#but once again in relation to the myths

[hollowedpurple]

jjk0 Geto choosing to bring out Tamamo no Mae is such a good foreshadow. Because Tamamonomae is known for being knowledgeable and manipulative and even though it isn't exactly the same as Kenjaku's body switching, known for changing disguises and tricking people.

[wondeurwall]

AUTHOR'S NOTE. based on the poll: nsfw that won by a landslide, as expected AKSNDJSKb!!! i'll post the sfw soon. i'm currently sitting on 9k with this fic & i don't think i'm close to being done yet omg 😵‍💫 not sure how many more previews i'll post of it – i'll play by ear. or, if it's something y'all still would like, then i'll be more than happy to do it, but i think they'll be much shorter going forward!! 💕💕

AND good luck to anyone pulling for zayne's banner & for anyone trying the new oracle of stars event... i want to try pulling for rafayel's, at the very least, since they all look related to the myths 😭 for the lore, I'LL BE BROKE!!!

TAGS/WARNINGS: 🔞 mdni, fem!reader, porn with plot because i said so, cunnilingus

He drops to his knees, keeps his arms slung over your legs, trapping you at the edge of the bed. His face is in front of your pussy, the heat of his breath makes you quiver.

“Eyes on me, pretty girl,” he says.

And, you do exactly that. Rafayel’s gaze has the full moon in there, the light unblinking and brilliant, like a parallel of the sun during the day. It dares you to flinch the longer you look. But, you keep staring, find that it doesn’t hurt and, instead, the light feels familiar. 

You hear the waves, tides along the shore and grains of sand being pulled into the water. It happens briefly. Holding your breath, the salt of the sea comes to you like it does in your dreams, a little more vivid each time you fall asleep. 

The same images of him fill your vision. Why?

You release the breath, then blink, feeling the heaviness in your chest and the lump in your throat again. It’s a back-and-forth reel of him and Rafayel, different realities converging to a single point in time – and, your lips are trembling. With the heat of Rafayel’s body seeping into you and the recollection of the sea, the moment tastes and sounds like a memory.

No. It’s more than that. 

You look at Rafayel, and everything feels less like a dream and more like a memory.

You’re about to call his name, but it’s quickly ripped out of your lips in an airy moan. The flat of his tongue glides up your slit once. Then, he’s doing it again, dipping the tip into your hole and curling between your folds as he moves up to gather your cum. Taking as much as he can, he swallows the taste of you, eyes fluttering closed as he savors it. 

It’s the way he does that – makes you believe this isn’t the first time, like he isn’t a stranger to this side of you. So, you’re drifting back into your head (only barely now, because the pleasure is intense, hot and needy) and it’s as if pieces of a puzzle come together in the span of a millisecond and you’re lucid enough to arrive to what seems like an impossible reason: it’s not the first. 

You can’t shake off this feeling. 

Your pupils dilate, oxygen completely dried from your lungs when you see the pleasure on his face. To you, Rafayel is reliving something he’s missed. Something that’s been denied from him for so, so long and he’s finally grasped onto it, and he looks like he’s found the secret to walking on air. 

The ache in your chest is overwhelmed by the ache in your pussy. You whine, the glow in his eyes too dizzying. It does nothing more than guide you closer to hysteria. Your hips jerk forward, begging.  

Blood rushes through his cock, straining beneath his pants as a deep rumble comes from within his chest. He’s diving back into your cunt for more before you can catch your breath. 

You lie there, unable to close your legs. His arms keep them bent and tucked securely between his biceps and forearms, the strength of him nothing you can even attempt to win against. It comes to you as no surprise – he’s not human after all. Your mouth parts, a light sheen of saliva over your lips. Shallow, quick breaths keep you grounded as you watch through glassy eyes how Rafayel devours your pussy like a starved man. 

He pulls back slightly, staring – he hones in on your little bud. You hold your breath when he presses a kiss to your clit, slow and gentle, before he traps it between his lips and sucks, humming as he does.

“Raf – Rafayel,” you gasp, the vibrations coupled with his sucking makes your thighs vibrate, has you seeing tiny white stars. He sucks your clit harder, and your voice gets caught at the edge of your throat. 

There’s a pause before you’re moaning like a broken record.

You force your hands to mask your face, rallying enough strength to quiet down because you’re falling, losing yourself so fast, and you have no idea how to wrap your head around the pleasure that’s already building back up.

There’s a disapproving click from the man between your legs.

“Stop,” he says, voice deepening to a near growl. It surprises you – this tone, along with that look in his eyes, half-lidded, clouded with desire, like a predator ready to pounce at its prey – and you feel a greater level of ecstasy being injected into you and it knocks against the sensitive, heavy knot in your stomach.

His demand is never quite like this. It feels… good. 

Rafayel loosens the hold on one of your legs to snatch your hands away from your face, “I need to hear you, baby, or I’ll stop.”

Breath bated, you can’t help but stare at him, utterly dazed by the moonlight that hangs over his head just like it does in his eyes. 

Lovestruck. Only a second passes before you realize how far you’ve fallen, how desperate you are to see more of this version because there’s no use in denying that you’re among the reasons – if not the reason – he’ll take charge. It’s a stark contrast to the light-hearted and comical side he usually shows. There’s a certain attractiveness to it, the willingness inside of him to take care of you with this authority. 

He asks, “Won’t you be a good girl and listen to me?”

God, you’re so wet right now.

You forget how to breathe, feeling like you’ve evolved in a bottomless nothing. His grip on your hands is firm, yet not so much that it shackles you. He’s still gentle. Nodding your head is all you can manage. He finds it cute. Rafayel brushes his mouth over your palm and around your hand to the first knuckle. He smiles. 

And, you melt. Of course, you do. Craving to be good for him, to be the good girl like he says you can be – that you are – you clutch onto the bed sheets instead, let your mouth babble this time.

When he’s sure you won’t do it again, he goes back to your clit, giving the attention it deserves as he keeps his eyes on you. He plants a kiss to your throbbing bud again. And again. And then again. It gets stickier there, messy with your cum and arousal and his saliva; stretchy, gooey strings that reconnect his lips to your pussy.

© 2024 wondeurwall ☆ all rights reserved. please don't repost as your own, modify or translate on here or on other platforms. reblogs & likes are appreciated! ♡

[hellsitegenetics]

Well since you mention valentine's professions of love, I think it wouldn't be right if I didn't take this chance to extoll the virtues of moths. Firstly, they're adorable. Some of them are really fuzzy and have cute antennae. The rosy maple moth and the common silk moth are both very very cute. Secondly, (as this blog proves again and again) there are SO MANY of them in such a huge variety that you're bound to come across one that tickles your fancy! Take the Atlas Moth for example! It's got a wing span of nearly 25cm! That's like the size of a small bird! (You have no idea how much I want to pet a large moth species. Not the caterpillars though. Never touch random caterpillars. In fact, some moth caterpillars have hairs and stuff that you definitely do not want to touch due to them being poisonous.) Thirdly, moths are culturally and historically important! Silk has been a major industry for centuries upon centuries. The techniques of silk production and the actual moths themselves are the subject of myths in various cultures. They were once so jealously and secretively guarded that there are legends of how they came to be spread to different parts of Asia. I cannot stress how big of a deal silk was throughout the history of the world and how the trade of silk influenced international relations for hundreds, if not thousands of years. Oh and the thing is, common silk moths aren't the only silk-producing moth! There are several moths in the Saturniidae family that make cocoons of silk which are also used in modern, commercial silk production -- some of which don't result in the death of the chrysalid.

Look, I know whatever string of nucleotides this ramble produces will not end up matching the genetic sequence of a moth, because that's just how these things work but... I hope that people will look upon all the moths that do show up going forth with a fond and grateful eye because moths are truly magnificent creatures. Happy Valentine's Day!

String identified:

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, at tg ct t a c t atcg t gtc c a t, ca tat' t t tg t… tat a t t tat gg t t a a gat ca t a t agct cat. a at' a!

Closest match: Parapoynx stratiotata genome assembly, chromosome: 8 Common name: Ringed China-mark

[howtofightwrite]

So second question. Quarterstaffs are a lot more dangerous than people realize right? Like…big long sticks with a bit more weight on one end are remarkably effective weapons. But my question is this…how risky is it to actually fight an armed opponent with one?

Because I’d imagine if you’re fighting someone say armed with a sword that the blade could slide down the staff and cut into your fingers or someone with a spear (which is essentially just a quarterstaff with a sharp pointy bit on the end) could potentially just whack yours out the way and stab you with it. That’s saying nothing about an armored opponent.

Would a metal quarterstaff be an effective weapon against armor? I seriously doubt a wooden one would be…then again if you had metal coating on one end or a little ball that probably ruin someone’s day should you whack them with it now wouldn’t it…hm.

Anyway, quarterstaffs. Good weapon or no? Also potential upsides to wood Vs metal staffs? Or potentially mixed staffs with mostly wood and metal bits…I’m rambling anyway bye

The staff is the parent of all polearms. The OG. The GOAT. Spawner of a billion martial styles in cultures and countries all over the world and remains a foundational part of many of them. It is also the parent of the sword. Many versions of the sword, especially early versions and two handed versions, share the same strike patterns and work off the same principles. If your character knows how to use a sword, they were more than likely trained to use a staff first.

For martial traditions, the staff is Baby’s first weapon. Is it a good weapon?

Oh, yes.

Is it risky to fight one?

Yes, it is risky to fight someone wielding a staff. While staves are most often overlooked by the general (mostly American) public due to their simplicity, they can be a very dangerous weapon. They can break bones, smash heads, knock loose teeth, bust internal organs, and they leave pretty deep bruises even with light or accidental training injuries. The most common staff training injury involves smashed fingers. Lots, and lots, and lots of smashed fingers. The strike pattern is also simple, easy to learn, and perfectly viable for self-defense without knowing more advanced techniques or having the luxury of devoting a lot of time to practice.

Staves (like the bow and the spear) are paleolithic weapons. Every culture on earth has their own version. The staff has combat applications that survive to this day due to their versatility and ease of use. They’re cheap(ish) to make compared to alternatives, easy to learn, ridiculously effective, and capable of holding off multiple opponents at once. (This includes people wielding swords.) Due to the lengthy period of time where they remained peak, it’s not a stretch to say staves are the most commonly used if not the most popular self-defense weapon in human history.

If you get outside American media, you’ll see staff weapons get a lot more prominent as a weapon of use because of the strong martial traditions associated with them. They’re also extremely prominent in myth. The staff really is the commoner’s weapon, which is probably the reason American fantasy tradition ignores it.

I’m not sure if you came into this question thinking quarterstaff meant all staves, or if your question specifically relates to quarterstaves. However, since you specified the quarterstaff, we’ll stick with that one. (There are other variants. They are legion.)

