#it is a godless place that no one should go to...

[hetalia-club]

Hetalia Theory #1006

America can be killed and does have a health bar. Pieces of his heart are locked away inside each waffle house location scattered around the united states. This is why the environment is so hostile and the employees are so combative. It's also why the locations always stay open 24 hours and only ever close down if death is certain. They are protecting him. If you travel to every waffle house location and challenge the staff to hand to hand combat and you somehow beyond all odds manage to defeat all of them at every location he is the final boss. His stats are insane and you winning is near impossible unless you bring Papst Blue Ribbon and manage to shoot enough of it it into his mouth. This will lower his stats slightly. But it also enrages him and will drastically change his personality. Many have tried none have succeeded. Every waffle house fight you see is an attempt gone wrong.

[momentomori24]

I swear to God, Twitter being able to accumulate so many brain-dead, malicious, pseudo intellectual low lives all in one place at the same time is a phenomenon worthy of being studied under a microscope in a science lab. And no, that is not a compliment.

Thankfully people have already spoken out against this bullshit-- the fact that people needed to is already maddening to think about-- but as someone who got the basic gist of what happened literally yesterday I'll also put my voice out there: Don't you fucking dare try to paint Hbomb as a murderer over this situation.

Somerton may be a lying, misogynistic plagiarist and conman, but he obviously doesn't deserve to die and while I do make fun of the guy, I genuinely hope that he continues to have a life after the dust has settled on everything. Not on YouTube or any social media platform for a long time at least, but just a life nontheless. I don't wish what he's potentially going through on anyone, and I hope that he makes it through this. But regardless of if he does or doesn't-- and God forbid he doesn't-- none of this is Hbomb's fault. It's not his fault, or Kat's fault, or Jessie's fault (because apparently there's people blaming her too cuz WHY NOT), or anybody's fault. All they did was call out his actions, hold him accountable for the harm he's done. They have done nothing to deserve having to carry this on their shoulders should the worst happen. They did nothing wrong. They didn't kill James (he's not confirmed dead yet either btw). They are not murderers. And to the people saying they are: say those words out loud, listen how they sound like, and re-evaluate. Just cease.

And to people like this:

''Oh I'm not blaming him for anything I'm just blaming him for what his audience did because according to HIM you're responsible for your audience'' Yeah, you people can shut your mouths too. Of course you're responsible for your audience, and that includes Hbomb too. However, your tiny, godless little monkey brain can't see why your argument is still rubbish even with that in mind. The difference between James, Internet Historian and Hbomb is that Hbomb never promoted problematic behaviour to his audience. If you promote problematic shit like harassment or misogyny or racism, then yeah, you're absolutely responsible for how your behaviour influences your audience. But that's not what he did. He made it very clear where he stood on those things, literally stating that ''if anyone were to harass Somerton on his behalf they are worse than him and will not see the light of heaven''. He's done his part in making it clear that harassment is wrong, so if someone went out of their way to go against that and harass James anyway that doesn't reflecf on him at all. Also, what the hell do you mean ''hatemobbed'' to suicide? I don't doubt there are people who went to extremes because those bad apples always exist, but most of the things I've seen are valid critisisms, memes and call outs about that guy. If holding people accountable for their actions and poking fun at them a little counts as 'hatemobbing'' (which has Filip calling his critics a ''lynch mob'' energy tbh) what the hell do you call actual hatemobbing then? Do we just let people continue being shitty because calling them out ''damages their mental health'' or ''drives them to suicide'' then? Is that a world you want to live in?

Same thing goes for people like this:

Criticing someone for their objectively bullshit content and wanting them dead are two seperate things. What the actual hell is wrong with you. The plagiarist in question is a person. Those ''harshest critics'' are still people. And because we're people, we care. I'd rather James pump out more plagiarised slop than commit suicide. I'd still hate him for it, but I'd prefer him being alive over the alternative any day. We all do. None of us would sleep easier knowing he's dead just because he wouldn't be ''committing the cardinal sin of putting out a 'pure content mill' video'' because someone taking their own life is horrific-- especially Hbomberguy, how dare you even try to imply that?

And this gets me to the reason I'm furiously typing all this out in the first place: Hbomb is the fucking victim here, so stop treating him like he isn't. He tried making things as right as possible by compensating those that were burned by James through a video where he revealed everything there needs to be known about the guy so that less people fall victim to his actions and lies. To just ignore the harm James was causing while he had the evidence to prove it and platform too big to threaten into non existence should he speak out would've been bad. So he didn't. He did the right thing by sticking with the people James had stolen from, giving them a voice and making them known after they've been scrubbed from the picture by decidedly being uncredited for their works or bullied into silence. He shouldn't have to deal with this for doing the right thing. He shouldn't be labelled a murderer for doing the right thing. He shouldn't have to have the death of a man on his conscience for doing the right thing. People claiming otherwise are obviously wrong, but I can't imagine what all this must feel like right now. Because even tho they're wrong, guilt isn't a rational thing, and I know that if I were in his position I'd still feel like a morally bankrupt individual were the worst to happen even if I knew that it was not my fault. This isn't a funny story. So to add to this dumpsterfire by using it as a prop to bash on a creator you don't like and immediately write Somerton off as dead even when he's not even been confirmed dead yet to do that shows how little these people actually care about the thing they're talking about. They don't care a guy potentially killed himself-- what they care about is using it to paint Hbomb in a bad light because they don't like him. Here they are, posting memes and ill jokes about this very delicate situation while barely a day since the news broke out had passed. It's opportunistic, it's sickening, and literally the exact thing he criticised in his video when talking about 'content mills'. Like, I know none of these clowns bothered to actually watch it, but have some self-awareness. And some shame too, while you're at it.

This long story short: I'm writing this to contribute to the narrative not getting twisted to make Hbomb out to be the villian. Same goes for everyone else. Don't let these people paint them as the villians. If I see another person pull this shit again I will literally bite you and shred you into salad and spit you back out because I hate you so much and I mean that wholeheartedly.

To Hbomb: you will never see this but if you do, take care of yourself.

To the asshats this post is about: Delete your account. Cease all together. Stop talking about this. Just leave him the fuck alone.

[gaysindistress]

Requests? Honestly, anything that sees that beautiful old Hellrider happy and no longer pent up.

Pent up you say? *cue evil laughter* pent up Zevlor you shall receive.

pairings: Zevlor x f!reader

Warnings: suggestive nsfw

Bg3 masterlist

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on google/Pinterest

Paladins are holy warriors, soldiers trained to fight for a divine cause and never hold anything about it. Marriage is difficult to uphold when your spouse is programmed to think about a god’s well being above yours. Sex is not exactly a great time when your partner is consumed by thoughts of their god rather than indulging in the one before them. Conversations are no easy feat if you do not share the same faith and you’d be hard pressed to find a paladin who would even give you the time of day in that case.

But an oath breaker?

They are godless.

They are devoted fighters with no faith to draw strength from.

They are searching for something, or rather someone, to place their faith in again.

Before the events of Moonrise, Zevlor would’ve felt guilty for the thoughts he has about you. Before he would’ve been disgusted by the way he envisioned what your body would feel like against his. He would’ve hated himself for imagining the arch of your back as you bent over his desk. He would’ve detested the way his body betrays his self control and grows rigid at the sound of his name falling from your lips.

But what I think he would hate the most is how he was deprived of you for so long, especially when you’re mewing out for him in his bed.

It takes every ounce of strength and thread of self control that he has to not

“Where are you going?”

I hear a voice call from behind me and I briefly glance over my shoulder at Aradin. He’s basking in whatever shitty afterglow he finds himself enjoying and lazily trailing his eyes up my naked form.

“Where does it look like I’m going?” I respond in a clipped tone while I search for my clothes.

“No you’re not. Come here,” he says in that awful wannabe seductive tone and tries to grab at my arm.

My reaction is almost too violent and by me ripping my arm away, I almost hit it against the headboard. He makes some comment under his breath about how ridiculous I am and if I really hated him that much then why do I even come here. It takes everything in me to not shout at him that I would rather let Astarion use me as his personal blood bank than continue to sleep with his pompous ass but a girl’s got needs.

I finish getting dressed and leave the suffocating room without a second look at Aradin. The full body shutter washes over me the moment the door closes behind me. My stomach feels empty yet sick from the lack of food and self disgust that I’m feeling. As if on auto pilot, I find my way out of the Elfsong and to the street where a young girl is selling fresh baked goods. I hand her a few gold coins for an orange roll that I mindlessly tear pieces off of as I stroll through the city. The morning is still new; the air is moist and smells of salt while the sun quickly rises in the sky and begins to warm the day. I pause in front of the docks and close my eyes as I take a deep breath, inhaling the smell of the sea.

“Excuse me! Y/N!”

The sound of my name being loudly yelled forces me to open my eyes and turn towards my right. Alfira is wildly waving at me while racing down the street to catch up to me.

“Y/N! I’ve been trying to talk to you for weeks now but you’re surprisingly hard to find.” She says, albeit out of breath and with a wide smile on her face. “You should come over so we can talk.”

The traces of Aradin still cling to me and I grimace at her statement before I can stop it. Her brows knit together in confusion and subtle offense.

Fuck.

“I would love to Alfira but right now is not a great time. How about I come by tomorrow night?”

She narrows her eyes at me as they survey me. I shuffle under her sharp gaze and freeze when she stares at my neck. Her eyes grow wild as she makes eye contact with me.

“Oh gods please tell me Zevlor didn’t do that. I don’t think I could handle hearing about your escapades,” she giggles and feigns playful disgust. Her giggles fall short when I don’t share them. My grimace grows while her eyes grow even wider and she lets out the loudest gasp imaginable. I grab her by the arm and pull her towards a less busy area when people start to look. I hiss her name at her to get her to quiet down.

“Who did that to you? Does he know? Oh gods he’s so hopelessly in love with you, y/n! What are you going to do? Are you going to tell him? Please tell me you’re not going to see who ever tried to eat your neck last night!” She all but shrieks in rapid succession.

I hiss her name again, “Alfira! You need to quiet down before the whole city knows my business.”

“Well?”

I let out a groan of frustration and rub my hand down my face before I answer. “No i didn’t spend the night with him. I spent it with….someone else.”

“Who?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“It was Aradin wasn’t it?”

We share a look of mutual concern for my sanity after I slowly nod. She lets out a scoff and crosses her arms over her chest.

“Him? Of everyone in Baldurs Gate, why him?”

I shrug while shoving the rest of my roll into my mouth so I don’t have to answer her.

“I can smell him in you, you know that?”

Double fuck.

My chewing freezes. I shake my head.

“And that means if I can, then Zevlor will be able to as well so you’re going to come over, scrub your skin until it’s raw, and pray that I have enough candles to cover it all up.” Her tone is final and leaves no room for me to argue with her so I don’t. I let her boss me around and we fall into idle conversation as we walk to her apartment.

Tea has been brewed, candles lit, food made, and my body thoroughly cleansed. I can hardly move without being hit with a wave of orange blossom thanks to the hair oils and lotions Alfira let me borrow. Even my clothes were taken to be washed so i had to borrow clothes from her as well but with how large they are, I know they can’t be hers or Larkissa’s. The billowy white shirt smells faintly of metal, the forest, and something else I can’t put my finger on.

The two tieflings are being grossly cute together stealing love sick looks at each other as Alfira and I talk. At one point I mock throwing up at one particularly adorable look and earn myself a playful shove from the bard. We descend into a fit of giggles so hard that I have trouble catching my breath. Alfira sniffles from the tears that have sprung from her eyes and wipes away at them.

When I do catch my breath, I take a deep breath and wind my hair into a loose knot so it’s off my neck. I’m in the middle of thanking Alfira for bringing me over and forcing me to stay when the front door opens. Lakrissa greets whoever it is and I assume it’s one of their friends so I tip my head back to say hello too. My voice stalls about half way through the word when I make eye contact with the Hellrider Commander.

