#(from 'heralds of destruction')

[corallapis]

from the brig’s memoir (in ‘the doctor: his lives and times’):

the restoration was in 1660.

from ‘dismemberment,’ wherein a newly-regenerated missy visits the scoundrels club:

the great fire of london was in 1666.

and then in ‘heralds of destruction’:

the third doctor (while playing chess against a disguised delgado!master) relates an anecdote about pol pot with a chummy nickname.

i think it’s safe to say that three was a member of the scoundrels club, don’t you?

[ramblebrambleamble]

"But then I realised that the things that interested me and brought me joy terrified and hurt everyone else."

I always wondered why Durin died in such a relatively good mood but Elynas' words make it make more sense. It's not that Venti's music kinda hypnotised him to make him stop attacking Mondstat; it's that he was just playing the whole time. Unfortunately, his idea of playing terrified and hurt the populace.

It's also interesting that Elynas has the potential to be brought back to life despite being an entire literal pile of bones. But it begs the question of what death is, if it is not a true death. What is it that makes his bones and his being remain, when all the small things we kill turn to dust? Why does Durin's heart still beat? Is Durin the mountain, now? Is the reason Dragonspine is so dangerous that, even now, he does not understand his own strength?

[queenboimler]

workshopping a cosmic horror sci fi story set in a solar system being devoured by the black hole at the center of the milky way galaxy

[monsters-demons-and-ai-oh-my]

Viktor recognized his fatal flaw and almost saved the world from the existence of the Machine Herald by being willing to die rather than have the irresistible temptation of the hexcore continue to exist.

His mistake was not realizing he entrusted that destruction to Jayce, the one person whose fatal flaw was being unable to let Viktor go.

[dandelionjack]

We Invest Things With Significance, or: Why Sutekh Isn’t Sutekh, But Death Itself. alternative title: Fear Is the Mind Killer.

the Doctor Who Series 14/1 thesis statement

i don’t think that sutekh has literally been attached to the TARDIS since Pyramids of Mars. i think that the salt at the edge of the universe — the grievous mistake that caused all myths to become a reality — was what made him appear. and he’s not the same character as sutekh the osiran, a powerful alien that delusionally believed himself to be a god. he *is* a god. nuwho-Sutekh is Death Incarnate.

ergo, this version of Sutekh is the literal psychic manifestation of the Doctor’s deep-seated, guilt-motivated fear of the idea that his arrival brings death wherever he treads. this death-anxiety was turned into a physical presence, haunting the TARDIS all through the Doctor’s timestream, because of the salt. that’s the reason why the Doctor didn’t spot any Susan Twists before Wild Blue Yonder…

there are two timelines in Doctor Who — relative time and universal time. universal time is the history of the universe. relative time is how the Doctor experiences it. in universal time, Sutekh has supposedly been hitchhiking through the vortex for millenia. in relative time, he has only been doing so since Fourteen accidentally invited myths back into the world.

the Doctor was insecure and afraid and believed the above quote (from the very first episode!! spoken by the very first named character in nuwho to die on screen, no less!) to be true. but until WBY it had only been true on a symbolic, metaphorical level. myths, legends, concepts and stories becoming real after the salt caused the Doctor’s anxiety about being a death-bringer to take the shape of a black dog — a universally recognised symbol of death — wearing the name and voice of his most formidable enemy, Sutekh.

in a way, this plotline mirrors The Woman from 73 Yards similarly being a manifestation of Ruby’s worst fear — that of being abandoned by everyone she loves for something intrinsic and incorrigible inside her that she cannot change. Ruby fears being left completely alone, so “The Woman” causes everyone in her life to leave her. the Doctor fears that his coming always heralds mass destruction (“maybe i’m the bad luck”), so “Sutekh” makes sure that the TARDIS literally becomes an altar of death.

ever since Wild Blue Yonder, stories in doctor who have become sources of immense power. the worst, most potent stories we tell ourselves are the lies that our sick brains whisper to us — secret anxieties that we’re not good enough, that all our loved ones will inevitably leave, that we carry nothing but bad luck in our wake. what better clay to mould a monster from than the protagonists’ own neuroses?

and if anybody’s still in doubt, here’s the plain text, all laid out below:

we invest things with significance. that’s what the salt at the edge of the universe really meant. that’s what almost every episode this series has been about, thematically — the imaginary kastarions, the cosplaying chuldur, the bogeyman written into life because kids need a scary story. myths become real to us because we believe in them, love and death and monsters too.

[ask-the-pioneer]

There is a stir amongst the locals. Market goods are gathered up and carried away as tiny droplets begin to fall from the sky.

The cycle is coming to a close, dark clouds heralding the arrival of deadly rain. Marbles panics a little - finding a shelter of her own is out of the question. There is no time to spare. She turns to the tribe elders and pleads to take refuge with them.

They do not trust her... but the guest has merely started her work on the spears, and her services are still needed. Spike and Sage exchange rushed whispers, out of Marbs' earshot. Surely they won't let her die out here in the rain?

Indeed, they turn back to her to share the good news. The brown one waves their hand, inviting her to follow. "Come with us" they say, and not a minute too soon. The ground shakes under the weight of oncoming rain with a deafening rumble. Marbles is one of the last to come inside, the heavy shelter gate is closed right behind her. For all the destructive potential at her hands, they've decided she is worth the risk.

The shelter is unlike any other she's seen before - tidy, furnished, well maintained. And big. So, so big.

Orange lanterns dot the ceiling, dimly illuminating the main entrance hall. From there, smaller corridors branch off to the storage and lodging areas. In the middle - a nice resting place for guests, with fabric mats on the ground and beautifully decorated pipes above. Marbles looks around to admire the view. From where she stands, the shelter looks like a maze.

