#Volition Chronicles
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thevolitionchronicles · 2 months ago
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Reading to keep my brain fresh and keen! I've started re-reading classic literature to improve my prose and help the words flow more easily. It's shockingly easy to develop a habit of skimming long paragraphs and losing focus when it comes to long-form written form creative works. It truly is a use-it-or-lose-it type of skill. Currently I've picked up Little Women, and I'm also planning on revisiting Fahrenheit 451, The Giver, and Brave New World if I can! I will update as I progress!
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smashorpassgilf · 10 months ago
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The Vampire Armand
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sapphopringles · 1 year ago
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//XC1 Spoiler talk//
I havent played XC2 or 3 (yet) so this could end up being not entirely canon accurate based on future games but just keep in mind this is thoughts based exclusively off XC1 DE
Ever since i finished xenoblade de on my switch (currently playing epilogue) ive been going Insane over the implications of the strength of Alvis
Based on my understanding of the ending, Monolith Soft fucking found a way to establish a character within canon whose powers trancend the limitations of fiction and into the very fabric of reality as real life humans percieve it
Like, the world of the bionis and mechonis being the result of the recreation of the big bang in the scifi future real life actual universe caused by computer alvis under the command of zanza and meyneth resulting in the laws of reality being reborn and rewritten as such so that alvis' mechanical capability to recreate the big bang with exact precision on the outcome is manifested as a physical being thus creating a god only surpassed by the biblical christian god (who himself is only like "most powerful" cus the propagandaization of dieties requires yours to be better than everyone elses in every concievable way to assert dominance)
Basically, it is impossible for Alvis Xenoblade 1 to lose a fight against any fictional character without severely altering the very basis of his being due to the core of his existence being the physical manifestation of a being capable of rewriting the fabric of reality that also can just see into the future seemingly without limit
The alvis vs goku death battle is the epitome of hydrogen bomb vs coughing baby with goku as the baby and im going insane
I want this fucking twink obliterated
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crumpet099 · 9 months ago
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I come to tumblr with a new interest,, Find it here!!
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dlandofdreams · 9 months ago
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Don’t mind me, just going through and reblogging all of my sister’s art that I missed lol
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theguywithaplan · 4 months ago
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List of Video Games turning ten (10) years old in 2025
Alone in the Dark: Illumination (if you thought the AitD game from last year was bad, check this shit out).
Angry Birds 2 (yes, there was a 2).
Animal Crossing: Happy Home Designer
Animal Crossing: Amiibo Festival (two AC games from 2015 and neither of them were what people wanted).
Assassin's Creed Syndicate (the Bri'ish one).
Atelier Shallie
Axiom Verge
Batman: Arkham Knight
Battlefield: Hardline (the last game from Visceral Games, the guys who made the Dead Space series).
The Beginner's Guide (the second game from the creator of The Stanley Parable).
Bloodborne (anything for the 10th anniver-- no. Never gonna happen).
Broken Age
Call of Duty: Black Ops III
Chibi-Robo! Zip Lash
Cities: Skylines
Crypt of the NecroDancer
Devil's Third (one of the rarest Wii U games ever).
Disgaea 5: Alliance of Vengeance
Disney Infinity 3.0
Dragon Ball XenoVerse (the first one. not the second).
Dying Light
Evolve (these guys would go on to make Back 4 Blood).
Fallout 4
Fatal Frame: Maiden of Black Water
Final Fantasy Type-0 HD
Game of Thrones (the Telltale game)
Guitar Hero Live
Halo 5: Guardians
Hatred (a game so edgy and terrible that it got itself kicked off of Steam).
Helldivers (the first one).
Heroes of the Storm (the Blizzard MOBA).
Hotline Miami 2: Wrong Number
HuniePop (for all you pervs out there).
I Am Bread
Just Cause 3
Keep Talking and Nobody Explodes (the quintessential VR game)
Kerbal Space Program
Kirby and the Rainbow Curse (one of the few Wii U games that hasn't been ported to the Switch. And probably never will be).
The Legend of Heroes: Trails of Cold Steel
The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask 3D
The Legend of Zelda: Tri Force Heroes
Lego Dimensions (a crossover game with about a billion different franchises).
Lego Jurassic World
Life is Strange (controversial opinion: I sacrificed Chloe and felt nothing).
Mario Party 10 (the only MP on the Wii U)
Mario Tennis: Ultra Smash
Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain
Monster Hunter 4 Ultimate (back when the 3DS was single-handedly keeping MH alive)
Mortal Kombat X
Need for Speed (the reboot)
The Order: 1886
Ori and the Blind Forest
Pillars of Eternity
Pokemon Super Mystery Dungeon
Prison Architect
Rainbow Six: Siege
Rare Replay
Resident Evil: Revelations 2
Rise of the Tomb Raider
Rock Band 4
Rocket League
Saints Row: Gat Out of Hell (RIP Volition. You were too good for the modern day).
Shadowrun: Hong Kong
Skylanders: SuperChargers
Soma (the best horror game ever made. Play it if you haven't yet).
Splatoon
Star Wars: Battlefront (the EA reboot).
StarCraft II: Legacy of the Void (RIP StarCraft. You were too good for modern day Blizzard).