Alfira lets out a squeak and glances quickly at my neck, causing Lakrissa to do the same. The tiefling wives share a look of understanding as Lakrissa steps between us and Zevlor while Alfira practically yanks my hair down. Everything happens so quickly that all I can manage to do is let out a small yelp of pain and glare at her.

Zevlor sits down next to me, scanning both Alfira and myself with a sharp eye. His entire body tenses when he gets to my neck. I quickly look at Alfira who’s gone pale if that’s even possible and has her lip trapped between her teeth.

“Anyone hungry?” Lakrissa loudly announces and partially saves us from the suffocating tension that is filling the room.

I wait about 15 minutes before quietly excusing myself from the table and disappearing up to the roof. Before I leave the room, I glance back to find that Zevlor is already watching me. the eye contact we make is fleeting but there’s no mistaking the longing and heartbreak that’s pooling in his eyes.

I’ve lost track of how long I’ve been out on the roof but it’s grown dark by the time I hear the hatch open. The wind blows a gust of a familiar scent towards me; the same as the shirt I’m wearing and one I dreamt of for months now.

“Join me?”

There’s nothing for a moment and I fear that he would pretend to not hear me and walk away. That fear is nullified when he does join me and sits beside me on the blanket that’s been left up here. There are only a few inches between us but our shoulders are close enough that I can feel his natural warmth. Like a moth to a flame, I want to lean into him and enjoy the heat that lives within him.

“How did you know where to find me?” I choose to ask so I don’t lay my head on his shoulder.

“She’s worried about you,” he responds while staring up at the night sky, “she asked me to come check on you.”

Sighing, I drop my gaze to my hands that are draped over my knees. My fingers dance with each other in the pale moonlight, twirling and rolling over one another.

“Do you wish to be alone?” He asks in a quieter voice. I can’t bring myself to look at him just yet nor do I trust my voice so I simply shake my head.

We sit in silence for some time, watching the stars enjoy their nightly party and dance together in harmony. The longer we stay like this, the closer I feel we become. By the time he finds his voice again to say my name, my shoulder bumps into his and he pulls away slightly to my dismay.

“What’s that look for?” he asks when I look between him and my shoulder.

“You didn’t have to move away. I don’t mind that you’re….that we were….it was okay.”

He stares down at me with an unreadable expression before shaking his head and turning back to the sky.

“You are with someone. It would be inappropriate for me to… to touch you.” His tone is clipped as he grits out the words. I don’t miss the way his jaw flexes or how his hands curl into small fists before slowly unfurling.

“I am not,” jumps out with my breathy voice and he blinks at me with an arched brow. “I’m not with anyone.”

“His scent lingers on you still,” he nearly snarls between clenched teeth. His infernal eyes are squeezed shut and his nose is flared with his breath coming in short, swallow breathes.

I take a calculated risk and grab him by his chin, forcing him to look at me, “I’m not with him, Zevlor.”

“You reek of him, Y/N. You must think me a fool if you think that I’d believe you’re not with him.” He grips my wrist and tries to pull it away but I can’t let him. I can’t let him slip away again, not when I have him so close.

“I've been trying to forget you.” I whisper and let my gaze fall to his lips. His hand flexes on my wrist, tightening around it as he searches my face for a hint of dishonesty. Maybe I’m stupid or maybe I’m bold but either way I lean towards him as I tell him that Aradin has been a failing attempt to forget him.

“That’s a lie,” he chokes out with eyes squeezed shut. His features are pulled taunt from his internal struggle of whether or not to push me away or to believe me.

Pressing a light kiss to the corner of his mouth, I whisper to him that it’s not.

“Prove it.”

We meet in a desperate yet slow kiss as we try to commit this moment to memory. My hands slid from his chin to his jaw, cupping it as I begin to lose myself in the feeling of him. I feel his cradle my neck but it’s not enough. I need him to touch me. I need to feel him gripping at my body in the way I know he wants to.

I find myself moving closer to him until one of his hands falls to my waist and his claws dig into my hip. I take the opportunity to climb onto his lap and let my fingers grip the hair at the base of his neck. Zevlor lets out a deep guttural breath when I sit down and pull at his ponytail. My own embarrassing moan slips out when I feel him press it against my core. He pulls away from me causing me to chase after his lips but his raspy voice stops me.

“Y/N,” he whispers, “I will either have you to myself or not at all.”

Before he can say anything more, I hurriedly whisper back, “you’re the only one I want.”

He dips his head to plant wet kisses down my jaw and whispers against the skin of my neck, “tell me that you’re mine.”

I quietly mumble something incoherent and let out a high pitched whine when he sucks a bruise at the edge of my jaw. He urges me to say it.

“I’m yours, Zevlor. Only yours.”

[alitheakorogane]

Freedom's Protection: Stirring Up a Hurricane

Summary: The bomb was finally dropped, leaving nothing but a series of chain reactions spreading around the area... Literally. Venti revealed himself as the Anemo Archon Barbatos to his people as a last resort for defending you, causing the entire nation of Mondstadt to go into chaos.

This is the fourth part of Mondstadt's storyline for the Reader Protection Squad SAGAU series.

Note: There are instances of grammatical errors, please bear with me. Also, the entire layout was now changed and I placed a title on them so I could not be confused while I write the next chapters. It's still the same story though. Honestly, I have a hard time writing this part, that's why it took me so long.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4 (current), 5, 6, 7

"You could say that I am more than just a mere drunkard bard, Miss Rosaria."

"After all, how could I ever spread blasphemous words about myself?"

------------

The bomb was finally dropped, leaving nothing but a series of chain reactions spreading around the area... Literally.

You wanted to slam your head on the wall or slap Venti to his senses. He just literally drop a bombshell on everyone regarding the non-so-subtle secret he had kept for months, and the ones who had heard of it were looking at Venti like he had grown a second head.

What the hell, Venti?!

There are some who don't get it, but those people who are quick enough to understand what the bard has implied were shocked to the core.

This drunkard bard was delusional, is he really the Anemo Archon? He must be drunk.

Diluc should not let this drunkard drink Dandelion Wine again, he looks young but he can drink an entire stock in one go like there's no tomorrow, and now he spewing nonsense.

Rosaria just glared as she asked her usual drinking buddy in disbelief, "What do you mean, blasphemous words about yourself?"

The young bard ignored the vigilant nun and turn to one of the sisters of the Church, who was just standing with the common folk, "Sister Gotelinde, do you remember the first time we officially met, where I was trying to borrow the Holy Lyre der Himmel?"

Gotelinde nodded as she remembered the first time she had talked to the bard personally and responded with a thoughtful voice, "Yes, it was the time of the Stormterror incident. You tried to borrow the Holy Lyre to save Dvalin but since you have no documents permitting you to borrow it legally, you had the guts to introduce yourself as the Anemo Archon. I never believed you that time because it's preposterous and it's impossible for a simple drunkard bard to be the missing Archon."

"WAIT, WHAT?!"

The citizens of Mondstadt had exclaimed when they heard the nun's outrageous statement, the nuns had exclaimed the hardest.

Deaconess Barbara's eyes widened as gears started to turn in her head as she now connected the dots. She remembered the time Venti had temporarily fixed the Holy Lyre der Himmel a few months ago, she and the nuns had found out that the Lyre was broken again after weeks, but she was still wondering how this bard fix a holy relic, although temporarily. Now she had found her answer, it makes sense that the only one who could restore it (although temporarily) is the Anemo Archon himself.

Then she remembered her actions towards Venti and his friends at that time. It was embarrassing, and she couldn't help but paled at the thought of her Archon seeing her breaking down in front of him and accusing him of destroying the Lyre... His Holy Lyre der Himmel.

Calvary Captain Kaeya Alberich, who was just silent the whole ordeal, was staring at the bard with searing intensity. He wondered if his drinking buddy was the Anemo Archon because if he really is the respectable Lord Barbatos, Venti may have already known about Kaeya's real nationality. After all, he was considered to be a sinner from a godless land that was destroyed hundreds of years ago.

Venti smiled sweetly, as he bowed down like he always does after finishing his performance, "Now you know my secret, citizens of the City of Freedom. Now my disciples, rejoice! Behold, the Anemo Archon, Barbatos has descended!"

He then stood up with confidence in his voice, his eyes glittering in mischief, "Shocked, aren't you? Don't you just want to cry out and rejoice? How does it feel to finally meet the god you've been serving?"

Everyone was in chaos, some of the nuns had fainted, and the Deaconess seems to be in a catatonic state, as she remembered her embarrassing interactions with the bard before. The citizens of all ages were astounded to hear the bard's remarks, the devotees of the Archon were paling at the thought of a homeless drunk bard being the regal and freedom-loving Lord Barbatos.

You could say that was kind of... unpleasant, to say that at least.

One of the senior nuns of the Church of Favonius, Mother Maria, then spoke to some Knights who were standing awkwardly at each other.

"Arrest that bard and his comrades immediately! We will execute him and that imposter for emulating Lord Barbatos and the Divine Grace, and imprison the others for colluding with the suspect!"

"Now, now, Mother Maria, I think this is a mistake," Jean spoke up as she tried to reason out why they can't do such a horrendous thing. The fact that Mondstadt hasn't conducted an execution, whether private or public, in a hundred years makes this decision a little bit unfair. Especially with Jean knowing Venti's identity, the bard being killed and sacrificed at the hands of his beloved citizens to appease the same person they had adored and held in high regard was a little bit ironic. It is not a good way to show praise to their Archon, after all.

The majority of the crowd agreed as they screamed their approval of the decision to arrest them. With slight hesitation in their eyes, Knights rushed into action, with no choice over the matter. The lower guards are tasked to calm down the crowd, while others are tasked to take the rebellious young adults to their custody, especially you and Venti.

For the first time in her life, Jean felt helpless. She may be the Acting Grand Master, but she was against a bunch of angry mobs who had records of being devoted to Lord Barbatos with the Church backing them. The Knights and the Church have equal power in Mondstadt to maintain peace and freedom in the nation, and they both swear to the power of their Anemo Archon to serve Mondstadt and its people, hence giving them equal authority.

They rushed to Venti to capture him, as you yelped and covered your eyes as you can't bear to see the scene unfold in front of you, while Bennett and Razor pulled you in their backs to serve their bodies as your meat shield. The Prinzessin der Verurteilung was pointing her bow while Oz was preparing to strike the other team with Electro.

"As much as I hated to fight all of you since I'm your Archon and it's my duty to protect you but you leave me no choice..."

Venti sighed as he raised his hand to raise a small wind barrier, encasing himself, you, and the rest of the current Benny's Adventure Team. The guards who tried to reach the bard first were hit face-first in the barrier. Eula and Noelle tried to hit the barrier with their claymores many times but it never shattered.

Unfortunately, Amber tried to hit the barrier with her Pyro arrows, but since Anemo is known to be reactive to elemental power besides Dendro and Geo, they just bounced back and created a Swirl reaction, hurting some Knights nearest to the barrier. You opened your eyes in time and gasped in shock, as you see the injured knights and citizens who were unfortunately hit by the Pyro-Anemo combo. There have slight burns on their skins, some of them unconscious.

Screams of anguish and groans of pain were heard in the area, as many people were shocked by the tragic scene in front of them. Many voices had been heard, making your ears hurt over the matter, but you couldn't help but stare at Venti instead, who was turning pale as his favorite flower.

"He used his Anemo Vision!"

"I kind of forgot that that bard was blessed by the gods... Why of all people deserved of them, why them?"

"They had been injured, please help them!"

But there is one yell from one of the people that makes you stop in your tracks, and you knew that Venti is going to hear these piercing words:

"IF HE WAS THE ANEMO ARCHON THAT HE REALLY SAID HE WAS, THEN WHY WOULD HE TRY TO HURT HIS PEOPLE?"

