#... Doubts and vacillations...

[luminaryofblood]

Ya' know I keep pondering about the whole "The Lords Soul requires a vessel" thing, and, like...

It still doesn't add up -- like, from what I can tell, Marika did not have to go through that kind of a hassle when she became a god. And in hindsight, when it comes to Marika, Radagon, and Godfrey -- like, of those three, it kinda seems like Marika/Radagon are the ones serving as a vessel, and Marika/Radagon are both sharing a same body -- though they can split and act as two separate individuals if they so want.

At least as far as I can tell.

Which comes to Miquella and Trina, who essentially have the same thing going on as Marika and Radagon. But then Miquella discards Trina, and decides to do the whole vessel thing with Radahn/Mohg, who's supposed to be Miquella's consort in the same vein that Godfrey was to Marika.

"A lord will usher in a god's return, and the lord's soul will require a vessel."

Few can decipher the scroll, which describes the secret rite of the divine gateway said to be found at the tower enshrouded by shadow.

So... Few can decipher the scroll, but then it immediately gives us what is written in the scroll.

The thing is, the whole "Lords Soul requires a vessel" thing seems like it would summarize Marika/Radagon more than it would Godfrey...

... I don't know. I still can't make any kind of sense of that, because from what I can tell, Marika did not have to jump those same loops.

Could there have been a mistranslation of some kind, be it on the part of Miquella, or even Ansbach?

[query-quadrant]

hi i have a question

my (rust he/they) kismesis (cerulean it/its) is a really good hunter and weve hunted together a few times

but everytime it comes back from a hunt it gets really tired and sore to a degree thats more than most trolls i know

i dont want to act red but i also dont want my kismesis to feel bad after hanging out with me

is there anything i can do to make it feel better or should i just call up its moirail (olive they/them) and leave it to them?

ok you barely gave any information here idk it depends on how serious the problem is

good advice: honestly id fucking hate if my kismesis got on me for something like that and not in a good way so id say if youre that worried tell its moirail but if youre really really determined to do something find some shit it can do to recover from that and dont be pitying about it

the "youre such a fucking idiot for not taking care of yourself" angle is obviously a classic you can always go for something like buying it ice packs and being all "here since you dont have any common sense" and maybe even walk it through how to use an ice pack slowly step by step with way too much detail like you think its just way too dumb to get it thatd be hilarious and fun

or if its really fucking stubborn and wont admit that it needs to take better care of itself try for a sparring match while its still sore and when it cant keep up then you can use that to tell it obviously it needs to be doing better at that and then you can either take the ice pack approach where you tell it how or let it figure it out on its own cause it probably can

or anything else honestly its not even that hard to not act like you pity them let their moirail worry about them and be all "oh noooo" youre not that troll youre the troll who goes "you should know better than that dumbass"

bad advice: disregard all the other shit i just said toss that out im a changed troll now so what you should actually do instead is tenderly go all "oh nooooooo are you ok? wow it just hurts me so much when youre hurt i hate to see you hurt like that maybe we shouldnt go hunting ever again" and treat it like a sad hurt pet barkbeast with the biggest most sopping wet saddest baby barkbeast eyes

if it starts getting mad at you thats proof its more hurt by its severe injuries than you thought and you should absolutely double down dont worry trust the process itll be fine

[ivyjinna]

I abandoned here my flesh, my heart, my love, my doubt and vacillation

My everything.

Art print link:

[artmadval]

here i abandoned my doubt and vacillation 💜💔

[blaiddfailcam]

...Huh. Thiollier is seemingly the only other Tarnished to have arrived in the realm of shadow, yet instead of Miquella, he came in search of St. Trina.

St. Trina, who implores us to kill Miquella before he becomes a god...

Moreover, we were gifted the Spirit Summoning Bell by Ranni, under the instruction of "Torrent's former master." This was evidently Miquella, but... why would he call for the Tarnished if only to turn them away from his coming paradise?

But if St. Trina is Miquella's other half, and embodies his "doubt and vacillation," then perhaps it was actually she who gave Ranni the bell... After all, Ranni appears to have lulled Kalé and his donkey to sleep nearby, and one of her cohorts, Seluvis, was once familiar with another Tarnished who served St. Trina: Sleeping Arrow Dolores.

...Is St. Trina the real MVP of the entire goddamn game?

[catcas22]

A continuation of this (x). From left to right:

Miquella's Fears: The looming presence of the outer gods made flesh. Despite his menacing appearance, he carries Miquella's crushing fear of insignificance, the fear that all of his work could be swept away in an instant by the whims of those beyond.

Arm Dextral: The right hand symbolizes power, authority, and lordship. Perhaps unconsciously, Miquella always pictured this aspect of himself as an amalgam of Godwyn and Radagon -- never as himself. Perhaps that is the reason he wears the golden mask.

Arm Sinistral: The left hand is often associated with deception and underhandedness. One might expect its personification to be more, well, sinister, but Miquella's lies are never so overtly threatening. This one wears a smiling white mask and weaves poisonblooms into his hair, mimicking the manner of dress of a softspoken poisoner who once followed Miquella.

Miquella the Unalloyed: A very tired single father. While all of Malenia's offshoots look quite similar, Trina and Miquella are distinct in appearance. It follows, then, that the other aspects he shed would be similarly divergent. Perhaps this suggests that Malenia's psyche is more concrete, while Miquella's is prone to abstraction. Or perhaps Malenia's mind is simply a more harmonious place than her brother's.

Miquella's Heart: It was his heart that drove Miquella to fight for a new world, to forsake his birthright, to spill his blood, and to carve a safe haven from the snowfields. His most deeply held wish was to spare others from pain. He fashioned this one in the image of a protector.

Miquella's Eye: It was in treating his sister's affliction that Miquella first saw the limitations of the Order. When he donned the garb of a perfumer and the name of "Trina" to walk among Leyndell's discarded, he saw the cruelty of the Order. Despite all that came after, the boy who refused to close his eyes to the suffering of others endured beneath the burdens of lordship.

Miquella's Doubt and Vacillation: With every failure, Miquella found that he understood his mother better. He believed that he had seen the truth as a child, when her shining mask shattered and he beheld the monster beneath. Centuries later, he peered beneath the mask of the monster and found someone even more terrifying -- someone who he understood. Throughout his long pilgrimage, Miquella wrestled with a single gnawing doubt -- could a new world be achieved through fair means? Or would he be compelled to retread his mother's path to godhood?

[dyns33]

Only wastelands part 2

Here's part 2 of my Cooper Howard x Reader ! I think it will be a story in 4 parts at the end, but I'm not sure yet.

Tags : @one-of-thewalkingdead @coolrobloxkid28 @thebumbqueen @rachmari @ilyvia @justme12200 @honeybunhottie @savanahc @gobbodoggo @bisasterbisexual @killingboredom @bonafideyapper @i-simp-for-mha-men @pixelatedprofilepic @ultimatreality @chattersstuff @harmfulb1tch @hellolettuce444 @miketastic25

If Y/N had to pay Cooper one compliment, it was that he had been a very good teacher.

Months passed, years, and she survived the apocalypse perfectly on her own.