There is a wall in the main hall that is fully covered in vulture masks. Some of them show cracks, circular holes where the spear had been skilfully lodged into a beast's head. Yet most of them are in perfect condition, good as new. Marbles wonders why they're displayed here, instead of being used for fending off other predators. Perhaps they're sold to other tribes, or the right to wear them must be earned first. One thing is certain - this merchant tribe is thriving.

The chief escorts the slugcat guest inside, and signs for her to wait in the common area. Marbles settles down on the cozy mats, waiting patiently for a sleeping cell to be assigned to her...

// Spike the tribe chief (brown scavenger) belongs to @angelofchaos001. No-name teal scavenger (here named Sage) belongs to @droppaw.

[sfznyxio]

-ˋˏ REQUIESCAT IN PACE ˎˊ

SYNOPSIS. the dead deserve their happy endings.

CHARACTERS. dainsleif, tartaglia, zhongli

CONTENT. gn!reader. afterlife au. angst. 1.8k wc. rewrite of requiescat in pace at my old main blog @/verxsyon. everyone dies and ascends to a higher plane of existence. fan interpretation of snezhnaya and celestia arc. allusions to war, so expect blood and death. tartaglia and reader adopted children together in the afterlife. dainsleif killed reader from the curse. reader is killed by their spouse (zhongli). petnames (my dear, darling - zhongli).

VERA. it’s been three years since this fic was posted. crazy how time flies. i remember crying when i wrote this. hopefully i’ll make you all suffer as well hahaha.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. DAINSLEIF

five hundred years ago is when dainsleif committed the gravest mistake of his life. he was the twilight sword, a royal guard sworn to protect the people and the royalties of khaenri’ah. his people placed their trust in him to stop the destruction of the nation, only to watch them turn into monsters from the curse laid upon them.

the castle he enters with the traveler and paimon holds many memories he wishes to forget. it was occupied by the eclipse dynasty, the ruler of khaenri’ah before its destruction. he was well acquainted with the heir at the time: you, and soon fell in love. he passes by your room, where he killed you to stop your transformation. realizing what he had done, he left for them to suffer.

“dainsleif,” the abyss herald sneers. dainsleif is so used to that tone of voice. him and the rest of the abyss, especially its leader, have the right to resent him. the traveler and paimon are not here to back him up as they are looking for the twin, so he must atone his own sins himself.

“do whatever you need to do,” dainsleif says, starry voids emitting from his palms. “i don’t intend to hold back.”

the curse of immortality. how sickening. for five hundred years, he has wandered aimlessly for information about his nation. regardless of the amount he has gathered, he wants to end his journey here. he trusts the traveling duo to answer the rest for him.

is death supposed to be this painful? well-deserved for a coward like him. he can sense the satisfaction from the herald destroying him inside his body with hydro. the abyss now has one less problem to deal with. dainsleif can feel himself slipping away, departing the world still a sinner. 

“sir dainsleif. their highness requests your presence.” he is at the castle, decorated with life instead of the dust and cracks when he first arrived. the guard with him possesses no signs of abyssal features. everyone here doesn’t.

behind the double doors is you admiring the plants on the balcony. he gapes at your appearance: the heir of the eclipse dynasty, beautiful and regal as ever. you thank the guard for bringing him over, and they take their leave. this can’t be real.

“my dear dainsleif.” he loses his composure, rushing over to you to pull you into his embrace. your eyes soften upon feeling his sobs on your neck. “my love? are you alright?”

he sniffs, tightening his grip. your touch, your voice, your love for him, he misses them all. “forgive me, your highness. let’s stay like this for a while.”

“i told you to drop the formalities when we’re alone. we’re lovers, aren’t we?” you chuckle, your fingers finding purchase in his blonde locks. oh, how he misses that feeling. “and what are you saying sorry for? we’re all human here. if that makes you feel better, we can stay like this as long as you like.”

dainsleif lifts his head to kiss your knuckles and then presses his lips on yours. he does not know what brought him here, but he is truly grateful. whatever this realm is called, as long as you’re by his side, he will always be forgiven.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. TARTAGLIA

tartaglia is naive about the future. the desire to protect it influences his decision to serve the tsaritsa. with the mora he earned as a harbinger, he hopes to buy his family a house and send teucer to school. when the war is over, he plans to settle with you and live in a cabin where the two of you ice fish with your children.

if only it was that easy. his family is suffering from financial hardships, and the mora he sends is their savior. as for you, you severed ties with him a long time ago because of moral differences. in fact, you lead the faction that opposes the cryo archon and the fatui as your act of revenge for your family.

the palace is in shambles. the traveler and paimon escort the tsaritsa out of the throne room to allow you and tartaglia to compromise. your mind is not easily swayed as expected, given that you spent most of your life waiting to kill. your fate has been decided, when bloodlust overtook him and made him pierce his weapon through your stomach.

“no!” he cradles your body into his arms. his grief causes his delusion to spiral out of control, bringing the palace to destruction. the traveler and paimon rush back inside the room, yelling at the harbinger to get out of there. but he chooses to stay.

“traveler, can you please do me a favor?” they look at him in shock when he places the tip of their on his chest. “put me out of my misery before i lose control. i want to see my friend again. and when you see my family, tell them i’m sorry for everything.”

swift and painless, exactly how he wants death to feel like. the boulders come crashing down upon you and him, and he blacks out. he wonders if the tsaritsa and the traveler will succeed in preventing the second cataclysm. he wonders how his family will handle the news. teucer will be affected the most, feeling betrayed by his big brother lying that he’ll come home soon.

he wonders about you. if you two ever come to a mutual understanding, will the future be any different?

