#did i get the vibes right—

[cheemken]

My sweet angst child if you are still doing the drawing thing.

May I request a PearlescentMoon:3

Here you go, elder ^^

[saturdaysky]

You may resist, but it's too late. You already embraced the powers the parasite gave you. You leveraged them to manipulate, to dominate, to survive. Your nature is no longer your own.

Mayhew failed the save to resist the Emperor's offer, and I have never been more pleased at a consequence! What an amazing moment.

Timelapse, line drawing, and character musing beneath the cut.

This choice!! Or rather, this lack of choice!

I love, love, love how failing the save made Mayhew's own will ambiguous, even to himself. He didn't want to be changed, he didn't want to forfeit his humanity (gnomanity)...or did he? He resisted. He opened his mouth to say I will not, but the door to his mind was already unlocked, power welcomed in. Mayhew will never know who unlatched it.

Also, while this is a Gale run -- Mayhew and Gale make each other worse in the most devoted, well-meaning way; the heavens will rue their names -- it also kind of feels like an Emperor run. A subtextual badwrong not-romance.

The Emperor and Mayhew are allies of circumstance turned intimate enemies. The Emperor listens to Mayhew's every thought, gives protection which Mayhew needs, offers advice and temptations which Mayhew takes. Mayhew likes the Dream Guardian; Mayhew cannot shut the Emperor out. Mayhew would see the Emperor dead, if he let himself think about it, but he would miss him after he was gone. And, of course, Mayhew is too curious for his own good, and the Emperor is full of answers.

For the two of them, partial ceremorphosis is a kind of consummation: what could be more intimate than shaping someone from within and without? Metaphorphosis is a gift, by one telling, and a horror story by another.

You are exquisite, the Emperor praised. Mayhew will never know if he became so by his own will.

(He failed the save by one (1) point.)

---

Timelapse! It includes all the silly things I drew for my friends, including: 1 tonsure, 3 neon signs, 2 cat emoji, 1 crotch face, and the emperor's armor drawn with my left hand. Spot them all!

Lines!

I don't usually work primarily with line, but I love it. In some ways, it's easier than painting, and in other ways much harder. I find I can't fudge things as much with linework as I can with paint; because the stroke is smaller, I have to be more specific. Even if I abstract details away, I need to understand the underlying form until I know what I am abstracting. It was fun having to be so rigorous.

[writer-room]

Listen when people say they want Percy to go on a villain arc most times I see it as they want him to go dark, want him to start murdering, maiming, going full Luke, etc. And I support that. If anyone deserves to kill people it's this kid.

However, let us be realistic for a moment, because I quite like the other alternative. Villain arc Percy usually entails "he's finally had enough of the Gods bullshit & will do things his own way". Let us think on this. What would Percy most likely do in this situation? Would it really be murder right off the bat?

I think he'd be the pettiest, annoying little shit there is. And because one can't usually threaten the Gods in a way that truly matters, but they can make them sweat really hard.

This goes beyond ignoring their calls and leaving them on read. He refuses to give food offerings unless it's the nastiest shit known to man. Bribes the cyclops into hucking huge objects up Mount Olympus before they all scurry off. Finds the olive tree Athena gave to Athens, and while he wouldn't have the heart to destroy it, he'd for sure rip off a branch & mail it to her (Annabeth nearly had to put them in witness protection).

Eventually it gets to the point he has Nico on speed-dial and offers him a shit ton of fast food & a 'get out of Percy's quest bullshit free' pass if he could hop into the Underworld and yoink up some annoying spirits or dead monsters to piss off the Gods. When the Gods get pissed at him Percy just silently pulls out some safe-for-demigods phone like "hang on I wanna see how many happy meals I owe Nico for bringing Typhon back up". They know he is not bluffing.

Could the Gods counteract him? Yeah, sure, Hera gave him amnesia and it was like 90% effective for a while. However, he kind of went off the rails, everyone else went off the rails, and then they had even more Roman nonsense to deal with. If anything it both solved but also made even more problems. And a much angrier Percy. So, frankly, they're very confident it could work, but they're a little worried about what the aftermath would be.

Ares suggests just killing him. Poseidon takes offense to this. Artemis scoffs and says even Ares couldn't beat him. Everyone stops for a moment. The question is not asked verbally. But it is seen in the darting eyes and shifting seats.

Can they kill Percy Jackson?

Well, sure, they must be able to. He's a powerful kid, no doubt, with powerful allies, but they are Gods. Of course they can kill him. So that's not the real question, they wouldn't dare really entertain such a thing to ever confirm if it was true, but this is rather the layer of frosting hiding the real atrocity of a cake underneath it.

What will they lose trying to kill Percy Jackson?

What will remain standing in the face of some 18-year-old who lived one of the hardest knocks of life, loves so much it makes them sick, is so completely unaware of his own strength not even they know its full extent, and currently has absolutely zero fucks to give about the end of a reign longer than he will ever understand?

They decide to quietly shut the lid on that whole fiasco and let Percy do whatever he wants.

