#i will piece this together bit by bit by the power of my own delusion

[ratatatastic]

the sauna robe era: a beautiful saga unfolding before us. we really have gone from "it was matthew's idea to wear them for pregame fits" to "sasha texted them team to make them wear the robes for the preds game"

nashville predators @ florida panthers postgame interview | 11.7.24 (x)(x)(x)(x)(x)

DO YOU KNOW HOW FUNNY IT IS THAT BOTH RODDY AND MAFFHEW WENT oh the whole team all thought it was a prank but we still wore them anyways which somehow makes the robe walkin an exercise in trust and love that everyone passed with flying colours god this team is filled with lobe and friemdship

also happy mackie did in fact get ribbed for taking the shirt option his team uncles sure are giving him the rookie experience and also "i wasn't sure if i was showing too much skin or not" on a team

THAT WALKED IN LIKE THIS WITHOUT ANY SHAME. YEAH BUD I DONT THINK THATS A PROBLEM HERE.

the robes are truly a hit amongst the team aka we dont have to use our brains and we just put on a robe its fantastic, mackie maffhew and nosey are on absolutely onboard unsurprisingly

and if you wondering oh what about paul when will we see him-

the answer is a firm NO on both accounts so to those (me) who wanted to see an old man in a skimpy robe our dreams have to be crushed from the getgo but maybe if the streak goes long enough-

[cryptidghostgirl]

heyhey! You said you had a request but couldn’t see it and in case it was mine here i am once again humbling asking you to feed my delusions. I am the same person who asked for the one with the fake dating trope and the one where reader spawns into the lobby :))

But i am here now going for a more angsty route! >:) Granted, this is more of an OC x Alastor but im describing it more generic for the populace BUT HERE GOES

right before “Cover me” reader kept silently glancing over at Alastor which was on the dance floor, subconsciously making him approach her. He goes of course they have a (Important for later) conversation like “I havent seen you around here. Are you new around town?” “Just moved in actually~” “Well, Id love to give you a tour someday, the names Alastor” and he kisses her hand “Ah a charmer, ill have to be careful around you” (OR A MORE ELEGANT CONVERSATION THEN THAT I SUCK AT DIALOGUE) then theres the knife and gun scene and the team up

And then they get together after about a year or two and I dont wanna say theyre legally married but eventually use wife and husband terms because its more fancy and gives them more respect in eyes of others but they have been together for around 5 years at this point.

but then the events of 1925 happen where readers twin brother dies because some bastards set fire to his house and Reader has an argument with Alastor before eventually going alone to avenge her brother (theyre like “theres too many, youll die” “so be it!”)

Reader kills them all (duh) but because it was January and extremely cold she eventually gets hypothermia and during the delusions it gives she stumbles and gets impaled on an abandoned rusty fence spike and dies :3

Alastor find her and gives her a proper burial and 8 years later in 1933 while visiting readers grave he gets shot canonically

But these 8 years gave reader enoigh time in hell to establish her own dominance and due to the life she lived and the death of hypothermia- she gets turned into a sort of blizzard demon. Around 180 cm with black limbs, white fluffy hair and fluffy ears and a white tail as a sinner form and for the demon form im thinking of the faceless Room Guardians by Anyaboz on Instagram (incredible artist btw) with ice powers like summoning weapons and ice spikes and ice touches and moving freely (like Kindred’s wolf in League) in her blizzard. Taking over half the pentagram like this-

Until 1933 when Alastor pops up in hell, does his demon business and eventually wants to check out these frozen parts and goes into a bar very similar to the one they met and sees reader at the table and then THEY HAVE THE EXACT SAME CONVERSATION THEY HAD WHEN THEY FIRST MET (maybe with the knife and gun scene too hehe) and theyre both like “i forgive you” or smth idk maybe they just have a silent agreement- either way.

After they met the blizzard stops and no one knows why or who did it :>, readers identity as the blizzard demon remaining a secret

BTW I LOVE YOU FOR MAKING MY DREAMS COME TRUE- if you want more i have a ton of ideas because brain rot- (also lil side note i kind of imagine reader as albino because it would fit my ocs lore a bit more- but keeping it basic would fit everyones ideas of their own reader so! do what you please you already made my day better by reading my ideas come to life :3))

yes!! i did see yours and it is currently in third place for requests i need to fill so ill probably get it done by this weekend, early next week at the latest. it’s just taking me a bit because i’m in midterms rn and also i want to make sure i get in all the details :) i think it might’ve been a request for alastor’s mom reader x lucifer?? i recall getting one about that but can’t seem to find it anywhere. long story short,, your request is in progress and i will post it as soon as i have the time to finish it up :)

UPDATE: This piece has officially been posted as of Friday February 23rd, 2024.

Frostbite (Alastor x Reader)

[cute-bag-of-bones]

Can't Trust A Supe

Part 4: You Got My Eyes

Masterlist

Warnings: mentions a graphic death, kidnapping, threats of killing.

       

   Homelander flipped a switch on the wall and the room was illuminated. It was some kind of kid's bedroom. The whole room looked vaguely Homelander-ish. Dark blue walls and crimson rug in front of a doll house modeled after the vought tower. It was hellish, I propped myself up on my elbow to get a better look around the room. The bed I was laying on had a Homelander comforter draped over it. 

         "Nice room right? It used to be a study but we have to make sacrifices for the ones we care about." He came over and sat down on the edge of the bed as he spoke. I quickly moved to the corner of the bed furthest from him and tucked my knees close to my chest. Did he say he cared about me? What the actual fuck is happening. 

       "Where am I?" I say quickly before he can speak again. He tilted his head to the side then gave me what I can only describe as a serial killer's smile. 

         "Simone, you're home." He put a hand on my knee. I think he was trying to comfort me or grab me. I wasn't sure but either way I didn't want it. I scurried off the bed and tripped over an A-train action figure. 

 catching myself I grab onto the desk chair that I subsequently lifted to my chest like I was a lion tamer. Homelander stood up from the bed and approached me with his hands out like he was trying to show he wasn't trying to hurt Me.

         "How the fuck do you know my name!" 

         "I took your ID from your wallet when that walking skid mark tried to rob you. I knew I recognized your face. The fact it was such a horrible fake ID also clued me in." He grabbed the chair by its leg and set it down. I pressed myself against the wall. I was desperate to get away from him. I didn't understand what he was saying to me. 

         "Homelander please please don't kill me. I was a kid, I didn't even see anything. I was like 7! I haven't told anyone anything you don't have to kill me or do whatever this all is. You'll never see me again, please just let me go!" It was begging but at this point I was willing to grovel at his feet if it meant I had a chance of getting out of here in one piece. He knew who my mother was, who my dad was. He was trying to tie up loose ends. 

        He looked almost offended. He shook his head as he looked at me up and down. 

        "When I saw you I thought I was seeing a ghost. You look so much like Diana." He whispered the last part like it was just meant for his ears. He grabbed me by my chin and rested his thumb on the dimple in my chin. He rubbed it gently. "One major difference, she didn't have this cleft chin." He took a deep breath and pulled his hand away from me. He tried to look in my eyes but I was trying everything in my very limited power to stop that from happening. "Do you know who I am?" 

          "Homelander?" I wasn't sure what he was asking. Of course I knew who he was. I had planned to kill him for most of my life. His lips curled up slightly as if just hearing his own name made him happy. 

          "I'm your father Simone."  The words hit me like a ton of bricks. It was like the air was knocked out of me. He was insane.

          "Get away from me. Get away, you are crazy!" I get progressively louder as the sentence continues.  I climbed up on the desk that was pushed up against the wall, blocking my path to the door and jumped off of it but he grabbed my ankle and pulled me back over to him. He grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me a bit.

         "Don't do that, don't run, listen to me. I thought I was crazy too! But I'm sure of it. You have my chin! And powers. Your mother and I always dreamed about having kids together!" His grip tightened and began to hurt. "She never told me she was pregnant, that's why she left me. She was scared! Scared of what Vaught might try to do to you." He had this whole elaborate delusion planned out. He stared at me for a few seconds as his breathing evened out and he calmed down. He let go of my shoulders and I fell to the ground. Tears finally started to rolled down my cheeks. I knew he was wrong. I just wasn't sure how to go about telling him that. 

        "I don't have your powers." I say sheepishly from the ground. He took a deep breath and smiled. 

         "Oh sure you do." He said as he turned and walked out for a second only to return seconds after. He was holding the envelope Billy had given to me. "It says right here." He thumbed through the files inside until he found the paper he needed. "Anatomy kinesis. That doesn't really roll off the tongue but your mom was always the more literal one between us two. She never had any sense of poetry." He held the paper down so I could see it. "You have X-ray vision, so do I. Sure you aren't strong or fast but you got my eyes." He said with a laugh. "I saw them. Last night, Your eyes glowed. I mean yeah they glowed blue but I don't know too much about supe inherited traits. No one does. " I shook my head and looked down. He was a fucking idiot. A delusional one at that.

       "That's hardly evidence, you're grasping at straws Homelander." His upper lip twitched a little as he looked down at me. He grabbed me by my shirt and pulled me off my feet to meet him eye to eye. I was forced to stare into his cold dead eyes. 

       "Do you know how I killed your adopted father? I took this hand and I shoved it down his throat until I felt his jaw snap and his esophagus tear open." He smiled wide as I saw a soft blue light shine against his face. Not long after, I was looking through his body and everyone else's on every floor of Vaught tower. Hundreds of bodies all moving at once. "There it is, you've got daddy's eyes." He cooed. I could see a small red light form behind his eyes. I calmed down and let my vision go back to normal. Homelander's eyes were glowing red. It was like he was trying to show me up or something. Seeing them glow like that took me right back to that day. I could see his heat vision slicing through walls and people all the same as the ground broke beneath me. 

       "Let go of me! You are a monster a fucking psychotic killer!" I screamed as I twisted and kicked. He let me drop to the floor. 

        "I was hoping this could be a happy moment for us but I see your mother and Alphonse poisoned you against me very early on. I won't give up though I promise you that. You will learn to love me as much as I love you!" He screamed so loud the window in the room shook. I crawled under the desk and cowered there until I heard his footsteps leave. He slammed the door behind him and things fell from the shelves. 

        I poked my head out to make sure he was really gone. I couldn't do anything other than cry. He didn't seem like he wanted me dead but this was almost worse. Why wouldn't he just get a blood test done? He could have had it taken when I was still passed out. None of this made any sense. Grabbing the desk I pull myself up. It was only then I realized I had bandages on most of my finger tips. I pulled one off carefully, they were all sore. My fingernail was gone and left behind was the soft bloody skin underneath. I must have ripped my own nails off when I was trying to get away from him. I knew he was strong but I didn't think his skin was so strong my nails would bend and break clean off. I guess I was lucky my fingertips didn't break. I would have to be more careful in the future. I'm as strong as the average man but that's still nothing compared to him.

           I stared into the back of my hand as I tried to make the nails grow faster. The keratin in the quick of my nail bed was tricky to make grow just like hair. It's a long and tedious process. A cut was simply, make the blood clot then have the cells replicate quickly till the wound is closed. Keratin was more hands on. Once I got it going I put the bandage back over it. I figured I better conserve my energy.

      The glass in the window was bulletproof and thick. The door wasn't locked but I knew he'd be out there. I wasn't under any illusion. He was probably watching me. My every move from trying to get the window to open to the breaks I was taking to cry. My shoulders were killing me. I pulled my sleeve up to see a big bruised handprint. He was unhinged and didn't seem to know his strength. 

        What was he doing? Did he want me to go out there? The room didn't have a bathroom, no food or water. I couldn't stay here forever. Does he know I need to eat? It had been almost a day since I had food. I would have had a full meal if I knew I was going to be held prisoner in Homelander Disneyland. 

        The smell of food filled my nostrils. Was this on purpose? Was he trying to lure me out? I tried to ignore it. I sat at the desk and laid my head down on my arms. 

        The door opened behind me and I jumped to my feet. 

        "Foods here, it took longer than expected." He said as he left the door wide open for me. He just walked away. I took a few steps out slowly and looked around. The room I was in was at the end of the hall and looked directly into the living room. It looked like the founding fathers exploded all over the walls. American flags and eagles were all over. It was so clean I could see my own reflection in the hardwood floor as I walked down the hall. He was sitting at a small table that looked out over a huge window. Chinese takeout boxes were littering the counters. 

         "You need to eat?" I asked as I walked cautiously to the table. There was a plate made for me complete with training chopsticks. He slurped up some chow mein before wiping his mouth on a napkin. 

        "Of course I eat what a stupid question. Sit down." He says as he points to the chair across from him. I hesitate for a moment until he kicked the leg of the empty chair, making it jut out from under the round table. I jump from the sudden sound and sit down in it quickly. He gave me a wide smile before returning to his food. I wasn't sure if I should trust the food. I guess if he was going to kill me he'd want to do it with his bare hands so food was probably the only safe thing in this apartment. I grabbed the training chopsticks and started to eat. 

         My eyes wander back around the room. It was really odd. The paintings, the gold colored furniture. It all seems fake. I wonder if he actually lived here. 

        "So how is it?" He asked as he leaned back and watched me eat.

        "Oh um it's great." I say in between bites. 

