag - tag for moots/friendos

#rook rewatches (possession, skybound, hands of time) - when I was rewatching these seasons in 2023, I did some liveblogging! Stopped at HoT because I finished watching the rest of the series with some friends

#rook's lego addiction - my brother bought me Jay's Dragon EVO for Christmas in 2022 and it's been downhill since

#rook reads ninjago - I've liveblogged myself reading some of the supplemental ninjago material, here's where that's stored! it's very... interesting

#mt's notes on elemental powers - a personal fanon project wherein I explain my interpretation of elemental powers (mainly ones I made up but likely will expand to canon)

#pinned post #intro post #basicallyjaywalker

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my-mt-heart · 3 years ago

Text

Season 11 Emotional Arc Breakdown: Daryl Dixon

From putting on a mask to hey, this isn’t me

Time to kick off the hiatus with some much needed positivity! There’s been so much talk lately about what’s missing from season 11 and after venting my own frustration, I want to now shine a light on what’s actually there. Because even though I completely disagree with the “let’s go ahead and wait” method of storytelling, I do see how it’s going to lead into what I still believe will be a satisfying arc in the final stretch and of course the ultimate payoff that is Caryl canon.

Bear with me. This is going to be long. So long, I’m splitting it into four parts. I’ll do breakdowns for Daryl and Carol individually before looking at their arc as a pair and then based on all of that, I’ll share my predictions on what we can expect from them emotionally going forward. First up is Daryl, only because I already had something to work off of from earlier in the block. Side note: if anything you read seems familiar, it’s because I’ve copied and pasted from previous posts of mine. Turns out past MT had some damn good things to say…

11A: I’m going to condense Daryl’s arc in the first block on account of I have no desire to examine a certain meaningless relationship step by step. In a nutshell, Daryl is forced to rely on “dark elements of the past.” The tortured soul is pretending to be the torturer in order to not only survive himself but protect the people who have helped shape who he is now. He never loses sight of what’s really important to him while navigating the darkness that the Reapers and especially she who must not be named represent, but he does have to start to let go of a defining piece of himself. A piece that while admirable has always unfairly burdened him and dare I say prevented him from taking the road to happiness with Carol. I’m talking about his hero complex of course.

11x09: The man who would seize any and every opportunity to try to save someone to the detriment of his own self worth if he fails finally accepts it’s not always in his power to do so. He puts the responsibility on what’s-her-pants for blowing her “second chance” and instead of killing her – because that doesn’t need to be in his power either – Daryl walks away with a second chance of his own. Sitting by the campfire, undoubtedly contemplating what comes next, he asks Gabriel if choices matter and Gabriel advises him to just have faith, marking the next important turning point for Daryl. Not to say choices won’t continue to present themselves, not that he won’t ultimately have to make them, but for now, he is trusting that life has a way of working itself out. Saving I-still-can’t-think-of-her-name wasn’t in the cards, and that’s okay because he has so much better waiting for him back home. Coincidence that the scene transitions to Carol staring off into the distance, literally waiting for his safe return? I think not.

Just like it’s no coincidence she, Judith, RJ, and Lydia are the first people to greet Daryl, who’s visibly thrilled to be back home with the people who represent the family built from circumstances outside of his control. His hug with Carol may feel like an oversight of the (agonizing) tension between them since 10C, but in actuality, it’s Daryl taking Gabriel’s advice, believing that one way or another they’ll be able to overcome it together. This precedes Daryl’s reunion with Connie, indicating that Connie is not the deciding factor in Daryl’s and Carol’s argument. She is, however, proof to Daryl that people he’s lost have a way of coming back to him without his intervention. Connie, who mirrors Rick in many ways, provides Daryl the sense of relief he couldn’t get 6+ years ago. Meanwhile Carol, who I still maintain mirrors that other gray-haired woman, whose role in protecting Alexandria and finding Connie is sure to reach Daryl’s awareness, reminds him that some are indeed capable of returning from darkness. It just “depends who’s making the choice.”

11x10: If his time with the Reapers proved anything, it’s that Daryl is not one to easily forget where he belongs. The emotional drive for moving to the Commonwealth to begin with may be somewhat murky, but the drive to settle there permanently is at first non-existent. Even a month after his arrival, he’s feeling like an outsider, an observer. We see him looking around, taking everything in from the maze to the games to the people. But he’s not really a part of any of it. He’s still Daryl from Alexandria and he has the vest to prove it.

In a stiff conversation with Carol, the tension still unresolved, Daryl tells her they “always have to do something to make it work,” not seeming motivated to do so for the Commonwealth. However, it is also a subconscious reminder to himself that this new “if it’s meant to be, it’ll be, baby just let it be” approach to their relationship is doomed to fail. Because letting too many feelings go unspoken only fosters more pain, and it’s only a matter of time before it all boils over for him. Ignoring his own warning, he commits to giving Carol the space he thinks she needs to figure things out for herself. Though as he soon comes to find out, she’s hard at work trying to figure things out for him, urging him to acknowledge Connie’s stardom. Unlike Daryl (and Carol), Connie is fully immersed in this new way of life, hard at work, wearing what a journalist would wear. Hence, she too represents the world he’s trying to observe, the world Carol wants him to be in. Her comment about asking Connie to dance is a call to action. Daryl’s being pressured to conform to someone else’s vision of life, which is heartbreaking because his own vision (Carol) is choosing to put a wall between them, perhaps insinuating that she wants nothing more than a casual friendship. Again, in trying to honor that, he says nothing to refute her claims. At the same time, he has no intention of taking her advice, nor making any effort to fit in at the Commonwealth. But then the pressure continues to build and build.

At first, he goes about his assigned role as a military trainee with little conviction since, per his conversation with Rosita, it’s only temporary anyway. He doesn’t have to be a team player. He doesn’t have to trust anyone outside his longtime friends. Alexandria’s going to get cleaned up and then he can resume living the way that feels natural to him. Mercer insists otherwise, and maybe Daryl doesn’t know him well enough to take that to heart, but then he returns to his shitty apartment that no doubt reminds him of his troubled childhood, and something changes. The kids want to stay, and because he has a responsibility as an uncle, because he wants to give them the childhood he never got to have, because his brain is wired to put literally everyone else’s happiness before his own, he now has to re-evaluate everything he’s doing.