Unfortunately, they can't exactly ignore everyone else. And everyone else is who Percy cares about the most. So, think of it more like leaving a grenade in a locked box in the attic. Just hope and pray you've moved out before something gets curious and starts rummaging around up there.

[jinstronaut]

i still orbit you, and nothing’s changed, but if there’s no name to love, everything has changed. (cr. namuspromised, lyric translation doolsetbangtan)

happy birthday @cordiallyfuturedwight 💜💜💜

[hcdragonwrites]

Tangled Love

(A @semisolidmind Drabble)

Ok! I ran this by Semi before I posted just because I know absolutely nothing about LMK (except the animation can be so pretty!) just so I could get their characters down. I hope you all like it !

She just wanted to escape- both from this place and from her own mind tonight.

The ghosts of memories were walking and she had no distractions to chase them away.

Peaches walked the cool cavern halls of Water- Curtain Cave, her feet echoing in the depths. The sandals she wore and the ornamental clothing she had been thrown into made her scalp prickle and her skin itch. It was too much- but the attendants wouldn’t hear a thing about it.

She had to look the part of Queen.

Peaches, in the absence of the Lord of the mountain and his right hand and sword, was the remaining voice of authority.

To a point.

Finishing with courtly duties and listening in on behalf of her husbands wasn't a huge chore. The two of them rarely left at the same time however. If one was called away the other would remain. Or Peaches herself would be brought along.

This time however she hadn’t been.

It was the first time in ten years.

She had just this night- just this moment of reprieve and she would make the most of it. Or so she thought. Instead, she was fighting something that reared its head and struck her nerves like a asp.

However she wasn’t alone quite yet. As she rounded the corner and came to golden lacquered doors of her bedchamber - their bedchamber- she paused.

“Will that be all my queen?” One of the attending retinue of her guard asked. It was a guard her husbands insisted upon whenever both were away from home- a set of seven of the most battle scarred simians Peaches had ever seen.

They were tasked and sworn with following her everywhere - to the dining hall, to the throne room. If she wished to go and sit among the apple trees and listen to the wind play over the mountain grasses her guard would double in size. Peaches tried to not cause the denizens of Flower fruit mountain any more problems or stressors by going outside when both the King and his Brother in arms were away on a war path.

Her husbands.

It’s what they titled themselves now, after a decade of the terrible start they had on their relationship with her. When she had met the two, they had been just tiny monkeys. A sly looking ginger and gold monkey who had loved to cling to her arms and a dark black furred monkey that brought her fruits and almonds from the wild.

My sweet boys.

They had been her monkeys back then- the little prankster angels she had thought were just simple beasts, trying to survive out in the world.

She had been wrong.

The decision to upend her life, she guessed, had been floated around for months between the two disguised demons as they ate her fruit and enjoyed her touches. It was a mutual one that both had decided was the best option for her.

She took a steadying breath, coming back to the present. Peaches wanted a chance to be alone. Something so rare she craved it like a man in a desert craved water.

“Yes, general. I think I’ll retire early for the day.” She smiled at the monkey who dipped his body into a bow. The gleam of his armor set the flickers of a memory brewing. Fire in the trees, the smell of iron on the wind and a figure among the debris. She shook her head to dislodge it. The rest of them weren’t awful to her. Her husbands weren’t awful to her. They had just ….

Taken away her decisions.

“Very well Queen.” Peaches flinched, unable to quite stomach the title and what that truly meant. If I am queen then why am I without choices? “If you need us call us.”

She turned the handle in the door and slipped in side with as much grace as she could muster.

Peaches closed the ornamental doors to the bedroom, resting her head against the door. Steady. Deep breaths. In through her nose out through her mouth.

The illusion of a paradise that Wukong had built and Macaque helped facilitate always lost its color and believability when they were away. They couldn’t feed her the sugared lies and candied perceptions to tamp back the memories of that night.

It had been just another night on the small farm - a June night of heat and singing cicadas- of windows wide open and Peaches trying to escape that heat. There wasn’t much she could do to escape it. The moisture clung to her and made her bedding stick and clog her nose. So on these nights she stayed up, usually with a candle or the moon to illuminate her night, and read.

The knock on the door was not something typical.

The memory was rising and she couldn’t hold it back. I have to ride it out. Survive it.

Like she had survived that night. Getting visitors in the dead of the night had been unconventional- and she remembered the feeling of being perturbed. Don’t answer it, she told the memory. But this was the past and ghosts of the past didn’t change their course.

She had closed her book, had stepped down the hall to the door and had opened it.

I should have called through- told him to stay away! I should have never left my bed or my book.

It was a drunk man. A fellow farm hand called in for one of the families to help bring in a harvest that had proved too bountiful for the immediate family to handle. Peaches could see the man before her eyes, smell the reek of him.

A drunk.

“Well ain’t it the village spinster! Whaaa da pretty thing you are!” He was a cloud of bitter rice wine, of too much sake on his breath. The intensity of it had a physical effect on her memory and in the present, Peaches wrinkled her nose.

“You should go home Sir.” She had told him- tried to close the door.

