#corrosive rambles

[unma]

Someone on youtube has been streaming their attempts at a Shi Heath solo for Erkling Heathcliff's final battle for a total of 37.5 hours (and counting, they're streaming right now) and I'm impressed at the dedication. Holy hell, man. Good luck.

[tetsuskei]

to add onto my last post, i think part of childe being a harbinger is essentially him taking a bad situation and trying to make the best out of it

[papermint-airplane]

I woke up with a spider crawling on my neck. The same spider I spared when I found it hanging out in my living room a while ago primarily because I couldn't get to it. This is how it repays me.

So now I can't tell if it bit me or not because my neck is covered in eczema and it's already itchy as fuck but there is a bump where there wasn't one yesterday. I can't tell if it's under the skin or what.

Some lucky bitches get to wake up with a sexy vampire feeding on them. I get an ungrateful spider. 😠

[spaghettiandart]

michael afton wip :]

[uniquezombiedestiny]

I LOVE YOU

[thatotherman001]

Fae and Nova are not crying…

They are foaming…

[dragongirltail]

Got myself the soma incarnon when it cycled in like 2 weeks ago and I don't quite understand what everyone says that it's underwhelming

Mania would like to disagree, I think.

[nekoekko-art]

Eldritch AU posting WOO

Imma tag everything related to this as "eldritch au" from this point forward!

This pos is basically just me thinking who is on which side

Human side:

Gregor

Sinclair

Don Quixote

Hong Lu

Meursault

Ryoshu

Eldritch side (whatever they represent):

Outis (Ruination)

Yi Sang (idk pls send help) (Isolation??)

Faust (idk pls send help x2)

Ishmael (Storm)

Rodion (Depth)

Heathcliff (Void)

For Eldritch side, most of them are based on their EGO/ encanto/ whatever vibe I got from them. Also also, the first 3 are forest-oriented and the others are ocean-oriented!

[saturnisfallingdown]

yeah hurt/comfort is cool or whatever but have you ever done a gentle amateur at-home repair for a beloved piece of technology

[shiawasekai]

Alas, i was so determined to keep the animal companion for Sithelra that there is a point about her entire design that bothers me.......... Her current build is strength-based, she doesn't look like a physically strong character at all.

To soothe my suspension of disbelief, i decided it's totally the spirit of Stone what's reinforcing her body to make her strong enough in physical combat.......... yeah............

I also need to design a battle-ready outfit sometime. I'm drawing the line at believing she's fighting on that dress.

[capaldiera]

thinking about lesbian james bond is a little bit like prayer in that you don't need to literally believe for it to be meaningful. enriching even. and real in a way

[transingthoseformers]

So.

This is bled energon, apparently. And a chunk of Bumblebee

Sure the phone doesn't give the correct color and i don't know if it's one of those eye tricks so I'm going to give you the closest hexcode i found on wikipedia to properly explain it

Now, the things about this energon that get me. It's a lot darker and a lot more blue skewed than we usually see the pink variety of energon. It's got a weird texture to it like you'd see in wet clay or water with chalk in it. It's a little stickier than blood and far thicker. Also a major detail apparently you can just uh

fUCKING TOUCH IT. Now this may be a fanon thing i went nuts about, but isn't energon usually corrosive to organic beings? Well tbh this does later create a highly corrosive substance

[artekai]

When love in fiction is portrayed as a destructive force, both to the self and others

[dunmeshistash]

I'm gonna ramble a bit as I reread but I think Dungeon Meshi might be the first time I've seen a "The enemy cannot be reasoned with" "they are too far gone" that was actually true.

Usually when that's said that the protagonists proves them wrong by actually giving a chance to the villain or by believing in their friends but... Thistle really cannot be reasoned with. Not because he's cruel or evil, but because he's literally too far gone.

The demon's corrosion of his mind has happened for too long, he has been living in pure paranoia for hundreds of years, here he's incapable of properly thinking, a few nice words cannot undo a thousand year of damage. The demon's influence on his has destroyed this poor kid's mind.

