#a character that only TRULY existed for like

[mattnott]

𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐍

mattheo riddle x fem reader

SUMMARY. in which mattheo seeks power and needs your help to perform a blood ritual. WORDS. +6.3K. english is not my first language.

WARNINGS. smut, mdni, porn w//plot, mean mattheo, aged up characters, friends to fuck buddies, blood play, blood kink, cuts, spitting, nipple sucking, oral sex f!receiving, pussy drunk mattheo, handjob, dirty talk, biting, marking.

navigation -> masterlist

He was insane. Truly insane. Almost unhinged. Mattheo Riddle was the definition of impulsive thoughts turned into reckless actions, actions that always led him to trouble. He was raw, magnetic, and dangerously unpredictable, the kind of person who attracted attention without even trying. Every move he made, every word he spoke, every breath he took was saturated with confidence and superiority.

He didn’t just attract trouble; he craved it, needed it like it was the only thing keeping him seen.

Mattheo was like a storm no one could outrun, an enigma without resolution, and that was exactly what made him so intoxicating. There was something in his presence that pulled people toward him, whether in admiration or fear, and no one could quite decide if it was for better or worse. He wasn’t just hard to ignore; he was impossible to overlook. He demanded attention simply by existing, and it was maddening, the way he could dominate a room with nothing more than a simple glance.

It could have been for a lot of reasons. Maybe it was the way he acted like he didn’t have a care in the world, the sharp, biting comments he always seemed to have ready, words that stuck like blood on stone.Or maybe it was the fights, the way he seemed to throw himself into them too often, always coming out with the same satisfied expression. After all, he was the only son of the Dark Lord, and that alone was enough to draw all kinds of attention.

Whatever was the reason, chaos seemed to follow him everywhere, like he thrived on it. Perhaps he didn’t care at all. No outsider really knew, and no one ever tried to figure him out. Nobody had the courage to do so.

Either way, there were always whispers about him, cruel rumors about his personality and massive ego, some saying he was just like his father, or maybe even a darker version of him, while others came from students eager to get close in obscene ways, hoping to spend a night with their bodies tangled in his. 

Yet Mattheo didn’t show that he cared, always pretending to be focused on his own goals, moving through the chaos unshaken and unbothered, though deep down, the truth was different: he thrived on attention, bad or good, as if he needed it to keep himself whole.

But you had seen enough to know the truth. He was cruel, ruthless, and everything people whispered about him, perhaps even worse. And yet, here you were, trapped in his chaos, each moment with him drawing you deeper into the darkness.

You were trapped. Absolutely trapped.

Perhaps it was in the way he looked at you, his deep brown eyes burning with an intensity that stole your breath away, leaving you struggling to keep your heart from racing, as if he saw something inside of you that you weren’t capable of seeing. Or maybe it was the way his words stayed in your mind long after they were spoken, carving their way into your thoughts like a knife you didn’t want to pull out, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were already in too deep.

If you thought about it more, you didn’t know what had brought you here. The main factor to why you were so attracted to an ongoing fire.

Could be the adrenaline from his strange proposal, or the way you couldn’t stop thinking about him, his presence always glued to your mind. Could also be the need to be near him, the way your body moved toward his as if it had no will of its own, or perhaps it was the way he seemed to control your heart in a way you couldn’t even understand. It was twisted, even a little scary, but neither of you cared.

After all, you were friends.

You didn’t know when it stopped feeling like curiosity—just a lingering thought— but the doubt never really went away. Instead it became prominent, tight in your chest whenever he was around. There was something darker about him, something dangerous in the way he lived recklessly, only focused on his own desires, how he thrived on the attention he got, pulling you deeper without even trying.

And now, standing there, you couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever came next, there was no turning back. No escape.

The Room of Requirement was cloaked in dark shadows, the silence broken only by the faint hiss of flickering candles. Their soft, wavering light offered a fragile sense of comfort, though it did little to ease the tension hanging in the air. The atmosphere was thick and heavy, saturated with the acrid tang of burning incense and something darker, almost unspoken.

Torchlight flickered across the cold stone walls, making jagged patterns that twisted and stretched with each almost shiny flicker. That night, the requirement room felt weird, unlike the form other students seemed to used—every corner seemed like an unsettling, cavernous form that resembled a muggle abandoned cathedral. It felt sacred in a weird twisted way, as if it were built to bear the weight of sinful actions that were too heavy to confess elsewhere.

The faint metallic scent in the air lingered, sharp and heavy, mixed with something even more heavy, felt almost like a warning. On the stone floor, crude runes spiraled out in precise, jagged lines, their edges glowing faintly as though alive and energetic, pulsing in time with the biting silence as if they were watching, waiting to know what was about to take place.

In the center of it all stood Mattheo Riddle, the one person who seemed to take up every space in your mind, his dark robes draping loosely over his strong frame, giving him an effortless air of power, his features, defined and almost angelic, partially hidden by his messy curls that always fell into his pretty eyes.

The flickering torchlight danced off his hair with every movement, making it seem almost alive; there was something strange about how his appearance seemed almost angelic, yet you knew Mattheo’s true personality, making him all the more dangerous, like a trap just waiting for you to step in.

He could look still, even controlled, but there was nothing controlled about this. Nothing about him was controlled.

Mattheo looked at the dagger in his hands, his gaze drifting over the blade, but it wasn’t the dagger that had his attention. It was you. Your eyes were on him, and it felt like he was being torn apart with just that look. It wasn’t like the attention he was used to—no fear or admiration in it.

No, this was different. It was more like an assessment. The weight of your gaze was almost suffocating, as if you were digging into him, getting under his skin in a way that made him feel stupidly exposed and making him feel a strange sensation tighten in his chest, choking his throat in ways he couldn’t understand, and he hated it.

He hated how you made him feel like this—torn between wanting to get closer and wanting to run away from that. And even if it was good or bad; neither mattered. He didn’t want to know. The only thing he knew for sure was that you almost had him entirely.

And for him, that was awful enough.

He never quite understood why his heart raced when he was in your presence, as if it might break through his ribs, his flesh, and fall directly into your palms, fully out of his power. At times he couldn't help but press his hand against his own chest, trying to stop it, trying to hold it back, but it only frustrated him further.

Nevertheless, there were times when he nearly wished his heart would simply give way and land in your hands so you could do with it whatever you pleased, whether that meant crushing it entirely or holding it tenderly between your fingers. He wasn't certain which would provide him with greater comfort, but he was certain that if you gave him that satisfaction, he will never be the same again.

Mattheo sighed and shook his head rapidly, making a dramatic gesture as he attempted to avoid your concentrated, evaluating stare on him once more. He concentrated on the tiny silver dagger in his hand, trying not to hold it too firmly in his palm, but nothing could take away the sensation, and even if it didn't cause him any discomfort, the pressure that made it was obvious.

He let out another sigh, this time frustrated, rubbing his forehead, but couldn’t help releasing another, this time a relieved one, when he saw your attention shift to the two circles drawn around him, almost like some kind of illustration, and he couldn’t help but smirk knowingly as he noticed the change in your expression; at the confusion in your eyes and at your furrowed brows as you tried to make sense of the strange symbols, carefully etched inside the circles on the floor.

Mattheo looked away, quickly shifting his focus to the symbol at his feet. In comparison with the other symbols, this one was far more complex, with each line and curve being meticulous and precise. As he raised his chin in satisfaction with what he did, Mattheo couldn't help but widen his smirk into a full grin, an equal amount of pride and arrogance coming across his expression.

This ritual, this moment—it was his, only his. Yet, for some reason, he felt a twisted satisfaction knowing he was going to share it with you. Even though you were there not completely voluntarily, you still had a place in it, whether you liked it or not. 

This time, it was Mattheo who looked at you with an intense, almost predatory gaze, his hand tightening once more around the blade in his palm as he kept his eyes on you. He was already preparing to take the first step toward the power he would gain from what you two were about to do. All he needed was your final confirmation and for you to step into the middle of the circle with him.

“Are you ready for this?” His voice broke the silence, low and almost a purr, making you look up at him. Ready? Fuck no. In fact, you were terrified. Every part of you screamed to run, to get as far away from this room and this stupid ritual as possible. But your body didn’t listen to your brain. Your heart didn’t either. Instead, you stayed still, frozen, your eyes locked with his own, already filled with amusement and something darker, like a challenge. 

You knew this was stupid. Hell, it was almost suicidal. A ritual to give him more power, cutting your own hand, spilling your blood, mixing it with his just to make him stronger. It was madness. More than that, even.

But then again, a part of you wanted it. A part of you wanted to leave a piece of yourself with him, to bind yourself to him in some twisted way. And for some fucked-up reason, you craved that. You wanted to be marked by him, to have a part of you inside him forever. Mattheo had already carved his mark into your mind, into the darkest corners of your heart, and now you wanted to do the same.

Stupid curiosity.

“Well?” Mattheo asked again, his voice dripping with amusement, though you could hear the faint edge of annoyance creeping in. He tried to hold onto his usual confident, relaxed demeanor, but it was slipping. “What’s it gonna be?” The same damn question. You wouldn’t be stupid enough to make him ask a third time. 

“I…” You paused, your voice cracking, and you couldn’t help but curse yourself under your breath as you felt his gaze digging into you, waiting for the answer he wanted. “I think I’m ready,” you finally said, taking a step forward, ignoring the part of you screaming to get the hell out of there. Yet your body moved faster than your mind, and before you knew it, you took an unconscious step closer to him, making his eyebrow quirk in amusement. 

Mattheo raised an eyebrow, his smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You think?” he repeated, his voice thick with mockery. He almost laughed; if it were not for the situation you two were in.

“Fuck—” you hissed under your breath, cursing yourself again, and Mattheo’s smirk stretched wider. “I’m ready.” You corrected yourself, the words tasting wrong. “I’m ready,” you said again, this time to convince yourself more than him.

Mattheo let out a low, almost manic laugh as his gaze remained fixed on the blade in his hand. The sound sent an unexpected shiver down your spine, and your cheeks flushed as his voice echoed in your ears. When he looked back at you, his eyes were softer than before, though the usual intensity remained, as if he was offering something that, despite not being comfort, somehow left you feeling relieved in a way.

He stretched his hand towards you, his voice calmer than before but still firm. “Let’s go. The sooner we start, the sooner this thing is going to end.” The sooner he would have control. Mattheo called you again, and you let out a soft sigh before taking that first step.

Each step you took was filled with hesitation, but your body didn’t seem to care. It moved toward the circle, fighting the doubt gnawing on your mind. When you finally stepped inside, you couldn’t hold back a small sigh as your hand found Mattheo’s. The touch sent a shiver down your spine, your cheeks flushing as you saw the same smirk on his lips, the reaction causing a tug on your heart. He didn’t need to say anything; you could feel how much he enjoyed this, how much he knew the effect he had on you.

Sometimes you wanted to punch him. 

As soon as you took his hand, Mattheo’s confidence wavered slightly; his heart pounded just by your touch. However, he couldn’t hide the dark amusement in his eyes as he watched your flushed cheeks and how your body betrayed you. It was too easy.

“This,” he said, gesturing to the intricate runes carved into the floor with the tip of his dagger, his grip tightening around your hand, not to soothe you, but to remind himself you were still there. “It’s going to hurt like hell.” He said it with such ease, as if the pain and the blood were just a minor part. You swallowed hard, the confirmation of what you already knew settling deep in your stomach. “At least for you,” he added with an eyebrow raised, his voice laced with amusement.

His words weren’t reassuring at all—not that you expected them to be. He didn’t care about calming you or making this easier to bear. That wasn’t his style, and it never had been. Mattheo thrived in chaos, in mess, and he wanted you to feel every bit of it. He wanted to pull you into the madness, to push you until you struggled to keep yourself together.

“You’re not exactly helping me calm down, you know?” you said through gritted teeth, barely stopping yourself from telling him to go fuck himself. 

Mattheo chuckled dryly, releasing your hand to stop you from gripping it, from finding any comfort in his presence. “Glad to know, sweetheart.” He said casually, like it didn’t matter at all. “But who said I want you to calm down?” he murmured, and you might have thought he was joking if it weren’t for the fact that you had known him for years.

You scoffed at his lack of sympathy. It wasn’t surprising, though; his attitude was one of the things that drew you to him, even if it wasn’t exactly healthy. You watched as he lit more candles, the flame dancing with every step he took, highlighting the sharp lines of his features. He was an insensitive prick, but dear god, he was a beautiful one. 

After a few seconds, Mattheo stood up, still holding the dagger in his hand. He glanced at you, and for a brief moment, something in his gaze made his heartbeat almost thud down his ribs. He took a few steps toward you, and your eyes met. His dark eyes were intense, unreadable, and the weight of the air between you made your stomach twist. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and steady, with a hint of mischief in his tone. The corner of his mouth twitched, the excitement creeping slowly.

“Take off your shirt.”

You blinked, shocked, and for a few seconds, all your fear vanished. “Excuse me?!”

Mattheo observed you, almost as if he were stripping you bare. “Your shirt,” he repeated, his tone annoyingly dismissive. He spun the dagger in his palm with flawless precision, taking a step closer as if your hesitancy pleased him. “Take it off,” he said almost coolly, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

You crossed your arms, feeling your heart race as your face flushed with heat. “And why, exactly, do I need to do that?” You snapped, your voice sharp. You had fantasized a thousand times about Mattheo asking you to do this, but you never imagined it would actually happen, especially not now, in this situation. 