His foot moved faster and his hands had caught the door.

A wild set of emotions swept through her. She had to sit her body down, thankful she had been able to get away from the other monkeys before the memory seized her like a vice. They would have been in a panic over her and she couldn’t let their little hearts worry so. There was nothing they could do to stop the remembering.

It was his fault this all happened. It was His. He didn’t have to be drunk and show up at my home- he didn’t have to shove his way into my house and try and grab me.

But he was just a single man. Did his actions warrant the destruction that happened next ?

“Get out!” Her memory self cried. The wooden table she danced behind as the drunk stumbled and moved towards her, was her only shield.

“The Boys Said you prefer the company of wild animals …” his speech was hard to hear. The wine had made him bold, stupid, and aroused it seemed. “I thought I would give you mtaste of what a real man was, since the villagers are al’ ‘fraid of your Witchery with monkeys.”

She had run- she had thrown her things at him. It was probably the commotion of her breaking a pitcher over his head that had alerted her monkeys. The loud clatter of the pottery across the floor had sounded so sharp and final. It had only made the man more determined.

The drunk when he did get his hands on her was furious. He swung a fist and sent stars into her eyes. Peaches had clung like a wildcat to her conscious, kicking out with legs and swinging with fists. Her nose was full of the sour smell of him- had felt his hands and fought them. A kick to his groin had sent him wheezing. Another fist to her head had Peaches crying. She had stared that drunk in his mean little eyes as he whispered the terrible things he wanted to do to her.

She had been staring in those eyes when he died.

He never got to touch more than her arms that night.

Peaches heard something step through the door that had been left open to the night. She had heard the creak of her house as something walked within it. And the sound of something- like a water skin being popped and a splash of warm liquid against her belly had shocked her.

The Drunks eyes went wide with confusion, rolling horselike in his head. His bruising grip on her wrist had let go. In the present, She rubbed those wrists, the phantom pains hard.

“..mah… belly.” The drunk had mumbled then belched a bucket of blood onto the floor. Peaches could see something protruding from his middle- something long and thin like a stick. Or a staff.

Clawed hands pulled the head back and twisted with a fury. The sound of bones breaking was loud, as if a fire was consuming dry wood. The drunk crumbled in those hands like a puppet cut free of its strings.

A new stranger stood in her home, his frame large and broad and most assuredly not human. He tossed the body like someone would toss a rag across the floor. The glowing eyes in the sudden dark were all she could see. Her mind, even in its heightened adrenaline drenched state, recognized the face pattern, saw a familiarity in the fur. There was, in fact, still a little flower tucked against this demonic creatures ear. The same flower she had interwoven in her forest friend's fur that afternoon.

“Your… your my…”

Nerves and the come down from the adrenaline high we’re making speech hard. The monkey demon before her, who’s eyes seemed to spit fire, softened. Just a bit.

“You are my Peaches.” Wukong said, touching her hair, her face, her hands. Taking stock. Then he had taken those limp hands and threaded them through his fur, trying to get them to grip. It would help his own rage and calm her fear. It was thick in the air, ruining the natural sweet smell she had. That and the slab of flesh on the floors own fetid death scent.

Wukong was not the best at this - this comfort thing. But he would rise to the occasion. He would try for her.

Fury and rage made his tail lash and the fur along his neck to stand on end.

At first she had just been a simple human that would leave little offerings to him and his brother in arms. An oddity here in the shadow of his mountain. Most humans around here feared the monkeys and kept away from all of them, having a legend that if one was harmed a great calamity would befall them.

Wukong didn’t mind being that calamity. These were his people, his subjects. So hearing the chatter from some of his kind that a women had begun to leave out gifts had of course spiked the Kings curiosity. The humans beneath Flower Fruit Mountain were his lesser subjects. So he had come down from the mountain, disguising himself as a smaller and more approachable sized monkey, to see the fuss his subjects had started gossiping about at groomings. Only to see his brother, Macaque, already being petted and tended and kissed on each of his six ears.

Of course first impressions had been terrible and Wukong, used to getting the first pick of everything, had come screeching into the clearing and demanding his own pets. It had set off a very small and very mock little battle between the two brothers in arms. One that had Peaches separating them and scolding them as she patched up the little scratches they had taken from eachother. They could have each resisted her pull but both decided that play acting a fight, even if it had started as a bit of one, was the best way to get attention divided between the both of them.

Wukong hadn’t expected to become infatuated. Her name didn’t matter to him- he had rebranded her almost the instant she came to him and offered a smile and held out a handful of sugar and dates. Peaches. After the Kings own favorite fruit, the sweetest thing the mountain produced.

His Peaches.

Of course also Macaques. He shared everything with his brother, the dark furred and six eared demon who had faced battles and won wars besides Wukong. While Wukong had been more leery, Peaches won him over faster than Flower Wine loosened his rigid posture. They had both fallen for this mortal women. And, in the traditional way she belonged to them. She just didn’t know it yet. They had touched and groomed and cuddled and tangled limbs and tails. They were practically married without the marriage bit.

