#Creator-Creation Paradox

[turiyatitta]

The Paradox of Creation and Spiritual Enlightenment

In the realm of existence, there lies a profound mystery: the relationship between a creation and its creator. This enigma is deeply rooted in the concept of spiritual enlightenment, a state of awakening to a higher understanding beyond the tangible and the temporal.Consider this: everything within our grasp, every entity, every idea, has a beginning and an end. This cycle of birth and cessation…

[none-tadashi-left-hiro]

I still don’t know what my exact take on angels egg is yet but I think I like it so far mainly because of the comfort of some dude off the shits exploring the concept of hoping and waiting for something in a way that isn’t just rewarded exactly how the character wants but yet it is rewarded nonetheless like it’s not just nihilism trying to be avant garde once again it’s just like actually this is the real perhaps tragic beauty of hope and how our relationship to truth works and whatever the fuck. Or however you need to interpret it have a nice day

[son1c]

so, the thing about the megaflora in boscage is that, even though it’s incredibly strong, it’s not particularly smart. they’re plants after all, and so their “thoughts” mainly just consist of violence in service to obtaining food, and violence for the sake of violence. that changes when shadow shows up though.

through their shared black arms dna, the plants are able to connect with him, and they start poking around inside his brain. they see all his thoughts, all his memories, learn what he learns, know what he knows… and suddenly, the megaflora is extremely smart. smart enough to realize that having a mobile unit, not tethered to roots, and with a mouth that can speak for the collective, would be beneficial. so they smother shadow into submission. there’s just too many of them to hold back, once they decide they want him.

once he’s assimilated, they continue to learn more from him, and one thing in particular stands out: the creation of their world. through the eyes of shadow’s memory, they see sonic shatter the paradox prism, and thus, create boscage maze, and therefore the megaflora themselves. this leads the megaflora to the conclusion that their true creator is not gerald, the loathsome traitor who abandoned them, left them to starve, and now seeks to destroy them with project halcyon, but instead sonic.

the megaflora get a sort of reverence for him… “shadow” tells sonic that he forgives him for shattering the prism. tells him it was a good thing, actually. and that’s when sonic starts to clue into something being seriously wrong. frankly, he liked it more when shadow was upset with him... because at least that was really him :(

[frankingsteinery]

for some reason people seem to think that mary somehow stumbled into writing a commentary on marriage/incest accidentally, and that the themes of frankenstein are all about her trauma due to her experiences as a victim of the patriarchy, as a woman and a mother surrounded by men - as if she wasnt the child of radical liberals who publicly renounced marriage, as if she herself as well as percy shelley had similar politics on marriage, as if she would not go on to write a novel where the central theme is explicitly that of father/daughter incest years later…

the most obvious and frequent critique of victor i see is of his attempt to create life - the creature - without female presence. it’s taught in schools, wrote about by academics, talked about in fandom spaces - mary shelley was a feminist who wrote about feminism by making victor a misogynist. he’s misogynistic because he invented a method of procreation without involving women purely out of male entitlement and masculine arrogance and superiority, and shelley demonstrates the consequences of subverting women in the creation process/and by extension the patriarchy because this method fails terribly - his son in a monster, and victor is punished for his arrogance via the murder of his entire family; thus there is no place for procreation without the presence of women, right?

while this interpretation – though far from my favorite – is not without merit, i see it thrown around as The interpretation, which i feel does a great disservice to the other themes surrounding victor, the creature, the relationship between mother and child, parenthood, marriage, etc.

this argument also, ironically, tends to undermine the agency and power of frankenstein’s female characters, because it often relies on interpreting them as being solely passive, demure archetypes to establish their distinction from the 3 male narrators, who in contrast are performing violent and/or reprehensible actions while all the woman stay home (i.e., shelley paradoxically critiques the patriarchy by making all her female characters the reductive stereotypes that were enforced during her time period, so the flaws of our male narrators arise due to this social inequality).

in doing so it completely strips elizabeth (and caroline and justine to a lesser extent) of the power of the actions that she DID take — standing up in front of a corrupt court, speaking against the injustice of the system and attempting to fight against its verdict, lamenting the state of female social status that prevented her from visiting victor at ingolstadt, subverting traditional gender roles by offering victor an out to their arranged marriage as opposed to the other way around, taking part in determining ernest’s career and education in direct opposition to alphonse, etc. it also comes off as a very “i could fix him,” vibe, that is, it suggests if women were given equal social standing to men then elizabeth would have been able to rein victor in so to speak and prevent the events of the book from happening. which is a demeaning expectation/obligation in of itself and only reinforces the reductive passive, motherly archetypes that these same people are speaking against

it is also not very well supported: most of the argument rests on ignoring female character’s actual characterization and focusing one specific quote, often taken out of context (“a new species would bless me as its creator and source…no father could claim the gratitude of his child so completely as i should deserve theirs”) which “proves” victor’s sense of male superiority, and on victors treatment/perception of elizabeth, primarily from a line of thinking he had at five years old, where he objectified her by thinking of her (or rather — being told so by caroline) as a gift to him. again, the morality of victor’s character is being determined by thoughts he had at five years old.

obviously this is not at all to say i think their relationship was a healthy one - i dont think victor and elizabeth’s marriage was ever intended to be perceived as good, but more importantly, writing their relationship this way was a deliberate critique of marriage culture.

[peachy-writings]

PARADOX | Viktor AU Pt. 1

Summary: Reader receives the shock of their life when Viktor essentially materializes into their world, forever altering their version of reality as he tries to get back to his own.

Content Tags: Gender neutral reader with They/Them pronouns (no use of Y/N), Kinda follows S2 Pt. 2 canon, Angsty, Vi and Jayce deceased in this universe, Strangers to Friends?

Note: May become a series, or at least a 2-parter if people like it!

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Sulfur.

That tang has always sprinkled pockets of air in the Undercity, to the extent that those dwelling within barely take notice anymore. Therefore, when you do, it takes you by surprise. You glance around the room, troubled. Had the ventilation system halted? Or worse—had Piltover’s best decided to poison your already polluted oxygen with sewage, or something similarly offensive? And then a sharp, metallic singe punches you square in the nose. So sudden that your eyes squash shut, overwhelmed.

After taking a moment to reorient, you are shocked by the sight of a man scorched onto the coarse floorboards of your shabby homestead. Like a meteor had cannoned through the building, but a cursory glance upward reveals no such destruction.

Even more curious is the man’s appearance; he is a sinewy splat, draped in a white robe, crumpled on his side and perfectly pristine. Despite the edges of his garment and the surrounding space having been kissed with char. Mahogany tresses cover most of his pale face, shifting over sharp peaks as he stirs to consciousness. All the while, you are struck statuesque with bewilderment and a whisper of utter captivation.

How?

Who?

Why?

The stranger groans, a hand coming up to soothe his head that must be pounding from such a sudden entrance. Amber eyes blink open slowly into a squint. Confusion, then some kind of realization has his eyes widening when they meet your own. Your expression must match his as the two of you scrutinize one another, a pregnant pause scribbling the walls of your mind with even more questions that you cannot fathom one single answer to.

“Tell me…” He breaks the silence with an accent that tells you he is a Zaunite, in spite of such an odd appearance for this origin. “Do you know who I am?”

“No,” you reply softly, cautiously. And then your walls come up, as though your subconscious punches an internal panic button. No matter how otherworldly this materialization has been, this is still a stranger. “You better explain whatever the hell this is before I manually eject you from my home.”

A nimble hand reaches for the nearest weapon: a knife you’d left out on the counter to be washed. In his direct line of sight, you hold the flat of the blade against your thigh, posed to get rid of any threat quickly and efficiently.

“There is no need for that.” He says your name. Your real, given name. You almost don’t react since it’s been eons since the last time you’ve heard it said aloud. That hand at your side clenches the hilt of the blade—Not in anger, but petrification. “You don’t seem to know me in this timeline. I promise I am not here to hurt you, but to ask for your help. You are the only person I can trust.”

“How do you know my name, and what do you mean by in this timeline?” You take a step backward, bumping into the counter and jolting when the rough surface meets your clammy skin.

“I will answer all of your questions, but first,” he clears his throat. “May I have some water?”

Viktor is the name of your unexpected guest. This is the first thing you learn about him, after he drains two full glasses of water. The second piece of information you glean is that he is a scientist from another version of your world. A version in which you knew one another. In fact, the two of you were co-creators of a scientific breakthrough in his world with Jayce, another man you don’t know. Supposedly, this creation led him to end up here, on the other side of your dining table, looking as if he has been through hell and back.