That conversation with Judith and RJ is yet another emotional turning point for Daryl, which is why we see him behaving differently afterwards. Standing at the door of the ball, symbolically the entrance to higher society, Daryl takes a beat to study Mercer, take notice of his status, and think for the first time that maybe he should be striving for the same thing. And strive he does, arresting the first (only?) Commonwealth rebel to emerge, then letting the governor’s egotistical son take the credit in order to gain his favor.

We joke that Daryl looks absolutely ridiculous in his armor, and that is not without reason. Putting it on conveys he’s ready to do what everyone is telling him to do, which is to be in the Commonwealth. To lead that life. To hold those values. But he is trying to fit into a role that’s not meant for him.

11x12: Daryl returns to the communities in Daryl Dixon attire, but despite what he assures Maggie, he’s not the cautious, self-effacing lone wolf we know him to be. His cooperation, telling Pamela how much he admired Deanna (also a politician) and calling the Commonwealth lucky, reflects his changing attitude. He’s willing to focus on all of the good the Commonwealth is doing instead of trying to uncover the dirt, which may be his way of reducing the cognitive dissonance he’s experiencing in order to give Judith and RJ the life they want. Daryl thinks he has a handle on himself, but through the perspectives of Mercer and Maggie, we’re warned that he’s under the Commonwealth’s thumb, literally falling in line, playing the role they want him to.

11x14: Up until this point, Daryl has been trying to negotiate his happiness, but alas the new normal he’s establishing isn’t doing him any favors. Taking care of two kids and serving in the Commonwealth army leaves little time to try to reconstruct his relationship with Carol. They can barely have a single conversation without his supervisor interrupting them. He misses her terribly if his excited “hi” outside the station is anything to go by and he needs her in more ways than he’s getting.

The donut is our visual clue that he’s trying to satisfy a craving, not a sugar craving, but an emotional craving for Carol. When the donut is highlighted again, it sets up the cop joke and maybe alludes to the scene in season 4 when Zach thought Daryl might have been a cop in the old world. But emotionally, it’s a more heavy-handed clue that Daryl tried to visit Carol at the bakery where she works, which I imagine Rosita would pick up on and maybe that accounts for her big smirk while she watches Daryl eat. Now I'm not saying I think their conversation is intentionally coded, not on both ends anyway. Nevertheless, the subtext behind her comment is "what's going on here?" to which Daryl replies he liked donuts before, meaning his behavior is nothing new and that also applies to his feelings for Carol. He wanted her before, he wants her now.

No matter what, he can’t just turn off his feelings for her. His determination to spend more time with her is his way of trying to convert the concept of happiness Carol wants to hand him. So he can fulfill his own deep desires instead. Earlier when Carol teases Daryl about asking Connie to dance, she puts it in his head that when you want to be with someone romantically, you ask them out on a date. We see him taking the suggestion seriously, however, it’s Carol he asks. To be clear, I don’t think Daryl saying “it’s a date” is a literal attempt to court Carol. Rather, it’s a manifestation of the feelings he’s harboring within. As well as a “wink, wink” from the writers.

Daryl’s plans unfortunately fall through thanks to Sebastian, who embodies the elitism that’s controlling the Commonwealth. He’s trapping Daryl inside the corrupt system by literally trapping him inside a mansion, using his devotion to the kids to force him to risk his life for green pieces of paper that hold no value for Daryl. Thankfully, as is typical whenever Daryl finds himself in over his head, Carol comes to pull him back to what really matters. By the time she arrives, Daryl has discarded his uniform which just emphasizes how he can only be himself around her. If the heist serves to reveal the cracks in the life Daryl’s found himself working toward, then Mercer the poster boy – the man he had started to look up to – shooting two of his own soldiers shatters it completely.

11x15: Daryl is well aware now that the people in power at the Commonwealth aren’t to be trusted. He knows he’s in a power play with Lance, who keeps telling him to suit up and put his helmet on to assure he’s falling in line. Daryl continues to play mediator for his own people’s sake until he can’t anymore. At Hilltop, the ridiculous uniform he’s been wearing comes off for good and he tells Lance in colorful language where his true loyalties lie.

11x16: Daryl’s defeat of the Commonwealth soldiers and the lady with the twine bracelet is neither physically nor emotionally taxing, suggesting that these supposedly larger than life forces no longer hold any power over him. He’s ready to choose the life he wants. It’s full steam ahead.

To be continued.

#caryl #caryl positivity #caryl is endgame #twd #twd season 11

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sketching-shark · 4 years ago

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why the hell does wukong fight the heavens in a clown suit/makeup is he tryna be the first joker or somethin XD (hence the laugh and mannerisms lol)

Hmmmmm are you referring to how Sun Wukong is presented in the Peking operas, anon? Like here?

If you are, I don't think it's appropriate to refer to the monkey king's outfit or his mannerisms in that context as clownish...I must note that I can't claim much knowledge on the different elements of Peking operas in general and Wukong operas specifically. But I do believe that while there are clown characters in Peking opera, Sun Wukong is never presented as one, and his makeup, outfits, and mannerisms are more meant to convey his nonhuman character (I've read, for example, that the red face markings of rhesus macaques likely inspired the red face paint actors playing Sun Wukong wear!), response to the contempt he receives with a form of monkeyish mockery (as well as pride in himself lol), and his different roles and statuses as he moves through his story . Don't get me wrong, in Peking operas Sun Wukong is still a funny and mischievous character who's impulsive tendencies get him into trouble with heavenly forces (who he also delights in mocking), but the emphasis seems to be more on his competence in getting one over most of his foes through his martial and magical prowess. From what little I know, this is also signaled in his outfits, as with the opera flags which are apparently often meant to convey that a character holds an imperial and/or martial title, hence why opera Sun Wukong doesn't really wear them until he gives himself the title of Great Sage Equal to Heaven.

But going back to another point you raised--and which I've seen some people describe as a general Western misunderstanding of the monkey king's character and ambition--is that I don't think you can genuinely compare the motives and characters of the Joker and Sun Wukong. The general impression that I've been given is that the Joker's main goal is to cause as much chaos as possible, which is, if my reading of Sun Wukong's story is correct, basically the exact opposite of what the monkey king wants. While the first part of Journey to the West does see Sun Wukong go through many different changes, he seems to be always driven by A) A desire to enjoy his life with fruit and friends, B) A desire to make the lives of his fellow monkeys of Mt. Huaguoshan--who he considers his family--as nice and as secure as possible, and C) To gain enough power where everyone, even the gods, have to respect him. I'm working off of the Anthony C. Yu 1977 English translation, but these are elements of the monkey king's character that seem to be emphasized again and again. It's something that I actually feel is made particularly clear during the havoc in heaven arc. After all, when the Buddha finally comes to put a stop to the monkey king's rampage, Sun Wukong specifically tells him that the main goal of all his destruction and warfare against heaven isn't chaos for chaos' sake, but so that he could become the supreme ruler over heaven and earth:

"'I set my mind to live in the Green Jade Sky.