Wukong rubbed small circles into Peaches back, trying to keep himself from bearing his teeth in rage.

I should have taken her home the moment she kissed me.

They had been kisses of the kind one gives to a friend or pet. It had left the warlord craving more burning with more.

Of wanting to feel her give him more than just a chaste kiss on the side of his face.

She wouldn’t have been hurt if he had just taken her home.

Wukong and Macaque had taken to one or both spending the night in Peaches trees, to keep an eye on her. Wukongs obsession had grown into a fascination and warm buttery love. A love that was becoming a wild inferno as he fought to stay still and not leap upon the corpse he had made and turn it into nothing but bits of flesh and gore the crows could carry away.

His Peaches fingers finally grasped his fur and shook. It brought Wukong back from his montage of rage to the present. If only Mac was here — but he wasn’t. He was back at home on Flower Fruit mountain , giving his brother the night to enjoy and keep lookout at Peaches den.

“That’s my girl.” The demon tried to soothe. He really wished he could set Peaches down and finish off what he had started. This place had been bad. This village terrible. He hated every thing and one here that had dared to let a drunken fool up to his Peaches doorstep and allowed this to happen. In reality Wukong was mad it had been Mac’s own sense of importance on taking it slow and letting a little thing like a life outside of Flower Fruit Mountain stop him from from revealing who he was and taking her home.

I am done trying to woo her over slowly. They could have lost her this night if Wukong hadn’t been in earshot, hadn’t heard the crash of something breaking. His clawed hands wrapped around her back and beneath her legs. Before he could realize it, Wukong had her up and in his arms, already stepping on and across the corpse and out into the June air. Mine.

“Let’s get you home, lovely.” Wukongs voice was thick with emotion. Relief to finally, finally, finally have an excuse to take his wife home, to see her sleep in a real bed and eat real food made his heart swell. No more pretending. No more longing. It was happening now. Simmering beneath that emotion was the sweet bubble, the red misting rage, of violence. Once he got her home, got her safe, got her tangled within some of his and Macaques blankets to where the sour smell of fear would be lost within the scent of them- he could come back. He would come back.

He would destroy the village for being the obstacle it was in his conquest for this mortal girls heart. It was in itself, a relief to know he was justified in its destruction.

Look what this place did to bruise my sweet fruit.

Peaches was shaking. Clinging to him. I would have her cling to me always. He pressed his nose into her neck, breathing in as he walked off. She smelled so good. He rubbed his face to hers, affectionately smothering her fear scent. Wukong felt a smile curl his face. Finally. We can go home and put the charade to bed. Finally you are mine.

Peaches' memory of that night was mostly of clinging to Wukong as they flew through the air, of his voice a rumble of soft words and comforts. He was holding her close, pressing her in. Smothering her in a sense. But she needed it. She clung to it in a way to stop herself from being sick from fright. It was strange but familiar to hold this fur, to cling. Then she briefly remembered another voice, another set of hands. When she looked up and saw that her sweet dark monkey was also here, had also been a demon in disguise, something broke in her. Maybe hysteria. Maybe disbelief. Or maybe she knew, somewhere in her mind, that no matter what she said now wouldn’t save the people- the innocents- in her village.

Peaches had been transferred into the dark arms and THATS where she finally began to cry. The shock was fading and leaving behind ragged holes of emotion.

“Safe, you're safe now.” She was reassured. Hands had lifted her chin, her sweet little monkey- now a demonic one- was gently beginning to sponge away the blood from the cuts on her face. Her cheek swelled, her eye with it.

“Please don’t kill them.” She begged. “He already took care of the one who hurt me don’t kill my village.”

“Hush love…”

“Please!”

Silence. Something cold pressed to her face- a bit of snow from far up the mountain wrapped in cloth. Macaques ears twitched like flower petals in the night air.

“It’s already done. The village is already gone.”

The memory rode itself out in the present and faded slowly.

Guilt washed over her and she cried all for a new reason. She had been the catalyst for Sun Wukongs fury. She had been the decider to his want of destruction. Peaches may not have killed them, may have had a decade to realize that what had happened wasn’t her fault, but Wukong had done it in her name. He had erased that village and all its people like a cartographer reshapes a map. To all the rest of the world, their had never been a village in the shadow of Flower fruit mountain. Not a foundation, not a brick, not even a spare hair, was left of humanity there. Instead it had been cleared as if a fire had swept through. Peaches had seen it on one occasion when Wukong had been persuaded to show her. She had needed closure. Needed the peace.

Once she had healed she had been told her village was gone. She had been given a sweet lie- that Wukong had gone back and the villagers related to the drunk had been ransacking her house to see where she kept the money or any spare wine.

When Wukong had shown up demanding they answer to the crime committed in her home, they had attacked. Wukong had enacted a king's justice as was his right. He had told the remaining villagers to leave- to never set foot upon his domain again for the lawlessness that had been enacted upon their neighbor.

It had taken two years for her to be able to relax whenever he came in smelling of fire and iron. It had taken a few years more for her to remember what Macaque had said when he had pressed snow to her face.

