#the existential dread of losing purpose (for a time)

[ragepups]

do you think of me cloud

[scoutofmymind]

AHHHhhhhGg!!!! We need more sweetie pie fratty Lu!! beg for a pt 2 🛐

I’ve Got You — { Luigi x Reader }

Content: NSFW — MDNI kissing, dry-humping, fingering, fluffy, handjobs, LuigiTalksYouThroughIt, he finishes a little Too Soon ™️, quickie

Wc: 2,586

Notes; Luigi reveals he was a psych major before venturing into the world of CS. He helps you through what seems to be yet another crisis, in more ways than one.

This is a Pt 2 of the Divine Timing Bullshit drabble.

"Well, I was a psychology major for a minute." Luigi's voice carries a hint of amusement as he settles cross-legged on his bed. The room surprises you — a private dorm that speaks of his family's wealth, yet the space feels lived-in, humble.

Lamps with amber edison bulbs cast a warm glow over textbooks stacked beside engineering manuals.

"And so that makes you my therapist?" The words come out more bitter than intended, hanging in the air between you. You hadn't planned this visit — just a casual 'wanna hang?' text at 3 PM that somehow led to you wearing tracks in his floor, your anxieties spilling out unchecked.

"Well, no, but I probably give better advice than Liz, or Scarlett, or Johanna." His voice stays steady, eyes tracking your movement with quiet attention. The way he lists your friends' names shows he's been listening all semester, filing away the details of your life. "Not licensed, but if it makes you feel better, you—"

"Never mind." You drag your sweater sleeves across your eyes, the soft fabric catching on your damp lashes. Your chest feels tight with that particular brand of exhaustion unique to college students — equal parts caffeine jitters and existential dread. "I'm just — I'm so tired of feeling like I have no purpose, you know? Just this thing floating around, ma-"

"Come here." His voice cuts through your spiral, soft but unmistakably firm. He pats the space in front of him, the gesture both invitation and anchor. When you hesitate, hovering between flight and surrender, his lips curve into a gentle smile. "Present moment exercise."

Reluctantly, you migrate to the space before him, mirroring Luigi's posture like a hesitant reflection — crossed legs, straightened spine. The mattress dips beneath your weight, creating a subtle gravity that draws you both incrementally closer. "What's the exercise?"

"Close your eyes." His voice carries that gentle authority that seems to bypass your usual defenses, making compliance feel less like surrender and more like trust. "What do you feel right now? Not think — feel."

You hum softly, hands resting in your lap as the world shifts from visual to visceral. The darkness behind your eyelids makes every sensation sharper, more immediate.

"Your knee touching mine," you start, clinging to this exercise like a Hail Mary thrown into the depths of your winter despair. "Uh- the texture of your comforter" - soft, worn cotton that speaks of countless nights studying - "the candle you lit..."

"Good." The word comes with the warm press of his hands finding yours, and your breath catches slightly. His skin feels sun-warmed against your winter-chilled palms, his thumbs painting invisible patterns that seem to speak directly to your nervous system. "What else?"

"Your hands," you murmur, the words falling soft and honest in the space between you.

You let yourself sink deeper into the sensation — not just the mechanical fact of his thumbs against your palms, but the way his touch seems to radiate warmth up your arms, how each deliberate stroke feels like morse code tapping out a message: breathe, settle, stay. "Uh — little sparks."

"Mm, that's good." Luigi's voice has mellowed to warm honey, no longer needing to rise above your anxious litany of deadlines and mounting student loans. "What else?" His fingertips whisper along your forearms where your sweater sleeves have retreated to your elbows, each touch deliberate and grounding.

"Water." The word emerges soft as you lose yourself in the patterns he traces, his fingers creating phantom ripples across your skin.

Memories surface with each touch — the shock of cold spring water on sunburnt skin, the gentle rock of a weathered pontoon boat, the way summer light dances on the farm's pond. A smile tugs at your lips, unbidden and genuine. "Reminds me of home."

Though your eyes remain closed, you can feel Luigi's answering smile in the air between you, sense the careful attention he pays to each micro-expression that crosses your face, every subtle response to his touch. "Yeah? Take me there," he whispers, his fingertips discovering new paths now, mapping the delicate architecture of your wrist bones. "What do we see?"

In your mind's eye, reality softens at the edges, then transforms completely.

The suffocating weight of impending papers dissolves, the tyranny of five-thirty alarms fades to nothing, and the guilt of rushed mornings and forgotten breakfasts melts away like frost in sunshine.

Instead, memory blooms bright and clear as summer.

"There's uh — it smells like hay," you murmur, the sandalwood candle's warmth fading as memory takes over. Your voice grows stronger with each detail. "There's Rosie, our herd dog. And the birds are chirping in the trees." Luigi's fingers trace their way back up your forearm, slower this time, as if drawing out each remembered sensation. "The sun." You can almost feel its warmth on your skin, that particular kind of heat that's been absent since fall break left you stranded in winter's gray embrace.

"That's beautiful," Luigi breathes, his words carrying an undercurrent of something deeper, something that makes 'you're beautiful' hover unspoken in the air between you. "What do you feel now?” The question lands softly as he observes the transformation in you — shoulders that have finally surrendered their tension, lips curved in a gentle smile, hands that have shed their anxious chill for a living warmth.

"I feel comfort." The words come with a small nod, the first movement you've made since closing your eyes, since letting him guide you away from the chaos in your head. Your voice holds a certainty that wasn't there before. "I feel safe."

Luigi's touch anchors you back to the present moment, gentle but grounding. "Yeah? And we'll keep that feeling, hm?" His hands find their way to your thighs, the touch carrying no threat, no expectation – just steady warmth and presence. "Even when we're away from our safe place, we can find it still."

Something breaks open then — maybe it's the simple humanity of it all, how Luigi offered not just a listening ear but a path back from the edge where dropping out had started to look like your only escape.

Your chin trembles, and behind your closed eyelids, tears begin to gather. All you can manage is a soft "Mhmm," anything more threatening to unleash the emotion building in your chest.

"Ohh," Luigi's gentle tsk carries nothing but understanding as his thumb finds your jawline, the touch tender as a whisper. His soft coo acknowledges what he already knows — that this reaction is natural, expected even.

He'd been here himself once, tears falling during his first time with this very exercise.

When you open your eyes, a watery laugh escapes as you reach to brush away the tears tracking down your cheeks, but Luigi's already there, his thumbs gentle against your skin. "You did great," he beams at you, his smile radiant with a pride usually reserved for mountain summits or graduation stages. "Not so hard, is it?"

Your head tips forward into his touch as another laugh bubbles up, accompanied by fresh tears — a release valve finally opening on emotions bottled since semester's start. "What the fuck did you just do?"

Luigi's grin is soft as he catches each tear with careful thumbs, taking in your flushed cheeks, the way emotion thickens your voice. "I fuckin' popped that big ass dark cloud over your head." There's gentle knowing in his tone – the cloud will gather again, but now you have a way to part it, to find light.

Sniffles punctuate the quiet as you lean into his touch with a sigh, studying him with new eyes. The image of Frat Boy Luigi feels like a distant myth now; trying to picture him dominating a beer pong table seems as misplaced as a lion in a library. "Why did you switch to CS?" The question comes carefully as his hands migrate from your cheeks to your neck, thumbs finding pressure points behind your ears that he somehow knows to touch, pressing gentle circles that make your shoulders drop another fraction.

"You want the honest answer?"

Your nod is immediate.

"I was good at psychology — too good, honestly. Reading people, understanding their patterns, their defense mechanisms." His words come measured, thoughtful. "It began to feel... manipulative? Like I was collecting everyone's source code without any permission."

You raise an eyebrow, shooting him an inquisitive grin. "So, you fuck with actual source code now instead?"

"Exactly." Luigi nods, but something deeper flickers in his gaze. "With programming, everything is transparent. The computer does exactly what you tell it to do — there's no hidden agenda, no complex histories. If something breaks, you can fix it by looking at the code."

Understanding hums through you as your hands seek his, drawing them into your own, missing their warmth for reasons you can't quite name. "What happens when you start looking at people like code?"

The playfulness drains from his expression, his fingers going still against yours.

"That's actually why I switched." He straightens, fingers weaving gently through yours. "I started seeing everyone like programs running on faulty logic. Started thinking I could debug them, optimize their processes." His laugh carries a edge of self-reproach. "God, I sound like such an ass."

"No, keep going.”

"There was this girl in my Abnormal Psych class. She had anxiety, pretty severe. I thought I understood her patterns so well that I could help her rewrite them." His free hand rakes through his hair. "I ended up making it worse. Way worse. Because people aren't programs — you can't just identify the bug and patch it. Every 'bug' is part of who they are."

You study his face in the mixed glow of candlelight and distant desk lamp, catching shadows of old guilt in his expression.

"With code, there's always a right answer. A most efficient solution. But humans — fuck," he draws your hand to his cheek, releasing a soft sigh. "We're messy. Contradictory. Beautiful because of it, not in spite of it. The moment I started seeing people as systems to optimize was the moment I stopped seeing them as people."

You study him — the way he cradles your hand, his own need for contact as evident as yours. "Is that why you're so focused on being present? Not analyzing?"

His smile returns, gentler than before. "Yeah. Turns out the best way to understand someone isn't by debugging them." His lips trace down your wrist, following the same path his fingers had taken earlier, recreating that feeling of safety and home. "Being here. Feeling. Letting things be messy and imperfect and real."

You feel yourself melting further — transformed into something soft and vulnerable you never expected to become.

By all rights, you should be alone in your dorm right now, buried under your duvet until the hypnotic loop of slime videos lulled you to sleep.

Instead, here you are, receiving wisdom from someone you'd once dismissed as just another beer pong champion, your best friend's crush turned into something far more complex.

Fuck.

"And how's that working out for you?" A grin spreads across your face, warmth flooding your cheeks as your heart performs an impromptu butterfly migration. "Letting things be messy?"

He moves with purposeful grace, drawing you onto his lap, his back finding the carefully arranged pillows behind him. "Well," he murmurs, warm hands sliding beneath your sweater to grip your waist, carrying the same gentle certainty as before, "I haven't color-coded a single spread sheet this week, and somehow the world hasn't ended."

Your laugh comes out breathless as your arms find their way around his shoulders. He gazes up at you through half-lidded eyes, those stark black eyebrows relaxed like brushstrokes across his features, each detail seeming divinely crafted.

"You're different than what I expected." The confession slips out as his hands chart a careful course up your back, then down to trace the curve of your ass, maintaining their unhurried, gentle exploration.

"I won't ask." Luigi's grin carries the weight of familiar labels; valedictorian, hazer of newcomers, dean's list fixture, beer pong legend, app development champion, notorious panty dropper. "But, thanks anyway."

Your lips crash together with sudden urgency, your hips finding their home in the space between his crossed legs, your body molding against his like a missing puzzle piece. "It all worked out in the end," you murmur against his mouth, teeth grazing his bottom lip as your hips roll downward. "Wouldn't you say?"

Luigi nods slowly, lips brushing yours with each word. "I'll say whatever you want me to." His grin is a contradiction — shy yet heated, pure yet hungry — as crimson spreads across his cheeks and creeps over the bridge of his nose.

A moan escapes you, startling in its intensity, warmth flooding your cheeks.

His hips rise to meet yours, a deep groan rumbling through him as the hardness in his jeans presses against your inner thighs. “Is this the kind of messy you were talking about?” you breathe between heated, spit-slick kisses, your hips rocking with a deliberate, determined rhythm.

Luigi seems to be unraveling beneath you, his hands exploring every inch your oversized sweater allows, hiked up to your bellybutton. He watches intently as you grind against him, the obvious tent in his sweatpants twitching in response to the attention.

“The kind of messy that practically comes with a free therapy session before making you come in your sweatpants?” A smirk curls your lips, playful and devious, your gaze locked on Luigi, who looks as if he’s found heaven.

“Gonna make me come, are you?” His breath quickens, a familiar tingling sensation building deep within him.