“For the ritual,” he said simply, tilting his head and giving you a smirk that bordered on taunting, as though the answer should’ve been obvious. “I need access to your skin, sweetheart. The magic won’t work otherwise.” His words were smooth, but you couldn’t shake the feeling they held a hint of mockery.

You hesitated, studying him closely. There was something about his response that didn’t sit right, too casual in a way that felt almost taunting, like he wasn’t being completely honest. “You’re making that up,” you said flatly, letting your arms drop to your sides, your eyes narrowing as you searched on his face for a sign of truth. 

His smirk widened, and he continued to twirl the dagger between his fingers, his eyes locked on you. The sight of your flushed cheeks only seemed to make him think with his other head. “Am I?” He took another step closer. 

“Please, Mattheo, I know that’s bullshit!” you spat out, trying to ignore how his smug expression made your skin heat, though particularly of you couldn’t help but consider it.

Mattheo let out a low chuckle, stepping closer, the tension between you nearly unbearable. His voice dipped, rough and almost deliberate, as his dark eyes shamelessly trailed down your body before locking onto yours again.

“Alright,” he murmured, a smile laying wickedly on his lips. “Maybe it’s not entirely necessary. But it helps. A lot.”

The dagger moved lazily in his hand, the sharp edge skimming his palm without cutting his palm. His gaze never left you, steady and intense, like a predator watching its prey. “And we both know you want this to work out, don’t we, sweetheart?” 

Your breath hitched in your throat at his words, a truth you hated to admit even to yourself. You wanted him to notice you—really notice you—the way his gaze seemed to strip you bare, peeling back layers you didn’t even realize you had. But the sharp flare of anger clawed its way up your chest, tangling with the strange pull he always seemed to have over you, leaving you somewhere between furious and helpless.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, shaking your head, the disappointment cutting deeper than you wanted to admit. You weren’t sure if it was aimed at him or at yourself for falling into this moment—this trap. Probably both. 

“And yet,” he said, taking another step toward you, “here you are.” He mocked you, making you bite your tongue to stop yourself from telling him to fuck off. 

The space between you two was basically nonexistent now, and Mattheo fucking hated it. Hated that it was him moving closer, like he couldn’t help himself. Hated how his body had a mind of its own, reacting to you in ways that made him feel like an idiot. The thought of you, without your shirt, without anything, was driving him insane, his imagination running wild no matter how much he tried to shove it down.

Fuck. He could already feel the strain in his pants, his cock pressing uncomfortably against the fabric. It pissed him off—how easily you got under his skin, how fucking hard it was to keep his cool around you. 

“Fine,” you bit out, your voice rougher than you felt, and Mattheo’s smile twisted with satisfaction, practically waiting for you to do it. You exhaled sharply, trying to ignore the way his eyes were glued to you. Your fingers lingered at the hem of your shirt, heart pounding in your chest as you struggled to find the guts to go through with it. 

Mattheo’s smirk only deepened, his eyes never leaving you, and for a moment, it felt like he was inside your head, reading you like a damn book. His gaze dropped low, just enough to make your skin prickle with awareness. You seemed so fucking soft. “Need help?” he asked, voice dripping with mockery. 

“Shut up, Mattheo” you snapped, yanking the fabric over your head in one swift motion, a shiver running through your whole body. Shit, you’re not wearing a bra.

The second the shirt left your body, the air felt heavier, but you felt the coldness against your exposed skin and nipples. Mattheo’s expression shifted, his smirk slipping for a moment as his eyes scanned over you, taking in more than you were prepared to show. You cursed yourself for not wearing a bra under the thin fabric, your chest bare under the dim torchlight and his searing gaze. Mattheo swore the zipper on his pants was going to break any second.

You couldn't help but feel trapped by his piercing stare as his eyes remained on you, shamelessly tracing your hard nipples. He seemed oblivious; nonetheless, his eyes burned with need as his mind wandered, thinking about the taste of his tongue on your nipples, sucking and biting until all you could think about was the feel of his wet tongue. He held the dagger tightly, only reacting when the blade cut into his flesh.

“Well,” he began, attempting to put the thoughts flowing through his head to the back of his mind, his voice rougher than before, “guess you were more ready than we thought.” He mocked you again, but it seemed like he was also mocking himself.

You could feel your cheeks burning, a mix of anger and something else boiling inside you. You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to block him out, but the moment you saw the way Mattheo’s eyes were fixed on you filled with desire, your hands fell to your sides, betraying your own brain. You wanted this. You wanted him to see you, to really see you.

But as you realized you were staring at him in the same way, you quickly shook your head, trying to push down the desire and need, force some control back into your own voice. “Just get on with it,” you ‘snapped’, trying to hide how much it stung, how much you craved that attention. 

Mattheo’s smirk returned, but this time it was sharper, full with devilment. He took another step toward you, his eyes never leaving yours, and gestured toward the circle with a lazy flick of his hand. “As you wish.”

His expression didn’t shift, his confidence simmering just below the surface as he stepped even closer to you, trying not to look at your bare chest. His eyes flickered to the symbols on the ground, their faint glow reflecting in the depths of his gaze. Without a word he reached up and tugged his shirt over his head, casting it aside without care. He didn’t look at you but still waited for your reaction. You had already drawn one from him—only fair if he returned the favor, right?

You, on the other hand, swallowed hard, your gaze shamelessly tracing the lines of his abdomen and bare, muscular chest. The candles and torchlight cast sharp shadows across the scars etched into his skin, and you held your breath without meaning to. When he glanced forward slightly, his eyes still on the ground as he did so, he had to stifle a chuckle at the sight of your clenched fists, trying to control yourself.

This was going to be fun, at least.

For a brief moment, neither of you spoke or moved. The silence stretched thin, both of you consumed by the same thoughts, the same dirty images racing through your minds. Your chests rose and fell heavily, both of you struggling to regain a normal breath. It was fucking madness. 

Mattheo quickly composed himself, standing at the point of the small symbol on the ground, making sure you mirrored his position on the opposite side. Your bare chests were almost touching, the air thick with tension, your hard nipples brushing just slightly against his skin. He gave a low sigh, words slipping from his lips in a language you couldn’t understand, his voice deep and commanding.

As soon as the words left his mouth, the symbols on the floor pulsed to life, glowing with an eerie light, while the candle flames flickered wildly, as though responding to his words. 

He looked at the dagger in his hand, a proud glint in his eyes before letting his gaze drift up to your face. His eyes lingered on your features, the softness of your eyes, the way your lips parted just enough to drive him insane. He almost couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to touch you, but he stayed still, his jaw tight. “Are you ready?” he asked, his lips moving without sound. “I am,” you mouthed back, the hesitation in your eyes impossible to miss. But he ignored it, choosing to focus on the way you stood there—no turning back now, and honestly? He didn’t want you to cover up. 

Mattheo gripped the dagger with steady hands, his brown eyes flickering briefly to the runes as if making sure everything was aligned. Without a second thought, he pressed the sharp blade to his palm, slicing through the skin with quick, practiced precision. The blood surged from the cut, dripping thick and dark onto the glowing runes below. They reacted violently, flaring brighter, more alive, as if the blood was feeding the symbols, feeding him. 

You held your breath, knowing you were next. But you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing at the ground, watching his blood drip onto the floor beneath both of your feet.

After a few seconds, he lifted his chin, pride in his eyes, his curls moving like the magic around the circles. He grabbed your hand without a word, pressing the dagger into your palm, his gaze never leaving yours. He was waiting, daring you to cut yourself just like he had. 

You felt his blood drip onto your wrist, the warmth of it sending a jolt through your veins. As the dagger pressed into your palm, a breath caught in your throat. The weight of the blade was more than you expected, and for a moment, your eyes lingered on the crimson stains left by Mattheo’s cut, almost hypnotic, tempting you.

Your heart quickened, your pulse echoing in your ears. You hesitated—for a moment. His eyes found you once again, a look that urged you to continue. The hesitation lingering in your heart suddenly dispersed; you wanted nothing but to mark him as yours.

With a deep breath, you pressed the blade to your palm, hissing softly as the edge cut into your skin, making you feel even more bare and open than you already did. The pain was sharp, fleeting, quickly replaced by the blood spilling down your skin, as the runes reacted violently to your action, their glow flaring in response. 

It was instantaneous. The moment your blood touched the floor, the room seemed to exhale, the light flaring brighter and the air humming with a charged, almost electric energy as the ritual began. But the reaction was brief, for Mattheo’s focus shifted.

Mattheo’s gaze was fixed on the cut on your hand, his eyes wide and unblinking, as if he was mesmerized by the crimson blood streaks trailing down your wrist, mingling with his the drops of his blood already on your skin. His jaw clenched, and you swore you saw him swallow hard as he continued to look, his chest rising and falling with a depth of intensity you’d never seen in him before. 

“Mattheo?” You called softly, your voice barely above a whisper, your heartbeat quickening against your bare chest. Yet, it was enough to break his attention.

His eyes naturally met yours once again, vulnerability flickering in his gaze, though the rest of his expression remained unreadable, like a contrast to the hunger simmering beneath. But Mattheo didn't step back. Instead, his calloused fingers brushed against the blood on your wrist, smearing it slightly. The contact sent a jolt through you, and for a moment, neither of you remembered how to breathe.

“Mattheo…” you called out again, but this time it was almost a plea for him not to stop. He obeyed your unspoken request, his fingers tracing your skin as if exploring new territory, so gently that it almost made you forget the lingering sting in your hand. 

Mattheo’s hands moved deliberately, spreading the blood from the deep cut on your hand. He seemed oblivious to the matching wound on his own skin as he dragged the crimson trail up to your neck, smearing it across your skin. Without warning, his lips pressed against the spot, his tongue tracing the blood. He let out a low groan at the taste, and you couldn’t suppress your own when you felt the warmth of his tongue against you. 

“It’s so sweet,” he murmured, his teeth grazing the skin of your neck, the crimson of your blood staining them as he pulled you closer, pressing you against him in a way that felt almost inhuman. “So fucking sweet.” His teeth continued to drag along your skin, while his hand slid down your arm, seeking more of your blood. His fingers tightened around your palm, squeezing to draw out more of the liquid, making you groan in a mix of pain and pleasure as the burn surged through you. 

“Shhh, it’s okay, sweetheart,” Mattheo whispered, biting your neck, his teeth sinking into your skin painfully. He didn’t care about the grunt of pain that escaped your lips, not when more blood joined the one already staining your throat. Right after his first bite, you moaned, your thighs rubbing together in an attempt to ease the wetness in your cunt. 

Mattheo chuckled in satisfaction, bringing his bloodied hand to your stomach, the crimson spreading across your exposed skin like a mark. “You like it, don’t you?” he murmured against your throat, pressing his lips to the marks he had left with his teeth. But when he noticed you hadn’t answered, he bit your neck harder than before and squeezed your stomach, causing more blood to spread across the area. 

You swallowed hard, locking eyes with him as you tried to form a sentence, but the only words that escaped your lips were a barely audible, “Yes, fucking yes,” which only made him laugh harder. He tightened his grip on your skin, sending a sharp sting through your own body. 

“Of course you do… such a fucking slut,” Mattheo chuckled again against your throat, his teeth sinking into the spot once more, making you moan. He mimicked the sound, feeling his pants tighten around his cock as he tasted your blood again on his teeth. His tongue throbbed with desire, savoring the metallic taste. Holy shit, he could cum just from the taste of your blood. “But you taste so damn good.” 

He seemed to have completely forgotten the ritual, and you, too, had let it slip away. You didn’t want to remember, not when his blood stained your skin, not when your own blood marked him, and not when his mark lingered on you. 

Mattheo pulled back slightly, looking at your state and the way your plush lips were parted as you stared at him, your eyes filled with the same desire he showed. 

Without warning, Mattheo grabbed your cut hand with the one resting on your stomach, his blood mingling with yours as he guided your hand to your neck, then down to your breasts, trailing the blood like a map. Before you could react to the sting of your hard nipple pressing against the cut, Mattheo moved faster, pulling your nipple—now smeared with your own blood—into his mouth. 

You let out a loud moan as you felt his tongue teasing the tips of your bloodied breasts, the taste of your blood on his tongue making him swirl around your breast more eagerly. The sensation only made him harder beneath his robes, each moan of his growing louder as he savored the taste of you. 

You were lost in the pleasure of his mouth, concentrated with the way his tongue lapped like a hungry animal. The way his hands pushed your now bloody breasts together enough for his head to dive between them as he continued to whisper praises, words of hunger. You didn’t hear nothing but the sounds of his mouth nor saw how he desperately reached for release, your body causing him to react out of character.

“Fuck...” he murmured, his hand releasing the softness of your skin as he reached down towards his pants. Fast, uncoordinated, he released his cock from the restraints, his bloody hands wrapping around his cock that dripped with precum. His movements grew faster, driven by the growing intensity of the taste of blood on his tongue.

You looked down, catching a glimpse through the small crease of his neck as he dragged his palm over his hard cock while sucking on your nipples. You couldn’t help but moan louder, your bloody hand gripping his shoulders as you tried to ignore how your body was responding—the wetness between your legs that you knew he could feel. 

“Your tits…”Mattheo moaned even louder, dragging a moan from your lips in response. Fuck, he was so close.