“papa!” a voice of a child calls, waking him up to a scenery full of snow. he spots a cabin in the distance, where a little girl is waving at him with a proud grin. she runs up to him with a bucket in tow, tripping on lumps of ice along the way.

“papa, look! i caught some fish!” she exclaims, showing him the content of her bucket. a cacophony of high-pitched screams echo. more children spook him by hugging his legs.

“good job, baby. you found papa.” he gasps at the sight of you kissing the girl’s forehead. he can’t believe it. “okay, kids. since papa is here, let’s go home. we’re going to eat fish for dinner.”

“yay!” the kids who seem to be his children happily zoom to the cabin, making you chuckle. tartaglia doesn’t waste any time hugging you tight. he can’t lose you again.

“ajax?” it’s been a while since you called him by his birth name. you cup his cheeks with worry when you see tears streaming down his face. “are you okay?”

he nods, kissing you as if his life depends on it. “i’m okay. shall we go home? we don’t want to keep our kids waiting, do we?”

hand in hand, the two of you follow your children to the cabin. in a future where a war between all creatures of teyvat is over, ajax is finally home.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. ZHONGLI

the past six thousand years have been prolific of brutality. old friends and acquaintances were subjected to erosion, being forced to neutralize them. one is unfortunate enough to perish from the archon war, leading to the creation of liyue harbor.

if there is one thing to take away from her advice, it’s about the concept of change. he is the type of person to slowly adapt into it. her death and the death of the land they both created is not easy to accept. change isn’t a bad thing, she had said. he did not take her words into heart until he met you.

you’re a mortal who lived in a village, you spent more time exploring the outskirts without letting everyone know. you couldn’t care less, having a dream to live in a lively city like liyue. a certain archon would’ve loved you, for you valued freedom. 

he finds you to be quite humorous. once you joked about eloping with the former archon somewhere teeming with fireflies and crystalflies. when he asked you to define the term, you brushed it off and changed the subject. if he knew you weren’t kidding, you wouldn’t have fallen victim to your marriage.

shame, at such a young age too. he regrets not being able to keep you safe, reminding him of his failure with his old friends and the people who are fighting in the second cataclysm by his side. at the climax of the war, he comes face to face with the gods who stirred the calamities around the world for centuries. as much as he wants to stray from violence, he can’t let them win.

“i will no longer stay silent,” he growls, summoning his pillars around incoming enemies. contracts are sacred, no matter who he established them with. breaking any of those would result in facing the wrath of the rock. breaking the one he signed with celestia would mean he would suffer under his own wrath.

gold liquid spills onto the floor, and his ears are blocked by white noise. no, he can’t die like this. not right this instant. his allies haven’t reached an advantage yet. how is it possible for the strongest deity to already fall like this?

six thousand years of changes and sacrifices. the geo element is strong and unmoving, yet it can also crumble. zhongli has to keep on fighting for the sake of his allies and those who have perished, and yours. all he needs to do is take that extra step to victory.

“zhongli?” that voice is familiar. too familiar. he gazes at his swarms of fireflies and crystalflies circling around your figure. your fingers lingers across his cheek with a somber smile. “my dear, you looked troubled in your sleep. do you want to talk about it?”

he leans on your shoulder, inhaling your scent. he’s so tired, enduring six thousand years worth of cycles of life and death among his nation. “hm, i will eventually. but please let me rest first, darling…”

“okay,” you hum, linking your hand with his. “rest well, zhongli. if you need a shoulder to cry on, i will be here. i won’t ever leave your side.”

you tilt his head to kiss him, tasting the salt of his tears on your lips. his allies may be gone and treasured in his memories, you choose to remain by his side and give him relief that he won’t be alone. not anymore.

zhongli is not the same person he was before, and believes he will never be. cradling the finger adorned with the ring crafted from the abundant rocks in liyue, it gives him hope. you are his pillar. when at his lowest, you and your army of lights will guide him back to the surface.

[r4m1el]

can you tell i like the classpect system and fixated on nothing else besides maybe trolls

Bro you’re scaring the hoes with your cringe crossover aus

[elronds-meleth-nin]

Healing Hands

This is just a short little fic, based on this post here. The tall, broad High-King demanded a drabble aside from the ones I'd already started about him, so what else could I do? He is the High King, after all. 🥰👑

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

Gil-Galad (RoP) x Half-Elven!Reader

[A/N: This is just fluff.]

Warnings: Spoilers for RoP s2e8, non-graphic descriptions of injuries, mentions of blood, soft!Gil-Galad, affectionate teasing, romantic tension, healing injuries, Gil speaking Quenya, battle aftermath, minor angst with a happy ending.

~*~

Did she truly think she was being subtle with such a limp in her step? The High King and his Herald had led their soldiers and the survivors of Eregion into a valley, establishing around it a protective, magical barrier using the rings of power.

Together, the pair had healed Lady Galadriel, but as they settled her in a soft, flat spot to recover, Gil-Galad saw his lady, clad in her own black-splattered armor, attempting to limp away unnoticed.

"Go. I'll stay with Galadriel," Elrond volunteered quietly, and with a grateful nod of acknowledgement, the King hurried through the trees after her. He hadn't even remembered seeing her struck, but obviously she had been if she was limping.

She didn't get very far. At the edge of a small clearing, he found her sitting with her back against a tree, struggling to remain conscious. His breath caught when he saw how pale she'd become. She'd clearly been hiding this for quite some time.

Without a thought beyond healing his lady, Gil-Galad dropped to his knees beside her and began slicing a window into the leg of her trousers. The cloth parted easily at the behest of his dagger, and at the waft of cool air over her skin, her eyes fluttered open.

"Ereinion?" Her voice was so shaky and quiet. "I'm sorry. Didn't...want to bother you..."