“Only if I get to,” you reply, your words igniting a spark. His right hand slips down the front of your leggings, his palm replacing the stiffness of his groin, fingers teasing momentarily as they gather the arousal dampening your panties.

You tug the waistband of his sweatpants down below his hipbones, revealing his cock — proud yet desperate, glistening with pre-come. The whine that escapes him as you begin to stroke him speaks volumes of his growing need.

“Look at me,” Luigi begs, and your attention snaps back to him, too captivated by his size and the slickness on your knuckles to focus on anything else, wrist working in rhythmic timing over his length. “God, you’re fucking—” He’s cut off by a chorus of moans, hot and steady, as waves of arousal spill onto his abdomen.

Your hand instinctively moves to your mouth, tasting him—bitter at first, but sweet on the finish.

How perfect.

His breath comes in ragged gasps as his fingers work their magic inside you, curving just right to find that sweet spot that makes your eyes flutter and a wave of warmth wash over you. “You can do it,” he whispers, his free hand trailing gentle touches up and down your forearms, mirroring the soothing gestures he’d offered only thirty minutes prior to this. “I’ve got you.”

Your hands are still slick with his release, but it doesn’t matter. You lean forward, tangling your fingers in his hair, your lips crashing together in a desperate hunger punctuated by whimpers that signal your impending climax.

“Fuck,” you curse, your hips moving in rhythm with his fingers thrusting inside you, still gentle yet insistent. His palm presses against your clit, creating a friction that pushes you right to the edge.

His praises shower over you like a sweet melody. “That’s it, baby,” he coos, your head tilting back as you ride the wave of pleasure until you can’t anymore. “That’s my girl.”

[cynicalmusings]

i’m kind of tempted to write a series of little anecdotes of socrates!reader interacting with each amphoreus cast member and just… either winding them up or confusing the hell out of them until the characters give up and leave the conversation.

mydei is the easiest to frustrate, and about three minutes into the discussion, he’s just like “i don’t care about this. go away before i want to punch you,” and goes off.

phainon is initially willing to have a discussion—it couldn’t hurt that much, right?—before regretting it severely. to do him justice, he fares relatively well, but after ten to fifteen minutes he has to leave (1) he has no idea what’s going on anymore and (2) he feels a crushing existential crisis coming on which he would rather suffer through in privacy (which is to say he breaks down from existential dread the moment he leaves your line of sight).

tribbie doesn’t get angry, but they’re another one who gets a touch confused. they get both the others in on it, too, and by the end you’ve got the whole group being like “…we’re sorry, we don’t think we can do this anymore” and flying off. they’re pretty polite and honest about what they don’t understand, though, which you appreciate.

castorice, having studied at the grove, has some background in this kind of thing, and she keeps up with the debate pretty well. when she doesn’t understand something, she’ll be open about it and ask you to clarify, making for a good conversation partner. she also strikes me as a pretty patient type, so she won’t lose her temper or anything while you get very particular in your arguments, either. i feel like the main reason she would call off the discussion is because she needs more time to think about how to respond to something you’ve said (and the constant interchange has probably tired her out a little, too).

hyacine is pretty honest from the get-go that philosophy isn’t an area she has much direct experience with, but because she’s nice and doesn’t want to let you down, she’s happy to go along with it. she gets a little emotion when you question her about why life is meaningful and whether it’s really worth inconveniencing oneself to help another (which isn’t to necessarily say you hold these views yourself; your main objective is to gauge her position and how she responds to such a challenge) — and soon tells you that she feels like she can’t do this anymore and needs a moment to herself.

aglaea would be really difficult to befuddle, frustrate, or get any major reaction from. she’s very calculated with her responses, good at keeping a level head, and doesn’t reveal her emotional position. the only way you could get under her skin, if you so wished to play devil’s advocate, is by challenging her about the value of okhema and its citizens. even then, she’d barely crack, but if you’re looking closely, you might be able to tell she’s

finally, debates with anaxa are… literally nothing new. you’ve been bugging him with constant questions for years, and he’s used to it by now (to be honest, he probably ought to thank you for it — you kind of act as his argument-checker to see if he’s overlooked any problems or made any assumptions with any claim he makes). he might pretend to be a little annoyed, but really, he enjoys your intellectual matches. the only ways you could wind him up is (1) committing a fallacy in your argument on purpose/ acting with intellectual dishonesty, which you would just… never do, or (2) saying something (probably negative) about yourself, which… also would never really come up in a discussion, because you’re interested in knowing stuff, not talking about yourself.

(he’s also definitely tried to convince you to take part in the annual great debate on multiple occasions, but you refuse every time. to be fair, every day is a ‘great debate’ for you and whichever unfortunate soul you run into that day… so it’s understandable why you don’t need to join some tournament to get, what, some public affirmation of your debating skill? who needs that? does it get you closer to uncovering knowledge about the world? no? well, you’re just not interested, then.)

[lancelotlikeslewds]

I will always love Yasha so much as a rival character.

Always doing what he believes is right even if he finds himself on the wrong side of a divine cause. Making the ultimate sacrifice for what he believes in order to try and free the world from suffering. Yasha was always trying to do the best for the world and never wanted to rule as a god over others. Always seemingly cool-headed but still ruled over by his mantra of melancholy while also trying to ensure a world without it, inflicting so much suffering yet never reveling in it and knowing the weight of the losses he's given and made for the great rebirth. His brother-in-law and in-multiple-arms was able to put an eternal scourge to the world to rest, but only for a time, there will still always be suffering in the world so long as Vlitra and the Gohma plague Gaia... So he made the ultimate selfless sacrifice voluntarily for the sake of the greater good.

Only to see Asura come back with the strength and righteous anger to challenge the very cause Yasha supported and committed countless atrocities for. All of that loss, all of the guilt of the people that were used as a means to an end; his sister Durga, his niece Mithra, his brother Asura, and he was able to save the world without the need for sacrifice? Yet Yasha doesn't lose determination. He like Asura now uses his manta to fight for the sake of a true purpose, using a millennia of grief and sorrow to challenge the cause that was twisted by the other deities. And he and Asura succeded against Vlitra! but turns out, all the suffering of the world was a cyclical test made by ACTUAL GOD. And to make it worse, THE FUCKING GOHMA ARE STILL AROUND.

Yasha questioned the purpose of existence not once but twice over. Especially after the absolute bombshell of the second existential crisis, he understandably doesn't have much left in him to go on and even questions if anything they did truly mattered. Yet Yasha still doesn't lose resolve completely. He knows he's not Asura, someone who through the true unflinching purpose of his wrath can save the world and bring back Mithra. He fights back against the seeming futility of their actions and makes a choice only he can in allowing Asura to do what he can't, making one final selfless sacrifice. He entrusts Asura with the embodiment of the Seven Deities' cause, now stripped of all the meaningless and perverse sacrifice that came with it, and uses it to empower Asura's wrath, made all the more pure by giving Asura his own will through Yasha's reactor.

Asura and Yasha's final fight between each other is Yasha fully embracing his emotions like Asura one final time. The existential dread of his existence and the weight of his actions through it all, the sorrow of entrusting this impossible task to Asura even if Yasha trusts him to see it through, the pain of fighting his own brother in his final moments. Yasha fights Asura until the very end, knowing his brother has the power to save the world and their family.

And at the very end of his life... Yasha, the demigod of melancholy, dies with a smile on his face.

[scuttlingcrab]

wip time, yo

Pssssttttttt! I've finished a new Emmrich one-shot! Hoping to post it tomorrow hehe. It's a wild AU Canon Convergence piece, focused on Emmrich getting stuck in the bloody Fade after he pulls Rook out lmao.

Lots of timey-wimey nonense. Also our QUEEN Johanna Hezenkoss is along for the ride because she is unfortunately tethered to the damned professor. (and I can't stop writing in her POV)

Here's another cheeky WIP in the meantime (lots of editing/re-reading to do *tops up wine glass*)

***

Of all the ninnies and lovesick halfwits in Thedas, let alone in the entirety of this metaphysical realm, of course it was Volkarin who had to follow his heart—abandoning all semblance of logic for the sole purpose of rescuing that wretched paramour of his. Forget the fact that the fate of the world hung in a balance and a blighted elven god was on a rampage! Rook, Rook, Rook. It had to be Rook. And what good did it bring Volkarin in the end? 

Johanna had forewarned him, many times over, that love would only cause him unnecessary pain, existential suffering that would distract him from his true prospects. Volkarin was better suited focusing his pursuits elsewhere, towards Johanna’s own aspirations most of all, some of which they had once shared—dreams of Lichdom, refining Nevarra City, traversing parts of the Fade no mortal had been fortunate enough to see, much less returned from alive. The things they would’ve achieved had their friendship proved successful…

Now, the fool was stuck in some sort of confinement instrumented by the Dread Wolf himself, that much was obvious to even the most dimwitted of Volkarin’s companions. 

In any other circumstance Johanna would’ve happily left him to rot, watching from the periphery as he was forced to act out the same tragedy until the end of his sorry existence. Oh, it was too perfect. And it enraged Johanna she couldn’t think of it herself, laying the groundwork of his misfortunes, knowing the right traps to prepare, and how undeniably he would come to pieces at each stage of her master plan. All she had to do was keep pulling at the frayed thread, the same one she had been picking at for decades…

In all sincerity, Johanna loathed Volkarin. He was the first person on practically every revenge list she’s ever made, teething with vengeance as she carved his name into the parchments like it was a dagger to his own flesh—hoping that would be enough for him to feel her spite from the comforts of his gaudy flat in the Necropolis. 

When Johanna was a mortal, and not a dismembered skull wasting away in some sad sap’s laboratory, she’d fall asleep fantasising about all the ways she’d soil Volkarin’s reputation in response to his abandonment—jealousy keeping her bed warm, tucking her in snuggly every night when no one else would, as scenarios played out of his demotion, empty lecture halls, and poorly reviewed theses. 

Alas, as fortune would have it, Johanna needed to help Volkarin. She was tethered to him, whether she liked it or not, due to their bond in the waking world. Volkarin’s intricate ether-seals that kept her interned within her own skull, unable to use or learn new spells due to the cumbersome wards, was what kept her drawn to him—the same predicament that allowed her to jump seamlessly between his consciousness and the reality that was waiting for him back in the Lighthouse. 

For as long as Volkarin was trapped within his own mind, so was Johanna. If the fool somehow managed to perish, to lose this fight, then his soul would not pass on—he would be bound within the echoes of this prison, his memories on an everlasting loop, and Johanna would be cursed to join him. Sharing the shame tomb, how ironic. Truly, an outcome worse than death itself.

Johanna had witnessed the prelude to Volkarin’s death spiral in real time, observing from her pedestal as he fell asleep at his desk, struggling to stay roused as he readied himself for Rook’s extraction from the Fade. She had talked him through it the evening before, as she had done night after night since Rook’s disappearance—the old acquaintances theorising what he could do to find weaknesses in the Veil, or how he could follow the trails leading to Rook’s isolated location. She humoured the old codger, quite enjoying their conversations, despite the severity of his ongoing dilemma. It was as if they were back in their 30s, crammed into a tiny booth in the mess hall and busying themselves with talk about the future, on what the uncharted territories of the Fade could offer them.

“It’s no use!” Emmrich exclaimed, shredding another stack of parchments. He quickly added them to the growing pile of rubbish besides his desk, burying his face in trembling hands. He was more choleric these days, cheeks hollowed, infraorbital darkening adding at least 5 years to his senescence.

“Have you analysed the latest variances?” Johanna countered, slightly perplexed at why he might give up so easily. Volkarin. The same idiotic man who once, just to ease a random spirit’s temperament after a chance encounter, fought tooth and nail to track down their long lost family heirlooms—which had somehow ended up in Val Royeaux, of all places. 

“Another dead end. Same as the last lot.” 

“You know as well as I, Volkarin, the Fade cannot hide things for too long. Eventually Rook’s location will show itself.”

“Yes, Johanna. However, we don't have the luxury of waiting around for that precise moment, now do we?”

“Oh, it hasn’t been that long.”

“It’s been nearly 3 weeks.”