The quarterstaff is the English version from the Middle Ages. The name denotes a specific type of staff, usually about an inch in diameter and between six to nine feet in length. The quarter refers to “hand position” which would be about quarter up the length, and where the staff was held in this particular martial style. The quarterstaff is a short staff in medieval tradition, long staves were between eleven to twelve feet in length.

These were solid wood, usually cut from oak or yew. They’re not brittle. If that wasn’t enough, the ends were often also shod with iron. So, yeah… Yay, blunt force trauma. You could use quarterstaves against armored opponents, but there are better tools.

Staff Combat

You don’t normally swing a staff outside having a specific reason to hold it with one hand at the end to fully maximize its reach in a wide arc. You give up a ton of control to do this, and that makes it a risky move.

The staff is a weapon of leverage. You rotate it into forward strikes with your back hand, while using the front hand midway up the weapon as the guide. This allows the wielder to strike with both ends by using the back hand as a fulcrum. The basic strike pattern is an X, also across the body on either side, down on the head, up through the groin, you can thrust forward, and you can shoot the staff forward too. Shooting is basically throwing it with your back hand through your loosened grip to gain greater momentum and force when the front end strikes the opponent. It’s a controlled, short-range throw where the weapon never truly leaves your hands.

Hand position changes and adjusts on the shaft depending on how you’re using it. If you’re predominantly utilizing the front end for quicker, smaller movements and more precise strikes, the hands will be set wider apart with one in the middle and one closer to the end. If you’re planning to transition with strikes between the front and back ends, your hands will be closer together and utilize the shaft’s central balance point. This isn’t an either or, you can shift between positions and strike patterns in combat, which is part of the staff’s versatility as a weapon.

Due to the staff’s reach, the whole of your opponent’s body from their feet to their head is available as a target. Don’t discount the power of exterior strikes to the limbs, especially the joints. Most combat strategies start outward and work inward as the opponent’s defense begins to break.

The strike pattern occurs in simple strikes (tip forward or diagonal or side and back to hit again) or in a figure eight as you transition the weapon into various defensive blocks and strikes while moving it across in front of (or, more rarely, behind) your body.

Due to being able to use both ends, you can gain 360 degrees of protection without having to adjust your stance, your grip, or where you’re pointing the bladed end. This, in addition to its range, is why the staff is a better weapon than the sword for defending against multiple opponents.

Don’t swing. Rotate. Sweep. Strike. The staff doesn’t need big moves to generate force because the force of the strike is focused into the tip. Traditional staff combat maintains the same narrow focus around the body’s center that sword combat does. You can, for example, fight with a staff in a narrow corridor. It’s not ideal, but it’s doable and the staff is perfectly capable of maintaining your advantage over an opponent with a shorter weapon or no weapon at all. If you’re imagining the large, controlled spins of some Chinese martial arts, it’s important to remember that those staves are largely made from bamboo and different materials create different combat styles. Oak is, pardon the euphemism, stiff wood. It’s heavier.

The staff is also very fast because of the rotation of the back hand, deals a lot of force, and one never has to worry about maintaining an edge.

In simple terms when thinking about using a staff: block with the front end, then rotate the staff over across your body and clock your opponent across the face with the back end. Then rotate it over again and hit your opponent on the head or, don’t bother and thrust it into their face.

The Quarterstaff versus the Sword

With weapons, it’s important to remember that the concept isn’t about which does the most damage but which tool is the right or most effective tool for the job. Every weapon has situations where they shine and situations where they don’t. It’s contextual.

The staff has an advantage over the sword in one-on-one combat. Sometimes, if historical records are to be believed, in three on one combat. However, every weapon is dangerous in combat. This isn’t rock beats scissors. Disadvantages can be overcome.

For swords cutting through staves, think about it like trying to cut down a tree with a pocket knife. It’s not going to happen. Sword’s edge will nick or get stuck in the wood, so it’s not going to easily slide down to cut fingers. That’s if the sword edge can get into range to reach the fingers. Like all staves, the quarterstaff is a weapon where grip adjustment easily changes both reach and fighting style.

The medieval longsword runs between three to four feet. The quarterstaff is six to nine, and probably, most commonly, between seven to eight. If you transition to hold it at the end like one would a spear and primarily thrust, the reach advantage is maximized.

It isn’t necessary to do that, though. It’s combat where only one side has to worry about maintaining their edge, but that edge is still dangerous if they get close enough. Both are still going to be striking on the same angles and using the same circles.

Take the weapon out of the way and come back across into the strike.

The Spear vs The Quarterstaff

This is just staff combat where one has a pointy, bladed bit on the end and the other doesn’t. There’s actually not an extreme advantage here, though the wielder with the spear is probably going to prioritize their point for striking.

These two really aren’t different weapons. More likely to see smashed hands here.

Metal Staves

They exist. I don’t know if they existed in England though. They never gained popularity over the wooden ones because they’re more resource intensive and wood works better than fine anyway. Solid steel or hollow steel vibrate more than wood. One of the major considerations of staff combat is vibration. The weapon vibrates on contact which wears out your muscles and is hard on your grip. (You know, in case you thought constant movement was the only part that’d wear you out.) This is one of the side effects about not worrying over maintaining the sword edge. You can clang staves together the way you can’t with edged weapons, and that leads to a lot more vibration over a shorter period of time.

Staves with Metal Balls on the End

These also exist. They’re found on other polearm variants specifically designed to go after opponents in armor.

Every weapon has a place where it shines, and a place where it doesn’t.

So, where are staves outshone by swords and spears?

Warfare. Specifically, in military combat. They’re better at one-on-one combat and self-defense. There are just better, more specialized tools for military combat.

There is no best weapon. There’s just the right tool for the situation or circumstance. You can certainly take a staff into combat with an armored opponent (people did) and be successful, but there are better tools for the job. Spears are a better ground weapon in terms of attacking in formation, they work well when combined with a shield, and are a better defense against cavalry.

The irony about the sword is that it’s the original sidearm, it isn’t meant to be the primary weapon, and it is for close range fighting. So, it’s a great weapon when you’re packed into a tight melee, don’t have a lot of room, and need a weapon that works well without requiring a lot of space to build momentum. It’s also easy to carry around if you’re planning to sit down to dinner. It doesn’t take up a lot of space.

By reframing how you think about weapons from “does X amount of damage” like video games have trained us to do and think about them as contextually relevant, you’ll have a better understanding of how and why certain weapons were relevant and how they gained prominence throughout history.

-Michi

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[leonstoenailunderhisbed]

A Southern Myth

Summary: Leon had been sent to a rural place in Texas where sightings of a BOW were reported. But upon entering the forgotten town, he began to get entangled in a horrific twist of events involving a religious cult. Things escalate and now he must survive with the help of a girl who doesn’t believe in anything.

Warning: horror. religion. mentions of blood and gore like description. cult activities. violence. swearing. reader is fem. there is no romance/smut.

A/N: omg I’ve never written something like this before🙈 CAPCOM should hire me for script writing.

“You believe you're on the righteous path, you believe you're a force for good, but you're not.” - John Seed, Far Cry 5

“Come forth, my children. Let your souls become pure under His guidance.”

“Let us rejoice in purity as we bathe in this sacrifice. Let us become one for Him, for He has been waiting.”

-

The sound of the dirt rolling under the car’s wheel made the road feel bumpy for Leon. The heat was intense the further he went into the rural side of what was once a town named Giligand in Texas. Once a lively town that had become a ghost town.

Until a group of religious settlers took over the desert land and claimed it their new home. They built their own society, far away from modern civilization. The orange and dried plants surrounding the new town as the wind blew hard. The sun intensified and caused Leon’s sweat to trickle down his body.

Right in the middle of nowhere is where he got sent- yet again. The D.S.O has assigned Leon a more haunting mission. The government division found in Texas’ own legislation had found weird signs of an unknown entity roaming around the dried up land. He found himself standing in front of an agent in Austin telling him about this entity.

“Our homeland security experts have raised a few concerns regarding a secluded town in Western Texas. They believe that this could be related to the virus incident that presided in other countries,” The senior agent stated as he gave Leon a stack of papers containing pictures and files of the sightings.

The abnormality was big and round. But its eyes were the only visible thing in the dark of night. Pure white eyes protruding from the creature’s face, sending a wave of uneasiness to Leon. The monster seemed tall, definitely more than 9 feet tall. Leon couldn’t tell exactly what it was but he guessed there were some sort of horns coming out the creature’s skull.

Leon had finally reached the town, being greeted by a yellowing sign. The sign written in Times New Roman “Welcome to Cunstacin” on the bottom “previously Giligand” and then near the border edge “Pop. 189”

Such a small town for a big state. Leon didn’t think much of it. He wasn’t aware of how much his life would change the minute he passed the sign without seeing those pure white eyes watching him from behind his truck.

The town itself was small but seemed very busy. The roads were flat with gravel. The houses were old and barren but still usable. He wondered how people were able to make a living of such an abandoned place. As he neared a motel, he was met with the leader of the town. A tall man of tan skin, hair long enough to reach his shoulders as his beard grew to his neck.

He approached Leon’s truck and greeted him with a polite smile, “Ah, you must be the new guy they sent here.” Leon nodded as he turned off the engine and jumped out of his car.

The man walked up to Leon and patted his shoulder, “Hope the road wasn’t too tedious. The distance between here and the city is pretty stretchy.” The man chuckled and looked behind him where two young women stood. “Go fetch his luggage and take it to his room. We don’t want to make our esteemed guest work too much now, don’t we?”

The two ladies nodded and walked over to the trunk of Leon’s truck. They both carried the brown and thick luggages to the motel, their silhouettes getting lost in between the halls.

The man then gently forced Leon to walk with him, “I’m sure you’re tired and you might want to get some rest, but there’s an afternoon mass the town wishes for you to attend. The people want to meet the new guy in town,” the man laughed again and gave Leon’s chest a lazy slap.

“I appreciate the offer but I’m here for work- strictly for work,” Leon replied as he looked at the man and then around the area.

The man chuckled and took his hand away from Leon’s shoulder, “No worries- I get it. You’re a busy guy and your work ethic is commendable,” the man leaned towards Leon’s ear to whisper, “But if you find yourself in need of His words, do come to the church behind the Great Willowed Forest.” The man leaned back and gave him another toothy smile, almost unsettling. “Make yourself at home.” That was the last thing the man said before he began to walk away.

Leon exhaled through his nose. He already got the creeps from the background check he ran on the town but meeting the people in person made the whole experience much more precarious.

He began to walk along the town, trying to find any other civilians. He saw an older woman with two children outside a two story building.