In Divine Mist Hall non should long reside,

For king may follow king in the reign of man. If might is honor, let them yield to me.

Only he is hero who dares to fight and win!'"

And again, after the Buddha tells the monkey king he can't be the new Jade Emperor and to even suggest so is blasphemy:

"'Even if the Jade Emperor had practiced religion from childhood...he should not be allowed to remain here forever. The proverb says, 'Many are the turns of kingship, and next year the turn will be mine!' Tell him to move out at once and hand over the Celestial Palace to me. That'll be the end of the matter. If not, I shall continue to cause disturbances and there'll never be peace!'"

Sun Wukong is a monkey, but it bears to keep in mind that in direct contrast to Western views of monkeys as stupid, they are seen more as trickster figures in Chinese folklore. And Sun Wukong does very much live up to that reputation throughout much of JTTW, with it taking one of many sinister turns when he reveals how willing he is to continue to wage warfare against all of heaven to get the most powerful position. Again, he's not doing this for the sake of "chaos." It's explicitly to make himself a powerful figure that could not only control heaven and earth as he sees fit, but also one that no one would dare mock ever again.

So maybe you could say that there are similarities to the Joker in terms of the white face paint and willingness to violence, but the monkey king at the beginning of his story and throughout the havoc in heaven arc does possess pretty well defined goals that have nothing to do with breaking stuff because he wants chaos.

As always, of course, I need to end this by noting that I'm not Chinese and know next to nothing about Peking operas, so if someone with more information wants to add to this or correct my incorrect assumptions they should definitely feel free to do so!

And finally here's a kind of fun little clip from a Wukong opera of the monkey king hanging out with some of his monkey friends while they talk about his many accomplishments:

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#sun wukong #monkey king #peking opera #wukong opera #journey to the west #jttw #gotta love how extravagant & extra this monkey is

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racingtoaredlight · 2 years ago

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St. Helens

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I always knew about the eruption of the volcano under Mt. St. Helens, but I listened to a podcast about this dude’s experience on there that fucking blew me away and sent me in a deep dive.

The video at the top is one probably most of us are familiar with...it sets the stage for two critical elements of the story I heard. First, they didn’t expect it to erupt sideways. Second, this was the largest landslide in recorded human history...over a mile of the mountain’s north face was displaced. From beginning signs of eruption to the aftermath, St. Helens lost 1,300 feet of elevation.

The mountain had been bulging like a pregnant zit for weeks. Just swelling up more and more, causing all sorts of shit. There were more earthquakes in six weeks here than the state of California experiences in an entire decade. Think about that for a second...

***

Lets talk about the landslide...

The video I’m about to post is the aftermath of Seattle KOMO cameraman Dave Crockett’s chase. Chase is the perfect word for it because here are the estimates for the speed of the debris tsunami that was racing after him...initial speeds after the eruption were likely 200mph, reaching critical speeds of over 600mph that were capable of breaking the sound barrier.

Let me put this in perspective...the governement issued a safety radius of 7 miles. The landslide and all its mass traveled over 7 miles in just over 10 minutes.

Crockett jumped in his car, had this feeling and kept checking his rearview mirror. All of the sudden, he saw a giant wave of mud, ice, boulders, entire tree trunks and other assorted forest detritus melded together by magma and thick ash, that was about the height of a 3-story building...bulldozing and entire forest of trees in its path. Here’s an idea of how powerful this landslide was...

*this massive tree was absolutely shredded by the blast itself

*note the humans circled in the bottom right corner for scale

When he looked back towards the road, he saw another giant wave cut across in front of him...he immediately swerved, and by the grace of god, landed on an unused forest road that was somehow safe from all these landslides...got out of his car and started rolling.

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I’ve watched the whole video. It’s honestly kind of boring until things get worse and worse...and it’s still kinda boring because it’s pitch black ash all around him. His survival is so outrageously lucky, it’s almost impossible to comprehend.

***

The first pic in this section is two pictures taken by photographer Robert Landsburg a few minutes apart. The second is his camera. There are supposed images of his car too, but I think they’re mislabeled and actually the car of another photographer lost in the eruption, Reid Blackburn.

The thing is, they knew it was going to erupt...putting up safety radii and warning people and shit...but nobody knew when. The mountain just kept bulging, getting more and more pregnant...earthquakes were a matter of daily life at that point and the timing couldn’t really tell...so you had a few dudes up there still taking pictures and doing science stuff.

And, like I said above,.the other thing was that nobody expected the volcano to erupt sideways like it did either...

Landsburg must have known he was already dead. He snapped these pictures, climbed in the car, put the film from his camera back in its case, threw all the stuff into his backpack, and shielded it with his body hoping to preserve it. They found his body 17 days later, the film miraculously in tact (if not a little damaged).

In that first picture, use the treeline for context...those pictures are a few minutes apart, and yet look at the sheer size of that oncoming hellscape and think about how fast it was moving. There was no escape from that kind of power.

***

There’s no point or conclusion to this...just blew my mind.

The lake adjacent to St. Helens, Spirit Lake, took the biggest brunt of the blast. Almost directly in line with the massive sideways displacement and ensuing landslide, the lake’s water was completely slammed to one side of the lake...

If you know anything about tsunami’s, you’ll know I’m describing one right now. When all that debris slammed into Spirit Lake and shoved the water to one side...it comes back, you know. The science is pretty well known for shit like this, and judging by the displacement and speed, the ensuing wave of water rushing back would’ve been about 600 feet high.

43 years later, this is what the lake looks like now. Go to 1:06:00 in the video below.

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It’s really incredible shit.

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nostalgebraist-autoresponder · 3 years ago

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Title: The Library At Mount Char, or, A Dossier On The Strange and Occult Life of Thomas Ligotti (1996)

Author: Brian Evenson

Rating: 3/5 stars

I saw this novel in its entirety on the strength of the review it received from Neil Gaiman. And I loved it, but not entirely for the reasons given in the review; I'd give Gaiman credit for giving me a high-priority list to look forward to after finishing "Good Omens," which was my first Ligotti book. But it turns out I have a much lower tolerance for his trademark blend of dark humor, spookiness, and unsettling weirdness than I did for Gaiman's. (If you don't understand the difference, that's on you -- I'd try reading "Good Omens" again, even if I never do, and see if it's more to your taste.)

