#Because you will face his horrific wrath

[azen13]

The Lives and Losses of Lovers

Description: This is actually inspired by a post by @lum1nesc3nce, which you can find here! TLDR: Zhongli x God!Reader, where Zhongli kills his lover but they stay alive. This does have a bit more of a Yandere!Zhongli flavor, though, so be warned!

CW: Yandere Themes, Descriptions of Violence, Descriptions of Blood, Murder, Mild Gore,

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The patio is warm, blessed with the touch of the sun’s earliest rays. Already you and Zhongli sit in two comfortable chairs; he sips on tea, you on coffee. It is a scene that has played out a thousand times, yet one Zhongli never tires of. He never tires of seeing your face aglow, of feeling your body leaning against his, of knowing you are here, miraculously breathing life through your bones and skin.

“My dear, I was wondering,” Zhongli starts, his soft contemplative voice shattering the flimsy silence blanketing the porch. “Would you like to accompany me to Liyue Harbor to purchase some groceries?” It is a reward–he thinks as he revels in your surprised reaction–for how understanding you have been in these turbulent times. With the whole mess regarding the Fatui cleared up and a mundane mortal life ahead of him, Zhongli can afford to spend more moments with you in sweet, blissful love.

Perhaps one day it will make up for that vile scene years ago, the moment his heart became stone: your body splayed stunningly on the ground, looking like the most gilded, horrific masterpiece he had ever seen. Painted in sunlit hues, his spearhead sticking from your chest splattered with blood made of molten gold. 

Even nearly dying you looked breathtaking. 

He is still suffering from regret for the decision. At the time, the situation was looking grim; Guizhong and Azhdaha were both gone, leaving you his only close friend. He spent many moonlit nights sharing tea and hushed conversation, as well as tears and heartfelt confessions with you. Zhongli is not the god of words, but just the sight of your iridescent eyes made him want to tell you every trouble and every worry had. You were his most valuable treasure, his lover through and through. Your contract with him, to always stand by side, loyal to one another, made him so weak, so soft, so human.

But that was the issue. Everyone knew of his love, his tender affection; unbecoming of a god who wielded earth and stone as weapons. His life was plagued by phantoms day and night. When he dreamed he envisioned you being kidnapped by some evil god like Osial and being tortured. Killed. Doomed to a fate worse than death, even. In the day, every action you did reminded him of a delicate tree weathering a deluge. Your branches swayed in the intense winds and even the earth couldn’t anchor you.

So he pleaded. He begged you to stay tucked away in his private domain where no great evil could stalk after you, promising to love you for an eternity of eternities. He would love you until every mountain had become a valley. But you refused, saying you wanted to live every facet of life, turning the world like a kaleidoscope in your hands.

The mirrors shifted and the skies turned red.

Those prophecies he had dreamt, uttered to him by ghosts haunting his mind, came true. You were taken away by some pesky, lowly god, and confessed all that you knew. That was fine. Zhongli was made of stone and Cor Lapis, and even if this insignificant insect of a god knew his weaknesses–few as they were–Zhongli eviscerated them.

But the contract.

When the god was sealed away beneath the sea, Zhongli fell to his knees, mouth opened but unable to utter any words.

Zhongli is not the god of words.

It is horribly tragic, he mourns as he stares at your hollow expression, that you must face the wrath of the rock because of a ridiculous choice of words. “To always stand by his side.” You have technically betrayed him.

The earth shakes for weeks afterwards. The sudden freak earthquake is talked about for weeks on end before people move on, as life does. Zhongli does not. His memory of you remains petrified, his new specter. He will never truly love again for thousands of years. Every time he is reminded of you, a piece of his heart chips away

But then you came back. 

That day is amber, crystallized in his mind. Seeing you in the bustling streets of Liyue Harbor, so lost after centuries away from home. At that moment, Zhongli decides he will not make the same mistake twice. He would have preferred more time to draw you in carefully, but he is afraid now. Afraid that some hideous twist of fate will rip you from him again. So he whisks you away to his private domain, and drafts up a new contract, binding you to him in matrimony forever. 

Please forgive him, he begs after you sign the contract in gold, tears dripping down your cheeks. He only wishes to protect you; he has always wished to protect you. But the world is cruel to lovers, and not even the strong can uphold such a delicate thing. 

In Zhongli’s private domain, wicked things like time and fate are nonexistent. Zhongli is the only god that rules these lands. He is a benevolent god, if a little possessive. After being deprived of you for so long, he craves your presence, he claims. Day and night, he tries to spend every living moment with you. When he cannot, you are ever-present in his mind–a living, breathing thing instead of the dead spirits that once terrorized it for all those years.

Some days you seem despondent, craving room to spread your branches far and wide. But Zhongli simply chuckles and kisses the top of your head; he smells the gentle scent of your shampoo, knowing this is what is best for you. He whispers it quietly, lacing sweet nothings and honeyed words into his voice as he pulls you into his arms. You haven’t tried to fight him on this in years, either. It’s part of the reason why he has proposed going on a  little trip to Liyue Harbor. Perhaps if all goes well, he’ll allow more trips out of the private domain. All supervised by his watchful eye, of course. After a few moments of stunned surprise, you finally have the courage to speak. “I-I’d love to. Thank you, Zhongli,” you say quietly. Zhongli smiles, leaning to press a delicate kiss to your lips.

“You are very welcome, my treasure,” he whispers, a hand reaching to cup your face; his thumb reaches to brush your lips tenderly.

He can tell that you are still afraid of him, fearful that he will hurt you again. No matter. One day, Zhongli hopes, you will shed your fear like a caterpillar in chrysalis, and emerge into a glittering world full of Zhongli’s love for you. 

[newkatzkafe2023]

@lara-legomonkiekid

💜:I Just remembered An Ask about baby Monkey King!

What if Y/N Monkey was the One Who turned into a baby?

OH how the tables have turned😈😈😈😈

(Lmk Wukong) Is this Karma or something, did everything he did to upset you bought forth this horrible punishment??? He spill yet another unknown Elixir in his messy treasure room and now your the baby this time!!!! You must have been angry with him because not only were you so adorable bit horrifically troublesome. As a cub you Were a tiny tyrant to everybody on the mountain, especially to him. Wukong was a bit fearful of your cub form as you seem to have a unpredictable and violet temper, which looks kinda familiar. When you turned back wukong was relieved because you were Terrifying cub and the baby monkeys agreed.

(HIB Wukong) Oh man, he's gonna panic, but he tries to stay calm mostly. You were turned into a baby by another demon, and he was pissed. After beating the crap out of the other demon, he learns that it's temporary and that you will be back to normal in no time. What he didn't expect was for you to have such a rebellious phase, Silly girl behaves better than you, and she's a human baby. You as a baby monkey, would cause all kinds of trouble, and you would pick on both him and pigsy. You as a cub were a living nightmare, Thank god you finally turned back at the end of the day, he didn't know how long much he could take.

(MKR Wukong) This is a scary situation, but not for him. You saved him from a demon that tried to turn him into a baby, but you covered him, and now you are a baby monkey cub. Wukong learned that this was temporary, and you were quite a little angel 😇 to Wukong. Making sure to behave and obey him with great honor and responsibility, not to mention you were so cute, but behind Wukong's back, were you the f*cking devil to the monk and pigsy You had no interest in sandy and acted quite indifferent towards him, figuring him to be incredibly boring, but you were hell on earth when it came to the monk and pigsy. You got payback on the monk for all the times he zapped your husband and being an ungrateful ass to both of you, and pigsy well You made that grown man cry with your harsh words and treatment cutting into him every second of every day. At the end, we turned back to normal, and everybody was relieved until pigsy and the monk noticed your evil smile, the same one you had as a cub. It was done that pigsy and master tang pale as you were aware of what you were doing that whole time😈😈😈.

(NR Wukong) Another Exlier incident, you thought it was a drink And the next thing you both knew you were a baby monkey again. Luckily Wukong knew that the exlier will wear off in a few hours, in the mean time he would look after you until you go back to being an adult. You were a really shy cub which surprised him, you would be quiet and reserved and you be a bit nervous with him. Wukong was careful not to make sudden movements our you in fear of scarying your cub self, but you already sense that he wasn't a threat to you and are found hugging and cuddling him. When you finally turned back, Wukong told you about how well behave you are and found you to be adorable.

