#She knows there's also good and benevolence and love on this world too. And she knows they're valuable.

[beyondthetemples]

💭doing the wrong thing for the right reason .

Send 💭 + a topic and my muse will tell you what they think about it.

"That's... unfortunate. But I've heard... stories. Sometimes, people have to do something bad. Or think they have to. Sometimes people don't have a choice, and all they can really do is... just... try to do what they can... and sometimes the only thing you can do is something wrong. I think... I think the reason makes a difference, though."

[la2yn0va]

Self-aware Honkai Star rail characters opinion on you being a streamer.

Characters: Acheron, Jingliu, Aventurine, Dr. Ratio

————

Acheron

“How… irritating” she said her annoyance overtaking her entire mood and body language. Being forced to be on stage for people SHE didn’t nor about NOR care about.

Why must you make her suffer like this? She loves you, with all her being. But why are you airing her out to the world.. those ‘viewers’ of yours.

And that’s another thing. How do they get to watch you? You shouldn’t make yourself a fool for such unworthy humans. Have they even offered you a thing?

“Ayyy~ thanks for the bits and 20”

….you’d allow them your gaze for a mere 20 credits? (Money) either your benevolence shines brighter, or it’s blinding you.

“Chat what do we think of Acheron? I fuckin’ love this woman, she’s SOOO fuckin’ helpful for grinding and destroying the enemies… white bar health… yeah cause that’s what it’s called…please don’t clip that…”

Acheron could feel herself blushing, so she quickly performs her idle animation, leaning against her sword trying to hide the blush and smile slowly forming on her face.

Chatter—“She’s good, but she keeps taking your attention from us :,(”

Instantly her giddiness is sucked away and locked in a coffin as utter annoyance and disdain grips her with an iron fist “Storm's on the horizon, heading towards you”

“That was perfectly fucking timed… did that sound different to anyone else?” Despite acherons slip up, that hatefulness holds her tighter, refusing to let go.

In short, She loves you-she’s OBSESSED with you. But she WILL kill these ‘viewers’ if they stary your attention away from her one more time.

Jingliu

“What makes THEM so deserving of your gaze?”

Jingliu is similar to Acheron, but tripled. Unlike Acheron, she doesn’t bother to hide her hatred for those viewers.

Chat: Yo (Streamer Name) you should-

Jingliu: Your Ready for death.

She says it like a statement and not a question. She hates these creatures who take your gaze off of her, she hates how a measly 5 credits is enough to get your attention.

Your benevolence is your best quality, but also the one that’s easily manipulated, which simply makes her despise the fact that you’re TOO kind.

Jingliu hates the fact that your a streamer more then her not being able to ‘cut the stars’ with her sword. Why must you test her loyalty like this?

Is this even a test or a punishment for her crimes? Either way, this is too cruel. Being forced in the sidelines for a bunch of people who don’t offer you anything of value.

Is her crit damage/rate not good enough for you? Are her stellar jades not of the highest quality? Perhaps her blade needs more… BLOODSHED.

Unlike Acheron, jingliu would VERY MUCH commit crimes to gain your attention. Like breaking the fourth wall, taking an enemies or allies turn to attack, KILLING her allies so that your attention would be on her completely.

In short, she’s a much more blunt and unrestrained Acheron.

Aventurine

“Such Troublesome detractors…”

Out of everyone in the game, he’s definitely the most laid back about your occupation. Mostly due to his luck.

Course he’s annoyed that some no-named randoms are taking the attention from his god off of him for seconds, but it’s really nothing.

It’s extremely lucky that the characters haven’t killed him out of jealousy (see what I did there?) This fuckin’ Avgin gets the most attention thanks to his kit and luck.

Y/n: Thanks for the Dono-

Aventurine: Eyes on me~

Y/n: Ooo~ yes sir~

Aventurine has a UNIVERSAL shit-eating grin while others are glaring death incarcerated soul-sucking daggers into him.

Aventurine would probably join in on the thanks if a viewer sends you money/bits/cheers n’ shit.

Not much to really say here, he’s just laid back to the whole thing.

Dr. Veritas Ratio

“Stop this nonsense. Immediately”

Dr. Raito fuckin growls anytime everytime you boot up the game, cause he knows 99.9% of the time your going to be joined by those brainless viewers.

He’s completely baffled as to why a being such as yourself would degraded yourself to such… idiocy.

There’s only two possible reasons as to why you’d commit such acts. 1. Your benevolence blinds your logical reasoning, 2. You… enjoy it.

Dr. Ratio’s opinion on the viewers is that their brainless insects, he doesn’t even care enough to be annoyed by them, they’re just THAT low level of importance to him.

Y/n: Hey “Streamer Name” who’s your favorite character?

Dr. Ratio: Do you have answers?

Y/n: I- that was perfectly timed.. DO infact have answers. It’s (anyone that isn’t him)

Dr. Ratio: Fail… Get Out!

(If it is him)

Dr. Ratio: Perfect… Twenty Points.

————

What we thinking about this one chat?

[writtenfangirl]

Madness

I wrote this so long ago and then abandoned it because I didn’t know if the ending was satisfactory or not. I thought it would have a greater plot as well but when I couldn’t find it, I was dissatisfied until I reread it and realized the prose was too good not to publish.

Fluff but also a little bit of angst if you squint hard enough.

In which Benedict Bridgerton finally reveals the truth.

She was beautiful. Too beautiful, if Benedict was being perfectly honest with himself. Not the kind of beauty that had him picking up a paint brush and painstakingly striking an easel with lovely swirls of color but the kind of beauty that distracted him, made him brood in a dim corner of the room, watching the little twists of her mouth and the subtle way she arched a brow. Beauty to the point of distraction, like spending hours watching shooting stars dash across the night sky, not realizing as dawn approached on the horizon.

It was utterly maddening.

She was utterly maddening.

How was he meant to live, to exist and breathe, to witness such great beauty and yet have none of the capacity, the right, to keep it?

Just a glance from her, a single curve of her lips, and Benedict could feel his faith in God strengthening as easily as he could deny the Lord’s existence. Only a benevolent God could create such ecstatic beauty and yet no benevolent God could exist in this world if Benedict had to bear the cruelty of Y/N’s indifference.

Maddening.

He sighed, the sound bereft as he continued to watch her charm the eligible men of the ton. She had a veritable cabal of men gathered around her and if any other debutant had been in her position, they surely would have been overwhelmed by now.

But not Y/N.

Never Y/N.

With her head held high and her smile demure, she directed the men as easily as if she was holding court. A slight clearing of the throat and already, someone had a glass of lemonade in their hand while a flap of her hand would have the men falling over themselves in an attempt to get her a chair.

A queen holding court, indeed.

Benedict rolled his eyes at the man to her right, who practically shoved at the man on his left in order to catch Y/N’s attention. Not that it really mattered though, especially not when Y/N’s attention was focused on Benedict.

Even from across the room, the tension between them felt palpable. Exhilarating. It always had been with Y/N. Thick and smooth, the connection between them as tangible as their own beating hearts. Just a shared look between them and the world fell silent, the edges of his vision practically darkening at the edges until he saw only her.

Beautiful. Even as her face contorted with hurt for the briefest of seconds, her eyes pulling away from him and returning to the crowd of men that surrounded her.

Benedict gritted his teeth, the only sign of annoyance he let himself show.

“I see you are not quite so enamored with our diamond.”

Benedict’s head whipped to the left, finding Lady Danbury watching him with those shrewd eyes of hers. The old crone had her cane gripped tightly in her hands and Benedict fought his grimace at the phantom pain that shot up from his ankles. The dowager countess had a terrible habit of whacking gentlemen she didn’t like with that sturdy cane of hers and Benedict had felt the brunt of that pain far too many times for his liking.

Still, as a gentleman, he couldn’t very well ignore the woman. It would have been terribly rude of him to and it went against every fiber of the etiquette that had been drilled to him as a child.

He spared Y/N another glance before he spoke. “You think all those men enamored with her?”

“I think they think themselves enamored by her,” Lady Danbury said. “She is quite a beauty and accomplished too, I hear. Are you acquainted with the young lady?”

He had been, when he was young. As recently as a few months ago, Benedict had counted Y/N as one of his dearest friends but with everything that transpired between them…

“We are familiar with one another.”

Lady Danbury arched a brow, directing her attention back to Y/N. She was animatedly speaking with Anthony and Colin, the only time the entire evening where her smile didn’t seem a little bit forced. “Your brothers seem friendly with her. Why aren’t you?”

Because he was a stupid, bloody, idiot who didn’t know how to keep his damn mouth shut, that’s why.

But his pride would never let him say that, especially not in front of Lady Danbury. “We are familiar with each other.” He repeated, voice tight.

Lady Danbury’s eyes flickered. “I seem to recall your mother telling me about how you and the Lady Y/N were thick as thieves not so long ago.”

Bloody hell, the old crone was relentless. He didn’t want to talk about his and Y/N’s falling out, especially not with her.

He suddenly whirled, cocking his head to the side. “Oh, I believe I hear someone calling me.”

No one was calling him but not even his impeccable manners could make him stay.

Lady Danbury harrumphed. “I may be old, boy, but I am not deaf.”

“Definitely hear someone calling me.” Benedict even cupped a hand, placing it on the side of his mouth before he yelled a quick, “I’ll be right there!” He turned back to Lady Danbury, who was looking at him as if she knew his claims were a lie. “Lady Danbury, if you’ll excuse me.”

The dowager countess simply gave Benedict a knowing look yet let him go.

He ducked into the crowd towards… bloody hell he couldn’t find anyone he would rather talk to. His brothers were still off speaking with Y/N and he didn’t feel like speaking with his mother, who would likely hound him about his fight with Y/N. Which left the last person of their party, Eloise. A quick scan of the room revealed his sister in the other side of the room, conspiratorially whispering to her best friend, Penelope Featherington.

He zoomed towards them, turning his back on Y/N and Lady Danbury.

Eloise caught his eye as he approached and her lips pursed in displeasure. “Why do you look as if you’re expecting me to bail you out of a horrible situation.”

“Can’t I see my favorite sister with joy in my face without being suspected of ill intent?”Benedict said with a grin before bowing to Penelope, who returned the gesture with her own curtsy.

Penelope ducked her head to suppress a giggle.

Eloise rolled her eyes at him. “What do you want?”

“To ask you why you’re sulking in a corner instead of dancing despite—“ he pulled at the dance card in her wrist, every single line filled with names that were unfamiliar to him. “Did you put fake names in your dance card?”

Eloise snatched her wrist back. “Yes. I thought that with Y/N grabbing the attention of so many of the gentlemen, I would be spared the embarrassment of having to entertain any gentlemen tonight. Unfortunately, I was wrong.”

Benedict turned to Penelope. “How many approached her?”

“Six,” Penelope smirked, “and those six quickly turned right back around.”

“Well with a full dance card, I’m not at all surprised.”

Eloise rolled her eyes in annoyance. “Spare me the lecture, brother. I’m sure I’ll hear enough from mother tonight.”

“She caught you?”

“After Eloise turned down the sixth one, Lady Violet began to suspect,” Penelope explained.

Benedict grinned. “When have you known me to lecture you?”

She gave him a saccharine smile, the kind that Benedict always knew would end with her barbed words. “Aren’t you meant to be fawning over Y/N? You’d done it most of our life.”

He bristled at her words.

Penelope shot them a curious look. “You never told me you were acquainted with the lady?”