“Fuck, your blood tastes so fucking good.” He moaned louder, and as he sucked harder on your nipples, his mouth closing around the bud tighter. Your chest was now covered in his bites, the marks of Mattheo Riddle, almost like a sign of ownership. Your body quivered against his hold, rubbing pathetically against him as you felt the tingle flutter in your stomach. You were close, lost in the daze, you had no idea whether it was from pleasure or the lost of blood—or both. You were desperately clinging to his shoulders, his name falling from your lips like a spell.

The hold on his length tightened in his hand, and he came instantly. Another hoarse moan escaped his throat, and he pulled away from your chest for a moment, gasping for air. You gripped onto his shoulders once more, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. So sudden, so quick you fell against his hold as your body convulsed with pleasure.

Mattheo leaned against you, allowing himself a moment to relax. But when he noticed the blood still running down your throat from where he had placed your hand, he couldn’t help but let out a growl. He yanked your hair back harshly, making you gasp and exposing your throat, your scream barely escaping as he did so. 

“Mattheo…!” You tried to speak, but he didn’t care; he never did. He only pushed you further against him, your nipples pressed against his bare chest as he licked your throat, letting out another groan as he tasted the metallic flavor again. His tongue traced the line of your throat, dragging the blood up to your chin, before he licked it off obscenely, making you sigh at the sensation. 

Mattheo’s hand in your hair tightened, and in one swift motion, he turned you onto your back, pulling your hair even harder as your back arched against him. “Open your mouth,” he commanded, an order you immediately understood. You obeyed without hesitation, and before you could react, he spat into your mouth and thrust his tongue inside, kissing you deeply.

The kiss was rough and erotic, the fire burning from the inside making it impossible to avoid it. You could taste your own blood on his tongue, and it only made your cunt wetter, the intensity overwhelming. It was too much—more than you’d ever imagined.

You had pictured moments like this, where you and Mattheo would kiss, tasting each other’s tongues, but this was different. It wasn’t the fantasy you had dreamed of; it was raw, wild, and rougher than anything you could have ever anticipated. His teeth clashed with yours, and your tongue tangled with his, as he unleashed his most primal side. He was giving you a taste of the part of you he had consumed, and you were trapped, just as you always would be.

You didn’t care about the pain in your scalp, only the hand that held you.

Mattheo’s hands were rough, touching everything he could. His mouth marking you over and over as he swallowed every small noise you released. He was warm, too warm, a sting feeling in your mouth as he sucked and bit into your lips, the softness of your skin tethering as his mouth was once again filled with the sweetness of your blood.

He was about to lose his mind.

Mattheo sighed against your now split lip, “Stop me… Tell me to stop, and I will.” He wouldn’t; you both knew it.

You held him against you tighter; you were already too deep into him—all you wanted was to devour him, mark him enough to show everyone he belonged to you, only you. You wanted to inflict a pain he would never forget, a pain similar to the pain he caused you, so you did. Your hands wrapped around his neck, your mouth tracing his lips, then his cheeks, then suddenly the warmth of his neck. Mattheo gripped you hard; he made no sudden movement, anxiously awaiting your motive. You bit into his neck, sucking the flushed skin as your teeth marked him with the same strength he did to you. 

Another soft flow came into your mouth, you gasped, the metallic taste odd in your mouth but enough to send your heart thundering.

Mattheo whimpered, his dominant facade slipping as he sickly enjoyed the way you took control. You were so sweet, so delicate—you were completely the opposite. The idea he corrupted you twisted a sick, powerful thought in his brain. You were his. 

Your tongue reached towards his mouth again, finding yourself eye to eye with the man you wanted nothing more than to control. “Don’t ever stop; I need you.”

Mattheo grinned, his lips bloody, his brown eyes becoming dark as he suddenly pushed you towards the runes that glowed against your body. The symbols glowed, vibrating with the blood that dripped onto it. As he stood over you, he wished to capture the moment forever. You looked so fucking pretty.

He leaned over, his knees staining with the blood smeared against the cold tiles. His fingers moved quickly, desperately. He watched as your body spoke to him, reacting to every touch. Your breasts covered in his marks, his blood and yours on them that caused his cock to twitch violently.

He wanted more than the taste of your breasts; he wanted to taste the juices that gathered in the silk of your panties. He wanted to feel the way your cunt twitched and throbbed against his mouth, and damn, did he want nothing more than to have you fuck yourself on his tongue. The sweetest angel from Hogwarts all displayed for him, to hell with the ritual; now he just wanted to swallow you whole. 

Without warning, he hoisted your legs onto his shoulders with an almost violent urgency, a deep moan escaping his lips as he leaned closer to your wet pussy. The intoxicating scent filled his senses, making his bloodied hand tighten around your thigh, gripping it as if commanding you to choke him; a command you had no intention of disobeying.

Mattheo looked at your face, the dried blood around your parted lips, your cheeks flushed from everything he was doing to you, and your dilated pupils watching him anxiously. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, and you instantly bit your lip. Fuck, he was about to get hard again. 

“Please, I need you, Mattheo,” you begged, rubbing your hips desperately, trying to get closer to his flushed face. You needed his mouth, and he was more than willing to be a good friend and give you exactly what you wanted. 

“No need to beg like a slut, sweetheart,” he said, moving closer to your pulsing cunt, the light from the dunes making your wetness glisten even more. You held your breath as his warm breath ghosted over your slick folds. “I’m eager to give you what you want,” he murmured, leaning even closer, his nose brushing against your arousal as he took in your scent. Just as you were about to beg him to do something, his tongue was quicker—teasing, tasting, and finally giving in to the need to lick you.

Mattheo followed his instincts and hunger, his palms gripping your thighs even tighter, leaving bloodstained marks on your skin just as he had on the rest of your body. The sting of his own cut burned with the pressure, but he didn’t stop, sliding his hands to your hips as his tongue moved swiftly against your folds, savoring and memorizing every inch of you.

You could feel Mattheo’s cheeks pressed against your thighs as he buried himself in your pussy, suffocating himself in your scent and taste. He mentally begged some higher power to let him one day die like this—only after his hunger was completely satisfied. Your back arched, heat swirling in your stomach as Mattheo licked your pussy with reckless desperation.

He was ravenous, savoring every part of you, and when your nails dug into his scalp, he let out another growl, pushing himself even deeper between your legs, making you moan even louder.

“Fucking yes, sweetheart,” he murmured against your pussy, sucking harder as your cries of pleasure filled the room. “Keep moaning like a slut, keep saying my name.” He bit down on your flesh, making you moan even louder, your legs trembling around him. He chuckled darkly, the vibrations of his laughter sending shocks through your body and making you cry out even more.

Fuck the ritual, fuck the power—the only power he craved was the power he held over you.

“Mattheo,” you moaned even louder, rocking your hips against his face as your fingers tangled in his hair, pushing him closer. “Right there, oh my—!” you cried out, feeling him lose himself between your legs, consumed by his thoughts and the blood still staining his lips.

Mattheo’s fast, steady movements continued, his almost feral tongue lapping at your cunt as his hands roamed your body. He could feel his cock harden at the sound of your sweet moans. Fuck, the taste of your blood mingled with your arousal was divine—almost too much for him to bear. 

He continued kissing your clit, desperate to savor your full taste, his tongue messily exploring your folds, drinking in every drop he could. All you felt in the moment was him. The sounds muffled as if underwater. Your fingers dug into his scalp, causing him to flick his tongue against your bud faster, his fingers circling it, his grin plastered with pride as he heard you cry loudly.

“Such a pretty one you are,” he muttered, his words slurring into the juices of your cunt.

You only released a jumble of words, your bare back arching as you squirmed beneath him. You were on the edge, and you could feel it—both of you could. The anticipation was electric, and you were both eager for the release. All he wanted was to make you cum.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured against your folds, the scent of your cunt making him dizzy. “Come for me.” No sooner had the words left his mouth than you let out a final scream, the orgasm hitting you hard as your body arched, feeling your cum dripping from your pussy.

Mattheo groaned against your cunt once more, lapping at your release as he lost himself in your flavor. Quickly, he grabbed your cut hand, spreading its blood over your pussy to mix with the cum. When he felt it was enough, he ran his tongue over your folds, savoring the metallic taste of blood combined with the sweet remnants of your orgasm, only stopping when not a drop remained, and you pushed him away.

The runes still flickered on the ground, glowing brighter with the smell of your release in the air. Blood stained both your bodies, marking each other, marking the new connection between you that neither of you wanted to escape. Mattheo stood there, watching you, his brown eyes observing, shining with pride watching your state. His eyes traced the blood on your skin, lingering on the cut on your hand, before meeting your eyes again. 

“We didn’t finish the ritual,” you managed to say, your voice soft, timid once again compared to the wildness you held as you let Mattheo control you, your body still shaking from one of the best orgasms you ever experienced.

Mattheo’s smirk grew, just a little as he continued to look at the mess he had done. “It’s fine, sweetheart. We can always try again.”

He was right; after all, friends helped each other.

© 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚝₂₀₂₄ — 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎.

— please be nice, it’s 4 am it probably has some mistakes!

likes and reblogs are appreciated 🫶🏻

also a big thank you for my favorite beta readers @earth4angels & @astrxq , without them i couldn’t write all this!! i love you both off you forever

venting: sometimes, i hate english because my hard lines in portuguese don’t make sense and seem so repetitive :(

[koalayoo]

Men who talk a certain way.

They carry themselves with elegance, talk with a poised cadence unique to them. They hold themselves upright and have an air of superiority. A cunning look, signature smirk, firm hand; these are staples of their character, they know how to strike a deal. Whether for their people or their own gain, they intimidate those to gain an advantage no matter how many exploits gone through or people exploited.

People either love or fear them.

They’re important.

It’s no surprise that they sit at the centre of the table at a meeting, commanding attention. All eyes are on them, gripping their every word. Prompt nods and murmurs of agreements follow. They’re smart too. Incredible wit and perceptiveness as they continuously glance at everyone, especially you.

Fuck, and they’re hot too.

It makes your blood run hot. Jolts shoot throughout your body and you avert your gaze. It was stupid to you to be losing your cool for a man who felt indifferent about your existence. Maybe that isn’t the right word. 

Sometimes, you would question whether he hated you. Whenever you needed a pen, your hands brushed against one another for a second and he would quickly pull back as if being stung by a bee with a slight scowl forming on his face. If the piles of paper you needed to finish took too long, he would be adamant you finish for the night, which is all fine and dandy if he wasn’t looking for help from others to complete your work. He even reprimanded you, talked to you in that familiar stern tone once for not having your priorities in place when a stranger came up to you in a flirtatious manner as if you could control that. 

He pissed you off. 

Why couldn’t he care about you like a normal person?

However, you were wrong about all of it. He cared too much.

When your fingers grazed him he was ridden with guilt, these were the same hands he would think about at night. Imagine tracing the sharp edges of his skin. He would shut his eyes and throw his head back, replacing his hands with your own. Try to commit the soft feel of yours to his. Would you go slow or fast? He wondered. How would you hold him? Would you let him make a mess? His thoughts would trail on and on questioning your grip, your face, what you would say.

So, it was no surprise when he saw you working yourself to exhaustion that he wanted you to rest. That was his duty after all. Only he could do that. The eyes that he desperately wanted to see glazed over with a lust filled haze needed to be well rested first. That way, he could slowly see them become drunk for him, turning red, bloodshot from just how well he would treat you.

And it was especially no surprise that when another person had the audacity to want you too, he had to stop them. Sure, you didn’t deserve the scolding but he would make you feel so much better later on. He just had to be patient.

Had to keep his tone steady and tame. Pretend to treat you just like everyone else. Even if you thought he hated you. He could fuck you like that too if you wanted. He would give you anything you wanted. However, you didn’t deserve to know how depraved he truly was.

There was a thought that lingered at the forefront of his mind. If you found out just how he imagined you, would you leave? He figured you might feel disgusted, a man of his caliber, his power, wanting to succumb to you. And so he continued to talk. Continued to keep his tone steady. Keep his tone tame. 

He would keep himself in line; refined. Because if you found out how he was imagining you, perhaps then this man would truly feel fear.

fantasising about...

Sylus, NEUVILLETTE, Jing Yuan, Welt, Sunday, DAN HENG, Artem, Zhongli!, Gepard, Alhaitham?, Cyno ...and anyone else you're thinking of

Hope you liked this! Inspired by the song 'Talk' by Hozier. Specifically the line, "So I'll try to talk refined for fear that you find out how I'm imaginin' you." Please give it a listen! It was in my Spotify Top 5 it's so good and captures the vibe I was trying to go for with this. Sorry for the yap. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated!

[vespaer77]

Aside from the fact that I think I might be the only person on the planet who could genuinely be interested in the Executors (I say "could" because my faith in good storytelling from BW is on shaky ground), I fully agree with this post.

And I say this as someone who wasn't sure that the Veil coming down was the right move. But whether someone thinks the Veil should come down or stay up is immaterial. The whole point is that no arguments for the validity of either claim were really ever truly examined. The only reasoning in the game that we get for the Veil remaining intact is that its collapse would "drown the world in demons." Which is... almost a fallacy on its own. Aside from naturally occurring malign spirits (that we learn about from the Mournwatch), demons exist as a direct result of the Veil simply existing.