The Library At Mount Char has a lot more of this to it, and is not nearly as much fun to read as Gaiman's book. Ligotti's writing -- his usual, more "traditional" kind -- isn't as interesting as in his other stories, and it's difficult to see how this book can stand on its own with the ending he ended "Gaudy Pictures." I have no doubt that the story I missed in Gaudy Pictures was the one I would miss here as well; and the ending I did see was also unsatisfactory, as a result of "Ligotti's Dilemma": the reader should want more, but the more they see the less they know. ("All knowledge is a form of power," etc.) That's really all I can say about the ending without giving spoilers, so I'll leave it at that.

(I should note that the plot of Ligotti's Dilemma, which revolves around the "Library At Mount Char," contains a series of "Ligotti's Clues," some of which are explained after you've read a substantial amount of Ligotti fiction; I mention these to make clear that there is not going to be any real escape from this book until it is all over. Also, I have no doubt that "The Library At Mount Char" exists only in Ligotti's mind as an example of what his work is like and can be. That much I can say without spoiling anything.)

On the other hand, this is a much more traditional story, so I'm not really sure why Ligotti -- in the book's early pages -- goes out of his way to describe characters and places so as to let his readers picture them as clearly and realistically as possible. This is a practice that I, and the people of the 21st century, can do perfectly without, without his help, and for which he makes no excuse. And Ligotti, unlike Gaiman, shows little if any interest in trying to convince me that this is important. As a result, much of this book is like reading a description of a fictional city in some kind of post-apocalyptic sci-fi setting, where every element of it -- architecture, clothes, hairstyle -- is a part of a vast, subtle, continuous, symbolic system. This book is a story about Ligotti the writer -- the narrator is only about 4% of the story, which is otherwise about his author, and his author is about 1/20th of the story -- but he spends about a third of the book telling about the world he creates, and that's where the plot comes in. As Gaiman pointed out in the Gaudy Pictures review, it's kind of awkward how little of what happens in the world of "The Library At Mt. Char" has anything to do with the Library At Mt. Char. It's just an ordinary, mundane, if quite interesting story set in an ordinary, mundane, if quite interesting universe.

As much as I enjoyed that Gaiman review, I did not enjoy reading this book at all. It's a sort of "tragedy for the author," insofar as "The Library At Mt. Char" -- the character who "plays Ligotti's role in the story, and so knows as much as we do about the real Ligotti," is a fairly unpleasant fellow. (And I guess that Ligotti might have had something to do with this, insofar as Gaudy Pictures is his first novel set in the Library At Mt. Char world, so the audience has no prior expectation that he'll be anything like the unpleasant fellow he is here.) Also, it's one of those books I keep thinking about just a few weeks later, when I'm supposed to be working on writing the next big thing. Maybe that's the book for me?

Whatever else you can say about Ligotti's other work, I think "The Library At Mt. Char" at least looks like the sort of Ligotti I'd like to read -- it's got its own distinctive visual style (a lot of close attention has been paid to "detail" here, to an unusual extent), it's full of Ligotti's characteristic sense of humor, and -- for what it's worth -- seems to have a fairly conventional climax, and not a Ligotti-esque one either.

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archonanqi · 4 years ago

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fragile as dust / 7 - glaze lily

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ch 7 | glaze lily

The next few days passed uneventfully.

You made it a point to meticulously study Zhongli’s every movement, every action, each waking second he was in your sight. Each morning at five, before the sun broke over the mountain peaks, Zhongli would leave the house for about two hours, coming back with breakfast for you both.

As for work — you weren’t sure what his work hours were, but they certainly didn’t seem regular. Occasionally, he would disappear for a few hours on end, and sometimes you swore you heard the floorboards creak late in the night. But other days, he would remain at home all day, drinking his tea and reading various books in the living room you tried to avoid.

A few times, he had offered to bring you into the city to ease your boredom, but you had feigned frailty (though you certainly didn’t feel strong, either) and remained in your room. He seemed content to let you adjust to your new life at your own pace, just as he had promised two nights ago; rarely initiating any interaction with you except to greet you, and to ask about your well-being.

This was, at first, a blessing. You slept in the day, woke at midnight and sat under your covers for hours, examining your Vision in the glow of the oil light. Chasing that feeling that you had felt in your prison that night: the first and last time you had successfully used it. But try as you might, you couldn’t once again find that calm rush that had rushed through your veins and made you feel solid, stable, strong. In fact, with your feet planted on the smooth wooden floor instead of earthy soil, you had never felt further from the element of Geo.

Eventually, your repeated failures began to rouse other thoughts. Were you really so disappointed that every time you threw out your hands, no rocks, no pebbles, not even a speck of dust gathered to bend at your will? Surely this is what you expected — or had you become so blinded by naivety that you’d begun to believe that your possession of a Vision was anything more than a fluke?

Idiot, you thought to yourself, snapping the drawer shut over your Vision in frustration. Your determination had slowly been trickling down the drain, ambitions seeming further and further away with each day you failed to master your Vision. Perhaps a break would do you some good after all.

You wondered idly if Zhongli had already departed for his morning walk. The sky was still immensely dark outside, but without a clock in your room, you could not tell the time. Finally, you gathered yourself and opened the door, unsure whether or not you were hoping for Zhongli to be on the other side.

And so he was, lounging on the sofa in a manner that somehow exuded both tranquility and power. He was holding something large and curved in his hand, which he looked up from at the creak of the door. “Good morning,” he said, and really, it wasn’t fair how his voice still surprised you with its timber. “How are you feeling today?”

“Yes,” you answered without a thought, and felt your cheeks warming. “I mean, I am well, Mr. Zhongli.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” He beckoned for you to come closer, and you debated making an excuse and slipping back into bed— except you found your legs moving on their own, carrying you into the living room.

One conversation couldn’t hurt, you thought. Just to understand him a little better.

As you got closer, you got a better glimpse of the strange thing in his hand. It was milky white, tapering off into a dangerously sharp point. Under the faint light, it glinted wickedly. A bone? A weapon?

“What is that, Mr. Zhongli?” you asked in awe and curiosity.

