#any and all content about them is shadowed so that you can't see their truth

[regulusrules]

Y'all remember when Morgana took control over Camelot in The Coming of Arthur (s3e13) because she was aided by Morgause and Cenred's army and began to kill the citizens of Camelot in front of the knights while they were helpless to save their people because they had no backup?

Oh and remember how we cheered and celebrated Arthur restoring back his land, and viewed him fighting for it as an act of heroism instead of condemning him or justifying Morgana's unlawful rule and bloodshed of the people of Camelot?

Well, read this again, and think of Camelot as the one that rhymes with Gas

[windcarvedlyre]

Thinking about Venti's role as an archon and how he might be doing his job- as Celestia intended- better than we think.

Archons, in Gnosticism, rule over the material realm and prevent souls from leaving it. Barbatos, in the Ars Goetia, "reconciles disputes between friends and those who hold power".

Everything we know about Venti implies that he hates Celestia and opposes all forms of tyranny, but if their goal is to keep humanity from advancing, realising the truth of the world and taking actions that could threaten the status quo...

...isn't the best way to prevent rebellions and slow progress to make the people you rule content with what they have?

Venti is all about making his people's lives leisurely and seemingly free (I'll get to that in a second). It's in his gemstone quote, the thing which summarises his approach as an archon:

"Still, the winds change direction. "Someday, they will blow towards a brighter future… "Take my blessings and live leisurely from this day onward."

We see this reflected in Mondstadt's culture and economy. There are still hardworking individuals in the Knights of Favonius, the Church of Favonius and the Adventurer's Guild, but this attitude isn't universal even within those organisations and the rest of Mondstadt's people generally have a slow, relaxed approach to life relative to other nations. They haven't produced any internationally notable industries outside of alcohol, and why would they? They have everything they need, graciously provided by the anemo archon himself*, so why strive for more?

This has already left them vulnerable to the whims of more powerful nations, incapable of meaningfully opposing the Fatui without inviting consequences they can't handle.

*Also see Jean's story quest for a scaled-down version of this. Mondstadt's general population relies on her hard work a bit too much and she enables them.

We also see Mondstadt have a softening effect on outsiders multiple times in-game. There are at least three cases of people questioning their life choices because its people and/or scenery are that nice. Two are branches of hangout events, one is a soon-to-be-ex treasure hoarder chilling on Cider Lake's coast. I've joked that Mond is a lotus eater hotel scaled up to a nation based on this, but what if that's somewhat intentional?

But why would he do this?

It could be an unintended side effect of efforts to improve people's quality of life. He was allegedly naive enough not to forsee the aristocracy situation, after all. But at the same time... he's a god of freedom and hope in a world where his people have no hope of freedom.

-Harmost's Notes (II), Remuria.

He knows what happens to human civilisations that advance too far and attempt to rebel against this world. He likely knows a god much like him, themed around music and desperate to free his people from fate, tried and failed horribly. He lives in the shadow of a celestial needle. The Cataclysm would only reinforce this perceived futility of resistance. He still hopes for a brighter future, but he may be pinning all of his hopes on a descender taking pity on Teyvat's people and choosing to help them. To quote the description of Mondstadt Statues of the Seven:

A monumental stone statue that watches over Mondstadt. Legends say that it was sculpted in the image of the Anemo Archon. "Seeds brought by the wind will grow over time." The statue silently anticipates the arrival of a noble soul to arrive, while thousand winds of time will soon unfold a new story...

Apart from that, what else can he do besides be passive and complacent? Besides make his people comfortable and hope they don't rock the boat too much before liberation is actually possible?

And the thing about resolving disputes with those in power worries me. It could just translate into his pacifism, but it could also mean he's less willing to act against Celestia than we'd hope. Why did the Tsaritsa, the only archon named after a saint and willing to take a stand against Celestia, fall out with him? He has reasons to be pissed at her methods but I suspect that won't be the only factor.

All we can do is wait and see.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 21

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: have a wonderful day!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The gate bell buzzes and you rush from the kitchen to answer, the porcelain clinking as you leave it in the sink. You flit into the hall and to the entryway. As you pull the door open, you sense a shadow and turn to see Laufeyson at the top of the stairs. He watches but does not speak. You waver before you find the strength to continue on.

You shut the door gently and try to breathe through your rattling nerves. You don't understand what's going on. The words Laufeyson said still don't make sense to you. He can't mean what you think. You have to be overthinking. Yet the tickle of his touch remains on your skin and fuels your doubts.

How can you say no to him? If you do, he might say the same...

You repress a shudder as you reach the gate and hold the button to roll it back. Ronan steers through in his truck, pulling in just behind Laufeyson's flashy ivory car. You let the gate close and approach the truck bed as the carpenter climbs out.

"Miss," he opens the rear door to grab his bag, "you look nice, special occasion?"

You look down at yourself and wipe your sweaty palms on your skirt. It's sunny but it isn't the weather that has you fired up. You force a smile that makes your cheeks twitch.

"Uh, no, they're just...new," you sway as you push your hands behind you, "erm, so I guess... you should get started."

"I should," he checks his watch, a thick leather band with a tarnish face, "I hate to get in the way of your work. Or ruin your fancy clothes."

"Oh, uh, it's not... I'll bring you some water," you offer.

"Hmm," he hums as he shuts the door, "you're too kind for your own good. Nice to see you doing something for yourself for a change."

"I..." you swallow the truth. "Thanks."

"Not that you didn't look good before," he insists.

"Well, I..." you murmur, looking away bashfully.

"I'm talking a lot," he chuckles, "you know where I'll be."

He turns and stalks off towards the house. You blow out a breath as your eyes are drawn to the front door. Mr. Laufeyson stands in the frame, again observing you, his gaze narrowed to slits. He reminds you of a snake in coil about to strike.

The door shuts before you can reach it. You enter and he's gone. It's like some game. You return to the kitchen to finish tidying up the porcelain from tea. You set it away in the glass cabinet and fill a fresh jug of water. As you place it on the patio, Frigga pops her head up from the roses, a healthy bouquet in hand as she snips the stems with a pair of cutters.

"These will be nice in the dining room," she suggests as she shows the white petals, "Maybe a few for the study?"

"Uh, yeah," you plunk down the pitcher and glass. "Did you need any water? This is for the carpenter."

"Oh, he's here?" She says, "I didn't see him. Perhaps I can ask him about the flower boxes."

"Yeah, uh, maybe," you agree, "I'll be, er, upstairs working. Got a lot to catch up on from yesterday."

"No worries at all, darling," she assures you.

You retreat and stumble to get your shoes off once more, mindful of the rules. That's the problem. Everyone is forgetting the rules. Ronan does the gazebo not the flower boxes, you don't wear your shoes in the house, and Loki-- Mr. Laufeyson is just your boss.

You rush up the stairs, nearly too at a time, and reach the top out of breath. You hurry into the library and close yourself up inside. It's just you. It strikes you how much you missed being alone. These last few weeks have felt so crowded. Constricted even.

You finally make yourself sit still. You find it hard not to wriggle in the seat as you watch the laptop screen load. It feels so long ago that you did this. It's all backwards and you don't like it. You like clear lines. You are separate from Mr. Laufeyson. You are below. You have your tasks and he has more important concerns.

You focus on balancing his bills. There are a lot of outstanding invoices. You're still learning how to keep it all organized. You feel a bit out of your depth with all the numbers but you excelled at math all those years before.

A subtle click barely registers but nestles in your ear. You squint at the screen as you watch a tutorial on Excel functions. You're still figuring that out too.

"The carpenter has been dealt with?" Mr. Laufeyson states as much as he asks.

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson," you confirm and pause the video. You glance behind him at the open door to his study.

"Very good," he says, "he will work faster without distraction."

You nod. You take his point. He is right. It might be better that the project is finished sooner than later. There's a big enough mess, the type you don't know how to clean up.

He strides around the library, perusing the shelves as if they are new to him. He feels along the spines of books and drags his fingers along the wood. You watch him, waiting. For what, you don't know.

"Don't let me distract you," he says without looking at you as he slides out a volume. "As you were."

Your eyes flick down obediently. You try to refocus but forget where you were. You open the ledger to make notes as you restart the video. You can sense him lurking around the room, closer and closer as his silhouette blurs the edge of your vision.

The narrator continues their instruction as you open the transcript to follow along. Mr. Laufeyson inches closer and closer, walking just behind your laptop, then around one side of your desk before doubling back. Again, he looms behind the screen and strolls along the other side. And at once, he's behind you.

You tense as you feel him watching over your head. You keep your hand moving as you take notes, writing down words you don't process. Your pulse thrums in your temples as you feel him leaning over you. His hands rest on your shoulders and he kneads them as you sit frozen.

He bends further and further until you feel his breath on your crown. He nuzzles your hair as his hands trail slowly across your shoulders. They close loosely around your neck as he exhales with a groan. Just like the one you heard earlier.

You gulp against his grip as your pen stills and you stare blankly at the screen, the narrator hazing to a drone and the colours fogging together. You drop the pen and drag your hand up to touch his. He tuts as he lowers his head next to yours, his lips brushing your ear as he speaks.

"I didn't say stop," he slithers as heat scalds over you.

You shiver and remove your hand from his, reaching for the pen instead. You pick it up, trembling as you try to read your own writing, your chin pressing to his knuckle as he tightens his hold on you. It's just scribbles, broken lines and squiggled waves.

"Notice too, you did not either," he whispers against the shell of your ear and draws away, all once releasing you. 

You gasp as he swiftly side steps and strides across the room. He retrieves the volume from the shelf and reclines across the chaise, lazily opening the pages with a sigh. You stare at him as he lingers, engrossing himself in the book as you forget all about the spreadsheets and negative balances.

👠

Mr. Laufeyson leaves without a word. A taunt in its own right. He’s toying with you impeccably. His every move, his every glance, even something as careless as breathing is a statement. He’s watching. He’s waiting. For something…

Your frustration boils over and you snap shut the lid of the laptop. You haven’t been able to focus since his intrusion. The weight of his hands on your throat remains even with him gone. At moments, it feels as if you are truly being strangled.

You get up and resign yourself to something less complicated. You near the door and stop to peek at the one attached to the study. It’s open still but you wouldn’t think to peer through it. Is he there still? Listening? Expecting something?

