#inextricably bound or something

[iminjomama]

OH MY GOD THIS IS SO OH MY GOD OH MY GOD IDDHFJFJGJDJDHDJ THIS IS SO JDJDIDJFFJJEEJEJRJRJDHFHFHRHRHRHRHRFHFHRHRHDJFJFJEJEJEJFJDJDJDJD!!!

Happy 1 year anniversary to Mr Sherlock Holmes! Here's a litttleee celebratory comic from me

[thewistlingbadger]

Exploration of Wants and Needs with Jayce and Viktor

Ok so this post originally started off as me questioning Viktor's motives and line of reasoning but as I was writing it I made a major discovery so now I have pivoted away to talk about this instead (it's still mostly adjacent to the original topic).

What does Viktor want? What does Viktor need?

What does Jayce want? What does Jayce need?

These questions can be answered by analyzing the attitude, actions, and personalities of these two characters.

Jayce is a people pleaser. He is constantly seeking validation from others because he isn't able to validate himself (this is most likely because Jayce has a negative self image of himself). Jayce is the founder of hextech and an incredible scientist, yet he's always turning to Viktor for direction. Jayce is a talented and skilled man with his own business, yet he's always asking Mel for feedback. Jayce is always looking to Mel and Viktor and trying to help them and almost everything he does is for them. When do we see Jayce do something that is solely for him? He relies on these two to an absurd degree despite the fact that he is perfectly capable of making his own choices. This level of dependency has its own implications on how Jayce thinks and how he feels about himself.

Jayce wants validation so badly that he allows others to steer him into situations that negatively impact him. Being a councilor negatively impacted Jayce but he went along with it because Mel provided him with validation. Raiding the shimmer factory negatively impacted Jayce but he went along with it anyway because Vi provided him with validation. When Jayce is denied validation in season 1 act 1, when the very professor he admired rebukes his idea, when the people who have sworn to protect and serve him condemn him, and when his own mother invalidates his dream by calling it a "fantasy" and claiming that jayce "isn't of the right mind", it pushes him to suicide (the fact that he was so willing to kill himself also has its own implications about Jayce's mental health prior to season 1)! The only reason why Jayce ends up living is because Viktor showed up and validated him. He came to Jayce and told him he wasn't crazy, he was brilliant and his dream was going to change the world (this is why Jayce is attached to Viktor and why he's so fond of him, Viktor provides him with validation). Later in the show, Jayce is overwhelmed by the amount of public validation that he has received (giving the progress day address, becoming the face of piltover, earning a seat at the council) but he accepts it with open arms. He hesitates but receives it with a wide smile and a sense of pride (see the way he acts as a councilor, see the way he's comfortable with having his own merchandise, see how happy he was on progress day in front of all of piltover).

However, season two showed us that validation is not what he needed. Because had it been what he needed, he wouldn't feel so devastatingly pulled to Viktor all of season 2. When Viktor ends up being alive and relatively well, Jayce is over the moon with joy and relief. He tells Viktor he's seen the error of his ways and that he'll give up everything to be in his rightful place: at Viktor's side, working on their shared dream. But Viktor rejects Jayce in this scene and abandons him. This is the first time we actually get to see and explore Jayce being completely on his own. From this point forward in the story, we see Jayce grow immensely as a character, but his goal always revolves around Viktor, but it's not because he needs his validation. At the end of the show, Jayce is no longer seeking validation from Viktor. He is the one granting validation to Viktor. He is comforting Viktor like Viktor did all those years ago, showing him the patience and kindness that Viktor showed him. Viktor was willing to bear the burden of his actions alone, and Jayce refused to let him do so. He insisted they share the consequence. Jayce learned to stop relying on others and to start being a person that people can genuinely rely on.

In a lot of ways, Jayce and Viktor are very similar. But in a lot of ways they're extremely different. Viktor is a very independent person. He doesn't rely on anyone. Viktor told Jayce in act 1 s1 that Viktor made his career in Piltover by himself, with no help from anyone. Viktor has the self confidence Jayce lacks and he's able to recognize his own capability, a point that Jayce hadn't reached when they first met. Independency is generally seen as a very positive trait, since it demonstrates a level of maturity and trust in one's self. However independency can come from a lifetime of learned experiences that have proven that the world is untrustworthy and undependable, not a lifetime of experience. People like Viktor, who are extremely independent are that first option, not that second one. Viktor independent because he's had to be all his life. Zaun is an unforgiving place, it is sink or swim. The hardships of his childhood have taught Viktor that the only person he can rely on is himself. Vikor actively pushes himself away from others. He is half of hextech, yet he stays away from events were hextech is recognized, he stays away from where people can see and access him. Sky is actively reaching out for Viktor, trying to help him, and yet Viktor ignores her. Jayce is constantly trying to involve Viktor, but Viktor resists him. Viktor is independent, but he is profusely lonely. His inability to let others in damages his relationships as well as his ability to socialize and form new bonds (hence why Viktor is very anti social).

Viktor is also insatiable. Viktor is never satisfied or happy with himself despite his accomplishments. Viktor is always striving for greater and better things. He's never able to enjoy what he's already done. Being an assistant to a councilor isn't enough, he has to become a successful inventor. Being an inventor of one of the greatest scientific achievements in modern history isn't enough, he has to help the undercity. Helping those in the undercity isn't enough, he has to save humanity. Jayce is satisfied with what he's done and with the people in his life. Knowing that others have recognized his achievements is what he wants and he gets it and it's enough for him. But when it comes to Viktor, nothing is ever enough. In season 1, he was so disappointed with his life that he complained to Heimerdinger that Viktor and his achievements will be forgotten, despite the fact that Viktor is responsible for revolutionary technology.

In season two, Viktor is put into an interesting position where he no longer has no limitations. He now has full physical capability and a power like no other. Viktor is literally able to achieve the impossible. He starts a extraordinary, peaceful commune in Zaun, he's able to heal people of unhealable ailments, and he now has access to the secrets of the Arcane. If it wasn't clear before, season two definitely makes it clear that Viktor desires greatness. No matter how impressive his past projects or completed goals have been, he feels the need to upstage and outdo them in whatever he decides do next. Viktor is the ultimate perfectionist in that way. He must always be improving and becoming even greater and better than he ever has been. This is literally the meaning of "The Glorious Evolution" and precisely what his conversation with Singed was about. Evolution is about acceleration, the next stage is always superior to the last stage. There is never a point where there is no improvement, and stage where things revert to worse conditions. But evolution, as well as the pursuit of greatness is mindless and infinite. I is impossible to achieve the highest point of evolution or greatness because there will always be room for improvement. It is a treacherous prison, which is what Viktor learns later when he sees that he becomes The Mage. Viktor ends up getting lost in his new power and it eats him alive. He completely abandons his humanity for the sake of greatness. But Jayce is able to show him that the path he's going down is folly. It is meaningless and miserable. Jayce is able to tell him the words that Viktor never even realized he needed to hear. Jayce shows him that he doesn't have to push everyone away, he can trust people and those people can be dependable.

What does Viktor want? Greatness. What does he need? To allow others in and resist the futility of greatness and proving himself.

What does Jaye want? Validation. What does he need? To trust himself and be a reliable person.

The only way they were able to ever find out what they needed was by accepting themselves and trusting the other.

[maridiayachtclub]

video game abstractions are something else. i'm leveling Culinarian in FFXIV and i hit level 56. "hold on," i say to nobody in particular, and put my frying pan (hot, wet with freshly cooked sauce) back on my hip. "before I make any more hollandaise sauce, i need a better knife." there in my pocket, it awaits: a knife whose titanium edge is so keen that only a level 56 Culinarian can so much as grasp it. so i do that. and now i have no need for my old knife; it has served me well, but it physically cannot be used by any other. it is inextricably bound to my soul. i cooked with it before, you see. one cook per knife only. so i take it into my hands one last time and disintegrate it into various magical crystals. the concentrated fire essence extracted from within can be used to make more hollandaise sauce

[communistkenobi]

Would you be willing to dunk on speak more on mainstream feminist theory you're reading? And/or share some of the non-juvenile feminist theory you've read?

(Note: I will try to link to open access versions of articles as much as possible, but some of them are paywalled. if the links dont work just type the titles into google and add pdf at the end, i found them all that way)

If there’s any one singular issue with mainstream feminist thought that can be generalized to "The Problem With Mainstream Feminism" (and by mainstream I mean white, cishet, bourgeois feminism, the “canonical feminism” that is taught in western universities) it’s that gender is treated as something that can stand by itself, by which I mean, “gender” is a complete unit of analysis from which to understand social inequality. You can “add” race, class, ability, national origin, religion, sexuality, and so on to your analysis (each likewise treated as full, discrete categories of the social world), but that gender itself provides a comprehensive (or at the very least “good enough”) view of a given social problem. (RW Connell, who wrote the canonical text Masculinities (1995) and is one of the feminist scholars who coined/popularized the term hegemonic masculinity, is a fantastic example of this.)

Black feminists have for many decades pointed out how fucking ridiculous this is, especially vis a vis race and class, because Black women do not experience misogyny and racism as two discrete forms of oppression in their lives, they are inextricably linked. The separation of gender and race is not merely an analytical error on the part of white feminists - it is a continuation of the long white supremacist tradition of bounding gender in exclusively white terms. Patricia Hill Collins in Black Feminist Thought (2000) engages with this via a speech by Sojourner Truth, the most famous line from her speech being “ain’t I a woman?” as she describes all the aspects of womanhood she experiences but is still denied the position of woman by white women because she is Black. Lugones in Coloniality of Gender (2008) likewise brings up the example of segregationist movements in the USAmerican South, where towns would put up banners saying things like “Protect Southern Women” as a rationale for segregation, making it very clear who they viewed as women. Sylvia Wynter in 1492: A New World View likewise points out that colonized women and men were treated like cattle by Spanish colonizers in South America, often counted in population measures as "heads of Indian men and women," as in heads of cattle. They were treated as colonial resources, not as gendered subjects capable of rational thought.

To treat the category of “woman” as something that stands by itself is a white supremacist understanding of gender, because “woman” always just means white woman - the fact that white is left implied is part of white supremacy, because who is granted subjecthood, the ability to be seen as human and therefore a gendered subject, is a function of race (see Quijano, 2000). Crenshaw (1991) operationalizes this through the term intersectionality, pointing out that law treats gender and race as separate social sites of discrimination, and the practical effect of this is that Black women have limited/no legal recourse when they face discrimination because they experience it as misogynoir, as the multiplicative effect of their position as Black women, not as sexism on the one hand and racism on the other.

Transfeminist theory has further problematized the category of gender by pointing out that "woman" always just means cis woman (and more often than not also means heterosexual woman). The most famous of these critiques comes from Judith Butler - I’m less familiar with their work, but there is a great example in the beginning of Bodies That Matter (1993) where they demonstrate that personhood itself is a gendered social position. They ask (and I’m paraphrasing) “when does a fetus stop becoming an ‘it’? When its gender is declared by a doctor or nurse via ultrasound.” Sex assignment is not merely a social practice of patriarchal division, it is the medium through which the human subject is created (and recall that gender is fundamentally racialized & race is fundamentally gendered, which I will come back to).