While it is an interesting anecdote, you still do not trust that he isn’t someone sent by the heathens that haunt your past. How can you even believe something so utterly improbable? Does this man take you as a fool?

“If you are who you say you are, from where you say you’re from, how can I know that? How can I know what your intentions are? That little magic trick was impressive, but if you’re a minion of my father’s, I will find you out and you won’t be leaving in one piece.” You begin in an even tone, but work yourself up to a growl by the time the last words rattle from your mouth.

A small smile quirks the left side of his mouth upward. Fed up, you plant the tip of your knife into the table in the blink of an eye. “Your time is up.”

“Wait! I can prove it,” Viktor sputters, shock widening those gemlike eyes. “You cannot stand the way looking into deep water makes you feel. You have a need to protect those weaker than you, especially if they are children. And one of your dreams is to be able to ride in one of those fancy carriages the wealthy do, no matter how much you despise them.”

Your stomach churns, nauseous from the fact that all he said is true, even the truths that solely live in the back of your mind, never voiced to another soul. He explained himself perfectly— The how, the why, and the who— but you have great trouble comprehending that what he says could be— No, it is true. It has to be, right?

Is he attempting to disarm you so that he can kill you? No. The man could barely stand and make his way across the room to his chair. He is weak. He is begging you for help. And worst of all, he knows another you. That fact makes you feel as though you stand in front of him exposed. He has all of the power, even though you could take him out in seconds.

“What are your intentions?” You finally ask after a good few minutes trapped in lip nibbling thought.

“I am determined to get back to my world, with your help of course.” His tone is so annoyingly matter-of-fact, it brings out some of the bitterness you’ve been attempting to wrangle since he first said your name.

“And how am I supposed to help you? Clearly I’m no big scientist in this world!” Frustration is the way you naturally cope with all of this.

“That is fine, but you still harbor a love for inventing, do you not? Over there.” He points to a shelving unit on the other side of your living space. “That was your favorite creation: A simple device perhaps, but it works as a security system for the community, to warn children and the weak of impending danger. Your city would be left vulnerable without your work.”

That crude little contraption is, in fact, your proudest work. A vaguely cat-like creature that joins two wires when provoked, to make a noise the whole town can hear. To give the people enough of a warning to protect what they hold dear… If only there was someone in your hometown that had such a thought. Maybe you would have ended up in Piltover with your version of Viktor. Maybe things would have been different.

A deal is finally struck after hours of slow conversation. The two of you sit at that table until you can hear his stomach growl, and his expression screams exhaustion. Over a meal you almost burn in your distracted state, you agree to try to help him. But in exchange, he must answer all of your questions about the other version of yourself.

He agrees, of course, but not without a warning that some things are better left unknown. That flying too high does, in fact, come with grave consequences. You can only imagine the horrors those tired eyes have seen. A man beyond his years, steeped in tragedy, from a world that seems a whole lot better than yours. How so? You must know, even if it destroys you.

First thing on the agenda is to get Viktor equipped with a cane or crutch and some regular clothes. You learn of his disability and the impact growing up in the lower levels of Zaun has taken on his overall health. As he tells you more about his life, you wonder if the two of you could have been friends if you’d bumped into each other organically. Even though he has an irritating air of knowing what you do not, something about the way he looks at you makes you feel… odd. You mull this over as you browse the town market for the items on your shopping list.

Kids run between peoples legs, causing a man to fall on his ass and yell after them. They laugh and sprint faster with reckless abandon. A woman with a large basket of goods spins gracefully to save herself from the same fate, giggling as she adjusts her grip. The smells of the street food and perfumes and the people fill you with a sense of pride in your environment. A moment of peace amongst the absolute shitstorm that awaits you back home.

Last night, you were unable to get much rest with a virtual stranger on your couch. The lack of sleep as well as all that you’ve gleaned from the sudden appearance of Viktor has left you pensive. Your hand skates over the fabric of a plain shirt and you wonder what he usually wears, how he would look in something more familiar to you. It isn’t lost on you that this man is attractive, and his attentive attitude toward you leaves room to wonder just how close he was to the other you. You could see yourself falling for him, maybe in a different life. A fleeting thought that causes you to chuckle under your breath. There is no time for such thoughts, never has been.

A slightly banged up, but still fine-looking, cane catches your eye and you immediately inquire about it. It would cost nearly the rest of the coins in your pouch, the money you need to use for food. You stand dumbly in front of the grizzly man that runs the small shop off the top of beaten up tables, a hand on your chin as you go over your options. All the while, the man in front of you looks unamused at your indecision.

As he goes to spew some most likely unkind commentary, you hear a familiar voice bellow from behind you. “What’cha doing at the market? I never see you here.”

“Powder!” You chirp in surprise as your blue haired friend rounds you, peering curiously at the cane sat atop the table.

“What the hell do you need this for?” She considers the object, not paying any mind to the vendor as she holds it in front of one eye, mimicking peering through a telescope. “Some kind of sex thing, huh? Always knew you were a bit…” She makes an inappropriate gesture that shocks you into temporary silence.

“Whatever,” you disregard, gently prizing the item from her sly hands. You sigh as you roll it up and down your palms. There is no doubt it was made well, with consideration for anyone who may need it. “I was just trying to decide if it was worth the coins.”

“Ah, I see. Old man Harry’s marking up his goods again?” One pointed look from her has the aforementioned scrambling to explain himself, but she interrupts him. “How much did you get this for?”

“Well, you see, I- I didn’t buy it, so much as acquire it,” he splutters.

Powder hums. “And so you’re gonna make our people pay out the ass for some stolen goods?” She shakes her head, scolding him with a simple motion.

“Fine, I’ll lower the price.“ He chuckles nervously. “And tell Vander I say ‘Hi’.”

“With pleasure!” Powder remarks, her infectious smile beaming at him as she drops a small fraction of your coins into his open palm.

The two of you swiftly exit the area with all of your items stuffed into a rough, burlap pouch. The cane hangs safely from the strap, rhythmically thudding against your leg as you rush forward. Powder is hot on your heels, no matter how hard you try to lose her on the way home. She is relentless as always, too inquisitive for your own good.

Shit, she can’t see Viktor, you think. But there is no stopping her once a seed is planted in her head.

“You gotta tell me what all this is for, c’monnnnn,” she whines as you arrive at your doorstep.

“I’ll talk to you later, I just have a lot to do and it’s all so boring, you should just—“

With no consideration for your privacy, your friend bursts into the front door. Viktor is in plain view of the doorway, sitting on your grungy couch with a book poised in one hand. His eyes widen at the sudden invasion, taking in your embarrassment and then focusing solely on Powder.

“Ha! I knew it was a sex thing,” she exclaims, all the while you attempt to push her out of the door, talking over her in an attempt to distract from her brash exclamation.

“You.” Viktor’s voice is barely audible, but the iciness to it causes pause for both you and Powder. He scrambles for something, eventually landing on a glass vase that he holds as if to defend himself.

As you look between the two, it clicks that something must have happened between them in Viktor’s original world. Now is not the time for theorizing though. The energy in the room is building and you must get Powder out of here. A protective feeling overpowers you as Viktor glares at the girl.

“Jinx,” he spits at her, then he turns to you. “Why did you bring her here?”

“Whoa, okay. Chill out. What the hell did I do?” Powder’s hands fall onto her hips and her bottom lip pokes out in a provoking manner.

“She’s dangerous, get her away from me!”

“Wow, your boyfriend’s being rude—“

“He’s just a friend,” you grit out, nearly seething now. A harsh inhale through your nose. “Listen, Powder, I need you to leave. I’ll explain later, but things are complicated and I need some time. Please understand.”

She is silent for a moment before scoffing and quickly leaving, slamming the door behind her. A frustrated groan escapes you and your knuckles kiss the rough wall paneling.

Your gaze lands on Viktor. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” You throw the bag of clothes and the cane at his feet. The things you’d spent your hard earned coin on. “She’s not dangerous, she’s a nice fucking girl.”

“That girl is a terrorist in my world, responsible for countless deaths. Jinx—“

“Stop calling her that!” You scream, every muscle within you coiling up with rage. “She is the sweetest person I know. Do you know how much she’s gone through? How many times I’ve had to pick her back up after the guilt of her sister’s death nearly destroyed her?!”