You go into the hall and descend, each step expecting Laufeyson to call you back, to reproach you for straying. You reach the bottom without obstacle and exhale. You hear noise in the kitchen and follow it.

Frigga is there, placing a rectangle tray on the counter. She is comfortable as she moves around lightly. She knows where everything is as she arranges her ingredients and tools. You admire her. You wish you had that confidence, especially now as you drown in uncertainty.

“Oh, darling, wonderful timing,” she praises as she looks up, “I thought to do some cooking before I go. I’m sure you know Loki is rather avoidant of doing so himself. Why don’t you join, hm?”

You blink and hesitate, glancing over your shoulder. It isn’t exactly work. 

“Don’t you fret for him, if he has issue, I will take it up with him,” she dismisses your unspoken doubts. “Come, come, I want to share with you my best recipes.”

“Okay,” you cross to her. She is undeniable, besides, you don’t think Laufeyson would be pleased to hear if you were to reject his mother. 

“Beer-marinated pork,” she announces, “roasted turnip and some hand-made bread, of course.”

You nod and twiddle your fingers. You’ve never had beer-marinated anything. Well, your culinary experience is lacking.

“Family recipes,” she explains, “adapted over the years. There was a time the bread was baked on rocks and the turnip would be roasted over embers. Imagine.”

She trills and spins around, gathering more supplies for her growing array. As she faces the counter again, she sighs.

“I much rather prefer the modern methods, of course. Not so tedious and Loki has ensured the best,” she goes to the stacked ovens embedded in the wall and sets the temperature, leaving the upper one to preheat. “A pity, such a nice kitchen and it’s barely used. That cook of his… she doesn’t know our recipes.”

You listen, too anxious to summon any sort of comment. She doesn’t seem to notice as she carries the conversation smoothly. 

“Do you cook? You must,” she answers her own question, “we will make enough for you to take home for your father. If he can’t stomach beer, I can make a sauce.”

“Oh, that’s… that’s okay–”

“I insist,” she overrides you, “it’s a labour of love for me. I love cooking. That is the one thing Sif– his ex-wife wasn’t fond of. She was always at the stable.”

You nod, trying to unravel the story from the stray threads. Little by little, you learn more of the woman who used to live here. In your head, she is sophisticated and splendid. And the way the speak of her, they seem to mourn her as much as you do your own mother.

“We will need onion and some spices, we’ll mix it in with the beer for our marinade,” she instructs, “a bowl…” she turns to take a silver bowl from the nested stack.

She puts it before you and directs you. She stands back as she lets you do it yourself. It’s nice to have the simple tasks set out one by one, even if it feels as if she’s judging your every move. You submerge the pork chops to marinate and she turns your attention to the turnip.

“Be careful chopping, turnips can be difficult,” she girds.

You shy away from the large knife and the hard rutabaga. It’s not easy to saw through as you rock the knife this way and that. You only get halfway through before the blade sticks immovably.

“Allow me,” she takes over and with a jerk, finishes the chop. The turnip splits in two as the knife meets the thick cutting board. “A bit of elbow grease…”

“Mother, what are you up to?” Laufeyson enters with a hand in one pocket.

“Oh, you know, dear, I can’t leave you without dinner.”

“I have a cook,” he counters.

“Mmm, yes, but nothing like a homemade meal,” she tisks.

He looks at you as he nears. You wipe your hands on a dish cloth and wring it tight. Frigga continues on unbothered, turning one half of the turnip on its flat side and chopping it into chunks.

“She’s helping,” she says, “please don’t take her from me.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he shrugs, his lips slightly curving.

“You were thinking it,” she huffs, “she can take some time to cook. Perhaps, she should do so regularly. It would save you money.” 

“But not time. She has other tasks.”

“You being the most onerous,” Frigga chirps as she transfers the chunks into the pan.

“Perhaps,” he does not look away from you as you twist the dish cloth to its limit. He slips his hand from his pocket and lets it brush up his shirt, “I am what you raised me to be.”

“I was saying to the darling earlier,” she ignores his snipe, “the next time you visit, you might bring her along.”

“Eh, next time…” Laufeyson swallows as his lips fall straight, “maybe…”

“You are going to visit, aren’t you?” Frigga whines, “you and your father, I don’t know why you just can’t get along.”

“I tried, mother, I did. You saw–” he stops himself, “it doesn’t matter.”

“It does. Very much. You’re family.”

“Are we? He’s disowned me more than he’s ever claimed me.”

“You’re too much alike, that’s your problem,” she chides, “and you’re both too stubborn to see it.”

“We will discuss this another time,” he says as he peeks at you again, “in private.”

“Should I…” you begin.

“Stay,” Frigga and her son command at the same time.

“I’m not sending her home empty-handed,” Frigga says, “so you will drive her home, yes? It will be too much to take on the bus.”

“Why, of course,” he accepts, “it would be my pleasure.”

“Mm, and the carpenter, he fixed the flower boxes already. A few loose nails,” she grins, “nice man, that one. I might recommend him to your father.”

Laufeyson pokes his tongue out as he squints. He turns his gaze back on you. You miss when he barely looked at you, when he hardly even acknowledged your existence. And yet, you're just the same. You can't say a word.

“I haven’t dealt with him much,” he says pointedly, “that is the house manager’s concern.”

“Probably better off,” Frigga snickers, “she won’t drive him away.”

[flightfoot]

Marinette Completed Angst Fic Reclist

I know some people really like this genre, so I figured I'd make a list for it! These will obviously all be completed, and none of them will be bashing fics, and PLEASE don't rec any fics on this post that are bashing fics, I don't want to see them.

Some of these will have my own commentary about the fic attached to it, for if I've put them on a previous reclist where I had that commentary written out. But a lot of the older fics won't.

For a fic to count for this, the angst Marinette goes through can't just be her being upset about what someone else is going through, though the angst of the fic doesn't only need to be hers, so long as she has her own angst which is a decently prominent part of the fic.

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one does not love breathing by @wackus-bonkus-maximus

All of Paris watched as Hawkmoth murdered Chat Noir, taking the Black Cat Miraculous for himself. Ladybug swears revenge, but her enemy—and every miraculous in his possession—disappear without a trace.

Six years later, a new team of villains launches an attack for the last remaining Miraculous: Volpina, armed with new powers; Queen Bee, with questionable loyalty; Argos, the new holder of the Peacock Miraculous; and Cat Walker, who Ladybug hates the most.

Takes place after S4 - Strike Back.

This is a simply phenomenal fic. You get to explore a lot of different perspectives, like Felix, Kagami, Marinette, and Adrien’s, just to name a few, and see their different thought processes and plans and priorities, and how it can cause their plans to collide with each other, even when they all ultimately are aiming for a good outcome for everyone. The characters are pretty complex and can mess up at times, even when they’re doing things (or not doing things, looking at you Luka) with the best of intentions. It was a joy to read and a real nail-biter the whole time, I actually wrote a fic for it halfway through just to resolve some of the tension for myself, One Does Not Love Shadows.

It also features the version of Luka I’ve connected best with to date, as he feels like Luka, but also is a lot more fleshed out, and can make some major errors while simply trying to avoid missteps. It’s helped me get a better handle on a character who I’ve generally had a lot of problems with really understanding.

It is an M-rated fic, though I think Wackus is being overly cautious on that front. There’s no sexual content and I wouldn’t put the violence or gore above a T-rating, so I wouldn’t let the rating scare you off.

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you don’t even know me at all (but I was made for loving you) by @ladyofthenoodle

They didn’t remember each other. The hospital told them there’d been an accident—brain damage—but Alya had told them the truth, later. Who’d they’d been to each other. What they’d given up, and why. But even with their memories of each other gone, Adrien and Marinette are still inextricably tied together—by law, by their social circles, and by their hearts. And in the apartment they share, there’s only one bed.

Yep, it’s the “there was only one bed” trope XD! I especially love how it was used here, how Adrien and Marinette are strangers now but they had a whole life together, and they pine for each other even without remembering, and how Marinette just can’t believe how in love with her Adrien is even though he doesn’t remember her. I loved the emotional turmoil the two of them went through together in the fic, and the resolution, it’s great!

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fine line by @bbutterflies

“Catwalker?” Loveybug asks. “Hmm?” “Do you remember… what happened before us?” “What do you mean?” “Before we were heroes. Was there someone else?” Catwalker goes quiet for a moment. “I don’t know,” he finally says.

This is a surprisingly angsty take on the Loveybug AU. Here, since the Loveybug and Cat Walker transformations are so unnatural, they’re having negative side effects on Marinette and Adrien, causing them to be constantly exhausted and even to get amnesia the longer they continue using them.

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do you think I have forgotten about you? by @roseinaugust

Based on the song ‘About You’ by The 1975. Memory Loss. Told in alternating time lines, one leading up to and one dealing with the aftermath of Marinette relinquishing the Miracle Box and the guardianship. Marinette struggles with her life after losing her memory, though there is a persistent voice that calls to her that always seems just out of reach in her memory.

Beautiful memory loss fic here, with seeing Ladybug’s and Chat Noir’s relationship before she gave up the Miracle box, juxtaposed with the present day, when Adrien is only a stranger to her. I could really feel how Marinette was struggling with navigating these new circumstances, with her friends seeming to expect her to remember, to be who she was to them, to Adrien especially, before, and her just… not knowing whether she can do that. It’s got a happy ending though, for those who are concerned about that.

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Our Tales Are Endless (That’s Why I Tell Them) by @joonapeach

Marinette lives a simple life - one surrounded by pretty dresses, fresh macaroons, and the calming view of Paris. It’s a life she thinks she has always fit in. And yet sometimes, when a certain boy comes by her shop with a flower and a new adventurous story, she can’t help but wonder if there’s something else she’s missing.

This was a truly gorgeous story. It’s the classic “Marinette gives up the Miracle Box and loses her memories” storyline, exploring her life two years later. Even though she’s had time to heal and recover, she still feels like she’s missing something, something big. At least Adrien’s stopping by regularly to tell her stories about Ladybug and Chat Noir, even if she doesn’t understand why they resonate with her so well.