“Excuse me,” Leon said as he jogged to the three individuals. One of the children, a little boy with a bowl haircut pointed to Leon and exclaimed, “Look, meemaw- ‘tis the new guy!” The older woman slapped the little boy’s head, “Pointing at strangers is rude.”

Leon cleared his throat, “It’s alright,” he looked down at the kid before looking back at the older woman, “I’ve heard there were some strange… sightings around this town-“

“Ah, yes-“ the woman cut him off, “You’re talking Tervin.” Leon immediately furrowed his brows. They had named the potential B.O.W?

“Tervin?” Leon asked and the woman nodded, “Yes. He was sent by God,” she looked up at the sky and then back at him.

“He was kind enough to send us a messenger. My boy, the end is coming. We must cleanse our souls of our sins in order to enter our Eden.”

Leon immediately felt a weird sense of unease in his lower stomach, the bottom pit sinking down after the woman spoke.

The woman took a step forward and cupped Leon’s face, “He is our savior. He will bring us to an eternal peace. Time is ticking, we must proceed with His plan.”

Leon took a step back, taking deep breaths. What was this feeling? His heart was hammering against his rib cage and he could feel his head become light. Maybe it was heatstroke or maybe it was fear.

The woman stared at Leon, seemingly in a trance. He swore he saw her eye color vanish for a moment, not right before she “came back” and smiled at him. She then took hold of the two children’s hands and walked away. He could only stay there watching as they got further away.

He exhaled shakily as he ran a hand through his hair, this would be harder than he thought.

-

For the next following days, he’s been trying to talk to these people but everyone said remotely the same things.

“Monster? He’s no monster. He’s our salvation.”

“God sent him, it is His gift to us.”

“We must act quickly, the end is nigh”

Leon was currently sitting on the edge of the bed in the room he was currently staying. His elbows rested on his knees as his gaze fell on the picture of the creature he had in his hand. Pure black, except for the eyes. Something felt sinister- almost too evil. But he couldn’t pinpoint what. Everyone looked normal-ish.

He left the motel and began his 15th round of research. He was so sure he’d get kicked out if he kept asking the people questions. His mind traveled back to what the leader said, something about attending mass.

He didn’t want to but he knew that he had to try. Maybe there was something that could be useful in the church.

So that’s where he was headed. To the Great Willowed Forest. A forest full of tall trees and tall grass. The sun was setting and the church came into his line of vision. A tall Victorian structure that was adorned in white and gold. A bell sitting on top of the highest tower peak of the religious establishment. He slowly walked up the freaking and old steps of the church. Muffled talking from just the other of the door. With a light inhale, he pushed the door open with gentleness and stepped into the church.

The inside was much more beautiful. The benches were neatly fixed in rows as the windows were stained glass depicting stories of their God. The church was packed and the leader stood on the podium, preaching about their path to salvation.

“We must obey the Lord’s rule. For we are His children as well as His servants. We must makeup for the loss of His journey.”

Leon found himself an empty seat at the very back. No one seemed to have noticed him enter, they were all focusing on the town’s leader words. Almost as if they were bewitched.

“Tonight, we must bring our sacrifice and cleanse our souls. We must savor the taste of blood as He has given us a vessel from his sacrifices. We must show him our devotion.”

The mass lasted for an hour and a half, and he didn’t find anything remotely useful. He sighed in defeat as he felt like he wasted his time, yet again. There were no signs of any B.O.W and these people were most certainly convinced that the monster was their key to heaven.

It was nighttime when Leon had left the church, walking aimlessly through the forest. His mind preoccupied with thoughts about potentially lying to the D.S.O and telling them it was just some southern myth.

Until he hears clinking sounds coming from behind a bush. His agent instincts activated and he quietly walked towards the bush to see what was behind it.

To his surprise, he’d found another person. A girl working on a garden. She had been couched down on the floor as her hands worked through the soil.

As he walked towards you, his boots crunched against the twigs lost in the grass. Your attention had been drawn to the sound and you quickly spotted the new man in town.

You furrowed your brows as he approached you, “You’re the new guy everyone’s talking about.”

Leon nodded curtly, “The one and only,” you hummed in response and resumed your duties.

“Can I ask-“

“No.”

He was caught off guard by your immediate answer. You didn’t even look back at him. He could only stare at the back of your head as your hands worked through the soil.

“You didn’t even listen to what I had to say,” he approached you and crouched next to you, glancing at the plants you’ve been planting.

“I don’t need to. You’re asking questions about this stupid and fake thing everyone claims to be salvation or some other bullshit,” you grumbled.

“Not necessarily-“ he sighed and looked at your side profile, “I’m not here for that-“

“What do you want me to tell you? That there’s some sort of monster roaming around the forest?” You turned your head to look at him, “Because I won’t. I haven’t seen anything and I do not believe it even exists. Those lunatics are hell bent on their stupid… belief,” you scoffed as you turned your attention back to your plants.

“Bunch of bullshit if you ask me,” you muttered. He looked at you some more before looking back down at your hands covered in dirt.

“So you aren’t with those people?” Leon raised a brow as he analyzed you. You shook your head no, “Hell no. You don’t know what they do to those who don’t believe in their God… you don’t know anything.”

Leon remained silent as your words settled down in his mind. There was more than what you led on and both of you knew this.

“Then tell me,” he replied quietly. You sighed and looked at him with an annoyed expression, “Doesn’t matter. Just go back to your shit and mind your business.”

He didn’t say anything, he just watched you for a few minutes before he stood up and left.

He went back to his motel room and laid down on the bed. Staring up at ceiling as he thought about the events that took place. He still couldn’t shake off the strange feeling he felt about this town. Something felt odd but he just didn’t know what. He sighed and decided to just sleep for the night.

-

Leon woke up early in the morning and tried to find the leader of the town. Surprisingly, he was at the church. He was sitting down on a bench, silently praying. Leon walked up to him and sat next to him as he waited for him to finish praying.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t our visitor. To what do I owe the pleasure?” The man said as he noticed Leon’s presence next to him. Leon cleared his throat and pulled out a picture of ‘Tervin’

“I need you to tell me about this. What do you know?” Leon’s brows were furrowed, he was serious. He didn’t come around to play. The man took the picture and stared at it. Something in his aura had changed upon seeing that picture.

“Where did you get this?” The man asked as he looked at Leon with an unreadable expression. Leon shrugged, “I can’t say.” The man hummed and looked back at the altar in front of them.

“Tervin is a gift from God. He was sent as a warning of impending doom,” the man replied in a flat voice. “If he isn’t satisfied, then he seeks blood. We must cleanse this town of impurities and relay a message to God that we are worthy of his Eden paradise.”

Something in that caused a shiver to run down Leon’s spine, but he didn’t show it. He remained serious and calm. Leon nodded once and stood up, feeling like no one will actually tell him anything.

“Thanks,” he muttered before he left the church. When he walked out, he nearly crashed into you.

“Watch it,” you hissed at him. He looked down at you with a raised brow, “I’m pretty sure you meant ‘excuse me’” he crossed his arms over his chest and kept blocking the doorway.

You sighed and looked at him unimpressed, “Excuse me.” Leon rolled his eyes and stepped to the side. As you began to walk past him, you noticed the picture in his hands. Your brows pinched together and you quickly pointed to it, “what’s that?”

Leon looked down at the picture and then back at you, “I’m supposed to investigate this… thing.” He watched you closely, trying to gauge your reaction as you stood there silently thinking.

“You’ll get yourself in trouble if you keep putting your nose where it doesn’t belong,” you warned before stepping inside the church. He saw you walk up to the leader. He exhaled and walked back to the town. When will someone actually help him?

-

It was somewhere past 11 pm, he was staring at the files he had about this town and his objective. It was impossible to think how he didn’t have any leads. It was the Leon S Kennedy! He always saw that the job got done, always.

He groaned defeatedly and began to walk around the town, he doesn’t even know how many times he’s done that.

The town was awfully quiet. There was a fog occupying most of his vision, making the place look eerie and unsettling. He heard the rustling of the trees and grasses but he paid no mind to that. Not right now, at least.

He saw you sitting on a fountain, staring at your reflection deep in thought. Why were you the only one out here. He walked over to you and spoke in a soft voice, “What are you doing out here?”

You looked over at him and then back at the water, “Could ask you the same.”

Leon sighed and scratched his head, “I just- I wanted to ask questions but seems like everyone just… disappeared.”

You hummed in response as your fingers played with the water, “They didn’t. They’re at the church praying or something.”

His ears perked up, praying at this time? He didn’t want to question it but it still lingered in his mind.

After a few moments of silence, he couldn’t help but ask, “You said you didn’t believe in God, why is that?” He asked in a quiet voice.

You looked at him before motioning for him to follow you, “It’s better if I just showed you.”

You led him through the dark forest, twigs snapping under your shoes and wind howling soft whispers as the moonlight glimmered down you two.

“This town ostracizes those who don’t believe in God. Do you know what happens to nonbelievers?” You looked behind your shoulder to glance at Leon for a brief moment.

“No, I don’t but do tell,” he followed behind you as his eyes scanned the forest for any threats.

You sighed and stopped walking once you’ve reached an abandoned cemetery, you walked up to one of the gravestones and stared down at the name, “Jeffrey Clyle. 1987-2024.”

“Sacrifice,” you whispered. Leon heard you and walked up next to you, your eyes distant and your expression solemn.

“Ever since rumors of the “messenger” started, they’ve been capturing and targeting those whose faith has been faltering…” your gaze remained down at the gravestone and Leon remained silent as he let you talk.

“They’ve been doing human sacrifices in the name of God. They believe that God would forgive them if they kill those who oppose him…” your voice trailed off for a moment before you turned your face to look at him, “It’s evil. Punishing people for not believing in something is inhumane. They’re all slaves to their own fucking religion, that God is not kind and I will never believe in it.”

“Then what are you still doing here?” Leon asked as he stared into your eyes, searching for an answer.

“Because my father is the fucking leader of this whole thing. I can’t just leave,” you mumbled and looked away. “I already get judged for not believing- imagine what would happen to me if I left?”

He remained silent once again. Your father was the preacher and the leader of the town? That makes things even more interesting. Leon never pictured himself to be in this kind of situation- not since Spain, at least. It all seemed the same to him. Religion controlling people, is that all it will ever be?

Then he remembered something from mass he attended,

“Tonight, we must bring our sacrifice and cleanse our souls. We must savor the taste of blood as He has given us a vessel from his sacrifices. We must show him our devotion.”

Leon’s eyes widened as he began to finally realize what might happen. He looked down at you, “You mean to tell me… that your father participates in human sacrifices? Why?” His eyes were narrowed as his breathing became faster.

You looked at him with narrowed eyes, “Because his idiotic self thinks that sacrificing people will help him and his goons reach their heaven.”