To avoid trouble, she hid her pitboy and her gender under a large coat and a Ranger mask. Some people made fun of her, thinking she was doing this to protect herself from radiation. Everyone knew that West Tek's hardware, or any of Vault's partners, was crap.

Y/N knew it, and that was why she always had Radaway on her. Not at all in case she saw Cooper again and he needed some.

Three years without any news, doing everything to avoid attracting attention, and she hardly thought about him at all.

If she sometimes looked at the photo of him before his turning, with little Janey, it was only to remember that she should trust no one in this rotten world. Never again, she repeated to herself.

It was with this spirit that she almost killed Lucy when the young woman fell on her. Literally.

Y/N was standing in a crater, calm, silent, holding her sniper tightly, ready to shoot her future dinner, when the little vaultie had jumped to escape a yao guai.

Her instinct not being often wrong, she knew that it was more urgent to kill the bear than the imbecile who had thought that surprising a shooter was less dangerous than confronting a beast.

Even though she had a gun, was covered in blood, and one of her fingers was a different color, little Vault dweler looked harmless with her big, naive doe eyes.

It was obvious that she had been outside for a short time. A true miracle that she is still alive.

"Thank you, thank you very much !" she repeated with a huge smile, as if Y/N wasn't pointing her sniper at her. "You don't know the week I just had ! My father was kidnapped, I wanted to save him, but I discovered that he was a murderer who had bombed a city, and all the people I met tried to kill me, and…"

"Hey. I don't remember asking you to tell me about your life, vaultie."

"Oh, sorry ! It's just that I got lost. I was with someone heading to a place called New Vegas, but a big monster pulled him into a hole, then this thing attacked me. You seem nice, and I could use some help…"

"No."

“Wait. But wait !” the girl begged, following her as she went to carve the yao guai. Not the best meat, but she had just wasted five bullets for that, and the noise had either scared away the easy preys or attracted the attention of the dangerous ones.

Y/N vacillated between ignoring Lucy and threatening her, asking her to leave, but after exchanging names, the vaultie seemed to have decided that they were now best friends and should stay together.

No doubt taking her savior's silence as an invitation, she continued to talk about what had happened to her, between her meeting with a man named Maximus, and the inhumane treatment she had suffered at the hands of a mercenary.

Completely incoherent, she ended her story by explaining that she had abandoned her potential boyfriend to go on an adventure next to the guy who tortured her, with the aim of finding her dad and discovering who had destroyed the entire planet.

It was quite funny, because Lucy reminded her a bit of herself before. Y/N wondered if Cooper had seen her like that when they met, a lost and stupid thing.

At the same time, the girl's reasons for living were the same as the Ghoul. Find a family member and take revenge on Vault. Amusing. Maybe they would be very happy together.

If we forgot the fact that Lucy thought that no one should be killed, that everyone was nice, and mutual help was a fundamental notion, to start again. Ugh.

"So, some free advice, if you want to avoid having your tongue cut out, remember that it is not a good idea for a little vaultie who grew up in a palace to give big moral lessons to people who have been doing what they can to avoid dying for years, sometimes centuries."

"Why do you call me that ? You come from a vault too, right ? My pitboy picked up yours."

"Hang on. I am a victim of the cruelty of politicians and businessmen, betrayed by my own country and only alive by luck, or bad luck. You are a little vaultie. Now get away before I strangle you."

Lucy continued to follow her. And Y/N could have killed her, she really could have. This wasn't her first rodeo. She had killed a lot of people for less than that. But she didn't really want to.

Maybe she had been alone for too long. Maybe she felt sorry for this girl, like Cooper had felt sorry for her.

A deal was found. If Lucy could keep her mouth shut, then Y/N would help her find her friends so she could resume her main quest. Their paths would then part ways, and everyone would be happy.

Especially Y/N.

Because if she often talked about her dear Max, the little vaultie didn't seem so eager to find her survival partner. This was understandable, since he had tried to kill her several times, shooting her, cutting off her finger, using her as bait, and selling her.

Compared to this guy, Y/N was a saint, an angel from heaven, the perfect friend. When she offered the girl a bottle of non-irradiated water, she seemed about to ask her to marry her.

“You must be the only person in all the wastelands with good water !”

"It doesn't come cheap. But… I made a promise."

“My lovely traveling companion forced me to drink disgusting water and eat a man.”

"Charming."

Even though she seemed sweet and pure, Y/N continued to be wary of Lucy, sleeping with only one eye open and waiting for the moment when she would try to stab her in the back. First rule, don't trust anyone.

It had happened before. Never again.

Even after three years, the wound was still raw.

It was only when she saw the fear and regret in Lucy's eyes that Y/N restrained her action, yet ready to plant her blade the moment she had shown her the photo, taken out of her bag, asking her if it was her family.

Cooper hadn't been her family. He had been an asshole, who had manipulated her, who had made her believe that he loved her, and that she could love him, before abandoning her like a dog on the side of the road.

"Be careful with this Maximus. Men never change. He will take what he wants from you, and you will be hurt."

“He’s not like that.”

"I didn't think Coop was like that !" she shouted, really getting angry for the first time at Lucy, who jumped. "Yes, I loved him ! I trusted him ! It was stupid of me and I will never make that mistake again ! I hope he died in a hole, alone and in pain !"

"… Can I throw the photo away then ?"

“Give that back !” Y/N said quickly, snatching the only souvenir he had left from her hands and putting it safely in her pocket.

Lucy's sad smile indicated that she wouldn't have destroyed the photo. How sorry she was, for having gone through her things, and for having caused her pain by forcing her to talk about this man who had been so important. Also that she was happy, to see that despite her speeches, Y/N still cared for someone, even if she didn't want to.

She had never told anyone about it. It had been a long time since she had said his name, except when she woke up from a nightmare, in the middle of nowhere, calling for him like a child.

Lucy continued to smile, because for her, there must be another explanation for her precious Coop's behavior. She continued to call him Coop, even after Y/N threatened to make her eat her rotten finger.

"I know you don't like talking about him…"

“If you know that, shut up.” Y/N muttered as she continued walking towards New Vegas, trying to ignore the stream of words from the stupid vaultie, bingeing on romance novels and patriotic films.

"From the few things you agreed to share, Coop cared about you. He protected you, he taught you to defend yourself, he gave you a picture of his daughter. For me, this are proofs of love. Actions speak louder than words."

“He promised to come get me and I’m still waiting.”

"Wrong ! You left, you know how to hide perfectly, and you do everything to avoid him ! So, maybe he's been chasing you all this time and you don't know."

"What I do know is that the main clause of our deal was that you would stop talking so much, especially if it was to give such ridiculous and inappropriate advices."

They finally arrived at their destination after several weeks of walking. No sign of Lucy's friend on the way though. Perhaps he had died, or had not continued on his own.

It was clear that he wanted to use the daughter of vault 33 overseer to achieve his ends, and now that he had lost her, there was no point.

The city amazed the girl. It was the first real city she discovered, instead of those piles of ruins full of dust and vermin that were found in the four corners of the wastelands.

Her enthusiasm almost made Y/N laugh. A bit like how she had often made Cooper laugh without meaning to.

Damn, she needed to stop thinking about that bastard so often. Her mother was always saying that we manifest things through emotions and thoughts.

Her poor mother, long dead, but who had always been right.