        "Good good." He paused for a second to suck his teeth. "also If you try to kill me again I won't kill you but I'll make you wish I had." He says it so casually. I thought I'd get whiplash from how quickly he changed the subject. I'm taken so off guard the food gets stuck in my throat. I start to cough as he stares at me with his arms crossed. I manage to swallow the food and look at him surprised. "Keep those eyes to yourself missy. I'll forgive you this once because you didn't know I was your dad but if it happens again I'll be very upset." He could switch between a cold detached tone and a strict one so quickly. I just nod, scared anything I say will get me in trouble. He didn't seem satisfied. "Well don't you have anything to say to me young lady?" I looked around the room as if the answer would be written on the walls. He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Say you're sorry Simone. Say I'm sorry for trying to kill you and scratch you." 

        "Oh um I'm sorry for trying to kill you and scratch you, h-homelander." I sink down in the chair a bit. It felt humiliating to comply so easily but I think this was nice Homelander, I didn't want to make him angry again. 

      "Good girl, see mutual respect." He says as he takes a spring roll from my plate and eats it. I didn't hear an apology from him but he probably didn't think he needed to give one. 

      Dinner was surprisingly uneventful. He didn't seem like he was in any kind of rush to do anything. After dinner he kicked his feet up on his coffee table and leaned back like he might fall asleep. I thought it was odd he kept the suit on the whole time but a lot of things are odd about him. I stayed at my seat at the table. 

      "Who's Uncle Billy?" He asked with his eyes closed. It was like a stab in the chest. I had forgotten all about them. Did Hughie ever get a hold of them? Did they come looking? Did he find them? 

       "I um I don't-"

       "Don't fucking lie to me." He hummed. "I saw the name and number on the envelope with the files. He gave them to you?" He didn't budge from his relaxed position on the couch as he interrogated me. 

       "No no he was an old man from the last shelter I was staying at. He was a sweet old guy. It was the only paper I had so he wrote it down on it." The lie seemed believable enough. Homelander opened one eye and looked at me with it. It was the side eye from hell.

       "Really? I called it. No one answered." I began to sweat and I could only guess he could hear my pulse elevate. I took a deep breath and tried to keep myself calm. 

       "Weird, I called it last week. Maybe his phone got shut off." It was a perfect lie. No way to fact check. An untraceable burner phone. Thank God for Billy's clearly valid paranoia.  

       "You're not going to talk to him anymore. Old men are perverts." He said as he closed his eyes again. 

       "Of course." I had evaded suspicion this time. What am I going to do if bily and his crew come sniffing around? 

       "Say you want to go for a ride? I wanna introduce you to someone I'm close to." Homelander said as he sat up and clapped his hands against his thighs. His unpredictable nature was getting to me more than it should. 

       "I was actually hoping to go lay down." I say in a quiet voice scared I'd upset him. He looked at me with one of his unreadable expressions that I was starting to get used to. Then he smiled and shook his head no

        "No, I want you to meet her right now." He said in a fake sweet voice. He grabbed my arm and pushed the table out of the way and opened the window. It was a straight drop down at least 50 stores. I pulled back from the edge but his tight grip stopped me from getting too far. He grabbed me and took flight out the window. 

[weirdestbooks]

A Concerned Friend (Wattpad | Ao3)

A little sneak peek into a book I hope to write on England and the Norman invasion. For @jmysty4.

Alba had been worried about Sasann. Ever since Nòrmandaidh had invaded his country, none of his neighbors had seen him, only heard rumors of what the conquering nation was doing in an attempt to solidify control.

It was concerning, to say the least. Alba worried about what had happened to Sasann and whether the other country was okay. He and Sasann may not have been the closest, but that gave him no reason not to be concerned. 

So when he received an invitation to visit Sasann’s new capital, London, and see the man again, Alba jumped at the opportunity. He was eager to check in on his friend and confirm any rumors he had heard.

Things felt different; he noticed that as soon as he entered the city. Maybe it was the new capital, or perhaps it was the people now in charge, but something felt off about this new city.

Alba was anxious.

When he was led into the palace, he was annoyed to find that none of the guards meant to lead him into the throne room spoke Englisċ. Alba didn’t speak Nòrmandaidh’s language, only truly knowing the languages of his neighbors, something he was beginning to realize was a problem.

Nòrmandaidh was his neighbor now. He would have to learn her language now. Alba merely sighed and added it to a mental list as they approached what he presumed to be the throne room in this new palace.

The sight he saw when entering the room was not what he expected. Sasann was not in any place of honor like a countryhuman usually was; rather, he was sitting on the ground beside the throne Nòrmandaidh was on, head bowed.

His wings were gone. Alba had known that, but seeing it was another thing. 

Sasann looked so different. He used to be a dragon, full of fire and fight, but now that was gone. His dragon features were gone, the most noticeable piece of his heritage. Replacing them now was a set of lion ears and a tail to match, his flag a faded version of Nòrmandaidh’s.

He looked far too much like her and far too little like the person Alba knew. He hated it.

He seemed too…docile to be the man he knew. That only served to worry Alba further. How had Nòrmandaidh gotten him into this state? How did she win—or force, most likely—the most stubborn man Alba had ever met into kneeling by her side like a servant or slave? 

As far as Alba could see, no chains or restraints bound the man to the ground. He kneeled of his own free will—a sign of humiliation and defeat that Alba had never imagined from Sasann.

It might have been a bit offensive, considering the message Nòrmandaidh was clearly trying to send about who was in power, but Alba ignored her, instead facing Sasann. He needed to talk to the man, to see if he was okay, to try to piece together the terrifying picture in front of him. 

“It’s good to see you again, Sasann. I hope you’re well,” Alba said. Sasann lifted his head; a tiny spark of the cheerful boy he once knew lit up in Sasann’s eye as he lifted his head, opening his mouth to respond. But before he could say anything, Nòrmandaidh placed her hand on top of his head, and Sasann’s spark went out as his eyes fogged over, head falling as Nòrmandaidh pushed it back down into its bowed position.

Alba felt sick.

“Scoteland, I know that my son was once the countryhuman of this land, but I am in charge now, and you will do well to remember that,” Nòrmandaidh said, surprising Alba with her Englisċ (accented as it was), but also her words. Son? What kind of delusion was this? Alba had known Sasann since the country’s birth, and he had never had a mother.

What was Nòrmandaidh doing?

Alba looked back at Sasann, so still and empty compared to who he used to be. The idea that Nòrmandaidh was able to get him into this state was terrifying. Sasann was stubborn, and he would not have been broken easily.

He would have to find A' Chòrn and see if she knew anything. Whatever Nòrmandaidh had done…it didn’t seem good. Cutting off his wings was terrible enough, but Sasann looked as if he had been drained of everything. Maybe he had.

“Does that mean I cannot say hello to a friend I have not seen in a long while?” Alba asked, lifting his head to make eye contact with Nòrmandaidh. She smiled, revealing a mouth of fangs, the hand petting the lion ears on Sasann’s head.

Alba was not the one being treated like a glorified pet, and yet he couldn’t help but be angry on Sasann’s behalf. How dare she treat another of their kind that way. Nòrmandaidh was the ruling party now, yes, but Sasann was still a countryhuman, and he deserved to be treated like one—not like this, not like some little pet or prize that belonged to Nòrmandaidh. 

“It’s not appropriate to ignore your hosting nation in favor of…a child nation who is still learning how the world works,” Nòrmandaidh said. 

Child nation? Sasann was well over a hundred, Alba would know. He had been dealing with the man for a long while, but to insult him in that way, to imply that his decades of life meant nothing? Or was this part of Nòrmandaidh’s delusional claim that Sasann was her child, something that was clearly being done in an attempt to justify what she was doing? 

Alba couldn’t say he was fond of Nòrmandaidh. 

“Sasann is no child. I believe he is close to the same age as you. And he is no ignorant man; he has seen war and plague, and I can vouch, just as anyone else, that he is a mature and…” Alba paused, thinking of another word to describe Sasann, something that captured the essence of who he was, the essence that seemed so drained out of him now. “And fiery man.”

There was a dangerous, annoyed look in Nòrmandaidh’s eyes, but Alba did not let that deter him, choosing instead to look her in the eye, daring her to challenge him. 

“Let us continue this discussion outside, shall we?” Nòrmandaidh asked, her claws tangling in Sasann’s hair. Alba looked back at Sasann, whose head had lifted some with Alba’s words. His eyes still seemed foggy and confused, and Alba shuddered to think of what Nòrmandaidh had done to dampen the light from them.

It was clear to Alba that this was being done in an effort to get Alba away from Sasann, a sign that Nòrmandaidh’s control was not as total as she wanted people to think. It was an interesting discovery. That, combined with the tiny spark of life that had been in Sasann’s eyes when Alba entered, gave him hope that buried deep behind…this humiliating display, the man he knew was still in there. 

“Why should we? I know that you are not the ruling nation, but Sasann is still here, so he should be able to join our discussion?” Alba asked, trying to get an understanding of her temper, of how far she was willing to push.

“Engleterre doesn’t want to join us, isn’t that right, my son? You don’t want to join us?” Nòrmandaidh asked, a mocking glint in her eye. Sasann remained silent, and Nòrmandaidh’s grin widened before she said something in her language.

Sasann answered, whispered words in a foreign tongue. Alba hated it. Sasann couldn’t have forgotten his own language, but it was clear that he was scared—or reluctant, at least, to acknowledge his native language.

Once again, Alba was left asking why. Why was Sasann behaving this way? What had Nòrmandaidh done to him? Why had this happened?

“You see, Scoteland? My son is okay with it,” Nòrmandaidh said, her tone so mocking as it danced over the words “my son,” and Alba could only imagine what Sasann’s father would have thought of the display.

How had A' Chòrn let this happen? She was Sasann’s beloved antaidh; surely she would be here for him.

Unless, of course, Nòrmandaidh had done something to her to keep her away from Sasann so Nòrmandaidh could humiliate him, maim him, treat him like a pet.

Nòrmandaidh was still petting Sasann’s ears. 

“Fine,” Alba begrudgingly agreed, not wanting to leave Sasann behind. But it was clear Nòrmandaidh would push this until she got what she wanted. And maybe, just maybe she would be more open about what she did to Sasann when they were alone.

As they exited the room, Nòrmandaidh turned to a guard, barking orders in her native tongue. The guard walked over to Sasann and pulled the nation to his feet. 

Sasann didn’t resist. His head remained bowed. He seemed so…empty. Where had his fire gone?

Anger burned in Alba’s chest, and he did his best to bite his tongue, not wanting to risk making anything worse for Sasann. He didn’t know what Nòrmandaidh was doing to him, but Alba was not going to make it worse, not when he still needed to talk to Sasann and A' Chòrn and figure out what had happened.

Even if he couldn’t do anything, Alba wanted to be aware of what Nòrmandaidh’s ambitions and methods were, for if she came for him, Alba did not want to be broken by her.

He refused to end up like Sasann, as sympathetic as he was towards the poor man. Alba did not want to end up kneeling on the floor beside the woman who conquered him as she treated him like a pet.

Alba would never let that happen to him.

“If I ask what you did to Sasann, would you answer truthfully?” Alba asked. Nòrmandaidh smiled.

“I did nothing to him. He has decided himself that this is his place in the world. All I have given him is a new home and family,” she insisted, something mocking in her voice as she said so.

“A' Chòrn is his family. Where is she now?” Alba asked. Nòrmandaidh tilted her head.

“Who is that?” she asked. Alba kept his mouth shut. Whatever Nòrmandaidh did to Sasann, Alba was not going to be responsible for him doing the same to A’ Chòrn.

“If you don’t know, clearly you don’t know Sasann as well as you claim to,” Alba said. Nòrmandaidh scowled, a growl building in her throat. 

“I have made my son a better person, a better personification. I know him better than anyone, alive or dead. You do not live with him as I do, and therefore, you cannot claim to know him or what is best for him,” Nòrmandaidh said.

“You cut off his wings. You cannot claim to be helping him when you took away something he always held so dear. Nothing made that man happier than that,” Alba said, careful to keep his voice even as he turned his back to Nòrmandaidh, slowly walking away and making her follow him.

“I am helping him. And I did not cut off his wings. That happened as a result of the battle in which he tried to resist by aid,” Nòrmandaidh said. Alba scoffed. Did Nòrmandaidh really believe what she said, or did she just say this in an attempt to buy Alba’s loyalty, to pull his support from Sasann?

“Why is all this about you? You never mention Sasann or his wishes, just what you are doing,” Alba said.

“My son knows I am helping him, and he has been very eager to improve, to be better. If you insist that he is better off in the unhappy state he was in when I took him in, then you are not someone my son should be around,” Nòrmandaidh snapped, her voice a low, angry growl.

“The Sasann I knew was happy, even if you refuse to see that!” Alba snapped, angry. How could she do this to someone and call it right, call it just? How could she do that?

“Scoteland, I recommend you leave our country now before you get into more trouble,” Nòrmandaidh said. 

“And if I don’t?” Alba challenged. Nòrmandaidh smirked.

“You care for my son, don’t you? Don’t you want him to be safe and free from harmful influences?” she asked.

It wasn’t a direct threat, but it was well-implied. If Alba stayed, if he continued to push things, Nòrmandaidh would make things worse for Sasann. 

Alba hated it, but he would have to leave. He couldn’t make things worse.

“Fine,” Alba said unhappily, “But I will stay aware of what is happening with Sasann. I still care for him, you know?”

Nòrmandaidh’s grin was wild and dangerous.