Innocent lives were being used for this town’s religion. This didn’t sit right with Leon. He quickly ran out of the cemetery- his heartbeat speeding as his legs carried his body towards the church.

Under the embrace of the moon and the night, a gathering assembled at the edge of the churchyard, shrouded by the shadows cast by the townspeople. Their faces unrecognizable under the dark night, their chants in hushed tones as they circled around a sacrifice.

Bound by chains, a person writhed in resistance, their muffled cries stifled by a potato sack over their head. Leon stood behind a tree as you came behind him to look at the scene unfold in front of your eyes.

The leader of the town emerged, wielding a sacrificial blade gleaming under the moonlight. Each stroke of the blade sent shivers down your’s and Leon’s spine, as the victim's anguished pleas echoed through the night, a haunting presence appeared through the tethered night.

“We give this sacrifice to you, our Lord. Let us repent for our sins and wash ourselves with the blood of those who’ve been cleansed.”

The creature- otherwise known as the B.O.W- emerged from behind the forest and entered the churchyard. Its stature was 11 feet, towering over everyone. Its black glistening skin reflected the moonlight as its pearly white eyes penetrated the group of believers. Its horns swirled upwards, reaching up to the sky. The townspeople all bowed to the creature as they chanted its name, “All hail Tervin.”

Leon’s eyes widened as he saw the B.O.W while your eyes widened at the fact that this “messenger” was indeed real. Leon took out his gun and aimed it at the B.O.W. You quickly pulled his arm down and whispered in a harsh tone, “Are you stupid? That thing could be dangerous.”

Leon narrowed his eyes at you, “I’ve fought those things before, I know what I’m doing.” He shook your hands away from his arm and aimed the gun back at the beast.

The beast approached the human sacrifice and with its claws, it picked up. Almost instantly crushing the human, letting the blood fall down like rain on the townspeople.

“Thank you, Lord, for this blessing”

The B.O.W then ate the human sacrifice after the townspeople showered in their blood. A scene so horrific and disturbing, it twisted your stomach upside down. The creeping sensation of the fact that it could’ve been you in that situation only made it worse.

To feel your rib cage cave in, piercing your lungs and heart as blood trickles down your mouth. Its claws clawing into your body, letting the blood flow like water.

It only made you shiver and writhe in disgust.

Leon then began to shoot at the B.O.W with his gun, drawing the attention of the townspeople. One bullet shot the creature’s eye, causing it to stagger backwards in pain. The group of believers all turned to look at you and Leon.

Their faces unrecognizable- their faces foreign as the creases and eyes all felt like distinct people. The group slowly began to walk towards you two as the monster howled in anger.

“God, forgive those sinners. They haven’t sought your guidance. Let us illuminate their path,”

The leader spoke as they approached you and Leon. Anxiety coursed through your body as you saw the B.O.W swing its claws at the group of believers. People flying left and right. The leader turned around and observed in delight.

“Yes, God, yes! We shall sacrifice ourselves for Eden.”

The whole group then began to chant, “For Eden. For Tervin.”

The B.O.W only had one goal in mind- and it was to kill the person who injured it. As Tervin kept walking towards you and Leon, Leon took hold of your wrist and began to ran. He dragged you through the forest back to the motel he was staying in.

He looked the door to his room and turned to look at you, “What the fuck was that!?” Leon was stressing, all these emotions resurfaced and he felt overwhelmed. Why was this happening, how was this happening?

“I told you, they’re fucking evil when it comes to their God,” you replied harshly.

“Yeah I wasn’t exactly expecting your father to be the leader of a cult with that thing as its dog!,” Leon replied as his hands traveled through his face and hair.

You scoffed and crossed your arms over you chest but just as you were to speak, the ground shook. Heavy footsteps were heard and Leon rushed to the window. He peeked through the blinds and saw the group of believers walking over to the motel with Tervin in following them. They kept chanting as they kept walking.

“We need to get out of here now-“ you said as you began to hurry out the door. Leon, however, stopped you.

“I can’t just leave, I have a mission to do and it requires me to kill that thing. I cannot go home until it’s dead,” he said as he stared at you with a resolved expression.

You could only stare at him in silence for a few moments before sighing defeatedly, “Fine, do whatever you want.”

“Stay here,” he instructed as he took his gun and walked out, leaving you alone in his motel room.

In the flickering glow of the moonlight, amidst the eerie chants of the cultists, Leon stood there, gun in hand as he scanned the group. He needed to be smart. They had a B.O.W to their advantage.

As the first cultist lunged forward, knife in hand, Leon countered with swift precision, deflecting the blade with a punch to the gut. His movements were a blur of calculated strikes and evasions. As he killed and wounded the cultists, they grew more frenzied, their chants escalating into desperate cries of fury. Yet, undeterred, Leon continued fighting.

“We must bring him to God!” They chanted as they kept lunging at Leon.

Amidst the chaos, the B.O.W stepped forward, its twisted features contorted with rage as it charged at Leon. With the gun pointed at the beast, he shot bullet after bullet, causing it to slow its movements.

“God, please forgive our brother for he has sinned. We must cleanse him.”

Leon ran out of bullets and just as the B.O.W was about to strike, he saw you throw a pitchfork at it. The blades piercing the creature’s skin, stabbing it right in the chest.

The B.O.W let out a screeching scream, “No! Our messenger!” The leader spoke in anguish as he watched the creature stumble back, falling to the ground with a thud. Leon reloaded his gun and began to shoot again, this time aiming for the head.

As Leon became busy, your father glared at you and it was like something turned in him, “You bitch. I’ve had just about it with you. You will submit to your God and you will repent!”

You’ve never heard him speak to you this way, so much malice in his voice that you didn’t recognize the man that used to be your father.

He lunged at you, his hands trying to reach for your neck to strangle you. You took a nearby torch and set his clothes on fire. He stood back and tried to set the fire off of himself- to which he fails. He screams and cries in pain as he began to get engulfed in the flames of his sins.

“Forgive me, my children!”

You finally understood everything. There was no God because your father believed he was that God. The flames burned up in hues of blue and orange right before the sparks flew into the night sky.

His skin melted, his eyes became a blobby mess and he fell to the ground. His screech becoming more faint as the life in being burnt away from his body. The flames expanding over the dried wheat of the town, engulfing the town in a pit of fire.

Leon had been too busy to even notice that you killed your father. He’s been shooting the B.O.W, making sure to blow its head off once and for all.

After two rounds of reloading, he finally was able to kill that damn thing. Watching it fall to the ground, sending harsh vibrations to the floor as silence overtook the ghostly town.

Heavy panting overtook the two of you as the silence grew deafening. You turned to look at Leon as he stared at the B.O.W all lifeless. You looked around and saw the bloodbath. Everyone was dead.

Pools of blood stained the gravel he once stepped, the lifeless bodies of the townspeople growing cold. The flames being the only source of light under the dark night.

Leon turned to look at you for a brief moment before looking up at sky as he tried to take deep breaths. He couldn’t believe what had just happened. He couldn’t believe what he was brought into. But he was glad it was over. For now at least.

Leon packed his things and went over to his truck, he looked at you, “Aren’t you coming?”

You looked at him and then back at the town- or what remained of the town. You nodded and walked over to his truck.

Both of you driving down the lane of the rose, exiting the town. Passing by a sign that read, “Please visit soon!”

Unaware of the presence with the white eyes watching you two leave the town.

[simplyreveries]

Hi I'm back lol (The person that requested the autistic reader that likes lights thing lol)

Can I request one of an autistic reader who's special intrest is like all things Wonderland related (like talks obsessively about it and relates everything back to the topic) with Riddle, Jamil and (platonic) Grimm?

Ngl I'm tempted to do one of those "(fill in the blank emoji) anon" thing lol

hii ty for the request!! and i totally would love to have another emoji anon, you should do it if you want to!<3

riddle rosehearts

riddle can understand your piqued interest in this world, as you're not even from it-! he is happy to see you absorbing and trying to take in and understand everything about twisted wonderland. the species, cultures, lands, magic- there's simply so much. He would be happy to share about all he knows, though he has held more of a sheltered youth, he still has spent his life here if you want to listen to any of his stories and history that he knows of.

he will always listen to you quite intently whenever you're talking about this world, he really finds it admirable how much you’ve gone into learning about this place. sometimes he adds his own comments as well, he enjoys discussing it with you- and even seeing your own side as a complete foreigner to this world. It's interesting seeing your own perspective. he has a gentle smile on his face as he listens (trust me he is 100% paying attention,, he loves listening to you ramble and talk).

notices your knack for collecting things, you tend to enjoy telling the story and fascination of trinkets and souvenirs you've kept along your time in twisted wonderland and he asks about the ones he finds set in your room at ramshackle quite often. it seems you've been able to gather things from everywhere you've visited!

jamil viper

he sometimes forgets that you’re completely unused to this world and are so interested in and learning more. jamil has grown so used to it he doesn't believe things you’ll be amazed at are shocking- he finds it cute. he likes seeing you light up and tell him about something new you learned and more you want to find out. he will talk a little, but he enjoys listening to you as he hums and nods, he loves your interest and desire to only learn more about this unknown world to you.

jamil will totally plan a trip to his homelands with you, he is more than willing to be your own tour guide as you follow him around and he shows you everything there- especially regarding his own culture and way of life in scalding sands. he will share the magic and myths that tend to lie around those parts and have an amused smile on his face when you only want to see more.

he is a little surprised to see you watching so intently and curiously when he's doing something such as potion making, once again it's something that feels normal to him. he'll raise his eyebrow and smile gesturing you to come over and ask if you'd like to help him get the ingredients he needs. you already seem like you know exactly what he'd need anyway, as you light up and remember the kinds of plants you were learning about in this world as of recently! haha

grim

grim gets so confused on how you find trein; history class so intriguing and fun, he practically complains and almost falls asleep most of the time. not going to lie though he was a little surprised at first when you're usually the first to answer questions regarding twisted wonderland and getting them right- you're just a magicless human?? from another world?? and yet you easily surprise students around you.

he may groan a little when you take so long to pull away from places like the school's library or the botanical garden. sometimes you may hear him make some comment like "eh? i heard trey talking about these..." or something because he himself is learning too.

when you're talking excitedly to the ghosts at ramshackle about their experiences and their lives grim finds himself perking up and listening as well. he also notices your love for the ghost camera crowley gave you, as you tend to take pictures of anything you find interesting in this world. when he's looking at all the pictures you've taken, he finds himself reminiscing and laughing with you as you tell him all about them.

[digitalagepulao]

Prodigal son terror

Li Jing in a fury grabbed his halberd, leapt on his horse and galloped out of the headquarters. He was astonished to see Nezha with his Wind-Fire Wheels and Fire-Tipped Spear. He swore loudly, "You damned beast! You caused us endless suffering before your death, and now that you've been reborn, you're troubling us again!"