As soon as her eyes landed on him, Y/N was crouched behind a wooden crate, watching Cooper Howard, fucking Cooper Howard, sitting near the casino, seemingly waiting for someone.

Seeing her, Lucy began to ask her what she was doing, her gaze following hers, and then the reaction was strange. Everything about this girl was strange anyway.

She started to smile.

Worse, she waved an arm at the Ghoul in greeting, opening her mouth to get his attention as she realized it wasn't enough, his cowboy hat falling over his face.

Y/N quickly grabbed her arm to pull her towards her, asking her what she was playing.

"It's the mean bounty hunter who accompanies me !" she replied happily, as if everything was normal.

For a moment, Y/N wondered if Lucy was making fun of her. If from the start, this was just a horrible joke against her, the continuation of a torture started in this seedy bar.

Then she told herself that if someone made fun of her, it was just fate.

Because she remembered that she had only described Cooper, continuing not to have any particular interest in his condition as a ghoul, and with her goodness as a jug, Lucy had not wanted to reduce him to his appearance either.

The difference was that he didn't give his name to his new pet.

“I knew you were an idiot, but not that much.”

"What ? Why ?" Lucy wondered, slightly offended and trying to free herself.

"You can't trust him. You already know that, why do you want to go back with him ? Look… I can help you find your father, okay ? Find Max. Whatever you want, but let's avoid this bastard and let's leave quickly."

"Golden rule. We said we would wait near the casino, he's there, I'm not leaving him."

With this serious look, the vault dweler would almost have looked frightening. Almost. It was mainly because it was obvious that it was impossible to reason with her that Y/N let her go, not waiting for her tirade about great friendship and the need to stay together to run as far as possible.

If Cooper noticed them, she didn't give him time to really see her, nor to catch up with her or shoot her.

Y/N didn’t turn around to check. Not because she was afraid of him chasing her. But because she was afraid that not only would he not pursue her, but she would also see him with Lucy.

Because even though he had tortured her, insulted her, threatened her… He was in front of the fucking casino waiting for this girl. And it really hurt.

[mytypeismohg]

Playing Elden Ring again and starting thinking of some things about Trina, also about Millicent and Midra evolving/growing stronger due to pain.

"Silver sword of St. Trina, now stained the color of velvet. Inflicts eternal sleep. When St. Trina was abandoned, the faint, light-purple mists coalesced into an intoxicating deep-purple cloud."

Stained velvet? Deep Purple. Eternal sleep.

"A young shoot, heavy with velvety purple nectar. Material used for crafting items. Exceedingly rare to find. Said to burgeon forth where the nectar-like blood of abandoned Trina pooled."

Velvet and deep purple is Trina's blood.

Crosses site of graces.

Cerulean Coast Cross -“I abandon here my doubt and vacillation”

Vacillation: the inability to decide between different opinions or actions; indecision.

You can find the purple blood blossoms here too. Did Miquella abandon his doubt of abandoning Trina, or was Trina the embodiment of the doubt? Mostly, did Miquella began assaulting/mutilating Trina here? Is this how her blood pooled here?

Fissure Cross��-“I abandon here my love”

I've seen some interpret this as calling Trina "my love" as a term of endearment, which could be also true, however Miquella is divesting himself of parts of his own being. Physical and emotional. Of course Trinas blood pools in various places inside the Fissure, as well as being stained on her face. Clearly Trina had a lower half in the trailer, so what happened?

So on sleep. Trina's sleep spell was not the same in the base game as the velvet eternal sleep in the DLC. The sword outright states this "deep purple mist" was created by her abandonment. Her gentle spell of lulling sleep is now an intoxicating mist which can be dangerous to some. More powerful and effective, but no longer harmless (mostly).

This is what Gowry says about Millicent once you have the option to side with her or not:

"If you happen to be present for the girl's fight with her sisters, I ask that you side with the sisters and kill Millicent. It must be done by your hand; no other. Millicent trusts you, rather deeply in fact. Sever that trust. Nurtured by betrayal, her bud will flower most vividly. When Malenia ascends to godhood, Millicent too shall be reborn. As a scarlet valkyrie."

Midra. Everyone remembers the "Endure". Endure the pain to ascend to power, perhaps? To evolve into something far more powerful and dangerous due to pain?

Trina has suffered both of these things. Physical pain and abandonment. I believe this is why her blood being spilled has changed her power so drastically. Yet her loving nature remains unchanged. I wonder if Trina was left to suffer could she have become something much worse, like Godwyn? Or is she holding it back? Enduring, but for everyone else's sake instead?

[stayfortwominutes]

📝 all in your mind | jeongin

disclaimers; cursing*, female pronouns, written from third person perspective, pet names, self-doubt; no depictions of the members' personalities, actions or thoughts reflect their true character.

pairing; jeongin x pregnant reader

synoposis; the result of exhaustion and stress clouding jeongin's mind is a dismal view on reality.

content; office worker!jeongin, one-sided misunderstanding trope, angst, fluff, comfort, married, slice of life | word count; 2.3 k

song recommendation; "mariah carey - all in your mind"

jeongin is haunted by that one image all day long.

the image of y/n. a deer in headlights, caught in the doorway as she tried to quietly scamper - more so hobble, due to her current state - from their bedroom at two-thirty in the morning. her wide eyes were glossy, her cheeks glistened pearlescent with tears that cascaded down to her jaw, and her chest was slightly heaving.

the scene was vividly imprinted in his mind. not to mention a duffel bag gripped tightly in her left hand. a shirt sleeve was caught in the zip and stuck out like a sore thumb.

naturally, jeongin would have rushed to her side to comfort her, but instead he feigned ignorance. he simply rolled over, his back then faced the door as he let sleep consume him. 

that morning, he finished up his breakfast and smoothed his suit in the full-length mirror as normal. his gaze focused on the bag stuffed full to the seams that now sat in the corner of their bedroom; the sleeve having been tucked away. an undeniable tension lingered in the air; a suffocating silence replaced the couple’s usual lively morning chatter. 

the only acknowledgement between the pair was when jeongin stood in the entryway, as he and his wife exchanged a routine goodbye hug and kiss. when he took y/n in his arms, he gave her a cautious, gentle squeeze before placing a light peck on her lips. it was a meagre effort resultant of the guilt that festered in the pit of his stomach.

he had to be honest with himself, the current demands of his office job had him exhausted. this exhaustion left him little to no time to even process his own emotions. work had intensely preoccupied his mind for the last week, sapping him of all his energy and consequently, he felt himself growing emotionally distant from his wife.

jeongin’s gradual aloofness was surely a strain on their relationship. it wasn’t that he took out his stress on y/n, but that he became a shadow of the person he used to be. he was recoiling into himself, shutting out everything that wasn’t work - unfortunately that included y/n. 

a myriad of thoughts raced through his head, manifesting into a dull ache. seeking relief, he brought his right thumb and index to his temples, trying to massage the stress away before it had a chance to morph into a splitting migraine. a lonesome feeling settled in his heart along with the combined sediments of remorse and weariness that had slowly piled up.