“Hadn’t I?” Eloise frowned. “Lady Y/L/N’s family and ours have been acquainted for ages. Of course, she rarely ever came to London and if it hadn’t been for her father’s recent passing she wouldn’t have had a season at all. Mama had held hope that perhaps one of my dear brothers would begin to take some responsibility and marry her.” She lowered her voice in a conspiratorial whisper that was so loud, it still reached Benedict’s ears. “Personally, I always thought Benedict would offer. He and Y/N had a special bond growing up. Even Daphne thinks so.”

Benedict had never hit a woman before but perhaps, just this once, excuses could be made for one’s sisters.

“So, well acquainted then,” Penelope said with a slight smile.

“I do recall Benedict pining after Y/N for years,” Eloise mused, uncaring as Benedict’s mood soured. “You never did tell me why it is you suddenly became estranged”

“Not that it’s any of your business.” He grumbled.

Eloise batted eyes innocently. “Irritable today, aren’t you, brother? Could it possibly be because of the cadre of men that hound every one of Y/N’s footsteps?”

“I have changed my mind. Francesca is now my favorite sister.”

“I love you too, Benedict,” she all but grinned.

He turned his attention back to Y/N, who, to his surprise, had taken her leave.

“She’s in the garden, if you wish to speak to her,” Eloise said, noting his wandering eyes and nodding towards the open veranda at the side.

“What gave you the impression that I would like to speak to her?” He tried to do his best nonchalant impression but not even Benedict was convinced of his own performance.

Eloise simply rolled her eyes at him before tugging Penelope’s arm. “With Y/N taking her respite, I imagine there will be a sudden influx of gentlemen who would like to dance. Let us make ourselves scarce.” And she pulled Penelope along, the red head offering Benedict an apologetic look.

He glanced at the crowd once again before letting his feet carry him through the veranda and out towards the garden. There were still many people milling about outside that granted them protection from scandal but it was much more intimate than the loud din of the ballroom.

The night was cool, the spring air serene compared to the humidity of the ballroom.

He spied Y/N, her back turned against the door. Upon hearing his approach, she sighed. “Good sir, if you did not understand me, I wish to be al—“ she turned and her words died at her lips at the sight of him. “Oh. It’s you.”

She looked even lovelier up close. She always did. Whether dressed in a simple frock with her long hair flowing down her back or dressed ornately with jewels adorning her, she always looked lovelier up close.

“What do you want, Benedict,” Y/N said, dropping that societal mask she employed inside.

“To apologize.”

She shook her head. “There is nothing to apologize for. You asked for my hand under false pretenses, I rejected you. End of story.“

“Under false pretenses?” He echoed, his own tone turning sharp. “You think my proposal to be insincere? Is that why you rejected me?”

“I did not think it insincere, I knew it to be insincere. I heard you and the Lady Violet discussing me. I heard when you declared your intention to ask for my hand in marriage simply because she had asked you to.”

Oh.

Oh.

He remembered then, the conversation he had with his mother right before he proposed.

“Propose to her,” Violet had urged just as breakfast had been served, with only Benedict and Violet dining.

“I am not even courting her, mama,” he replied exasperatedly. It had been far too early in the morning to entertain his mother’s insistence on seeing him wed to Y/N. She’d pestered him about it in one form or another even before the Y/L/Ns had come to visit the Bridgertons and Benedict knew she would not stop until he and Y/N were formally engaged.

But Y/N had just ended her mourning period for her father. And though societal mandates dictated that it was perfectly reasonable for Benedict to ask for her hand in marriage, he knew how deeply she mourned the man, especially since his death had placed her in such a precarious position. The late patriarch of the Y/L/N family had been fond of his only child, even if she had been born a girl. And Y/N had loved him, even if his death left her and her mother saddled with financial debt despite coming from the longest line of barony in England.

“What does it matter that you are not courting?” Violet demanded. “You have known her since you were both children. You’ve been courting her all your life.”

“Mama, please leave it well enough alone.”

“What is it that you do not like about her?” She insisted. “She is beautiful and accomplished and you have known each other your whole lives. Any young man would be fortunate to be bound to her in marriage.”

“I never said anything that would imply otherwise.”

“Then why do you refuse to ask her for her hand in marriage? Doing so would spare her a season in London and limit their financial troubles.” And then she had gasped in indignation. “Or is their financial troubles the very reason why you refuse? I never raised you to be avaricious!”

Bloody hell. “I am not avaricious, mother. I do not care about her dowry or lack thereof!”

“Then what is it? Do not tell me it is because you do not love her. I have seen the way you look at her.”

Benedict had eyed his fork, had wondered if perhaps, it would be a better to shove it in his ears than listen to his mother’s hullabaloo.

Instead he took a scone, spreading a generous layer of clotted cream and jam so his hands had something to do rather than maim himself.

“And how is it I look at her, mother?” He drawled.

“The same way your father used to look at me.”

At that he had paused, scone half-raised to his mouth. He hadn’t known what to say anymore. Mentions of his own father had always been capable of silencing his mind.

Finally, he had decided on telling her the truth, that his mother may finally stop pestering him.

“Asking Y/N for her hand in marriage had always been the plan, mother,” Benedict relented. “I was simply waiting for the perfect moment.”

Violet smiled at her son kindly. “There are no such thing as perfect moments, dearest. Only moments that can be made perfect. And whether you ask her later or tomorrow or next week, that moment will be perfect by virtue of you asking.”

She was right, of course. Violet Bridgerton was so rarely incorrect especially in matters of the heart and love.

Benedict had given her a smile, and said, voice dripping in sarcasm. “Well, since you so graciously asked me to, I shall propose to the Lady Y/N, if only to make you happy.”

That must have been what Y/N heard. Not the whole story but the end, when Benedict had teased his mother.

Now he was convinced that God existed and that he must be cruel. Only the machinations of a cruel God could have lined up the timing perfectly.

Y/N’s eyes flickered as she regarded him. “I do not wish to bind you in marriage with someone you do not hold any affection for. You have fulfilled your promise to your mother and have asked for my hand. I rejected you. We no longer have any obligations with one another. Good night.” She made a move to pass him, to walk back to the ballroom to her gaggle of men but Benedict’s hand shot up, gripping her arm and keeping her to him.

His hands were gloved and even Y/N’s arms were sheathed in silk. And though he had never felt gloves to be particularly offensive, he wished to burn the ones that covered their hands. If only so he could feel her smooth skin beneath his fingers.

The heady scent of her perfume wafted through his senses. She smelled divine, like walking through a garden of roses under the cover of moonlight as the stars twinkled above his head. Utterly mouthwatering, and capable of driving even the sanest of men into insanity. The scent of distraction.

Always so distracting.

Benedict forced his mouth to speak before his brain could forget the words he needed to say. “Do you think so little of me? Capable of such cruelty especially when it comes to you.”

Y/N’s brows met, a flash of pain in her eyes and then it was gone. “It is the opposite, really. I think the world of you, Benedict. Only a gentleman would offer to marry a girl he has no obligations to simply because of her precarious position in life. You are an honorable man and any woman would be lucky to call you their husband. It is why I cannot accept your proposal, not when you do not love me. Not when there is no one on this world more deserving of love than you.”

Benedict frowned at her. “Why do you continue to insist that I do not love you?”

“Because you do not!” She pulled away from him, wrenching her hand from his grasp. Her eyes were pure anguish as she looked at him and the very sight of her pain had him staggering back. “If you truly held any affection for me, I would know. I have studied you all our lives, Benedict. And in all the time we shared together, you had never shown any affection for me beyond that of a friend. Your proposal hurt, Benedict. I have loved you in every way a man could be loved for so long and for you to ask for my hand in marriage out of pity—“ She choked, eyes widening as if she didn’t mean to say the things she’d said.

“You love me?” He echoed, heart beating quickly in his chest. He wondered, briefly, if his fast beating heart marks the day he really lived. If Y/N’s confession had been the reason he truly felt alive for the first time in his life.

Her face crumpled in pain as she stepped back. “Forgive me, I shouldn’t have said those things. Please take your leave, Benedict. That I may salvage whatever scraps of my dignity is left.”

But Benedict did no such thing.

Instead he took her hands and lowered himself into a kneel, setting his eyes upon her. The arching light of the manor spilled over the veranda casted her in a soft glow that took his very breath away.

Y/N’s eyes widened in alarm and whatever pain she held there was washed away by her surprise. “Benedict, what are you doing?”

“Begging you for forgiveness.”

“What? Benedict, get up.”

But he held firm, his determination cementing his knees to the ground. “Forgive me, Y/N, for my grave transgressions against you. That you had ever lived your life doubting my affections for you, or wondering if I cared for you as more than a friend are sins I will carry with me to my last breath. It will be my great shame that I had not made it abundantly clear that I love you. Because I do love you. Most ardently.”

“Benedict, get up. This is madness—“

“You are right. It is madness. The way I feel for you would drive the sanest of people into lunacy. But if loving you is madness then I don’t ever wish to be sane.”

Her eyes gleamed silver with unshed tears that threatened to fall from her pretty eyes. “B-But that morning, the day you proposed—“

“I did not propose to you out of pity for you, I did it out of pity for me. I needed to put myself out of my misery and finally marry the only girl I ever had the privilege of falling in love with rather than continue pining after you in secret.”

She let out a a laugh through her tears, the sound like bells chiming during a storm. Light and beautiful despite the pouring rain that threatened to drown it out. “Ask me again.”

His heart leapt to his throat, pounding so quickly he struggled to get the words out. But they came nonetheless, the words clear and betraying none of his anxiety. “Y/N, will you marry me?”

“Yes.”

[salaimoi]

𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔: GUYS THIS IS NOT A DRILL!! I finally wrote a fic that isn’t about GOJO?! whaaaaaaat is the world as we know it coming to an end? D:

Past lover Sukuna who originally took no interest in you being his wife, but eventually, your abiding love taught him to do so. But, it was far too late when you established that he was indeed capable of loving someone other than himself. Your demise caused him to lose the individual he held dearest in this world – replacing the affectionate sentiment that had been coursing through his heart with resentment.

Past lover Sukuna who had anticipated your fated return once more since the Heian Era, only for your rebirth to never arrive, even though millennia went by. The benevolent soul he eagerly waited for became ensnared in the depths of the underworld, unable to reincarnate into the mortal world.

Even then, he was more than certain that you weren’t at eternal rest because of the longing, the nostalgia, and the need to be together again that he felt. 

He knew your anima was among the 7 realms somewhere; all he had to do was wait for your return. Heaven could wait as long as it meant laying eyes on that precious face of yours once more.

Past lover Sukuna who noticed the spitting image of his deceased wife walking down the street that fateful day. He couldn’t pass up this opportunity to have you once more in this lifetime as well – even if it was borderline selfish. 

To bring back those good old times; to bring back what was his. 

To hold you. To own you. To conquer you. To possess you. To control your soul. To do whatever he wanted to with you. 

To be with you once again, reverting to a time when he could feel affection – the way he liked best.

Past lover Sukuna who gripped your arm vigorously out of the blue among the crowd, because Sukuna never knew boundaries – not when it came to his beloved. 

“You look familiar,” he said, “not only the uncanny face shape and the exact same expression… but also your scent.” His gaze unrelenting as he scanned every aspect of your being as if you were his property, to make sure it was you – and he was correct. 

You were the same woman Sukuna fell in love with 1000 years ago. Alas, his delicate swan had returned to him after eons of suffering, like he knew you would.