"Li Jing! I've returned my flesh and bones to you, and there's no longer any relation between us. Why did you smash my golden idol with your whip and burn down my temple? Today I must take my revenge!"

since I'm on a Nezha streak, might as well do my design for him on the Expedition AU! given that i've chosen to give characters a closer likeness to their region, it's only fitting i do the same with import deities like Guanyin, Subodhi and Nezha.

he's a complicated figure to place in the timeline because he gained popularity as a deity much after, only really arriving in China by the time the Journey would have been set. FSYY was written closer to when JTTW was written down, and he was retroactively inserted on the Zhou Dynasty period.

so deciding what to even do with him is dicey. but then i said fuck it, mythological rules apply here, he was around for the events of FSYY, and it and JTTW are set in the same universe. and for the sake of having some fun, i decided to get funky with his concept.

Nezha had the likeness of his family when he was alive, as described in FSYY, but once he was reborn with a lotus body he gained Indian traits instead. this is to be a nod to his status as an import deity and his origin as Nalakubara, and as the centuries roll by he may present himself to mortals closer to the locals' appearance wise.

as for his looks, i drew inspiration from multiple sources. read more for my rambles <3

his armor is closer to reconstructions of Zhou dynasty-period armor, skipping over extra parts simply because his lotus body is so indestructible, there's no need for a full set;

there are two red Chinese knots with jade beads dangling from the armor ties. they are said to ward off evil spirits, which felt like a good fit for a guy known to banish demons. i picked a six-petal flower pattern, which represents reunion, unity and a bright future;

i included lotus petals and leaves on his outfit as they are common in Beijing Opera outfits for him, and his makeup is a call to it as well;

The pink from the cheeks and eyeshadow seeps into his ear shell, as to convey the way sometimes, you get so angry even your ears blush;

Another thing i referenced from Opera is the two red ribbons on his sidelocks, though I changed them to two bulbs of lotus roots;

Four petals drawn close to his urna as both to make it look like a lotus but also form five petals, which is an auspicious number;

His hair crown is a fancy princely [knot] with a lotus motif and a pearl in the center, as he was the Pearl Spirit before becoming Nezha;

I was going to go with elf-like ears but I thought I could do better, so I went for stretched earlobes instead. you can't see it that well but hopefully the very large golden earrings imply it well enough xvx;

His cheek dimples are common sight on religious images of him and it was a cute touch imo;

Younger Nezha wears a golden robe because of his title as General of the Central Altar in Daoist belief, and the center direction is connected to yellow or gold, and yellow robes are usually meant for emperors and their sons, which is a minor nod to his self-assureness and boldness;

The Cosmic Ring has spiralling grooves on it both to catch blades on it for defense but also as a callback to Opera props;

On his waist is the embroidered ball weapon he was attributed with in earlier myths, he was also meant to have the leopard skin bag Taiyi Zhenren gave him, bjt it was going to be obscured by the text so i omitted it;

A few depictions of him gave him a halo of fire, which was real cool so i added it as well.

[anghraine]

Okay, breaking my principles hiatus again for another fanfic rant despite my profound frustration w/ Tumblr currently:

I have another post and conversation on DW about this, but while pretty much my entire dash has zero patience with the overtly contemptuous Hot Fanfic Takes, I do pretty often see takes on Fanfiction's Limitations As A Form that are phrased more gently and/or academically but which rely on the same assumptions and make the same mistakes.

IMO even the gentlest, and/or most earnest, and/or most eruditely theorized takes on fanfiction as a form still suffer from one basic problem: the formal argument does not work.

I have never once seen a take on fanfiction as a form that could provide a coherent formal definition of what fanfiction is and what it is not (formal as in "related to its form" not as in "proper" or "stuffy"). Every argument I have ever seen on the strengths/weaknesses of fanfiction as a form vs original fiction relies to some extent on this lack of clarity.

Hence the inevitable "what about Shakespeare/Ovid/Wide Sargasso Sea/modern takes on ancient religious narratives/retold fairy tales/adaptation/expanded universes/etc" responses. The assumptions and assertions about fanfiction as a form in these arguments pretty much always should apply to other things based on the defining formal qualities of fanfic in these arguments ("fanfiction is fundamentally X because it re-purposes pre-existing characters and stories rather than inventing new ones" "fanfiction is fundamentally Y because it's often serialized" etc).

Yet the framing of the argument virtually always makes it clear that the generalizations about fanfic are not being applied to Real Literature. Nor can this argument account for original fics produced within a fandom context such as AO3 that are basically indistinguishable from fanfic in every way apart from lacking a canon source.

At the end of the day, I do not think fanfic is "the way it is" because of any fundamental formal qualities—after all, it shares these qualities with vast swaths of other human literature and art over thousands of years that most people would never consider fanfic. My view is that an argument about fanfic based purely on form must also apply to "non-fanfic" works that share the formal qualities brought up in the argument (these arguments never actually apply their theories to anything other than fanfic, though).

Alternately, the formal argument could provide a definition of fanfic (a formal one, not one based on judgment of merit or morality) that excludes these other kinds of works and genres. In that case, the argument would actually apply only to fanfic (as defined). But I have never seen this happen, either.

So ultimately, I think the whole formal argument about fanfic is unsalvageably flawed in practice.

Realistically, fanfiction is not the way it is because of something fundamentally derived from writing characters/settings etc you didn't originate (or serialization as some new-fangled form, lmao). Fanfiction as a category is an intrinsically modern concept resulting largely from similarly modern concepts of intellectual property and auteurship (legally and culturally) that have been so extremely normalized in many English-language media spaces (at the least) that many people do not realize these concepts are context-dependent and not universal truths.

Fanfic does not look like it does (or exist as a discrete category at all) without specifically modern legal practices (and assumptions about law that may or may not be true, like with many authorial & corporate attempts to use the possibility of legal threats to dictate terms of engagement w/ media to fandom, the Marion Zimmer Bradley myth, etc).

Fanfic does not look like it does without the broader fandom cultures and trends around it. It does not look like it does without the massive popularity of various romance genres and some very popular SF/F. It does not look like it does without any number of other social and cultural forces that are also extremely modern in the grand scheme of things.

The formal argument is just so completely ahistorical and obliviously presentist in its assumptions about art and generally incoherent that, sure, it's nicer when people present it politely, but it's still wrong.

[7-wonders]

Literally, if Calliope held my face and gave the affection that’s described in World We Dream About, I would fucking die. All I can think about is how the reader could only wonder how Morpheus would ever separate himself from someone as tender, gentle, and utterly radiant as her-

(Read more of my Calliope/Morpheus/Reader stuff here!)

"Can I ask you something?"

You're sitting in the gardens of the palace of the Dreaming with the Lord of Dreams himself, who slowly looks up at you over the top of his book (some report on a nightmare doing who knows what) like you're a nuisance. You know that's not the case though, since he's the one that sought you out and invited you to join him.

After your...memorable first meeting with Morpheus, followed by a tearful goodbye with the woman goddess who had been your roommate for the past few months, you had never been expecting to see either again. They were important beings of myth and legend, after all—you were just a regular human. Practically nothing compared to them! That's why it was so surprising when you went to sleep barely a week later and found yourself face-to-face with the Sandman once more.

"I owe you a boon, whether you believe yourself worthy or not," he said. "And I imagine that you have many questions relating to the information you received that fateful night. Therefore, you may ask me your questions, and I shall do my best to answer them."

He was right, of course. You did have questions. So many of them that it almost made your head spin when you tried to think of the first one that you wanted to ask. But ask you did, and he dutifully answered each and every one of them.

It was definitely appreciated, and you felt that the conversation gave you a lot of answers and closure to this chapter of your life. In your mind, it was the end of a chapter. Calliope was gone, off to Greece and Mount Olympus and her sisters with no sign that you would ever see her again. Morpheus had deigned to meet with you once more, and now that his perceived obligation was fulfilled, you expected that to be the end of any sort of magic in your life.

But then you saw him again.

And again.

And again.

Now, you see him at least once a week. Each time, he comes to you in your dreams, and each time, he acts as though he's simply being charitable by offering Calliope's human friend some company. You know that's not the case, though. No, Morpheus will never admit it, but you think he's lonely. And now that you both have a shared person, that gives him a connection with someone...even if that someone is the mortal that his ex-wife found herself accidentally belonging to in what you can say in retrospect was a true comedy of errors.

"You just did," he points out cheekily.

You remain unamused and roll your eyes. "C'mon, you know what I mean."

He nods. "I do. Continue."

"Please don't answer if it makes you uncomfortable, but I'm curious. Why...why did you and Calliope break up?" How did you manage to so severely fumble the bag? is what you really want to ask. "I mean, she's Calliope."

What you mean by, "she's Calliope," is, of course, that she's Calliope. Beautiful and kind, wise and strong, charming and witty, and a whole dictionary's worth of other characteristics that can only hope to capture who she is. You had never met a person like her before, and you doubt you'll ever meet somebody like her again.

Most mortals wouldn't dare to speak to an Endless like you just did. Unfortunately, prior experience has made you bold, and you know now that Morpheus is begrudgingly fond of you and therefore won't smite you if you overstep. Somewhere along the way, you stopped feeling so wary of the Dreamlord. Now, you like to think that your relationship is something close to a sort of friendship.

(If you're being honest with yourself, lately your feelings for Morpheus are complicated, as are your feelings for Calliope. That's a conversation for another day, and it definitely does not factor into your current conversation, thank you very much.)

A small, small smile plays on his lips, Morpheus understanding exactly what you mean. "Yes, she is. We were both much younger in the days of our marriage, if one as young as yourself can believe such a thing."

You appreciate that he's trying to find a bit of humor in what is assuredly a heavy moment, so you smile encouragingly at him.

"Mistakes were made by both of us throughout the course of our relationship, myself more. Ultimately, it was..." Morpheus pauses, and when he speaks again, it's much quieter. "In the end, the loss of our son proved too much for us to overcome together."

Well, now you feel bad. Calliope had only talked to you about Orpheus a handful of times, but with what little information you have, you know just how loved he was by his parents, and just how devastated they still remain by what happened. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

He shakes his head. "When last we parted, Calliope suggested to me that it would be wise for us to talk about Or—our son together. That remembering him might help to be able to properly grieve." Morpheus says that last word like it's foreign to him. It probably is, actually. "I am starting to find that she is right."

"She's right a lot. It's kind of annoying," you commiserate.

This helps to break the heaviness that talking about death (not Death) and loss brings, and Morpheus lets out a breath in his version of a laugh. "She does tend to be right fairly often."

