#prosperity / human nature to Him

[lemongogo]

[yuelun]

Tag drop #2: Character things and dynamics (more will be added).

[faeriekit]

Snowdrift Sanctuary

a phic phight fill for sapphireshield (who isn't on tumblr)

“Is this alright?” Phantom asked quietly, blunt human face pressed into the ruff of his new coat.

There was nothing wrong, but that wasn’t the issue; the human needed reassurance, and reassurance Frostbite could provide.

“Of course,” Frostbite agreed easily, if gently. “Neuschnee made it for you. It was always intended to be yours.”

Humans tended to be sensory-seeking. With no fur of their own, and sensitive skin and hands, they had the ability to physically feel more through touch than his people could. The paw of Frostbite’s remaining arm was tough, callused from work and combat; but the human could swab his face across the ruff and sleeves of his coat and receive textural information that was entirely alien to the yeti mind.

Frostbite would have to ensure that the boy had gloves. It would be a shame if his hypersensitive hands were made damaged by the cold.

“...But,” the boy tried, and to his credit, his concern was sympathetic. “Wouldn’t someone else need the fur? Like, even if you have your own fur…wouldn’ it make a good blanket? Or…something…?”

Petting, for humans, thankfully, seemed to work exactly as it did for his kin. Sure, Frostbite had to be more gentle with his claws, but combing through and smoothing down the human’s black spot of hair was more than enough for the endorphins to kick in. Oxytocin, dopamine, and serotonin would require further study, but the base understanding of hormones were easy to understand: skin on skin contact equalled a well-adjusted human adolescent.

Phantom’s eyes drooped. Frostbite smiled to himself. The sight was identical to Salju’s cubs settling down before a nap.

“We are not low on resources,” Frostbite soothed, half-purring. It was an immature noise, but conducive to soothing distressed young. “We are not hungry. We are prosperous, and require little; as an adept living with our people, we would be remiss not to provide for you.”

…The human’s nose crinkled.

“It is our job to give you things so that you do not fade,” Frostbite clarified.

Phantom’s face flushed a warm red. The adolescent’s half-human biology was fascinating.

And, true, it would probably be easier to care for Phantom if he remained in his ghostly form all the time, but it would be unfair and dangerous for his long-term development to force him to do so. Phantom was a half-human, and deserved to spend time adjusting to all of his forms. Neuschnee had already begun working on the human’s boots; soon he would no longer be confined only to Frostbite’s warmed residence. With a thick hood and gloves to cover his extremities, Frostbite had little doubt that the human would soon be wrestling with (gentle) age-mates, practicing his English with his sister’s pilfered human texts, and learning how to control his snow.

Phantom was very small. He was very delicate, and there was an instinct in Frostbite that continued to worry that handling him wrong might snap the human in half. A yeti at Phantom’s height would still be a very young cub, and yet twice as sturdy and twice as broad.

Still, he was a bright, kind being, and… Frostbite sighed. And he had no understanding of why the human’s parents had rejected him for his current state.

And, certainly, his human sister had tried to explain it to him, bundled in three coats and her red nose weeping in the cold as she begged for his sanctuary. The prospect was merely mind-boggling to him. Young were rare and precious. Their natures were never guaranteed. What was the use of rejecting a cub you had spent a decade raising?

…Frostbite exhaled carefully out his nose. It was not his job to understand their attitude. It was only his role to act in their place until the half-human came of age.

“You don’t have to,” Phantom muttered, face a curious shade of red. Having red internal fluids made for interesting displays of emotion. “I…I can work it off, or…”

Frostbite continued petting the human. The human did not continue speaking.

“Or,” Frostbite continued kindly, “You may join Pritla, Nieve and I, and assist us in devouring a nice, cold, glacier shark. We buried it last season, so it is no longer toxic to digest outright.”

Phantom snorted out a laugh. Yes, there would be human-appropriate food available for him, but Frostbite was not joking about the shark. Now that the toxins had drained into the soil for months, he was happy to take his turn ripping huge chunks of flesh with his teeth for an evening meal. And, who knows; perhaps the enrichment value of consuming a fermented shark with one's bare hand would pique Phantom’s interest in other traditional foods?

“Will there be silverware?” Phantom asked, teasing. He accepted Frostbite’s proffered hug, engaging in sensory-seeking activity in the same way he had with his new coat. Frostbite was ecstatic.

“Of course not,” Frostbite rumbled, more than pleased. “Use of weaponry during mealtimes is explicitly cheating. Now, are you comfortable defending your plate from younger cubs, or should I shield you with my body?”

Frostbite might not have felt prepared to care for Phantom, but raising a half-human would undoubtedly be a fascinating experience.

Besides; unlike mortal parents, the burden of keeping Phantom alive was already largely moot.

[unadulteratedsoulsweets]

A DC X DP #19 Our Pharaoh, Your Duke

Imagine dis…

I kept reading about Tucker as a reincarnation of a powerful Pharoh from the Ancient civilization of Egypt and he wouldn’t stop reincarnating as long as people kept making and improving tablets. I don’t know if that is part of the canon or if that episode in DP is just another Sam and Undergrowth situation.

Anyway, just a thought is passing by…

….

Tucker was enjoying his afterlife with his spouses, Danny Phantom the High Ghost King in the Infinite Realm, and Sam Manson the heir and apprentice to the Ancient of Nature Undergrowth. All three of them were enjoying a rare day off that over-laps each other’s schedules. Tucker became the high leader also known as The Pharaoh in the Egyptian section of the Infinite Realms when the old ruler wished to pass on and when he was able to prove himself to be powerful enough to protect his section in the Realms as well as wise enough to lead them to prosperity. Add the fact that he is married to the High King and bump up other ghosts’ attitudes toward him as he is one of the official consorts of the new King.

The trio was just in a middle of a picnic when Tucker started to feel dizzy accompanied by a headache. Both of Tucker’s partners look at him with worry and concern in their eyes, as Tucker is about to reassure them that he was fine when darkness suddenly invaded his eyes.

…

Tucker is so sure that he has his reincarnation in control but the fact that he suddenly had clarity after months in the standard of his new body. Tucker felt panic fill him, A powerful entity or not every time he reincarnates, he forgets his life before and during his time in the Infinite Realms to not disrupt the normal flow of events, he only recovers his original memories when he was in the brink of death or something is need to change.

He also is worried about whatever his spouse would do as he remembered being in their presence when he was forcibly reincarnated. But by the looks of it, whoever did target him knew nothing about the complexity of the cycle thus having his memories with him along with some abilities that were muted to something more discreet. Tucker was just glad that it was him instead of his spouse.

…

As a child, Tucker no wait his new name is Duke Thomas, took it upon himself to explore this new world as it is taking his spouses a while to find him, which led him to believe that this universe may be part of a small sector of which Clockwork cannot interfere due to the delicate relationship between time and its citizens. Tucker was ecstatic when he had seen the futuristic appeal around him but felt disappointed when he had a need that only the rich and those who have connections can own them. He felt his eyes widen at the mention of aliens and other world beings and people around seemingly saving the world daily, not because of the heroes his lovely husband is an interdimensional/universal Hero and King, but because it has aliens which made him think about the opportunities of bragging rights to his husband the moment, they reunited.

When Tucker/Duke took notice of the city that his parents decided to call home, he was already thinking about his wife’s reactions will be, it seems she will either fall in love with the architecture that screams everything goth and the amount of gargoyle around each building or joins a rogue named poisoned Ivy to her crusade towards nature. It also seems that some of his powers mutated that seems to focus on his eyes, to accommodate this new universe or is it to accommodate this new body, he wondered.

As he was growing up, he began to have doubts about his so-called ordinary family as Danny’s luck rubbed them off the moment they all said I do at the altar. He just hopes that it is something he can handle future he could handle. There have been rules and laws about protecting people with power that were later named as Meta humans, he breath a sigh of relief when he saw no mention of the Infinite Realms from all data base.

…

When Bruce took him into his ward it took everything in Tucker/Duke to not scream fruit loop at the billionaire much more when he discovered a hidden base below his mansion’s basement, he doesn’t know that if Bruce is an upgrade is a degrade at the fury persona. It just never occurred to him that one day he will be a daytime vigilante like the origins of his husband. Honestly, he can’t help but have a new profound respect for his husband when he was just starting, he may be in the daytime schedule but it still took time to adjust. He also had a family of an experienced team from the start yet Danny has only him, Sam, and his sister as safety nets, he is so going to spoil Danny the moment they all saw each other.

The moment he laid eyes on Jason he can’t help but hiss quietly at his state. A liminal at the verge of hunger, no wonder his random outburst of anger kept getting worse each time he lost himself. With little to no materials that can handle the contaminated ectoplasm as well to turn it into a pure ectoplasm he was able to make a filter, yet it takes too much time to purify a liter of it yet reveals a small vial of a pure version. Yet it was better than nothing, whenever he was tasked to get them treats and coffee, he would always put the small vial of pre-ectoplasm into his drink which greatly improved his mood but unfortunately, he was the one who kept doing errands as Jason won’t drink anything else without his secret ingredient. Cass had already noticed him doing something to Jason’s drink but shrugged it off seeing that it was improving his mood, but he can’t help but feel that there is another shoe about to drop.

…

He was right, there was another shoe waiting to drop. You know, with his experience with Danny Tucker should have already known not to jinx things.

A group of archeologists found a new hidden tomb deep within Egypt and decided to go exploring yet the new guy on the job seemed to have done something and unleashed an endless number of Egyptian soldiers that seem to attack everything in sight. Though they are not killing anyone anyone who was sliced with their weapons is immediately teleported to a prison deep below the surface and forced to live a life of hard manual labor like a slave.

Tucker/Duke was shaken awake by Stephanie as the news of the Egyptian soldiers made their way to the mainland and the soil of the US. Much worse is that these soldiers found themselves at Gotham harbor and Batman is calling in every vigilante in Gotham to hold off the army while the JLD finds a way to undo the mess, every member of the magical side of the JL has already interrogated the new archeologist whether he had stolen something or he had disrespected someone in the site. Duke was pretty sure he heard Constantine grumble at the fact that this would be much easier if mind control magic is present but no, it just had to be neither of the common reason when an army of the dead raises themselves from the dead.

Now when Tucker/ Duke was wakened up after he had just gone and stayed awake for the past 14 hours straight due to an exam that his dumb professor insisted on having despite having no to little effect on one’s final grades as well as a case that needed his vigilante self his full attention, much to say he is not happy.

…

At the battleground, other members of the JL have already gone into Gotham to aid Batman and his associates while others were able to evacuate the civilians and now joining in the fight. Every person fighting is starting to feel hopeless as this Egyptian army kept coming back at them while their fighters are getting wary and tired at each wave they faced. As some of the people of the JL were about to succumb to what looked like their inevitable fate there come Signal in his yellow-clad suit and looked like he just crawled out of bed, climbed the Wayne tower with a megaphone in one hand, and proceeded to… scold the army?

Some of them blinked at the ridiculousness while some seem to pinch themselves at the absurdity of the situation. How Signal kept screaming at the undead army how his GPA and sleep is much more important than their so-called invasion to return the Ancient civilization of Egypt to its former glory. As jaws began to drop as all undead Egyptian soldiers seems to lower their heads in shame as they listen to Signal scold them for what looked like a half hour scolding before he heaved a deep breath and ordered the soldiers to go back where they came from and return the prisoners to the living world.

Just moments before each JL and JLD members try to reboot their respective minds at what had just transpired a crack was heard seemingly echoing throughout the ruins and a green portal began to form. There, two beings came through a black-haired woman with plants crawling up to her arms and legs with a wreath on top of her head and a white hair man with a crown floating above his head and a cape that looked like made out of stars dragged Signal by the arm and dragged him back to the portal. Now all heroes are scrambling to make sense of what had happened in a matter of minutes as well as trying to get back their youngest brother back, Duke may be older than Damian but he was the latest one to be adopted thus making him the youngest by their standards.

…

Back in the Infinite Realms Duke is quietly sleeping sandwiched and snuggled between the loves of his life while wearing his Pharaoh regalia he just can’t help but feel like he had just forgotten something.

Meh, he’ll tackle that after he had his full rest with both Sam and Danny’s arms and presence beside him.

…

PS: If someone out there wanted to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

[max1461]

I don't typically feel at home with "nerds" (in the sense of "programmer type guys"), because I feel there is something important about the world that very often they cannot see, and I am going to try to articulate what it is.

First, a digression.

My extended family is... well, most of them are not really evangelicals (insofar as they're Christian at all, they're not very good Christians and they mostly don't seem to care), but culturally they're part of the vulgar evangelical milieu; the sort of people to whom prosperity gospel megachurch pastors appeal. Years ago when I was about to start college, my uncle came to visit, and I told my him that I was going to study math. He's a smart guy, and started telling me about how he was always good at math in school, and telling me stories about the various times he'd used math (meaning, basically, elementary algebra) to great effect in his various business ventures. That's what he understands: business, making money... to put it less charitably (though I say this with considerable affection): scheming. So he tried to speak the language of making money to me about it. When he asked me what I wanted to do with my math degree (by implication: what sort of scheming was I looking to get involved in) I said something to the effect of "there are all kinds of job opportunities you have with a math degree, but that's not really why I'm studying it��I really just want to understand math at a deeper level". I remember the look on his face when I said that very clearly. It was utter bafflement. Not because he hated math or something, but because I genuinely don't think the concept of "wanting to understand something at a deeper level for its own sake" had ever occurred to him. The inherent appeal of understanding the world is, I think, not something which exists (or exists very strongly) in his emotional landscape. He is blind to that part of the human experience which drives scientists to be scientists.

Well, that's alright. He's a schemer and not a scientist by nature. Some people are that way. I like my uncle well enough, and I enjoyed talking to him on that visit. But he's not someone I would try to share my love of math or linguistics with; on both accounts I don't think there is anything I could say to make him get it.