“assistant manager, yang? you’re needed in meeting room three.” 

a bright intern called for jeongin from down the hall, breaking him from his trace. a despondent sigh rose from the depths of his chest, as he stood up from his desk to pull on his jacket. 

the remainder of the workday flew by, and fortunately for jeongin, his team successfully wrapped up their project. so successfully, they finished it three days ahead of schedule. ergo, a celebration was in order, and their team leader summoned everyone for an afterwork dinner.

jeongin was never a fan of these dinners, often times coworkers ended up blind drunk, senior employees boasted about their “achievements” – that came from exploiting their juniors, whilst others miserably recited their woes to one another.

conflicted, he momentarily vacillated between having to upkeep his professional façade as he joined in with his colleagues or, returning straight home to confront the bleak reality that relentlessly plagued his mind.

reluctantly, jeongin let himself be ushered along with the procession of his fellow office workers that were headed off to a nearby restaurant.

as the group took their seats at the conjoined tables, jeongin silently cursed to himself having to be sat at the front end near their team leader. he prayed his displeasure had not bled onto his face.

jeongin became preoccupied with his phone, as it buzzed in his jacket pocket. he held it in his lap, covering it from the view of wandering eyes as he peered at the most recent message from y/n.

jeongin: we’re having a team dinner to celebrate the end of the project. i’ll be home late. make sure to eat, don’t wait up for me. y/n: oh… i’m making your favourite, soybean soup. i’ll put yours in the fridge for tomorrow. have a good time, be safe ❤

a pang of guilt surged through his chest, but he brushed it aside, muting the little voice in the back of his mind that urged him to go home.

“mr. yang, how nice of you to grace us with your presence.”

slipping his phone back into his pocket, jeongin looked over at the team lead, mr. song. the older man brandished his grotesque golden smile, the edges of his teeth blackened like charcoal from years of smoking.

jeongin flashed a polite smile, veiling the grimace he often sported when engaging with mr. song and his brutish behaviour.

“i thought a drink with everyone would be a good way to lift the spirits, after all this hard work we’ve been through.” jeongin simply responded, ignoring the snarky undertones of the older man’s previous comment, and taking a sip of his water.

“here, let me pour you drink,” mr. song offered, but jeongin courteously reached for the alcohol instead.

“i don’t drink, my wife doesn’t like the smell.”

mr. song scoffed, but accepted as jeongin filled his glass to the brim. “suit yourself.”

soon after, everyone settled down as various dishes began to line the table, and mr. song proposed a toast: congratulating all staff, rather insincerely, for their efforts.

the evening eventually crept in, and jeongin sat amongst his coworkers, drifting between conversations, but never really paying attention to any of the topics.

“yang,” a silenced sigh emitted from jeongin as he mentally prepared himself for whatever the team lead would shoot his way.

“yes, sir?”

mr. song loosened his tie, draping an arm over the back of his chair, before taking a vigourous swig and emptying his shot glass.

jeongin moved swiftly to refill the cup, wishing his senior would fall drunk and stop bothering him.

“must feel good to wrap up another project so quickly. you’re lucky to have me to guide you.” 

“i couldn’t have done it without my team, they work hard, sir.” he replied in a seasoned manner.

after years of the same repertoire of narcissist self-praise, jeongin knew that any comments were always motivated by the chance to undermine him for his success at such a young age.

the older man continued, “now it’s over, i’ll have to find another reason to avoid my wife.” he cackled as he took another shot and pushed the glass back in jeongin's direction.

“oh right, don’t you have a kid on the way?”

jeongin hesitantly nodded, unsure of his senior's intention in raising the topic. “yes, my wife is five months along.”

“you’re so young, and you’ve already set your prison date,” mr. song callously groaned, beginning to slur his words. “all that freedom gone! but don’t worry, these team dinners are a great time to be single again.”

the last comment had jeongin clenching his jaw. he continued smiling as awkward chuckles were exchanged between the other workers in ear shot. sickened by the attitude and souring atmosphere, jeongin downed the last of his water.

“yeah, and that’s why his first wife divorced him.” the voice of the other assistant manager indignantly piped up before a wave of laughter erupted. mr. song was already slouched back in his seat, unable to rebut; face glowing red as the alcohol diminished his senses.

“i’ll be taking my leave,” jeongin muttered through gritted teeth, excusing himself from the dinner. he stood in front of the restaurant, checking his phone for the time: seven-fifty, it read.

he hastily typed: “i’m coming home, i miss you,” and hit send before putting his phone away to hail a nearby taxi.

throughout the twenty-minute journey home, jeongin continued lamenting over the situation he’d left at home that morning. when the driver pulled up to a red light, a few minutes’ walk from the couple’s home, jeongin hurriedly paid, cutting his trip short upon noticing a flower stall still open late at night.

he scurried out of the taxi, and over to the vendor, requesting all the leftover flowers. the old lady running the stall was pleasantly surprised at the late custom, but happily set to wrapping up the bouquet.

“whoever it’s for, i’m sure she’ll love it! now go on home.”

handing several bills and an extra tip for the older lady’s warm hospitality, jeongin quickened his pace, his heels hot as he got closer and closer to the apartment block. his impatience got the better of him, as the elevator was stuck at the higher floors, seeming to stop at every level.

“fuck this,” he hissed, and made his way to the stairs. skipping every second step, the wind was knocked from him as he reached the front door.

jeongin frantically punched in the passcode, his initial anxiety overwhelmed by the adrenaline that coursed through his veins.

immediately, when he clambered into the quiet apartment, he was met a daunting suspense that he believed would swallow him whole.

y/n was stood blankly in front of the stove, her swollen ankles clad in compression sleeves, and her shoulder shaking a little. jeongin noticed her phone on the table, his recent message still unread.

“honey, i’m home.” he gently called out, and saw the way her whole-body jolted, startled by his unexpected return. y/n made no effort to turn around, rigidly continuing to stir the pot in front of her.

“welcome home, did you eat? it’s almost ready.” jeongin hurried over to her side, setting the flowers on the table to engulf her in a loving embrace.

“i couldn’t bear the thought of you eating alone. listen, for everything that’s been going on, i’m so sorry. i was struggling to handle work; i promise i wasn’t shutting you out on purpose.” he earnestly confessed.

y/n turns to her husband, nuzzling her face against his chest as her arms encircle his waist. focusing on the soothing rhythmic pump of his heartbeat, the couple stood swaying together in unison, holding onto each other as if life itself would end once they separated. jeongin pulls back to pepper delicate kisses over y/n’s face, a wholehearted smile broke out on her face – oh, how he missed her crescent eyes and cheeks rounded with glee.

“here, sit at the table, and i’ll serve it up.” jeongin gingerly guided y/n to the dining table and donned her apron over his work suit.

y/n’s watchful eyes followed him, softening at the return of his thoughtful gesture. she fiddled with the bouquet, caressing the petals and smelling each flower, her smile only grew wider with fondness.

jeongin placed a bowl of hot soup and rice in front of her, then slid into the seat beside her. his eyes filled with adoration, as he took a quick sip of the soup – the homely taste warmed his soul.

“let me,” he insisted, taking a napkin, and draping it over y/n’s bump – she often spilt food, a clumsy trait she’d developed with the change in her body shape.

jeongin took the spoon, briefly blowing over it before bringing it to y/n’s lip. she followed his directions, opening her mouth to accept more food and relishing in the abrupt onslaught of pampering.