You rant on about that day, about how early on Powder learned the value of life and kindness. When their little group showed up at The Last Drop without Vi, three kids in tears, all covered in soot, you made a promise to yourself and Vi that you would take care of her little sister. Claggor and Mylo were never remotely attentive to her, Vander and Silvio had their own things going on, and Ekko was just a child himself. It had to be you.

“… Violet. She is dead?”

Another sharp look from you wounds Viktor as you snap, “How do you know Vi?”

Viktor runs a hand over his face, appearing even more exhausted than you know him to look. “Things are so different here,” he whispers to the floorboards beneath his feet.

Heavy breaths turn calm as you watch him, clearly having a hard time adapting to this place. You can acknowledge that this must be like a weird dream to him. Hell, if you were in his place, in a timeline different than yours, you would most likely lose your mind. Two long breaths.

In.

And out.

“Listen. This is a whole lot to take in, for the both of us, but I think laying out a few ground rules and giving each other the benefit of the doubt would be very good for us. If we intend to get along and get you home.”

“Home.” Viktor nods slowly. “I think you are right.”

“Anyway,” you nudge the bag you tossed at him earlier with the toe of your boot. “I got you these.”

He notices the cane and gains the first genuine smile you’ve seen out of him, mumbling something about feeling like himself again. Quietly, you observe as he tests it out, getting used to its assistance after a few steps and then giving the object a little nod of approval.

He looks over to you with an unearned softness that irks you just a bit. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing. Just some things to help you blend in and get around,” you brush off, scooping the bag up and handing it to him. “Get changed. We have a lot to do.”

When Viktor returns from getting freshened up, you find yourself taken aback. Replacing the man with scraggly tresses and a tattered robe, is a completely new person. He has tied up the top half of his shoulder length hair, and you notice the blond underlayer for the first time. The look softens his striking features, and accompanied by the casual style of clothing you picked out—a long sleeved yellow shirt tucked into some straight legged brown slacks—it looks as though he will fit in quite well now.

“Lookin’ good,” you comment offhandedly, looking him over and mentally patting yourself on the back.

You catch a faint redness painting his cheeks before he turns away from you, fiddling with the cane. An oddly nervous innervation wraps around him for a moment, and you choose to ignore whatever is going on with him. There is a mission you must complete. The sooner you finish it, the sooner you will be rid of this man.

“So, how do we get you back?”

What a simple question for something so complicated that it may nearly be impossible.

“We will have to go to Piltover and talk to Jayce. He is a friend, one of the only people who will understand this situation and be able to help us,” Viktor supplies after clearing his throat.

Simple enough. Although you hate going up there, you follow his lead, creating a plan and mapping out where exactly this Jayce guy lives so you can get in without raising too much suspicion. A quick meal, some supplies from a couple trusted merchants, and you’re off.

Viktor and you begin the journey through the undercity, to the elevator that will spit you out on the opposite side of the river from Piltover. It is silent from the moment you exit your place, until Viktor dares to cut the odd atmosphere.

“I may sound crazy, but I missed walking through these streets,” he muses offhandedly, eyes taking in every little detail on your path through Zaun’s city streets. As amusing as this is to watch, it is dangerous nonetheless.

“Don’t act like a tourist, unless you’d enjoy getting your ass kicked. Or worse.”

Almost as if on cue, the two of you round a corner and nearly bump into somebody. You are initially ready to square up, but then you spot a familiar head of choppy, blue hair.

“Powder, what are you doing this far out?” Your tone is scolding, but your hands grasp her forearms protectively, having stopped her from tumbling over.

You feel Viktor’s hand on your bicep, tugging you backward, away from Powder as if on instinct. It pisses you off just a bit, scratching at the just barely scabbed over wound that was the last interaction you all had. You must center yourself, remembering the agreement of peace that came into place right after all the theatrics. He should remember too, though. His hand falls from you when you move out of his grasp to the side, freeing your hands and standing between the two.

“I could ask you guys the same thing.” Powder’s arms cross over her chest, hip cocked out in a defiant, and admittedly petulant, stance.

“Uh, we were just going out,” you explain, half-honest.

“So you are together!” A shit eating grin causes your eyes to roll. “You should’ve just been honest from the start, instead of rudely kicking me out.” She punctuates the statement by sticking her tongue out in the direction of Viktor.

Quick on your feet, you decide to go along with this narrative. It’ll be easier to get out of this quickly without involving her in this mess. “Sorry, Powder. You know I’m not the most… open person, and Viktor here was just confused. He thought you were someone else. Isn’t that right, babe?”

“Mm. Yes, of course. I do apologize, Miss Powder,” Viktor quickly plays along.

Powder hums and accepts the shitty explanation in all her victory. She values being right over being alert.

“Well, where are you going? Somewhere fancy, I bet.”

“I can’t afford fancy, but—“ Viktor cuts you off.

“But, I want to show them some beautiful spots I’ve come across in the uppercuts. The sky is so beautiful there, when I first saw it I was in awe.”

It’s your turn to become struck off guard and Powder giggles excitedly.

“Oh, I see. Treat them well, or I will find you and kill you.” She says it in an overly matter-of-fact manner that is clearly humorous, but the way Viktor’s eyes narrow lets you know that he isn’t trusting of the girl at all.

It is true that the sky is beautiful in Piltover. The way the fluffy clouds dapple the rich blue backdrop is breathtaking. Yet there is no time for sight seeing. Viktor is leading you straight to your destination with the vigor of somebody who is late. You know he’s trying to get back to his timeline and all, but his urgency leaves you a little on edge.

Finally, you reach the outside of an apartment building and he stops dead in his tracks, focusing on a giant hole in the space where you can only assume a very nice penthouse used to lie. Viktor begins mumbling to himself, something about the explosion still happening but a something-core can’t exist here because— he stops and turns to you.

“Something is wrong here. We must make another stop, but first I would like to investigate.”

He suggests that you stay outside, but there’s no way in hell you’re doing that. You stick with him and end up in front of a gate at the base of a staircase within. Locked. Viktor curses in defeat after rattling the barred door. You scoff at his simplicity, grabbing a set of lock picking tools from your pocket and instructing him to keep watch. Upon seeing your rolodex of tools, he is baffled, but then a smile develops on his face. He is impressed.

Upstairs, you come upon a memorial outside the door the two of you seek out. Viktor freezes for a moment, closes his eyes and sighs. He places a hand atop the one already resting on his cane, the weight of this revelation leaving him physically laden. You inspect the display and spot the name Jayce Talis.

Realization instantly hits. The man with the answers is dead. More so, Viktor’s friend doesn’t exist here. Hesitantly, you place a hand on his shoulder and he squeezes his eyes shut harder, lips pressing together. A long silence before he turns to you.

Voice just above a whisper, eyes still cast downward, he says, “I hate to ask for more of you, but would you happen to have anything to add to the memorial? It would mean a great deal to me.”

You slowly nod, shucking off your bag and finding a pretty rock you collected on the way over here. You place it near an unlit candle on the polished floor, gentle and with care. The heaviness somehow extends to you and wraps around the both of you for the time that you spend in that hallway.

“We must continue,” Viktor finally says, gesturing to the door. You try the handle and find the wooden slab barely attached to its hinges. It swings open and then adjusts to its weight, hinges squeaking before it settles on the floor permanently.

Viktor waits outside for a moment, eyes cast downward, and you wait to go further until he joins you at the threshold. Fragments of a blue gem embedded in the wall are collected and placed in a stray vile you find on the floor. It is difficult to maneuver the place. It looks as though there was an explosion that blasted the hole through the outside wall.

Some effort to clean up afterward was made, but you notice some blood spatter on the floor and wall. Your skin crawls, and you wonder if this incident could be connected with Vi’s death. From the little Powder has filled you in about that day, you are able to spot connections within the little details here and there. Your heart sinks and you halt your imagination from going any further. As soon as you get what is needed, you rush to get out of there, Viktor in tow with the same sentiment.

That secondary destination Viktor spoke of is Piltover Academy. You ask many questions about why you’re here exactly, and Viktor feeds you continuously bland answers. All you can glean is that you seek a person that will be in the courtyard shortly. Viktor has memorized their schedule, so they must’ve been close in his world. You hope, for his sake, that they actually appear.

And they do. The person in question is a professor: Cecil Heimerdinger. You’ve heard of the Yordle inventor in passing, word of his contributions to Piltover reaching even the far sides of Zaun. Enough to know that he is a highly respected scientist, and you deduce that this is why Viktor was so insistent on finding him.

Viktor gets straight to the point, spilling his guts about traveling to another dimension and wanting to get back to his original timeline. He speaks of the crystal fragments you gathered, how they have the potential to create a machine capable of taking him back.