Now that your question is answered and you know that you didn't just ruin his day, you gesture towards his book. "Okay, I won't bother you anymore, promise."

"You are not nearly as bothersome as you believe yourself to be." He gets a look in his starry eyes when he says this, one that conveys there is much more being left unsaid within this single sentence.

His confession makes your chest feel warm, and you try not to act as pleased as you are. "I'll endeavor not to change that, then."

[schraubd]

The Holocaust Was Not Summer School; Slavery Was Not Trade School.

Someone -- I can't find who -- once said, in relation to claims that Jews had "failed to the learn the lessons of Auschwitz", that "the Holocaust was not summer school."

The retort there was in relation to claims that Jews had not imbibed the correct moral sentiments following our genocide. But I was reminded of it upon hearing the recent defenses of Florida's "anti-woke" efforts to whitewash slavery by lauding the "skills" slaves allegedly acquired -- apologias which, unsurprisingly, have spilled over to Holocaust minimization as well.

Fox News star Greg Gutfeld, whose latest book debuted on Tuesday, is currently under fire over his recent observation that Jewish people “had to be useful” in order to survive concentration camps, prompting the Auschwitz Museum to rebuke his comments as an “oversimplification” of the Holocaust. 

[....] 

During Monday’s broadcast of Fox News’ The Five, which both Watters and Gutfeld co-host, the panel raged against Vice President Kamala Harris’ condemnation of the Florida curriculum as racist. Watters, for instance, blasted the veep for not wanting “African-Americans and white Americans to know that Black Americans did learn skills despite being enslaved.”

The heated discussion, however, took an uncomfortable turn when lone liberal panelist Jessica Tarlov drew a parallel between slavery and the Holocaust, wondering if Florida schools would also teach that Jewish people received some benefits from the Nazis systematically murdering them in death camps.

Gutfeld, referencing a famous book by Holocaust survivor Viktor Frankl, took Tarlov’s challenge and ran with it.

“Did you ever read Man’s Search for Meaning?” Gutfeld wondered. “Vik Frankl talks about how you had to survive in a concentration camp by having skills. You had to be useful. Utility! Utility kept you alive!”

The slide from "anti-CRT" to Holocaust trivialization is nothing new, of course. And here in particular we have one of those moments where an ounce of truth helps generate a ton of falsehood. It is true that, comparatively speaking, a Jewish inmate who had skills that happened to be useful for the Nazi war effort (or otherwise coveted by the local commander) was more likely to survive. Likewise, it's true that having enough wealth to pay for bribes actuarially increased one's life span compared to the destitute. It is not true that "utility kept you alive" (a phrase that is eerily adaptive of arbeit macht frei). Plenty of people with "utility" were murdered by the Nazis. It is not true that having money insulated Jews from the Nazis. Plenty of Jews with means were nonetheless rounded up and slaughtered. The relationship of "utility" to the Jewish experience in the camps was not one of moxie and grit overcoming incredible odds; anymore than the relationship of wealth was one of frugality and financial stewardship steering one to safety. There is no favor done to the oppressed that they can sometimes leverage opportunities to resist.

But again, this is the inevitable byproduct of the anti-woke panic. The obsession with never speaking forthrightly and honestly about oppression and discrimination -- always viewing it as a "both sides" initiative -- means one has to find ways to render Nazism, if not benign, then at least filed down. Others have written about the gentile obsession with telling feel-good Holocaust stories where plucky protagonists show their wiles and skills to secure a happy ending. This is a myth that non-Jews need to tell themselves to evade reckoning with the Holocaust in its full horror; the Holocaust did not come with happy endings.

And the same is true of slavery. Slavery was not a somewhat-unsavorily-run trade school. It was a form of White supremacist oppression. Trying to find the "happy endings" is an attempt to avoid reckoning with its horrors. And the thing is, if we actually took seriously the "nobody should be made to feel guilty based on the color of their skin" pablum, there'd be no quarrel with teaching the history in its full terrible glory. Learning of the horrors of slavery doesn't and shouldn't make White people feel guilty. The guilt comes from learning those facts and then wanting to carry on as before -- no change in affect, no change in politics, as if it never happened. The dissonance between the historical knowledge and the desire to pretend as if the history didn't happen or didn't matter -- that's what creates the guilt. But that's guilt based on one's own choices, and history class needn't and shouldn't have an interest in absolving you of that.

via The Debate Link https://ift.tt/LJUWduZ

[riskyraiker]

Idk if tumblr removed my request from you or you decided to ignore it but anyways I'm going to request it again??

So I saw your post with xmen x tfp with a mutant reader, so I think you can do this request. Basically, reader is Charlie's younger sister from Hazbin Hotel and she is in a relationship with cons/bots. What would be Optimus and Soundwave (you can another character if you want) to their s/o being the Devil's daughter, is she actually evil as the myths portrayed? What is she doing here on Earth? There will be so many questions.

You can just ignore this if you want.

Oh I apologize, I saw the request, but I'm having trouble organizing school, freetime and writing. So here I wrote this now quickly but efficiently as possible😭😭I wanted to add Megatron and Ratchet to this aswell so I hope you don't mind!

Y/N Morningstar (Lucifer's daughter)

You were just minding your own business on earth since getting back to hell wouldn't be a problem. Hiding your s/o and their team from humanity was pretty challenging but boring since you're so used to go outside a lot or have something keeping you entertainted. These days only the best part was hanging out with your S/o You have told them about who you're related to, but they don't get human things like hell or heaven yet.

Optimus prime

He didn't understand at first that if you're the daughter of lucifer means that you're a powerful royal being.

He does search your name but only finds mythology about you which he thought wasn't true.

Telling him who you were with a long speech gave him time to process what or who you actually are.

He still loves you the same don't worry about that.

The moment he realizes the mythology he read about you was actually true was when you were furious. Megatron almost beated optimus in a fight.

You looked exactly like the pictures he found of the princess of hell.

He was happy that you weren't pure evil since you're from hell.

He did wonder why you were on earth as a royal demon. Whatever your explanation was, he was content with it.

WARM KISSES!!!!

If he anytime goes somewhere cold for a mission just please heat him up.

No PDA in public, but go around the corner and he's clinging to you

IF! IF your demon form is tall as him! hugs....just hugs.

As long as you're good and treat everyone with respect, you're the perfect couple of the eons.

Ratchet

Didn't believe one piece of scrap you spoke or what he found on the interent.

Once he sees you lose your temper and light things on fire on accident he thought he hasn't recharged enough.

Explain your situation to him and he's really confused.

Supports you anyway, he doesn't care if you're a rare being from hell etc.

he still wonder about one thing: you're from hell where everyone is bad, evil, done sins etc. how come you're so nice and such.

He might have had a spark attack when you changed into your demon form using fire.

His attitude might have changed to somewhat nicer. Definitely not because he doesn't want to get melted.

No PDA. NO! NOT ANYTHING WITH ANYONE AROUND. He likes loves privacy.

Small kisses and smooches if he's working with no one around will make him slightly happier.

Literal princess treatment :D

Warm him up PLEASE.

If your demon form is taller or as tall as him, he WILL be flustered after even one simple hug.

Doesn't question why you're on earth, gladly.

Megatron

Finds you interesting, but doesn't believe everything you say right away.

Asks Soundwave to find information about this thing called hell and it's beings.

Soundwave

You won him over the moment you lose your temper and the whole room is in flames.

If he finds out you might be more powerful than him he might get angry or jealous.

Asks can your dad (lucifer) to join the decepticons. (He ended up going to knockout for new three fingers)

Questions why are you on earth and not in hell ruling your realm.

He treats you with respect. You're a princess so expect some royal treatment!

He loves your demon form. It looks intimidating and strong.

Might give small PDA sometimes if he's in a good mood enough. Privately? He actually shows that he loves you :D

He's cold all the time! Warm him up and make him less angry thank you!

Wants to see how strong you actually are.

No words (no pun intended xD)

He didn't believe you at first ofc none of them did.

Finds your mythology quite interesting yet foolish until he discovers you're really a royalty from hell itself.

Confused why you're so sweet and nice yet being from hell; the place of sinners.

If he ever shows you a heart on his screen it has little devil horns on it like yours<3

He doesn't do PDA except head pats and taking you with him around the ship. Softie

If your demon form is tall or taller than him pick him up, he might struggle to focus on work again (megatron can do his own work for primus sake!)

Treats you the same, but is protective of you, doesn't care if you can take care of yourself.

If you miss your dad or hell. He gives you a smiley face on his screen and tell you to go visit your home!

-------------------–------------

AN: Motivation just punched me in the face :D hope you enjoy! Feel free to make anothe request<3 also if anyone here has read anything from me before thank you for the support! It keeps me going:)

[writing-for-life]

Dream’s Therapist

Parents

The session notes get longer and longer, so I decide to go over all of them again to decide on today’s topic of conversation.

Intake

Insomnia

Nightmares

Emotions

The client is on time (well, 35 minutes early, but my receptionist tells me he brought a book; she is certain it is “Le Mythe de Sisyphe” by Camus, and he reads it in French). When he comes into my office, he wears a black… robe? despite it being 25 degrees Celsius. Surprisingly, he takes it off though and hangs it on my coatrack. There is still no smalltalk, although he asks, very politely, if I could open the blinds a bit more since today, the room is too dark for his liking.

DT: I’d like to talk about your family today. How do you relate to them? (I notice immediate signs of stress and he looks at my paperweight) Take it, it’s fine.

Dream (He takes the paperweight and begins to fiddle with it, turning it over and over and over again): My family is like… a cosmic jigsaw. We should fit together perfectly, and I reckon we do. In theory. From a distance. To all you mortals. But you should never, ever look too closely.

DT: And why is that? What about your parents?

Dream (Silence ensues. It lasts for 9 minutes. I contemplate several times whether to cut it short but decide to let him sit with his thoughts until he is ready): They like to play a game of charade, I suppose. If we communicate at all, it is in cryptic symbols and metaphors….

DT: You like communicating like that, too, don’t you?

Dream (I notice a glare, quickly followed by a violent shake of his head): My father once gave me an hourglass with a note that read, “Your move.” I still have no idea what he was trying to tell me.

DT: Did you ever ask?

Dream (I notice the familiar eye-roll): No.

DT: Why not?

Dream: You would not understand.

DT: Try me.

(Another bout of silence ensues. This time, it lasts 10 minutes, and I decide to finally intervene—he’s not getting a lot of bang for his buck this way. I notice a moment too late I shouldn’t use the word ‘bang’ when relating to my clients, not even in my mind).

Maybe just explain to me what your parents are like.

