#i'll proofread in the morning

[i-eat-deodorant]

okay serious question this time, elaborate on your creative process bc boy you are very big big big inspiration mhmmhm additionally, give brief summary of your current WIPs pwetty pwease

for writing, i'm a bit of a snippet hoarder. the way a crow loves shinies, i love little phrases and snippets that hit just right. i screenshot them and scrapbook them and remember the exact locations (url, chapter title, page number) where i read them. then when i'm low on motivation, i go back to some and dissect what i love about them and that the writers do to make it click. if the writing's good then i'll never get tired of rereading the same thing, because every time i go back there's another angle to look at and a new interpretation to consider.

for art, it's pretty much the same thing. studies help. real life studies, master studies, warm-up sketches where you scribble something a couple of times before starting the real deal. i really need to practice what i preach more, but the few times i did anatomical/light studies really improved my skills a lot. studies stuck ass to draw because i'd rather be doodling a million other things than "the basics", but they help.

and i think the other thing that's starting to become important to me is immediacy. if i have a cool thought, i write it down. if i have an image in my head, i drop everything to doodle it. i think this is more a personal issue concerning my abysmal attention span than anything else, so ymmv but i find that if i don't get something out right now i won't get it out at all.

[14dayswithyou]

For the characters that don’t have siblings, do they wish they did?

Violet comes from a very big and close-knit Filipino family, so she was always surrounded by her cousins, mother, and other relatives growing up. I don't think she'd necessarily want siblings, though she wouldn't complain if she suddenly got one (or a few).

Teo is obsessed with having everyone's eyes and attention — including his parents — on himself, so having a sibling would only get in the way of that. He doesn't want to fight someone for the spotlight, and I don't think he'd be able to tolerate having someone related to him hogging all of his parent's attention. He's fine with having close friends, but draws the line at seeing someone as his "sibling" — blood related or not.

Leon had Angel by his side for a small portion of his life — and while he doesn't see them as his sibling per-se — he did share a strong bond with them. He also surrounds himself with his close group of friends, so there's never really been a point in his life where he ever felt lonely. It'd be nice if he had a sibling, but he'd worry that it'd be more stressful for his Mother to take care of (or vice versa, considering she's in the hospital and Leon is the one taking care of things).

Jae would definitely love having siblings! Part of the reason why he adopted Maple was because he always felt lonely when he was by himself and didn't really have anyone who would go along with his antics unconditionally.

[just-here-with-my-thoughts]

Day 19: "Please Don't" / Adrenaline Crash

@febuwhump prompt: "Please Don't" @badthingshappenbingo prompt: Adrenaline Crash

Fandom: The Bad Batch Characters: Hunter, Omega, Wrecker, Tech, Echo (Did you read Day 5: Rope Burns / Bound & Gagged and Day 12: Semi-Conscious / Over-the-Shoulder Carry? This is a continuation! Follow the links above to catch up on the story so far) Word Count: ~3005 Click here to read on AO3 Also available in Russian (with thanks to @tech-o-mania for the amazing translation!)

Synopsis: Hunter loses control as he hunts down the mercenaries who captured and injured Omega.

Art by the awesome @collophora of my gorgeous Feral Hunter! Thank you so much for this beautiful pic and letting me post it with my fic, everyone go view collophora's original post HERE and tell them how great they are! <3

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Omega swings her legs as she sits on the edge of the table, watching as Tech methodically extracts embedded strands of hessian from the wound on her left wrist. Her right is already swathed in bandages, the bacta gel bringing a soothing numbness that dulls the pulsing pain to a background throb.

She draws her breath in as a hiss though her teeth at a particularly painful pull, and Tech glances at her to check she is okay. He doesn’t continue until she nods to give him permission to do so.

The com at the engineer’s wrist crackles to life. “Come in, Tech.” It is Wrecker’s voice, low and urgent.

Tech pauses his ministrations to answer the com. “What is it, Wrecker?”

“I need backup.”

The big clone’s voice over the com is deadly serious, none of his usual joviality.

“What is your status?” asks Tech, his voice taking on a more clipped edge.

“It’s Hunter.”

Tech quickly looks up at Echo, and Omega doesn’t miss the alarmed look that passes between them.

“Will you and Omega be alright by yourselves?” Tech asks, putting the tweezers back in the medkit and standing.

Echo nods, resting a hand on Omega’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about us. Go help Wrecker.”

“Help Wrecker with what?” asks Omega, getting to her feet and looking first at Tech, then Echo. “Are they in trouble?”

“You are still in need of treatment,” says Echo firmly, trying for a smile which comes out too tense to be reassuring. “I’m sure Tech will manage without us.” He gestures back to the table. “Sit back up, and I’ll finish your wrists.”

Tech is gathering his equipment, and Omega leans past Echo to see him set his pistol to stun.

“I want to go with Tech,” she protests softly. “I want to check that Hunter and Wrecker are okay.”

Echo and Tech exchange another look. Omega is getting pretty tired of the unspoken conversations they share with their eyes.

“Finish attending to Omega’s wounds,” says Tech eventually. “Then you may follow… carefully.”

*

Hunter’s pistol is in his left hand, balanced on his forearm which is crossed in front of his body, vibroknife held blade outwards. The hum of adrenaline is in his veins, pulse pounding, slowly building to a tense knot of pain at the base of his skull which will surely become a migraine later.

Two more mercenaries up ahead, just out of sight. He can hear them.

Hunter doesn’t have to think about softening his footfalls. The predator’s stealth comes naturally to him.

In moments he is around the corner and the two men are ten paces ahead, weapons out as they scout the corridor.

They don’t know that death shadows their movements.

In his ear, the com pings. Hunter shakes his head, shutting it off irritably. Not now. Whatever his brothers want, it can wait.

He rolls to his toes, picking up speed. Closes the gap in a sprint.

One shot with his pistol. The laser-burn eats through the first man’s skull. The second turns but Hunter is on him, and the vibroknife tears out his throat before he can cry for help.

Hunter pauses for a moment, surveys his work. That makes four of them he has eliminated now. Four of them who harmed his Omega. Four of them who will never threaten her again.

A high-pitched whine, like tinnitus, sets up in his head. He pulls his helmet off, rubbing his ears, trying to chase away the source of the sound.

His helmet is dropped to the floor, forgotten, as he sets off to find the rest of his quarries.

*

Tech tilts his datapad towards Wrecker. “I have picked up the bounty hunters’ com channel. They seem concerned that they cannot raise a number of their companions.”

Wrecker looks up from fitting binders to the two mercenaries he has captured. “Hunter won’t waste any time,” he says gruffly.

“He may have deactivated his com, but I can still track his locator beacon,” says Tech. “Leave these two here. We must catch up to Hunter as soon as we can.”

*

Hunter crouches on the narrow gangway, watching the knot of mercenaries in the hangar below. Five left. Their conversation drifts to him but it is just noise. He can’t make his head understand the words.

It doesn’t matter what they are saying. Hunter will be among them soon, and their words will give way to screams and then they will be dead. He plans to make sure of that.

The migraine closes its vice-like grip on his consciousness and Hunter pulls his bandana off, trying to ease the pressure at his temples. A faint aurora halos his vision, sparkling in the periphery. His back teeth ache.

He creeps along the perforated metal walkway, feeling it sway a little from the suspension cables that keep it aloft. He holsters the pistol, curling the fingers of that hand around the rail instead. His right hand continues to clutch the vibroknife like it is an extension of himself.

