#but! is this all there is? what cruel God would condemn his child to just 3 things? musn't there be more to life?

[sharkrocket]

But her large eyes with furrowed brow followed him as she tried to get comfortable in her clean bed. He eyed her in turn as he covered her with two new blankets.

He wanted to give a sigh, because he knew what that frown meant. But he didn’t; he would have given her his answer before he even asked the question with that.

“Do you want me to stay with you?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright.”

Draw inspired by Plaguedboar’s fic Oranges and Lemons! We’ll turn this Bachelor into a dad yet  😭💕

[honorhearted]

@ycllowhaired​

As a reverend’s son, Ben had always been taught that retaining ill will towards another person was wrong. One mustn’t covet, nor begrudge another man’s actions, and yet in this instance, Ben liked to believe God would forgive him -- nay, agree that his yearning for revenge was completely justified.

In a cruel twist of fate, his brother, Samuel had been arrested on a trip to London. He’d merely been speaking his mind in a tavern -- oh, Heaven forbid -- and the judge presiding over this trial had condemned him to prison...a prison where Samuel withered away, grew sick, and ultimately died a dog’s death. That sort of oversight could never be forgiven; not when this Turpin monster lived more than heartily in a mansion, while meanwhile everyone else starved and pleaded for crumbs. 

Ben wished to reverse his fortune. So now, leaning against the wrought-iron fence across from Turpin’s grand home, he pretended to read the book in his hand, occasionally glancing over at the small boy he’d hired to pose as a distraction. At long last, he could hear a commotion. The little boy was waving his hands, speaking loudly about an investment -- one that the judge had made, of course -- going “up in flames,” and that he’d been sent by “some nice banker” to come fetch him. Turpin, in all his greed, couldn’t resist this ploy, and immediately fetched his hat and coat before accompanying the child out into the street.

Miserable old miser.

Watching until the two had disappeared, Ben quickly rushed across the street and jogged up to the front door. In Turpin’s haste, the damned fool had forgotten to lock up, and with a breathy laugh of disbelief, Ben showed himself inside and quickly shut the door behind him. He didn’t know what he was looking for, exactly -- something, anything that could prove what a monster this man was -- so he took his time as he searched through the large house.

Before long, Ben became incredibly frustrated. None of Turpin’s desks nor potential hiding spots revealed anything of import -- not even a ruinous letter. Sourly, he headed for the final room in the upstairs hall (his last chance) and immediately froze once he realized it was locked. Oh... Well, surely this was a room of interest! No man with nothing to hide would lock a door, after all.

Giddy, Ben set to work on picking the lock. After a handful of unsuccessful attempts, the lock finally sprung open, and he pushed his way into the room, pleased with himself until he realized that...well...he wasn’t alone. A pretty young blonde was seated in the far corner, embroidering quietly. Shit. Shit, shit, shit!

Pale and wide-eyed, he opened and closed his mouth a few times before spluttering, “Oh, uh...I-I’m so sorry, I...I thought...” Quickly. Come up with something, damn you! “Er, I am a carpenter. I was called in to fix a wobbly table leg. The judge isn’t presently here, so...I suppose I miscalculated the room. Apologies.” Though just as Ben turned to leave, it suddenly dawned on him that this woman had been locked inside this room -- that she was a prisoner of sorts -- so slowly, he halted his trek and turned again to regard her. “Are you all right, Miss?” This time, he didn’t bother disguising his American accent. Somehow, he had a feeling they might be on the same side...

[poisonous-honey]

Hello hello! I deleted some of my other blogs and will slowly re-upload the fics and drabbles I made here. I hated having everything separated, this is just my attempt to make navigation less confusing for me. Also, so I can tag everything properly from the beginning lol

Website Master list/To Be Uploaded

Mobile Friendly Version under the cut (Work In Progress. Some links won't work I think, I just copy-pasted from my other page)

Masterlist - Word Wall

Hello! You found the word wall :) I’m using this as both a master list to stay organized and to keep track of what I haven’t finished yet.

If there’s no link, it hasn’t been uploaded. If you can’t find it, it might be in a collection page. If it’s neither then send an ask, I forgot lmao.

Genshin

Honestly assume it’s SAGAU unless stated otherwise

3.3 Tier List Mayhem

Scaramouche- I guess you should say Wanderer, has finally been released, and you’ve used him all week. After you’ve basically drowned yourself in content surrounding him after the Sumeru Interlude Quest you feel an update to your tier list is in order

36-Stars Of Jealousy

After a year worth of grinding you’ve finally conquered it, but at the cost of Venti’s exclusion. He should be happy for you, but can’t break away from his seething jealousy and sadness.

Cats On Crack (Collection)

Luck never seems to be on your side. You always seem to end up helping other unlucky souls on their own journey, as if fate itself thought it was your job to be a substitute guardian angel. Maybe that’s why you find yourself standing in front of a group of cats protecting one of their injured. It doesn’t matter if it’s Lady Luck or the Goddess of Fate condemning you to this role, but you hope they step on a Lego Brick. (Not SAGAU)

The Cruel Act Of Breaking The World

They try their hardest to keep you entertained. To keep you within their realm of ones and zeros, so your immersion doesn’t fall, and their mind doesn’t shatter. They know their walls are fake and lives are merely code, but that doesn’t make seeing the out-of-bounds any less harsh.

Fontaine Is Committing Childe Slander FR

Childe’s treatment in the Fontaine Archon Quests puts you in a terrible mood

Garden Of Eden

The world has ended and there was nothing they could do about it. Xiao and Aether share a quiet moment in a sea of flowers. (God Reader || Not SAGAU || Reader Isn't Even Physically Present In It)

Genshin Is Crossing Over (Collection)

Where all the crossover fics are kept (i.e. The Venti Parable, Does Having Animal Ears Make You A Pokémon etc.)

Genshin Incorrect Quotes (Collection)

Silly and crack. Basically what the title says.

In The Abyss We Learn To Worship

Why does Childe seem to be your most devoted acolyte, even surpassing that of the Archons? (KINDA CULT AU (ALSO OLD))

Irodori Festival

Little blob!

Just Unbuilt, Or Am I Unwanted?

As you try to improve Xiao’s build for the 100th time, some of the others finally lose their patience

Losing Your 50/50

An ask by Coldbarbarianpeace!

Nahida’s Precious Tailor

The little lord of Sumeru calls upon your aid as she wishes for a wardrobe change.

Naming Wanderer Something Silly

An ask by Anonymous!

SAGAU Darling That’s Been To Other Games

What if for the SAGAU Darling doesn’t end up in Genshin first, but in a different game. Or maybe they were in multiple different games before they landed in Genshin. (HAS IMPOSTER AU IN IT (AND OLD))

Skipping Dialogue

What do the characters do when they find out you’re not paying attention?

Soul Crushing Guilt

The Knowledge That You’ve Been Controlling Real People With Thoughts And Feelings Has You At A Loss

Twins In SAGAU

For the self-aware Genshin AU there have been some slices where Darling has a twin and the twin either isn’t respected as much or in the villain au they’re treated as the imposter. That’s cool and all, but what if the twin worked for Mihoyo (OLD)

Why Are Their Designs So Complicated???

You thought Kaveh would be an easier character to draw. At a glance, his outfit is much simpler than a majority of the casts, so you thought he’d be a safe pick for fanart. How wrong you were.

(18+)

Honkai Star Rail

Losing Your 50/50

An ask by Coldbarbarianpeace!

[floareadeaur]

Ferid's ideal and his scale of morality - Character Analysis

Ferid says in "The story of the Vampire Michaela", that he too lost his God a long time ago. The author mentions that this is one of the few moments when Ferid tells the truth, his smile being one of "genuine sadness".

What God could a prince of an Early Middle Ages European kingdom have?

A Christian God, obviously. And who is this Christian God?

In Christianity, God created the world out of his boundless love, He also created humans out of an infinite love, and this God made them all in a perfect order with a clear purpose.

I can say this from a very personal perspective, as I am a practicing Orthodox Christian who believes in this God and relates my whole system of thinking to this God.

And Ferid also once believed in this God, with all his heart.

This was his highest ideal.

His thinking, his moral scale were related to this ideal of a universal father who created everything out of love: the world, including Ferid's soul.

But we know how the OnS universe is actually created: from the hatred of a suffering and destroyed god, where people are made out of darkness, condemned to continually reincarnate for this god's plans.

The OnS universe, in reality, is a dark one, born of abandonment, loss and mourning.

Ferid realized from a very young age, in fact, how he was created and what kind of world he lives in.

He was confronted with a cruel reality, where his ideal, that loving god who would have created him out of love, with meaning, is a lie.

And at that moment, Ferid's whole value system, his whole moral scale collapsed, no longer having the ideal to refer to, the example, the certainty of the idea that he is created out of love and that the universe has a good purpose.

Ferid saw himself alone, abandoned, lost, in a cruel world, born of darkness.