And the work of transfeminists demonstrate this by showing transgender people are treated as non-human, non-citizens. Heath Fogg Davis in Sex-Classification Policies as Transgender Discrimination (2014) recounts the story of an African American transgender woman in Pennsylvania being denied use of public transit, because her bus pass had an F gender marker on it (as all buss passes in the state required gender markers until 2013) and the bus driver refused her service because she “didn’t look like a woman.” She was denied access to transit again when she got her marker changed to M, as she “didn’t look like a man.” Transgender people are thus denied access to basic public services by being constructed as “administratively impossible” - gender markers are a component of citizenship because they appear on all citizenship documents, as well as a variety of civil and public documents (such as a bus pass). Gender markers, even when changed by trans people (an arduous, difficult process in most places on earth, if not outright impossible), are seen as fraudulent & used as a basis to deny us citizenship rights. Toby Beauchamp in Going Stealth: Transgender Politics & US Surveillance Practices (2019) talks about anti-trans bathroom bills as a form of citizenship denial to trans people - anti-trans bathroom laws are impossible to actually enforce because nobody is doing genital inspections of everyone who enters bathrooms (and genitals are not proof of transgenderism!), but that’s actually not the point. The point of these bills is to embolden members of the cissexual public to deputize themselves on behalf of the state to police access to public space, directing their cissexual gaze towards anyone who “looks transgender.” Beauchamp points out that transvestigators don’t need to be accurate most of the time, because again, the point is terrorizing transgender people out of public life. He connects this with racial segregation, and argues that we shouldn’t view gender segregation as “a new form of” racial segregation (this is a duplication of white supremacist feminism) but a continuation of it, because public access is a citizenship right and citizenship is fundamentally racially mediated (see Glenn's (2002) Unequal Freedom)

Susan Stryker & Nikki Sullivan further drives this home in The King’s Member, The Queen’s Body, where they explain the history of the crime of mayhem. Originating in feudal Europe (I don’t remember off the dome the exact time/place so forgive the generalization lol), mayhem is the crime of self-mutilation for the purposes of avoiding military conscription, but what is interesting is that its not actually legally treated as “self” mutilation, but a mutilation of the state and its capacity to exercise its own power. They link the concept of mayhem to the contemporary hysteria around transgender people receiving bottom surgery - we are not in fact self mutilating, we are mutilating the state’s ability to reproduce its own population by permanently destroying (in the eyes of the cissexual public) our capacity to form the foundational social unit of the nuclear family. Our bodies are not our own, they are a component of the state. Situating this in the context of reproductive rights makes this even clearer. Abortion access is not actually about the individual, it is the state mediating its own reproductive capacity via the restriction of abortion (premised on the cissexual logic of binary reproductive capacity systematized through sex assignment). Returning to Hill Collins, she points out that in the US, white cis women are restricted access to abortion while Black and Indigenous cis women are routinely forcibly sterilized, their children aborted, and pumped with birth control by the state. This is not a contradiction or point of “hypocrisy” on the part of conservatives, this is a fully comprehensive plan of white supremacist population management.

To treat "gender" as its own category, as much of mainstream feminism does (see Acker (1990) and England (2010) for two hilarious examples of this, both widely cited feminists), is to forward a white supremacist notion of gender. That white supremacy is fundamentally cissexual and heterosexual is not an accident - it is a central organizing logic that allows for the systematization of the fear of declining white birthrates (the conspiracy of "white genocide" is illegible without the base belief that there are two kinds of bodies, one that gets pregnant and one that does the impregnating, and that these two types of bodies are universal sources of evidence of the superiority of men over women - and im using those terms in the most loaded possible sense).

I realize that most of these readings are US centric, which is an unfortunate limitation of my own education. I have been really trying to branch into literature outside the Global North, but doctoral degree constraints + time constraints + my own research requires continual engagement with it. I also realize that most of the transfeminist readings I've cited are by white scholars! This is a continual systemic problem in academic literature and I'm not exempt from it, even as I sit here and lay out the problem. Which is to say, this is nowhere near the final word on this subject, and having to devote so much time to reading mainstream feminist theory as someone who is in western academia is part of my own limited education + perspective on this topic

[iminjomama]

oh my god

Something Good (Will Come from That) 100 years of moving pictures about Holmes and Watson.

Download, complete list of sources, and commentary at AO3. (Mirrored at Dreamwidth / Livejournal.)

For @gardnerhill, made with the extensive assistance of @language-escapes.

[astral-herald]

Uncritically Enjoying Mage Viktor

sometimes when i turn off my angry (logical) brain, i achieve some very sentimental mage viktor clarity that i would like to share <3

this is a lot different from my other Thoughtful "Analysis" Posts. my plan is as follows: address my understanding, slim though it may be, of mage viktor; bullet-point all the less than critical/theory driven reasons why he makes me happy; make a somewhat melodramatic point about reading/viewing for fulfillment over critique. mage-tor enjoyers, unite!

What is Mage Viktor's Purpose?

Try as I might to turn off my thoughtfulness, I am typically critical of the media I enjoy, so I'll be among the first to admit that Mage Viktor was certainly a retcon. That seems to be the fandom consensus, so I won't reiterate too much on that point. It makes shots like this especially funny, though, because that is simply not the Viktor we know, interdimensional or otherwise:

But something I would like to push back on is a pervasive "favorable" read on Mage Viktor as we come to know him in season 2. I fully disagree with the idea that Mage Viktor sought Jayce out in every timeline because he loved Jayce, rather than as a means of saving the countless innocents Viktor in other timelines would inevitably kill thanks to Hextech, the Glorious Evolution, etc. Hear me out for a second!

Bestie @arowyn-m pointed out to me that Necrit confirmed that Hextech is THE canonical event, the linchpin, so to speak, that ignites the chain of events we see culminate in season 2. These are the same events that Mage Viktor seeks to prevent. It takes however many lifetimes and iterations of mass destruction for Mage Viktor to gather two vital facts about the universe: Hextech is the inciting, inevitable incident, and Jayce is the complementary indelible constant. Hextech is inevitable, but only Jayce can show Viktor how to stop it.

Viktor's love for Jayce is not what motivates Mage Viktor to seek him out - it is the inevitable result of their being "inextricably bound." Reducing Mage Viktor's manipulation of time/space/what have you to his desperate need to protect Jayce in every timeline morphs him into a very out-of-character Genocidal Eldritch Being when he's supposed to be the antithesis of OUR Machine Herald Viktor. By taking up Mage Viktor's quest to kill Machine Herald Viktor under these very specific circumstances - acceleration rune in hand - Jayce can end the cycle. He trumps the inciting incident. His love for Viktor reigns supreme.

The fact that this is so awkward to explain speaks to the severity of the retcon. I guess what I'm getting at is that Mage Viktor was not acting out of selfish, obsessive love (as romantic as that may seem to some); he was searching for a way to right his wrongs and found it in Jayce, his inseparable other half.

"Only you could show me this."

MORE TO THIS POINT: even Mage Viktor, for all his implied wisdom, having seen countless lifetimes wherein they failed to stop Hextech, still does not anticipate the depth of Jayce's love for him. He (presumably, because don't see this exchange, because Riot made egregious cuts) tells Jayce that the Viktor of this world must die. Jayce "can't fail." As far as I can tell, he never tells Jayce that he has to die along with him. Jayce rejected Viktor's bid to be partners again, after all...

Mage Viktor, like the true Viktor that lurks within the Machine Herald, still believes that Hextech is fully his fault. He still believes in his own weakness and his shortcomings and is so reliant, obsessed with independence that he refuses to share this responsibility. When Mage Viktor reveals himself to Machine Herald Viktor, and he's confronted with the depths of his own feelings, he shoves Jayce away in a last-ditch attempt to preserve his isolation.

Jayce does not allow this.

The love that keeps Viktor "inextricably bound" to Jayce is not one-sided. Viktor, in all iterations and timelines, does not bear the responsibility for Hextech alone. In his dying moments, when he finally understands that LOVE is what has kept he and Jayce together all this time, his humanity returns to him. They save the world - literally. Love literally conquered all. No Viktor, not even Mage Viktor, anticipated this. All Jayce really had to do was kill this Viktor, but he couldn't bear to part ways.

TLDR: Mage Viktor found a way to save the world, but Jayce found a way to reignite Viktor's humanity. Neither of things could coexist without the other.

Smaller, Less Important Reasons Why I Like Mage Viktor

I'll never forget the breathless whiplash I felt upon Mage Viktor's reveal. I feel pretty alone in that experience - oh well! I'll be the pariah! - but here are the reasons why he's made such an impression on me.

Seeing an aged Viktor hit me like a bus. I know he's still stricken with the arcane, but there's so much wisdom and kindness and life experience in his expression. I never thought we'd see that. I doubt he did, either.

BEARD VIKTOR TRUTHER.

It gives Viktor some agency back. I wrote in an earlier post that Mage Viktor being the one to liberate Viktor from his own tragic narrative is pretty awesome, and I stand by that.

Mage Viktor's vulnerability. I feel like Mage Viktor, finally realizing that this Jayce is the right one, that this moment is the pivotal one, says a lot of what Viktor in all timelines longs to say to Jayce.

The question of lifetimes - how many times did Viktor search for Jayce? How many times did he watch a timeline go by without him? How much loneliness did he endure (for the greater good?). What was it like seeing that in-universe Viktor had killed Jayce?

Reading Uncritically (I Swear This is Relevant)

Rita Felski, a very cool literary critic who we all should read, said the following about reading critically (the way that lots of us engage with Arcane on tumblr): "It is a mode of interpretation that adopts a distrustful attitude toward texts...that remain inaccessible to their authors as well as to ordinary readers" ("Suspicious Minds" 216). Even though she's writing about academia/literary criticism, I think her point still stands. We engage with media with the intent to expose, unearth, and problematize. We eagerly search for moments where the text fails us at the expense of the "superficial" that would otherwise uplift us. We are practicing the "hermeneutic of suspicion," which can be exceptionally draining.

It's pretty melodramatic of me to apply this kind of theoretical work to Arcane, of all things, but this story means a great deal to me. It is deeply flawed - the Mage Viktor retcon is kind of appalling if you stare down the barrel of suspicion. But, in looking through a reparative lens (Eve Sedgwick's word, not mine), I see Mage Viktor as a agency-ridden Viktor, an aged Viktor, a vision of the future Jayce and Viktor together make possible. I'm enriched by that.

Felski asks us: "How else might we venture to read, if we were not ordained to read suspiciously?" (232). What can we derive from Arcane by putting the pieces together with the goal of harmony and fulfillment? In the smallest sense, we may feel a bit better about the ways in which season 2 seriously let us down. In a larger, more hopeful sense, moments like Viktor confessing an ultimate love and attachment to Jayce, and Jayce returning it in kind, may fill us with an even deeper appreciation for unconditional love as the culmination of human connection, a world-ending and world-renewing thing that stares down the BBEG of Arcane and wins.