------------

The cliffhanger was a giveaway, isn't it?

Do I need to announce that Part 5 is in the works since this was intended to be long ass until I decided to cut it again into two parts? I got too carried away, it seems.

To be honest, I apologize for OOC Venti and other characters involved in advance if you feel like they are, it's just that it's my first time writing for Genshin Impact actually. I used to write for Detective Conan and Assassination Classroom before, and this was new territory for me. I'm so glad many appreciated the SAGAU fics I made for the fandom.

Taglist: @mulandi, @yuziriha, @multifandomvoyage, @chihawari, @angstylittleb1tch, @forgotten-blues, @yourlocaldrugdealerbutfancy, @shizunxie, @lunxa472, @foggyzinemuffinhands, @ann-aha, @birbtweettweet, @swaggyb0ke, @beezgobuzzbuzz, @that-boi-sus, @the-psychotic-blueberry, @campanula-rotundifolia, @fauxizs, @lilqi, @angstylittleb1tch, @forgotten-blues, @yourlocaldrugdealerbutfancy, @shizunxie, @lunxa472, @foggyzinemuffinhands,

[ananxiousgenz]

HEY Y'ALL YOU'LL NEVER GUESS WHAT THIS IS!!!!! (it's more cowboy au FINALLY)

it has been. A Time!!!! @percy-mawce-arts and i have been getting our asses kicked by life so this au was sitting on the backburner for a while but we finally got this chapter finished and reviewed (after it had been sitting for like two months whispering creepily into my ear at night while i tried to sleep-) and we are SO very excited to show y'all the next chapter of When The Land Was Godless And Free!!!!

this chapter is a BEAST (word count says it's around 3.4K) and takes place right after arthur helps john out after being shot.

tw for brief mention of cauterization!!

Sometimes, John really fucking hated being human. He’d decided long ago that it was simply a hassle. That it would be easier to be a lizard, or a coyote, or a hawk. And from the day of his birth onward, life had only proven that theory correct. There were days where the pain, stress, awkwardness and confusion just made him want to crawl out of his skin. Days when he would rather rip off his fingernails than spend another minute talking to someone he disliked or asking for help he should have handled himself. 

The past week had just been chock full of those days.

The first few of them John couldn’t recall with much clarity. He had the strangest idea that his mind had been tampered with, leaving him only able to remember bright, blurry moments of the days he’d missed with a feverish sort of quality. Searing pain in his side as the stars twinkled like diamonds above before he slipped away into blissful unconsciousness. His cheek pressed against Akke’s silky mane, watching the distant blue horizon tremble with motion. A wooden door opening with a creaking that felt like it was stabbing through his eardrums. A shaft of sunlight falling across his face, illuminating motes of dust in its path as someone hummed a distant melody. Pain, always pain, throbbing in his side and never letting go. 

After so long swimming in half-darkness, stuck between awake and unconscious, John finally pulled himself fully out of limbo and into the unpleasantness of the waking world. His eyelids almost felt like they had been glued shut, and it took considerable effort to pry them open and see the world again. Once he had, he almost wondered if he was still in a dream, a shifting moment in the winds that would be blown away the second he blinked.

The stuffy room he was in had dark walls, lit by only a window with simple calico curtains to his left. He was lying tucked into the corner by the window, in a real bed with blankets and pillows and a nice mattress of all things. He hadn’t slept in a real bed since… Christ, at least since boarding school, and even calling that a “bed” was generous. A wooden bedside table sat at his right,  with unused bandages and half-eaten bowls of soup scattered atop it, and a chair beside it. It was unoccupied, with only an empty gun holster hanging over one side of the backrest, but it didn’t take much for John to guess that it had seated a recently seated a person. John guessed it was some time after noon, seeing as the sun was still high and bright enough to illuminate the room. It had been night the last time he was awake, hadn’t it? Evening, maybe?

He couldn’t remember for the life of him how he had gotten here, much less why.

John made the poor decision to try sitting up. The moment he so much as tried to lift his head, the muscles in his abdomen tensed and a sharp pain shot through his side (that’s right, he had been shot, hadn’t he?), forcing him to collapse back against the pillow with a groan and a cough.

He stared at the ceiling for a long moment, listening to the ambiance of the structure where he was currently sheltered, a cabin of some kind. It creaked slightly in the wind, which he could hear rattling away at the window panes. But otherwise the room was silent. He could hear no footsteps, voices, moving furniture, crackling fires, records being played, nothing to indicate that another human being was anywhere in his vicinity. He was alone. 

No, he wasn’t. In a moment of blind panic, John remembered Akke. Where was she? He didn’t hear any horses outside. She couldn’t have been left behind, she would have followed him… wouldn’t she? 

Despite the roaring pain in his side, John fought to sit up and look out the window with gritted teeth, bracing himself against the windowsill with a white-knuckled grip. There was no sign of her, just a wooden fence, empty land, and miles of clear blue sky overhead. 

John’s breathing began to speed up. Akke had been the only sure thing in his life since he left boarding school. She had saved his life in more ways than one, and he would do anything to keep her safe. If she was gone… Well. John wasn’t sure what he would do to whoever brought him here, but he knew it wouldn’t be pretty.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed with a wince and braced himself for the pain that would hit when he put weight on his feet. He was going to find her. Screw the pain. Screw the nauseating, dizzying pain splitting through his abdomen as he rose to his feet. Screw the way the world tilted and his vision began to fade. Screw the way he swayed on his feet. He had to make sure she was safe, he had to… he…

He hadn’t realized he was falling until a pair of strong arms stopped him from hitting the floor. His side pulled and searing pain had him screaming through gritted teeth.

“Calm down, John! Christ, what were you thinking?” That voice, John knew that voice. Smooth, with a fucking British accent. It was the Sheriff. What was his name, Adam? Alistair?

“Arthur?” John managed, trying his hardest not to throw up as Arthur helped sit him down again. “Arthur what… where-where…” Where am I? Where is Akke?

“You’re alright, John, you’re alright,” Arthur said, quietly, brushing a strand of hair from John’s eyes. His hand was like a cool balm against John’s forehead, and it was only then that John noticed how hot he was. It felt like he was lying in a furnace, he was sweating like a pig and his chest was heaving (though that was partially from panic). Arthur frowned and pressed his hand to John’s forehead more intentionally, then his cheek, then his neck. John couldn’t help but sigh every time his comparatively icy hand broke the heat radiating off of his skin. “Or, you will be. You’re safe, at least.” 

“Safe…” John mumbled. His brain felt like it was melting. “Where’s Akke?”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Akke?” Then his eyes widened. “Oh, your horse? She’s here, John. She’s out front, being fed.” 

John let his eyes slip closed with a relieved sigh. Normally he might argue. No, he definitely would. He would demand to see her, refuse to cooperate until he knew for sure she was safe. But something about Arthur’s voice, something about Arthur, compelled John to trust him. Besides, his head was swimming with heat and pain and he could barely hold on to a clear train of thought. He might die before he got to see her again if he didn’t lie back down. 

“Come on now, John,” Arthur said gently, his voice filled to bursting with kindness and concern that somewhere in the back of his hazy mind, John knew he didn’t deserve. “She’s alright, I promise. Let’s get you back to bed, hm?”

John swallowed thickly and nodded, the action making the room twirl like a falling feather. One of his hands flew up to his forehead in a futile effort to brace it, but there was no need. He was lying back down with his head on the pillow before there was any real danger of the world slipping out from under him, guided by a gentle hand attached to a seemingly gentler man. 

Though his vision was slightly obscured by one eye being mashed into his pillow, John examined Arthur again. He looked just about the same as John could remember from that night by the fire, but this time he seemed more… on edge, like a nervous kangaroo rat, waiting to be snatched up by a raptor. More than that, John noted as Arthur sat down in his chair with a quiet sigh, he seemed utterly exhausted. The circles stamped beneath his eyes were the color of mountain larkspur: a dark, nearly midnight purple. And the way his body slumped into the chair like a sack of grain spoke of more than one late night of worry and no sleep. 

Why did Arthur look so stressed? Had they been followed? Were they not safe here? Maybe they were in danger, but John had been too sick to move. It was a real possibility, given how little of the recent days he was able to recall. God, how long had he been here? He knew it had been a few hours at least, but some inner timer ticking away towards his own personal doomsday said it had been longer. Without meaning to, the question slipped past John’s feverish lips.

“How long?”

“Hmm?” Arthur hummed in response, rubbing a hand over his eyes as he leaned back against the chair. “How long what?”

“How long,” John repeated, turning his head slightly so his mouth was more exposed, “have I been here?”

Arthur blew out a long breath and looked at the ceiling. “I don’t… I’m not sure. Maybe about 4 or 5 days? I’ve lost track, to be entirely honest.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry, you haven’t missed much,” Arthur chuckled. “It’s been quiet. A lot of me trying to wash out your wound and keep the fever down while trying to take care of the horses and the chickens and whatnot. A lot of you sleeping and mumbling and crying out whenever I try to help with your bandages.”

John hummed into the corner of his pillow, letting his eyes slip closed as he listened to the soothing baritone of Arthur’s voice. 

“Is there anything else you want to know?”

John creaked one eye open. “How did I get here?”

“Well,” Arthur said, a faint smirk on his face as he shifted his weight in the chair to lean a bit closer to John, “I brought you here.”

“No shit,” John muttered, suddenly realizing how crusty his voice had become at a lack of use. He coughed once or twice to clear his throat, making the room spin again. “I’d like a bit more detail than that.”

“Ah. Well, I managed to get you up onto your horse– Akke, you said her name was? And then I led her back here, and managed to drag you into bed and rebandage your wound before the fever set in. You’ve been fairly incoherent since. Haven’t said much, but what you have said has been… well, calling it interesting might be a bit generous.” Arthur leaned back in the chair, that same faint smirk settling over his face. “Getting you here wasn’t easy, you know. You’re quite heavy, friend.”

There was an easy confidence in Arthur’s face and voice now, a swagger meant to disguise his exhaustion and fear and make it seem as though everything was just sunshine and clear skies. Probably meant to keep John calm, so he wouldn’t pass out from exertion or the fever or blood loss. But John had already seen the truth, already knew what was lurking behind that mask. Arthur was worried and tired, clearly running on empty and on the verge of collapse. But about what, John couldn’t say, and it was beginning to nibble away at his nerves like a mouse at a block of cheese.

“‘S all muscle,” John mumbled in an (admittedly fruitless) effort to send that mouse skittering off into the depths of his subconscious.

“I did wonder once or twice if you had eaten an entire buffalo right before deciding to attempt a double murder.”

“A buffalo?”

“Mmmm. I imagine you swallowed it whole, much like a rattlesnake. Horns and all,” Arthur said thoughtfully.

The idea of someone swallowing a whole buffalo was, to say the least, a bit silly. John snickered at the idea of it. Arthur’s smirk grew into a broad grin in response.

“They can’t taste terribly good that way, though,” Arthur continued, his eyes glittering with mirth. “Those things smell awful, I can’t imagine the flavor is any good.”

John chuckled. “How would you go about it, then, if you know so much?” Arthur smiled.

“The same way you eat an elephant,” he said, with the kind of familiarity that implied a joke he’d told before. “One bite at a time.”

John couldn’t help himself. The simple joy of such a silly idea bubbled up from the bottom of his heart and he was powerless to stop it. He laughed, hard and loud.

And almost immediately regretted it.

The pain that shot through his side in response was like a white-hot fire, searing him from the inside out and blurring his vision with boiling tears. A strangled noise fought its way out of his throat, caught between a gasp, a hiss, and a language only his subconscious knew now.

“Ataa!”

