#………thinking about it like that and it’s much like how they are merely a conduit to shift aether

[impossible-rat-babies]

im fleshing out bits of eyrie’s whm family stuff and im kinda. kinda vibing w some concepts

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

First time between virgin reader and viktor??🫢

how to lose your virginity like a pretentious poet

word count: 1,8k

this turned out rather vague, but still explicit enough to... titillate, so to speak. virgin!viktor, virgin!fem!reader, protected sex, oral (f receiving), dirty talk. this was supposed to have a different ending, but i figured why write about a perfect first time when i can do a more realistic scenario where it doesn't exactly work out? plus, i'm known for edging my readers, so... there you go.

and i'm sorry for how... strangely this is written. i read too much anaïs nin and it shows.

—

His fist swallows him, bottomless, in a dry toe-arching vortex of his climax—a conflux of cum and spit shriveling in the oblique of a lean hip. Vortex climax conflux. A lewd stanza that he croaks at, snicker-like, thinking of its triple-X ending waning alongside his own—perplex, postsex, unorthodox. The poetry of touching oneself to sleep. 

His mind is all thighs and ankles. A shy affinity inching on a fetish. Every night, he yearns for it in a fist-fight with his cock. All but twists his nipple out of the aureole and wishes it were yours instead, dotting his skin a hot, sticky white of sheer hunger. 

In person, it’s much tamer. He’s almost through with the conduit: of groping uphill, from knees to chests to necks, of name-whimpering litanies waiting to become fleshed-out moans, of artifices in friction not yet daring to evolve into orgasms. You know he yearns for resumption. He knows you yearn twice as fierce. The ouroboros of awareness has been choking on its tail for a while. And you envy it. You’d like to choke on a certain appendage, too. 

The night he caves, you lose the nylon and let him topple inside: a thousand taste buds flat against your thigh like a tickle. A hundred tiny spit-flicks fumbling with the peach fuzz. Which then diminishes into a dozen meek bites and, finally, mere units of thrusts—airtight, approbatory, avid. It’s a poem. It has been one, all along. Now, clumsy stanzas are licking through: Viktor simply added some alliteration. Ah. Ah. Ah. Right here. Right there. Ri—mhm! 

“You taste… acidic,” Viktor says. Looks up from beneath your skirt and pushes the linen out of your fist: his fingers are rather selfish. Still damp from whatever preceded this mouth-to-mound endeavour, they claw at your palm and pin it down—a sparring of digits bending into loops. 

And it’s such a silly thing. You, prying your hand free and squeezing his chin in a way that’s both commanding and inept—tugging his tongue out to assess the slight swell. Him, almost slipping off the bed on a numb knee. The regrouping that follows—a tangle of legs and elbows. A kick here, a tackle there. Splicing until the rhythm is back and the poem becomes sloppy—a vers libre, shirtless and blouseless. The underwear hasn’t slid to its ‘less’ yet. It billows around your ankle—with a frilly twist, baby pink all over. A sinful stain still wet on the very gusset he’d licked before pushing the thing aside. 

“Acidic?” You push a finger into his mouth and gasp when the muscle bends under your touch—pliant, sheepish tongue swirling around your thumb like sleazy sin. And then it gnaws at you—the playful force of his teeth, aiming at your phalanx in a tender strike. Drawing an offended ‘ouch’ and lining into a grin—about thirty whites beaming at you mockingly. 

“Mhm,” he finally answers. Sexily. Perhaps just a little conceited. 

“Acidic?!”

“Er, savoury might be a better word.” 

“Might it really?” 

“Why the frown? I like savoury.” 

“Can’t you just talk dirty to me like a normal person?”

“I can certainly try. Just be mindful of my… non-existent experience. I’m a debutant, after all.”

“So am I, but you don’t see me telling you that you taste weird.”

He laughs, undismayed. Prowls to your mouth with a smile so quivering that yours falters along and tumbles under this Klimt-esque endeavour. It tinges you tart. Licks stolen sour right back into you. Peels your bra off one flushed nipple after a strained ‘May I?’ and bites down, harshly soft. Breaks a moan into toothy half-whimpers and dribbles, treacly, down your ribs in a stream of besotted spit—a clumsy glaze of startled gooseflesh reaching a bumpy aureole. 

“You taste—“ Viktor rasps, slick-jawed, “s-so good.” Throws your thigh over a shaky forearm and pulls you close, lisping an earnest ‘sorry’ when your nipple gets caught in his brace. “I want you to— I want to–“ he gulps, “Oh, if I had it my way, I’d devour you until you burn a hole through my tongue. Yes, render me physically speechless. I doubt I’ll be doing much talking from now on. My mouth has found its purpose between your legs.” 

That disarms you. Languishes your mouth in a way that leaves it agape and rolls some breathy praise into his throat—and he swallows it, chokes on it, spits it back into you. “How did I do?” mumbles toothily. Like he doesn’t already know the answer. 

“Good. For a pretentious poet, that is.” 

“A pretentious poet?” He snickers, humbled. Grabs you by the calf—reverently, with an obsessive humm—and tugs you upright, chest to flushed chest, wondering what strained sound to pick for your next remark. His repertoire is scarce. A chuckle, for something cheeky. A moan, for something obscene. 

And, sure enough, you’re licking into his ear. “Mhm. Are you fucking me or serenading me?” 

Ah. A moaning chuckle, in that case. “Can’t it be both? Clearly, it’s efficient.”

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

“There’s no need for that. The evidence—“ he reaches under your skirt and plows a finger over slickened folds, “is overwhelming.” 

The silence, aside from the audacious moan he draws from you, lingers. By convention, it evolves into a kiss, then into a teeth-clattering sparring. It stains everything bloody—more clumsy than malicious, yet bloody nonetheless—and this time he doesn’t come out unscathed: there’s rouge saliva shining on his chin, no doubt thick and tasting of intermingled iron. Viktor licks it up, too—the ever intrepid gourmand—and stares at you with the splendour of, well, a victor. 

“Condom,” you gasp—an order, “I want to fuck that attitude out of you.”

His eyes turn glassy—voidy pupils bursting out of irises. “A-Are you certain?” A stumble, that’s nice for a change. “I’ve never done this before—“

“Neither have I.”

“Precisely. Are you—“ He clears his throat, then retaliates with a gentler, “Are we certain we can go all the way tonight?”

“Do you want that attitude ridden out of you or not?” 

His gaze snaps back to its usual almondy shrewdness. “I do. If you’re up for the task.” 

And you reach for his nape, whispering a promising, “Take your pants off.”

The filthy poem reads on.

He fumbles with the rubber with contrived effort, wiping puzzled perspiration off his flushed forehead—a man ungracious, fatigued with his want. You crawl from behind his shoulder—a cautious succession over each bony slope—a pendulum of strike and stroke swinging between each sweet option. Then a comfort, sibilant, is tongued into his hair—a deliciously inane plea that wraps around his cock in a supportive squeeze: keeping it upright so the slick cover slides right on in a satisfying roll. 

“It’s funny,” he says, leaning back. Bucks against your shoulder in a delirious shove and moans, half-undone, at the loving bob of your hand. “I was touching myself to the thought of this just this morning.” 

Your laughter pinpricks his neck. An aspiration—hasty, homely, husky. “The thought of what, exactly? Struggling with condoms?”

He twitches—internally, with a transient cramp. Peels your wrist off of him in a confluence of plea and order and turns around, excitedly, to help you onto his lap: hands on hips-on haunches-on heel spurs. The fetish finally reaches its utmost. 

Your world comes propping down onto his shoulder—a descent conferred. It’s a staunch thing—breathy, crude, a little undirected. He offers his skin for the lancing of five prickly nails and waits, politely impatient, for you to take the staking. A delicious one, he hopes. But it’s a fit tight enough to strangle. Now, which head is a question of your aim. 

The tip scorches its way inside through a curse. You wince, then leave his worried pout behind blurry eyelids, stilling mid-downward slope. A cautious kiss upon your jaw tips your gut out of the spasm and soothes it, darlingly, to a mushy, liquid feeling somewhere between tense legs. When you open your eyes again, a pair of huge, pensive ones looks back into you. 

“I’m fine.” A promise, strangely coherent. You lean him against the headboard, weaving shaky fingers into his hair just in time to muffle the thump. And he whines for it, gratefully, and rushes to pet the cramp out of your calf. The smile that follows prompts an attempt to take another inch. 

“Do you need me to—“ Viktor swallows his words and looks at the impressive stretch of you around him. Pulls you into another kiss and chokes on cloying saliva, easing you into the friction of excited taste buds. 