In a world where he is born second to the throne and repressed as a child with everything he is.

"How scary. But, ever since I was born, I have never been silent. As Papa and Mama have said. Ever since I came out of the womb, I had an incorrigible mouth. Even so, they were still my parents. What was it again. What were we talking about~ Anyways──" ( Wrat19, volume 1, chapter 1 )

Considered "incorrigible", meaning uncontrollable, broken.

Forced by his parents into a clear role, subjected to a strict, repressive upbringing, one meant for a second-born to the throne.

"I've always been perfectly normal. Especially for someone who was second in line for a royal throne.

I had such a strict upbringing. They were teaching me to be a saint."

( Ferid in chapter 91 to Rígr Stafford )

Raised in the shadow of an older brother in front of whom it became a habit to humiliate himself, to consider himself less talented, less loved by people, although his brother also recognizes how Ferid is smarter than him and if Ferid would not have helped him, the royal court was entering civil war.

An older brother who is happy to hear that Ferid sees no point in living so his throne will not be usurped, he takes all the power and Ferid is his controllable pawn.

Ferid realizes that on a human level, there is no love for him.

His parents criticized who he really is, forced him into a role of obedient servant, repressed and raised in the shadow of the heir. His own elder brother grins in satisfaction as he hears how his younger brother sees no point in living, but forces Ferid into an alliance nonetheless.

For he is the king, and Ferid knows it.

"Well... I guess if you order me to, I'll do it."

For his purpose is to carry out the king's orders, and that is all.

In this context, Ferid finds no love in his family, for whom he is just a controllable pawn.

And his ideal of God who created him out of love and who can listen to him, accept him, does not exist.

His disappointments are major.

On the divine plane, there is no love in the creation of his soul.

On a human level, there is no love from those who were supposed to raise him like this, loving him and seeing him for who he is.

Because of this, Ferid's moral scale collapses, because he has nothing to relate to, no Truth, no order, no purpose, no meaning, no bit of genuine love.

" As my supporters, I'll let you kill anyone you consider an impediment.

Be as tyrannical as you please!

None of that matters. Reincarnation is the issue.

That circle needs to be broken. We have to make sure no one is ever reborn again...

Into this stupid, boring, putrid world. "

These words of his spoken with such deep sadness in his eyes show the collapse of Ferid's ideal.

Because the good god does not exist, Ferid no longer has a model to follow, an example of love, of balance. The world is a rotten, dark place, and he is surrounded by people who do not see, listen to, love him for who he is.

Thus, his ideal cannot be replaced even by the love of people, because this does not exist for him.

And his moral scale becomes a gray one, where nothing matters anymore. For anyway, the world is born of darkness, putrid, souls have no purpose, reincarnating in infinite lives.

For a child who believed that there was an ideal of love, of life, of purpose, and realized that he lives in a miserable world on the divine level, but also on the human level, such a disappointment is extremely painful.

That threw Ferid off balance and showed him the ugliness in which he lives. It turned his morality related to the good god into the instinct of a wild animal that must survive.

In this context, Ferid leaves all his frustrations outside and sees the lack of love from those who were supposed to give it to him, from his family.

And he frees himself from them, from those who repressed him and treated him as a pawn, by killing them.

But, like this, Ferid is not calm, peaceful, happy. That is not his purpose. His sensitive soul, which can feel such deep despair, wants the same high, meaningful ideal.

Even as he kills his brother, Ferid still cries out to the sky, as if there is still someone there to listen.

And in the end, he goes precisely in search of a solution to change the origin of his rotten world.

Ferid will meet Rígr, who will fuel his ideal, lying to him that he is the "chosen one", "Michaela", maybe, the one who can change that putrid world.

Perhaps Rígr was the only one who gave him the feeling that he understood his need for such a high ideal, that he sees Ferid as a soul.

But the ending is the same for Ferid: he ends up abandoned and only to realize that he was also a pawn to his new adoptive father, one who has become useless.

Ferid, however, continues to desire his ideal, to change the rotten origin from which the world was created. And from which he, as a soul, was created too.

Because he did not find genuine love from those who were supposed to show it to him, he grew up learning to lock everything he feels inside him.

He grew up learning to shut up his pain and try to survive in the cruel reality in which he exists.

To get revenge in a toxic way that brings him no happiness, because he is, in fact, terrified of death.

But he kept his ideal.

Because, regardless of whether Ferid was created as a pawn by the dark god of the OnS world, and was a pawn in the eyes of all the people who were supposed to help him grow healthy into who he is, this ideal in him cannot disappear.

And Ferid tries to repair directly the rotten origin of the world, hoping that then he, a soul born from that rot, will be able to have meaning and love.

That is why his story is truly fascinating.

To believe in such a high ideal as the creation of the world out of something good, then to realize the true reality that surrounds you.

To lose the idea of ​​divine support and understand that you do not have it from the people around you either.

And yet, to try to change the very cruel reality from which you were born.

Ferid's journey, his questions, his suffering and his desire, all raise deep questions about humanity and the world at large.

About faith, values ​​and identity.

Even though he makes mistakes and is an imperfect character, lost in trying to survive, the fact that he still wants to change the dark origin that gave birth to him, to stop the cycle of reincarnation, of generational trauma, shows that he has not given up and that his soul desires so much.

And this is exactly what makes him such a deeply thought-out character. Because when you try to understand Ferid, fundamental questions come up about what it really means to be human and what can define you.

What is your will, freedom, where do you get love if you never received it?

I really thank the author of OnS for creating such a complex character and raising such important questions.

And thanks to you, the one who reads what I write and tries to understand this character's message too!

We grow more by understanding it.

Kind feedback is welcome and do not forget to fight for your own ideal!

[rejectshumanity]

@lovesigned | continued from ( x )

jonathan  joestar  is no ghost,  he  wants  to  say as he  toys  with  the  smooth,  white  crown  of  the  skull, though his spirit persists.  the  very  thought  ought to  outrage  him,  yet  over  the  course  of  an  endless  century,  it  had  become  something  of  a  perverse  comfort. 

they  had  been  bitter  enemies  since  the  day  they  met  —  his  vindictive  behavior  ensured  that,  though  not  for  jonathan’s  lack  of  trying.  he  believed  he  had  every  right  to  despise  the  boy  and  regarded  him  as  weak,  convincing  himself  that  every  olive  branch  of  friendship  or,  god  forbid,  a  truce,  condemned  him  as  easy  to  exploit,  worthy  of  his  abuse.  what  use  would  it  have  been  to  befriend  him  in  earnest?  he  never  wanted  for  fruitless  friendships,  and  he  certainly  never  yearned  for  their  parody  of  a  perfect  family,  wherein  he,  the  poor,  prodigious,  gracious  orphan,  would  so  gratefully  embrace  this  glittering  fairytale  of  a  life  among  high  society,  gifted  to  him  by  none  other  than  sir  george  joestar,  his  noble  savior  from  a  life  of  poverty  and  destitution,  his  new  father.  woe  is  he,  poor  child,  the  hapless  son  of  a  brutish  thief  and  the  battered  barmaid  he  worked  to  death  —  but  oh,  what  a  privilege  it  was  to  have  been  chosen  by  the  elect,  to  be  granted  this  impossible  life  of  riches  and  leisure,  to  be  snatched  away from  the  cruel  jaws  of  poverty  and  pardoned  of  the  sins  of  his  father!  how  he  prayed  they  would  all  choke  to  death  upon  their  silver  spoons  and  spare  him  their  ceaseless  indignities.  if  he,  dio  brando,  were  to  ingratiate  himself  among  the  ranks  of  these  obsequious  sycophants,  then  he  would  do  what  he  must, all  for  the  pleasure  of  glutting  himself  with  their  bountiful  resources,  a  parasite  of  the parasites,  until  he  could  obtain  the  means  to  further  his  goals  independent  of  their  charity.  

joestar’s  son  was  worse  than  useless  —  he  actively stood in his way, opposing his plans by his mere existence.  he  saw  him  first  as  spoiled,  pampered,  unworthy,  weak;  then  as  persistent,  infuriating,  and  surprisingly  admirable.  and  finally,  after  fighting  with  such  fierce  effort  that  he  damn  near  took  his  life,  jonathan  joestar  was  no  more, or so he thought.  

but  then,  in  the  face  of  abyssal  oblivion,  jonathan  joestar  became  all  he  had  left.

the  head  tormented  him,  even  as  the  body  continued  to  sustain  whatever  meager scrap of  life  he  managed  to  cling  onto.  back  when  it  still  bore  discernible  features,  he  watched  over  an  imperceptible  period  of  months  as  its  serene  expression  slowly  succumbed  to  rot.  there,  he  began  to  perceive  the  enormous  gravity  of  his  actions;  the  tragedy  of  two  men  cut  down  in  their  glorious primes,  left with  nothing  more  than  an  oceanic  grave  to  bookend  their  great  legacies.  how  fitting  it  was  that  his  sole  companion  in  this  eternal  hell  would  be  the  very one  he  condemned,  whose  death  ensured  he  would  consciously  suffer  his  own  damnation.  never  again  would  the  vampire  savor an  irony  so  deliciously  bitter!  their  grim  reality  would  drive  any  sane  man  to  tears,  but  DIO  just  laughed  and  laughed;  he  has  always  been  fond  of  cruel  jokes.

after  one  hundred  years  spent  in  the  company  of  a  skull,  he  reconciles  its haunting  with  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  by the grace of fate, they  did  not  suffer for  nothing.  for  here, he  stands proudly,  alive and thriving at last, reaping  the  full  rewards  of  his powers  old  and  new,  all  thanks  to  dear  jonathan.  and  it  is  because  of  he, DIO,  that  jonathan  retains  a  legacy  of  his  own:  through  the  body  he  has  taken,  the  lineage  of  his  children,  the  inexorable  bond  which  binds  him  to  both  his  enemies  and  to  his  kin.

it is a grim subject indeed; but, encouraged  by  the  warm,  amicable  mood  that  comes  from  imbibing  a  little  too  much  wine,  DIO  peers  into  the  anxious  eyes  of  his  daughter and  acknowledges  her  queries  with  a  rich,  dark  chuckle. he can ascertain by her expression the answer she suspects.