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I (Wish I) Knew You by @buggachat

University has been hard on Marinette. Making new friends and maintaining her grades is a lot easier said than done when she has to disappear at odd times to fight akumas. She's struggling, and with Alya away with family and Adrien painfully out of reach, she's never felt lonelier.

If only she could talk to someone who really understood her struggles... but it's not like Chat Noir would know anything about loneliness. Right?

Nice aged-up Ladynoir fic here! Marinette’s struggling with losing friends and lovers because of her flakiness due to her superhero activities, until at last she breaks down. Thankfully, Chat Noir’s there at least - and it soon turns out he’s got problems of his own that he’s been hiding.

There’s some fluff and angst, it’s mostly just the two of them navigating life, dealing with their feelings and talking things out.

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If I Let Myself Love You by @uptoolateart

It’s hard to be a normal girl with a normal life when your mother has terminal cancer. And when fashion model Adrien Agreste moves back to Paris and wants to be Marinette’s friend – or maybe even more – her life is turned upside down again.

How can she risk opening her heart to love when her whole world is falling apart? Especially when Adrien is hiding a dark secret of his own….

- COMPLETE FIC – updates on Sundays

*** No kwamis AU - 100% Adrinette. About half of it is fluffy and half heavy. Please read tags for trigger warnings. ***

This fic can be rough, definitely pay attention to the tags. There’s no villains in this story, it mostly centers around themes of dealing with illness - both being sick and having a loved one who’s terminally ill - and death, grieving someone who’s lost, and how difficult that can be. It can get pretty gut-wrenching at times, especially as you slowly discover more layers of what’s really going on, what both Adrien and Marinette are hiding, both from others and from themselves in order to help cope with their circumstances. But they still move forwards together, regardless.

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Between the Heavens and the Embers by @readersmoon

Everyone in Paris remembers the fateful night of January 16, when the city was attacked by the most powerful and destructive akuma ever created. The assault, which lasted for hours, resulted in the death of 439 people.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was among the casualties.

Years later, Adrien hasn't been able to move on, haunted by the memories of her broken body. So, when the opportunity to leave Paris for a while presents itself, he doesn't hesitate. But this trip might end up giving him more than he ever dreamt of.

This is a fantastic fic, though a serious and a dark one - make sure to mind the tags, and it’s M-rated for a reason. Vee - or rather, Marinette - is going through a horror story here. Imagine finding out that your life is a lie, that everyone you thought you could trust was manipulating you, that you were just being continually gaslit for years. 

As for Adrien, Alya, and Nino... well, none of them took Marinette’s “death” all that well, especially Adrien. Finding out that she’s been alive all this time, in these horrible circumstances, and they had no clue... it’s hard on them as well.

I love how this fic goes into how much trauma everyone has even after the immediate danger’s dealt with, you don’t just walk off this kind of experience, especially with how many years this lasted.

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in case you don’t know me tomorrow by @thelibraryloser:

“We live in a crazy world where pieces of our lives can be erased like they never even happened. I just wanted to memorize this moment so… so I could keep it, if that makes sense.”

Adrien’s heart gave a little flutter. She wanted to keep this moment, meeting him. She wanted to keep… him.

“I understand exactly what you mean.“

In a world that has created a way to selectively delete memories, no moment is truly safe. So how do you hold on to something when the memory of it is gone? And how do you keep fighting for someone when you’re the only one who remembers?

This is a SEVERELY underrated fic. It’s got some shades of “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” in the world, though the plot is very different - the memory erasure ain’t willing. 

Basically, the first few chapters are establishing Adrien’s and Marinette’s romance, and then the rest of the fic is dealing with Gabriel being an absolute DICK and using any means at his disposal to break them apart. It’s fantastic and I highly recommend reading it!

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hella enchanted by @xiueryn:

Years ago, Marinette’s father died and she was left with her awful stepmother. With magic forcing her to obey every command, she lived as a servant and gave up hope. When a man appears, searching for the very fairy that blessed her, Marinette decides to give life one more try. AU.

(a different ella enchanted au.)

Even though it’s a one-shot this one is pretty long, clocking in at over 30k words. Absolutely worth a shot, though. The first third is basically Marinette dealing with being pushed around because of her “blessing”, and the other two-thirds is just some adorable fluff of her and Adrien touring the country together. 

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Echoes of You by kittinoir

In the day time, she's Marinette - a normal girl, with a normal life. A normal girl, with a normal life. A normal girl, with... Not Season 4 Compliant; please, no spoilers

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balancing act by fictionalinfinity

“Besides, being Ladybug always came first. It came before school, friends, and sometimes even family. Now it had to come before her health. Marinette had a duty to Paris. She wouldn’t let them down.” Or, being both Ladybug and the Guardian starts to take its toll on Marinette. - the epilepsy au literally no one asked for

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Some Days by @merrygreenie

Some days are worse, and others are a little better, little by little and day by day. Marinette Dupain-Chen is learning how to live her new normal after living in confinement and being tortured by Hawkmoth. She is thankful to have her friends and family to support her. And a very special Chat who loves her very much. *This story contains scenes of violence and torture this is a whump fic*

This fic has some great angst, but be warned, it's not kidding about the violence and torture. Honestly, it should probably be rated M instead of Teen, given that while the fic mostly takes place after Marinette escapes and while she's recovering, we do get a detailed flashback to her torture.

[eksvaized]

[ Previous ] [ All In One ] part 16, MDNI

this is a looong chapter, but since it’s the last one, I didn’t want to split it into two parts. enjoy!!!

Simon isn't scared of dying. He has always seen it as a natural part of the life cycle, as constant as the changing of the seasons and as certain as the setting sun. It's an inevitability that he, like every other person, will have to confront sooner or later. The idea of squandering precious time and energy worrying about something from which there is no escape has always seemed utterly pointless to him. But now that the Grim Reaper's cold, skeletal hand was rapping on the door, he found himself, much to his surprise, being swept up by relentless and towering waves of terror that ebbed and flowed but never fully receded. Yet, it's not the fear of his own demise that disturbs him—he doesn't give a damn about himself. His anxiety is rooted in a concern for you. The two of you have just met not so long ago, and the thought of losing you fills him with immense dread. He isn't ready to let you go yet.

For the past several days, Simon hasn't engaged in any of his usual activities. Mostly, he shadows you, his gaze tracing your every move with the piercing scrutiny of an eagle. You, on the other hand, strive to maintain a facade of normalcy, a mask of composure and contentment, as if to reassure him that everything is fine. But Simon has an uncanny knack for perceiving the truth. He is adept at picking up on the subtlest of cues, the faintest hints of lies, and interpreting them accurately. His ability to read between the lines is unparalleled, and it doesn't take him long to realise when you're attempting to fool him. Thus, you stop trying to put up a brave face, realising that it's nearly impossible to hide anything from Simon.

Every night ends with you collapsed in his arms, tears cascading down your face like a relentless waterfall. Simon stays with you, holding you tight until you drift off into a fitful sleep. He strokes your back gently, and twirls strands of your hair between his fingers, while his voice, soft as a lullaby, whispers sweet nothings into your ear in a futile attempt to erase the bitter taste of another dreadful day. His efforts to distract you, though temporary, have some effect. Moments of peace, however, are fleeting. As soon as your gaze falls on the bandaged wound on his arm, the harsh reality pulls you back in, swallowing you whole and making you feel as if you're drowning. Simon, realising the sight of his wound makes you sob each time you see it, starts wearing long-sleeved shirts all the time.

Each dawn is a mirror image of the one before, as indistinguishable as two drops of morning dew. You and Simon sleep in until the late afternoon, neither of you having the energy or will to face the day. Most of your time is spent tangled in the crumpled sheets, talking about anything and everything. You delve into discussions about your lives before the world broke apart, offering glimpses into your pasts. He shares stories about his life before the streets were overrun by the biters, about his friends and his time in the military. In return, you tell him about your carefree childhood and how you had meticulously planned your future.

At first, these conversations provide a welcome respite. They allow you both to escape momentarily from the grim reality waiting beyond the walls of your house. But as the day turns into night, and the conversations continue under the soft glow of the candles, you are both painfully reminded of all you have lost and everything you are about to lose.

"You can't just leave the bed, Y/N," Simon insists with a tone of genuine concern. His hands, warm and firm, rest on your shoulders, pushing you back down onto the soft mattress. His touch, though full of care, is also unyielding. He is fully aware that in your current state of weakness, you are too frail to fight him. "You're sick and you need to rest."

"I don't want to waste the last few days of my life lying in bed," you mumble in response; it's difficult to speak because your throat hurts. He nods, but remains adamant, refusing to let you sit up. His fingers carefully comb through your hair, untangling the knotted strands that frame your fever-flushed cheeks. When you gaze into his eyes, it's like peering into a stormy sea, where waves of pain, fear, and worry relentlessly batter against the rocky cliffs. Until this morning, there had been no signs that you were going to die.

After you and Simon got bitten, both of you had assumed that the disease would cause you to fade away quickly. But luck had given you a little more time than you'd expected, and this is the first time you are forcefully reminded that those terrible bites have serious, actual consequences.

"I'll stay with you," he says. You nod in gratitude, inching closer to the frigid wall as he lays down on the narrow mattress. He carefully draws you into his embrace, pulling the covers over both of you and tucking you in tightly.

A wildfire rages beneath your skin, an agonising inferno that burrows deep into your marrow. Every breath you draw is a struggle, akin to lifting a mountain with every rise and fall of your chest. Keeping your eyes open is a tremendous effort. The slightest shift in your position feels as if your bones are grinding together, an excruciating symphony playing out in your frame. Pain resonates in every corner of your body, screaming its presence into your consciousness. You yearn for a respite from this relentless torment, a sanctuary where you can leave this agony behind. There's only one way to escape this, but you know Simon would never let you choose the easy way out.

"Do you think this is the end for me?" Your voice is barely audible, and Simon must lean in closer, pressing his ear against your lips when you speak so he can catch the faintest hint of your words. Your throat is scratchy and parched, your mouth feels like it's full of bitter, coarse sand. Despite Simon's efforts, urging you to drink water or tepid tea as if they were soothing elixirs, nothing seems to douse the discomfort.

"No, of course not." He shakes his head, his gaze drifting upwards.