Dream (I notice a slightly annoyed exhale through his nose): My father has a particular (he frantically turns the paperweight in his hands) …watch that is a source of contention, and he insists on synchronised cosmic events. Well, not really synchronised as you would define it I suppose but… (he shakes his head again). No matter. My mother has a thing for unravelling galaxies and the ensuing chaos. They are not a great match by any means.

DT: Doesn’t sound like it. Are they still together?

Dream: No. They have not been for a very long time.

DT (Divorced parents. It makes sense): And how did that influence your upbringing?

Dream (He laughs. It sounds… I have no clue what to think and try not to show it on my face. He truly sounds like someone who has forgotten how to laugh. I actually feel sorry for him. I remind myself not to show that on my face either): My father is Time, my mother is Night. Do you expect me to relate to them as my role models?

DT: (I notice bitterness that most certainly covers up some hurt and wonder if he tries to be metaphorical, or if he is diving down into the depths of his delusion again): Do you? Or did you at any point?

Dream (He leans back in his chair and spins the paperweight on his index finger. It keeps on spinning. I’m confused): How could I possibly relate to someone who prunes roses before they are fully in bloom and never even smells them? Or someone who permanently entertains herself with moonlight cocktails and star-shaped canapés? My parents are… unrelatable and exhausting.

DT: And is exhaustion all they make you feel?

Dream (The paperweight stops spinning, and the silence lasts for 6 minutes this time): No, they make me feel conflicted. (He didn’t say he doesn’t feel. Good.) My father… might have taught me something about duty and the weight of eternity. But I suppose I might have preferred warmth (he starts fidgeting with the paperweight again and briefly looks at me) over cosmic-level indifference.

DT (I am surprised at the sudden willingness to share his emotional landscape. I still don’t show it on my face. I hope): And your mother?

Dream (I notice a hard swallow before he gazes out the window. His voice is very quiet): My mother paints the skies with stars. But those… nights are lonely. She revels in the beauty of darkness and starlight but never touches the hearts of her children. She never dreams of us (His voice turns quieter still). Or of me.

DT: You don’t know that.

Dream (He looks at me again): Trust me, I do. Perhaps you should remember who and what I am?

DT (I decide to tread carefully): Yes, you told me you are the embodiment of imagination, dreams and nightmares.

Dream: Correct. And I know she doesn’t dream of me.

DT (That delusion is stubborn. As they are): If your parents never gave you what you needed, did you ever try to seek comfort or solace elsewhere?

Dream (I notice he holds on to the paperweight so tightly that his knuckles turn white. Even whiter than they are): For as long as I remember I longed for nothing more than just a fleeting touch transcending cosmic duty. (He looks at me through his lashes before he focuses on the paperweight again) Make of that what you will.

DT (I wonder what’s gotten into him today. The sudden openness is confusing. Not that I’m complaining): I don’t make anything out of anything. Let’s stay with those desires. (I notice he flinches) What do you truly want?

Dream: I… feel adrift. (He seems to think for a moment): Sometimes I envy you humans (Okay, I can work with the delusion). Your families argue about burnt toast and forgotten anniversaries. My family argues about the curvature of spacetime and the existential implications of your socks disappearing in your laundry. You have no idea how these things affect… (He stops himself) Never mind. You have simpler families—Sunday dinners, awkward Thanksgiving conversations, and no cosmic-level crisis before dessert.

DT (I decide to play): I think you might underestimate the crisis potential of our dinners.

Dream: Do I? (He actually smiles.)

DT: Yes. But let’s stop changing the subject (I notice he looks slightly embarrassed, which is surprising) and get back to your wants. If you had to choose one thing you really wanted right now, what would that be?

Dream (His voice is very quiet again): To escape the endless cycle. But my duty binds me.

DT (That took the wrong direction and definitely requires reframing. Change of tack): It seems to me that you think of yourself as a silent observer at times. Or as being responsible for other people and their dreams. At least that’s what I’m gathering, correct me if I’m wrong. (He just looks at me but doesn’t say anything) What if you dared to dream yourself?

Dream (I notice the deep frown on his face before he puts the paperweight back on my desk): It is not possible to dream beyond one’s destiny. And mine is not to dream.

DT: What if that weren’t true?

Dream (Silence again. Quite brief this time): That seems… like a tome bound in too many shadows.

DT: Did you ever notice you relate to yourself as if you were (I’m fishing for the right words here) a book, written by someone else?

Dream (I notice he shuffles uncomfortably in his seat): That would be assuming I had a story of my own, which I do not.

DT: And why would you believe that?

Dream (I notice he taps his foot. Six times): I trust our time is up?

DT: No, although we’re getting closer.

Dream: Good, I shall leave then. (He makes a move to get up)

DT: I’ve got homework for you.

Dream (I notice the eye-roll, but he actually stays seated): The infernal diary again?

DT: No. I’d just like you to reflect on a thought.

Dream (I notice the raised eyebrow): And what thought would that be?

DT: If it is truly paradoxical to allow yourself to dream while thinking you are responsible for other people’s dreams.

Dream: The former seems… highly improbable.

DT: Are you going to think about it though?

Dream (He gets up and looks around the room for a moment before his eyes finally connect with mine again): I shall, despite the very apparent futility of your… experiment.

DT: I don’t experiment with people’s thoughts or feelings. I just encourage them to step back and have a closer look at them.

Dream: I shall try to… forgive me: I will trust your expertise on the matter.

DT (I notice he actually has internalised our last session. At least to a degree): The delusional one?

Dream (I notice he really wants to suppress a smile, but it’s not working): No, the real one.

DT: Same time next week then?

Dream: Yes. And you may still use ink in your diary. For however long you deem necessary…

< Previous Session

[lina-lovebug]

Tumultuous Waters

Ch.1

Orm Marius fanfic

Warnings: allusions to abuse and sexual assault

I have lived my life without love.

I never once felt affection for my husband, nor did I ever think what he held for me was pure.

He looked at me once and claimed me to be his, but my refusal came with denial. I was his from the moment he laid his eyes upon me, and no power on Olympus nor Earth could keep him from me.

Even when he lay with me, I prayed it would be over soon. I would watch above, hoping to be struck so that I wouldn't have to hear his grunts and feel his skin on mine.

This is the life of a wife to a God.

Yet I was able to find some happiness in our marriage.

I bore a son named Triton, who became King of the Seven Seas. He bore my eyes, which I took pride in. Of course I would never blame my son for the actions of his father, but I had sighed in relief when I saw that the only relation he held to Poseidon was his strength and hair color.

Then a daughter came, to whom I named Rhodos. I feared what Poseidon may do to a daughter of our own - which God's he would attempt to pawn her off to.

But she held a fire in her that he had burnt out within me long ago. Rhodos took charge of her love and future, and found happiness and love in Helios, the Sun God. When Aphrodite had cursed him to forget all of his lovers, including her, it was the first time I found myself marching up to her in rage.

And I punched the Goddess of Beauty.

I feared her retaliation, but instead, the Goddess laughed and smiled upon me. “Finally, someone who refuses to take my shit.”

We became great friends after she reversed the curse and Helios spent many centuries honoring my daughter.

But after my children made it clear that they now had their own lives, I was back to square one. I would spend days watching Poseidon drive his ego so far up his ass that he'd be grinning like he created the universe. Centuries seemed to be slow as I stopped fighting him, and became. . .lifeless.

I missed my family.

I missed the ocean.

But I was reminded that I'm not just Poseidon's wife. I'm a daughter of Nereus, and the third of fifty Nereids who created mermaids and sirens. We are shapeshifters and in the myths and legends for assisting sailors in their journeys across the ocean.

My son created Atlantis. He was proud of his kingdom, and was so delighted to show it to me. He had learnt from seeing his father that no one should rule a Kingdom on their own, but he elected a council to help him truly learn how to be a good ruler.

And he had children.

The Tritonides, similar to my sister's. Never once did a son come from his wife but he did not mind at all. I watched with pride as my son adored his daughters and doted on his wife, despite the lack of assistance and care from Poseidon.

Yet I could not stay in this kingdom.

For Poseidon commanded I return home.

For the next eight hundred years, I stayed in Olympus and found myself slipping again.

He was never faithful.

He was never kind.

He was cruel.

But he's a God.

And I can never be free of him.

I would only hear the news that my son's lineage had no longer been on the throne through Poseidon - who bragged about such a thing. He declared that a merman who had slain King Nero and Queen Athena had taken the crown because of corruption, and laughed.

Not only had our son's bloodline been slain, but his father dared to laugh.

I know I stand no chance in fighting him, but he was our son - our baby boy. So just as I had done to Aphrodite, I had punched him in the face and watched as his eyes turned sinister.

He hit me.

He didn't stop hitting me.

My eyes stared up at him as he prepared to take me, “you think this makes you a man? In all our years together, I have seen you as less than a spoiled boy. How disappointed our son would be if he could see this view.”

He left me with his limp excuse of a cock and I allowed my body to heal through the ocean water.

I had even hoped I would be able to drown.

But as the Queen Mother of the Seven Seas, I prepared myself. The puffy eyes and the bruises vanished as quickly as they appeared, and let Atlantis prepare themselves for their guest.

A permanent guest.

Taglist: @nanamiscunt @illegalcerebral @notasadgirlipromise @cozmicwonder

[2024-grimoire-challenge]

January Week 3

Energy sources in witchcraft

Whether you believe in and practice energy work or not, what it is that empowers your workings has to come from somewhere. The belief is one thing, but the movement of the spell is another. This week we’ll look at energy and where it comes from. In various different forms.

Monday - Elemental Energies

New pages (the elements) - What are the elements? Fire, earth, air and water? Or are there others? I know some witches who work specifically with one element or with all of them. What are they? What energies do each possess and represent? How can we incorporate these into our craft, if we do. Make a page for all of them or a page for each of them! Spend a little time familiarizing yourself with each element, how to connect to it, focus it, use it, influence it and so on. What legends or myths are there related to these archetypal elements? Are there secondary elemental forces beyond the common four or five?

Study (herb) - Once again! Look into all the details of one of the herbs from your list!

Journal/ introspection - personal relationship with the elements - How do you relate to the elements? What is your elemental sign? What are the signs of all your natal chart and how do you connect to them? How do you connect to each element individually and how do they flow together, into and through one another? Are the differences between them as strict as we think or are they somehow blurred together?

Tuesday - Personal Energy

New Page(s) - Energy within and outside us. What is personal energy? How can we focus and manipulate it? How can we direct it and exercise it? Where do you believe it comes from? What is its actual source? What are some other ideas and beliefs about personal energy inside and outside or witchcraft?

Study (gem) - Pick one of those gems, and study!

Wednesday - Cosmic Energies

New page - Celestial energies, what are they? How do we follow them and connect to them? How do we utilize them in our craft? How do they change and grow? How do we harness and direct them? Study the history of using celestial bodies as sources of energy in witchcraft and spellworking.