“But for Rook, likely an hour or two has passed. She’s fine. I wager you’ll find the girl by the time your body’s ready for burial.”

Emmrich slammed his hands on the desk, twisting his body to face her, like some demented owl. 

“That’s quite enough. I’m in no mood for one of your quips, Johanna.”

“Have you ever been inclined to receive them?”

Emmrich narrowed his eyes, scowling at her. And praytell, was that an eye roll? From that decrepit man?

“I jest, Volkarin. Please carry on with whatever nonsense you were working on if it gives you any peace of mind.”

He let out a low growl, swiftly turning around. He continued with his idle scribblings, searching through dusty tomes until ultimately falling asleep at his desk. 

The next morning Emmrich rolled out of his writing chair, muttering incoherently to himself as he dressed, leaving his quarters without so much of a goodbye.

Johanna’s world altered in the span of a few hours after Volkarin’s absence, feeling the exact moment something shifted. The wards around her burned, her spirit sizzling as if it was being cooked inside her skull, raw energy piercing a heart that no longer existed. It was a new kind of torture, pulling her apart in a thousand different directions, imperceptible hands reaching for a strand of her essence, her very being, and trying to pull it apart, to reforge her. It made Johanna want to vomit, replicating the exact sensations she once experienced while harboring a mortal form—that sourness in her mouth, uneasiness in her stomach. Her eyesight violently flickered, splitting into two separate locations, two different versions of herself sharing the same skull.

Her left vision showcased greyness, a bleak and disquieting territory she had never seen before—while the right was still stuck in the present, in Volkarin’s laboratory. She watched through her left eye, skull trembling as Volkarin stumbled into view. He screamed out into the void, calling for help, calling Rook’s name—a primal, guttural sound, unsettling even to Johanna. Volkarin then fell to his knees, weeping into his hands as he suddenly turned to stone. 

Flicker. 

Flicker. 

Flicker. 

Johanna’s vision merged back into one, nearly restoring her view of the laboratory in full. She let out a pained gasp, green energy oozing from her eye sockets in shock—not at the grey tinge still covering her left vision, but at the sight of Volkarin now sitting faced down in his desk, exactly how he had woken up mere hours ago. Her right vision still showcased Volkarin’s empty quarters, back in their current reality.

There was certainly something amiss, and the crux of the problem was Volkarin. 

In the present, shouting echoed outside of his quarters—confusion, anger, and sounds of multiple boots charging up stairs. Johanna expected Volkarin to come bursting through the doors with some explanation, perhaps even a solution to the utter lunacy she was experiencing, but no one came. Even the Lighthouse seemed to silence itself in suspense, holding its breath as it stood by for an outcome, ceasing its movements through the ether all together.

Johanna kept herself occupied in the hushness by watching Volkarin through her left eye. He continued to sleep at his desk, immobile. She had an inkling what this could be, where she might be viewing him from, but she needed more proof, concrete evidence in advance of jumping to conclusions. Before starting to panic. And Johanna never panicked, not even in her darkest hours.

It wasn’t until sometime later that the doors to his quarters finally creaked open.

“About time, Volkarin! I’ve just experienced the most—” Johanna began what would have been a whirlwind monologue berating the fool, but she cut her words short when Rook staggered through the threshold. 

The elf was slovenly, more so than usual—blood dripping from her tattered armour, hair tangled, as if she had killed a group of Venatori right outside the door. Had she no decorum? Back from the Fade and she couldn’t at least change her clothes, let alone bathe before showing herself? 

Frankly, Rook was always in some slatternly state or another, wearing clothes that were fit for a lowly housekeeper rather than some so-called leader. Johanna didn’t know what Volkarin saw in her. Aside from her youth, naturally—one good romp from a young woman was enough to keep him distracted from the grave that beckoned him. Pah! Rook was devoid of any sophistication or charm—it was like Johanna was talking to a bloody cadaver whenever they were forced to converse.

“Oh. You’ve returned.” Johanna said instead, rather matter of factly, trying to keep her energy contained to conceal her rising irritation. 

Rook approached Volkarin’s desk, slumping into the writing chair. She pulled out a plain dagger from her belt, stabbing it into the wood. 

“I’m going to fucking kill Solas.” She garbled.

“Where’s Volkarin? Is that dotard going to make an appearance at some point?”

Rook’s neck twitched at the question, on hearing Volkarin’s name, and she pulled the knife from the desk, slicing into it repeatedly. Over and over again she went, until a piece of wood broke off.

“He’s in the infirmary. Something happened. When h-he pulled me from the Fade. Something went… wrong.”

Johanna’s green energy fulminated from her plinth, bursting from her eye sockets, from the base of her skull, as her bones clattered against the surface. 

“Take me to him. This. Instant!” 

Rook stared back at Johanna, goggle-eyed, hand gripping the hilt of her dagger.

“Why would you wanna—? I mean, wouldn’t that ruin your…”

“You imbecile! My wards are tied to Volkarin. You could throw me into the fireplace and I’d remain there, like a piece of cinder, unable to escape. Now please, do something instrumental for once, and transport me to the infirmary!”

Johanna didn’t have to demand a third time. Rook picked up her skull, holding it as far away from her body as possible—as if Johanna was blighted, risking infecting Rook and everyone else in the Lighthouse. 

[a-doubleh-x]

Fashionably Late Review: TADC Episode 2

Hi everyone! Welcome to Fashionably Late Reviews, where I write my thoughts on media days and days later, not because I've been in frequent dental pain, no, no, no. It's because I care for writing the most detailed, most thought through analysis you're ever gonna see!

Episode 1 started us with a general introduction as well as a mini arc for Pomni. Episode 2 resumes that with a proper self contained adventure while still breaking the mold in the process.

While this episode was shorter than the pilot, the writing was so good and the emotional beats so well played, I barely took notice. It felt like a very strong second step for the series, plus it gave every character at least a small moment to shine, which was very nice.

The theme of existential dread returns once more and this time we're treated to a showcase of how characters deal with it, prominently in this case Pomni, Ragatha and Jax. Interestingly, I noticed each of these has an NPC counterpart they get along with who reflects their personality in some way.

For the rest of this review, I'm going to run one by one following their perspectives and episode arcs in order to showcase the episode's narrative.

Pomni represents existential shock and subsequent apathy. After the first episode, we see her in a cathatonic state of depression, even while Ragatha tries to wake her up from that funk. Because her entire world has been shattered, she doesn't recognize herself anymore. She feels alone because nothing has meaning anymore.

The small distraction Ragatha offers her at the beginning, the adventure of the day, is rejected because she knows it's "fake". It's a sad substitute of all the experiences in the outside eorld she' been robbed of.

This is mirrored by Gummigoo, who undergoes a similar existential crisis when he learns he's an artificial construct with no agency. At that point, everything loses meaning for him as well, but just looking at someone in the same circusmtances as her fills Pomni with empathy, momentarily taking her out of her existential dread with a connection and purpose.

She knows getting out of the out of bounds area is not going to save them on the long term, but she still wants to do it because something has meaning for her again: Gummigoo, who may still be "fake" but holds enough humanity to feel "real" to her.

And then, Gummi dies, proving how fickle life is in front of an uncaring universe XD

It's still too early to say how much of an impact this will have on Pomni in the long run as well as how much of a trend it sets, so we'll see.

Ragatha represents coping through trivial distractions as as well as codependent altruism fueled by denial. We learnt the reason she goes along with the adventures is to keep herself and everyone else busy. This way everyone has something to do and don't go crazy: even if adventures are just trite entertainment.

She clearly puts others above herself, especially newbies like Pomni, in order to keep peace in the group (although I have a feeling she secretly hopes the others took care of her the same way).

Her counterpart is Princess Loolilaloo, whom she simply gets along with swimmingly. Princess Loo is presented as a sweet, kind and well meaning individual who unfortunately is blind to the circumstances surrounding her. This comes into play when she trusts the "heros" come out of nowhere with the key, which Jax holds for his own chaotic mischief.

Similarly, while Ragatha's intentions towards Pomni are benevolent, she fails to acknowledge her perspective and connect with her and instead annoys her with her toxic positivity. Fortunately, Kinger is there to teach her a valuable lesson, which is respecting others' boundaries and have patience.

Jax represents destructive revelry and rejection of morals. Because he believes nothing the crew does during their adventures matter, he spends the whole time stirring the pot in order to cause as much trouble as possible, not quite caring who gets affected as long as it's not himself.

It's interesting to note despite Jax's nihilistic tendencies, he seems to value self preservation, suggesting there are things he holds onto, after all. He's happy as long as he can see "funny things happen to people", but he's still not quite the master of his own world as he's still not satisfied if things go out of his control.

His counterpart is the Fudge, a haunting and deeply unsettling potrait of a sociopathic being. They're called a monster and they accepts that label willingly, as they were designed to be a monster. They claim to "hear the voices of the candy people, calling [them]". Tragically, their destructiveness is only in their nature.

Jax, however, causes pain deliberately and at the end we get a little hint of why. When the circus crew prepares Kauffmo's funeral, he looks sad for a moment, then angry. I think this is a subtle telling that Jax not that deep down *does* care for his fellow players, but he also rejects the pain of losing them, which is why he purposely pushes them off to avoid making connections.

At the end of the episode we're presented with a hopeful message, which is that even with the notion of existential dread, our connections are what keeps us alive in the face of non-existence. Although it seems there is no escape from the fate of abstraction yet, it seems that Pomni has gained a substantial comfort by seeing the humanity of the circus crew, represented by them grabbing her by the hand in her imaginary sequence.

All in all, a beautiful piece, although I dread what's still ahead of us XD As a writer, I've learnt to expect the unexpected, so I can only expect that we're going to have our hearts twisted and folded in ways we're absolutely *not* ready for. But it's all part of the fun! Right?

By the way, I just started writing a little fanfic for TADC. It's a Pomni x Ragatha story because I could use a little levity and I think everyone else as well. Expect that as well as more post like these in the upcoming future.

I'll see you fashionably late! 👋🎉🐊

[omegaphilosophia]

The Philosophy of Angst

The philosophy of angst explores the existential experience of deep, often vague anxiety about one’s life, purpose, and place in the world. Rooted in existentialism, the concept of angst was extensively discussed by philosophers like Søren Kierkegaard, Martin Heidegger, and later Jean-Paul Sartre, as a fundamental feeling that confronts individuals with the freedom and burden of their own existence.

Key Themes in the Philosophy of Angst

Existential Anxiety: Angst is different from ordinary fear, which has a specific object or threat. Existential angst arises without a clear reason; it is a sense of profound unease about existence itself. This kind of anxiety questions the stability of one’s identity, meaning, and purpose, often triggered by the awareness of one’s freedom and isolation.

Freedom and Responsibility: In existential philosophy, angst is often a response to the realization of one’s freedom. With unlimited choices comes the weight of responsibility, as each choice shapes one's identity and values. Angst confronts the individual with the vast, open-ended possibilities of existence, making them aware that their life has no inherent script.

Heidegger’s Concept of Angst: Heidegger, in Being and Time, describes angst as the feeling that arises when Dasein (human existence) confronts its own nothingness, or the absence of fixed meaning. For Heidegger, angst reveals the “nothingness” underlying existence, forcing Dasein to come to terms with the groundlessness of being and the need to define oneself through authentic choices.

Kierkegaard’s Concept of Angst: Kierkegaard, one of the earliest philosophers to discuss angst, saw it as a “dizziness of freedom.” He argued that angst arises from the individual’s potential to act freely and to shape their existence in different ways. This freedom leads to a feeling of dread as one realizes the responsibility to make meaningful choices without guaranteed outcomes.

Angst and the Absurd: Jean-Paul Sartre and Albert Camus later explored angst in the context of the absurd—life’s inherent lack of meaning or purpose. For Sartre, angst emerges from the realization that individuals must create their own values in a world devoid of predetermined purpose, while Camus explored how angst challenges one to confront or rebel against the absurdity of existence.