This is the first, but not the last, time he lies to you. A tremor runs through his exhale, betraying his internal turmoil. Deep down, buried beneath layers of hope and denial, he knows that the odds of your recovery are slim. The cruel hands of fate are slowly pulling you away from him, threatening to reduce you to a mere whisper, a shadow, a faint echo of your vibrant existence. The thought of a world without your laughter, your warmth, your presence is unbearable. Simon refuses to let the thoughts of you passing away cast their dark, monstrous shadows over his mind right now because he knows they will shatter his heart into a thousand shards; he needs to be strong for you.

"I had convinced myself that death wouldn't come knocking at my door, that I was somehow immune to the bite. Yet now, I'm confronted with the reality that my days are numbered, and the bill is due." Even though exhaustion gnaws at you, stripping away your strength, you keep talking.

Your arms coil his sturdy torso, your hands resting upon the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. Beneath your fingertips, you sense the reassuring and steady beat of his heart. You rest your head on his shoulder. You are overheating. All you want is some space, to throw off the constricting covers and let the cool breeze wash over your fevered skin. But you can't risk pushing him away. What if that was the last time you got to see and be with Simon? The potential that this may be your final moment enveloped in the secure embrace of his arms terrifies you. You cling tighter to him, refusing to let go.

"You should close your eyes. Rest," he says, after noticing that you are struggling to stay alert.

You resist, your will compelling you to stay awake, to remain present in the moment. But your body betrays you, and the allure of sleep is too potent to ignore, too enticing to resist. His fingers trace a gentle path up and down your side. His touch is as soft as a whisper against your flesh. It's a calming rhythm, a silent promise that he's there, with you, a constant presence in the quiet stillness of the night. Every so often, he dips his head to place a gentle kiss on your forehead; his lips linger there. Before you even realise it, the comforting rhythm of his touch and the gentle cadence of his breathing lull you into a peaceful slumber. And there, in the tranquil silence of the night, you both surrender to the embrace of sleep.

As the first rays of dawn pierce through the thin veil of darkness, your eyes abruptly shoot open in response to an overwhelming sensation. It feels as though every fibre of your being is under siege, a relentless assault that leaves no corner of your flesh untouched. The pain is so intense, so all-consuming, that it feels like every bone in your body is breaking into a thousand fragments and then reforming, only to shatter again in a relentless cycle of torment. Your head is spinning, caught in a stormy whirlpool of confusion and disorientation. Your vision is fuzzy. The world around you fades in and out, like a badly tuned television set.

You turn your gaze to the side. Simon, unaware of your internal struggle, is still fast asleep. His calm, rhythmic breathing provides a stark contrast to your own laboured gasps, each one sounding like a desperate plea escaping your parched lips. Despite the turmoil churning within you, part of you is flooded with relief that he's finally getting some much-needed rest. He has been plagued with insomnia for the past few days. And now that he finally has the opportunity to rest his weary eyes, you refuse to be the one to disrupt his peaceful slumber. Your own discomfort, no matter how unbearable, will have to wait.

In a hazy state of drowsiness, you attempt to roll out of bed with all the grace of a newborn foal, taking extra care to not generate too much noise that might disturb Simon's sleep. You leave the bedroom. You don't know where you are going or what you want to do, but your feet guide you, leading you down the creaking staircase.

A nagging dryness persists in your throat. So, you look around for something to quench your thirst. As you enter the living room, your eyes catch sight of a water bottle perched precariously on the edge of the coffee table. You slowly lean down to grab it, your movements sluggish and uncoordinated. Suddenly, your legs give way beneath you, buckling under the strain of your own weight. With a gasp, you topple over, your surroundings tilting on its axis. The sharp edge of the table corner comes into contact with your head with a sickening thud, and your vision blurs. Before you can even register what has happened, everything goes black, and you lose consciousness.

Simon, after a few restless hours of sleep, wakes up. He is surprised, almost shocked, when he notices the conspicuous emptiness of the cold bed. He calls out your name into the quiet room, his voice rebounding off the walls like a lone echo in a cavern. But he only receives a faint pitter-patter of footsteps from downstairs in response. His heart constricts with the cold grip of fear, like a vice around his chest. A thought, as unsettling as a crow cawing in the dead of night, crosses his mind. What if you got hurt while he was sleeping? He berates himself for his momentary lapse, for allowing himself to close his eyes.

Springing from the bed like a startled hare, he dashes downstairs, his feet skimming the steps. When he finally finds you, you are standing alone in the kitchen. Your back is turned towards him, your silhouette is etched against the pallid morning light as you gaze out of the window in a daze. Your body sways slightly, a clear sign that you are struggling to keep your balance, to resist the pull of gravity. It is evident that your fever has escalated.

"You should be in bed," he says, exhaling a sigh of relief. His worst fears, previously pounding in his chest like a wild drum, are assuaged as he looks at you. Given the circumstances, you look relatively fine.

You say nothing, though.

"Come on, let's go." He takes a step closer and tugs at your hand. To his astonishment, your temperature has gone down. Your skin, which was previously radiating with a burning heat, is now strikingly cold, almost icy to the touch.

As he stands there, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts, he grapples with the enigma of how you seemingly outwitted the fever without a trace of medication. It is perplexing, to say the least. As you slowly pivot, he drags his gaze away from your interlaced fingers and looks at your face. He stumbles back, gripping the edge of the counter when he realises... you are dead.

Your eyes, a haunting shade of pale grey, are devoid of any discernible emotion. Your face is eerily expressionless. The side of your head is smeared with crimson blood, contrasting sharply with your pale skin. The slow, deliberate movement of your jaw is the only sign of animation - opening and closing in a rhythmic pattern, your teeth clashing together with a harsh, metallic sound. Your movements, though delayed and sluggish, have a predatory quality about them. It is as if every single motion is calculated, deliberate, and incredibly menacing. Then, in a matter of mere seconds, you spring into action. With the agility of a panther, you pounce on him, a guttural growl escaping your lips that reverberates in the stillness.

Your fingers wrap around his wrist, and your nails pierce his flesh. Simon's eyes widen as he watches your body thrashing violently, as you try to sink your teeth into him. He freezes for a split second. But then his instincts take over, and he drives his knee into your stomach, propelling you to the side and causing you to collide with the fridge. After regaining his composure, he dashes around the counter.

His gaze sweeps across the kitchen, desperately searching for something, anything, with a sharp edge. You are already limping towards him when he grabs the knife. His arm raises. The glint of the blade reflects in his wide, terrified eyes. His grip tightens around the wooden handle. But when it's time to strike, he hesitates, his resolve melting like a candle in the scorching sun, and he cannot follow through. Killing you, even if you are already dead, is something he refuses to do. Simon recoils with a sudden jerk, his eyes locked onto yours. The knife clatters to the ground. He turns on his heels, the noise of his boots on the tile floor ringing out like a hollow drumbeat as he flees the kitchen. In a move borne out of sheer desperation, he grabs the nearest piece of furniture - a heavy oak table - and heaves it against the door, turning it into an impromptu barricade to keep you at bay.

For the rest of the day, he sequesters himself away within the confines of your bedroom. The room acts as a sanctuary, a place that diligently preserves your memory. Each item, each piece of furniture, even the air itself, seems steeped in your essence. Methodically, almost ritualistically, he navigates through your stuff... Simon looks at your pictures and uncaps your perfume, letting the scent permeate the space. His thoughts, like leaves caught in a whirlpool, inevitably drift back to the previous night, replaying it in his mind like a film reel with vivid clarity. The sobering realisation dawns upon him that those fleeting hours yesterday were the final ones that you two have shared together.

You become the only thought that occupies his mind, a constant, unyielding presence that leaves no room for anything else. The world outside ceases to exist; all that remains is you, the memory of you, like a haunting melody echoing in an empty hall. When the weight of the world, heavy as a millstone, becomes too overwhelming for him to carry any longer, his emotions take control. Overwhelmed by grief and frustration, he starts wrecking the room. It's a physical manifestation of his internal turmoil. Simon berates himself, the self-loathing growing with each passing moment, spreading like wildfire in a dry field. He despises the fact that he could not save you from your fate. But of all the regrets, one stands out in stark contrast: he had never voiced his true feelings for you. You died without knowing that he loved you.

After an extended period of causing chaos and disorder, akin to a storm ravaging a once peaceful landscape, he finds himself entirely depleted, a hollow shell echoing with an emptiness inside. Every fibre in his body feels numb, devoid of any sensation. He curls on the bed. The sheets, though devoid of your warmth, still carry the familiar scent of you. As Simon shuts his eyes, he can hear the faint echo of footsteps downstairs. Even though he is aware you are no longer alive, knowing that you are still in this house, with him, makes him calm down and fall asleep.

When he awakes the following morning, he is greeted with the unwelcome sensation of a fever. His body feels hot, and every move is a struggle.

The following three days, he spends in bed, trapped in the prison of his own thoughts.

On the fifth day, as he closes his eyes one final time, the grim serenity of death descends upon him, wrapping him in its stiff embrace.

On the sixth day, you and Simon are dead, roaming in the empty house. And even though you both are just a few steps away from each other - since Simon barricaded the kitchen - he and you never cross paths ever again.

TAG LIST: @randointhecloset, @lurkinwbreexy, @breadpitt69 , @browtfyoudoing , @yelenassafeplace, @itsthealice, @naxxsstuff, @lotionlamp, @aquarianix well, this is finished, fi-na-lly, haha. I’d love to know what you think about it. :) aannd, I hope you had as much fun reading the story as I did writing it!

[oliver-quick-ens-my-pulse]

Dark!Ominis and dark!sebastian headcannons. How they are as a person and what is differebt with them compared to their HL game personalities.

Headcannons for dark!Ominis and dark!Sebastian

Ominis Gaunt and Sebastian Sallow

Warnings - mentions of violce

A/N - This isn't including any NSFW type stuff, but more just how their personalities would be in these instances.

Sebastian would still very much mirror a lot of things that he does do in Hogwarts Legacy, it would just continue to get worse. For Ominis, these are definitely more of a 180, but I also can't see him getting to a point where he's completely evil and doing things in a selfish way such as Sebastian does.