Steven Universe: Attack the Light!
Story of Seasons (the very fight one)
Super Mario Maker
Tales from the Borderlands (the best thing that Telltale EVER made).
Tales of Zestiria
Tembo the Badass Elephant (published by Sega and developed by Game Freak... the Pokemon guys).
Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 5
Total War: Attila
Transformers: Devastation (RIP PlatinumGames. You... kinda started sucking after Astral Chain).
Undertale (yep, it's happening).
Until Dawn
Warhammer: End Times - Vermintide
The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt (just in time for the 4th game)
Wolfenstein: The Old Blood (remember, kids: Nazi lives don't matter).
Xenoblade Chronicles X (finally escaping the Wii U this year).
Yakuza 5
Yo-Kai Watch
Yoshi's Woolly World
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mightydyke · 3 months ago
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The way that Paul Shapera presents love in The Puppetshade Chronicles, specifically the second album, is so fascinating to me.
You have Jes, who declares "love is perfect, love is all" before shooting the girl she loves at the end of the first album, claiming it's the only way to prevent Jenna suffering and betraying her. At the end of the second album, she kills Molly after finding out that she wasn't tortured into betraying her but actually wanted to abolish the monarchy of her own volition. Jes claims "now the girl I love is gone". To me, it seems like Jes has such an idealised view of love that anything that doesn't live up to her perfect expectations must be eradicated. It fits with her character, being a princess who's used to getting what she wants and views anything inconvenient to her as unacceptable. But before she kills Molly, she hesitates and changes her mind multiple times, almost like her view of love is shattering as she realises that it isn't perfect, that it doesn't guarante that there will be no conflict between people who love each other.
This is even more interesting compared to Paisley Piper's view of love. She thinks that love is painful and maddening. She says that love can be sweet, but ultimately it will entice you and drive you crazy. And yet at the end of the album she decides to go and rescue her love. Entirely the opposite to Jes, she acknowledges the pain caused by love and how it's far from perfect, but decides to help the person she loves.
Then you have Oki, who seems entirely dissilusioned with love (and every aspect of existence), saying that his friend Jeza said "love was just a fleeting treat, illusion to me now." He's clearly been caused a lot of pain by love and is definitely going through a sadistic phase, but seems to genuinely love the other Puppetshades.
And all this just makes me wonder how Jenna, L3X and Yery will think of love now. Jenna has been betrayed by a person who claimed to love her, L3X loves Jenna but her love makes him feel guilty, Yery has had the person he loved most killed. They've all seen people they love murdered. And then there's Cobalt Rose, who can almost be seen as a metaphor for how people who are loves live on in the memories of those who loved them. I think love is such a fascinating driving force and motivation behind this story and I can't wait to see how this theme develops.
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davos-allyrion · 5 months ago
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𓆩♕𓆪 MUST I BOW? 𓆩♕𓆪
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(Starter with @theprincessofd0rne, after Davos' absence from the Dornish council, rumors surrounding him resurface, prompting the princess to ask on her own volition.)
To Her Grace, Aliandra Martell, Princess of Dorne,
It is said that the sun sees all, yet it seems the shadows cast by its light are more fertile ground for tales than truth. The rumors that reach your ears about my dealings at Godsgrace are as colorful as the sands of the Red Mountains, though less reliable than the shifting dunes. Still, it would be poor form to dismiss a royal inquiry without due care, and so I will offer you the clarity you seek.
First, let us dispense with the idea that Godsgrace remains peaceful through any sinister design of mine. If peace is sustained here, it is because I rule with the same principle that you guide Dorne: a steady course, bending only where wisdom demands. Men whisper of disappearances, of vanished enemies—but those enemies would be better served accounting for their own missteps, for I have neither the time nor inclination to murder every fool who raises his voice against me. If I was to dedicate myself to such endeavors, I imagine the halls of Godsgrace would be far emptier than they are.
As for rituals and forgotten gods—well, I do not deny that I disappear from time to time. But my absence is not for the purpose of cloaked rites or blood sacrifices. There are matters that require my hand, and there are questions that cannot be answered within the confines of a lord’s hall. If I wander, it is in search of knowledge and allies, not spirits and curses. Dorne has its share of forgotten gods, true enough, but I have yet to find one worth kneeling to—or one whose favor could do more for me than my own family and wits.
It amuses me, I confess, that these rumors have found their way to you. Your family has long been the architects of Dornish identity, shaping the desert’s story with skill unmatched by any chronicler. Yet even the most storied legacy is not without fault, and my opinion of the Martells remains unchanged. You opened Dorne to the dragons and bent the knee to their fire, forging peace at a cost I would not have paid. I do not hold this against you personally, Princess Aliandra, but I will not deny that I rule my corner of Dorne with less reverence for the decisions of your ancestors than some might prefer.
Nonetheless, I respect you as a ruler. Sunspear remains the heart of our land, and it beats strongly under your hand. If I was not confident in your leadership, I might not bother responding at all. But know this: while I keep my distance, it is not from disrespect, but preference. The council chambers of Sunspear do not interest me nearly as much as the lands I must govern and the people I must protect. If that means sending Nymeria or Kierra in my stead, it is because I trust them to represent me well, not because I scorn the Martell throne.