Almost directly above them. From here he can drop onto the group, break his fall with one of their bodies, before wreaking his vengeance.

Hunter climbs silently to the railing. Leans over the edge, gravity pulling at his body, braced now on the outside of the walkway.

Ready to drop.

*

Echo spots the pair of bodies before Omega does. He stops her with a hand on her shoulder and ventures forwards cautiously, already knowing what he will find.

He is surprised to see the half-skull of Hunter’s helmet staring up at him from between the fallen mercenaries. He scoops it up and checks the wiring. The com is undamaged. It has been deliberately disabled.

Behind him he hears Omega.

“Tech, come in. Did you find Wrecker and Hunter?”

She has her bandaged hands pressed to her com, trying to raise her brothers. Echo hurries back to her, Hunter’s helmet in hand. Omega’s eyes go wide as she sees it.

“Is Hunter okay?” she asks in a fearful whisper, reaching out to brush the side of the helmet. The fresh bandages across her palms come away stained red.

“Don’t worry,” mutters Echo, “it’s not his blood.”

There is a moment of confusion before the meaning of his words dawns on Omega. She leans past him to peer down the corridor. Two bounty hunters. Not unconscious. Dead.

“Oh,” she says in a small voice. Then, looking up at him with a determined frown, “We need to find Hunter.”

*

Wrecker and Tech press tightly to the door-frame, one on either side of the corridor that has brought them to this hangar. Tech’s datapad says this is where Hunter should be, but all they can see are the clustered mercenaries.

Wrecker is the first one to look up. His hands move in a quick signal sequence, drawing Tech’s attention to their brother in his ambush position.

“Hunter,” breathes Tech. And as though it is a command, Hunter drops.

The chaos is immediate. Hunter is amongst the mercenaries, pistol forgotten, knife indiscriminately biting through cloth and armour into flesh. Panicked cries answer his sudden appearance. Blaster fire greets him.

Tech and Wrecker recognise Hunter’s grunt of pain like it is their own. They take a single moment to share a nod, and then they too join the fray.

Wrecker charges in, shoulder down, crashing into a mercenary and knocking him away from Hunter. Tech skirts the edge of the hanger, diving into a roll to evade a stray blaster bolt. He comes up with his pistol ready, gaze flitting over the knot of combatants before choosing his target. He knows this is the quickest way to end this.

Omega’s voice comes over the com but doesn’t answer. He needs all his considerable wits about him if he wants to take down his younger brother.

He steadies his aim.

He fires at Hunter.

*

Somewhere beyond the roaring in his ears Hunter is dimly aware that he is injured. There is a lingering trace of heat as the laser-burn crawls against his skin, softened from deadly to merely painful by the layer of his armour. It slows him, but he doesn’t let it stop him.

He ducks a wild haymaker meant to knock him to the ground and comes up inside the man’s guard. The mercenary yells as Hunter’s forehead connects with his nose, blood gouting from the broken cartilage, and Hunter winces at the shout pierces his already tender headache.

The migraine is stabbing behind his eyes now, his vision winking in and out in bright flashes. He has to finish this fight soon, or he won’t be able to.

The sudden jolt of a stun blast catches him in the back. He feels the sensation ripple forwards across his chest, electric, followed by numbness. The blast threatens to short out his enhanced senses.

With difficulty he fights the blackness that follows the stun bolt, dragging his awareness back to the fight. Two others still standing. To his surprise, he realises Wrecker is one of them.

Then Hunter feels an attacker leap onto his back. He howls in panic and anger; instinct directs him to dip his body, rolling the assailant over his shoulder. He grabs them and slams them into the floor, a blow designed to stun.

Recognises the helmet. The goggles.

“Tech?” he slurs in confusion.

And, “TECH!” The shout is echoed by Wrecker, scooping up their fallen brother.

The final mercenary takes advantage of the distraction. Two blaster bolts hit into Wrecker’s back, staggering him, and he clutches Tech to his chest protectively. Hunter watches as the bounty hunter retreats, fleeing for the bikes they came in on.

His prey's footsteps are still reverberating at the edge of Hunter’s enhanced hearing when others approach from behind him. He whirls, sees Echo and Omega.

“What happened?” demands Echo, crossing to Hunter. With one hand he pushes Omega behind him, making sure she doesn’t step round and see the Sergeant. Doesn’t see the feral gleam in his eyes, the sharp and dangerous expression of his open-mouthed panting.

“I’ll find him.” Hunter’s voice is a subhuman growl. “I’ll end it.”

*

Omega paces anxiously, glancing towards the farthest exit to the hanger. Tech is conscious but dazed, propped up against a storage crate as Echo checks his pupils. She worries for Hunter, but she has been told to stay put.

Wrecker finishes restraining the still-living mercenaries and rolls his shoulders, easing out the stiffness of the injuries he sustained. His own blaster is loose in his hands, still set to stun.

The bodies have been hidden to one side, smeared trails of red marking the route they had been pulled. So much for out of sight, out of mind. Omega curls up over her injured hands, rubbing at her wrists through the bandages. The rope burns itch under the healing bacta gel.

“Tech will be fine,” reports Echo, “but one of us should stay with him. Omega?”

“I’m going after Hunter,” she announces, before she can be asked to play medic. She turns and looks at Echo with her mouth set in an unhappy line.

Echo calmly meets her gaze. “Hunter won’t want you to see him like this,” he says softly.

“Hunter needs me.” She is the embodiment of stubbornness. “I know it.”

Wrecker’s big hand touches her shoulder gently.

“I’ll keep her safe, Echo,” he says, voice strained with an ache of worry. He pushes his helmet back down onto his head, the snarling skull hiding the concern in his eyes.

“Let’s go, kid.”

*

Hunter is exhausted, muscles trembling as he forces them to continue. He has to do this. The image of Omega’s injuries is burned behind his retinas, the scent of her fear cloying. He failed to protect her once. He won’t do so again.

One more mercenary, and the job was done. There would be no-one left to threaten her. And if this group didn’t return, perhaps whoever was hunting them would think twice before sending more agents to kidnap her.

Protect Omega. Blood pounds in his head. Every footstep is a hammer-fall on the anvil of his overwrought senses.

Protect Omega.

A blaster shot hits his right hand. The vibroknife is flung free of his grasp, spinning into the air and embedding in the wall above his head. Hunter startles, the pain in his hand almost enough to stop him from evading the follow-up shot aimed for his heart. He twists at the last moment, the blaster bolt grazing his chest-plate.

Then his feral instincts are back, taking over, shutting down the thoughts that are distracting him and driving him forwards into the fight.

Hunter lunges, closing the distance to his would-be ambusher in a burst of speed that belies his injured state. He doesn’t remember that he has a pistol. Instead he barrels into the man, tackling him to the floor. The two of them roll, fighting for dominance, and Hunter comes out on top. Slugs the man. Pain explodes in his knuckles but he doesn’t stop. Again. And again.

Under the onslaught the mercenary’s face is transforming to a swollen, bloody pulp. He writhes and bucks under Hunter, throwing the sergeant off and scrambling for escape. Hunter leaps after him and they are back to brawling, only it isn’t a brawl. The man is sobbing, arms over his head, trying to shield himself from Hunter’s incoming blows. Pleas dribble with bubbled blood from broken lips. The man weeps for mercy.