❝  does he frighten you?  ❞     he asks, an honest question  despite  his  teasing  —  dante  should  know  better  than  to  mistake  his  sardonic  cadence  for  genuine  mockery. his dancing claws move away from the base of the skull, hovering instead near the scar concealed beneath his bejeweled choker.     ❝  knowing  that  would  trouble  him.  ❞

[latenightsleeper]

27-28 feels right for Darlin’, but I also have always thought of the boys as being around 26ish. I think in my head, it’s always been Asher as the youngest, and Darlin’/Tank as the oldest.

Oh! On the subject of the Pack Outsiders, what’s your feelings on the Imperium? I’ve always wondered if maybe there was a reason Chrissy wasn’t there, but maybe that’s just the Imperium’s “dark side”. Idk, I hc that Imp!Christian is the only one who ever mourned Darlin’. Thoughts?

Oooo idk, just Tank with the accidental forgotten youngest child energy bc all the other wolf boys are in their 30s? Unsure of far into the 30s they are but I saw someone do the math.

Oh man, the darkest timeline. Ima be honest I haven’t touched touched IMP!au. I do have some basic knowledge and watched like a few of the first ones. But I do be kinda running from angst lore, which is kinda funny. I am soft now, I crave soft love 😔

HOWEVER—one of the imp videos was the “ caught by a cruel would pack “ which actually answers the “ where was Christian “ question!

He was getting with Amanda instead of being on protrol which in turn let Tank go after Quinn which made David follow and we know the rest

You can already guess the guilt he’s under for David being gone with Asher always reminding him, it’s pretty much times 20 for Tank. I mean, we already know no one even mentions Tank other than ‘ that other pack member ‘. Their death just brushed to the side for the tragedy of David, which is fair but damn.

So here’s Christian, guilty and condemned already by the new Alpha and his pack and now. He’s to only one there to morn the loss of his best friend and practically soulmate.

He’s the only one who knows their name, who cares too even, who knows their favorite color, show, how they liked their food. How even if they were mad at him, they’d alway make sure to give him food. How he was the only person to know they liked their back scratched as when get hugged. Who knows how pretty their smile was and how nice it looked with the little gap in their teeth.

The only one who stayed for their service and sat in-front of their grave.

Christian is so so sad and so so angry, at himself at Asher for never letting him have a moment where he isn’t reminded of what he let happen. At the others for not caring enough about his Tank to get close. So angry and so fucking sad that he can’t help but ask if that’s how his Tanker felt, what they never said to him.

He misses them, so god damn much and he griefs and morns every day. Like it’s still the same day he found them on that forest floor.

[seventhdecrees]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 、、、

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Now this is, this is with my Ei and only mine. Ei doesn't see Kunikuzushi as her son and most likely never will — she is not a mother to him and never was nor claimed to be one. Kunikuzushi learned the term of mother from humans after he woke up from being sealed away but Ei is his creator that did leave him to defend himself in a cruel world. Ei will never be affectionate like a mother would but she does feels sympathy toward Kuni. She does not regret about sealing him away because she knew that he be inadequate to hold the gnosis — not because strength because he was too emotional example of what she meant is in the current archon quest. Now being a god doesn’t mean you have to be emotionless but Kuni have overwhelming emotions causing him to be used a lot like the Fauti, Sages, and Dottore. Which Ei didn’t want in her puppet so Shogun is more emotionless as result.

Ei feared the worse if he was in controlled of the gnosis and he would share the same fate as Makoto. She didn’t want him to have a fate that he didn’t deserve nor need, while her intentions were good in the sense of caring about Kuni’s safety — she didn’t take full consideration what would happen to her creation by her decision of just sealing him away. Adding the fact Yae Miko feeding false hope to Kuni when his friend was dying and he was dire need of help to no one coming to his aid fueled more of the misunderstanding between Ei and Kuni. Ei have little to know idea of his whereabouts and even that he was apart of the fauti.

Ei and Kuni’s relationship isn’t really a mother and son miscommunication but just a complexed creator and creation relationship like Victor and Frankenstein. In Mary Shelley’s novel Frankenstein, Victor Frankenstein and the monster are connected in a complex relationship. Frankenstein is a story of a "monster" who is forcefully separated from his creator because his physical imperfections have made him an abomination. The "thing" was created in a state of anxiety, panic and passion. Victor took great care to assemble all the body parts, and he only chose those most beautiful. He worked almost like a poet and dreamt of creating a thing of real beauty. However, when he assembled the creature, his emotions were that of horror and disgust. The creature only wants to be loved, and it has child-like characteristics when he is first created. However, Frankenstein does not see this, and his judgement is clouded by the appearance of his creation. On the other hand, Frankenstein is subservient to his creation, because it is physically stronger than he and able to murder his whole circle of family and friends without putting forth much effort. In addition, their relationship is not marked by a simple “hero-villain” pattern.

Neither of these men are exactly heroes, but neither of them are anti-heroes. The author sympathizes with both while condemning them both simultaneously. Both Victor Frankenstein and his creation are worthy of readers’ sympathy and contempt. Frankenstein deserves ridicule for assembling a living being that he instantly neglects for the simple fact that it looks unsightly. His neglect causes Frankenstein to roam Europe in search of guidance and friendship, neither of which does he ever receive. Nevertheless, it is difficult not to feel sorry for Frankenstein when all of his loved ones die at the hands of his creature.

Ei’s intentions were slightly kinder compared to Victor’s but the similarities are still there. Both creators neglect their creations leaving them to roam for friendship and acceptance just to be used in Kuni’s case or rejected in monster’s case.

[urlocalterrorist]

Why aren't you scared of me?

Assassin!Reader x Tanjiro

Reader's pronounce: female

(Y/n) is part of team that calls themselves the "light foxes". They promised to the people of their country that they will punish every criminal on earth, for the name for their God. But all they do is condemns and suspects kids, man and women, for crimes they never did. After that they kill them. In front of the sun. (Y/n) had enough. She can't see the inosent peoples dying faces anymore. So she turn against her own kind. She is no longer a light fox. No, no, she is the shadow, that drowns the light, the wolf that kills the foxes. It's been exactly 3 years she killed everyone of them. And now she wonders the land of Japan. Hunting down demons fun. She is almost at the point to became a hashira herself. But would she be able to keep herself under control?

Warning

This series will contain: Violence, Gore, dark themes, Reader has blood lust, Reader has no control over herself, Psycho/Yandere like behavior, Stalking

If you're uncomfortable or sensitive any of them above, please search for a nother blog or read this series with your own risk. You've been warned.

Editing T-cat is here

Pls give me some sorts of ideas or some motivation pls im starting to run out of it T^T

Editing T-cat is out

Chapter 2

It was a rainy night when you went to find does kids.

When you were little your 'mother' was the one who used to tell you when it's raining, God is crying out His eyes for us, so we can live in this cruel world we call 'Home'.

"Shadow breathing, 11th form: Sun Set Dream." you wisperd as you ran into the shadows and never been seen again. This form makes you dissappear in the shadows, making stalking, suprise attacks and getting aways a lot more easier.

As you walk around the vilage still in the shadows, you can feel something enter your aurora. You turn to look and there it was. It was invisible, but you can see it. Thanks to all the training you've been through.

"Shadow breathing, 2nd form: wraith's claws" you wsipered again and even before the demon could react you alread cut down it's legs and arms as pinned it to the ground with your kattana.

"Where are the kids?" you asked as you feel a nother demon enter your aurora. "Shadow breathing, 3rd form: drowning light" just like at the Final Selection, the demons head fall to the ground along it's body. The one in front of you still had its head yet.