If there is aught else you would know, you need only send word. Godsgrace stands as it always has: unshaken by the whispers of cowards. Should those whispers ever grow into something more, you may rest assured I will meet them with the strength of my name and my house.
May the sun shine kindly upon you, and may the sands remember your rule fondly.
Davos Allyrion,
Lord of Godsgrace.
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the-garbanzo-annex-jr · 11 months ago
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by David Harsanyi
The reaction to the rescue of four Israeli hostages from Gaza is a microcosm of the past 70 years of this conflict. Every time Palestinians pay the price for acting out in some horrific, irrational, self-destructive, violent way, their defenders want to rewind history to a more convenient moment — this time to Oct. 6, 2023.
Sorry, that’s not how life works. Hamas, the chosen political entity of Gaza — the overwhelming choice of Palestinian civilians, in fact — launched this round of the conflict by massacring, sexually torturing, and kidnapping Israelis whose only sin was attending a music festival. Palestinians took hundreds of these hostages back to the Gaza Strip — a place Arabs have political autonomy over for nearly 20 years — and held them in the middle of densely populated areas hoping to dissuade Israel from liberating them, or, if it did, to create as many martyrs as possible.
Critics of Israel now ask the usual dishonest question: Are four lives worth the alleged 200-plus Arabs that were lost rescuing them?
Israel is the only nation on earth that is tasked with protecting its own people and its enemies. Every innocent lost life is, of course, a tragedy. But if you don’t want to be placed in harm’s way, don’t hold hostages in your homes and neighborhoods, and don’t cheer and support a government that puts your life in constant danger for a lost cause. This is the reality of the world.
Now, if reports are correct, Hamas — and perhaps “civilians” (it’s difficult to tell because terrorists are often dressed as noncombatants) — opened fire on the rescuers. The Israelis, who do not indiscriminately target civilians, fired back, as they should. Whatever the specifics, every lost life is Hamas’ fault.
But, as always, it also needs to be stressed that the casualty numbers that are endlessly repeated by the establishment media are fiction — as everyone in those newsrooms is surely aware. So, we must assume outlets like The Washington Post and CNN — which also detestably contends that the hostages had been “released” — are fellow travelers. One BBC interviewer even asked an IDF spokesman if Israel had warned Palestinians of their sting operation.
Then again, even if there were over 200 dead, it is also surely the case that many of the dead were members of Hamas or holding hostages of their own volition or helping those holding hostages. Avoid doing so if you value your life.
The “Health Ministry” makes no distinction between terrorists and civilians, and in this case there might be little difference. Among those holding the Israelis hostage in their homes in Nuseirat, for instance, were a “journalist” (who apparently worked for Al Jazeera and the U.S.-based Palestine Chronicle, a 501(c)(3) nonprofit) and a “doctor.” The entire neighborhood was ostensibly under UN control. We already know that UN workers had likely participated in the Oct. 7 kidnappings and UNRWA schools are used by Hamas bases of operation.
Even now, there’s a (terrible) ceasefire deal on the table being pushed by Joe Biden (still chumming for antisemitic votes) that Hamas continues to reject. Would we not expect the United States to act the same way as Israel if some homicidal cult had our people?
In the end, of course, this could all end today if the hostages were returned and Hamas would unconditionally surrender. Israel haters, who fashion themselves peaceniks, will blame everyone — Netanyahu, Biden, colonialism, racism, etc., etc. — but the Islamists who are the cause of this war.
Then again, the entire conflict could end if the Palestinians would stop turning to nihilistic theocrats to lead them and accept Israel’s existence.  
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thevolitionchronicles · 3 hours ago
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Volume One: Chapter One: Scene Twelve
The long corridor back to the main hall is a hazy blur. Melody only regains a certain sensation of presence when she recognizes her face in a facility bathroom mirror. Blinking back at herself, her hair now knotted, the doing of her own frenzied hands pulling at its roots, she bleakly questions her identity. Her sense of self was solid in the arena, but now, her reflection is a body divorced from its spirit. A face, without a living soul, incurring no different emotions than the faces she had peered into, early this day, as they left the academy to become members of their assigned teams. The frigid water cannot fully ground her muddled brain, but it manages to partially soothe her irritated eyes and sore airways as it splashes into her face. She washes away the remnants of her weeping episode with shame, her only consolation being the small hope that Calvin and Marcus will perhaps not recognize the leftover symptoms of it. Her once destructive fingers now gingerly comb out tangles in her mane and smooth out abused downy to appear neat and undisturbed. Swallowing down the last of her hoarseness, she recovers a placid expression and returns herself to the main hall. 
Making her path back to the changing stalls is automatic, and she only registers another conscience line of thought when the sight of Calvin waving to her in his civilian clothes comes into view. A reassuring smile forces itself onto her face as she collects her own civilian wear and takes her turn in the stall. Tobii chirps beside Calvin, while he twiddles with one of the strings on his white hoodie. For the short time that she spends changing, he contemplates what conversation might have occurred that he hasn’t been privy to, and if he is only imagining that she appears off somehow.