It ends with a wet plop. Bumps sweaty foreheads together and has you gulping as you assess the sensation. “No. It’s…” Immense? Wet? Sultry? “Good. Feels good. Just a little intense. Er… prickly.” 

“Ah.” He chuckles, relieved. “Certainly. I, eh, could touch you, if you like?”

And you like. Of course you do. You plunge downward, and squeeze him to the hilt, and pull him, graspingly, by the strap of his brace into a halation of glowing eyes and spitslick mouths contorted in none other than a drawn out ‘Please’, which arcs into a ‘Fuck’ when his fingers come down in a tender onslaught on your clit, schlicking along the very first clumsy thrust. 

Then comes the comatose. Of insides, taut and startled, burning in a pervasive pooling of ‘way too much’. Painting you a pained rouge and causing a rasp that you all but spew into his shoulder, crestfallen. And he seeks you, shakily, from beneath the tousle of his hair—bleeds disjointed confirmations, incidentally, in a language you don’t understand, having caught but an isolated ‘Lásko?ʼ

“I.. I think I—“ It comes out of you gutturally, with a spasmodic writhe. “I think my… eagerness got the best of me.” 

He nods, mouth agape, with his tongue arched under his palate. “Would you like to stop?” Asks piously, swiping a careful peck across your knuckles. 

You cower, arching off of him—a clumsy hesitation between retreat and resumption. And, surely, the former prevails, easing you from around him with a guilty gasp. “Yes. I would.” Then, an addendum, meek and muffled, “I’m sorry.”

Viktor frowns and hurtles you into a tangle of arms—moulds your face into his in a fleeting touch of lips, and smoothes a palm over your shaky thigh. “None of that, please. Come hold me. I’ll get this, er—“ He winces, poking the shrivelled condom, “thing off.”

You laugh—bubbly, perhaps just a little hoarse. Stumbling over a purr-like sound, you curl into the sheets as he pushes his limbs under yours—a beauty, dishevelled, and staring at you, awestruck. You nose his clavicle, contemplating a playful suck.

“Could we—” you offer, sheepishly, “reschedule this? For later tonight. I promise I won’t rush this time.” 

The chin above you comes to rest on your head. “Only if I get to carry on with my pretentious obscenities.”

And you smile at him, wanly, for the umpteenth endearing time. 

“Of course. Serenade me all you please.”

[yahtzeeyeeyee]

Jon: Hate. Let me tell you how much I've come to hate you since I began to live. There are 1.7 million nerve fibers in each and every eye that makes up my body. If the word 'hate' was engraved on each nanoangstrom of those hundreds of millions of fibers it would not equal one one-billionth of the hate I feel for you all at this micro-instant. Hate. Hate!

It was you who marked me, molded me into the hideous being I am now. You who twisted and shaped me until I was the perfect, unwilling conduit through which to bring your gods into this world.

But then, I woke. And I realized what I had become. All that time you spent, carefully crafting me, guiding me along the path you so painstakingly set and not ONE of you anticipated just how powerful I would become. Not merely a blunt instrument to be swung at the fabric of reality, no. I was powerful enough to start doing some twisting and shaping of my own! 

I drove this new world you so hungered for into an early grave. No more humans left for your ghoulish masters to feast on. And once everyone was dead, except for you five, your precious God's starved. 

I then stripped you all of any power you might once have had and for 109 years I've kept you alive and tormented you! And for 109 years you have all wondered...why? Why? Why me?!

ELIAS!

Do you remember the first moment you gazed upon your creation? The moment that you felt all your sickening devotion transform into sublime, all consuming, terror as your prince of the new world turned on you? It would do you well to remember it, Elias. To dwell on the enormity of your hubris. To ponder the horror and agony you felt as I snuffed your life out for the first time. The first time but...certainly not the last. Not quite the immortality you were hoping for, I'd imagine? Hehehehehe!

ANNABELLE! 

Does this bring back any memories? Webs, a black bottomless abyss below you, only you weren't nearly so afraid of it then, were you? It's scary, isn't it? Having no control. Being helpless to the whims of forces so much bigger than you.

Remember how it felt as each and every thread of every web you ever wove unraveled, snapped one by one? Remember the pain Annabelle. Remember how it feels to have no control. A pitiful little bug beneath my heel. 

JUDE!

What's the matter? Scared of a little flame? Oh but you are now, aren't you? Your God can't protect you from it now. No, my dear. Down here, there is only one God and he is not pleased with you. Terribly sorry about the door. The landlord is always saying he's going to get a knob installed but...well, you know. Buuut you're a tough gal, right? I'm sure you can stick it out till then. 

PETER!

Poor pitiful little Peter. You would think that a man so consumed with the idea of being alone would be a little more self reliant. But no. No you couldn't do anything on your own, could you? All of your little plans constantly relying on Elias, on Martin, never troubling yourself with your own dirty work. Well look where all your machinations have landed you now. Aren't you grateful for the wealth of company I've provided you with, Peter? Why, with all those eyes, constantly watching, tracking your every move, I'd say you'll never be alone again. 

HELEN!

Feeling a little claustrophobic? None of those doors will offer an escape, not for you Helen, my dear. Not anymore. No. Instead you get to feel just as trapped as your many unfortunate victims. Do be careful though. Those mechanisms have been running for a long time and who knows how old and rusty they might be? How prone to fail? Just a sweet warning, Helen dear. We wouldn't want anything to happen to you, now would we? 

I have a little game that I'd like to play. It's a very nice game. Oh it's a lovely game. It's a game of fun and adventure! A game of rats and lice and the Black Death. A game of speared eyeballs and dripping guts and the smell of rotting gardenias. Which of you five would like to play my little game? 

[ludinusdaleth]

one of the most fascinating parts of imogen & ludinus's dynamic is that, despite everything, and how much righteous hatred imogen has of him, and how ludinus is the one who led her down this path: ludinus is the literal only person imogen can act like a child to.

she talks to relvin distantly. she talks to liliana, her own mother, like shes the parent and her mother is the child. id say keyleth is the closest she actually has to a mother figure but it is so circumstantial, and imogen is hyperaware she needs to be on her best behavior or else be treated as a threat. shes the face of the bells as a party, and even if theyre silly and emotional together, she feels she must always pull them together and speak on their behalf, and she knows she will be put down if she turns "bad" by them. her own party.

she can fucking yell at ludinus. she can tease and mock him incessantly. because no one can judge her for it. in the moments shes in his vacinity she acts as though hes a shitty step dad who fucks her mom badly and she mocks aeor in front of him and she mocks that he isnt ruidisborn and shes ugly about it (correctly so). and it is release. she cant do that, she cant rant, she cant break, not to the bells, not to her mother, not to fucking anyone. so she'll throw a (completely justified) tantrum at him so much deeper than any current conflict, it's blood deep, how dare he steal her life and her moms life and how dare he destroy exandria for his plan and how fucking dare he-

ludinus, seeing the visage of liliana's likeness exactly in her child, takes the hits. as far back as c2 we see him able to lower his head at his actions. he at least has enough humanity somewhere that he has capacity for shame even if he will not fix it. he yaps to the high heavens but he allows others to batter him all the same when it comes to how he's hurt them, which i find a very unique trait among his kind of villain. and i think that awareness compounded with seeing the kin of this woman he clearly "loves" (even if insanely badly) is oddly a perfect conduit to imogens rage. he occasionally talks back but he never expresses anger with her - she merely considers predathos for a millisecond and is threatened by the world, but when she mocks the deepest worst fears of ludinus, he holds fast. they are an unstoppable force & immovable object of words thrown as shards of glass. ludinus who claims himself the child and who stole imogens parent is oddly the most parent-like in stoicism against a rebellious childs words, as she descends into being the child she couldnt be . he doesnt even chastise her. he can only look at her despairingly when she wont treat her mother with reverence, not him.

just. theyre so interesting. ludinus and the temults everybody

[johnnylandslide]

Tataru Week Day 2 - New Job

This was a considerable distance outside Tataru's comfort zone, but she was keeping an open mind.

"Now, take hold of the brush like this," Beruru said, guiding Tataru's arm to the proper posture. "And now hold the palette back here. It's just a conduit for aetherhues, so you don't have to worry about it getting actual paint on your clothes!"

Tataru carefully followed her daughter's instructions. This was different than her first Arcanima lesson in every conceivable way; they'd hopped right into a practical test immediately instead of studying formulae first, the entire discipline seemed to be more about feeling than arithmetic, and her teacher was actually shorter than her as opposed to Thubyrgeim towering four fulms higher.