Perhaps the danger is in not knowing what would happen to all of the mundane, unmagical folk when confronted with the full power of all the raw, unfiltered, chaotic magic of the Fade. But that's still thinking of magic within the confines of the Fade itself. We have no perspective, outside of Solas, on what magic really looks like when the Fade and the mundane world combine. Does it change? Is it still dangerous? Who does it endanger? Are we wrong? Are we right? Who knows? The whole point is that there's never an opportunity to ask those questions. And we have at least three characters fully immersed and available in the story who could provide concrete, first-person, lived and experienced answers.

But we never ask.

We have a spirit of Wisdom who loves answering questions.

And we never ask.

Hell, in addition, we have two dwarves that are connected, isatunolly, with the Titans, who were also there before the Veil.

And we don't get to really ask anything of great value. Even our characters are canonically frustrated with how little we get to ask.

I just think it's very interesting that this game was called Dreadwolf for so long, and then it wasn't. The game we got has very little to do with, and makes very little use of, the Dread Wolf at all. So the game is called The Veilguard. But at no point does the Veilguard really ever.... guard... the Veil. Or make any mention of guarding the Veil. Or have any discussion on why guarding the Veil is so super important or what it even means, especially considering that, in the first 20min of the game, the only real element threatening the Veil is neutralized until the last 10min.

The game, called The Veilguard, isn't about the Veil at all.

In my humble opinion? This game should have been given a title that had more to do with the Blight or the gods or something. Or, given how many times it gets said in game, it could've just been called, "Dragon Age: It's Just So Hard." Even on a meta level, that's a title I could've believed, lol.

All this without even mentioning that one mural memory. We all know the one. The one that falls somewhere between a shameful, textbook retcon and a blatant attempt at gaslighting.

Whoops. I mentioned it, didn't I? Maybe I'll make a longer post about that someday. That's the part of this game that really grinds my gears, the status of the Veil notwithstanding.

In short, I firmly believe that the vilification of Solas is purely based on a retcon (and one that makes no logical sense when properly examined) and it's a hill I'm prepared to die on.

Anyhoops, if someone told me that, even though this game had been in development for 10yrs, the final version of this game was produced from start to finish in 16mos or less, I'd honestly believe it. I also feel like they were 100% shooting for a game that would have DLC afterwards and were told late in their development cycle that there wouldn't be so they tried to gift wrap everything with the ribbons and bows that they had. Like... go to the Halls of Valor and tell me that this is a fully finished game that was intended to be complete from the very beginning.

Castles in the Fade, or What Was the Point of the Veil Anyway

Something that will now haunt me until the end of time is why was the concept of the Veil ever introduced into this series.

We’ve been hearing about it since the very first game. There’s a codex entry about tears in the Veil in Origins. Tamlen mentions a thin spot in the Veil if you play a Dalish elf. Sandal has a prophecy in Dragon Age 2: “One day the magic will come back—all of it. Everyone will be just like they were. The shadows will part and the skies will open wide. When he rises, everyone will see.” Admittedly, this is just one line said by a character who often says odd things, but it hinted to the fact they were planning to do something with the Veil from the very beginning. The state of the Veil is repeatedly brought up. It all had to mean something! Or so I thought. 

When I saw “The Dread Wolf Rises” quest in Veilguard, I said, “Oh, here we go!” The Veil is coming down, magic is coming back, and it’s going to set up such an interesting story for the next game. 

Alas, no. 

I hadn’t really enjoyed my time playing Veilguard up until this point. It felt like the game was ducking and dodging every bit of world building and lore that could possibly bring nuance or complexity to the story. Every returning character or faction was a cardboard cutout of themself. They shoved Solas is a time-out box and gave him nothing to do. They refused to let him have any impact or influence on the story when he had been set up to be our main antagonist back in Trespasser. This game used to be called Dreadwolf! And while we learn about his past… we never talk to him about it. In the present, he’s in stasis.

Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain are our villains. And they are your typical evil for evil’s sake villains. They are mad, bad, and only as dangerous as the narrative will allow as to not give Rook and co too much trouble. They are surprisingly patient while Rook fixes all their companions’ problems… until Elgar’nan moves the moon to cause an eclipse. A vital component in making his own lyrium dagger. For some reason. This guy can move a satellite!? And he just let Rook walk away in previous encounters… twice. Ok. Sure.

The Evil Duo need their own dagger ostensibly to tear down the Veil, because they want to unleash the full force of the Blight onto the world. Because they are evil. And they were thwarted last time they tried to Blight the entire world. Why do they think Blighting the world is a good idea? What’s the point of ruling a world if everyone is dead? I guess they haven’t thought that through, because of the madness and the evilness.

Ok, I thought. Perhaps the gods will be the one to tear down the Veil. Or maybe we’ll have a choice to let Solas do it his way before they can, which will be less chaotic and less full of Blight. Because the Veil has to be coming down one way or another? Why introduce the concept of the Veil, especially a Veil that has been thinning and failing since the series began, if it’s just going to… stay.

There is a principle in storytelling called Chekov’s gun. If something is mentioned in a story, it must have a purpose. If you keeping mentioning that gun hanging on the wall over the fireplace, it’s because at some point in the story, someone is going to take it down and use it. The Veil felt like Chekov’s gun to me. Chekov’s Veil, if you will. It’s been here from the beginning of our tale, the spectre hanging over our protagonists’ heads for multiple games.

The Veil has been a character unto itself. It was the central focus of the third game, and its dissolution was set up to be the core conflict of the fourth game. We learn everything we thought we knew about the Veil was a lie. It was not created by the Maker to separate the Fade from this world because of jealous spirits, it was created by a guy named Solas to trap the elven gods and the Blight from destroying the world. Also, the elven gods were never gods, and they are also evil.

This reveal will surely throw the Andrastian religion into chaos! This puts the very existence of the Maker into question! The Evanuris are a lie; it’s only fair Catholicism—oh, I mean—the Chantry is a lie too. We briefly touch on that in Veilguard… then it is quietly discarded. Religious crisis averted.

But I digress.

When the title of the fourth game was changed from Dreadwolf to Veilguard, I started to see the writing on the wall. Still, I held out hope the Veil would have some greater purpose in the story. That its introduction as a concept was for a reason. That something in this world would change.

Instead, from the get-go, the question of the Veil is no question at all. We only get Solas and Varric making oblique or catastrophizing statements about it. Solas says little beyond he has a plan. If I ever wanted to hear a villain monologue about their plan, it was now! Varric, on the other hand, decries Solas’s plan. He warns that should the Veil fall, it will destroy the world and drown it in demons. And that’s that.

We never really learn why Solas wants to tear the Veil down, or why he thinks it will help anyone. “The Veil is a wound inflicted upon this world. It must be healed,” he says. And that’s basically all he says about it in Veilguard. In Inquisition and Trespasser, we learn it took the immortality from the elves. It cut most of magic off from the world. Spirits are trapped and are being corrupted into demons, and most of what we know about spirits and demons is wrong. There are ancient elves possibly asleep? That part is left vague, but ancient elves are still about. We meet some in Mythal’s temple. There seems to have been some merit in bringing it down, because elves were flocking to Solas’s cause at the end of Trespasser. He had agents working for him already. What do they know that we don’t know?

Apparently nothing, because by the time Veilguard rolls around, there are no mention of agents. He is working alone. His only motivation now seems to be he’s too deep in his sunk-cost fallacy. The Veil is unnatural, so it must be removed—consequences be damned. We are never given any reason to think Solas has a leg to stand on in his pursuit of tearing down the Veil. We never hear any kind of counter argument from anyone, not even Solas, as to why the Veil should come down. We are only told it will destroy the world. It will drown the world in demons. This is all Solas’s fault.

There is no nuance. No complexity. No moral quandary to mull over. The game gives us vague warnings with no explanation as to what exactly is so world-annihilating about the Veil coming down. We must take Varric’s word at face value. We’re the heroes; Solas is the villain. Stop him.

It makes me wonder why Solas was ever a companion in Inquisition, let alone a romance option. Solas was presented to us as a complicated character in Inquisition. We had the potential throughout the game to make him see the value of this world, to help him realize he was wrong about it. “We aren’t even people to you,” the Inquisitor says in Trespasser. Solas replies, “Not at first. You showed me that I was wrong...again.” He began the third game viewing the world as tranquil, seeing the people in it as nothing more than figments in a nightmare, just as we saw our companions in the In Hushed Whispers quest. He ends the game having made friends, having recognized he was mistaken. He might have even fallen in love. (Or he may still seen no merit in this world if the Inquisitor antagonized him the entirety of their time together.) But something makes him continue with his plan to tear down the Veil, despite recognizing this world is real. He must know something we don’t. Something we’ll learn about in the next game.

We’ve been hearing about the Veil for three games now. We’ve set up our complex antivillain for the next installment, and he’s going to tear the Veil down. We swear to stop him or save him. But it has to be more complex than that. It can’t be so straightforward. Uncomplicated. Simple. Boring. Right? Right?

Nope. He really is just the villain, mustache-twirling and all. He apparently had no greater motivation, no as of yet unrevealed knowledge that would put this whole Veil thing into a new context. It was really as simple as the Veil falling will destroy the world, so Solas must be stopped. There is no new information that is revealed which makes us question what we are doing. Solas is never given any nuance or complexity to his actions. Nuance and complexity have actively been taken away. Both him and the Veil are looking like they are the worst things to be in a story: pointless. Why introduce the Veil if it’s just going to remain unchanged? Why introduce a character like Solas, bother humanizing him (for lack of a better term), giving us his backstory, setting him up as a cunning antagonist, only to make him look stupid, then put him on a shelf until the last ten minutes of your game?

Solas was the trickster archetype of this tale. He was our version of Loki from Norse mythology. What is the role of the trickster archetype? To challenge the status quo. To bring about events of extreme change, like say, the tearing down of a Veil that holds back all of magic. Loki is a huge contributing factor in Ragnarök. Through his manipulation, he causes the death of the beloved god, Baldr. This ushers in a long winter, which signifies the beginning of the end. Loki is imprisoned for this crime. When the final battle between gods and giants begins, the sun and moon are swallowed, plunging the earth into darkness. The earth shakes and Loki is freed to fight on the side of the giants. The world burns in raw chaos, falls beneath the sea, and is reborn. The world is remade, and a new realm of the gods and a new, better earth is formed.

It really felt like this was the setup they were going for. Solas causes the death of Mythal, and this is his catalyst for creating the Veil, which ushers in a world without magic. This could be seen as equivalent to the long winter. Solas falls asleep, trapped in dreams. He wakes and sets in motion bringing about the apocalypse. It’s not a perfect one to one, but it’s there if you squint. We have a war against the gods in Veilguard. I was expecting a few remaining Titans to wake and join the fight. But we don’t get any of that. There is a final battle, but it does not end in the end of the world. Or a better world. It just ends, and everything is the same.

It seems our trickster god caused his apocalypse thousands of years before our story started, when he created the Veil. His role in this tale was over before ours began, and he really is just some relic from a long-past age. He has no role, no purpose in this story. He is here to be thwarted. He is no Loki at all.

If you can’t tell, I wanted the Veil to come down. Did I think the Veil coming down would be painless? Have no negative consequences? No. Of course not. But keeping it up has negative consequences too. And it made for an interesting story. Or at least it could have. But we never explore that. The game presents no counter argument to having the Veil stay up, which, again, begs the question: what was the point of introducing the concept of the Veil at all?

Did I think the Veil coming down was actually the best solution to help Thedas become a better place? I don’t know, and I never will, because the game never argues for it one way or another. It just tells you to want it in place and to stop asking questions. In real life, a catastrophic event is not the best way to solve any of the world’s problems. But this is the realm of fiction. We have gods and monsters, magic and myth. We have introduced the status quo of Thedas, recognized it needs to change, then our trickster god appears ready to fulfill his role in the narrative. 

Instead, it all comes to nothing.

I got to the end of Veilguard… and everything was more or less the same as it was at the start of Origins. Veilguard actually tries its hardest to pretend any previously mentioned problems don’t exist, so of course the Veil coming down has no merit. There are no problems to solve in this world, apparently. Solas is just stuck in the past and can’t get with the times. Silly Solas.

The Veil isn’t even a permanent solution. It wasn’t to begin with. It was some duct tape wrapped around a broken pipe, and we’ve just slapped an extra piece of tape on it. It’s still leaking. It is still unnatural, and will fall eventually one way or another. Large amounts of bloodshed weaken it, so I guess Thedas better achieve world peace real quick to avoid any battles. There were seven super-powered mages holding it together… now there is just one. Ironically, the Veil was going to fall after two more Blights anyway. The Wardens were doing Solas’s work for him! It would also have released the full force of the Blight at that time… which Solas was trying to avoid, I presume.

It feels like keeping the Veil up just pushed a big problem onto Thedas’ future generations. We’ll keep slapping bandaids on it until it all falls apart. Someone else can deal with the fallout, but we’ll be dead by then, so who cares.

Primarily, I wanted the Veil to come down from a storytelling perspective. The Veil was an interesting concept and I wanted the story to do something interesting with it. Conflict is what makes stories stories and the Veil coming down could create so much compelling and complex conflict. And the Fade is weird, and I like weird. Stories are also about change, and I wanted to see Thedas change. Yet, Veilguard is over, and barely anything has changed. Instead of magic coming back being a conflict for the next game, they went with Fantasy Illuminati. Oh.