“i’m not a child, you know.” she quipped cheekily, “but you’re carrying mine and i should be helping you a lot more often than i have been.”

jeongin flushed a shade of red akin to the roses on the table, thinking back to his negligence for his wife’s current state and yet having acted so indifferent.

“innie, is something wrong? i heard you did well at work today.”

y/n’s right hand came up to tenderly cradle the side of his face, he melted into her touch. that was when the first tear fell, and she instantly thumbed it away. her husband shuffled closer to her, feebly placing his head against the curve of her neck.

“please… don’t leave me,” he croaked.

“why would you ever say that?” y/n quizzed, perturbed by his desperate plea.

jeongin leaned back to sit upright, gathering his wife’s hands in his.

“i saw the bag you packed, the tears this morning too.  i promise i’ll do better.” his saddened eyes and the downturn of his lips drew anguish in y/n’s heart.

“darling, i think you misunderstood something. that bag is for the baby, i wanted to pack my essentials for the hospital ahead of time. don't you remember buying it with me?” his wife chuckled as a bewildered expression painted jeongin’s face.

“a-and the tears?”

“i had terrible hayfever last night, and i know you’ve been working hard to finish your project, so i thought i’d leave the room. i didn’t mean to wake you, silly.”

jeongin was overcome with an incredulous sense of relief, he had spiralled making the reality of the situation in front of him murky.

“i’m not sure what you were thinking, but maybe it’s time to shut off your mind. go take a bath, and we can relax together on the couch together.” y/n reassured him.

affection poured from her eyes as he stared back at her. comfort seeped from her gaze to envelop his anxious soul and laid to rest the flurrying burdens of inadequacy and self-doubt that burgeoned in his own heart.

“i-i was worried i made you feel unloved and that’s exactly the opposite of what i vowed when i married you.” the heavy sigh had his shoulders rattling as it escaped him.

“never, innie. i know sometimes you get caught up in yourself, so don’t forget, i’m here to listen.” y/n held her arms wide, beckoning her husband back into her embrace. she placed soft feathery kisses against his temple while her fingers carded through the tangles of his black velvety locks.

“i love you,” jeongin hummed against the bare skin of her neck, causing her to giggle at the ticklish sensation.

“and i love you. always have, and always will.” 

consider reading more: masterlist

૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა note; this was a self-indulgent innie fic, and unintentionally based on the theme of mariah's song - all in your mind. the idea originally came to me when i was thinking back to some of the outfits and skits they prepared for their SKZ code episodes. i am trying to remind myself that i am writing as an outlet, not for perfection, so instead of aimlessly keeping this in my drafts, i thought i should post it. please enjoy! © stayfortwominutes ; september 11, 2023.

[luminaryofblood]

Right, so I had no idea what sinistral and dextral meant and did a googling -- sinistral refers to the left hand - left handed. Dextral is right.

Alright. So Miquella abandoned both his arm sinistral and arm dextral.

But when we fight Promised Consort Radahn, he is... Curiously missing his left arm.

Recall the statues of the Haligtree. How the statues showed Miquella having an unusually veiny arm.

A post on reddit mentions how he watered the Haligtree with his blood, and speculated that he specifically watered the Haligtree with the blood from his left arm.

So his left arm represented his connection to the Haligtree.

During the final fight, his right arm returns, and it's with his right that he is embracing Radahn.

His left arm remains missing.

[kingofpuppets]

elden ring dlc spoilers

since i could not find it transcribed anywhere, here’s what ansbach says about the miquella’s crosses you can report to him

Belurat, Tower Settlement Cross

I abandon here my arm sinistral.

Sir Ansbach: “As suspected, Kindly Miquella has visited the lands which hold the tower. And appears intent on wholly dispossessing himself of his flesh. He must be seeking entrance to the tower of shadow.”

Scaduview Cross

I abandon here my eye.

Sir Ansbach: “I can hardly believe it, he’s divested himself of his very eye… Tender Miquella’s eye is no mere morsel of flesh. It is a vessel of soaring grace. Proof of his Empyrean lineage. I wonder, does Miquella the Kind intend to sever his very birthright? His fate as a child of the Erdtree?”

Cerulean Coast Cross

I abandon here my doubt and vacillation.

Sir Ansbach: “To think there was a cross left in such a faraway place… And that deep purple water lilies would be blooming there. This can only mean Kindly Miquella has divested himself even of that… His adoring other self, his blossom of slumber.”

as far as i know, these are the only three you can report to him before he moves to the storehouse in shadow keep, where you can no longer report to him.

also, because i could not find it transcribed anywhere either,

After the breaking of Miquella’s charm

Sir Ansbach: “Kindly Miquella has discarded his Great Rune. The fog that vexed my aging faculties has been lifted. And follies better left forgotten haunt me once again. Once, in an attempt to free Lord Mohg of his enchantment, I challenged Tender Miquella, only to have my own heart rather artfully stolen. I knew not how weak I was. I believed that with sufficient mastery, even an Empyrean would be within the reach of my blade. I could not have been more mistaken… Miquella the Kind… is a monster. Pure and radiant, he wields love to shrive clean the hearts of men. There is nothing more terrifying.”

If spoken to again: “Righteous Tarnished. Miquella the Kind makes my blood run cold. I am loath to admit it, but even at this very instant I wish to run very far away indeed.”

[valehour]

been idly discussing this with a friend, and generally just kind of ruminating on the DLC's final boss and end story and how mad it made me. so consider this significant rewrite to make the story more like I think I now want it to be because my opinions are obviously important """fix""" to the story.

What if the Miquella's lord was just- the player character, not Radahn?

(Full (and Extremely Long) justification under the cutoff)

this is born from my previous thought/rant on the fact that the player isn't given a motivation to actually oppose Miquella within the game itself.

By contrast, the player being the potential Consort of Miquella necessarily helps solidify the conflict around Miquella's Age of Compassion, and the player's place in it.

the Fundamental nature of Miquella in this DLC is that, ultimately, Miquella's love is amoral, stretching the full range from compassion to overtly abusive manipulation. one of the most evocative descriptors of Miquella's love is that it is "Terrifying". That feels like it's a fundamentally punchy, heavy thing for the player to wrestle with. The Age of Compassion is something that the War-torn Lands Between so clearly needs, it needs peace, and love, a more gentle place to cope with the trauma and the suffering and the Ruin, not merely from the Shattering, but the world that preceded it. but it's being created and enforced by a "terrifying", manipulative Cult leader (for want of a better term) who's channeling a very "All Shall Love Me And Despair!" energy.

There's a familiar throughline created by this- the player (both as the Tarnished, and as the Player has a particular impression and idea of Miquella, one who ultimately promises and provides salvation. As we advance through the story of the DLC, we increasingly learn the truth behind what that means- who Miquella is and the full extents of the implications presented.

The biggest moment in regards to this, is, of course, the Approach and descent into the Fissure, and the one of the most important parts of the story.

"I abandon here my doubt and vacilation"

"I abandon here my love"

"Kindly Miquella. I see you've thrown away... Something you should not have. Under any circumstances. How will you salvation Offer... to those who cannot be saved? When you could not even save your other self?"