Through his misty vision, John saw Arthur’s face hovering in space above his own, a clear furrow between his brows as his mouth was set into a deep frown.

“John?” There was a trembling note in Arthur’s voice as he spoke.

“It hurts,” John whined.

“John, listen, I know it hurts, but I need you to stop moving, alright? I need to check if you reopened the wound. Try to lie still.”

John blew out a sharp breath and did as he was told. A moment later, cool fingers lifted his shirt, undid his bandages, and grazed along the throbbing epicenter of pain in his stomach. John was surprised at how little the contact hurt. Arthur’s hands were rough and calloused, to be sure. The life of a sheriff in a land like this didn’t exactly leave room for soft hands. But he was so gentle, barely hovering above John’s skin like the sweep and swish of prairie grass. Almost like he cared.

Arthur sighed quietly as he began to retie the bandages. “Alright. I think you’re okay, John. Just take it easy. No more laughter. It was hard enough trying to close you up the first time.”

The first time. The pieces were beginning to fit together in John’s mind. Arthur had taken the bullet out of his stomach. Arthur had cauterized the wound. Arthur was worried. About John. And not only was he worried about John, he chose to take him back to this cabin. Chose to take him in and heal his wounds. Arthur knew about John’s connections to Larson and his gang and the danger he could have been in as a result. He could have left John for dead out in the desert, and no one would have been the wiser. So the question still remained: why did he do it? Why go through the trouble? What did John matter to Arthur in the grand scheme of things?

“John? John, what’s wrong? Does something else hurt?”

John realized  hot tears were slipping from the corners of his eyes again, accompanied by sniffling that he couldn’t quite stop. “Why?” he croaked.

Arthur looked deeply confused. “Why what?”

“Why did you bring me back?”

“I don’t- I don’t understand.”

“Why did you keep me alive? For fucks sake, Arthur, I tried to kill you. I did kill your friend. You should have let me die. Why am I here?” John growled, swiping the tears off his face like they were burning him.

Arthur went silent, and John could almost swear he saw the gears turning in Arthur’s head as he considered his answer. He finished with the bandages and sat down, nibbling on his thumbnail as he thought. After a long moment, he looked up in John’s direction, his expression strangely hard.

“Because you’re human,” he said quietly.

John blinked in surprise. “What?”

Arthur nodded, a determined set to his eyes shining like the sun bouncing off metal. “You’re human. And in pain. Leaving you behind would have been cruel, even if you did try to kill me.”

John was, for the first time in a long time, completely speechless. Arthur thought he was something worth saving. Something that deserved to be taken care of. Something that didn’t deserve to die. In the back of his mind, a little voice whispered, The King wouldn’t have helped you. Larson would have let you die. He knows what you really are.

“You know nothing about me,” John choked out. “You don’t know what I know. What I’ve done.”

“Well, I rather figured you’d tell me something when you got better,” Arthur said with a vaguely guilty grin. “I figured if I kept you alive, I would get some good information out of you regarding the King’s whereabouts.”

“If I tell you about who I am and what I’ve done for that man, you’ll regret keeping me alive. You’ll kill me.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because,” John said, staring blankly at the ceiling the way he knew imagined a corpse would. “I’m not exactly a good person.”

“I never would have guessed,” Arthur muttered, and John watched him roll his eyes out of the corner of his vision. “The man who shoots my deputy and tries to kill me, a bad person. Unthinkable!”

John snorted in spite of himself. He didn’t laugh much (it was simply how he’d always been) but somehow, it felt natural around Arthur.

“John, look. You’re not the only one here who has done unforgivable things in the name of survival. I’m not asking you to like me, or even offer me any information about yourself. I’m asking for information on Larson. That’s all.”

Arthur’s face was polite, but as he spoke, his gaze grew sharper, cold with the threat of an avalanche lurking in the back of those bright hazel eyes. John knew that look. That frigid anger. The cold fury that seeped in through cracks of vulnerability, leaving a thick crust of ice over a person’s heart and a layer of frost on everything they touched. He’d seen it on the faces of dozens of Native kids in Larson’s gang after they’d been told just what atrocities they had to fear from the law. 

Arthur wanted revenge.

And he would do just about anything to get it.

“Just tell me where Larson is, and when you’re healed, you can go. I won’t hunt you. I won’t send anyone after you. I swear, I will leave you be for the rest of your life.”

“I don’t want to leave.” 

The words left John’s mouth before he had fully finished thinking them, but as he turned them over on his tongue, he realized they were the truest thing he had spoken since meeting Arthur. He didn’t want to leave. Arthur believed that John was human enough to save, to care for, to let live, despite how little he knew about him. That was more grace and humanity than Larson ever showed him, or any of the kids in his shitty gang. The longer he thought about it, the more John realized he was sick of it. All the lies, the manipulations, the nightmares, all that time living in limbo between terror and fury while fighting for a cause that would sooner see you crushed beneath its heel. He didn’t want that. More than that, he didn’t want it for anyone.

Arthur looked completely baffled. “What?”

“I don’t want to leave,” John repeated as the words rang through his mind again like chiming crystals. “I don’t want to go back to Larson and his gang.”

Arthur simply stared.

“Look. You want revenge on him, don’t you? I saw the look on your face when you talked about him. You want him locked up, and I want his fucking gang disbanded and freed. I’m not going to leave you, not when we have a common enemy we want gone.” A hard edge was creeping into John’s voice as he spoke. “Between your sharpshooting and my sight, we could bring him down. Two heads and all that.” Arthur seemed apprehensive still, which was fair, John thought. Having empathy for the man who shot your deputy was a far cry from trusting him. John sighed. 

“Arthur, vengeance will eat you from the inside out. Believe me, I know. I can see it wearing you down.” Arthur averted his gaze. “This is too big a foe to handle alone. Too big of an elephant to eat whole.”

Finally, Arthur smiled, looking up from where he’d fixed his gaze on John’s quilt. “So we eat it together,” he said. John nodded. 

“One bite at a time.”

[mdhwrites]

if you were the writer of the show what type of bigotry in the Owl House show would you include so it would make the inhabitants have flaws without Belos’s influence?

WRONG! bops you on the head

If you make fictional bigotry in your story, you should not then make that bigotry TRUE. It's actually a part of the problem with Belos' death. By making it so that he claims "We as humans are better than these people because we wouldn't let someone die mercilessly like this," only to then have the characters literally go, "Well we aren't," then you justify the bigot. He is not a bigot... He's just correct. They are as awful, cruel and evil as he believes.

Star Rail had this problem in 2.0 where they had a character theoretically be treated with prejudice for his race. However, someone states what that means and 3/5 matched dead on for how he behaved. The one most targeted at him was in fact 100% correct for that patch. As such, it's hard to call that racist instead of an objectively correct judge of character.

And, in case it isn't VERY clear: That is really fucking awful to do as a writer. Even if these are fictional prejudices, it still is like writing a real world stereotype to its stereotype and nothing else. It makes something that is fundamentally irrational and cruel, logical and justified. That's not the message you should be sending to put it mildly.

This is one of the rough elements of including bigotry in a story. You have to be smart enough to first pinpoint why people were bigoted in the first place as most hate groups have an agenda. Manifest Destiny was an excuse for expansion and cruelty, claiming that God preordained their right to this place and so the people who were already there were trespassers and beneath them for they were not blessed by God. The main purpose though was to have some sort of excuse to get what they want. Then you need to show how this is codified into the dominant society. What do people think are the stereotypes that justify their hate? Then you need to turn that back around to show how those people are not what is being claimed and the blunt fact that these lies are spread mostly for personal gain or comfort.

Belos' hate for wild witches is just... They're evil. They are godless heathens who care not for others suffering. Yes, eventually they try to claim he's doing this for glory but it's flimsy when he's ready to die to reach this goal. Can't get glory when you died in another realm, can you? Worse yet, S1 of TOH just makes this belief fact for the majority of the Isles. Remember episode two with "I WANT TO WEAR YOUR SKIN"? It's why they have to retcon the Isles to having been a paradise before Belos arrived or else he's just correct. They have to claim everyone is a greedy asshole because of him or else from go, the show is on his side.

Now we could go into his prejudice against wild witches but... That doesn't actually exist. He doesn't believe in it and seemingly no one else does either. Hunter doesn't, Bump doesn't, Lilith barely cares about it and more in a way that makes the difference be between industry and freelance work, etc. etc. In fact, it's not prejudice in the Isles: It's just law. Eda is factually breaking the law and that's how everyone treats it. As a bounty to be collected. Not someone who is objectively, abhorrently wrong in the eyes of their society because of this fact about themselves. A fact mind you that Eda chose which actually isn't normal for bigotry. Most that critique go with something that is who the person is by birth, whether that be transgender, gay, a certain race, etc. like that. The closest is discrimination through religion which is not really the vibe this gives because no one actually cares about the religion of the Titan either. It's at BEST a representation of Jim Crow laws but like... It also applied to literally every single living being on the Isles at one point because this show is really bad at this angle.

For the wild witch prejudice to actually function, people would need to think wild witches eat babies, steal your magic, burn down towns, etc. like that. Eda should send people screaming... And so should Luz. Which is why this isn't the case. See, Eda being Momma Eda would have been a great critique of how people saw her. How this one choice made them assume things that were inherently wrong. That's how you do critique of bigotry. But at the same time, that means Luz would have had to fight for acceptance. Fight to clear her name. She couldn't have gone to a magic school in episode because quite literally everyone on the Isles should hate her desire for magic because she inherently can't be a part of the coven system so her dream is to be a wild witch.

The show NEVER deals with complications like that though. That's why Eda is the only wild witch. That's why no one cares about her being a wild witch. It's why in the same episode that Bump is trying to apply for funding from the Emperor's Coven, he has Luz, APPRENTICE TO EDA THE OWL LADY, at his school as a regular student. I can't imagine how that would cause a problem. -_-

Which yes, making the Isles fearful and hateful about the limitless self expression of being a wild witch would make them flawed. Would make them follow a false belief as part of the grand scheme of a bigot. It's almost like the people at the top spread their false beliefs in order to gain power and control the masses. It is actually a good idea for it to have been Belos' influence that caused this hate it's just not actually there in the show, regardless of what anyone else tries to say.

And if you want an example of all of this done right? Zecora. From My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. I'm not even kidding. In her introductory episode, we are shown that because she is different, a zebra who lives in the woods, EVERYONE in Ponyville is terrified of her. Then when something goes wrong, it assumed to be her fault. However, the Poison Joke actually being told is that they all made fools of themselves while being hateful. That if they had just listened to her, extended trust to her, there would have been no problem because their prejudices were inherently irrational and wrong.

In 22 minutes, My Little Pony addresses bigotry better, more comprehensively and more meaningfully than TOH does in THREE SEASONS. But... I guess only one has gained the reputation for being deep and thoughtful so we should just assume it did it better, right?

Sorry but I prefer to focus on reality than the biased perception that fits my narrative. See you next tale.

======+++++======

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

[mariacallous]

The patriarch of a right-wing Canadian family of 11 had had just about enough of gay people in his country. “We didn't feel safe for our children there in the future anymore,” father Arend Feenstra told Russian media. “There's a lot of left-wing ideology, LGBTQ, trans, just a lot of things that we don't agree with that they teach there now, and we wanted to get away from that for our children.”

Yeah, if there’s one place that’s just not safe for kids, it’s Canada. Russia would be soooo much safer. 

So Arend (and wife Anneesa) sold everything they had to move to sunny Russia and raise eight of their nine kids with “orthodox” values. They also gladly took donations on their social media platform from fellow right-wingers, all so they could live in Vladimir Putin’s wonderland. Russian officials assured them that they would work with them to get them established, and even help them get a farm. They did all of this just three weeks ago; long story short, they lived happily ever after. 

Except they didn’t. 