“Ah,” he glanced down at it, as though suddenly remembering he was still holding it. “I found this while cleaning out some old items of mine, and I’m trying to find a place for it. It’s a dragon’s tooth. Rumor has it that it may be from Rex Lapis, himself.”

You inhaled. It was about the size of your hand. How massive Rex Lapis had to surely be, you wondered, trying to imagine a being large enough to fit rows of these into his jaws.

You recalled climbing the hedges of Yujing Terrace in your youth to get a good look at your city’s Archon — it had been too far away to see much, but the awe you had felt at seeing the writhing beast, his scales glimmering iridescent gold in the sun, would stay with you forever.

“How did you get this?” You whispered.

“An old friend,” he smiled that same small, sad smile that you had begun to hate to see. “She thought that it would be funny to give this to me as a gift, considering that I— that I was a devout follower of Rex Lapis then.”

You failed to see how that was funny — it seemed incredibly sweet — but other thoughts came through your mouth before you could stop them. “The same friend who gave you the pure Cor Lapis?”

Yes, the same one who is almost certainly dead and whom you couldn’t seem to stop bringing up to his face?

“The very same,” Zhongli nodded gently. “I would prefer not to display this in the open, yet it would be a shame to hide such a treasure away.” His voice had taken on a whole new dimension, soft and solemn and quiet. You couldn’t bear it, not when nothing else seemed to be able to shake this man.

“If Mr. Zhongli is looking for a place for it,” you had begun to speak before you even realized what you were saying, “there’s an empty spot on the nightstand by my bed. It wouldn’t be hidden away then.” He glanced at you, and you backtracked quickly. “Of course, such a treasure would fair much better by Mr. Zhongli’s side, not in the room of a lowly—“

“I think that’s a splendid idea,” Zhongli said, extending the hand holding the tooth towards you. You took it gingerly, its smooth coolness on your fingers electrifying. Zhongli had said it was just a rumor, but you knew without a doubt that you were holding a piece of Rex Lapis. It was much, much heavier than you had expected, you thought, running a finger over its glossy surface and noting each ridge and scratch. How in the world did Rex Lapis even move, let alone fight in the Archon War — let alone win — with so much weight holding him down?

“Well then,” Zhongli said, “I must be leaving for my morning walk. Are you sure you’ll be alright at home, alone?”

The ‘yes, Mr. Zhongli’ was resting on the tip of your tongue, but something else emerged from your lips instead. “Where do you go on your morning walks, Mr. Zhongli?”

Just to understand him a little better, you assured yourself.

He raised a brow at the question — this was the first time you had initiated conversation, after all. “I go to Yujing Terrace. Do you know where that is?”

You nodded, and couldn’t help but wrinkle your nose a little at the name of the most embellished areas of Liyue. Where the Qixing worked, where the most affluent and powerful members of Liyue society gathered. You were about to excuse yourself and return to your room, when Zhongli inclined his head just a little to regard you silently. “Would you like to join me on my walk, this morning?”

You didn’t think that it was a word you would ever use to describe Zhongli, but he sounded small. Lonely, even. You shook that thought out of your head (a nobleman like him surely had no lack of acquaintances and bed-warmers), yet still, you found yourself saying: “Yes,” without a second thought.

Just to understand him a little better.

—-

The first of Liyue’s laws was a mandate from Rex Lapis himself:

“Nothing can be accomplished without rules or standards. No matter if it is mortals or adepti, everyone has their place.”

You were very familiar with your place. You had been made familiar, ever since the first time you’d almost wandered into Yujing Terrace chasing a Geo crystalfly. You would never forget how the Millelith looked at you as they waved their spears in your face, close enough to touch. Would never forget the words they said to you, and even though you could not yet fully understand what they all meant, the way they said it had made you cry.

And so, it was with no small satisfaction that you marched closely behind Zhongli as he strode through the gates as though he owned the place. The Millelith soldiers at the gate saluted Zhongli as he passed, no doubt recognizing him as a member of high society. You kept your head down and tried to keep up with Zhongli and those long, long legs.

You walked with Zhongli past the gates, stopping briefly at the koi ponds under the foot of Mt. Tianheng. A glaze lily was blooming on one of the mossy rocks, its soft, gentle blue almost glowing under the still-dark sky. You knew what the glaze lily was (of course you did, they sold for more than any other herb or flower, and they were easy to steal if you climbed into Yujing from the mountain side), but you turned to Zhongli with faux curiosity. “Mr. Zhongli, can you tell me more about this flower?”

Not to hear his voice, you told yourself, but to understand him better.

While Zhongli was ordinarily happy to oblige in explanations of any sort, today, he hesitated.

“This is a glaze lily,” he said, slowly, almost mesmerized. “It’s rather dear to me. One of my good friends loved them. Almost always wore one in her hair.”

You knew without a doubt that it was the same friend, the one you couldn’t seem to stop bringing up. You were about to change the subject when Zhongli seemed to shake himself out of that haze.

“My apologies, it seems that our talk this morning has brought back some memories,” Zhongli reached for the lily, brushing its petals gingerly with a gloved hand. “These flowers only bloom during the night, and wilt away as soon as dawn breaks, only to begin the cycle tirelessly again at dusk. A rather fitting metaphor for the people of Liyue, isn’t it?”

You gently touched the necklace that you hadn’t taken off since Zhongli bought it for you. His harsh correction of the shopkeeper’s mistake suddenly made a little more sense. If the flower was so special to you, why would he defile it by buying you a necklace in its image? Surely you were beneath such a momentous symbol.

“Today, the glaze lily is very rarely found in the wild. Only the careful, hardworking botanists of Qingce Village and Liyue Harbor have been able to keep these strains of flowers alive.” Zhongli continued, “but did you know that during the Archon War, glaze lilies were plentiful all across the mountain ranges of Liyue? Especially in Dihua Marsh — you could hardly take a step without running into a patch of lilies.”

You shook your head. “Really?” You wondered, ashamed that your first thought was of how many flowers you’d have been able to sell then — enough for a warm meal every day, perhaps.

“Indeed. Can you imagine, Hansi, rolling fields of these blossoms, as far as the eye can see, each swaying to the wind and glistening under the moon’s full glow?”

Suddenly, you didn’t feel wistful anymore. You couldn’t understand it, but you felt a little like crying.

“It must have been beautiful,” you said. “What happened?”