Miquella's pursuit of godhood has excised St Trina, who appears to have fundamentally dissented Miquella's deification, as it's her, delivered through sleep, who tells us that we shouldn't side with him, but kill him, instead.

This Feels spiritually adjacent to something like encountering Darkstalker Kaathe for the first time, and hearing his side of the story, an argument for The Age of Dark. but, as far as I can tell, this doesn't actually matter. Knowing that St Trina values preventing Miquella's Age of Compassion means nothing in the game, it's just an explanation as to why she was ditched halfway across the realm of shadow in a pit . But the argument St Trina raises, the doubting of Miquella's agenda means nothing because the final confrontation with Miquella is not born from the player's decision to reject the Age of Compassion, it's born from someone on the Fromsoft Dev team needing to put a final bossfight into the DLC.

it's this that forms the main Issue with the ending. The Player is forced into a passive role- the story happens To them, not Because Of them. the "choice" given by the game mechanics is to "Fight Radahn", or quit the DLC. but while the second one is technically a valid resolution to not opposing the Age of Compassion. It really isn't in any practical metrics because, well, That's not actually narrative resolution- putting a book down halfway through does technically end the story, but it doesn't resolve any of the plot threads or conflicts that the audience is expected to engage with- it stops abruptly and unsatisfyingly, told that we're not supposed to care about those plot details- Literally just the "it was all a dream" ending, but punching through the fourth wall. Simply Stopping Engaging with it isn't narratively satisfying for any work who's resolution isn't designed around the idea of putting the story down. and SOTE quite unambiguously isn't designed around that. So even if we view it as "an" ending, it's still fundamentally a bad ending.

but fighting Radahn is also narratively unsatisfying as an ending simply because of the fact that it's DLC- there was no space or time to establish or set up this plot thread or idea that Miquella and Radahn had any relationship or meaningful interactions in the base game (which, fair enough, it'd've bloated the main game which already has a lot to say and discuss in regards to it's own story). but without the idea that Miquella and Radahn actually interacted, this "reveal" is unsatisfying because like. Why should we care? Why Radahn? many other people have commented that Godwyn would be a better fit, but regardless, I think it still doesn't really address the underlying problem- The Player is a passive actor in this story.

So then 9+ paragraphs later, we get to the actual proposal of this unhinged rant essay:

What if the player, due to being tarnished, became the Consort of Miquella, much like one becomes the Consort of Marika and thus Elden lord in the age of fracture. Tarnishedness is a status that can apparently be conferred and withdrawn, and is not, in fact, a limiting factor in lordship (given you can become Elden lord regardless). Not to mention that being opposed to the present order, why should Miquella care as to whether or not the Golden Order values tarnishedness or not? Additionally, Miquelladahn already has an attack where he bewitches you (his grab attack), and should he successfully accomplish it twice, provides an instant game over due to your newfound love and affection for your new God.

This confers the advantage that now the player an active participant of the story, allowing them to choose, for themselves, whether they embrace or reject the Age of Compassion. it's the question posed by the ghost in the Fissure: "How will you salvation Offer... to those who cannot be saved?" Opposition is largely fronted by Ansbach (who resents the use of Mohg in this ritual. Which like. Me Too Buddy.) and St Trina, who fears that Miquella will become "trapped" by godhood, much like Marika was. but now the player can also decide for themselves whether or not to Oppose Miquella. maintaining a Hard-as-fuck bossfight as a result of refusal also creates a rather fascinating ludonarrative tinge to the amorality of his love, and it's most villainous side- after all, if he valued a gentle place, why does he support Radahn ultimately destroying you? Clearly, his world order is at least founded on the same violence that everyone else's is. it's a Fascinating argument against pacifism, calling out it's hypocrisy- that in truth, peace is violent, born from crushing those who ultimately oppose it- the police- The State's armed body do not enforce "The peace" by beating bankrobbers in a debate, only by beating bankrobbers. It's a strong argument against meekly accepting the shape of the world and one's part to play in it- that one ought to stand up for themselves against someone else's will, that one should fight for one's own world.

It's an argument, effectively, in favour of the worldview supposed by Ranni The Witch, who is arguably one of Miquella's strongest narrative foils. She used a shocking act of violence (the assassination of Godwyn) as a tool of liberation, to overthrow the order imposed by another. the shape of society shall not be determined by militarist-Faith, or a cult of adoration, but by self determination, the power to pursue one's own ends. Ranni and Miquella both have love play a part of their quest, but whereas Ranni spurns and fears love, maintains a cold exterior in favour of her duty- keeping the power of the Greater Will distant from the world- that the player must actively pursue and be willing to share the burdens of the thousand year journey into the chill night- a choice and a sacrifice you have no obligation to actually make- but you choose to do out of love, a willingness for, just a moment, Ranni to be truly vulnerable, share her past and her beliefs. But, Ranni's world, for all it's freedom, guarantees none of them, guarantees no true success, that people would actually be free, only that they be free to choose. what stops great warriors from simply founding a new kingdom, a new empire? Are Crowns not warranted by strength, after all?

Miquella, by contrast would build that peace, build it so intensely, that it feels obsessive, maddening. You drown you in it- drown in his Peace, his Love. You can choose to agree with him- because the world should be more gentle, more kind, more loving. This war has gone on too long, the cities in Liurnia are sinking into the ground, Leyndell partly buried into the ash of a failing world order. Stormveil suffers under a mad tyrant-king, the Albinaurics oppressed for the "sin" of their birth. Where are the people? Where is harvest and harvesthome? Miquella's peace, Miquella's love can give it to you.

but if you refuse to serve leally, if you refuse to submit, refuse to build his peace. Well, you join the corpses scattered about the divine gate. you walk in again. Godling Miquella asks you once, again, in a voice polite, courteous, filled with love and civility. to join him. You refuse, and he and his servants, be it the resurrected Radahn or some original boss crushes you again. And Again. it hurts. the pain of asserting your boundaries, your body, to refuse to give in to the world he'd build. it'd be so easy to submit.

Miquella would love you, to the best he was capable. and after all, what's the alternative? marrying Marika into an Age of Fracture? perpetuating the age of an obviously flawed Golden Order as it continues to decline? Or is it a more inclusive order- that welcomes those who live in death? It's reactionary principles jolted forward in a moment of tolerance. But Fia's hallowbrand doesn't save the Albinaurics, though- only Those Who Live In Death. It's still a bigoted, reactionary order, making a concession to what is explicitly framed as a social minority only because it's literally written into the laws of reality.

Is the failure of the Order that the gods were not held accountable to it's principles? But Ranni didn't want to be an Empyrean. Didn't want to be someone with explicit fertility-childbearing metaphors. her freedom is in many ways a story of fighting that selfsame Order, the literal Laws Of Reality in the name of her bodily autonomy and her self expression. but that was only because she was not held accountable to The Order, because she could dissent. Don't you see Tarnished? Is this pursuit Not Flawed? But he could fix it. and He would, he would save people To the best of his ability. Miquella loves you and he suffered Apotheosis to save you. But what happens to those who Cannot be saved because they Refuse to be saved. For Miquella Loves you and Suffered Apotheosis to Save You. But only if you submit to his shape of "Being Saved". and If you don't? Well, the Swords of the Haligtree will sever parts of you until you can.