You could probably read all of this as my apology for enjoying what so much of the fandom has condemned. That's alright. There are so many pieces of Mage Viktor that fragment under the critical microscope, but I can't shake the emotional impact of his reveal, so I'll live in that space for the time being. Had Arcane allotted for any explanatory conversations, flashbacks, and/or given up their soft world build to account for Mage Viktor, we'd be in a better place plot-wise. Alas, here we are instead. Everyone can point and laugh at me if they did all this just to bring back God/Made/Eldritch Being/Whatever The Fuck Viktor in future projects. That'll be my penance!

And, finally, if you really didn't like Mage Viktor, I fully respect that, but this is my self-indulgent post and I'm not overly interested in debating...there's little anyone could say that I wouldn't agree with. I'm just avoiding the suspicion of it all :)

[dinsbeskar]

Evil Will Find Her (Sauron/F!Reader)

He has waited so long to have you again, he cannot wait until you reunite in the flesh; or:

Sauron gets off on thinking of you thinking of him, despite the distance in time and space between you

Sequel to In the Dark of the Night // AO3 Link

Songs to listen to: Through Glass by Stone Sour, Closer by Nine Inch Nails

I'm looking at you through the glass Don't know how much time has passed Oh God, it feels like forever But no one ever tells you that forever feels like home Sitting all alone inside your head

Warnings: smut! goo!Sauron, male masturbation, mentions of oral sex (female receiving), finger/P in V sex, biting, kinda rough sex, praise kink and degradation (only a little, he calls you a slut, sorry, he is Sauron though, man idk), Sauron POV, he is super down bad and also recovering from being literal goo

A/N: I tried so hard not to use the word 'goo' lmfao, considering that's what Sauron is for half the fic! So this is the sequel to In the Dark of the Night, the scenes will mirror each other but not quite... you'll see.

Word Count: 2.8k!

After centuries in the caverns beneath Forodwaith, he had finally escaped. Not that he was any closer to reclaiming you, not in his current state, a seething mass of something dark and primordial, but he could at last seek you out. The only thing he knew was hunger, consuming everything in his path; the only discernable notion in his mind, clouded and murky, was to find you. He had only an inkling that some time had passed since you'd been in his arms, and even less of an idea of where you would be, but he was patient. He could wait, as he had waited many times before for you.

Creature after pathetic creature he gathered and consumed, slowly regaining shreds of his former self, piece by tiny piece, until he was able to drag himself, formless and near-liquid, across the frozen wastelands of the North. The only guiding light in his current unfeeling state was the vague grasping notion of you, waiting for him, yearning and enduring for him, and it pushed him on, gave him strength to endure when all hope was lost.

His mind reaches out for you, across plains and rivers, over mountains and into the halls you now call home. The first time he does this, he has not the strength to make himself known to you, and can only regard you from afar. It takes all of his efforts to merely behold you for a second before you vanish in his mind's eye. If he was capable of sound, all of Middle Earth would have heard his guttural scream of frustration. However, in his current form, he emitted barely a weak gasp masquerading as an exasperated sigh, before falling still and unmoving for at least a week, unable to drag himself any further after weakening himself for just a glance at you. It was worth it. When he awakens, he tries again, and again, the effort lessening every time, but it still feels like forever until he finally regains enough power to reach out and touch you, a tingle across your lips, a tendril of his will wrapping around you.

You're seemingly unaware of his presence, though you react to the stimuli he provides. Your thoughts turn more and more to him, even as you try to push them away, heart shattered after so much time apart, the heartache he caused you in simply being himself. The more you push them away, the more they come unbidden, in your dreams and waking thoughts, until you can no longer ignore them.

This makes it easier for him, you leaving the door ajar, to slither into your mind and wrap himself around your heart once more. You thought you had moved on from his betrayal, the knowledge of his true self having shattered your desire to have him close. Your need for him however was not so easily undone; no matter how much you told yourself you were better off free of him and his inevitable path of destruction, your souls were inextricably bound together, and no earthly power could sunder you. In his primordial oozing state, the terrible ache deep in your souls, yearning for the touch of the other, was all he could feel, and he neither knew nor cared from whom it originated. It was all he could do, limbless and liquid, to revel unthinking in this torment, to bask and rot in the empty void between you; for to suffer in your absence was sweeter than never having known you at all.

The only salve for your unceasing ache was his touch on your skin, his words in your ear, his fëa wrapped around yours as your fervent light battles with his blazing darkness. And you would have it. He swore to you eons ago that you would never be without him; you cursed him for that promise a thousand times, and yet the thought of his desertion was a knife between the ribs.

~

He awakes in a freezing wooden wagon, lying on his back surrounded by bloody detritus as the pale morning light greets his rebirth. For a moment, he has no idea where he is, who he is, or how he came to be here. It is only by looking around, as he takes in the visceral scene before him, that it all comes flooding back.

White hot pain in his shoulders, between his ribs, daggers twisting in his gut.

Darkness, pitch black nothingness.

Hunger.

Centuries of freezing cold, leagues of endless empty wasteland.

You.

He can't catch his breath as he remembers the last time he saw you, guilt flooding through him in nauseous waves, the cruel twisted things he had said to you and the malice you had thrown back in return. He can't even conjure his wrath, grateful that you had abandoned Forodwaith in your fit of temper when you had, lest you'd been caught up in the events of his coronation.

Coronation. He inhales harshly, revelling in the cold air in his sinuses; the tiny sensations for which he must be thankful, he thought bitterly.

Weak with the effort of reconstituting himself, he slowly pushes himself to sit, idly rifling through the possessions of the unfortunate peasant who had so graciously provided him with the sustenance he needed. He begins to root through the sacks and chests, looking for anything to protect himself from the persistent chill outside. He gathers some clothes from a sack in the corner, pulling on a cloak haphazardly; in doing so, he knocks a stack of letters that cascade across the floor. One catches his attention.

He skims the contents and realises it is an old love letter, the page discoloured and brittle with age. The scrawled, pretty words are trifles in comparison to everything you have shared, but the way it is signed lingers in his memory.

Forever devoted, your Halbrand.

He does need a name after all.

With a smirk, he tosses the letter aside and makes his way towards the sunlit back of the wagon. The moment his bare feet touch the ground, he can't help but grin with relief.

In fact, to say he is relieved is an understatement. He is a Maia, one of the greatest of all beings in creation, reduced to crawling in the dirt for centuries. To regain any kind of fair form is a blessing, and it is with appreciation now that he regards his limbs, feels the cold hard ground beneath his bare feet, and finds clarity in the brisk northerly wind on his face. His first thought, as ever, is of you. Where are you, are you well, are you thinking of him? He senses that you are leagues away, but senses you he does. Satisfaction takes him over and he laughs, uplifted now that he finally knows for sure that he is on your mind.

~

Day becomes night, and he eventually stops to rest, unused to needing to do so; he muses over his small fire how you'll greet him when he returns. How he longs for your sweet kisses, however they'll feel in this strange form. He clings to the memory of your breath on his face, your laugh in his ear, the scent of your sweat-slicked skin beneath his. His longing turns to rage before long; the time you both had lost would never be regained. Your long lives would give you every chance to do so, but he cherished whatever time he spent with you, and this wasted time would not be forgotten.

He would have his revenge on the Uruk who dared defy him, who must have assumed merely destroying his physical form would kill him. More's the pity, for Sauron's wrath was great and his will greater. It might take a hundred years or a thousand, but his revenge would be as sweet as the memories he had of you, of the time together that had been stolen from you.

Usually he has no need for sleep, but in dreams, he can join you, so he lays down on the frozen ground next to the dying embers of his fire and waits for you. It's not long before he finds himself in your chambers, breathing in your scent. He has been here before, tried to make contact with you, but in his weakened state he could do nothing but watch you, every night feeling like forever without your touch. Now he can make himself known, and he does just that.

You're lying on your bed, and he thinks to lie down next to you, as he has so many times before, and stroke your hair and tell you he'll be with you soon, that he is counting the seconds until you're in his arms again.

However you surprise him, as you often do, even after all this time. It's what he loves most about you.

You're clearly focused on something, brow furrowed, and before he can slip into your mind further, you cast off the sheets, and trail a hand down to between your thighs. He can't help but grin as he realises what he is witness to. You used to become so flustered when he asked you to do this for him, to touch yourself and think of him, and even now your cheeks are red. His previous attempts to touch you have been in vain, like catching smoke in the wind, the veil between you thwarting his every effort. He brushes a finger over your face adoringly and you sigh contentedly. Did you feel that? He wonders, because as happy as he is to watch you chase your pleasure, he would much rather join in.

Watching you sweat and pant his name always does something delicious to him, satisfying that dark ever-present urge to defile and corrupt you. Savouring every filthy noise he elicits from you, the whines in your throat, the wet sounds of his cock inside you, dragging over every sensitive inch of flesh until there is no thought in your head but of him and your lovemaking.

Your tiny whimpers become moans as he delves between your thighs, delighting in how wet you are. It used to fascinate him, when he first bedded you, just how needy and slick you would get, and he can't deny that fascination never faded. He can't get enough of the taste of you, would happily subsist on you for the rest of his days, and you would probably let him, given the unearthly sounds currently escaping your lips.

His attention wanders to his own pleasure as he realises he is so fucking hard, and he is leagues away from being able to fuck you until you can't stand the next day. He hasn't explored this new form yet, and briefly wonders if you would approve. The peasant who revived him was mortal, and so he seems to have taken the form of a mortal man; would that repulse or thrill you? If you knew it was him, you wouldn't care, he knows this, but he still wonders.

He pulls out his cock and regards it, not having paid it much attention until now. It looks like any other, perhaps thicker than his last, a little longer maybe, but he doesn’t have much with which to compare. You would be the ultimate judge in that regard, and the only one that matters. Most importantly, it feels just as good in his fist as he dreams of you, fingers inside your needy cunt as you moan his name. How long it has been since he heard it, his breath hitches and he strokes faster, keeping in time with the thrusts he makes into you, using all his regained powers to satisfy you like only he knows.

"Are you my good girl, love?" He moans out loud as he has so many times before, not expecting a response but-

"Yes, for you, only you..." You whimper, arching your back, reaching for his touch, and he melts, forehead pressed against yours as he moans your name into the dark. How fucking perfect you are, how eager you are to be his, so ready and willing to fuck the shadows for him.

How times had changed since you saw each other last. It thrilled him to know you still wanted him, needed him, had put any thought of abandoning him from your mind, had embraced him as your husband, your lover, your protector, of course you had, and he arched into his fist as you keened under his attentions, leagues away in your bed.

How could you think for a second that you were not his, wholly and completely? That he could not simply find and have his way with you whenever he cared to? You must know that he would rather be your undoing than let you leave him.

He wants only to ravage you, to pin you down and leave your skin painted with bruises, marking you as his, trails of purple and blue leading to your aching cunt. To possess you, body and soul, chained to him for all eternity.

He would build a temple to your flesh, no, of your flesh, and desecrate it with his seed, worship you as his equal, pray to you with tender kisses and the blood of your enemies, if only to feel your skin on his, your light on his face once more.