Why do I bring all this up? Well, one way in which I relate to programmer type guys is that we both like math, and I think we like for basically the same reason. And I think most programmer type guys will have met someone like my uncle, someone who seems like they fundamentally cannot see the appeal in this thing which drives you so strongly, this thing which is so great a part of your emotional landscape. I'm sure a lot of you will know the exact feeling I had during the above interaction. You are so fascinated by these questions about how the world works, and how it can be rationally understood, and this other guy basically seems like he just... can't even comprehend what it's like to be motivated by that. It's so completely foreign to him, and his perspective is thus completely foreign to you.

We are all, sometimes, this uncle.

Part of why I am interested in linguistics is because I have this deep urge to explore the world (by this I mean principally: the human world). I have this desire to travel, to talk to people, to see and experience different places and different ways of doing things. I want to go to various places and see what they look like, and meet the people there and hear what they have to say, and so on and so forth. There is an "openness to experience" element to this, but that is very insufficient to characterize the thing I am trying to articulate; for instance, I have little interest in psychedelics or other prototypical "high openness to experience" type activities. To me, there is an ineffable vibe that every place seems to have (a "place" in this sense could be as large as a country or a small as a particular bar), and the vibes of nested places are like layers on top of one another that make being in the world feel like an extremely rich experience. Learning languages and learning about languages gives me this window into other places, which is extremely appealing, and furthermore I can access it to some degree from my own home, which is nice. Of course doing this from my bedroom is not enough, I want to actually go, to wander around, and in those times when I've gotten the chance to do so I have felt that it was very much everything I had imagined it to be.

When I try to talk to programmer type nerds about this aspect of myself, I often feel much the same as when I was trying to talk to my uncle about wanting to study math. They just don't seem to have any sort of reference for what I'm talking about, these emotions have never occurred to them in any significant way, and they can't figure out how to relate. I believe this is, in essence, the source of my frequent abrasions with rattumb, and why I have basically bounced off of coding for cultural reasons time and time again in my life, even though conceptually it's exactly the sort of thing that interests me. For reasons of nature or nurture, programmer guy personality traits rarely co-occur with wanderluster personality traits, they just don't seem to go together. And so in spaces like, well, this one, I'm just left feeling like nobody can quite relate to what I am getting at a good chunk of the time, and the consequence of this is that I feel emotionally impoverished. That's not anybody's fault for being a different sort of guy than me, and I'm sure there's stuff about which I'm the confused uncle (in fact, I know there is: the appeal of psychedelics, meditation, and other "transcendence" based activities is one of these things for me). Idk, just thought that was something worth expressing.

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

Mating

Dragon Hunter!Composer x Dragoon!reader

Rated M | Warning: you both have dragon blood you can guess how that goes

The dragon blood within him sings when around you. At first, it sang the song of adversity. The first time you met him it was when he was hunting beasts. You were hired to save a child, nothing more nor were you aiming to kill the dragon within the area.

But he complicated the situation by making his battle some grand spectacle, the audience being you and the dragon blood-tainted child. The dragon only took what was offered as a payment for protecting the village, the child was theirs to raise as kin. Its blood binds it to the child and the child to it.

“Begone sellsword! You will only get in the way.” The Dragon Hunter is known for his might and bloodthirsty nature.

“You will stand down.” You are not a slave to your blood nor are you its master, you are equal to it. Human and dragon coexisting within body and soul, blood singing with power. “This dragon is innocent. Trickery has been done by mortal words.”

“You lie.” Not that he cared. The dragon is his prey and he will smite it! “Stay aside or fall with the beast!”

“So be it.” You pull the lance from behind your back and go into a battle stance. “Take your child and flee as far as you can.” Ordering the wounded dragon, the child clinging to its adopted parent. “Go no!” As you block the rush attack from the Dragon Hunter.

Each strike is blocked, and each attempt to go after the original prey is met with your lance snatching and throwing him into the ground.

“Fine, then I shall deal with you first!”

As a Dragoon, your dragon blood roars to life, the aura imbued into the lance and your armor. Those who have fallen crafted into the bone armor and redden by their rage. When the Dragon Hunter stabs his blade into your shoulder, you roar as you bring him into the air.

He is no match for a Dragoon in the air, this he learns when has he to attempt to ground you.

The fight is spectacular, the Dragon Hunter has never felt this rush, this thrill before! To meet one who battles like a dragon, to witness the might one can tap into when it draws upon the blood of such magnificent beasts!

“Marry me.”

You were on the ground holding yourself up by your lance and a knee on the ground. The veteran has met your match and now he towers above you equally a mess from the fight.

“Be mine and I will not hunt the dragon and its kin.” It is rather cruel to have you choose to forfeit your life for the lives of others—

“Then I shall wed you.” Standing up to keep your pride. You do not hesitate to save anyone at any cost.

Frederick has never heard of a Dragoon much less seen one, nor has anyone captured his attention the way you have. Your armor is different, with spikes and scales like a dragon. When he touched it he felt the wrath of its spirit, the mighty fury of a dragon in rage. The lance you call Gae Bolg is crafted to represent a dragon in flight and strike like the dive of one. Had the Dragon Hunter been a wizard or human, you surely would have killed him.

“This is unnecessary.”

“It is quite necessary!” He finally can see you and you can see him without the armor. “Though I intend to marry you, we should probably get to know each other.”

“Was the trip here not enough time to know my body well enough for you, Frederick the Dragon Hunter.” You say with no emotion.

The man nearly chokes on his wine. The dining table is decorated with all types of food, drinks, and treats. His wealth befits a dragon, greedily hoarding wealth but you must admit his kingdom seems prosperous despite his greed.

“Frederick, my dear. We do not need titles when alone.”

“We do. It keeps us from mating once again.” You are very bluntly stating the events as it is true. After the battle, a new fight started. Dragon mating can be… Rather frightening to see for humans, it is about domination, proof of worthiness, and in the end compatibility. As human dragon hybrids, this follows.

Several days of fighting before the actual mating happened. The wedding will only be symbolic for humans, and it seems the Dragon Hunter wants to fully entertain courting you in a human fashion.

You, being raised more as a dragon than a human, do not see the point given you marked him as your mate.

“Humor me. I think you will enjoy the human mating ritual.” Drinking his goblet of wine while you take a seat beside him, your hands on the table. He hums pleased but then stops drinking when you do not grab the utensils on the table. “Is something wrong?”

“I do not know how to use these.” Because you only eat food with your hands given you are wandering time.

There is a silence before he starts snickering.

“Careful Frederick, I will not be mocked.” You grab the fork awkwardly before he reaches over and gently corrects your hand and finger placement. “... Thank you.” Quietly saying those words. He does not mock you when you try using the fork by aggressively stabbing your plate. It is strange and you prefer using your hands, easier to pick up things.

After dinner, Frederick takes you to the armory. Here is displayed all of the various armors throughout the ages. His victories and paintings depicting them.

“Seems you truly are a worthy mate,” Examining one of his oldest armor, “A safe home for our children, you have means of protecting them, and a legacy for them to uphold.”

“Children, dragons move fast.”

“Dragons have no true concept of time. For humans, it will appear slow but for us, it will be a blink of an eye. We are eternal. Nothing has to be immediate.” True. Your father took many human centuries before deciding to mate and have a child. When time and death have no meeting, waiting an eternity is nothing.

“Would it be a topic to come again?”

“If you so wish.”

Frederick grew up with human parents, the church called upon him to consume dragon blood, and the people who needed a savior. You grew up with your father who consumed your mother so their souls are joined as one, you became a dragoon as traditions of old call upon all hybrid children of dragons, and you wander to see the world.

Two very different people bound by the instincts of the dragons.

There are a lot of things you learned from each other. A give and take, the wedding was strange and very elaborate. It pleases your mate so you go along with it. Your father had given the Dragon Hunter his blessings and attended the wedding. The great Siegfried, the first and last Dragon Slayer of his kind. You never knew the human remembered as a hero once more, last your father recalls the human deemed him a monster. He was a human who became a dragon to save his home.

Interesting how times have changed.

The celebration after was much louder and Father took a human form for the occasion. 

Dancing, eating, drinking, the weird sentimental speeches. More drinking and dancing. The celebration lasted until the evening when it was announced the newlyweds were leaving. The unspoken time for mating.

“Now they all know we are having sex.” Humans are strange.

“It is not exactly a secret when we slip away to our chambers what is going to happen.”

“Still, humans love to claim they are so reserved yet are easily enthralled by desires. Next, they are going to ask to witness our mating to ensure we have consummated our marriage.” You are naked now and Frederick barely has his ceremonial armor off. “Get on the bed.”

“I am still— Oh.” Pinned down on the bed with you on top of him straddling them without shame as you are naked for only him to see. The scales of your dragon heritage shine in the light of the candles in the room. His eyes dare not wander as your gaze locks his with yours.

“You can still perform with the armor on. In fact, you may need the extra protection for our mating.”

That certainly makes his dragon stir, “I can handle you.”

“Show me, dragon hunter.” Grinning at him.

[blue-lotus333]

💕Goddesses of love💕

Aphrodite: Greek Goddess of love, beauty, sex and lust.

Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty, emerged from the sea in a scallop shell and sailed to Cyprus. She possessed a magical girdle and had many lovers, including Ares and Adonis. Ares killed Adonis out of jealousy, leading to the creation of anemones. Adonis became a god split between the Underworld and Earth due to Aphrodite's love. She travels with the Three Graces and bestows joy, brilliance, and abundance upon mortals. She aids in romantic love and is associated with myrtles, roses, and anemones.

Freya: Norse Goddess of love, war, fertility and magic.

Freya, the Norse goddess of love and ruler of war and death. She mediated conflict between warring groups of Norse gods and established peace in Asgard. She is known for her beauty, sorcery, and sexuality, as well as for riding a cat-drawn golden chariot. Freya wears a falcon-feathered cloak that allows her to move quickly between heaven and Earth and has an enormous palace in Asgard where she celebrates with the souls she chooses from the battlefield. In one myth, she obtains the famous amber necklace, Brisingamen, from four dwarves by sleeping with them, beauty for beauty.

Oshun: African Goddess of love, beauty, prosperity & femininity.

Oshun is a goddess of love in the Yoruba religion. She is one of the 7 orishas and the source of power for all the other orishas. Oshun has the ability to make all things flow in the universe through her love and strength. She played a significant role in encouraging Ogun, father of civilization, to continue creating. Oshun is the only goddess who can carry messages between the mortal world and the Supreme Creator in heaven. In Nigeria, there is an annual ceremony called Ibo-Osun where women dance for Oshun during a feast of yams, with the best dancer winning Oshun's favor and becoming the village adviser on healing and fertility.

Parvati: Hindu Goddess of love, fertility, harmony and motherhood.

Parvati is a golden Hindu goddess known for love and devotion, forming a holy trinity with Saraswati and Lakshmi. She was born in the Himalayan mountains and embodies nurturing feminine energy. Parvati won over her husband, Shiva, through patience and determination in asceticism. Parvati is the creator of her son Ganesha, the elephant-headed god of wisdom. She is also worshiped for her strength and ferocity. In one legend, she transformed into the fearsome goddess Kali-ma to overcome & destroy demons who threaten the earth, showing her protective nature.

Guan yin: Buddhist Goddess of compassion, love, peace and kindness.

Guan Yin, originally a mortal princess named Miao Shan, was known for her compassion and kindness. Despite her father's cruelty, she devoted herself to helping others and performing miracles. After her death, she chose to remain in human form as a bodhisattva to help suffering beings, eventually becoming a goddess. By simply invoking her name, people can receive protection from harm. Guan Yin is often depicted in a white gown on a lotus throne and is revered by her followers as a symbol of love, compassion & purity. Her devotees often follow her vegetarian diet on her sacred days. Guan yin is not only the goddess of compassion, but the literal personification of it.

Hathor: Egyptian Goddess of fertility, love, womanhood and the sky.

Hathor, ancient Egyptian goddess of love and joy, has been revered for over 3,000 years. Known as the Gentle Cow of Heaven, she provided milk to the Sun God Ra, making him and other pharaohs divine. Hathor created the Milky Way and is often depicted wearing a crown with cow horns. She is worshipped through joyful ceremonies of music and dance and is the most beloved goddess in ancient Egyptian belief. Hathor is also the goddess of the Underworld, protector of females, and champion of romantic bonds. She can appear in different forms and her symbols are the sistrum and hand mirror.

Laka: Hawaiian Goddess of love, wilderness, the hula & music.

Laka is a Polynesian goddess of love and wilderness who taught humans the art of the hula dance. She is married to the fertility god Lono, and rain is considered a sacred time for them. Dancers in training build altars to Laka with her favorite flowers and plants, and offerings are taken down to the ocean after performances to thank her for her blessing. She is a Goddess who rules over all vegetation. Plants sacred to her are: maile, Lama, hala pepe, `ie`ie, ki, `ôhia lehua, `ôhelo, and palai.

Aine: Irish Goddess of the summer, love, wealth and light.

Áine is a powerful and loving fairy queen in Irish legend, associated with agriculture, animals, and light. She is celebrated at the Midsummer Festival in Limerick, where people run up her hill to seek her blessing. She is also a survivor of sexual abuse in legends, where she shows strength and guides women to empowerment. Áine is depicted with red hair, a headband of stars, and surrounded by her animals. She can transform into a red mare who is unbeatable in speed.

Xochiquetzal: Aztec Goddess of fertility, beauty, flowers and love.

Xochiquetzal was a powerful and complex Aztec goddess known for her beauty and seductive nature. She was worshipped as a patroness of lovers and prostitutes, encouraging love-making for pleasure rather than reproduction. Despite her associations with sexual relationships, she also had the ability to absolve humans of sins unrelated to sex. She was married to the water god, Tlaloc, and was considered a consort to the creator deity, Tezcatlipoca. Xochiquetzal was widely worshipped and honored through great rituals that included acts of sacrifice and confessions.