"So? Don't make me repeat what i said." you threathend as the demon wimpered beneath you. "T-They are ali-"

"Liar. "

"I'm telling you the tru-"

"Liar. "

You say before you lift your hands up with your kattana in it "What! Two of them is alive!" you can sense, it's telling the truth. "where are they?"

"Nearby the village in a cave"

"Shadow breathing, 4th form: Reaper's Scythe" you wispered as the demons head was no longer at it's place. You then thanked as you searched the entrance of the cave.

As you arrive to the cave you can feel the appearance of a small figure. "Hello?" you called out, but you only hear your voice echoing. You walked in, you could fell the boys moving even just a little. The only thing you could feel other than the boys are the amount of little kids bones and a fresh one.

You know the kids are alive because you can't feel any more fresh dead bodies around you, then you hear it a little movement of the little boys. You turned around and then spoke "you don't have to hide, i am not here to hurt you twi."

You can kinda see one of the boy peeking out of his hiding spot, as you continue "it's okay i am not a demon. It's already gone, it's safe to came out." Slowly but surely the boys came out and ran into your arms. Flashbacks ran trough your head as you finally remembered the 5 kid you managed to safe. Only 5.

You could have safe more than that.

It was dawn when you came back with one child in your hands and the other was walking next to you, one of the twins cried into your arms so hard that in the end he drifted into a deep slumber. You went back to the parents house and knock on the door. The door flew open in pure seconds as the mother of the childs bursted out crying when she saw her childs.

The father take the kid from you as you could hear them mumber 'thank you'. "Where? Where is Michio?" asked the Mother, who was now hugging the other boy who walked next to you. You stayed quiet. What should you say? That you were late?

You opened your mouth to speak, although it was completely invisible thanks to your fox mask. "I'm... Sorry for your lost but... The kid died before i could get there.... Your son said that when the demons tooked them away they already-" you thought for a moment. Don't say it in front of the child.

"Took his life away" you say the mother burst out crying. You wnated to comfort the mother in some way but, you don't know how to. So you just... Hugged her along with her child.

"Who are you? What do you want from me?" your real mother asked. She was holding you in her arms as the light foxes stood in full white, and with a mask on their faces. "Your child is what we want." Said the tallest one. "She was just born like, 1 hour ago"

"That's why we need her." said a woman with a scar acroos her face. She had jewelrys all over her neck, ears, and fingers. "I'm not ganna give her to you." the woman looked at her right with her green orbs and the fox she stared at looked back at her. She gave a little nood as the fox then nooded and pulled out a karambit.

The other grabed your mother by her arms and then a man taked you away from her arms. "What are you doing?" she asked, panic made her voice shaking. She tried to fight bacl and not let them take you away from her, but the tables turned fast when the fox with the karambit staped it in your mother skull.

She died instantly, and slowly fell to the ground. Then the cries of a baby was heard. Your cries. The fox that took you away from your now-dead mother passed you to the woman with the scar. Nether you, or the band that killed your mother that day, was seen again.

"SOUTH WEST! SOUTH WEST! YOUR NEXT MISSION TAKE PLACE AT SOUTH WEST!" Your crow 'shouts' at you. You just taked a nice little nap from yesterday. You could hardly go to sleep without nightmares. Taked your weapons and ran to the next location. When you arrived, you saw a house and of course, you stepped inside.

When you did so, the room you were in changed several times then it randomly stopped. In case you draw your kattana out and started to walk to room to room. When you walked in a room, you found a man covered in blood. He got week in the knees, and then started to beg you quietly almost wispering but you could still hear him.

You then heared a sound and landed the man a hand. He then accepted and you helped him on his feet. A demon then appeared, and you were just about to attack the demon, you but your kattana back to it's place and pull out your bow "Shadow breathing" you begin to slowly an pull an arrow out of it's case, "9th form:" you then put the end of the arrow to the thread of the bow, and begin to pull them arrow backwards, and targeting the demon's head.

"Sniper."

But before you could release the arrow the guy behind you begin to scream when he saw a nother demon making you miss the target, he then tried to run away and inthe process, he flew out of the balcony of the house.

You cursed to yourslef, you don't have enugh time to make a nother attack, you can't even save the guy. Even if you wanted to. The only option is stealth and you know it. "Shadow breathing, 12th fro-" you didn't watched out. Random claws apeared and thanks to your good reflexes, it left a huge wound across your chest.

"12th form: Sunrise Pictures" The demons never seen you again. You ran into one of the rooms and your stealth was already gone. Your lucky, you didn't got a very deep wound. But you still tried to catch your breath. You groaned as you tried to get rid of the uniform, so you could tret your wounds.

You finally were able to get a good look on your wounds. Though you didn't have any medical supplies, you tried your best to stop the bleeding.

Finally it's finished..

You thought to yourself as you but your uniform back on. You were just aboutto lay back against the wall and let out a deep sigh, when suddenly the rooms changed, at the soundof the drums. Someone's here. You have to get up. You leand forward, as you did you almost fell, so you used your hands for support.

You slowly but surely made yourself to stand up. You can't use your kattana now in this condition. So you taked your bow out again, and this time you made sure to have an arrow against the thread. As you get up, you made your way to the door, and slide it open.

You seeked for some kind of human being to protect, or the other way around. You made sure to crouch and always be alert where are you going. "Big brother, Big brother!" that's what you hear in the end of the hall. You slowly made your way to the sound and as without hasitason you pulled the thread of the bow, getting your breathing style ready fro a nother attack.

You then slided out of your hiding spot, standing still as you amed your bow at a... Familiar face. The redhead from the final selection you saved. You didn't even realize you were holding your breath before you raised your bow down as the redheaded looked at you.

He had pretty wine eyes, reflecting kindness out of his gaze, dark red hair, and a scar with it. He weared earings, hanafuda earings. "who are you?" his kind voice spoke. You didn't answered first you gaze wandered to the two most likely siblings, then spoke "I'll tell you if we came out of this place alive."

[writing-so-i-dont-scream]

The Wretched Philosopher

So this is the end

What wretched, spiteful god chose this death

What truly heartless deity saw fit to condemn me this way

Lying in a rotting heap of traitorous flesh

Desperate for an end but lacking the strength of will to carry it out

NO

What good are lawmen if they can’t kill you?

What good are gunmen if they can’t die?

What good are legs if they can’t walk me out of this stinking hole

So I can go out the way I was MEANT to go

A thousand curses on that foolish boy I was

Cursed with hunger and ambition

Rampaging through life with destructive glee

Laughing like a drunken hyena at every naysayer,

Shooting like a Maxim gun at every naydoer

Had I never known fear? Had I truly lived in such

Manic glee that my own mortality never crossed my mind?!

I curse that drunken fool! A curse for every sore upon me,

A hot poker in the eye for every stinking, bubbling buboe

He earned me. Gallivanting through the desert like

A brazen halfwit, just looking to empty his pistol.

He would remember the euphoric rush,

The fruits of victory. But I remember the rot. The huddling

Wretch of every town that warned of carnal indulgence.

Not in their words, but in sickening whimpers just like mine,

As we lay shivering, slowly decomposing right outside

The den of sin that riddled our young bodies with gelatinous

Sores that never quite heal. I see the juvenile moron

That I used to be in every young man strutting into

Those doors, drawn by the sounds of music, laughter,

And love making. Just as they do not see me, do not

See the miscellaneous huddle of forgotten fools

Lying just outside. What I wouldn’t give to wring the 

Scrawny necks of every reckless fool like that, to

Shout into their clean, healthy faces the same things

People had never told me so many years ago. At least

If I could warn them, they’d shoot me and it’d all be over.

How a civilized town could ever spring up around this

Haven of death and predatory debauchery would amaze

Me, had I still the capacity to be amazed. Now my thoughts

Are like hateful parasites sluggishly escaping an expiring

Host.

I think now of my mother. How her eyes shined when I saw her.

I once mistook it for a mother’s love, but now I know it must

Have been despair. What would she think of me now? Her

Only child wasting away in some nameless aberration of 

Civilization. I doubt she’d recognize the boy she knew in this

Sick, tired body. There would be no shining eyes for me,

Unless provoked by the stench as she passed by. I’d like

To see her, even though she’d be sickened. I’d like to tell

Her that I did it, I figured it out, I grew up! I learned the lesson

That she so desperately wanted to teach me. And she’d cry,

And wail at the sight of me, but I could die knowing I was right

With my mama.

I suppose the men around me think of their lost sweetheat,

Some poor innocent lass set on a worthless wretch like us.

But I never knew love for anyone but myself. In all the years

Of thundering through life, tearing sense away from my

World, it was not the thrill of the deed that won me. Nor the

Beauty of the women. It was my own sense of me, the pure

And true feeling of being the master of my destiny and the

Unabated vessel of my limitless soul. But God does not abide

Pride, the deadliest sin of all. He struck me low with the

Filthy fruits of a life just as filthy, and only now in my time of

Reckoning am I made humble.