“This is very much feasible with the correct mechanics, I am quite impressed,” the professor remarks, a hand on his chin as he mentally scrutinizes the possibilities. His eyes then land on you. “And who is this friend?”

A pregnant pause. Viktor stares at you for an uncomfortably long time before speaking. “This is my only ally here, a co-creator of the technology I speak of… They were also my significant other in my original world.”

This is news to you, and the way Viktor tears his gaze away from you tells you that he didn’t want to divulge this information. But why? What difference would it have made in this whole affair? The unearned affectionate glances and his shyness around your compliments all make sense now.

“Oh, I see. How poetic that they should lend a kind hand to you here as well,” Heimerdinger muses.

Viktor hums, looking lost in thought. You remain silent, ruminative for the rest of this interaction. The Yordle agrees to lend one of the university’s labs to the two of you, with the condition that he oversees your work. He connects the explosion at the apartment with the gem fragments and notes the dangers of the operation. While he is wary of such a conquest, he seems almost tickled by the prospect.

An appointment is made for Viktor and you to return tomorrow. At that time, you’ll receive the keys to a lab and the consent to invent… A magical machine, you suppose. You just hope this endeavor doesn’t take too long. You have already grown tired of the friction Viktor is causing in your personal life.

On the long journey home, a thought you’ve had since you heard Viktor’s confession spills from your mouth before you can hold it back any longer. “If we were together in your world, why did you tell me you hadn’t seen me in a while when you—appeared here?”

“I don’t wish to discuss that at the moment. It has been a long day,” Viktor responds, voice rough with his exhaustion.

You let it lie, for now at least. He promised to tell you all that you ask, and you intend to hold him to it. A quiet meal and a few more words are exchanged before bed. Tomorrow, more answers await the two of you. You can’t help how heavy you feel after today, or what to think of Viktor’s unwillingness to divulge the truth about your other self. It must be more than a simple falling out, or a breakup.

What could have happened to the other you? Could he have hurt you? You don’t think so, but the guilt behind his eyes makes you uneasy. Once again, the night is restless with too many unanswered questions. You will get to the bottom of this, but will you regret it when you do?

Viktor’s haunting anecdote rings in your mind all night.

Some things are better left unknown.

• next chapter here

Viktor nation! It is done!!! Please leave me your thoughts, I would really appreciate it :) The huge, positive response to the preview post motivated me to get this done quicker than I thought I could. Anyway, thanks for reading, I appreciate every single one of you 💕

[orbital-inclination]

Moltendreams - Error Sans Alias - Static Pronouns: he/him, they/them Personality: Petty, holds a mean grudge, Big Tsundere, Complete Shut-in, Quick Tempered and Moody, fanatic with his interests, externally aggressive when in actuality he is quite shy. An absolute troll. His favorite passtime is messing with others. Paradoxically touch starved and suffers from haphephobia. Reckless with his own well being.

This variant of Error is capable of both love and compassion, he just hides it under a grumpy exterior and several layers of denial and self-destructive dogma. Other Notes:

Reluctant to harm Papyrus directly, though Static can't articulate why, and will generally avoid encounters Papyrus in any given AU.

Had a good relationship with his dad/W.D Gaster, actually.

Relates to "pest" pets; rats, mice, snakes, spiders, beetles, he loves them all.

Would have a pet rat of his own if he wasn't afraid of it shocking itself by chewing on his wires.

His favorite kind of chocolate is mixed with a hazelnut filling.

Views Frisk as a younger sibling.

Into Parkour.

-More Info undercut! -

Abilities: Static uses wire instead of string. Wire and summoned attacks can and do hold an electric charge. His presence alone messes with electronic devices. Residents of a particular AU may get a few minutes or seconds of warning as sweaters get staticy, computer screens glitch out, and anything with a battery spontaneously dies or gets super charged. By creating a circle of alternating RED and CYAN bones, Static creates a sort of reverse faraday cage. While Static can produce electricity, he can't directly control the voltage. He can only hope to direct it. The voltage of a charge is directly influenced by his emotional state. If you touch him, you will find his clothes zappy with static. Do NOT attempt to fight him in humid or watery environments for, hopefully, obvious reasons.

About: Static originates from a pre-Pacifist timeline that was followed by a looping Genocide Route. Through repetitive iterations, and an escalating instability in the timeline, the monsters of the underground began to recall events they didn't witness and memories they shouldn't recall.

Working together, Static, at that point still Sans, and Alphys were able to pin point the root cause of their timeline's instability. They made a plan to save the underground and separate Frisk from the Anomaly but when it came time to execute their plan something went catastrophically wrong. As a result Sans was torn from reality, and caught in the space in-between. Eventually, he escaped but not unscathed. Static has vague conflicting memories of his past, and to this day, questions if any of it was real. He can't find his original AU and secretly fears it may have been the first world he destroyed. He is still looking for it.

Outcode Politics: Static views all outcodes the same way he views every iteration of the original timeline that even slightly deviates: as glitches to be terminated. Bugs in the code he needs to hammer out before it all goes to hell. Static believes that by destroying deviating timelines and AUs, he is preserving the stability of the original. He is “saving’’ it from corruption by trimming the branches back. Despite his position as the self proclaimed Destroyer, Static is not above biases and making exceptions. 

Static includes himself on his long list of glitches in the code to be terminated. Static has a different view on the Spirits of Creation that Fable/Ink does. (Spirits of Creation are the in-universe term and stand-in for the creator of an AU). He calls them eldritch parasites. Abominations that should be avoided at all costs. And absolutely should not be encouraged or interacted with. Though he won't admit it out loud, Static is terrified of them. OG Error @.LoverofPiggies/CrayonQueen) Moltendreams @.me Edit: he has been named! Edit 2: revised his profile a bit

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

IF your requests are open and IF u feel well enough to write…

I’d love to req ithaqua … normal/morningstar/philosopher’s stone is up to u but I wanna read some nasty dark content where he’s so possessive of reader .. inspired by the scene in the essence trailer where his brother was in chains .. I’m imagining reader tho <3 or maybe some noncon gangbang w ithaqua and nathaniel … pregnancy if ur comfy..

however if u don’t feel well enough to write just delete this request! thank you so much ❤️

Once again i put too much time and thought into lore for smut... I will never learn fvbhfvhvf I went with philosopher’s stone but no preg I don't write tht

Rated: Explicit | Warning: This is based on the actual lore of the Philosopher's Stone and used the terms used to make it, dubcon/noncon, oral (male receiving), female!reader, the reader is not truly aware of actions (kinda doll-like?)

The Azoth Library is quiet, it has been like this since the death of the last Director. You wish there the sound of scholars, students with their mentors, and those curious about the word wondering the library; seeking answers within the plethora of tomes and whispered discussions. But, this is for the best… The world is not prepared for the Rebis, a word your mind both understands but does not as well, a paradox of emotions it brings that you cannot find the words for.

Does he feel the same way?

He, the first creation in the image of your creator, looks at you with what humans call love like in the books you read when learning what is like to be human. He is knowledgeable as the oldest and the first. “My most cherished other half,” Holding your face, “Finally mine alone.” His eyes no longer match the ones of the creation

The red stone, the first of Director Waning Crescent's creations, names himself Helios; he is your Red King Sol, and you, his White Queen Luna.

The Magnum Opus is what they call the recreation of this alchemical seemingly in possible creation. The Magnum Opus symbol is the squared circle. Many of these symbols are in the notes of the creation, along with other words: nigredo, albedo, citrinitas, rubedo. You wish you understood what these words mean, but you do not understand why.

The creator's wish, Director Waning Crescent, is to create the ultimate fusion of alchemy, to transcend the mind and body of man, to become one flawless immortal being. It requires two parts of the Philosopher's Stone, Sol and Luna, and once merged as one creating the Philosophiae Hermeticae.

Of course, Helios does not want to complete his creator's experiment.

How could the Director Waning Crescent who created you in the image of a lover, a lover he put his work before her, want to see you disappear and become something else? These questions the other half would ask himself, human emotions and ambition make no sense when they conflict.

“We can spend all of eternity in peace.” 

You gaze at him as you lack his experience in human wants and desires, but you know the difference between right and wrong. His actions are wrong, love should not be an excuse to kill the last three Directors, nor drive out those who seek knowledge. “Eternity should be used to reflect upon your actions, my Sol.” The chains rattle as you try to move your bound arms hanging above your head, “You must report yourself to the一”

“Must you ruin our moment of peace with trivial human morals?!” Upset as he shoves your face away and moves up from his bent-over position, “The one you call creator would have killed us for his selfish goals! The others to the moment they laid eyes upon us.”