(Netflix Wukong) How are you a cub, but your still more responsible then him. This idoit was playing in a place that he was obviously banned from, and you Argued with him about it but he broke something and now your a baby. Man were you pissed, you hissed, and growled, and gave in an ass whooping like he was the child. You demanded that he found a cure for us our he'll continue to feel your wrath, but Netflix didn't take you all to seriously with your chubby face and body. Until you grabbed his staff and wacked him over the head, Reminding him of his idiocy , and he quickly found a cure turning you back into an adult. Your still a bit upset with him but you made sure to kiss the boos boos you gave him.

FEEL FREE TO REBLOG👼

[romeave]

the real reason why mcd zane sucks, from purely a writing standpoint, is that the writers really want him to be a pure evil villian. a force of evil that can not be reasoned with or stopped. absolutely nuance free and unsympathetic no matter how you slice and dice it.

which, would normally be fine, but is a weird choice for zane specifically because the writers keep naturally bringing up ways to give him depth, only to bend over backwards to shut it down once they remember zane is supposed to be cardboard flat for their kid audience to remember he's the bad guy.

and by all the time i do mean all the time. here is a list of roads blocked off by the no development tree that fell across the road:

Zane grew up isolated even by the standards of noble children, as heirs to the O'khasis throne start their training rather young, and, according to accounts about his childhood, Zane preferred to spend his free time alone as opposed to with family. At some point, his father contracted some illness that turns people into asshole tyrants, and began to groom a very impressionable Zane into a good and obedient pawn for him to control on his quest for world domination -> Zane was actually always evil from birth, which makes him immune to trauma. Garte's dickheadness actually only affected the "good" Ro'Meaves, and actually it's Zane's influence that turned Garte into a bad person. Even shit that Garte did long after Zane died are Zane's fault by proxy.

Zane's strained relationship with his brothers are also largely attributed to Zane being evil. Honestly there's a lot I could put here but the most damning one is probably the fact that Zane isn't allowed to talk about his upbringing at all after vaguely mentioning having a dead brother on the docks.

Zane's initially introduced as an ambitious young priest who came to power due to his commitment to his studies. He secretly uses taboo ancient magic that people can't exactly come across if they don't have an obsessive drive to learn about the divines beyond the church's teachings. -> Actually Zane stole everything from "real scholars" and never actually cared about his research outside of what power it could bring him. Apparently he can't even read for himself without a "real scholar" in the room.

Zane's most terrible deeds (Kiki's pendant, Alexis, Falconclaw) were committed in service of opening the Irene dimension. Its implied that some, if not all of the specific deeds needed to open the portal were decided long before Zane ever got his hands on the amulets. -> Each portal-opening crime is treated as its own separate crime, motivated purely by sadism. Falconclaw specifically is referred to as a "horrific mass slaughter Zane had a lot of fun committing", even though everyone involved just painlessly fell over dead

Zane only raises a sword to people to have actively betrayed him. Jeffory betrayed him, the Wolf Tribe was plotting to eat him the next time he showed up, and Garroth committed treason two seperate times and shoved his own sword in Zane's face before Zane tried to kill him about it -> Evidence that Zane is just a bloodthristy killer who would kill his comrades unprompted. His victims are not traitors, but martyrs to his unreasonable wrath

Zane possessed the protector's relic for a period of time. Surely he must've had some reason to hold it -> Zane was entirely undeserving of the relic. He only had it because blood relations.

Despite already having a relic, Zane wants to get Irene's relic -> Exclusively to hoard power! No personal reasons or family reasons or nerd reasons. Just an insanely dangerous and high stakes task done solely to have them all. Like its a pokemon with life steal.

Zane gets turned into a Shadow Knight. Zane used to have an absurd amount of knowledge on the Shadow Knights, lots of shadow knights hate his gay ass, becoming a Shadow Knight is usually pretty traumati--> Zane doesn't feel trauma, duh!! He's actually stronger than ever.

And I know I'm aphblr's foremost Zane dick rider but this isn't a Zane did nothing wrong post its just bad writing. Zane's actions affect so much of the plot its fucking bonkers to give him the depth of an evil sheet of printer paper. Aph's usually pretty good at fleshing out her villians I don't know why the one guy who everyone and their mother has a connection to is just a knife roomba of a man. At the bare minimum he should've been as fleshed out as his brothers because then it'd be a tragic tale about a family being torn apart by a system they benefit from instead of a karma-farming AITAH post set in medival times.

[cirusthecitrus]

Iliad? In my She-Ra cartoon? It's more likely than you think

Some of you may know that og Hordak and Prime (from the motu franchise) also have "normal" names. Sooo, you know how long it took my dumb ass to realize that Hec-Tor and Anillis are spelled and pronounced suspiciously similar to Hector and Achilles - u know, the heroes from Homer's Iliad??*

I have no idea if this lil trivia fact is an intentional reference or not or if this specific choice of characters is supposed to mean anything at all. But it means everything to ME

Because why Horde Prime of all people was given the name of a hero?? Why Hordak, his brother, was given the name of his enemy and his victim? And why do these names fit the 2018s versions of these characters so well?

!I'm not an expert in ancient literature or greek mythology/history or anything close so my knowledge and understanding of the Iliad and its characters is literaly on the surface level! I'm only making this post cause looking for parallels is fun c:

Horde Prime as Achilles

The mythological hero, Achilles was often reffered to as the beast, or pure element, force of nature, or even a star. Not a person, not a human being

He was an exceptional fierce hero known for his passion and determination, but also his arrogance and stubborness. Noble yet often selfish and capricious, understanding and caring yet cruel

The one who possesed arcane knowledge about the fate of humanity, and with it - about his own destiny

The one protected by the gods, who was so close to godhood himself, whos body was immortalized in the river Styx

And yet, one small part remained vulnerable, a part of him stayed painfully human. And once it was discovered and aimed at, he was as good as dead

The one who was driven by horrific almost animalistic rage. Rage that came from pain and grief. Rage that came... from love?

Achilles lost someone dear to him and this loss blinded him with desire for revenge, made him chase after the warrior who took his loved one from him. He refused to let go, not even letting go of Hector's corpse

Hordak as Hector

Described as "deserving of love" Hector was a great warrior, deeply devoted and loyal to his home and his cause

A brave unstoppable leader who nonetheless made many mistakes by letting his human emotions and traits make him act unwise, arrogant, reckless and naive

The one who believed in his gods and trusted so many, but in the end was only deceived and lied to. And this lie was the reason why Hector could not escape Achilles' wrath

The cause and the victim of Achilles' rage. His personal enemy, the one who killed his beloved. The one who feared Achilles so much yet in the end stopped running away and faced him in their first and final duel

The one who lost everything. Doomed to die tragically by Achilles' hand. Hector didnt even beg for mercy, only for his body to be treated with respect, but Achilles could not be reasoned with. Instead he dragged his corpse behind his chariot for days on end, not letting him rest. Not letting Hector return home to his family

But wait, who is Patroclus of this story?

Funny how this part of Achilles' story fits Hordak a lot more, since it was him who lost a dear friend and it was him who was consumed with grief and fury. Thus, in a way, Hordak is both Hector and Achilles and Entrapta is his Patroclus. But what's Prime's deal then?

We can always enter fanon territory and headcanon that Prime might have lost someone a long time ago and grief turned him into a monster. Could be a lover, could be a friend or family, could be his old self even. But then what Hordak had to do with it? Why he became the target of his rage?

Perhaps in this version Patroclus isn't even a person. An idea of perfection and control. Hordak's imperfections ruined the image of his ideal world where everything goes his way, ruined his own image, the facade of an all mighty god who could not make a mistake or create something less than perfect. In a sense Hordak's defect and later betryal killed everything Prime was working on and was trying to achieve, everything he believed in

Perhaps Hordak is both Hector and Patroclus. A brother Prime loved so much, but only when he was still a perfect obedient doll with no name. But once Hordak began to change, showing his personhood and becoming harder to control, becoming unrecognizable, HP could not accept it. In his mind Prime lost a brother, and someone who named himself Hordak was his murderer

Again, I have no idea why the hell they chose these names for their aliases. Achilles and Hector were in no way pure or flawless people, but... they were still heroes. Does this say anything about the characters of Horde Prime and Hordak or their dynamic? Especially their motu versions**?? Or was this just a reference for the sake of reference? (oh maybe im only seeing things and its not even a reference??) They could've chosen an iconic pair of tragic brothers instead idk on the surface it'd seem more fitting :/

But i'd rather keep my tinfoil hat on and think that it was all intentional, because I'm LIVING for the implications regarding Prime's humanity .з.