Ishtar: Mesopotamian Goddess of love, war, fertility and power.

One of the oldest goddesses in the world, Ishtar, the goddess of war and sexual love, was the queen of heaven. Ishtar is considered a member of the special class of Mesopotamian gods called the Anunnaki. Ishtar is often called Inanna, she is also an astral deity, linked to the planet Venus, and was worshipped widely in the ancient Middle East. She was known as the Queen of the Universe and had powers attributed to various other gods. Ishtar was the very first goddess of love, Mesopotamians described her in her many legends and poems as young and strikingly beautiful, with piercing, penetrating eyes.

[spockandstars]

I was thinking about how Spock is intentionally paralleled with Sydney Carton from A Tale of Two Cities in The Wrath of Khan, and now I am unwell!

At the beginning of the movie, Spock famously gives Kirk A Tale of Two Cities as a birthday present. This book was specifically included for its themes of sacrifice and resurrection, which obviously mirror Spock’s decision to give up his life to save the crew. Notably, Kirk’s final lines reference the famous closing of the novel.

Kirk: It is a far, far better thing I do than I have ever done before... a far better resting in place I go to than I have ever known...

Carol: is that a poem?

Kirk: Something Spock was trying to tell me. On my birthday.

So what’s the importance of this line? The famous “far better thing” quote is from the book’s ending when Carton has just sacrificed himself for his beloved Lucie, giving himself up to be executed in place of her husband so that she may find happiness. (Live long and prosper, anyone?)

Interestingly, both Spock and Carton are emotionally repressed characters, and anguish over the depth of their love for the people who uniquely see them for who they are — in this case, Jim and Lucie. While I’d argue that Spock is more at peace with himself and his feelings for Jim after the events of the first movie, the point still stands that Jim is the one to truly understand him in a world that labels him as a cold and calculating being.

I believe that this is what Kirk’s line calling Spock’s soul “the most human I have ever encountered,” is supposed to represent. (Even though I agree with the criticism that it could have been worded better!) Similarly, Lucie is the one to recognize Carton’s inner nature in spite of his aloof facade, begging “I would ask you to believe that [Carton] has a heart he very, very seldom reveals, and that there are deep wounds in it.” (Book 2, Chapter 20.)

When Carton finally admits his love to Lucie, it’s hard not to see the resemblance to Spock’s dilemma in the first movie. You know, that time when Spock, in his heartbreak over something related to Jim (that were not given an explanation for), cries out “Jim! Good-bye my . . . my t’hy’la. This is the last time I will permit myself to think of you or even your name again!” before attempting to purge himself of all feelings in an ancient ritual, and failing because the Vulcan priestess can totally sense that he’s still thinking about Kirk. (Yup, that totally straight time!)

Well, Carton is in a similarly agonizing predicament, because he can’t get his feelings for Lucie to go away. He tells her, “I break down before the knowledge of what I want to say to you” and “I have had the weakness, and have still the weakness, to wish you to know with what a sudden mastery you kindled me, heap of ashes that I am, into fire—a fire, however, inseparable in its nature from myself, quickening nothing, lighting nothing, doing no service, idly burning away.” (Book 2, Chapter 13)

He also expresses that he could never separate his love for her from himself, saying that “Within myself, I shall always be, towards you, what I am now.” (Book 2, Chapter 13) Yeah, I know the fact this mirrors Spock’s famous “I have been and always shall be yours” is probably a coincidence, but I’ll be damned if I don’t mention it.

Finally, Carton expresses his love for her in his willingness to sacrifice himself for her sake: “For you, and for any dear to you, I would do anything. If my career were of that better kind that there was any opportunity or capacity of sacrifice in it, I would embrace any sacrifice for you and for those dear to you… there is a man who would give his life, to keep a life you love beside you!” (Book 2, Chapter 13.) Of course, Carton’s story ends when he sacrifices himself for her, fulfilling this promise. Hmm, now who else does that sound like?

This is definitely not a perfect parallel: Spock doesn’t start out as a lazy alcoholic, although there is an argument to be made that Carton’s low self-worth reflects Spock’s before he went on his conversion therapy fueled journey of self discovery. Additionally, I wouldn’t say that Spock’s love for Kirk is unrequited like Carton’s for Lucie, (as evidenced by many things, but I’ll primarily point to the events of The Motion Picture and The Search for Spock), but you could potentially cast Carol in the role of Darnay, Lucie’s husband.

The most important thing to glean from this is that Spock was very deliberately set up to be the Carton figure, which is interesting given that Carton’s actions are driven by his willingness to do anything to see his beloved be happy and prosper.

[ryin-silverfish]

For those not familiar with the Chinese Studio book, could you please name the fox spirits that appear in the book?

That is...quite a monumental task, because there are so many of them! Like, more than 80 out of 500+ short stories. As such, I'll just list the foxes I like the most.

Feng Sanniang - the one and only lesbian fox of Liaozhai, who falls in love with Fan Shiyi Niang (who is implied to feel the same way), yet can't get together with her for obvious reasons, and settles on finding a good husband for her crush instead.

When Shiyi Niang's family objected to the marriage and forced her into suicide, Feng Sanniang revives her, reunites her with her husband, and...has her cultivation ruined when said man slept with her while she was drunk.

No seriously, what. After that, she reveals she is a fox and falls in love with Shiyi Niang at first sight, but alas, staying with her would only cause more suffering for both of them, before leaving forever.

Ying Ning - not a full fox, but the daughter of a human and a fox, raised by a ghostly granny. Babygirl. Like, she's just so cute in the first half of the story. Yet she isn't completely naive and innocent, and the subtle stepford smiler implication is...really sad.

Hong Yu - the bro-est of foxes. She starts dating in secret with a scholar, gets yelled at by said scholar's dad for violating laws of propriety, settles on being a wingman and giving enough money to her boyfriend to marry another woman before leaving.

However, the scholar's marriage was soon torn apart by a corrupt official forcing his wife to be a concubine; in return, his wife committed suicide and his father died of grief and rage.

Then a nameless vigilante killed the corrupt official, and the scholar was arrested because of it. During the arrest, his young son was forcefully separated from him and went missing, and when he was finally released, he had lost everything except his house.

But suddenly, Hong Yu showed up with his son! She had saved the kid and raised him while the scholar was in jail, and through her subsequent labor, the family was restored to prosperity.

Lian Xiang - the fox in the human-fox-ghost love triangle. "She's just bad for you, dear, literally. Like, she is a ghost and sleeping with her will slowly kill you. But alright, if you insist, I'll heal you after her visits."

The love triangle gets resolved in a fox-human-ghost polycule, but not without the involvement of possession and Lian Xiang getting reincarnated into a human body.

The Ugly Fox - nameless, except for the fact that she was very ugly. Her story is also extremely catharthic. Essentially, she paid this Mu guy to sleep with her, his family got rich as a result, and he repaid her by employing an exorcist and drawing talismans on his mansion gate to keep her out.

She was rightfully pissed, demanded all her money back, beat up the exorcist, then unleashed a little sharp-toothed critter on Mu that bit off two of his toes, which finally forced him to give up the money.

At which point she took her money, left, remarried another peasant in the nearby village, and built her new family into a wealthy and powerful one.

Jiao Na - your typical human-fox love story, except the human, Kong, sacrificed just as much for the fox, stepping up to save her family from the divine thunderbolts and dying in the process.

(Here, the divine thunderbolts aren't of the "retribution" variety, sent only against foxes that engage in harmful cultivation. It is the more generic "peril" variety, something all yaoguais must survive because their cultivation is inherently against the natural order.)

She, in turn, resurrected him by delivering a red pill (implied to be her inner core) into his mouth via a kiss, and they lived happily ever after——even though Kong already had a wife, who was Jiao Na's cousin and also a fox.

...Like I said, there are so, so many more fox spirits in Liaozhai, and even though Pu Songling was still beholden to the standards of his times (thus the foxes often resigning themselves to wingman or concubine status), his fox girls still managed to be lively, unique characters.

[signedeclipse]

Hii!! Can you do like a hantengu clones (NOT separate) x fem reader nsfw one shot? Reader is a complete virgin and she’s in a poly relationship with the clones ♡︎♡︎

All For You | Part 2 [Hantengu X Reader]

Reader is Human Female | NSFW | Part 1 HERE Final HERE

Recomended Song - Killshot by Magdelena Bay

A whirlwind of emotions crept through you, acting on both fight and flight, leaving you paralyzed, basically limp.

The oldest of the four had you lifted into his arms. They were so hard you'd almost believe he was made of lead, had it not been for the comfortable warmth of the flesh.

He was holding your torso up with one arm, the other under your knees and holding you as close as he possibly could, as if afraid you'd be taken by the others that were tripping over one another to catch a glimpse at you.

"Are...are you going to kill me?" You had been gazing up at his face, though his kanji eyes only glanced down every once in a while, only meeting your gaze as he knelt down, laying you in the spread of your futon that you'd not yet put away from previous use. Despite the pounding of your heart, no matter how much adrenaline you held, you lay paralyzed under the strength of Sekido's gaze.

"Hmm... should we?" Two claws hands had grabbed your ankles, pushing them up so your knees buckled and pushed into the air, allowing for the green-eyes demon to be visible between your legs.

You shook your head, even if you could hear the teasing tone dripping from his tone.

When you thought back to the shivering mess you had saved a week ago, it made no sense that within him these four prospered. Clearly, it was him, if he were younger and more courageous, but there were four of him.

The thumbs of the hands firmly squeezing your ankles rubbed slow circles, and eventually teased their way up and down your calves, curiously eating up the warmth of your skin.

"You've all scared our poor girl so badly, when you should be thanking her for saving us..." the whispering tone came from above you, the quietest of the bunch having stealthed his way to sit seiza.

His blue eyes were a calm abyss, the kind that pulled you from the feeling of the sassy one tracing his nails into your skin.

"I assure you, there's no thanking needed...!" As embarrassing as it was, your cheeks were beginning to burn with the heat of the demeaning nature of the position they had put you in.

Before you could push yourself up, Urogi had landed his bird's feet onto the arm attempting to move, though his talons sunk only into the floor, avoiding your skin and effectively trapping you.

"Then consider it a token of gratitude! We won't be leaving until we are certain you know how much you mean to us." Crouching so he could be an easier distance from your face, he used a claws finger to press into your bottom lip, puncturing it enough for a bead of blood to form, which he leaned in and licked straight from your mouth, shuddering in pleasure at your delectible taste.

"And now that we know just how sweet you are, it'd be impossible to back away!" The look of shock on your face from Urogi's affection only drew him in more, dusting his feathers along your stomach, separated only by cloth. "You deserve this, for being so good to us."

"Awe, no fair! I wanted to taste her!" Karaku chuckled out, his hands having slowly made their way up to your thighs, pushing into the squishy flesh with ease.

You seemed to understand that behind his words was another yearning, one which was confirmed as he kept attempting to inch closer to your inner thighs.

When you tensed your legs, trying to push him away, Aizetsu's hands pushed into your hair, carefully weaving through as to not force any knots so he could brush through it, massaging into your scalp in a way you'd never had before, melting all your tension away.

As each clone closed in on you, Sekido seemed to merely watch the other three, making sure none went too far with you, though in between each check the red glow of his eyes was back on your face, watching each emotion twist into reality, studying your precious features before his look-alikes ruined it.

Each sensation from each clone became overwhelming, making any changes harder to notice as they each inches closer, pushed deeper, cooed louder- but though the feeling of your top slipping up your stomach was unmistakable, you found yourself unable to focus on it, or care when the same happened to your bottoms, eventually lost to the dark corners of the room.

Despite the room being well lit, it was hard to look anywhere but their eyes, which had a distinct glow from the rest of the darkened world, you noticed Karakus face was so close to your thighs that the green luminescence reflected onto your skin, dipping lower, until it was below your line of sight.

Aizetsu seemed to realise you were at a disadvantage laying so flat, and shuffled his hips closer so your head was propped up on his lap.

It allowed you to see the mess of your shirt tangled in one of Urogi's claws, among other things.

Karaku was carelessly dragging his tongue up the fabric of your underwear, the saliva dripping down only further wetting the thin layer between his mouth and your most precious gift, which was enough to send electricity through your spine.

No later where you arch your back into the touch of Urogi's claws that dragged up your sternum, slicing straight through the attaching fabric of your bra. He happily dragged his tongue flat along one, swiping at the nipple before gently blowing cool air onto it, interested in how you shivered and squirmed at his attempts of arousing you.

"I- I-"

"Shhh, there's no reason to speak, just let us take care of you now." Aizetsu's voice was akin to a lullaby, erasing the words from your tongue.

Karaku chuckled into your skin, amused at the exchange, before copying his feathered clone and tearing his claws through the last of your coverings, hovering above your pussy with a desire he held more than that for blood and bone.

He'd been trying to pursue this urge for so long, and now, with his own body, you were laid out in front of him like a five star buffet.

The grip on your thighs tightened, holding despite any attempt you made to either pull them away or push them together. He was unmovable unless he wanted to be, and right now his desire outweighed yours.

Impatient, as always, he pushed his tongue up between your folds, eagerly lapping at your heat like nothing but a hungry mutt, again, and again, and again, careless of the way your back arched, or how your breath hitched.

In fact, Sekido could practically smell the euphoria coming off of you once Karaku began, enticed by the way your pretty moans twirled in the air when he'd pause to suck at your clit, god, the roughness of his hand was palming at his crotch through his clothes, getting off just by watching the other clones toy with you.

Your sounds were delicious, but Aizetsu couldn't help but worry someone might pass by and hear your struggles to catch your lost breath.

To ease his own anxiety, the sorrowed demon allowed one hand to caress your cheek, pushing his thumb up against your lips when you sealed your mouth at the touch.