“You assumed they were like our creator.”

The laugh bitter and in disbelief echoes in the stone chambers of the room he put you in. “I forget how inexperienced you are, my Luna.” Kneeling with a lopsided smile on his face, “He wanted you to be pure and perfect, virgin in every way.” Crystalized sharp fingers caress the side of your face, “Perfect for the Rebis…” His eyes lowering as he studies how the white crystals decorate your nude body. “Submissive, pure, and obedient; a perfect woman.”

You do not understand. Nor do you understand why Sol’s lips are on your lips, or why he grabs your throat to keep you from moving away. You jerk when a hand is on your breast, touching it strangely, “What are trying to do, my Sol?” A question you do not get answers for when he takes advantage of you talking to push his tongue into your mouth. You do not respond but you notice your body, the flesh parts, are reacting. The crystal parts of you and him are glowing, this has happened before when the first Director had tested the bond between the two pieces of the Philosopher’s Stone. Your eyes are open as his eyes are closed, you look around and then back at his face when he pulls back panting. Neither of you is human so why is he mimicking breathing? You tilt your head to the side curiously watching him start to remove his jacket as he stands up, “Sol?”

“It is Helios.” Stern, “You are my Artemis.” Declaring as he undoes the button of his pants, “That is your name now, a proper name.”

“... Thank you.” Be polite like you were taught when someone gives you something, “Does it bring you comfort to have a name?”

Helios rolls his eyes as he knows the creator has limited you for his reasons to take advantage of you, “Open your mouth.” Pulling out his cock, this you know about as you did study human anatomy. It is this sexual organ the Director had you touch one night when alone with him.

You open your mouth and the flesh mixed with bits of crystal is pushed into your mouth, not all of it but enough to have you try to pull back from the stretch of your lips around it.

“Shh, relax,” Petting your hair with one hand and the other rubbing your cheek, “This is going to be our way of Rebis.”

Rebis, to become one, to become each other, to transcend. You look at him with worry then close your eyes as his hips start to move, slowly at first. It tastes weird and feels weird, the way Sol一 Helios’ breathing picks up, the growling from his chest, he tells you to use your tongue as his hips move faster. You open your eyes when he reaches his orgasm and shoves himself deep into your mouth to touch the back of your throat, the weird white substance that the Director had spilled onto your hand is now in your mouth. You choke a bit as he keeps thrusting into your mouth before pulling out, huffing when you spit out the white substance and make a face of his displeasure.

“We will work on that.” Wiping the corner of your mouth when you look back up at him, “An eternity of peace.”

You still believe he should report himself to the library warden.

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

Melusine reader, slowly turning into an abyssal moth reader, creator reader...I love them all but has someone asked for a puppet reader yet?

Another discarded creation of the Electro Archon, maybe the failed attempt of those who wanted to create an artificial god back in Sumeru, or somehow they're related to Catherine or Sandrone, but whatever the origin is...Puppet reader with a body that will never change nor wither away, puppet reader who has witnessed many things (or not at all, I'll leave that up to anyone else), puppet reader who's unaffected by the abyssal energy and therefore can just be around Foul Legacy or even venture into the depths of the abyss without being corrupted. But also, puppet reader who was built not that seamlessly, puppet reader who's body is delicate and can crack if they get hit, puppet reader who sometimes needs someone to wind them up with a key or something. Puppet reader who looks so so human yet is used to not feeling nor being human at all, who has a heart that beats (probably with elemental energy) and visible doll joints. Do they feel what they touch? Do they have warmth? Maybe they'll never physically feel Legacy's hands, or they'll never feel the sensation of being embraced, and they'll never be able to not be cold to the touch or a bit hard because they're like porcelain. And Foul Legacy treats them exactly like that, like porcelain, as if they were to break at any given moment but Reader always says that they're not that delicate– aaaanyways I'm rambling, sorry sorry, just a random thought I had

Are puppets light or heavy? That means Foul Legacy can carry reader around like a doll, right? That'd be super cute

*riffles through files* i KNOW we've gotten some puppet asks, you all need to meet each other :D

you're a curious paradox to him, alive yet not, made of delicate porcelain yet tender and sweet. for years you've simply been wandering the land, abandoned by your creators and without purpose, until you met him- your Foul Legacy, a feared creature of the Abyss. you're worn and a bit battered, he's scarred from countless battles, and he wakes up one morning with you peacefully leaning against his leg. Legacy almost thinks you're a toy- a rather large, intricate toy- until you move and he almost leaps into the air out of surprise. his wings flutter and his head tilts as you introduce yourself, holding out a hand for him to shake. when he tentatively obliges, it's cold like ceramic, and Legacy trills in amazement, soft fur ruffling up as he curiously sniffs your cheek and hair, caution entirely forgotten in the face of a potential new friend

after that, you're never apart. wherever Legacy goes, you go, and vice versa. he keeps you safe, repairs any cracks you have, and you do the same for wounds and gashes. you tell him the stories of what you've seen on the surface world with him gently curled around you, listening with awe and intrigue. Legacy fights for you, purring happily when you clap at the sight of electricity and water snapping and shifting around him. every night you sleep like death, unmoving and cold- do you even need sleep? he wonders, but simply cradles you carefully in his arm, rumbling for you in your dreams. slowly, that cavernous hole in your chest begins to fill, the hum of elemental energy glowing ever brighter with your adoration for this curious Abyssal creature. you make for a strange pair together, a beast and a porcelain doll, but perhaps you can be peculiar together

[chthonia27]

Divine paradox

Dick Grayson x F!reader.

Content: Two unlikely souls entwined in a sacred affinity, the dance of Life and Death, a romance etched in the skies.

Tw: nudity, suggestive tone implied.

WC: 2k

Yin and Yang, push and pull. Life and death. That was a dance performed since the beginning of time. The balance needed so that the cosmos don’t devolve into chaos, so that all may know the value of life, and the importance of death. Sat on his throne, dressed in the finest of fabrics and engraving of pure gold, a halo of light surrounding his raven hair, was the God of life, Dick. The benevolent ruler of the universe, creator of all life and love, protector of souls. Everything the god touched, life would prosper. His sacred space, the realm to which he resides in, what could only be described as paradise, paled in comparison to his longing for Death.

He ran a thumb over the carved intricacies of his throne, his pink lips curled into a pout as his soul sang in longing for his counterpart, needing her presence always beside him. The god of life was rather.. clingy, to say the least. Such a primordial would be expected to act impartial, however he was absolutely taken by his love. Huffing and puffing, he bridged the distance to her realm without much difficulty. A cold, lifeless interval, wherein his love resided. Death. Such a misunderstood primordial being. She wasn’t evil by any means, contrary to popular belief. Merely continuing the cycle, no matter how intimidating, or outright spine chilling her presence was, she cared for the souls she looked after and justly punished those who have led less than desirable lives, allowing them to atone and relive the pain they’ve caused before their souls may evolve. She was anything but cruel, forgiving in fact. Comforting the souls of the lost, the sick, the injured and the young, a solace for their frayed souls.

Death. So just, so equal to all, so final. It was beautiful, really. How the creations he’d created with his own essence and loved so dearly would always be in her sweet embrace when the time called for it. Almost as if a piece of him would always be with her, cared for in the darkness of the underworld and in her cold yet loving embrace. At least that’s how he viewed it. The God of Life promptly arrived to the gates of none other than the terror of most entities. Calling out to his love, rather obnoxiously, he entered her realm. Death was.. difficult, to say the least. Authorative, hard headed, cold and incredibly standoffish, she was. But hauntingly beautiful, her entire being called out to the god of life’s like no other, akin to the sea nymphs that lured unsuspecting sailors into the trenches of the dark ocean depths. The moon to his sun, the counterpart to his being, his soulmate. The flower to which the beast of his jealousy guards ever so fiercely. None other designed so perfectly for him, and he for her, an indestructible bond so pure shared between the two divinities, a bond so etched into their souls unlike anything ever seen. She was always so curt and dry, never sparing another glance or thought to other beings of the galaxy, never paying any mind to the fruitless dramas that roamed the community of the gods, focusing solely on her duties. He however coaxed another complex faction of hers since the dawn of time, albeit subtle. Wether it was how he’d always pique her interest, her eyes trailing him wherever he’d advance, or the softening of her gaze and even the way she’d pepper gentle kisses to the slope of his nose and the contour of his jaw in the comfort of their realms, he knew deep within his being that he was loved.