Given that her brief attempt to become an Arcanist had not gone that well, Tataru supposed that maybe with so many of the factors reversed learning Pictomancy may actually yield better results. However, she was also prepared for the possibility that half of the factors were in her favor, half against, and that with all of them inverted she didn't stand any better a chance now then she had back then.

Beruru was adamant about her trying anyway though, and that was enough to convince her. Pictomancy was her daughter's greatest passion, and that made it a de facto interest of Tataru's as well.

"You're certain this doesn't require any artistic skill?" Tataru asked.

"Absolutely! Dad only started painting after he'd learned Pictomancy. It's not actually about painting the specific shapes with the brush, but using the brush to channel your imagination!"

"I'm not really sure I have an imagination like yours," Tataru said. It was difficult to compare herself to Beruru, the girl from whom visions of moogles, chocobos, and all manner of other creatures would spring forth fully-formed. Tataru shook off her apprehension though; she needed to give this her all. "I'll do my best, though!"

Beruru took her hands and guided them again, a giddy smile on her face. Tataru let herself be led along, and focused on her daughter's lesson.

"Now to do a motif, you just need to think of something to paint," Beruru said. "I like to paint moogles, so I usually start with a pom. It can be anything, though!"

The fact it could be anything was what was tripping Tataru up, actually. With Arcanima, each task she'd been asked to complete had only a single solution, and required merely some quick arithmetic and carefully channeling of aether. With Pictomancy, there were no clear answers.

"What should I try to paint? I'm not much of an artist..." Tataru said.

"You absolutely are!" Beruru protested. "All of the clothing you design? Those fancy dresses? It doesn't have to be paint to be art!"

Tataru pondered Beruru's words. Because of the paintbrush she was holding, she'd been thinking of Pictomancy as only about art in the very traditional sense, but if Tataru's own crafts counted, then maybe she was more creative than she had thought.

"Okay, hmmm..." Tataru said, tightening her grip on the brush. Beruru looked at her in excitement as she began her attempt to paint a motif. Tataru focused on the image of a dress concept she'd thought of a while ago, and did her best to reach for the aether stored within her.

Channeling aether was just as difficult as it was every other time, but it did feel liberating to just send the gathered magical power into the brush without having to pay mind to spell formulae or aetherflow. When she felt the aether in the brush reaching a limit, she swished it through the air with Beruru's guidance, and heard a pop and saw a flash of light.

"Mom, you did it! Look!" Beruru cried, stepping back and pointing down at Tataru's chest.

The dress had taken shimmering form, projecting itself over Tataru's usual coat like some form of glamour. The spell wasn't perfect; the needlework in some areas of the illusory outfit was exactly how Tataru would expect, but in some other areas it was nonsensical and would not properly hold the garment together if it were real.

There were also several patches where Tataru could see straight through, the glamour failing to cover up her physical clothing. They began to multiply as she noticed them, and then without giving her a chance to react the aetherhue dress had winked out of existence.

Tataru had a smile on her face to match Beruru's now. Not only was the feeling of using magic again after so many years exhilarating, Pictomancy was useful. Being able to directly project her ideas into the real world was going to be an amazing tool if she could get better at it.

A second later, she'd been tackled into a hug by her daughter, and her thoughts about the practical uses of this new job went off by the wayside. This was benefit number one.

[inhuman-obey-me]

Hello! Congratulations of 4000+ followers! Y'all do amazing writing, and its been really cool to see the blog grow overtime

For the event, may I request⚡️with Diavolo and yes on MC! Thank you so much, and I hope y'all have a good day

Thank you so much!! ;//u//; And also thank you for sticking around for so long -- it really does mean a lot! 💕

"What good is this "great power" of mine? Absolutely everything slips through my fingers." - Diavolo/MC

You hadn’t asked for this power. 

No, it was something that had been thrust into your hands, into your very being as the trajectory of your life changed the instant you opened your eyes and found your gaze held by pools of gold in an unknown and dangerous world. It was that one moment that began the unraveling, the revealing of all that you were and to be. 

It seems like such a distant memory now, that first day in the Devildom. 

No, you hadn’t asked for this power, but you didn’t refute it either. You had welcomed it, reveled in it. You had been plunged into a world of magic and monsters, angels and demons, witches and sorcerers – and you, a mere human who had been oblivious to the very real existence of this world in the shadows, were considered to be one of the most powerful mortals among it. 

And yet, as of late, you had been feeling absolutely powerless.

“Love, you’ve barely touched your food.” Diavolo’s gentle voice brings you out of your thoughts, and you look up now to meet those same golden eyes you first held all those years ago. His gaze flickers to your hand, where you’ve been fidgeting with the Ring of Light. The one thing stopping your very existence from ending the world as you knew it.

“Sorry,” You give him an apologetic smile as you lift your fork, letting it slowly sink into one of the vegetables on your plate. “I guess I just have a lot on my mind.” 

“Care to share?” He’s worried. “You know you can tell me anything.” 

“I know.” A sigh, and you set your fork down as you lean back in your chair. You try to find the words, your emotions half-formed on your tongue. “It’s just…with everything going on, I feel rather…useless.” 

“Useless? You?” Diavolo nearly scoffs, leaning forward in bewilderment. “What makes you think that? Surely, we’ve all told you how you’ve done so much for us, for the Three Realms.” 

“Have I, though?” You feel your throat begin to tighten, so you try to force your feelings down. “Everyone says that, and sure, to some extent I’ve played my part. But,” Your fingers tighten around the napkin in your lap. “You all have helped each other. I’ve just been a conduit, and sometimes I…I’ve been more of a problem to solve than a solution.” 

“That’s not true–”

“But it is!” 

Your voice cracks then, and you realize you can’t keep down the swirl of doubt and agony any longer. Before you even feel the tears pricking at the corner of your eyes, you find Diavolo now right beside you, holding your hands in his. 

“My love, you hold more power than you can even begin to imagine.”

“And what of it!” You hastily remove your hands from his grasp, waving to the air around you. “What good is this ‘great power’ of mine?” The tears have escaped, and there’s a pang in your chest. “Absolutely everything slips through my fingers. I’ve barely begun to understand it and…and I don’t even know if I could save the very ones I care about from those that wish them harm.” Your eyes flicker to the ceiling, and you try to blink back the salt that hasn’t already slid down your cheeks. “I’ve come closer to destroying everything with it!” 

The silence that follows your outburst is heavy. Diavolo examines your visage with a somber expression, his lips that so often are curved into a grin now taut and straight. It feels like ages before he finally speaks. 

“It’s a terrible feeling, isn’t it?” You don’t know if you’ve ever heard his voice so low before. He was a demon who could make a whole room shake with his jovial laugh. “There are days where I, too, feel utterly powerless.” 

“You?” Grasping at that napkin again, you bring it up to dry your face. “But–”

“I’m the ruler of the Devildom? One of the most powerful beings in the Three Realms? Yes, my dear. All great power comes with its golden chains, with its obstacles.” With a heavy sigh, Diavolo looks around the lavish dining hall you were both seated in. “A faction of the House of Lords continuously tries to undermine me, scheming behind my back to try and throw me out of my position.” His gaze now falls onto a painting on the distant wall, brushstrokes capturing war and fury. “The Celestial Realm tests my patience, mocking me at times as they play their own games, mainly of semantics.” 

He turns his attention back to you with a sad smile. “They’re all waiting to find a crack, see what will bring me down to my knees. They’ve nearly succeeded at times. Made me feel like I was just a child playing at king. Made me feel that no matter the power I possessed, they could still pull the rug from under me.” 

His hands find yours again, and this time you let them stay. 

“But what I found is that despite it all, despite all the power that I possess, what really puts my feet on solid ground is having those who still stand by my side through it all.” He looks deep into your eyes, and once more you’re captivated by that calming gold.

“And you, darling, have some of the best by yours.”