Sensing Aizetsu's struggle, Urogi grinned against the flesh of the other nipple he had begun to attack, leaning in and gently nibbling with his teeth.

One gasp was all it took, and thanks to Urogi, Aizetsu could firmly press his thumb into your tongue, which instinctively had your mouth close around his finger.

It was embarrassing, but he seemed to find it terribly cute, cooing down at you.

"You love it so much, don't you? I knew we could help you, just let us finish up."

Rather than waiting for a reply, Aizetsu helped you nod by using his thumb to push down, and the hand in your hair to tug your head back up.

Grunting, Sekido ignored Aizetsu and Urogi's childish play to glare down at the way Karaku feasted upon your squirming hips, enticed by the lapping sounds created by his saliva mixed with your dripping desperation, distinctive for its whitish colour.

It seems he had turned his attention at the right time, because Karaku seemed to be getting antsy with you, pulling your hips closer to his face to the point all Sekido saw was the demon's hair curling over and sticking to your thighs, along with his distinctive horns.

Of course he was correct, because as Karaku forced his tongue in and out of your drenched pussy, pulling you closer and closer to your high, he pulled away, licking up the very string that attached you to enjoy the remainder of your sweetness.

"I think our doll is perfectly ready~" Despite Karaku's tug at you, Anyone could tell he was just aching to feel the same ecstasy he had gifted you, and claim more of that glorious body to himself.

Aizetsu glanced down, wanting to make sure you were okay with going forward, and was easily persuaded by the hazy look in your eyes, followed by a muffled whine.

Slowly, he shuffled back, leaving you flat on your back once more, though the movement of his hand carefully tilted your head as far back as it could go, looking straight at his crotch as he fumbled his only free hand to unto his pants, pushing them down lazily.

Surprisingly, he let go and pulled his thumb from your mouth, letting you pant once, twice, before being silenced once more by placing the head of his cock against your lips.

Who were you to deny him? Of course, you let your jaw come loose, allowing the blue eyed boy to slowly push his length into your mouth, stopping about halfway when you seemed to struggle.

"Hnn, that's a good girl, please, I know you can do more for me..." As always, his soothing voice was more than welcomed to your ears.

It was with a surprising ease he was able to push the remainder in, watching the bulge from in your throat. He pulled back, listening to the sweet noise of your throat closing behind him, and pushed all the way back a little faster, infatuated with watching his length stretch through your neck.

Perfectly distracted handling Aizetsu's weak thrusts, Karaku took a moment to admire his work, pushing the his hand up through your folds and teasing the clit between two fingers just to feel the slick that was left behind, and dragging it back down so he could squeeze a finger or two into your used hole, chuckling to himself at the way you sucked his fingers right in.

"How about another, doll?" Reaching a clawed hand into the depth of his sweatpants, Karaku spent a fraction of a moment stroking the leftover juices on his hand all over his cock. He wanted to make sure he'd do what he did best; give and receive pleasure.

Lining up the tip, he only pushed in an inch or two for you to drink up, giving him to lift your hips up and set your ankles on his shoulders, giving him the perfect position to continue pushing, holding one hand down on your abdomen to keep you from moving too much.

Fuck, did that feel good, his length pulled right in by your needy hole. He couldn't deny how much he wanted to take you right then and there, but he knew to be gentle with something so fragile.

Carefully, he worked his way to match Aizetsu's pace, each pumping in at opposite times, so you weren't too overwhelmed.

Sekido had managed to slip a hand under his kimono, sucking in air as he pumped his own cock to the rhythm of the other two. As much as he would have loved to be in any of their places, he was well off just watching you take them so utterly greedily.

There wasn't a single moment that went by without one of them pushing into you, sloppy noises filling the room and mixing everyone's small gasps, grunts and moans together.

Urogi continued to abuse your bouncing tits, happily abusing them as they moved with his look-alikes movements. It was only natural that he had eventually allowed your hand to let go, though he quickly caught it.

"Me too, doll!" Although far less considerate, Urogi was kind enough to guide your hand to his rather smooth cock, which felt far different than the others.

It was smooth, and as you wrapped your hand around the pointed tip to drag down, you felt a considerable bulge near its base, nearly making you choke on Aizetsu as he fastened his pace, which distracted you enough to mindlessly pump the length of Urogi's strange size.

As easy as it was, the feathered one seemed very pleased, letting his head fall back with a delighted groan, keeping his hand wrapped around yours to help guide you up and down, squeezing when he wanted you to tighten your grip.

"Just like that babe, what a natural~" His cocky words were probably lost, but it seemed he still enjoyed teasing you for being such a slut.

Even as you felt yourself getting sloppy, none of them relented, seemingly content with even the bare minimum from you, pushing into your holes like they were godsend, or just watching you as if you were a muse.

It left you on cloud nine, the hypnotic pounding, the sounds they made, the belittling, the compliments, the obsessive eyes pouring onto your frame.

They didn't just love you, no, they were fucking obsessed with you.

After that, time meant nothing, all that mattered was that eventually things hit a peak, and everything snapped at once. 

Karaku’s thrusts became inhuman, slapping his hips into your ass continuously, until his hands dug deep enough to bruise, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix before releasing the thick, heavy fluid belonging to something beyond human. 

It wasn’t much longer before Aizetsu introduced you to the liquid’s taste, pulling back enough so just his tip was left between your puckered lips, pouring it down your throat without a care, though not removing himself until he was certain you had swallowed it down. 

But you managed, and with a satisfying pop from both ends, you were inhaling the freshest air you had ever inhaled, and shuddering out a weak exhale as the cum from your pussy ebbed out along your sheets, likely staining the white colour with something much, much different. 

Urogi and Sekido came last, though Urogi made a show of splashing his across your stomach and tits, letting the fluid pour its way through every crevasse, and down every edge. 

No one dared move, merely letting each other's breaths mix in the cool air, basking in the feeling of it all. It was so silent, no one noticed you had fallen over the edge of a deep slumber until Aizetsu bent down to ask if you were alright. 

“Ah… sleep well then, dolly.”

Author Note -  Since this request is very inline with my previous story and I got so many requests for a part two, I decided to use this request for it!

Word Count - 2,542

Art Credit - 葵鬼 (Pixiv)

Tags - @somefancybb @fabimaou @trickvinder @sleepypotoo @hahahaha120 @swagaliciousguichibaka

[moondirti]

tender / and what’s left

Joel is a man of blunt lines and frayed edges, and though he seems especially bronze at this time of day, you know you can't touch him to feel the sun.

But you’re not looking for warmth.

pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader rating: explicit (mdni) word count: 4.3k summary: what gentle has come to mean warnings: smut, canon typical violence, angst, mild gore, mentions of death, very little plot, blowjobs, fingering, joel is not nice - not necessarily. tumblr please don't tag my shit notes: yeah... yeah. i don't know how i feel about this one. i tried something different with the style. that is, i cut down on the purple prose, so let me know what y'all think about that. also, can you tell i struggled with joel's characterisation? idk, it's a mess. but anyway - enjoy!

You’ll never get used to the smell. 

Granted, the contrary was a lie you told yourself once things had gone to shit. A painkiller – your harsh reality sliced into digestible portions and force fed through a dry gullet. Mother earth will reclaim what spoils – like putrid carnage buried behind a thick cover of dirt, perfuming crisp air. That nature, prosperous again, would wind itself around humanity’s faults and embellish your end with a lush green. 

And maybe it will, one day.

But it takes a while for bodies to burn. You’ve come to accept that’s all you have to look forward to in your lifetime. So, you focus on the scent of sulphur-doused charcoal and try to ignore how flesh sizzles when you throw another corpse into the flame. 

Once the weight is offloaded, you trek back over the beaten path to the truck, your fingers tense with the frigid wind. A storm had come screeching through last night, mewling its sombre song while spewing out a flurry of ice onto the decaying buildings of the QZ. The sterility had lasted all of about an hour before the powdery white turned sludge and jaundice-yellow stains popped back up along the streets. 

The only salvageable thing about winter, tainted with piss. 

Huffing to yourself, you curl your hands to dissuade the frost gnawing on your knuckles and square your shoulders for the next haul. A quick scan of the cargo hold tells you you’re nearly done. There must have been ten or so infected cadavers when the unit had been dropped off – piled atop one another, heads wrapped in bags and arms still bound behind their backs. Joel had divided the work between the two of you – sectioning the heavier builds off for himself – and you’d made quick work disposing of the majority before the stink of death could cling to your blouse. 

As for him–

He brushes up behind you, stunted to a slower pace, carrying a body twice his size. You tune in to his laboured breaths, the grunts he makes with each step, muffled behind the bandana he wears as a mask. In your peripheral, you think you spot it slipping – slicked with the sweat that shines down the curve of his nose. His hair is much the same; speckled grey, glistening with sebum and a gruelling day's work. 

(You recall what it feels like, clutched in your tight grip. You like pulling at it, borderline violently, whenever you can. Whenever he lets you–)

You stop yourself. The tangent has a viscous momentum you’re all too familiar with. Reeling it in, you tuck it near your gut before it can get away from you. Instead, you choose to single in on the way his back rolls when he throws the weight into the pit – the penultimate corpse. Then, back to the task at hand. The trailer stands empty now, save for the last; a smaller frame, curled in on itself, clad in embroidered jeans and a dirty, purple sweater. 

He kept the child for you. 

What’s left of one, anyway. 

Two seconds pass. You crouch to tie your shoelaces. 

(You got them for free – traded off a FEDRA agent with a dependance on oxy. You don’t think you’ll get as lucky with gloves. Winter clothes run like cigarettes here – the theft of your last pair indicative of that fact.)

When you stand back up, the body is still there. 

The chain to the trailer latch is tangled. You decide to undo it before you move.

It won’t disappear.

Just deal with it.

It might be the cold, or the sore patch on your palm, singed from hovering too close to the flame. Food poisoning, credit to poorly cooked rat jerky, or the flu. You tell yourself it’s anything apart from what it is. You know he’s staring – can feel the laden look, sparking the frayed nerves along your shoulder. Just deal with it; the sentiment swimming in dark eyes. Deal with it; his rough voice nails into you.  

It’s not a kid. Not anymore. Not since a network of fungal threads wiggled their way into the gummy recesses of its brain. 

(But its skin is soft. Not one scar on those delicate hands.)

You let your gaze slide across the courtyard. His presence tips the scales of your consciousness, crushing with its force, and you find his brow quicker than you can blink away the wariness in your expression. He’s leaned up against a wall, twisting a spare rag over his fingers. His dry study is indecipherable. 

Your jaw clicks. 

He steps the slightest bit forward. 

With a sharp tug on the body’s ankles, you deflect his intervention and position it so that you can easily heave it onto your bent arms. It’s heavier than you thought it’d be. That, or, it’s the rigour mortis, its joints stiffened to intractable peaks. 

Keep your back straight and use your knees. 

(Joel taught you how to lift anything. He said it’d come in handy, one day. You still can’t tell what he’s preparing you for.) 

When you flip the child into the fire, the bag flies off its head. Its hair is the same shade as yours.

He takes double your shift. 

You were a florist, before, operating right outside Boston. It’s easy to forget what it was like: cramped in that two hundred square foot shop, up to your elbows in thorns as humidified air pooled beneath your pits. There’s the vague picture of a book, fatter than your forearm, always propped open on the register counter. Floriography, a guide to the Victorian language, with watercolour illustrations and an empty page dedicated to your scrawled notes on customer orders. 

And, there is the memory that accompanies it. 

An infatuated friend – no, assignment partner – in your mycology requirement. He’d gifted it to you on your birthday and you’d given a complaisant smile back before going back to the video your professor put on. It didn’t interest you at the time. You were a botany student, desperately clinging to the last shred of your sanity before the end of term, and you did not care about the outdated science of some epidemiologist in 1968. 

Perhaps you should’ve.

But–

You remember the flowers.  

Post-grad. You’d bring them in from wholesalers in Columbia. Dahlias and daisies by the dozen – thriving boscages, nursed in minerals, tepid water. It was a blend of powdered femininity, a reification of the artificial scent you’d practically bathe in as a kid. Soil a pillow for nectar and dew, their roots still branched in the nourishing mix. And it was marginally obsessive, the way you’d drink all of it in. Like divine ambrosia, hung in a drunken stupor of all-natural proportions.

In the mornings, you’d separate their petals with a gentle hand. You felt as though you could sit forever in that quaintness. It did not feel like a job.

Joel takes double your shift, because you cannot wait to get away from shit-clogged sewers. 

He comes back disgruntled, just as the afternoon sinks below the horizon. 

The room soaks in an orange tint, a deluge of evening light spilling in from outside. Scotch whiskey burns a trail down your throat, irritatingly concentrated, and you wonder where he got it from. Not many drinks nowadays pool as deep in your belly, are warm enough to strike your inhibitions. You blink, tipsy – malt and smoke clustered on your tongue – and can’t help but smack your lips, the taste reminiscent of the musk you lick from in between his legs.

He comes up behind you, pulling the bottle from your cradle before you can take another swig. You’d set a dirty tumbler out for him too, lipstains smudged against the annealed glass. He pours two fingers worth, then sits back with a weary sigh. It rumbles from somewhere in his chest, hampered with the deep baritone of his own voice. 

You don’t speak. Neither does he. 

This is what life consists of. Busy work and silence. 

Anything is better than clicking. 

You observe him in your free time. 

It’s not often you’re granted the luxury of running your fingers down his face. You have, once, after coming home much too late to see him knocked out, practically blitzed on hydro. You’d discovered his skin – that it matched the way it looks; rough, sun-worn like old leather. It folds up along his forehead, between his brows, etched in a permanent look of exasperation. He’s marked in wrinkles you don’t think will ever go away. 