He isn't being evil here, he THINKS he's actually fixing things

This baby boy really cannot be reasoned with in a very realistic way I think

I really enjoy this part, I really enjoy that is a moment of "the protagonist trusted the villain and paid the price" but not in the usual "the villain betrayed their good faith" way. In the way that the villain actually didn't have the capacity to escape their spiral, even with a hand extended to them.

He didn't mean to betray Laios' trust, he isn't manipulating or lying to him. By all accounts this is the ideal situation Laios wanted where the bad guy actually listens to him. And yet <3

It's so tragic, I love it.

[ryin-silverfish]

I know, I know. LMK is kinda its own fantasy setting at this point, not everything has to be mythos-accurate, yadda yadda yadda.

However, I won't be me if I don't take the chance to ramble and nitpick anyways.

Basically: What do I mean when I say "Chaos doesn't work that way in traditional Chinese cosmology", in regards to LMK S5?

When people think of Chaos in the pop culture sense, it tends to be this destructive, corrosive force of entrophy, or a maelstrom of changes and aimless activities.

Even when the Chaos/Order divide doesn't get simplified into Evil/Good, Chaos is still painted as the antithesis of Order, and the two forces are often engaged in an antagonistic, dualistic conflict.

The way the primodial chaos is described in LMK very much fits that mold. It is something Nvwa has to create the Pillar of Heaven to protect humanity from, its magic is dark and ominous-looking, and the villain of the season is obsessed with it.

Yet Chaos——Hundun, when it isn't this cute little guy in the Book of Mountains and Seas:

or the victim of two gods' failed cosmetics surgery in Zhuangzi, is simply the undifferentiated, pre-creation state of the world, before it separates into Yin and Yang and the Five Phases.

In fact, Chaos in early Daoism and later, internal alchemy is something one desires to return to, because with the division of Chaos into Yin and Yang and the subsequent formation of the world also comes life and death, suffering and disorder.

For early Daoists, they yearned to return to that primitive, undivided state, which was viewed as a golden age, on an individual and societal level. For practitioners of internal alchemy, it was a lot more personal: by returning oneself to that primodial, Pre-Heaven stage through the blending of one's Spiritual Mind and Vital Force, one can attain immortality.

In fact, the word for the sort of disorder and mayhem people imagine when they heard "Chaos" is not Hundun, but Luan in early Chinese sources.

Both early Daoists and Confucians used the word Luan in their writings, but had significantly different take on what caused it.

To early Daoists, Luan was the result of people imposing their arbitary moral standards and civilization onto the natural, undifferentiated state of the world, a.k.a. what the Confucians and their idealized sage kings had done.

By introducing order, they caused division in the undivided, and from such divisions comes disorder. After all, if you had to educate people on right and wrong and exhort them to do good, then the world you were living in was already an immoral one.

(That's what the fable of the failed cosmetics surgery in Zhuangzi means...probably. Where two sea gods try to artificially create the seven orifices for the faceless Central Lord Chaos to repay his favor, and end up killing him in the process.)

The early Confucians also shared the same yearning to return to the golden age of the ancients, but their idea of the golden age wasn't the sea of undifferentiated, primodial unity.

Instead, it's the reign of the virtuous sage kings. Luan was the result of a breakdown of the order they established, as people lost respect for propriety and hierarchy of relations and began to behave immorally.

Their most explicit mention of Hundun was in Zuo Zhuan, where it was one of the Four Perils, all of which were immoral offsprings of ancient kings who were exiled by Sage King Shun. It very much fits into the narrative of "triumph of the righteous ruler over rebellious vassals", civilization over disorder.

However, the Confucian Hundun was no actual, primodial force of chaos, merely a historicized personification of disorderly, wrongful *human* conducts. In return, order isn't the cosmological, capital "O" Order either, but a moral and societal one.