Hunter’s onslaught continues. One more mercenary, and the job is done.

Protect Omega. Protect her at all costs.

*

Omega and Wrecker round the corner and Wrecker pulls them up short. Hunter is locked in combat with the final mercenary, the sickening sound of fist hitting flesh and the crepitus of broken bone reaching them across the otherwise empty room.

Omega recoils, watching the scene with fascinated horror. The brutality makes her sick to her stomach, but she can’t look away.

Hunter’s hair is loose, missing the bandana that usually tames it, and hangs lank and sweaty about his face. Blood streaks his fists and spatters his armour. The air is punctuated by his soft grunts and laboured breath, and the moans and whimpers emanating from the figure that is huddled beneath his fury.

Wrecker lays his hand on Omega’s shoulder, trying to coax her away. “Omega,” he says, and his voice quavers. He crouches in front of her, interposing himself between her and the brutal scene, and pushes his helmet back on his head to lock gazes with her.

“What is he doing?” Omega whispers in horror, brown eyes wide as she searches Wrecker’s face for answers.

Wrecker merely shakes his head. “You should get outta here, kid. Head back to the Marauder, wait for the others.”

He stands and turns away from her, dropping the blaster and moving towards Hunter with his hands held up defensively. It is like he is approaching a wild animal, wary of attack.

“Hunter, stop it. Please, vod. He’s down, he surrendered. This isn’t right.”

If Hunter hears him he gives no sign. His punches keep flying, sluggish but solid. His victim lets out a single broken sob.

Omega’s com chirps.

“Omega, are you alright?” It is Tech, his voice weak-sounding as he recovers from concussion.

“We found Hunter,” she whispers, riveted on Wrecker’s careful advance.

Wrecker nears Hunter and his victim, one hand extended. “It’s me, Hunt,” he says, softening the brash edge of his voice. “Time to stop. Okay, vod?”

Hunter doesn’t hear him. Or ignores him. It is hard to tell.

“Is Wrecker able to handle the situation?” asks Tech.

Omega shakes her head. “No,” she says, voice trembling with determination. “But if Wrecker can’t make Hunter stop, I will.”

“Be careful, Omega,” Tech warns her, and she steels herself for what is to come.

She steps past Wrecker, ducks to evade his grasp as he tries to stop her. On shaky legs she closes the distance. Hunter, her Hunter, is a creature she does not recognise. Ruthless, bloodstained, no glimpse of gentleness or mercy.

Hunter leans back, winding up for a huge hit. Omega darts in front of him, catching hold of his fist, levelling her intense brown-eyed stare into the wildfire of his fury.

Omega positions herself directly in front of the exhausted sergeant. Hunter is on his knees, tattooed face glazed in sweat and blood that almost certainly does not belong to him. His shoulders heave as he gulps in great lungfuls of air.

“Don’t,” she says. A plea. A command. “Please don’t.”

For a moment Hunter’s eyes turn glassy and unfocused, pupils trembling with rapid dilations before he eventually blinks and manages to fix his gaze on the girl before him.

“Omega?” he croaks weakly, and staggers to his feet. He sways a little, then replants his feet and braces a hand against her shoulder to steady himself. “You’re meant to be with Tech.”

Unexpectedly, he retches. Omega takes a startled step back as Hunter heaves bile, his whole body trembling. When he is done he wipes his mouth slickly on the back of his hand, glancing round in confusion.

Wrecker steps forwards, caution still written in his posture. “Hey, Hunter,” he says softly, a greeting to his brother as he returns to his senses.

Hunter sags against Omega, his arms going round her in relief, and she can feel the uncontrolled quaking of his body as adrenaline fatigue truly sets in.

Quickly Wrecker steps in to support him, taking some of his weight from Omega. But Omega wraps her arms tightly round Hunter’s waist, pressing her face against his chest, ignoring the scent of blood and blaster-fire as she feels his trembling hand run through her hair.

“I forgive you, Hunter,” she whispers, fingers digging into the cracks of his armour as they both cling to each other with equal ferocity. “I forgive you.”

[incoherentsobbing]

A. Thing. 🧍🏾

CW: Unhealthy relationship dynamics, implied drugging (a potion of some sorts), light mentions of death, Yan! reader x (character of your choice), l'm pretty sure I had someone in mind when I first wrote this, but it's been months and I have No Clue, lowkey disturbing. reader is manipulating mansplaining manwhoring this

Tell me if I miss anything :P

Heavy breathing.

The deafening sound of skin brushing against skin.

The shrill laughter coming from them made butterflies flare up in such a beautiful way in you.

"Haha! (redacted)!" They'd gleefully chuckle as you'd both roll around in the pillow fort you made together, tears forming in the corner of their eyes.

And you'd laugh right back, engulfing them in a loving hug they'd surely return.

They just loved you so, so much.

And you loved them too.

Enough to put them under a spell.

Enough to make sure all they thought about was you, you, you.

Because they loved you so much.

And you loved them too.

They'd cry and cry, but how could they be sad? When all they could feel was the tight pull on their heart when they saw you? When they heard your voice? When they tried to resist the spell you put them under?

Those were just tears of joy. What more could they be?

Their dead eyes meant nothing, so long as they gazed at you, and you alone.

They didn't mind when the people they were once close to vanished. One after the other

How could they?

They were too preoccupied with wedding plans to even think about their companions dropping like flies around them.

You'd speak, and they'd listen. Obey. Without question.

All because they loved you

And you loved them too.

[glouris]

About some characters’ possible incarnations in previous samsaras

So Teyvat is trapped in a cycle, is constantly going through samsaras, and reincarnation really is all but confirmed now apparently. 

A lot of people jumped to point at Childe and Parsifal, then speculate which other historical figures could also be his previous incarnations.

Childe's case is really, really interesting, but I wanted to bring up another character that also seems to be pulled into this samsara vortex somehow - Itto. 

(This is gonna be long and have A LOT of reaches and speculations.)

Let’s look at Akuou (Touzannou) from Watatsumi Island. We don't have confirmation on which species he actually belonged to, but from what information we have on him, he would most likely be either a vishap hybrid, or an oni. He was described as “the wicked fangs and claws of the Great Serpent, the savage, demonic invader of Yashiori Island”. “‘Fangs and claws of the Serpent” makes it sound like he was a vishap, but I think him being called “demonic” is a more important characterisation here. The name ‘Akuou’ also may be a reference to the legends of Akuro'ou - “an ancient demonic warrior in the Japanese folklore who fought against the imperial court”, so again, demonic, an oni. And, well, oni also have claws and fangs, but I did have to mention that this guy could be a lizard person instead. 

If we assume that Touzannou was an oni, we can start to notice a lot of coincidences pile up. First, Touzannou’s personality seems to resemble Itto’s - he was reckless, boastful, presumptuous, but very kind. Not the brightest mind, as it’s said that “his strength was his only strength". He came up with his own fighting styles that are still passed down on Watatsumi. Itto’s fighting style is his own as well: 

(I love Itto so much man.)

Touzannou fought the Tengu Sasayuri and was called Akuou  - “Wicked King”; Kokomi’s Everlasting Moonglows story mentions it like that: 

Itto’s Redhorn tells a story about an “Otogi King”, who was boisterous and boastful too. And that’s where it gets weird, please walk with me. One of Itto’s passive talents is getting more wood, and if we look at how the trees are distributed on the map, the VAST majority of the Otogi trees are found on Yashiori Island.