"Hush, I am here, now," he murmured as he beheld the broken-off shaft of an arrow embedded in her leg. She'd lost quite a bit of blood if the dark, drenched fabric of her trousers was any indication. Thankfully, the arrow was not lodged too deeply, and she'd left enough of it exposed for a healer to grip in order to remove it. "Fool of a girl, you should have come straight to me."

She let out a weak laugh at his affectionate scolding.

"Calling your favorite patient a fool? Ondórëa ingaranya," she murmured cupping his cheek and drawing his eyes to her own. There was no real acidity in her tone. Gil-Galad took courage in the fact that she still had enough clarity of mind to tease him. He had, in fact, healed her before, but the injuries were always insignificant and superficial. And, she'd never actively hidden them from him before.

What cause had he given her to do so? Had she been embarrassed?

Without hesitation, he turned his head just far enough to kiss her palm.

"I humbly beg your forgiveness, meldanya." He hoped that she knew he referred to more than his playful jab. He also knew that to call her such, to allow such a slip, would be tantamount to a confession for which he was not certain that he was prepared. But, to call her anything less than his beloved would be a lie. Furthermore, to do so in the aftermath of such rampant death and destruction would summon within his heart guilt in such quantities that he could not abide.

Turning his attention back to her leg, he laid his palm as lightly as he could over her thigh. He whispered in Quenya, allowing the magic from his ring and from his own healing abilities to seep into her skin and numb her pain. Working quickly, he removed the arrowhead and pressed his hand over the wound, murmuring some of the same healing spells he and Elrond had used on Galadriel.

Fortunately, though, this was not a cursed wound as the former had sustained from Morgoth's crown, nor was it as severe. Her skin glowed readily beneath his touch. Within moments, the skin bound itself shut and his lady shuddered in relief as a trickle of light penetrated the canopy of trees overhead to mingle with their own.

Her hand had fallen limply away after mere moments, but Gil-Galad retrieved it once his work was complete, grasping it gently between his own blood-stained fingers. Her pulse beat steady and strong in his grasp, and his eyelids fluttered shut as he breathed a sigh of relief. She would be alright. She had survived.

"Did you mean it?" She breathed, and he was so surprised that she was conscious that his eyes snapped immediately to hers. Despite the dirt and grime coating them both, he felt entirely exposed beneath her gaze - vulnerable and transparent before her.

He relished the sensation of being known so completely. To everyone else, he was Gil-Galad, the High King of Lindon, the bastion of strength from which his people drew their courage when darkness threatened.

To her, he was simply Ereinion. The feeling was more pleasant and intoxicating than he could possibly express.

"You called me your beloved," she continued. "Did you mean it?"

How could he deny it? He loved her. He had for centuries. Since the moment she set foot in Lindon nearly three hundred years before, Gil-Galad had surrendered to the realization that his heart would settle for no other. Her light was beyond compare, shining into even the most uncertain parts of his heart which he hid from all others. She drew him out so easily, comforted him simply by smiling in his direction. She was his strength, his courage, his most luxuriant pleasure and joy.

But, he was a king. Because she knew him, she also knew better than any other how taxing his position was. Over time, he'd convinced himself that she would not wish to bear the burden of ruling by his side, so he'd remained silent - reluctant to steal her own contentment and joy by forcing the responsibilities of a ruler upon her. She deserved to have a life unburdened by the weight of a crown.

In his secrecy, however, his heart had grown accustomed to a more profound loneliness than he'd ever previously known. On too-silent nights in his chambers, he longed to hold her close and whisper poetry in her ear - he'd composed more verses in her honor than he'd expected his heart to harbor. On tranquil mornings before the rush of the day's duties began, he ached with the need to see her curled peacefully in his arms as the light of the sunrise spilled in through the windows.

No longer. After today's battle, Ereinion could no more hold his tongue than the pair of robins who sang so freely in his gardens each morning.

"Yes. With all of my foolish heart, I meant it," he admitted, his heart singing with every word, and she lifted her free hand, threading it lightly into his hair. The King savored the feeling. Never before had she touched him so brazenly - he'd made it clear that she was more than welcome to, of course, but she never availed herself of such liberties.

He bent lower, hoping to encourage her by making his person easier to reach. He felt her bare wrist brush against the tip of his ear - sharper than her own, thanks to her half-mortal parentage - but he could not hide his blush nor the light groan she tugged from his chest.

"You have tempted me...enchanted me since our first meeting. I have eyes only for you, but if you do not feel the same, I swear on my honor that I will not torment you further." The King's oath came from the most sincere depths of his heart. For her, he would. Much as it would pain him, if she wanted nothing to do with his feelings, he would bury them deep so that only he would feel the ache. She would suffer no discomfort at his hands.

Her lips met his, stopping his spiraling thoughts in their tracks, and all his worries fell away beneath the most delicious relief. They were as soft and sumptuous as they looked - as he'd imagined them to be - and Ereinion didn't hesitate to return her affection. He may have healed her leg, but with that once simple act, she had healed the King's heart.

~*~*~

Elvish Words (Quenya):

ondórëa ingaranya = my hard-hearted/pitiless high-king

meldanya = my beloved

~*~

Taglist:

@bigblissandlove1 @gandalfthepimp @horta-in-charge

[astral-herald]

Uncritically Enjoying Mage Viktor

sometimes when i turn off my angry (logical) brain, i achieve some very sentimental mage viktor clarity that i would like to share <3

this is a lot different from my other Thoughtful "Analysis" Posts. my plan is as follows: address my understanding, slim though it may be, of mage viktor; bullet-point all the less than critical/theory driven reasons why he makes me happy; make a somewhat melodramatic point about reading/viewing for fulfillment over critique. mage-tor enjoyers, unite!