Anyways, that's why the Order/Chaos conflict doesn't map neatly onto ancient Chinese cosmology: to have an Order/Chaos conflict implies there is a division, when Hundun is actually the lack of any sort of division.

Neither is Hundun a cosmological force of destructive changes and entrophy. If anything, it's more like the state of nature, from which everything spawns and will ultimately return to.

A cosmic egg, a sea of warm primodial soup, instead of a maelstrom of destruction or a corrupting poison.

(TL;DR: reject Moorcock, embrace Zhuangzi. /lh)

[1920sladydectective]

Value - 2K Angst Drabble

This one is for @uselessbard1031 who I rambled to endlessly last night. Thank you for entertaining me haha <3

Used third person and gave reader/oc a name to trial if I liked writing like this

Ambessa Medarda has known true love with her wife, and yet she underestimated the value of trust - losing what little light she had.

Warnings: This is an Angsty, Hurt No Comfort One with a Death at the End so please don’t read if that’ll upset you. Some swearing and suggestiveness but it’s not the focus.

She’d been gone for nearly three months and Ariadne was dreadfully bored.

She was not dependent on Ambessa for entertainment, nothing so ridiculous, but she did make everything more colourful. More red.

Having endless money and power meant that sneaking about was a thing of the past. The Medarda crest, solid gold, sat shining on her chest as she floated about rocky cobbled streets. There was nothing new, there never was, but she was not permitted to travel beyond Noxus Proper without her. Normally, this meant nothing as she was her constant shadow, the gentle, hypnotic pairing to her razor edge. But this time, with nothing more than brawling limbs and smashed skulls, her dangerous dance was not required. So here Ariadne was, eating the same old woman’s sweetbread four streets from the dock whilst yet another report was piled on her desk at home.

Ambessa’s firm hands ripped the leg from the charred chicken, dark eyes fixed on a tattered battle map. The uselessness of her scouts was astounding and would not go unchecked. They were essentially blind, running out of resources and fatigued from months of mindless, tactless brawling. The fact that it was in Ionia did not help, with plush swirls of magic and deception twinkling all around. She missed her wife, her etherealness echoed here like an aftershock determined to drag her back home. A few more weeks my love, her tired mind called. If she focused she could see the curl of her hair, the smirk of her lip, hear the lightness of her gasps. Ambessa had mutilated the chicken with her teeth, Ariadne the thing in her grip in her mind’s eye.

Books and scrolls were scattered across a weathered, creaking table. Most of the surroundings had been turned to ash and cinder anyway, with no viable way to hide or reposition. The only true way was left, which heralded their salvation. A way to hide, to act from the shadows, lined with the very resources they needed. It had been a debate for mere seconds, but her smog covered, silent tent reaffirmed that left was the only way to go.

It took two weeks of blood, sweat and fury, but the ground yielded to them. Emerald greens and pretty blues were tinged with a corrosive brown, the very core of the soil’s nutrients being harvested till the land began to wheeze and sigh. The trees here had a particularly hard, spiraling texture that made for a perfect building resource. Each thing they took strengthened them, Noxians rising from the ashes of their struggle with hardened, determined looks. The small, serene pools would cleanse themselves eventually, Ambessa reassured her officers as they tinted it crimson from dried Ionian blood. They were cleansed, restored and Ambessa once again thought of her wife, grateful she had been blessed with knowledge of such a place and sure of her understanding.

Ariadne was struggling to master where the sun would fall. She was a proficient painter, all mediums yielding to her and yet without her reference she was stuck. Her painting knife clattered against marble, aching back crackling backwards as she surveyed the scene. Her scribbles could wait, news had reached them that the battle was finally won. Ambessa would be home within the week and celebrations didn’t plan themselves.

It took her years to adjust to the boastful nature of Noxian victories, but now she relished in it with a ferocity rivalling Ambessa herself. Food, wine, glittering decoration. All of it to honour her Warrior.