They were the same little monkeys they had been before. But now they had less innocence when they pressed into her face for kisses, when they asked to tangle and cuddle limbs. They insisted she stay in the bedchamber and not move to her own separate room.

It had taken getting used to movement beside her as a hand tugged her hair, or a tale twined her waist. Or a leg curled with hers or hands holding her face. Sometimes in the dark Mac would press his head to her back, using her as a pillow. Wukong would yank her in when he thought her too sleepy to remember and whisper all the things he loved about her.

It would have been sweet. It was touching in a way. If not for the way they revealed themselves. If not for that memory and what she knew now had come after.

It had not taken too long after that for her to start realizing that, though Wukong had saved her, neither of them had any regret of what happened. Neither of them was going to let her go.

When she asked about it or started talking of missing her home- the simple living, the ability to really on herself and choose for herself- Wukong would laugh and launch into one of his tales. He would brush her hair with his claws, run his face against hers and try and deflect her attention to new things.

Macaque, if Wukong was absent, would let her talk. Usually it happened when he asked her to brush his fur or he in turn asked to brush her hair. Peaches thought, just a bit, that the reason Mac was better at listening was for all the ears he had. Each time however, when she got to the part about how this had been her fault, he would stop mid way through a braid or pin and pull her in. Macaque would kiss the tears from her eyes, would press himself close to her chest.

“It was Never your fault Peaches.”

“I remember. I remember he went back- you said he—“

“Hush love you’ll grow hysterical. What Wukong did was justified- he defended you.”

“He killed.”

“I have killed.” He kissed her temple, gentle in his reprimands. He wouldn’t try and brush her words beneath a rug like Wukong. Instead he gave her a smile as wide as the crescent moon. “Let’s finish your hair and get you dressed. We can go see the baby’s, I know how you love the baby’s.” Baby monkeys were her weakness. They had been what led to her loving Mac before she had known he was a demonic warlord.

Peaches rubbed at her eyes and stood, the sorrow in her heart heavy still but the tears at least had stopped. Now she was just tired. Tired and cold and wanting to escape the feeling of it all. So she shed her courtly attire. All the clips and jewels and baubles and bits felt heavy. She placed them within the box at her armoire, then loosened her hair from its bindings. Jade pins, pearl necklaces, golden bracelets with bells of silver (Wukong loved this the best of all) all glimmered back in the firelight.

A pretty price.

She snapped the box closed.

On nights like this, she wanted to wear nothing but her smock, her simple clothing, and bury herself as far as she could go into the bed she shared with her husbands.

It was more of a pit set into the ground, circular in nature. Silken pillows, red sheets and a hoard of anything plush and furred had been thrown into the pit. It was also a snug place to bury herself within and one of the few things she didn’t feel resentment too right away. When the outside felt too bright and she couldn’t go about the mountain to her usual quiet places, she would retire here. To burrow, to bury, to hide.

Peach fell back into the pit of blankets and pillows and pulled herself beneath a fur of some striped monster Macaque had skinned and gifted to her. Tonight the bitter truth was hard to swallow and did circles in her head.

You did this. You caused this. You killed them. This is your fault.

She closed her eyes and hoped … hoped for what might be the worst thing yet. Her husband's return.

A time later she stirred. Something was in her room- was walking to the bed. Peaches felt a flutter of fear before hands reached into her hiding place and simply slid her out.

“Hello darling.” The silken voice belonged to none other than Macaque. His clawed hands entwined around her waist, his teeth nipping at her ear. “You are up late.”

“Does that mean it will be a late morning?” Wukongs voice came from the other side of the room. Peaches could see the ginger monkey removing armor from his shoulders and stretching. As the darker brother kept making a snack of her shoulder, Peaches noticed that the shine of Wukongs paldrom was dimmed. Something black coated the golden imprint of sunbursts across its armored surface. “I love late mornings! Means more time together.”

Blood?

“Peaches?” She turned her head, trying to see Mac. He had left off nipping her skin. A hand came away from her wrist and tipped her chin, forcing her to stare directly into his violet eyes. “What has upset you?”

Everything. Myself. Wukong. You. It was that simple question that set her sorrow to flowing again. She was confused, upset, and she wanted comfort. The only ones who could give her comfort were the very ones who caused her distress.

A vicious cycle.

The pillows behind her sagged. Wukongs hands were more aggressive in their touches, turning her about to stare into her face. He noted the tears, the bruising beneath her eyes. His lip curled in anger.

“Has someone upset you?” Wukong asked. He seemed ready to stand again, to grab his armor and step out into the night. “I will drag them here to give an apology. You name them and I will fetch them.”

Peaches shook her head.

“Just ….” You killing the villagers, Macaque telling me plainly that it was for the best, and my own head making me relive that night of events. Over and over and over.

“…. Myself.”

His face softened as he chirped a reassurance, pressing his nose to hers. Macaque peppered her in gentle and butterfly soft kisses to the back of her neck. The three fell back into the nest, limbs entwined and hands holding. Macaque had Peaches face buried in his chest as she sobbed silently. He cooed. He whispered how everything would be right as rain in the morning. His hands ran through her hair and messaged her scalp. Wukong held his Peaches, pressing her back to his chest in a solid wall against the world outside. He lavished her in praises and compliments, sometimes getting carried away and talking about himself until his brother would remind him with a flick to his forehead that it was their Peaches he should be reassuring.