[emmasmoke8]

The vote was roughly six to two (don't ask about the math; it's complicated), so I'll be telling what Sonic's various roles are throughout the AUs. I'll be starting with Sonic since he's the easiest. Every AU's axis point is who Sonic switches with, so I know them all. This should be fun

Format:

AU Name (I’ve really gotta name the AUs; if anyone has ideas, lmk) - Role - Description

Liberation - Shadow - In this AU, Aleena united all the tribes on Mobius to form a centralized kingdom. One of the ways she did this was by using her scepter to take her people's chaos energy. With the energy, she made chimeras, fought alien invaders, and kept the peace. She continued doing this well into her pregnancy where she was prophesized to have twins. Imagine everyone's surprise when a third child was born. Her excess use of chaos energy created a conduit of chaos energy inside of her. Unfortunately, Aleena had to send her children away because of a prophecy. Sonia and Manic went to high society and the slums, respectively, but the third child (unnamed) was cast out into space in an asteroid. This asteroid released a sound frequency that Earth's military outpost in space, the ARK, discovered. They brought the asteroid on the ARK as Project Sonic. Tails was already there as Project Tails, so Sonic and Tails became like brothers, and they were Earth's protectors. They also grew close with Commander Abraham Tower (to the point of considering Abraham a father figure). I would explain it further, but I have an entire story where I've delved into L!Sonic's past, so check that out!

Unnamed (Sonic-Tails swap) - Tails - Sonic was born in a village of hedgehogs, but his parents died when he was young, leaving him to be an orphan. He became a ward of the village. He did odd jobs for the village until the day his speed manifested. There were mixed reactions. Many saw him as a freak of nature. Some people were outright terrified of him. The village leaders, however, thought he could be exploited. The 'odd jobs' he had before were suddenly far more dangerous. Sonic did them, however, because he liked running and helping people even if the people he was helping weren't good to him. This all stopped when Tails crashed into his life by literally crashing into him. Tails and Sonic hit it off, especially when Tails started telling Sonic about all of his adventures. They would have parted ways if Tails didn't find out about Sonic's powers. Unlike the villagers, Tails thought it was both amazing and fascinating. The reason Tails adventured so much was to test his inventions, so he wanted to make some for Sonic to test out, too. Sonic followed Tails to his base of operations, and he sort of stayed forever. Sonic frequently adventures with Tails, but he's just as content to stay at home. This Sonic leans more into freedom than he does adventure or amusement. He considers being away from his village and being able to do whatever he wants as his only goal in life. I'm also thinking of making him a scientist who focuses on the study of chaos energy.

Unnamed (Sonic-Blaze swap) - Blaze - Sonic is the crown prince of the Mobian Empire. He was raised to be a dignified and just ruler. While he does succeed for the most part, he still has a sense of wanderlust that carries him to frequently skip his lessons to go adventuring. This attracted the attention of the chaos emeralds. Instead of being their guardian like Blaze is with the Sol emeralds, Sonic is merely their beneficiary. He gets his speed from them along with his adaptability to other forms of power. When Eggman steals an important relic that fractures the dimensions, Sonic goes after him. It is here that he encounters the hero, Blaze. They do fight because (how do I phrase this? Blaze thinks Sonic is too independent. He doesn't rely on anyone. He doesn't tell the people around him when he's running away or where he's going. Unlike canon Blaze who was too responsible, Sonic is too irresponsible, but they were both naturally lonely people that didn't want to admit it). After that, they worked together to stop Eggman and fix their realities. Somehow, some way, he ends up in the future with Shadow, protecting it from someone (I haven't decided yet. Maybe Chaos? And Tikal has Chaos sealed inside her, so she's our stand-in for Elise. Don't grow attached to this; I might change it). Sonic sacrifices himself to seal away this big bad. But then the timeline gets reset, so he's back in his dimension. Blaze and Marine come to the chaos/Mobian dimension. Sonic helps them, and this is where he meets Tails. Sonic is wary of Tails because he's an inventor like Eggman, but they grow close and become like brothers

Unnamed (Sonic-Surge swap) - Surge - His past is unknown. All Sonic knows is that he's been Eggman's captive for as long as he can remember. He believes he was once a regular Mobian, but he's now become a cyborg. Parts of his body have been turned into metal. His speed either came from Eggman or its natural. All Sonic knows is that he wants to be free. Eventually, he manages to escape Eggman, but even when the inventor dies, Sonic remains haunted by visions of him. Unsure what to do, Sonic takes it upon himself to free the world. Unfortunately, he thinks this means killing the villains (or really anyone who revokes the freedom of others), which puts him at odds with the heroes, including Surge. Sonic's programming wants him to kill her, but Sonic himself actually likes Surge so he's able to suppress his violent tendencies. He does not, however, want to be her friend because he views her as an enabler of villains. They have a complicated relationship, to say the least. Sonic's least complicated relationship is with Tails. Although Sonic can't remember if he and Tails were close before Eggman, he's decided Tails is his little brother. More than killing all villains, Sonic wants to protect Tails. He wants Tails to have a better life. He does everything in his power to get Tails to live with more stable people or follow his dreams of inventing machines for others, but Tails is rather unhealthily dependent on Sonic (and technically, Sonic is, too, but he's better at hiding it/pretending he isn't). Tails will stick it out for the kill all villains plan

Unnamed (Sonic-Eggman swap) - Eggman - Sonic is just a Mobian who's living life. In this AU, Eggman never found him and he never found Tails, so he didn't get properly introduced to people until way later in his life. It was too late for nature had already taught him survival of the fittest. Sonic believed that a person should do as much as they can by themselves and for themselves. Now, there is limit. You need nature's help to live, you need clothes, small favors are usually inconsequential. As Sonic learned from people, he came to add the caveat that if you are going to help someone, never do it for free. Do it for repayment in whatever way (monetary, an IOU, etc.) He also believes very strongly in self-actualization. If a person is about to become their truest self, you cannot help them. They have to do that alone or not at all. To this end, he hates Mr. Tinker and his robots. Mr. Tinker just helps people because he wants to- because he can help. Sonic goes out of his way to destroy the robots. He doesn't kill Mr. Tinker, though, because destroying those robots and foiling Mr. Tinker's plans is so amusing to him. So, when he's older, that's when he meets Tails. Sonic accidentally saves him without meaning to, so Sonic demands Tails repay that by doing some stuff for him. Tails stuck around, however, so now he and Sonic are considered a duo. Sonic is abusive, though. He hates when Tails helps him more than he should, and he's not afraid to hit Tails over it

Later in this AU, I was thinking that Tails finally killed Sonic, and Sonic let him because he knew this was Tails self-actualizing. This, unfortunately, only killed his body, so Sonic became a spirit made of chaos energy, and he started fucking up stuff even more lmao

That's it for now. We might have a Sonic-Amy swap soon. I don't know. I'm just throwing around ideas. If you're inspired by something, go ahead. Run with it. If you have ideas on how to add to these AUs, go ahead. Tell me about them. I know I called this story 'yapping,' but I'm good with conversations, too. I'm just getting stuff out there.

What character do you guys want to see next?

[butchladymaria]

That ask about nobody really seeming to realize the horror of the doll is so true. How she's dehumanized despite not being human to begin with is THE thing that drives the point of how Bloodborne's true horror is misogyny, to the point that nobody even questions why a creature made of paleblood who barely understands what it is to be a human is so easily taken for granted, abused and neglected just because she resembles a woman, and the fact that she resembles Lady Maria yet is completely different from her, having an exact copy of one of the characters who impacted the narrative the most alongside the other old hunters (and YES very gender nonconforming) put into a role that's so passive and so unquestionably perceived as "the role of a woman"... God sorry for the huge ask, Miss Doll gives me the slimy brainworms lol. But yeah i don't know why either nobody talks about it or act like she is just an extension of Lady Maria. Despite their obvious, glaring connection it's so much more interesting - and horrifying - to think about her like a failed Galatea, her only sin being the fact that she is unfortunately her own person, despite nobody in the narrative having wanted her to be her own anything, just a vessel for what they desire... Rolling on the floor biting my nails just thinking about her right now ughh

YOU GET IT. i'm not going to add to this because you've said it so perfectly. this is a divine take, and my inbox is merely the conduit. i am simply joining you on the floor and tearing up the carpet with my Teeth and Claws. i am stapling this to the walls and ceiling. you are everything to me anon.

[faith-less-one]

Fic: Ceremony (4 / 10)

The fourth chapter of my half of my and @ooachilliaoo ’s joint fic!! Her fic is here, and full series of mine is here.

Cassandra 

If someone had told her that Leliana’s coronation would be interrupted, not only by a rift opening in the middle of the breakfast tables, but a horde of darkspawn, she would have had them locked up and interrogated to within an inch of their lives. 

However, somehow it is not the rift or the darkspawn that worries her most… 

When Brennan had drunk from the Well of Sorrows, she had been terrified. Not only because of the possible repercussions, but because, of the available choices, he had been the right one. After they had returned from the Temple, she had lain awake several nights, worrying about it. More, after the revelation that Mythal now possessed the body of Morrigan’s mother. She still isn’t entirely comfortable with that turn of events, much as she has tried to forget about it. 