Or I guess we could have what we actually got where we show up and Radahn immediately throws hands for unclear reasons with someone he's seen for like 3 seconds, in a game that fails to like, explain a motivation as to why the player is fighting Miquella aside from "Because the DLC needs a final boss" with his admittedly sick as fuck wrestler intro for a plot thread that has left at least a few fans with more than a sour taste in their mouths. Myself included. Hence the essay. Anyway, if you finished reading this, congratulations. :D

[retropopcult]

"Thirteen" is a song by American rock band Big Star.  Rolling Stone describes it "one of rock's most beautiful celebrations of adolescence", and rated it #396 on their list of the 500 greatest songs of all time. It was written by Alex Chilton and Chris Bell.

The name of the album was #1 Record, which was bitterly ironic, as it ended up selling under 10,000 copies upon its initial release in 1972 (the name of the band also proved to be an unfortunate misnomer, because outside of critics and other musicians, they remained virtually anonymous during their brief time together).

Bell and Chilton wanted to emulate the Lennon/McCartney formula as much as they could, so they shared credit on many of their songs even though there was in fact little writing collaboration between the two. “Thirteen" was in fact entirely Chilton’s creation, and he also delivers the aching vocal that vacillates between hope and heartache and that many cover versions have tried to emulate but never quite matched.

The yearning acoustic ballad focuses on an age that is somewhat underrepresented in pop and rock music. Chilton found that bittersweet spot when innocence still lingers but more complicated emotions start to work their way into the picture.

Over tender guitars, he begins with a question that thirteen-year-old boys have been asking thirteen-year-old girls for generations: “Won’t you let me walk you home from school?” “Won’t you let me meet you at the pool?” he follows, again treading lightly so as not to scare her away. He eventually suggests a date at the dance on Friday; “And I’ll take you,” Chilton delicately sings, as if anything more forceful than a gentle plea will destroy his chances.

In the second verse, the narrator for the first time reveals an obstacle blocking the path to this girl for whom he is clearly falling hard: “Won’t you tell your Dad get off my back?” he asks her. His response to the doubting father is brilliant: “Tell him what we said about ‘Paint It Black.’” By drawing a parallel between his own musical tastes and that of the father, he’s hoping to show that he’ s not just some punk kid with bad intentions.

The final verse finds him struggling as she remains seemingly unknowable (“Won’t you tell me what you’re thinking of?”) resulting in his sweet but awkward follow up (“Would you be an outlaw for my love?”) His final lines redeem him in terms of his integrity and honor, even as they suggest that he’ s losing his opportunity with her in the process: “If it’ s no then I can go/ I won’ t make you.” The final “Ooo-hoo” that Chilton utters is a real killer, tinged as it is with the sting of implied refusal.

Over the decades there have been some fine cover versions of this classic, with brilliant and diverse artists like Garbage, Wilco, and Elliott Smith taking their turns, among many others. But they’d likely all agree they were playing for second behind Chilton’s one-of-a-kind, haunting performance. “Thirteen” is as good as it gets for those looking to relive that moment when life is still rife with possibilities but love seems stubbornly impossible.

Music critic Simon Robinson rates it as Big Star's best song and one of the most important of 1972, praising the "catchy melody and jangly guitars that perfectly capture the carefree and optimistic spirit of youth" and the "simple yet poignant" lyrics that evoke the "experience of teenage romance and heartbreak."

[allwormdiet]

Extermination 8.4

Armsmaster: I'm a genius! Armsmaster: Oh no!

Everything they do against Leviathan is insufficient. It's fucking horrifying.

Skitter just like "ehh, I don't think Parian's hardcore enough tbh"

Also, God, it's just getting increasingly dire just in terms of who's standing, huh? They're down most of the forcefield users at this point, the Triumvirate is down or handling other shit.

Also also I'm so sad that Purity didn't drown in the middle of the street like she deserves

Taylor is so fucking funny, she's like "I'm not brave like these other capes, I'm just standing and working to combat an Endbringer even though my power does absolutely nothing offensively or defensively against it. oh I'm not an adrenaline fiend or anything, I don't live for the thrill of battle, I just have an unreasonably high pain tolerance and not a whole lot of care for whether I live or die"

So her power gets stronger in especially high-stakes situations. Something about her emotional state, or something about an innate response to extreme threats?

Taylor's life seems to involve constant rapid-fire vacillation between predator and prey. It can't be helping with her stress levels, regardless of how good she is at being both of those things.

So this is a tactic that will slow Leviathan down, but if he gets to keep moving for too long then it will immediately turn around and bite them on the ass. Dunno how good of an idea that is tbh.

Fucking automaton freak of a superhero, truly

Also does the wider world never find it alarming that the order goes "parahumans < Endbringers < Scion" because I feel like that would prompt questions about Goldilocks on the regular

New Wave is at 75% strength and the invincible Ward just got fucking vincibled. God that's rough.

Wooo! Nazi down! Yeahhh!

WOOOOOOO NAZI DOWN!

Hope the water slide chaps your legless ass on the way to Hell, Kaiser, you rancid fuck!

Also haha whoops I sure hope that dead armband isn't indicative of some kinda foul play

Well yeah, fuck, I guess it's a good thing she had those decoys after all

Credit where credit is due, if it was possible to actually kill an Endbringer, which I fucking doubt, this would probably be the best show of doing it.

According to Wikipedia, "hubris" describes a personality quality of extreme or excessive pride or dangerous overconfidence and complacency, often in combination with (or synonymous with) arrogance.

According to studies, hubris, arrogance, and pretension are related to the need for victory (even if it does not always mean winning) instead of reconciliation, which "friendly" groups might promote. Hubris is usually perceived as a characteristic of an individual rather than a group, although the group the offender belongs to may suffer collateral consequences from wrongful acts. Hubris often indicates a loss of contact with reality and an overestimation of one's own competence, accomplishments, or capabilities. The adjectival form of the noun hubris/hybris is hubristic/hybristic.

The term hubris originated in Ancient Greek, where it had several different meanings depending on the context. In legal usage, it meant assault or sexual crimes and theft of public property, and in religious usage it meant emulation of divinity or transgression against a god.

Hesiod and Aeschylus used the word "hubris" to describe transgressions against the gods. A common way that hubris was committed was when a mortal claimed to be better than a god in a particular skill or attribute. Claims like these were rarely left unpunished, and so Arachne, a talented young weaver, was transformed into a spider when she said that her skills exceeded those of the goddess Athena, even though her claim was true. Additional examples include Icarus, Phaethon, Salmoneus, Niobe, Cassiopeia, Tantalus, and Tereus.

These events were not limited to myth, and certain figures in history were considered to have been punished for committing hubris through their arrogance. One such person was king Xerxes as portrayed in Aeschylus's play The Persians, and who allegedly threw chains to bind the Hellespont sea as punishment for daring to destroy his fleet.

What is common in all of these examples is the breaching of limits, as the Greeks believed that the Fates (Μοῖραι) had assigned each being with a particular area of freedom, an area that even the gods could not breach

In its modern usage, hubris denotes overconfident pride combined with arrogance. Hubris is also referred to as "pride that blinds" because it often causes a committer of hubris to act in foolish ways that belie common sense.