Past lover Sukuna who noticed you squirming under his grip and scolded you, sharp nails digging at your flesh. 

“You shouldn’t be acting like this; it isn’t decent behavior for the reincarnation of my cherished wife to act in such a manner.” 

But you didn't remember a life before this one, nor did you recall his name or even the fact that you were once his most prized possession. 

Past lover Sukuna who waited over a thousand years just for his beloved to reincarnate into a mortal. He knew he wasn’t capable of loving anybody nearly as much as he loved her. And now...now she's back.

When you left this world, you took all – if any – of the sense of compassion he had. No one in the history of sorcerers and curses alike could come close to comprehending the misery he endured with each passing day.

Time and time again, reliving his wife’s death in his subconscious. Powerless to intervene as he witnessed the life drain out of her and transfer onto his fingertips.

“I missed you all those years, and I can't have the same fate happening again. I'm not going to let you die the way you did in your past life, got it?" Never forgetting to conceal the anguish in his words, as to not let himself be too vulnerable.

Past lover Sukuna who was hellbent on evoking in you the sentiment of what it was like to be his spouse. Even if it meant having to recreate every single romantic scenario he ever experienced with you a second time.

“I finally have you with me again. All I need to do is make you remember the feelings you had for me in your previous life, and then you'll have your past self fully restored.”

To you, it would entail falling in love with him all over again; to him, it would be a refresher on what you once shared. A win-win scenario.

Past lover Sukuna who began to notice the essence of that past life slowly merging with your current self, fusing the two identities into one. The love she felt a thousand years ago was slowly reawakening. All while Sukuna stood there in awe of the magnificent sight he was witnessing; the sight of his beloved being reborn again. The reunion of two souls was happening before his eyes, and it was almost emotional to see.

Past lover Sukuna whose heart felt heavy from the weight of joy and relief that he felt. He finally reunited with his once-lost lover. The essence of her former life was fully restored once more as she was standing right next to him. It seemed unreal to see her with his own eyes – his beloved was back, at long last. The eternal years of hardship for the sake of his plan were finally worth it.

Current lover Sukuna whose fingers ran through the locks sprawled over his lap – calming the both of you to no bounds when his fingernails rake through your scalp. His free hand holding onto your wrist tightly, because he had to be sure no one would snatch you from his grasp a second time.

“I missed you so damn much…more than you could ever possibly imagine.”

Current lover Sukuna who finally admitted to his feelings for the first time in millennium, because he missed you more than anything in this infernal world.

Current lover Sukuna who admired you with a soft expression, shocked at how angelic you were even after a thousand years.

“You still look as gorgeous as you did a lifetime ago.” words dripping with genuine adoration as he gazed down at his wife.

Current lover Sukuna who wondered how that was possible in the first place. Surely, granting him access to a companion of your caliber – with such a pure heart and soul – was a mistake of some kind?

Current lover Sukuna who thought, “All is right in this world again.” to himself. Because it was. You were by his side once more – right where you belonged.

[xueyuverse]

It's ironic to me that part of the fandom insists so much that Hua Cheng's personality revolves around Xie Lian when in fact MXTX created Hua Cheng first and then had to make Xie Lian his ideal type. Like, the truth is that Xie Lian was molded for Hua Cheng. I find this contradiction very funny, I'm sorry.

But they were indeed created for each other.

Hua Cheng has a strong personality, he is firm in his ideals and beliefs, assertive in his opinions, cold in his justice and someone who does not bend the rules just to fit in, he creates a third way instead of adapting to a world that hates him and was cruel to him.

His ideal type would have to be someone as confident as him, who not only does not bend the rules, but also does not get corrupted by difficulties, someone benevolent enough to see people like him with kindness, because only someone faithful in his beliefs would be able to be so different from everything that the world says is right — because the right thing is for you to annihilate people like Hua Cheng, whether they are innocent or not, just because of a supposed curse that they did not ask for.

This meta is based on this excerpt from the afterword that MXTX put in TGCF ↓

When it comes to character designs, the Shou’s were decided on first for the first two novels, but I was torn over the Gong’s for a long time, and needed a run-in period. Hua Cheng, however, was an exception. Inspiration struck and there he was; inspiration struck again, and I blinded one of his eyes.

[...]

It was actually the Shou, Xie Lian, who tortured me for up to half a year’s time. When the novel started serializing, I was still torn over him for a long time.

[...]

But the most important thing is, by my instincts, someone like Hua Cheng will most definitely love someone like this. So, after a good half a year’s worth of qualms, in the end I still typesetted him: It’s you!

Speaking more about this postscript, I found it interesting how for MXTX, Xie Lian was the most difficult character she has ever played. People tend to think that Xie Lian only has two personality traits: (false, for many) kindness and idiocy. The idiocy may even be right lol, but when you stop to think about it, Xie Lian is a really difficult character to create and, mainly, to develop.

For all the layers he has, he could easily be a snobbish prince, a vengeful and bitter ex-prince, a fallen prince who rises again to reconquer his kingdom and reclaim his throne or a spotless saint who is always intelligent and wise and is above things like sadness, anger, lust, etc.

We know that Xie Lian is none of these things, he was not made for these plots. But if he is none of these things, then what could he be? Honestly, I find it very difficult for anyone to come to the conclusion that your protagonist is a "loser" who failed and has no ambition to rebuild his kingdom and become the new king. It's bold to make your protagonist a poor and extremely unlucky nomad, especially with the princely background that you gave him, we can see from the amount of stories out there about protagonists who lost their kingdoms and then have a path of reconquest that it's difficult not to be tempted to follow that path.

Of course, Xie Lian is a god, something greater than a prince or king, but he is a poor god, known as "the joke of the three kingdoms", he has no wealth and for 800 years he only had 1 believer that he didn't even know existed and he is also known as the "god of plague" and "immortal scrap collector", unconventional titles in the literary world lol

He must experience youthful ignorance, overestimation of his own abilities, have been laughable, been foolish, made mistakes, despaired, felt hatred, gone crazy. But he can’t run, and he can’t hide; everything is what it is. All this was killing me. Not just within the text, but outside the text too. My mediation was useless, and I’ve no energy anymore either, so in order not to be affected, I stopped looking at comments altogether. Since I always habitually vaccinate myself before a serialization begins, speculating on all the worst possible scenarios and preparing myself mentally, by the time serialization started I had already expected how all the negative comments would go down. But after much hesitation, I still thought, why not try all different kinds of characters? I haven’t tried writing a main character like this before.

— MXTX

[clanborn]

star climax that i would personally enjoy: splashtail's got frostpaw pinned in their final confrontation, he's this close to finally killing her, and all of frostpaw's fears culminate and leave her frozen, unable to struggle free. curlfeather, through sheer willpower ignited by this immediate threat to her daughter's life, summons all the energy she can muster to project her image into the physical world, visible to both splash and frost. her sheer fury, her mangled corpse--here, present, clawing her way out of splashtail's dreams and into a waking nightmare, here to drag him down to hell with her--spooks splashtail to the core. this either frightens him so bad he suffers cardiac arrest, or he instantly bolts and abandons the clans forever (for the case where he could be brought back as a villain who is ideally no longer lame). once more, curlfeather saves frostpaw's life, this time from beyond the grave, so great is her love for her daughter. with the image of her bloodied mother burned in her mind, frostpaw's conflicted feelings bubble to the surface, feelings she's desperately forced underneath a layer of anger and resentment. frostpaw faces the truth: that her mother manipulated her for her own gain, but also that her mother loved her, and ultimately cared for frostpaw more than her own life. curlfeather was not entirely good or bad, she was simply just a cat, a flawed one, one capable of both good and bad things. hidden in all of her misdeeds was a cat that could be forgiven--and in turn, frostpaw too could be forgiven, and no longer needs to blame herself for every misfortune that had befallen her and her clan. frostpaw is also just a cat, a child under incredible duress, forced to make decisions that no child should have to make. she thinks of every cat that pushed that responsibility onto her--yes, her mother, but also splashtail, her older clanmates, every clan cat around the lake that turned a blind eye to her desperation. even starclan--her all knowing, benevolent ancestors--had stood by while she suffered, had caused her suffering, had used her not unlike the way curlfeather had. what made them different? why was curlfeather punished by cats who were no better? why was frostpaw punished for doing everything right? what distinction did starclan make between "good" and "bad" when all cats were capable of both, including starclan, in all its alleged, unerring kindness?

frostpaw once again does starclan's bidding, touches her nose to the moonpool and receives her nine lives. with each life, cats flash before her vision--harelight, riverstar, jayclaw--but they aren't the cats she sees. in her mind she sees curlfeather, blood on her paws and love in her eyes, and newly named froststar decides what sort of leader she will be. this is the last time she will follow starclan's path, no more will riverclan be subject to their will and their hypocrisies. relying on starclan is what destroyed them, their ancestors standing idle as riverclan tore itself apart for their favor. no more will riverclan force warriors and apprentices in certain roles, no more will it allow complacency, letting desperate voices go unheard. splashtail rejected starclan, but that is not what drove his bloodthirst and desire for power. under froststar's leadership, power would not solely lie in the paws of her and starclan, but shared among her clanmates, unable to be ripped away by a lone instigator, shattered by a single break in the chain.

maybe she'll be the kind of leader curlfeather wanted to be. maybe she'll be better. either way, froststar will lead riverclan into a golden dawn.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

The fish lord and his falcon wife

Oscar Tully x wife!reader

warning : fluff, comfort, kiss, cuddling, grover tully dies

Summary : To secure the power of the Vale, the heir to the House of Arryn is married to the heir of the Riverlands. A young couple with a great inheritance, duty and burden to bear but even in the most hopeless of times they had each other. Through gestures and words they show each other that they can manage power and love.

info : Oscar is just such a sweet innocent and cool character i can't wait to see how he will be in season 3. Enjoy reading and have a nice day

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun had just risen over the castle Riverrun sun lit up the bright stone and seemed to awaken even the fish and other water creatures that began to move, as did the castle inhabitants and the household of the great house. It would be another day of tasks and endeavors while the court hoped Lord Grover would recover from his illness but old age was something that could not be cured but hope was there.

Hope was also in the hearts of his grandson and his wife the Lady Arryn, the young couple who had only been married for a few moons to secure the loyalty of the noble house up on the Vale. But even though they were both young, they seemed to take their duties with such devotion and responsibility that they both knew the importance they held.

Tasks they undertook together with the advice and help of the masters of the councils and the other houses served, who were also aware of the young couple and the tragic nature of the circumstances.

But one could speak of blossoming love, as chaste as they were sometimes, they were childishly insecure at other times when they faced the true horrors of ruling and decision-making. But it was one such moment that came, breakfast had just been served and in the hall sat Oscar his wife, a few knights, the Master and the Lady's own representative for decisions.

The morning was spent in silence, with a few exchanged words, glances and jokes, it was clear that everyone was still tired from the night, ,,I thought we could go for a ride today for the falconry,” Oscar suddenly suggested, looking around questioningly and giving his wife a gentle smile, knowing that the falcon was her symbol and that he had given her a white falcon as a symbol of his benevolence.

Something she was very pleased about, the animal stayed in her room and slept on her hand and could also be stroked by Oscar, but the animal would try to bite anyone else. ,,A wonderful idea, I would love to see the lands,” she replied, returning his gaze and waiting for the adults to give their opinion, they were men of honor and duty, good men who would give their all for their Lord and Lady.