First, according to the family, the Russian bank where they moved the proceeds from selling their farm and belongings? It immediately froze their assets. The amount of money seemed suspicious, Arend states in a Feb. 9 video. I guess it would, since so many Russians outside of Putin’s circle are dirt poor. As a result, the family didn’t have money to live on—apparently those nice Russian officials offering to help them had disappeared.

Since no one in the family speaks Russian, they’ve also had a bear of a time trying to argue for their money—because Russia doesn’t require any bank, or any business, to hire English translators. In the meantime, they discovered that Russia is a pretty damn miserable place to be right now.

TikTok user Ukrainian.Networking translated a Russian Federation Reported Media story in a snarky post. 

The Russian reporter noted that Anneesa spoke her mind in a since-deleted video on the family’s “Countryside Acres” YouTube channel.

"I'm very disappointed in this country at this point. I'm ready to jump on a plane and get out of here. We've hit the first snag where you have to engage logic in this country and it's very, very frustrating."

Hoooo boy. They just arrived and already she’s insulted Russia. Now, I’m not saying Russia doesn’t have freedom of the press, but it’s really just freedom to praise Putin and the country he controls. Anything that resembles criticism in Russia is NOT taken as kindly as it is in our godless Western dystopias. I’m also not suggesting that Russian officials paid the family a visit to remind them of where they are, but I will point out that Arendquickly posted an apology video to the Countryside Acres channel, saying that his wife misspoke and they’d deleted the video. 

In that video, he reiterated that no, Russia is really, really great (subtext: “Please don’t push me out of a window”) and he spoke of his hope to resolve the issue with the bank. Commenters weren’t so sure, or kind. They pointed out that the bank will likely never release their funds and it is more likely that he will be recognized as a foreign agent.

At this point, I’m not sure the Countryside Acres farming gig is going to work out. Patriarch Arend should have agreed to be used as a tool for Russian state media. I mean, if you are going to be a Russian Asset, might as well go all-in. 

I’m willing to bet that living in a country that grants gay people basic civil rights might not be looking so bad now. I was wondering if the family is desperately trying to split, so I looked up how difficult it is to leave Russia. According to the BBC, you can leave “as long as you have money and have not been called up to the army.” 

Even if only for his kids’ sakes, let’s hope Arend’s only lost his money.

And I’ll end with this charming reprise of a German eurodisco tribute to Moscow, originally released in 1979. (English lyrics here)

“Welcome to Moscow!” At least the song is catchy.

Comment Award goes to Laughing Gravy: “I’ll bet back home they used to whine about immigrants who don’t know the language, who have no money, who expect the government to hand them a house and a job, and who complain when they don’t get everything they want.”

[justarandomlambblog]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 [END]

you know how you don't adopt cats, cats adopt you? Well here we have Narinder adopting a dad

(I encourage you to view each page in a new tab, it's all sketch so you can see all my thought and build lines but I think it's clear enough?)

This is sort of a prologue for this AU I've talked about and is one of like... 3 or 4 parts

That horrible moment realization, regret and grief hits you all at the same time

I like long-furred Narinder I think he should embrace manbun life /kidding (unless... (/j/j))

Ignore the perspective issues on the last page I got very tired (am sick today) and I am a firm believer in doing things bad but having fun. That being said I had zero intention of making backgrounds for this and just generalizing everything but then I drew the crumbling ancient temple platform and the divine battleground and it was over I needed backgrounds from there on out-

Does the world of Cult of the Lamb have the same meaning for middle fingers? Who knows, I just thought it'd be funny for Narinder to double-flip off Lamb as he's disappearing into the teleportation stone. Don't @ me <3

I didn't want there to be any dialogue so I hope the story is clear through the pictures alone but if not, there's an explanation below the cut

After being defeated, Narinder finds himself on the indoctrination stone, the manacles still around his wrists and neck. The Lamb offers him mercy- a place to live. But Narinder refuses. He gets to his feet on his own and runs to the teleportation stone, and the Lamb is too surprised for a moment to realize what's happening. They try to stop him, knowing how injured Narinder is and that this stunt will only aggravate Narinder's wounds, but Narinder is running on anger, regret, humiliation and adrenaline- and he is much older than the Lamb is and knows more locations than the Lamb does. He knows about the long-fallen territory on the very edge of the Old Faith's land, what was once a grand city of gods having become a divine battlefield eons ago; it is the only place he can think to go, stumbling his way down the stairs that are much too big for his newly mortal form and running for the forest beyond the Old Faith's border.

Running through the old beaten paths of the forest, he trips and finds himself unable to pull himself back up, his adrenaline fading almost as soon as he hits the ground and the pain of his wounds flares up. He allows himself to fall unconscious, thinking maybe he will just quietly perish out there in the woods, but is found by an older canine passing through. Finding the injured Narinder, the old dog puts him on the cart he pulls and takes him to his home, tending to his wounds.

Narinder wakes up in pain, finding himself in a strange, unfamiliar place, and his savior brings him food. Narinder struggles, his hands shakey and everything in pain, but he is resistant at first to the old dog's aid. Over time, as the dog tends his wounds and gives him clothes to wear and changes his bandages, Narinder begins to accept his help and allows him to help exercise his limbs while he's bed bound and, eventually, help him to walk again. Months pass them by, from summer to autumn to winter until it's spring. The old dog is happy for Narinder's progress and gives Narinder a fond pat on his head, unintentionally reminding Narinder of Shamura.

In the spring, Narinder is able to walk on his own, though he uses a cane to aid him. He explores the old dog's home, since the dog isn't around as much as he used to be now that Narinder is mostly independent again. Narinder spots him out a window, tending to a garden, and steps outside to discover he's on a farm. It's a large farm, though not very bountiful; it's a wheat field, one that clearly suffers from the lack of a god's blessing- in a world of gods, a godless village can only just get by. Beyond the fields are more homes and sheds, and people tend the fields.

He joins the old dog in the garden after being invited over, and the dog gives him a flower bulb to plant. Narinder remembers when he and Leshy did this exact same thing, with Leshy showing Narinder how to plant the flower bulb in the dirt; as he gently buries it, he can feel Leshy's phantom hands over his own, as if guiding him. To Narinder's surprise, not only does the flower bloom as soon as it has been covered, but it spreads out; the garden bursts to life with the strange black and white flowers, and they grow wildly through and around the garden, reaching all the way to three graves under a solitary tree.

Narinder is looking at his hands in shock, not having expected to be able to do this; he had thought his magic was gone, the last vestiges of it used to activate the teleportation stone when he escaped. As he looks at them, the manacle around his neck falls off, landing in his hands, and begins to dissipate into residual magic, and he remembers Leshy- Leshy, pleading with him to hold his tongue, to give up on his newest, heretical ideas, that the world isn't ready to hear it and the consequences would be too great and the other Bishops wouldn't allow him to pursue it. Realizing all at once exactly what he lost- what he threw away when he refused to heed his brother's warnings and wait for the right time, when the world was ready- he breaks down, doubling over in tears- the first tears he's allowed himself for nearly a thousand years, now. Hurt from the betrayal, regret for what he did and made the Lamb do, grief for what his siblings did in fear of him- it all hits him at once.

The old dog reaches out to him, and Narinder clings to him, letting himself completely break down. The kind dog just holds him while he cries.

(Not shown: the old dog shows Narinder the shrine, explaining what it is and what the painted flat stones are for. He gives Narinder flat stones to paint and goes outside to speak to the graves of his own family, even though it's begun to rain.)

Narinder paints four stones, each one with a symbol on top that he associates with his siblings (a book for Shamura, a diamond crystal for Kallamar, stalks of wheat for Heket, and a camellia for Leshy). He doesn't really forgive them for their betrayal of him, doesn't forgive them for locking him away for a thousand years- but it soothes an ache deep inside, to accept that even if he can't forgive them he can mourn them and regret his part in all this. That despite everything there was still love- it's conflicting, but it's almost like... closure. Or, at least, the start of it.

He makes tea and offers it to the old dog when he comes inside, and they sit together and drink tea while listening to the rain. The four stones sit on the shrine now, with the dog's family's stones, cementing the fact that Narinder has accepted that he isn't leaving this house.

Thus, the old dog becomes the adopted father of a 5,000+ year old cat ex(?)-god.

[crossdressingdeath]

Narrator: *For the first time in over a century, silence falls over the Bhaal Temple. No chants, no screams, no prayers.* Narrator: *In the end, your own death brought you more joy than any you wrought on this land. You are slipping into peaceful oblivion.* Narrator: *But your journey is not over.* Withers: Thou hast defied Bhaal, thy liege and father, and in doing so hast earned a place among champions and heroes. Withers: But, alas, thy courage was in opposition to the divine cosmology that bound thee to the Lord of Murder. Withers: Thou art now faithless - godless - and doomed to wander the Fugue Plane for eternity. Withers: I will not permit that, though all the powers of life and death dictate that it should be so. Withers: I, too, still hold some power, and I invest a portion of it in thee, who hath challenged the gods and now liveth to tell of it. Withers: Thy fight is not over, and it is thy fight, for one who can look upon Bhaal and oppose him can survive any crisis. Withers: So rise, Challenger of Gods, and prepare for battle once more. Death will not claim thee whilst I endure.

Not gonna lie: this sounds like whether or not Durge was immortal before, they sure as hell are now. I mean, "Death will not claim thee whilst I endure"? Sounds to me like they aren't going to be dying any time soon. Durge's relationship with death has been upgraded from "I'll have to ask my dad (he says no)" to "I'll have to ask my granddad (he says absolutely not under any circumstances)." Benefits (or curse) of coming from a family of death gods, I guess.

I love the imagery of a hush falling over the temple as all of this is happening. Like... based on Withers's dialogue this shouldn't be happening. Durge shouldn't be defying their father and Withers definitely shouldn't be bringing them back afterwards. From the moment Durge says no everything's gone off-script. It's also interesting that Withers says Durge defying Bhaal is in opposition to divine cosmology; keeping in mind I haven't played the first two games, I get the sense that while Bhaalspawn defying Bhaal isn't the norm it's not all that unheard of. There are two whole games about Bhaalspawn doing exactly that, actually. Then again Durge's situation is unique; possibly it's something like... as they were made from Bhaal's own gore Durge literally shouldn't be able to refuse him like that, which raises some fun questions about their life pre-amnesia. The suggestion that Durge kind of broke cosmology in defying Bhaal is very good and I'd love more details on that.

The suggestion that Durge is now entirely without a god to claim their soul on their death and will wander the Fugue Plane for eternity now that Bhaal doesn't want them is very interesting, considering that you can be a cleric and so bound to a god other than Bhaal (unless the dialogue is different under those circumstances). I guess Bhaal took priority as their father and maybe since Durge died as a direct result of him abandoning them no one else had the chance to stake a claim? But if this is just the way of things for them now and their soul can't be claimed by a god that's. not good. But then again I guess technically Jergal has it. It's fine! I really like him walking into this situation and saying "No, they don't deserve this and they're too important to this fight, I'm not letting them die like this (or at all)."

Based on what Bhaal says prior to this Durge dies less because he directly killed them and more because his divine essence was their life force, so when he ripped it out of them they had nothing to keep them going? So then what Withers is doing seems to be replacing that portion of Bhaal's divine essence with his own, giving Durge a new life force in the process (hence why they'll now endure as long as he does, since presumably if he dies that new life force will die with him). Durge may or may not thank him for that (that bit about Durge's death bringing them more joy than any they've caused hits hard, and even harder when you consider that the deaths they've caused include Ketheric and Orin and potentially include people who hurt their companions like Cazador, Gortash, Viconia...), but it seems like the divine equivalent of a heart transplant or something similar.

[dontmeantobepoliticalbut]

Early Saturday, I read about how Donald Trump’s supporters are already preparing to contest the outcome of the 2024 election if their candidate does not win.