**Motu fans and experts if you're reading this, i'd love to hear your thoughts on this, you have to know more than me!

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

HI!! okay so with the magical euphoria thingy i screamed into my pillow like twenty million times while reading AUDHSHXH /pOS YOUR WRITING IS AUAHDHAHX!!:?:!;!;:!, ANYWAY.

whumpee uses WAY too much magic in a fight. they’re completely giddy, out of it, and have just horrifically defeated something/someone.

looks around and notices that everyone is silent and terrified of what whumpee is capable of, because holy fuck. they did not need to go that far????

meanwhile whumpee thinks they were doing the right thing and, still incredibly excited from winning, runs over to caretaker!! and doesn’t understand why caretaker flinches away from them!! ^_^

sorry for the heinous grammar its like almost midnight rn :(((

(context)

I’m glad you liked my writing! I’m grinning like a fool rn.

And yes!!! Not every battle ends with Whumpee exhausted and ready to collapse. Sometimes they’re still sparking with energy, too deep into the high to realize they’re acting oddly, but not deep enough to be entirely gone. And honestly? For the people who care about them, for the people who are afraid of them, I think that state would be far, far worse. Awake but not quite aware. Unpredictable.

So like, hear me out.

The squadron is returning back to camp after a long day of missions. Their mage is still with them, in both senses of the word. They’re not fallen into total lunacy yet, still conscious and mobile. Whumpee’s bouncing on their toes, head swiveling on their shoulders like an excited puppy. They’re chatting excitedly, near incomprehensibly, at a soldier that made the mistake of getting too close. The soldier can only nod along to the stream of consciousness leaving Whumpee’s lips.

Caretaker is keeping a hold on Whumpee’s arm, making sure they don’t run off. They know Whumpee will be fine after a night’s rest.

It’s a rare moment of calm. They’re sore and exhausted, but the warm pride of a job well done leaves them feeling satisfied. The atmosphere is light as they trudge through the forest. Peaceful, all things considered.

But then Whumpee freezes, body stiffening all at once as something catches their attention. They turn, eyes focusing on something. A flash of enemy colors flicks in their vision–

Whumpee’s moving before Caretaker can react. Light bursts from their hands, illuminating the dark forest, and the squadron freezes on instinct. Whumpee’s attention, fractured and fleeting moments ago, has sharpened into a deadly edge to focus on a single figure.

Whumpee reaches out a single glowing hand, fingers curling as if grabbing something.

Flanked by two petrified guards, hands shackled behind his back, is a single enemy soldier taken as prisoner. His eyes widen as Whumpee’s attention focuses on him, the man’s bruised and exhausted face contorted in terror. His mouth is open in silent, terrified scream.

Just as Caretaker is reaching out to stop them, Whumpee reaches out with an open hand. Their fingers curl inward as if grabbing something. With a sharp movement their hand is pulled back, fingers clenched shut. The prisoner’s body lurches forward in response.

The crackle of energy cracks through the air, and suddenly something red and dripping and squirming is hovering mere feet from the man. He’s never laid eyes on it before, but the emptiness in his chest tells him exact

The human heart, still beating, falls to the forest floor. Its owner falls a moment later.

Silence follows. Fear and shock runs through the squadron, their minds struggling to comprehend what had just unfolded. Some freeze like a deer in the headlights, terrified that moving will bring Whumpee’s wrath. Others are inching their hands towards their belts, looking for a weapon. Others still are simply trembling from shock, suddenly and violently reminded of the danger in their midsts.

The terror that grips Caretaker is different. They’re afraid for Whumpee. Training kicking into overdrive, Caretaker’s eyes dart over the scene, calculating. Assessing the panic, assessing how long they have until fear turns into action.

They know they have to take control of the situation. Caretaker’s footsteps are firm as they approach Whumpee, exuding confidence they don’t feel, and praying it's enough to keep the situation from escalating.

Caretaker places a hand on Whumpee’s shoulder. Whumpee turns to face them, expression blank

“Whumpee,” Caretaker speaks with trained calmness, voice gentle yet firm. Their smile is a weak, trembling thing, doing little to mask their anxiety. The smile Whumpee gives in return is genuine and bright, oblivious. “We need him alive. We’re taking him in for questioning, remember?”

Whumpee doesn’t respond. Their eyes are more clouded than they were a moment before, their sanity strained even further by that display of power. For a long, breathless moment Whumpee simply stares, a vacant smile plastered over their face.

Caretaker keeps their expression calm, but the tension is suffocating them. All they can hear is the gurgling of a dying man.

And then the moment breaks. Whumpee blinks, and awareness flicks back into their eyes. A tittering giggle creeks out from between their teeth.

“Oh! Right, yes. We need that one alive, don’t we?” Whumpee laughs.

The clearing is still as Whumpee all but skips over to the twitching body. They grab the heart from where it dropped.The muscle is still pulsing weakly, spilling blood over Whumpee’s arms. They don’t seem to notice.

Whumpee calls their magic again, the organ vanishing in a flash. In that same instance, the prisoner’s eyes fly open, bloodless lips widening with a desperate gasp. His next inhale comes out as a sob. He curls inward, limbs close to his chest, as if desperate to keep his heart in its place.

Whumpee doesn’t even give the man a second glance. As their would-be victim sobs, broken and terrified, on the ground, Whumpee happily returns to Caretaker’s side. They reach their hand, now coated a deep red, expectantly towards Caretaker. Caretaker holds Whumpee’s hand with a trained smile, and tries not to flinch at the warm wetness.

Caretaker starts walking, not daring to look back. They know the terrified, hateful, dangerous looks they’ll see if they did.

Whumpee doesn’t notice the way Caretaker's grip tightens, or how they’re maneuvered to walk some distance away from the other soldiers.

The rest of the trip is done in silence.

[cookie-nom-nom]

Had this dream about lich forms Lup and Barry but it was distinctly in the form of a ballet duet set to a dream version of Scylla. IE some verses were word for word but others were whatever the dream felt like it. Their lich powers shifted wildly depending on mental state. There was this orchestral solo section with Lup where her fire became more celestial themed, and she was resplendent with constellations gleaming across her skin. In elegant twirls and leaps she crossed the stage, the arena of the crowd encircling and enthralled. Her smile stretching ever wider from the fame and adoration, basking in stardom. (There was definitely some Taako bleeding into this part). Spinning faster faster in this swirl of elation and starlight.

And then she suddenly stills.

And then the words kicked in.

Drown in your sorrow and fear

It's this moment of pure collapse as the stars in her eyes, the countless universes she's experienced, all quenched by the Hunger. Where once the audience was lit up now it was inky black surrounding Lup. That desperation that lead the 7 Birds to forge the relics, and the intolerable guilt of what they cause.

Live out your life as a wraith

And then we see Lup. Horrific and blistering, this overwhelming destructive force scorching all. Her body is barely one at all, as she's transformed into apoplectic destruction. She is the phoenix gauntlet. She's utterly lost control of her lichform, dissolving into fire and fury incarnate. Because they have not earned a little wrath?

Enter, Barry. He swirls with dark necrotic clouds, this ominous shadow piercing into the heart of the inferno. The pair dance around each other, these titanous forces of darkness and light, so completely anathema this raging radiance and gentle gloom. And he is reaching for her.

We must do what it takes to survive.

In Epic, this is the moment when two have chosen to be monstrous. And in Taz it was too, the Lovers becoming liches. But it's so, so much more. Because it is bonds that have saved them through that wretched stolen century, and love is what it takes to survive. And he is reaching for her, begging her to remember the love that has kept her from falling apart for so long. Yes it is asking her to bear the pain and guilt of what they have done to try and save the world time and time again. But he is also asking her to do what it takes for any of the planar realms to survive the Hunger.

We are the same you and I.

And Lup reaches back, pure light entwining where Barry gently cups what is becoming her face, willing her to resemble a person again. Fire melts into her elven form, grounded once more into a controlled form by the love for each other that keeps them same. She sinks into his arms, and the pair collapse to their knees, clutching each other so tightly they're forced to be made of flesh and blood. They both begin to weep, both in crushing pain and relief. The spotlight above shrinks until they are alone in a small pool of light.

The world becomes pitch black to thunderous applause.

[heylittleriotact]

🩸WIP Wednesday🩸

I was tagged by @xxnashiraxx and @preciouslittlebhaalbae and I come bearing VIOLENCE on this day.