,,Well, an early morning ride would do the highborn couple good. It would be a good opportunity to get to know each other better,” the Master suggested and seemed to give his protégé an assuring nod, which pleased Oscar, who was always thinking and writing down what he could do with her, which pleased her as she was so far from home.

,,I would join the hunt and send a few men with no more than a handful” her advisor and weapons master suggested which was agreed to, not too large a group to attract attention but large enough to withstand an attack.

Statements that made the young couple smile and she took Osacr's hand, squeezed it lightly and he gave her a chaste kiss on the back of her hand, the men at the table smiled to themselves at the love of the two that was so much more innocent than the one they had experienced.

As the group turned back to their meal, the oatmeal with egg and bacon was still warm when the wooden door was torn open and a servant ran in breathlessly, ,,Lo-Lord Grover he's died!” he gasped, followed by a few more servants who did the same to give the old paramount the medicine but then we saw that he was gone from the world.

The men rose quickly and hurried to the door forgetting the couple who remained seated in shock, she saw tears well up in the young man's eyes as the news had hit him like a blow he must have been trying to pull himself together as his lips began to tremble slightly but the first tears ran down his cheeks and he looked at her his voice making no sound as he opened his lips.

She hastily rose from her chair and rushed to him, just holding him as he cried on her dress, feeling her own grief, the fear of what was to come, the few but loving moments with old Grover who had been so happy for them both bringing tears to her own eyes.

,,I-I could have…I could have,” Oscar cried, his words trailing off as he continued to cry and she knelt down to him, her own tears wetting his clothes as she took his head in her hands and kissed him on the top of his head, feeling him hold her hands tighter, ,,It…it was bound to happen eventually, I'm sorry," she murmured to him, sobbing as he brushed a hand across her cheek, wiping away her tears.

The two of them held each other for a moment, wiping away the tears, before Oscar stood up and helped her up, wiping her tears with a tissue while she used her handkerchief to straighten herself and dry her tears.

She turned to him and saw that he was trying to straighten his clothes with shaky fingers and she interrupted him and did so, ,,You don't have to,” she said avoiding his gaze as he put his sword to his belt and she straightened his fish pin.

,,I know… but once we step out together we are the paramount couple of the Riverlands…rest assured husband I will be there for you” she replied wanting to give him the go ahead as he took her hand gently and gave her a soft thankful kiss before the couple also set off to his late grandfather's room.

A sight they both walked through she held his hand, always at his side and when she saw him threatening to forget himself she did the talking while he was her shield of sharp unbridled words.

The two of them managed to get through the mourning ceremony, and the silent sisters, to look at the dead and Osacr swore to carry on the legacy with duty and she swore to always help him.

The hour was used to send ravens to the surrounding Houses to make arrangements, which was done, and the royal couple found themselves in the hall, hunched over a map, ,,My lord must go to Prince Daemon and Ser Simon the Riverlands must be united in this war,” said the Master of the Household of House Tully, pointing to the great broken castle that was to be the destination of this journey.

It was clear that the riverlands also had to choose a side, ,,My cousin has already received word from heir to the throne Rhaenyra…offers and apparently dragons,” she said, making her position clear on which side she stood, Viserys had named his own daughters, she herself had been there when her father had sworn allegiance to her.

Murmurs broke out House Tully had also sworn allegiance to Rhaenyra but the rumors and murders that had been committed showed from another side, ,,Girls offers are offers but the green ones do them-” one of the men began but Oscar interrupted him.

,,My wife is addressed as Lady Tully or Lady Paramount, the late King Viserys recognized his daughter as heir, my own grandfather swore allegiance to her and I will do the same” he said in a voice of determination and pride in what he had before taking her hand under the table letting her know they would truly do this together.

The pair decided to leave at sunrise for Harenhall to meet their good friend and tutor Simon and take the power they would be in this war. As the evening turned and she had already sent her servants away to be alone for the rest of the time, the last few hours had been exhausting and she couldn't stop thinking about the Vale and what her family was doing.

Before a knock at her door pulled her out of her thoughts she pulled her evening cloak over her nightgown and opened the door, ,,Oscar?” she asked but let him in seeing that he had taken off his armor and the official cloak the fabric had to be adjusted to his size but now it fit perfectly. While she had commissioned a new dress in blue with fish engraved on it and small falcon buckles holding it together, a sign of her heritage and devotion.

,,I wanted to see you, to ask you if you would accompany me to Harrenhal as my wife, substitute and follower,” he asked out faster than he probably wanted to and smiled slyly as he looked at his hands being taken from her and shortly afterwards she fell into his arms and an excited screech came from the falcon who was probably happy for his owner which made the couple laugh.

She placed a hand gently on his cheek, feeling her own warmth on her cheeks and ears, ,,Gladly my lord husband I will follow you Oscar and the Prince Regent can listen to our words, it is us he brews and not the other way around” she reminded him seeing the seriousness enter his eyes for a moment before he gave her another chaste kiss on the hand and seemed to slowly withdraw from her.

He wished her a good night and a good night's sleep until morning and was about to open the door when she got over herself, ,,Oscar…would you…you might sleep in my bed with me my heart is a little restless with worry and I would like to know your safety” she admitted seeing his cheeks turn pink even in the dimmed light of the fireplace she saw his embarrassment before he nodded and the two of them lay down together under the furs and blankets.

She had taken off her coat and was lying there in her nightgown, Oscar himself lying in just his pants, not quite knowing what to do until he took her hand, stroking her fingers lightly over it and giving her a gentle smile before moving a little closer to her and pulling her close. ,,I'll take care of you,” he murmured. She could feel his calm heartbeat as her head lay on his chest and he suddenly began to tell her a story from his young life, a day when he was fishing with his grandfather.

A story of which she felt nothing but peace and joy as she closed her eyes and imagined the warm sun, the colorful fish in the sun, Oscar proudly showing his grandfather his catch, beautiful images with which she fell asleep in his arms knowing that they were safe, that they would get through anything together and that their hearts belonged to each other.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@sobsasifsworld

[saphira-approves]

Something something professional artist jargon something something insert art knowledge here—whatever I want to talk about the book covers

So you’ve got Eragon, with a 3/4 portrait of Saphira; she’s giving a benevolent side eye with almost a Mona Lisa smile, she’s got that gleam in her eye, she’s looking at you but not head on—listen, this was the whole reason I picked up the book in the first place when I was eleven, she was so clearly full of life and personality and I just really wanted to meet her. It’s a really good glimpse of her character before even opening the book. She’s engaging you, but also maybe judging you a little bit, and she has a lot of thoughts but she’s going to keep them to herself for right now, thank you.

We’re skipping Eldest for right now because I have a point to make. Shush.

For Brisingr, we get a perfect side portrait of Glaedr, the grumpy old man. He’s not even side-eyeing the viewer like Saphira does; he is eyes forward, goal-oriented, noble and regal and, unless you’re worth his time, not really going to bother with you because he has Important Business to attend to. He is The Last of the pre-Fall dragons, his Rider is The Last of the pre-Fall Riders, he represents a bygone era that will never fully be resurrected, but can still inspire the present to fight for the future; he is no longer fully his own dragon, but a Relic, a Memory, a Symbol. He’s not anxious about it the way Eragon or Saphira might be; he has grieved for a century, he couldn’t be anxious about it if he tried. But he knows that keeping his integrity intact is important, and so this is how he presents himself: Noble. Regal. The Survivor. The Last.

Fírnen graces the cover of Inheritance, bookending the original series by almost perfectly mirroring Saphira—and seriously, it is so satisfying to line the books up with these two at the ends. Though he’s got a 3/4 profile like Saphira, Fírnen is much more reserved. No Mona Lisa smile, no mischievous gleam in his eye; he simply looks at you, and you look back, and you wonder what he’s thinking. He is, in fact, a lot like Arya—anyone who’s read the previous three books up to that point and hasn’t been spoiled for the ending might be able to guess, just from this portrait, who the final egg would hatch for. It’s also a perfect expression for the Final Book, with the fate of Alagaësia and the dragons hanging in the balance: what world does this mysterious dragon emerge into? A war-torn apocalypse? A hard-won victory? What does his future entail, and thus, what do the futures of our favorite characters entail? You ask him so many questions, but all he will ever do is stare deep into your soul with his somber, too-knowing gaze.

And now for the main event:

My beautiful precious son, the red-scaled Thorn, staring you down from the covers of both Eldest and Murtagh. I have loved the cover of the second book ever since I first picked it up, and my appreciation has only grown with time; needless to say I was very excited when the Murtagh cover dropped, and I got to see both of my favorite characters in one place. For both of these, Thorn takes the same stance: a full-frontal combative position, looking You, The Viewer directly in the eye, daring you to judge him, daring you to get in his way. I’ve always had my own opinions about what lay behind this show of force, and the context we get in Murtagh does not disappoint. He may be terrifying, he may be the scourge of the war, but underneath all that, Thorn is terrified. He’s traumatized, he’s claustrophobic, his body is too big for his age; he is painfully young still, and yet treated like a dragon ten times his age because that’s how he looks. He’s also sweet, and playful, and cares so much about his Rider, and wants desperately to keep Murtagh safe and happy. Just like Murtagh, he hides all of that—the fear and the softness both—behind a visage of ferocity, playing into the fears and preconceived notions people have of him, warning enemies away so they can’t get too close to what will actually hurt him. He dares you to try. He’s terrified you will try. He will fight tooth and nail if you do try.

[themadlu]

Do Not Open That Door

Astarion is sure his leader's unflinching morals will lead him to another unwanted grave. He is also sure she is putting on an act because people like her do not exist, clearly. He decides to test his assumptions.

TW: None I think

WC: ~3000 words

Tagging: @spacebarbarianweird for the encouragement!

Astarion is livid. Well, maybe livid was an overstatement—he is annoyed. Annoyed and confused. Such feelings are still a vast improvement over the fear and shame he's been accustomed to, but they make him restless nonetheless. 

Especially because their cause is walking steadily next to him without a care in the world for his inner turmoil. 

Zélie, their oh so great leader, has managed to spoil what could have been a perfectly enjoyable afternoon on multiple fronts. First, she decides to talk to the goblins ambushing them instead of treating them like the savages they are.

(“We don’t know how many of them are in this village Astarion. What if there’s a little army and we’re outnumbered?”)

After confirmation that there were, in fact, quite a few goblins (and a couple orcs to boot), she managed to get free passage through the village by leveraging their wriggly alien parasite. He isn’t happy about it. Not at all. 

He has to begrudgingly admit hers was a wise call after witnessing just how large and hungry those orcs were. And of course they even agree to help a fellow true soul in need. Just what he needs to undermine what little influence he has on her.

(Her blood is in his body after all.)

In the last tendays she had made it her mission to remind him how despicable murder is, under most circumstances, aside from self-defence. This beautifully idiotic mindset of hers almost got her killed twice in front of his very eyes.

(She doesn’t know he has taken to finish off the enemies she leaves unconscious while she isn’t watching.)

When he had pointed out the suicidal flaw in her morals, she had given him her signature scolding look, crossed her arms, and started breathing in that funny way of hers. 

In, hold, out. 

(She says she is not trained as a monk, but he’ll be even more damned than he already is if that is true. The way she fights and holds herself—and those sickening ideals she has—tell a different story.) 

“Honestly, darling,” he hisses at her as they walk through the village, squinty eyes trained on their every move. “I thought we agreed that benevolence and honour,” he spits the words out like a curse, “get you nowhere but to an early grave.”