A few hours later came the news bulletin of a shooting in which Trump was injured.

After watching CNN for a while, I flipped to Fox News. The difference in the coverage was striking. CNN was strictly factual — which of course meant repeating vague generalities while waiting for more facts to emerge.

Not Fox. Nor the majority of the media, now dominated by the right wing.

Quickly, Fox had a former police officer on, calling for “transparency” in any investigation, and warning Attorney General Merrick Garland, with no basis at all, not to pull any hanky-panky.

It was also full of various commentators stating, one after another, that people need to tone down the rhetoric, and that America has no place for political violence.

I was flabbergasted. The only mass political violence in America had been January 6, stoked by Trump, other Republicans, and Fox News. Most of the aggressive rhetoric in this country has come from the same crowd.

At a time when circumspection and restraint are needed the most, the choric chant that the problem rests with others — meaning the Democrats — was as galling as it was predictable.

Underlining this instant politicization were a man and a woman at the Trump rally in Butler, PA, flipping their middle fingers at CNN’s camera within seconds of the shooting.

The current frenzy is all based, it should be underlined, on the act of a single individual — a registered Republican. Somehow, this is now to be used to tar and intimidate all Americans who legitimately and thoughtfully question Trump and his motives.

And, just as predictably, one Fox talking head said that this is what happens in a country with “godlessness” — without anyone mentioning that this could not happen in a country with “gunlessness,” since Trump and his allies are thrilled that practically anyone can obtain a murder weapon and unlimited ammunition. (Some perspective on hate, violence, and guns: From 1990 to the present, according to official statistics, far-right extremists have killed more than 520 people — while far-left extremists have killed 78 people. For more data, go here, here, here.)

And, while decrying division in the country and calling for toning things down, the Fox folks continuously referred to Trump as “President Trump” or “the President,” as in “the President is fine,” yet I heard a “newsperson” referring to the actual president simply as “Biden.”

In other words, at Fox they are working to create more division and animosity, still stoking the stolen-election lie, and setting the stage for more discord and potential violence.

I doubt we will hear much candor on the irony of all this. We will see plenty of “The Photo”: the blood-streaked face of the brave, wounded, defiant victim-hero. Fox and its Republican allies will successfully milk this for all it is worth, their base will in their own minds decide that the Democrats are somehow to blame, and the major media and Democrats will have no idea how to combat this nonsense.

All this will almost certainly redound to Trump’s advantage at a time when everything is already cutting his way.

That’s where we are with less than four months until the presidential election. To tweak a Trumpian favorite: GOD HELP AMERICA.

[astrronomemes]

CARRIE (1976): STARTERS

a collection of quotes, phrases, and sayings from the 1976 adaptation of Stephen King's Carrie. change & alter as needed.

"Stand up and take care of yourself. Come on. Do it."

"[Name], I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't know, okay? I'm sorry."

"I thought you might take the rest of the day and go home to take care of yourself, [name]. We're all very sorry about this incident."

"These are godless times, [name]."

"I was so scared. I thought I was dying."

"You should have told me, [name]! You should have told me!"

"Don't lie, [name]! Don't you know I can see inside you?!"

"[Name], if I asked you to do something very special for me, would you do it?"

"Yeah, but... that's what you like about me, right?"

"You are totally fucked up! You really are!"

"If you don't have a date for the prom next Friday... would you like to go with me?"

"That's great! That's fantastic! ...So what are you moping around for?"

"It might be terrific. You might have a really good time."

"[Name], I want to talk about this attitude you have about yourself."

"You can't order someone not to take someone to the prom!"

"We don't care how we look. ...Do we?"

"You know, this is a hell of a risk for a joke."

"I want to be normal. I want to try and be a whole person before it's too late."

"Everyone isn't bad! Everything isn't a sin!"

"You must renounce this power. You must give it up. Never use it."

"I'm going, [name]. And you can't stop me. And I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"You're getting blood all over the place!"

"You're a little late. I could have used you a week ago."

"I'll take it any way I can get it, pal."

"I don't look right in a tuxedo. I don't have a tuxedo body."

"Besides, I'd look awfully stupid dancing by myself, wouldn't I?"

"That's okay. If you want to go with your friends, I don't want to spoil anything."

"To the devil with false modesty!"

"That [full name], she sure is cute."

"It was bad, [name]. They laughed at me."

"[Name], hold me, [name], please, hold me."

"Oh, [name], thank god it's you. I don't think I could have handled one more reporter."

"It's all right. I know. It's all right. It's all right. I'm here."

[deancaspinefest]

Well, I Never Been To Heaven

Author: SamandDean76 | Artist: xfancyfranart

Posting on Saturday March 30

Dean Winchester is living a plain, ordinary, and boring life. Until one day a new student shows up in the little town of Spain, SD. It’s love at first sight, but then the unimaginable happens and Dean is left alone in his misery. Or is he a student attending Oxford University on a full athletic scholarship who finds a familiar face in his coxswain? Or is he hiking in the desert and attempting to save a known stranger? Or is he a traveler who stops for the night at a cheap motel and finds the pizza man of his dreams? Or is he none of those things? Just an unwitting victim of fate and destiny? Castiel had led the assault on hell, in order to save the righteous man and prevent the first seal of the apocalypse from being broken, lest hell should be allowed to reign on earth. In the aftermath of his disastrous mission, he is being held captive by Alastair, and his image is being used in a final, determined attempt to break Dean. But the profound bond that Castiel feels towards the pure soul won’t allow him to go down without a fight, and he makes a desperate prayer to set in motion a chain of events that might save him and his beloved mortal, or possibly, doom them for all eternity.

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

The demonic beast that seemed to be reveling in the pain and misery that he wrought on others smiled cruelly, as his thin, greasy fingers threaded through the short, dark wavy hair and clenched tight before they pulled the bowed head up. “Do you see?” The nasally whisper sounded in Castiel’s ear, as he tried to turn his head away, “Do you see how he suffers?”

Castiel did indeed see, truly he did. There was simply no way that he couldn’t. Chained in the heavily warded stockade as he was, looking on as Dean thrashed and whimpered, as he sobbed and cried out for the angel that he couldn’t even possibly know yet. As he pleaded for Castiel to be returned to him, begged that he might be taken in Castiel’s place.

It was all that Castiel could do not to snarl at the godless monster that held them, knowing that it would change nothing, except to possibly make the torture that Dean was suffering to be made even more heinous than it had already proven to be. Alastair was an old demon, one that had been around since the initial waves of demons had been created by Lucifer all those eons ago. His cruelty knew no bounds, and he was determined to destroy the righteous man. To draw him into his web of ceaseless brutality so that the first seal might be broken, so that the demons might be able to take the first steps towards the apocalypse so that they could raise their Lord and Savior from his prison deep within the bowels of hell.

But Dean Winchester had held firm, refusing to surrender to his baser urges and desires. Alastair had been torturing him for almost forty years already, and still, he had remained stalwart in his refusal to torment another helpless soul. Castiel’s garrison had been captured, and he was the lone survivor. Now held prisoner, his vessel’s image being used to cause untold distress in the almost broken mind of the one righteous man in all the cosmos that could bring about its utter destruction.

Castiel knew that he needed to act, and he needed to do so swiftly. Not only to save the mission from certain failure, but to save the pure soul that was being ravaged right in front of him.

“I know, I could always bring you back, and then let him see you die again. Hmmm. I like the sound of that.” Castiel could only glare at the demon, knowing that he was presently helpless. So, it was with a singular purpose that he issued his desperate prayer, knowing that he had been clearly forsaken by heaven. Choosing to seek assistance from the one who would hopefully be able to rescue them. If he were still alive. But more importantly, if he could be convinced that he was still needed. That the world he had forsaken heaven for was worth his further efforts.

And if he could be convinced that he needed to set aside his unhealthy proclivities long enough to see to the continued existence of all the many glorious works that their father had wrought.

“Gabriel, please. *I beseech you.*”

(continue reading on Ao3 on Saturday March 30)

[spunkykirby]

As noted yesterday, I compiled a list of Morax's sins. The following are all of his unforgivable sins according to the fandom, the inexcusable blood on his leger, the utterly indefensible actions of Morax that call him to the stand:

1. Participant in the Archon War.

Zhongli participated in the war for the stolen Authorities. No, we don't know if all Archons knew the seats held the Dragon Authorities, we just knew they knew Celestia was choosing 7 gods to rule the land and exiling the others. All that matters is he participated in it, doesn't matter if he didn't know the reason, didn't start it, or was forced! Dragon authorities are up there and that's all that matters!

...wait, we do have one reason.

"I wish not for dominion, yet I cannot let the common folk suffer." [Zhongli's Character trailer].

So it's confirmed he participated to stop innocents around him from unnecessarily suffering, he never actually wanted the leadership role. His Adepti also refer to him (and themselves) participating for the sake of "bringing prosperity back to the people" [Xianyun Story 3].

However, there is no prosperity in participating in war PERIOD, silly gooses!! How dare you act in the only way possible to lessen the violence for the innocents caught in the crossfire?? The arrogance. War criminals!! You shouldn't have participated in the first place! What happens to all the other innocents you've directly witnessed caught in the crossfire is up to them and their misfortune to bear. Not. You!

(now that I think about it, calling all of them war criminals for participating in the archon war (with majority of their moves being made in self defense) would more than likely be equivalent to calling Wriothesley a willing accomplice in the child tr4ff1cking ring he was victim to or Childe 100% guilty for everything that happened in Fontaine). But anyways.

2. He killed Chenyu Vale's god, and became the new ruler over the now godless and defenseless (because the Archon War was not over after her death) people.

Fu Jin states Chenyu was peaceful under that god's rule until the Archon War was called. She didn't know if her god chose to "go mad" over survival or "seeking the position of a god who may rule this world". Either way, she instigated a war against Morax and, frustrated in not being able to get the upper hand, decided to flood Bishui river in a last ditch attempt (which was also set to kill not only her people but the people Morax was assigned to look after. Queue his contract with his people triggering into effect).

It's not explicitly stated she died but she more than likely did. I mean, it's a war, and she wasn't going to stop murking all the innocents until she took the Archon spot.

Also...I...actually don't know if I could call it unrightfully stolen land (and before y'all bring up the whole "Archons don't belong they're on stolen land b/c usurpers" thing, so are all of the humans and beings created by the PO on this planet. Everyone who isn't a Vishap should be blamed). In order for a land to be stolen, it needs an owner still claiming ownership over it, and there was no owner holding ownership over it anymore.

The battle was also not instigated by Morax in an attempt to steal Chenyu Vale, it was first and foremost a battle out of self defense that later changed to a land naturally "changing hands" (leaders. For example you wouldn't say Focalors "stole" Fontaine after Egeria died, Ei "stole" Inazuma after Makoto or Venti "stole" all of Mondstat after the first leader's death). It would also constitute as unrightfully stolen if the native habitants fought against Morax now leading them, but they accepted his rulership over them with no underlying contempt/force. A natural and consenting change of hands.

But! Either way! Rightful self defense or not, he m6rdered! Which is bad!!!! He deserves to be punished for it and it's added onto his list of crimes!!!

3. He murked Osial, whose "d3ath"bed was the foundation of Guyun Forest.

Morax was noted to have murked Osial because Osial "wrought chaos upon his domain". Another piece suggests this was also an act of self defense, for Osial's power (whether it be out of hatred for Morax (which seems to be the more likely case because Zhongli says they were long grudging rivals) or just his general existence is unknown) extended over a large range, reaching Liyue's citizens and terrorizing them. Morax's intervention/confrontation of Osial was only noted after Osial's power reached and terrorized his citizens. There are no pieces insinuating nor confirming the opposite. [Diary of Roald the Adventurer, Vol. 6]. [Monolith Fragment].