I was writing this whole ass BG3 thing this one time and I've been taking a break and picking away at the parts I want to write the most, and this is part of one of them if anyone is amused by the idea of having an archfey shaped piece of chaos interjecting themselves into the Cazador fight.

“And get me the hell out of here!”  Echo was already calling magic to her, preparing to Misty Step across the stone dais - time was of the essence, that much was clear. The incantation was halfway past her lips when she halted, distracted by the sound of long claws scrabbling over polished stone.  Cazador was apparently just as surprised by this as she, because he turned at the sound and snarled at the werewolf that had just skidded around the corner and came into view at the top of the stairs.  “These intruders slaughtered your siblings in your absence!” He jabbed his staff towards where Echo and the others stood. “But you may make up for your failure yet: destroy them!”  The werewolf, smaller and lighter in colouring than the others, sniffed the air and rose on its haunches to better catch the scent of her prey. Her eyes glowed fiery orange, and her powerful muscles flexed as her primal glare locked on Echo, her claws gouging marks into the floor as if it were butter. A deep growl rumbled through her chest and through her jagged fangs and Echo felt real terror at the sound.  “Gale…” she muttered as quietly as she could to the wizard at her side, not daring to break eye contact with the wolf. “Please tell me you’ve still got something up your sleeve that’ll reduce that thing to a pile of ash?” “And then some.”  Echo grimaced at the sound of squealing stone under razor sharp claws: it was like the stone itself was screaming out in agony.  “What are you waiting for?!” Cazador screamed. “Kill them! I command it!”  The other wolves were feral in their bloodlust: they hadn’t hesitated for a moment before attacking. Why wasn’t this one? The werewolf gnashed her jaws, sending thick beads of slobber sailing through the air, and a horrific, wet tearing sound filled the chamber. Echo didn’t realize what it was at first or where it was coming from, but her stomach lurched when it dawned on her that the wolf was making that sickening noise.  It twisted and arced in place, grunting ferociously as stitches snapped with soggy pops, and flesh strained and ripped, sending clumps of light gray fur adrift in the tomblike air.  Echo watched on in horror as Cazador continued to bellow orders at the creature and it continued to undulate and squirm like a birthing Gnoll. She flinched back an entire pace when a bloody hand burst out of a torn seam and started pulling at the werewolf’s skin from the outside, freeing another hand moments later, and with a final tremendous tear, the skin tore completely and sagged down to the waist of the parasite inside of it.  It was a monster - gore-slicked and blood drenched, its long hair hanging in wet sticky ropes stained red; its face a stern mask of perfectly calibrated murder. Lightning sparked from its eyes, glistening over the slick muscles of its lithe arms.  This monster belonged on an ancient battlefield, slaughtering an efficient and brutal path to victory - completing whatever joyless and wrathful task was asked of it to keep its benefactor - its beloved - safe: the historically avowed champion of the Benevolent Spring Tiding, Lady Lillian, compelled by ruthless and violent purpose. It could be here for only one reason.

[dopplerdora]

Interestingly, going by the myth Zeus was the only sibling spared his father's actions. He was saved and only returned to fight him as an adult. He can't be "put back into his place" because Kronos was prevented from putting him there in the first place.

And it's his biggest fear.

He's terrified of having to suffer like his older siblings suffered and he acts in ways to ignore the problem.

He acts like Kronos, like a tyrant because he never experienced living under one, and he uses that power to make sure he never will.

Going by the books Zeus is the worst parent of his siblings. Which is saying somthing because Hera tossed one of her kids off of fucking Olympus. But Zeus just let's Hera do all that and then does his own cruelties.

Hades is kind of a fuck up in the books but he does love his kids and he tries. (Loving how he was shown in the show. Really pumped to see him interact with Nico)

Posiden is also a fuck up bit he loves his kids and is willing to help even his least favorite. The worst thing he did as a parent was an arranged marriage of his daughter to what was essentially a war hero and not being all that jazzed with said daughter being an embodiment of destruction and chaos.(still fucked but his worst action is being old fashioned)

We don't see alot of Demeter but she sided with Persephone over Zeus so...

Regardless, Zeus has no clue how to be a family in the first place. He only met his siblings when he rescued them and became King. He probably spent his entire early life avoiding his father's wrath and hearing about how horrific it was and how Zeus needed to stop him.

Stopping Kronos is not his only real blame to being king(he is the youngest child after all) but Kronos is probably his greatest fear, a fear he never had to really face in the way Percy is saying.

Of course it's his greatest fear. Zeus only rules through being the strongest. He has no concept of family being loyal and loving to family. But his father is more terrifying and more powerful than him.

Thank you for coming to my mixed book/show Rambling that is complete gibbrish.

[heliads]

So, Before You Go Chapter One: First Call to Arms

Hellas is gone; so too is your life as a cartographer. You and the Darkling must quell Alina Starkov’s attempt at an uprising in order to protect the Grisha of Ravka. However, your gods are not as dead as they seem, and that which you have taken for granted will soon prove to be quite unpredictable indeed.

series masterlist / next

Once, a very long time ago, a girl named Psyche wielded beauty as her power. Envious, the gods foretold that she would be exiled with a monster as her husband. Psyche feared the monster, but soon she realized that he was not the demon others claimed. Still, as he only visited at night when the shadows hid him from her, she was tormented by the idea that he truly was horrific. One night, Psyche spied upon his face as he lay sleeping. She broke his trust, and they were separated until Psyche could prove that she did love him, and wanted no shelter but him until the end.

You wake slowly, painfully, aware of what could have been a dream slipping away from you. For several minutes, you cannot entirely tell if you are still asleep or awake. The air is warm, a breeze blows lazy circles of air across your face. Tell me, child, when was the last time you felt enough peace to trust it was not an illusion?

Someone shifts by your side, and one glimpse of your lover’s face is all you need to know that this is no dream. For all your nightmare’s best attempts, they cannot perfectly replicate his image. Perhaps it is because he is not of their kind, the man you love, but a monster of his own creation. Your people and your spells can only do so much. They cannot fully recreate something of the Small Science, something like him. You would know. Absence made you try.

Aleksander opens his eyes slowly, dark pupils scanning the room until they land on you. Every time he wakes, you can see him start to tense until he sees you again. That is what you get for running so many times, you suppose, it makes him too knowledgeable of how easy it is to lose you.

You were never able to stay away forever, though. The longest the two of you were apart was centuries, and although those cut like a poisoned blade, they ended. You made your way to the Little Palace under the guise of Y/N Stassov, First Army cartographer and good friend of Alina Starkov, and from there on out, you were under his watch again.

In all honesty, some part of you had known from the moment your paths crossed the second time that you would not be able to leave him again without revealing yourself. Sure, your face had changed since you were the Hecari he knew in the past, but he was Aleksander and you were Y/N and you would never allow anything to part you for long. He had made mistakes, and you had tricked yourself into thinking that anyone with as many centuries under your belts as either of you could be perfectly blameless, but you were still the same couple you had always been.

In the end, the result is plain. You showed your hand and the two of you reconciled. Sure, part of that may have had to do with Alina Starkov attempting to murder you whereas Aleksander saved your life, but sometimes love needs a slight bit of motivation to pick up the pace.

The two of you are on much more solid footing now, though. If anything, you will always be united in your wrath, your protective spirit. Aleksander watches out for his Grisha, his people, and you mourn your Hellenids, your kin who have already slipped beneath the sands of time. There is no one like the two of you, and there never will be. Alina can try, but she is young, foolish, full of hopes that have yet to die. Only you and Aleksander understand how time dulls any blade. Only you and Aleksander will ever be able to complete each other.

That does not stop this whole situation from feeling somewhat impossible. You spent centuries running from him, after all, and suddenly waking up in the morning to find him sleeping next to you feels unusual. Good, but unusual. It’s what you’ve secretly been missing since the very moment you left him, but still something you never thought you would experience again.

This change in your day-to-day life could explain why you woke up so disoriented, but in truth, you fear that it might be more than that. It has been getting more difficult to tell what is real and what is fiction. Reality blends into myth into memory. What happens here and now is only a slim shade of an idea when compared to the vastness of past experience, both yours and that of your people, the Hellenids.

You had assumed that the whispering of your ghosts would trickle off into ash and nothingness when the Shadow Fold engulfed you whole, but no. If anything, it just made it worse. You were hesitating on the banks of the River Styx, so close to crossing over into the Underworld, and then Aleksander pulled you back from death and kept you there. You cannot tread that closely to your end without bringing a little part of it back with you.