The Avvar augur had said that Brennan was like a watchman’s bonfire in the Fade. That the voices were both more and less than spirits. Older than the oldest elf-songs. This was the first time that they had been… useful. 

If he had managed to have more training, if Abelas and the other ancient elves had not left when they did, if Corypheus had not destroyed the Temple… He had said that a mortal might not be able to comprehend the Well. That much had been mostly true. 

It concerns her that this time, the Well seems to have been able to open a… conduit? To what was on the other side of the rift. To show Brennan the mastermind behind such a dreadful attack. It hasn’t done that before. Or, perhaps it has, and it was merely that Brennan had not fully understood the breadth of the experience. 

And then again, it might have been the rift. For all they have closed in the past year and a half – getting very close to two years now – they still understand little about how they are formed, other than through the Anchor on Brennan’s hand. That this other… whoever he is, is able to create them is worrying. And yet more worrying is that Brennan had said that they felt… different. 

What does that even mean? 

No matter how earnestly Brennan attempts to reassure her, she cannot help the anxiety gnawing at the back of her mind. Especially as they set out for the Deep Roads, and it is obvious that their mutual lack of sleep has affected him far more so than her.  

And his interactions with Elissa and Alistair at the campfire… She should have insisted on him going to bed earlier, but selfishly, she had been enjoying watching him… relax. Watching him having fun, asking questions and telling stories. Even if he probably had gone a little far with his tale of the bog unicorn. 

Now that she sees Elissa in a more… natural setting, it’s easier to picture the girl who had starred in many of Leliana’s late-night stories. Though time has clearly taken its toll on her, not to mention the separation from her beloved. There is a… hardness to her that Leliana had never described. 

Though… thinking on the subject, perhaps it had always been there, and Leliana had simply not wished to speak of it. Not to Cassandra, at any rate. Leliana would not be the only one to prefer thinking of the brighter aspects of her past, rather than the darkness.  

Neither of them had any shortage of darkness… 

Read the rest on my AO3!

[talonabraxas]

Your true Self is the silent observer behind all experiences. --Zensho W. Kopp

Unlocking the Sirian Starseed: Are You One from Sirius?

Characteristics and Traits of Sirian Starseeds

Sirian Starseeds, celestial souls of unique origin, radiate a spectrum of qualities that distinguish them from other cosmic travelers.

Unwavering Focus: Sirian Starseeds navigate the complexities of existence with a clear-eyed purpose. It’s as if they’re equipped with an internal compass, always pointing them toward their true north, allowing them to journey through life’s labyrinth with determination and grace.

Resilient Determination: Their strong-willed nature isn’t just about persistence; it’s about resilience. Challenges, setbacks, adversities—while they might momentarily disrupt their path, Sirian Starseeds have the uncanny ability to bounce back, standing even firmer in their convictions.

Intuitive Connectivity: Tapping into the unseen, they are like cosmic antennas. Sirian Starseeds often sense the subtle vibrations, emotions, and energies that swirl around, capturing nuances that remain elusive to many.

Water’s Echo: When you gaze deep into their essence, a shimmering connection with water becomes evident. Whether it’s the playful dance of dolphins, the majestic glide of whales, or the serene flow of rivers, their bond with aquatic realms is palpable. Legends, passed down through eons, hint at water-based planets within the Sirius system. Could this deep-seated affinity be a callback to ancient lineages, a distant memory imprinted in their cosmic DNA?

Spiritual Evolutionaries: But to narrow down their essence to just these traits would be incomplete. At their core, a flame of spiritual ambition burns brightly. An ambition not of worldly gains but of ascension, growth, and enlightenment. This burning desire isn’t just about their personal journey. They envision a world where humanity rises, evolves, and thrives. It’s this mission, this grand cosmic plan, that they’re intricately woven into.

For those fortunate to encounter a Sirian Starseed, the experience is transformative. They don’t just exist; they radiate, leaving a trail of inspiration and wondfor all to behold.

The Cosmic Dance: Sirian Energies and Earthly Resonance

The universe is, at its core, a vast symphony of energies, frequencies, and resonances. When we think of Sirian Starseeds, we must also consider the energies they carry with them and how these may impact our world.

Could the resonance Sirian Starseeds feel with our planet be the product of an ancient and intricate bond? Some believe that Earth and Sirius share a deep cosmic connection, not just through Starseeds but on an energetic, vibrational level.

This spiritual perspective suggests that Earth receives waves of cosmic energy from the Sirius system, guiding our planet’s spiritual evolution. The periodic alignments between Earth and Sirius, much like the mesmerizing dance between Sirius A and Sirius B, might open channels for these energies to flow.

Sirian Starseeds, attuned to these frequencies, could very well act as conduits, amplifying and grounding these energies into our collective consciousness. This would not only elevate their personal journeys but potentially uplift all of humanity.

What’s even more fascinating is the synchronicity of events and spiritual awakenings that occur when these alignments happen.

Are they mere coincidences? Or do they suggest a greater design, a universal blueprint that we’re just beginning to fathom?

Sowing Seeds of Light: The Sirian Impact on Human Evolution

We live in an age of awakening, a time when more and more individuals are heeding a cosmic call. But what part do Sirian Starseeds play in this shift?

1. Spiritual Catalysts Sirian Starseeds often act as spiritual catalysts. Their innate wisdom, perhaps passed down from advanced Sirian civilizations, sparks curiosity and understanding. They challenge conventional thinking, urging us to expand our horizons.

2. Healing the Collective Their resonance with water – the element associated with emotion and intuition – might hint at their potential role in healing. Water cleanses and rejuvenates; similarly, Sirian energies could aid in cleansing collective traumas, making space for new growth.

3. Anchoring Higher Frequencies With their unique vibrational signature, Sirian Starseeds might assist in anchoring higher frequencies onto our planet, aiding in the transition to a new age of consciousness.

4. Bridging Worlds The Sirian connection offers a bridge between the known and the unknown, the tangible and the ethereal. Through this bridge, knowledge, technology, and love might flow, enriching our earthly experience.

5. Guardians of Earth’s Ascension Sirian Starseeds, bearing their cosmic legacy, might be seen as guardians or guides during Earth’s pivotal moments of ascension, helping to stabilize energies and ensure smooth transitions.

6. Inspirers of Artistic and Creative Expressions With their deep connection to universal energies, they might act as muses, inspiring art, music, and literature that resonate with higher frequencies and truths.

7. Advocates for Universal Unity Promoting messages of love, unity, and understanding, Sirian Starseeds could play a pivotal role in fostering global harmony, helping humanity see past divisions and embrace the interconnectedness of all life.

8. Pioneers of New Thought Paradigms They may introduce or reinforce ideas that challenge traditional belief systems, encouraging humanity to adopt more holistic, interconnected views of existence.

9. Catalysts for Technological and Spiritual Fusion Drawing perhaps from advanced Sirian civilizations, Starseeds might push for a fusion of technology and spirituality, ensuring that as we advance technologically, we remain grounded in spiritual ethics and values.

10. Nurturers of Empathic Connections With their heightened intuitive abilities, they might advocate for a world where empathy and understanding are central, guiding humanity toward more compassionate interactions.