As already mentioned, Yashiori was invaded by Orobashi and his people 2000 years ago, and ultimately became the resting place for Akuou (Touzannou) and shrine maiden Mouun, a very important figure I’ll talk about later. 99% of Itto’s story quest also happens to take place on Yashiori.

A cornplate detail, but Itto was also at Nazuchi Beach (Yashiori Island sub-area) in his dedicated album posted on genshin’s youtube channel. The ost playing on Nazuchi Beach is called Stranded Wish, which is quite an interesting name choice for a place that suffered so much tragedy and war. 

(This is also actually a Watatsumi ship, as mentioned by an npc we can talk to there)

Speaking of Watatsumi, Itto’s most obvious connection to it is through Gorou, as he is his dedicated support. The less obvious connection is his similarities with Akuou, and some things involving Kokomi. Sure, his quest is only accessible after you complete Kokomi’s, and their signature artifacts in the same domain, but her involvement seems to run a bit deeper than that. 

You see, the whole thing that started it all is Akuou being mentioned in Kokomi’s donut. At first I thought it’s actually the same guy from the Redhorn, because their description was so similar, basically just ‘evil king that fights a tengu’. But it was exactly this description that made me notice some interesting pattern of interconnected characters.

2000 years ago: Akuou the Evil King, Mouun the shrine maiden and Tengu Sasayuri. 

500 year ago: Tengu Reizenbou, Asase Hibiki and Ako Domeki.

Present day: Arataki Itto, Kokomi, and Kujou Sara. 

Take a look at depictions of Asase Hibiki (left) and Mouun (right) from the TCG cards:

Their haircuts seem to be identical, with the hair color being the only difference. Better yet, it's also similar to Kokomi's haircut. 

The oni from their respective time periods (or samsaras) are named Akuou, Ako and Arataki. Inconsequential, but interesting. 

Let’s take a look at Ako Domeki, and speculate a little (or a lot). Both Akuou and Itto had conflicts with a tengu, but Ako seemingly didn’t. But, since he’s 500 years back on the timeline, it puts him on the same time period as Tengu Reizenbou and the ‘otogi king’ from Itto’s redhorn. There is a slight chance that this ‘otogi king’ was actually Ako Domeki post Serai and Golden Apple, but there’s nothing really to prove or disprove this, apart from the fact that they both have similarities with Akuou and Itto.

Another thing that could possibly have something to do with Ako Domeki are those weird oni symbols scattered around Watatsumi. These symbols are connected to Rinzou's Treasure world quest - you look for pirate treasure, and find Rinzou’s letter where he talks about his life.

This “outlander king” inspired Rinzou to leave Watatsumi when he grew up. And, it’s interesting that he chose an oni mask as his insignia when he left Watatsumi. If this old man was the reason for him to go into the world to seek adventure at sea and become a pirate, it would make sense for his insignia to be inspired by this old man. Which would make him an oni. 

Could this be Ako Domeki, an oni pirate, that inspired another person to become a pirate? It’s far-fetched, but again, as we don’t have any confirmation for the end of Ako Domeki story, it could have really been him. 

Getting back to Akuou and Mouun. Mouun’s name has a very interesting possible origin: 

Kokomi’s ‘slumbering dragon’ constellation comes to mind here. 

Mouun was friends with a great 900 year old whale called Daikengyou.

They both were slain during the Yashiori Island invasion. But, the fact that this whale managed to live for so long almost definitely means that it was no ordinary whale - perhaps it was the same creature as the All Devouring Narwhal. 

Meanwhile Kokomi had a whale in her demo, which should definetly raise some red flags.

Akuou was taught different rituals by Mouun and her sister Ayame, including an art of whalesong. Interestingly enough, Itto is a very good singer apparently:  

So, in light of recent developments with whales in the main story, I don’t really think that this art of ‘whalesong’ was something connected to ordinary marine life, it’s too specific now. Given that Orobashi was actively opposing Heavenly Principles, I won’t put it past him and his followers to be involved with the likes of Surtalogi that keeps celestial whales as pets. 

Last thing, the books about Akuou and Mouun, as well as about other Watatsumi dealings (Debates on the "Viceroy of the East", A Preliminary Study of Sangonomiya Folk Belief, The Life of Mouun the Shrine Maiden, and more) are not in the book archive, but in the quest items. Must be important. 

So, let’s round things up. Akuou, Ako Domeki, Arataki Itto, all with similar sounding names, are boisterous, kind oni, that all have mentions of being called ‘kings’ (Itto’s ult is called ‘raging oni king state’), all have some ties to Yashiori Island (Ako Domeki is mentioned on a note on Nazuchi Beach, and if the Otogi King and him really were the same person, there’s Yashiori having the most otogi trees in Inazuma), all being exceptional fighters, all having ties to a notable tengu and a shrine maiden, that also have connections to characters taking on the same role from a different time periods. 

Ako Domeki is up in the air, but Akuou and Itto really do seem to be connected somehow.

[theusernameiwantisntavailable]

Persona 5/ Persona 5 royal spoilers ahead!

Okay so I did this WIP a while back that I discontinued but I'm still going insane about the meaning of it and also the symbolism of masks in this game and also akeshu parrallels so I need to Yap abt them

Yap session under the cut!

The symbolism of masks in this game drives my so batshit insane actually. Like. So often we see in media that people are finally free when they take their mask off (both metaphorically and literally) but in this game we see people's true forms when they put one ON.

Like the palaces are where we see people's true faces and desires. It's the place where no one can hide who they are. And yet it's one one place where you wear a physical mask and disguise and have to conceal who you are.

I could (and will at some point) write an entire essay about that but rn it's akeshu hours

Because Joker is arguably the best example of that, he becomes alive in the palaces, where his face his hidden. It's his freedom

Versus Akechi

The first time we see Akechi show his true form to Joker (and the player) is in what is percieved at the time as the real world. The entire time we work together in the palace, the place that shows who you are despite the mask you wear he hides who he is. It's only in the gritty real world that he reveals himself.

Joker in the real world is perceived (at least by people outside of his circle) as closed off and someone to be cautious around, he has a criminal record so he could be dangerous. The exact opposite of how he is in palaces, the centre of the team and a flame people are drawn towards

VERSUS AKECHI

In the real world he is a celebrity, he is loved, people are drawn to him. But in palaces he's cold and heartless, his words are cutting and he cares for no one, not hesitating to kill to achieve his goal

Opposites in every sense

THE ABSOLUTE PARALLELS IT DRIVES ME INSANEASHBANANSJAKSS

They were both ruined by the same man. They both ended up in their current predicament because of said man. They both had the potential to weild multiple personas. They both have the capability to lead. They are the exact same and yet the exact opposite

They don't need to lie awake at night and wonder what would they be like if their life had turned out slightly differently. They don't need to because they have each other. EVERYTIME THEY GO INTO A PALACE THEY SEE WHO THEY COULD'VE BEEN, THEY FIGHT WITH THAT PERSON SIDE BY SIDE EVERY NIGHT I'M GOING MAD

[yvesdot]

nobody:

yves. on the NaNoWriMo forums thread about vampires vs werewolves at 1:42 AM:

[macabremoons]

i'm at a weird point with my writing. technically, i haven't been writing that long. It's been like 6 years. 3 of those being my current era of writing. That being said-- I wouldn't classify myself as a beginner. Usually I'm quite proud of my prose, but lately I've found it all so... lacking which is stupid because almost everything I've written is a first draft and I know my writing gets better with a second draft but blehhh blehhhhhhhhh. I wouldn't necessarily call myself an intermediate because I feel like such labels are just a way to deny yourself greatness. Part of me feels like I am a great writer with prose worth thinking about... but another part of me feels like I'm a beginner hack. And I can't tell which part is me being emotional.