“Of course, Alba. I look forward to our next meeting.”

Glancing back to the door that led into the room Sasann was once in, Alba sighed, taking himself back to his home.

He couldn’t do anything now. Hopefully, with time, he could help Sasann.

Hopefully.

[queen--kenobi]

✍🏻

Send me an ✍🏻️ and I will introduce you to one of my OC’s

I have a Bolton OC! Her name is Revna, and she's actually genuinely mentally unwell. She's mostly in my Warden of the West Elayna AU and my Magnus Archive AU

Revna is the eldest Bolton child and has a complex about it because even though she's the first born, her younger brother is heir. She absolutely hates her younger brother for it, especially since Revna feels she's the most like their father

So. You know how I said Revna is genuinely mentally unwell? Yeah. I'm not messing around and am going to put this under a cut. Massive tw for cannibalism

Revna is a cannibal. This isn't a by-product of her being a Bolton but is actually something wired wrong in her brain. Like no matter the circumstances, Revna would have cannibalistic urges. It's just exacerbated by her being a Bolton

So. Um. Revna has a delusion if she kills and eats someone, their power and essence get transferred to her. Which is it's own bag of worms but gets worse because. Well. Revna genuinely believes if she kills and eats her brother, she'll get everything that was meant for him. Revna gets sent away because of this. But like, the family can't make it explicit as to why so some bs is made up about it

I'm still tweaking her place in the Warden of the West AU BUT! In the Magnus Archive AU, Revna is an Avatar of the Flesh (aka the fear of cannibalism and fear of mutilation). Revna's transformation into a Flesh Avatar did actually involve her killing and eating her brother, and she took a piece of his skin and sewed it onto her. She ends up being found three days after her and her brother went missing, covered in blood and claiming she and her brother were kidnapped. Revna thinks it'll all be fine and good but when they get her back to Dreadfort, surprise! Her brother is there, alive and well but looking a bit different

Her killing her brother actually triggered his own Avatar transformation, but he's an Avatar of the Stranger. The piece of skin Revna sewed onto herself ties him to her, so they are unfortunately the world's most fucked up package deal

Now Elayna in this is an Avatar of the Web (spiders and fear of manipulation). Elayna knows the two are bound together but figures the Flesh will be easier to manipulate than the Stranger. So she starts manipulating Revna to get what she wants from Revna's brother. I haven't got much further than that but uuuhh yeah

[cuddlytogas]

GOOD OMENS 2 SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT!! spewed out right after binging last night and then added to today. I'm mostly gonna ramble about structure rather than content, but the last few bits get quite spoilery

before that, though, one other thought: I DO hope the power of fandom now will mean that we'll get an influx of people listening to Cabin Pressure and JFSP and Double Acts and all that good stuff!!! John Finnemore is such an incredible writer and comedian, and I know the "following fandom brain into a rabbithole of someone's previous work" is a lot more common for actors than writers, but. one can dream!!!!!!! knowing Finnemore was a co-writer was what reassured me that the new season wasn't going to be an unnecessary sequel, he's so fucking good, and in conclusion ---

okay onto the s2 thoughts

obviously I'm, like. insane now. like I'm gonna shatter into a million pieces and also be sick. I have LOST my MIND. and it WAS good!!!

but also

I thought the pacing wasn't nearly as good as s1? obvs s1 had the ticking clock element, which is hard to recreate without just having another ticking clock, but especially some of the flashbacks tended to linger a smidge too long, and you could tell some of them were written by other writers - the "minisodes" thing I think didn't HELP. obviously I don't think this was a MAJOR problem, and I'll want a rewatch when i feel less Fully Insane to judge properly, but even ending aside, I feel like it didn't have quite the same structural/pacing qualities that made s1 so watchable

I thought the extension of the preexisting 1941 flashback felt... a bit hack-y? (it also went on too long tbh.) the reason those worked so well in s1 was because they were these little snippets, extending it (again, especially to the length that they did) was a little... hm. not, like, a cardinal sin, and it might just be a taste thing, but. again, the "minisodes written by other writers" thing didn't help.

and I'm REALLY sad it was released all at once!! with all the mystery elements, I would've loved a week to week format - even two episodes a week - to really digest all the clues, to sit and speculate and process each reveal/development! I just read that Neil Gaiman wanted that too, so it's extra hurtful. it would've been such a satisfying way to consume the show, but alas, Binge Culture must prevail, I guess :\

finally... I might be genuinely disappointed by the ending? I mean, the religious trauma is Strong With This One, and it'll depend on what they do with s3 (I'm not even going to humour the idea of no s3), but just... okay, real spoilers from here

it felt like Aziraphale really backslided?? like, wasn't the whole point of s1 the learning of "heaven and hell are both a bit shit and we're on our own side"? I understand why the final choice was compelling, both to him and the audience, but even across the season - and especially taking both seasons' flashbacks into account - he really sort of pinged back and forth between learning the lesson and going right back into denial about it, in a way that started to feel less like a character flaw and more like a cheat to keep the drama going. obvs his final choice was DEVASTATING, but also I couldn't stop thinking that Aziraphale... knows better??? not just "he should know better, how heartbreaking", but haven't we SEEN that he KNOWS BETTER?? it felt... inconsistent? again, as a writing choice rather than a character thing

like, I've slept on this thought now and calmed down a little about it, obviously I'm a bit biased by how also extremely painful that whole last scene was to watch, but - thing it, it's not even the decision itself that sits so formally wrong with me! the "I could fix things if I were in power" self-delusion is a very believable and narratively compelling (READ: HEARTBREAKING) move, as is him believing "if Crowley were an angel and I fixed everything then we could be safe and together and everything would be fine"!

but specifically the "but heaven are the good guys" - that gets me! like, after everything?? you really still believe that?? I thought it was obvious you learnt your lesson?? something something, "how can someone so smart be SO stupid?" - except we already did that bit in s1!! ahhh I dunno, it just rings a bit too much of the kind of undoing character development and recycling drama that I reeaaaally don't like :\

like, just. the pure disbelief in crowley's face - "tell me you said no" - like, yeah. and not just in a character sympathy way, but - come on, Aziraphale!! we've been through this so many times now!!!

again, this will also all rest on how it's handled in s3. and I have some faith! s2 actually bringing up crowley's "I was there when you tried to destroy Aziraphale, I saw your face when you told him to shut up and die" was revelatory, I loved that they actually made reference to it. and the writers are good! this isn't going to be a wwdits situation, I think we're safe in that. but s2 definitely had a few more plotty/pacing flaws, and that's just SUCH a huge betrayal - that whole ending was so massive - I have a lot of gay fear about how it'll all be resolved.

or, I dunno. maybe I'm just still too sad to think straight.

[zangyo]

@tenkoseiensei said (inbox):

' do you think i could have talked to him? ' his head rests against his knees, face hidden, words steady but soft-murmured. ' the real --- yan qing. ' he can only laugh, a single quick gust of air typically reserved for his sorrows. ' i keep wondering whether or not he would hate me.' liar, thief, delusion. there were infinite ways to accuse him, and even if at his core he was nothing, no one, what right did that give him to rob from another? selfishly taking in an entire self, and everything attached: talent, relationships, livelihoods. anyone would have been thrown into panic to learn of a doppelganger intruding into occupied spaces, no matter the fact that a monster of mimicry was never reserved an existence of its own. it settles like a stone in his stomach and makes it twist with hurt. to even speak of 'himself' as 'another' tore his heart at the seams too.

' whatever 'i' really look like, i don't know. i don't remember. as 'yan qing,' it's always the same foggy memory of laying in an alleyway and waiting for my lord to come back. i'm so hungry that i'm dizzy, it's cold and all i can do is keep blinking, but even that starts to feel like too much. no, it was too much. ' he succumbs, for however briefly, to his own silence before finally lifting his head. the jade of his eyes glistens with some sort of inexplicable emotion, his lip curled crooked as he looks up at the other. ' was he dying, or was he already dead by the time i found him? i couldn't have known him otherwise, right? couldn't i have helped him? ' there, a subtle terror: was it his nature to devour; to use and harm? ' nanami ... i'm sure even you have secrets, things that you don't tell anyone but still think over. if you were in my circumstances, would you want to meet 'yourself?' even if it meant admitting that you weren't real? '

     YAN QING HAD A TENDENCY to ask questions that took quite a lot of thought, and oftentimes out of nowhere without any prompting. Nanami thought that by now he would have been prepared for it all, and yet, even so, he found himself having to pause. They didn't often talk about the other's past like this -- the feelings that came along with it, nor their 'beginning'. Nanami preferred to let the other speak when they felt like speaking rather than rattling question after question and bringing up discomfort. However, he still hadn't expected any of this. ❝Perhaps,❞ Nanami answered, the newspaper he had been looking over now gently folded and placed to the side. ❝I can't say how he must have felt, or would have felt, seeing you with his form. After all, he can't tell anyone anything anymore...but...I can tell you one thing.❞ He paused for a bit, watching the other's features pensively before he continued on. ❝When a human reaches a point like he did, they just...stop caring. Even he wasn't dying, even if he was still alive, I don't think he was really quite 'alive'. I think...he had left a long time ago.❞

     He believed that Yan Qing, the real one, had just...faded. What was left, for all intent and purposes, was a husk. At least, this was what he could gather from the other's descriptions, from the bits and pieces of information he was able to use to put a picture together. There was probably nothing that the other, as their true curse form, would have been able to do for them. ❝This isn't to say that you taking their form was right...because I can't say whether that has a right or wrong since I don't know 'Yan Qing' and how he might have felt about it all. All I can tell you is what I think. Nothing more than that.❞ As another human, as someone who too could have been somewhat similar to them when sadness becomes too powerful, when the drive to continue becomes too much. Falling quiet once more, he glanced up at the ceiling, rumerating on the question he was asked at the end of it all.

     What a thing to ask...

     How was he to answer? ❝I think...❞ he began, words spoken slowly -- response still mulled over with the same careful thought one gave when they were tasting wine or food, ❝originally I wouldn't. I think I might try to pretend. But you can only pretend for so long before you just can't anymore.❞ Nanami knew a thing or two about 'pretending'; uncomfortably so. ❝Denial isn't something that can last forever. Eventually, you have to open your eyes and see the truth in front of you.❞ He looked back at the other, eyes softening a little. ❝And when that time comes, it's a lot more freeing to accept than to fight against it.❞

[roadkillbppy]

I’m starting to think the moon might be a bit of a sadist. But with incredibly dark irony and the power of reflections and connections. I found solace in a stranger and the moon legitimized it in my heart and mind and maybe I’m crazy maybe I am just obsessed with someone who I don’t know and won’t know me. I didn’t mean to be and I don’t feel obsessed necessarily but maybe I’m living in a delusion about it thinking the moon has some part in it and that it’s anything special. but then the moon brings back this girl that hurt me so badly. I forgot to change the lock on her. I forgot to make sure she couldn’t come back in and she slipped back in and I can’t tell her no at this point but she hurt me so bad. i don’t think she knows how bad that hurt and it took me a long time to realize even how bad it had been hurting me. but now she’s being nice to me. she seems like she’s battling the same kinds of things I am maybe more. I don’t want to shut her out. but ny heart hurts and it’s scared. It’s scared to let anyone in. there people still in there I’ve been carefully shuffling around into the foyer so maybe they’ll get fed up until no one gives a damn anymore truly. But there’s no fucking escape from this burden it’s not fair it’s not fair to any of them and I don’t want to be the strong one but fuck all of you if you fuck all of this I want to run away from all of this bullshit. I want to put my tenacity on the podium. But I’m stuck here in my own head. I can’t get out of here much less this house or this city. i can’t get out of these burdens. it’d be just as bad to run away as offing myself. i can’t hurt these people the way I know hurt. They can’t handle it. Why do I have to be so fucking strong? This fucking hurts it fucking hurts and I’m so mad about having to be the one to keep going it’s not fuckinh fair I want to tap out I want a break I want the weight off my shoulders for once you fucking piece of shit you don’t even realize you’ve put this weight on me since you walked into my life. You designated me the one to hold it all together and fuck me if I give out and can’t handle it. I’m not allowed to have that option and it’s not fucking fair fuck you fuck you fuck you

[poryphoria]

[LEANS ON AN EXPENSIVE PILE OF MEDIA ANALYSIS] SYMBOLISM MISSILE INBOUND

two themes i REALLY love using for both of these guys is light & darkness, and for crackpot specifically, water & drowning. i played w the light deliberately a LOT in this one fic i wrote- crackpot being caught in phobos's shadow for the whole fic as a symbol of hys inferiority, up until phobos starts seeing hymn as an equal, where hy starts being the one to cast a shadow (and eventually they're both bathed in light together! :3)

i think the power dynamic between them was always a bit of a spot of bother in their relationship, and i think the light displays that nicely. w this specific piece phobos is casting a shadow over the whole of nexus city because the entire city is his creation, his legacy- it was designed in his image, and even in death his ego haunts every square inch of the place. and crackpot, left behind in the wake of his death, can't seem to escape phobos's influence for the life of hymn and move on- as long as hy chooses to stay in the city, hy'll remain pinned under that shadow, that echo of what hy lost. not only that, but the echo of someone greater than hymn- someone who was more powerful and well known. hy doesn't like to admit it, but i think there is a bit of jealousy in crackpo for how much more influence phobos had over people :] hy emulates his leadership partially out of admiration, but partially out of a straight up desperation to be the better version!

all the same, phobos's eye casting a light has to do with the other half of his death- crackpot being suddenly put in the limelight without him. losing the only person to stick up for hymn, make an effort to listen to and elevate hymn, be a rock to cling to. there's a sudden pressure trained on hymn to be independent, to be a leader and fill in the gap phobos left behind. hy's finally got the stage to hymnself and all the theater lights are on hymn, and god do they burn HOT.

as for the water and the drowning, i also did a bunch with this in another fic- its to do with the fanatics' obsession with buoyancy and staying afloat- for crackpot, drowning means failing. and just being generally, impossibly overwhelmed with so many things- memories, emotion, pressure, guilt, it's like an awful torrent and its crushing the air out of hys lungs and all hy can do is sink into it, sink deeper into the stubborn refusal to move on, deeper into delusion and madness(💥).