(You’d tried smoothing them out. It was a stupidly sentimental action, founded on the sudden spout of emotion that plagued you that night. You had just been beaten an inch from your life, and wanted to find comfort in the fact that – if anything – he was peacefully at rest. But he looked tired, even in his sleep.) 

His eyes are far away, too. His lips, pursed. The way his hair twists on his head suggests that it’d been curly, once upon a time – flipping like waves crashing towards an isolated island. Uncoordinated. Devastating. And his beard is all but an extension of that brutality – patchy and abrasive, particularly when it smooths along your thigh. He’s ruinously handsome; weathered and dry and dark and so, so goddamn handsome.

Joel is a man of blunt lines and frayed edges, and though he seems especially bronzed at this time of day, you can’t touch him to feel the sun. 

But you’re not looking for warmth. 

You slide off the chair, onto your knees. 

You’ve been around long enough for him to sense what’s coming. His shoulders slouch, slack posture buttressed against the back of his chair, and the movement allows his legs to spread, just so you can slot between two beefy thighs. They ripple with restrained strength when you run your hands along them, muscle apparent even under the cover of his jeans. 

“You’re tense.” You remark, slowly ironing closer to the bulge at his crotch. 

“Long day.” He responds with a torn exhale.

The unfurling of his zipper puts an end to the short conversation. You ruck his pants to his pelvis, then scoop his cock out from behind his boxers. It’s semi-hard, heavy in your clutch, pulsing as though it aches. You slip to the base – nested in a bush of wild, auburn hair – and tug it until he swells to become velvet-covered iron. He thickens, brims with arousal, head darkening to the colour of a day-old bruise. 

It’s when it’s like this– 

When you’re on your knees, or back, or stomach, his flesh smelting your insides like you’re metal over brimstone. Your lips wrap around him – stretching taut at cracked corners, your tongue rolling over his frenulum. You will yourself to sink further, to let him touch your tonsils and the enveloping heat there. Your breath hot, your mouth even hotter – sweltering, you suck him in, coating his length with a film of saliva, which aids you when you pull back up. Still, he’s too big for you to fully take, so you wrap what you can’t reach and twist it in tandem to your bobbing head. 

Spittle pools at your lip, globbing out to splatter on his boxers. You can’t control the gags his girth elicit. It doesn’t matter. His large hand cups your temple, guiding you lower. You hollow your cheeks to accommodate the bludgeoning rhythm of his cock, choking on the smell of sweat and denim. He’s heady, potent with brine.  Blurring heat corners your eyes, tears cropping at the sheer indulgence of it all. You don’t know whether he notices as they slip down your cheeks, whether he goes harder because of them. 

It’s in these perennial moments, pearlescent prespend seeping down his shaft – a beautiful compliment to his skin – where you’re simultaneously selfish and selfless in a world that is kind to neither. That he feels more alive than ever. Pumping, pounding, like the fibrous sinew of a still-beating heart.

He’s not gentle as he takes. You don’t discourage it. 

(You believe he’s forgotten how to be. There’s a certain severance you have to make to survive; a detachment from humanity. You don’t doubt he was a good man, once. You hear it in his cadence, that southern twinge that speaks to days of gentleman-like civility past. It’s excusable. You understand. You can’t complain of the strain he puts on your throat. You too have lost your touch. 

But it cannot reduce the red on your ledgers. Gore binds the very books together.)

Cum covers your palette when he spurts his end – a hot, febrile concoction; the ocean lapping up on a beached log, like sand in every crevice. He holds your head down until you swallow, knees spasming against hardwood floors.

You splutter for air when you finally draw away, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Joel shifts forward, picking an unknown material off the table above your head. You can’t discern what it is – not until he brings it down to your chin. 

Your washcloth. Threadbare and thinning still. 

He doesn’t let you speak as he helps you clean the evidence of his sin.

Lilies for restored innocence. Carnations for pure love. 

You cycle through your mental index of funeral arrangements as carmine ichor spills from your front. 

The operation hadn’t gone according to plan. 

Joel said it’d be a quick pillage of a newly empty warehouse; an apparent treasure trove for supplies, left abandoned after a firefly attack drove FEDRA security off its perimeters. Lined wall to wall in crates of salvaged items; he’d heard wind of it through a contact in the agency – some son of a bitch by the name of Liam, trying to pay off a withstanding debt. Easy gains, he’d smiled, you can take your pick of the loot.

The knife lodged in your gut begs to differ. 

(You posit another smuggling ring got dealt the same deal. They had come in behind you. Jumped fast, fought dirty – took all the ammo and cigarettes they could carry and left you for dead. Naturally.)

Where the fuck is he?

Vignette shadows edge your vision, throwing everything off kilter. You can hardly process every aspect at once: the pulsing wound, the surge of blood. Nausea encroaches on the site, convulsing in around the jagged blade, cramming your intestines for space. It blazes a fiery path up to your lungs, where your breaths escape in short, shallow increments. Oxygen dwindles. You’d skipped breakfast. Still, you heave as fluorescent lights blink in and out of existence above you. 

The concrete floor is unforgiving. 

Gladioli, perhaps. For someone who’s proven their strength. Tears glue your lashes shut, and you imagine being buried out in a field of their long stems. Swathed in peach, pink, babydoll colours untainted by grime. You wonder if Joel knows a place. 

(You never asked for his favourite flower.) 

The stab festers, broiling over with an impassioned heat. It must be hell overturning your system, bubbling up in pus, swaying you from making your peace. All those lives you took. The thorns you’d clipped. Your head is lifted onto a twitching lap. It’s soaked in carnage and smells like him.

Thank god. Felt like it was gonna explode.

“B-Bout– nghn, time.” You cough. You’re able to discern his silhouette through the fog, cloudburst heavy on your lids. It’s sticky, disorienting.

“Hey. Hey, stay with me now. We’ll get t-this fixed. We’ll get this fixed, okay?” He chokes, wrestling with a roll of something. “I gotta take the knife out, baby. It’ll hurt. It–” 

“It–It’s okay.”

“No, no. Up, open your eyes, c’mon.” 

You were hired to supply a wedding with its finery, back when you first opened shop. It was the gig that promised to put you on the map, insisted upon by a childhood friend who had the money to blow on imports from Holland. You’d spent days fine tuning the arrangements – fussing with leaves, waxing petals, trimming roots. Your cuticles were red, raw by the end.

The next week, all the flowers had wilted. The paraffin you used was the wrong type.

Joel’s voice cracks like a spoiled floret. You burn at the knowledge that it’s your fault. 

He doesn’t give you the option to grieve it, twisting the blade out of your abdomen. You lurch forward, thrashing with a warbled scream. Borderline animalistic, the pain tears through you with harrowing intensity. 

His hand smooths your hair back in the meanwhile, brushing across your sweaty forehead, winding between the tresses. You shudder under a wave of hypoxia and come to a sobering revelation. 

It feels nice.

Something shifts. 

He was quiet before. A man of very few words; upon your first meeting – a partnered smuggle run, arranged via Tess – you recall tallying the hours until he spoke. It hit three, prior to your suggestion of something so bewilderingly stupid he just had to pitch in his discontent. You’d smirked it off. It hadn’t been personal. 

(Possibly the one insight that allowed you to continue working with him.) 

But since your close call, he’s funnelled down to occupy a fraction of his previous presence. You suspect it has everything to do with how you bled out in his arms.

He leaves and returns during your small bouts of restless sleep. You don’t hear from him, or see of him – aside from the rare occurrences when your days intersect; when he comes back, tarnished and tired, to crash on the couch before his next job. You would haul him to bed if you could, yet your gut throbs in barely-healed rage with every exertive move. So, you spend your limited time with him as you’ve grown used to doing – watching.

His nightmares have gotten worse. 

You used to experience them in pyretic transitions, suspended in a state of hypnagogia, your consciousness bleary and flickering like old film set ablaze. You’d feel his tremors, could hear his whispered pleads filter in on your own dreams. But they existed as secondary – something to be acknowledged in that post-apocalyptic, apathetic way. I get ‘em too, bud. He never mentioned them, so you wouldn’t ask. 

To see him unravel is another thing entirely. 

Like corduroy twill being picked apart at the seams. A material made to be durable, to tough out years of erosion. He quivers, forearms contracting over his chest, his brows creasing. Something about Sarah as his hands rub together, clawing at his palms. 

You wind your limbs around your middle. It’s frightening, you realise. You’ve come to know this man in the snarled face of adversity – he’s never so much as stuttered, carved in resilient rock. But it had to have come from somewhere, and if not vomit, if not viscera, if not fungi–

Whatever it is that torments him, you pour a glass of water and wait for him to wake. 

He doesn’t look at you when he does. You don’t blame him; you’re practically pellucid, yellowing undertones an effect of the lesion that marks your stomach. The only thing you’d gotten out of the warehouse were medical supplies in abundance. You credit only them with your continued survival. 

“I’m going back.” Joel says, tapping his index on the glass. You blink, nonplussed at the sudden noise. You recover in half the time, though, and open your mouth to protest. “We left some valuable shit behind.” He interrupts.

“You can’t go alone.” 

“You’re staying behind.” 

“I’m fine,” You start, then wince with the movement.

He stares at you, incredulous. The silence punctuates his point. 

“Tess has a few men holding it down. It should be simple.” And with how he grits it, the words hissed through clenched teeth, it’s evident he means it as an end to the discussion. But doubt maturates, wheezing in the way punctured lungs do, sore under the pierce of cracked ribs. Tension swells from the afflicted site. You can’t control the disillusion in your tone. 

“That’s what you said last time.” 

Nothing erupts. 

Not how you expected it to, anyway. It takes a moment for the blame to meet him, to find its honest meaning. In that time, it hangs between you, echoing, precariously balanced on seething eye contact. Then, his gaze flickers down to your abdomen. 

“I’m not the idiot who almost got herself killed.” 

It carries all the malice you wished for, and more. 

(Whatever tenderness he had left must have bled out with you on that floor.)

He doesn’t die. But then again, that wasn’t what you were concerned about. 

Joel makes his first appearance three days later. The return is sporadic, and divided upon many, each time with a small bag of supplies he stuffs underneath the floorboard. The sacking was successful, then– 

(He throws a bottle of antibiotics onto the kitchen counter, his jerking shoulder a rough indication that it’s meant for your injury. But when his face catches the light, you’re thrown with the inkling that he might need them more than you.)

–though, nothing is without its faults. 

Eggplant purple and violent red blend in a mottled contusion across his cheekbone, painted down to his neck – beyond his collar – hidden to your wandering gape. You’re no stranger to bruises; the world collapsed in on humanity a good twelve years ago, and burst capillaries have become a constant under the macerating weight. Yet it’s another layer stripped, a sheet of titanium snatched off the manifold complexity that is him. You’d never seen the evidence of his pain so clearly illustrated atop his skin. 

“Joel–”

“Leave it.” He snaps. 

You bite the inside of your cheek, pushing yourself up to sit by the sink. It’s futile to beckon him over, so you wait his pacing out by dousing a rag in leftover alcohol. 

“Was there anything even left?” You accuse. He unzips a duffel bag atop the dining room table, ruffling through a layer of bandaids. 

“Yes. The rations’ll last us two months, if we sell to the right people.” 

“Thrilling.” 

Your sarcasm lingers until he finally finds what he’s looking for, pulling out a jar of ground coffee from behind a box of detachable blades. When he walks over to fetch a mug, you grab him by the wrist and wrench him closer. 

(You wouldn’t have been able to, had he not let you. You know his strength trumps yours.) 

When you touch the makeshift wipe to his face, he doesn’t so much as flinch. 

“What did this?” The question stretches, losing its structural integrity under your elemental concern. This is all novel territory – you don’t make a habit of licking another’s wounds clean. But his desperate pleas hold possession over you; the restrained distress, the wavering timbre. Stay with me now. We’ll get this fixed. 

“Gun.” 

Your hand falters over his jaw. 

“Butt end.” He adds. “FEDRA was on the scene.” 

“Right. Do I even have to say it?” You whisper. ‘Told you so’ titters on the tip of your tongue.

“No.” He concedes.

The two of you sit like that for a long while after, locked in a begrudging dance that pulls you off your feet. Winter has nearly melted to its end, now; the howling gale tapering to a draft that crawls beneath window sills. Somehow still, it penetrates you, even colder than before. 

(Joel crackles like a fed furnace, biting at the firm coals of your desire. You unconsciously veer closer, wiggling your hips until your legs cage his. He holds you in place with one large hand, the other gliding beneath the hem of your jeans.) 

“You’re hurt–” 

“So are you.” He settles. His fingers press up against the plush of your cunt, finding that electric centre. It’s debilitating, overstimulating and likewise, not enough; a defibrillator to your core, one that cannot revive you. 

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, finding purchase in his broad build. It does nothing dampen the needy moan you make when he pushes your panties to the side, toying with your swollen folds. He spots you, clenching around nothing, soaking the calloused pads of his thumb. It takes place on your clit, then, index and middle inching towards your hole to plug you full.

“Needy fucking thing.” He groans, shoving his tongue down your maw. It’s not a kiss. Far from it. He doesn’t try to match the pace of your gaping surrendering, preferring to devour you instead. You pant up into his mouth, gyrating with the back and forth of his pumping digits. 

He claws out in you your tender-most spots. 

(But that’s just it, isn’t it?

He might not be gentle, in the worn definition of the word. The touch that peels petals, reverent, finding delicacy in the finest bits of creation; gold leaf and concentrated fragrance. What you spent so long holding onto – the beauty that’s become obsolete in a post-fungal land.  

But you cannot kid yourself. 

He’s raw, uninhibited. You’ve seen it – that supplantation of humanity, a measure to rise above the monsters that hunt you. A sore bundle of mortality and death, left unhealed, yet just as capable of flaring when you reach out towards it.  