What is Mage Viktor's Purpose?

Try as I might to turn off my thoughtfulness, I am typically critical of the media I enjoy, so I'll be among the first to admit that Mage Viktor was certainly a retcon. That seems to be the fandom consensus, so I won't reiterate too much on that point. It makes shots like this especially funny, though, because that is simply not the Viktor we know, interdimensional or otherwise:

But something I would like to push back on is a pervasive "favorable" read on Mage Viktor as we come to know him in season 2. I fully disagree with the idea that Mage Viktor sought Jayce out in every timeline because he loved Jayce, rather than as a means of saving the countless innocents Viktor in other timelines would inevitably kill thanks to Hextech, the Glorious Evolution, etc. Hear me out for a second!

Bestie @arowyn-m pointed out to me that Necrit confirmed that Hextech is THE canonical event, the linchpin, so to speak, that ignites the chain of events we see culminate in season 2. These are the same events that Mage Viktor seeks to prevent. It takes however many lifetimes and iterations of mass destruction for Mage Viktor to gather two vital facts about the universe: Hextech is the inciting, inevitable incident, and Jayce is the complementary indelible constant. Hextech is inevitable, but only Jayce can show Viktor how to stop it.

Viktor's love for Jayce is not what motivates Mage Viktor to seek him out - it is the inevitable result of their being "inextricably bound." Reducing Mage Viktor's manipulation of time/space/what have you to his desperate need to protect Jayce in every timeline morphs him into a very out-of-character Genocidal Eldritch Being when he's supposed to be the antithesis of OUR Machine Herald Viktor. By taking up Mage Viktor's quest to kill Machine Herald Viktor under these very specific circumstances - acceleration rune in hand - Jayce can end the cycle. He trumps the inciting incident. His love for Viktor reigns supreme.

The fact that this is so awkward to explain speaks to the severity of the retcon. I guess what I'm getting at is that Mage Viktor was not acting out of selfish, obsessive love (as romantic as that may seem to some); he was searching for a way to right his wrongs and found it in Jayce, his inseparable other half.

"Only you could show me this."

MORE TO THIS POINT: even Mage Viktor, for all his implied wisdom, having seen countless lifetimes wherein they failed to stop Hextech, still does not anticipate the depth of Jayce's love for him. He (presumably, because don't see this exchange, because Riot made egregious cuts) tells Jayce that the Viktor of this world must die. Jayce "can't fail." As far as I can tell, he never tells Jayce that he has to die along with him. Jayce rejected Viktor's bid to be partners again, after all...

Mage Viktor, like the true Viktor that lurks within the Machine Herald, still believes that Hextech is fully his fault. He still believes in his own weakness and his shortcomings and is so reliant, obsessed with independence that he refuses to share this responsibility. When Mage Viktor reveals himself to Machine Herald Viktor, and he's confronted with the depths of his own feelings, he shoves Jayce away in a last-ditch attempt to preserve his isolation.

Jayce does not allow this.

The love that keeps Viktor "inextricably bound" to Jayce is not one-sided. Viktor, in all iterations and timelines, does not bear the responsibility for Hextech alone. In his dying moments, when he finally understands that LOVE is what has kept he and Jayce together all this time, his humanity returns to him. They save the world - literally. Love literally conquered all. No Viktor, not even Mage Viktor, anticipated this. All Jayce really had to do was kill this Viktor, but he couldn't bear to part ways.

TLDR: Mage Viktor found a way to save the world, but Jayce found a way to reignite Viktor's humanity. Neither of things could coexist without the other.

Smaller, Less Important Reasons Why I Like Mage Viktor

I'll never forget the breathless whiplash I felt upon Mage Viktor's reveal. I feel pretty alone in that experience - oh well! I'll be the pariah! - but here are the reasons why he's made such an impression on me.

Seeing an aged Viktor hit me like a bus. I know he's still stricken with the arcane, but there's so much wisdom and kindness and life experience in his expression. I never thought we'd see that. I doubt he did, either.

BEARD VIKTOR TRUTHER.

It gives Viktor some agency back. I wrote in an earlier post that Mage Viktor being the one to liberate Viktor from his own tragic narrative is pretty awesome, and I stand by that.

Mage Viktor's vulnerability. I feel like Mage Viktor, finally realizing that this Jayce is the right one, that this moment is the pivotal one, says a lot of what Viktor in all timelines longs to say to Jayce.

The question of lifetimes - how many times did Viktor search for Jayce? How many times did he watch a timeline go by without him? How much loneliness did he endure (for the greater good?). What was it like seeing that in-universe Viktor had killed Jayce?

Reading Uncritically (I Swear This is Relevant)

Rita Felski, a very cool literary critic who we all should read, said the following about reading critically (the way that lots of us engage with Arcane on tumblr): "It is a mode of interpretation that adopts a distrustful attitude toward texts...that remain inaccessible to their authors as well as to ordinary readers" ("Suspicious Minds" 216). Even though she's writing about academia/literary criticism, I think her point still stands. We engage with media with the intent to expose, unearth, and problematize. We eagerly search for moments where the text fails us at the expense of the "superficial" that would otherwise uplift us. We are practicing the "hermeneutic of suspicion," which can be exceptionally draining.

It's pretty melodramatic of me to apply this kind of theoretical work to Arcane, of all things, but this story means a great deal to me. It is deeply flawed - the Mage Viktor retcon is kind of appalling if you stare down the barrel of suspicion. But, in looking through a reparative lens (Eve Sedgwick's word, not mine), I see Mage Viktor as a agency-ridden Viktor, an aged Viktor, a vision of the future Jayce and Viktor together make possible. I'm enriched by that.