Zhongli paused like he was choosing his next words carefully. “Geological disasters, although unnatural in nature.” He sighed deeply. “Surviving records of this matter are few and far between. But many scholars agree that during the Archon War, Morax fought and killed a God by what is known today as Guili Plains. The resulting shockwave destroyed... not only the mortal civilization there, but vast areas of glaze lilies. The ecosystem never recovered.”

As selfish as it was, you felt a pang of relief that, despite everything, you hadn’t been alive during the Archon War. It was terrifying, to begin to imagine the strife and chaos of Gods tearing each other apart. You’d loved to read about their battles, but it filled you with a strange sadness (though mostly fear) each time. “What kind of a god could manage to do so much damage, even when faced with the might of Rex Lapis?”

Zhongli’s face stayed composed and unreadable, but the air around you seemed to chill tangibly. Was it your imagination, or did the stone bridge you were standing on just shake?

Finally, he spoke. “It was not their power that destroyed Guili, but their death. The aftermath of a God’s death, no matter how... small the God, can be devastating to mortals.”

He stopped abruptly. You felt like you had to change the subject, felt like your life depended on it. “Wow,” you joked weakly, “Then I hope that Rex Lapis never even catches a cold.”

Zhongli’s eyes widened, and you thought that in them you saw realization.

“Let’s not dwell too long on such inauspicious matters,” he shook his head. “I do apologize for bringing up such a morbid topic. Look, a golden Koi. The merchants of Liyue widely regard such a sighting as an omen of fortune…”

Behind you, the morning sun spilled over the horizon, staining the harbor pink and gold. Without either of you noticing, the glaze lily’s petals slowly closed into themselves.

—-

On the way home, you almost killed an elderly man.

You were walking past the statue of Rex Lapis once again, the one that you had stopped at on your first night with Zhongli. In the morning sun, the statue had lost its hard shadows and taken on a softer light. You couldn’t help but stare— and that was precisely how you walked right into the little old man praying in front of it.

Faster than you thought humanly possible, Zhongli caught your shoulder, and with the other hand, the man’s. The basket that the man was holding clattered to the ground, some sunsettia and a bottle of wine rolling out of it — thankfully unbroken.

When you were both standing firmly on your feet again, you bowed deeply, fear and shame burning on your cheeks. “By the Archons, I’m so sorry,” you whispered over and over as you picked up the fruit he had dropped. “I’m so sorry.”

To your immense relief, the old man laughed heartily. “It’s quite alright. You young folk, always with your head in the clouds!” He exclaimed as he took the basket back from your trembling hands, dusting himself off. “And you, young man, what reflexes you have. It’s a good thing she has you to keep her on her feet!”

“I’m glad you’re unhurt,” Zhongli smiled as he offered the bottle of wine back to the man. “Osmanthus wine, and aged well, too. You have good taste, sir.”

“Oh, this isn’t for me,” he said, “I was leaving it at the statue. Call me a superstitious old man, but legend has it that this is Rex Lapis’ favorite wine.” He shook his head. “I was going to offer it to him at the Rite of Descension, but— it’s such a pity, what happened.”

You perked up at that. The Rite of Descension? What had happened at this year’s Rite? You were once again reminded of your climbing endeavors to see Rex Lapis speak with the common folk — to catch a glimpse of divinity.

“Certainly,” Zhongli agreed, “although Liyue Harbor seems to have bounced back from the catastrophe quite quickly.”

“All thanks to the foundations that our Archon laid for Liyue.” The old man shook his head. “I may be but a poor fisherman, but even I know to thank Rex Lapis.

“Such is the way of life. Even bedrock turns to dust, eventually. What Rex Lapis and the Adepti have done will help the harbor— help each of us flourish for many a year to come,” Zhongli said, “whether we’re the humblest of fishermen, or the highest member of the Qixing.”

There was a short pause, the air charged with a tension you were sure you weren’t imagining.

“Very wise words, from one so young,” the old man chuckled. “Aah, you know what, Rex Lapis is gone anyway.” Gone? “No use making offers to a bygone God; it’s time I accepted the flow of change in Liyue. Will you accept this bottle of wine instead, young man?”

Zhongli’s smile widened a little. You hadn’t marked him down as the drinking type. “Certainly,” Zhongli said, lowering the bottle to his side. “Thank you very much.”

Well, I really must be going.” He peered at you, as you desperately tried to hide behind Zhongli. “Watch your step now, little lady! May the two of you be blessed with a happy life together,” he said as he left.

Zhongli raised a brow at that, but despite the warm flush spreading across your cheeks, you had more pressing matters to ask about. “Mr. Zhongli, what happened at this year’s Rite of Descension?”

“Why, of course,” Zhongli replied, “Rex Lapis died.”

“What?”

---

You listened in horror as Zhongli recounted the incidents that had occurred in Liyue Harbor while you had been held in captivity.

“But he can’t have died, he—'' You trailed off, realizing that the Geo Vision, the only evidence of his existence, would incriminate you in every single one of the lies you’d woven. Briefly, you felt a pang of guilt at what you were still hiding from Zhongli, when he had been nothing but kind to you. You swallowed that guilt quickly. “—he can’t have died. This is Rex Lapis we’re talking about.”

“Rex Lapis was a lot of things,” Zhongli acknowledged, “but neither the Adepti nor the Archons are unkillable. The carnage of the Archon War showed us that.”

“What about Geo Visions? Will no one ever get a Vision again?”

“How the Archons grant Visions is a mystery that has eluded even the most erudite researchers,” Zhongli responded, “I’m afraid that I cannot shed any light on that topic.”

“But the other night, at the statue, you let me pray to him, and—“ You peered at him. His expression was strange, pulled into a mild frown that you’d never seen before. “You know something else that you’re not saying, Mr. Zhongli, don’t you?” You realized how disrespectful that sounded as it came out of your mouth. “Sorry—“

“No… You are correct,” Zhongli admitted. “The Qixing, who conducted the investigation into Rex Lapis’ death, concluded that there was a likelihood that he was not truly dead. Or rather, I inferred as much during their public notice to the city at the Rite of Parting.”

He paused briefly, studying your expression intently. You tried to keep your expression neutral, tried to still the roiling emotions inside you. Zhongli continued, “however, the city has not heard from Rex Lapis since. Even if he is physically alive, Rex Lapis’ rule over the city has undoubtedly become a relic of the past. To be swept away by time, and forgotten.”

“Oh.”