Like stepping up when you buckle under the horror of your own reality. Wiping your chin of filth. Shaking with you, fading out on his lap, his best efforts centred in on your mutilated centre. The nightmares that plague him, seeking out whatever weakness lies dormant. 

If you had to choose, you’d say he favours sunflowers.)

“Joel,” You whine, sinking your face in his neck. 

“That’s it… C’mon, baby. Cum for me.” 

That night, he pulls something out of his bag, tucking it in your pocket as he joins you in bed.

“Hm?” Murmuring, you reach to wrap your hand around his. The fabric in his grasp is thick, knitted. 

Gloves.

“Noticed you’ve been cold.”

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[honeycreammilkshake]

Yuji can finally have his own Human Earthworm with blobkuna haha

it seems to me that gege is really fond of metaphors and stories within stories, so i took a closer look at the human earthworm series that was given to us in the anime/manga and i found a lot of interesting things that, as usual, i'm going to turn into a sukuita essay. (sorry for the overly long rant coming up, anon ;-;)

the basic plot of the 4th movie is that an ordinary man is transformed into a half-worm, half-human creature by an evil scientist/doctor. the human earthworm manages to escape but is forced to hide from the outside world as he will be perceived as a monster because of his appearance. however, his hiding place also enables him to meet an animal rights activist who ends up falling in love with him. she is a very understanding, compassionate, and empathetic person (remind you of someone?) and although she is scared of him at first, she looks past his "monstrous appearance" to find the true person within, and he is ultimately more human than other humans are.

in the end, though, he is killed by the girl's friends, who only see a monster. before they attack him, though, she tells them that they will be the monsters for killing him.

this theme of the humans being more monstrous than the actual monsters themselves, such as in literature like frankenstein by mary shelley or the metamorphosis by franz kafka, is a theme used to invert and reframe the popular myths and stories of monsters both looking abnormal and being unnatural.

so... what does this mean in relation to sukuna and yuuji's story?

i think it's pretty clear that sukuna was perceived as monstrous from his birth onward. in historical japan, during the heian era, there was a lot of conflict between different religions and very rapid changes in culture and lifestyles as people began breaking away from chinese influences. this era is sometimes called the "golden age of the imperial court" because of the court's growing power and cultural prosperity, and a lot of this power resided with the Fujiwara clan who had intermarried with the imperials. however, for the majority of ordinary people, this era saw a lot of suffering, hardships, low quality of life, and a high infant mortality rate.

sukuna was born into this starving world and would have died had he not eaten his twin in the womb. but he was unwanted and unwelcome from the moment he was born. i've written this before (so i'm sorry if it's getting a bit repetitive) but i think a lot of fans don't realize how much more demanding and cruel life was during this time (compared to modern day japan) in terms of life expectancy and quality. and those factors shaped sukuna into what he is, or at least make up a part of his becoming a monster.

in sukuna's own words his existence itself is anathema. the literal definition of this is "vehement disliking" and is a synonym of abhorrent. in religious usage it means "exclusion from the society of the faithful because of heresy" and it is described as being "cursed."

sukuna was perceived as being a curse before he even became cursed objects. whether or not he was born with extra limbs and/or lots of cursed energy, he was still seen as something unnatural and inhuman.

in other words, his unusual appearance and origin is monstrous to others. and i think he took this to heart and decided to just go with it, because he refuses to be seen as human by anyone even though he was in fact born one. he would rather be feared and despised as an imaginary demon than treated like a real person who was essentially cast out of the normal world.

but yuuji doesn't treat sukuna like just another monster in the end. instead, he offers him such selfless acceptance and honest empathy. and i don't think sukuna can take something like that.

sukuna is very aware of his own nature. he seems really proud to be an unfeeling, indifferent entity of chaos.

hm.....

lots of thoughts on this one panel alone. but i'll try to keep my ideas short. i believe that sukuna embraced what others saw as his "cursed nature" and became the strongest so he could be above all the hatred and ignorance that made others perceive him as being a monster. so he matched his actions to what people feared from him.

he became the monster so he could look down on those same people and also so he could isolate himself from ever being affected by those feelings again. after all, those others are nothing more than weak prey who shouldn't lament their own suffering, just like he shouldn't lament being seen as cursed from birth on. just like he claims he isn't lonely because only the most selfish can be on top.

but still. people want to destroy him for just being the role they more than likely forced him into. he never became more than what people saw him as, and yet they still hate him.

he claims to be above that hatred, but i think it might actually get to him. while else would he reflect so much on it during his fight with yuuji. yuuji, who he lived inside of, who he looks down on for being "weak" because he is far too emotional and caring for others, yet that's one of the biggest reasons for yuuji's strength. strength sukuna tries to undervalue because he can't stand the idea that strength can ever be compassionate as well.

yuuji hates sukuna's ideals and his indifference to the value of life. but he still accepts sukuna. he sees past the monstrous appearance and realizes sukuna was made into a monster by chance. what if someone was there for him, like wasuke was there for yuuji? even though wasuke still pushed yuuji away and was all that yuuji had, he still kept yuuji tethered to being a good person and caring for others. wasuke served as both a lesson in what not to become and a reminder for yuuji to realize the importance of life.

sukuna probably didn't have that, or if he was given that chance, it was far too late for him.

yuuji actually wanted to live with sukuna. he wanted to the animal rights activist to sukuna's worm monster, but in the end, sukuna chose death.

the humans killed the monster they made, yet again. sukuna would rather live and die as a curse than be anything different. yuuji loved him even as a worm, but sukuna couldn't take it.

and yuuji looks so heart-broken and disappointed for it.

also. i didn't notice this until now. but yuuji cradles sukuna's remains so so gently... in the hand that looks monstrous.

monster to monster. yet yuuji was so tender. he didn't seek to mock sukuna. instead, he said that they were the same. that sukuna is him.

yuuji was created for the purpose of housing sukuna inside of him, for being his vessel. he was made into a "monster" but instead of letting that turn him into something evil, he used his abilities to save other people. and he even wanted sukuna to come back to him!!!

again, i'm sorry for making this into yet another paper-long incoherent rant. i probably should have stuck to my original reply which was "sad we couldn't see their halfling children ;-;" but then this happened instead. thank you for bearing with me if you read through the mess of my thoughts. ty for your wonderful ask anon <3

[vyeoh]

Losing my mind about the book of job in retrospect basically told how the season was gonna end in the 2nd episode.

As shown in the show, Job is the result of God and Lucifer making a bet regarding the nature of faith- Satan argues that humans are fair weather friends, and their worship is transactional for bring treated well. God argues that worship is regardless of how God treated humans.

This specific part of the Bible is so well known even to people not involved with an Abrahamic religion partly because the train of logic is so?? Odd?? Like yeah the old testament God is kinda super fucked up but in this one God's reasoning (as seen in the show) is basically, "I know more than you and I can do more, so you could never understand the reason for tragedy" which is. Just a WILD answer to "why do bad things happen to good people", especially if you're trying to argue that people should make an effort to be good because they have free will.

Notably, the show didn't focus on the "bad things to good people" paradox that's usually the focus of debate, but rather on the fact that like??? Giving someone more children after killing their old ones is actually really awful?? Basically, giving them a shiny new thing doesn't actually make up for the fact that you broke the old thing, which is something that the Book of Job and the Bible at large seems to misunderstand about humans.

Anyways, Aziraphale is Job. He's been fucked over by heaven so many times, and yet his faith is unshaken. One of his catchphrases is literally saying that God 's plans are ineffible and no one can understand them.

At the end of Job, Job's given a gift (note: a GIFT, not a reward) of prosperity, children, and health by God. Similarly, Aziraphale is given the "gift" of the Archangel Supreme position, to be the head of an organization that's caused him so much suffering. There's no actual acknowledgment and reconciliation of the suffering, because like in Job, that would mean God did something bad that needed to be remedied.

In this context, his relationship with Crowley is like his old wealth and prosperity; its not a perfect comparison but its something that is taken away by God (allegedly) in favor of a shiny new job and a shiny new HR approved relationship with Angel Crowley. And since Aziaphale is still drinking the heaven kool-aid, he does as Job does, and accepts his suffering and receives his reward.

[ddarker-dreams]

Locke, I don't interact with fandoms much but uhhh could you help a girl out and explain the appeal to ENVER-EVIL-ASS-GUY-GORTASH??? 😭😭😭

Like I don't see the appeal 😭 but that's ok 🙏 i can be converted !!! Would you care to explain a lil what it is that you like about him? 👉👈

(On another note, how do you feel about Astarion or any other characters you'd like to talk about (just in generallll))

rubbing my lil hands together ... ohohoho........... for months, i have languished in silence, biding my time until i could conduct my Enver Gortash proselytization. i'll begin with some broad strokes then focus in on the dynamic i built a loose storyline around.

among the dead three's chosen, he's the most reasonable (although, to be fair, the competition isn't steep). his willingness to share authority with tav/durge belies a certain pragmatism most power-hungry folk lack. this is probably why bane picked him out from the riffraff. he's vain, sure (what with his portrait being plastered everywhere), but he isn't arrogant. he knows that to see his goals realized, he'll need to cooperate with others. patience, compromise, calm in the face of unexpected circumstances; these attributes disguise and strengthen his tyranny.

this snippet from the readable item, the ultimate state, specifically the bolded portion is of great interest to me:

What is progress? Progress is the movement of society and culture towards a state of collective unity. Without unity, mortals, each with their own individual agenda, blunder against each other, causing friction, conflict, war. Unity - peace and prosperity - is achieved when the collective follows a single agenda, that of one superior person.

he wants a functioning society, not a wretched one, where evil's inflicted for evil's sake. with that out of the way, i can finally elaborate on my neoliberal business major x humanities major dynamic. i'm sorry to everyone who read that cursed sentence, but it describes this relationship so well, i can't bring myself to delete it .

your early interactions with lord gortash are rife with tension. he senses your disdain, finding it more amusing than threatening. you're an idealist, well-intentioned yet naïve to the ways of the world, at least in his initial appraisal. when your path's cross, he entertains your perspective. you dislike his rhetoric, he believes your aims are as likely to happen as a reconciliation between shar and selûne.

you do have potential though — he won't deny that. gortash starts looking forward to your little run-ins (occasionally organizing these 'coincidental' encounters behind the scenes). unlike the other fools championing your bleeding heart cause, you walk the walk. he can't help but admire that quality. you'll inevitably be treated to one of those 'we're not so different, you and i,' spiels from him. you're easy on the eyes and make for pleasant company, this development was inevitable, in his opinion.

you wanted him to be this wicked, heartless monster, he can see your inner conflict when you realize this isn't the case.

there's a thrill in wooing you. gortash begins inviting you over, offering to make concessions on this or that issue should you plead your case effectively enough. and he does so enjoy hearing your arguments. it's a window into the workings of your mind; his latest intrigue. a few goblets of wine in, he's steering the conversation away from politics or philanthropy and into subjects more personal.

he already knows a great deal about you, courtesy of his vast information network. it spans throughout baldur's gate and beyond. naturally, he keeps this information to himself. you may have an inkling of a suspicion, but he's utilized so many proxies that nothing definitive can be traced back to him.

you develop some influence over him. you haven't made him soft per se, he's just more willing to 'do good' then before, since it'll earn your respect. it's still a means to an end.

[roguelov]

Cat’s Cradle

Summary: You were crafted by him, crafted to serve the Dreaming and dreamers of all kinds. You were granted the ability to alter your appearance, to the feline variety, to hide in dreams. You, however, never imagined falling in love with him. But, when he left to take care of a rogue nightmare, only to never return, your heart broke. So, you ran to the Waking and soon met someone new. But, when Dream returns, how will he react to find you missing?

Word Count: ~5.2k

Reader: Fem

Warnings: Some angst (abandonment and heartbreak), fluff, pining

Requested by the magnificent @chainsawsangel

Part 2

A curious question to ponder: do animals dream? And if so, what do they dream of? Do dogs dream of chasing squirrels? Do cats dream of hunting in a jungle? Do snakes dream of being ginormous and slithering about?

And the answer to all of these: yes, yes they do.

Far before humanity was where it was today, animals were the first to flock to the Dreaming. They were the first dreamers. Although their dreams may be plain, or simpler, compared to humans; they were still dreams. They were still precious, still hopeful.

But, as humanity evolved and grew, the Dreaming started to accommodate for humanity more. The Lord of Dreams and Nightmares had to turn his attention to those with far more complex dreams, to those impacting the Waking world with each breath and decision. In order to do so, he created his dreams and nightmares.

He created you.

You were one of the first dreams, and dare say the oldest. However, you were unique compared to the others. Your purpose was to oversee all dreams, and more specifically the dreams of the vast amount of creatures. When Dream could not lend his attention to the dreams, you were there.

In disguise, of course.

Dream not only created you for this single purpose, he also granted you the ability to alter your form. You could change into any feline creature from an average house cat to a vicious cougar.

And so it was for years, centuries. Your days were spent doing your duties and whatever you pleased. It was simpler in those earlier days, easy to seperate yourself from Dream. Creator and creation. However, as years passed those strict lines, those boundaries drawn, shifted.

Under the shade of a tree, in Fiddler’s Green beautiful picturesque forest, Dream lounged in the foliage’s shade. Books, taken from the library for his various researches, surrounded him. He needed a change of space and air to think.

You, on the other hand, were slinked away in the nearby bushes, quietly stalking him.

“Hello, my dream.” Dream’s eyes flickered up, catching yours.

But, Dream always spotted you, always knew when you were around. You walked out on paws while your silted, seemingly glowing amber, eyes stayed locked on to his dazzling oceanic blue. Reaching the edge of the tree’s shade, you calmly sat down in front of him, with your tail curled around you.

“And what can I do for you, (Y/N)?” Dream asked.