“Astarion,” she always says his name when she speaks to him—even in annoyance— and he hates his constant surprise at hearing it. His elven name had been replaced with other titles over time, more befitting of his status—boy, spawn, whore, slut, beautiful, toy, love…

Truly, it’s a small miracle he managed to hold on to his name. It’s one of the few things left that are truly his, yet hearing it spoken from that solemn woman's lips makes something in his chest preen. 

“I thought we agreed to disagree on that front. No, don’t give me that look. Killing someone is never justifiable. No matter what we tell ourselves, we are taking away something that wasn’t ours to begin with. Something irreplaceable. Even—” she held up her hand as he started to complain, “in self-defence, even then, I will make sure to exhaust all alternatives, and even then, it will be a failure on my part.”

You moron. 

“Too bad the rest of the world doesn’t think like you, darling,” he snapped. Hers was an act. There was no way in the hells anyone could survive to their…whatever age she was, he was never good with human lifespans, with that mindset. It was ridiculous, because if she actually was like that—if two–hundred years of shit didn’t teach him better—she should either be dead in a ditch or have ascended to godhood on her saintly behaviour alone. The only explanation he has for her standing close to him is that the mask she wears is as fake as his own. That, or she is a child of Ilmater. He bets on the former, given her complete ignorance of any deity on Toril.

“But you lied,” he counters, snapping his fingers. “You said we are here on Absolute business. Doesn’t that go against your precious code of honour?” he singsongs in her ear. 

“I didn’t lie. My tadpole reacted to theirs, and they drew their own conclusions. Technically, we are going to their camp on Absolute business too, if you count removing these,” she tapped her index to her temple. 

He smirks, victorious. “Circumstantial. One day, the tadpole won’t do the work for us and you’ll break your own code or doom us to death. For one, I’d rather not repeat the experience,” he says in a quiet voice, pointing at his chest. 

Their companions are still unaware of his condition—another occasion his holy leader conveniently withheld information. 

(“It’s your secret, it’s your decision.” Hypocrite.)

“Astarion, I know you take me for a fool, and I would normally pay more respect to a man—elf—my senior by centuries, but really. I can be practical and have a moral compass, and that means that when the choice is between lying and killing, I will pick lying any day, even if I don’t like it.” 

Enough. 

Her words incense him, annoyance suddenly turns into rage and something else—what’s that, envy?—he pivots on his left heel and closes the distance between them so fast she has no time to react. Zélie is left pinned to the wall, their bodies a breath away from touching, and he internally celebrates the surprised look on her face. 

He stares at her down his nose, ducking his head and planting a slender hand on the wall beside her head. 

Astarion has to make her stop before he tears her self-righteousness out of her throat. Before she realises how useless it all is—how useless and tainted he is—and either stakes him or banishes him. Because even her sickly, do-gooding self, fake or real it be, must have limits. If he pushes hard enough, they’ll crumble, and then he’ll be proven right. She is not what she says she is because creatures like that aren’t real.  

“Let’s make one thing clear, darling,” he growls, nostrils flaring, “you may be our great leader, but you should get off your high horse before someone shoots you off it. I don’t know what perfect little corner of the universe you grew up in, but you know nothing of this world and its dangers.” 

He flashes his fangs at her to drive his point across. The others are out of sight, looking for supplies in some ruin or cellar. Gods, he misses the city. 

Zélie is staring back at him, bristling, but lets him continue. She never interrupts any of them, not even him.

“I thought humans were all about developing and living fast, but you, my dear, are as ignorant as a babe. I am trying to make sure we keep our collective hides safe and do not get sidetracked by other pitiful creatures on our path.” 

He realises just how close he is to her when she straightens up again and their noses almost touch. 

Pale eyes go darker with a flash of anger. 

There. Come at me. Prove me right. 

“Spoken like a true man of the law, lord magistrate.” 

Why the hells is her tone so collected when she has a literal vampire at her throat?!

“You seem forgetful, so I’ll remind you that it was my ignorance that stopped Shadowheart from connecting her mace with your head. And it was my stupidity that convinced her you could join us, and that we should give you a chance at trust.” 

She makes no move to get closer, but he recoils as if scorched by fire. 

“And it is the same trust I placed in you yesterday when I let you bite me, even though it’s not how I envisioned a night of rest to go. I trusted you to stop, I trusted you to keep your word and not leave me a corpse.”

There it is. Reminding him of what he owes her. Of his debts. They say the quiet ones are the most depraved, and she is the strong and silent type. But he is nothing if not an expert in the art of subservience at this point, and if it gets her to keep giving him blood and protection—

“I trust you.” 

Then you’re doomed.

She says it as if it were a challenge. Her gaze is unwavering and he is left speechless yet again. Cazador would admire this quality of hers.

“I hope you can trust me in return.”

Impossible woman. 

“Well, I suppose you’re not wholly incompetent,” he manages to croak out. His nonchalant mask is harder to slip on this time. 

She huffs a breath of a laugh, a tiny thing, but it’s enough to transform her whole face. The weight she carries on her deceivingly flimsy shoulders seems to lift, leaving behind a young woman smiling softly at a…well, a monster. Talk about inexperience. 

Happiness suits you, little leader. 

The fact it’s his prattling that caused this marvel of a transformation stokes something in chest and in the pit of his stomach that he promptly pushes down. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Zélie says. She moves away and he is left staring at the crusty wall. Her body never touched his own during their exchange. 

Wait. That’s wrong. He was meant to make her see the reason in his ways, not the other way around. So why is he at her heels like a lost puppy the minute she walks away? 

(“You are nothing by yourself boy. You owe everything to me.”)

He is weak. So weak he has leashed himself to a human who can barely read common, fuck's sake. 

His temper rises again once he catches up with Zélie. He doesn’t need her condescension, nor her chiding (she doesn’t even know his full story yet, nor she ever will unless absolutely necessary, so pity isn’t there yet). He’ll show the wretched woman how wrong she is. 

Karlach and Lae’zel jog behind them as they reach a barn with a door locked shut. Zélie thinks nothing of it at first, but Astarion can smell what’s inside.

(His senses born anew from her blood.)

He smells the ogre and bugbear and their horrid affair before the rest of his companions hear the grunts and noises.

“Oh God, someone’s fighting!” exclaims Zélie.

Fighting, you say?

An idea strikes him. 

See what your misplaced goodness gets you when you try to help an ogre.

“I don’t know soldier, they don’t sound like fight noises to me,” says Karlach leaning towards the barn, but even she seems unsure. Astarion’s talents may be limited to a specific area, but in this case it works in his favour. He is very familiar with what those sounds mean. The half-ogres that fucked him into the bed so hard he bled were not so different.

(He still remembers how much it hurt, how he was left in a puddle of mixed releases, sweat, and what little blood he had).

“Well, even if they are fighting, it is clearly not our problem. I say we leave them to it and focus on what’s really important,” he says, using his annoyance as a hook. Zélie may be the most restrained person he’s come across, but he knows how to read people, and he knows she will do the opposite of whatever he says when it concerns morals. 

She falls for it. His smile is harder to suppress.

“Astarion! We’ve just talked about this!” 

Her voice raises a bit, but it’s almost eclipsed by another loud grunt from inside the barn. 

“So long as my blade can be sharpened on my enemies’ bones, I am ready.” Lae’zel is almost as ignorant as Zélie when it comes to their world, which is usually a hindrance, but now it’s the push their little leader needs to run to the rescue. 

Zélie tries to open the barn door (after cutting another withering look at the vampire lazily strolling at her back), finding it jammed.

The crescendo of grunts and bangs coming from inside is extremely loud now. 

Gods, they must be disgusting. 

“Hello?! Help is on the way, hang on!” the little human shouts as she frantically tries to get the door unstuck. 

“Oh hells, let me do it, darling, before we turn into tentacled freaks,” Astarion says in mock-annoyance. She eyes him suspiciously and he shoots her a winning smile. His nimble hands make quick work of the lock, and he pushes the door open. 

He needs just a peek to know his assumption about what was happening in the barn is correct, and turns to face his now horror-stricken companion. 

“Gods, they are disgusting,” he comments with his lips crooked in a satisfied smile. 

Zélie scrambles to compose herself and turns her back from the scene (the prudish) as she fails to find words to explain herself. “I—I am, I apologise, we thought—”

Oh, she’s in a state. Her cheeks flush redder than rubies (he can practically hear her delicious blood pooling there), whilst the rest of her is paler than after Astarion’s feeding. She opens and shuts her eyes as if trying to physically erase what she just witnessed.

The bugbear slides his now soft cock out of the ogre, and looks at them in rage.

“W–what the hells are you doing?!”

Oh, Astarion is thrilled. He doesn’t remember when last had such fun. He hears Lae’zel’s tsk’ and Karlach’s gags behind him, and he closely watches Zélie fumbling as he didn’t think was possible. 

“Apologies! I, you—you were making a lot of noise and I, we, thought you needed help,” she holds her hands in front of her in a peace offering. “I apologise for the intrusion! We’ll leave now—”

“Ruined! SMASH. I’ll smash you!” 

Oh. Astarion didn’t expect that. He just wanted to show Zélie how ungrateful the world is to idiots like her, not have her turn into orc food. 

Before he can think, he is tackling the woman to the ground, the orc’s club crashing a few spaces to his left. Karlach and Lae’zel’s throw themselves at the aggressor, and the fight starts in earnest. Astarion is more a stalker than a fighter, but he had his first fill of human blood only hours before, and his senses have never been that sharp, so he doesn’t miss the bugbear rushing towards their prone form. 

Daggers at hand, he braces to parry the onslaught (this may hurt) when his worldview shifts, his back in on the ground, and chilly afternoon air replaces the heat of his leader on his chest. 

What just happened?

He turns his head to see the bugbear crashing to the ground, Zélie crouched on one leg and tripping him with her other. “Go help the others! I’ve got this!” she shouts, as she wraps her limbs around the assailant in a tight bind. “Wait! It was an honest mistake—”

He doesn’t want to hear her voice now. Doesn’t want to think how the little moron literally threw him away from danger. Even worse, he will refute the idea he protected her from an angry orc till his last breath. He only got his body back recently. That’s it. He still is unsure of how to use it. 

And she's dinner.

He doesn’t want to dwell on what happened, so he nods and throws himself at the female orc while she is distracted by his companions. 

The fight doesn’t last too long after that, and something takes a hold of his insides when he looks at Zélie. She is silent, staring at the large corpse on the ground, bugbear knocked out at her feet. 

“Darling?” He moves towards her and the sadness in her eyes almost makes him apologise. Gods, what has he done? He didn’t think this was going to happen. And why does he care?! This was his intent, this and seeing the real her behind the strong, polite facade. 

“I just wanted to help.”

“I know, darling. I—”

See now, how impossible it is to keep your ideals in this world?

“You knew,” she says, and while he words his excuses (the only real one being he didn’t think they were going to be attacked) her shoulders drop and a defeated huff leaves her mouth. A far cry from her happy smile earlier. 

Astarion can’t wrap his head around how he caused both reactions in such a short span of time. But this look on her, this, he knows. He has seen far worse in the eyes and screams of those fools he lured back to his master, once they had his way with him and realised a bit too late they were as trapped as he was. 

He expects her to shout, to berate him, kick him, punch him, stab him, banish him—but none of that comes. Zélie studies him intently, and something in her demeanour lights up, an internal judgement made.

“I still trust you.” 

No. No no no, he’s not going to let her fool him into believing this—no!