(drowning is also a reoccurring nightmare of hys because of the facemelter incident in my headcanons- that one really awesome time where hys face skin Straight Up Melted Off due to dissonance poisoning, being the reason why hy's never seen without a helmet or a mask! hys work helmet was kinda pooling with hys own blood & that definitely Felt like drowning to hymn)

the way the cityscape gets progressively less cohesive & detailed as it goes down into its reflection in the water DOES have to with dissonance :D with crackpots severely dissonance-addled perception of the world around hymn, more and more of the world seems to devolve and make less and less sense around hymn :]c till its almost comparable to the distorted funhouse reflection of yourself you might see looking into water! (it also, sort of has to do w hys super 'rose colored glasses' view of phobos's leadership & behavior- hy kind of deliberately tends to ignore the Awful horrendous things phobos very muchly did for the sake of loving him :])

I HOOOOPPPEE all of that was cohesive & coherent enough. i fucking love talking about the THEMES and the SYMBOLISMS of my own art so badly but i never get to i thank you so badly for indulging me [gripping ur shoulders like that one jpeg rn]

I REALLY LIKE YOUR INTERPRETATION/ANALYSIS OF THINGS YOU LEFT IN THE NOTES TOO!!!! I THINK IT IS SO SO BEAUTIFUL. THAT PPL CAN TAKE AWAY THEIR OWN MEANINGS FROM ART N I ESPECIALLY LOVE HEARING WHAT OTHER PPL TAKE AWAY FROM MINE :DDDDD

shadow of your legacy/limelight of your absence, or something like that

Phobos dude you've got to stop haunting the narrative man. You're giving this bird new and innovative forms of mental illness not yet conceived by man

[heartfullofleeches]

The God probably lies to the other followers, telling them if they give them offerings daily then they will let the others go out with you, spend time with you, (and if they receive enough offerings at the end of the week) even touch you! Aren't they generous?? (Mf just waiting for the right moment for them to have a physical form and steal you away lol)

Trying to get the cult started in your name to worship a dark God was hard work. Within the confines of your tent, you seek rest for another day you've failed at your true goal. As you drift you to sleep, you grow unaware to the figure standing at the tent's entrance.

The follower tightens their grip around the basket in hand. They had missed the ceremony of sacrifical offerings; the day spent on making sure it was absolutely perfect. They creep to your side; blood rushing to their face. Being alone with you was like a dream - even if you were unaware. Their hand itches toward your bare hand, stopping before they lost complete control. Just being here was punishable by banishment; not by your own words, but by those of the others. If they actually touched you, who knows what would happen. Temptation bit at the back of their mind - as well as the whisper of a disembodied voice.

"Child....."

The voice is deep, foreboding. A rasp they've heard before in their slumber, that they usually ignored. You were the only voice they'd listen to. Just as they were about to tune it out, it continues - catching their attention.

"You wish to touch their flesh, correct?"

They swallow hard, dipping their head in agreement.

"It... is all I've ever wanted since laying eyes on them."

"Then toss your offering into the flames of my blood. As their master, they have no choice but to comply to my command. You may have your moment with them if i I deem it worthy."

They hug the basket to their chest. Was what they were hearing really true? Or simply delusions guided by their swollen heart. They look at you, so blissful and unaware - an absolute gift from the higher powers. They'd do anything to hold you even once.

They remove a piece of their offer and place it by your bedside, leaving the tent and crossing the field to a cabin across the way. Within the cabin; down a crimson carpet, a fire burns brightly in its ceremonial fountain. The red edging the orange flames flickered a deeper color than one would find normal; the heat given off like standing at the gates to hades.

The follower walks up to it, dumping their gift into the pit; flames jumping higher at the fresh fuel.

"Worship me... For them."

They kneel, clasping their hands together in prayer. The words feel uncanny on their tongue. Wrong. But they'll do it - for you.

"My... lord, by your grace please give me the leeway to take hand with the one you’ve choosen as your disciple. Let me walk by their side for the rest of our days. Please.... let me kiss them goodnight."

The dark god accepts their worship and offering. Muffins.. it was a start at least. It could feel its power growing; the door between your realities so close - yet still not in reach. So close - to you. They almost felt sorry for the pathetic beings that fell at your feet; if the way they looked at you didn't digust them so. Eager for the day it could smite them all and claim you once and for all. For now, that was only a distant dream.

[dreamii-yume]

My guy's birthday is on the 18th Yume, there's a scarce amount of spice for him unfortunately, so for a crumb idea

Ruggie wanting to confess after receiving a gift, even though it wasn't the gift he really wanted if you know what I mean 😏

Anonymous asked :

"No thought, head empty, just fluffy romantic Ruggie with mc on his birthday"

*****

Ruggie looks SO GOOD in a suit Σ>―(〃°ω°〃)♡→

An extravagant birthday party.

A delicious feast spread out on the table.

A well-made suit.

Ruggie’s eyes could scan his entire surroundings all day and would still find something worth to notice about all of this. Despite already having experienced such luxury celebration in his first year here in Night Raven College, he couldn’t help but be impressed by the number of things he can receive in this particular day. Not that he’s complaining though, look at all these donuts he can eat, all the gift his friends got for him, all of which something that he can only dream of having as a child. For someone like him who was born with nothing of value, a piece of cake alone was the highlight of his day, so you can forgive him for savoring such moments.

Though there was just one little thing that this year had that made it more special than the last, that was you socializing in the background, a great distance away from him. With a donut stuffed in his mouth he rests his cheeks on his palm, just staring at you with a drink in your hand, conversing with someone so happily. Even as his powerful ears twitched in effort, he can’t get a good grasp over what the conversation is all about. He’s curious, you looked excited that it was bothering him a little, what are you talking about?Glancing over to the side instead, he saw the small mountains of gifts from friends piled up on the floor. All special in its own ways, yet one thing only sticks out to him the most is the one that he had on his hand.

A sweet little thing, a hand-sewn plushie of a cartoonish hyena with similar color scheme as him, wrapped in a neat ribbon with a birthday tag that you clearly written yourself. It wasn’t food that can fill him up, or any tool that can help him in his daily life, but it was something that put a smile on his face. It wasn’t the best plushie in the world, he could see the little ripped seams on the side that you tried to cover up and uneven stitches, this probably wouldn’t cost much if he were to sell it, but who said he’s going to do that? It was cute to see effort place on a gift like this. Though, it made Ruggie chuckle a little remembering how you gave it to him, smiling ever so nervously to cover any mistakes you might make.

“Here, so you won’t be too lonely at night, hehe…” You sounded like you were joking around, and it did make him laugh, though he knew it that you were only half-serious about it. That childish reasoning was endearing after all, and if we’re talking about something embarrassing you should’ve heard his thoughts at that moment. The moment you walked up to him with a smile and a cute little blush in your cheeks, it got his imagination going crazy.

Wouldn’t it be funny if that gift could be that three special words that he wanted to hear from you? One that can confirm his feelings in return.

...But of course, he’s kidding. There’s no way in hell that you’ll actually ever say that, this is just his own delusion after all.

“Ruggie-senpai, do you want some milk to go along with those donuts?” Ruggie flinched as he suddenly heard your voice and quickly turned around to face you, for a moment he thought he might be imagining you again. He was too distracted by his own thoughts that he didn’t even notice you strolling down towards him. In your hand was a glass full of cold and fresh milk, one that would really go well with his favorite treat.

You smiled, and Ruggie couldn’t help but be mesmerized by it for a split second, he thought of how shining it looked in his part. Eventually, he did give a toothy grin right back at you, before anything could be considered suspicious. “Right. Thanks for the offer, (Y/N)~ I’ll happily take them~” He said as he gulped down the dairy liquid, washing off the sweetened flavor of the donut with a satisfying gulp. You tilted your head to the side, blinking as you observed how his ears twitches excitedly because of it.

“I’m glad that you seemed to be having fun, Ruggie-senpai. This is a day to treat you like a king after all, so please help yourself as much as you want.” You said, Ruggie couldn’t agree more as he nod excitedly and quite shamelessly in the matter. He noticed how you stared at him curiously as he grabs another donut from the plate, you look like a newborn puppy. “...Those donuts really look good too, huh...I wonder…”

Ruggie heard you mumbled out the last part as he bit into the dough, and turned to you as he chewed it. It took a few seconds until he puts on a mischievous smirk when the both of you just realized that you said something you don’t intend to be heard by anyone out loud. “A-Ah, wait...! That’s not—!” You hold your hand up in defense, cheeks flaring up.

So, you wanted a taste, huh? Well, if there’s a giant plate of delicious treats in front of him like this too, he can’t blame you for wanting to grab one for yourself. “…Want one?” He asked in a clearly teasing and smug fashion, his tail wagging behind him.

You pouted like a child, but your mannerism clearly shows that you do. “N-No, thank you…This should be something that’s only for you…! I don’t have the right to…have a taste…” You said, averting your eyes away from the temptation, but he could clearly see those small glances from time to time. The way you gulped down your saliva as well, your voice slowly lowering down the more you talk. Ruggie could only sigh, you’re such an easy book to read that he worries how you’ll even survive out there. “I’ll…I’ll go for something else, like…Like the cake or something…”

“Alright, alright~ I get it, you’re a humble little lady~” Ruggie said, sighing loudly with a shrug and for a moment, you thought he gave up in trying to convince you. However, you were proven wrong as he looked straight back at you with his usually lazy eyes looking weirdly intense. “But I like you if you’re a bit naughty too sometimes, y’know~?”

Then, he pulled you by the arm so suddenly that you almost stumbled over, but quickly caught off-guard as he grabbed your jaw in a tight hold. Grinning, he holds out his half-eaten donut in front of you. “Right, open up, Sweetheart~” He said in a teasingly loving way, pushing your cheeks together to force open your mouth, enjoying the little surprise noises you’re making. Then, he began to push the donut inside, allowing the sweetness to fill your taste buds almost immediately. Trusting that there was enough dough filling your mouth to not let the rest fall to the ground, he let go of your jaw and chuckled. “See~? It’s delicious, isn’t it? Crunchy on the outside, fluffy on the inside!”

Though still in shock and confusion, you unconsciously nibbled on the piece of treat, slowly basking in the taste and your eyes sparkling at the sudden burst of flavor. You bit a piece off with a hand ready to catch the remains, but before you could do so, Ruggie leaned closer and holds the piece for you. “…Especially when you share it with others.” He said as he opened his mouth and bit the other side of the donut.

Gasping, you widened your eyes and blushed deep red, he was so close and was coming closer every time he bits off a piece of the dough. You tried backing up, only to realize how his hands were wrapped tightly around your wrist, preventing you from getting away. Stuck onto the other side of the donut, your heartbeat began to race as Ruggie began closing in on you. He’s inches away from your lips and like a deer in a headlight, your mind and body froze, you didn’t know what else to do. Shutting your eyes tight became your last resort as you felt his breath brushing against skin, a drop of sweat fell in the side of your forehead.

Ruggie opened his eyes slightly to see your reaction, to see how much your body was trembling, your lips trembling from his presence alone. Your nervous breaths, shaking and airy with your hands slowly dampening up against his. He thought of how cute it is that even with the other side of the donut stuffed in your mouth, it almost seems like your lips were puckering up to ready themselves for what’s about to happen, for him. One literal bite away and your lips would touch, Ruggie couldn’t help but to wonder how it end up like this, it was the force of habit and was something he thought of right on the spot. He’s heart was racing just as much as yours, his cheeks are probably just as flushed as yours too, but there was not a tinge of hesitation in his actions.

…He was going to do this. You being right here in front of him, eyes closed and unconsciously preparing yourself for something that you don’t even realize is a kiss, it’s a risk that he was willing to take…Who cares if he didn’t get what he really wanted for his birthday? It doesn’t have to be a special day to show you his own side of the story, what he’s really feeling for you. He…can say it, he can show it at any time of the day, as long as you can understand.

And with the final piece of the donut gone, and your soft lips clashing against his, Ruggie had taken the first step towards that goal.

I ended up making a sweet and spicy dish lol Sorry, Darling~ (*/▽＼*)

[dent-de-leon]

Do you think we all (cast included) misunderstood Lucien's plans and intentions (and a few of his actions) as surely evil because of our impression of Molly? The closer we get to the city the more I think it's less of a world ending emergency and more of a conman's dreams and delusions, twisted by a hive mind entity. I can't say he's just a victim but I have my doubts on where he actually stands without Nonagon. Any thoughts on...everything...? I love reading you talk about all of them!