It started with your body, it stretched and elongated. Next was the fur, its cotton like texture retracted, leaving only soft skin. Then there were the fine details, from the tail vanishing with a flick, to your ears once pointed rounded out, to fingers growing as claws became dull nails, to your eyes more natural color for a human. It was intriguing to watch how quickly you changed. In a blink of an eye, you stood tall before Dream on two feet. You bowed your head slightly, “Apologies, my lord, for interrupting.”

Dream brushed off your formalities. “There is no need to apologize. Speak, what is it that you need?”

“Only to give my daily report, sir.”

Ah, yes, how could he forget. “Proceed.”

Reports were a necessity to ensure prosperity in the Dreaming. Any one wrong detail, any confusion, would mean possible devastation for a world crafted on such complexities. Luckily, you recounted all the dreams you saw and nothing out of the ordinary, for dreams that is. Dreams were chaos, but the Dreaming controlled such chaos.

“Thank you,” Dream said with a nod of his head.

“Of course.”

Normally, you would leave. But, this time your feet were rooted in place. Your eyes darted around to his stacks of books, then to the empty forest surrounding him. The quiet, hushed breeze blew past your ears, and it carried no other voices. It was Dream and Dream alone. And in this moment for some reason, your heart broke. A tiny fissure, truly, but a fissure which in time would grow.

He is always alone.

“Is there something else?”

Your attention snapped over. Dream’s eyes, typical pale blue, were nearly black for a fleeting moment, blending into the shadows. A midnight sky that twinkled with endless stars and universes. Cold, lonely.

You were not sure how to word it. You appear lonely, my lord. Do you wish to have company?

His pride was a fickle thing. One word could offend him. You, thankfully, knew how to navigate it fairly easily.

“May I stay?” You asked.

If I can help it, I don’t want you to be alone.

Dream cocked his head, curious by your question. He paused, considering it then spoke. “If you wish.”

With a single nod, you leapt into the air, changing back into a small house cat. You swiftly and easily climbed up the tree and splayed across a branch directly above Dream. Your eyes dropped down, catching Dream peering up at you. He quickly looked away and returned to his studies.

That.

That was when the boundaries shifted and soon you became friends. Eons, you grew closer and closer. But, the line was pushed further in the recent centuries.

To be fair, it was never your intention to fall for Dream. You knew of his previous relationships, you knew of the pain that somehow inevitably followed - such devastating heartbreak.

But, you did.

You fell.

No, not a dramatic fall such as one falling from grace. No, not all at once. It wasn’t as poets described as a burning flame that blazed into an uncontrollable, all-consuming fire.

No.

It was unknowing, it was subtle. It was like walking down stairs, just one step at a time. It wasn’t until you reached the bottom and was face to face with him, and reality, that it finally dawned on you what had happened.

His plain pale eyes were now the morning sky guiding you from the chilly night, bringing you hope and awe. With a simple glance, your heart now skipped relentlessly in your chest, sending you into a dizzying state of infatuation. His messy unruly hair now tempted you to run your fingers through it, to have his head on your chest and whisper poetry of your love and playful secrets into his hair. His lips - the prettiest pink like fresh spring flowers - now beckoned you forth to taste, to hear his velvet voice sing your name.

Your heart was completely given over.

You only hoped he would care for it.

“My dear (Y/N), my sweet dream, there you are.”

You, in feline form, laid sprawled in the sun, tucked - hidden from all except him - in the palace’s garden. It was your place of solitude, your place of peace, your place to untangle your thoughts.

A place Lord Morpheus showed you, and his presence rippled throughout here.

You saw his twinkling eyes in the blue sunny sky, or in the dark starry night. You heard his voice on the wind, whispering through the branches and bushes. You smelled him in the flowers, and morning dew. You felt him in the warmth of the sunlight, constant and never changing. He was always with you. You would ever escape him. Your mind could never untangle him from your thoughts. But, like a fool in love, you locked yourself in this beautiful gilded cage, happily tossing away the key.

You peered up at him from your patch. Your heart soared. His eyes, however, flickered with minor confusion. “Where have you been? I have not seen you for days.”

A twinge of guilt rose up.

Your features shifted and grew. Instantly, you were on two feet again, standing before your lord, your friend, and your infatuation. “Apologies,” you dropped your head, “I didn’t mean to cause you any worry.”

He gently, with his thumb and forefinger, tilted your head back up. A small frown tugged on the corners of his lips. “I only worry for you. Please, tell me, what has troubled you?”

A heat flushed over your chest. Eons spent together. You had always been close with him, but now since this startling revelation nothing had been the same. Steeling your emotions, you snipped the wings of those pesky butterflies fluttering inside your chest. You smiled easily. “Nothing to worry you, my lord.”

Please, I told you to forgo such formalities, he thought.

His frown stayed. He searched your eyes for any tells. Seeing none, he sighed, dropping his hand from you. You desperately fought back from chasing after his delicate, comforting touch. “If you say so,” he muttered. “You just seem distracted lately; and dare I say avoiding me.”

You swallowed down your nerves. “Never, my lord.”

“Are you unwell? Perhaps, displeased?”

“Displeased?”

His frown deepened. “With your duties? Your life?”

“What? No, no, never.”

“Then why do I not know what you are thinking of anymore? I prided myself in always knowing what thoughts were behind your clever eyes. But, now? I feel as if I am looking at a stranger.”

You were a stranger.

You were a different person now. You had to hide your truest self. You always spoke freely with Dream. One of the few who did not fear his wraith; the others being Lucienne, Merv, and Jessamy.

You stepped back, pulling away from him.

“Lucienne, I - I don’t know what to do with myself.”

You snuck into the royal library, pulling Lucienne aside to speak with her. You needed to tell her what you had been feeling lately - confide in her. Hopefully, she can shed some light on this developing situation. She was your oldest friend, you trusted her and hid nothing from her.

Lucienne smiled to herself, shaking her head. She peered over the rim of her glasses and cocked her brow. This certainly was amusing for her - as if she didn’t already didn’t deduce your feelings for the king. “I believe you know exactly what you must do.”

I can’t, you vehemently thought. “But what if -“

“I never thought there would be a day you would fear him.”

You huffed. “Fear him? I do not fear -“

“I am only teasing you,” she said, sensing your displaced hostility.

You grumbled, but with Lucienne you could never stay mad at her. Your lips already twitched upward, showing her your anger was more for show and dramatics.

She gently took your hands. “Tell him. You know it is the right thing to do.”

She knew your feelings of Dream before your own realization. She knew you the best. You were always the closest to him, but she noted all the subtle changes in your demeanor. And so, she only waited for this day to happen, for you to come to her with your own revelations. Of course, she would never admit it to you, but her and Mervyn may or may not have placed bets on you.

You glanced down at your hands in hers. “I … I don’t want to lose him.”

“You won’t.”

You wanted to scoff. Dream’s past lovers did not end happily. Heartbreak and ruin seemed to follow him like a leech sucking on any joy he may have.

“It’s not easy, but to say nothing would be worse.” Lucienne squeezed your hands, giving you a douse of courage to act. “Would you truly be happy saying nothing?”

You paused. Would you? You sighed heavily, “No, I don’t think I would.”

“Then tell him.”

You agreed, almost hesitantly. “I will.”

Now, Lucienne’s words tossed around your head, that simple question which cut directly to your core: would you truly be happy saying nothing?

You looked to Dream, meeting his gaze once again. Just as easy as he could read you, you could read him. Confusion and worry plainly written in his dazzling eyes. Taking a deep breath, you started to unveil the truth, “I am truly sorry for making you worry, it was never my intention.”

“And what was your intention?”

You thought about it for a moment, considering the correct word then said, “Self-preservation.”

Dream’s eyebrows knitted together. “How so?”

You took a tentative step forward back towards him. “In a way, you were right that I am a stranger. I have discovered something about myself recently.”

Dream stayed quiet, letting you speak without interruptions - letting you come to him.

“It was scary, and I never expected it would happen, yet here I am.” You stepped closer. Your heart raced frantically in your chest. “I hope you do not hate me for what I am about to say and allow me to stay here in the Dreaming.”

Dream tilted his head. “I have never found myself hating you for any reason, nor do I think such a thing would happen. And I would never banish you from the Dreaming for it is your home, but you do have me slightly more worried now.”

You reached out. You hooked your index finger around his pinkie, slowly drawing him to you. “Centuries, eons, spent together and I have adored every second. I love my life, I love everyone here, and - and … I’ve always loved you, a platonic love. However, it has changed recently.”

Dream’s eyes fell to your finger hooked around his. Slowly, unsure if was hearing you correctly, his hand turned and his fingers threaded in between yours. You didn’t move, you didn’t run.

You let out a shaky breath, relieved but absolutely frightened.

“If I am wrong, tell me.” Dream said as he met your eyes again. “Although I have said you have become a stranger, that was not quite true. It was I who had also changed. But -“

Your heart constricted.

“But, I feel as if I should warn you.” He grabbed both of your hands, ensuring you listened fully to him. “You know of my past for you were always part of it. You know of my relationships and the inevitability which always seems to follow. I am telling you this to ask you now: is this what you want?”

You gazed into his sky blue eyes. Trepidation evident in his eyes. Tears prickled in the corner of his eyes, tears of fear and potential heartache. He tried desperately to hide it, but nothing could be hidden from you. You reached up, cupping his face and carefully brushed away the tears. “If you will have me, then yes.”

“You will always have an out, the door will always be open for you to leave.” He said it, but he did not wish it to be true. He wanted you here, he wanted you by his side for eternity.

“I’m not afraid.”

“You should be.”

“Possibly.” You brought his face closer to yours. “But, would I be happy if I left now without trying? No, I don’t think I would be.”

You kissed him. His lips were like petals, soft and warm; like a fresh spring flower after a terribly rough winter. You exhaled as your heart swelled up in your chest. However, his lips moved slowly, methodically.

Measured and unsure.

Scared.

But, quickly, his restraint melted. He grabbed your waist, flushing your bodies against his. He was feverous. He tilted his head, and parted his mouth. His tongue slipped inside. Oh, all the years he wished to taste you. And now he has. So sweet, so delectable.

You hummed.

Oh, he loved that noise.

He pulled away, and pressed his forehead against yours. Hearing your breathlessness, his heart fluttered. He did this. It was his doing. And now, only he could conjure it, only he could steal your breath. And in turn, so can you. You could steal his attention, take his breath as your own, draw out desires and sinful sounds.

You were his.

And he yours.

Initially, you thought yourself a fool, locking yourself in the gilded cage of blind love.

No.

Morpheus, finding your key to your gilded cage, unlocked it. He guided you out, meeting you halfway. You would not be trapped, confined, to him, but his equal - his partner. And if you still saw yourself bound to a cage, he would step inside locking said door behind. The two of you locked together, either until the universe collapsed or maybe - and unlikely in either of yours’ eyes - until one of you moved on. But, until then, it would be beautiful. Each of you would lead with your heart, each of you would bare your soul, each of you would love each other wholeheartedly.

So, you thought this was it.

You and Dream. And the Dreaming.

Your combined love was limitless. He was the world: the sky with its assortment of colors, the sturdy ground providing its nurture and care, the bottomless oceans with its secrets, and the rising mountains reaching unknown heavens. While you were the important details: the intricate woven web of animals and balance, the imperfections from nature adding to individuality, the innate curiosity and creativity of people and their arts and inventions, and the unbelievable hidden wonders in an expanding world.

You gave life - purpose - to his world.

However, as you each predicted, it did not last. Trouble stirred off in the distance. Your world would soon shatter. A nightmare, one you knew fondly, escaped to the Waking, and Dream must retrieve him before the damage becomes too much. When Dream told you he was going to the Waking, a horrible feeling sunk to the pit of your stomach. You wanted to grab him and hold him close, forbidding him from leaving. You wanted to beg and tell him to forget about the Corinthian. You wanted to lock him away. But, there was nothing you could do. You couldn’t stop him, even if you fell to your knees pleading with tears in your eyes. Although you loved him and all his imperfections, his senses of responsibility and pride knew no bounds. He had to do this. So, you wordlessly watched as he walked away - walked out of your life.

Days passed.

Slowly, painstakingly slow.

You mostly kept busy with your duties, much like all the dreams and nightmares during this period. You all worked as if nothing has changed: overseeing dreams, ensuring order in the chaos, and documenting anything unusual.

Weeks then crawled by.

The first whisper of doubt started: Dream would not return, Dream had abandoned his duties. Yet, as quickly as those whispers started, they were silenced. Dream will come back. Everyone believed he would, and so did you.

How naive.

Months became years.

Fiddler’s Green vanished. He took his greenery - all those lush fields and extravagant flowers - and left to go to the Waking. And not knowing, he also took all your precious memories of Dream with him. Moments under the shade of a tree side by side, moments of strolling along a worn down path, moments of soft unspoken love ripped away like a weed.

“I wish to see the Waking for myself,” Fiddler told you before he left. “I do not know if Dream has abandoned us or not, all I know is I wish to see other worlds, to hear others’ stories. If he does return, then maybe one day I will too.”

You smiled, despite the heartbreak. “And I wish you the best, Fiddler.”

He returned the sorrow filled smile, and kissed your forehead. “Do find me when he comes back. I will miss your presence amongst my trees.”

The next to leave was Gault. She slipped away, like a shadow slinking back into the darkness. She was one to always keep to herself. She didn’t speak to anyone about her leave; she simply left, taking her nightmares with her.

As years passed - decades - the Dreaming started to crumble piece by piece and most left seeking refuge elsewhere or looking for new purpose. Dreams and nightmares gone. While the poor dreamers could not pass into the Dreaming anymore, the doors shut until its lord returned.

If, he returned.

“Our lord will return,” Lucienne said to you.

You were both in the library. You sat on top of a long barren table - one which used to hold multiple dreamers who would read side by side or possibly write out their own stories - while Lucienne stood on the end scanning through her own notes and hand drawn maps. Books were disappearing and she was trying to make note of it all from what books, in what section, and so forth. Even now parts of the library were beginning to be blocked off. She needed to write everything down, she needed to do her duties for the library - for the sake of the Dreaming.