Her face is suddenly level with Astarion’s knees, the now-awake bugbear readying a strike. 

Astarion doesn’t need to think—he falls forward and sinks his dagger into the wretch’s neck. Blood spurts out, but after tasting Zélie’s Astarion has no interest in it; mud compared to a clear sky.

“Soldier!” shouts Karlach, ever the helpful friend. Zélie pants as the dead attacker slides off of her, eye to eye with Astarion again. He can feel her light breath on his face. Karlach pulls her up; he is cleaning his dagger on the bugbear’s clothes when an outstretched hand enters his vision. Hers.

“Come on,” she says, tired but steady again. “Let’s get back to camp.”

Astarion flinches from the hand as if it were a trap (it is always a trap), but Zélie is new territory for him, that much he begrudgingly accepts. She is apparently above the rules of their miserable world because she chooses to trust him, a vampire, a lying one, again. 

He takes her hand, bracing for what may come his way, but she just helps him up. 

“Thank you, by the way. For saving my life before.”

It’s a trick. It’s a trick. Don’t fall for—

She wraps her hand around his so delicately he thinks he may break, and shakes it. His thoughts and words are silenced yet again. 

“Thank you.” 

Fuck. 

[ch4singchase]

The Ballad of Moths | LUKE CASTELLAN

Summary: A god decides to visit Hades' palace.

Word count: 2.7K

Warnings: Mentions of violence and death, mention of harm to children, existencial themes and emotional struggles.

chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four | series masterlist

chapter 04: 'Til The Road Begins…

A solitary, timid moth fluttered through the obscure recesses and shadowy corners of the realm beneath the living world. Its intricately detailed wings, painted in dark hues of black and brown, flapped tirelessly until the delicate creature gracefully alighted on the shoulder of a looming, broad figure.

The imposing man cast a benevolent smile toward the moth, “You've done splendidly, love. You may join the others.”

Yet, the moth remained unconvinced, steadfastly maintaining its chosen perch.

Unperturbed as well, the man reassured, “I shall return to you shortly, I promise. I have matters to discuss with a... Friend.”

If the moth thought about arguing, it gave up soon. The little creature knew well enough not to argue with a god. Familiar with the god, she also understood that the man had a good reason to wish to talk with the King of the Underworld himself, alone.

So, the moth flew away, following the way where others like her would go and rest.

The god observed her departure, a heavy weight upon his heart. Despite this, he swiftly composed himself, resuming his journey into Hades’ palace.

Much of what lay within failed to awe the god; it wasn't his inaugural visit. The intricacies of the doors, portraits, columns, and rooms were familiar details he had encountered more than once.

So, once he found himself in the throne room. The man was unfazed by the black bricks and the bronze decorations, the throne made of bones didn’t take a step back and the other one made of flowers didn’t surprise him either.

It was just another day where he found himself about to have a conversation with the god of death and riches.

“It has been a long time since you gave me the grace of your presence,” Hades’ voice echoed through the room.

The death god wasn’t in his throne; instead, he was wandering around the room, right behind the space where the thrones rested, as if he had been waiting far too long for the other’s arrival.

“It’s a surprise to see you away from your duty,” the King continued, a mischievous smile on his lips. “What has happened?”

The other man crossed his arms behind his back, closing his way to Hades, “I’ve come with a concern, I was hoping you could advise me on this.”

Hades circled back, his eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity. "A concern? You, my elusive friend, rarely bring forth concerns without significance. What is troubling you that warrants your visit?"

The man hesitated for a moment, the weight of the issue evident in his expression. "It involves my daughter, Eurydice.”

Hades paused, absorbing the weight of his friend’s words. The air in the room seemed to grow denser as unspoken implications lingered like a lingering mist.

“I thought she had died,” the god said, even though it wasn’t true. He was well aware the girl was alive; he would know if she had died.

The truth was that he had assumed, from the way her father never talked about her, that he had taken care of her passing.

Now, he was aware that wasn’t the case.

“I always have been intrigued about the choice of that mortal to give this specific name to your daughter,” Hades complained instead, narrowing his eyes to some of the flowers that covered his wife’s throne.

The other god sighed, that wasn’t the first time they had that talk, “She didn’t mean no harm.”

Looking back, he could remember one of the few times he visited Johanna Gaumont and their daughter. The girl was close to her 3rd birthday, already daring to take some steps by herself and pronouncing words like ‘mama’ or ‘birdie’.

Johanna had let him know how Eurydice was fond of birds lately. But that was just a phase, she told him that before, their daughter talked about leaves, fishes, and that just goes on and on and on…

In that very same time that he went to see them, she explained the reason for giving their daughter that name. The god could remember the sound of the woman’s laugh when he asked about it, his lips twisting in confusion.

“I want her to understand the circle of things, how all has its ending,” Johanna beamed down to their daughter, playing with her as she held a robin made of wood, “Eurydice once was a nymph, right? Nature understands how everything lives and then goes, and when Orpheus looked back… I believe she didn’t look at him with sadness in her eyes, but acceptance.”

His chest held a heavy weight at her words, a struggling sigh escaped from his lips, “That’s… A beautiful way of viewing their story.”

“Isn’t it?” Johanna giggled, “I want Eury to understand that same thing, to accept that one day, her friends will go away and the way fate works.”

He looked back at her, watching not sadness, but gratification fill her beautiful blue eyes.

“You know,” she continued, taking his silence as a reason to continue, “One day I’ll go away as well, and I don’t want her to hold on grief, all the sadness that there is when we talk about the end.”

Hades' adamantium eyes brought the god back to their conversation. The pounding in his heart weakened by the mere memory.

“Right, right,” the King nodded, a bitter smile in his lips. He still wasn’t convinced that the mortal didn’t name her daughter that name in spite of who they were- him and the father of her daughter, “What about you daughter? She has already reached her teenage years, right?”

The god sighed, the weight of his concerns evident in his eyes. "Yes, she has. And it's precisely that which troubles me. She's already veering toward the path of that prophecy... I don’t want her ensnared in our potential downfall."

The King of the Underworld paced a few steps, his gaze fixed on the intricate patterns of the throne room floor. An intriguing expression played across his face as he mumbled, "Well-chosen words, my friend." He concealed his uncertainty about how to proceed, then asked, "You're referring to the cursed blade, aren't you?"

The other man nodded, feeling a momentary absence without the comforting presence of his moths by his side. To tell the truth, of a single and specific one, “She’s walking right into the great prophecy itself, despite all my attempts to keep her far from it.”

Slowly, the god sensed the King and his friend’s steps drawing closer. The next thing he felt was a hand on his shoulder. And, in an unexpected turn from the god of death, the last thing he anticipated was a smile.

A sad smile, almost sympathetic.

“I know all too well about prophecies shaping our children’s future, friend,” Hades averted his eyes, but the other god could sense where his gaze lingered. At a hotel, a long time ago—he had seen him soon after what had happened to his own family, “Alecto told me something one day, about how we can’t interfere in the laws of death. And she wasn’t wrong. If your daughter is destined to die in that prophecy, there’s nothing you can do.”

The god didn’t seem to be happy about his friend’s answer, even if he knew that he spoke the truth.

“But,” the palace’s visitor mumbled, unsure about his own thoughts and feelings, “It doesn’t make us hypocrites to love our children but not be able to protect them from their future?”

If any other gods had posed the same question to Hades, he would have immediately expelled them not only from his palace but also from his realm. However, this was his long-time friend, a god he had known since his first days as the caretaker of the world of the dead.

They had weathered many stories together, never stepping away when things got ugly. Regardless of their beliefs, agreements, or disagreements, they always had each other's backs. No matter how much time had passed since their last conversation.

Hades would always understand his friend’s frustration, not taking his words in a negative way, because he knew exactly how that feeling was.

Disappointment. Not only with himself but with their world, their rules, the prophecies, and the many oracles that had once proclaimed them before.

“Honestly,” Hades sighed, sitting at the steps of his throne, inviting his friend to sit beside him, “Until today, I don’t have an answer to that question.”

His friend accepted the invitation, taking a seat beside him. Reflecting on the events of the past, he cast a glance at the King, “How have they been doing?”

“They’re good,” the King answered, his tone expressing how tired he truly was. Perhaps, tired just from thinking about his kids, “Alecto and the others were keeping their eyes on them until a month or two ago; now, I’ve instructed them to monitor Zeus’ daughter… I won’t let what happened to my children go unnoticed.”

It took a few seconds for the other god to grasp the full implication, “You ordered them to take her life?”

“Before you judge,” Hades turned to his friend, a fierce determination evident in his dark, coal-like eyes, “I know how it sounds. But my brother needs to understand the consequences of his choices. He has to comprehend how they affected me and continue to affect me.”

The other god lapsed into silence for a while, finding himself without much to say. The memory of that fateful day still lingered in his thoughts—the consuming rage of Hades and the tears that had flowed until the River Styx nearly flooded the entire Underworld. The past was a tangled mess, a time when they were old yet too young, too reckless.

Mistakes had been made, but the notion of plotting harm against a brother's family was beyond his comprehension. He couldn't fathom committing such an act against his own brother, regardless of right or wrong. He would never intentionally cause pain to what his brother held dear.

However, matters concerning the Big Three and the Olympians were far more complicated than the dynamics of his own branch of the family.

It was his friend's fury, his pursuit of what he deemed justice. If it was the will of fate for such events to unfold, there was little the god could do or say.

He, more than anyone, grasped the relentless cycle of life. People live, and inevitably, they meet their end—doomed to confront their fate, sooner or later. How that end manifested was not within his control.

Accepting this truth stung, but reality is what it is. And sometimes, what brings a pounding pain, even for a god.

"May I ask you for a favor?" he ventured to inquire, finally.

Hades scrutinized him with narrowed eyes, a darkness confined in his icy gaze. "Does that mean you'll be in debt to me?" he questioned.

His friend almost reconsidered but nodded, saying, "If you wish."

"Proceed then," the King urged, a hint of amusement in his tone, "you're quite full of surprises today."

"Eurydice..." The man hesitated, choosing his words carefully, "She crossed paths with Thalia, Zeus' daughter."

Hades burst into laughter.

He simply laughed—a cruel, echoing laughter that filled the entire room.

There was bitterness in it, for he knew the implications that would follow this request.

"Let me guess, you want Alecto to go easy on your daughter if she happens to be between my Furies and Zeus’ daughter," he deduced, it wasn’t a question. The King knew the meaning behind his friend’s words.

The visitor nodded solemnly, acknowledging the accuracy of Hades' deduction. The air in the room grew heavier as the implications of the favor settled between them.

Hades, still chuckling, leaned back against the steps of his throne, the dark, ethereal aura surrounding him accentuating the intensity of the moment. The god of death fixed his piercing gaze on his friend, a mix of curiosity and amusement playing in his eyes.

"You claim that Johanna Gaumont meant nothing by naming your daughter that name," Hades mused, "but the more I hear you talk about the girl, the more it feels like a subtle jab directed at me."

His friend shook his head, holding back a chuckle, “That’s not… I really doubted that she really meant anything like that. I just want to shield Eurydice from a death that it’s not destined to her.”

“Yet,” Hades completed, raising a brow at the god beside him.

Reluctant, the man saw himself nodding to that.

Hades regarded his friend with a thoughtful expression, the laughter fading from his eyes. There was a shared understanding between them, a recognition of the burdens carried by gods who had witnessed the ebb and flow of mortal lives, prophecies, and the tangled web of divine machinations.