As I pass into eternal damnation, I take comfort knowing that

Unlike most sinners, I have had a taste of what’s to come.

I have sat here, bearing my cross for almost a day now, and

I can’t see how the fires of hell could impress me now. The

Cruel, innocent fool that damned me has died in this putrid alley,

There will be no afterlife for him. He has been purged out of

Me by this horrid affliction, and I miss him not. To think

Of the life I could have led, clean of body and mind, free

Of debt and guilt. If that had occurred to me just once

In the fiery days of my recently lost youth, perhaps there

Could have been a different end to my short and meaningless

Story.

[reginrokkr]

❝ you are shaking fists and trembling teeth. i know: you did not mean to be cruel. that does not mean you were kind. ❞ The tale of the Twilight Sword—uttered long ago under the thickness of everlasting darkness and preserved in dusted memories of someone who had passed just when light was shed again. To the naïve boy, it was a picturesque fairytale; but to the wiser warrior, it was a grim reality, unavoidable and justified by unshakable ideals, that Childe did not condemn Dáinsleif for.

■    ■    ■    As much as Dáinsleif may consider himself an advocate of humanity’s right for discovering truths to be unearthed from layers of ashes and debris, becoming a target of someone else’s interest is far from being an object of appreciation to the former knight. Behind a schooled face to inexpressiveness hides a clenching jaw and tensing muscles, trembling astral pupils even when icy sapphires harden subtly. The title of Twilight Sword was relevant enough within the kingdom’s protective walls, albeit he ignores how familiar it could be in other nations that little to naught had to do with Khaenri’ah.

Through loosely gritted teeth an attempt is made to find peace of mind via a sigh, eyes fluttering close for a fraction before laying upon the Snezhnayan man before him. Are you pitying me? He was tempted to ask, but eventually those words had to be swallowed in favor of allowing a more contemplative thought to be given to Childe’s words. It is crystal clear to him that he is talking about his actions against the Abyss Orders with its subsequent implications such as the fact that many of its members —if not all of them— were once Khaenri’ahn denizens.

Dáinsleif is well cognizant of the fact that his opposition towards them is another burden he must carry on his shoulders— a sin that he came to terms with long ago after a prolonged time of hesitance and reluctance until left with no other choice if he wanted to do something for those whom are not to be faulted for the actions of higher beings. Even so, he cannot shake the odd feeling that bubbles within his chest when someone else exposes this aloud.

❝Dead legends ought to be the least of your concerns as things stand right now.❞ The Harbinger’s response is met with avoidance, a need to change of subject before it becomes too uncomfortable for him. For that is what he’s talking about: a legend that passed away centuries ago to never return. Whatever is left of it are bits and pieces that the Twilight Sword of old cannot discard no matter how much he wished so. For better or for worse, those remnants pose many weaknesses and so little strengths that he’s unsure if he would be courageous enough to take this path again were he learn about the Truth of this world anew. ❝They are not to be glorified like one would a god, lest you get disappointed of what they become when the incessant tear and wear of the passage of years affect them.❞

Namely this damned curse that elevates his sentience and consciousness on a higher plane and much more sensitive to the suffering of this world. To this day, Dáinsleif has become the opposite of what he once were. What he accustomed to protect is bound to fall by his blade. How would anyone find something worth giving merit for to a gruesome change like that?

@divitaclara ✦

[rhaenyras]

Alicent’s stans are one step away from “Tywin wasn’t a bad guy, it's not his fault that his culture is classicist, ableist and misogynistic”, “Robert isn’t an abuser and rapist, there is no concept of marital rape in Westeros, he was a product of his culture and it doesn’t make him a bad person.”

Let’s absolve everyone from everything because it’s not their fault their culture is awful. Meanwhile let’s also ignore that numerous characters were perfectly capable of defying their skewed cultural norms because they have this little thing called morals.

GRRM stand against EVERYTHING Alicent (and her illiterate, reactionary fans) stand for:

“And I have a tender spot in my heart for cripples and bastards and broken things.”— AGOT, Bran IV

“What is honor compared to a woman’s love ? What is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms … or the memory of a brother’s smile ? Wind and words. Wind and words. We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy.” — AGOT, Jon VIII

this might sound unrelated but i´m halfway through the reading of "young, damned and fair", aka a biography of catherine howard, the teenaged fifth wife of henry viii.

at one point the author gareth russell says: "cases of child abuse were reported and prosecuted, and the concept was understood in the early modern era, so it is untrue to say that there was no perception of victimhood or coercion. the memoirs of the fourteenth-century merchant´s wife margery kempe recounted an argument that contained a threat of what would now clearly be recognised as marital rape, if the husband did not get what he wanted."

so, not only the argument that "back then men did not perceive these acts to be violence, therefore they´re virtually not to blame" is insensitive and cruel to the victims, but it´s also fundamentally false.

and even if it were true that men had no conception of sexual abuse, gender-based violence and the like, how is this ignorance ground enough to absolve them of any wrongdoing? i can and i will judge them through the contemporary lens, standards and morals, idgaf. i can appreciate and love history (or historical fiction or any fantasy work that draws inspiration from medieval/early modern europe for its world-building) as much as i do and still simultaneously condemn the people/characters in it for their actions, specifically because i am lucky enough to be alive in a different time period and possess the cognitive and cultural instruments to see how wrong they were, whether the people/characters themselves were aware of it while they were enacting the violence or not is secondary to all that (but it´s strongly implied that they were aware of it, albeit the social stigma around most types of violence wasn´t as strong as the present-day´s, of course).

and i actually draw great relief from thinking that we - meaning the entire world´s population alive on the planet right NOW in the year 2024 - aren´t exempted or safe from this backwards judgment. posterity must learn lessons from all of our mistakes and judge us very harshly for them. i would be enormously disappointed in humankind and its progress in ensuing ages if they didn´t.

posterity and its harsh judgement of our shortcomings and failures is the only comfort i find when thinking about palestine, for example. i know that eventually we will all be considered blind and ignorant at best or outright evil at worst for not stopping the genocide in gaza, just as we ourselves tend to do with the non-jewish people of the 1930s and 1940s, who did absolutely nothing (save a few exceptions) to stop or criticize the holocaust publicly or even the rise of nazifascism to power.

[parasite-core]

I’m thinking a bit about my relationship to religion, especially when I was a child. My family had never been super religious. My dad was Christian but was quiet about it, he didn’t tend to talk about it much, I only got to hear his beliefs on rare occasions when I was in high school and college, when I was old enough to hold an informed conversation with. My mom wasn’t religious, she’s since told me that if she believes anything it’s in the power of nature and she thinks most organized religions are arrogant to claim they know what a higher power wants, but she felt she should at least expose me to religion as a child because it seemed right since that’s how she was raised.

As a child we went to church on Sundays until I was in 3rd grade, then we stopped because we moved and my mom didn’t like any of the churches in the area. I’d gone to a preschool run by the church we went to. I remember some of what I’d learned from there—you reap what you sow, and that vanity is a sin. Except I took that second one to mean ‘caring about your appearance is a waste of time and you should let people judge you on who you are not how you look’. I’ve carried that lesson throughout my life, even if it isn’t exactly what they meant to teach. When my mom tried to shake me for my weight or my acne as a teen, I took that as a character flaw on her end not mine, because I’d decided that the people who care about me do despite those things, and if she couldn’t hold to the very lessons she’d had me learn then that was on her. I’ve never been self conscious about my looks, regardless of bullies or my mom, because of that one lesson I took in the wrong direction in the best way.

I remember when I quit being religious. I wouldn’t say I quit believing in a higher power—I still think there’s an afterlife and I acknowledge there could be a god or gods—I’m just not Christian anymore or following any particular organized religion. It was because of something I saw online when I was in middle school. I’d had friends from all walks of life—a Jewish friend, a Chinese friend who followed her own personal religion, an atheist friend, amongst others. So when one day I read a post by a Christian about how nonbelievers would go to hell, and how trying to convert them was a kindness to try to save them, I felt revolted. My friends were good people, even if they believed something different than me. A good god, a kind god, surely wouldn’t condemn them to hell just because they believed something different. And what about people who were never exposed to Christianity? Were they damned from the start with no chance? That wasn’t right. That wasn’t fair. I couldn’t accept that. If that’s what Christians were preaching, then Christians were wrong. There was room in this world for all religious beliefs. Who was I to say which religion was true—if any? Maybe parts of all of them were. It struck me as arrogant and cruel to claim you knew the one true way and everyone else would be punished for not following you. So I disavowed the beliefs I’d held all my life.

I used to believe Jesus lived in my heart. Literally, I thought I could feel Jesus guiding me when I was doing something right or wrong. I quit feeling that after I quit believing—but I didn’t need it, I never actually did.

[loveletterstothepast]

A Year.

If there’s ever been a love story so full of endless joy I would still have no comparison to what a singular year has been like with him. In a busy life we loose sight of what makes us individually human. We love our own lives inside the shoes we walk and never acknowledge another persons steps until they collide.