Oh, this is definitely a tricky question. I think it’s hard to pin down what Lucien wants exactly--especially since he, that shard of Molly, and the Somnovum have all bled together. But we do get some interesting clues to try and piece together where he’s going in terms of the big picture. And I think you’re very much right about Lucien’s original intentions being misguided by the Somnovum. 

I think Caleb is able to express a very intuitive understanding of what ultimately drives Lucien. When he’s explaining everything to Essek, Caleb says, “Our understanding of this is rudimentary at best, but these Tomb Takers--this purple one we have mentioned--believes that he can achieve all his dreams if he brings this city of dreamers back into the world, we think.” At his core, I think that’s what Lucien really wants. And during the last episode, he echoes this again and again:

Lucien: “Long ago, there was a group of people who had an idea to get away from oppressive minds, and pursue their dreams. And when destruction came out of their making, they were ready, or so they thought. And they shunted their people across the planes to safety, in the Astral Plane, where they knew they could make their dreams a reality...And there’s so much that they could do, but they just lack the guidance. It’s a waste of potential. But, I think I could show em. And, maybe if you decide to be more friend than foe, when all is done, I could make your dreams come true as well.”

It’s reminiscent of when Lucien asked each of the Nein if they had an imagination, and what they’d do if they could have any wish of theirs granted. He’s a dreamer. He believes he has some grand plan for the City that will bring clarity to them, change the course of their doomed fate. He’s doing this for himself, certainly. But bizarrely enough, he sees himself as a kind of misguided savior, as someone who simply knows better. Who, given the chance and power, could salvage the remnants of the City and break them free of their living nightmare. 

“I’m their savior as they were mine. I will save them from their pain. From their wasteful existence.” I mean, he calls himself a king so we know he has a nice seat on the throne lined up for him when this all goes down. But still. He seems to think he’ll be a good king for these people, someone who can save them. And that’s....certainly interesting. It suggests there’s a kind of misconstrued sense of supposed nobility to his intentions. 

Of course, it’s important to remember that Lucien wasn’t always this way. He’s not someone like Vess, who started off seeking this kind of otherworldly power, who set out to rule the world. He was scared of the book, once. When he first saw the Eyes of Nine, he admits to Jester that he was horrified. “But, then the dreams started coming. Something was spilling into them. And it wanted my help.” At a certain point, Lucien himself and what he originally wanted began to fade. “So at that point, Luicen became more of a--more of a costume. The Nonagon became more of a presence.” His wants and dreams became one with the City, and he was powerless to resist.

Lucien is quite literally the perfect candidate for the Nonagon, because he’s exactly like all those denizens of the Cognoza ward. Lucien describes everyone in that city as having their souls shattered and slowly reforged by the Somnovum, put together until they became one with the Eyes of Nine, entirely driven by this world of dreams, the fanatical belief that they could make all their desires a reality.

Lucien: “Unfortunately, they didn’t account for was this terrible psychic storm that awaited them, that wracked every mind and spirit and shattered them until they became one with their own city. Death would have been a mercy. But instead, thousands of people, and the Somnovum that guided them, were broken. And overtime slowly reformed. Powerful. The instinct of their dreams guiding them, in the place where they could will their dreams to be--were their will not so fragmented.”

Sound familiar? It’s exactly what happened to Lucien after Vess broke his spirit and scattered all the broken pieces into the Astral Sea.

Lucien: “Imagine if you will, you, the very idea of you, your singular conscience and every thought you had, was accompanied by a hundred screaming thoughts fighting for attention...That was the prison I was sent to. My spirit broken and blown across the Astral winds. But it took the Somnovum following my scent, much like I followed hers, to find all my pieces and put them back together again.”

Lucien was himself destroyed, his sense of identity obliterated. He is whatever shape the Somnovum have made them, a patchwork of their ceaseless chorus of screaming voices in the endless dream. Lucien expresses gratitude to the Somnovum for saving him, painstakingly piecing him back together. And he seems to genuinely believe he can save them in turn. But they undoubtably did so in a deliberate design, with their own path for him in mind. He is of their own making, and I think that shows in his all consuming desire to rejoin them in their world.

But I think he does believe, in his own misguided way, under the thrall of the Somnovum, that he can change this City for the better. Make both their dreams and his--even the Nein’s--a reality. I don’t think that was just him baiting the Nein. Molly’s fondness for his friends still holds some sway over Luicen, even if he can’t quite understand it. “Because try as I might, a part of me still likes them.” Molly seems to be waking, bit by bit, and I think his wants and impulses are now bleeding into Lucien. It’s why he can’t seem to bring himself to kill them.

So yeah, I don’t think Lucien wants to bring about an end to the world, or some large scale destruction. I think he wants a new start for himself and Cognoza. A rebirth. Lucien may not have been “good,” but certainly some part of him was. Or was at least capable of it, as we’ve seen through the softer heart of Mollymauk. But I don’t think Lucien was ever really evil either. I think he’s more complicated than that, and his intentions reflect that. 

“And you plan to go there and stay there? Or bring something back, and make this world better than how you found it?” I think there’s a reason why Lucien was able to look at Caleb and say “Yes” so easily, so genuinely. I think some part of him really does believe it. But those wants and dreams are also tangled up in that shard of Molly’s desire to keep the Nein close and grant their dreams as well, and both of them are caught up in the web spun by the Somnovum. It’s messy. 

[xiaomomowrites]

so mean, xiansheng

Genshin Impact | ZhongChi

Summary: “You still refuse to yield?” Zhongli taunts, digging the ball of his foot into his chest. “After all that, you still persist? You’ve reached for your delusion, you’ve summoned all the weapons in your armory, and now you’ve resorted to crawling away? Frankly, when Tsaritsa had explained to me that she’d send her strongest diplomat my way, I hadn’t expected this level of...incompetence.”

The blunt end of his spear makes contact with his navel, and Childe’s face burns red. Fuck, why does he want it so much lower—

"Pathetic."

Or, Childe figures out Zhongli is Rex Lapis. He challenges him to a fight, anyway.

Find it on Ao3!

This story has nothing to do with the series! I just got the urge to write Zhongli being the badass he is. 

A/N: Okay I wrote this immediately after I finished my draft for act VI, so that should definitely be coming very soon! But my evil beta, Peaches, implanted this horrible idea of Zhongli being a little more mean and a little more malicious in my head, and I had no choice by to write it. One of these lines is actually hers, and I just adjusted it a bit, but it really inspired me to write a whole damn fic. Oh, the power she holds.

Let it be known that I did NOT expect this to turn out the way it did. I wanted angst, not sexual tension! But hey, sometimes fics really do write themselves. Thank you, Peaches, for helping me scratch an itch I didn't even know I had. Anyway I hope you enjoy!

Find me on Twitter where I'm very chatty and talk about Genshin too much! -u.n

--

What the fuck.

What the fuck.

In all fairness, Childe didn’t expect to win this fight. He really didn’t. Tartaglia had just pieced together that Zhongli was the Rex Lapis, and he had gotten ahead of himself anyway. Really, challenging a six thousand year old God? Childe has done many, many reckless things, but this has to be his stupidest trick yet. And still, still, he found himself in the Golden House, surrounded by the walls of ebony, and feeling like he was getting swallowed whole by the golden hue of the mora beneath his very feet.

Well, he was on his knees, now.

Childe pants from where he is hunched over. Somewhere in his fight against his precious Xiansheng, Zhongli had managed a good hit to his abdomen with the butt end of his weapon, and he was only mildly aware of the fact that he was bleeding internally. But on the bright side, the dull throbbing kept him from passing out right then and there; every jolt of pain that spread through his core has kept him awake and mildly aware up until this point. Childe grunted and cradled the wound with his left hand, his right one occupied with his bow. It came back stained red. Well, shit. It wasn’t so internal anymore.

Footsteps sounded behind him. Even though he knows he isn’t in immediate danger, and that Zhongli would never actually harm him, Childe’s heart still sinks terrifyingly low into his stomach. Childe whips around and ignores the burst of pain and the pressure building behind his eyelids at the sudden movement. He draws his bow, summons a hydro arrow and gets a clear shot of Zhongli’s ridiculously sexy face and—

The Archon closes the distance by twirling and tossing his polearm forward, disappearing into thin air, and warping right in front of him again in a flash of blinding gold. With a flick of Zhongli’s wrist and the slightest nudge of his spear against Childe’s weapon, the bow goes flying. It clatters somewhere far away from him, skidding until it hits one of Zhongli’s geo pillars. Childe panics slightly, using his feet to try to scoot away while frantically summoning his water blades.

Zhongli is quick, though. He never misses a beat, never leaves an opening, never lets Childe get a single hit in. And, well, maybe Childe could have worded his challenge better. The Harbinger should have known better than to hit him with the classic “hit me with everything you’ve got” because apparently, he didn’t know his own damn limits. And looking at the way the Archon hasn’t even broken a sweat, it would be safe to assume that Zhongli is only exerting maybe half of his energy. Possibly even less.

Childe, on the other hand, was already haggard from the effects of his delusion. He had summoned his stronger form sometime during the fight, reaching for the electricity that crackled within his bones for a boost in strength. Tartaglia had felt confident, then, upon seeing Zhongli looking so tiny from where the Harbinger stood. He had held himself tall and proud in that moment, all strength and lethal lightning surrounding his body. But of course, the Archon did not budge. If anything, Tartaglia remembers him smirking, looking smug from where he had stood. His eyes had flashed a brilliant gold, and the tips of his hair burned a brighter amber. Childe remembers lunging and Zhongli parrying effortlessly, countering his every attack like it was nothing but a mere dance to him. Tartaglia had even kept contact with him! Each swing he sent had touched Zhongli fair and square, but each bludgeoning hit was redirected with ease, and it slid right off the Archon like water off a duck’s back.

It had infuriated the Harbinger to no end.

But then he let his guard down, blinded by his own anger, and Zhongli had met a fist swinging wildly with his own open palm sliding against Tartaglia’s arm. The Archon had formed an invisible wedge that steered Tartaglia off course and away from his vital points. Zhongli had tilted his head slightly to the right then, lunged forward, and took his opponent down in one fell swoop.

Tartaglia didn’t remember much after that. All he remembered was that he was in pain, his joints were croaking pathetically, and he was back in his normal human form. The lingering effects of his delusion danced along his fingertips in the form of purple electricity.

But it doesn’t matter what form he takes, because Zhongli derails his train of thought as the bottom of a boot is suddenly pressed against his chest, forcing him down, and not stopping until he hits the floor. Childe wheezes, the obvious fracture in his ribs making itself known. Those geo pillars getting summoned from hell really did not do the ginger any favors, especially the one that rose up beneath his feet and slammed against his chest, sending him tumbling away and coughing.

“You still refuse to yield?” Zhongli taunts, digging the ball of his foot into his chest. “After all that, you still persist? You’ve reached for your delusion, you’ve summoned all the weapons in your armory, and now you’ve resorted to crawling away? Frankly, when Tsaritsa had explained to me that she’d send her strongest diplomat my way, I hadn’t expected this level of...incompetence.”

The blunt end of his spear makes contact with his navel, and Childe’s face burns red. Fuck, why does he want it so much lower—

Childe whimpers like a wounded animal. Because the worst part is, he’s not even wrong. And Zhongli isn’t even trying to sound mean. He simply is .

“Pathetic.”

Childe’s toes curl at the degradation.

Oh, fuck.

What is going on?!

“Stop,” he pleads. Gods above, please, please keep going, his mind betrays him.

“Oh?” Zhongli taunts, dragging his foot down until it reaches his abdomen. He uses his polearm to nudge Childe’s legs apart a little further and oh he might pass out. He digs his heel into Tartaglia’s stomach, purposely avoiding his injury. Not because he’s being nice, no. He’ll just get to that later. Childe grunts at the contact. “I don’t think you want me to, though.”

Zhongli’s eyes flicker down to Childe’s crotch, and watches with sick satisfaction at the way his hips squirm in anticipation. Zhongli waves his hand and in one motion, the weapon disappears.

“Oh Celestia,” he laughs. He laughs, and Childe’s cock twitches at the sound. It’s empty and hollow, and not at all filled with the usual joy he’s used to hearing. Childe suddenly gets the inexplicable need to swallow it. “You like this?”

Childe opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Barely a squeak, if anything. Oh Tsaritsa, what is wrong with me?

Zhongli moves his foot a little to the left, applies the slightest bit of pressure, and—

“A-Ah-!”

The god smirks. “That’s what I thought.”

Childe croaks, “W-what are you—“

Zhongli stares at him with eyes that somehow became a shade darker, a shade meaner. They were filled with a hunger that was almost inhuman; an aura emitted from him that was otherworldly and frighteningly possessive. It was only in that fraction of a second that Childe was hit with the realization of just who he was looking at. This...this was no simple soldier. This was no flimsy Millelith, that he could dismantle within seconds. This was a whole deity. The oldest Archon, the dragon himself, Morax-

“You know who I am, do you not? Otherwise, you wouldn’t have challenged an innocent consultant to such a grand battle, and in the Golden House, of all places,” Zhongli summons a lone piece of mora and twirls it between his fingers, observing the way the weight felt in his hand. It glimmers faintly in the light. He doesn’t even bother to look at Tartaglia anymore.

“Kings and Gods of all realms have bowed before me,” he states with such nonchalance it makes Childe’s head spin, “whatever made you think you could be an exception?”