Felski asks us: "How else might we venture to read, if we were not ordained to read suspiciously?" (232). What can we derive from Arcane by putting the pieces together with the goal of harmony and fulfillment? In the smallest sense, we may feel a bit better about the ways in which season 2 seriously let us down. In a larger, more hopeful sense, moments like Viktor confessing an ultimate love and attachment to Jayce, and Jayce returning it in kind, may fill us with an even deeper appreciation for unconditional love as the culmination of human connection, a world-ending and world-renewing thing that stares down the BBEG of Arcane and wins.

You could probably read all of this as my apology for enjoying what so much of the fandom has condemned. That's alright. There are so many pieces of Mage Viktor that fragment under the critical microscope, but I can't shake the emotional impact of his reveal, so I'll live in that space for the time being. Had Arcane allotted for any explanatory conversations, flashbacks, and/or given up their soft world build to account for Mage Viktor, we'd be in a better place plot-wise. Alas, here we are instead. Everyone can point and laugh at me if they did all this just to bring back God/Made/Eldritch Being/Whatever The Fuck Viktor in future projects. That'll be my penance!

And, finally, if you really didn't like Mage Viktor, I fully respect that, but this is my self-indulgent post and I'm not overly interested in debating...there's little anyone could say that I wouldn't agree with. I'm just avoiding the suspicion of it all :)

[corallapis]

[lavender-butterfly-cookie]

I would love to see a second part of Forgotten Friends

One where the beast eventually realized that they blew stuff out of proportion and, because of that, their friend was basically forced to betray them, but they have no one to blame but themselves

And by the time they realized and are out of their prison

Reader cookie can varely remember them, they do remember they used to be friends, but all their evil deed have replaces most happy memories and Reader has a hard time being able to trust or even be near them

Patience is a strong thing, but time is more

The SoulJam of Patience has follow their tittle, now it's Their turn to use it

I like your style dear butterfly.

Forsaken, Forgotten, Un-Forgiven

previous part

Where does one even begin to express how much patience you've lost? How does one even begin to accept your friends have become nothing more but shells of their former selves? How does one learn to forgive them for forcing you to betray them? As hard as it is to believe, it starts with an apology.

After sealing your friends away all those years ago, it took you immense amounts of patience before you could face the world again. It took you so much patience to adjust and make new friends. So much patience to finally feel free about revealing who you really are. Patience to accept that they were gone and they weren't coming back. It took a long time, but you endured it. And it was worth it.

But it wasn't.

You found yourself face to face with five shards of tinted glass, all representing a shard from what was broken long ago. You barely remembered any of them, but that doesn't mean you forgot them and their evil deeds completely

The blue shard, who had once been your source of knowledge and guidance, now full of cracks that mimicked the web of deceit it was entangled in. You remember how the threads of that web were used to puppet and control the lives of the innocent, forcing them to fight for his own twisted little show.

The white shard, who had one been the holder of the virtue known as volition, now flavorless and apathetic soul devoid of any meaning. You remember how easily she turned everything to flour with just a simple motion of her hand. And you knew she did it because she saw little to no value in living a life with the inevitable end known as death

The red shard, who was once the herald of change in itself, now a destructive and merciless monster who sees no point in creation when it's bout to wither away eventually. You remember how he had destroyed countless homes and lives, all because he was bored.

The pink shard, who was once the most loving and joyful person you had ever met, now a lazy sloth who didn't even bother doing anything anymore. You remember vividly how she wiped away so many cookies just because they woke her up from her nap.

Then there was the Purple shard, once a noble knight of solitude, now a dark knight of silence. You remember all to well how had mercilessly crumbled several cookies in a single strike. How he's never uttered a word since he became corrupted.

These shards of glass are none other than your fallen friends, freed from but under different circumstances. They weren't causing havoc, they weren't attacking- heck, they weren't even angry at you after you lead them into a trap. What baffled you more was how the ancients were present but stood to the side. It took some time before the realization hit you.

"They want to talk."

You heard a voice say. It sounded like you, but much more mature. You felt your heart drop. They wish to talk? Couldn't they have thought about that years- no, CENTURIES ago?! But you're not about to argue with the light of patience when you clearly have better things to focus on.

The first thing you noticed about your fallen friends is their demeanor. They're not angry... they actually look guilty and nervous. Next was their souljams... which they didn't have for some reason. The ancients probably have it, which is good. They can't cause much damage. Shadow milk cookie stepped forward and you were ready for anything....

"Y/N cookie..."

Anything at all.

"We're sorry..."

Except that. Your eyes widened and you froze solid, the words unable to register in your head. They were apologizing?... But- no that can't be right... this is a trick... It's a trick and you won't fall for it again... You look at the ancients. They aren't intervening or protesting against this false apology.

...

They can't seriously believe this, right? They're not falling for this, RIGHT?! You step back a bit and shake your head slightly. This was a trick. Why do they want to redeem themselves NOW? Had they not realized the gravity of what they did before sooner? This had to be some kind of lie. And you weren't gonna fall for it. You made that very clear to them before walking.

It was only later on where pure vanilla cookie explained that they were attempting a redemption arc to fix the bond between you. The ancients really did believe them... Why did they believe them?! They had been nothing but pure evil as far as you can remember. Their evil deeds outweighed whatever happy memories you had with them... almost as though you didn't have happy memories.

The beasts tried again and again to at least get you to cast a glance at them but it was fruitless. You walked away from the library when Shadow milk cookie tried talking to you. You completely ignored Eternal sugar cookie trying to enter your room and talk to you. You turned your back on Burning spice cookie when he attempted reaching out for you. You refused to acknowledge Mystic flour cookies attempt of interaction with you. And the silence between You and Silent salt cookie had grown into a deadly kind of quiet, as if none of you had even been together.