In the twisting trails I used to run down I somehow collided with someone so similar and unfamiliar to me that I was knocked out of my marathon and opted to walk along side him. It’s been the most rewarding decision I feel I’ve ever made. I am safe in my home with him. I’m loved more than I had ever felt in my entire life. I don’t want want to think about a life without him. It’s too horrible and cruel to imagine. He’s spoiled me so much that I could never allow it to be an option. I’m in love with his hands. His eyes. His smile. I love his pointy nose and his perfect ears. I look at him and wonder how someone so incredibly handsome could ever chose to be with me.. and then he holds me in his perfect arms and I hope to God that he’s mine to keep. I could never part with such a beautifully kind person. I don’t just want to be selfish, I have chosen to be this way for the rest of my life and although it’s been one hectic yet blissful year I’ve decided that he’s my forever. There is no one before I could think of and there is no one after. I wouldn’t want a joking free pass at anyone famous. If I get to chose I want him over all else. I don’t want to just marry him. If he’s decided this is his last life I want to join him wherever he goes. If he burns I’ll be there beside him roasting. He could be condemned to solitude in purgatory and as long as I am somewhere next to him I will endure an eternity of lonesomeness. Wherever he goes I want my soul to touch his forever entangled. I want sappy shitty love stories written about us. I want to be one with him outside and inside my skin. I want to be laid to eternal rest next to him. I’ve always been afraid of what the afterlife held but I know I can face it if it means I get to collide with him again. I want our son to never doubt our affection or our relationship and hold it to a top tier that he STRIVES to be a perfect partner and find his perfect partner as well. I want him to live a full exciting life as his dad and I did and then when he’s ready to put his roots down I want him to find her in a meet cute. Or in random passing and finding in his heart that he knew it was her when he sees her goofy smile across a room full of people. I want that poor girl to feel butterflies flutter like they had when she was a child and love him immediately just as I had loved his dad. I want them to introduce themselves and I want Cj and I to laugh at the story and melt in awe every time we see them. To be proud of our boy for taking care of her. For him to start his own little family. I want to grow old with Cj as we watch our child fall in hopeless love with his life. I want us to smile as we become brittle and watch the stars and sit out in the rain. I want to continue being in love even after love’s expectation date comes.

It may be just a year.. but I’ll love you for the rest of my life. I want you to know that there had never been a day since knowing you that I had ever stopped. There will never be a day that it ever ends and you will never remember what it was like to be unloved by me. You’ve made me the happiest person alive. I could never thank you enough for giving me the family I’ve always wanted. You perfect perfect man.

[allgather]

@chidoried asked me: tell me all about minato's disillusionment with the shinobi system after all his team’s deaths.

minato is already grasping at straws to carry on after obito and rin, to get up in the morning and take on the role of teacher and hokage. but he stays in the village, stays as hokage to be there for kakashi. he lives for a hope for the future that kakashi & kushina & the family he wants to make together with her. he can live on that hope. as long as he can protect kakashi, he can survive. barely, he is suffering, weighed down by unspeakable grief and loss, but he has a child he vowed to look out for who still needs him.

but if he lost kakashi. oh my god, he already failed him so much. he had one thing he needed to do and he couldn’t keep him safe, couldn’t keep him from losing the boy to his grief, from taking unnecessary risks. and then he’s dead and this team that made up his identity, that gave him hope for the future, made him want to be a better hokage, to make this world better, the kids who would be his legacy, who were the best parts of him. all three are gone. it was his job to protect them and he failed for utterly. it tears him apart, it eats him alive.

and the village feels cold. kushina has always been an outsider and minato worked so hard to be hokage, to hopefully change things, to make her accepted and to keep his children safe. but the children still die. he’s still so powerless. the most powerful shinobi in the leaf, in charge of the village, and it doesn’t mean a fucking thing.

and if he doesn’t break and leave with kushina prior to naruto’s birth (because minato and kushina can’t stomach the thought of raising a boy just for him to be as outcasted and hated as his mother or like animals for slaughter to die in the line of duty like the siblings he’ll never know), he would DEFINITELY defects after the ninetails and kushina’s death. he’d have given up the post of hokage long before, right after kakashi, his final student’s, death. then he leaves because he can’t let this happen to his child, this one last chance he allows himself. he can’t. not again.

he’s already been too complacent, too powerless for too long. sitting there with the hokage’s hat like it meant something. he’s lost everything, including kushina, if they had waited until after the ninetails. he has no one else to care for, no one more to protect but Naruto, and the most loving act he can think of is to take him and run. to get out. a life on the run is dangerous, but it’s more conscionable than allowing his son to be raised to die in war. he resents the time he spent stationary in grief. he regrets what he allowed to happen on his watch. he goes and he leaves a slash across his stone face. a warning, a statement: he’ll be back for the others, the living (for their very lives) and the dead (for their violent legacies, upheld by the power hungry and the cruel).

this is all he knows how to do to honour their legacies: obito, rin, kakashi, and kushina. to destroy this system that condemned them to death. to raise a child in their memory, whose future will be happy, safe, and free.

[janecrockeyre]

scum villain is a greek tragedy disguised as a regular tragedy disguised as a comedy disguised as a danmei

this is going to be long, and this is only PART ONE.

a.k.a, Analysing the plot of Scum Villain’s Self Saving System through Aristotle’s Poetics, because I Have Mental Issues

Part One: Introduction and the Tragic Hero

Scum Villain’s Self Saving System is a tragedy disguised as a comedy, unless you’re Shen Yuan, in which case it’s a mixture of a romance and a survival horror. It's a fever dream. It's a horrible, terrible book that made me feel new undiscovered emotions when I finished reading it. 

The thing is... SVSSS shares characteristics with some of the most famous tragedies in the West, such as Oedipus Rex, Medea, Antigone, the Oresteia... if you haven’t read these, I’ll explain everything. But the gist of my argument is this: SVSSS is the perfect tragedy. In triplicate. 

Tragedy as a genre is old as balls and so it has meant slightly different things to different people over the last few thousand years. I'll be focusing on ancient Greek tragedy, which was performed at the yearly Festival of Dionysus in Athens during the 500-350s BC (give or take a hundred years). Aristotle, when writing about this very specific subset of tragedy, had no idea that one day Scum Villain would be written, and then that I would be using his work as a way to look at Shen Qingqiu’s Funky Transmigration Mistake. Anyway!

Greek tragedy greatly influenced European dramatic tradition. I have a lot of opinions about white academics idolising and upholding the classics as the "paragon of culture" but I'll withhold them for now. I have no idea if MXTX has read Greek tragedy or not, so don't take this as me saying they are writing it. 

In my opinion, tragedy is a universal human constant. We are surrounded by pain and hurt and none of it makes any sense, so we seek to process that pain through drama, art, literature, etc. We want to understand why pain happens, and how it happens, and try to make sense of the senseless. The universe is cold and cruel and random. Tragedy eases some of that pain. 

On that note: Just because I am analysing Scum Villain through a Greek lens doesn't mean that it was written that way. I'm pasting an interpretation onto the book when there's probably a very rich and deep history of Chinese tragedy that I just don't know about. If you ever want to talk about that, please, god, hit me up, I would love to learn about it!! 

Anyway, tragedy. MXTX is excellent at it! Mo Dao Zu Shi? Painful dynastic family tragedy. Heaven Official's Blessing? Mostly romance, but she managed to get that pure pain in there, huh? 

But in my opinion, Scum Villain holds the crown for the most tragic of her stories. MDZS was more of a mystery. TGCF was more of a romance. Neither of them shy away from their tragic elements. 

Scum Villain would fit right in between the work of Sophocles, Euripides and Aeschylus. How? Let me show you. Join me on my mystery tour into the world of "Aristotle Analyses Danmei..."

Part One: The Tragic Hero

What is a tragic hero? Generally, Greek tragic heroes are united by the same key characteristics. He must be imperfect, having a "fatal flaw" of some kind. He must have something to lose. And he must go from fortune to misfortune thanks to that fatal flaw. 

There are two (technically three) tragic protagonists in SVSSS and all of them are tragic in different but formulaic ways. Each protagonist has their own version of “hamartia” or a “fatal flaw”. 

Actually, hamartia isn’t necessarily a flaw - rather, it is a thing which makes the audience pity and fear for them, a careful imperfection, a point of weakness in the character’s morality or reasoning that allows for bad things to happen to them. For example, in Oedipus Rex, the king Oedipus has a “fatal flaw” of always wanting to find the truth, but this isn’t exactly a flaw, right? Note: this flaw can be completely unwitting, as we see with Shen Yuan. It can also be something that the protagonist is born with, some kind of trait from birth or very young. 

Shen Yuan

Shen Yuan’s “hamartia” is his rigid adherence to fate and his inability to read a situation as anything but how he thinks it ought to be. He believes that Bingmei will grow into Bingge, and it takes several years, two deaths, and some truly traumatising sex to convince him otherwise. 