He wraps a hand around your throat and groans, running his thumb across your skin and collecting your sweat.

"So good for me, so needy, so fucking perfect, waiting for me to fill you over and over," he moans as he leans down, phantom tongue swiping your throat, the salt of your sweat inflaming his senses all the more.

He wants nothing more than to bury himself within you, to climb inside you and never leave, if that is what it would take to never be parted from you again. He wonders how much of him you could take before your screams of pleasure turn to pain.

You're both so lost in your lust, he has no idea if you're here with him or he's there with you, but he'll take it greedily and without question.

He bites the shell of your ear, nipping just hard enough that you react, hand flying to your face. He grabs it and kisses your palm, rutting into you like an animal.

"Always so good for me," he whispers in your ear, willing you to hear him more than ever, "look how you take my cock so well, the way you stretch around me, always such a good little slut for me."

You asked him once how he could worship and degrade you in a single breath; he'd told you they were the same thing.

Whether the timing of his words is a coincidence, he is unsure; you come hard, orgasm wracking your body while you moan and keen under his spectral touch.

Your walls tighten around him, you both hiss with pleasure, and he can't hold back any longer, pleasure building to an unbearable crescendo. He lets loose a string of curses, spilling himself on his thighs, christening his new mortal form and gasping your name.

His tenuous link to your pleasure is broken, and he curses once more, wanting nothing more than to wrap himself around you, to fuck you through your orgasm until you're whining and overstimulated, too sensitive under his flaming touch.

~

There is no such thing as a chance meeting, every passing encounter preordained to fulfil a purpose, and he thanks the Valar every day that despite all he had suffered that they had put you in his path. Fate was no small thing and it had bound you all this time, unwavering in the face of defeat and suffering and war and Morgoth, all of which wanted to sunder you from him. It is with that thought that he presses on.

He meets a group of Men who are bound for a ship to take them across the sea for a new life. At first he wants nothing to do with it; he knows where he is going, finally going home, wherever you are. But the old man is insistent, that perhaps his path lays in the West.

There are no chance meetings. If the old man advises Numenor, then perhaps it is his destiny to seek the descendants of men who had destroyed his aspirations centuries ago; the long road of revenge will lead him back to you, of that he was certain.

[camplease]

harrow grew in her emotional awareness of other people as people at an incredible rate during the events of gideon the ninth, a rate that honestly stretches the bounds of plausibility. and i think a lot of it, maybe even most of it, was specifically a reaction to an awareness of gideon, specifically, in genuine mortal danger that harrow had never previously considered

even before harrow was able to accept that she feels any affection for gideon, her covetousness of gideon's presence is evident. but, on drearburh, even though there might’ve conceivably been natural disasters outside of harrow's control that could’ve changed this, i think gideon’s survival of the child massacre made gideon seem like an almost supernaturally ever-present fixture of harrow’s universe. no matter how much gideon bled and broke in those 17 years, i don’t think harrow had truly considered the reality of gideon’s mortality before

when harrow thought of losing gideon, she thought of gideon escaping. prior to canaan house, though death involving those close to her was already something harrow knew intimately well, each example is inextricably connected to its specific context. with "the body," the cause of death didn't pose any immediate, direct threat to harrow or those she cared about. as horrific all of drearburh’s children’s deaths were, as heavily as they weighed on harrow, this was a part of her history rather than an imminent threat. and, as much grief and sorrow that the personal responsibility harrow felt for her parents’ suicides colored her existence, as much as she even once blamed gideon, ultimately, harrow's parents killed themselves. these were all so different by their very nature from the deaths at canaan house and the possibilities they illuminated. something or someone was maliciously seeking out those among her in the present. gideon's very existence could no longer be taken for granted, never mind simply losing possession of her

i believe that both accepting her own care for gideon and accepting the risk of losing gideon beyond losing control over her is what led harrow to assess the inherent harm and dehumanization of their power imbalance and to begin to understand the flaws in her worldview overall, the flaws in the system that granted her and others in power the power to abuse it at will and use those under them as tools

but the reason why i say this was a lot of/most of and not all of the reason for harrow's growth is because i think she always had some latent capacity for it that she'd just previously suppressed. and i don't think this is unique to harrow. i think the worst people within any system wear away at their humanity, and, thus, their ability to perceive the humanity of others and act accordingly, a bit at a time. but this process isn't irreversible. harrow's relation to gideon was just the catalyst for that reversal in her

i can’t say exactly who harrow would’ve become without gideon at canaan house with her for the lyctoral trials, but she would’ve certainly been very different from the person she is now

decided to make my own post because i was thinking about this poll way too much and it led me to a big enough tangent that it's its own creature at this point, though i also wanna credit that initial spark

[silvermoon424]

Eternal Erina

Left by @chommission, right by @linyu3u

An anon innocently asked me to talk about my OC Erina's final form, Eternal Erina. Unfortunately, it's impossible to actually explain her deal without also explaining the story of my story/paracosm. Which is, uh, LONG AND COMPLICATED.

For anyone who doesn't want to read the massive incoming infodump, the main plot of my story/paracosm revolves around Erina and her journey from a frightened, troubled child into the savior of her people (mages, aka magical girls and magical boys). That involves becoming a goddess, a concept, and a universal force. So like Ultimate Madoka, basically. If the design didn’t tip you off, my story is HEAVILY inspired by PMMM, lol. 

The details are hidden under this Read More. If you end up reading it, I'd LOVE to hear your thoughts!!

Order and Chaos

So basically, magic and life (especially sapient life) is governed by the Rule of Cycles, a mostly benevolent being/law of nature. It is opposed by Chaos, who governs black/chaos magic but cannot create true life, only shadows of itself or People of the Cycle that have been corrupted. Chaos hates RoC because it's envious of RoC's creativity and ability to create life, not to mention that Chaos used to be a part of RoC at the beginning of the universe and wants to once again be one with everything. 

Mages have existed for billions of years, all across the universe. Where there is sapient life, there is magic. Mages are born when they resonate with the Rule of Cycles and are granted a wish/miracle. But if they fall into despair or fail to replenish their magic they will become Wraiths, beings of Chaos (again, like magical girls and Witches from PMMM).

Also, if you couldn't tell by the names, the Rule of Cycles and Chaos are basically Order vs Chaos personified. This is inspired by the Stars arc of Sailor Moon and the ultimate villain Chaos.

Also, RoC and Chaos can't fight directly without damaging the fabric of the universe and/or causing mass destruction, so they manipulate beings and create proxies to fight a proxy war. Erina, my main OC, is the RoC's chosen champion and can tap into it directly. Chaos doesn't have a champion (yet) and mostly just sends out powerful extensions of itself, although it does also have corrupted People of the Cycle at its beck and call.

Also, in my paracosm, the RoC was created by an even greater being that created the multiverse who's since basically fucked off and doesn't intervene at all. Soon after the creation of the universe, billions of years ago, Chaos split off from the RoC and they've opposed each other ever since.

The Philosophy of the Cycle and Unnecessary Suffering

However, even though the Rule of Cycles and Chaos are opposed, they are inextricably bound together. Just like as the darkness needs the light to create shadows, the light also needs the darkness to shine more brightly. 

In other words, without evil, we couldn’t truly comprehend good. Without sorrow in the world, there would be no compassion. If we never lost anything, we would never truly appreciate what we have. And so on. The Philosophy of the Cycle- the path that mages spend years walking- is making peace with the fact that sorrow/evil/suffering will not only always exist, but is in fact vital to the very foundation of the universe. 

With all that said, even though suffering and sorrow are inevitable, we must try to diminish it in any way we can. Making peace with the foundations of the universe does not mean totally accepting it the way it is and sitting by passively while bad things happen. Because not all suffering-or even most suffering, one could argue- is inevitable. A lot of suffering is due to unjust systems, systems that need to be torn down and replaced with something better. 

You know, unjust systems like the current mage system.

In my story, being a mage isn’t an immediate death sentence like in PMMM; many mages go on to live full adult lives. However, the death/corruption rate is still around 1/3 to 1/2 of all mages. So even if you don’t succumb to Chaos yourself, you are essentially guaranteed to know and love someone who will or already has.  

I haven’t sat down and figured out how the mage-Wraith system came about; all I know is that it wasn’t always there and is the result of  tampering. It’s been in place so long that there are only a scant few records talking about the before times, but there is evidence it didn’t always exist.

Also, Wraiths aren’t the only Chaos Beings around; mages also fight Demons. Unlike Wraiths, they are mere extensions and creations of Chaos and did not used to be sapient. There are enough Demons around to support the mage population’s need for purification, once again proving that Wraiths are unnecessary and cruel.  

 Some cycles need to be broken. Enter Daenerys.

The Oracle

Daenerys aka Dany (yes, named after that Daenerys!) comes from a noble family of oracles who once reigned as the monarchs of a country of mages before it was destroyed. Dany is the most talented far-seer ever born and, after seeing a vision of Erina as a goddess whose ascension broke the cycle that turns mages into monsters, has dedicated her life to ensuring that future becomes reality. Even the wish that turned her into a magical girl was in service of her goals: she wished to be the fount from which a true hero would be born.

(idk where else to put this, but another major plotline of my story is a government conspiracy. Countless children with psychic powers and/or the potential to become mages were kidnapped and raised in a top-secret research facility. Dany was one of the first victims of this program due to precognition being a very rare ability. Dany (not a mage yet) was deep in despair when she had her vision about Erina. It gave her a reason to live and keep going, which is why she’s so dedicated to Erina and her mission)

Twisting and weaving the threads of fate, Dany carefully manipulates things to ensure the future she saw. She does whatever she can to add onto Erina’s karma (which, like in PMMM, determines how powerful a mage is). Dany also became a mage years before Erina, so a lot of this happened when Erina was still completely ignorant of what fate had in store for her.

Erina’s Entrance

I truly cannot give as much background as I want on Erina herself because this is so fucking long already lol, but I’ll give the main points of her background:

Her mother died about a year after giving birth to her, and she was then raised by her grandmother until she was 5. After her grandmother suddenly died, she was put into the foster care system.

The main story starts when Erina is 12. I’m literally not even gonna try explaining all that goes on lol, but the important thing is that she comes under the care of a young man named Eric who becomes her adoptive father.

Again, due to reasons I won’t get into now, Erina was nearly driven to suicide due to despair (she has C-PTSD and was at a point where she thought the future was bleak). The love and care Eric showed her gave her hope and made her want to keep going, and she is left with the strong desire to inspire hope in others the way he did in her.

Flash forward a bit and Erina becomes a magical girl, using her wish to save Eric’s life in a dangerous situation. She immediately and wholeheartedly embraces her role as a magical girl, seeing it as a way to help others and inspire hope like she so dearly wants to.

Erina finds herself in a found family with fellow mages Luna, Rhae, Iris, and Flora (the other main OCs of my story). She also formally meets Dany and becomes close with her. She also becomes friends with lots of other people (including many mages) and has a lot of fun experiences.