Ominis

his breaking point would come from the way his family abused him and berated him as well as how Sebastian just tossed him to the side

he believes the absolute worst of people and that their nature will always inherently be to be bad

he decides to stop fighting his own urges, but the motivations are still different from his family's

he would have every desire in the world to kill his family and be the end of it all himself, knowing they were essentially the last of their line

he would be on a solo mission to destroy the Gaunts and have fun while he did it

he wouldn't make other people his patsies, but he would lie and dodge the truth as he needed to

he would be blunt with you about what he's decided his life's purpose is

if you tried to stand in his way he would make use of imperio or memory charms to ensure you just stayed out of it

his darkness takes the shape in more of a spiraling within himself than really affecting a lot of others around him

he would force himself to stop fearing the unforgivable curses and destroy much of his inhibitions in the process

he would use his parseltongue to scour for every secret of Salazar Slythern's and find a way to turn any curses or monsters against their intended targets of muggles or muggle-borns

he would essentially be a vigilante that should be feared

Sebastian

he's essentially corrupted by the dark methods he resorted to

he's obsessed with curing Anne and doesn't care who gets hurt in the process or who he has to use to get it

that's essentially his sole purpose

his other motivations are self-gratification and pleasure

doesn't even listen to anything Anne says to him to express her wants and desires because he's already made up his mind about what they must be

he will say whatever you need to hear to help him get whatever it is that he wants

he lacks empathy and will always find a way to turn things around to make it seem like you made your choice

gaslighting king

at this point, he's using Ominis as well purely because he knows how Ominis care about him so he can really manipulate him to his heart's content

lacks remorse and if you're upset with him he'll just brush you off and ignore you until you come crawling back to him

out of school, he continues his pursuits of unsavory practices

often appears rather messy and typically in dark, earth-colored clothes that allow him to hide in the shadows best when he needs it

he enjoys seeking out fights and utilizing curses that inflict pain on those who wish to oppose him

if you were with him, he would make unforgivable's seem very seductive and continuously try and convince you to use them as well

partially because he loves to see it and it gets him off

and partially so that you'll be just culpable as him if the two of you are caught, he absolutely intends to spin a narrative blaming you

[sapphire-drawings]

Ma'am, i would love to read/get more content about the BATB AU, wdym 👁️👁️

Not really a redraw but still used the movie as reference (also changed Maxwell to be more like a wendigo than "the Beast" (or at least I tried to))

Someone asked for more details about this Au and the truth is... it is ALL OVER the place

It's different from the original. I can't imagine any Gaston since all of the survivors are those shadow/maids/helpers or whatever. And none of them are Gaston enough to be Gaston so ww're only left with the shadows for the entire story

I have certain scenes in my head. -Maxwell's not only physically cursed but also the marks on his face (Painfully) spread from time to time making him... ill? Act more like a beast?? -Wilson ran away from a rich life thanks to abusive parents (Cuz I like that idea) -There will be a hounds attack and a shadows attack -Maxwell's rose is withered -Yes, Wilson is afraid of him but still stands up and confront him -Wilson is good with animals since he spends more time with them than with the town's folks -Also I have a weird scene in my head of Wilson with low sanity like... dancing)? and having an hallucination of what his life could've been if he stayed home. Like a huge vals but it's all in his head... idk but looks good in my head (I blame Caleb Hyles' Once upon a December cover) -Also, also, Maxwell is dead cold until he starts falling in love with Wilson. Key visual element for this?? In that scene with the birds and such will be the first time to see Max's breath under the cold -Having Wilson around the servitude are like "are you going to conquer his heart to break the damned spell or what??"

...

Hope that was something to satisfy your interest in my stupid Au I'll probably work it more or just doodle things here and there For a full comic I would need to see interest cuz I have A LOT in my head

-🍪

[josnhoes]

Yan Damien and Jason seeing knak mc who is an adult is going out on a date with a really nice man who is a dentist from a different city

Seeing their sister who is quite in love with the guy and vice versa

Content warning: yandere, stalking, mentions of murder, oblivious reader, fem reader,

Not tagging as Knak despite it being Knak adjacent.

You always questioned if you'd ever get into dating. Being older then your body made it feel creepy sometimes. But despite that you fell in love anyway. You had broken the news to your family and the reactions had been a mix. Some seemingly happy for you a few ready to give the shovel talk of a life time. You'd almost broke down laughing when Bruce in his older age began to give you the bird and the bees talk.

Jason as the hopeless romantic, really *really* wanted to let you have this. But he didn't trust the guy. Sure he didn't know the guy and he wasn't from Gotham but Bludhaven so he was maybe slightly safer; but he could never trust anyone with your heart.

He follows you on a few dates, able to keep an eye on the entire situation from the shadows. The guy seemed so normal...it had to be a front, a mask to get past your walls. Walls that weren't as strong as the rest of the family. Maybe they sheltered you too much? No. You were perfect just as you were his sweet baby sister.

He hated seeing you smile, so openly trusting this stranger. But he knows he can't step in yet. Despite your love for him the man had to be taken care of.

Damien is far less okay with the situation. Even as a grown man he was spoiled and pushy about getting his way. He forbade you from seeing the man, and told you to your face he couldn't be trusted. Damien refused to let anyone take you from the family.

Ideally Damien would have loved to lock you up. But the public eye was always on the Wayne family even now. If he managed to fake your death that would clear that up, but then none of them nor him could take you out anymore. It was selfish how much he loved your smile when you both went to the zoo or an art exhibit. The way you'd light up saying someday his art would be in a museum.

He can't fake your death, but it had long been agreed on in the family that should someone be a threat to you the family could handle it as they see fit; and Damien had dubbed him a threat.

The night came where the man had a late work schedule so he'd be out well past dark. That was when they both made a move. Bumping into one another had thrown them both off for a moment. Each of them telling the other they had dibs. At least until they realized he was getting away.

The dentist who held your heart stood no chance, with the pair working together there was no escape. The following day you would see his face on the news, a victim of being in the wrong place at the wrong time in the middle of a shoot out between gangs. Broken hearted you mourned all while the family rallied around you. Jason and Damien would see to it you never knew the truth and any future dates would have a similar fate.

[theladyofbloodshed]

I don't know if you're paying attention to Elain week, but it's a disaster lmaoooo

Literally e/riel month/week 2.0 with a dash of e/ucien week. I probably saw like 3-4 TRULY Elain-centric posts (you know, no truth-teller, shadows or rose necklaces in sight). It's really becoming clear that Elain is just their favorite self-insert to imagine they're fucking the guy of their choice. They can't even pretend to like her for her anymore lol my condolences to the few people that truly like Elain and were excited for her week just to be subjected to a bunch of ship/ship-related art.

Like I'm pretty sure Lucien week and Azriel week (which is probably run by the same e/riels that run "Elain" week) had more solo art of Lucien and Azriel. I guess when it's about the character they *really* care about, it's easy to put ships aside.

i'll be honest

she's not a character i find interesting or indeed likeable. we can say that sjm hasn't fleshed her out, but maybe that is her personality? we can't all be the self-sacrificial hero of the story or indeed the whipping-girl. What i can see of her, i'm not interested in. she comes across as vacuous, self-centred, and immature so i steer clear of anything really related to elain, in the same way that i do mor and amren, because i really don't care about them

that said, running character weeks are difficult because you don't know what content will be created, if any. i have had people over the years say they'll produce stuff for neris week then there's zilch 🤷 It's running on the proviso that people will produce content for it which takes up their time/money - just as running the week takes up a lot of time. if elriels are running elain week then yeah there's likely to be lots of that art because that's their interest. i saw the elaingate/tamlin stuff and found the whole thing funny though, have to say.

the thing is, elain is mostly viewed in relation to a man - her father's favourite, graysen's fiance, lucien's mate, azriel's forbidden love. her personality is gardening and learning to bake with the wraiths. that's about it. we don't really see her interacting with rhys or mor or amren really. we knew nesta used to have lessons with amren, we know she's had dancing lessons with mor, even if off page. elain is often left home for things because she's too "delicate" or sjm just don't know what to do with her. she's so passive. the whole solstice scene at the hewn city? she looks bad in black and is then a silent spectre through the rest. does she even speak in that whole scene which spans several chapters? i'm not surprised that she is seen as a self insert because she is so empty and after 5 books plus a hofas cross over, that's on sjm.

[sokkastyles]

I'm not sure if people know what rival means or not. Like the definition I found said that they at least have to be equals in the same field but I have seen people call Zuko and Azula rivals and Lance and Keith rivals when one is clearly better than the other at the things people call them rivals for. Keith could fly circles around Lance and Azula (at least for most of their childhood) could beat Zuko without breaking a sweat. Sonic and Shadow are rivals and Sasuke and Naruto are rivals, but Zuko and Azula have never been rivals.

So do people not know what rivals mean or are they just trying to make it seem like Zuko had an equal hand in making their sibling relationship as bad as it was? I feel like with the number of excuses people make for Azula, it's the second one, but this is Tumblr so you never know.

It's the second one. It's literally that quote that's like "not an unspoken rivalry, you're just mean to me, and you talk about it all the time."

I wouldn't say that rivals necessary have to be equals in skill level, and that's not what differentiates Zuko and Azula's relationship from a sibling rivalry. If that were the case, then Zuko by the end of ATLA would be a rival to Azula.

What makes them not rivals is that they do not fight on equal terms and they aren't equally motivated to fight against each other. They have a pretty classic golden child/scapegoat dynamic, which is very different from a sibling rivalry in some very important ways.

I think to an extent you can say that Azula sees Zuko as a rival, but Zuko does not see Azula that way. He definitely resents that she has Ozai's approval, but he never fights her for it. With Azula it's a little more complex, because while I think she would never admit that she feels that she needs to fight Zuko for Ozai's love (because she prides herself on being better than him) she does, deep down, know that her position is tenuous and relies on Zuko being the scapegoat. You can't treat me like Zuko!

However, when the scapegoat/golden child dynamic is firmly in place, there's no rivalry at all. Azula is perfectly content to bring Zuko back into the fold as long as she can find a way to keep him from upjumping her (hence her plan to blackmail him about Aang's death). And if Zuko thought he had to fight Azula to get Ozai's love, as it would be if they had a rivalry, he would never agree to go back with Azula in the first place. He would think he had to defeat her to gain Ozai's love. But that's not something that he ever thinks. Whenever he battles her it's for survival.