Childe chuckles weakly, and finally lets his head hit the floor. His eyes flutter shut in surrender. He supposes that Zhongli is right. Besides, he knows when he’s lost a battle. It was time to end this.

“Alright,” he voices, “I yield.”

“No,” Zhongli states firmly, and much to Childe’s surprise and (reluctant) delight, the Archon drops all of his weight onto him and straddles his torso, pinning his body to the ground. His hands, quick as lighting, pin Childe’s own above his head. Zhongli leans down slowly, condescendingly, until there’s barely a hair’s width between their lips. The Harbinger’s breath hitches.

“You yield when I tell you to.”

[flowercrown-bard]

Poems for the Poet (2/ 5)

pairing: Eskel/Jaskier

word count: ~2k

read on AO3

previous   /  next

Content warning: self-deprecation, people treating witchers badly, self-loathing, panic attack, insecurity

Mutant, witcher, monster!

No one dared to spit those insults at Eskel openly – not yet. For now, the people of the town contented themselves with shooting him dirty looks, whispering behind his back and turning away when they caught sight of his face.

It was only a matter of time before the whispers would turn into shouts when fear became cruelty.

He had seen it happen often enough to know it was inevitable.

And yet, he had hoped that just this once it could be different. It had been different, when he had met Jaskier. It could be different again.

But these people weren’t Jaskier. They would rather claw Eskel’s eyes out than let him see their smiles or bite off their tongues before they let themselves utter a single kind word to him.

So Eskel kept his head low as he walked through the cobblestone street towards the inn, hoping they would tolerate him, at least for one night, if he didn’t attract too much attention. He ignored the whispers, the stares, the stench of disdain.

He barely flinched when something it him on the shoulder. He had known that sooner or later, stones would fly. He just had hoped it wouldn’t happen that soon.

With a sigh, he hunched his shoulders and ducked his head, making himself seem smaller, like less of a threat as he threw a glance over his shoulder to see if any more stones would be hurled his way.

What he saw instead, made him falter. What had hit him wasn’t a stone. It was a ball wrapped in leather, not dissimilar to the one he used to play with as a child before he had been brought to a place where boys learned how to fight and kill instead of playing.

Eskel crouched down to pick up the ball and take a closer look, but before he could stand back up again, he saw, or rather heard, the one who had thrown it at him.

“You found my ball!” The excited voice of a little girl cut through the disapproving murmurs of the adults like the sun pushing his way through clouds during a thunder storm. “I’m sorry for hitting you, mister.”

“Don’t worry,” Eskel said as softly as he could. “No harm done.”

He held out the toy for the girl who took it with a toothy grin.

“Thank you!”

Something warm and soft spread through Eskel’s chest. It had been too long since anyone had smiled at him, longer yet since he had spoken to a child that wasn’t destined for the cruelty of the trials.

Eskel couldn’t stop himself. For just a moment he forgot himself, too distracted by that soft glimmer of happiness in his chest. One moment of carelessness was all it took.

His lips twitched into a smile.

A snarl. A grimace. A twisting of his face into something hideous and fearsome.

The reaction was almost immediate. The girl blanched and reeled back, before she could even touch the ball.

“You’re the bad man!” She cried. If there had been any passers-by that hadn’t stared at Eskel before, they were now all fixing him with suspicious glares.

Eskel swallowed against the rapidly forming lump in his throat and dropped his smile. Perhaps that had been a mistake too. It was unnatural for people to be able to lose their smiles that quickly. It was inhuman.

“I’m not,” Eskel said soothingly. “I am not going to hurt you.”

“My ma told me that you’re bad!” The girl accused and pointed a finger at him before taking it back quickly and holding her hand against her chest in the same way people protected their hands when they were afraid a feral dog would bite them. “She said to stay away from the man with the ugly scars. She said you will take me away and eat me.”

Eskel flinched.

“I’m not –“

“I think it would be better if you left,” a low voice interrupted him.

When Eskel looked up from where he was still crouched, he saw three men walking towards him with stormy expressions.

Slowly, so as not to startle them, he put the ball to the ground and gave it a small nudge to roll towards the girl. She jumped back as if her toy was suddenly dangerous.

The men’s frowns deepened. Eskel held up his now empty palms in surrender as he stood back up ever so slowly.

One of the man took a threatening step towards him, his fists already raised and Eskel all but fled.

He tried not to listen to the angry and boasting shouts that followed him. It was in vain.

No matter how much he pretended, he wasn’t like his brothers. Geralt might be able to go on after Blaviken, saying that he didn’t need anyone and Lambert might be able to counter every insult with an even more cutting one of his own, but Eskel wasn’t like them. He was desperate and foolish and still clinging to the hope that he could be someone who wouldn’t be scorned and detested.

Another could-have-been. One that gnawed at him like a stray dog gnawed on a bone, tearing off the small bits and pieces that could still be something wanted.

Eskel had no delusions about how the rest of the day would go. He would find no place to sleep here, no hot meal and no contract that would be paid for. The longer he stayed, the bigger got the chances of pitchforks and kitchen knives being directed at him.

But his legs were so tired. It had been too long since he had eaten a healthy amount and ever since he had to give Scorpion away, he wasn’t able to carry his tent with him anymore.

He just wanted to rest. He just wanted to lay down for a while, knowing that he wouldn’t wake to a mob.

But the chances were slim. The best he could do was hide away in a dark alley to rest, hoping that no one would stumble upon him there.

He let himself lean back against the wall of a house, sliding down until he sat on the dirty floor. What more was some dirt, when his shirt already had holes in it? No one would bother to notice anyway, not when they had his face to stare at in fear.

His insides clenched and not purely because of the memory of the child’s laughter turning into cries at his sight.

He was hungry. So painfully hungry.

His jaw twitched as he rummaged through his bag for something edible, knowing full well that there was nothing to find.

Instead, his fingers found something else. Something, he had bought on a whim and quickly shoved to the bottom of his bag. Something he hadn’t been able to get rid of, even as it meant losing precious space in his bags.

Carefully, so as not to tear it, he pulled out the cheap paper, quill and inkwell he had bought months ago. For a long moment he only stared at them, overcome with the painful urge to smash the inkwell against the wall.

He wasn’t a poet, never would be. He was ugly and frightening and no one could even look at him without seeing all the things he couldn’t be written plainly across his face.

Yet he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

The memory of blue eyes flashed before him. Memories, of a blissful couple of days when it had seemed that maybe he could have, could be, something more. Jaskier had listened to what he had to say about poetry, as if his opinion was no less important than that of any scholar. He had explained the intricacies of word choice to him as if Eskel was worth talking to. As if he wasn’t too oafish, too big and too far removed from everything he could have become.

What had Jaskier told him back then? That poetry was a means to give meaning. That by creating something out of your pain, you refused to let it have power over you.

It wouldn’t work. Eskel knew that. No amount of words could ever distract from the life he hadn’t chosen. But perhaps…perhaps Eskel could make something beautiful.

It was a foolish thought, a desperate dream, but one that lodged itself into his heart, refusing to budge.

Eskel didn’t know how to write beautiful words and craft them into something more. All his knowledge about poetry came from the little he had gathered from reading the old poems. It wasn’t enough.

But it was all he had.

Before he could stop himself, he dipped the tip of the quill into the ink and put it on the paper. He hesitated, watched as the ink flew onto the paper like blood dripping off a sword and created ugly splotches.

Immediately, Eskel pulled the quill off the paper again.

He stared at that spot, that blemish, that failure.

The walls seemed to close in on him, suffocating him, crushing him. Though the sun was still up in the sky, his vision became darker, splotchy. Like the ink on the paper. Like bloodstains on his clothes.

He wasn’t good enough. This wouldn’t work. He hadn’t even written a single word yet and already he had ruined this.

He squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught of voices, of doubts, of knowing he would fail.

It was no use. His heart sped up and he felt his breathing becoming shallow. He should be able to control this. A witcher shouldn’t let himself succumb to his own mind.

But Eskel couldn’t do it. He couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t let his mind drift off for mediation, couldn’t fucking breathe.

With the strength of a hundred men, Eskel managed to scrap together some semblance of calm, just long enough for his mind to stop spiralling for a second and to latch on to one thing only.

Poetry.

Eskel clung to it with all his might, forcing himself to think of lines and verses he had memorised until his mouth moved and formed the words. They were barely more than a whisper, but Eskel had spoken them before, time and time again. His body knew the correct intonation, the right way to inhale enough to have his breath last for the entirety of a line.

The words fell from his lips in a soothing rhythm, the familiarity of them battling against the fear and the strain to remember the lines left no room for any other, unkind, thoughts.

It was only when Eskel’s heart had slowed down enough that the sound of its beating didn’t drown out his whispers, that Eskel realised whose poetry he was reciting.

It was Jaskier’s.

Lines about eyes flashing bright like lightning, comparable to a force of nature that disappeared before one had time to marvel at it but leaving a mark in the life of whoever had gotten the chance to see it.

Lightning. That’s what Jaskier described Eskel as and it was the first word that Eskel put down on the paper once his hands had stopped shaking too badly.

He looked at the word for a long time. It felt strangely right. Like it belonged there. Like Eskel had been meant to put it – a part of himself – out there.

His throat bobbed and his brows twitched at the thought, but before he had time to doubt himself any more, he let the quill scratch over the paper once more, leaving words in its wake. A mixture of Jaskier’s words and the rhythm of the ancient elves.

Lightning across lips cuts bright.

A lowly flash, no more. Leaving flesh forever sore.

Scorching like flame. Scowling for fright.

Marring a mangled man, mutilating a mutant more.

Eskel stared at the words. The poem wasn’t long nor was it particularly good. But it was Eskel’s. Eskel had written something, gave meaning to the meaningless with his quill.

His eyes darted to the splotch at the bottom of the paper, right where the last line ended. Another imperfection.

His brows knitted together and his hand moved again.

It might have been childish - Lambert would have definitely made fun of him for it -  but as Eskel drew legs, a head and horns onto the blemish, he found himself almost smiling again.

The almost-smile stayed on his lips, even as he forced himself to stand up once more, carefully putting his writing tools back where they belonged. The paper with his poem he kept in his hand.

He should have just left right away, trying to go unnoticed. That had been his plan as he moved through the alleyways now, but when he passed the notice board at the corner of one street, he paused, staring. A thought formed in his mind, before he even understood why he had stopped.

He didn’t know what possessed him to do it. Perhaps a glimmer of bravery or folly. Perhaps a hint of the man he had wanted to became shone through for a split second.

A man who was loved. A man who made beautiful things and didn’t have to hide away in shame what he had created.

And Eskel had created. He had written a poem. He had become, even if only for one moment, what he had always dreamed he could be one day.

With one swift motion, Eskel pinned his poem to the notice board. Not somewhere half-hidden between notes about nosy neighbours or the price of eggs, but right in the middle where anyone who passed by would be able to see it. The words on the page were spidery and nowhere close to artful, but they screamed I am imperfect, but I am here. I exist despite your spite.

Eskel took a step back, just far enough that he wouldn’t be able to reach the board and tear the poem down again in a fit of doubt. Admiring his own work was vain, but for the first time since Eskel could remember, he had something to admire, something to be proud of.

He must have stood there for too long. Around him, people started gathering, noticing him. One man shoved him. Another yelled at him to get away, that there were no contracts here for the likes of him.

Eskel turned and fled, just as the first stone hit him, right where the girl’s ball had met his shoulder before.

With every shout, every insult, every truth, the mob tore down part of the meaning Eskel had been able to find for himself.

He could only hope that they didn’t realise that the new addition to the notice board came from him. He could only hope that no one would tear off the poem, as they tore at Eskel’s heart with their shouts.

He hoped that maybe, however slim the chance was, someone would find his poem and smile.

It was a foolish hope, born out of pain and despair not unlike the poem itself had been, but it was the only thing keeping him warm that night as he huddled beneath a tree, cold and lonely and dreaming of something he had come so close to having.

[minerstatus]

Teyvat’s School for the Gifted

Summary: He's cruel, mean, and sadistic. Lumine cannot fathom why he has the followers he does, but she won't fall into his hands like the rest of them.  It was unknown to her at that time how such a stance would cause the biggest uproar the schools ever seen.

This is the silly drama filled high school/college parody AU nobody asked for filled with Lumine not giving a shit and Childe trying to buy his way out of problems.

Ship: Lumine/Childe

Tags: Highschool AU, Enemies to lovers, Slow burn, Jealousy, lots of side ships.

Status: 5/? on Ao3

Chapter 1

The school located on an island inside the neutral zones between nations is a blessing for anyone without a swimming pool filled with mora. Without money you have to be gifted a vision to attend. That is why Lumine thought she would never be accepted to such a place. Instead cursed to live her life on a small farm on the outskirts of Mondstadt, killing small monsters for money to aid her ailing mother.

She had become quite the prodigy around the area. Her sword work was nothing to be trifled with. Some would even gush about what it would be like if she did have a vision. Then it happened, a strange string of life changing events.

-

 She enjoyed spending her free time sitting under the statue of the seven in windrise. It gave her a reprieve from her day-to-day life of school, killing, then sleep. She polished her blade most days she sat there, enjoying the sounds of the wilderness around her.