They just didn't get it, did they? They betrayed your trust once, what if they do it again? You had to be BEYOND patient with yourself in order to recover and yet they've returned? No, they shouldn't have. They had no idea how many sleepless nights you endured to finally accept they're absence. How much you had to learn to adjust and be patient with yourself to be able to move on. And all that hard work, all that patience, it was gonna crumble because of them.

No, you can't let that happen. You can't just forgive them just like that. Not after everything they've done, to innocent cookies, everything they've done to you. If they really wanted your forgiveness, they'd have to be as patient with you as you were with them when they weren't corrupted. They have to earn your forgiveness, and that was going to take a long time.

You were patient with them, now they must be patient with you. How long they'd have to be patient was unknown, and how long they'd actually remain patient was just as mysterious.

[ohisms]

↪ ✧ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐋 ( based on the oracle deck created by fez inkwright. each card represents an archetypal 'character' who resides in the citadel. send these as prompts for inspiring starters , or use them for drabbles ! feel free to combine prompts where desired . SEND A " ✧ " FOR RECIEVER TO RANDOMIZE A CARD ! )

𝐈. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓 , - the aspirant : ambition, diligence, setbacks. - the assassin : ruthlessness, conviction. - the catalyst : radical changes, taking control. - the diviner : divine timing, evaluation. - the fate : accepting help, guidance. - the founder : foundations, community. - the heir : unseen potential, hesitation. - the hound : loyalty, chains, promises. - the king : control, reversal of fortune. - the poet : relationships, vulnerability. - the queen : determination, sacrifice. - the sleeper : cause and effect, clarity. - the spymaster : knowledge, distrust. - the waker : awareness, reflection. - the wise one : tradition, order.

𝐈𝐈. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐘 , - the acolyte : new projects, learning. - the alchemist : balance, invention, destruction. - the archer : biding your time, planning ahead. - the astronomer : discovery, augury. - the captain : taking command, teamwork. - the cartographer : a crossroads, exploration. - the champion : achievement, downfall. - the enchanter : deception, trickery. - the guide : inheritance, correction. - the orator : communication, confidence. - the patron : mentorship, finances. - the priest : perseverance, faith. - the scholar : investigation, research. - the sentinel : determination, certainty. - the warrior : perfectionism, burnout.

𝐈𝐈𝐈. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐃 , - the botanist : parenthood, legacy. - the forgotten : missed opportunities, fear of failure. - the gambler : loss, risks. - the hunter : surefootedness , predestination. - the merchant : self-worth, trade. - the miser : stubbornness, inflexibility. - the muse : generosity, naivety. - the pathless : difficult decisions, lack of direction. - the pilgrim : opportunities, growth. - the sailor : new influences, wanderlust. - the shepherd : celebration, family. - the smith : overthinking, taking action. - the thief : seizing the moment, selfishness. - the vengeance : overcoming sleights, a choice. - the walker : the unknown, the journey.

𝐈𝐕. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐏𝐄 , - the adventurer : responsibility, expectations. - the brawler : lack of empathy, confrontation. - the chiromancer : delivering news, collaboration. - the dancer : self-expression, strength. - the herald : small regrets, longing. - the mascareri : hiding your true self, projection. - the musician : inspiration, gratitude. - the painter : productivity, creation. - the puppeteer : explanations, apologies. - the runaway : secrets, running away from problems. - the storyteller : viewpoints, control. - the tailor : attention to detail, pride. - the twins : self-protection, dual natures. - the weaver : rediscovery, transition. - the witch : experimentation, rebellion.

[lych33dragoncookie]

Alright. Chapter 6. Boy do I have some choice words about this one.

Let's start small, though. With Spice being a fucking freak.

Look, I'm a Dragon Ball fan. I'm easy to please with this kind of thing. You give me a character who is really weird about fighting and I'll hoot and holler about it all day long. This isn't a generic "Villain plays with their food, this ends up being a terrible mistake later" situation; Spice could have killed her right there and then, much like Flour intended to do with Dark Cacao when his soul jam was stolen, but here? Nah. He wants to coke this woman up for a chance at a good fight with her and her in specific. Weirdo. I like him.

Smoked Cheese continues to be really really good this update, by the way. I couldn't be any more glad to have him here.

He's blunt. He knows how to strike a nerve, how to push someone's buttons; just because he's undeniably on the side of good, that doesn't mean these inherent traits of his' are gone. They're being repurposed, the same methods going towards a better end, he's still undeniably him, no one else would speak up to the queen like this, he knows what makes her tick, and he's using that to drag her off of the ground and bring her back up. I'm absolutely loving every bit of it.

This chapter also does a really good job of accentuating the sheer contrast Golden Cheese and Burning Spice have as rulers, with the former having outright raised her closest subjects, keeping them on an equal level, and providing for them with no hesitation or restraint, while the latter keeps his subjects in line through fear and nothing more.

Specially because, later on, it's shown that it's not at all empty threats...

He fucking killed her.

This is entirely unprecedented. I don't think we've ever seen anyone kill another character, NPC or not, onscreen. Elder Faerie didn't so much die from being murdered or anything, as much as he gave away his own life force and all that stuff to White Lily so she could deal with Shadow Milk This isn't that. This is a character being unceremoniously, ruthlessly killed, even if it wasn't a playable one. A cookie, no less; not any of the little animals, who despite their sapience wouldn't have had the same sort of impact, no, he instantly reduced this one cookie to nothing without any hesitation or remorse, and threatened to do the same to her grieving followers immediately after.