Shen Jiu

Shen Jiu’s fatal flaw is his cruelty. It is his own sadistic treatment and abuse of Binghe which directly leads to his eventual dismemberment. This is kind of a no-brainer. Of course, it isn't all that simple, and as an audience we pity him for his cruelty as much as we fear it because we know it comes from his own abuse as a child. This just makes him even more tragic. Delicious. 

Luo Binghe

Luo Binghe’s fatal flaw is a complicated mix of things. It is his position as the “protagonist” which compels him to act in certain ways and be forced to suffer. It is his half-demonic heritage, something entirely out of his control, which sets in motion his tragic reversal of fortune when he gets yeeted into the Abyss. He also, much like Shen Yuan, has the propensity to jump to conclusions and somehow make 2 + 2 = 5. 

As well as having their respective “flaws”, all three protagonists match the rough outline of a good tragic hero in another way: they are in a position of great wealth and power. Even when you split the different characters into different “versions”, this still holds true. Yes, Luo Binghe is raised a commoner by a washerwoman foster mother, but his dad is an emperor and he also ends up becoming an emperor himself. 

Yes, Shen Jiu is an ex-slave and a victim of abuse himself, but Shen Qingqiu is a powerful peak lord with an entire mountain’s worth of resources at his back. 

Shen Yuan is a second generation new money rich kid. 

Bingge is a stereotypical protagonist with a golden finger. Bingmei is a treasured and loved disciple with a good reputation and a privileged seat by his shizun’s side. 

In a tragedy, having this kind of good fortune at the beginning of your story is dangerous. Chaucer says that tragedy is (badly translated into modern english) “a certain story / of him that stood in great prosperity / and falls out of high degree / into misery, and ends up wretchedly”. If we follow this line of thinking, a good tragedy is about someone who has a lot to lose, losing everything because of one fatal point of weakness that they fail to address or understand. 

If we look at Shakespeare, this is what makes King Lear such a fantastic tragic protagonist. He is a king in control of most of England, who from his own lack of wisdom and excess of pride, decides to split his kingdom apart to give to his daughters, favouring his murderous, double crossing progeny, and condemning his only actually filial daughter to death. He loses his kingdom, his mind, and his beloved daughter, all because of his own stupidity.

This brings us to:

Part Two: Peripeteia

This reversal of fortunes is called peripeteia. It is the moment where the entire plot shifts, and the hero’s fortunes go from good to bad. Think of it like one of those magic eye puzzles, where you stare at the image until a 3D shark appears, except you realise the shark was always there, you just couldn't ever see it, waiting for you, hungry, deadly, always lurking just behind that delightful pattern of random blue squiggles. 

Each tragic hero has their own moment of peripeteia in SVSSS, sometimes several:

Shen Qingqiu

In the original PIDW, SQQ’s peripeteia presumably occurs when he finds out that Bingge didn’t perish in the Abyss but has actually been training hard to come and pay him back. There’s really not much I’m interested in saying here - as a villain, OG!SQQ is cut and dry, and the audience doesn’t really feel any pity or fear for him. As Shen Yuan often mentions, what the audience feels when they see OG!SQQ is bloodlust and sick satisfaction. There is also the trial at Huan Hua Palace, which I will talk about in Shen Yuan’s section. 

Shen Yuan (SQQ 2.0)

One of SY’s most poggers moment of peripeteia is the glorious, terrifying section between hearing Binghe for the first time after the Abyss moment, and getting shoved into the Water Prison. 

“Behind him, a low and soft voice came: “Shizun?”

Shen Qingqiu’s neck felt stiff as he slowly turned his head. Luo Binghe’s face was the most frightening thing he had ever seen.

The scariest thing about it was that the expression on his face was not cold at all. His smile wasn’t sharp like a knife. Rather, it showed a kind of bone-deep gentleness and amiability.”

This is the moment of true horror for Shen Yuan, because he knows what happens next: the plot unfurls before him, inevitable and painful, and he knows that death awaits him at Luo Binghe's hands (lol). Compare it with the bone deep certainty with which he faces his own downfall during the sham of a trial later in the chapter (I’ve bolded the important part):

“In the original work, Qiu Haitang’s appearance signified only one thing: Shen Qingqiu’s complete fall from grace. [...] Shen Qingqiu’s heart streamed with tears. Great Master… I know you’re doing this for my own good, but I’ll actually suffer if she speaks her words clearly. This truly is the saying “not frightened of doing a shameful deed, just afraid the ghost (consequences) will come knocking”!”

After the peripeteia is usually the denouement where the plot wraps up and the threads are all tied together leaving no loose ends, but because this tragedy isn’t Shen Yuan’s but the former Shen Jiu’s, it’s impossible to finish. 

Shen Yuan cannot provide the meaningful answers that the narrative demands because 1) he doesn’t have any memory of doing anything, and 2) he wasn’t the person who did them. Narratively, he cannot follow the same path as the former SQQ because he lacks the same fatal flaw: cruelty. 

This is why Binghe doesn’t kill him - because he loves him, rather than despises him. And this is why Shen Yuan has to sacrifice himself and die for Luo Binghe in order to save him from Xin Mo: because the narrative demands that denouement follows peripeteia, and SQQ’s fate is in the hands of the narrative. 

(Side note: I believe that this literal death also represents the death of OG!SQQ's tragic arc. The body that committed all those crimes must die to satisfy the narrative. SQQ must die, like burning down a forest, so that new growth can sprout from the ashes. After this, Shen Yuan's story has more room to develop instead.)

It must happen to show Bingmei that SQQ loves him too. And this brings us to Bingmei.

Bingmei

Bingmei has two succinct moments of utter downfall. The first is a literal fall - his flaw, his demonic heritage, leads his beloved shizun to throw him down into the Abyss. From his point of view, SQQ is punishing him simply for the status of his birth. He rapidly goes from being loved and cherished unconditionally, to being the victim of an assassination attempt. 

He realises that he is totally unlovable: that for the crimes of his species that he never had a hand in, he must pay the price as well: that his shizun is so righteous that no matter what love there was between them, if SQQ sees a demon, he will kill it. Even if that demon is Bingmei. 

The second moment is when SQQ dies for him. Again, from his point of view, he was chasing after a man who was struggling to see him as a human being. Shen Qingqiu’s death makes Bingmei realise that he has been completely misunderstanding his shizun: that SQQ would literally die for him, the ultimate act of self sacrifice from love: that SQQ loved him despite his demon heritage. 

Much like King Lear holding the corpse of his daughter and wailing in sheer grief and pain because he did this, he caused this, Bingmei gets to hold his shizun's cold body and cry his eyes out and know that it was his fault. (Kind of.)

(Yes, I’m bringing Shakespeare into this, no I am not justifying myself)

Maybe I'm a bit sadistic, but that scene slaps. Let me show you a comparison of scenes so you get the picture. 

Re-enter KING LEAR, with CORDELIA dead in his arms; EDGAR, Captain, and others following

KING LEAR

Howl, howl, howl, howl! O, you are men of stones:

Had I your tongues and eyes, I'ld use them so

That heaven's vault should crack. She's gone for ever!

I know when one is dead, and when one lives;

She's dead as earth. Lend me a looking-glass;

If that her breath will mist or stain the stone,

Why, then she lives.

[...]

 KING LEAR

And my poor fool is hang'd! No, no, no life!

Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life,

And thou no breath at all? Thou'lt come no more,

Never, never, never, never, never!

Pray you, undo this button: thank you, sir.

Do you see this? Look on her, look, her lips,

Look there, look there!

Dies

Versus this scene in SVSSS: 

Luo Binghe turned a deaf ear to everything else, greatly agitated and at a loss of what to do. He was still holding Shen Qingqiu’s body, which was rapidly cooling down. It seemed like he wanted to call for him loudly and forcefully shake him awake, yet he didn’t dare to, as if he was afraid of being scolded. He said slowly, “Shizun?”

[...]

Luo Binghe involuntarily held Shen Qingqiu closer.

He said in a small voice, “I was wrong, Shizun, I really… know that I was wrong.

“I… I didn’t want to kill you…”

PAIN. SO MUCH BEAUTIFUL PAIN. Yes, I know Shakespeare isn’t Athenian, but he was inspired by the good old stuff and he also knew how to write a perfect tragedy on his own terms. Anyway. I’ll find more Greek examples later.

This post was a bit all over the place, but I hope it has been fun to read. Part Two will be coming At Some Point, Who Knows When. This is a bit messy and unedited, but hey, I’m not getting paid or graded, so you can eat any typos or errors. Unless you’re here to talk to me about Chinese tragedy, in which case, please pull up a seat, let me get you a drink, make yourself at home.

ps: if you want to retweet this, here is the promo tweet!