Authenticity and Inauthenticity: For existentialists, confronting angst is an opportunity to live authentically, recognizing one’s freedom and limitations. Authenticity involves accepting one’s existential anxiety and living in a way that reflects one’s true self, rather than conforming to societal expectations. Inauthenticity, by contrast, is when one evades angst by losing oneself in social roles, routines, or distractions.

Death and Finitude: Angst often arises from a deep awareness of mortality and finitude, as the individual confronts the transient nature of life and the inevitability of death. This confrontation with death challenges people to live fully and meaningfully, emphasizing the importance of present choices and the uniqueness of one’s existence.

Philosophical Implications of Angst

Awareness of Mortality: Angst makes individuals more acutely aware of death and finitude, compelling them to reflect on how they live and what they value. This awareness is central to existential ethics, which emphasizes living consciously and fully in light of life’s impermanence.

Existential Freedom and Responsibility: Angst underscores the weight of existential freedom, highlighting that humans are responsible for their actions and the direction of their lives. This freedom is simultaneously liberating and burdensome, as individuals realize that they alone are accountable for creating meaning in an indifferent world.

Rejection of Predefined Meaning: Angst challenges the notion that life has an inherent or universal meaning, urging individuals to look inward for purpose and value. This perspective encourages a personal, subjective approach to ethics and identity, grounded in one’s unique experiences and aspirations.

The Need for Authenticity: Confronting angst can lead to a more authentic mode of existence, where individuals embrace their individuality, uncertainty, and freedom. Authenticity involves rejecting conformity and embracing a life that reflects one’s true values and beliefs, even in the face of anxiety and doubt.

Role in Modern Psychology and Therapy: The existential understanding of angst has influenced therapeutic approaches, particularly existential psychotherapy, which helps people confront anxiety, death, and freedom to find personal meaning. Therapists encourage individuals to see angst not as something to escape but as an opportunity for self-discovery and growth.

[walkdreams]

❛❛ she appears in weird shapes and strange forms, now plain to the eye, now shadowy, now shining in the darkness

loosely based on the orphic myths, melinöe is a goddess of ghosts, nightmares & madness. she is known as the formless one for her shapeshifting abilities, the propitiated one by those who pray she does not visit them at night with her train of revengeful ghosts, and also as a crossroads deity, capable of infiltrating any realm so long as the sun is down. she is the second-born daughter of hades & persephone, stolen at birth by echidna at the start of the gigantomachy, and who remains estranged after discovering this.

her domain is in the river of wailing, where she offers an alternative option to the souls who were not given proper burial, endured a violent death, and/or did not have the toll to pay the ferryman. rather than spend the hundred years wandering in the banks of the river styx, they're given the chance to join her retinue in a nightly exodus to haunt in her name. melinöe herself often pays personal visits to the sleeping, invading and manipulating the dreams laid out by morpheus by taking the shape of their worst nightmares.

✧ headcanons ✧ visuals ✧ threads

☁️ . . . VERSES

✧ main : aligned primarily with greek myth canon, but can be applied to various settings & fantasy crossovers. she can be the entity associated with whatever boogeyman or nightmare figure applies. the background here is that melinöe was born formless ( thus difficult to identify ), so echidna stole her away to raise as her own, shaped her into the frightful and formidable deity she is currently, and used her as a force against house hades during the gigantomachy. after discovering that she wasn't echidna's daughter ( default is that hekate unearthed this ), she turned against the gigantes, but remained estranged to house hades all the same. although she offers passage of out hades, the unknown catch is that with each exit out of the underworld, a spirit will lose more of their memory until they become a shade with no sense of identity or purpose apart from serving the phantom queen. ✧ supergiant's hades : canon-divergent. same background here applies until i get through the full playthrough, but this is the primary verse where i will play around with mel being more anti-heroine skewed. she was the one who unleashed kronus, the titan of time ( and her grandfather ) who takes hades hostage. after discovering her true parentage, she begrudgingly agrees to train with hekate and save her father ( as a debt she feels she owes, not out of love ). [alt. adjacent verse] slaying the titan of time ultimately opens up some crossover plots where she's the new time anchor capable of traveling across timelines in the multiverse. ✧ dragon age : my favorite verse for her !! she's the formless one ( aka the last surviving forbidden one after da:i ) which i'm establishing to be a fear demon, and more specifically the nightmare demon in inquisition who commands all demons in alignment with corypheus. she was once a spirit of hope who absorbed the fears of thedas, but over time this corrupted her and turned her into the first fear demon, essentially a mirror of whatever horror plagues the collective. at this time she's a nightmare demon who primarily embodies with the blight because that's the most prevalent existential dread, but being the formless one means she can evolve to encapsulate something else. ✧ sandman / supernatural / comic villain : when morpheus first created the dreaming, he also created a formless dream who was meant to serve as a swiss army knife of sorts, encompassing whatever ideation proved most convenient for his running and expansion of the realm. eventually, melinöe became the first and most dangerous nightmare in morpheus' arsenal, especially after learning dreamers leave empty vessels in the waking world. she'd come to possess a few of these bodies and encountered some ghosts whom she assisted in doing the same. as a result, morpheus was forced to imprison her deep inside his nightmare box to prevent a rift between realms, but after his death and daniel's ascension, she manages to escape through the weakened wards and is now seeking to turn the waking world into her own realm of living nightmares by turning unwary sleepers into possessed shadow monsters.

☁️ . . . DOSSIER

name. melinöe epithets. the formless one, phantom queen, dark-mind, propitiation-minded pronouns. she/they (non-binary, female presenting) age. immortal pantheon. hellenistic polytheism etymology. chthonic goddess sexuality. pansexual alignment. chaotic evil / neutral relations. hades (father), persephone (mother), echidna (false mother), zagreus (brother), makaria (sister), aya akazawa ( sister), hekate (mentor), morpheus (🔪) height. 5'7" build. she will usually present herself as a nebulous shadow with only her eyes as a discernible feature, but her base form is lithe and toned. she has a white phantom forearm (left) that she keeps gloved. it's very bright, the only heavenly thing about her, but it is also translucent and exposes her ethereal skeleton. hair. tar black, floating around chaotically like tentacles. think eris from sinbad. eyes. varies. they could be translucent in the dark, a cloudy grey and rotted, black, yellow like spider guts, or burning pits distinguishing markers. spiders skittering in swarms, dogs barking at night, radio silence, a sudden drop in temperature, a dark face in the back of your eyelids, the sound of mourning cries in another room scents. burning sage, saffron, grave dirt

☁️ . . . ABILITIES / SKILLSET

* shape-shfting. less focused on concrete shapes than obscure and terrifying figures; however, this ability is also very much reflective of her environment and the person she is haunting. if their worst nightmare involves another person, she will embody that shape. * dimensional travel. a very stealthy ghoul! there is nowhere you can hide if it's night and you are sleeping without protection. that's the in miss boogey woman needs to find you. however, she can also travel the axis mundi aka "the crossroads" between realms in the greek pantheon without restrictions and take others through those roads so long as they accompany her throughout. otherwise, they could get stuck in limbo there. (in her alt. sg hades verse she'll ultimately be able to travel the multiverse this way) * possession. again, without protective measures or if someone is frightened enough to slip past the defense of their will, she and/or one of her ghosts can possess them and live within the confines of their mind like a parasite. * combat skills. while stunning or deceiving enemies through visions and torturous encounters is her go-to method, melinöe is also a very capable fighter. you can consider her more of a rogue. she's a dual wielder and her weapons are usually a pair of crescent shaped sickles. * magic phantom arm. allows her to shoot blasts of burning ectoplasm and cast simple entropy spells. it'll usually be gloved which dampens the effect, but when it isn't, and given enough time to boot it, she can nuke something.

☁️ . . . RESTRICTIONS

* sensitivity to sunlight. she is incapable of being in the sun without extensive damage. it won't kill her, but she will be in agony and incapacitated, and hella pissed if she escapes. rooms with bright lights are also very annoying, she'll find a way to shut them off or dim them to scare someone, but also for her own comfort. * protective tokens & practices. salt rings or salt along thresholds will keep her and her ghosts barred from entering a home, but melinöe may still be able to sneak in from a sleeping mind within that home, unless you have protective bells that will stir when she's near and wake them before she's found her way through. protective crystals and sage may also keep her from finding someone or dampen/cleanse her influence, but won't stop her from entering a room. * combat. without her abilities at her disposal, she's more vulnerable to being overcome in combat. she won't be easy to take down, as she is fast and very precise, but in terms of the damage that she can take before being subdued, this is low and her weakest point.

[fruitalike]

WEATHERING || Haley x Reader

RATING: Mature? I think.

PAIRNG: Haley x Butch Lesbian Reader

TAGS: YOU are a butch, Haley is a femme, established relationship, marriage, existential dread?, kinda angst/hurt/comfort, commentary on late game uselessness, no smut/sex, what if you were miserable but in love too! thats the theme here

WORDS: 2203

SUMMARY:

Your wife is more perceptive than you thought she’d be… You are a person without her; and a better one with her. And yet, you find yourself in this conundrum all the same; things are different now—things were easier when you first moved to the valley.

READ ON AO3

OR

Things were easier when you first moved to the valley. Well, technically they were much, much harder—having just quit your desk job and fleeing to the middle of nowhere, you began to clear a farm as if you had any idea what you were doing. It was both back-breaking and monotonous work: you mine the stray stones in your way, cut down unneeded trees and their fallen limbs, till the ground, plant seeds, and water them—all simple enough and the rhythm of it was easy to get used to, even as it ate away at you. Sometimes you’d even meander off the farm when your work was done early and commune with the townspeople.

Now, things were harder, because they were easier, which constantly made your head spin. The farm having been cleared from decades of decay, meant it could only flourish with your diligent care. As you became more and more proficient in the numerable skills required for the farm, crops were watered by sprinklers, came to harvest faster or with better quality with fertilizer and speed grow, and were rarely lost to crows or stray lightening bolts. As you became a better farmer, you felt less involved and emboldened by your work. Sure, you had more time. More time to harvest, to process, to make more and more money. But is that why you chose this life?

When you first moved here, you met her, and you’ve been enraptured in Haley’s storm ever since. Though that does come off a bit dramatic for your mild country love affair. And maybe that was underselling it. These things famously hard to understand, and to put to words (and maybe you’re just tired). All you know is that you fell in love with her very quickly.

When you first met her, there was just something about her that was deeply familiar to you. So, entering her orbit was a preferable way to lose yourself, but only a little. You lost those things about everyone that are most unimportant—the parts of you that are anxious in love and hesitant in desire, that agonize in perception and shrink in the grander parts of life, those that are more concerned with the optics of what it must look like for someone like you to fall in love than the quiet dignity you feel as you sink, further and further. She’s like a mirror to you—if their purpose was to show you what you look like inside. You are a person without her; and a better one with her.

And yet, you find yourself in this conundrum all the same; things are different now—things were easier when you first moved to the valley. You’d pick wild daffodils for her in the spring, and as you came to understand her tastes better, you’d grow tulips for her on the farm as well. In the summer, you’d grow every color of sunflower you could find, and the occasional extra melon stayed in your kitchen instead of the shipping bin or wine casks so that you could make her a nice fruit salad or bake her a cake. You’d always bring her back a coconut whenever you visited the desert. She takes her time to warm up to you fully, but you’re so okay with that; you enjoy courting her as much as she enjoys being courted. You never miss a birthday, or a flower dance.

Soon, you’re close enough for her to be increasingly vulnerable with you. She tends to remind you afterward that she does not need you, but her continued focus on you exposes her desire. Even as your farm grows, you make regular time for her, and she notices. Her schedule seems to change the longer you know each other, as you only seem to run into her more and more as your courting continues.

Even as things continue to fall so perfectly in to place, you miss her more and more. It’s as if everything you do leads back to Haley. Your romance, does of course, but even your continued exploration and restoration of the valley and upgrades to your home lead you to the Mermaid’s Pendant. And you buy it for her, after you’ve been dating for a while. You propose to her during summer, her favorite season, and she accepts eagerly. You’re married in three days’ time, and things are easy.