 As she sheathed her blade, wistfully thinking about what it would be like to magically summon and desummon it as a vision user, a light began to shine behind her. There was a flash, she thought maybe a vision might appear in front of her. But this was no test or life changing event. It didn’t make sense.

 Wind surrounded her body, lifting her skit in the breeze. She turned, it followed with her. She lifted her hand as a power surged through her. A burst of wind jetted from her palm and sliced across the water. It trimmed the tops off the over grown grasses lining the ponds edge. The wind died down and left her for elsewhere as the light slowly faded out of existence.

 Befuddled, she stared at the palms of her hands. She felt a power emanating from her core. With a trembling arm she raised her palm again, calling forth on the energy. It darted from her as before. Shocked, she tried it again and again, smiling gleefully with each blast of wind. She twirled around, searching for her vision, but came up empty.

-

That is how the first visionless anemo user was born. At first people didn’t believe her. Delusions were not unknown to the common folk of Teyvat. They were a staple favorite of the mafia families across the regions. But she quickly smashed those theories to pieces. Not only was she a poor farm girl fighting to survive, but where on earth would she have the money to afford such a thing. She allowed an inspection of her things and a pat down to prove it.

After the authorities decided that she did not have a vision she was free to do as she wished. That was until the head master of Teyvat’s school for the gifted showed up on her doorstep. The scholarship she was offered would give more money to her mother per month than she could in six months of hunting. She took it without question.

That’s how she ended up here, gawking at the building in front of her. The school defied the rumors. Statues carved from marble, fountains that defied gravity, even the wood it was built from looked impossibly expensive. Heck, the wildlife looked like they ate from golden platters.

The only thing that held her from running right back to the boat was a woman pinning her down with a chemically assisted cheerful gaze. A shiver ran up her spine as she waved her over. She obliged only because her eyes looked a hair away from snapping into crazy land.

“Welcome to Teyvat’s finest Lumine!” She cheered and began to clap.

“Thanks,” She mumbled, intimidated by her nature. She looked like a robot. Sleek black hair, not a strand out of place. Perfectly pressed blazer and pencil skirt in matching shades. Her glasses glistening in the sunlight, even if they were just plain black frames. She hoped not everyone in this school looked or felt this way.

“Follow me and I'll take you to your dorm. Then it’s a trip around campus!” She quipped then turned on her heel. Even her footsteps were a perfect tempo.

They walked through the faculty building, which thankfully looked normal inside. The site quelled her turning stomach. It was into the garden next that, as expected, looked immaculate. They even had a massive sand garden. Back in Mondstadt something like that would be destroyed in seconds.

Eventually they came upon another wooden building with a large ‘girls’ over it. The woman stopped and spun so fast on her heel Lumine almost let out small scream.

“This is the girl's dorm; your roommates are waiting for you inside with your things. I'll be back in thirty minutes for the rest of the tour,” she said, smile never once faltering as she left Lumine to her own devices.

Her roommates were nice, they greeted her in the common room just as her guide stated. Amber was a bit too enthusiastic for just about anything. Barbara was a very cheerful girl but was more reserved. It was a breath of fresh air to see two friendly faces. They led her to their dorm to get settled.

“So, what do you think?” Amber asked as Lumine began to unpack her luggage. Placing her uniforms carefully into her small closet along with her own casual clothing. Her own things almost felt dirty comparted to the schools uniform she was provided. And the room was much bigger than what she expected from a dormitory.

“It's overwhelming,” She admitted.

“You'll get used to it,” Amber laughed.

“Are you?” Lumine began to ask.

“Scholarship,” Amber answered, holding up her vision, “They keep the poor kids together so we don’t infect the rich kids.” She laughed.

“Hey!” Barbara yelled at her. Lips pointing into a pout.

“Except for Barbara, she requested to room with me. She's the exception.” Amber smiled at her friend.

“So, it's exactly how I thought it would be,” Lumine grumbled. This school was probably dripping with rich kids causing trouble for the normal folk, like she expected.

“Some of the students are alright, indifferent you might say. But there are,” Amber held up her hands as air quotes, “those types.”

“Will you guys be in my classes?” She asked.

“Nope, third years!”

Lumine felt her insides twist. Great, now she would be alone on her first day. At least her dorm would be nice. Amber was warm and friendly and Barbara seemed sweet even if she wasn’t talking as much. The pair would only be a year below her so they were still close in age. Hopefully she wouldn’t be moved to another dorm with the ‘adults’ if she attends the next four years after this one.

“You don’t want to be in our year anyways,” Barbara laughed.

“Whys that?” Lumine felt a small smile form for the first time since she set foot on the island. Barbara wiggled her eyebrows and gleamed over at Amber. She turned red in response and threw a pillow at her.

“Stop! Its not my fault!” She shouted.

“It’s gross the way he drools over his desk for you,” Barbara added.

“Mind filling me in?” Lumine asked.

“No!” Amber shouted.

“She has this wolf boy that follows her around and causes trouble. Its adorable,” Barbara said anyways.

“I didn’t ask for it he just did it!” Amber defended herself.

“It's like a comedy slash horror show every day,” Barbara giggled.

“Stop teasing me,” Amber whined.

“Wolf boy?” Lumine asked. Mondstadt had a steady population of people descendant of shape shifters or animals, but she had never seen a wolf before. Most of them were cats. Granted, she did keep to herself and didn’t really mix with the town folk, even at school.

“Half werewolf, half human, grew up in the wild before coming here earlier in the year,” Amber explained.

“He can smell everything, it's awful,” Barbara moaned, “one time I tried to bring some leftovers from lunch and he almost ripped apart my bag looking for it.”

“Sounds like a nice boyfriend,” Lumine said, hiding her smile as she sorted items into her desk drawers. Amber gasped from behind her. She swallowed a laugh.

“H-he's not my boyfriend!” She yelled. Lumine busted and began to giggled along with Barbara. She was interested in seeing the exchanges between the two now.

“Very funny guys, I'll make sure to make fun of your pain in suffering next time I get the chance.” Amber crossed her arms.

“Alright I'll stop,” Barbara waved her hand at her. A sharp knock on the door quickly soured the cheerful mood. The door swung open and Lumine’s guide walked in.

“Fantastic, I'm so glad you are getting along with your new housemates. We must complete the tour now.” The woman said, still as cheerful as ever. Lumine noticed Barbara and Ambers shoulders fell on her entrance. “I'll be waiting out front,” she chirped and left.

“God, Mrs.Lee always gives me the creeps,” Amber said.

“Glad it's not just me,” Lumine laughed as she stood.

“Good luck! See you at dinner,” Amber waved as Lumine exited the room. She heard faint whispers of gossip as she left but knew it was nothing bad, those girls didn’t have a mean bone in them.

-

They walked around campus and Lumine slowly became accustomed to the wildly expensive taste. She was shown the inside of the year one through four buildings, for the fourteen-to-eighteen-year old's. Then the outside of the adult facilities. Mrs. Lee assured the only real difference between the two was the uniform requirement and some extra freedoms.

After taking the tour she felt less overwhelmed, but it was the final stop that really cemented the reality most of the students lived in. It was the cafeteria of the school, but should have been classified as a food court. There was the line for the scholarship students where they could use one of three free meal tickets per day, or a snack coupon, all loaded onto her school ID. Wich was normal, same thing that she had in Mondstadt, minus the dinner.

What was different was the restaurants lining the walls. Everything you could imagine from each region on tap. And the prices were nothing to scoff at. A Fishermans toast was going for ten thousand mora, she could make that for less than three hundred back home. Lines scaled out to the isles as students waited, eager to be robbed for food.

“Lumine!” A familiar voice shouted. She sighed in relief. A distraction to this insanity was required right about now. She carried her tray adorned with less appetizing food from the school over to the table Amber sat at.

“This place is crazy,” Lumine sighed in exhaustion.

“My first day I ran away,” Amber laughed. She placed a spoon full of mac and cheese into her mouth.

“Those prices are more than I make in three weeks back home,” She said as she began to eat. Pleasantly surprised that even the free food was delectable. The pasta was perfectly cooked, cheese sauce an ideal creamy texture. She moved on to nibble at her cookie, baked expertly with a crispy outside and a gooey center. “God,” she murmured, savoring the taste.

“I told you, you get used to it,” Amber smiled sweetly. A book bag slamming down on the table instantly cleared her face. She looked up to see what she assumed was the wolf boy from earlier discussions. Lumine wondered why Amber felt it was bad to have his attention. He was attractive, silver hair and red eyes, giving him an exotic look. His arms were coated in scars and a massive one gashed his face, not a bad look if your into that type. Some of the girls back home would swoon over the attention.

“Why,” She groaned as he pulled out a seat, pushing it right up against hers as he sat a plate of meat and potatoes down. It must have been one of the free creature meals from the school line. He sat, making sure he was as close as physically possible to her.

Okay, maybe that’s why. Lumine began to understand.

He tilted his head like a new puppy, “Why?” He asked, voice thick with an unknown accent.

“We talked about this,” She shoved his chair away. “This is Razor,” She sighed as he sunk into his chair to pout. Lumine nodded and greeted him with a smile.

“I bought brownies!” Barbara sang as she skipped over to the table, “For our new friend,” She handed out the sweets, “And beef jerky for you,” She said as she handed Razor a slim piece of dried meat. He perked up and took it, chewing on it greedily. After the experience with the cookie Lumine thought the food couldn’t get better. But the brownie was smooth decadent layers of velvet chocolate that melted in her mouth. She had to suppress a groan.

There was a pickup of chatter in the room that pulled her from her chocolate induced fantasy. She looked towards the entrance of the café where a group of boys walked in. They were followed by a gaggle of other students, mostly female, all adorned with an expensive accessory or more.

Lumine was an honest person and she did not deny to herself that these boys looked like royalty. They walked with an air of confidence even through the crowd, knowing that the sea of students would part for them. She counted each of their visions, anemo, geo, cryo and hydro. There was a distinct leader to the group out of the four. A redhead who wore his vision on his belt, showing it off by messily tucking in half of his unkept shirt. Like he wanted people to see it, unlike the rest of them that wore them on chains by their side, as did everyone else in the school.

“Don't stare,” Amber hissed. Lumine snapped her eyes to her friends.

“Who are they?” She asked. Amber eyed her wearily before divulging the information.

“Sons of the school's elite,” She glanced back at the group to ensure they were distracted with food or girls before continuing, “The shorter one with green hair is Xiao, the son of the wangshu inn owner. The geo looking guy is Zhongli from the Wangsheng funeral parlor. Blue hair is Kaeya, one of the sons from the dawn winery.” Amber stopped speaking as she got to the last subject. Lumine quirked a brow as both Barbara and Amber swiveled their heads to check on the group again.

“It's not really them you should be weary of though; besides Xiao they are nice. Xiao has always had a stick up his butt,” Barbara added to the conversation.

“Then what is it, why are we acting like we are defusing a bomb?” Lumine asked.

“It's Childe, the redhead,” Amber whispered.

“Childe? That’s a dumb name,” Lumine thought out loud. The girls hissed at her to keep her voice down.

“He smells mean,” Razor added. Amber pulled on his ear.

“I told you not to talk about him,” She growled at him. He grasped her hand in his, forcing her to release.

“But you are!” he argued.

“Thats because we are warning her!” Amber explained. Razors eyes darted from Ambers to Lumines and he resigned himself back to his half-eaten steak.

Amber rolled her eyes and turned back to Lumine, “It’s not his real name, no one even knows his real name.”

“Childe is an awful nickname,” She whispered back to her friend.

“He’s mean, and evil, once he has you in his sights there's no stopping it.” Amber warned her.

“What about his friends? Don’t they say something?” She asked.

“They are rich, us poor folk don’t matter to them even if they act cordial towards us,” Amber told her as she leaned back, “Besides you don’t have a vision, he will probably just ignore you.”

Lumine widened her eyes, “well...” She felt a tint come to her cheeks, “Actually...”

Amber slammed her fists on the table, “NO WAY! YOUR THAT GIRL!” she screamed. Drawing the attention of half the students.

“Show us!” Barbara insisted.

“Ah, I don’t think now is the best time.” Lumine tried to quell her friend's voices but both girls were oblivious to the attention they were attracting. She glanced over at the red head she was warned about to make sure he was still entranced at whatever activity he had chosen.

“Awh comon I wanna see!” Amber whined.

“First anemo user in history without a vision! Don’t hold out on us!” Barbara added.

“Fine! Just stop yelling at me,” Lumine finally conceded. She put her palm face up on the table and gathered a small amount of wind to it. It tinted green with her power as it swirled into a miniature tornado in her palm.

“This is so cool!” Amber gasped.

“It's the same as anyone else,” Lumine said, closing her hand to cease the wind. She was more than a bit tired of people going ballistic over her powers.

“Let's get back to the dorms,” Amber suggested, “We have much to talk about,” She smiled gleefully. Razor whimpered next to her, “fine you can come too,” She sighed. Razor looked up with a beaming smile.

“Boys are allowed in the girls dorms?” Lumine asked as they gathered their trays and bags.

“Only until eight with a strict open-door policy,” Barbara told her.

She hummed in response as the group made their way over to the trash bins. Eyes were on her now, some searching for a vision trinket she didn’t possess. She was the last one out the door when a chill tingled down her spin. She grabbed the back of her neck and turned, expecting a cryo user to be standing there with a smirk on their face.