Nor does Ozai ever encourage them to be rivals with each other. He encourages Azula to be cruel to Zuko, and enables her to do so, but is furious any time Zuko contradicts Azula in any way or attempts to prove that he's even just as good. Which is also typical of a golden child/scapegoat dynamic. If the designated scapegoat were to ever surpass the golden child, the parent usually either ignores it or sabotages it because it's not really about who is better, it's about who the parent favors and wants to believe is better. That's also why I think Zuko wasn't sent to school like Azula was, because he doesn't want Zuko to compete with Azula.

And while Ozai can praise Zuko for (he thinks) killing the Avatar, he still doesn't surpass Azula in Ozai's eyes. In fact, when Ozai tells Zuko about it, he talks about how Azula told him about how impressed she was with him. He's still seeing Azula as an authority who is bestowing this praise on Zuko, which still enforces the hierarchy of Ozai > Azula > Zuko. If the dynamic were something different, with Zuko and Azula equally vying for second place, then Azula would not tell Ozai how impressed she was with Zuko, and she definitely wouldn't let him get credit for doing something she did, and she wouldn't be able to use the truth against Zuko. Azula would try to keep Zuko from that war meeting. And no way would Zuko believe Azula when she tells him that she can help him restore his honor in their father's eyes. He'd try to prove to Ozai that he was better than her instead of letting her do the talking. Ozai never gives him that chance, no matter how much he praises Zuko, because there was never a question of who was going to be his golden child. Azula knows it, and Zuko knows it.

That's also why the absence of them fighting doesn't mean that they are "getting along." Usually it just means that Zuko is back in his position as the scapegoat. Which is fine for Azula, but not so much for Zuko.

[sam-glade]

Author Ask Game

Tagged by the lovely @mariahwritesstuff here, @writernopal here, and @tisiphonewolfe here, @void-botanist here - thank you all💜

Gently passing the tag to: @starlit-hopes-and-dreams @vollzz @rbbess110 @flock-from-the-void @pheita @i-can-even-burn-salad (feel free to ignore if you've done it already)

1. What is the main lesson of your story (e.g. kindness, diversity, anti-war), and why did you choose it?

I don't write with the aim to teach a lesson. However, after figuring out the plot, I'll look back and see what message I can focus on. Usually, it's kindness, but I also hope to inspire people to find strength within themselves.

2. What did you use as inspiration for your worldbuilding (like real-life cultures, animals, famous media, websites, etc.)?

A lot of real world cultures and history. In the case of my main setting, the amount of research into the history and culture of Central and Eastern Europe in the 18th century (especially the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth) would probably be enough to write straight up historical fiction, buuuut I like the fantasy elements, and I don't enjoy writing non-queernormative societies. So here we are.

The second instalment, The Truth Teller, is again in a fantasy version of the Eastern Bloc, and I get a lot of inspiration from talking to people who've lived there in the second half of the 20th century.

Finally, The Fulcrum is an exercise in worldbuilding. It started with a question, what would happen if evolution took a different path, and the dominant sentient species was most closely resembling birds. Other than that, I use it as an excuse to explore other periods in history - primarily late-Bronze and Iron Age.

3. What is your MC trying to achieve, and what are you, the writer, trying to achieve with them? Do you want to inspire others, teach forgiveness, help readers grow as a person?

The goal is different every time. E.g. for Days of Dusk:

In Gifts of Fate, Lissan is the MC, and he wants to survive without hurting anyone (the demon possessing him makes it difficult). What I want to achieve with him is to inspire people to persevere.

In The Prince's Shadow Erya is trying to kill Lissan, while dealing with complicated grief. My goal is to inspire people to move on, without preaching forgiveness (the two main characters still hate each other at the end).

In Prodigal Children, Lissan, Erya, and Gullin are the three MCs who are told with absolute certainty that something terrible will happen and it will result in war. They each try to deal with it in a different way. Erya aims to minimise the damage. Gullin thinks he can't do anything about it, so he focuses on protecting his loved ones. Lissan refuses to accept that it will happen at all. My goal as the writer is to showcase that each of these responses has its merits and can't be condemned from the get go.

4. How many chapters is your story going to have?

I'm a pantser, so I can answer it only for completed drafts. Gifts of Fate currently has 49 chapters, averaging just over 2k words each - with the total being 109k.

5. Is it fanfiction or original content? Where do you plan to post it?

Everything I post on this blog is original. I don't plan to post the novel-length project online - I'm hoping to publish them traditionally. Some side WIPs may end up being posted here or on AO3 (the unnamed parody thingy that still needs a title), and my Silmarillion fanfiction can be found here (more to come).

6. When and why did you start writing?

I vaguely recall writing my first fantasy heroine self-insert story at the age of 11 or so, then Tolkien fanfiction when I was 15-18, then original fiction onwards. It started as an outlet to my creativity, but now it's to get some peace and quiet in my mind. If I don't put the stories down on paper, they keep buzzing in my head, being distracting.

7. Do you have any words of engagement for fellow writers of Writeblr? What other writers of Tumblr do you follow?

Words of encouragement? Just do it. Imperfect doesn't mean bad. Don't let 'perfect' be the enemy of 'good'.

I follow a tonne of writeblrs, so here are a handful of shoutouts: @acertainmoshke @writernopal @tabswrites @toribookworm22 @winterandwords @aether-wasteland-s

Blank questions below:

What is the main lesson of your story (e.g. kindness, diversity, anti-war), and why did you choose it?

What did you use as inspiration for your worldbuilding (like real-life cultures, animals, famous media, websites, etc.)?

What is your MC trying to achieve, and what are you, the writer, trying to achieve with them? Do you want to inspire others, teach forgiveness, help readers grow as a person?

How many chapters is your story going to have?

Is it fanfiction or original content? Where do you plan to post it?

When and why did you start writing?

Do you have any words of engagement for fellow writers of Writeblr? What other writers of Tumblr do you follow?

[gingerbreadmonsters]

return to me

or: learning, growing, walking hand in hand.

gn!reader, no content warnings except blake-typical creepiness, some yandere-flavoured obsessive goodness. in the emptiness of night, you’re all he sees. look. i had a lovely little idea for blake that was all ready to go - he was going to get a nice day out with his listener, i was going to humanise him, show that he's not all bad… and now look what he's done! well. this is what you get for crossing me. enjoy your grapes, mr blake. i hope they're sour. a big big thank you to my love @haradasaya for proofreading! 💕💕 limerence, inspired by R.E.M.’s nightswimming and fe3h: cindered shadows chapter 6. the moon is low tonight. blake being left in awe in just over 2400 words.

There are very few beautiful things in the world, anymore.

(Some, but not many.)

Beauty is, unfortunately, a vanishing art. Everywhere, all around, at every moment the world becomes more and more diseased, more and more dull. The earth turns to rot, the water turns to scum, and beauty is swallowed by oblivion.

It's simply a fact of the universe. Entropy. All things tend towards their own destruction.

You might argue, of course. You might say, of course not! There are plenty of beautiful things out there still - all kinds of places and creatures and objects. There's a whole universe full of things out there! And everyone has different ideas of what's beautiful anyway, so how can you even measure how many beautiful things there are in the world to begin with?

Well then, if you did say that, you would be met with disbelief, probably. A look, incredulous, that tells you don't be stupid, honey. Not all things are beautiful, and there are some things that aren't beautiful to anyone. I ought to know.

You see, there are some very special people who just understand the order of things. Who just feel it, the natural order of the world, the way things are supposed to be. A feeling that can't be taught, but cultivated - a feeling that Blake, himself, is learning at this very moment to know and comprehend.

And because he's one of these precious few, one of those fortunate enough to have been shown the truth, he knows. Humans have always been funny about extinction and the loss of things. Take and take and take until there's almost nothing left, then either praise its survival as a miracle, or grieve its final death as gone too soon. He knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, how rare and precious beauty truly is these days. Something reserved only for the most unique, most particular, most wondrous of things.

There is an order in the world, he has learnt. All things that do exist must exist within the laws of the world that allows them to be, and those laws dictate exactly where they fall in that great hierarchy of being that natural existence requires. That is to say, in all the world, there can only be one thing that is the most beautiful. Only one thing that stands above the rest, a single prize that puts all else to shame.

Is it any wonder, then, that he holds you so dear?

It's true, I'm telling you, he would say, if you laughed. You'd probably laugh. Entirely uncaring, unaware of the gospel that he imparts to you, and yet so utterly charming in your blissful ignorance. Everything has its order, everything has its place. Not everything can be beautiful to everyone, and some things aren’t beautiful to anyone at all. Seriously.

You might stare at him, incredulous, disbelieving. Yeah, right. How can you say that? It’s impossible. Where do heads end and necks begin?

Very well, trickster god, he would say, taking your challenge head-on. The museum is quiet, nobody there but the two of you. Let me explain it a different way.

Take a map from the display stand, take a badge from the visitors’ information desk. Exhibition hall is up the steps straight in front of you, and don’t forget to exit through the gift shop. The explanation wouldn’t be very complicated. You’d have no trouble understanding if he helped you.

Let’s start at the beginning. The most basic. All things that exist must exist, right? The criteria for being 'a thing that exists' is 'it must exist'. And if it exists, then it must have properties of some sort. Physical or metaphysical, it must have some sort of properties that distinguish it from all of the other 'things that exist'. Otherwise, all 'things that exist' would by definition be identical, because they would have no defining qualities to separate them from each other, as 'existing' is their only quality. Does that make sense?

You’d nod. I… think so? Never took you for the existential type. The tourist map creases in your hand as he leads you across the main museum floor..

So, we now know that all things that exist have at least one property that defines them as separate to everything else that exists. All of them must possess a unique combination of properties that distinguishes them from every other thing, in order to exist as a single, discrete thing. Look around you. Everything you see, every individual thing, is different. Colour, shape, size, volume, weight, material, age, spatial location - no two things are the same. In the whole universe, there can be no two truly identical things.

You’d look a bit more unsure on that bit, but he’d power through. It’ll all make sense in a minute.