Journal/ research - Think about your personal relationship to celestial bodies. How do you feel when you look at the sun and moon? What do they represent to you, personally, without looking up meanings and definitions. What do you feel when you think about them and their relationship to each other, to you, to the earth and to other celestial bodies? What about other planets or objects in space? Think deep. What do all of these things represent to you? Sun, Moon, Earth, Planets, Comets, Meteors, Black holes, etc.

Thursday - Natural Energies

New pages (Natural Energy) - Think about the natural forces that exist in the world around us. Solar, wind, geothermic, electricity, storms, weather and so on. What are the natural forces at work in the world and how can we incorporate them into witchcraft? What does each represent to you personally? Again, before you look too deep into each one individually, think about them in relation to yourself. How do you feel about them? How do they relate to you? To each other? Once you've garnered your personal ideas and correspondences, then dig in deeper and look them up.

Friday - Divine Energies

New pages (Divine Energy) - Not all witches work with deities or incorporate religion into their craft, but some do. How does energy from deities work? How do deities influence witchcraft for those who utilize their beliefs into their craft? If you do, what deities do you work with and what powers/ spheres of influence do those deities connect to in your craft? Make a page for each deity you work with, if you do, and learn about them. History, legends, myths and associations. But of course look inward first, what do you associate with those deities? What powers do they possess? What symbols are associated with them?

Practical - Do some energy work! Whatever sources of energy you work with for your witchcraft, practice working with it. Work with the elements, work with the celestial energies, or the divine, or the natural sources of energy within you or in the world around you. Meditate and connect to the elements. Find their physical embodiments in the world and interact with them (SAFELY). Practice moving your own energy or whatever energy you're working with. Most important, be safe and have fun!

There was a lot this week too! So I hope you're all hanging on and enjoying the challenge so far! It's gonna get bigger and more challenging as we go! Be prepared to have lots of notes to fill in your grimoire with later!

-Mod Hazel

[tastesoftamriel]

The issue I see with the ESO Dark Heart of Skyrim depiction of Reachfolk is primarily the division between "ethnic/indigenous" stereotypes, e.g. living in "tribes" in the middle of buttfuck nowhere and being hostile to outsiders, and the "civilised" Reachfolk who are depicted as far smarter because they live within the relatively safe confines of Markarth with taverns and banking services and other city crap that are the benchmarks of modernity and Tamrielic civility.

There is no reason beyond blind ethnocentrism that this is a division that exists, either in real life or in fantasy (if we allow the latter to truly break the bonds of fiction into something *better*). So-called "primitive" peoples, be that the Azande or Trobrianders, have been subject to ridicule due to their indigenous knowledge, myths, and beliefs as unaligned with our post-enlightenment, postmodernist, scientific worldview. In the eyes of many writers, projecting what is deemed within their worldview to be "good" for their characters is really a detriment when it comes to original worldbuilding.

At the risk of sounding like yet another unhinged Marxist, my final comment concerns the structures of Reach society. The hierarchical structure of Reach clans is not something I'm super familiar with so I may come off as sounding like an idiot here, but bear with me. Why are Reachfolk, with supposedly primitive and unchangeable belief systems, upheld to the societal structures of mainstream Tamrielic groups? Why would they trade with gold, if they traded at all; and if they didn't, someone needs to do some research on the historical basis of global trade, which cough cough involves cooperation and amicable relations between disparate groups over huge distances and periods of time. Why are the Reachfolk exempt from this cycle of amicability? Is it more thrilling to write them as hostile savages, ready to attack anyone who supposedly threatens their way of life?

Yes, they would be thoroughly aware of the dangers of colonisation. But why have city Reachfolk been portrayed as sensible citizens of Tamriel while their brethren in the wilderness are presented as wild, IGNOBLE savages? Where is the justice in portraying indigenous peoples as they truly are and are capable of, rather than re-used Western tropes surrounding the division of self and savage Other?

Once again, this ties into the prominent Western tradition of Othering those who don't follow the tenets of a monotheistic, hegemonic, organised religion, or similarly prescribed worldview. By not including Aedra worship in Reachfolk culture, they are seen as savages and people who should be civilised and brought into the fold of the Divines. There is a pervasive undertone of violence linked to so-called "primitive" groups in TES, and this may just be to make convenient NPC bandits, but also perpetuates a stereotype that deeply harms real-life indigenous and culturally marginalised groups.

This is why careful worldbuilding is so so so important because we can project the world WE want, free from the socionormative biases that taint fantasy writing. Yes it's necessary to draw inspiration from real life, I do it all the time, but there's a point where you say "what if real life isn't that great of an idea to project here?"

I'd like to conclude by saying that I'd like to see this decolonisation of fantasy writing extended to other socially marginalised and misunderstood groups in TES, such as Bosmer, Argonians, giants, minotaurs, and the Bandaari (I could rant about them all day but I have other writing to attend to). We can do so much better not only with our ability to create some truly original fantasy worldbuilding, but also by showing others that by decolonising our own writing, we are becoming more sensitive to the worldview of others and incorporating that in an insightful and respectful manner.

[alpaca-clouds]

About the Development of Myths

Okay, I will talk about more of the specific gods tomorrow again (starting first with the other gods from Stray Gods and then just looking over a variety of gods - I might start just with the greeks and then... venture into other mythologies). But first let me talk about the entire basis of what I have been talking about so far with the origins of Pan and Persephone: Their mythology is not a fixed thing.

Something that I would say education in general really fails on is properly expressing the amount of changes that cultures go through. I wrote about this before just in terms of history: There is not THE middle ages, not THE ancient Egypt, not THE ancient Greece and so on. All of those historical periods lasted for at least a thousand years. Now imagine that in like 500 years someone goes and looks at the 20th and 21st century as: "The World War and Globalisation period". Which I think there is a good chance this will at some point be known at (assuming we do not manage to eradicate our species before that, that is). Yet, you and I both know that if we were talking to someone from 1923 there would be very little we had in common.

Sure, this effect got massively accelerated thanks to the internet. But... You gotta have to assume that the Roman dude from 100 BC would also live in a very different world from the Roman dude of 200 BC. Because a hundred years is always going to involve a lot of change.

The reason we look at those old cultures as unchanging is, that they do not change anymore. And everyone who is neither working with that kinda stuff, nor is a complete geek, will just look at that culture as ONE FIRM THING rather than something fluent.

This is also true in terms of religion and related traditions, though we in the west are even more prone to it than other cultures. Because we do assume Christianity as this one thing. And the bible as this one unchanging thing. Hence the core believe is the same and, so the reasoning goes, was always the same. In fact, if you went to a religious school it is kinda how you were taught. The bible is one thing and always was the same thing. Only... It wasn't and even the basic we hve now does not matter.

Just look at the many Christian subreligions. They all in some way or form believe in Jesus, the one big God and all of that - but what they take from that widely differs. And the bible really does not have a big impact onto what ideals they hold and how they hold mass and how they pray and what not. If you think about it, you will easily see that, right? And if you just look a bit into what you might have learned about history in relation to Christianity, you will also know that this has changed. The role of Jesus has changed. How much the Holy Spirit is looked upon as an active actor. Which saints get venerated. All of that has changed a lot in just the last 50 years. And has changed a ton between the different countries.

And what I now need you to keep in mind that this was the exact same with the Ancient Gods and the religion attached to them. That holds true for the Greek Gods, the Roman Gods, the Egyptian Gods, the Norse Gods... all of them. The way they were worshipped changed over those thousand(s of) years they were worshipped.

So, let me once again talk about the Proto-Indo-European culture. Which is always a doosy and I love it.

The Proto-Indo-Europeans originates probably in the areas of modern day Ukraine and/or Romania and/or southern Russia some time around 5000 BC (scholars argue a bit about the exact temporal placement, just that it was somewhere between 7000 BC and 4000 BC). We do not really know a lot about them, because they did not write stuff down. But we do know that they had horses, were patriarchal, and that they worshipped a polytheistic pantheon that at least involved a Sky Father as one of the highest gods, who controlled the weather and was especially associated with storms and lightning.

These Proto-Indo-Europeans started breaking apart and travelling. Some into Asia, some into Europe and the Arabian/Persian areas. They brought with them their language and religion.

Now, it should be noted that they were not the "original humans" or anything. And that whereever they went... in most areas there were already other people living there, with whom they intermingled. Also whatever land they ended up settling was different, had different environments and this was included into their religious practice. Which made their religion over the years differ bit by bit. So from their pantheon sprang a lot of the pantheons we know today.

But... again, a lot of places they settled had already people living there. Who had their own worship. And that stuff often was also included and merged. Sometimes those other worships were very far reaching, sometimes very local. But some of those deities were picked up and either made part of whatever pantheon was there to come or was merged with an already existing god. And this happened again and again during the time that whatever pantheon was prayed to.

How do we know that, if it was not written down?

Well, mostly due to some archeology, but mostly due to comparative mythology and comparative linguistics. Two fields of science that basically involve people going over a lot of languages or mythologies (which, by the way, at times also includes fairytales and other oral narratives that are not necessarily held as "true", but still told) and basically finding things the reoccur. As well as going back over whatever written stuff we do have and noticing the shifts happening between a text written in 600 BC and a text written in 200 BC.

Now, for all the stuff we have two things that help a lot: a) The old Hindi writings and b) the written stuff from Egypt. Because both go really far back and were very well documented in writing. So basically we always can compare stuff to that and see shifts more clearly.

But, yeah... Technically all the pantheons are very much related. At some point Zeus, Jupiter, Diespiter, Thor, Tinia and Tian originated from the same character. You can even kinda see it in how similar the names are. Susanoo in Shinto-Mythology probably came from this, too, at least in the iteration we actually know about. (There can be some arguments made that a lot of the Shinto gods were shifted through the Buddhist contact, as the original indigenous Japanese cultures were very likely not Indo-European in origin. But given that the Ainu are the only culture whose oral tradition managed to survive this long, while the others either vanished or merged in a way influenced by Buddhism, which comes from Indo-European culture... yeah, it is there now.)

So, what I am saying: Mythology is shifting and always has been shifting. Same goes with religion. Hence the evolution of the Greek Pantheon.

Fun fact: Through comparative mythology we can also find the origins of YHW, the Abrahamitic god. Or God, as you might know him. He is a fascinating one, as he probably started out as a local god associated with harvest and weather in Southern Egypt and was then picked up by the Semitic cultures. He got a more pronounced role in the Canaanite pantheon, where at some point he merged with Baal, the war god. And through some trials and tribulations he finally ended up merging with El(hoim), the top god of the pantheon, with a part of the Canaanites splitting from the culture and developing into what would become the Jewish culture.

Super fascinating stuff. I love it.