And through it all, through this twisted and tangled weave of limbs and fur and warmth and sorrow, Peaches felt love. It grew in this dark place still, wanting to thrive. But how could it?

Still she fell asleep, lashes sparkled with tears and her heart lighter. One could only be sad so long in the wake of such waves of attention. Wukongs and Macaques love was the only solution to this ailment they had inflicted upon her, and she, the addict, swallowing the medicine that would give her release.

[sleepanonymous]

[spielzeugkaiser]

[First Part] - [second]

Baby (who still has no name) is warming up to Geralt, who also starts to connect some dots. (Like, I think he suspects that he's Jaskiers son, adopted or otherwise, but he won't even humor the idea that he could be the dad.) That being said - the kid is an angry teenager sometimes. Jaskier tried all he could as a single parent and they have a very loving relationship, but I also think they do argue quite a bit, and there is some tension.

And the more he gets to learn how Geralt truly is the weirder is gets, cause. He's a good guy? And either Jaskier is petty and was too dramatic and kept him from meeting his dad for nothing, or Geralt isn't a good guy AT ALL and has hurt Jaskier really bad, and he doesn't think Geralt has it in him, but some people (and especially alphas) get really weird and archaic around omegas? And he had to witness again and again, with how little respect his unbonded, single father of a bastard child was treated - is Geralt like that too? But Jaskier still only ever talked somewhat kindly about him. And from all he saw... he trusts Geralt. He's a quiet, but witty and honorable man. But is it fair to doubt the parent that was there for him, that raised him, that sacrificed so much for him? The poor kid is so conflicted.

[what-is-it-to-be-pk-esque]

Ok I know I'm heavily biased here but like I kinda love that Astarion's romance is one of the few in this type of video game where you basically end up canonically unmarried and childfree in his "good" ending? Just travelling the world??

Like it's honestly the millennial dream lmfaoo cannot believe i chose what would undoubtedly be my favorite option, first try

[duskerot]

i disappear inside myself / my friends don't know it can't be helped

[Pure You - Nothing But Thieves]

[nuclearanomaly]

I'm glad you're here with me At the end of all things...

[raimagnolia]

Yo.... The psychological assessment of Buggy the Clown in a Freudian rant projecting his motivations onto Luffy was NOT what I was expecting.

[mrstargkonnen]

I miss him so much I tried to turn his essence into a ring!

So maybe I can’t draw or write but what if I made some pretty jewelry inspired by our favorite morally dubious, sapphire-eyed prince?!

Others I did for funsies:

[sunshades]

grief in the city, or "how many days off will i get when my lover dies of consumption next march"

Expanding from this post (@puffles HI) or mostly just trying to write it out in a readable fashion. (lor spoilers ahead yeehaw 📚)

Just been thinking. Death in the pmverse city. It's not something you're really allowed to get personal with. But some people just can't help it.

In lobocorp we get a look at what it's like from the inside of a corporation, and like yeah the entire story is about it, but to me Yesod's parts more than anyone else's showcase this feeling.

(Yesod core suppression dialogue)

The question of detachment comes up pretty often, and he points out Malkuth's as the ideal behavior to cope with it- forgetting you're dealing with humans as much as you can. Through his arc in lobocorp he struggles with it, this idea that it can all be fine if he stops thinking of the others as having a face, a name, and most importantly (for him) a body. Of course a strategy like that stops working as soon as one remembers, as one gets closer. That is one of the main themes of lor.

We're introduced to Xiao midway through the game, and her story unfolds as we start to learn about Roland's. The way she describes herself is similar to how A talks about Yesod, though Xiao doesn't feel special for it. The softness of her (at the time) coworker Lowell confounds her.

(Xiao's key page)

Then the invitation reaches her, and therefore the news of Lowell's death, and this changes. Her reaction is intense, she describes it vividly. And it feels... kind of natural considering the martial culture of her workplace? Specifically for an Association whose mechanics literally run off emotion levels.

(Liu S1 reception)

But we immediately see that no, to everyone else this seems like an overreaction to losing a partner. We see it from Chun's reaction, then Angela's, who suggests she simply finds a substitute for Lowell, and Roland himself is surprised by it: he muses about the Light influencing the people of the City: this is such a strange thing it gets compared to the goddamn Distortion! When we take a look at Lowell's own book it seems to confirm that out of the two he's always been the one with the more unconventional mindset.

(Lowell's key page)

It's not groundbreaking to say one should care about their partner, but it feels like in the City this isn't really the case? It feels like having someone you cherish becomes something of a nuisance as it can interfere with a Fixer's ability to... well, work. Roland, though affected for obvious reasons, tells Angela about it briefly enough, and it seems it's not particularly noteworthy, having romantic entanglements but also losing them pretty quickly. It's something that happens, that you're supposed to deal with easily enough, and go back to work.