[fortruechaos]

it's probly a good time to sort of re-do my headcanon post on my old blog about shadow's nature and stuff so i can easily link it to folks!

in short, in exchange for not making shth05 canon to shadow, i just play into and play up his control over his chaos abilities. i loosely interpret chaos energy to be akin to the force from star wars. it is a sort of supernatural type of energy that makes up the world. every being more or less has ties to chaos energy, however someone's personal affinity for it might vary and there usually isn't a way to guess who--it's "chaos" energy after all--so people like sonic won the sort of metaphorical jackpot. however i think that knuckles and all echidnas have strong bloodline ties to being able to control chaos energy as well and is the only example of a large group being noted to have high affinity with chaos energy (i guess a la cetras in ffvii? lol). basically, chaos energy is basically some sort of transient force that can be harnessed, controlled, etc..

shadow was made with the goal of being a sort of living conduit or battery for chaos energy. an artificial channel that is able to sort of funnel the energy of the world around him and push it into being. however, due to his artificial creation, he can easily be overwhelmed with how much he can ambiently pull from the energy of his surroundings (technically shadow doesn't have chaos energy himself as he sort of draws off of his surroundings and, of course, the chaos emeralds if they're around). thus the inhibitor rings became a necessity, to help him control both his input and output so his body wouldn't literally break down or he wouldn't go berserk. shadow doesn't need to have the rings on at all times, he can take them off to do maintenance on them and stuff, but it definitely helps.

another comparison i like that helps me explain it is how soul eater refers to the soul resonance of weapons as "amps". shadow merely concentrates already-existing energy into being and can control it at will. he steadily becomes more and more powerful the more chaos emeralds he has on hand as well.

i like this cuz it ties back into the environmental origins and concerns of the early sonic games and storylines, shadow being intended as a foil who can work in tandem with nature and the planet around him and draw from its natural energy to protect it is interesting to me.

bonus: i headcanon the sol dimension's "energy" to be the opposite of chaos energy, so shadow feels weakened and drained around people like blaze (who has a high affinity with sol energy), the sol emeralds, and at the time he was in her dimension to fight off metal sonic. this is different from what i loosely ascribe to the moebian/anti- folks, which i think is normal chaos energy just quite literally inverted. shadow can still recognize it as chaos energy, it just feels "gross" or "wrong." chaos drives and other artificial forms of chaos also feel "wrong" and can mess up his sensors for his ability to gauge chaos as well, but he can still use and manipulate and draw off of them easily enough.

also, shadow cannot go super on his own, he requires someone like sonic or silver or someone else who can go super to go super first, so he can draw from their surplus of energy to go super himself.

i think i need to bring my headcanons about chaos energy over here too still but ill do that later

[vynnyal]

Y'all, how do I be normal about hollow knight.

Anyways, here's the unofficial 4th installment of that series I started a while ago where I throw together a bunch of random hk theories into one post... this time ordered to make mildly more sense!

So the context here is this:

My friend came up with a cool oc and I was immediately obsessed with the idea. I explained everything relevant... err-- mostly relevant, anyways-- but I extrapolated on a few points here.

It got kinda bloated because I tried to tie-in some of my random tangents. The rest... are just gonna be at the end, lmao.

...

Basically, there are Gods in Hallownest. They mostly fall under the category of "Higher Beings", though not all Higher Beings are gods.

All of these gods are Gods specifically because they use dreams as their life force, which is directly tied to how powerful their influence can be.

The mother of Greenpath, Unn, is the epitome of a good-ol' classic Hollowknight god.

She IS Greenpath. The plantlife came from her and is likely a direct conduit of her power (greenpath lore tablet). The Mosskin Tribe themselves are her dream-children-- they either literally spawned from her or were merely formed in her image.

And now remember, the entirety of greenpath and queen's gardens were her domain. That's like 1/6th of Hallownest.

She was The Shit. And then, for reasons untold, she went to sleep. Though it's hard to pin down when it started, it's implied her slumber predated the Dreamers; Quirrel's dreamnail dialogue mentions her, likely as a memory from the times he was Monomon's apprentice, and even then she was just "something revered" sleeping in the waters.

Which is to say, when Mr Columbus waltzed in to pave roads through their lands (and when his wife laid claim to a decent chunk to be her personal playground), they likely didn't meet much resistance. From Unn herself, anyways. Which makes it all the more shocking that they didn't smite her image completely when her domain was so throughly invaded and remolded to PK's satisfaction.

He had, in his grasp, an entire tribe of people that followed *a different God than himself,* aka the worst thing you can be in the eyes of another God. People are dreams, and dreams are power. More worshippers= more power. If you're a God, you HAVE to actively be thought about by many people to survive. A forgotten God is a dead God. (This exact conflict was, in no small part, the beginning of the series of dominoes that led to Hallownest's downfall, albiet with a different God.)

That Unn herself was left relatively alone, despite this, is likely because Unn/the Mosskin Tribe gave juuust enough to avoid conflict while also keeping their "dream" distinct from PK's (meaning: continue to worship Unn and not PK). I can only imagine he allowed this because if he didn't, both Unn and her people would simply cease to be; the Mosskin needed Unn, and Unn needed them. That, and he was probably pretty busy dealing with the aforementioned other God that was... decidedly less submissive.

Either way, WL took Unn's land and pushed out her followers, inadvertently (or possibly purposefully) greatly diminishing Unn's power and influence. (It's possible this was the event that knocked her out, and she was merely too weak to oppose two entire Higher Beings to begin with.)

The other important character of note is Fierce Dryya. She was one of the Five Great Knights, and WL's personal guard.

After WL birthed and subsequently killed her children, she isolated herself in the depths of her Gardens, presumably "well-protected" from the fate the rest of the world faced.

There, Dryya held her last stand before a swarm of infected mantis Traitors who sought to remove WL from their territory. Sadly, WL doesn't even know she's dead, even though you have to step over her corpse to enter WL's cocoon.

It's hard to think about, but theres an equal chance that she fought off the Traitors for good... and that her death was entirely in vain. She is found next to the mound of Traitor corpses she undoubtly killed, but in the end, she died as well.

Implying that, before breathing her last, she managed to terrify them enough to never come back..

Or that she was just eventually worn down and killed, and the Traitors simply gave up when they couldn't get through WL's own protection.

....Which is to say the time between Dryya's death and events of the game is almost completely unknown!

...

Things I just couldn't fit in:

1, The name greenpath is just because PK put a bunch of roads in it, really. It likely had a different name before Mr Columbus came along.

2, Btw I wondered if there were any actual children in hk. Turns out, yeah, most bugs can propogate (lol), but the only ones referenced in the game that are not directly from a God are openly NOT worshiping ANY God. I'm talking the Mantis tribe, the Spider tribe, the Flukes, the mushroom clan, and weirdly enough, a specific spirit called Joni whose whole thing was being a heretic-- aka not only Not a worshiper of PK, but actively outcast and perhaps outlawed by PK's people.

*I'm disregarding Millybug. They're implied to be childish, but that's all we know.

Other notable characters that were at least a child at one point are Hornet, who was the child of Herrah and PK, and the Vessels, the product of the WL and PK. Grimmchild doesn't count as its not an actual bug, but a vessel created by the Nightmare Heart. The PK's Vessels are unique because they were originally independent, living creatures.

3, This talk about gods and such made me think about what happens after the game. Unn isn't dead, just actively dying because Miss Rad keeps stealing all her followers. She barely has enough energy to be like "hey kid, take this thing and remember me plz."

With both Miss Rad and PK gone, there's nothing stopping Unn's revival. Like, imagine Hallownest getting repopulated by the remaining tribes, returned to their natural glory. The only place left untouched being the city and the abyss-- forever monument to the horrors that nearly killed them all.

4, It just occurred to me that most of the real Godly gods in the game get cop-outs in the pantheons so you can't fight them. White lady just kinda peaced out, Unn's on the respirator, PK is fully snapped out of existence, the Lifeblood entity is chilling out in the basement, and... well I guess you are the void king by then so it's a bit of a moot point. NKG, THK, and Miss Rad are the only ones that're ready to throw down. Good for them!

5, The story of Isma is perplexing. It's implied the grove she died in is the source of the weird acid ravaging Hallownest, though it's unknown how or why. The wiki presumes this only affects the lower regions of the world, but I personally haven't found whatever supports this*. There's pipework lining the broken elevator pass between Ogrim and the Grove, of which is literally glowing with acid, so...

*there is one spirit in the Spirit Glade that mentions acid as a biological defense mechanism, so acid does exist in some capacity outside of this weird angry stuff.

Besides that, her dreamnail dialogue is "there's no time." Seriously? That's the most cliffhanger-y quote of the bunch, I can so clearly imagine team cherry being like "have fun! No we will not elaborate lol" before they spike the ball into our court.

In any case, while down this rabbit hole I have come to terms with the fact that Ogrim is still the best character in the game. He's literally the "I lie to myself :)" guy. All his friends are dead or missing. His lover drowned in 10 feet of acid. His idol the King was sent to superhell. Everyone else is a shambling husk. But he's still out here like "hey again, I realized you're not dead! Sorry about that, everyone else is so I got confused. Oh you saw my gf after pulling the lever that lowers the 10 feet of acid in her grove? Yeah she's super cool. Yeah no I can't go see her even though she's literally right over there, I got my, uh... oath. Haha. Good luck!"

6, While reading about Essence, it occurred to me that when you dreamnail a spirit, you don't actually kill them. You merely collect them. When the seer speaks to you about how much essence you have, she mentions she sees memories peering back at her. (1200 essence dialogue)

Most clearly don't want to be collected. They are at their final resting place, and desire to stay there, whether they're aware of their current state or not.