Doppelgangers: The Other “Me”

It’s soon revealed that Erina’s magic has created a purifying barrier around the city she and her friends live in; instead of becoming Wraiths, mages who exhaust their magic will instead summon Doppelgangers (YES I LOVE MAGIA RECORD AND IT’S OBVIOUS). I’ll try to explain the Doppelgangers and their relationship to the overall lore:

Doppelgangers are actually symbiotic organisms from another dimension that attach onto the souls of sapient beings because they themselves lack souls as well as self-awareness and consciousnesses (although they do have intelligence).

Doppelgangers are normally benign, but they respond to their hosts' emotions and can turn into Wraiths if overcome with despair. Again, this did not always used to be the case. It’s implied that Erina’s magic is shielding the city from the effects of Chaos, and therefore Doppelgangers cannot be corrupted.

All People of the Cycle (intelligent life) have Doppelgangers, but only mages have the power to manifest them in our dimension.

Doppelgangers are also manifestations of the host's soul. As such, the host might be self-conscious of their Doppelgangers or outright reject it if they don't like what they see. In turn, the Doppelganger might keep trying to force its user to confront their own demons or flaws in an attempt to help them (basically, sometimes a Doppelganger can be a really intense therapy session lol). 

A Doppelganger is a reflection of its user, and accepting one's Doppel is an act of self-love and self-acceptance. Doppelgangers themselves LOVE their hosts and are unquestioningly loyal to them. However, more than the host’s words, the Doppelganger obeys their heart.

If the host rejects their Doppelganger, the Doppelganger will still come out in the automatic purification field. The mage just won't be able to control it. Outside of the city, they'll turn into a Wraith unless they come to terms with the Doppel and are able to summon it. 

Dany hopes to expand the purification barrier across the entire universe. She plans on doing this by having Erina resonate with the Rule of Cycles once again and be granted a second wish.

The vast majority of mages are only given one miracle. However, mages who have accumulated exceptional amounts of karma and are judged to be worthy are capable of being granted a second wish. This is why Dany has been working so hard to build up Erina’s karma. To help her with this goal, Dany creates a group called the Weavers of Fate.

Oh... It’s a Cult

Yep, the Weavers of Fate are pretty much a mage-based cult based on their belief in Dany’s visions and Erina’s future as a goddess. But can you blame them for latching onto hope when their fate is so dicey? Dozens (and later thousands) of mages work to assist Dany in her goals.

The Weavers of Fate embrace and revere Erina as their messiah, sometimes making her uncomfortable because she just wants to live a normal life with her loved ones. But as the story goes on, Erina becomes more and more convinced that she needs to embrace the role if it means saving her fellow mages.

Side note: at a certain point in the timeline, the existence of mages becomes public knowledge. There’s a lot of sociopolitical drama that I won’t get into here.

Dany’s Changing Priorities

A few years into the timeline (after a LOT of things happen that aren’t relevant to this writeup), Erina shockingly and unexpectedly dies in a climatic battle against Chaos. Dany is utterly devastated and, in her grief, resonates with the Rule of Cycles and makes a second wish (by this point, Dany has wracked up TONS of karma herself). She wishes for a chance to redo things, and is given the ability to go back in time. She can only go back in time at the static rate of a few months, but this gives her enough time to plan ahead for the climatic battle.

Well, long story short, Dany goes through several time loops, failing each one, and gets more and more traumatized each time. Yes, she’s literally Homura but better off in a few ways. Anyway, Dany learns that Erina’s ascension to godhood is not guaranteed; with the more karma she accumulates, she is more and more likely to become a Wraith. And not just any Wraith, a Wraith that could easily destroy the entire world (and later, even the galaxy).

After years of single-mindedly pursuing her goal, Dany decides that all she wants to do now is protect Erina and her other friends. She’s done with being a pawn for cosmic forces greater than her. She feels immense guilt for putting Erina on a pedestal and putting her through all this, as she now deeply loves and cherishes Erina as a friend... or maybe something more than a friend.

Except oops, she’s already done so much at this point that she’s completely screwed over the chances of them all having a normal life. With every reset, things just get worse. But she refuses to give up, continuing to hold out hope even in the face of overwhelming odds.

How It All Ends

Dany finally reveals everything to Erina, expressing her regret and asking for Erina’s forgiveness. Erina says there’s nothing to forgive, as she wouldn’t change the life she’s lived and the experiences she’s had for anything.

The climatic final battle begins. Wraiths from all over the world descend on the city where the story takes place, overriding the purification barrier and causing mass death and havoc. Erina is forced to sit it out due to the dangers of her dying or becoming a world-destroying Wraith, like Dany has seen happen so many times. A lot of the main characters die fighting, and Erina is left devastated.

Despite all that, Erina affirms her belief in hope and her desire to give it to mages- her people. The way she sees it, mages are being punished for believing in hope and wanting a better life, and that is unacceptable. She remembers a dear friend who became a Wraith, along with all of the other people she’s known and cared about who suffered the same fate.

She knows what she has to do.

She has an emotional conversation with Eric, her adoptive father, and thanks him for setting her down this road. Despite his pain and reluctance to let her go, he gives her his blessing. Erina says goodbye to her remaining friends and loved ones, thanking them for showing her how beautiful the world is. There are a lot of awful, terrible things in the world, but the good things it has to offer are enough to make it worth fighting for. Erina knows this better than anyone.

Resonating with the Rule of Cycles once more, Erina makes her second wish: To have the power to grant the promise of “tomorrow” to mages. She ascends to godhood, and the purification barrier becomes a universal law of nature (much like Ultimate Madoka). Unlike Madoka, however, everyone remembers Erina and knows about her sacrifice.

Time restructures itself, and because the Wraiths that killed everyone no longer exist, the people who died in the final battle are resurrected. Erina’s friends and family- ESPECIALLY Dany, who is absolutely guilt-ridden- deeply mourn her loss, but vow to keep protecting the world she loved and cared so much about.

🩷 The End 🩷

I Lied, There’s More

Okay, so that’s the ending of the main paracosm. However, there’s a sequel! I have not spent nearly as much time on this as the main story so a lot is very sketchy. I’m just gonna list out my main ideas:

A little while after the ending of the main story, an alien union/federation/whatever makes first contact with Earth; they were also saved by Erina's actions and want to return the favor by helping humanity out.

Stuff Happens but I don’t know exactly what yet lol. I do know there’s a lot of space battles because that’s just cool.

Erina eventually comes back into her physical form because Dany is in danger (I imagine it's a situation similar to Rebellion; I haven't hammered out the details yet though). There are also Chaos machinations, which could be catastrophic for the universe.

She manages to save Dany and also connects with Chaos itself, making it realize it needs to chill out. Like it can still be Chaos but not so extra.

Erina with her loved ones, also getting to meet the new characters. She is sad about needing to leave them again, but knows her duty is more important.

However, the Rule of Cycles is very grateful for all of Erina’s help; after all, she ended Wraiths and managed to get Chaos to calm down just a bit. The RoC asks Erina if she wants to live out the rest of her natural lifespan in the mortal world. She says yes, because there's nothing she wants to do more than live her life with her friends and family, in the world she loves so much.

I imagine the system her wish made is still in place because, like Madokami, she's both Erina the individual and Erina the force of nature. It’s not great to have Erina the individual missing, but since it’ll only be for a few decades the universe can cope.

In the ACTUAL, FINAL ending, Erina becomes a teacher for young mages. Erina, Dany, and Iris (a main character whose relationship with Erina is also a major theme) officially become a polycule. LOVE FUCKING WINS!

If you made it this far: THANK YOU FOR READING MY STORY, both the story itself and your interest mean more to me than anything!!! 🩷🩷🩷

[mivalyn]

😈 The beast within 😈

18+, mdni!

Wanderer! Sylus x fem! reader

Cw: non-consensual sex, size difference in sexual activity, intense pain, unrealistic body proportions/monster features, dubious consent, power dynamics

!Requests are open!

Word count: 1,846

The key scrapes against the lock, a pathetically mundane sound utterly dwarfed by the raw, primal fucking energy thrumming in the air – a low, guttural vibration that resonates deep within your cunt, a promise of the brutal, ecstatic, mind-blowing agony about to unfold. It's a promise of pain so exquisite it'll leave you begging for more, a promise of pleasure so intense it'll shatter your sanity. The door creaks open, revealing him – Sylus. Your Sylus. But this… this isn't just some cuddly-wuddly Sylus. This is something ancient, something fucking powerful, something utterly, terrifyingly alien, and overwhelmingly, sickeningly arousing.

He's sprawled across the sofa, a breathtaking monstrosity bathed in the harsh, judgmental glare of the setting sun. Massive, crimson wings, like silk stained with the blood of a thousand ravaged, screaming innocents, spill over the armrests, each feather a razor-sharp glint of crimson fucking fire. Two obsidian horns, wickedly curved and polished to a lethal, seductive sheen, jut from his head, casting long, predatory shadows across his face – shadows that seem to writhe and pulse with a life of their own. His tail, thick and corded with muscle the size of your goddamn thighs, thrashes against the plush cushions, the dark, pointed tip a constant, insistent reminder of the raw, brutal power coiled within him – a power he's about to unleash on your quivering flesh. His skin, usually a dull olive, now pulses with an unnatural inner light, a luminescent sheen that hints at the terrifying, earth-shattering power simmering beneath the surface – a power that's going to rip you apart and put you back together again, better, broken, and utterly his. His features, normally sharp and ruggedly handsome, are softened, yet possess a chilling, almost ethereal beauty; less the man you know, and more a creature of nightmare and exquisite, agonizing, breathtaking desire. The muscles in his arms and legs ripple beneath his skin, a horrifying, beautiful display of raw strength that both terrifies and enthralls you, leaving you weak-kneed and desperate for the pain he's about to inflict. A knot of primal, terrified fear twists in your gut, inextricably bound with an overwhelming, insatiable, depraved lust that leaves you panting and wanting more.

He rises slowly, deliberately, the movement of a predator assessing its prey. But the predatory glint in his eyes has softened, replaced by something else entirely… a yearning so intense it’s almost palpable, a hunger that mirrors your own – a hunger for your destruction, your submission, your complete and utter annihilation. He moves towards you, each step echoing in the sudden, suffocating silence, the air thick with the raw, unspoken promise of brutal, ecstatic, soul-crushing release. The scent of him fills the room – ozone, sweat, something musky and primal, uniquely him, a scent that both repels and utterly captivates you, a scent that screams of power and raw, untamed sexuality.

"Hello, love," his voice is a low growl, a vibration that resonates deep within your core, igniting fires in places you didn't know existed – places you never even knew could exist.

You don't scream. You can't. Your breath hitches, stolen by the sheer, terrifying, breathtaking beauty of him. He is breathtaking. Dangerous. A fucking god amongst men. And then you see it.