 He glances at the lights overhead, debating if they had betrayed his eyes into perceiving her face as wearie and disturbed, before evaluating if Nathaniel, being the callous person he’s known to be, has said something particularly abrasive to her. A small part of him feels unnerved by the possibility that he’s been left out of a significant conversation, and is still held in suspense at the moment, but just as this concern occurs to him, the stall door opens and he urgently exchanges his face for one of oblivious warmth. 
Fully composed in her pale azure cardigan, she addresses his expression with a gentle nod, as if to affirm everything is well, and Tobii greets her with a soft clinking sound and short flicker of his many lights. Instinctually, they resume departarture alongside each other, along with the many attendees now traversing back to the main halls.
Calvin yawns softly and shoves his hands into his pockets while Melody grooms her hair again with her fingers. Between the sounds of many footsteps is an accompanying chatter of various student’s plans for the evening, and a few sighs of relief for the today’s primary activities to come a close, while some mention additional studies and future plans for the coming weekend. Melody gives her best attempt to return her mind to the mundane, as the rhythm of their footsteps becomes a sort of calming white noise. 
“Have you gone to the fourty-levels recently?” He initiates with a blend laid-back casualness and excitement.
In her best efforts to keep frenzied notions of panic at bay, Melody decides to entertain his line of questioning with faux-curiosity “,No, why?” Peering at him from the corner of her eye while maintaining her forward posture towards the main hall, there’s a charming spark of  mild fascination in the way he raises his eyebrows.
“There’s this new place where they sell a recently cultivated Ashin fruit! It’s called abbakin and I’ve heard it tastes like nothing else on Earth. I’ve never had it, it sounds awesome!” He explains with a whimsical energy, as his light wispy locks swaying as he pantomimes with enthusiasm and the tips  his feathers perk with alertness. Between the sentences of his elaboration, another subject of intrigue conjures itself.
“I thought the agricultural revival project depleted in viable resources a few years ago?” She asks pointedly, and a sensation of her focus being gradually reeled into the present almost manages to dispel her self-conscious worries of masking her previous emotions.
“Aparently not!” His response is swift “,Team Ambition just returned from a recon mission and apparently the place they visited had stores and restaurants selling abbakin everywhere. That’s how I found out about it!”
“Really? Already? Didn’t you say that Ison just opened it’s first business with abbakin?” She squints, as if studying the layout of the main hall more perceptively as they cross into it will somehow clarify his conflicting information.
“Well, it’s new here, but over in Odyssia, it’s already really popular!” He shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. His tone is pleasantly sheepish, as he bashfully cranes his head to catch her reaction, but her lips are pressed into a flat line and her gaze is fixed to something far away. With her shoulders unmoving, eyes unblinking, the stillness of her upper body is uncanny, but she isn’t aware of it. Odyssia. The city’s name reverbates so loudly in the ear drums of her imaginative space, that her ears flutter back and press themselves to her cranium, as if the loudness is so real and permeating that it hurts. In an attempt to cut through the palpable apprehension, he adds “, They have all kinds of stuff there that Ison doesn’t, maybe we should go sometime?”
Her head rotates in his direction stiffly, as if her neck is in actuality, the apparatus of a cheap animatronic. Her stare only settles on him for a brief moment, before moving past him, to pierce the space behind her, as if searching for an unexpected intrusion. Even though it occurs at a stiff but not unfathomable pace, Melody’s movement and shift in perspective is received by her own cognition at at a surreally slow rate, as if time itself has braked to a near stop. The room, instead whirls around her, a blur of fresh startling paranoia.  
“Yeah,” She mutters to quell any alarm, but her fingers are contorting themselves into claws ready to fiercely grapple an incoming threat and her feet have already paused their journey forwards. Manually urging her body to resume walking, Melody still cannot eliminate the growing impression of unrest and a certain illusion of a universe standing still all around her. Ideas formulate themselves more rapidly than she can dash them away. Could there be a more disconcerting coincidence than the comorbidity of these two separate requests, one being much more of a demand? She cannot blink away the illusionary distortion of reality, that bends light and sound around her, as their many peers surpass them towards the academy’s many doors. The sound of laughter and another voice only vaguely reaches her before a firm hand seizes her by the shoulder, and then abruptly, something ignites. 
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teadari · 4 months ago
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💮 Wind of Time 💮
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In the silence of the garden alleys of the Kuchiki Clan, the sounds of an invisible world lingered, where the gentle rustling of leaves mingled with the elusive songs of distant birds. All of this resembled the whisper of time sliding between the branches of the cherry trees, standing like guardians of impassive tranquility. Here, in this abode of serenity, where time itself seemed to stand still, an ordinary person might glimpse only the beauty of the visible world.
He walked along the paths of this green temple of contemplation, as if each grain of sand beneath his feet could reveal the deepest truth. In certain moments, it felt as if the sighs of the wind whispered secrets to him about how one should live in harmony with oneself and the world around. Here, in these green retreats of nature, a weary soul could find peace and the opportunity to hear melodies previously unheard.
Everything seemed to begin with the whims of fate when, in a garden shrouded in a mute silence like a gentle captivity, Ohiko appeared — a young and unremarkable maiden, but of noble birth. She came as a guest, but certainly not of her own volition; she was compelled by her vassal relatives to cement a family alliance with the esteemed Kuchiki clan. But, truly, how restless she was, that Ohiko! In her heart, anxieties and uncertainties galloped like unbridled horses, searching for a place to settle.