The Veil turned out to be a nothing-burger, and no problems in this world are even close to being solved. Slavery is still rampant in Tevinter. The elven people are still oppressed everywhere. Mages have no more rights in the South than they did in Origins. Spirits are still trapped and being corrupted. The Calling still exists, though might be different somehow now? They don’t really get into that. The Chantry’s validity is still not allowed to be questioned. The Blight still exists in some form, but again it’s vague. Oh, and we learn the dwarves have been gravely wronged, and the Titans are still tranquil. At least if you redeem Solas and a romanced Lavellan joins him, they can work together on healing the Blight and helping the Titans. Oh, good. One problem is being acknowledged and some action will be taken. Offscreen. Hurray? Solas doesn’t have a really great track record of fixing problems, so Lavellan is definitely going to need to be there to make sure he doesn’t fuck it up.

For some reason, this game seemed terrified of letting us think about anything for more than two seconds. It shied away from complexity or nuance at every turn. The game is called The Veilguard—ironically, that word is never uttered in the game—but we are given no real motive for guarding the Veil. We’re unquestionably the hero. The villains are uncomplicatedly evil. Save the world… never wonder what you are doing or why.

I wanted the game to make me question if the Veil staying up or coming down was the right choice. I needed to be given a real counter argument. Convince me the alternative would actually be better or worse, because as I mentioned… things suck quite a bit in Thedas already for a lot of people right now. Let the Veil’s fate be a difficult choice to make. If the conflict cannot be what to do about the Veil, it should be am I doing the right thing about the Veil. If the heart of your game is so thin on motive, everything else falls apart around it.

I hoped they were setting up a complex, Thedas-sized existential conflict for this game in Trespasser, but no. I wanted something to happen, but nothing did. 

I want to feel challenged and changed by a story, not left feeling empty. I’m tired of superficial entertainment. I want to sink my teeth into a narrative that doesn’t paint the world in broad strokes of black and white, good and evil, heroes and villains.

Ultimately, I think my issue is why even introduce a concept like The Veil if you’re not going to do anything interesting with it. Or anything at all. What I thought was Chekov’s Veil turned out to just be a MacGuffin. And that’s disappointing.

[zenless-zideblog-zero]

There's something about the fact that Section 6, the Canonically strongest Faction in game, has a ton of problems and difficulties.

Asaba has a Terminal Illness with no cure that Specifically and actively hinders his ability to do his specific Job. He will straight up turn into an ethereal at some point, if he doesn't succumb to cardiac arrest or asphyxiate first because of it.

Yanagi has Oni blood in her Veins, and if she uses too much of the power available to her she's liable to become incredibly injured or just outright die because it's Hysterical Strength x1000. It also, seemingly has caused her eyes to become messed up, and can make her go blind at random.

Soukaku's older Sister died due to Illness or War (Likely a combination of both.) Her mental trauma causes her to always almost always feel the need to eat, to fill the parts of her heart that feel empty. (Also my Headcanon is that Oni Develop slower than humans - Soukaku, despite being "Older than Yanagi" is at a much lower level of Maturity in terms of lifespan and physical/mental development. So she's basically a child soldier.)

Miyabi Straight up fights demons. In her sword. And With her sword. She killed her own mother to save her from becoming an ethereal. She doesn't always understand what's socially acceptable to say in a given situation (Neurodivergent), when it's appropriate to correct someone (Neurodivergent), can't stand meetings and paperwork (That's Everyone, but Neurodivergent), Believes she only exists to do one thing, that she's only truly capable of doing one thing, or has to add the modifier of "Training" to do certain things (Very Neurodivergent) and will just disassociate in public when she begins focusing on her thoughts too much (INCREDIBLY Neurodivergent).

And we've seen people act 'Normal' and not suffer from diseases in ZZZ! Nicole is incredibly Socially and (Somewhat) Financially adept, Lycaon might struggle somewhat in casual social circumstances, but he's very much capable LITERALLY anywhere else, Anton's a bit of a meathead but he's incredibly kind and well meaning, Corin has Anxiety and Confidence issues but other than that she seems to be a fairly normal (Mentally) Sixteen year old. Ellen is straight up just a Highschooler! I could go to my local high school and find someone who acts pretty much exactly like her!

Yeah, every character has their quirks and opinions, some have traumas and issues, but Section Six is the only group you can point at anyone of them and say "That Person has something wrong with them" and no one can provide a strong counter argument (Because there's a difference between living one's best life, and living the best life they can.)

[northern-passage]

I really don't get how Lea could ever think they and the Hunter were a team, when apparently they knew about the collar thing while the hunter didn't even know??? They are the literal embodiment of the Hunter's alienation and dehumanization. Will Lea (and the narrative) ever acknowledge how fucking despicable the order actually is??? They're a bunch of child abusers who prey on poor families and practice human trafficking. On that note I actually deeply despise the Hunter's mentor. That fight scene with him forcing us to stand up again and again? I don't care that the same was done to him and he did it to make the Hunter stronger or whatever. That was the same logic my grandmother had when she hit my mother, and she would have done the same to us if my mother hadn't cut ties with her and broke the cycle of generational violence. I'm sorry. I probably shouldn't play this game right now as it very clearly trigger some things within me that I should address elsewhere than in your ask box, but I guess I needed to express how helpless the Hunter made me feel. Especially with Lea. My character (and myself I guess) couldn't sit down and have a normal conversation with them given how blind they were to the Hunter's situation, and that was even before I understood what the collar thing truly meant after replaying the demo and reading the last snippet you published. Lea comes from a powerful family with ties everywhere, they are literally called our 'handler', and they know what the ladder does to someone (both short term and long term, mentally and physically)... And they truly think them and the Hunter are the same??? Equals??? The only explanation I can find is that they grew up their entire life within the order and never knew anything else, and so this is a case of great ignorance and deep denial. They need a good wake up call and a lot of character development, but when I see Noel's reaction and Lea's behavior during their rival route, I'm kinda worried.

well... i mean most of what you've mentioned here is The Point. Lea is a hypocrite, and the hunter can argue with them and refuse their partnership because of it. Jorah is an asshole and treated the hunter poorly at times, to the point that him and Rodrick argued about it frequently, and is why Rodrick attempts to intervene when they spar. the Order does cause harm and coerces people into their ranks, usually children or those that are more vulnerable and lack other options; and this is always true no matter how the hunter tries to justify it and convince themselves otherwise. all of the people and institutions in this game are complex, none of them are righteous, and they exist as they do because i have something i want to say-- all of these are choices i've intentionally made when writing this story.

and we're only on chapter 1 right now (and even before the rerelease, only on chapter 2), all of the characters need character development, none of their arcs have even started yet.

this story is supposed to make you Feel, big feelings and little feelings, my goal is for people to connect with the characters or at the very least just empathize with them and have a desire to see their stories through. i'm not out to trigger people but this game is intended to be a dark fantasy that explores heavier topics. i'm always open to discussing my thoughts behind certain characters/narrative choices and i will always welcome suggestions if you feel i need to add something to the content warning list, but i really don't like asks like this, and i'm not really sure how to respond as a stranger on the internet. you can either trust me and my intent as the author, or maybe it would be better to not continue with the story if that's what is best and safest for you. only you can know and make that choice, not me.

[monstatron]

THE SAPPHIRE ROYAL, LORD XADIRITH ( character is she/her!! )

i finally completed this revamp of my cosmic dragon, xadirith! leaned more into the body horror aspect of her here, balanced out with her usual regality.

i've also reworked her lore, which you can read under the cut below! :3

L O R E tm

Lord Xadirith, the Sapphire Royalty, the Regal Mistress of Crystalline Galaxies, is one of the original high elder gods of the Monstarous Mythos. Though not truly a god, that is the closest to human perception that a spontaneous energy of thermodynamic entropy such as herself can become. Like the rest of the high elder gods, Xadirith was “born” at random, spawning from unpremeditated existence. More direct origins lie within being the manifestation of curiosity and emotional expansion. This is what ultimately led to Xadirith's role as the curator and peacekeeper of multiversal existence. Xadirith maintains a small portion of multiple entities needed to maintain a stable and peaceful multiverse. Her true form cannot be described, although if it did exist in a tangible form, it would resemble a glimmering nebula of universal size. Xadirith is often associated with the concept of regality and order, a benevolent energy that maintains balance in the grand scheme of multiversal existence.  From her very beginning, Xadirith only ever knew of her true purpose: to maintain peace. But to maintain the peace of what, she questioned? She was born far before anything truly tangible existed, so, for some time it was her job to be a peacemaker amongst her fellow gods as the multiverse began to expand from the same unpremeditated existence that created her and other wandering gods. Even then, she still did not fully understand her sense of being– who was she and why did peace matter to her? Was this truly what she was meant to be? Could she forge her own destiny and sense of being? This questioning had led to a battle with the god Astaroth, a greedy devourer who had not yet realized her role within the cosmos. Astaroth had stirred a quarrel with the star-creator, Axardyr, and their battle had shattered an entire universe. This had caused a disruption within the multiverse, setting loose harmful and chaotic entities such as the Ekanox into certain realities. Xadirith stood up to Astaroth, who fought wrathfully against her. Their battle lasted for ten thousand years to one second; a time-bending collision of colors never perceived by human eyes followed by the instantaneous death and birth of thousands of stars. Astaroth had been guided by Xadirith in the end, aiding her in finding a balance between consumption and creation.  As universes formed, Xadirith gained access to them and was cosmically tasked with ensuring that each and every universe was within unison of their own physical and metaphysical laws. It was... taxing, to say the least, but Xadirith had grown fond of the universes she visited. Now, Xadirith remains a benevolent and curious deity that takes enjoyment in living amongst mortals and understanding their ways of life. Xadirith is the most solitary of the high elder gods. She prefers to traverse the multiverse on her lonesome.

[multifandomloverthrowaway]

What Sky’s Character Should Have Been

(And why her and Viktor needed to be canon.)

This is LONG, and just my opinion. Please be nice!

In storytelling, each character, each scene, and each literary device is crucial for the advancement of the plot. If any is over or under utilized, the story remains cluttered or incomplete. That being said, it truly is a tragedy how horribly the characters, especially the Zaunite characters, came to be treated in season two. The characters and arcs set up in season one are butchered, and Viktor’s story is particularly disappointingly miswritten by the authors and misrepresented by the fandom, and we see this in the narrative and to a certain extent even fan treatment of Sky.

Sky is a ghost. Her presence, while tangible in the story, is not fully realized to the audience. We do not get to know much of her besides her interest in Viktor and a small flashback indicating that they knew of each other in their youth. Thus her existence and her death are ultimately unsatisfying; we do not know enough about her to be able to connect with her, and so she is ultimately only perceived to be an object to propel Viktor’s descent, even though we do not know much of his feelings towards her either. This is an unfortunate misuse of her as a supporting character, especially when it has a good potential reason to exist other than to solely be Viktor’s love interest.

Before understanding what Sky can represent, let us first define her in the context of the setting, particularly in relation to the characters that she supports. I have touched upon this in more detail in my Viktor character analysis posted, but for the TLDR:

It is clear that Jayce and Viktor are foils to one another. The difference in their opinions on Hextech sets them up to be a parallel to an important aspect of the class struggle set up in season one: Even when the oppressed are “good enough” to compete with their privileged peers, the resultant treatment by the oppressor between both is starkly different. Where the privileged will be lauded and commemorated, the oppressed will only be served minimal acceptance and approval. Thus, their characters and how they interact with one another, as well as the characters of their immediate mutual contacts and their own corresponding interactions, should serve explore this struggle further, especially when it comes to Sky, Mel, and Heimerdinger.

So Sky, like Viktor, should show how Piltover can misuse Zaunites against their hometown. However, to keep her character separate from him, unlike Viktor, who loses himself getting out of this trap and back to Zaun, Sky must be lost to trap itself. She must show just how inhumanely far Piltover will go in exploiting Zaun to maintain its subjugation over the latter. Like we see with other innocent Zaunite background characters that are killed by Piltover on the battleground, Sky must represent those that are killed in softer, more covert methods: through the extraction of Zaun’s finest intellect and the resulting false diplomacy. We must eventually see how Piltover indirectly kills her for being Zaunite, even though we know she is killed by Viktor and the Hexcore.

Sky then needs to have a fleshed out background that indicates of her optimism, grit, and innocence. It does not have to be as in depth as that of the main characters, but the audience must be shown the following:

Her academic prowess that indicates how she can capture sponsors and spin her botany research to help Zaun into something that Piltover thinks it can also benefit from. From which councilors or patrons does she benefit? How and why?

Her motivations for Zaun. What does she view an ideal Zaun to be? What would its relationship with Piltover be? We know she wants to make it better by creating natural greenery, but why does she choose to do so in Piltover? What pushed her to apply to the academy?

Her relation to Viktor, the only other known Zaunite at the academy. Did they interact more than that one time in the river? Were they friends or mutuals? How did Viktor help her get a position as his assistant and why? We know she is fond of him, but what about the other way around? What are their experiences at the academy like? How do they interact with casual prejudice? Do they stick up for each other? Do they find support in each other?

We must see her struggles to successfully obtain funding and traction for her own research due to Piltovan pushback and prejudice. (In this case, she must be in the same research group as Jayce and Viktor, but no longer their assistant as a decade is far too long to remain as such. She will be tied to Jayce’s name but not under him or Viktor.) This needs to be shown to contrast Jayce’s ease in becoming a councilor and gaining enough authority to push out Heimerdinger to further his and Viktor’s research. We need to see her project take the back seat because it is not the project that Jayce is directly tied to. We must see her have to to be careful and planned in who she talks to, how, and what she is able to get from them. This would provide a perfect parallel to Mel and about how being outsiders provides challenges when it comes to change; one being born into power with an imperialist upbringing and getting past Piltovans gracefully to a councilor position to invite it, and the other having no power and so relying on the street smarts and a resource seeking mindset from a more impoverished background to scavenge for it… yet both using the same methods (smooth talking, strategic connections, etc.) to do so.