“If your daughter tries to stop them from killing the girl…” Hades spoke, the gravity of his words settling into the shadows that surrounded them.

“All I ask is that they don't hurt her,” the god mumbled, hesitation causing his hands to tremble, “As a father, I cannot simply stand by and watch my daughter succumb to a fate not of her choosing.”

Hades nodded in silent agreement, the weight of paternal love a bond that transcended even the divine laws that governed their existence sometimes.

"I’m granting you this favor," Hades finally said, to his friend's relief, "I’ll ask them to not hurt her once I hear from them.”

The two gods sat in contemplative silence, the echoes of laughter replaced by the grim reality of their shared concerns. In the tapestry of divine existence, their roles as distant and observant parents, never able to truly intervene for the best of their children. Always having to work around, make subtle decisions that wouldn't interfere with the order of things.

Was this what it meant to be a good father? Would this be the answer to the hypocrisy of being a god and the father of a demigod?

They would never know; it always felt like they were taking two steps forward and three steps back.

“Thank you, Hades,” the god, usually followed by his moths, said, a weak smile on his face, “I mean it.”

Both of them had duties to fulfill.

“Consider it a small favor between old friends, one I may ask for in return later," Hades responded, his tone carrying a rare warmth. “Just remember, my friend, we may not have all the answers, but we must navigate the complexities of our roles as gods and fathers as best as we can.”

As the two gods rose from their seats, the shadows in the throne room seemed to sway, sensing their power shifting in the air. Fate continued to weave its threads as both of them walked to the entrance of the palace, the King keeping his friend company before parting ways.

Once they reached the doors and they were opened, a solitary moth flapped its wings as it swung its way to a single god’s shoulder. The two gods turned their faces to the being, totally unfazed by its presence among them.

“Why am I not surprised?” Hades asked to himself, lifting a brow as he viewed the moth with dark wings and brownish details.

“I could ask the same question,” his friend stated, looking down at the moth upon his shoulder.

"May your journey back to your duty be uneventful," finally, the King said, a smile persistently in his face.

With a nod of gratitude, the god made his way out of the palace, the moth accompanying him like a faithful companion. The Underworld echoed with a solemn air as he traversed the familiar paths, contemplating the weight of his conversation with Hades.

However, his thoughts were interrupted by the soft fluttering of wings, and he glanced at the moth perched on his shoulder. Its delicate movements seemed almost comforting, a silent presence in the face of uncertainty.

Hades was right, if Eurydice was truly destined to fulfill her prophecies, there was nothing he could do to stop it. All he could do was hope, even if it sounded ridiculous to a god to hope.

But, he hoped. The god hoped that his daughter was strong enough to endure more loss.

Because, by the path she was walking into, she was destined to lose more than she already had.

Taglist: @2hiigh2cry, @yhaywhwvsh, @niktwazny303

(if you wish to be add to the taglist, let me know in the comments!)

[torgawl]

i was a reading a bit more on purgatory and purgatorius ignis (cleansing fire), which is a concept that existed even before the notion that purgatory itself was a third other-world domain, similar to heaven and hell, when i suddenly remembered dante's la divina commedia and decided to revisit the story a little. and i found something interesting as i was scrolling through the wikipedia page.

so, purgatory is the second part of la divina commedia, following inferno, and is an allegory telling of the climb of dante up the mount of purgatory, guided by the roman poet virgil. alegorically, purgatorio represents the penitent christian life (and christianity, as we know, is one of the core themes of fontaine's archon quests that arlecchino was a part of). while describing the climb dante focuses a lot on the nature of sin, examples of vice and virtue, as well as moral issues in politics and in the church. what's interesting, though, is that the poem posits the theory that all sins arise from love – either perverted love directed towards others' harm, or deficient love, or the disordered or excessive love of good things.

why is this interesting, you ask? let me add here a few quotes before i contextualise it:

"she is a god with no love left for her people, nor do they have any left for her" - dainsleif about the cryo archon, the tsaritsa

"her royal highness the tsaritsa is actually a gentle soul. too gentle, in fact, and that's why she had to harden herself. likewise, she declared war against the whole world only because she dreams of peace. and because she made an enemy of the world, i now have a friend in you." - childe about the tsaritsa

"everyone praises her for her kindness and benevolence, but they forget that love is also a form of sin. what if she's just trying to compensate for something?" - wanderer about the tsaritsa

the tsaritsa, the cryo archon and the person arlecchino is devoted to, is theorised and hinted multiples times to be the god of love. yes, the love that is said to be the origin of sin in la divina commedia. we can also draw parallels between the idea of perverted love talked about in the poem and the relationship between arlecchino and others, for instance the kids of the house of the hearth.

arlecchino's drip marketing including an excerpt where the scene goes from a gentle warm environment, seemingly mistaken as a loving family home full of innocent looking children, that quickly shifts into a somber and dark atmosphere under her authority - the children answering instantly, without hesitation and completely obedient -, is the perfect illustration of the duality within her character. there's an obvious exploitative and manipulative system making use of the house of the hearth and the orphans under its roof, where arlecchino (as the one running the orphanage) is the provider and the kids are brought up to be dependable and further dispatched as fatui soldiers when "potential" is recognised. and we can deduce that there's ways that their education is done from a very young age so it prevents or punishes any sort of dissent, something not hard to imagine when we know from freminet that arlecchino doesn't like when the kids cry or show emotional vulnerability, something she sees as weakness, for example. but if there's this dark side to her, there's also certain attitudes that demonstrate her care for the children or even her care for the world around her. arlecchino helping freminet get closure on his mother's death, the reformation of the house of the hearth (which we know used to have a much more punishitive and strict leader before arlecchino took over) or even her devotion and deep respect towards the tsaritsa are some examples of the way she shows care for other people. now, we can theorise that these good deeds directed towards the orphans under her care are very much purposeful to better manipulate them, but i think that's exactly what the notion of perverted love in la divina commedia tries to hint at.

besides this concept, there's something else that peaked my interest in dante's poem. dante pictures purgatory as an island at the antipodes of jerusalem, pushed up, in an otherwise empty sea, by the displacement caused by the fall of satan, which left him fixed at the central point of the earth. it's a cone-shaped island that has seven terraces on which souls are cleansed from the seven deadly sins or capital vices as they ascend. at the summit is the garden of eden, from where the souls, cleansed of evil tendencies and made perfect, are taken to heaven.

as we know, arlecchino is being introduced in fontaine, her homeland, and the idea of purgatory as an island in the sea leading its way to heaven caused by the fall of a sinful being sort of reminded me of remuria. remuria was the civilization in fontaine which directly preceded the previous hydro archon egeria's rule. its downfall occurred as a result of remus' attempt to avert its predicted destruction, and in particular, by his act of sharing his power and authority — reserved only for gods — with the four human harmosts he appointed to govern his cities. remuria eventually ended up being sunken into the abyss, devouring everything including the people and remus himself. we know there's still a region in fontaine's map that wasn't yet released, so how odd would it be that the last part to be revealed in fontaine might just be the land that was once sunken? after the little note about the samsara cycles near the tower of the narzissenkreuz ordo, which referenced a cycle called remuria, i would not be surprised at all. it's also particularly funny that fontaine is directly below celestia. yes, the floating island in the sky above teyvat which is the residence of the gods, the same gods that made remuria fall. as the contemporary philosophers of our time have said, that's sus!!!

i don't want to get too ahead of myself because i don't have a theory about what's going to happen or what role arlecchino will play exactly but i don't think it would be shocking if we got to know more about remuria during her release. and still in the purgatory idea, i think the angel of death (azreal) might be an interesting parallel to make with arlecchino. azrael's role is seen as benevolent, transporting souls after death. it fits perfectly well with the idea of purgatorius ignis, that signifies transformation. in different cultural and religious contexts, fire can also symbolize destruction renewal and even rebirth so i'm very very curious to see what arlecchino's story will be like.

[the-nefarious-vampire]

inch resting that lena said there were both benevolent and malevolent powers now and didnt allude to any Entities being in control (she said that the oiar was "managing" the bad guys which suggests there's either no higher power that she she's aware of, or that the higher powers control the oiar somehow). i mean obviously thats not the full story, and her version of events is probably pretty faulty knowing magnus, but it does sorta seem like these guys are running around unchecked. so maybe instead of an overarching forces deal like we had in tma, the cases are more separate.

anyway i think it's not quite to do with devotion or obsession or love and more to do with belief, or like, how many people you've made an impression on. how strong of an Idea you are. something something scp cognito hazards. inksoul and mr bonzo and violince guy had their fans (and god knows where that violin had been before he got his hands on it). the most recent dude had complete faith in the betting (?) app and im sure many other people did too. needles obviously got strength from people being afraid of him. the volunteers had their "great cause". all this i think has Implications for sam's new obsession with the magnus institute too but thats not what im talking about rn

it's also possible that this malevolent/benevolent split is totally arbitrary human categorization. we'll probably have to meet some of the Good Guys before we really start getting to know whats going on, but thats probably a ways off yet cause of the nature of the oiar, as revealed by lena last episode. they just wont be showing up in reports, thats not what the system's for. some of them kinda toe the line, like the dice, but i dont think we've met any Good Guys yet. maybe they'll show up and fix things in one of the reports or maybe they'll bust down the door to the oiar or someone will run into one in the outside world like how sasha met the distortion or maybe colin will fuck with the system so much it starts reading reports of chill people who cause flowers to bloom around them or who always have a pen if you need one or whatever. maybe the heavily tattooed person from episode 11 will turn out to be a good guy idk ive not checked out the arg i could have embarrassed myself so bad so many times this post. either way if im right that means that santa's probably real in this universe. also every religion simultaneously

[silriven]

Thoughts on the Badlands Campaign

So I finally got around to playing the Badlands storyline for myself. I went into this thinking "oh, maybe I'm reading way too much into the quest text, maybe when I play it myself, I'll see why everyone tends to find Rhea the sympathetic one in the story here."

I'm here to report that, uh, no, when I was the one actually taking eggs from the imprisoned mother and then murdering both her and her children in game, I found it just as impactful. Maybe a little more. We do some really despicable things for "the greater good" here.

The black dragon body count racked up by you, the player character, in this questline is thirty-six: 12 darklight soldiers, 22 whelps, Velarok, and Nyxondra. Alliance characters get a trio of enthusiastic dwarf sidekicks to help us with some of this.

The saddest part about playing this, for me, was realizing that when Rhea sends you after the escaped Nyxondra, you find her circling above her brood. So her first act of freedom was to go to the surviving experiments to try and protect them. You then kill 12 for the quest.

Another sad thing is her one line of dialogue, which is also the last thing she ever says: "My kin won't forget what you've done! We will rage, mortals!" Have her kin actually forgotten? We don't know, because so far, none of the black dragonflight have brought this up.

(There are these lines from the recent "Misfit Dragon" quest line with Wrathion and Vyranoth in patch 10.2, though, which I still love. It's a stretch, but it could be a nod to a lot of Badlands story things, including this, so there's that at least.)

All of this is on top of the suffering endured by Nyxondra "off-screen" as Rhea forced her to lay eggs while she was an invisible prisoner trapped within eyeshot of her unaware kin ("right in the middle of their breeding grounds"). It's unknown for how long.

One last interesting thing that stood out to me was that Rhea refers to herself "an envoy of Alexstrasza herself", so I think it's not a question of "if" Alex knew about this but "how much" did she know.