You’ve been married for a long time now. You can’t remember off the top of your head how long you’ve been married—months, years, how many months are in a year? How many seasons? But you chalk it up to being tired. You know you’ve already passed an anniversary, recently, so you at least haven’t forgotten that.

You trudge up the stairs of your beloved marital home, having managed to tire yourself nearing the point of exhaustion for the umpteenth day in a row, despite ever increasing automation on the farm. You make a mental note to take a further look at the stairs as they creak desperately below your work boots. You might as well just do it yourself, rather than burden Robin with minor household repairs.

Your boots are off before you even open the door. You set them to the side of the entranceway and shut the door behind you. Moving as quietly as possible, you make your way to the kitchen, hoping not to wake Haley, as you figure she’s already in bed. It’s so late. You rub your eyes and pour yourself a glass of water. You’ll go to sleep after this.

Finally sitting down, at the table, you sip your water slowly. You’re too tired to rush. Your eyes wander to the bedroom door, you miss your wife. It feels like you haven’t seen each other in a while; but you see her every day. Obviously, you live together, but you also speak to her every morning before you leave the house, you kiss her, too. You bring her a gift at least twice a week. And there’s still this hole in your heart.

Something about the way your heart aches seems to summon Haley from the bathroom. She emerges wrapped up in a plush robe, her hair still damp and slippers audibly sliding across the floor as she refuses to pick her feet up more than she has to. Sometimes she does take late night baths, so you’re hoping she wasn’t staying up late waiting for you.

She’s clearly heading right towards you, regardless of why she’s up so late; only stepping aside to grab an envelope off the coffee table in the living room. You’d never seen it before, and bite the inside of your cheek when you realize it was in the other room because she thought you’d be home earlier. And was probably waiting for you, on the couch, for hours.

When she gets to the table, she slides the manilla envelope to you. It bumps right in to your elbow on the table; no hope of ignoring it. You look down at the envelope and back to her. She looks at you, you look at her, she looks at you. You look at her, and she crosses her arms across her chest. “Open it.”

You nod, and do what she asks, expecting the worst. Why do you always expect the worst? As you open the envelope, you realize it’s filled with pictures, instead of the divorce papers the worst parts of your psyche had convinced you to expect. You take them out and carefully sift through the stack.

As you study every picture, you realize that they’re all of you. When you try to think about it, you think that you remember Haley saying that she wanted to take more pictures of you some time ago. These must be those pictures. Your heart aches as you thumb through picture after picture, each of them of you working. You’re mining, chopping, scything, tilling, sowing, setting up farm equipment or moving it around, kegging fruit, pickling vegetables, or aging wine in every photo. But this is who you are, right? You provide. So, it’s okay to always be out of the house, constantly working, feeling lonely, overwhelmed. Right? How else would these things get done?

Besides, as you flip through even more pictures, not all of them are of you working. Some of them are of you at the dinner table, having fallen asleep with dinner half eaten, or on the couch with your head draped over the back of it, asleep in a position so uncomfortable it makes your stomach turn. Looking at these photos is the first time in a while you’ve faced the state of the house in a while, and it’s clean, still. Haley obviously keeps things together even when you’re falling apart (self evident in the handful of pictures she has of herself dragging you to bed) but there was a point when it felt more like a home, here. When you’d either grow or bring home a bouquet of flowers once a week. Now all the vases in the background of the photos are chronically empty, your love for your wife missing from the home you’ve built together. Of course, your love for her abounds outside, in the fields full of flourishing produce and sheds full of kegs processing it all. A greenhouse full of her favorite flowers. And yet your home is laid bare.

She’s still standing there, looking at you once you’re done looking through all the pictures. “You can’t keep going like this.” She insists.

You nod. She’s right. Haley finally moves closer to you; she puts your hands on her waist and you put your head in her hands. You lean forward in your lethargy, and she lets you rest your head on her stomach and plays with your hair. Her long nails tickle your scalp just so, and her warm embrace soothes your exhaustion. “Why do you keep doing this to yourself?”

You could ask yourself that, but you don’t know the answer. You shake your head but go with the best idea you can come up with. “It’s good money.” She’s not buying it.

“Is that all that life’s about?”

She hesitates. “What about us?”

You don’t. “We’re still us.”

She sniffles and wipes her eyes, a tear streaming down her face. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

You lean back in your seat and try to console her. She crawls in your lap and holds you tight. “We’re a team.” She says. “You have to let me support you. That’s what I’m here for.”

You put your foreheads together and look into her eyes, and she looks into yours. Your entire world is in those big, blue eyes and you’re watching yourself destroy it. Sometimes she’s like a mirror for the worst parts of you.

You nod, again; you don’t have much left in you. “I know. I just feel like…”

She doesn’t hesitate. “You can tell me anything.”

But you do. “I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like I’m not holding up my end of it. So, if I’m not providing, I should be at least protecting you from it.”

“How can you say that? After everything you’ve built? Everything we’ve built together, how is this not providing?”

You shake your head. “I’m not out there like I used to be. I mean you know that—even when you try to offer to do something to help and take stuff off my plate it’s all already done. The watering, the feeding, the everything. I just—” you shrug. “I just feel useless, sometimes.”

“A lot of times.” You correct yourself. “So, I go and pick up any extra work I can so I don’t feel like I’m wasting my day.”

She brushes your hair out of your face; you’re crying now too. “You don’t think that’s a waste of a life?” she’s not harsh, but even if she was you needed to hear it.

You shake your head. “I know it is.”

“I’m here to support you in any way I can.”

You lean forward into her; she rubs your back. “I need to take a shower. And go to bed.”

Haley helps you to the bathroom and manages to convince you to let her bathe you instead, you’re too sore from all the work you’d convinced yourself you’re not doing to protest. Not that you would, the two of you desperately need the time alone together.

She sheds her plush robe for a silk one instead, insisting that it would make it easier for her to help you in the bath. The brief glimpse of her naked reminds you how long it’s been since you spent this kind of time together. Your bath remains chaste despite your intrigue, you’re far, far too tired for anything more than being bathed by your wife.

Once you’re finally clean, and dry the two of you have an easier time getting to the bed, where you thank Yoba for even making sleep possible. Haley curls up on your chest and you feel quite useful.

You’re going to take tomorrow off. And probably the next day too. And maybe the day after.

[fcble]

PIANO CONCERTO IN A♭ MINOR, PART II: ADAGIO

In which Andrew attends a meeting. FEATURING: Andrew Han, Lee Taein, the Zenith Entertainment shareholders WORD COUNT: 3.2k SETTING: July 2024 NOTES: The second third of Andrew's Great Existential Crisis of 2024. You can read part one HERE.

The most unpleasant task Andrew was left with was representing Jaeseop at Zenith's biannual shareholder meeting. He dreads it, and yet it arrives anyway. He borrows a shirt and tie and suit jacket from Haksu so he can finally appear in front of Taein in a different formal outfit. 

Jaeseop both drilled facts in Andrew's head and left him a pile of notes. Altogether, Andrew still feels like he's walking into a lion's den.

He arrives precisely three minutes before the meeting starts, or, just in time to interrupt Taein’s introductory speech. Four people watch his grand entrance, and for once, Andrew isn’t upset at the barely controlled fury in Taein’s gaze. Every seat at the table is filled, but the table sits more than four people anyway, so Andrew drags a chair from the side of the room and seats himself in an empty spot, two spaces down from Taein, which is as far from him as he can get. According to Jaeseop, that’s where he sits in these meetings. Andrew has no qualms about taking his seat. 

The silence is palpable. Andrew breaks it. “Good morning, sajang-nim.” His gaze flicks around the other three people, mentally cataloguing their names and professions. Ahn Jinguk, the only barrier between Andrew and Taein, is likely a shady character. Jaeseop was surprisingly mum on his occupation and role. On Taein’s left is Kang Gyeongwon, the only woman in the room and the architect behind every Zenith Entertainment contract. Andrew has her to thank for the allowances in his updated contract, though he doubts those were her decisions. A gaudy Louis Vuitton handbag sits on the table next to her. The last person, seated next to her, is Jung Seobum, a representative of a venture capitalist firm and possibly the largest source of Taein’s money. Someone is missing. Andrew thinks for a few seconds and eventually drags the name Han Cheolhwan out of his subconscious. A police officer, by Jaeseop’s teachings.

Taein makes a noise that could possibly be mistaken for a similar sentiment. Andrew knows immediately that he won't be writing the next Fable album.

“Yejun-ssi,” Seobum greets from across the table. He appears to be the only person other than Taein who knows who Andrew is.

“Andrew,” Andrew corrects sharply.

“Of course. My apologies.” He sounds anything but apologetic. Though Andrew trusts Jaeseop and his notes, he wonders how Seobum could possibly be the friendliest person in the room.

Taein looks like he wants nothing more than to punt Andrew out of the room. Andrew had timed his arrival on purpose, ensuring he was last, because he knows Taein wouldn’t risk losing face in front of his shareholders by kicking him out. The only way he’s leaving this room is if the building security forcefully removes him, and that would most definitely lead to Taein’s loss of face.

“As I was saying before I was interrupted,” Taein says, with another pointed glare of unbridled hate in Andrew's direction, “you have most likely noticed our missing member. Cheolhwan-ssi will be indisposed for the foreseeable future.”

“You can say he's being investigated for bribery and is suspended from his job,” Gyeongwon says, arching one perfectly manicured eyebrow.

Taein inclines his head. “It could also be said in the way Gyeongwon-ssi has chosen to word it.”

The political tension in the room is stifling. Andrew wonders how Jaeseop can possibly stand it, even if he only has to deal with it twice a year. He pictures Jaeseop here instead, parleying with people twice his age, and okay, that isn’t difficult. He’s always been good at it. Andrew has his suspicions that Jaeseop would still be their leader, regardless of his relation to Taein. He hates that these are the people in charge of his career and his life. Taein is more concerned with himself and his profits. Andrew knows that much at least, and he assumes the rest of his investors are more of the same.

“Yuxuan?” Taein asks, and that's when Andrew notices his executive assistant in the back corner of the room, almost entirely blocked by a computer screen.

The lights dim, and the projector screen behind Taein lights up with a PowerPoint presentation: the Zenith Entertainment 2024 Q1 and 2 Retrospective.

“You all know why you're here,” he says, somewhat dismissively. “Next slide.”

The next slide is a short list of the company's activities. There isn't much to list. Most of what is there is familiar to Andrew, because most of it concerns Fable. 

“Neon Nights released their first English-language album in February. Their follow-up American tour was a success. Fable also successfully promoted their third full length album and completed their second world tour. Next slide.”

Andrew has never heard Taein speak so succinctly. He sounds almost bored, droning on about accomplishments. It occurs to Andrew that he never asked Jaeseop how long the meetings usually last. They're progressing faster than he expected. There might be enough time in the day for him to idle in Intak's studio for hours while he makes a poor attempt to work.

The next slide presents a clash of numbers and graphs. Andrew steals a glance around the room. No one seems surprised. Gyeongwon is taking notes, ballpoint pen looping a series of characters in a small notebook. He studies the graphs closer as Taein reads them out loud. Fable is responsible for a good two-thirds of the company’s revenue, based on his best guess of the largest blue section of the largest pie chart. He divides the number roughly into a 50/50 split—to cover the differences between album and tour profit distributions—and then divides the larger segment into five for the active members of the group. It resembles, to a certain extent, the numbers in Andrew's bank account. Taein may have his faults, but he pays them for their work. Finances don't worry Andrew too much, not with his songwriting royalties to supplement them.

The next largest segment of the graph is the magenta of Neon Nights, about half the size of Fable’s share, and roughly the same amount as Jaesun. Andrew can’t help but wonder where that comes from. He doesn’t pay too much attention to the majority of the company’s inner workings, but he knows Jaesun hasn’t had a comeback recently. That, and his studio is still under occupation from Jaesun’s producer.

When he turns his attention back to Taein, he’s saying, “Profits this semester have demonstrated a thirty percent increase compared to the previous semester.”

His gaze settles on Andrew as he adds, “There is Fable’s world tour to thank for that.”