...soooo the crime is once again murking in self defense. But violence is violence!! Punishable by law!! If Morax didn't want to be charged for this, he should've stood aside and let the waves terrorize and kill his people for many millennia to come (though wouldn't that also be breaking the contract/rules of being an archon, which is to act in the health/benefit of their citizens first and foremost?). Zhongli is damned if he does, damned if he doesn't. But who cares! Whatever he does or doesn't do in this instance is punishable by law and *true* justice!!!

4. He murked the Chi/Qingce.

It is noted the Mountainplace the Chi "ravaged" long stood before it decided to make its living place there (dispelling the myth that its corpse formed the land). People also lived there before it started to cause havoc too. It is unknown why it was driven to cause chaos, but the fact of the matter is, it caused chaos to Liyue's people specifically, and as per Morax's duty as an Archon, he stepped in to slay(?) it. It's not completely dead, just separated into pieces. Morax could not permanently kill it.

...violence is violence though! What he did is punishable by law!! Though, technically doing anything else in this instance is also punishable by law (doing nothing and allowing the monster to ravage his people is against the ideals of an archon but forcing them to move is also punishable by causing liyueans emotional duress via forcibly moving them due to outside forces they can't control but he can. Doing this each time a monster appears onto the land they've dwelt on before its existence is also unfair). [The Stars Inscribe the Year].

5. Marchosius and other Adepti participated and sacrificed themselves as a result of the war neither them nor Morax started!

...so you could say it's all technically due to Morax they're forced under these conditions (even though he didn't start the war, force the war to happen, nor force them into a contract)! Punishable!!

The Adepti, who were not forced into following Morax [Xianyun Story 3], established a contract with him to protect Liyue and his citizens. There were risks that came along with this job they decided to commit to, but they still did so dutifully. The circumstances they agreed to led to many of their deaths, including Xiao's karma, of which there isn't an insta-relief potion to. Zhongli can only slightly offset the effects.

Basically they're literally a walking: "Well if it isn't the consequences of my own actions."

6. Liyue AQ.

Morax inadvertently went through with a plan to unleash a sealed god beneath the sea, as a test (more specifically for the people who signed up knowing their job's risks. Nonetheless, they are risks he was somewhat responsible for this time around).

Despite the test naturally having risks (as any test in existence does, it's not a proper test without risk), it was a battle partially planned by his own hand. Even if he didn't directly throw the chaos at them, he was still behind the scenes, therefore shared some responsibility for it and the consequences.

The game does go out of its way to confirm nobody was ever in any real danger (3 characters confirming this, Signora doing most of the talking in the scene) and the battle wasn't even at Liyue Harbor (Keqing stating it wasn't) however Osial is still a crazy god and if anyone got injured Zhongli would share some responsibility (he could've stopped it).

This (excluding Khaenriah, we don't know what happened there) is pretty much the only "stain" on his career, in terms of judging him for being guilty of not handling the Authority healthily or whatever. He could arguably be declared guilty because he set up a risk-less divine test that came out the wazoo or he could be declared as not guilty by being argued as responsible enough (as an Archon) to properly ensure everything is prepared for his stepping down (alongside there being confirmed no actual danger). His multi millennium experience with these things is further reassurance for this claim.

7. Azhdaha.

This is...this is pretty self explanatory. There is absolutely no defense to Azhdaha's actions nor a reasonable excuse for Zhongli to not confront him (especially when Azhdaha is more than likely the Geo Sovereign. There are literally no other contenders in Liyue to stop a crazed sovereign hellbent on decimating all humans on his continent).

This...this shouldn't need any arguments. It was literally Morax confronting him or the end of Liyue (this is the same dragon frog who caused immense earthquakes when turning around in a nap. Now imagine him up and raging about!).

PS: There is no confirmation anywhere whatsoever he directly took part in decimating the Sovereigns alongside the Shades. And if this were so, it would make zero sense for Azhdaha to automatically submit and wish to become BFFs with Morax after Morax tried to lay waste to him and his brethren some years prior.

PPS: We don't know if he was directly at Khaenriah. Despite all Archons being called there, quite a few didn't actually make it to Khaenriah (Venti, Rukka, Egeria, and we have some pieces stating Morax personally directed the troops to deal with the Abyss breaking through in the Chasm during the Cataclysm).

PPPS: Zhongli does not owe Neuvillette alone anything. Neuvillette is, above all, a judge. Of Fontaine. Do you see judges of the US rushing over to Cnada to subjugate over others in accordance to their own personal laws of their land? No? It also wouldn't make sense for Ei to go over to Fontaine to wreck havoc over Fontainians not following her personal Inazuma law(s) either right? Alright same applies here (with some game logic).

[gcantread]

August 2024 reads

[loved liked ok nope dnf bookclub*]

My Lady Jane • The Wild Robot • Our Hideous Progeny • The Hero and the Crown • The Screwtape Letters • The Seventh Veil of Salome • Our Shouts Echo • Villette • The Lies of Alma Blackwell • The Mercy of Gods • Mistress of Lies • Lady Macbeth • Go to Hell • Lucy Undying

I read 14 books in August! (Well, ok, I'm on track to finish the last two today.) It was a busy reading month for me due to tons of ARCs and new releases (8/14 of this list!), which resulted in an "all my library holds are ready at once ougsfshfh" situation. I also once again checked out a few books in order to see if they're worth reading in future years of @bellasbookclub.

My Lady Jane ★★★☆☆ - A very silly time that often reads more like upper-middle-grade than YA. A skip for TV show fans, but the tween furry community should be overjoyed.

The Wild Robot ★★★★★ - An adorable (and yet surprisingly death-y) kids' book that (🤞) should make a fantastic movie. The illustrations alone bump this one up a few stars.

Our Hideous Progeny ★★★★☆ - The last (?) of my BBC Summer Reading Challenge 2024 picks! Has a slow start but man, if you give me an undead abomination plesiosaur who is also a cute little guy, I am seated. Could have been a five star read if it were just a lil gayer and more Creature-forward!

The Hero and the Crown ★★★☆☆ - Read this one to screen it for @bellasbookclub, so I shan't say any details (yet.)

The Screwtape Letters ★★★☆☆ - Another BBC screening but nope nah I'm not gonna make us read The Christianity Book. Did not make me repent of my godless Jezebel ways even a little bit, but gets three stars because it's nevertheless a fascinating glimpse of C.S. Lewis as a person. Next time I'll stick to The Good Place though.

The Seventh Veil of Salome ★★★★1/2 - Speaking of godless Jezebels: Silvia Moreno-Garcia and I have the same biblical blorbo!! I haven't loved any of Moreno-Garcia's work since Mexican Gothic, but finally, this one was another slam dunk for me! As a Salome (1893) enjoyer and understander I'm so glad SMG is one of us. The main (Hollywood Golden Age) parts were also deftly rendered—this was the first truly well-executed Karen Villain I've encountered.

Our Shouts Echo ★★★★☆ - A really sweet and enjoyable contemporary YA coming-of-age + romance that somehow pulled off its nuanced optimism without being preachy or precious. Dare I say...actual hopepunk? An ARC from ALA Annual.

Villette ★★★☆☆ - Another book club screening. [Helga voice] I hated this book but I loved this book but I hated this book but I loved this book. Dammit, it's just so memeable. See you in hell 2025 probably

The Lies of Alma Blackwell ★★★1/2☆ - A decent YA ghost story with immaculate creepy, witchy, & haunted house vibes and some fun tropey romance (sure, why not?) Another ARC.

The Mercy of Gods ★★★★☆ - Ensemble-driven alien invasion story in which a team of wet babygirl science geeks must prove their worth to their new Giant Fucked Up Bug overlords and also one of them is a parasitic hivemind but we don't know which. Unsinkable concept but the writing makes it even better. One for the grown up Animorphs kids (Yes I know I rated it less than Wild Robot, but Wild Robot is a 5-star quality kids' book, while Mercy of Gods is an imperfect but riveting adult novel that I connected with on a more personal level.)

Mistress of Lies ★★★☆☆ - 2nd-to-last in my self-imposed (Review-) Bombed Books Week Challenge. A generous rounding up to three stars because I like the concept and it had a strong start before...plateauing for 200 pages. (Where were the titular LIES?) Very little actually happened and yet my laconic review is somehow "do less."

Lady Macbeth ★★★★☆ - More of an original story with some names in common than a retelling (Macbeth fans be forewarned. Y'all remember the dragon? You know, the dragon that's in Macbeth?) I tired of how repetitive the assault-as-motif became, but there were some very cool plot choices and Ava Reid's prose is gorgeous as ever. Kind of Green Knight vibes!

Go to Hell ★★★1/2☆ - Another ARC, this one a nonfiction travel guide to IRL destinations that are either associated with Hell/underworld mythology or just hellish places in general. Taught me a lot more folklore and history than your average travel guide!

Lucy Undying ★☆☆☆☆ - Hilarious of me to read two retellings in a row. Unlike Macbeth, I feel deep personal affection for Dracula, which meant this book wold have made me silver_linings_playbook.gif it out the window if I hadn't been reading on my phone. If I had never read Dracula, I miiiight have liked this? (jk I finished it and can now definitively say I would not have.) The prose was decent and I liked Lucy's modern-day love interest, Iris, but this author clearly graduated from the "lesbians must hate and deride all men all the time and be proven right in this view when every single man tries to harm them" school of writing sapphic characters, and since the book was basically encouraging me to paranoid-read, it set off both my "clumsy writing" and "...is this a t3rf?" alarms. tl;dr Mina and Jonathan and Van Helsing and Seward and Arthur and Quincey and Berserker the wolf and even Mr. Swales (slandering Mr. Swales?? Is nothing sacred??) deserved SO much better. Now I'll have to reread Dracula to cleanse myself

DNFs: None! Although Lucy Undying certainly tried my patience.

August superlatives

Next up:

September is another new release-filled month! I'm on track to finish my Bombed Books Week Challenge with The Empire Wars by Akana Phenix and then the unreleased Crown of Starlight itself, so I can satisfy my intellectual curiosity of how it compares to the books its author tried to sabotage. (Which attempted sabotage was an abhorrent action I 100% condemn. Toss aside those large rocks, I've been supporting the targeted authors at my local bookstore and library.)

In less dramatic goals, I've got an ARC of Ruin Road by Lamar Giles I'm eager to check out, and I can't wait for Long Live Evil to be ready at the library. We've also got our first official Bella's Book Club read of Season 3, which should be fun (hint: it's an Austen!)

previous months:

july

[thysia]

Same question, back at ya. What's your boss fight, though I suspect it's gonna involve a gang of furious maniacs you keep healing and resurrecting

That is my general go to for the idea, yeah, that or one half of a duo fight since a lot of the stuff I find the most compelling is support casting. I do also like thinking about that since it's an exorcise in trying to design an actually compelling add boss.

I really like the idea of a fight centered around a more minimal number of adds over a horde. Even if I like the idea of infinitely resurrecting fanatics as a sort of living zombie horde, in a design sense I think following my much enjoyed 'spellcaster with a personal phalanx of knights' set up makes for something more enjoyable. Three with greatshields and spears that play defense for the caster and will block ranged attacks, one kite shield and longsword one that's more expressly a full on paladin and is the most aggressive, and two round shield and warhammer guys that are aggressive but base their positioning on the paladin and will try to circle around the player and catch them out. Then the central caster heals them, gives them offensive and defensive buffs, and can revive them when they get killed.

For all that I'm also fond of the idea of there being a second phase where nothing that the caster does changes, but all the guards get buffed up. The thing I had in mind was that they undergo a sort of angelic apotheosis mid-fight, growing feathered wings that alter their movesets. The paladin gains flying dives and other attacks from the air, the spearmen use their wings in place of their shields to block and to bolster shoulder tackles. Don't know exactly what it'd do for the hammer guys, maybe similar to the spearmen but a bit more aggressive. I feel like if they all started flying it could make for a really awful fight.