The monstrous, alien bulge pressed against the nonexistent fabric where his trousers should have been. His cock. It is obscene, impossibly thick and long, a throbbing, vibrant purple monstrosity that strains against the confines of his abdomen, a pulsating, alien phallus that dwarfs anything you've ever witnessed. The head is swollen and glistening, slick with pre-cum, a promise of pain and pleasure so intense it makes your knees weak, your insides melt, and your mind scream for release. You’ve explored his body before, mapped every curve and crevice, discovered hidden landscapes of pleasure. But this… this is beyond anything you could have imagined. This is primal. Raw. Alien. And fucking incredibly, obscenely, terrifyingly arousing.

Your pussy clenches, spasming involuntarily. Heat radiates through your core, leaving you breathless, aching, weak, a quivering mess of need and terror. Yet you remain rooted to the spot, mesmerized, your will completely broken by the sheer, overwhelming power of him. The sight of him – impossibly huge, impossibly beautiful, impossibly alien – ignites a fire within you, a lust so raw it obliterates any remaining sense of reason or fear.

"Sylus…" you whisper, your voice a trembling breath, a pathetic whimper of submission.

He reaches out, his fingers brushing your cheek, sending a jolt of pure, unadulterated electricity through you, leaving you tingling and desperate for his touch. "I… I wanted you to see," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion, raw and vulnerable, a stark contrast to his otherworldly power. A blush, a stark contrast to his otherworldly features, colors his high cheekbones, a fleeting moment of human vulnerability. "This… this is who I truly am. I… I haven’t known how to show you before."

The air crackles with unspoken lust, thick with ozone and that musky, primal scent, a suffocating blend of power and desire that leaves you breathless and wanting more. You reach out, your fingers tracing the sharp, smooth edge of one of his horns, the heat of his skin searing through your fingertips. You run your hand down his spine, feeling the taut corded muscles beneath, the roughness of his hair sending shivers down your back. Finally, your fingers brush against his impossibly large cock. A gasp, raw and desperate, escapes your lips – a gasp of pure, unadulterated need.

"Show me," you breathe, your voice barely a whisper, a plea for more pain, more pleasure, more of him. "Show me everything."

He leans down, his lips brushing your ear, his breath hot and wet against your skin, a fetid whisper of impending doom and exquisite pleasure. "My love," he growls, his voice low and dangerous, a rumbling promise of pain and ecstasy, "you have no idea what I want to show you…" His hand moves down your body, cupping your breast, his fingers tightening, his touch both tender and brutally possessive, a terrifying blend of gentleness and violence. The heat of his skin burns through your clothing, igniting a fire within you that spreads like wildfire through your veins. His fingers find your clit through your panties, a rough, demanding stroke that sends a jolt of pure, unadulterated pleasure shooting to your brain, a white-hot explosion of sensation that leaves you gasping for air. A moan escapes you, a sound of pure, desperate need, a primal scream of submission.

He tears your panties away with a sharp rip, the sound echoing the tearing of your inhibitions, his gaze intense, his eyes burning into yours as he takes in the sight of your slick, glistening cunt, a gaping maw of desire ready to receive him. His lips find yours, a hungry, demanding kiss that leaves you breathless, his tongue rough and invasive, exploring every inch of your mouth before trailing down your neck, leaving a trail of fire and wetness in its wake. His lips linger on the sensitive skin of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin, a prelude to the storm that's about to break. His fingers find their way between your legs, his touch expert and brutal, teasing and tormenting your clit until you are writhing, a writhing mass of desperate need, your body convulsing with the pleasure and pain of his touch. He pushes two fingers inside, then three, stretching you, his touch growing more insistent, more brutal, more demanding, pushing you to the very edge of your endurance, the precipice of oblivion. You arch your back, your hips bucking against his hand, desperate for release, for the oblivion that only he can provide. He knows exactly what he’s doing, pushing you to the very edge of sanity, to the precipice of complete, utter, blissful surrender.

He doesn't waste time. His massive, alien cock, a throbbing purple monster, looms between your legs, a monstrous, pulsating testament to his power, his dominance. The sheer size of it is both terrifying and exhilarating, a promise of pain and pleasure so intense it steals your breath, leaves you gasping for air, begging for release. He positions himself, his weight pressing down on you, the heat of his body searing against yours, a suffocating weight that both terrifies and excites you. The head of his cock presses against your entrance, and you gasp, the anticipation nearly unbearable, the edge of pain a tantalizing promise.

He pushes, slowly at first, testing your limits, stretching you to your breaking point. The pain is excruciating, a fiery burn that threatens to consume you, to obliterate you, but the pleasure is even more intense, a wave of exquisite agony that washes over you, a tsunami of sensation that leaves you breathless and wanting more. He moves deeper, stretching you, filling you completely, until you're nothing but a vessel for his raw, untamed power. You dig your nails into his back, your body arching, your legs wrapping around his waist, a desperate, primal embrace.

He moves faster, his thrusts deeper and more powerful, the rhythm driving you insane, a relentless pounding that pushes you to the edge of sanity. You scream, your voice raw and hoarse, a mixture of pain and unadulterated ecstasy, a primal cry of surrender and triumph. His tail thrashes against the bed, a silent counterpoint to the rhythm of his thrusts, a pulsating testament to his power. His crimson wings flutter slightly as his body moves, casting shifting shadows on the walls, adding a surreal, nightmarish quality to the already intense experience. He grunts, his own orgasm building, his body shuddering violently against yours, a violent tremor that shakes you to your core. You climax again and again, wave after wave of intense pleasure and unbearable pain, your body convulsing around him, until finally, he empties himself inside you, collapsing onto you, his weight heavy but satisfying, a crushing weight that leaves you gasping for breath.

You lie there, spent and breathless, the only sounds the pounding of your hearts and your ragged breathing. This wasn’t lovemaking; it was a violation, a conquest, a brutal, primal merging of two vastly different beings. And it was fucking incredible. His large cock still fills you, his weight heavy upon you, a warm, pulsing weight that leaves you trembling with aftershocks of pleasure and pain. He’s asleep already, lost in the aftermath of his own savage release, and you… you aren’t even sure you want to move. The throbbing in your cunt and in your head, the phantom ache of his muscles, his size, the sheer, overwhelming power of him… it’s all so intoxicating, so utterly, completely consuming. The lingering heat between your legs… the promise of more… the terrifying, exhilarating promise of more… it's a promise you're already eagerly anticipating.

*****

As soon as I saw the new video yesterday on the Love and Deepspace YouTube channel with Sylus, I knew I had to write this~

[iminjomama]

ohh my heart. this is so beautiful and like. ur a genius oh my god i actually cried THIS IS SO BEAUTIFUL!! i love them so much thank you universe for gifting me sherlock and co oh my god this conversation makes my heart ache oh sherlock thank you!!! world for gifting me the sherlock ever

THE GLORIA SCOTT - part 2, and a follow up to my comic for the first half of this scene! thanks sm to @crashingmeteorz for allowing me to source validation for my whimsical cosmic approach to this moment <3

[sleepynoons]

jing yuan x gn!reader, nsfw, not beta read

cw: implied violence/war, ptsd, angst/slight comfort

notes: getting back into the swing of writing! not necessarily canon – and maybe i'm projecting as someone with ptsd –, but jing yuan and ptsd just seem so inextricably linked to me. anyway, just an experimental drabble, hoping to expand into something larger down the line.

COLD. DESPITE the weight of the blanket and the warmth from your body pressed up against his, he feels so cold, almost shivering and trembling from the sweat clinging to his palms and temples.

he doesn’t dare to move, disallowing himself from glancing at you. in fear, truly, that the slow rocking of your chest in motion with deep breaths and the steeled grip of your hands on his arm are all conjurings of his subconscious.

the sweat is stubborn, sticky, tacky. congealing with each passing second, staining and matting his hair to his neck and shoulders. the air in the room also grows dense, heavy, oppressing, and it’s all too reminiscent of the caves, abandoned sheds, groves, underground tunnels jing yuan used to hide in.

him and his surviving soldiers, all holding their breaths, still vigilant, praying. he ordered the group to stay put while him and two others went to scavenge.

what a horrifying night.

the ringing silence of the bedroom distorts into wails. he can make out slinking shadows on the walls. you’re not by his side.

until he is jolted back, with the gentle pressure of a warm towel against his cheek.

his hand flies up to grab your wrist. his grip is a little tight, bound to leave a bit of redness, but it’s reassuring to feel your pulse underneath the pad of his thumb.

you continue to wipe away, making your way down to his adam’s apple and collarbone.

he won’t allow himself to open his eyes. and you won’t ask him to, either.

you know he only wants gentle comfort, nothing grand or extravagant. he can’t help it – no more loud noises, sudden, passionate movements, or words that are intoxicating in more ways than one.

so you continue to gently swipe and rub and smooth over the lines of his face, knowing that he will never experience the peace he truly craves for.

regardless, he will live on.

(for you.)

[sevikas-biceps]

[TLDR: me attempting to make sense of the Arcane's eldritchness, which sounds ironic in hindsight but hear me out]

Revelation after revelation aside, there are many pieces of foreshadowing that tell us why Viktor's commune wasn't as great as it seemed.

Visually speaking, all the clues are right there.

The first thing we see of the slums of Zaun is this.

Vi, leading their little group, is astonished to find such a thing—and to think that Huck was there, serving as one of its ushers! Huck, who she immediately calls a filthy traitor; having succumbed to shimmer the last time she saw him—meaning he'd turned to Silco both literally and figuratively—what with his use of the drug and the fact that he'd ratted her and Caitlyn out to the tycoon.

Miss Ma'am is bamboozled.

How the hell did he end up there? At this...paradise? At the slums, which, only a few weeks or months ago; was still dark, dusty, violet, and violent!

Something has changed, obviously; and Huck himself admits that his past was him 'at his worst'. Simply awful. But the Herald had saved him. And because of that, he was leading a better life, now. Naturally, at this point, Vi and Jinx seem wary.

There's gotta be a catch, no?

The landscape and the characters exemplify this.

Let's start with the land itself. Look at how empty it actually looks. Yes, there's a field of flowers. Yes, there's a community, teeming with life. Yes, it's literally heaven. But the lighting. The colours. It's so...bleak. Like a dream. The mountains are green, but they're cast in grey and white; and added with the negative space, there's an eeriness to it that contrasts Piltover's version of an eutopia.

You can argue it being the vast resource difference, as Topside is the superior city for a reason, but the commune is still filled with numerous individuals with just as much creativity as their counterparts. Intelligent and sentient beings—people, with minds to set to whatever task may be at hand.

Now, let's think of the people.

The biggest difference between the two communities is this: the 'healed' of Viktor's paradise wear only one mode of dress: white. It's almost uniform—which is notable, as, previously in the episode, Viktor speaks of 'chaos'. We see how fascinated he was by the mess that Vander's psyche had become, and in an attempt at detangling that chaos, he was 'setting things right' inside the man's mind. Bringing him back to something resembling normalcy. Order.

This is particularly significant for the fact that, in the game, he's remembered for his philosophy on glorious evolution (also mentioned in the show, as we know)—which is centred on the enhancement of the human body to transcend its fleshly limits.