That’s probably the nicest thing Taein will say to him all meeting, so Andrew nods along. He can’t help but think of everything that could have gone better: his fight, in Jaeseop’s stead, for a few vacation days; Mingeun and Byeonghwi getting lost in New York, despite their insistence that it never happened; Haksu’s absence from their final show.

“Next slide,” Taein says abruptly. Andrew idly wonders if he’s afraid of showing any sort of weakness in the current company. He knows he is.

The plans for the second half of 2024 bring no surprises. Taein continues his breakneck pace, running through Intak’s August mixtape release and Fable’s still-unnamed October subunit and the also October debut of his second group at what could pass for the speed of light. In Andrew’s humble and less than expert opinion, it seems too pass much too quickly. Then again, considering the people in the room—CEO, lawyer, literal capitalist, whatever Jinguk is—it’s unlikely they care about music at the level he does.

This time, as Taein reaches the end of his breathless presentation, he doesn’t ask Yuxuan for the next slide. It gives Andrew the distinct impression that something is wrong, or at least something out of the ordinary is about to occur. Jaeseop never prepared him for this.

“Returning to the issue of Cheolhwan-ssi”—here, Taein frowns—”I have already received a proposal for a new shareholder.”

The silence is deafening. Andrew waits for someone else to break it, because he certainly doesn’t want to do it again. Jaeseop would know what to say. He silently curses the Korean War and mandatory enlistment.

“Why didn't you tell us?” Seobum finally asks, twisting his gold wedding band. The slightest hint of anger undercuts his words.

“It was a simple matter,” Taein says dismissively. “The last step in the process is, of course, our joint approval.”

“Do we know this mysterious person?” Jinguk asks from Andrew's right, quiet baritone commanding the attention of the rest of the room. He doesn't speak much and Jaeseop had nothing to say about him except for the fact that he’s Taein’s right-hand man. It makes Andrew wary.

Taein nods. “She's the new head of Song Studios. Song Hyemi-ssi.”

That seems to be a cue for Yuxuan—they must have rehearsed this—because the projected presentation now switches to a new slide, photos and bullet points of Song Hyemi’s qualifications. The table erupts into arguments, giving Andrew the time to skim the slide. They must have been hard at work suppressing it throughout the rest of Taein’s presentation. Hyemi is the eldest daughter of the recently deceased Song Studios founder, a screenwriter and director in her own right, a graduate of SNU and Stanford, mother of two children and still a business woman.

Jinguk appears to be winning the argument. “Enough,” he says with finality, and Gyeongwon and Seobum stop debating Hyemi's theoretical share. He stares pointedly at Taein and then adds, “You will not go through with this. Given my relationship with them, I find it absurd you'd consider it.”

“I don't manage actors and she doesn't manage singers,” Taein says crisply. “There is no problem.”

Andrew doesn't understand all of what they're implying, but he’s a part of the conversation by virtue of being here. Jaeseop would say something, so by that logic, Andrew has to say something. “She's Jaesun-ssi’s aunt. It's a conflict of interest on multiple fronts.”

Taein's fury is ice cold. “You are here as Jaeseop’s representative. It is not your place to speak of your own opinions.”

Andrew refuses to back down. Jaeseop wouldn't back down. He's the youngest and least experienced person in the room, and when has that ever mattered anyway? He's used to that. He laces his fingers together under the table to keep them from shaking. 

Jinguk beats him to the punch. “Let him speak. No one else is saying anything worthwhile.”

He shares an almost reassuring glance with Andrew. It would be more reassuring if he didn't have such a foreboding presence, the type of gravity that commands attention with the suggestion of danger. His classic good looks—he’d fit right into some black and white film—do nothing to temper that. Andrew hopes he won’t say anything to get on Jinguk’s bad side. He pushes the thought aside and forges on.

“It isn't my opinion—it's factual. It's as if you, sajang-nim, were to sit on a board like this somewhere else, say, where Jaeseop worked.”

Taein interrupts. “There are no issues with that. I'm certain Hyemi-ssi will be able to make decisions for the benefit of Jaesun-ssi and the company.”

Andrew seizes the opportunity by the throat. He’s going too far forward to return. “You assume those two things are one and the same. The good of the company is not necessarily the good of the artist,” he says, perfectly heartless in the way Jaeseop could never be. He leans forward and locks eyes with Taein, pushing a strand of hair back behind his ear. “You have already demonstrated your willingness to prioritize Jaeseop. What makes you think Hyemi-ssi will be different?”

The room falls silent for two beats, and Andrew finally feels the flush of adrenaline start to fade. Gyeongwon looks like she would have preferred it if Andrew was tossed out of the room the moment he walked in.

“Do you let all your employees talk to you like that, Taein-ssi?” Seobum asks, sounding amused.

Jinguk comes to Andrew’s defense yet again. Andrew has half a mind to tell him he doesn’t need it. Only half. “We are all equals here.”

“Enough, Andrew,” Taein nearly snaps. “Yuxuan, the lights. We need to take a vote today. Hyemi-ssi is expecting my response soon. The more we delay, the more she attempts to strike another monetary deal with me.”

“In what way?” Jinguk inquires, polite but still terrifying, as the lights return to their normal brightness. 

“When I signed Jaesun-ssi, Hyemi-ssi was kind enough to provide a regular, sizable donation.”

A bribe, Andrew thinks, and for once, everyone seems to agree with him. That could be Jaesun’s profit, he realizes. Taein was bold for including that.

“And this is the first time you chose to mention it?” Seobum asks.

“I can't say I'm surprised,” is Gyeongwon’s clipped response. “Like attracts like.”

If the air in the room didn't feel so charged, Andrew might have enjoyed seeing Taein backed into a corner like this. 

“It’s unimportant,” Taein says dismissively. “Does it change any of your opinions?”

“No,” Seobum says sulkily, like he’s a kid and not some age older than Andrew. All their arguments have been rather petty and childish.

“Then we vote,” Taein says, sounding self-satisfied. “Gyeongwon-ssi?”

“Yes.” Gyeongwon’s response is immediate. “It’s time you brought on another woman.”

Taein nods. “Seobum-ssi?”

It takes him a beat longer to answer. He’s fiddling with his wedding band again. Andrew can’t tell if that’s his genuine reaction, or he’s playing them all for fools. “Yes,” he finally answers.

“It’s settled, then,” Taein says, self-satisfied smile playing across his face. “I look forward to seeing everyone again in six months to meet Hyemi-ssi.”

“Taein.” Jinguk’s voice is more a growl than normal speech. Andrew subtly shifts his chair a couple of inches over to his right.

“Do you need it spelled out? I was under the impression you knew better than that.” Taein’s tone is mocking. “My vote, of course, is for Hyemi-ssi to join us. Andrew-ssi doesn’t get a vote, and that leaves you as the sole opposition. Surely you know three is greater than one.”

Privately, Andrew thinks he should get a vote. At the same time, he has no desire to involve himself in their power struggle. It’s another new side to Taein: having a spine. He’s sure that if Jinguk pushed a little harder, over the course of days or weeks, he could whittle Taein down. It’s too bad they don’t have days or weeks.

“Stop playing dumb. You know why I protest.”

Seobum’s gaze flicks between the two of them like he’s watching a particularly interesting tennis match. Andrew would be amused if his heart wasn’t in the pit of his stomach. He tries to think about the solo tracks he’s writing for Fable’s subunit album instead. It’s unfortunate that other than Haksu’s request for a ballad, he has nothing. Andrew doesn’t want to write a ballad. He also doesn’t want to break that news to Haksu.

This time, it’s Gyeongwon who defuses the situation. “Men,” she says, lips pursed. She flips her notebook closed. “If you’re finished with your squabbling and you have nothing else to share, some of us have other appointments to attend.”

Taein shifts back to being a cordial host at once. “Of course. My apologies for keeping you here.” He doesn’t sound apologetic at all.

Gyeongwon is the first to leave, rising to her feet almost as soon as Taein finishes speaking. Her only parting message is a short, “

Seobum is next. He nods in an almost bow to Andrew, and says, “It was a pleasure to meet you, Andrew-ssi.”

Out of politeness, Andrew rises from his seat to meet him halfway. “Likewise,” he says. 

There's nothing more he wants than to leave. Turning to Taein, he says, rather stiffly, “This was very enlightening.”

It enlightened him to the fact that he never wants to do this again. Except Jaeseop won't return until next summer, and that gives Andrew at least one more meeting with them. He isn't looking forward to that.

Taein seems torn between amusement and annoyance. “There are no cameras. It's unnecessary to lie. And for all of our sakes, it would be preferred if you sat out the end of the year meeting.”

Andrew doesn't want to do this, but it doesn't mean he won't do it. “I told Jaeseop I'd do it for him. He deserves to be updated.”

“Then take care to represent him in a more honest manner.”

The threat is clear. And yet Andrew thinks Jaeseop would agree with what he said, though maybe for different reasons.

“Andrew, was it?” Jinguk asks. He seems almost pleasant now. He also pronounces Andrew's name with an American accent.

“Yes,” Andrew answers hesitantly, still guarded.

“I want to talk to you. We'll be stepping outside.” He frames it as a statement, not a question. Neither Taein nor Andrew protest.

In the hallway, Jinguk produces a business card from an inside breast pocket with a flourish. “You performed admirably today. When you become tired of working for Taein, give me a call.”

Andrew has no intention of making a career out of this—once was much more than enough—but he accepts the proffered card. The use of “performed” has to be deliberate, even as he doubts Jinguk will have any need to hire a singer or producer. “Thank you. I'll keep that in mind.”  

Jinguk nods. “It would be a shame to squander your potential here. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a few more matters to discuss with Taein-ssi.”

Andrew knows when he's being dismissed, and he's only too happy to leave. He turns the card over as he walks. It's solid cardstock, the name Ahn Jinguk embossed in large black text on the left half. Underneath is his title—Chief Administrative Officer—along with a phone number and an email address. The other half of the card is a logo, the letters D and Y stylized in a taeguk. It takes Andrew a minute to place it, but when he does, he feels almost faint. While the Danyoung Group is significantly less flashy than Samsung or Hyundai, they’re a conglomerate all the same, and Jinguk appears to be in a relatively powerful position. 

He presses the down button to summon the elevator. So this is the type of people Taein consorts with. He's suddenly grateful for Haksu's extensive collection of formal button-downs that he doesn’t wear anywhere except church. He’d hate to appear in front of a chaebol representative in one of the same few faded dress shirts he’s had since college. He doesn’t even own a suit jacket.

Andrew knows it’ll be some time before Jaeseop responds to his texts. He writes the messages anyway, starting off with, Did you know Taein is business partners with a chaebol rep? and following it up with Taein is replacing Cheolhwan with Jaesun’s aunt, Hyemi. Those are all of the important events. He figures Jaeseop can make an educated guess at the content of the rest of the meeting.

He steps into the elevator, still holding Jinguk’s business card. He briefly entertains the idea of shredding it or tossing it. Then he thinks better of it and tucks it into his pocket. Someone like him could be a powerful ally, something he’s certain Taein recognizes as well. It’s far too early for Andrew to know if catching his attention like this is a good thing or a bad thing. Only time, and maybe Jaeseop, will tell.

[dailyrandomwriter]

Day 856

It has occurred to me somewhere between my 36th and 38th (?) run of Blue Prince, that playstyle may also have something to do with how much you enjoy a game. 

I’ve talked about playstyles in the past and how it’s a really weird thing. If the game developer doesn’t account for a potentially different style of play the player playing may miss contextual information. Like the way the first Bravely Default game left it up to the player whether or not to read the journal, meaning that you had some players who had no idea what was going to happen, and others who had growing existential dread the further they got into the game.

Now some differences in playstyles can’t be helped. Like if you have a player that skips all the dialogue in a narrative driven game, that is on the player for doing that. They should know better, or at least don’t complain about being confused when you purposely skip the information the game is giving you.

But, in Blue Prince, where there is a goal, but it requires you to explore an ever changing manor, the playstyles can get different. I’m actually finding I am treating this game less like a point and click adventure game and more like an exploration game.