She found herself in the garden as if guided by an unseen hand, to a place where no words from the clan's servants or even Byakuya himself could compare. Yes, how often it happens that an invisible foot leads one to those corners of solitude where a weary soul seeks to breathe its own air, to ponder its secret concerns, removing from view the bustling distractions of the world!
Thus, she arrived in those meadows, filled with seductive blooming cherry blossoms, where Byakuya himself, the authoritative lord of the clan, was accustomed to spend his time in passionate contemplation. It became difficult for her—whether it was an inevitable meeting or whether destiny would sing a song for them. And is this union of worlds not a chance occurrence, preordained by the spirits of the squirrels? Yes, sometimes fate is unpredictable and whimsical, like the most intricate arabesque on the silk of Japanese elegance, where every curve and twist has meaning, but not always what we expect.
When their gazes crossed for the first time, Byakuya felt something so extraordinary that even the ancient clan chronicles did not describe such a thing. It was not a romantic infatuation, nor an instant spark of emotions, so praised in ancient epics—no, it was more akin to an interest, like a riddle that longs to be solved. The sensation was similar to seeing a sun dimmed in the shadows suddenly appear through a rift in the thick clouds.
An elusive strength and remarkable calm shimmered in her eyes. These qualities, which sharply distinguished her from everyone he was accustomed to seeing in his surroundings, made him contemplate how the layers of the mundane world could suddenly become transparent, revealing a hidden realm that lay behind ordinary everyday life. For in her gaze, he sensed not just power—but a depth that enticed with both clarity and inaccessibility, like an eternal labyrinth.
Of course, when Ohiko first found herself in an environment so far removed from the familiar, her behavior showed a certain awkwardness. Here she stood amidst centuries-worn stones and cherry blossom canopies, and a blush, reminiscent of the morning sky, swept across her cheeks. There was both a charming shyness and a timidity, natural for a soul that, like a forest creature, had suddenly found itself in the open.
And Byakuya... ah, of course, Byakuya! His sharpness and coldness, which a contemporary might call "thoughtful detachment," consistently earned him ascetic glory, akin to an inaccessible peak hidden behind clouds. As if the ocean itself had lifted a stone and made it into his heart—such was he. It fell upon Ohiko now to undertake this extraordinary task: to crack the cold that enveloped him like a shell and to penetrate within. Yet this was no easy task, for a stone in the sea cannot be worn away by an instant stream, even if it is filled with the warmest intentions. But isn’t life about overcoming the impossible, striving to enter places where a rational person wouldn’t even dream of going?
Every evening, seated in the solitude of her chamber, Ohiko often fell into deep thought, and with those thoughts came nights full of silence and invisible tears. Such was her fate: to ponder whether she could penetrate this unyielding bastion that Byakuya had erected around his soul, to comprehend something that was entirely unrelated to his past loss. She knew—and that knowledge cost her dearly—that his memory still clung tightly to the image of his departed wife, which echoed in his heart with a long and sorrowful melody, like the evening reflection on water.
But doesn’t the world change with time? And don’t the cherry blossom petals fall, promising life a new spring? Ohiko understood—or tried to convince herself of this—that one cannot remain a prisoner of the past forever; grief, no matter how great, should not bind one eternally in its dark chains. Life demands forward movement, so that its flow does not stagnate, along with the very possibility of happiness. In each day, one can find something that reminds us of those we loved, whose past love once warmed us. In every day, every morning promises new ascents for the heart destined to move forward, leaving behind an enduring yet still bright sadness.
Over time, Byakuya began to notice changes within his own soul. The images of Hisana, his first wife, which had always stood before his inner vision, did not disappear, but they started to take on new shapes, as if a thick fog had parted, allowing him to see the expansive mysteries beyond. These shapes seemed to intertwine with the unseen presence of Ohiko, like the finest embroidery against the backdrop of ancient fabric, bringing new shades to where only mournful sorrow had reigned before.
Now he understood that Ohiko, with her calm presence, like the gentle surface of a nighttime lake, had been able to bring a harmony to his life that he had not experienced with anyone he had met before. Her steadiness, her tenderness, slowly and unobtrusively began to displace the dark clouds of despair that had shrouded his heart. This tranquility, granted to him through her, became an unexplored source of comfort that he had previously forbidden himself, like a prisoner who personally holds the hostile key to his own chains.
And now, the ambiguous troublemaker, finding a quiet joy within himself, understood that one cannot remain forever on the shores of pain—life always demands movement, it requires one to release the anchor of sadness and set sail upon the waves of destiny, for every loss only more clearly emphasizes the generosity that life offers us; it asks us not to stand silently but to move on, to keep going.
For a person like Byakuya, love could not manifest as a sudden revelation. No, it arrived like the relentless change of seasons, when winged spring, with complete calm and dignity, takes its rightful place after the harsh winter, gently wrapping the cold slopes in warm breath and awakening dormant life. In that moment, as Byakuya stood under the gracious shade of the blooming cherry tree, watching the sparkling petals sway in the dance of a gentle breeze, an unfamiliar thought flickered in his heart: could he conceive of his existence without her quiet yet undeniably warming presence?