We need to also know her relationship with Zaun and her perception of Piltover. She must be shown to nurture her feelings about the unfair treatment of her home into a more determined and optimistic view of potential equality and diplomacy, and their growth over time with her and Viktor’s research and their duty to represent Zaun. We should see her friendship with Jayce. We should see her interact with Mel and Heimerdinger. This not only lets the audience sympathize with her by empathizing with the struggles she faces above and her defiance in face of them, but also contrasts Viktor’s internal anger about Zaun and Piltover that he lets fester with his growing ailments and erasure of academic and technical contributions. This contrast sets her up nicely to symbolize the “good that could have been” in the relationship between Zaun and Piltover, and thus by extension, between Viktor and Jayce - hence her initial role as their assistant, and something that is cast aside as each character grows more towards their goals rather than the partnership.

This also sets her up to personify Viktor’s humanity. We’ve seen them meet. Let us see them study together, build things together, perhaps even fend for essentials together. Let us see how and why Sky fell in love with the Viktor from her youth. Let us know of Viktor’s endearment of her as we see him choose her to be his assistant. Let us see how they interact after facing prejudice from Piltovans and band together. Let us see her meet him when he’s on the hospital bed. Let us see her and Viktor be protective of and vulnerable with each other as they face the enemy. Let us see them bond just like we have seen him do so with Jayce. With Sky, we can see Viktor’s insecurities and his empathy like no other character can; in her we can see what makes him human.

This is integral to Viktor’s character and his arc. Whereas Jayce can actively work towards a future for his life with Mel and his career outside of Hextech, Viktor does not have the same luxury due to his illness. He cannot pursue anything but Hextech because his life and the lives of his people are on the line due to Piltover’s control. And that is precisely why when Sky loses her life due to the technology, it isn’t just Viktor that kills her. It’s Piltover’s waste, Piltover’s luxuries, Piltover’s unfulfilled promises that do. And Viktor realizes that after. Sky, in all her optimism, is fundamentally what Viktor could have strived for had he not let his anger and urgency spiral. As a mirror to Mel and Jayce, Sky is not just Viktor’s past but also his hopes for the future. And he realizes that he and Zaun has lost what could have been.

By giving Sky agency, we see just how much she could have done for the plot. But seeing how much the story fumbled Viktor, it’s not surprising to see her get “fridged” twice. I hope I did her justice!

If you’ve read this all, you deserve all the desserts. Thanks for reading!

[hyog-blog]

Zhao Yuanzhou and His Depression

Can we just stop for a second to appreciate the sheer scope of Zhao Yuanzhou's tragedy? Like, the man literally didn't want to live. And he was looking for death not to make some huge-ass sacrifice to save humanity and all, but first and foremost, he didn't want to continue his existence because of how painful and unbearable it was.

This, I think, puts his inability to deal with Li Lun (or any other more or less emotional thing for that matter) in a whole new perspective. ZYZ's mental capacity was enough to only plan his own death. When we first see him he's a ticking suicide bomb. Can we even blame him for being weak/inattentive/lacking compassion/unable to face Li Lun's own grief and pain at this point?

I don't think we actually get the sheer scope of it for Zhao Yuanzhou. That he was actually able to smile and find happiness within the Demon Hunting Bureau was truly a miracle (for him and for everyone else involved, that they got to see that side of him).

For him to get healed to the point he actually let someone else into his heart (both Wen Xiao and Zhuo Yichen, and that little demon-hunting squad of theirs) is a real wonder. For him, who deemed himself unworthy to continue breathing on this earth any longer.

That's why in the first episodes, whenever there's danger, he's willing to take any kind of damage himself. Because he's punishing himself both physically and mentally. He literally stabbed himself in the heart when he first met Zhuo Yichen for those reasons as well (like, he wouldn't die from it, but it would still hurt like crazy).

Ah, that man, that character D: My heart is still bleeding for him.

[moonljte]

I HAVE AN ADDITION TO THIS!

Another duo of characters that I believe are the both sides of the same coin (in some way) is Aurelion Sol and Zoe.

Having Aurelion despising literally everyone, to have someone he tolerates is something.

Zoe is the kinda gal who is all about the fun and carelessness, but I truly believe that she isn't at all that naiive. She is mostly likely one of the most powerful beings in Runeterra. She can do whatever she wants, no limitations. As its shown on short stories, she tends to play with the human kids, but she ends up being cast out of the play or she ends up being bored. She knows she hasn't been a human for a long time. Zoe isn't stupid. She knows she is powerful, and little are the people who can match her. Now, if she does this on purpose or is simply an instinct I do not know, since every now and then, Zoe seeks Aurelion to talk and catch up on all the adventures she's been up to on Runeterra.

Aurelion's power clearly is no match for hers. Aurelion is also one of the strongest beings to exist. Even between his own species, he was clearly stronger, having slaughtered his brothers. Now, being a prisoner to the Targonians, he can not distract himself by forging his beloved stars anymore, Aurelion is truly alone. Doomed to serve the aspects will, he has grown lonely and bored since he doesn't have his constellations anymore.

The point is that they are both celestial beings that have been around for quite SOME time, and there is nobody else like them. Most of the aspects like Leona, Diana, Taric are recent hosts. No one understands the immensity of the power they owe. I believe Zoe seeks to him because he is the only one who might have the chance of understanding. She finds solace in that, even if that isn't she speaks of to him. It's shown that the girl visits him because she thinks he spends way too much time alone, and Zoe simply finds it sad. I believe she sees a bit of herself in him.

And for the dragon, he doesn't really have much choice, but through all his complaints about the annoying girl, he clearly appreciates it. He might not love it, but then it's better to have someone to hate than no one to really care about. She is said to take mooncakes to him and yap nonstop, this action is actually so cute. Zoe is the only one that doesn't go for him because she needs something done, it is simply for his company.

When he gets free, people theorize that he will end up sparing her life.

On the interaction:

" SPACE DRAGON! MAKE SOMETHING SHINY FOR ME!! "

" What about your favourite toy burning for the eternity? "

Clearly, the toy being Runeterra.

so idk I LOVE their dynamic, and I truly believe Aurelion is fond of their "friendship"

thinking about how swain and draven share qualities that explain why (at least to me) swain favours draven of all people to the extent that he does. like sure he's darius's brother and i guess he's also the face of noxian entertainment but what is stopping swain from crushing the life out of Some Guy who is annoying as all fuck most of the time and also doesn't even use magic (i.e. isn't really a threat compared to other players in the noxian faction). i think it's because swain understands that in some ways, they are both frauds, and rewarding draven is in some ways accepting his own position for what it is. here's this formerly disgraced (egomaniacal) public executioner playing showrunner and while he does have the skills to back up his claims, a lot of what makes draven feel like "draven" is not necessarily the actual display of skill, but the display of the grandeur around the act, the larger than life, loudmouthed personality that sets him apart from any other noxian hired as a contract killer, the constructed front of a self-made celebrity that is meant to entice and appeal to an audience vicariously seeking the thrill of spectacle. and on the other side of the same coin, here's this formerly disgraced (psychotic) nobleman playing grand general and while he does have the skills to back up his claims, a lot of what makes swain feel like "swain" is not necessarily the actual display of skill, but the display of the power around the act, the cunning and mysterious personality that is meant to instill an unshakeable fear in those around him and set him apart from his predecessors, the constructed front of a leader that is meant to entice and appeal to a citizenry seeking the crumbs of slightly better treatment. they are both performers who understand their roles well and rely heavily on their personas to obtain what they want, which is perhaps more fitting in the political landscape of noxus (e.g. ambessa's "be the fox and the wolf" lecture in arcane, leblanc as a literal manifestation of the illusions and deception at play behind the scenes) than the "traditional" concepts of self-identification with empire (e.g. loyalty, strength, etc.) as embodied by darius. and it would just be interesting to have swain, in an uncomfortable moment of self-awareness, realize that he and draven are not too different in their methods of self-preservation, and that if he is to crush draven in a fit of rage then is he really any better than a fraud who fears his own lies. idk to me they are just two guys who shared a period of existential crisis in their lives and are now besties.

[hxlxnaaa]

𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞

★ synopsis: haunted by your own loneliness, it seems the only cure is to create an imaginary friend

★ character: xavier

★ cw: first-person POV, angst if you squint, real world au, maybe ooc xavier? not really

★ word count: 1.6k

★ a/n: inspired by maladaptive daydreaming! strays so far from canon storyline obviously so this is hella HELLA au, but MC still has her heart problems lmao

When it comes to children, it isn’t surprising when you find out they have an imaginary friend. They’ll giggle, and their eyes will light up as they tell you about their talking dog, who has tea parties with them and rides on the back of their bike. Or the teddy bear that comes to life at night to tell them bedtime stories and help them count sheep.

Yet, eventually, the time comes where they grow up. No longer do talking dogs and dancing dolls follow them around, and the child won’t talk about their little friend anymore, leaving them behind. They fade from one’s memory, a ghost long forgotten…

But what if they don't?

What if they never grow out of their ‘imaginary friend’? What if it follows them all throughout their life? A schizo diagnosis would be in order, and years of therapy.

Sadly, that’s how it is for me; well, not the “seeing things and copious amounts of therapy” part.

He’s just… a coping mechanism.

A world to go to in my head when everything feels as if it’s crashing down. I don’t know where I’d be without him.

When I was small, no one seemed to enjoy my presence. I was always considered a nuisance with all of my heart problems. Making real friends was hard; people would up and leave after a few months, and I’d be alone again. I was a bother, in and out of doctors offices and never able to hang out. Texts would go ignored because I was too busy having tests run in cold hospital beds, hooked up to machines.

The nurses would joke with me, braid my hair and tell me gossip since I was in there so much – but it wasn’t the same as having friends my age that I can go to the movies with. So, when I finally came to the conclusion I’d be alone forever, I made a friend.

Yes, I made a friend.

I put all the qualities of my ideal friend in him; He was straight out of a cool, teen indie movie — the perfect boy next door. He would be the best friend you could go on long road trips with, get donuts with at ungodly hours in the morning. Quiet enough that I could talk for hours and he would just listen, but could still make me laugh with little remarks.

Since nobody else would talk to me, and I had far too much time on my hands, I would travel into my own little world in my head where he existed. I’d talk to him everyday, hang out with him for hours. Whether I was in class, the car, or laying in my bed staring at my ceiling, I’d dissociate into a world where someone truly, really cared about me.

This went on for years. No matter my problem, he’d always have a solution, no matter my opinion, he’d always listen. He was my knight in shining armor from bad dreams and boring moments.

Eventually, I put so much detail into him, it felt as if he was real.

I could practically reach out and touch his hair, know what it would feel like to run my fingers through his messy platinum hair. Pointing out every emotion in his blue eyes, from the joy that sparkled in them when I would tell him jokes that only he would understand, or when they clouded over with worry when I would come to him crying after a stressful day. The moments his angelic smile would let out his signature laugh that would ring in my ears for hours, and I could practically hear it in reality. Or the way I could cringe at him when he would act like an awkward dork, but his giggles made me grin, and I always put up with him. It’s almost as if I could smell the soft fresh laundry scent of him, feel his warm skin from sleep.

Sometimes, I could go months without thinking about the truth;

but sometimes, there were days it would hit me like a truck.

“You’re not real!” I’d cry. He’d be sitting on my bed with me. Reaching out his hand, I’d flinch away. “None of this is real Xavier! You’re not real, this world isn’t real. I’m stuck in this reality where everything is hell, and I have nothing.”

“Hey, I need you to breathe-” This would be one of those moments where I could read his eyes. They’re always so alive, you wouldn’t be able to tell it was all a dream I created in my mind. His electric eyes that would go dark with a whirl-wind of emotions. Sadness, worry, disappointment. It would always be like I could actually see him in front of me, and not like I would be staring at my ceiling sobbing in my bed;

Alone.

No matter what, I’d always forget reality again, and he always came crawling back. We’d pretend like none of it ever happened. Of course it worked, why wouldn’t it? I controlled everything. All of his moves, all of his words, every laugh that came out of his beautiful mouth. He was my puppet and this was my play, just an actor in this devastating work of theatre.

I’d find myself mentioning him without realizing.

“My brother nearly burned down the kitchen yesterday!” One of the girls in my classes had said, groaning and throwing her face in her hands.

I smiled, “I have a friend like that. His cooking skills are… well let's just say calling it ‘cooking’ might be a bit generous.”

They all wiggled their eyebrows, ‘Ooo,’ they’d say, ‘he? Come on, are you holding out on us!’ Laughter erupted around the table, and my cheeks flushed. My whole body lit up with embarrassment, turning red from head to toe.

That night I went home and threw myself into my room, locking my door and screaming at the top of my lungs. Choking out sobs, throwing whatever my frail, shaking hands could grab.

“He’s not real! He’s! Not! Real!” I chanted like a prayer, a prayer that he would just disappear from my mind and I could just be normal. I felt defeated; while my heart struggled, my mind was strained too. My whole world, my entire life revolved around a boy that didn’t exist.