If no two things can be truly identical, then surely it stands to reason that all things can be categorised. Can be ordered. By some measure, by some means, all things can be sorted. No two things can draw with one another, there’s no need for tiebreakers - one by one, all things must stand in line. If you can differentiate all things, then you must be able to put them into distinct categories.

It makes sense, right?

Each thing can fit into several different categories at the same time, but my point still stands. If you can put them into categories and they’re still unique - as we already know they must be - then you must be able to categorise them again. Over and over, smaller and smaller boxes, until everything fits neatly into place. Until everything is in order.

Hmm. You probably wouldn’t look convinced. Not to worry, it’s not that important just yet. The first time is always the hardest.

Leaning over a display case, examining the contents, your breath might mist on the cool glass. But what about things you can’t see? Things you can’t touch? Things that not everybody experiences the same way? Like feelings, or colours, or sensations. Which colour is the best? Which rollercoaster is the most fun? You can’t put them all in order. There’s no empirical way to do so. Your theory falls apart.

Does it? Your point is fair, considering that you don’t know any of the metaphysics at play here yet. If you could feel those feelings forever, you’d be able to compare them. It’s true, you can’t capture the best moment of a rollercoaster in a bottle. But if you could, wouldn’t that let you sort them just like anything else?

You’d open your mouth to retort, but he’d beat you to it. He always does.

We don’t have the means to do that, of course. But theoretically, if it were possible to measure every moment of your life - and it is, we just don’t know how to do it yet - then you’d be able to break them down to their base components. And once you’ve done that? Well. The only thing left to do is order. The only thing left at all is order.

You’d shake your head. Gently, he’d hold your chin as he repositioned your audio guide from where it would be about to slip.

You always sound so cute when you think you’re right. But everyone feels things differently, and not everyone will feel the same about the same things. If you’re terrified of rollercoasters, you won’t call them fun at all, but if you love them then you’ll say they’re the most fun you’ve ever had. By your logic, all people will have different categorisations for different things, which necessarily means that there can be no single universally applicable categorisation for everything.

Oh, you’d look so proud of yourself, voice echoing in the corridor as he holds the door to the next gallery open for you. Checkmate.

You poor thing. If only, little trickster god. You put up a good fight, but alas - the metaphysical theory behind it disproves you.

But h-

We can talk about it later, dear. He’d pretend to examine the object label on the wall to your left, brushing off your misplaced concern - you don’t really need to hear him explain all that. Far too boring, far too dense and dull. A singular waste of time and effort, especially considering how precious little time he gets to spend with you as it is.

Marble and varnished wood and wrought iron. The museum is vast and full of fascinating things. Easily enough to fill an afternoon and then some. Take your time.

Walk with him.

Beauty, it is said, is in the eye of the beholder. Blake disagrees. Whoever said that had clearly never met you. It’s difficult to understand, and harder to accept, but the black-and-white of it is undeniable - surely someone has to be the one to know. Surely there must be someone who bears the precious burden of truth. Eight million people. Why shouldn’t it be him?

(Perhaps he’s biased. Forgive him. He is, after all, only human.)

Ugliness and filth and corruption. How is it that you stand above it all? So perfectly ordinary, yet more than he could ever hope to imagine. Circumstance tries to destroy you, time and time again - maybe you realise, maybe you don’t. It doesn’t matter. He knows, and as long as he’s here, you will always be protected. What’s the point of power if you can’t protect the things you love? You are beautiful, it's true - but weak, naïve, deprived of the knowledge of the world that you so desperately need, bereft of the guiding hand of truth. A flimsy, delicate creature. A precious, fragile soul. Nothing more than a butterfly, wandering blithely towards a hurricane. Blake has always been handy with a net.

(Nobody could deny it. Say what you will about Blake, but he's never been the type to take things for granted.)

It’s one thing, to have been shown the realisation of ruin. It’s another, to rally against it. Don’t you understand? He had to go away, to leave you lonely for a while, but it wasn’t his fault. He had to know the truth, and the truth is painful, the learning even more so. What man wouldn’t feel lonely, without you by his side? You’ve spoilt him with your presence, and in your absence a plan was made. Well, perhaps not made. Finalised. Solidified. Crystallised. The seed of the feeling has always been there, ever since you met - at last, it was time to water you, each tiny drop by his own careful hand.

The old Blake, that helpless, stupid creature - now remade in the dawning of the new day, baptised in the ocean of righteousness. The architect of his own future, and now yours too. Truth is truth is truth, and the audio guide in your ear speaks with his voice.

After all, who did you think made this place?

The victorious curator, hand in hand with his prize exhibit. Your frozen form, lovingly suspended in smooth resin, falling eternally but never hitting the ground. It’s all dedicated to you, it’s all for you, every shelf and hook and souvenir postcard. Would you call it greedy? Would you call it selfish? What is an archive, if not for the preservation of the collector? What is a museum, if not a prison cell of the past? Wall to wall, every facet of your being shimmers under the light. Every smile, every breath, every eyelash that you've ever wished on, kept forever in endless magnificence. If he’s selfish, so be it. His most glorious altar, and the god to which it is dedicated.

Turn up the volume of the audio guide, darling. Are you listening?

(It's funny, he guesses. He spends all this time waxing poetic about how all things are unique and special in the universe, in a world that doesn't even really exist. At least, not to anyone else. If it looks real, seems real, feels real - how are you meant to know the difference? Some people are just born lucky, and how fortunate, then, that he is the way he is. Puppets very rarely know the faces of their masters, and Blake has always been gentle with your strings.)

High ceilings catch the echo. This place, his greatest gift to the one he loves more than all else. Galleries go on forever and the cinema room plays an endless loop. People like to have weddings in museums, don't they? The sky outside is bright and white and nothing at all, and nighttime means nothing to a world that cannot end.

Look at you. Oh, just look at you. Encased in glass, resting gently on your wire skeleton, arm outstretched towards the skylight. Submerged in vinegar, no bubbles, leaning your head against the side of your big glass jar. Ice crystals glitter on your frozen tongue, marble fabric hangs immobile from your granite shoulder, familiar pairs of painted eyes gaze across the exhibition floor. You’re right behind him. You’re all around him. Every wall, every case, every frame - your lovely form fills them all. All things are equal on the altar of his adoration and he is your greatest disciple, raising the knife up in his hands and swearing on your name that he will bring you back to life. Watch over him, bless him, smile upon him. Just you wait. One last miracle.

Butterfly nets on every window. If you love it, never let it go. Here, you have always been perfectly preserved.

If only, if only, if only. The rest of the world would be so much simpler if that, too, were in his hands. The chosen one, with you eternally his first choice. As it is, he surveys his domain - marble stretches leisurely out in front of him, and a gilded ceiling hides the panicked wings tangled in the mesh, fluttering mournfully just outside his field of view. Sunsets come and go, the audio guide sings and sings, and the dust never settles.

Flesh and stone and the unending centuries of you. He kneels before you, kisses your hand, gazes into your eyes. The sound of church bells rings throughout the universe. Here, he doesn’t have to wonder. As ever, your devotee.

(It is said that the statue of a saint might speak to a believer. What are dreams for, if not the realisation of miracles?)

Tell me, honey. Your smile is as beautiful as ever. Do you think this is real?

Maybe, this time, you’ll reply.

masterlist

this is an original work by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute

[get-rammed]

hi ram!! ik you got bored of fnaf so would it be ok to get the deets on your monty series on tiktok? i dont wanna pressure you into making any content but i wanna know what happens so bad

Eventually I'll get around to finishing part 3.

But ye here we go.

It would follow the anon as they heal while working in the daycare.

Starting with like a flash of the anon walking away and then dealing with legal crap. NDA's and the likes. This isn't the first time an animatronic has gone rogue so they'd prefer if this stayed quiet. Paying the anon to keep working there and shrug it off.

Following as they box up all their Monty merch and art he's drawn/made with them. Leave it in a closet. But they can't bear to lock the plush away, so it sits on the floor near their bed.

When they go back to work it follows them as they explain to Chica's Handler how things with Monty go. His needs and what to watch for. None of the other Handlers are aware of the truth. As far as they know his jaw malfunctioned while the anon was working on him. So there's no reason for anyone to be afraid. Warning them to immediately tell anyone if he seems like he's going to hurt someone. She's confused at their concern, but acknowledges she'll keep an eye out.

We'd follow the anon as they meet Dawn, the daycare attendents Handler. She has a robotic left hand. An "accident" that occurred with the failed Project Starlight (my Security Monty). So she knows immediately what actually happened and forces the truth out. As with her, nobody knows the truth. Just knows she lost her hand and the security Monty project was canned.

She explains she avoids the show animatronics since they're too much. Where both attendents are quieter and mindful of her and her anxieties. She only keeps working with Fazbear due to the same NDA and contracts the anon has signed. Good money, but they must both face their trauma each day.

Then it'd be a slide show essentially of the anon in the daycare for a few months. Their casts going away and down to bandages to show the passage of time. With moments of Monty looking nervous but trying to be entertaining in the day care. The attendents are hovering around the anon to make sure they're okay.

There would be a break in here for Dawn to be having a smoke while the anon is eating their lunch. Dawn asks since they're almost healed, would they be going back? When a familiar gator shaped shadow appears. It panics the anon for a second, but it's just Chica's (and currently Monty's as well) Handler dressed in a Monty suit saying of COURSE they're coming back as soon as they're healed. So the anon grits out a yes. They'll go back. They're told they'll be moved back in two weeks.

We got some inner monologe about how they still can't open the closet where all his stuff is at and it flashes with the plush under some clothes.

Cutting to the anon meeting a kid they haven't seen before. He asks about their big scar. Trying to be polite they get his name and chat with him for a bit. Then realize he has no pass. This child is Gregory. Cue him taking off and the anon letting security know.

They don't see him again and just hope he's fine.

They're walking out with Dawn and realize they had forgotten their security pass so wish her a good weekend and head back. Their way back is blocked. They're forced to walk back past the show animatronics in their rooms. They can hear Monty's meltdown from where they are. Telling themsleves not to panic, it's not their problem, he'll be fine come Monday when they're going to be his Handler again.

Lil flashes of Monty ripping up his room and the bots in there.