And this realization, like a stream breaking through icy concrete barriers, increasingly permeated his thoughts and feelings each day. Deep within him, changes began to take root, quietly rustling in the depths of his soul, akin to the unpredictable whirlwinds that bring shifts in the fates of people. And so, without even noticing it, he became a prisoner of this new, still unfamiliar yet deeply desired sensation.
In this way, through patience, through silent persistence and quiet strength, akin to a sprout breaking through solid rock, their love was born. It was not a flash, not the fierce flame that swiftly consumes everything around it and then, extinguished, leaves only ash. No, their feeling was something greater than just a replacement for what was lost—it was a new chapter penned by fate itself in the book of their lives, a chapter about waiting, hope, and the gentle promise of spring where snow once lay.
-ˋˏ ༻❁✿❀༺ ˎˊ--ˋˏ ༻❁✿❀༺ ˎˊ-
Ohiko, his new companion, carried a light aura of serenity and freedom in her manners and actions, making it seem as if nature herself, emerging from the warm tenderness of spring, had entered this house. This woman, with her indescribable charm, came to him like the morning light filtering into a dark room: first barely perceptible and timid, but with each ray becoming more confident, inevitably spreading and warming the walls and corners.
For Byakuya, a man weary of strict conventions and the weight of memories of lost love, this change was both unexpected and necessary: he often started at his own thoughts about the fact that somewhere deep in his heart, there remained a place untouched by cold, a place capable of feeling warmth once more.
And so it happened: on that day, when he slowly approached her—the one who, beneath her outward gentleness, carried the strength to live unbound—she, with simplicity and sincerity, took his hand. In that action, like the incense of an ancient temple, there was not a trace of arrogance or temptation. That simple gesture reminded him that life is not solely about the rigid order of habits or the prolonged silence of solitude, but also about a quiet wisdom, capable of warming even the places where ice once reigned.
Through this gentle connection of their fingers, a new spark ignited within Byakuya's heart—a spark of that yearning, long forgotten, which once filled his chest: the desire to be truly alive, not just to exist in the shadow of the past.
Ah, how strange and unexpected it is when a heart, bound in the chains of an eternal winter, suddenly finds warmth in another — so different, yet no less significant a soul! It seems as though fate itself, with an indescribable gentleness, ushered Ohiko into his life, like a breeze carrying the fragrance of spring plants to a forgotten corner of the world. Almost imperceptibly — yes, but also inevitably, like the cyclical change of seasons that occurs without fail.
Byakuya required more than a single fleeting moment, more than a passing reflection, to accept this new intrusion into his soul; to believe that it was possible, so effortlessly yet profoundly, to surrender to emotions that had long been buried under the heavy veil of time and memory.
"You know," he began, and in that moment, his voice grew softer, taking on the kind of quiet warmth that a glowing hearth brings to a cold night. "I never imagined I could find someone so meaningful to me again."
At this simple admission, Ohiko responded with nothing but a gentle, yet firm, squeeze of his hand. Her eyes—mirrors reflecting intentions and thoughts—were filled with understanding and acceptance. Under her gaze, Byakuya, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, realized he could allow himself the rare luxury of simply being himself—a man capable not only of feeling love but of giving it as well.
Ah, the inevitable and relentless winds of change! How often they come, not as a sudden tempest, but as a slow, unseen current, reshaping lives without notice. And so, within these changes, Byakuya Kuchiki came to the quiet realization that the isolated island he had been for so long was now becoming part of something greater.
₊˚✿𑁍.ೃ࿔*:・𑁍ࠬܓ𑁍ࠬܓ𑁍ࠬܓ₊˚✿𑁍.ೃ࿔*:・₊˚✿𑁍.ೃ࿔*:・
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mocsbylexan · 1 year ago
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Krama, Toa of Twilight
teachings_draft_1.crn //: LOAD NEXT PASSAGE
Eighth lesson: To hone your inner light, you must accept your inner shadow. To control your inner shadow, you must remember your inner light.