Piltover, in contrast—and by extension the 'unhealed' of Zaun—go against this code. We see shimmer addicts, we see corrupt individuals, we see bigoted populations, we see conflict between the cities. We see human nature at its finest. Even the episode titles, all the way from Season 1, display this.

S1E1: Welcome to the Playground S1E2: Some Mysteries are Better Left Unsolved S1E3: The Base Violence Necessary for Change S1E4: Happy Progress Day! S1E5: Everybody Wants to Be My Enemy S1E6: When These Walls Come Tumbling Down S1E7: The Boy Saviour S1E8: Oil and Water S1E9: The Monster You Created S2E1: Heavy is the Crown S2E2: Watch It All Burn S2E3: Finally Got the Name Right S2E4: Paint the Town Blue S2E5: Blisters and Bedrock S2E6: The Message Hidden Within the Pattern

Again, human nature. Colourful, tumultuous, unsynchronised. A need for knowledge. A need for violence. A need for change. A need for exploration. A need for control. Everything that we can have, we take.

That's the point of Viktor's quote:

I understand now. The message hidden within the pattern. The reason for our failures in the commune. The doctor was right—it's inescapable. Humanity. Our very essence. Our emotions—rage, compassion, hate. Two sides of the same coin, inextricably bound. That which inspires us to our greatest good is also the cause of our greatest evil.

It's a paradox.

This is a sophisticated conjuration. A singularity, simultaneously self-replicating and self-annihilating.

He wasn't just talking about the Arcane. It wasn't just about that 'voice' he and Sky heard when gazing at Jayce through Salo's eyes. It's also about humanity.

So, how does that relate to his commune?

Here's the thing: it looks like heaven, but later on, when Viktor dies and everyone else follows, it's practically limbo. It's liminal. Initially, you only have the vague sense that there's something off about it, but you can't tell what. It's filled with people, yet at the same time, it looks like it shouldn't have any to begin with. Mysterious. Suspicious. Almost dreadful; something that makes you realise: if you think about it too hard, you'd drive yourself insane.

There's something intrinsically natural about the commune, something untouched by human hands; but there's also something intrinsically human about it, something unnatural, cultivated in a way nature itself cannot replicate. That's the catch. It should be a balance of both. An ideal community would show this.

Viktor's connection to the Hexcore tells us that he's, in part, transcended both humanity and the natural world. He's breached the ineffable and the incomprehensible, and brought it into the existence(s) of those who could know of and experience it. Bringing 'paradise' to those who were never meant to realise what it was. Forcing onto them the Arcane, even when done with the best intentions.

For the suffering Zaunites, they have everything they could possibly want: food, water, shelter, rest, belonging, peace, survival; the life that they once could only dream of having. It's perfect. They don't have to be in pain, not anymore.

But the commune is isolated. This is very much seen in the gate symbolism: all are welcome, but once inside, you'll never want to leave. You'll never have to. Because to be cured by the hands of the Herald means to bear his mark. To be saved is to bind yourself to him.

The open archway is also a taunt: the gate is open, it'll always be open, but would you ever risk going back out? Would you really trade this for anything else?

Are you truly willing to leave paradise? Are you truly willing to part with the Arcane?

The Arcane, which had given them everything they'd yearned for through Viktor.

Now, see here: Vi catches a glimpse of Singed exiting Viktor's abode. It's presumably the healing tent, as his main 'bubble' (the place where he 'recharges', so to speak) is the one in the distance.

The point is: Vi sees Singed leave the healing tent. What makes this suspicious is the fact that the man left unhealed.

Note that, prior to this point, the sisters have reconciled and were even willing to stay in this little underground haven despite their initial scepticisms. They, just like everyone else, have been lulled into the comfort the commune provided. So, to see someone else suddenly exiting Viktor's watch—someone with no traces of the Herald's touch, someone who's still bandaged and deformed—is a wake-up call.

Why else would you go into the healing tent, to the commune, if not to have yourself cured or seek respite? Why is this man, who'd obviously be easier work to deal with compared to Vander, not 'saved'?

Vi follows him. Then, Singed leaves the commune entirely.

In her eyes, someone had willingly turned away from 'paradise'.

Logically, this begs the question: Why?

Because that's where the fantasy ends.

Right as Vi comes to the gate, the camera cuts to that Noxian spear upfront. A threat to the 'perfection' that existed within the borders. A reminder that the world outside still exists; a world that Viktor hasn't touched in its entirety, a world that still begs to be saved, a world that is still human at its core brimming and simmering.

That's the reason Viktor's named a herald: he's an omen. He'd brought about a transformation to those he healed. To the slums. Providing a drastic shift in people's lives (or whatever 'life' still counted for those he'd influenced) that left many devastated when Jayce blew a hole in his chest.

By spreading the use of the Arcane through other agents (again, the 'healed'), he essentially reproduced the effects of the power that he had at his disposal, while at the same time allowed himself to better comprehend how the Arcane worked—and by extension, allowed that very power to adapt.

But at the same time, he himself is also the key to undoing it.

From Jayce and Ekko, S2E3:

Viktor hypothesised that there may be something he called 'wild runes'. Patterns that occur naturally when the border between our world and the Arcane is thin. Runes like the ones you use in Hextech. What's the difference between those and wild runes? Pass me a tome. So, I used words you understood in order to elicit your action. This is what Hextech runes are. Pass me a tome. Pass me a tome! There—you sighed. Still a kind of language. A sound, but not words. Something raw; natural. That's wild runes. In most places, the Arcane is dormant—but here and there, it's more active. Wild runes are— —sort of like its fingerprints. Exactly! ...so, you're telling me: that pattern is on my tree, because you pissed the Arcane off with all your demands?

Viktor being infused with the Hexcore—which we can reasonably assume is a wild rune, as can also be seen with its matrix—makes it so that he himself acts as what a Hextech rune would do to it (the Hexcore). Through Viktor, the Arcane is refined, and in a process that doesn't completely destabilise (compared to pure Hextech, as can be seen with the weapons). For Viktor to lose control or to be harmed means making that magic either go wild (the weapons) or make it dissipate (the commune).

That's why the fantasy 'ends' at the entrance of the commune: anything past that is out of Viktor's reach, and remains 'untouched' by the Arcane.

From Jinx, S1E5:

So, all about these runes: they form some sort of mathy, magicky gateway...to the realm of heebie-jeebies. And this turns it on!

Say it again: the runes make a gateway. The Hexcore was a rune matrix, an array of wild runes that formed a singular entity. An entity which is now 'one' with Viktor. It means being the 'Herald' is also being the 'gateway' for the Arcane. The traditional role of a herald is to proclaim and carry messages; we don't know what message the Arcane itself wants to send, but we do know for a fact that Viktor is at least doing its work in creating that commune in the slums of Zaun.

From Singed, S1E6 & S2E6:

The mutation must survive. You must survive, Viktor.

The Machine Herald himself is self-replicating and self-annihilating. He can 'cure' the afflicted, thus infusing the Arcane into other individuals and replicating its structure inside them. And at the same time, the Arcane is also what 'kills' him—with Jayce using (what looked to be a mutated version of) the hexcrystal of his hammer to blow through Viktor's chest, where we know the Hexcore was placed during Jayce's revival of him in Act 1.

This is why the commune, despite its purpose as a safe haven, also exists as a place of great danger. Why it really isn't all That™, even despite Viktor creating it as a safe space for many.

See this exchange between Vi and Jinx:

This place...do you think it could actually work? Underground utopia, run by a skinny tin Machine Herald. Maybe when Piltover slides into the Sump.

Jinx was right in calling it for what it is, despite the words being in jest. A utopia. Working 'when Piltover slides into the Sump'.

It's an impractical scheme. Too perfect. Too good to be true.

An impossibility.

Do you believe in fate, Doctor? Our paths carved before us. Guided by an invisible hand? Not fate. Evolution. Nature's greatest force, forever in flux. No. Evolution has a destination. Not to combat nature, but to supersede it. The final, glorious evolution. But he isn't a specimen—he's a man. And he needs my help. I will not sacrifice his humanity for your cause. You may leave. Very well. But I assume you understand already: if you perish, this community is soon to follow.

Viktor understands. He understands. He just wasn't ready to admit it to himself when Singed said it.

I understand now. The message hidden within the pattern. The reason for our failures in the commune. The doctor was right—it's inescapable. Humanity.

Human nature and human essence aren't self-sustaining. That's why the Arcane was so effective in 'healing' all those people. Their humanity hampered them from healing themselves; both in the sense of the human bodily condition (the limits of the physical self), and in the sense of humaneness (of empathy, of choice). The human body cannot survive its own traumas without an artificial means of a cure (case in point: Vander). And the Arcane acted as its solution.

Mere instinct doesn't let you live—you need to learn how to direct your life after survival. To adapt. To grow. Humanity, self-replicating and self-annihilating; the escape from that cycle, that's the glorious evolution Viktor speaks of.

A utopia. Impossible and impractical. Humanity: that which inspires us to our greatest good, and the cause of our greatest evil.

[fatalism-and-villainy]

This is gonna sound like a morality cop sentiment without the context that I am a person who is deeply enthusiastic about the aestheticized, eroticized violence of NBC Hannibal. But with that context in mind… I often find myself deeply put off by how violence is handled in fanfic, particularly post-canon fanfic.

Because Hannibal is a very dark show. It is thematically centered on the darkness that resides in all human beings, as embodied by the irresistible black hole that is Hannibal Lecter - a theme that most obviously manifests in Will Graham’s corruption arc, but also in subtler, more mundane ways with characters like Alana Bloom and Jack Crawford, who keep repeating their mistakes despite their self-awareness. And it’s a very nihilistic show, concerned not with ethics but aesthetics, with the pursuit of beauty in the absence of moral scruples.

And yet, violence and death always feel significant on this show. Despite (or perhaps because of) the frequent surrealism and black comedy in their presentation, they feel as if they have gravitas. And that’s precisely because of the show’s aestheticism. The corpses we see are so exquisitely mounted, and presented with such deliberation and intention, both in-universe and in the show’s cinematography. And thus these deaths feel as though they have weight, as though they mean something - even if the only meaning we derive from them is that they look beautiful, if ghastly, or that they convey cinematic symbolism.

But there is so much Hannibal fanfic where the violence feels so… disturbingly banal to me. Where the deaths don’t have any narrative weight and are completely trivial to our main characters. And this is imo completely out of keeping with even Hannibal Lecter’s own philosophy on the show, when he says that life is precious - not because he places particular value on life’s preservation for its own sake, but because he fully understands the gravity of what he is doing. His arrogance and sense of superiority is contingent on the understanding that the taking of a life is a serious thing, and a transcendent thing. Not flesh and blood, but light and air and colour. And I don’t see much light and air and colour in the kinds of fics that I’m talking about.

This is all very much entwined with the fact that a lot of these representations of violence seem to be bound up in the understanding that the show, and Will’s arc, is subtextually queer. And it absolutely is. But I often get the sense that these representations of violence, and the relationship between Will and Hannibal, are trying to overlay them with a very 2020s Positive Queer Representation approach, wherein Will and Hannibal’s love is misunderstood by the world, and thus their violence, as the symbol of their transgression, has to be portrayed and received by the audience an unalloyed good.