I could also honestly imagine the primary caster growing wings but mostly just using them to reposition when the player is too close for too long.

Anyways it's important that throughout all of this I am afforded ample opportunity to talk down to and condemn the player character as immoral and less than. You know, generally say the kind of preachy, holier-than-though shit that nobody likes to hear.

Aesthetically, you know I'm a big fan of, like, glister and gold and the general 'good guy' visual trappings for overtly villainous characters and factions. But I also feel like it'd be good for the attendant soldiery to have just enough wear and practical alterations made to their uniform to make them visually connected to the horrible massacres and tortures that my subordinates were committing in the areas leading up to my fight. I on the other hand should be wearing impractical, extravagant sorcerer-priest regalia to make it apparent I have never deigned to personally dirty my hands with the blood of the godless rabble I justly persecute.

To top it all off, the boss music should have heroic trumpets and triumphant swells, as I am a great fan of setting Protagonist Victory music behind the atrocities of an imperial Power or Doubtless And Self-Important Villain. This, of course, backing my proud and arrogant judgments of the player character that unhinge into zealous rantings about how much they all deserved my wrath and about how righteous I am for visiting it on them.

I think that'd be fun.

[yuriko-mukami]

Once Upon Dreams and Nightmares

Event organized by @bluebird-dolly-bride Story beta read by @ruki-mukami-dl Also thank you for your help @mermaid--bride

Download the PDF version from here: The Curse of the Blue Moon

Text version under the cut

The Curse of the Blue Moon

Run, run, Lost Boy For your love has spirited away Run, run, Lost Boy For your lily has been trapped in the Land of the Fae Run, run, Lost Boy For your moon is about to fade

Once upon a time, there was a town that people called the godless one. Stories told that the town was filled with terrible creatures of the night and even the church there had made ties with the darkness. Were those only rumors or not, nobody knew. 

In that town, lived a girl with hair like fluffy clouds and blue sky and eyes like sparkly ocean in the sunny weather. The girl was called Tsukino Yuriko or, as her mother used to whisper in the evenings, the tiny lily of the moon. Yet, ever since she had passed this world, no one had used such a name for the girl anymore. These days she was living alone with her father, Tsukino Keisuke, in their tiny house. While she did all she could to please the man, she had a nagging feeling that nothing was ever good enough. Without her mother, their family was broken and she didn’t have the means to fix it again.

And little did the girl know that behind her back, her father had made his own arrangement. Never had anyone told the tale to Yuriko, but before she had been born there had been another: a boy with equally cloudy hair with blue strikes and teal-glimmering eyes. But the boy had been taken by monsters and never brought back. The same monsters that had later claimed the girl’s mother. 

So, behind the scenes, Keisuke had searched for the solution, wishing to get back his little boy who had been spirited away. And found the answer he finally had. The key had been already placed in his hands, and the useless daughter had turned into golden treasure. By giving her away, Keisuke could redeem forces to fight the monsters and bring back the child he missed so much.

So, came the day when Keisuke called out for his daughter, handing her a blue hood and a basket filled with offerings.

“You are to go to the church and bring them these, for they have promised to give our family a great blessing for that.” 

“But… umh… should I really go? You are much more important than me, Father.” The girl lowered her head, not believing she was suitable for such an important task. 

“Be a good daughter for once and do this for me.”

“Yes… Father.”

And the girl dressed up in the blue hood and took the basket, heading out towards the church. But the road was long for her tiny feet. She decided to walk through the park for that made at least a bit of a shortcut. 

The night was already closing in, the blue moon sailing to the sky and painting everything with cerulean silver. Soon, someone stepped in her way, blocking the path.

“Livestock should not wander too far from their home at this hour. They might run into something dangerous.”

Glimmering eyes peered at Yuriko who pressed the basket against her chest as her heart drummed against her ribcage. “Umh… but sir, I have an important task to do for my father.”

“I see. For livestock, you seem to be well-mannered at least.” The man stepped closer, yet stayed in the shadows. “May I ask what kind of a task has your father given you?”

“I’m to take these offerings to the church and they will give him a blessing for a better future.” Yuriko beamed. Perhaps this was the way to make her father accept her once and for all. 

“Hmm, if you are wishing to guarantee the blessing, you should bring some flowers to the church too. Those are usually appreciated and will make the priest favor you.”

Tilting her head to the side, Yuriko took in the words. She didn’t have much money on her but surely it was more than enough to buy flowers. And if that was the way to make things happen in the right way, then it was worth her little savings. Anything to bring happiness to her father.

“I thank you for the advice.” As Yuriko bowed her head, a soft chuckle reached her ears. When she raised her gaze again, no one was standing on the path. Had she imagined everything or not? She did not know but since she was determined to succeed with her task, she took another turn and hurried toward the flower shop before it would be closed for the night.

🌕

So, it was the truth indeed as the vaguely familiar voice from the darkness had told to the vampire. His beloved lily had forgotten him, chased into a trap like a little innocent lamb. But he was not to give up, never would he allow the church to have its way with this beauty who belonged to him and him only.

All too well the vampire knew that if he waited a moment longer, the beauty would be handed into the arms of another to suck dry and to be used. He wouldn’t have that. She was his possession, his great love, and promised to him for all eternity. This nightmare would not win. No one else would not claim what was rightfully his.

The vampire would play the game and take the price. So, he hurried to the church and sneaked in, searching for the father who would welcome the young lady with open arms and fill her mind with lies before sending her to her doom.

The priest didn’t know what hit him. Soon, he was drained with only two punctual marks. Hastily, the vampire freed the man from his clothes, covering himself with the robes of the priest. And not a moment too soon, since the hinges of the door were singing for the arrival of his prey.

🌕

Yuriko stepped into the dark and gloomy building she hadn’t visited before, wondering if this massive place could truly hold the answers to her father’s prays. But she had never been the one who would defy her own parent, so she did as she had been told and walked in, pressing the gift basket — now, filled also with white lilies — against her chest.

“Come in, dear Child.” The priest stepped from the shadows, his voice carrying a familiar tone. Yuriko couldn’t tell where she had heard it before. The man was tall with ruffled hair, yet the church was so dimly lit that it was impossible to make out the details.

“Good evening, Father. Umh… I have come as my father has told me, bringing gifts and asking for a blessing for my family.” Roaming closer, Yuriko held out the basket with slightly shaking arms. The priest picked it up, peeking in it but then setting it on the wooden seat row next to him. He closed the space between them, snatching Yuriko’s chin and lifting her head.

“Look me in the eyes when you speak to me, Child.”

“Umh… Forgive me, Father. I dare not, for I have been taught that a good woman always keeps her gaze down.”

A finger, radiating cold, slid along Yuriko’s chinline. She found herself unable to turn her gaze anymore as the deep oceanic eyes captured her attention. The priest was young — probably not much older than she. But soon, her attention was drawn elsewhere, to a white lovage dotted with crimson.

“Father, are you all right? Why is there blood on your collar?” Yuriko heard how her voice echoed in the church, walls quietly repeating her words.

“Oh, why indeed?” the priest repeated. “For giving shepherd’s blood so that Devil may not spill yours.”

Yuriko blinked, not completely understanding how and why exactly was shepherd’s liquid of life given for her sake. Yet, she dared not to ask. But when the priest smiled at her, another question lingered on her lips.

“Oh, Father, why the blood has painted your lips as well?”

“For I have drunk it to save your soul, Child.” The smile turned into a smirk, revealing the sharper corner teeth Yuriko had ever seen. Fingers dig into Yuriko’s cheeks as the priest forced her face to rise up again. The hood glided down, setting free her white and blue curls. There was something slippery curling in her stomach, yet she could not stop the question from escaping her.

“Oh, Father, why do you have the teeth of the beast?”

Another smirk. An arm enveloped Yuriko’s waist, pulling her against the priest’s chest while a musky scent filled her senses and the oceanic eyes made her prisoner of the waves rising deep within her. She pressed her palms on the man’s shoulders but was unable to push as if all the strength had run from her body.

“For so that I can devour you completely.” Cold lips pressed on Yuriko’s, turning her world upside down. It was like this man tried indeed devour her soul through her mouth, sucking her bottom lip as the sharp teeth graced it. Her fingers curled and, instinctively, she grabbed a hold of the priest’s robes, gaping against his mouth, knowing this was not something a good girl would surrender herself into. But she was glued into this moment of pure desire, wanting to give herself there and then without understanding why were her mind and body suddenly singing foreign songs of bliss and pleasure.

The tidal wave of realizations washed over Yuriko. She couldn’t explain it but she knew that she had kissed these lips before. She had given her everything to this man in another life. She belonged. Not to this place, not to this life but in these arms that held her now.

“Ruki…” A quivering whisper floated between them.

But the answer never came.

Clever you are, Lost Boy For you know how to play But are you strong, Lost Boy? For still haven’t passed the day Sneakiness isn’t everything, Lost Boy For all is gone if you don’t slay

The front doors of the church were banged open and a shadow with a long cape stepped in the frame. As the blue moon climbed on the sky it painted the figure with its cold light and glimmered on the blade on their hand. 

Yuriko gasped as Ruki pushed her behind his back. Even through the priest’s robes, it was obvious how every muscle of him tensed. The air was thick with the energy. It tickled Yuriko’s nose as if it was about to explode any second now.

“Disgusting monsters, you dared to step on the holy space. This will be the end of you!” As the man darted in he rose his blade, his eyes glistening with blind rage that knew no reason.

“Yuriko! Run!” Ruki pushed the young woman toward the altar, dashing at the man right after. Moving faster than Yuriko could distinguish, Ruki pulled out a knife and met the blade with it in a swift shift. Sparkles danced in the dim church hall as the edges chafed against each other.

Glued to her place, Yuriko pressed her hand over her gasping mouth, her nails digging crescents onto her cheek. Would Ruki win? 

I can’t watch this!

Finally, Yuriko was on the move. She lifted her hand as her feet beat the floor. With every hasty step, she called out the flames from deep within her. And at the moment when she was by Ruki’s side, the blue fire hit the other man’s cape, flaring it… no… consuming it at a faster pace than Yuriko had even imagined!

The man backed down, yelling, almost like foxtrotting through the church, spreading the fire with him. It caught the wooden seats and colorful tapestries within minutes, painting everything with azure and absorbing all in sight as Yuriko stared. Had she caused this? Destroyed this building?

“Yuriko!” Cold digits clutched Yuriko’s wrist, hauling her into Ruki’s arms. “We have to go. Now!” Before she realized it, Ruki had hoisted her in bridal style and was rushing out, leaving behind the pyre that used to be the place for prayers.

Yet, this was not the only change since the whole world around them was grumbling. As the ground shook, the trees started to fall and the blue moon sank into clouds full of bolts of lightning. 

Ruki didn’t stop. Yuriko clung to him, holding onto his neck like there was no tomorrow — and for a while, she believed that it was so. This was it. The end without a new beginning. The final period of their lives.

The clouds descended, covering everything around the couple with thick mist. Still, Ruki kept going, for there was nothing to lose anymore. For Yuriko, he was all she could see but she didn’t need anything else. While she did not know what had happened and why they had ended up in this place, all she cared about was the love of her life who was once again embracing her.

With a few more steps, Ruki swooped them through the mist. Puffing, Yuriko gazed around. The mist was gone, and so was the church as the familiar gate rose before them. The Mukami manor.

Ruki placed Yuriko down only to snatch her into a hug, sinking his face into her hair and inhaling deeply.

“My angel…”

“Ruki…”

Good job, Lost Boy For you found your power Be proud, Lost Boy For you claimed the price at the right hour Love now, Lost Boy For you have eternity with your flower