Golden Cheese keeps her followers by giving without any restraint, while Burning Spice keeps his followers by letting the threat of destruction loom over their heads constantly, willing to take from them the moment he gets an excuse to, or just because he feels like it.

And, speaking of him; while this update didn't give us a glimpse on how he started, that "first kingdom" that he ruled and presumably saw wither to dust, we did get to see something else.

His breaking point.

Admittedly, I feel like if one were to observe just these 2 story chapters, cutscenes alone, they'd get the wrong impression. If we look outside them, we're well aware that Burning Spice was once a benevolent figure, and that even now he avoids thinking about the first kingdom he ruled. With that context, these lines make a lot of sense.

Despite being the herald of change; time, change itself, was not kind to him. Burning Spice shows us the inherent pain of the idea of immortality. Of how futile it would feel to get attached to absolutely anything, knowing it'll all just wither away sooner or later, and you'll outlast those very things. After an innumerable amount of time, seeing entire civilizations rise and fall, over and over again, becoming more and more desensitized and numb to it all after the great pain of that first loss, it's no wonder it would all end up feeling utterly pointless. Why get attached if it'll all become nothing eventually? If by getting attached, you're just leaving yourself vulnerable to the pain of loss again? Why have any interest in this newly sprouting life if it'll all just wither away like all the ones before? Life, unfortunately, is limited. Fleeting. And while that already causes great pain to those possessing mortal life, at least they too know that it won't be forever. That we're all on the same ground, and that we can make the best of the time we have. But if all you have is time, time that nothing else around you has, then...

Eventually, without a strong will and the right philosophy, it will drive you mad. And that's exactly what happened here. Life may be fleeting, something irreplicable yet completely limited; but just as there will always be life, there will always be a way for that life to be extinguished. Life is unrepeatable and unique, but destruction? If you find pleasure in destruction, you always have something to look forward to. The feeling caused by razing everything to the ground is perfectly replicable, something that can't be taken away from you. It's immediate, final, and requires no pain or attachment. Empty and unfulfilling, yes; but painless and addictive.

There is no greater pretense. There is no long term. There is no end goal.

It's just all about getting addicted to the thrill of senseless, heart-pumping violence. If there's always something to destroy, there's always something to look forward to, after all; something no one can take away from you.

... Of course, this isn't to say any of this is correct. Obviously not. The complete improbability of a scenario where one cannot die of old age aside, this is the complete opposite of how you should approach this. You can keep reminders of said fleeting life, find attachment to things that will last just as long as you, make sure to never forget all the experiences that immortality has allowed you to form, and value what you have in the moment, making sure to let its memory and purpose live on through you. Something a certain someone else will, most likely, embody as her long, long lifespan continues.

Ok, this was all meant to be one post, but I have too many images to put here, and Tumblr really doesn't like that. So...

1/2

See you in like, another 30 minutes or so. Idk.

[the-fluffy-folio]

Oozader – Small ooze, chaotic evil

″The Order of the Gooze!″ the slimy knight babbles – barely comprehensible and dripping with bitter irony. For the oozader knows no order. It is a walking mockery of every honorable champion and noble-minded hero. Chaos controls its eldritch mind, malevolence moves its wobbly legs and wickedness wields its caustic sword. Shaped from the same matter as the infamous gooze, the oozader lives to absorb life itself. Its purpose is a vile one, its emergence heralds a great evil. Regardless of all the destruction it may cause it is merely a foul foretaste of what is to come…

🔮 If you like my work, kindly consider to support me on Patreon to gain access to monster pages, tokens & artwork of over 300 quirky creatures as well as dozens of potion & item cards based on their lore.

[burninwrath]

My lord, what made u stop being a herald and become a beast of destruction? U mentiond that you were bored but it cant just b that can it?

"Fine, I will GRACE you with this information. PERHAPS then will you insolent creature cease to pester me."

"When I sat upon my throne - time LONG PAST , I was hit with the REVELATION . . . My existence.. meant nothing. For I was a cookie who was graced with a curse that many of my own kin had realized far into our lives. Unlike other cookies, we were immortal, our doughs would stay pristine, we would never stale. CRUMBLING was impossible. We became heroes because of our curse. AT FIRST, it was a gift, I was ecstatic of this. Any would be, but then I had realized the great pain in which it caused. GRIEF. OUR GRIEF. As we stood tall those around us crumbled, CHANGED. I WAS THE AVATAR OF CHANGE - AND YET . . . I could do nothing to stop this tide from rising. They broke, they rebuilt, they fell. It was like watching a wheel turn slowly - SO SLOWLY, I COULD HEAR THE GEARS OF ITS MECHANISM SCRATCHING MY SKULL LIKE NAILS ON A CHALKBOARD. YET COOKIES WERE GRACED WITH THE ABILITY TO ENDURE THIS CHANGE- TO UNDERSTAND LIFE. TO UNDERSTAND.. the blessing of creation. I- WAS NOT BLESSED WITH THAT RIGHT. That is when I realized the lives I cherished during were meaningless. WHY BECOME ATTACHED? WHEN THEY WERE MEANT TO CRUMBLE? I became destruction, a force that could change those with a single grasp. Destruction and the blessing of life were at my fingertips. I no longer would stand idly by and just be a willing gear to turn endlessly as my head spun on my shoulders. I WOULD BE THE DRIVING FORCE OF NATURE ITSELF. FEAR. PAIN. MISERY. ECSTATIC JOY. PEACEFUL BLISS. AH, YES THEY WERE MINE TO CONTROL, I HAD CONTROL. I WAS THE CONTROL. It was freeing to release myself from my shackles, I WOULD NOT BE TIMES SERVANT. I WOULD DECIDE MY OWN FATE AND THOSE AROUND ME. IT WAS FREEDOM."