I guess... my prose is nice, but novel writing is something I'm not an expert at. I just figured out that while I am great at character, I do often not have plots! God I have to re outline Forevemore--it literally isn't about anything. So now knowing this I'm just sitting here going "was my confidence a hoax?" which is stupid!! having a flaw is natural and human and I'm just discovering my process. ugh!!! it doesn't help my current novel has no outline and i have done zero brainstorming for it. by that i mean i've only made picrews of one character and i have no outline or brainstorm documents. it is a literal warm up that sprialled out of control and it shows

writing is work folks

[legolasghosty]

“Do you want a hug?", “Come on. Let’s go home.”, and “I feel like I can breathe better with you around.” for juke 💕

Julie let her foot rest on the damper pedal of the grand piano as Luke held out his last note. It sounded good.

When he stopped, she applauded. "Nice one, grab some water," she said, shooting him a smile.

"Thanks Boss," he responded, grabbing for his green plastic water bottle.

Julie shifted her music sheets around while he drank. She'd originally been wary when Ms. Harrison had asked her to give Luke voice lessons as a way to make up some of the credit she'd lost earlier in the year, but it was going better than she'd expected. Luke was stubborn and wouldn't work on anything he didn't see the value in, but he had a lot of passion and clearly wanted to improve. He was so full of life and energy, and at least 99% of it was all focused on music.

"That felt great," Luke exclaimed, capping his water bottle and giving Julie a wide grin. "Much better than in class earlier. You're amazing, Julie."

Julie felt her cheeks warming and ducked her head before Luke could notice. Okay, so maybe she wasn't totally immune to his smile and his arms and how, when they were alone for his lessons, all of his passion for music seemed focused solely on her.

"Or maybe you just don't pay attention during warmups in class," she teased, giving him a smirk before refocusing on her list of exercises to take him through. Better to keep her crush to herself. Dating was way too complicated, and Luke probably didn't like her anyways.

"Nah, it's definitely you," Luke retorted, moving over to lean on the piano. "I feel like I can breathe better with you around."

Julie looked up, expecting to find him giving her that lighthearted, teasing look that he did when he intentionally messed up the names of famous composers just to mess with her. But when their eyes met, she found nothing but sincerity in his gaze. Like he actually meant what he said.

It was disorienting. But... not bad?

Julie quickly stood, breaking eye contact. "You had a bit of a break on the bridge, do you want to work through that?" she asked, nodding to his music stand.

Luke nodded slowly, seeming almost disappointed, and returned to his papers. "Yeah, definitely. I think it was the register shift, I got caught halfway between my chest and head voice."

"Wow, look at you and your technical lingo," Julie commented, smiling as she looked down at the sheet music to check the notes. "Yeah, that's what I heard as well. Let's do some glides through that part of your range to get comfortable with the shift before we add the actual notes and stuff."

Luke dipped his head in agreement and they got back to work.

Ten minutes later, the alarm on Julie's phone that signaled the end of their time went off just as Luke finished running through the bridge. They both jumped at the drum intro of an old Petal Pushers song.

Julie quickly turned it off and stood with a smile. "Guess that's time," she said.

"What was that song?" Luke asked, gathering his music. "That's not your normal alarm. It's good."

Julie bit her lip, considering brushing it off. But it was Luke. He lived and breathed music. He'd understand how music could hurt as well as heal.

"It's called Love Wild, it's one of my mom's songs," she told him. "It was my alarm for ages, but I... I just started listening to it again."

"Oh," Luke said.

Julie didn't dare look up. She'd developed a serious distaste for the pitying expression that always appeared on people's faces when her mom came up. She'd rather not be annoyed at Luke over it.

"It's a good song, it's about loving the people you love and showing it regardless of what other people think," she added softly. She wasn't sure why she was still talking. She didn't usually talk about this stuff. But Luke didn't interrupt. "And the bassline is awesome," she continued, "and the harmonies on the bridge are magic, I swear, and the last couple of lines..."

She trailed off, feeling her throat start to tighten.

"That's awesome," Luke murmured after a minute.

Julie dared to look up at him. He seemed unsure of himself, which wasn't a common look for him, but his smile still seemed genuine.

"Um, do you want a hug?" Luke asked awkwardly.

Julie chuckled. "I'm okay," she assured him, sliding her folder into her backpack.

Luke frowned. "But do you want a hug?" he asked again.

Julie thought about it for a second. She always wanted a hug from her mom these days, but that wasn't possible. Did she want a hug from Luke instead?

"Yeah, that'd be nice," she said slowly.

Luke smiled and stepped forward to wrap his arms around her shoulders. She let herself relax into his embrace. He was warm, his frame a bit shorter than her dad's. It was nice.

"Hey Julie?" Luke asked softly.

"Yeah?" she responded, sliding her own arms around his waist.

"You wanna come to band practice this weekend? Help me not shred my voice again?"

Julie considered for a second. She hadn't done that before. It felt like a new step in their friendship, to take it outside of the school building and into Luke's friend circle. Was she ready for that?

"Sure, send me the info," she agreed.

"Sweet, this is gonna be rad," Luke cheered, letting her go and pulling out his phone.

Julie laughed. "Come on, let's get home before the janitors kick us out," she chuckled, swinging her backpack onto her shoulder.

"Right behind you, Boss," Luke called.

[hertwood]

Writing Wednesday Week 3:

WIP: lesbian!gax

Starting word count: 1142

Current word count: 1238

[i-eat-deodorant]

time spent: 3 hours

length: 1678 words

pairing: narinder/lamb

warnings: mild depersonalization, mild mentions of suicidal ideation

summary: reincarnation is not a perfect; the mind is left intact, but the body is entirely new. 

note: flash fictions are simple one-shot ideas where i prioritize quantity over quality. they’re less than 2k words and completed within a day, with no preparation/outline whatsoever. because of the low quality, i’ll only be posting these on my tumblr and not on ao3. 

Narinder planned for contingencies. In the event something went awry, vessels betrayed him, or unaccounted variables popped into the forefront, he liked to be flexible and prepared at what the world threw at him. Trust was something that existed to be broken, he’d learned, and he couldn’t afford to fall further than he already did. When Ratau lost his usefulness, he already had a successor chosen. If they failed, he’d simply deal with them and move on. If Aym and Baal fell in battle, he kept his skills sharp to kill whoever dared surpass them. In the end, Narinder know he could only depend on himself. 

Never in a million years did he plan a contingency for his defeat. He didn’t think he’d live to need one. 

The first few eternities of his fall from grace were spent in a dark room, windows drawn and away from the murmur of the crowd he knew was gathering outside. Doesn’t know how long it’s been. Hours. Days. Years, it felt like, if only disproven by the fact he hadn’t starved to death. Time was a slippery thing in the haze of delirium, measured only in the too-loud beating of his new heart. 