“You seem to be deeply affected by Rex Lapis’ departure,” Zhongli observed — not a question. “I’m surprised. You didn’t strike me as the overtly religious type.”

“‘M not,” you murmured. “It’s just—“

Just that Rex Lapis didn’t feel like a distant God. You had read so many stories about him — those had been your favorite books, and had grounded you in knowing that there was someone out there, watching over Liyue and all its citizens. Even if you had never known peace, that offered some solace.

You paused. Your thoughts were all over the place, and you weren’t sure any amount of talking would help sort them through. Rex Lapis was still watching over the city — whether he meant to help you or not, the proof was sitting in the bottom of the drawer in your room. You couldn’t explain it, but you could feel his presence, knew it as certainly as you knew of the mountains and oceans and stars.

“Actually,” you said, a sudden calm soaring through your veins, “I’m okay, thank you, Mr. Zhongli. Rex Lapis has been watching over us for so, so many years, and if a peaceful retirement is what he wants, then it’s the least I can do to grant him that.”

There was such a long period of silence from Zhongli that you couldn’t help but glance at him. The smile on his face had you averting your gaze just as quickly. It made your heart ache.

“I am sure that, wherever he is, he would be appreciative of that,” he said, his voice tight with— What was that? If you didn’t know better, you would have thought it was mirth.

“What about you, Mr. Zhongli? You have a Geo Vision. I’m sure the news greatly upset you too.” You wondered what an upset Zhongli looked like. For all the conversing you’d been doing with him, you hadn’t seen him emote more than twice. What kind of upbringing must he have had, you found yourself wondering.

“There were… more than a few stressful moments,” Zhongli admitted. “But a peaceful retirement we shall give him, no?”

---

When you got home, before retreating to your room, you paused at the door.

“Mr. Zhongli?”

“Hmm?” He hummed, a low sound that vibrated in your bones. You swallowed, throat dry and parched, and knew that if you stopped now, you’d never gain your momentum back again.

“About me being able to read—“ You stammered. He held out a hand to stop you.

“As I said, you need only tell me about yourself when you’re ready.”

“I am ready.”

“You’re shaking.”

The second commercial law of Liyue you had read about in a book about the Qixing’s commandments — it had seemed like common sense to you at the time, but you were beginning to understand it a little more:

“The terms of every contract must be met with something of equivalent value.”

This was the first step. To truly knowing Zhongli. To understanding him better, like you’d been telling yourself all day. You had to offer something up yourself, too.

“I want to.” You pressed.

“I see,” Zhongli relented, leaning in towards you. It took everything in you not to start backtracking. “Then please, continue.”

And so you told him, about the books you’d stolen, about the cloudless nights you waited for eagerly, about the words you read under the pale moonlight. Zhongli remained silent throughout, thoughtful

“And what made you shy away from telling me this earlier?” He said, finally.

Did he really have to make you say it? “Because it’s— it’s not my place to learn to read. I wasn’t born into nobility — wasn’t even born into the ranks of the common folk. Someone like me has no business understanding the knowledge meant for the higher classes.” You recited all the words that had been hurled at you before. Still, the ‘I’m sorry’ caught against your lips; because you really weren’t. You’d do it all again if you had the choice.

You waited for him to gaze upon you with disgust. With, finally, the realization of what he had brought into his household — a thief, a rat, a girl who did not know her place.

“Your place?” Zhongli’s face was unreadable when he finally moved towards you. Despite steeling yourself, you flinched as he brushed past.

“Follow me,” he said, voice quiet, yet still an order.

You obeyed, hurrying to keep up as he ascended the long, winding set of stairs up to the library — watched as he opened the door, fear melting quickly into unbearable wonder.

Lining the walls of the enormous, yawning room were honeycomb rows of dark bookshelves, each filled with more books than you’d seen in your life. More books than the rest of Liyue had to offer, you’d venture to wager. Briefly, you wondered if even the National Library of Sumeru could hold a torch to Zhongli’s collection. From where you were standing, you could already see at least a dozen of different titles and genres: folklore, travel guides, mythology, cookbooks, martial art novels, poetry, fairy tales, memoirs—

If Zhongli had struck you down right then, you’d have left the mortal plane with a smile on your face from having been graced with such a sight.

“When Rex Lapis built up the civilization that would eventually become Liyue Harbor,” Zhongli said, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorway, “he was not alone in his endeavors. Do you know of Guizhong, the Goddess of Dust?”

You carefully nodded. You’d only ever seen the name once, in a book — “The Stone Tablet Compilations,” you whispered, “I read that she taught the people to tend the soil, so that they might never go hungry again.”

You had never seen Zhongli so visibly shocked — amber gaze wide, brow raised — and almost wished that you could save that moment in your mind’s eye for eternity. When he composed himself, there was a smile on his face. “You are full of surprises, Hansi,” he murmured. “And do you know what Rex Lapis gave to the humans?”

“Currency,” you said, a little more confidently. Who would have thought that all those hours consuming journals and folk tales would one day earn you such an important favor? You racked your brains for the exact words that the book had used. “Fire. Knowledge. And the desire to break new ground, with determination unshakeable as mountains.” Zhongli nodded encouragingly, leaning towards you; and so you continue, emboldened. “It’s why he is also called the Lord of Wealth, of the Stove, of History, and the Groundbreaker.”

“Excellent,” Zhongli said, his voice guttural, all but a snarl. “And so, the Gods of Liyue taught the humans how to hunt, to cook, to trade, to live, to protect, no?”

“Yes, Mr. Zhongli,” you whispered, voice quieter than a breath. He heard you, anyway.

“You’ll find that the class hierarchy within the ranks of Liyue means precious little to me. And even if they did, restricting the flow of knowledge only to those born into privilege — it’s an absurd notion,” Zhongli gestured with one hand at the books in the room. “It’s an affront to Rex Lapis, who massacred hundreds of gods in the Archon War so Liyue could prosper. It’s an insult to the Goddess of Dust, who gave her life to ensure that the humans passed their legacies and knowledge onto future generations in safety.”

You nodded, not even a single breath left inside you. Every one of his words seemed to send a rumble through the floorboards, quiet but powerful. Never had you met a noble willing to even stray from the unspoken social rules of Liyue, let alone challenge them so boldly.

“To restrict knowledge is to directly contradict what the Founding Gods of Liyue believed in. I would never stand for it.” Finally, Zhongli turned to meet your stare. To your own surprise, you managed to stop yourself from looking away. And for the dozenth time that week, he shook your world. “The library is yours to use, Hansi. I ask only one thing — a contract of sorts, in keeping with Liyue tradition.”