“I’m not so sure,” you muttered. Your gaze was ahead directed on a stained glass window, one of the many in the library. The beautiful mosaic had a notable crack running through the middle and splintered out. A strong wind could blow through, sending shards everywhere.

Lucienne peered up from her work. This was the first time you had ever spoken your doubts out loud. But, she knew you had lost your faith long ago. A frown had permanently etched into your face since Dream left. Your eyes once bright were now awfully dull.

“I believe it.” You lazily looked over, meeting Lucienne’s determined eyes. She continued, “Lord Morpheus will return. He would not abandon us.”

“I fear you are the only one who believes that.”

“Do you truly think Morpheus has left? Do you believe he has left the Dreaming, all his responsibilities- you? You are the closest to him, surely you would have known something if he were to leave indefinitely?”

You dropped your head. “I have known Morpheus for eons, but that does not mean I understand him completely. He withholds many things from me. If it may cause me any distress he will not say, and although I appreciate the concern and sentiment in the end he only closes himself off. The distress unfortunately always comes from him, from his duties, from holding the collective unconsciousness. His pride does not allow him to burden others -“ you sighed -“ no matter how much I used to tell him otherwise.”

Lucienne frowned. “So, you truly don’t know where he may be?”

She assumed you must know something. But, she was terribly wrong.

“No, I do not.” You leaned back on your hands, staring back at the cracked window. “And in a strange way, I hope he doesn’t return.”

Lucienne blinked, stunned. “What? Why?”

“He deserves to rest, Lucienne. If the Dreaming stayed, and if other realms were not affected, then yes I would wish for him to venture off to other worlds, to run from all of this.” You hopped off the table. “I wish I could take away all his responsibilities, all his worries. He always carried so much.”

Lucienne was unsure how to respond, but a question did strike her. “Do you not wish for him to come back? To not come back to you?”

“Of course, I do.” You spun around, facing her. For the first time, Lucienne finally noted your watery eyes. “Of course, I want him back. I miss him dearly, and my heart breaks constantly. But, if he is happy elsewhere, then why am I to deny that for him?”

“You would compromise your own happiness?”

“I would do so much more for him.”

“And what of you? Who looks after you?” Who looks after your happiness, she thought.

“… myself.”

“(Y/N) -“

“I think I will leave to go to the Waking.”

She closed her mouth. Her concerns and questions were now redirected: you were leaving. “The Waking?”

“Yeah,” you crossed your arms over your chest, “and I think you should come with me.”

“Go with you?”

“Yes.”

“But, the Dreaming?”

“I cannot stay here anymore, Lucienne. Like I said, my heart breaks constantly. I cannot stay in our bed any longer, I cannot escape this vast bitter coldness. I have to leave.”

Lucienne frowned. “I understand.”

You walked towards her and grabbed her hands. “Please, you should come with me.”

Lucienne smiled, a beautifully regrettable smile. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

You nodded, trying to hide your pain. You swallowed down the swell of emotions. “I figured.”

Lucienne gently squeezed your hands, reassuring and loving. “Go,” she whispered, as she battled her own emotions.

‘Don’t worry about me’ was the underlying message.

Tears welled up in your eyes. “I will not forget you, Lucienne.”

She laughed, despite tears springing from her own eyes. “I would hope not.”

You smiled as tears slid down your cheeks. You yanked her forward, throwing your arms around her. “Please, I hope you are not angry with me.”

“Never,” she whispered.

“If you ever need me, find me - call for me. I will do whatever you want.”

“I know.”

She didn’t say ‘I will’. She didn’t wish to call upon you, to drag you back here to your misery. She wished for you to prosper, to smile joyfully again.

You needed to live for yourself. No longer were you an ethereal dream aiding the Dreaming, no longer were a loving partner to Morpheus, no longer were you a kind and endearing friend, you were now on your own. You were on a journey of self discovery.

You tightened your arms around her once more, before reluctantly releasing her. Your eyes shone with tears and smiled through the heartache. “I love you, Lucienne, one day we will see each other again for that I am certain.”

“I will await here to see you both return. And I wish you the best, (Y/N).”

Your heart broke. “Goodbye, Lucienne. Please tell those left I wish them the best.”

“I will. Goodbye, (Y/N).”

You left rather quickly, briskly walking away and not daring to look back. You didn’t wish to see Lucienne’s tears, see the now dusty library with cracks in the foundation; you wanted to preserve all the memories, cheerful and happy.

Standing outside the gates of the Dreaming, you stared off across the vast, empty grey beach. You had nothing on you, for there was nothing you could carry. In the distance, a call hummed - a tug of the universe ready to open to other realms. You tentatively glanced over your shoulder. The grandiose gates of the Dreaming were closed, locked behind you. You sighed. Memories of all your life spent in the Dreaming rushed by: memories of your friends, memories of Morpheus. So bittersweet. “May we meet again … hopefully.”

You leapt into the air.

When you landed in the soft sand, you landed on four paws and with a tail that swished back and forth. Without looking back again - knowing you may never leave if you did - you calmly strolled forward, letting the sand swirl around you. It completely clouded your vision. Yet, you kept walking, drifting away from your home to an unknown world. The soft uneven sand under your feet became rigid and sturdy. The dark cloud of sand faded, revealing a bright sunny afternoon filled with countless faces and colorful structures. The once deafening silence, and chill, of the Dreaming replaced by a chorus of chatter and buzz of life. As the last drop of sand vanished, you found yourself in an alleyway in a bustling vibrant city. People passed by, living their lives. While you, an unsuspected dream, was now amongst their population.

Or in their eyes, a simple house cat.

For the first time in years, you were thrilled with the uncertainty and possibilities to come. You had a glimmer of hope fluttering in your empty chest, you had a joyful twinkle slowly returning in your hardened eyes.

It was a fresh start.

But, you were woefully unprepared for what the fates would send your way.

It had been years since your arrival to the Waking. You traveled, walking among the humans as one. You tasted exciting new dishes, learned different languages, visited amazing places, and met interesting people. However, you met people, you did not let them in. No friends, no relationships of any kind. Your heart could not bear it. So, you only watched humans and life from a safe distance, skirting its edges to save your heart from any trouble.

He, on the other hand, disregarded any and all barriers you put up.

“Well, hello, look at you.”

You - in feline form this late morning - perked up from your spot, sunbathing in front of a cafe. The owner, a sweet elderly lady, was always pleased to see you and left treats out occasionally. However, it wasn’t the owner who greeted you, it was a man. A man wore a tweed jacket, black turtleneck, and glasses perched on his nose. He had a kind, gentle face - one found in stories of princes and heroism. His eyes held worldly knowledge and strangely bountiful hope.

The man crouched down in front of you, extending his hand out as a greeting. You wanted to turn your nose away, but something told you not to. Curiosity? Possibly. To ease your burning new curiosity, you accepted his hand and sniffed it: dried ink, old papers, coffee, old cologne, mixed with potential and nostalgia.

He certainly was a strange one.

The man smiled excitedly, elated to see you have accepted him. He slowly scratched the top of your head and soon behind your ears. You unconsciously pushed your head into his hands. So kind, so comforting. A part of you ached deeply over his simple touch.

“Do you have a family? A home, little one?” He asked out loud.

“No, she doesn’t.” The man perked up, looking at the cafe owner. She smiled at the man and you. “She just appeared one day. She comes and goes as she pleases, but she always comes back.”

The man turned his gaze back onto you. A frown tugged on his lips. “So, no home?”

“No home.” The owner confirmed.

The man continued to scratch at your ears. An idea slowly pieced together in his head. “Do … do you think I could take her?”

You flinched, surprised by his offer.

“Well, that’s up to her now, isn't it?” The owner chucked. “You can try, but if she runs off then do not run back here to me to complain.”

The man wasn’t sure why he wished to take this random cat. Possibly to fill a void, fill a space in his vacant apartment. There was a draw he couldn’t quite place or understand. He glanced back down at you, while you stared up with wide eyes. “Would you like that? A home?” He asked with that lovely smile.

Home.

Oh, how you ached for the Dreaming, for Dream. Your wondrous Morpheus.

You had no where, and being free meant no home. And deep down, you craved it. You craved a home, but your only home you ever had was one you could go back to. At least, not now or maybe ever. You needed a new home. And maybe this insane encounter with this stranger could be that. Not permanently, but for just a few years. A few sweet years. You purred. The man smiled bright and wide, taking it as a ‘yes’. With a helping hand - and a warmth you haven’t felt in ages - he delicately scooped you up.

“Let’s get you home,” he whispered.

[sparklykirby]

Neuvillette, Zhongli, and Yin-Yang.

zhongli is fairly complex and looks to be an equal blend of both (with more reverence to yang should his connections to the heavens prevail over earthly connections/symbolisms). earth in general symbolizes yin (with regard to solely the heavens vs earth context in chinese philosophy), however, his undeniable associations with the sun and his celestial origins introduce very potent yang elements in equal measure.

Zhongli

Yin characteristics:

1. stability and reliability: as an earth-associated figure, zhongli embodies stability, always presenting a dependable, supportive, and firm presence.

2. connection to the material: earth represents the tangible, material world, reflecting zhongli’s role as the god responsible for the creation of mora and economic stability in the earthly realm.

3. his geo element: he regularly controls an element associated with the earthly realm: yin!

4. philosophical and reflective: he often displays deep philosophical thought, engaging in teachings and reflections about order and the general world. he’s calm and gently supportive to those he looks after and is usually never the aggressor.

5. his other form is part qilin: the qilin represents yin! or at least leans more toward it.

Yang characteristics:

1. celestial authority: as a figure who came from the heavens (not earth) and is still a leading god (no longer an archon, but i say leader because 1) xiao wouldn't still have to go to him for permission to do certain things and 2) zhongli says he still as a duty to care for humanity), zhongli embodies celestial authority and control, which are hallmarks of yang energy.

2. guiding light: just like the sun, he serves as a guiding light for liyue, directing its people towards prosperity and self-sufficiency. his role as a celestial being involves watching over and actively protecting liyue. his prominent, guiding influence continues to preside over liyue, even in his absence (yang).

3. dynamic influence: his lines and lore in cn refer a lot more to the heavens, one example being the phrase "heavens move, earth follows", aligning with yang qualities of authority over the earth and guiding its element(s).

4. intimidating presence: even when disguised as a human, others are too intimidated to talk to him. despite that, his strong reputation has most of the people he interacts with regard him with reverence.

5. he represents the eastern dragon (and directly refers to himself as a dragon, even after retiring and no longer interacting with humans as a god): the eastern dragon is an embodiment of yang. they're gentle in nature yes, but embody yang according to sources (especially heavenly dragons).

6. power: zhongli is notoriously known for being a ruthless warrior of formidable strength and a daunting reputation. he is extremely assertive when it comes to contracts and impartially enforcing them (which he prioritizes over all else when involved).

- as a minor detail, adeptal energy is also more ethereal in nature than elemental (so yang affiliated), and zhongli is noted to be their ancestor on top of not being from the earthly realm.

In conclusion, he is a perfect blend of both, with a slight lean to yang.

Neuvillette:

neuvillette is similar to zhongli but remains oh so different. unlike zhongli, neuvillette’s element(s) are solely associated with yin; he does not hold heavenly (yang) ties in the same way zhongli does.

Yang characteristics

1. leadership: as a sovereign, his leadership and authority over fontaine demonstrate yang characteristics of control and assertiveness. his unwavering commitment to his role as chief justice, ensuring justice and order, is a yang trait.

2. opposition to the heavenly principles: his proactive stance against the usurpation of authority by the heavenly principles shows a decisive, yang-like purpose and he intends to go through with that purpose with action...we don’t know when, but soon.

3. he’s supposed to represent a western dragon. these dragons are more aggressive and arrogant in comparison to their eastern counterparts.

4. commanding presence: despite reaching out for amiable interactions, he holds a somewhat intimidating presence at first impressions.

Yin Characteristics

1. judicial purpose: as chief justice, neuvillette embodies the yin quality of receptivity by focusing on balance and fairness in the system.

2. care for the melusines: his protective and nurturing attitude towards the melusines aligns with the yin aspects of care and empathy. his soft nature is referred to several times.

3. contemplative nature: neuvillette holds an introspective approach to just about everything. his duties and his thoughtfulness are rooted in trying to understand humanity to better understand himself (a major yin trait, his foundational purpose is associated with introspection). this reasoning is highly reflective, aligning with yin.

4. preference for subtle simplicities and sensitivity: his taste. his sensitive nature is noted by sigewienne and himself.

5. emotional depth: the care he shows for fontainians and his role connect to his emotional depth and feelings for others, core yin qualities. emotional depth is shown to be an overarching part of his character again and again; his emotions have a direct influence over the entirety of fontaine and its weather for example.

6. his element. water represents depth, fluidity, intuition, and the capacity to flow and adapt, all of which align with yin characteristics. in most sources, water is solely referred to as a yin element.

- as a minor detail, his sq has yin written all over it! literally everything about it is sourced back to neuvillette’s own internal conflict/introspection (wriothesley helps in pointing this out, too). it is one of the only major quests/sqs that do not have us fighting a big bad, the main resolution ultimately lies in assuaging neuvillette’s internal conflict that paints his perspective of the world around him.

- the primordial sea, which he rules over and is of him, is referred to as “amniotic fluid” (the fluid that only exists to support a fetus) which undeniably connects to womb symbolism (supporting this is the fact the sea is the source of all terrestrial life on the planet!).

in conclusion, neuvillette embodies a nuanced mix of both yin and yang qualities, while leaning slightly more to yin.

PS: i almost forgot about his voiceline detailing the intimate connection himself and his vishaps have with the moon, a yin figure!

PPS: just a funny detail: he detests the sun.