He couldn’t quite remember how he got there–only that when his lungs drew in the surface air and his knees hit the dirt everything was too bright, too much, as if the entire ocean was trying to cram its way into the confines of his skull. The jostle of arms felt through every sensitive hair on his body, murmurs rumbling like thunder in his ears. When he came to again, he was clothed and resting on an empty bed. 

Even with his eyes squeezed shut, every whisker, every nerve, every synapse seemed to be clamoring over each other for his attention. His mouth felt dry and bloated. The cloth of his new robes grated against his skin with every movement, but the maddening draft that tickled his exposed head and feet were even worse. He tossed and turned–tried to sleep, to fall into the grasp of oblivion and pretend he’d died instead, but every shift and shuffle of the sheets were picked up by his large ears and jolted him into high alert again. 

Nothing had exhausted him so much. 

He could hear the newcomer long before they even got close to the door. The click of a key into a lock hammered like a cold metal rod into his brain

Narinder let out a garbled hiss, grabbing his ears with his hands and pressing them hard into his throbbing temples. Even then, he couldn’t help but catch the sharp creak of the door hinges, feel the uneven patter of hoofsteps through the vibration of growing floorboards, growing louder and harder to ignore. 

“Here.” A voice, barely above a whisper, set off a chain reaction of goosebumps up his arms. Something cold and hard like winter’s frost was pressed against his lips. He flinched involuntarily. “Sorry! I’m…you need to drink something, Narinder. It’s been a day, and I don’t want to give you food until I know you can hold down water.” 

He risked a glance, willing open heavy eyelids like trying to pry a sword from stone. Lamb’s face took up his whole vision; he could see each individual woolen strand, ochre irises with horizontal pupils, the thinning worry of their expression, and hated how they were now eye to eye. Tried to speak. His tongue flopped, a puppet with its strings cut, ill-fitted teeth clacking together like iron chainlinks. “Lamb.” 

They visibly sagged in relief. “Yeah, that’s me. This is good. You’re lucid, at least.” Cupped between their hands was a wooden bowl, filled halfway with a clear liquid he hoped was poison but assumed was water. It had been so long since he’d had any in his domain, and the idea that drinking was necessary for him now felt surreal. “Please, Nari. Please drink something, you can’t get better if you don’t.” 

Oh, so they want me to get better, they say. As if drinking can reverse this indignity. As if drinking could get my crown back. As if death is not a mercy, and prolonging life, in this state, is not complete and utter torture. 

By sheer fury alone he somehow found the strength to get up, lips curled, trying to scoot his way towards the furthest edge of the bed. None of his limbs worked together–he stumbled over himself, joints bending at awkward angles, weight buckling under too-weak tendons. On the final push, his elbows caught against his knees and he almost tumbled onto his back if he hadn’t snagged a claw into the blanket for support. The thud of his shoulder against the wall rattled his bones. 

(To think he’d gone from being the god of death to barely in control of his own body. Pathetic.) 

“Here to watch me degrade myself, traitor?” Speaking was an out of body experience, mouthed in a stranger’s lips and stranger’s voice. Strip the title, swap the flesh but keep the memories–was he really even himself? “Killing would be a mercy, compared to spending eternity trapped in this flesh. You prove to be more cruel than even I.” 

For a deity with every conceivable upper hand in the situation, Lamb looked remarkably sad. “It won’t be that way forever. Things’ll get better. Until then, I’ll be by your side, however long it takes.” 

“I didn’t take you for an optimist.” 

“I’m not. Not really. But…you’ve waited long enough for me.” And they smile, a tentative little thing from a god. “Now it’s my turn to do the same for you.” 

.

.

.

While having huge, sensitive ears came with its fair share of pains, it meant that Narinder could hear commotion in the cult from a mile away. 

Today, it seemed that most of the village had gathered at the entrance of the cult leading outside, huddled in a tight cluster and murmuring amongst themselves. He couldn’t make out what they were looking at above the sea of heads, but he was familiar enough with this situation to make a good guess. 

“Everyone, make way! This does not involve you; return to your duties.” He was never popular with the villagers, not even after decades of tending to the flock, but the title of Leader’s Consort carried enough weight for them to part with a grumble. He straightened himself, striding past the crowd with a confidence he didn’t feel. 

Lamb was at the center, limbs splayed in awkward angles and blinking rapidly to take the scene in. Their wool was spotless white, their skin free of scars or wrinkles, the horns that curved up from their head smooth to the point of gleaming. When they saw him, they tried to stand, but their legs buckled beneath them and they collapsed heaving onto the ground. 

They’d been out on a crusade. It was clear what had happened. 

“Shhh, don’t hurt yourself.” Narinder crouched in front of them and gingerly gathered them into his arms, moving slowly so as not to jostle them. Lamb huffed as he stood, but dutifully leaned against him, wrapping their arms around his neck to keep balance. The grip was weak and barely there. “Let me guess. Eviscerated? Blown up? Drowned? Burned to ashes? Stabbed in the heart?” 

Lamb’s wobbly, sheepish grin was all the confirmation he needed. He made his way towards their lodging. “Perhaps this will serve as a wake-up call for you to stop being so reckless. Preparation and patience are vital, especially for a god.” 

They were at the doorstep. Narinder had to set Lamb down to fumble with the keys, letting them lean against his shoulder. “Sorry,” Lamb whispered. 

Click. He felt Lamb’s ears flutter irritably as the door creaked open. “There’s nothing to apologize for.” 

“It’s just.” Lamb ran their tongue over their teeth, stringing syllables together like beads. “Even newborn lambs–lowercase ‘lambs’–can stand up within thirty minutes.” 

“Impressive. Are you a newborn, Lamb?” 

“Well, technically if you think about the regeneration and rebirth process–” 

“Newborns do not get stabbed in the heart and grow a new one.” He set them down on the bed, taking off their cloak (it seemed to grow as an extension of the crown, much like their bell collar) and drawing the blankets up to their neck. Lamb seemed to appreciate it, sinking into the covers with a sigh. “Rest. I shall get some water.” 

As he stood up, Lamb’s hand shot out and tried to grab him by the wrist. Their fingers quivered. 

“Don’t go,” they said. 

Dammit, he couldn’t say no, not when Lamb was in this state. Narinder sighed, climbing into bed with them and letting them rest their head against his chest, grounding themselves on his heartbeat and the low rumble of his voice. “I’d advise not engaging in any crusades for a month, at least not until we build back your muscle memory through sparring.” 

“Ugh, I know.”

“I am well aware you know. But every time I neglect to mention it, you assume it magically stops applying.” 

“I know you know I know. This is gonna be a pain in the ass either way. I managed to do a number on the heretics, but these lot have been playing chicken with me for ages. Having one of them escape will drive me mad, I can already see it. If I don't kill them all they'll hide and then crawl out of the woodwork like ants or something.” 

He tucked his nose into Lamb’s neck, reveling in the softness of their wool, the warmth of their body. “Let them take their time. We have an eternity.” 

“‘We’? Why Nari, you’re going soft. I’d thought you’d leave me in the dust a long time ago.” Despite their teasing, Lamb’s soft voice was unpracticed enough to let the sincerity seep through. Trust was a tenuous affair for a god; there were no guarantees to forever. He would know. 

Narinder’s hand found theirs, and he gripped it like a lifetime. “You’re wrong. I have never stopped waiting for you, Lamb.” 