And this feels hard to explain, because of course this is a show that is very much about the pleasures of transgression. And it invites the viewer to share in that pleasure, in all the aforementioned ways. It’s drawing from a very 19th century Wildean mode in that regard - a sensibility that irreverently collapses all transgressions into one, and deliberately refuses to differentiate between the morally repugnant and the merely socially unacceptable. And that is very powerful as an engine for queer subtext, as it takes the very real feeling of being corrupt and tainted and wrong and leans into the seductive glamor of that corruption, rather than attempting to counteract that narrative (in ways that can feel, when in the throes of internalized homophobia, shallow and artificial).

But, within Hannibal, that thrill of transgression is inextricably bound up in horror. The pull of violence - and the bond it engenders between Will and Hannibal - is irresistible, but it is also a source of deep seated pain and terror. And those things are fundamentally not separable. There’s a sublimity to violence, and to desire, on this show - pleasure and pain, wonder and horror, are intertwined.

And a lot of the portrayals of violence-as-transgression as symbolic of queerness in fanfic just don’t grasp this. There’s an attempt to paper over the horror and the sublimity of the violence, and how it serves the queer symbolism. It always strikes me as though writers grasp that symbolism, but are trying to fit it into the mold of representation-as-a-means-of-social-advancement. It never lands for me and it leads to the aforementioned callous disregard for life that I just find distasteful. Which is not to say that I think portraying violence and murder in a manner that strikes a similar note to the show is an easy needle to thread - certainly not. (Not the least because it’s hard to translate the show’s visual language to writing.) But it is something I notice and that breaks immersion for me very quickly.

[crimsondinnerparty]

Meta: Hannibal Carrying Will in “Digestivo” (S3E7)

In *Hannibal* Season 3, Episode 7 (“Digestivo”), one of the most striking images is Hannibal carrying a critically injured Will. This moment feels like it encapsulates the entire dynamic between them—a relationship defined by layers of love, power, obsession, and the fine line between care and control. Hannibal carrying Will is at once tender, eerie, and complex, leaving viewers torn between interpretations. What is Hannibal’s true motivation here, and what does this gesture tell us about his idea of love and his need for control?

At a surface level, Hannibal carrying Will could be seen as an act of care. Will is severely injured, unable to help himself, and in this moment, Hannibal steps in to protect and care for him. For someone like Hannibal, who seldom shows open affection, this physical act speaks volumes. It suggests that Will, in his vulnerable state, is something Hannibal cherishes enough to protect. Hannibal rarely shows softness, yet here he holds Will in a way that seems almost reverent, almost... loving.

But love, for Hannibal, is never straightforward. His concept of affection is tangled up with ownership and dominance. When he carries Will, it isn’t just to save him but to claim him. Hannibal isn’t the type to simply “care” for someone; he has to possess them. For Hannibal, carrying Will can be read as a literal assertion of power and control, holding him at a moment when Will is most vulnerable, almost as though saying, “You’re mine.” In that act, he asserts that Will is not only under his protection but under his control, dependent on him in a way that goes beyond simple physicality.

This act of carrying Will also speaks to Hannibal’s complex view of love and dependency. In Hannibal’s eyes, “love” is inextricably bound to vulnerability and control. For him, genuine closeness is achieved when someone submits completely, whether by choice or necessity. By holding Will in his arms, Hannibal is asserting that their bond goes beyond words—it’s an inescapable connection. Hannibal doesn’t want Will just as a friend or equal; he wants Will bound to him, dependent on him, almost as an extension of himself. There’s a twisted intimacy in carrying someone, in physically having that control over them. In this moment, Hannibal becomes both protector and captor.

Yet the scene also suggests a conflicting humanity within Hannibal. For all his darkness, this moment feels like one of the few times we see him express something almost close to compassion. Hannibal is, in a way, showing vulnerability of his own here. He could leave Will, let him suffer, or distance himself to maintain his emotional armor. But he doesn’t. He chooses to care for Will in the most direct way possible, exposing himself to emotions he doesn’t normally allow. This complexity gives us a glimpse into Hannibal’s psyche: he desires control, but he also desires connection, and with Will, those lines blur dangerously.

Ultimately, the scene is powerful because it balances on that delicate edge between love and possession. Hannibal’s relationship with Will defies easy categorization because it’s not built on typical foundations of respect or equality—it’s built on need, obsession, and a strange, warped understanding of loyalty. By carrying Will, Hannibal is saying, “I won’t let you go.” It’s an embrace that’s both affectionate and suffocating. Hannibal’s idea of love doesn’t allow for separation or distance; it’s possessive to the core.

This ambiguity is what makes the relationship between Will and Hannibal so haunting and memorable. Hannibal’s love is never purely selfless, and his need for Will is never simple. When he carries Will, he shows that love and control can coexist in twisted harmony, that devotion and dominance can intertwine. It’s a love story drenched in horror and fascination, and this moment crystallizes the essence of what makes Hannibal and Will’s connection so unforgettable.

[cluelessteam]

Whispers Through Time: {~Whispers of Destiny~}

A/N: IT'S THE FINAL CHAPTERRRRRR!!!! I really hope you guys enjoyed this story and the journey in it!

Summary: After being mysteriously transported into the world of House of the Dragon, a modern-day woman poses as a seer to gain entry into the Targaryen court. Armed with knowledge of the future, she secretly warns Rhaenyra and Daemon of looming dangers while hiding her true identity. As she grows closer to both, romantic tension builds, but so do the risks of her deception. With Daemon's suspicions rising and Rhaenyra’s trust deepening, the reader must navigate her lies while trying to alter their tragic fate—before everything unravels.

Characters: Rhaenyra & Daemon

Pairing: Rhaenyra x Fem!Reader x Daemon

Word Count: 1125

Tag List: @snowtargaryen, @hippiedippiekitty

Chapter 10 (Final Chapter)

The dawn had broken across the sky, casting a soft, golden light over the Red Keep. The air was still, as though holding its breath in anticipation of what was to come. The reader stood at the window of her chambers, watching the city below slowly come to life. But her mind was far from the bustling streets of King’s Landing.

Last night’s confessions weighed heavily on her, the truth she had finally revealed to Rhaenyra and Daemon still fresh in her mind. There was no turning back now. They knew everything—or at least as much as she dared to tell. Her secret had been laid bare, and the future of Westeros teetered on the edge of uncertainty.

She could hear footsteps behind her, the quiet sound unmistakable. Turning slowly, she wasn’t surprised to see Rhaenyra and Daemon enter the room, their expressions unreadable. They had come together, just as they always did—united in everything, including the questions that still lingered in the air between them.

“You didn’t come to us this morning,” Rhaenyra said softly, her eyes scanning the reader’s face. “We were worried.”

The reader forced a small smile, though the weight in her chest remained. “I needed some time to think,” she replied. “There’s a lot to consider.”

Daemon’s sharp gaze lingered on her for a moment before he stepped forward. “You’ve been keeping a lot from us,” he said, his voice calm but with a faint edge of accusation. “Now that we know... what’s next?”

The reader turned away from the window, facing them both. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I never planned to stay here this long. I thought I’d do what I needed to and... leave before anything got complicated.”

“And yet, here you are,” Rhaenyra murmured, stepping closer. Her voice was gentle, but there was a firmness to it. “Inextricably bound to our fate.”

The reader nodded slowly. She had been so careful—so determined to avoid changing the future too much. But now, standing before them, she realized that her mere presence had already altered the course of events more than she could ever have anticipated.

“I thought I could control it,” the reader said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But everything is different now. And I don’t know how to fix it.”

Daemon crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Maybe it’s not something that needs fixing,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “Maybe this is how things were always meant to be.”

The reader’s eyes flickered with uncertainty. “You don’t understand. I’ve seen what’s supposed to happen. I’ve tried so hard not to interfere, but... the closer I got to both of you, the more I feared I would change too much.”

Rhaenyra reached out, taking the reader’s hand in her own. “You think we’ll fall apart because of you,” she said softly, her thumb brushing gently across the reader’s knuckles. “But fate is never as rigid as we might believe. Maybe it was always meant to bend.”

Daemon’s gaze softened as he watched the two women before him, his expression unreadable. He stepped closer, placing a hand on the reader’s shoulder. “The future isn’t written in stone. Whatever happens next, we’ll face it together.”

The reader’s heart clenched at the warmth in their words, but the fear that had gripped her for so long still clung to her. She had spent so much time trying to distance herself from them, to protect the future she thought she knew. But now, she wasn’t sure if she had the strength to keep pushing them away.

“I’m afraid,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Not just of what might happen to you... but of what might happen to me.”

Daemon’s hand tightened on her shoulder, his voice low and steady. “You’re one of us now. Whatever comes, you won’t face it alone.”

Rhaenyra squeezed the reader’s hand gently, her eyes filled with quiet determination. “You’ve already changed our lives in ways you can’t even imagine. And we wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The reader’s throat tightened with emotion, her heart swelling with the intensity of the moment. She had spent so much time running from her feelings, from the fear of what her presence in this world might do. But now, standing here with Rhaenyra and Daemon, she realized that perhaps fate wasn’t something to be feared. Perhaps it was something to embrace.

“You’re both so certain,” the reader said, her voice thick with emotion. “How can you be so sure that this is the right path?”

Rhaenyra’s eyes met hers, and there was a fierce certainty in her gaze. “Because you���re part of it,” she said simply. “We’re stronger with you.”

Daemon nodded, his expression serious. “Whatever comes, we face it together. No more hiding.”

The reader swallowed hard, feeling the weight of their words settle over her. There was no more running. No more pretending that she could somehow keep herself apart from them. They had already bound themselves to her, just as she had unknowingly bound herself to them.

“I can’t promise that everything will be perfect,” the reader said softly, her voice wavering. “But... I don’t want to keep running anymore.”

Rhaenyra smiled, her grip on the reader’s hand tightening. “Then stay,” she whispered. “Stay with us.”

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the reader allowed herself to breathe. The fear that had consumed her began to loosen its grip, replaced by a cautious hope. She wasn’t sure what the future held—none of them were. But for now, that uncertainty didn’t feel like a burden.

It felt like a promise.

Daemon’s hand slipped from her shoulder, and he moved closer, his gaze intense as he looked between the two women. “We’ll carve our own path,” he said softly, his voice filled with quiet resolve. “Together.”

The reader nodded slowly, a sense of peace settling over her. She had been so afraid of changing things—of disrupting the future she thought she knew. But now, standing here with Rhaenyra and Daemon, she realized that maybe the future wasn’t something to fear. Maybe it was something to shape.

With them.

As the three stood together, a quiet understanding passed between them. Whatever the future held, they would face it side by side. The reader no longer felt like

an outsider looking in. She was part of this world now, as much a part of Rhaenyra and Daemon’s story as they were a part of hers.

And for the first time, she wasn’t afraid.

Whispers of destiny echoed in the air, but for now, they were content to let them fade into the background. The future could wait. Because they were exactly where they were meant to be in this moment.

Together.