You are not the only changed one. Aleksander, too, is not the same man as he was when he set out on that sandskiff. As you look at him now, you watch the early light of dawn play on the dark slices in his face, the scars from his time in the Shadow Fold after Alina Starkov abandoned both of you to die.

It had taken every ounce of your combined abilities to make it out, but both of you are changed forever now. You cannot go a moment of your day without hearing the whispering of your ancestors increased tenfold. Aleksander used merzost and is haunted by shadowy demons of his own creation.

You both had dark, deep wounds when you emerged from the Unsea, but when yours disappeared after your natural healing had run its course, Aleksander’s injuries stayed the same. You can sense how they hurt him constantly, even as he tries to hide the full extent of it from you in an attempt to maintain strength. You know him well enough to both guess that he would try to put on a brave face, and can read his body language enough to recognize the stiff movements for what they hide.

His physical appearance matters not to you. He is still yours, the man you loved centuries ago and the one you do now. If the shadows that usually billow inside of him have now decided to carve out a more visible place for themselves, so be it. You only wish that he would not have to suffer so in the process.

That is why the two of you have been scouring the Ravkan countryside in search of Grisha. The practitioners of the Small Science have been left in upheaval after the ill-fated attempt to take back control from the Lantsov king. There are few things in life you despise more than a failing, useless, greedy monarch, and not a day goes by in which you regret that the otkazat’sya fool was not already dead.

He does, however, provide you with a good opportunity to build your ranks again as the elder Lantsov son cracks down on Grisha. You and Aleksander launch venture after venture to save Heartrenders and Healers, Summoners and Durasts and everyone you can find. They’re all terribly grateful to not be dead, which only gives you more allies in this fight.

Of course this will end in a fight, how could it not? You have seen plots like this play out before. Every story runs the same course, even if the players themselves do not realize it until the end. To build a war, you must have soldiers who will die for you. Aleksander will sacrifice himself to save you, but he is one man. You want hundreds.

Until then, you have moments like this, slow glimpses of what could be a far more peaceful future if this all plays out the way you wish it. For now, you are alone with the man you love, and for this brief instance, there is nothing in this world that can bring you down.

Aleksander leans up slowly, carefully, disguising his slow hiss of pain with a question directed to you. “Did you sleep well?”

The question isn’t just a pleasant nothingness. You’ve been having nightmares as of late, snippets of what could either be memories or prophecy. If this keeps up, your mind will start to shatter. You can only hope that you’ll be able to stop that before it happens. Madness and witches do not well mix.

You sigh. “As well as could be expected. I’m still on edge from yesterday.”

Yesterday had almost gone quite badly. A group of two dozen or so Grisha had been chained in a long line and forced into the Shadow Fold at gunpoint by cowardly First Army soldiers. By the time you and Aleksander had gotten wind of what had happened, the volcra had arrived at the scene as well. 

You had fought them off, but such close proximity to the beasts had made you uneasy. Everything reminds you of what it had been like in the Shadow Fold when Alina’s light had left the two of you, how the darkness had come swooping in and left you bloody.

Aleksander had called for you to leave them, but you had insisted on saving who you could. You were jittery for the rest of the day, he could tell, but you had sworn you were fine. Perhaps he can see through you a little too well just like you with him.

Aleksander arches a brow now, likely thinking along the same lines. “So will you listen to me next time, my love? Will you let them go when it hurts you, or at least try not to disguise it from me?”

“I’ll make a deal with you,” you say as innocently as you can, “I will stop disguising my torments from you when you stop trying to pretend that those scars don’t hurt as much as they do.”

Aleksander smiles even as a fresh bout of pain turns the expression into a wince. “You drive a difficult bargain.”

“I’m known for being difficult,” you grin.

“Perhaps,” he admits, “but I like that best about you.”

It is easy, on mornings like this, to pretend that all might be well, that the two of you are not fighting a war that could be lost over something as simple as one Sun Summoner somewhere you cannot find. You have no idea if Alina Starkov has even survived, but if she did, you hope that for all the peace you wish to find with Aleksander, she will have none of it with Mal.

You and Aleksander leave your temporary shelter some time later that morning, leaving no trace that you’d been there except shadows in the corners of the rooms that fester slightly more than before. You’d heard rumors that the First Army outpost here was planning on making an example of some more Grisha near the boundary of the Shadow Fold, so that is where the two of you will be stopping first.

As dusk settles upon the area, you and Aleksander arrive upon the scene, lingering back so as not to draw unwanted attention. The two of you are technically still believed to be dead, although you doubt any smattering of soldiers could actually do so much as harm a hair on your heads. You keep your hoods up anyway. It would not do to be revealed now, not before your plan can fully come to fruition.

You narrow your eyes, straining to pick out the details in the dark night. The soldiers have put Grisha in cages, their hands bound so as to not use their abilities. The sight makes your stomach turn. Those blessed with magic should not have to die just because others are jealous of their power.

As your gaze roves from face to face, you see only weariness, fear, desolation. Aleksander had built a marvel of a world at the Little Palace, a place where all the Grisha could practice their gifts in safety. Alina claims she wants to make a better world for the Grisha, but look what she’s done. She ruined the best thing Ravkan Grisha had at peace.

You’ve almost finished scouring the captive Grisha when you notice one particular face stand out amongst the rest. It’s one you recognize, actually. It’s one you’ve been hoping to find for a while, both you and Aleksander.

You suck in a breath. “That’s– That’s Genya.”

Aleksander’s eyes harden. “It is.”

One stray glance his way and you already can guess at what he’s thinking. “We need to get her. Even if it costs us the rest. Genya can find David for us.”

Aleksander inclines his head once. “And David can fix me.”

You make a tsking sound in the back of your throat. “Men fix toys, not gods.”

He looks amused at that. “We are not gods, Y/N.”

“No,” you decide, “but we are the closest anyone will ever get to seeing them.”

Aleksander laughs, evidently pleased. “I missed your ferocity, my little soldier.”

You look at him askance. “You made me a member of your personal guard within two days of meeting me again, even before you knew it was me. I don’t know why you’re acting like this is the first time you’ve seen my ferocity in a while.”

You can just see the shadow of his smile under his hood. “And yet I still didn’t see enough of it. You left, as you might recall.”

“Yes,” you admit in a whisper, “but I came back.”

He takes your hand, interlacing your fingers with his. “I know. You always do.”

It is a statement spoken in complete calm, no trace of malice or accusation. In your eyes, it is the final proof that he has forgiven you, just as you have in turn forgiven him. Like calls to like. The two of you were never meant to be separate for long. 

Aleksander turns his gaze towards the captive Grisha once more. The First Army soldiers are watching the Shadow Fold rumble ever closer, and you can feel the terror of the Grisha prick upon your skin like needles.

“Shall we deliver them from harm, then? Shall we take back what is ours?” He asks.

You nod once. This is it, then. From this point forward, there is no going back. Everything in the past was temporary, a step in the right direction without making enough of a scene to commit to your cause. When you save these Grisha, you’ll have enough to start making real changes, to find the people you truly need and hunt down those who have betrayed you. The war will be reborn.

.Aleksander raises his arms in time with yours. Shadow monsters of merzost stalk out of the Shadow Fold, sending the First Army fleeing. Those that run are only met with spells of your creation, which pierce through their hearts like daggers. In her cage, Genya Safin fearfully raises her head, expression changing from immediate terror to slow, dense horror. She knows what the dying soldiers do not:  this is only the beginning.

series tag list: @britishbassett, @rogueanschel, @hotleaf-juice, @mxltifxnd0m, @kaqua, @nemesis729, @imma-too-many-fandoms, @cleverzonkwombatsludge, @yourabbymoore, @nemtodd-barnes1923, @heyyitsreign, @ponyboys-sunsets, @slytherinsssss, @fruitymoonbeams-blog, @lakeli, @darlinggbrekker, @rosesberose, @w1shes43, @fairyeunji, @cryinghotmess

grishaverse tag list: @deadreaderssociety, @cameronsails, @mxltifxnd0m, @story-scribbler, @retvenkos, @thatfangirl42, @amortensie, @gods-fools-heroes, @bl606dy, @auggie2000

[dice-n-antlers]

I have another angsty Tav x Astarion fic idea, because that’s all this game does to my damn brainpan these days. I might try writing it out eventually.

So. Anyway. Hold on to your hoodles, because this one involves Haarlep, so… trigger warnings abound.