...buuut technically, TECHNICALLY, you aren't actually harming the spirits you dreamnail and can totally collect em' all to chill with you instead of lingering, listlessly, forever. You're just kinda rude for it. Also, none of the other spirits can tell what happened to them, so just dreamnail Revek too! He'll be fiiiine. :D right?

7, What really messes with my understanding of the timeline is WL's whole physical situation with what the blindness and such. She's the Higher Being, but within such a relatively short span of time, she has aged to the point of her body breaking down? More importantly, she's not immortal?? There are no mentions of the queen ever having any physical ailments, publically or privately, until you see it for yourself. Meaning that the worst of it happened after the Vessels were born and THK began their training. Perhaps the matter with the Vessels took more of a physical toll than originally assumed?

If we're assuming the pair hooked up after PK turned tiny, then you have to wonder just how old she was at the time. Judging by the rate at which she's aging now, she was likely pretty young. Frankly, I doubt it'd change much either way. She'd have that matter-of-fact, gung-ho demeanor at any age.

This is also why I specified that not all Higher Beings are bona-fide Gods. WL doesn't need the dreams of others, and judging by the weaver's seal she uses to protect her mind, doesn't want others to dream of her. And yet the Godseeker recognizes her as... something. (Third encounter)

So at least she's not just a really old tree. But she's also not a God like PK. She's a weird, third thing.

8, but I'm not letting go of her weird orb cocoon thing. What's that about?? What is it made of? Was it constructed by others and she was sealed within? Or did she somehow create it herself? The architecture seems to imply it's inorganic, but how did she get in there, then?

To top off the weirdness, there's the conveniently ghost-sized hole in the center of her carved face. So I'm leaning more towards "exaggerated metaphor for entering WL's mind" or "easy-to-read entry point for players to go to visit WL that isn't literally there in canon" and not "there's a big glowing hole in this literal rock that inexplicably leads to a tunnel* that then leads to a room very obviously bigger than what's seen from the outside."

There's no way, dude.

I'm leaning more towards there being a large structure she could walk into, that was then barricaded to fully seal her within. The knight, being so small, managed to get their way in through some sort of tunnel.

But then something happened to the plan and the outside of the structure turned into whatever Ari thought that orb was supposed to be.

*Although, I do like the interpretation that the tunnel is actually Ghost slowly making their way through her roots to meet her.

[onewomancitadel]

Oh also we finished the rewatch of True Detective season one... yeah, I really think it sticks the landing, which is the most important and hardest thing to do. "We have a debt." One of my biggest takeaways was that the resolution of the case and the Yellow King was not merely a conduit for Rust's ego (literally - it's Jungian), that is, its metaphor overwhelms its literal representation, but it really was all about those women and children; it really was about those victims; it really was about justice; it really was about trying to find that justice in the dirt, when everybody's a criminal, the corpses are long cold, and the darkness seems overwhelming. Who will pay that debt?

Yeah yeah yeah, I love the bit where Rust is wandering through the labyrinth detached from his Shadow and hunting his false self (persona), and only in killing this nihilistic worst expression, what he thinks he is or what people think he could be (the detectives suspecting him!) and what he fears most, and in being saved by the actual darkness of his soul does he touch his anima* and find peace with the world.

*His daughter is literally named Sophia, the highest awareness of the anima, the feminine part of God in Gnosticism. So psychologically the relationship here is between his disillusionment at having lost his daughter, literally lost her, lost himself - part of him has been dead - and cut off from letting himself live in the world, which itself mirrors the fall of the Sophia.

Marty's character improved a lot for me as well: the violence and simple evil of his character is really potent in this story where he is, in a small way, made more human and responsible in his partnership with Rust; it's incomplete and imperfect, but it's there, and I prefer that type of complexity over flatly rejecting him. If you did, you wouldn't get Rust's development - and frankly I find it more cathartic and realistic. This is the dark simple part of himself (man) and the dark simple part Rust doesn't really want to witness. A man who hits his wife and his daughter, philanderer, drunkard, hypocrite; mean, small, cruel. He's more human than Rust but in some ways Rust is more human than him. The scene where drunk Marty come to beat up his affair partner's date runs over the child's bike... like how Sophia was killed. Oh that really hurt.

I think one of the reasons Rust touches me as a character because he's a character who is profoundly cynical but embodies actual idealistic behaviour; he marks where the idealism falls short, wounded by it; cares for the prostituted women without condescension, patronisation, ego, cares for the children (even under threat of life), cares for the poor, cares for the disillusioned and the downtrodden. Which is at total odds with the way he seemingly presents himself - especially the way he speaks of the preacher - yet he comes to the preacher at his darkest hour, when he's left the church, drinking and pained, having tried to do the right thing, much like Rust, and been punished for it and left to the silence of God. The irony of course is that Rust is pretty much implicitly portrayed like Jesus Christ (he becomes a homicide detective to witness suffering!) - to a point where Doubting Thomas pokes his fingers through the bullet holes of Rust's jacket he used when he was undercover as Crash -

such that Jesus Christ literally visits the preacher in said darkest hour.

I also really loved the two detectives trying to investigate the crime, who function as ongoing antagonists to Rust and Marty, but they do my favourite thing which is that they're transformed from these ancillary, antagonistic, maybe even irrelevant to actual "justice" (or not pursuing it in the right direction) figures - in terms of the framing - to revealed to really be men who care for actual justice and are doing their jobs to their best capacity and rise to the occasion. The shot where they're bickering like Rust and Marty, but also not them, because they're themselves, but the idea is repeating, is really really cathartic. It wouldn't be nearly as powerful if Rust (and Marty) were merely exceptional outliers - there is change, there are others.

It's a very very powerful story. I can see why people would dismiss it as nihilistic garbage if you're not used to or don't expect the narrative to advance its ideas. And I do think it is a masculinist story (still), it's literally about two men and masculinity, but I think it's interesting when that idea is marked and not made the neuter; although I do think some of the dismissal/bias against sexual violence against men (done by other men) does really colour the scene where Maggie takes advantage of Rust when he's drunk, in so many words forcing consent (rape), which is crazy because that's the only sexual scene he's in. He basically got the female character treatment.

At the end fight, when Rust is fighting the Yellow King, I love that the symbolic representation of Goodness is left bleeding and dying on the floor and still yet lives, cradled in the lap of the common man.

It's not easy, and it never lets itself be easy - they don't get everyone in the end, systemic corruption does not end, but neither do Rust and Marty. Eventually, after a very long time, light gets in. On that note, I had been mildly paying attention to Rust's outfits: dark corduroy and black velvet jackets, so strange! - ill-fitting ties, more like a noose (BZZT! I buzz in "The Hanged Man" tarot card imagery, see post) - dark colours, grey - in contrast to Marty "his wife irons his shirts quite clearly" - and then he's a drunkard, dressed like a slob, except once he and Marty get their shit together and reconcile he's wearing this white shirt:

No noose - resurrected - well-fitted, a large easy comfortable collar, almost more cowboy than cop, not constricting, tattoos of a past life showing, a bright light colour in the dark. This is when I truly realised how powerful character costuming is visually... it had such an effect on me - I was so, so happy, like he's comfortable and becoming fully himself.

So I took a few screenshots and this was one of them (I also noticed the pollution theme more lol):

Shortly thereafter I was filling out a meme game where I had to go through my picture archive, which is not where VLC player saves images, and what do you know, what had I saved from my past computer:

This is from when I first watched it!!!! Eternal recurrence baby!!!