log_231.de //: RESUME PLAYBACK
T: What are you looking over there for? V: I'm… reading what you wrote. The beginning of it anyways. T: By all means. I could use an editor I think. V: … T: … V: … Few regrets, hm? T: Few. Not none. V: … How is Krama doing, turaga? T: I… believe he is improving. Slowly. Did you get any results back from the Ghosts on his protodermis sample? V: Nothing that's useful. All they can say is that he has less light left than the others. They haven't figured out how much yet. T: As if we didn't know that already. V: How exactly is he improving? Is his mental state more stable? T: Like I said, slowly. I think the new thoughts he's been dealing with since the procedure frighten him. But it's hard to tell with the way he expresses his emotions being so muted now. V: And his elemental powers? Has he regained some control of them? T: No. V: … T: … V: Is that thing you were telling me about with his mask still happening? T: Yes… It's strange. We focus on practicing his kanohi use most of the time because I think it's grounding for him. To still have at least one toa-like thing he can do. But the things he can do with that mask… V: You've worked with the first Toa Nuva, aren't you accustomed to strong kanohi powers? T: Even Artahka's kanohi Nuva don't match the level of power that that toa seems to be able to draw forth from a simple great mask. V: … Turaga, that kind of power with a Komau- T: I know. Sometimes I fear it will become dangerous enough that he'll turn away from even this in fear of what he might be capable of. V: Maybe we should get him a different mask to use. Something more positive. T: I've tried that. It doesn't even work with a different Komau. It has to be the one he's worn all his life. V: Really? Why? T: … I don't know. I've examined the mask in and out and it's unchanged. It's just a normal kanohi. V: … T: … V: The others worry about him, Turaga. T: I know. V: They try not to show it, but I can tell. They… they were expecting him to lead them. T: He did. He led them in his bravery, in being the first to undergo our… V: Our experiment. T: … V: Turaga, the future students that you're writing this chronicle for… do you plan to have them all drain some of their light? Once we're sure the process is perfected? T: … No, I think not. For certain we've seen that the procedure grants great power… V: … Control over two elements alone is incredible, let alone two of the most powerful… T: Yes, but to change oneself in such a way… I do not intend to push that upon anyone. The students may come and they may learn our ways, just as you learned them from me. There's no need for them to undergo such a drastic change. Unless they… seek to make such a sacrifice of their own volition, and with an understanding of what it means. V: Like these ones did. T: Yes. These students are… a very special team. I am not sure I can ever be grateful enough to their commitment to this project, even knowing what they risked. V: They did gain great power, turaga. T: And a heavy burden of duty. You know that. V: Yes. T: … V: … I should go to bed. Training will be hard tomorrow. T: As always. V: Yes. T: Goodnight, Viama. V: Goodnight, Turaga Tanma.
log_231.de //: CLOSE teachings_draft_1.crn //: CLOSE LOGOUT
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kentuckycaverats · 5 months ago
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edinburgh chronicle update!! in which del bleeds sunlight and the coterie takes on petaniqua
tw: self-harm
it's the coterie (del, mitra, sami, bene) + tara (del's fiance) + justicar lucinde and a couple other allies vs. petaniqua and four (4) black spiral dancers. we're in petaniqua's domain, deep belowground in some old mining tunnels. lucinde's on petaniqua, everyone else on the BSDs, and del's covering tara while she finishes a ritual to destroy petaniqua's last remaining font of power
petaniqua evades lucinde by setting her aflame, drops a knife at del's feet, and does some baali shit to command del to carve her fae True Name into her own flesh. she outrolls del, who watches in horror as her hands move against her will to begin carving aelsidhe (her estranged fae soul)'s name into her forearm. she can't take any other actions until this is finished
mitra uses horrid reality (chimerstry) to craft an illusion that everyone can see but is only materially real to petaniqua: where del's vitae flows from her wounds it spills not as blood, but sunlight. and petaniqua burns
del finishes her carving and, free to act of her own volition again, amputates that arm at the elbow and kicks the discarded limb into the flames so petaniqua can't have it
the rest of the coterie and allies take out the BSDs and sami creates an opening for lucinde to grapple petaniqua. del gets a scorpionated blood (blood sorcery) + sunlight illusion double whammy in on petaniqua. we need to stake her but she's ritually protected against staking. hm. good thing mitra's got horrid reality <3 his illusion isnt a real stake, but it's real to petaniqua, and that's all it takes. he stakes her, she's paralyzed, and del gets to give petaniqua her final message:
before we send you off to whatever tar pit a slug like you spends the rest of eternity rotting in, just wanna make sure you know that the moment this became inevitable was the night you let your stupid fucking dog murder my sister. all your thousands of years haunting this miserable earth, and for what? to be brought down by a handful of neonates for one mortal teenager. fuck you.
lucinde hands her an arcane dagger enchanted for just this purpose, and del plunges it through petaniqua's eye and into her brain. she screams and shrieks and thrashes as del make scrambled eggs of her brain, then dissolves into a mountain of ash
it's over. after 27 years, it's over.
except it isn't.
petaniqua didn't need to see del's true name. it was the knife she made del use to carve it. petaniqua's master, the demon foebok, wyrm of fear, has it. and with it he now knows where to find aelsidhe
countdown to the final battle begins.
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treesarewhispering · 5 months ago
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Trenchpunk - Dead Legions soldiers
Dead Legions are the dregs of armies, forgotten and disabled veterans from every nation, that swore their loyalty to carving out a nation of their own where they can finally live peacefully.
I decided to do some "basic" infantry, I never really draw the normies of the army. I think it's because I am always wanting to push my ideas. I also almost never do marker drawings on my own volition, so I need to get back into it!
This one is heavily inspired by Valkyria Chronicles, lancer and shock trooper.
His gun is based on a the concept of a Vickers QF rocket gun. I totally brain pooped and forgot where to put the rear sights. Guns are hard, okay?? Hers is based on a Sten but with a heat shield to give it that WW1 feel.
The raccoon dog is there because I need to put a cute animal in everything.