And that’s important because the motivation around the choices I make in the game differs from someone who might be playing the game with the purpose of finding Room 46. Generally, that means I may choose to place rooms that will end my run early, or even choose upgrades that do not benefit me.

For example, the Parlor Room will give you a puzzle that grants 2 diamonds if you solve it. One of the upgrades to the room is turning it into a Funeral Parlor. Doing this will grant you as many diamonds as there are Red Rooms in the manor, however if you fail the puzzle you lose 30 steps. And as someone who is not good at the Parlor puzzle, this seems like a terrible upgrade.

Except… I was curious. I wanted to know if there would be any new information if I did this, so I did. Even though it meant I wouldn’t benefit from the Parlor Room like I had in the past. But that didn’t matter to me, because I wanted to know what the room was like.

This has had the odd effect on my experience with the game. I do not doubt that it will take me a stupid long time to get to Room 46, because frankly unless I see an opportunity it’s not on my radar. On the other hand, it’s very rare that a run results in disappointment for me. Most runs result in me learning something I didn’t know before, and then looking forward to the next run because now I have more information to work with.

[w1tchcr4ftt]

Rewatched Tadc (again) and spent some time thinking on it to kinda give myself some structural meaning! This is kinda how I see this sad little tale of precious babies

Candy coated dread.

Here they are, in this absolute utopia of a world. No need to work, eat, sleep, you have whatever you want, you would think it would be a dream. Except it’s not. It lacks a key thing humans constantly spend their life searching for, purpose. Here you are, in this world of endless creativity and fun, but with no reason to create and feel joy. All the things that brought on those feelings have been wiped away. Your family, your friends, your life’s enjoyment, your identity, for gods sake your own physical being has been striped away from you. And here you are surrounded by joy and childlike wonder, grasping for strings of sanity because you lack purpose. You lack meaning for existence. You lack self. It’s a common thought for humans to question life’s meaning and worth, it’s a sort of drive to create and explore. But now there’s no reason, this is the final extent. And what do you do? Just. Keep. Living. Through the pain of watching everything you knew, the good, the bad, and the ugly, just slip right out of reach along with whatever sanity and self worth you held. All you can do is sit there and keep living, because the sweet release that is death isn’t an option, and losing whatever you had left entirely is far to painful. So you keep on going. And you can’t stop. And here you are in this utopia where you can’t die. This is a perfect world, a candy coated world of existential dread.

God I love animated shows with life questioning crises and some biblical implications

[melodyfsoul1]

LOKI S2 FINALE GLORIOUS PURPOSE

Just spent over an hour crying over the Loki S2 Finale, and still havent recovered, but here I go anyway with my Reaction/ Review

*Loki S2 E6 Spoilers ahead*

Okay so... before watching the episode I wrote down a couple things that I did NOT want to happen/ but knowing myself, and my luck with my characters, figured that was exactly what would happen....

and turns out... I was correct....

Back in Infinty War I feared/ predicted that Loki was gonna die in the first 10 min in a stupid way where he wouldnt be able to show off his powers... and we all know how that turned out...

For this season finale, all I hoped was that Loki, for once wouldnt play the self sacrifical lamb, and find a way where he didnt have to lose Mobius and his new found friends, where he would be not alone...

So.... yeah.... about that....

Now to the Review/ Reaction:

God I was so scared

"Glorious Purpose"

The title alone had me tearing up.... we really came full circle back to S1 E1 and the fact that they started the recap with 2012 Loki too...

1 min 30 in and I'm already pausing, THE INTRO IS BACKWARDS, thar was so cool

So we all knew Loki would have to go back and try to safe everyone

BUT MARVEL DIDNT HAVE TO SHOW US TIMELY DYING OVER AND OVER AGAIN (and in so many angles too....)

Then Loki trying to learn everything OB knows to be prepared to help, but it would take time, makes sense

"CENTURIES LATER"

WHAT?! They really did that, good thing Loki has that long Life span...

The fact that all the characters realizes sth was off with Loki but MOBIUS is the one to stop and talks to him, and Loki telling him to trust him.... my heart

OH MY GOD ITS WORKING?! And Timely survived too? Did not expect that

I have never seen Loki this relieved/ happy but at the same time sad and exhausted before...

But of course its never that "easy"

No matter what, the infinite amount of branches will always detroy the loom, so the moment a timeline branched everything was doomed from he start... Ah yes Marvel and their existential dread...

Loki going back to before Sylvie killed He Who Remains, trying to convince her not to kill him.... and of course she says he has to kill her if he wants to stop her...

God Loki's Emotional Damage....

Of course Loki cant

HWR COULD HAVE STOPPED TIME THAT THE WHOLE TIME!??!! The fact that he figured Loki has gone through this whole scene before and still just watched

He knows about time slipping...

He paved he road

He planned this

Him and Loki had this conversations before

"We die with the dying, we are born with the dead"

That is such a sick quote :0

Its basically Loki vs HWR forever, and Loki knows he will always lose... but still wants to try... kudos to his determination

And of course Loki cant bring himself to trade lives... not Sylvie's, not his friends and not the multiverses...

Loki goes back to the first time he talked to Mobius...NOOOOO not the Throne talk, why does this feel like a final good bye talk.... I HATE IT

Though S1 E1 Mobius having a chat with S2 E6 Loki is such an interesting concept

He wants to find out how they chose who lives and dies... ("Who lives, who dies, who tells your story" huh? Sorry but I had to make that Hamilton reference XD)

"You're not gonna find comfort in the TVA" - Mobius to Loki

BUT HE DID, LOKI DID FIND COMFORT, IN YOU MOBIUS, Im gonna cry ... the TVA was the first place where Loki could just be himself and he found friends there too

Also Mobius might be the only comfort character who actually gives comfort (and isnt just an angsty mess who hasnt had a happy day ever)

Mobius telling the story of a hunter who couldnt kill a kid, which caused more death, loosing sight of the bigger picture

So he is talking about himself right? And of course Renslayer was the Partner

Mobius telling Loki they have to chose a burden and live with it... that it leaves scars.

Theres this sinking feeling again

And the scene SPGAHETTIFIES?! I SWEAR TO GOD MARVEL, NOT AGAIN, STOP GIVING US FANS PTSD THROUGH VISUAL EFFECTS

I dont know what to think of Loki & Sylvie's final talk.... Loki has an idea?

Oh NoNONONONONONO

I FREAKING KNEW HE WAS GONNA GO THE SELF SACRFICE ROUTE BACK FROM EP 1 AND I FIGURED HE WOULD TAKE TIMELY'S PLACE IN EP 5 BUT THIS?!

Cant he ever be happy?! Is there any Loki, in any universe who actually gets to be happy?!

The fact that Mobius was the first to notice and that him and Sylvie immediately followed Loki, tried to talk him out of it

Loki looking back, saying he finally knows what he wants

MY HEART

LOKI WALKING THROUGH SPACE WITHSTANDING THE RADIATION JUST LIKE THOR WITHSTOOD THE DYING STAR IN INFINITY WAR, THE PARALLELS

THE NEW OUTFIT, THE CAPE, HIS HORNED HELMET, OH MY GOD

It looks like an End of Time Aesthetic Version of his Ragnarok Outfit wih the Cracked Kintsugi helmet

Ngl at first I had no idea if he was using his powers to manually destroy, change or preserve the branches.... or weave them together

Oh and to be clear I was crying during like the whole last 20 min of the episode because that was just too many emotions at once

Also can we talk about how freaking cool looking the shots of Loki with the new Helmet and the branches being his cape, were?!

The throne... Oh god the remains of HWR throne...

LOKI'S GLORIOUS PURPOSE WAS TAKING ON THE BURDEN OF THE THRONE HE NEVER WANTED

*starts violently sobbing*

Poetic, Ironic and Heartbreaking, all at the same time

Like, is it extremely cool to see him use his powers to his full potential? Yes definitely.

Were the cinematics beautiful? Yes of course, it was gorgeous, tho the moment I realized he was making Yggdrasil, I started bawling my eyes out, because "You go Loki, show us what you can do"

But I also felt my heart break because Loki is now at the end if time, chose to have to watch over & protect the multiverse, all alone, forever.... (can he leave that place?)

Like this is the very same Loki, who just, 1 episode ago, admitted that he is terrified of being alone, who just wants to be with his friends. L1130 is a Loki who was actually happy and had friends, a place where he felt safe because he could be himself. And he gave EVERYTHING up to give EVERYONE ELSE a chance at life, a life he might not be able to take part in... he can watch, but we dont know if he can interact with them....

I literally talked about that in my reaction/ review from last episode. Sylvie & Loki are both selfish, which is ironically a very human trait (them being gods and all), but unlike Sylvie, Loki would actually give up everything to safe others, which is exactly what he did.

And I know Comic Loki, God of Stories, wrote himself out if the Narrative as well, out of the Story, to look behind the curtain, have a talk with the beings behind everything, but that Loki also had Verity, he had a friend outside of everything, he had someome to talk to, a friend. Verity is one of my fav characters and I would have loved to see her Comic Version too in the MCU, but I saw B-15's Name was revealed to be Verity Willis, so thats is cool Easter Egg :D

Back to Loki, I honestly cant tell which Loki has it the worst... I always thought the main Loki dying to Thanos had it the worst, but he sth akin to a life and he got the chance to mend his relationship with Thor before he died his heroes' death...

Now L1130, in the worst case, is damned to spent eternity alone, the very thing he is scared of, being without his friends, forced to watch from afar as they live life without him, when all he wanted was to be with them... that is unless he can just leave the place whenever he wants to (if the branches allow it I guess?) But if it turns out that he cant leave that place/ or interact with anyone, without everything going down immediately, then I would argue that this Loki's life is worse than the other's death... and I cant believe Im describing Infinity War Loki's Death as a mercy...

Back to the ep...

AFTER?! Right theres an after

The TVA is still intact, with a new leader ship and everyone working together, B-15, OB, Casey and even Ms Minutes is helping?

Mobius looks so sad doing his job though...

Hes gonna LEAVE?! He wants to experience his own life on the timeline, huh... Loki did promise that to Don... and M is going for it, thats sweet actually

Renslayer got sent to the end of time, Alioth waiting for her, well then

Mobius seeing what his life used to be is so sweet, likes how perfectly imperfect is it

Sylvie visits too?

"Its weird Loki's not around" she says and I start bawling my eyes out again, now thats just salting the wound.... at least they remember him

NOOOOO THE SHOT OF LOKI IN HIS THRONE

He is smiling, but he's crying too

Is there ANY Marvel Movie, or Show where Loki doesnt cry?!?! My freaking heart...

Look I know this ending makes rational sense.... and it was defintely epic, and we finally got Loki at his full potential, and yes, Loki being finally recongnized as one of the most powerful MCU characters is cool.

But personally, on an emotional level, that ending is somewhere between bittersweet and absolutely heart breakingly dreadful, because Loki didnt want this, he didnt want the throne, he only did this to save his friends, he gave up his own happiness and I hate it... I know he is happier knowing his friends have a chance at life and that he chose this, but there wasnt much of an choice with HWR....

I just hope that Loki learning to control time means he can at least visit his friend, pop in from time to time, because if him leaving the throne/ the branches means everything could come crashing down, then thats just sad...

And what does that mean for the teased Loki & Thor Reunion?! WHAT HAPPENED TO THAT?! We didnt even get an end credit scene?!

Anyways, I'm gonna rewatch the season the next couple days and go through some theories and head canons and see whether that will change my opinion on the ending, but we'll see.

[ramblingtomcat]

Dealing with complicated feelings

I don't do well with bad news, because I will ignore it. I will avoid the shit out of a situation until it haunts me and slaps me across the face so hard that I comically lose a tooth in the process. Metaphorically speaking.

I know why. Avoiding the pain and ignoring the panic has been really useful in the past to keep myself safe. If I don't feel safe, I don't let my pain be felt. And when I feel safe again, I just might forget that I was in pain in the first place.