(Liu S2 second reception)

Instead Xiao's feelings lead her to do the direct opposite; it's noteworthy that before her reception she resigns from the Association, and immediately justifies herself to her subordinates by letting them know this shouldn't affect their careers. It's worth noting that Roland's story is marked by a similar situation, once he's exposed in his revenge quest, he loses his Color title as well as his Fixer grade. In both situations we find that the question of how to deal with Survival (being a survivor to the person you love) can't escape from the problem of Survival (how to make a living). The death of another puts you in actual danger if you actually care about them.

In light of this, Lowell's hopes and promises for Xiao read differently. His apparent softness and sensitivity reveals itself as something he can handle very rationally; aware of how deeply their feelings run, he asks her to vow to always watch over herself.

(Liu S1 reception)

Instead Xiao, and we later learn about Roland, embrace the horror of what's happened to them, and show us what it's like to go into the deep end of this grief; it's a deviation from what we might consider normal or #HEALTHY, but it's also a display of feeling that usually people of the City just... don't allow themselves to have. I don't wanna ramble about this too long, but since limbus vaguely uses the Divine Comedy as a source, in Dante terms I would say: while Xiao and Roland commit sins of excess of love, letting their anger over their loved ones take them over, the people of the City in general commit the sin of sloth, "laziness of the heart", it's people who refuse to let any kind of attachment in their heart, because it's simply easier not to deal with them. Roland's arc touches on it quite often.

(Natural Sciences realization)

Though Roland does eventually turn out to be, well. A big deal, a lot of his behavior in the library is supposed to show him as a kind of everyman of the City. In moments where he talks like this, he's expressing what it actually feels like for most people to live in there. This heavily contrasts with Xiao's own beliefs, the ones she develops through her love, and that leads to her EGO manifestation.

(Liu S1 reception)

By the end we also know that the truth is Roland's own mindset isn't quite the one he tries to preach ("that's that and this is this"), but the grief over the loss of Angelica, and more generally the pain for the life he's always had, still weighs so heavy on him he isn't able to just start again- he doesn't want to! As the stories goes on and he faces the horrors of the City together with Angela, even this facade of "sloth" fades away, and his actual feelings start to show, the love and the anger and all of the grief- he starts to resonate with the abnos as Angela did, a similar experience to distorting.

While Roland has a lot of interesting dialogue, it'd take a whole other post to talk about it (I'm sure someone smarter has done it already) so for the purposes of this and to keep on topic I only wanna talk about a little bit that Xiao doesn't touch on, and that feels relevant with the perspective of canto VI.

(Black Silence "soulmates" reception)

In one of the darkest moments, we get a (can I say it now?) ⛈ HEARTBREAKING ⛈ confession straight from the inside of Roland's mind, the fear that in choosing to move on he'll have abandoned Angelica and all they meant for each other. The "pair of linked souls" is tied on a mechanical level, to beat them you need to disrupt their soul link, a buff they give each other that makes them basically unbeatable- they keep each other alive. Roland's fear, after years of Fixer work, after seeing how little value a person's life has in the eyes of the City, is this: that the second he looks away from Angelica's death and his attempt to avenge it, he'll have forsaken her forever, that their love and life together will lose its meaning.

Only with the help of the librarians and particularly Angela he's able to accept that's not the case, and in the final reception he once again wields her name and her gloves, carrying on her legacy and memory for the sake of the future and the new people he wants to protect.

Finally, I wanna show an incredibly interesting piece of dialogue from Leviathan, between Vergilius and Carmen.

(Leviathan chapter 18, translation by @/SnakeskinFS on twitter)

Now, Carmen's take on love is... something. Love as she means it is what we know to bring to Distortion, but it is interesting that the actual implication in the world she draws up is what the people of the City need back is contact with one another, understanding. It's also interesting Vergilius calls it a word he's unaccustomed to. Obviously here it doesn't apply strictly to romantic love, but this does check out with how little we get to see City residents... well, loving each other.

Xiao for Lowell, Roland for Angelica, as well as honestly Carmen for herself, her vision for the future, stand out in crowds of cordial coworkers and friends of circumstances, for the strength of their feelings, love in its danger and beauty. The paths they end up following are messy, some very bloody, and done in remembrance of the people they valued above all else. It's the theme of love that entwines so closely with that of death, the question of what you do when you're the one surviving and left behind.

So here's where I think of canto VI- WH is so heavily defined by grief. This is partially tied to its literary influences, partially to the author's own experience, but the story is scarred by the various funerals, each of which changes someone's life, mostly for the worse.

Is this malicious? A little. A little... not? Like in the City, the feeling is that the dead, the memory of them, follow because they love the living. When we get to Cathy's death, she and Heathcliff curse each other back and forth before making peace again, but in the end more than their harshness, what hits the most is the connection, the yearning to be reunited- "I care nothing of your sufferings" is soon followed by "I'm not wishing you greater torment than I have", which leads into the Heartbreaking speech, that we already know will be very relevant in the canto, in which Heathcliff takes her pain as his.