[14dayswithyou]

Oh hang on. Krow to Redacted.

‘ thank you for caring like nobody else ever has. ’

Soft spot prompts | No longer accepting !!

"...'Could say the same about you."

Black nails trace over the inked skin of Krow's back as a soft expression pulls at his pierced features. He's thankful that they can't see his face right now, though [REDACTED] couldn't help but want to see their own expression as well. So instead, he lets his fingers ghost along the fallen feathers near their side; down, down, down until he reaches the lone egg.

His lip tightens at that.

Unwanted memories start to resurface, and the sudden urge to crack an ill-timed joke — perhaps something about nuggets? — becomes apparent. Anything to change the mood and draw less attention to the uneasy feeling that was ebbing and flowing from inside him.

And so, he thinks about Krow instead. About how he's always been there for the dark-haired hacker — and for being the only one to help dissuade [REDACTED] from committing to his made-up persona, and to convince him to go back to his real, true self instead.

The true side of him that hasn't been seen since they were both children on a playground... And the true side of him that his own parents tried to hide away.

[REDACTED]'s fingers unconsciously chart a path towards Krow's hand this time, intent on searching for the gold band he gave him when they were younger and much more innocent. And when he finds it, he pulls the artist's hands towards his mouth to press a soft, chaste kiss against his knuckles.

"You'll always mean something t'me." A kiss against his shoulder blade this time, "Always gonna be with you."

And finally, a kiss on the lips to seal his promise.

[queenlucythevaliant]

Hi! If you don't mind my asking, you support theistic evolution correct? Do you believe in a historical or metaphorical Adam and Eve? I know that theistic evolutionist Joshua Swamidass has a book called The Genealogical Adam and Eve where he distinguishes common genetic ancestors from common genealogical ancestors. I don't know if that's your sort of thing or if you agree, but I figured I'd ask you your opinion on the subject. You don't have to answer if you don't want to, though!

This is absolutely my sort of thing, though I haven't read the particular book you referenced. Thank you for giving me another opportunity to talk about origins! I was really excited when I saw this in my inbox! That said, buckle your seatbelt because this will get long lol

Quick little caveat: I don't have any formal education in anthropology and only have a little bit in human evolution. My academic focus is on microbial evolution. That said, I've certainly spent time considering questions of the historical Adam and Eve, so I'd like to think I can opine on the subject usefully :)

To no one's surprise, let me start off with a Lewis quote. This is from The Problem of Pain chapter 5:

For long centuries God perfected the animal form which was to become the vehicle of humanity and the image of Himself. He gave it hands whose thumb could be applied to each of the fingers, and jaws and teeth and throat capable of articulation, and a brain sufficiently complex to execute all the material motions whereby rational thought is incarnated. The creature may have existed for ages in this state before it became man: it may even have been clever enough to make things which a modern archaeologist would accept as proof of its humanity. But it was only an animal because all its physical and psychical processes were directed to purely material and natural ends. Then, in the fullness of time, God caused to descend upon this organism, both on its psychology and physiology, a new kind of consciousness which could say “I” and “me”, which could look upon itself as an object, which knew God, which could make judgements of truth, beauty, and goodness, and which was so far above time that it could perceive time flowing past. [...] We do not know how many of these creatures God made, nor how long they continued in the Paradisal state. But sooner or later they fell.

(I've used ellipses to condense a bit since the full passage is rather long. I think I've maintained the integrity of what Jack was saying, but please do go read the whole thing.)

I absolutely hold that an historical Adam and Eve existed. A metaphorical approach implies either (a) that man's sin nature is the result of something "timeless and eternal" in the human heart, as Karl Barth argues (sorry Kaylie-but at least I'm disagreeing with him here!), or else (b) that God created a world in which sin was already inherent in creation. Furthermore, Paul and other NT writers treat Adam and Jesus as equally real and historical; thus, I believe that I am obligated to do the same.

That said, I'm with Lewis (and many others) in the belief that humans are indeed part of God's unified creation through evolution; overwhelming scientific evidence, both genetic and paleontological, indicates that humans share a recent common ancestor with apes and, more broadly, a universal common ancestor with all other living creatures. Likewise, population genetics indicates that it would have been near impossible for a viable population of Homo sapiens to arise from a group of fewer than a thousand individuals. We actually see evidence that other humans existed contemporaneously with Adam and Eve in the Cain and Abel account - Cain has a wife, and after he kills Abel he fears that other people will kill him. (Note: If you or anyone else would like a more in depth discussion of the data in genetics, population genetics, common ancestors, etc., just shoot me an ask; I try to streamline these discussions so I don't necessarily go into the scientific minutia, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't love to if there's interest.)

Thus, I don't believe that Adam was the first modern hominid and, for reasons that I'll get into a minute, I'm likewise not convinced that he was necessarily the first Homo sapiens or even humanity's MRCA. I do believe that he was the first Homo divinus - the first individual to be endowed with the unique image of God and with a human soul. I see this in the Scriptural text when God breathes life into Adam's nostrils (Genesis 2:7), a much more intimate act then the rest of the descriptions we get in the creation account. Whether in Africa or in Mesopotamia, I think God endowed Adam and subsequently Eve with His likeness and made them representatives for all humanity - much like Christ is our representative. Denis Alexander (British biologist/theologian) calls Adam "the federal head of all humanity alive at the time," and I quite like that description.

As I've indicated, I don't believe that Adam and Eve were necessarily the common ancestors of all humanity, either genetically or genealogically; for one thing, humanity has different matrilineal and patrilineal MRCAs and they likely didn't live at even remotely the same time. As to when Adam and Eve did live, I'm honestly of two minds on the issue. For simplicity's sake, I will number the possibilities that I consider feasible (1) and (2):

(1) The simplest answer is that Adam and Eve lived in Mesopotamia sometime during the Neolithic Era. This aligns with the descriptions we get of Eden's geography and leaves us with a lot less time to account for between Adam and Abraham.

However, this view does leave us with the issue of the many, many Homo sapiens preceding Adam and Eve who presumable lived and died without souls, despite the evidence that they behaved in very human ways (made art and musical instruments, cared for the sick, were curious and inventive, etc.) This isn't impossible to square with what I laid out above - like I said, I consider it the simplest explanation for when and where Adam and Eve lived - but it doesn't sit 100% easily with me.

(2) The other possibility is that Adam and Eve were among the first Homo sapiens and that they lived in Africa between 300 and 150 kya. Old Testament scholar C. John Collins out of Covenant Theological Seminary (Reformed and generally theologically conservative) makes the case that Moses wrote Genesis 1-11 using a kind of "anachronism." It's very likely that Moses had access to pre-existing sources while writing the Pentateuch, and he may have "'reconstructed' the past, working backwards from ordinary human experience to what must have caused it, giving us a tale that provided contrast to the other stories [Mesopotamian and Egyptian creation myths]." Of this "anachronism," Collins says, "a text may well have described aspects of the older times in terms of what the writer and his audience are familiar with. This does not necessarily detract from the historicity of the text, since the text still refers to actual events."

The issue with this view is that it obviously places us in much murkier territory than option one in terms of how we view the infallibility of Scripture. I believe that we're to take the Biblical histories seriously as fact, but not literalistically (would love to do another discussion explaining in more depth what I mean by this if there's interest; again, shoot me an ask). I do believe that all Scripture is infallible. Thus, this explanation also doesn't sit easily with me, but I do lend it credence because I trust Dr. Collins's theology and exegesis in other areas.