Ignoring people has been essential for me to avoid bullying. You can't bully a weird neurodivergent kid, when it doesn't even get upset about it, doesn't even acknowledge the existence of being bullied. Maybe I am just sticking my head in the sand, but it sadly is my first reaction to everything.

My partner is different and that was a conflict years ago. He forced me to face some things and it was good back then. He forced me to get help, because otherwise I would have lost him.

And I fear that again as a reaction. It's not that I lie to him, but I haven't mentioned the letter to him yet. I will eventually but I'm too busy to make it accessible to myself first. I'm weak for not being able to be like "Hey, I don't feel good, but I can't talk about it yet." No, it's instead easier to mask that and just act normally. I also see him mirroring that sometimes and I am sorry. I'm sure he doesn't do it on purpose, but I also don't always ask him how he's doing. How he's feeling. I know he has some things that pull him down. But also when I ask, normally there's nothing I can do to make it better and he also doesn't tell me what I should do or ask or say.

Is that us being autistic and unable to voice our needs in the way the other one understands clearly enough to act on it? None of us is diagnosed, mind you. I only have confirmed ADHD. But I do have autistic traits and he has even more of them.

I'm still just a fucking loser. I don't really know how to be a good partner.

Well. It's not like we're not communicating at all. I feel like once we have processed our feelings about a situation we can actually reflect on it and communicate it. I just sometimes feel pressured to immediately have things that happen to me served in a digestible way to explain to him.

What is this relationship sometimes?

Because I know I will never love someone the way I love him. I know I would go lengths for him that I would probably not go for anybody else. We met each other at a bad time probably, but also he made me want to live. If I went back in time warning myself from the future the thing I would tell them about him would be: "Look. Life is going to be hard when you are together, but he is also the reason you would want to be alive at my age. It's easy to say 'i would die for you', but he is the person you would want to live for. There will be a lot of existential dread because you're both broke and neurodivergent and you have unhealthy coping mechanisms that make you lie sometimes and carry the heavy weight of the world around you. But you know what? You have never loved a person as much as you love him. So maybe... Just try to seek therapy sooner. Like waaay sooner. And don't go to the GP doctor you are at right now because she will mess you up and set you back a year or so. Also when that one counselor tells you that you might have ADHD, go get yourself diagnosed, because he was damn right! Five years before you actually had the diagnosis."

Ugh.

Why does life have to be so grey shaded? Like sometimes I wonder if my life is good, if my relationship and my friendships are healthy. And for the most part I would say yes. But the parts that make me feel like they are kind of unhealthy, that are parts that just doesn't have an easy solution like "break up with them/break up your friendship, talk to them". Because... They do actually like me, love me, care about me. And I do actually love them too. I'm having a shutdown over being confronted with uncomfortable things.

I don't hate you.

I don't know how to say that.

I have a lot on my plate and the feeling that I must eat it all alone. (Metaphorically speaking.)

I don't know what's wrong with me.

[the-demigod-project]

Corruption & How It Fucks Your Playthrough 💯🫠

Read at your own risk because the below stuff is spoiler territory not major but definitely spoiler. Especially corruption epilogues, you'll understand it's consequences essentially.

The corruption caused by wielding Chaos Lator (Chaos Bringer) or Chao Finem (Chaos End) is an insidious force, deeply tied to the nature of chaos magic and the raw, destructive energies of the cosmos. Both weapons corrupt the user's sanity, but they do so in distinct and horrifying ways:

Chaos Lator (Chaos Bringer): Insatiable Hunger for Destruction

The corruption from Chaos Lator manifests as an ever-growing obsession with destruction. It slowly intertwines with the user's mind, amplifying their darker desires and making them crave chaos and violence to the point of losing themselves. Here's how it affects sanity:

• Amplification of Negative Emotions: Chaos Lator feeds on the wielder's anger, greed, or pride, amplifying those emotions until they become all-consuming. Even those with good intentions find their motives twisted, unable to distinguish between justifiable actions and outright carnage.

• Voices of Chaos: Wielders begin to hear whispers from the blade—fragments of chaos itself. These voices may promise power or mock their fears but eventually grow into a maddening cacophony. The longer the sword is used, the harder it becomes to discern reality from the weapon's manipulations.

• Losing Control: Over time, the wielder becomes a slave to the sword's hunger. They might start destroying indiscriminately, losing the ability to control when and where they unleash its power. This often leads to unintended devastation, including harm to allies and loved ones.

• Distorted Reality Perception: The wielder's sense of reality becomes warped. They may begin seeing order as oppressive, peace as weakness, or loyalty as betrayal. This distortion isolates them, leading to paranoia and irrational behavior.

Chao Finem (Chaos End): Existential Dread and Nihilistic Madness

Chao Finem's corruption is far more profound, tied to its purpose of cosmic annihilation. It instills a sense of nihilism and despair, pushing the wielder toward total detachment from life, morality, and even their own sense of self. Its effects are as follows:

• Eternal Awareness of Chaos: Chao Finem binds the wielder's mind to the fabric of the universe, forcing them to perceive the chaotic and impermanent nature of all things. They see the eventual death of stars, the collapse of civilizations, and the futility of existence itself. This overwhelming awareness crushes their hope and purpose.

• Fractured Identity: The sword begins to unravel the wielder’s sense of self, dissolving their memories, emotions, and motivations. They start to feel as though they are merely a godly vessel for chaos, existing only to serve the sword's apocalyptic purpose.

• Cosmic Whispers: Like Chaos Lator, Chao Finem speaks to its wielder, but its whispers are not promises of power—they are the echoes of dying stars, the screams of collapsing dimensions, and the void's cold, unfeeling truths. These sounds erode the user's mental defenses, leaving them hollow and detached.

• Apocalyptic Obsession: The wielder becomes singularly obsessed with the idea of ending everything. They see existence itself as flawed and unbearable, believing annihilation to be a mercy. This obsession overrides their sense of morality, making them willing to destroy anyone or anything to fulfill the blade's purpose.

• Reality Collapse: Prolonged exposure to Chao Finem causes the wielder to experience reality as unstable and fragmented. They might perceive time out of sequence, see visions of the universe's end, or feel as though they are dissolving into chaos. This perception deepens their insanity, making them reckless and unpredictable.

Stages of Corruption:

For both weapons, the process of corruption occurs in stages:

• Initial Contact: Upon wielding the sword, the user feels a surge of power, but also a faint, persistent discomfort—like a splinter in their mind. Their emotions might fluctuate unpredictably, but they remain in control. (20%)

• Early Corruption: As they use the weapon more, the user begins to experience intrusive thoughts, visions, and emotional instability. They feel as though the weapon is alive, influencing their decisions. (40%)

• Intermediate Corruption: The user becomes more dependent on the weapon, finding it difficult to part with. Their personality starts to change, marked by aggression (Chaos Lator) or detachment (Chao Finem). They may also experience hallucinations and an inability to distinguish the sword's voice from their own thoughts. (50%)

• Advanced Corruption: At this stage, the user is almost completely consumed. Chaos Lator's wielder becomes a berserk force of destruction, while Chao Finem's user transforms into a nihilistic harbinger of the end. Both lose their ability to empathize or reason. (70%)

• Complete Corruption: The wielder ceases to be themselves, becoming either an avatar of destruction (Chaos Lator) or a vessel of cosmic annihilation (Chao Finem). Their original identity is erased, and they exist only to fulfill the weapon's chaotic will. (90%+)

Final Consequences:

Once fully corrupted, the wielder is often beyond saving. They may be consumed entirely by the weapon’s energy, their physical form disintegrating as they become a fragment of the weapon's essence. In rare cases, beings of immense willpower may resist the corruption long enough to relinquish the weapon, but doing so leaves lasting scars on their mind and soul.

Both swords demand a steep price for their use, reflecting the chaotic and destructive nature of the forces they embody. Their power is absolute, but their corruption ensures that only the strongest—physically, mentally, and spiritually—can wield them for long without being consumed.

[the-haunted-office]

Here is some information about what happens when you stay in the Offices for an extended period of time, to the point where your soul becomes Tethered to it. You eventually gain the ability to respawn and become functionally immortal, but there are drawbacks to your soul being Tethered.

Of course, if your muse is Tethered to the Office, the ways this affects them is up to you! But this is a general rundown of what is likely to happen and how it works.

The Nature of the Offices

Even after breaking free from the Parable, those who find themselves in the Office may find it extraordinarily difficult to leave. This is due to the Tethering Effect Offices tend to have on individuals who have spent any amount of time there.

The Tethering Effect only affects those who have a soul. The longer an individual remains in the Office, the stronger the soul becomes Tethered to the Office, and the more difficult it will become for that individual to leave. What is happening is their soul is literally becoming entangled with the soul of the Office. All Offices have souls, whether or not it is apparent. While most Offices are not, in fact, sapient, many of them are sentient, and all of them contain a soul. They are not all aware of themselves or their surroundings or the beings within them or around them, but they are spaces that are alive in some capacity, ergo, in the multiverse, they contain a soul.

None of them Tether other souls to them consciously or with any sort of intention or malevolence. It is simply a side effect that takes place out of the nature of them being an Office.

Once a soul becomes fully Tethered to an Office, that individual becomes functionally immortal. They cannot die by any natural means, and death caused by any outside force inflicted upon them merely results in the death of their current body, whereupon they receive a new one which respawns with their soul placed back inside of it back in the Office.

The body and its state of health remains paused in the state it was when they became Tethered to the Office. If the individual had any mental illnesses upon Tethering, those will remain. If the individual had any physical ailments, those will remain. Any new mental illness may appear and stay, as those cannot be erased by respawning. But physical injuries may be reset upon respawning.

Aging also pauses at the age the individual was currently upon Tethering.

Tethering has many ramifications. It’s not all positive and certainly isn’t all it's cracked up to be. Many might assume being immortal and virtually impervious to all physical harm would be a wonderful thing to behold, a true miracle, but those who experience Tethering almost always suffer from severe mental and emotional drawbacks. They begin to experience a sense of existential dread, of knowing they will outlive any loved ones who live outside of the Office. They lose any sense of purpose they ever had. They lose track of their dreams, their ideals, their goals. They lose track of time, the meaning and significance of big events such as birthdays and holidays. Things that were important to them before suddenly become meaningless, and as even death itself becomes meaningless, so do their very lives. To outsiders, if they were to look closely, they would see individuals who very much do not value their own lives anymore. In fact, they may not even value life at all. It has lost all meaning to them.

There is some good news to be had in all this, though. All is not lost. Tethering is not something that is permanent. It can be broken, although the process is something that is as difficult as it is simple.

To Untether an individual, they must be completely separated from the Office, body, mind, and soul.

The first and easiest step of separation is that of the body - physically separating them from the Office. This must be done over a long period of time, usually over the course of months or years. It ties in with the next step, which is significantly more difficult.

Mind. Separating their mind from the Office. It is extremely difficult to do this for many individuals, because by the time a person's soul has become fixed with the Office's, so has their mind. They've become convinced they cannot escape, that there is nothing more for them out there, that this is all there is. Their life is now contained to the Office, and so they must anchor themselves there. They may even try to convince others to move into the Office with them, to satisfy their own loneliness, not realizing how this is harmful to others and not helping their own situation either. However, the longer they spend away from the Office, the easier it becomes to break away. It's sort of a Catch 22. You have to get them out of the Office, and keep them away from the Office, to get them to want to stay out of the Office, thus initiating the final step.

Severing their soul from the Office. Once their body and mind are separated from the Office, the soul finds its own way of separating from it. It fully Untethers and the person is free. They might not realize it at first, but over time a person freed from the Office has a sort of awakening, like stepping outside and one day realizing the dark cloud of existential dread that was hanging over them is gone. It's a total feeling of freedom that can't fully be put into words, although few who have ever come to live in the Office have ever achieved this.

The Office is something that most people don't even realize they've become trapped in in such a way until it is too late. It doesn't just trap you physically. It is a full, wholly consuming thing, trapping your body, mind, and soul, all of you, for eternity. Escaping is either an accident, luck, or true bravery.