Chica's Handler stops them. Forcing them to acknowledge the terrifying situation at hand. Ask what's wrong, she admits they don't know. Freddy collapsed on stage and Monty started freaking out in a bad way. There were attempts to turn down his aggression but he kept overwriting the code. He was supposed to be in sleep mode but he force reactivated. So they're letting him run till he's outta juice for the night. She admits something is wrong with all of them, but hopes things will sort themsleves out.

It's clear the anon is getting uncomfortable, so the Handler bids them a good weekend and they're back on their way. Once they get their badge they're on their way back to the entrance, but are stopped by Vanny. "You shouldn't be here."

And then it ends.

I was initially planning for that to be it, but after discussion of the anon working with Gregory through the night, I ended up thinking of more to feed that. But we'll see if I continue it past this part or not.

[odysseywritings]

The New Milky Way - First Contact

The crew of four landed on the healthiest nearby planet. If nothing else, it would be a good spot for being grounded and with natural water and food.

Skye was eager to explore this planet with its lush foliage and rivers of tranquil water. Mercuria was guarded and aimed at everything that could pop out of the bushes. Prince Shaushko was fussy and bemoaned the dirt on his glorious gold footwear. Laris was content.

"I can get used to this place," the scaly musician said. "Calm, peaceful, and without comets about to hit us."

"Easy for you to say, Laris," the prince huffed. "Why there's not even a stone path to walk on. Must we travel on foot in the wilds like barbarians?"

"Zip it," Mercuria gestured. "We don't know what's on this planet. It's likely to be abandoned... Or we could be watched.'

"Well, we can't just sit around and worry," Skye beamed. She held out a scanner into the river, which was given an affirmative sound with listed attributes, all that indicated it was safe to drink. "It's all clear! Let's drink up and see if it leads us to any food!"

The four drank their fill and followed the river stream looking for anything of worth. They passed the time telling stories of varying degrees of bawdiness, though Mercuria could not shake off the feeling of being stalked. They came across bushes of hexagonal pink berries, which were scanned to be healthy if bitter, causing Laris to inhale them while Shaushko quickly gagged and dramatically groaned in pain.

Up ahead they noticed a smoke trail and they agreed it was some sort of civilization, but they figured it would be best to leave them be. It was easier said than done as a scout spotted them and made a loud screech.

"Wait," Skye cried out with hands in the air. "We don't mean any harm! We just wanted food and water."

The scout paused and ran back. A moment later, a group of animal-looking humanoids approached them. A few reptilian like Laris, one avian, and the largest one with a rhinoceros appearance. This one was presumably the leader given the magnanimous presence, calm gait, and red regal clothing.

"Greetings, strangers," the horned giant boomed. "I am Bronta vu Rabb. Is this true you come to the tribe of Rabb for matters of survival? You will be heavily watched if you prepare any treachery, but we are merciful, and you will be treated fair if you are truthful."

Skye attended to talk until the prince shoved her and posed pompously.

"A fellow royal! I assure you we will be proper guests in your humble kingdom."

Bronta snorted with apathy.

"We are glad you will be well behaved." She brought the reptilian and avian behind them. "You will be watched by two of my proudest guardians. Varanek the mage and Andras the flier. They excel in combat near and far so do not stray far if you value survival. Once you have received your nourishment and return, they will allow your safe journey back."

"Most excellent, your leathery highness! Let's not waste another second. But, oh, if you have some cleaning supplies for my clothes?"

"Go."

"Yes, yes, of course!"

The band of four plus two escorts adventured parallel to the stream with the guards giving instructions in their agitated voices. Mercuria hated this humiliation and would rather fight, but the inhabitants were not hostile, so she bided her time in case they went against their word. Skye was meanwhile elated by this new world yet she wished they were independent as she had been attached to this group. The prince felt safe thinking the guards would be his own and would now die for him if a threat occurred. Laris was less content.

Yet a looming figure watched them in the shadows, judging and looking over the group, who would soon meet them. With a cold breath emitting from exposed teeth, it murmered an oath over and over as eyes stared at the intruders.

[rainofaugustsith]

FFXIV: I love the Dark Knight

I thought I'd write about the absolute joy that have been the Dark Knight story chain and job in FFXIV. After reaper it's my second favorite job in the game, and I never thought I'd feel that way about a tank class. I wanted Viri to have one so she could do all the Cardinal Virtues quests and such, but up until now Viri has not enjoyed tank jobs. DK is the third one Viri has tried. I noped out on Gladiator by the time I hit level 20 and I didn't get past level 5 with Marauder. Dark Knight, on the other hand, has been very Viri.

The combat won't spoil the story at all so let's talk about that first: it's great. I did glamor the ginormous sword away for something far sleeker, but there are numerous options for that. There's jumping, there's slicing, it's supported by magic, and it actually does seem like a natural companion to the reaper DPS job. Like the reaper and black mage, there's a lot about harnessing the power of the dark side and using it to help others.

One of my quibbles with some of FFXIV's jobs is that they clearly seem designed only for group play. Like Black Mage. Yeah, it does a lot of damage, but you're planted in one place and that doesn't seem to work unless you have a tank and another DPS forming a barrier so you can stand at a distance and cast. Taking the time to cast in open world combat, solo, has really not worked well for Viri. I find her Black Mage cannot survive things her other jobs could easily do.

DK seems like it's intended to be sustainable as both a solo and group content job. Yes, it takes longer to kill things than DPS, but the DK also puts out a lot of damage with certain skills. I'm finding that Viri's DK can tackle enemies a few levels higher than herself without struggling or being in any danger of being defeated. In the dungeons I've done with the Grand Company squadron and Duty Support, she's also been able to do well.

Now, then, the story. What comes across so clearly in the story is how much the WoL hurts from all that has happened to them, and it's really illustrated by the DK. Spoilers for the Dark Knight story up through level 70, mention of CSA and parental abuse.

There's the entire premise of how the dark knight came to be: a clergy member abused a child, the establishment ignored it, and this one knight who was horrified - took care of it. There's an ongoing theme of standing up for the little guy, the oppressed and ignored; those subjected to institutional abuse and marginalization. In truth even though the dark knight is supposed to work in the shadows, it really isn't that far from what the Warrior of Light already does. They are trying to protect people who need the help.

Caption Sidurgu: All that anger, all that rage...born of a fervent desire to protect that which we hold most dear. In the initial and Stormblood Dark Knight quests, the writers seem completely in tune with how the WoL might be feeling. A lot of Frey and Myste's dialogue were sentiments I'd felt myself as I played through. Guilt over the deaths caused by the WoL. Guilts over deaths of beloved characters that the WoL could not stop. Deep resentment and anger, especially in the end of ARR and Heavensward, about how the Scions and Cid seemed to consider the WoL nothing more than a machine to do their bidding.

This scene where Frey finally loses it and tells off this man? chef's kiss Viri wanted to do that far more than once during ARR and Heavensward.

Caption Fray: You spineless sack of shite. I kill your enemies. I fetch your things. I do what you people can't or won't do yourselves.

So of course when one realizes Frey is actually someone only the WoL can see, and all Frey's dialogue is actually coming from the WoL themself? It makes sense. It's their dark side; it's every time they bit their tongue. It also makes sense that they'd have to confront it, and embrace it. In Stormblood when it's their guilt coming to a head, again, it makes perfect sense.

Caption Viridana Dragoi: ...if this is how it must be, then so be it.

And Heavensward's quests? Showing the deep extent of abuse again, and how the Holy See's zealotry destroyed lives. We had a child who had dragon blood through her father, being pursued by an inquisitor mother who referred to her as 'it' and made it clear she would not rest until her child was imprisoned or dead. And one of the dark knights protecting said child was a young survivor of Ishgard's genocide of the Au Ra, which makes it even more poignant. He was harmed by Ishgard as a child; he does not want to see another child harmed.

Oh, and they manage to sneak a Moogle quest into the gloom and doom, which is hilarious.

Caption Merry Moogle (singing): Could it be that the darkness is born of a light? A flame burning for another? How graaand! The level 70 ending to the DK quests honestly made me teary, but in a good way. You're on good terms with Sid, the Auri DK who has very heavy Esteinen vibes, and his young charge, Rielle. The WoL is reminded again that they are loved, that they are remembered, and that they share the loss of their friends with others who cared about them. At the end of the day the DK arc really is about love, and how to protect those you love, and the anguish when you can't.

Caption Count Edmond de Fortemps: Haurchefant...lived his to the fullest...and if his story is preserved for generations to come, then...I should be glad of it... Count Edmond de Fortemps: You will always have a place here, Viridana. For you are family. Now go! Do not let me keep you from your labors. The world waits for none - not even you.

[yoonstudios]

dear army twitter refugees,

greetings! i see you've come across my bts blog, and you're probably still wondering how in the name of god this site still works. do all you need, just please don't interact with me.

don't take it personal, i just only want certain type of blogs and people on my dash. all i ask are a few simple things: don't constantly come into my inbox screaming about voting and streaming. please. i already do both of those all the time when the time arises and i would love to not be bothered by you people who talk about it on a constant basis. i know how important it is (i really do!), i just love peace and quiet while i'm doing so.

and about fanwars and fandom drama. a big fat NO. fanwars are literally nonexistent here, and there are many k-pop multis here as well. i'm friends with quite a few of them. we all get along, and all multis here are nontoxic. it's quiet and peaceful and we all live in our little k-pop bubbles. so yeah. do NOT bring fanwars and fandom drama here or i will shove inkigayo so far up your ass, you'll be tasting kpoppies for weeks. i will not tolerate any drama here, it's unnecessary and drains everyone's brain cells right out of their ears.

and PLEASE don't repost my gifs, even if it has the credit. just search whatever bts gif you need in the little gif search bar, and you can put my gif into your post like that. i want you to do this because some of the watermarks on my old gifs are my old urls that i don't use anymore. even if the gif has my current url as the watermark, i would still love if you posted it though the gif embed technique (?)

also this site is filled to the brim with glitches that the staff probably won't fix anytime soon. you'll get used to it. and btw, this site barely has an algorithm. so if you say some dumb shit and want to blame tumblr for shadow banning you, you can't. truth is no likes it and it's therefore not gonna be seen by anyone. survival of the fittest around here.

conclusion is: if i see you, i will probably block you (unless you're a bts content translator). sorry not sorry.