Nights were restless, her own duties weighty when she governed alone. Each choice felt sticky, lingering as she honoured the fickle balance of the Noxian and Ionian within her. It felt easier now, nearly two decades after their wedding, to see how she merged with her beloved wolf. She was more giving, more aware of the dusting of people that coated their every path. Ambessa tempered her kindness with the lens of reality, dust was an endless, ever renewing resource and she could not aid and cleanse it all. Though she made these choices she was glad for her wife’s return. The boat docked early afternoon, a well rested legion ready to prepare for their welcome party.

Ambessa only appeared moments before the hosting would begin, which was predictable and infuriating. Ariadne’s body sang a siren song, pushing her into strong, certain arms.

“Hello, Little Moonbeam,” Ambessa said, eyes glowing as she pawed at her silk clad hips.

“Lupus,” She responded, planting a charged kiss to her cheek, “How lovely to see you after so long,”

Ambessa snorted, “I’d like to see you continue pleasantries when I bend you over and use you in front of all of our men,”

“Empty threats don’t suit you, you wouldn’t ruin my little soiree,”

“I might,”

“There is stuffed lobster and enough left over butter that you can lick it from my skin later,”

“I suppose I can schmooze for a few hours,” She conceded with a grin, hand squeezing her ass before wandering off to greet people.

Ariadne rolled her eyes. Her precious, silly woman. Commanding and brutal, with the tenderest voice in all of Runeterra. Champagne bubbles tickled her nose as music and movement enthralled her senses. This was a success, perhaps her best yet.

Hours dashed past, stomachs and hearts heavy with rich, decadent food and an overindulgence of spirits. Ambessa was practically tugging her back to their chambers, filthy words and wandering hands.

Sprawled half naked across their bed with pretty beaded clips carving into her head, she watched her look around.

“Where’s the butter then, hmm?” Ambessa bit at Ariadne’s raised ankle, looming above her.

A light, shining laugh pierced through the warlord’s heart as she shook her head, “Not yet, you always tell me of the battle first,”

“We fought, I smashed things, we won,” Her lips were frantic, impatient, nose nuzzling her ankle.

“Lupus,” She whined, “Please tell me properly,”

“Gods,” A grunt as she flopped next to her, mattress bouncing, “Fine,”

Ambessa’s storytelling was astounding, the fight a harsh mashing of colour and feeling hanging over Ariadne’s eyes as she curled closer. Gasps left her, pride burning low in her stomach as she envisioned her victorious, otherworldly wife conquering yet another patch of their little world.

One thing stood out, a confusing detail, “Where did you end up? The letters didn’t say, but clearly something changed the tides,”

Ambessa tensed, rationality returning slowly. Fuck. Yes.

Ariadne frowned, sitting up, “Ambessa? Nowhere bad I hope, you said there was lots of ash and destruction,”

A click of an unsure tongue, “Western Ionia, just to the right of the Grove,”

Her face dropped, eyes wide, “Was it safe? Please tell me you checked,”

“I preserved it as best as I could, Moonbeam,” Ambessa’s voice was so gentle, “I’m sorry,”

Rage curdled her very blood, “Those bastards,” She spat, “That was such a sanctuary and they ruined it? For a petty patch of land?” That was the Noxian talking, conquest, a necessary and easily accepted part of life.

“I know,” The warlord continued, “It was needless, if they had surrendered we wouldn’t have needed to utilise it,”

No, a hopeful part of Ariadne cried, She misspoke.

“Utilise it?” Her voice was even, eyes understanding.

“Yes,” Ambessa nodded, spurred on by her calm reaction, “It was the only way to ensure victory, the resources there were far more valuable than I’d realised,”

Valuable, the darkness sang, valuable indeed. “And this was clearly the only way,”

“Exactly, I told Rictus you would understand, we couldn’t retreat when we were so close,”

It settled on her, warm and weighted like a bath as it dragged her under. Retreat was an option, just not one acceptable to her warlord’s pride. Seventeen years of her life was draining away now, crimson as it leaked from her soul.