Anyway I guess Armsmaster has to be called Armmaster now, s- oh, what's this?

Congratulations allwormdiet! You are the 4,000,000th Worm reader to make the "Armmaster joke!"

Oh boy what do I win

Nothing!

O-oh.

Tfw the teenager you deliberately attempted to sacrifice in order to get your moment of glory soloing the raid boss still tries to save your stupid ass

Fucking remarkable that Skitter is still contributing at all considering how hard she's been rocked through all of this

And she's gonna keep doing it, too.

Tfw the teenager you deliberately attempted to sacrifice in order to get your moment of glory soloing the raid boss is the only thing saving your life

Current Thoughts

Colin, Colin, Colin. We'll get into it more once the fight's over but you truly fumbled on this already rancid day. I hope like Hell this will finally get you to be a little humble.

So, some more bad losses in this chapter obviously, sad to see Aegis go for all he was kinda bland and I'm sure New Wave is going to feel their losses something fierce.

But hey, two more dead Nazi capes, so it's not all downsides!

[prismatic-starstuff]

Worth.

— Miquella in the Land of Shadow.

CW: self-harm, descriptions of blood and gore.

The knife passes through his skin with a speed he hadn't expected; so easy it was to split his skin, to cut away flesh that had once been called precious. Blood splashes against the flowers at his feet, and immediately they twist and gleam gold and sing in the empyrean's presence.

Long eyelashes flutter closed, breaths deep and trembling as undeniable pain blooms in his arm.

But it is worth it, he tells himself. For his family, for his people, he would face anything.

And so, he gathers spilled blood atop trembling fingertips, and he traces a message at the base of the gleaming cross left in his wake:

I abandon here the first of the flesh of my body.

—

The knife would have fallen from anyone else's hand, but he holds it tight and stays the course; knows he's come too far not to. Shaking and wet breaths come quick and shallow as he cuts and carves, his one remaining arm trembling in its work.

This pain is cleansing, he tells himself. In this pain lies the atonement for sin; that of his mother, that of the old order, that of himself. In this pain is an end; and in that end is a beginning, and that beginning will make it all worth it.

He pulls the knife back out with force, throws it to the ground, plunges his dextral hand into the remains of his mutilated chest; and with a gasp, with a cry, out comes the still-beating source of all that pain.

He drops it at the cross, collapses to his knees, and scrawls a barely-legible message:

I abandon here my heart.

—

The knife cannot hurt him as sorely as his regret, cannot stab into him as deeply as his dread. But all of that is gone as easily as a breath in the wind; memorialised with another spilling of his blood.

Yet his one eye, bright and golden, is dripping with tears; from emotional or physical pain, he is not sure. Every breath he takes is as ragged as a death rattle; for, by now, he knows he should've been long dead.

Trembling steps guide him further; and his hand, frail and weak, tightens around that of another.

Mere seconds ago, simply looking upon her would have been enough to give him pause; to make him question if this deed is worth it, and almost undoubtedly, to make him realise that it's not.

...But now, all that settles in his chest is an unfamiliar sense of single-minded focus; and he lifts her in his arm, and he holds her to his chest as they stumble down deep into the earth.

I abandon here my doubt and vacillation.

—

The knife falls to the floor as helpless as his body; as helpless as his other half, eyes closed as though even now she's dreaming the sweetest dreams. She rests in his one remaining arm, so tiny and so precious and so gentle.

She is everything that he can no longer allow himself to be. He knows it.

He knows it so terribly well.

The wreckage of his body, minus an eye and an arm and his heart and so many bits of flesh, brings her close and presses a kiss to her forehead. He does not regret what he has come here to do - he can no longer regret what he has come here to do - yet he cannot deny how much it hurts him; cannot ignore the tears spilling down his mutilated face.

And as he drops his sleeping other half down into the coldness of empty darkness, he can only remind himself that all this will be worth it.

...By this point, it must be worth it.

I abandon here my love.

—

The knife can no longer do him harm. He is without flesh. He is without form. He is without organs and doubts and Trina and love.

...And yet, the sight of the tower makes his very spirit tremble in a way he cannot explain.

Once, he had feared godhood. His tiny form had trembled as he'd so timidly asked for the help of another; as he'd practically pleaded not to be alone in this cursed eternity that he didn't truly want.

But now, he no longer doubts himself; can no longer doubt himself. This will be worth it. This age of gentleness, of peace, of goodness and of love will be worth it; will be worth every pound of flesh and every drop of blood and every loss and every sacrifice.

Fear gives way to determination, to surety, to focus.

And his spirit trembles no more as he goes towards the gate; towards peace, towards love, towards rest and forgiveness and compassion indiscriminate.

I abandon here all my fears.

—

The knife carries no substance against his spectral fingers, and with a detached sort of curiosity, he tilts his head. What a tiny thing, he thinks, to have managed so much.

At his side, Radahn sits, silent and stoic and in a body that does not belong to him but that he wears flawlessly. One of his braids, he notes absently, has come slightly loose.

He rises with a sort of elegance that isn't of this world, taller than any human and radiant as gold. Unnaturally quiet footsteps take him behind his consort, and all three hands reach to sort his tresses.

In a way, it seems almost domestic; the god and the lord, alone and at ease, sharing close contact in the seat of the power they share.

...But he does not love Radahn. He does not love the Haligtree within which they sit. He does not love the people who come smiling to him every day, does not love loyal Malenia whom he'd once held more dear than anything, does not love the world for which he'd driven the knife into himself in the first place.

In times just after his ascension, the absence of such feelings had been a curious thing; a loss he could feel.

Those times are long ago now.

They are somewhere forgotten in the past, before the dawn of the age of compassion in which his family can rest and his people can thrive; the blessed eternity in which sin is atoned for and there are no ends, only beginnings.

He has no heart left to regret what he's given up, and no blood left to spill; and as he turns his eyes, dulled and golden, towards the sky, he cannot doubt that, indeed, everything had been worth it.

...Yet he also cannot recall the reason for the tears that trail down his impassive face, nor the reason why his chest feels cold and empty as the darkness.

[lorianbladeoflothric]

Inspired by that last post: au where some of Miquella’s other parts take on a human form.

Trina is his love, but he also abandoned his fears and doubts.

Fear would manifest into a boy named Eilif (meaning “alone” or just “one”) who probably has a similar level of power to Trina though I haven’t decided on what it would be exactly. I think even though love and sleep have nothing to do with each other his power should reflect what Miquella might be afraid of. Maybe smth like being able to sap the strength of others, implying he fears his own weakness and vulnerability w/ his cursed body.

His “doubts and vacillations” would manifest, and this is purely self indulgent, into a red-haired boy who acts rather like Malenia named Malachi (meaning double. There’s a theme). Malachi would largely represent his unfinished business in the lands between. I don’t have a solid idea for his power though it might have something to do with blood? (Betraying his family, the way he watered the now-abandoned Haligtree, just being generally kinda emo)

Possibly his heart and eyes could manifest as his sense of self and curiosity/thirst for knowledge but that’s not super necessary. The plot would be that the tarnished could kill Mickey at the end, or they could reunite him with his discarded aspects of himself and he won’t go through with his ascension and return home to elphael.

Why yes this is just copium. I thought it’d be neat though