There's also a very dark joke about draconic diplomacy somewhere in here

The part of the quest that I think is really most affecting is when Rhea seems to have an epiphany and realize the extent of the pain that she's caused, but then she immediately doubles down on the excuse that Nyxondra's sacrifice "was necessary." Nyxondra, of course, seems to disagree strongly. Her free will has been taken from her by Rhea, she has no agency in this situation.

After this, Rhea sends a Champion out to "put her out of her misery," like she's a wounded animal. It's barbaric.

Then there's this line: "The Red Dragonflight is as benevolent as it is powerful." This is the final bit of salt in the wound. The Red Dragonflight was anything but benevolent in this quest. I think the only way you could come to that conclusion is if you see the corrupted black dragons as not only past the point of saying, but as lesser beings who are disposable, whose pain is some kind of comeuppance for having succumbed to the Old Gods.

It's another case in World of Warcraft of corruption being associated with moral "badness" by the narrative. The narrative in this game constantly implies that the dragons who succumb to corruption do so because they have some kind of moral failing or moral weakness. The narrative tells us that black dragons "deserve" not just to be killed but be made to suffer for their madness and for the actions they took while under the Old Gods' influence.

Rhea even says this somewhat explicitly: Nyxondra supposedly deserves what Rhea is doing to her because of what her flight did to Alexstrasza. Her suffering isn't just the consequence of cold science being done to save the future of the black dragonflight, it's deliberately retributive.

I'm not really going anywhere with this, just kind of wanted to talk again about how (intentionally or not) Wrathion's origin story is dark as hell.

[thedarkone121]

TGS OC: Mind-Annie, the Embodiment of Happiness

Well, looks like my decision to do Artfight has allowed me to bring to life a concept I've been developing ever since I posted my stuff with Anne-Marie. Now, everyone! Meet Mind-Annie!

Mind-Annie came to be when the realization that if I gave Jekyll a daughter, there would be a mind version of her running around in his mindscape. So, that's where I began to develop her!

I had decided to make Mind-Annie represents the things that make Jekyll happy. You know, cause Jekyll — in the real world — still has a good relationship with his daughter and he’s usually a lot happier in her presence. Mostly because he can just be Henry Jekyll with her, not the gentleman and not the mad scientist, just a person who happens to be a dad.

Her design is based on an angel, due to the fact the real Anne-Marie has been a bright influence in Jekyll’s life, even on his darker days. It’s why she’s mostly yellow in contrast to the other blue things in the mindscape. Her dress also has music notes, due to the fact Jekyll knows how important it is to the real Annie.

Mind-Annie is possibly the most benevolent thing to come from the mindscape. Bubbly and extremely affectionate, Mind-Annie acts like a guide for Hyde (and later Jekyll) throughout the mindscape, often acting as a bodyguard.

Not much is different in her demeanor in comparison to Anne-Marie; she’s very affection to her dads, can joke and be sarcastic with them, can be a bit of a showman, and has love for music — often humming whenever she’s walking or flying. The only real difference is that she acknowledges that Hyde is her father, even though she still has a bit of the real Annie’s Hyde-Hunting habits.

Hyde is the reason her cane is an actual gun. The image of Anne-Marie carrying her cane like a gun while she’s hunting him is forever ingrained in his mind.

Mind-Annie does not get along well with the other Mind Residents. Mind-Lanyon dislikes her presence because she’s just as bad as Hyde on keeping Jekyll away from being a proper gentleman. However, unlike Hyde, he’s too afraid of her to do anything about her. Like the real Annie, her temper can be scary.

Mind-Frankenstein, however, is possibly the only thing Mind-Annie is afraid of. Mind-Frankenstein has been on an endlessly search for her, trying to the little angel and trying to study her. Mind-Annie always flies away whenever Mind-Frankenstein is in the area…

…Because she’s afraid that Mind-Frankenstein will know she’s part Nightmare…

When designing Mind-Annie, I came to the realization that with the backstory I put with Jekyll causing Anne-Marie’s blindness — it was an accident, he was tired and didn’t realized he mixed in the wrong chemicals — then that means Mind-Annie could become a Nightmare herself due to Jekyll’s trauma from it.

So I gave her a nightmare form.

Keep in mind, Mind-Annie is still the nicest thing in the Mindscape. But like the real Annie, she has a temper. One that she tends to loose around people like Mind-Lanyon. Mind-Lanyon doesn’t realize she’s part nightmare, but he can sense the nightmare that’s bumbling underneath the surface of her anger.

Mind-Annie doesn’t want to hurt neither Hyde or Jekyll, even when she’s in this form. But her anger can get the better of her. But at least it allows the Nightmares to see her as one of their own, which means she has some control over them. She would rather that they remain locked away. She doesn’t like her Nightmare form.

Her design is based on the fact that chemicals got into Anne-Marie’s eyes, an image that will never leave both Jekyll and Hyde. Her body starts to melt and she’s made out of the chemicals. Eyes pop out all over the place, and her voice gets all distorted and demonic.

One last thing to note; the dress that Mind-Annie wears in her angel form is a nightgown. The same nightgown the real Annie wore as she was recovering from the chemicals. That’s why she has the bandages around her eyes.

[sephirthoughts]

K for the ship ask game, please: What character has your favorite development arc/the best development arc?

Thank you for the ask, anon! 🖤

In any video game, Majima Goro, hands down. Best character development ever. I have ugly-cried many times over Yakuza Zero. I love Kiryu but his arc is nothing compared to Majima's. I'm a sucker for beaten dog turns into a big bad wolf tropes. He goes from eager kid, to beaten dog, to disillusioned young man, to the scariest motherfucker on the planet, all through personal pain and sacrifice. He seems to have lost his mind later, but it becomes apparent through what he does rather than what he says, that despite his acting like a violent psychopath for funsies (and because that's his carefully cultivated public image), he is very clear minded, always loyal, never fails his promises, and retains his strong sense of honor and integrity.

If we're talking about FF7 specifically, I really like Tseng's arc. From joining the Turks as this gung-ho teenager who wanted to save the soldiers instead of the Shinra weaponry, then slowly getting hardened and sharpened by the brutal reality of his world, and yet retaining his personal sense of integrity and loyalty (seeing a theme here?), and having a very clear cut moral bottom line.

Not saying it's a benevolent one, just that it's a clear one. He will absolutely drop the Sector 7 plate potentially killing thousands, but he won't drop it on Aerith. Later, when Reno and Rude are dealing with the guilt over their actions, he tries to console them by giving them ways to excuse themselves (even though they're not having any of it).

The most outstanding example of his personal integrity is when Zack asks him to take care of Aerith and insists Tseng is the only one he can trust. Tseng does that deeply ironic laugh, which thick-skulled Zack doesn't understand, but to the viewer, is very intelligible. He laughs because Zack is unknowingly asking him to not only give up the girl he loves to Zack, but also to keep protecting her for when Zack returns.

Please note that I do NOT personally ship them, but I don't care if it's never made explicit, I am not six years old and subtext is a valid means of canonical storytelling. Tseng is very clearly in love with Aerith too. Zack doesn't know that, and naively leaves the girl he loves in the care of a man who also loves her. EXCEPT! it's not naive because that man is Tseng. Zack is his friend. He promised he'd take care of her for Zack, and he does. His integrity is his bottom line.

And he doesn't half-ass it or try to slide into her DMs in the proverbial sense. He keeps every one of those letters and genuinely intends to give them to Zack. He tries earnestly to find and save him, knowing Aerith loves Zack and not him, because he is loyal to his friend. Also BECAUSE he loves Aerith and she loves Zack. He loves her MORE than he wants to be with her, and getting Zack home safely to her is what will make her happy, even if it means that happiness is with another man.

And, perhaps most tellingly, he keeps his feelings to himself and never ever makes them HER PROBLEM. He doesn't seem to think Aerith will ever care for him, or that it would ever be possible for them to be together even if she did, but he constantly makes decisions to benefit her anyway, within the scope his loyalty to the Turks and Rufus allows. He doesn't technically break the rules but he bends them to the very extreme in her favor. He supports her relationship with the man she loves, and doesn't ask her to choose, or even to consider him, even a little bit. Which is…hoo boy. Basically qualifies him for sainthood, despite the laissez faire attitude toward mass murder.

Before anyone argues about how he took her to Shinra and gave her to Hojo, yes he did. He does a lot of bad-guy things. He's not a good-guy. But he operates within the bad-guy system in a very morally sound way. He did NOT put Aerith into danger by taking her to Shinra. He knew they had to keep her safe and unharmed in order for their plans to work, so he was assured of her safety there for the time being. FAR FAR safer than she'd have been in literally any other part of Midgar during that chaos. Then he went and made SURE her friends with a history of anti-Shinra terrorism and winning unwinnable fights know EXACTLY where to find her. When they come to do just that, there are no Turks around trying to stop them. Wonder why...

Oh shit this got so long!!! 😅 I could go on about Tseng all day but I'll end it here for the sake of everyone's sanity. But I absolutely WILL talk about him any time anyone wants to inbox me about it!

[realmythsmoved]

Persephone doesn't think of death the way most people do. Whenever her birth parents would talk about it, they'd always say that people "go to the stars", and Persy always imagined that as becoming one with the universe. She couldn't imagine a better fate.

She's scared of death, of course. Everyone is. But she's also looking forward to reuniting with her birth parents, wherever they may be. She doesn't see death as an end, but rather as a new beginning.

Nothing, in her view, ever ends. It just takes on new forms, etc. Persy doesn't believe that one's soul, one's inner sense of being, can ever be destroyed by anything other than that which made it. And personally her view of God (though she's more spiritual than religious) is a benevolent Creator who would not spend much time punishing Their Creations.

Persephone is a big believer in redemption. Though in her view, redemption does not always equal forgiveness. She would never forgive her first two foster parents, for example. But does she believe they can improve and beccome better people IF they want to? Absolutely! Does she think they deserve to be shunned from society and hated forever? No!

Persephone doesn't really hate anyone. She doesn't believe in it. Not for others, but for herself. She doesn't like the way hating someone makes her feel. So she tries her best not to do it. The only people she could say she hates are her first two foster parents, which is 100% valid. They did mistreat and abuse her. So she is well within her right to hate them. But even with them, she tries not to focus on her dislike of them too much, as she still doesn't like how it makes her feel. She much prefers to focus on the positive, on all the love she now has in her life.

She doesn't believe in pushing her beliefs on others. But she does believe that everyone should try to accept other people for who they are, and that most of the problems in the world would be solved if more people could be kind and open-minded. She doesn't think she has all the answers, either. But she does have the right questions, at least in her opinion. And she's willing to listen and learn, always. Though she can be biased in favor of her own views, if she is presented with new information that challenges her view, she will take it in and do what she can to process it and make it part of her worldview.

She does know that there is darkness in the world, of course she does. But she still has a lot of faith, an inherent belief in the goodness of most of humanity. She has a lot of hope, that even those who are bad can be redeemed somehow. And she always tries to act with love, whenever she makes a decision.

Though she does not believe in any religion necessarily she does believe that there is a force behind the creation of the universe. She does believe that that force is good. That that force believes in those virtues that she exemplifies. (Faith, hope, and love). She will never give up on what she believes. And that is her true strength, as a character, I think.

No matter what she goes through, how the world tries to knock her down, she will never falter. Her conscience will always be clear as long as she acts in alignment with her values. And she always tries her best to do just that. Her confidence can be shaken, but never broken. And she will always be exactly who she is. She just can't help it. She is a softer kind of strength, but no less valid, I think.