Instead, she was greeted with sea blue eyes cutting through the crowd. He smirked when they made eye contact. The chill went down her entire body. She glared as the door to the building swung shut, cutting them off.

Shit.

[fitzefitcher]

honestly i've been seeing bastion as like a Buddhist-ish place with ancient greek aesthetics, bc letting go of your earthly attachments to be enlightened is pretty Buddhist. 'If you meet the Buddha on the road, kill the Buddha. If you meet your father, kill your father.', that kind of thing. i haven't thought of it as a Light place at all, though i can see why others do.

so there's. a lot of things I would like to cover in answering this, and I'm honestly dreading it a little lmao buuuuut I will do the best I can. I have a lot of thoughts about Bastion, and about the Light, so I'm going to take this as an opportunity to explore that. so: content warning for discussion of religion and religious trauma, esp in regards to identity erasure.

full disclosure: I'm an american queer that was raised roman catholic (specifically, roman catholic within the confines of a heavily irish-italian community) and currently identify more as like. an agnostic apostate, would be the closest thing to describe it, I think. generally, while I'm not really crazy about organized religion as a massive institution capable of doing absolutely wretched things to the people it alleges to helping (and by no means am suffering under the delusion that it hasn't and won't continue to do these things so long as oppressive systems of power are in place, just like it would be in any other area, not just religion), I also acknowledge that there's a lot of good in it, too, and it's the cornerstone of many people's community, culture, and identity. ultimately, my opinion is that religion is a tool, and whoever's holding that tool decides its purpose and intention. it's. a complicated matter lmao.

I'm not going to pretend I'm an expert on buddhism, here. obviously this was not the religion (or any of the many cultures its beliefs are centered in) I was raised as, and honestly even the research I've done for this feels like it's barely scratching the surface. so, rather than try and argue or explain something that is really out of the realm of what I'm familiar with or have experience with (esp. something that's not really mine to claim), I will try and explain things from my own experience as a queer AFAB person raised as roman catholic. and speaking from that perspective, it is very incredibly obvious to me how much of bastion was lifted from christian theology. not just the aesthetics of it, all of the weird identity conformity shit, too. the way that kyrian ideology is being used here, is as a tool to enforce this conformity.

same with how the Light as a concept has been developed in recent years- there are no longer any significant differences between the way individual factions use and interact with the light, even though as cultures their views on it should be radically different, or at least different enough that they don't feel like homogenized versions of each other. like, there's no real difference between how the humans view the Light, and how dwarves view the light, and how gnomes view the Light, and it doesn't really feel like there ever was. Nelves' view on it used to be characterized pretty strongly and differently, as did trolls and draenei, but the longer the years go on, the more that they sort of blend together. to get back to your statement, "I haven't thought of it as a Light place at all," I find that very difficult to parse as a statement, as Bastion as a whole has been developed from base concepts of the Light. Like, Kyrians were designed from spirit healers, spirit healers are now confirmed to be Kyrians (for some reason), and all of the aesthetics of their magic, their clothing, their environment are all heavily priest, paladin, and light-inspired. everything is golds and marbles and sky blues, when they become "corrupted," they suddenly become shadow-themed, like all greys and blacks and purples, their wings turn black, etc. but the similarities, and all their short-comings, go much farther than that.

so the general story thread of each area of the shadowlands in this expansion is that things aren't as they seem, right? that their individual systems are beginning to fall to internal corruption and are crumbling under their own weight. and we see this in each of the trailers- the houses of maldraxxus are starting to eat each other, ardenweald is slowly starving to death, revendreth's citizens are being choked with heavy demands from the aristocracy, and bastion is struggling to adjust in the face of new, unprecedented problems, unwilling to change their ways, even when it's explicitly obvious how badly they need to change. like, I've talked about this a little bit before- the trailer and the way it's structured led me to believe that we, the players, are meant to be hanging out with Devos and Uther, trying to help them convince Devos' boss that very obvious bad thing that's happening, is happening. And this is about how it goes for the other trailers- we learn about the betrayal of Draka's house in maldraxxus, and the maldraxxus storyline is centered on helping her figure out what happened and pick up the pieces. We learn about Ardenweald's rapidly shrinking resources and dying environment, and the ardenweald storyline is centered on figuring out what the cause of this famine is. We learn about Revendreth's aristocracy and how they're demanding more and more of the common people, and the revendreth storyline is centered on overthrowing the increasingly tyrannical cruelty of their current leaders and helping the common people, with the help of a leader favored by the common people. And I feel like, given the state of things, and how the IRL world as a whole has been going the past couple years, helping Devos and Uther get to the bottom of this, maybe even helping Bastion adjust and change in the face of these new challenges, would have been a very good, insightful storyline, and very appropriate for the times we're in.

This, clearly, is not what happened lmao. Whether or not they'll decide to develop bastion further, at least in terms of addressing its failings with its own people, is up for debate, but based on WoW's previous history of similar stories, I'm not very confident lmao.

so I will touch on that statement of bastion being a "buddhist-like place" for a moment, I did look into buddhism a bit, and while I very quickly realized that there wasn't really a way that I could discuss this at length in a way that's fair (esp. with how many variations and cultures there are centered around it, again, I am not an expert, I am doing the best I can with the information I have), the very very bare bones basics of buddhism that I can find more or less boil down to, yes, letting go of earthly attachments to attain enlightenment. but this is not really a nuanced assessment of buddhism, and tbh, isn't really the goal of the kyrians' purification rituals. sure, at first glance, it seems to line up- shedding the burdens of their mortal lives in order to achieve ascension- but ascension here, is not enlightenment. buddhist enlightenment, from what I can find, seems to be the act of breaking free from the cycle of death and rebirth and from mortal suffering. kyrian ascension is the act of, not breaking free of that cycle, but tying yourself to it for an eternity of service. and living your life (even  an eternal one- especially an eternal one) in the service of others is a really strongly christian concept. and the kyrian's concept of virtues only strengthens this. the fact that kyrians have virtues at all is heavily christian-coded, and on top of that, the virtues they have feel like they've been lifted directly from christian beliefs. also like. they're literal fucking angels, trying to earn their wings. like. there's not much else I can think of that's that heavy-handed lmao.

let's talk more about those virtues, though.

the kyrian virtues are as follows: purity, humility, courage, wisdom, and loyalty. There are a number of variations on christian virtues, but here are two of the main sets: one set lines up as the ideological opposite to the seven capital sins (or seven deadly sins if you're an FMA fan lmao), and the other is more-or-less what is accepted in contemporary belief. This is what I was taught in sunday school/CCD, so this is what I'm a little more familiar with.

so set 1, the heavenly virtues, are: chastity, temperance, charity, diligence, patience, kindness, and humility, and set 2, the contemporary virtues, are split further into 2 groups: the cardinal virtues, prudence, justice, fortitude, and temperance, and the theological virtues, charity, hope, and faith.

So humility, courage, and wisdom, are pretty straight-forward in terms of what they represent, and line up pretty neatly with humility (lol) from the heavenly virtues, and fortitude and prudence from the contemporary virtues. To touch on those briefly, humility is exactly what it says on the tin, and acts as an ideological opposite to the capital sin of pride, fortitude is bravery and endurance as well as patience, and prudence is reason and self-discipline, esp in terms of handling yourself and how you interact with others. And these are perfectly fine as principles. the ones that set off alarm bells for me, though, are loyalty and purity.

as kyrian virtues, they don't really line up to any christian virtues from either set. but tbh, this is beside the point- the fact that purity and loyalty are considered virtues, at all, especially in combination with each other, at best feel very suspicious, and at worst openly hostile. and the way this is covered in game only enforces this. purity is only obtained by sloughing off pieces of yourself that the kyrians consider obstructive to your ascension and how you can serve the Purpose, and questioning this or any other aspect of their ascension ritual gets you sent to the temple of loyalty to, ostensibly, stay there until you Get Your Priorities Straightened Out lmao. Like, there's no exploration of why these purity rituals are being questioned to begin with, there's no examination of why the rituals are necessary to begin with, and seemingly, prospective kyrians are punished for even asking. like, for a faction that seemingly prides itself on helping their members becoming their best selves, it feels strange that the reaction to their unsure members is punitive instead of therapeutic.

at this point, the link between the kyrians' beliefs and christianity should be readily apparent. it's no secret that over the centuries, christianity has used as a tool for oppressive systems to dominate marginalized groups, both within its ingroup and without. "purity" in christianity is less a virtue and more a heavily enforced, wildly contradictory idea, hiding itself in mealy-mouthed platitudes about being a Good Person or Becoming Your Best Self while simultaneously, stringently punishing its own members for daring to step a toe out of an extremely arbitrary line. like, I remember going to church growing up, and in the same breath that the head priest said to pray for various members of the community (thoughts and prayers, lmao), pray for [insert local sports team here] to win for their upcoming game, he also said that yes, democrats are corrupting the country. yes, homosexuals are going to hell. mass was an exercise in enduring misery most of the time, and a big reason I stayed closeted from my family for the majority of my life is because of this, and I still am, in many ways. I still have to divvy myself up in bits and pieces to become Socially Acceptable enough to appease my extended family, and there are certain family members that I will go to my grave never having come out to them, because I know they will never accept me for who I am, truly. so to have purity be a kyrian virtue with no further examination, no trace of irony, and to have loyalty as a virtue to back it up, feels, at best, extremely tone-deaf.

when you quest alongside kleia and pelagos, you see these purity rituals, and you see how large a toll they take on them. you see pelagos struggle, and you as the player help him overcome the difficulties he faces- difficulties he could not overcome himself. you see kleia, over time, becoming more and more disgruntled with bastion's governing body as a whole, and finding more and more cracks in the kyrians' concept of purity. but no lessons are learned, from either of these. nothing is examined further, and I have doubts that it ever will.

you, the player, see other kyrians, who previously were orcs, tauren, trolls, draenei, all these non-humans, being stripped of their identity, ostensibly for the reason that it will make them more just and fair a judge, a concept that rapidly falls apart the longer you look at it. the idea of all these sentient creatures from all these walks of life, particularly the ones heavily coded as BIPOC, are to be stripped of their cultural identity and made into Homogenous Standard (white-coded) Blue Human is so intrinsically malicious that it is genuinely baffling that it was even seriously considered as an idea, let alone greenlit and put into the game. prospective mortals are scouted to be kyrians theoretically for the lives they lived in service of others, in justice and kindness and wisdom, and then they are made to give up more and more pieces of those lives, rendering whatever they've learned, whatever experiences they've gained, that made them this person that the kyrians sought out in the first place, an utterly pointless and redundant endeavor. things like kindness, wisdom, courage, are not inherent qualities. They are things that have to be learned. They are things in which the context of them is paramount to how they will be measured. So to say that it is Necessary to do this, to make them Fairer, to make them More Just, feels both stunningly nonsensical and just pointlessly, nihilistically mean.

so what does this have to do with the Light?

well, in recent years, it seems to be steering more and more towards the idea that only correct religion within WoW is the Light, and there's only One Way to be Light. Early on in WoW's development, it was established that yeah, shadow has a bit of a reputation and can certainly be misused, but nobody's arguing that the Light can be misused, too, and that neither shadow nor light are inherently good nor inherently evil- they just Are, and each serve their own purpose in this world and its way of things. I had written a post about this like. several years ago, and a lot of it hasn't aged very well (I will not link to it bc woof, it was Pretty Rough to look at again after seven years lmao), but the gist of it was that Light and Shadow, are less like good and evil, and more like the Force from star wars. Well, a more nuanced force- again, Light is not Strictly Good, Shadow is not Strictly Evil. They are merely opposite sides of the same spectrum, but they are not inherently antithetical to each other. It was less a religion/belief system with an established deity, and more just reverence for the universe and its workings as a whole. Yes, it has the markers and drapings of christianity, particularly in its aesthetics, but the actual belief system didn't really lift anything from any particular christian belief system, and didn't really match up to any one of them, besides, again, the aesthetic of it. The Light now, however- now it does have a lot in common with christian beliefs. or at least, it and the church of the light have a lot in common with the mentality of those with strong christian beliefs. Which is to say, again, there is only one Correct Religion, and it's Light, and there's only One Correct Way to be Light. other religions within wow are either condemned, painted as savage, violent, heretical, or watered down so much that they either don't matter or function as mere Extensions to the light.

last summer, when I was reading the "before the storm" novel as research for my sylvanas essay, one of the many, many things that made it a difficult read was how like. unintentionally, thoughtlessly intolerant Golden had written it. Anduin, one of the main characters in it, despite having a history of kindness, compassion, curiosity, and understanding, is kind of shunted into being a 1-dimensional Good Christian Boy(tm). Like, he struggles with interacting with the forsaken, despite them having been in existence for over a decade at this point, and more than half his lifetime, and despite having dealt with them before, and orcs, and tauren, and a great number of other non-human creatures, while still treating them with grace and dignity, and respecting their perspectives, experiences, and beliefs. like, he's painted as thinking that the netherlight temple would be an alliance-only, church of the holy light only affair, and is really surprised, even stunned, at the thought of having to interact with non-alliance, non-light priests. and something that really really stuck with me while reading this, was that Anduin, this compassionate, intelligent, understanding person, could only learn to interact with priests of other factions and species, despite having already done this before, many, many times in his life, on the basis that They, Too, Are Servants Of The Light. and there's just. no examination in this. no irony. Light is Right, Others are Not. No lessons were learned.