[ginazmemeoir]

Since it's Krishna's birthday I couldn't help but write his birth story. So here y'all go, you're welcome. Oh also fun fact about Janmashtami : it always rains tonight. It might be just a drizzle, but it always rains tonight.

Devaki’s screams rent the air as she pushed and kept pushing. This was the eighth time she was giving birth to someone. The prison guards could hardly be bothered, and instead laughed at her like hyenas, their mere gazes leaving marks on her skin. Vasudev covered the prison bars with a flimsy cloth, and went back to assist his wife.

She was crying when Vasudev returned back. He bent down by her side, supporting her, and was about to go in front to assist with the delivery when Devaki squeezed his hand and stopped him. Panting, she said, “I don’t know if I want this child Vasudev.” Vasudev was stunned upon Devaki’s proclamation. She had given birth seven times, all sons, and six times had watched them being murdered by her own brother, the brother who had loved her more than any brother could love a sister. The seventh time, Vasudev had quietly given the baby to his first wife Rohini and instructed her to head to Gokul, where his friend Nanda lived. They had simply lied to Kansa and cited that Devaki had miscarried.

How cruel fate was. The couple had watched six of their children murdered in front of them in cold blood, not even a day old. The seventh, they did not know of his fate. Of his first words or his favourite food or the way he laughed. And yet, this eighth child carried hope. This child would be their salvation. Devaki continued “I cannot bear to watch another child snatched away like that Vasudev. Please I’d rather this child die on my womb, or I die while giving birth so at least I don’t have to watch him die. Please Vasudev, I cannot do this anymore” cried Devaki, tears raining down her once lustrous bronze skin, her once luxurious locks lying limp and lifeless by her side like her soul. “No Devaki. I cannot imagine the pain you endure, each time you push another life from inside you, but know this – this child is our salvation. This child is the reason six of our children were murdered. This child is the reason we sent our seventh son into hiding. This child is the reason we have wasted away in this prison for years. Devaki this child must live. Our child must live to avenge the deaths of our children. To avenge us. This child must live if the universe carries even a shred of mercy for us. For Devaki I would sooner kill both of us than watch another child tortured by your brother.” Vasudev’s eyes burned with an intensity Devaki hadn’t seen in a long time. Most of the time they were sad or scared, reminiscing their past. Their married bliss had ended the day it began, with her brother imprisoning them over a prophecy. Vasudev’s words breathed new life into Devaki. She would not let this child die. She would live. She would make sure the child lived. And she would make sure she heard her brother whimpering in agony as her child crushed his skull open.

The gods had given a prophecy. Devaki and Vasudev’s eighth child would be the death of Kansa. And Devaki did not want to prove the gods as petty liars.

With a final push and a scream, that was thankfully masked by a loud thunderclap, Devaki expelled her child out. Vasudev cut the umbilical cord with a flint stone he had dipped in cheap somaras which he had stolen from the guards yesterday, and cradled the child in his arms, lying beside Devaki, giving this child his parents’ touch one final time, the shared breath and heat warming him. He was dark, dark as the rainclouds that had gathered over the entirety of Brijbhumi that day, as the moonlit night that held secrets and wonder. A small glow emanated from his body, barely lighting his immediate surroundings. The couple kept looking at their son, prerplexed, and the baby looked back at them. He had big soft eyes, and instead of crying, he just looked up at them and gave a small laugh, reaching to grab his mother’s hair. Devaki’s tears fell on his face, as she kissed his forehead and hugged him tight. She then looked at Vasudev, and they understood what had to be done. Vasudev took the baby, and opened his prison door. Turns out if you get drunk with the guards ever so often, they don’t notice things like missing keys.

Vasudev stepped out, and half thought that he and his son were going to be hacked into pieces, but the entire cellar was quiet. The whole world seemed to hold its breath, time itself felt suspended. Only minutes ago the guards were cackling, and yet they now slept a deep slumber. Vasudev quickly stole a dagger, and placed the baby in the laundromat’s basket, covering him with a heavy warm cloth. He exited the prison quarters and entered into Indra’s wrath. The clouds overhead boomed with thunder, and rain covered everything as far as the eye could see. Unperturbed, Vasudev kept walking eastwards, until he reached the Yamuna. He looked for a boat, searching the banks of the usually idyllic river, which now coursed with the strength and vigour of the mighty Saraswati, and yet found no boat to carry him and his son. Time was running out, and his son’s life outweighed a safe passage for him, he could already imagine Kansa’s men running towards him. Vasudev then did the only thing he could – let the river decide his life. He walked into the river, determined to reach the other side. The yojana wide river divided Mathura and its outskirts from the countryside – where his son was to find sanctuary. Vasudev kept walking, and the Yamuna’s waters kept rising and rising. The heavy rain pelted Vasudev, and he kept his swaddled baby on his head in his basket. The spaces between the bamboo basket refused water from filling in. Somehow, he reached the middle, when he felt the water threatening to reach his chin, the river hell bent on drowning him and his son. No mere river was going to stop the descendant of the mighty Shuri, the prince of the Vrishnis today though. Vasudev held his breath and kept swimming forward, the basket safely above the surface of water. Surprisingly, there were no crocodiles in the river. Vasudev had only swam a bit further when the river level started lowering and lowering, until it reached his waist. Vasudev was perplexed, the river was usually the deepest at this point, then why did it suddenly lower down to below his waist? Lost in his thoughts, Vasudev almost missed the giant creature slithering towards him, and that is when he realized he and his infant son were about to be devoured by a sea monster that liked toying with its prey. The creature reached Vasudev, its smooth obsidian scales emitting a green glow, extending to its full length, spreading out its thousand hoods and shielding Vasudev and his son from the merciless rain. Had he not known better, Vasudev would’ve thought it was Adi Shesha, the thousand hooded snake, upon whose infinite coils Narayana rested. Time was running out, and Vasudev picked up speed, the serpentine creature slithering along. Climbing out of the river, he kept picking through the wilderness and hamlets, the creature’s presence scaring off any hungry predators.

At last, Vasudev glimpsed the village of Gokul. Overjoyed, Vasudev rushed down the hillock, which was dotted here and there by the occasional cow. He entered the safety of the village, his frayed nerves calming down, and started searching for Nanda’s home. Even though he was the village chief, his house was tough to spot, the only thing differentiating it from others was a larger gateway and a bigger courtyard. Surprisingly, Nanda was already standing at the gates, waiting for him. Vasudev rushed up to him, and began to speak when Nanda asked, “Vasudev, how did you come here? How are you barely wet?” Vasudev looked behind him, and found the creature had returned. Maybe it was scared of society? “There’s no time for that Nanda. I have come to entrust my last son to you,” said Vasudev, as he hastened to enter Nanda’s home. There was a lantern in front of each room, and the large house was empty except for the cows in the outside stables. Vasudev kept searching along the corridor, until he found Nanda’s wife’s room. He expected to see his elder son sleeping with her, but instead found her snoring loudly, with a baby lying beside her. Vasudev quietly placed his son beside her. The baby started crying, clutching onto his father even as he laid him on the bed. Vasudev quietly removed his hand from his grip, and sang him a lullaby. It was about a bee returning to its hive after a busy day in the meadow. He had never got a chance to sing this lullaby before. Devaki and he and spent each day perfecting it in prison. The baby quietened and went to sleep, and Vasudev left, his vision blurry, when he was stopped by Nanda. “Wait here.” he said. Nanda then returned from his wife’s room, his baby with him, and handed it over to Vasudev. “Here you go Vasudev. You may take my daughter home with you.” Vasudev looked at Nanda with disgust. Was his friend so lowly that in favour of a son he would condemn his daughter to the confines of a prison, frequented by a monster that would kill her the moment he got to know? “I know what you were thinking, and I would never do that Vasu” said Nanda, sensing his friend’s thoughts. “Yashoda gave birth to her yesterday, and hasn’t seen her since. I took her to Goddess Gauri’s temple the same day, to seek her blessings. I can’t explain what happened Vasu, but I heard Gauri. She spoke to me and she instructed me to give her to you when you came. Why do you think I was waiting for you outside?” “Oh come on Nanda, you’re just making up stories now.” said Vasudev, even more repulsed now. “Why would I lie Vasu? Is this what you think of me, a murderer? Trust me Vasu, Gauri Devi spoke to me, she told me to give my daughter to you! Who are we to defy the will of the gods?” Nanda reassured him.

“The gods don’t care about us Nanda. They stopped existing for me when they made me watch my sons’ heads being bashed against walls or crushed by hammers. But even so I will take your daughter. Maybe Kansa might spare a girl?”

Saying so, Vasudev took Nanda’s daughter and vanished into the night, heading back to his prison. Even though the babe wasn’t his, he had already named her – Maya – after this night, an illusion, a reality that felt like a dream. He did not know what fate awaited this girl, but at least his boy was safe for now.

Maybe the gods did have a plan. A plan that was tucked away under Yashoda’s arms in the tiny hamlet of Gokul, snuggling against the only mother he would ever know.