After my breakdown and a shattering ego death, I came to the heart wrenching conclusion that it was time I got over all of this. I needed to grow up, focus on the life ahead of me. I was going to graduate highschool, I was going to go to school to achieve my dreams, I was chasing the life I always wanted.

All by myself.

I couldn’t live the rest of my life tucking myself away everytime life got hard, talking to someone that I made in my head.

I grieved him, mourning as if I had suffered the death of someone so close to me I couldn't bear to go on without him. Yet, with time, the wounds began to heal and the chronic, plaguing thoughts of him fleeted my head. I tucked him deep into a pocket of my mind I couldn’t access if I tried, just to keep myself safe from my own thoughts.

Thanks to all the attention I poured into my studies to distract myself from the emptiness of him being gone, I graduated with excellent grades and got into my first choice, the university of my dreams.

Walking down the campus sidewalk, I took a deep breath of the brand newness of everything. The cold fall air was putting hustle in everyone's strides on the first day of classes, and I mumbled a prayer that things would be different. Life would be different. Things wouldn’t be so lonely or empty anymore.

Trying to navigate my way around, someone bumped into me, almost knocking the both of us down.

They stumbled back, revealing a boy's shy smile, and a quiet chuckle that sounded like an angel's song you’d want to replay on repeat for the rest of your life; one I was all too familiar with.

“Oh, I should have looked where I was going, sorry-”

The boy trailed off and I couldn’t help but stare at him in awe.

The sparkling blue eyes, and his fluffy hair tousled around from the fall wind. The smile that could light a room, and a face that could melt thousands of hearts. He shone bright like a star. I thought if I breathed, or even blinked, he would disappear.

“Anyways, It’s my first day. Well, it’s everyone's first day, but it’s my first…first day. Does that make sense?” He frowned and his ears turned red, as met my eyes for the first time during the whole interaction.

I blinked, and let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, as he didn’t disappear, “Uh, yeah. It’s my first-first day too.”

The boy laughed, his shyness fading. He could laugh a million times, and I’d keep saying things to keep it going. I never wanted it to stop, I wanted to hear it until the moment I took my last breath.

“Well since it’s both of our first-first day, I guess I’ll be seeing you around campus a lot…” he paused, waiting for my name.

I whispered it so quietly, like it was a curse to speak it out loud. I wasn’t even sure he’d heard me, yet he nodded and softly smiled.

“It’s nice to meet you then. I’m Xavier.”

(divider by cafekitsune)

[insert-something-funy-here]

PHIGHT OR PHLIGHT

Happy holidays!!! Here's chapter 4!! I might have a special present by christmas for yall if I'm not too busy :)

Hope yall enjoy stinky man crashing out while his rogue robot reconsider his career change!!

Bit of a content warning here: religious ideology and character death, read at your own discretion.

Part 1 || Part 3 || Part 5

Using the power of a god as a battery, how laughable. But this connection could do more than that, it was a direct way of influence. Granted it would be easier to leave him as he is, but where’s the fun in that? Besides, he’d get there eventually, may as well speed up the process and play with the product. Frankly, it doesn’t truly matter either way, alive or not, there’s nothing that can’t be manipulated.

Biograft could feel the air of the room around him, he lies shut down on the workbench as Medkit integrates the eye to power him. He felt the air inside him, his poor cooling system barely keeping it moving. He felt himself fall deeper than his body, he felt something other than himself in his code.

“That man may have created you, carved your mind, but I gift you life, soul.”

When making him, Subspace used hard code. All Biograft had known was the simplicity of set values and fixed data. Outside of that were the servers, all updates and new information being inputted through them. That was all he had to think about, all he could think about. But some loose line of code allowed for something more. But right now, he was still just code.

“ You’ll exist proper thanks to me.”

He could feel something new brewing inside him. Hear the gentle hum of energy flowing through him, replacing the electricity he ran on. He felt him. The Father changing him.

“You could consider yourself one of my children, as I am the one to truly give you existence through a fraction of myself.”

This pushing, crowding, invading of his innermost self. Is it even him thinking?

“I hold all my followers dear, but you? I have high hopes for. You best not disappoint. I have no use for a child which cannot provide back to me.”

Is it him thinking? Or is it this invisible force living through him? He felt the whirrs of his fans, but was it him making them move? He felt a gentle pulse as his new core began to stabilize. Did he have a heartbeat? Or was it just this hidden lord which forced its mimicry. Did he breathe? Or was the air he felt just commanded by some remorseless emperor to move as such?

“Don’t worry, don’t fight, you’ll receive what you wish, just don’t fight it.”

He felt his being expanding, preset values becoming dead weight. Stored data becoming memory-like. Simple intake and analysis becoming learning. As though he were being created, no, birthed for the first time. His limitations being stripped, he could edit his own code. But this came with a weight to it, the burden of a soul always does.

“Now then, what have you to say?”

He could speak whatever he wanted, but knew the response he owed.

“Thank you Father.”

Bigrafts lights turn on, a teal color replacing the orange they were before. The projection on his face now only showing one eye, the other replaced by a cactus flower. He sits up as Medkit watches anxiously. Biograft looks away from him and to himself, opening and closing his hands. Everything had this new depth to it; he felt his joints, his “skin”, the ever so slight warmth from the lights across him, and Medkit’s stare. After a deep breath and clearing his throat, Medkit breaks the silence, “How do you feel?”

Biograft thinks for a moment, realizing how the question doesn’t overwhelm him. He’s feeling a lot, but he’s able to think through it now. “I feel… I feel content. It’s odd, I have so much on my mind, but right now I feel okay.”

Medkit’s expression shifts slightly, showing some relief and a bit of surprise, “Good… that’s good,” he nods, “I should let Scythe know we’re finished.” Biograft nods and watches as medkit leaves. He steps off the workbench and stretches, it’s a familiar sensation, yet it’s different now. He looks down and notices the Blackrock emblem previously on his chest now replaced by that of the Lost Temple. Scythe’s and Medkit’s entrances interrupt him.

“Well lookie here!” Scythe steps in front of him, looking him up and down before putting a hand on his shoulder, “lookin like real family!” She gives a gentle squeeze before letting go and turning to Medkit, “You did a fine job on him. How’s his gear lookin?”

Biograft looks at Scythe confused, knowing what he’s about to ask she answers first, “Well we have to make sure ye distinguishable from the others don’t we? Don’t worry, I’ll teach ya how to use it.”

Medkit goes to one of the counters while Biograft responds, ‘I’m sure I’m capable of learning my own gear-”

Scythe cuts him off as Medkit walks towards the two with Biograft’s new weapon, “Aw but where’s the fun in that, besides you’ll already be with me for the next lil while considerin’ I gotta show you around.” Biograft opted not to respond, recognizing his lack of choice in the matter. He looks at the double-headed spear Medkit hands him, the ends having been taken from his old swords, but they’re now the same teal his lights are. He takes it and steps back in order to spin it a few times, feeling the new weight in his hands. “Havin’ fun?’ He stops as Scythe speaks, “Now, I got one last thing before we get going, you need a name lil guy!”

Biograft looks at her confused, so she continues, “Well we can’t just keep callin' ya Biograft, you’ll get mixed up with the others! So let’s give you a real name-”

Before Scythe gets a chance to continue, Biograft interrupts, “I want Medkit to pick it.”

Scythe chuckles under her breath and the two of them look at Medkit expectantly. Medkit thinks to himself for a moment. Seeing as he should be named after his gear the first word to come to mind was jägerstock; however, that doesn’t run off the tongue particularly well. It’s also known as a hunting staff… “Hunter.”

Biograft, no, Hunter stares at him before nodding, “That is my name now,” he looks at Scythe, “Hunter.”

“Well then, since that’s settled, we oughta get goin,” She walks to the door, motioning for Hunter to follow her, “See ya round ‘Kit.”

Hunter looks at Medkit for a moment, having so much more to say, but only manages to get out, “Bye,” with an implied, ‘for now I hope,’ before leaving. Medkit returns a quick goodbye as Hunter walks through the door.

Being left alone, Medkit reflects. The remaking of Hunter's gear was a familiar process, it reminded him of just how much he missed his old work. Gods, he hated being a doctor. It was such a miserable thing. But he couldn’t just stop. Not when there are people to help. That’s why he lives, isn’t it? That’s why he has the abilities he does. Why his crystal is different from Subspace’s at least.

The two had carved tangible pieces of the Iphinity which solidified into the crystals they used for power. It asked them what they wanted. Subspace said to destroy, Medkit said to help. The equipment they used has long been destroyed and Medkit made sure to take his notes before leaving. It would take Subspace some time to figure out how to repair the machinery missing half the processes for such.

Subspace’s crystal was much better at holding and channeling energy, while Medkits was better for manipulating it. That was how he healed people, simply reversing their wounds. It’s how he’s able to revive them.

It helps people, but he hates it.

He hates it. He hates the panic of being too late. He hates the chance that there may be a day where he cares for those he could save no more than Subspace does his test subjects. He hates that he cares underneath it all. He hates that he knows that day has long been coming. He hates it. He hates it. He hates it.

But what he hates most, is that there are demons he can’t save, because he knows he’s one of them.

A couple days pass, Scythe training Hunter and teaching him the church’s ways. If it weren’t for The Father’s energy keeping him alive, he wouldn’t have followed any of the beliefs they were spoon feeding him. Though, he only took a couple to heart.

He doesn’t need sleep, but finds mild satisfaction in it, so he continues the habit. Today Scythe wakes him, seeming quite excited, “Get up! You got yer first mission today!” He gets up from his bed, leaving the mostly empty room and follows behind Scythe as they walk through the church's halls. “It’s a simple one, we’re gettin’ some gears for a dear patron of the church. It’ll be interesting seeing how ya do against a triple for your first kill, but I think you’ll do fine.”

Confused, he asks, ‘A triple? Please clarify.”

Scythe laughs, “A triple is a demon who’s gear has three main parts, instead of the usual one. They’re rare, ‘bout as rare as healers. Doubles, like me, are still pretty rare, but not as much as them. The one you’ll be goin’ after is named C.G. and wields a saber, rifle, and flag. We’ll be makin’ our way to Thieve’s Den.” Hunter nods, remaining quiet for a few seconds as he takes in the information.

“You said this would be my first kill. That is incorrect, unless you mean in the context of my working for the church.” Scythe stops in front of him and starts laughing.

She turns to face him, “Aw, bless your heart! You really think what you’ve done before counts?”

He looks at her confused, “Why wouldn’t it? Those demons are dead.”

She continues to laugh, Hunter unable to tell if it’s genuine or mockery. She takes a deep breath before staring him down, “Let me ask you somethin’, have you ever felt the weight of a life in your hands?” Before he can respond, she steps closer, “I know you’ve killed, but that wasn’t when you were living, that was when it was all you were meant for. All you were made for, because you were just a machine. Don’t misunderstand, you're still a machine, but you’re alone now. An individual that can think and feel fer itself, bearin’ the burdens of life. You haven’t killed like this.” She takes another step forward, “You have to take now, knowing you can be taken from just the same. You have a life now, you have something- well, someone, to loose. Still think you can kill the same?” Hunter finds himself unable to respond, tense. She grabs his shoulders, “Aw, you’ll be okay, there’ll be consequences if you can’t, but I know you it in you. Besides, family’s here to help, I’ll be watching your first couple missions, so don’t worry about anythin’ goin’ too wrong, alright?” Hunter hesitantly nods. Scythe lightly pats his shoulders before stepping away and the two of them leave the church.

“DAMN IT” Sucpace yells while throwing various supplies off one of his lab tables, glass shattering and various substances sprawling out on the floor. Hyperlaser observes his tantrum from afar. He had come to ask about the sudden drop in security, but found this instead.

“What the hell happened?” Whatever it was was definitely going to mean lots of work for him, so better to just get to the point.

“They got away! They- Medkit and that Biograft, they’re alive and they got away!” Subspace’s voice chokes up as he starts a coughing fit.

“A Biograft? Really?” That would explain the current state of things, but it was still hard to believe. Still not fully understanding, Hyperlaser asks a bit more forcefully, “What happened.”

Clearing his throat, “I had him cornered. Biograft was supposed to help, I had him. Medkit was right there in front of me, and that corrupted Biograft punched me off! Medkit’s bullet took a chunk of my side!” He motions dramatically to the injury. “Then they ran off!” he grips the table, about ready to throw it like he did with all the supplies which previously rested on it. “He took it! He broke him! He-”

Hyperlaser cuts him off before he could get too absorbed in his rant, “I assume you want me to retrieve him?”

Subspace pauses for a moment before grinning under his mask, seemingly a bit calmer, “No, no it’s fine, I’ll get back at him! I’ll just go back to the plan I had before! It’ll be perfect! I’ll take from him like he did to me!” As Subspace starts to laugh to himself, Hyperlazer decides that it’d be smart to leave. Subspace, not really noticing or caring about his exit, brings out an older set of files and starts writing on a nearby whiteboard.

All he has to do is kill Sword! That’s all! He’ll kill him, figure out some way of animating his corpse, and use him to get to dear ol’ Meddy! And once Meddy is dealt with, fixing that rogue robot is next on the list. How dare Medkit corrupt his son. There’s nothing wrong with Biograft, all his inventions are as flawless as he is! This one just needs some… correcting! With Meddy out of the way, it’ll be easy! But first things first, that son of a sword.