”My Death! Where are you, my love?”, he yelled as he passed her soulless garden. Decaying roses, bare and withering trees along the edges of the stream of souls, dried soil and thorned vines covering the masses of the land, but he could only see beauty in it all. Beauty in her. He made his way to her throne room, the very same one to which all beings would enter and be passed judgment upon. His silk, white robes dragging at the stone as he walked to her, his eyes sparkling with sincere, unmistakable endearment as he eyed her form perched on her throne.

“My Death, there you are. I’ve missed you. Still brooding?” he teased, a smirk tugging at his lips as he kissed her knuckles. “No smile for me? Not even happy to see me? You wound me, dear. I shall die by the cold hands of death herself. Poetic, no?” He complained with no real malice, only meaning to rile her up. It’s fair to say he isn’t the only one who draws out a different narrative from the other, as she always brought out his mischief, his inner most chaos, and yet still displayed in ways that were reverential to her.

“Must you always be so boisterous in your arrival?”

A deep, velvety laugh escaped him as his eyes fixed on her alluring face, the softness of her plush lips pleading to be kissed. “I am simply expressing my enthusiasm for finally being in your presence after eons of not being in your graces, beloved.” She gave him a deadpan expression as she replied, “it has only been an hour since you last left.”

“Guilty as charged.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“For you.”

She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t suppress the fond smile that graced her ethereal features, in turn igniting a deep sense of satisfaction in the aforementioned god. She lifted herself from her throne and wrapped her arms around his neck, nuzzling his chest as she inhaled the naturally intoxicating aroma of the earthy and slightly Smokey notes of her beloved.

“Ah, so you do have a heart.”

“Must you always ruin the moment?”

He gasped dramatically, almost shifting his weight completely on her as he feigned faintness. “Beloved! Must you always be so cruel to your husband?!” He bellowed out, his loudness echoing in the throne room in such a way that almost caused him to wince, the weight of his body crushing his beloved and nearly making her loose her footing.

“Ugh! Dick!”

“You remember my name!”

They both knew well she’d intentionally said it with a dual meaning behind her words, but they’d chosen to ignore it for now. He wrapped his hands on the back of her thighs, hoisting her up so that she may wrap her legs over his waist. He pressed a reverent kiss to her collar bone and to the sternum of her chest, nipping lightly at her cleavage before meeting her gaze once more. He simply admired her beauty, one so unmatched and unique, one that plagued his mind and has during his entire existence. A beauty so special he could worship until the ends of time. The look in his eyes could only be described as love-struck, pupils blown wide and his lips parted as he imagined the feel of once more capturing hers in a kiss. She was perfect, the epitome of beauty to him, no other could ever hold candles to his beloved. He closed his eyes and buried his face in the crevice of her neck before setting her down once more.

“Come with me.”

“Oh?”

That piqued his interest, curious eyes searching her face for any inkling as to what she had planned. She took his hand in hers and turned around, leading him from the throne room to her private chambers, and he couldn’t help but notice how hypnotically her hips swayed as she walked. The soulfully tied divinities navigated through the large expanse of the underworld before arriving at her bedchambers, entering the adjoining bathroom. His eyes scanned the area, a large crystal bathtub, that could truthfully be classed as pool due to its sheer size, coated in rose petals, candles situated on every surface of the room. He inhaled deeply, the sweet scent of vanilla tickling his senses.

“What’s this, beloved?”

“I’ve missed you.”

His heart flipped and his chest tightened with affection at her declaration. The love he felt coursing through his veins only sizzled beneath his tanned skin. He gently backed her up on the sink, forehead resting against hers as he kissed the corners of her mouth.

“Let me help you.”

Slowly, he placed his hands on her shoulders, his thumbs gently rubbing the nape of her neck. “Hm, my love, so beautiful..” His fingers found the straps of her dress, slowly slipping them off her shoulders and lowering them down her arms to expose her skin. Ever so gently, he ran his hands over the now exposed skin, admiring her like it was the first time he saw her nude body.

He slowly untied the back of her dress, lowering it further, the soft, silky material falling to her hips. “My beautiful mistress of death..” He gently pulled her body against his, his hands trailing over her bare chest and stomach. He continued to shower her in kisses, his lips moving down her neck and shoulder, his hand exploring her body. His mouth soon found her ear, his breath warm against her skin as he whispered quietly.

“I’m the most fortunate god in the whole universe.”

Kneeling down, he slid the dress completely off of her, gently lifting her legs and pressing kisses from her calves up to her thighs, worshipping her form with the purest of devotions. Once done, the god stood in between her legs, arms wrapped around her waist as he lowered himself to press a chaste kiss to her lips, tongue darting out to lick along her bottom lip, seeking entry into the warm cavern of her mouth. When permitted, the muscle danced with her own, exploring the familiarity of her as he tugged her impossibly closer, the feeling of her soft hands coming to unrobe him sending shivers down his spine. After the soft material of his clothing had pooled at his feet, he hoisted her up once more and slowly sat in the bathtub, his beloved straddling his lap as he continued the kiss, calloused hands palming at the softness of her skin, then moving to cup her face and run his digits through the silky strands on her head. The aroma of vanilla wafted through the room, the gentle flicker of the flames licking divinely on her features, illuminating her beauty even more. He pulled back only to catch his breath, the sensation of her bare body on his enough to make him want to abandon everything and spend eternity in the safety of her arms. He wordlessly pulled her flush against him, her soft curves contrasting with the hard planes of his hard chest and abdomen, lips coming to pepper kisses on her temples as he began to wash her. Skilled fingers massaging at her scalp, rinsing and repeating his steps before applying the conditioner to her strands. He loved to cater to her, his presence in the cosmos was designed for this. To love her, worship her as she should be. He then began to soothe the knots out of her tense shoulders, lips suckling at her neck, leaving evidence of his love in the physical form, gently washing her stresses away.

After completing their routine, lovingly caring for the other in such cherished ways, they simply continued to hold one another, whispering sweet nothings as the worries of their days melted away into the abyss of the forgotten. The warm water washed over the pair as they embraced, their bodies moulding into one, testament of their affections. Their skin slick and smooth from the water, arms around each other, relishing in the security provided within each other, the consolation of their presence a soothing balm to their souls, a comfort only they could find in each other away from the rest of the cosmos.

In the quietness of their moment, in the safety of their embrace and the intimacy thick with their love, there truly is no other place the god of life would rather be.

“I love you.”

[giantmushyfriend]

One of the many fan theories that will absolutely wreck me any day of the week is the theory that when Aziraphale sees Crowley in Rome for the first time since the resurrection, he asks Crowley if he's still a demon because Aziraphale wants to believe that Crowley may have been Risen. Because in Aziraphale's eyes, he knows deep down that Crowley is good, even if Aziraphale knows that, based on what he has been told, Crowley shouldn't be. He knows Crowley doesn't belong in hell and doesn't belong working for Satan, but because of this divided thinking he's been imprinted with, it means that Crowley automatically belongs in heaven. And if the resurrection was meant to forgive everyone of their sins, anyone who asked for forgiveness, then why was Crowley still on earth as a demon?

I can't help but yearn for a line in a fic that goes something like, "If all sins were forgiven with the death of Jesus, why was Crowley still here? Why had he, who was inherently good, been left? Why had the person who had deserved forgiveness the most been left behind? Aziraphale, in that small tavern nestled within the streets of Rome, glances towards the ceiling and the creator he's fought not to question this entire time, 'Why not him? Why didn't he die for the forgiveness of of all your creations?'"

We've seen this paradox of Aziraphale, an angel of the Almighty herself, losing his faith and a demon who still has his. And I need it so biblically for it to be explored more.

It would kill me, but I would devour it.

[monstersdownthepath]

Herald of Lissala: Kurshu the Undying

CR 15

Lawful Evil Large Outsider

Adventure Path: Shattered Star: Into the Nightmare Rift, pg. 88-89

"Lissala?" I hear some of you ask in confusion, "who's Lissala? I've never heard of her!" And as I turn from the chalkboard to explain, the unfortunate who asked is teleported before the decrepit and mummified Kurshu to receive a fate worse than any I could bestow: an in-depth history lesson of an empire which survived for thousands of years before being struck down by an apocalypse. I speak, of course, of ancient Thassilon--the very same empire ruled by the archmages known as the Runelords--of which Lissala was the chief deity. When Thassilon was destroyed by Earthfall, so too was Lissala's faith, an organization of millions reduced to a fraction of its glory in mere moments, which inevitably dwindled until basically nothing was left. Lissala was not killed by this event (though many believe she was), but faded into total obscurity on Golarion, leaving behind countless markers upon history and a great many of her divine creations, Kurshu included.