Ultimately, I'm going to bring the issue back to the C.S. Lewis excerpt that I started on; for now, I am content to say "We do not know how many of these creatures God made, nor how long they continued in the Paradisal state. But sooner or later they fell." I do fully intend to continue exploring the issue with an inquisitive mind and a humble heart, hoping that as I grow into greater theological and scientific knowledge I might come to an understanding of the Fall that does sit well with all that I know to be true. I'm still young :)

Please do always feel free to drop by my inbox with follow-ups/any other science/faith questions. I love these issues so much that I've chosen to study them academically; it is a joy to discuss them with you!

[cryptidcalling]

Just a lil post about how Vesper's actually got a pretty sweet heart (he's got two hearts in fact) for the right people and things.

Vesper is incredibly loyal to the people he loves. Panza of course, and his Lieutenants too, but it's more than them. He's loyal to the empire not just because Panza runs it. He's loyal to the entire idea of it. He sees it as something that nurtures and shelters its people despite being a dangerous military power to the outside, and he loves those people dearly. Each and every citizen of the empire is his responsibility. Perhaps not on an individual level, he knows he can't prevent every tragedy or make everyone happy, hell he doesn't even need them to like him, he knows that most of them are terrified of him. But on a grand scale, their safety and happiness is his job to ensure. He truly believes that hunting and killing criminals is the best way he (as an individual and a General) can do that. He's got a soft spot for abandoned, damaged things. It's kinda how he sees himself in a way. Yes, he chose to escape from the scientists himself, but the emotional neglect that came with them deciding he was a failed experiment was an abandonment in its own way. He takes pity on broken little machines, especially little robots. It's not uncommon for him to find broken robots or machines at scrap yards, trading stalls, pawn shops, or antique stores and fix them up in the rare amounts of free time he has. Most of the time he'll give them away to people or departments in the Citadel who will use them more. Non-robotic tech he'll sometimes keep for himself, like old stereos and communication devices. Asteria, Vesper's Void Hound, is kind of one of his projects. When he came across her during a mission in his commander years the gem that forms her physical body had been shattered. He collected all of the pieces he could and was absolutely determined to fix her, even when everyone around him said it was entirely impossible. Of course, he did manage to fix her. Not perfectly, she's still got some damage, but she's strong and brave and so so loyal. One final short thing; Vesper rarely intends to hurt people's feelings. He doesn't feel too bad about it if he does, because he thinks it's not his fault that they read further into him being straightforward, but he doesn't try to. And sometimes if he realizes he went to far or he made someone he cares about upset he'll try and make it up to them. Usually not with words, but by doing them favors or complimenting them on something to try and balance it out.

[arcxnumvitae]

“I refuse to sit here and listen to this!” Iomhar’s voice rang out throughout the office, causing the king’s sharp glare to shoot towards him.

“Unless you would like all of Seelie to be privy to our conversation I would suggest you lower your volume.”

“Who would not be unable to hold their reaction based off of what they were hearing?” Hands planted on the king’s desk and Iomhar’s brows furrowed. “You would believe Sivel capable of doing something like that? Based only off of a rumor?”

“I do not know what Vasyri’s king is capable of,” in contrast to Iomhar’s fiery temperament, the king’s voice coolly slid in, “and that is precisely the problem. He is an enigma with a long past who is now intricately intertwined with our land, and its people.” The meaning in his words were clearly not long on Iomhar, who let out an aggravated huff. “Besides, I am not saying conclusively that he is or is not a danger, but I would prefer not to be surprised if he is.”

Suddenly, Iomhar began to pace the length of the room, a bundle of agitation that needed to have some sort of outlet. “So what have you called me here for? To warn me? My oath is still in place, had I learned of anything, I would have come to share it with you.”

“How much do you know about Sivel?”

Iomhar suddenly stopped in place. “Excuse me?”

“How much do you know about your lover?” The king repeated from his place at his desk, the stare of his two-toned eyes unnerving. 

“Sivel has always been straightforward and honest with me with whatever I have asked him.”

“But has he offered anything to you? How much of his past do you truly know?”

Drawing himself up with a huff, an indignant glare shone in his eyes. “Are you trying to get me to doubt Sivel--?”

“Do you know of Sivel’s reputation among the nations that have dealt with him? Since this rumor had been brought to my attention, I have been gathering what I could in order to learn more about him. Many consider him ruthless and cold-blooded, willing to do whatever it takes to crush his enemies underfoot.” 

His arms crossed before his chest and Iomhar scoffed. “More rumors. Being a ruler does not make one easily favored, something that I believed you would be well familiar with.”

“Possibly, yes, but this reputation spans several lands, all pointing back to some previous conflict. One where, apparently, King Sivel stopped at no lengths to crush those who fought against him, even if it meant involving innocents or family members. And now he crops up in Seelie, a gentry falling on his order?”

There was...so much to take in. Stunned, and yet still he stubbornly replied. “You already know what happened to that lord. Sivel wished for him to leave him alone, I handled it of my own volition.” Camhlaidh’s gaze was long and it was clear that the knowledge he had just shared was still racing its way through the gentry’s head. 

“I do not wish for Sivel to be the monster everything that I have heard of him now paints him to be. In fact, I would like to get to the truth of the matter so that I can put this all behind us.” 

Reaching to the side, the king’s fingers wrapped around a small empty glass bottle, stoppered with a cork, and brought it to him. Iomhar had noticed it upon first entering the room, and had wondered about its purpose. A small pop accompanied the removal of the cork. As he brought the bottle closer, a small, yellow flower sprouted from the wood of the king’s desk and Iomhar’s eyes narrowed at the sight of the familiar slender petals. He knew that flower...wait...

With an twist of his fingers, the king plucked the flower with his other hand and brought the bloom of the flower closer to the bottle. A few taps against the stamen and the flower’s delicate pollen, white like snow, fell into the bottle. 

Iomhar’s mouth was agape. “You jest, surely? There is no way that I will drug my lover!”

“A dramatic way to phrase it.” Now divested of its pollen, the flower wilted away in his fingers and Camhlaidh gently placed it down on his desk to reseal the bottle. A small layer of pollen shifted along the bottom of it, and he placed it back down on the desk. “It will merely lower his inhibitions and make him more susceptible to sharing. You already know that the effects are temporary and will not harm him.”

“You--!”

“Lord Mèinnearach.” The king’s voice cut through. “You know what my duty to my land and the safety of my people, of you, is. I must take every available precaution, and if said precaution involves this, then I must do it. You say that he has nothing to hide and is wholly innocent?” He slid the bottle across the desk in a scrape of wood against glass. “Then there is nothing to fear. Prove it once and for  all so we can all put this nonsense behind us and move on to more important things.”

Iomhar’s glower was irate, but soon his large hand closed over the glass with a clink from his stone fingers. He turned to leave, yet after having taken only a few steps away the king’s voice stopped him once more.

“I ask that you not share the details of this conversation with anyone, nor divulge the source of the pollen.”

A request, not an oath. Iomhar scoffed and let the heavy wooden door to the office swing shut behind him with a resounding thud.

[schalotte]

i think it's so funny when i post something about going outside or having a regular girl moment and it gets like quadruple the likes that my regularly scheduled whining does. thank u guys for keeping it real with me. be the change you want to see