He arrives in a desolate grassland. There’s only one person other than him and Scythe. That’s the target, just a quick kill, then he’s done.

He arrives at a house. There’s only one demon inside. A Slow and painful death is what he deserves.

Hunter quietly approaches them, weapon ready in his hands.

Subspace begins flooding Sword’s house with a newer variation of his usual poison gas.

They stand and turn to face Hunter. They remain in a cold silence, waiting for the other to make a first move.

The Home’s air is suddenly chilling, but it takes Sword a while to notice something’s wrong. He hears his front door open and stands up. He sways and almost almost falls over going to see who just came in. He can't see much more than a tall figure, but there’s only one person who would walk into his home unannounced like this.

It’s hard to tell who swung first, but it didn’t matter considering neither of their attacks were hitting. Hunter still being unused to his weapon put him at a disadvantage. The demon he was fighting was weak, but knew how to use their gear in ways that made up for it. All it took to get them on the ground was a slight misstep and a smart calculation.

“Dad?”

“Go on, just make it quick.”

A sharp pain in his gut followed by laughter and a distorted voice, “Oh dear child, is that who the poison made you see?” he asks mockingly before continuing to laugh. He pulls the weapon out of him, watching as Sword falls to the ground. He says, “You both deserve this.” before stabbing him once again.

Hunter was caught off guard by the sudden surrender. The fight was a difficult one, but they were fighting. Perhaps there was something more he was missing, but he had to focus and get this over with.

As Sword lays bleeding out before him the air starts to feel tense, and not because of his poison. Without warning Subspace is suddenly thrown into a wall, it almost breaking from the impact. He coughs and takes a moment to regain himself before looking forward and seeing someone holding Sword.

And with one swift movement, it was.

They were gone.

They were gone, lying still, resting.

Scythe steps forward as Hunter stares at the body before him. For the first time since having the ability to feel, he felt nothing. Blank and void. Or perhaps he was feeling so much he just couldn’t feel it. Regardless, he was numb. Trapped. Scythe Picks up one of the gears, “Aw look, baby’s first kill!” She’s about to congratulate him, but without warning a familiar red rope wraps around him and steals him away. ‘SFoTH Damnit!” she huffs, picking up the gears and chasing after Hunter and his captor.

The rope around Hunter lets go as he finds himself next to Katana. ‘So you are the Biograft he mentioned.”

Hunter had questions, but they both knew it wasn’t long before Scythe found them, “My name is Hunter. Who told you about me?”

Katana sighed, “Hyperlaser.” Before Hunter asked anything more he asked, “Why? Why do you join them? They are corrupt. You are a hatchling young and blind. They are clipping you of wings you have yet to grow.”

“For someone I care about.” Biograft stands, readying his weapon.

A few moments pass, Katana processing his words, “I see. Then I shall cut you down as I would any of them.” He begins charging his weapon. Before either can move, Scythe steps in.

“Well, well, well, been a while hasn’t it?” Scythe smiles at Katana.

“Far too long. I'll see to it that your head is permanently severed from your body." He grimaces under his mask.

She chuckles "How violent! It's funny how some things never change." Scythe turns to Hunter, “We’ll leave for now, don’t need to drag the newbie into this! C’mon.” Scythe turns invisible, Hunter copies.

“Your corruption truly knows no bounds,” is the last thing they hear from Katana as they escape back to the church.

This was not good, not in the slightest. Sword was dead yes, but now his father was beating Subspace to a pulp. Venomshank knew he would outlive Sword, he always knew that. Relationships of any kind between gods and mortals never ended happily. But this wasn’t how Sword was supposed to die. This wasn’t when Sword was supposed to die. That boy had so much potential, and was such a kind soul, only to die like this. Venomshank should’ve been faster, he should’ve dropped what he was doing the second something felt off, should’ve trained him better, should’ve spent more time with him, should’ve… Should’ve better shown his care. Showed his love. Showed how Sword is and always will be a part of him. He should’ve actually followed through on his duty and promise to always be there for him.

But he’s already gone. The cause of his death almost gone too. Though Subspace is laying on the ground, coughing and wheezing, something’s wrong. He’s going to do something, but what?

It’s well known that when two phighters sacrifice their gear to the spawn, they obtain a biological child. The SFoTH deities being the exception. So what if one sacrificed their gear to god? A gear is attached to one’s soul, there’s plenty of worth in it. But is it enough for a blessing? Subspace had gone over the possibilities before, it was likely nothing would happen, especially considering the decay starting to corrupt his gear, but what else was there to do? He wasn’t going to just lie there and accept death, he was supposed to be making others do that! So in a last ditch effort, he calls to the only god he thought would respond and offers himself.

“ILLUMINA!!”

[myceliumfungi]

So maybe you already know I'm from country I kinda regretting being from, but that's not the topic of discussion so I have something to say.

We have 6 characters from Russia or USSR, and that's more than Chinese characters, so that's surprising, because the company is Chinese. At the start, we had only Lilya and Zima, and no matter how I like Lilya as the character, she is weak representative, because she is clichée in every way possible. Zima is better, they even used Cyrillic alphabet to write his name, and he is truly a slavic archetype because almost 90% of known poets and writers were exiled one way or another. His only lack is REALLY POOR RUSSIAN, much worse than Lilya's.

Can't really comment Eni at the point, she's from about the same epoque as Zima (but her Russian is not awful as his, so I'd rated her higher)

And then we have Rayashki which I love a lot. It's a very solid representation, backgrounds look so much authentic, and designs too. Also I like that Vila is really existing type of mermaid from tales of south slavs. And of course, Polar Night really sounds like 90s in former USSR. So good

Even Rayashki skins are neat (Oliver finally got his victory of proletariat) (Medicine Pocket is Sharikov from the heart of a dog. Yes, the company knows certainly what they're doing. The funniest skin in the industry)

reverse 1999 players !! i need to know!!! if you are non english native speaker and your culture has representation in r1999 how do you feel about it? is it good representation? how do you feel when you suddenly hear your native language?

and english speaking players what are your thoughts on different languages/cultures? I NEED TO KNOW SOO BAD

[its-no-biggie]

thinking about 1863 again......

(utc bc this is kinda long, but while im here. orv epilogue spoilers ahead!!)

the 1863rd turn is probably the single time i related to kim dokja the most...... like. i know theres no reason to be upset about han sooyoungs plan. its perfectly reasonable and the person its the most unfair to, yoo joonghyuk, also goes along with it of his own free will. its a very clean ending all things considered. its even very satisfying writing-wise - the protagonist sacrifices everything and suffers constantly in order to finally get what he truly wants. i can see how the star stream accepted a story like this - i know i would read it.

but its also completely unacceptable. you cant just cast aside the protagonist! you cant just pile all this pain and suffering on him with no reprieve!! and most importantly, you cant end the story like this!!!! what about everything he fought so hard for??? he cant just give up! hes yoo joonghyuk!!! this isnt the ending i want (i dont want it to end) i want him to be happy (i cant let him have the one thing he really truly wants) this ending isnt fair (to me)!!!!

oh. this kind of mirrors how orv goes, doesnt it...... like. 1863!hsy balanced out the probability of keeping all of yjhs companions alive and completing the scenarios by offloading it all onto yjh. the only way to get this kind of ending is if yjh becomes the enemy of the whole world and loses all his loved ones and then ceases to exist at the end. which is completely unacceptable to the reader who cares about the protagonist...... so of course. kdjs way of getting his perfect ending is bearing the probability himself. he becomes the enemy of the whole world and sacrifices himself over and over and then ceases to exist at the end. he takes on the role of protagonist to save yjh from that fate, not realizing that changing whos in the drivers seat doesn't change the fact that the ending is unacceptable. the very idea is unfathomable to him because he cant imagine someone loving him the way he loves yjh.......

and even the ending is mirrored - 1863!yjh is saved and his story continues because kim dokja interferes. the reader is an active participant in the story - they decide what happens after the ending that was designed by the author, enacted by the character, and demanded by the world of the story. so if you want to save kim dokja, you have to do your part as the reader. the author alone cant go against the decided ending, but the reader can imagine a new ending where there were no consequences and everyone is happy, and the act of imagining it makes that ending real. the ending you wish for matters, because the reader is just as vital to the storytelling process as the author....... like. the fact that this ending plays out in microcosm like halfway through the novel???? oh my god??????

[shelfthe-reader]

lee fletcher is tired dad camp counselor vibes. especially with michael. (and will/cecil/lou hijinks). by the time it gets to kayla and austin (i love them but they're insane) he's given up.

thoughts?

Well its a good thing he didn’t need to deal with Kayla and Austin for that long

[serpentface]

Faiza performing the Kagnoma Odo (pretty literally 'lion dance'), a weapons dance and one of the more important ritual duties of Odonii priestesses. A relatively new addition to this traditional dance involves the musket as the primary weapon, which is fired mid-twirl into the ground at the climax of the dance. Faiza is experiencing an 'oh fuck' moment because her shot is more than ideally diagonal, but she’s being so cool with it.

This is a wholly ceremonial performance at the onset of the pilgrimage, performed in full regalia and lion skin (of the small, semi-domesticated strain) but no armor. It’s also distinctly a display of political allegiance between the powerful and beloved Odonii priesthood (and its loyal military) with the increasingly reviled and destabilized imperial family, with Faiza prominently wearing a bracelet of the royal serpent, which was gifted (along with the musket) by the usoma Stavis Amanti himself (Usoma is the Wardi word for king, which has been retained in the context of emperors).

The Kagnoma Odo is the ultimate demonstration of the Odonii as an embodiment of the Lion Face of God and living vessel of military might and sovereignty, demonstrating her fitness and proficiency with weapons and as a spiritual unifier for soldiers. It is accompanied by drumming and occurs in stages, running through the three keymost weapons used in war- the spear, the sword, and the musket. The musket is of the most significance, given the weapon has developed a particular esteem as the ultimate embodiment of might and superiority. Assistants (almost always other priestesses, occasionally high ranking soldiers) load and prime the musket to be fired at the climax of the dance, where it is shot into the ground as the priestess leaps out of range of the shot. The firing signals the end of the dance and the rite itself.

While not the utmost exemplar of trigger discipline, only fully inducted and senior (and therefore very thoroughly trained) Odonii are permitted to perform the dance, and injuries during actual performances are quite rare (though are known to occur during training, more than a few Odonii have burns and wounds on their feet).

The most important renditions of this dance are performed upon declarations of war and before battles (in this case, generally done in full armor along with the lion pelt). It is also done during some trainings (while a dance, it is carefully choreographed to include naturalistic maneuvers of the weapons involved and helps soldiers limber up and learn to move their weapons). It is regarded as an impressive and motivating sight and a morale booster, and, seen at a distance, potentially intimidating to enemies.

A special variant of this dance is performed as means of fully incarnating the Odomache, which is done in full nudity with the body covered in the blood of the freshly sacrificed lion and cloaked in its raw pelt (the lion has become the corpse of Odomache in the moment of death, as part of its recreation of God's sacrifice). Her public, full nude appearance once (and only once) in this act is what allows the Lion Face of God to incarnate within her. Those in attendance see the spiritually vulnerable, naked human body obscured with the sanctified and deified blood and cloaked in the sanctified and deified skin. It is a merger of the contradictions of mortality and divinity, the boundaries between the two indistinct in flickering firelight and the flash of musketfire. She is witnessed by her people, dangling in between humanity and divinity and leading them in dance, and and is thus transformed.

[avatar-mikazuki]

Let's talk about that shared braincell. The shared braincell essentially is an oversimplified way of saying they share common interests and chemistry that make them work.

Let's be for real how many straight couples in media do we see not forced by the narrative??? How many Animes have you seen where the couple is in sync, naturally drawn to each other outside of plot??? I don't think that happens super often. It's usually opposites attract. It's usually part of the plot they're together, forced by happen stance or a trope. You can look past it all because it's cute and it works, but truly, a couple that enjoys themselves together with shared interests that are alike in personality but different enough to have their specific chemistry??? At least for me, I don't see that often.

It's different because you watch it build in their minds too. "Is this goodbye? Or goodbye, " they think in sync as one walks away.

"I was looking for you everywhere. Where were you!?" "You were looking for me? I was, too." They misunderstand each other because they both had the same ideas, but it doesn't last forever. They actually talk about their misunderstandings, and it works. They talk to each other earnestly, and in doing so, there is no frustration on the readers/anime watchers. No frustration between the characters is extended longer than it has to be. That's good writing!

You see their communication often, too. "I don't care who choose to make out with." "I KNEW that was bothering you!!" And okarun begins to explain he doesn't care who misunderstands him so long as she doesn't because she matters, this calms her down. Later, he is fully honest with her about what happened and why, the honesty wins her over. The way he tries for her and wants to impress her and woo her wins her over.

They are so incredibly healthy together, complimentary and well written, what is there not to like? They're two teens with a crush that aren't toxic, make no sense, or forced by the plot. Their relationship exists despite the plot. Hell, they thought they were only hanging out cuz of the paranormal and DECIDED that wasn't enough and became friends. That decision, their active roles in how their relationship develops is what makes this ship good.

A lot of people might wonder how an heterosexual relationship would be so popular here on tumblr with Momo and Okarun. It's simple, you see. They're two fucking idiots. Two absolute fools. They share a single braincell and it loves Ancient Aliens and Buzzfeed Unsolved Supernatural.