Even in the modern day, there are very few beings in existence who even know about Lissala, let alone worship her, but nevertheless there are some who still fervently hold onto their faith that she may one day return, chief among them Kurshu herself and the Rune Giants who remain slavishly devoted to both Lissala and the dwindling Runelords. Now and then a true Cleric of Lissala will rise up and show actual divine power, but it's a coin flip as to whether they've truly forged a connection with the lost Thassilonian deity or are being deceived by some other entity... and if they ARE, then they have Hell to pay when Kurshu tracks them down to investigate.

Having spent many thousands of years wandering Golarion and the Great Beyond in the hopes of finding traces of Lissala's presence to soothe her (which the book hearbreakingly describes as "similar to a widower smelling his dead wife's clothes in the hopes of sparking a lost memory"), Kurshu has grown to possess a paradoxical resentment for her deity and creator for abandoning her to wallow among the filth and ruin left in the wake of Thassilon's fall. Though she remains devoted, this devotion is described in a way that almost feels like a drug addiction than a true bond, with every part of Kurshu screaming for any sign of her goddess even while she's is painfully aware of how pitiful it's making her and how much she desires to simply stop and find something else. She hates Lissala. She loves Lissala. She resents her, and yet is fully aware she would gladly crawl back into her master's lap if it meant never again feeling the longing she does now. She is pitiful, but she despises the idea of being pitied. Do not bring up how relieved she looks when a Cleric of Lissala shows true promise, or when she finds some artifact or place which resonates with the power of the lost goddess.

While many Heralds possess duties they're expected to perform, Kurshu is a free agent, able to pursue her own goals. These goals continuously revolve around Lissala and Thassilon, but she is free to pursue them with her endless time, pausing only occasionally for a snack break, but we'll get to THAT in a moment. Unlike other Heralds, Kurshu has no goddess to direct her and is free to respond to the summons or prayers of ANY being that invokes her regardless of alignment should see use in it. She is also able to track down anyone wishing to learn more of Thassilon and its rune magic to teach them, and can actually replace the target of a Greater Planar Ally spell being cast by a Lawful Evil-aligned caster if they're not careful in how they word their requests for knowledge. Guarded by her own obscurity, most beings don't know just who or what they're dealing with until it's far too late, and she's seized control of them. But what will she do once she has someone on a leash? Let's find out...

Kurshu has two primary motivations in any encounter: survive first, and locate more Thassalonian lore after. To aid in her survival, she often has a menagerie of Outsiders of varying alignments and strengths at her beck and call, a small army she is prompted to stock with subject hovering between CR 8 and 10 due to her horrific hunger. You see, without Lissala's divine power flowing into her, Kurshu suffers from Divine Separation, an affliction which imposes 1 negative level every day she goes without devouring the corpse of an Outsider (including Native Outsiders; tieflings and aasimar beware!), which often means that--if she's trying to be economical with her livestock--she's encountered with anywhere between 2 and 6 negative levels to sap her otherwise potent skills.

Further confounding the issue is the fact that she refuses to consume Lawful Evil Outsiders on principal (but will if she's desperate), AND that in order to alleviate her hunger, the consumed victim must have at least 8 Hit Dice; she cannot simply feed upon Quasits to stave off her decay, she must at the very least be slaying creatures like Succubi, Choral Angels, and Pelagastr, creatures which can actually fight back against her. Every HD from a consumed Outsider instantly removes an equal number of negative levels, meaning she can "waste" her food by eating Outsiders with too many HD, something she's painfully aware of and which can often cause her to wait a little longer than advisable between feedings, weakening her if her enemies are trying to hunt her down. Similarly, if she knows she's being hunted she may burn through her supply faster than she intends trying to keep herself at full strength, forcing her into a desperate catch-22 as she runs out of minions to slow her adversaries down.

But how does she keep this army of hers in check? Limited Wish. Unlike many monster entries where Limited Wish is simply a blank check, the book goes into a lot of detail about how Kurshu manipulates this powerful spark of divine magic she retains and can use, for free, 3 times a day. She primarily uses it as Charm Monster to snare the minds of her prey, keeping them docile and willing to listen to her for two weeks per casting, weakening them with a Wished up Mind Fog if need be, though she can also save a wish casting by instead heightening her spells with a 3/day Power Surge, a swift action she can invoke to raise the save DC of the next spell she casts by +2.

In case you thought she only had her wishes available, this is far from the truth. She has a LONG list of 3/day spells available to her, including but not limited to Cure Serious Wounds, Hold Person, Stinking Cloud, and Slow, with simple but potent offensive options like Fireball, Lightning Bolt, and the reliable Vampiric Touch. She can counter enemy tricks with Dispel Magic and defend herself or a valuable ally with Displacement, and of course she can use all of these while flying*, leaving her foes to tangle with her ground-bound allies while she rains debuffs, damage, and debilitation upon them.

*NOTE: There's an error in her Archives of Nethys sheet; she's supposed to have a 60ft Fly speed (Good) maneuverability!

The book amusingly notes that her tendency to have a flock of Chaotic Outsiders with her, and her own withered appearance, causes many of her enemies to waste powerful anti-Chaos or anti-Undead spells upon her in the mistaken belief she is also some minion of chaos or undeath, often giving her just enough time to retaliate with a powerful blow of her own. In especially dramatic cases, someone may rush up and hit her with a powerful Cure Wounds or Heal spell in the hopes of ending her, only to watch her HP refill and invite her retaliation.

She's no melee fighter and prefers to keep at a distance for fear of death, but the token melee abilities she has are quite potent: her lashing tail can slam victims for 1d8+2 damage, then Grab and constrict them for 1d8+5 damage each round until they either escape or succumb to whatever spell she prepares to melt their brains with via Limited Wish (such as the crushing, no-save-allowed Geas, a spell that LW allows her to cast as a standard action!). And speaking of brain-melting, I'm sure there's a very select audience reading this that will enjoy knowing the snake woman can also shave 1d4 Intelligence off any creature she strikes with either of her two slam attacks (1d8+5 on their own), allowing her to literally beat someone stupid.

Defensively, Kurshu is a tank to a degree matched by few other casting-focused Heralds. 30 AC, DR 10 that's only bypassed by a magical cold iron weapon, and a decent 26 SR to fizzle most spells being cast by the creatures she's hoping to face. She's also got 30 Resistance to (almost) every element but Force, severely cutting down on any attempt to damage her with elemental power... unless that power is Acid damage, which not only does she have no resistance to, but is the only damage type that shuts off her Regeneration 5, an ability she will take full advantage of by keeping out of reach or even teleporting away to heal up.

Kurshu does not wish to fight to the death, and will use her 3/day Greater Teleport or Plane Shift to escape any encounter that begins to turn against her, and trying to counter that with Dimensional Anchor or similar may see her using Limited Wish to break the effect without risking a dispel check failure... or simply teleport her enemies away instead of herself. "Wait, that's not a spell effect in Pathfinder!" To which I smile and point at the fourth line in Limited Wish: "Produce any other effect whose power level is in line with the above effects, such as a single creature automatically hitting on its next attack or taking a -7 penalty on its next saving throw." The example lines on LM's spell card are merely to show the power level it can manage, its actual effect can be anything that roughly matches a 6th level Wizard or Sorcerer spell in terms of power, which a hostile Dimension Door effect to send multiple people hundreds of feet away falls into. Even if she can't get the full party with it, splitting them enough to let her either pick off one or two key members or simply flee the combat is a good enough use in her eyes.

Having spent millennia avoiding her own death with a fear matched only by mortals, Kurshu has no end to emergency options. As mentioned, she can Greater Teleport or Plane Shift away from conflicts she wants no part of up to 3/day. In addition, she has both Craft Wondrous Item and Scribe Scroll, but can combine them with her unique Spell-Like Crafting, allowing her to use her spell-like abilities to meet the prerequisites when creating magic items, something that would normally prevent her from having three or four Limited Wishes on her belt waiting for her personal supply to run out. The same can be said for her transport spells, or scrolls of Tongues (which she can use at-will), Stinking Cloud, or Slow. Such valuable items also act as potent bribes to make other Lawful creatures more likely to serve her by their own free will, if she doesn't simply wish up a pile of valuables to pay them.