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Round 1 - Resurrect Bracket (Losers Bracket) Side A
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ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to [make it to the finals]
Propaganda below ⬇️
Lestat de Lioncourt
Lestat was Catholic in his human life, and wanted to be a monk or priest, but was kept from it by his family. As a vampire he is, um, Extremely lapsed Catholic, although themes of religious belief (or lack thereof) are still very central to all the books. ALSO although the vampires believe that they are demons now it turns out that SPOILER they’re actually possessed by pieces of an alien called Amel who is also formerly human and he bonded with Lestat for a while to become a Sacred Core but tbh I didn’t read those books because the writing got pretty bad
Sir Keradin Deeproot
i feel like we need more evil catholics in this tourney because i’ve submitted exclusively people that are like. good. and sir keridan is truly the epitome of like the puppet-on-strings type catholic. he’s described, hauntingly, as having a stare that both meets the eye and remains vacant. he’s full of an intense rage against anyone who would dare question the bulb yet still makes the time to pray over lapin cadbury’s body. he’s the result of the first player character permadeath in dimension 20. its just. hes freaky
Slut for god and also Evil
Keradin is canonically so profoundly faithful that he is immune to being mind controlled. He has never acted out of his own volition in his ENTIRE life. He goes from saying “by my life or death, I shall protect you” to someone to personally bashing their head in with his mace because they turned out to not actually be Bulbian. Those two events occur within 48 hours of each other.
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rhetoricandlogic · 1 year ago
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Archita Mittra Reviews Pomegranates by Priya Sharma
April 4, 2023 Archita Mittra
Priya Sharma’s latest novella, Pomegran­ates, is a lovely, layered, and luscious retelling of the story of Persephone and Demeter, unfolding against the backdrop of climate change and patriarchal violence. While Greek mythology has been in vogue at least since the success of Rick Riordan’s bestselling Percy Jackson books, Sharma’s novella sits closer to books like Margaret Atwood’s The Penelopiad, Madeline Miller’s Circe, or Natsuo Kirino’s The Goddess Chronicle, all of which employ a detached, feminine voice in rewriting myth and registering tragedy.
Pomegranates has a lilting, poetic cadence to it, and is suffused with a few moments of quiet horror. These are tricks that we previously glimpsed in Sharma’s short story collection All the Fabulous Beasts, in which she wove darkly evocative stories through small vignettes. Inci­dentally, All the Fabulous Beasts contains the tale ‘‘Pearls’’, a charming retelling of the story of Medusa and Poseidon that unfolds over the centuries and up to the modern age. Vignettes also provide the structure for Sharma’s novella Ormeshadow, a quiet coming-of-age tale set in the English countryside that gently creeps up on you like a sleeping dragon. Pomegranates is per­haps her most accomplished work yet, focusing on the intertwining stories of three women – Dr. A. Ursa (who is possibly related to Hecate, the Moon Goddess); Demeter, the Corn Mother; and Persephone, queen of the Underworld.
The tale begins with a speech by Dr. Ursa at the Swedish University of Agricultural Sci­ences, where she urges the audience to build a viable seedbank, foregrounding the novella’s ecological themes. This is followed by a clini­cal record from the August Institute; we infer that Demeter had been wandering the Earth in search of her daughter and is presently under psychiatric care. There is a nice jab here at the Greek pantheon, which is succinctly described as an ‘‘important family’’ of ‘‘sociopathic rapists, despots, egomaniacs and drunkards.’’ We also learn that Hades has died and Persephone rules instead, full of rage and bitterness but ready to narrate her tale to Ursa, who has stumbled into the underworld after traversing an apocalyptic, tundra-like landscape. Meanwhile, Demeter too slowly opens up to her therapist about the violence of the Gods and her subsequent bargain with Hades to protect her daughter from the machinations of Zeus. Thus, in Sharma’s spin on the legend, Persephone is neither seized by Hades to be his wife and nor does she leave of her own volition (as seen in several contemporary retellings).
At its heart, Pomegranates is a story about women wanting to be heard, whose voices have been effaced or distorted through time. It is not surprising, then, that much of Persephone’s narration to Ursa feels as though she is talking to the reader herself. In another particularly powerful moment, Demeter talks to a lawyer about pressing rape charges against Zeus and Poseidon – it is a clever scene that recounts the details of the violence, not as it happened nor in court, but in a series of back-and-forths between lawyer and client that tells the readers all they need to know about the incident and offers a rundown of the ways patriarchy will strategize to discredit a woman’s narrative. There is also deep anger and revenge here – Demeter curses the trespassing and lascivious King Erysichthon to remain eternally hungry, and Persephone, in her mourning, dooms the planet to a nuclear winter (even COVID-19 is part of her vengeance upon mankind, another nice touch) – and it is these scenes, narrated with so little embellishment, that are bound to linger in the reader’s minds long after the book is closed. In the tradition of ancient Greek plays, a chorus appears between sections, inviting the reader to pause and fill in the gaps, rethink their understandings of history, myth and knowledge, and examine the themes of godliness and humanity, power and agency more closely.
While a part of me wishes that there was more to this world and for the tale to go on, another part of me is astounded by Sharma’s ability to hint at so much with so few words. Deliciously evocative, carefully constructed, and filled with just enough detail to keep the reader turning the pages, Pomegranates is a book which can be finished in a single sitting, but deserves to be savored more slowly. It will appeal not only to fans of feminist retellings of myths and folklore, but to anyone on the lookout for a quiet and beautiful novella.
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