NOW I see readings/speculation around that this will be portrayed as lcb Cathy trying to tie Heathcliff to his past forever/them needing to Kill Her, and metaphorically his affection for her in order for him to move on and become his own person, to which I say: meh? I think that misses part of the point, makes her out to be a plot device instead of a character that, like him, has grown in an awful abusive household, and laments in her deathbed that she wishes things had been different, and that the person she loves could stay with her longer, after circumstances beyond their control have forced them apart.

By the end of it, though we know that in the book it doesn't really turn out like she'd like, Cathy claims she'd rather him remember her words, and her, as harsh and cruel than nurse anger while he lives on, she hates the thought that he should suffer more when she's gone, because she, too, feels his suffering as hers.

To me this last wish she expresses is most reminiscent of what we see of Lowell's request to Xiao, the way it's not fulfilled until the last minute. Xiao doesn't listen and she goes on, fully aware she's betraying the trust he put in her, and that she might be the next to die. Because of this betrayal, her feelings, this excess of love threatens to have the best of her, to make her forget about Lowell and focus only on herself and her anger- the "love of the self" that is the Distortion. Her final reception has her talking back to Carmen's proposal and worldview, detailing the way her bond with Lowell, but also Miris, Chun and all of her men, have been keeping her strong to this point.

(Xiao reception)

With the awareness her lover is dead and gone, she manages to work through her feelings and gain strength from them, deciding that these bonds, and her memory will keep all of them alive through each other.

SO am I saying this is totally happening to Heathcliff in canto VI. I mean, nah, not necessarily. But considering the similarities he shares with these other stories, and how we've already seen these examples of the theme of grief over a loved one being handled before in the previous games and resulting in these genuinely amazing characters, it's something I think about.

As we're talking about a game adaptation that obviously can't adapt 20 more years of story (and let's be real, shouldn't either. If you want to read WH you can just read WH,) I think that would be a reasonable way for the canto to play out: getting to see one of the sinners genuinely lose it over someone's death in a way none of the others really did, explicitly showing the uniqueness of such intense affection in a place like the City, and then slowly beginning the road to recovery. Much like for Xiao and Roland, this being done not as a result of leaving the past behind, but as a direct result of their love for another, and that of their lover as well as everyone else who cherishes them (Miris, Angela and the librarians- I think we'll soon add the sinners to the list).

(post core suppression dialogue)

To quote another bit from our bestie Yesod, the hope that grows out of the rot, as the death of another, but as your own wounded self as well.

So to conclude. I think in general, in the context of how we've seen major characters work around their grief in previous games it'd make sense for canto VI to reach a similar conclusion, the death being something that weighs heavily, but doesn't obscure the possibility of a future. Still. Love as something dangerous that has extreme power over us, but as something that lives in us and can't be taken away.

[girlweepinginstairwell]

hi yaz 💕 i was wondering if you had any recs to start reading poetry. i like reading dreamy, melancholic or warm concepts? i don’t even know if this is useful. but i literally have no idea where to begin 😢

hi hi hi! omg i’m actually so excited on your behalf... getting into poetry is like opening a door you always knew was there for the very first time and stepping into a brand new world laid out just for u! there is absolutely no wrong way to go about exploring it. 💌

firstly i really recommend signing up for a daily poetry newsletter because i have found so many wonderful poems that way. you can sign up for the poetry foundation newsletter here & the academy of american poets newsletter here & the paris review newsletter here! poetry anthologies are also a wonderful way of getting a taste of a lot of different works centered around a particular time period or theme & poking around in the poetry section for an interesting one next time u find yourself at a bookstore might be very rewarding for you!

and secondly here are some recs that came to mind when i thought of the words dreamy, melancholic, and warm. luckily there are lots of poems out there that fit these parameters. i hope u like them!

heart by dorianne laux

there is a gold light in certain old paintings by donald justice

the shampoo by elizabeth bishop

we have not long to love by tennessee williams

the leaving by brigit pegeen kelly

winter love by linda gregg

your night is of lilac by mahmoud darwish

my mother’s music by emilie buchwald

this morning by jay wright

effort at speech between two people by muriel rukeyser

in the museum of lost objects by rebecca lindenberg

sometimes, when the light by lisel mueller

a girl ago by lucie brock-broido

a song on the end of the world by czesław miłosz

dead butterfly by ellen bass

the spinner by paul valéry

[justsalpals]

Ame: "Eursulon it means so much to me that you sat guard over me in my coma 🥰 you're the best and I love you! But uh 👉👈 was Suvi-? 🥺🥺👀👀💖💖🥺🥺🥺🤔🤔🥺 She was, she was here ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ I can smell her"

[tj-crochets]

Hey y'all! Slightly weird question, but you know I love making and giving themed gift sets: Do you have any recommendations for board books or picture books with a sunshine or lemonade kind of theme? The set so far is a pink and orange and yellow quilt, a plushie sun, and a pair of pink and yellow baby booties with lemon slices all over them. It's good as-is, but I think if I can find a book to tie them all together it'd be even better