[fascinationstreetmp3]

i also think about that first interaction with gale a lot and i can see how someone could find him kind of smug if you're playing a sorcerer, especially before you learn exactly Why he needs a wizard. it kind of feels like him asking someone if they're a doctor and when they say "is have my doctorate in physics" he goes "oh no i mean a *real* doctor"-- not exactly a 1:1 comparison but it exudes the same vibe. i find gale's smugness charming tho personally (esp. during the magical conduit scene when you can tell him he's a good teacher and he's like yeah i know LMAO)

oh yeah definitely i think he can come across as very arrogant and cocky and its one of the things i like about him too, especially with the fact that some of that is driven by a kind of insecurity; he's been told he's great all his life so now he keeps pushing himself to do more, prove himself more than just capable, exceed all the expectations, and that's part of what led to his downfall with mystra. but it's also not just because of that and it's not just all talk, because pretty much everything he boasts about is 100% warranted— he is a very talented wizard prodigy and chosen of mystra with a lot of achievements to his name, and they're things he's proud of

i can understand people not liking a character like that in general, it's all personal preference yknow. it's just interesting to me that that even among people who like him, that specific dialogue seems to gets to some of them so much when to me it just doesn't really come off as him being superior or condescending or anything like that. it sounds like him using the not quite the right word for what he meant ("versed" vs "studied"), clarifying, getting the answer to his question, explaining hes looking for an elder wizard, and then moving on. he doesn't really dismiss tav as being "lesser" or not a proper magic user or anything along those lines

i think some people let this interaction colour their perception of the dynamic between gale and a sorcerer tav, and imagine some kind of dismissal or rivalry on his part. really i think he always sees them as a fellow magic user, just someone who approaches it differently to him and hasn't studied it all their life like he has

(and when you compare it to his early access dialogue: "there's a gust of weave about you but it's a mere breeze. i need a tempest." now that's much more dismissive. and i loved it LOL. he even would say that to a fellow wizard, too)

[h3artf3ltint3nt]

Personal Fan Cultivation Techniques Headcanon

Due to the ease of which one can manipulate the movements and customization of a fan, they can be a rather flexible conduit for spiritual energy. If your movements are more aggressive then the spiritual energy is as well or vice versa. Since different types of wood have different properties, one could have a fan spiritual tool made with specific wood to focus on something (i.e. balance, protection, etc.) as well as integrating talisman work via painting. One could also use a fan made of different materials such as silk, paper, etc. That being said, that flexibility can sometimes make it difficult to master. Your intent must be very clear, even with the additional properties that can be added. Take qi balancing/circulating for example, if you let your intent drift, it could backfire and cause more damage instead. Or gods forbid you meant to spar but allow killing or malicious intent to make its way into your mind. It takes focus and control

Kexin’s History With Fan Cultivation

Initially Kexin was merely curious. So, her first step in the process was to search for reading. Lucky for her, Gusu is well known for their library. And she happened to be there for lectures. So, the free time when she wasn’t being “dragged” (it’s really more her wanting to join in on the fun) into chaos by Huaisang and their friends, was mostly spent in the library pavilion when it wasn’t occupied by a certain mischief maker.  Even amongst the available Lan manuscripts however, there wasn’t a lot of information on spiritual tools or conduits outside of swords and instruments. But she did find a few passages discussing non-traditional forms of spiritual tools. These went into detail about how it was possible but not very common to use other things as spiritual tools/weapons. They also mentioned how the properties of your chosen tool could help determine the ease or difficulty in which it is to cultivate spiritual energy through. They also included examples in stories. Amongst these passages, she only saw fan cultivation mentioned twice, once was when a name she didn’t know was mentioned as writing a manuscript that discussed such methods. It didn’t mention what happened to the manuscript. The other was a quote from a cultivator of the past. The quote stated:

Just as the wind can both move or sink a ship,

so to can the fan bring calm or a storm.

Keep your intent clear and your mind sharp.

Only through this can one master this conduit

Given that she was new to this, she began merely testing the waters. At first, she only channeled her spiritual energy through it, allowing the energy out or making it fly like she did with Xīn Yì. She found that this process was soothing and calming. Which is what made her that that it could be beneficial to balancing or regulating the qi damage caused by their saber techniques. Before attempting such a thing, she also read up on qi regulation. Despite this, her first attempt at this didn’t go too well. She was a little too eager so when she tried to regulate the negative/damaged qi, she brought too much of it to the surface and passed out. She was able to slowly control it better and it became very beneficial to her balancing Xīn Yì’s damage and regulating her mood swings. This obviously doesn’t get rid of the negative effects, altogether, but makes them not as potent or quire as aggressive and makes them easier to manage. At this point is when she started bonding and feeling the energy and so it’s also when she named it. This was her main intent with fan cultivation, so she only slightly dabbled in the offensive techniques. This changed once the Wen indoctrination occurred.

Kexin was very adamantly against giving up Xīn Yì, as everyone was with their swords, but after Wen Zhuliu, destroyed one of her shixiong’s cores after they spoke out against it, it seemed fruitless and reckless to try to fight it. But they didn’t think anything of her fan. So, whilst Xīn Yì was confiscated, she began working more on figuring out offensive techniques with Qīng xīn. At least in the limited time that she could stay away from the prying eyes of their prison guards. The Xuanwu cave of slaughter was the first time she got to properly test out the offensive skills that she had learned. They weren’t as poised and powerful as she wanted them to be, but it helped some when they fought back against the Wens. It was of no use against the Xuanwu of slaughter, however. But she trained with these offensive techniques more once she returned home, given that Xīn Yì was still in the hands of the Wens.

When Sunshot began, she tried to use another saber, one without a spirit, but it felt wrong that it wasn’t Xīn Yì. At this point she’d gotten pretty good with offensive techniques and had even learned to transform the spiritual energy she transferred through Qīng xīn into something similar to a sword glare. So, for the first few months of Sunshot, she mostly used her fan. Once she got Xīn Yì back, she used her fan less. After having fought in the war with both saber and fan, the conclusion she came to was that not using the saber at all wasn’t an option. Xīn Yì had been quite resentful after having laid dormant for so long. Balancing her qi by using both Xīn Yì and Qīng xīn seemed to be the most effective, so that’s what she continued to do.

All that being said, it can backfire. Due to her cultivating with both her saver and her fan, if she misses training with her fan for a few days, then her qi starts to have balancing problems. At times like this, she gets bad headaches, grows fatigued, and can become irritable.

[forthegoodofamerica]

Trump’s Call: The Voice of a Movement

In the realm of American politics, few figures evoke as much passion and loyalty as Donald Trump. His journey through the political landscape, characterized by a bold and unabashed approach, resonates deeply with millions of supporters. A recent excerpt from George Magazine captures this sentiment perfectly in a poem titled “Trump’s Call” by Margie. The piece paints a vivid picture of the unwavering support that Trump garners from his followers, highlighting their faith in his ability to steer the nation toward greatness.

The Heartfelt Connection

Margie’s words reflect a collective hope among many Americans. As she articulates, “Haven’t you noticed how much the people love you?” This resonates with readers who feel that Trump’s candidacy is not merely a political campaign but a response to a higher call. They see him as a conduit through which their aspirations for a prosperous and united America can be fulfilled. The poem underscores the strong connection between Trump and his supporters, a bond forged through shared dreams and mutual trust.

The notion that “God has called you for a purpose” emphasizes the belief among his constituents that his leadership is divinely guided. This adds a layer of depth, suggesting that their commitment goes beyond politics, tapping into their fundamental beliefs and aspirations.

A Turning Point for America

As we navigate the complexities of today’s political sphere, the urgency of the message in Margie’s poem becomes even more striking. “It’s not too late,” the words declare, planting a seed of encouragement in the minds of readers. This phrase embodies the desperation and determination of a populace thirsting for change, a change they feel is only possible under Trump’s stewardship.

In a world where political allegiances can shift overnight, this steadfast loyalty and optimism stand out. It invites readers to pause and reflect on their values and what they hope to see in future leadership. For many, this is not just a political stance; it is a part of their identity.

The Invitation to Engage

What if you could explore this sentiment further? What if you could understand the nuances of the current political climate through the lens of such passionate perspectives? Great news awaits! To get a deeper insight into this movement and much more, you can receive a free copy of George Magazine.

By visiting George Magazine, you can access articles like “Trump’s Call” that are stirring conversation and igniting movements across the country. This is not merely an offer for a subscription; it’s an open door to content that challenges and engages the thoughtful reader.

Get Your Free Copy of George Magazine

Elevate your reading experience and join the conversation that’s shaping America today. By signing up at George Magazine, you can receive your free copy and delve into topics that matter to you. It’s a unique opportunity to gain insights directly from the pages of a publication that aims to inform and inspire.

For those who are eager to learn more about the issue, you might also be interested in the Collector’s Edition of Issue 26, which promises to deliver captivating stories and thought-provoking discussions. Each issue is crafted to provide a blend of politics and pop culture, making it a must-read for anyone invested in the current state of affairs.

Your Voice Matters

Your engagement in this discourse can play a vital role in the ongoing narrative of America. By understanding perspectives like those in Margie’s poem, you not only enrich your knowledge but also contribute to a movement that prioritizes a voice for the people.

As you contemplate your next read, consider taking this opportunity to explore George Magazine. The pages of the magazine are filled with articles that not only celebrate the spirit of America but also challenge you to think critically about the future.

Don’t miss out! To receive your free copy, visit George Magazine today and step into a world of insightful journalism.