I’m thinking about a storyline where Tav/Durge killed Raphael and Haarlep is alive and has the use of Tav’s body.

Imagine if, some time after the events of the game, Mephistopheles knows that it was Tav who killed Raphael. I don’t think he cares for his son in the way that normal mortals care, but just the idea of a mortal strolling into a hellish abode and soundly murdering the master of the house is disturbing. Insulting. And for it to be Mephisto’s own son? And so soon after mortals stole the crown of Karsus from the archdevil’s own vault? It’s downright obscene.

We know that Mephistopheles had sent Haarlep to keep an eye on his son. And Haarlep obviously survived Tav’s raid on the House of Hope in this scenario. What if it eventually comes to light that Haarlep has the form of the mortal who murdered Raphael? Hell, if your Tav is a Durge, they’d be the same mortal who stole the crown. Mephistopheles is intelligent and calculating, but in other Forgotten Realms media, he has an underlying bestial rage that contrasts with his sophisticated facade. So he figures out the Haarlep connection and he wants this mortal to feel his wrath.

Now, I’m a serial spawn!Astarion-mancer and I’m obsessed with his sobering comments to Tav after the whole Haarlep debacle. So I specifically have him in mind here, but you can swap him out for your Tav’s romanced companion(s) of choice.

Again, some time after the final battle of the game, Tav and Astarion are adventuring together, perhaps trying to find a way for him to enjoy the sun. By this point maybe they’ve started learning to deal with the occasional Haarlep episode together. At the time this happens, they’re camped together, perhaps in the wilderness, or the underdark, or a modest inn with the curtains drawn. Perhaps they have a nice, north-facing room with thick curtains at The Hearth in Candlekeep where they’ve been perusing old tomes for leads to help Astarion.

Wherever they are, Tav starts to feel an episode coming on. They feel the familiar ghostly hands undressing them and pawing at their body… but this time they quickly realize it’s different. These aren’t the roaming hands of a lover. They’re not even the desperate hands of a person looking for a good, rough fuck. This is deliberate. Slow. Angry. There is the ghost of claws and teeth on their skin, a warning of what is to come. This ghostly lover is violent and the touching slowly, but surely ramps up into brutal fucking and torment. Throughout it all there is an edge of pleasure, because that’s what drives the magical connection with the incubus, but this is all so horrifically wrong.

And Astarion can do little more than watch as Tav writhes and gasps and chokes and trembles and cries. He can’t stop it. What is he thinking and feeling while watching the person he loves endure this torture?

Haarlep has stamina far beyond any mortal and Mephistopheles isn’t trying to kill them, he just wants to get a cruel message across to Tav. So it goes on. And on. And on. And on. And on. For hours. There are teeth, and claws, and fire, and the lashes of a whip. There is the sensation and being bound and twisted near to breaking. All the while, there is a stimulation of Tav’s sex, turning pleasure to horror. It is, quite literally, punishing.

And eventually, it stops.

Tav stopped thrashing hours ago. The near bone-breaking tension in their body finally relents and they go limp. Still alive, but exhausted and utterly broken. How does Astarion react in the sudden stillness after the horror? How does Tav deal with the mental and physical aftermath? In the next hours and days after this, how do Tav and Astarion come to terms with what happened? And the fear that it can happen again? Will they put aside their quest for Astarion and resolve to bring an end to Haarlep at whatever cost?

What can I say? I just enjoy putting Tav and Astarion in horrible situations… as long as there’s a happy ending or the hope of one.

(Addendum: if anyone is inspired to flesh this into a full fic, have at it. I likely won’t be able to badger my unmedicated brain into doing it)

[bittrlys]

So, dragon society is basically a kratocracy, right?

There's 0 explanation why dragons suddenly decided they needed a king despite living without one for a presumed while but I imagine it went something like this:

SOL REGEM: I am your king. EVERYONE: Well, we didn't vote for you. SOL REGEM: You don't vote for kings. Now do you want to repeat that to the dragon that can bite your face off?

So now dragons have a king, hurrah! But oh no, humans have done a naughty!

LUNA TENEBRIS: I am your queen. HUMANS: Well, we didn't vote for you. LUNA TENEBRIS: You don't vote for queens. Now get the fuck out of my country before this dragon bites your face off.

We know Thunder just straight up brawled for the right to take the throne because LT didn't leave an heir. (Royal bloodlines matter a lot to dragons, don't you know. They're just like us!) Zubeia, my useless angel, can still bring herself to let out the occasional mighty roar or lightning flash to scare others into line. EVERYONE has to listen to these violent lizards who just said "OBEY ME."

Remarkably, we're also supposed to see the dragon monarchy as a good thing that should continue, despite it providing very little benefits as far as I can tell. Most elven societies are self-sustaining and have their own rulers. Dragons are undeserving emperors who -- what? Keep other dragons in line? I haven't seen much evidence of that yet. They also fail to protect drakes from elves, which seems fucked up to me, but hey. The social stratification of that which may loosely all be called dragonkind is not for me to comment on, as it seems like the writers didn't think about it at all.

With all this in mind, when Ezran steps up to ask a bunch of dragons do to do him a solid, are they obeying him simply because the show wants to pretend Xadians have no issue with humans? Because they see the threat as more important than their pride or prejudice? Or because Zubeia is a wrathful queen who shares her husband's propensity for an iron fist, and she's hulking menacingly behind Ezran? Are dragons, Ezran's horrific weapon turned against his own people in season 3, representative of the unquestionable power granted by the divine right of kingship, and thus when he acts in authority, even when intending to be 'diplomatic' and 'peaceful', it is always with implicit threat of violence? Makes ya think!

[imagionationstation]

Chirp - 2012TMNT Drabbl(ish?)

TW: Mentions of blood, almost-but-not-quite-murder, lil’ bit graphic in the mama Leo feels

Leo prides himself on being a calm warrior worthy of honor and respect.

He keeps a clear head at all times. He always plays fair. He never takes a life unless necessary. He’s cool, collected, and proves himself worthy of the title of leader time and time again. It was who he was. 

Until he isn’t. 

Until he hears a scream.

He knows Raph and Mikey hear it too. He can see the horror in their eyes as the sound that almost reaches a shriek pierces the air. The warning of a brother falling breaking the fluidity of the battle and threatening to change the course of their lives.  

Leo bolts without looking back.

He sprints down the hall and to the control room where they left their genius of a brother, skidding to a stop to assess the danger. Donnie is on the ground across the room, a boot planted on his chest as his bleeding arm taints the floor, the smirking face of his tormentor reflecting in the rippling scarlet surface. 

He leans a bit more, crushing his younger brother’s chest, and Leo sees the tears streaming down the bloodied face. Then he hears it. Tiny, weak, helpless chirps that beg for release, that plead for help, that seep only terror and pain, that call for him- need him- it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts-

Leo knows this rage. He sees it in Raph’s eyes sometimes. He’s seen it in his own when the world takes it’s wrath out on his team, when it pushes boundaries, stupidly assuming that the leader wouldn’t push back. He knows when to draw lines, and every obvious plea of agony that goes ignored is another chip at his sanity.

He stalks up behind the unsuspecting monster who dares even consider laying a hand on his little brother-

And holy mother of mutations- Leo knows he must have a death wish when he goes ahead and seals his fate. 

“Well, aren’t you just pathetic.”

The fight is a blur. If one could call it a fight. The horrific excuse for a person doesn’t see him coming and doesn’t get a chance to defend. He goes down easy, and his suffering is just as instantaneous. Leo’s sword has blood on it as he puts it back in his sheath. No matter. He’ll deal with that later.

When he looked back on the moment, he isn’t particularly proud of his actions, but the man was still more-or-less alive when he was finished with him. If anything, that monster should be grateful that Leo allows him to continue to breathe.

He walks over to his little brother, carefully sitting him up and looking over his arm. It’s more than obvious that it’s broken, and Donnie’s eyes are glazed with pain, the chirps growing louder with the contact- hurt, hurts, help, hurts, help, hurt, hurts-

His little brother who tries so hard still has fight in him, and attempts to shove away, unable to see his protector for who he is. 

Leo tucks him into his hold, pressing their foreheads together as an instinctive churr rises in response- safe, you’re safe, safe, I’m here, always here- and the chirps quiet, not quite stopping in their anguish- help, help, help- as his little brother curls in on himself, terrified of the big bad world that seems to hate them. 