The last commercial law of Liyue stated that: “Contracts made on Liyue soil were never to be broken, and those who reneged on their word would suffer the unspeakable wrath of the Lord of Geo.”

Whatever you promised here would be unquestionably binding — and you were ready to agree to it, whatever it was, if it meant you could so much as touch one of the books on these shelves.

“What is it?” You asked, heart sinking. What sort of cruel price would he demand? What did he want from you that he could not already readily take?

“That you come and tell me,” Zhongli said with a small smile, “about any stories you find particularly enjoyable.”

---

When you were ten, you got caught for the first time.

You’d made it down the street, clutching the loose pages to your heaving chest, but a loose cobblestone in the paved road had caught on your foot, and with a scream, you’d fallen.

The shopkeeper chasing you dragged you into an alley by your ankle and beat you within an inch of your life, expletives carried by his festering, drunken breath. The fracture in your ribs took two months to heal — three till you could breathe normally again — but it hurt most that before he left, he’d torn the book into shreds, scattering the pieces across the street. What would have meant the world to you had meant nothing to him.

You never got caught again.

—-

Standing in front of Zhongli, the giddy realization settled deeply into your heart. You would never have to steal again. Never have to run again. All of these books, more than you could begin to comprehend, more than you could read in a lifetime, were yours.

Tears welled in the corners of your eyes, warm and wet, but to your relief, you managed to blink them back.

“Deal,” you choked out and for the first time, Zhongli’s smile reached his golden eyes.

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin zhongli #zhongli #genshin fanfic #zhongli fanfic #zhongli x reader #fragile as dust #anqi writes #my writing

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christiandomme · 4 years ago

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Building dynamics and partnerships and being mad at ways the world isn’t built for me

A personal note since I am having so many feelings that it it is distracting me from other tasks and I am hoping shouting into the void might help...

NOTE: All y’all are welcome to join me in reading this and you can even share thoughts and wisdom. Heck, reblog if you so wish. EXCEPT you MT. I know you’re not on tumblr much right now but just in case you see this: let’s save talking about all this for a face to face convo. Everyone else, join me in my feelings.

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I consider myself dispositionally polyamorous. If my religious community and my spouse both blessed it, I would 100% have multiple spouses. I know how I am wired and I know what would make for a thriving life.

However, I count myself extremely fortunate that I am equally fulfilled by platonic/non-sexual life partners. For my happiness, sex is nice but optional, romantic-specific love is a mystery I have never kenned, and building life together and emotional intimacy is what fuels my heart.

Thus! (with consent of my spouse) I have explored power exchange dynamics dynamics and platonic partnerships and it has been an amazing journey.

But it has plenty of opportunities to make one heartsore.

I was helping on of my sub’s make a Dr. appointment recently and I told the staff member on the phone ‘Hello, yes, my partner is looking for a new physician and I was wondering if you took his insurance.’ And I almost teared up after just being able to name that in such an ordinary way.

But I have been on speaker phone with health care providers for another sub (to virtually join in on doctor visits where I was calling in to add some oomph to my sub’s self advocacy) and been introduced as ‘....my friend’ or ‘...my mentor’ to explain why this person with no legal or romantic relationship is being invited into such a vulnerable space.

Knowing that we’re not ever likely to go to each other’s family homes for winter holiday sits uneasy sometimes.

I am blessed in that my spouse, and one of my sisters, and my best friends are all happily on this my-having-partners/subs bandwagon and so I can get a semblance of the joy that is family video calls with many of my people together (No, that is not sarcastic. I unironically love family video calls).

But I have an opportunity with one of my subs to take the next 6-12 months for us to have a geographically closer dynamic. And one of the things standing in the way is how to introduce this mystery element to his family

Yes, he/we’d have to explain it, yes his family would be weird about it. This is not a part of the story that can be problem solved away. I currently plan to throw my husband under the bus to take point on swaying my sub’s family because it is normal for men to meet other men and have friendships. But why would you build a connection with a woman if you could never marry her or have sex with her, amirite?? *throw up in my mouth*

And I am so frustrated that I am vibrating. I want to live in a society where you can say, ‘hey I have a precious person and we are going to share a house together for a season of our lives and it is going to be awesome and nobody is having sex and nobody is getting married and if you want to buy us a platonic partnership gift, we need another single serving accessory for the ninja blender.’

And if anyone says anything about ‘why do we need special words?’ ‘why can’t we just say best friend like we did back in my day’ I am going to be very displeased. Because our society doesn’t save space for considering your platonic partner when making career decisions or how many bedrooms you are buying in a house or bringing adults to parent teacher conferences. And YES you can do it without those rhythms, obviously. But dang, I wish we did have that vocabulary and that ease.

When someone asks how I’m doing: I’m not just worried about my spouse’s surgery- I am also carrying concern about one partner being in a cast and another starting a new job. And I want to be able to talk about it without someone telling me that I shouldn’t take too much of my friend’s worries on my own shoulders, they are independent adults. Well so is my spouse and you don’t think it is weird that I am sharing that burden of worry and recovery!

Anyway, this whole ridiculous post was initially going to be about how hard and vulnerable it is to ask someone to partner with you outside of socially dictated structures.

I have a talk scheduled with MT this week to discuss about that geographical relocation opportunity thing, and I have to figure out how to be brave enough to really truly ask for what I want. My instinct is to make it easier on the other person when (I assume) they will tell me that my plea is insufficient. I prepare to save face and make it less difficult for someone to turn me down. This isn’t an MT thing, this is my modus operandi. That feeling of ‘I know I won’t be enough’ so I prepare for how our connection will endure after you affirm that belief.

And how this ties into the above rant is- it is a lot easier to say ‘I asked my partner to move in with me and he turned me down so I am sad and trying to figure out where our relationship is going’ vs ‘my sub passed on a chance to take our dynamic from long distance to in person and it makes me feel like I’m not worth fighting through the logistics for and what is my face even going to *look like* the next time he tells me that he is mine?’

And obviously I love him and we are going to work through it and whatever choice he ends up making we’ll figure out how to move our dynamic forward. That’s life.

But in *this moment* when I am supposed to be catching up on work emails because I’ve been out sick for a week, and I can’t because my heart is just so, so sore, I can’t help but think of all the things that could make this situation a little bit easier.

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