“I understand exactly, General Medarda,” Her eyes were dull, “Victory was secured,”

“I-Yes,” Ambessa said, face still and sharp at her wife’s shift.

“Such a small cost this time too,” She continued, venom sharp and tart, “A true relief, you have only lost your wife,”

Powerful shoulders twitched, any attempt at words flattened by the sudden onslaught of vicious, slicing words Ariadne unleashed.

“Your only boundary, your only concession was my Grove,” Spit and iron tainted her tongue, “I conceded all else, gave myself to you without restraint. I allowed you to kill my people, steal their land and destroy their traditions and in return you promised me that it would remain preserved,”

“Allowed me?” Ambessa scoffed, despite herself, bitterness merging with panic, “I do not need your permission, you forget yourself,”

“Clearly,” The shadows were turned on the warrior now, sharp nails carving through the skin on her thigh, “I never should have submitted to your obsessions, becoming another battered trophy,”

She growled, grip crushing a dainty wrist, “Obsession? I love you wholeheartedly and this is the thanks I get?”

“You wouldn’t know love if it choked your very soul from you, Lupus,”

She retreated now, too late, warm platitudes on those plush, devouring lips.

What a battlefield their bedroom would make, the landscape a No Man’s land of affection and betrayal.

Violent hands flung the Medarda crest across the room, a window shattering to beckon in icy winds. Perfect, true, poetic. The artistic side of Ariadne relished in the physical markers of her turmoil, each part of her breaking as their space devolved into ruins.

Ambessa dodged each projectile, with increasing concern. This was not the anger she had anticipated, there was no balance of wills here. Her darling wife’s eyes were wrong, black as molten tar as she obliterated their life together. No calling, no sweet words, no reprimands brought her back from the cliff’s edge. The rocky waves summoned Ariadne and she fell, willingly, into the vengeful murky depths.

Fury licked at her, hungry and strong, “You won’t even give me a proper fight, you destroy our marriage and then coddle me like a fool,”

“I don’t want to fight you,” Ambessa said, shoulders passive, “I want to listen, my darling, to help you recover,”

“I don’t give a fuck what you want,” Adriadne screamed, lungs full of lava, as she threw the ornate pollarm on the wall to her, gripping one herself “Fight me you Coward,”

Ambessa caught it instinctively, brow furrowed, “That is enough, Ariadne,” She stepped forward, “You do not know how to use that, you could hurt yourself,”

The precision of a painter, swift and true, sliced Ambessa’s face from nose to crown. Soft, curling locks drifted on the cold wind, blood seeping into her mouth. There was no transition, no gradual decline.

Ariadne lay face down on the silk sheets, with her arms painfully pulled behind her, a firm knee on her lower back to keep her pinned, “Are you quite done?”

She was no wolf, the woman towering over her ensured she would never wish to be and her adrenaline bled out. The result was more than she could have feared, glassy eyes observing the bombed out craters in her surroundings, her thoughts jumbled.

“Moonbeam?” It was so sweet, a hypnotic hum to soothe her and she let it, just for a moment, just to gather her thoughts.

Ambessa relaxed as her wife’s body went limp, crawling over her form and pulling it into her embrace. Her nose, now cold from the night air, bumped against her collarbone as she rocked and shushed her.

“Everything’s going to be okay, little one,” She sounded so sure, so certain, “You’re not going anywhere, I have you, we’re going to be just fine,”

Ambessa was right, she realised, she wasn’t going anywhere with a wife such as hers.

Ariadne couldn’t have that, Ambessa deserved to lose as she had.

Serene, with considered movements, she took the dagger from her wife’s belt and slashed her own throat.

The gargle was wrong, the pain immaterial as she felt searing pleasure at the warlord’s watery, desperate eyes.

Let your ‘love’ choke you, Ambessa Medarda.

Ariadne was finally free of her invisible cage, soul dancing off to a thriving forest where the sun settled just as she had imagined it would.