Yet, as much as the world hates them, Leo will love them in turn. He wipes at the side of his face that isn’t pressed against plastron, the motion ridding his brother of some of the liquid that reveals his torment. He rocks him for a moment, hoping to remind him he’s safe- safe, safe, always here, always here- and he feels as the struggle stops, his younger brother finally surrendering in recognition. 

The leader barely notices the weight as he lifts him up. 

He doesn’t look back. His younger brothers don’t question him when he enters the room, and he doesn’t comment on how fast the other villains went down. He lets them play nurse after Donnie’s taken care of and safely tucked in his bed. 

He doesn’t feel any regret as he cleans off the blood, because some of it was Donnie’s, and that monster wouldn’t have hesitated to rid him of all of it. He would have taken his little brother away without a hint of remorse or regret.

He is the sensei now. If the time comes, he’ll cross any line to keep his family safe. 

No one touches his brothers. No one.

Wrote this is one sitting, gotta use inspirations as it lasts- Basically just a “OMGee, what is Mama Leo’s brain space tho??” type experiment and I have no regrets- GIVE THE BOY HUGS-

The story is comes from THIS headcanon/comic that deserves to be put into words.

“Mama Leo. Who's maternal instincts are powerful enough to lift a truck.” I LIVE for these kinds of quotes, lemme tell you-

[mareastrorum]

I have to gush a bit about Episode 5 of Blue Eye Samurai.

MASSIVE SPOILERS AHEAD. I hold nothing back, so unless you want big stuff spoiled, don't read.

I love how this show explores the issues of colonialism, patriarchy, sexism, racism, revenge, etc. It does not shy away from criticizing Japanese culture in the same breath that it shows respect to how and why it developed that way and to the individual people portrayed in the narrative. One particular bit that stuck out was the Bunraku puppeteers and how they were a visual cue about the destructive and self-perpetuating effect of cultural and societal pressures on Miku's path.

Throughout the episode, interspersed with the main story and with flashbacks is a performance of Bunraku, a traditional Japanese puppet theater. Puppeteers wear black to disappear into the background and are meant to be ignored.

First, the performance overlaps with a flashback to Miku's past, when she first began on her quest for revenge against her possible fathers. She isn't experienced yet and gets horrifically injured, then stumbles off for help. The performance begins with an introduction about how the samurai isn't afraid to die, but is afraid of dying before fulfilling his vow of revenge.

At about 8:27, when the samurai sees his future bride, the puppeteers visibly fade in the animation. The overlapping flashback is when Miku, after being injured during her search for her potential father, rediscovers her "mother" (the maid who raised her until their hut burned down). That event leads to Miku foregoing her revenge, marrying Mikio (a disgraced warrior), and trying to settle into a peaceful life.

Miku was making her own choices to live peacefully, even when her family criticized her or talked her down. But Miku kept trying, even pushing back against the others and learning to be diplomatic in the face of their judgment and cruelty. She was breaking the cycle of hate by choosing to be kind and trying to help. It wasn't about shirking Japanese culture nor about acquiescing to gender roles; the puppeters were still gone whether she was trying to be a proper wife or when she showed her true self (a swordsman) to Mikio or when she told him of her oath of revenge and how she lived as a boy.

Of course, that didn't last. (It's not made obvious in the episode whether it was the maid or Mikio who reported Miku, though I'm leaning that it was the maid.)

Regardless, in the overlapping Bunraku performance, the samurai discovers his bride was from his enemy clan that he swore revenge against, and she tries to dissuade his wrath. When Miku is waiting (dressed as a bride, too!) in their home for Mikio to return from delivering the horses to the lord (including her own), she hears numerous horses approaching and takes a kitchen knife. Then, at 34:50, after the samurai beheads his child and bride, the puppeteers are back. Next, Miku leaves the home with a knife in hand to fend off the warriors that have come to kill her, and they confirm someone reported that she (the "white devil") would be there. Mikio arrives and sees her and the blooming fight, then flees, abandoning Miku to die. The dead bride, held aloft by two puppeteers, then becomes an onryō as Miku slaughters the warriors herself with Mikio's naginata.

Miku could have fled or hidden, but she chose to kill. That decision pulled her back into this cycle of destruction and hatred. The puppeteers were back because it was meant to show that outside forces were involved in Miku's decision: the trauma she endured as a mixed race person in Edo period Japan, the culture of honor that bound the warriors to hunt her and Miku to seek revenge, the cowardice of Mikio in the face of a wife stronger than him, the selfishness of the maid that blamed Miku for her suffering. Miku made a choice, but that choice was not made freely--she was forced into this by things she could not resist or escape.

The point was to show that Miku could not live her life freely in a society that demonizes her. Miku seemed to be free of the puppeteers, but the samurai was still a puppet the entire time. The puppeteers were always there. The harmful effects of specific aspects of Japanese culture were always there.

We just didn't see them because Miku was happy.

[hellsdisneyprincess]

You awake in a white room that’s seemingly endless, a vast whiteness however… There’s something above. A rainbow, spanning as far as you can see. You know this place and yet you don’t. You died here, well not you but a version of you. Yet you feel like you have the same memories of her, those final moments, a cry from something horrific and then nothing. It tragic to think about and you discard it from your head easily as you remember why you are here and once you do, The Wrathful One appears. You cannot move, you cannot speak, he does however.

“There is little to say, everyone who knows you, what you have done, what you have gone through all of it culminating in such a fire within you that no time could ever extinguish. How many Cycles did you spend stewing over what happened? How many Cycles did you allow your anger to drive your actions? To push away everyone and solely exist to wait and fight the man who took everything from you?”

A pause, a step to the side and suddenly, there is someone there. On the ground, bloody, half dead and covered in a pile of yellow feathers. It’s an opportunity she never got, the Key’s test.

“My judgment has been made, you are guilty and as such a punishment shall be given that fits your sin.”

Around them, TV’s begin to spring up and play all the torture she had gone through, that this Adam had put her through by his own hand. The screaming, begging and laughing playing on repeat over and over and what’s more, the Adam on the ground before her looks around and smiles, then laughs and hugs his sides before turning a golden gaze at Charlie, suddenly stopping and speaking.

“Given the chance? I’d do it all over again.”

Then. A knife appears before the Harbinger and the choice is clear. Kill Adam and gain a semblance of closure or let the knife go and prove Father wrong that you are not as wrathful as he thinks.

The time ticks.

One moment Charlie was ripping souls from the chest of God, the next she is frozen and, rooted to the ground and unable to move. The last thing she saw before being flung away was Cain. Somehow different from what he had seemed to have been but moments before. But there was no time to process it as she was flung into the tree.

And ended up here. She knew of this room. This white room in particular. Recognizable from the haunting color that hung in the air. The remnants of the Charlie the Harbinger couldn't be herself. She heard the faint echo of the cry of pain that went unheard, hanging between the bands of color like a cruelly emphatic epitaph.

The Harbinger is still frozen, unable to respond as her crimes, the sins of her past are laid before her. Even if she could react, she wouldn't hide or run from them. She knew what she did. She knew that in her quest for vengeance she had doomed what little chance her cycle had by the spilling of unnecessary blood. She also knew that she gleefully carried out her task with the murder of that man and his right hand over and over again. Sure she didn't always succeed, but it was never quiet. There were a few handfuls of cycles that gave her pause, but she always found that anger. Again. And again. And again. She often remained angry between to keep herself going. Because that's who she needed to be. Who she had to be.

Even still, it hadn't been enough. It was never enough.

Charlie knew him immediately when The Wrathful One stepped aside. Yes, all the other Adams wore the same face. Had the same voice. But she knew him in an instant. She would always know him. His was the face she saw nearly every dream. But this time it was different. This wasn't a cruel ghost. This was him before her. In the flesh all broken and bloody and prepared for her on a silver platter.

Around her sprung and spiraled and looped her torture. Over and over and over. She had seem them plenty of times in those same dreams. But as they played, she could feel every cut, every burn, shock, nearly drowning, nearly suffocating, brought to the edge so many times but stopping just before the Final Relief that never came.

She was released from her frozen state and saw the knife. Charlie knew what this was. She had seen this play out so many times in cycles before this moment. So often the Charlies before her failed this test. Weakened by pain and grief that she herself suffered through more than all the others.

But not this cycle.

This cycle. The one this white room belonged to, saw a different Charlie. One who broke that cycle. One who chose to forgive than to forsake. For an Adam who in turn threw himself before the Harbinger rather than swing his sword. Whose life in turn was saved by Lute in a sacrifice she always made, but used that to give her murderer a gift.