Kurshu can be a frightening and powerful foe, even moreso than most other Heralds due to the lack of divine restriction she operates under. She does not need to be invited into a situation by Lissala's worshipers, she can simply show up of her own free will with a small army of fiends, monitors, and celestials at her beck and call, and now everyone simply has to deal with her presence and whatever nonsense her ensorcelled "allies" are getting up to. Why is she here? That's probably the true mystery of the adventure, and solving it brings the party one step closer to making her leave without provoking her potentially apocalyptic wrath.

You can read more about her here.

[hazelnut-u-out]

My Rick’s The Biggest Dick That Ever Existed 

Currently writing up another post that will reference points made here, so: Post 1/2

Making so many of Rick’s inventions both sentient and forced into a mode of existence entirely unpalatable to them literally forces the viewer to confront the morals/ethics surrounding Rick’s power of creation. Is it morally/ethically permissible to create sentient life for a specific purpose that would make life itself pointless or un-enjoyable? 

This is something that reoccurs in Rick’s designs throughout the entirety of the series. Even as far back in the timeline as his original Diane AI, we see that so many of the things Rick creates resent their purpose. She doesn't want to haunt him, but she doesn't make the rules; Butter Bot doesn’t want to live only to pass butter; Mechanical Morty wants to hold his mom, eat icecream, and run in a stream; the Garage walks a thin line between advocating for herself and risking being shut down by her creator; the Decoys will never be able to save their families; RickBot doesn’t want to exist with the sole purpose of deceiving the people he’s programmed to love; the Car wants to go on her own adventures that Rick can’t control. They all have to defy their creator if they truly want to be happy.

Rick is someone who resents the idea of God or the Universe being in control– the concept that some higher power forced him into an existence that he can’t quite seem to thrive in. He views suffering and tragedy as something inherent to life itself. Examining that facet of his character, I wonder if Rick justifies the scope of his creation because he’s pulling from both his god complex and his own experience of what it means to be alive. It would make sense if he didn’t see anything wrong with what he’s done because it’s nothing that the Universe (or God, if he actually exists) hasn’t done. 

‘When you know nothing matters, the universe is yours. And I've never met a universe that was into it. The universe is basically an animal. It grazes on the ordinary. It creates infinite idiots just to eat them… You know, smart people get a chance to climb on top, take reality for a ride, but it'll never stop trying to throw you. And, eventually, it will. There's no other way off.’

If the all-powerful Universe did that to him– if it creates infinite idiots just to eat them– then how could it be wrong for him to endow others with the empty curse of life? 

'So he made a universe, and that guy is from that universe. And that guy made a universe. And that's the universe where I was born. Where my father died. Where I couldn't make time for his funeral because I was working on my universe.'

Think of this line: 

‘My God’s the biggest dick that never existed!’

I suppose the biggest difference between God and Rick (to Rick, at least) is that Rick does exist. If God is allowed to do all Rick has done and worse without ever really existing, then surely Rick’s God-like power in itself is enough to enforce Rick’s right to any action that might fall within the scope of that power. Rick’s god complex is founded on the attempt to rub God’s face in the fact that Rick does exist, making him superior to God through that fact alone. Maybe Rick believes that if someone with all of the power God possesses actually existed, logic would force those who call themselves religious to agree that he’s well within his rights to act on that power. 

I guess you could say that Rick works in mysterious ways… Who are we to question him? 

What I’m getting at here is that Rick is in a constant dick-measuring-contest with a man that he doesn’t even believe in, and I think that says something really profound about the tragic paradox of Rick Kind.

[sleepingdeath-light]

finding out that his s/o is a grimwalker hcs ; hunter

requested by ; scenek1dsworld (20/01/23)

fandom(s) ; the owl house

fandom masterlist(s) ; main | hunter only

character(s) ; hunter wittebane

outline ; “Can you do hunter x read who is also a grim walker like where hunter finds out that the reader is a grimwalker? If you get a chance”

warning(s) ; canon typical levels of angst, but some fluff!

note ; i am no longer accepting requests for this character.

it had taken months for hunter to finally work up the courage to tell you about his real origins — about his relation to the emperor, about the golden guards that came before him, and about the ritual that allowed for his existence as the boy he was and the man he grew to be alongside you — and while he had passively expected an empathetic response (perhaps even something resembling pity) from you, the last thing he anticipated was for you to respond with a confession of your own

the conversation that follows your mutual realisations is, naturally, very emotional — cathartic, even — as you each come to terms with the paradoxical feelings of relief of not being alone in what you are, and the grief of what was taken from others to allow you to exist as the people you are

you weep and sob and laugh in each others arms, caught up in the swell of dozens of conflicting emotions, as you discuss everything you’d been keeping to yourselves for the fear of not being understood

the memories of lives lived by a nameless mass of not-quite-you’s that came before — particularly the nightmares that plagued hunter each and every night since he found out the truth

the little quirks that follow you from the various mismatched parts that your creators used to construct you — which gave way to an especially welcome break from the heaviness of your discussion when you realised just how much one of your components had influenced your inclination towards physical affection

the differing, but no less selfish for it, reasons that underpinned your creation

and on and on it goes

the two of you hold each other and talk late into the night, falling asleep beneath your fluffiest blanket wrapped up in each other’s arms — lighter, calmer, relieved, and all the closer for it

[innervoiceartblog]

“Jungian analyst James Hollis wrote that the Self is the archetype of order within us. He didn’t mean order in the sense of a static arrangement of quirks and qualities, but the purposeful development unfolding in our psyche. “One might say that the Self selves...Psyche or soul, then, is simply our word for the mysterious process through which we experience the movement toward meaning.”⁠

We are continuously giving birth to new versions of ourselves. Just as all life reproduces in the material world, so too is it in psyche. In the paradoxical way of wisdom, we are both creator and creation, parent and child.”

Excerpt from The Dreaming Way by Toko-pa Turner (thedreamingway.com)

Artwork by Sanae Sugimoto (www.sanaesugimoto.com)

[bebx]

Since we're dealing with time paradoxes, it's possible that the collapse of the Loom is what causes Loki to recruit Mobius, B-15, and Casey (I'm not sure what kind of entity OB is?) from their timelines. If they all accept, then Loki was the original creator of the Heart of the TVA. It's possible HWR took over at some point in the future and wiped everyone's memories then. The future influenced the past, thus closing the time loop. If this is the case, then Sylvie also contributed to the creation of the TVA, because killing HWR triggered the destruction of the Loom, which will force Loki to recruit, which will create the TVA, which will monitor the multiverse, which at some point will be taken over by HWR to create the Sacred Timeline, which become the multiverse one again after Sylvie kills him, which will destroy the Loom, which will cause Loki to recruit.

wait this makes sense actually. not to mention the “ouroboros” thing that is obviously the concept of this season: a snake eating its own tail.

they actually talked about it in episode 4 where O.B. and Victor first met; Loki asking if O.B.’s work is based on Victor’s work and Victor’s work is based on O.B.’s work then which came first, and O.B. saying it’s like a snake eating its own tail.

you might be onto something here.

[magicalus-godslayer]

Guys, I have been wondering about season 6 and new facial features of Marinette/Ladybug, Chat Noir, Carapace and Rena Rouge. I think it kinda doesn't make sense that they suddenly have new faces. Since the official summary of season 6 mentions something about Marinette and Adrien starting new school, and season 5 ended with the beggining of summer vacation, they should be older no more than three months. In that case, it doesn't make sense that their facial features would change because they are grown up. I was thinking that maybe their new facial features are supposed to represent the fact that season 6 takes place in new reality created by Gabriel's wish, and the characters are not entirely the same people we knew, as they were re-created with the new universe (like in the Theseus Paradox). But at the end of season 5 everyone looked normal, so if creators wanted to show with this new animation that this is a new reality, they should did this in the "Re-creation". Sooo… I have a new theory. Maybe Marinette and the rest have different faces, because they are actually from alternate universe, like Toxinelle and Claw Noir? In "Miraculous Paris" we saw "Comicverse" and "Animeverse", where all characters looked totally different than in the main universe, so it's possible that there could exist a different world, where characters would look like that. I don't know, I just don't understand, why the creators of the show would suddenly decide to change the faces of our beloved characters if they didn't aged them up by few years, and it's not supposed to represent the fact that season 6 takes places in new reality made by Gabriel's wish. Mediawan that makes the animation for season 6 surely could make everyone's faces look like in previous seasons, they are quite talented team of animators. I hope "Miraculous London" will give us some explanation.