This cycle was different. This cycle... sure it wasn't perfect. It had its flaws. But it did things no other did where it counted. It gave her hope for the first time.

But she nearly saw red again when Adam opened his dumb fucking mouth.

“Given the chance? I’d do it all over again.”

In a rage she grabbed a knife and took a step forward.

But

She stopped.

Other thoughts came through her mind.

Lucifer. The one who kept trying to make her the daughter he never had. He finally listened to her and treated her as a person.

Michael. Who much like Lucifer treated her like blood when he wasn't in her cycle, driven by guilt. He started seeing things beyond this realm. A future.

Alastor. A familiar face who had finally started opening up to the others.

Adam. .... Well he was still an absolute asshole but he was still in pain like the others.

And Gabriel, Abel, and Angela who she had never really interacted with very much but who were still Harbingers like the rest.

And... Cain. The one who she felt truly seen by. Who she never wanted to let go of. She was going to travel Earth with him. See the things they never got to in their own cycles. Live a life. Together.

Charlie knew what this test was. She'd seen it hundreds of times. She knew what the right answer was. Maybe it was cheating, but perhaps before this cycle she would have lost even knowing that.

But there was too much riding on this. If all of this was going to fail. She didn't want to be the reason why.

Charlotte, Harbinger of Vengeance, finally had something in her heart besides burning rage.

Love.

She took the knife and threw it at the nearest tv. The one showing Adam killing her father. She would always have the scars upon her heart and her mind, much like the ones that marred the rest of her body. The screen seemed to shatter in slow motion as dropped to her knees and screamed. Sobbing as the her vision blurred white before her.

[fandomfuntimem]

Cain and Able

I mentioned in an earlier post that I though Cain in the story of Cain and Able was "on some level, justified" and frankly I misworded it, and my reasoning at the time was wrong.

When I said "Justified" what I really ment was I could see why and how it happened, and that I pittied Cain. I thought Cain didn't intend on killing Able, he threw the rock and Able died. No human had ever died before that point, and they only ever killed livestock, so Cain couldn't have known that would kill Able.

But my mom corrected me by looking it up. In the Catholic version (I am Roman Catholic, so thats unfortunately my only frame of refference.) The devil whispered to Cain and encouraged him to kill Able. Cain and Able fought, and Cain beat Able to death.

But that got me thinking. First of all, I whent to bible school for eight years and not once did they say that happened. Hell not even the church ever said that that was what happened. So, y'know, eather they never cared to say it, or my mom lied (good chance tbh, she doesn't like blasphemy).

Second: THAT ENTIRE SITUATION, WAS GOD'S FAULT! For centuries the church has pushed this idea that God loves all his creations equally, that it pains him to see sinners in hell. But Cain and Able? That was his fault.

Reasoning:

So, the devil pushed Cain to kill. Got in his head, fed on his jealousy, and whispered in his ear. Yeah ok usual bible stuff. The bible also pushes the idea that a strong faith in God is a good way to push the Devil out. Also, jealousy is a natural emotion, but something has to trigger it.

God picked favorites. The great being, that Cain and Able were probably both told is full of love, and wrath, picked favorites. God ignored the amount of effort BOTH brothers put into their offerings. He picked Able over Cain, and Cain was hurt. Cain lost his faith. Because he was told this was a loving and fair being, but this "fair" being picked favorites. He was lied to.

This doubt, and jealousy, was planted by God's blatant favoritism. Allowing the Devil entry into Cain's heart.

Then, when Cain had realised what he had done, God came back questioning where Able was, and Cain lied. What else could he do? This is THE being, the ultimate force of everything, it created his parents, banished them from the garden, and now Cain was facing it down after committing a horrific act. Frankly, Cain was probably pissing himself. God probably already knew what happened. (That, or this story proves God is not omnipotent.) Cain lied, because what else could he do? It was that, or admit to God, and himself, that he killed his brother.

I just feel bad for him. That entire situation wouldn't have happened if God didn't pick favorites. If God stuck to his teachings and loved and cared equally.

I'm not saying Cain was justified, or that he shouldn't have been punished. I'm just saying that its tragic. I gues a large chunk of my reason for feeling bad for Cain is that I kinda get it? Y'know, being raised Catholic and all, but slowly learning that the God you follow isn't the fair and loving being you were told he was. He's just cruel, and so are his people.

Side note: my mom said "well, God just happened to like one offering more than the other," and that statement just urked me. That implies God can decide if he likes one person more than the other, two people on equal ground, similer lives, but one can be far more blessed than the other because God "just happened to like one more than the other." Thats bullshit for the ideas the church preaches.

[darkestspring]

“When Baelon heard of his daughter’s death. He was filled with nothing but grief that was soon replaced with rage that a loving father can only feel the loss of a child. The Greens were this close on ending the war right then— until soon a raven arrived from Prince Aemons: He vowed to The Bronze Prince that his daughter would be 𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐃.”

“A ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ ғᴏʀ ᴀ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ.”

The One-Eyed Prince had managed taken take Baela and Rhaena Targaryen hostage after using the assistance of Ser Criston Cole, who helped him take the former captive, and Larys Strong, who instructed his tongueless goons to abduct the latter from The Vale.

Daemon had arrived on his own to save his daughters from The Greens wrath just to see both in front of Vhagar and Aemond awaiting for the intended target him. For him to feel what his son had felt when he lost his own daughter.

Aemond forced his uncle to choose one daughter to live and the other to die the same way Argella did. Torn apart alive by a dragon. Daemon didn’t want to choose, but knew he had to name a choice. A choice he’d soon to make.

He shut his eyes and gritted out the name. His heart spiralling with shame and grief, but didn’t the rogue prince didn’t show it on his blank face. Only a tear slipped from his eyes.

Rhaena. A spitting image of his late wife Laena Velaryon. The calming waters that soothingly tamed his inner fire. He’d regrettably chosen her to die and Baela to live. He would so learn to live with the eternal pain he was about to experience.

But then Aemond commanded Vhagar to feast upon her selected prey: the she-dragon had horrifically stunned his uncle and cousin by eating Baela alive.

Ser Criston kept his gaze low and lips tight. He barely approved of his plan at first. It was hypocritical of them to do and Aemond’s had many choices of avenging Baelon’s young daughter, yet he chosen this idea and the actions were too late to reconsider now.

Oh gods, Baelon isn’t gonna appreciate this once they go back to King’s Landing. The Commander knew he loved his sisters, but he was too busy grieving with his wife to bother keeping track of his lovers. Too late to stop Aemond’s acts of impulsiveness.

His now remaining daughter shrieked with utter despair and she began to uncontrollable sob from the traumatic sight as the rogue prince stares in shock. Now he knew what Helaena felt when she lost Jaehaerys and his son after losing Argella at their hands.

Aemond kept his head high and a victorious smile as he calmly watched Baela’s demise. It was beautifully karmic. He didn’t think what he was about to face after he goes back to King’s Landing. To his beloved Baelon.

[ Hey babes! I missed you! So happy that the shadowban is off now. And I just think aemond would be this impulsive enough to do this in the name of Baelon. ]

WHY WOULD YOU MAKE ME FEEL THIS MUCH PAIN BECAUSE FUN FACT: BAELA IS THE SISTER THAT BAELON WAS CLOSEST TOO. (OF COURSE HE WAS CLOSE TO BOTH OF HIS SISTER'S)

BAELON WOULD BE ABSOLUTELY HORRIFIED AND BEYOND HIMSELF WHEN HE HEARS THE NEWS, IN ALL HONESTY, HE'D COLLAPSE FROM GRIEF. HIS BELOVED DAUGHTER AND NOW HIS PRECIOUS SISTER.

I WHOLEHEARTEDLY BELIEVE HE'D GO TO RHAENA AND SOB HIS HEART OUT TO HER. HE DIDN'T WANT THIS, HE DIDN'T MEAN FOR THIS TO HAPPEN, PLEASE RHAENA, HE'D SOB OUT, CLUTCHING ONTO HER AS SHE CLUTCHED ONTO HIM IN RETURN, PLEASE TELL ME THIS IS SOME SICK JOKE, NOT BAELA, NOT HER.

BAELON LOVED BAELA. JUST AS HE LOVES RHAENA AND LOVED LAENA, HER DEATH WOULD PARALYZE HIM AND HE'D REFUSE TO SEE ANYONE.