#of relative peace with grim determination)

[bisekcual]

category 5 babygirl moments from my notesapp thumbnails for an amv that lives in my mind

[mariacallous]

Donald Trump’s recent election victory is fueling international speculation over a possible deal to end the war in Ukraine. For now, much of the debate remains centered on what kinds of concessions Ukraine may be willing to make in order to secure a negotiated peace. However, the real question is whether Russian President Vladimir Putin has any interest at all in ending his invasion. The available evidence suggests that he does not. On the contrary, Putin appears to be as committed as ever to his goal of extinguishing Ukrainian statehood entirely.

For many years, Putin has publicly questioned the Ukrainian nation’s right to exist. He has repeatedly stated that he sees today’s independent Ukraine as an artificial state, and regards all those who disagree with this verdict as anti-Russian forces or outright Nazis. For more than a decade, he has sought to turn this toxic vision into reality via an escalating campaign of military aggression.

When Putin embarked on the latest stage of his campaign to destroy Ukraine in February 2022, he declared that the goals of his full-scale invasion were the “demilitarization” and denazification” of the country. During abortive spring 2022 peace negotiations in Istanbul, it became apparent that Russia’s interpretation of demilitarization would have left Ukraine disarmed and defenseless.

Putin’s representatives during the Istanbul talks called for the Ukrainian army to be drastically reduced to a minimal force of just 50,000 troops, with strict limits also placed on the amount of armor and types of missiles Ukraine could possess. Meanwhile, Russia would face no such restrictions. Crucially, the Kremlin demanded complete Ukrainian neutrality and insisted on retaining a veto over any international military aid to Kyiv in the event of renewed hostilities. These punishing terms leave little room for doubt that Putin’s intention was to place Ukraine completely at his mercy and in no position to resist the next stage of Russian aggression.

The implications of “denazification” are even more ominous. Putin has long accused Ukraine of being a “Nazi state,” despite the fact that the country has a popularly elected Jewish president and no far-right politicians in government. In reality, “denazification” is Kremlin code for the complete eradication of a separate Ukrainian national identity. In other words, Putin pretends to be fighting fascism order to legitimize his criminal goal of a Ukraine without Ukrainians.

The grim consequences of Putin’s “denazification” policies are already evident throughout Russian-occupied Ukraine. In regions of the country currently under Kremlin control, all traces of Ukrainian statehood and national identity are being ruthlessly purged. Ukrainian children are forced to study a Kremlin curriculum that demonizes Ukraine while glorifying the invasion of their country. Adults must accept Russian citizenship if they wish to access basic services such as pensions and healthcare.

Anyone regarded as a potential threat to the Russian occupation authorities is at risk of deportation, abduction, torture, or execution. While it is impossible to determine exact figures, it is estimated that thousands of Ukrainian civilians have been detained since February 2022. In most cases, relatives of detainees have no way of knowing if they are still alive. Britain’s The Economist recently described conditions in Russian-occupied Ukraine as a “totalitarian hell.” It is a very specific vision of hell that has been designed to remove all traces of Ukraine and impose an imperial Russian identity.

The most obvious indication of Russia’s genocidal intent in Ukraine has been the mass deportation of Ukrainian children, with thousands abducted and transferred to a system of camps where they are subjected to indoctrination in order to rob them of their Ukrainian heritage and turn them into loyal Kremlin subjects. In March 2023, the International Criminal Court in The Hague issued an arrest warrant for Vladimir Putin in relation to these abductions. The UN’s 1948 Genocide Convention recognizes “forcibly transferring children of the group to another group” as an act of genocide.

Russia’s own actions since February 2022 have made a mockery of the arguments used by the Kremlin to justify the war. At the start of the full-scale invasion, Putin claimed to be defending the rights of Russian-speaking Ukrainians in the east of the country. However, the Russian army has since killed tens of thousands of predominantly Russian-speakers in eastern Ukraine, while reducing dozens of towns and cities across the region to rubble.

Likewise, Russia’s attempts to justify the attack on Ukraine by painting it as a response to NATO enlargement have been largely debunked by Putin himself. When neighboring Finland and Sweden responded to Russia’s invasion by announcing plans in spring 2022 to abandon decades of neutrality and join NATO, Putin was quick to declare that Russia had “no problem” with the move. This indifference was particularly striking as Finnish accession more than doubled Russia’s NATO border, while Swedish membership transformed the strategically vital Baltic Sea into a NATO lake.

Putin has since gone even further, withdrawing the bulk of Russian troops from the Finnish border and leaving it largely undefended. Based on Putin’s remarkably relaxed response to NATO’s recent Nordic enlargement, it seems safe to conclude that he does not in fact view the NATO alliance as a security threat to Russia itself, and has merely exploited the issue as a smokescreen for his own imperial ambitions in Ukraine.

As Donald Trump attempts to implement his campaign promise and end the war in Ukraine, he is likely to discover that his famed deal-making skills are no match for Putin’s single-minded obsession with the destruction of Ukraine. In words and deeds, Putin has repeatedly demonstrated his commitment to wiping Ukraine off the map. In such circumstances, any talk of a compromise settlement is dangerously delusional. Until Putin is forced to recognize Ukraine’s right to exist, any peace deals will be temporary and the threat of further Russian aggression will remain.

[sthbigbang]

✨ 2024 Creations Masterpost Part 1 ✨

See below for the first 91 works that were created during this event!

Part 2 | Part 3

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Memories In The Sky

[Sonic & Tails]

Art 1 Art 2 Art 3

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For What It's Worth

[Sonic & Tails]

Art 1 Art 2 Art 3

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Growing Pains (& Defunct Planes)

[Sonic & Tails]

Art 1 Art 2 Art 3

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Cross My Heart

[Sonic & Tails, Sonic & Surge, Sonic & Kit, Sonic & Sage, Surge & Kit]

Art 1 Art 2 Art 3

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Relative Dissonance

[Sonic & Tails, Sonic & Sonia & Manic]

Art 1 Art 2 Art 3

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A Slip of the Tongue Can Cost More Than Just Your Peace of Mind

[Sonic & Tails]

Art 1 Art 2 Art 3

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Hedgehog Hunt

[Sonic & Tails & Knuckles]

Art 1 Art 2 Art 3

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Safe Ship, Harboured

[Sonic & Tails]

Art 1 Art 2 Art 3

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Nothing Can Shoot Me Down

[Shadow & Tails]

Art 1 Art 2 Art 3 Art 4

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Hex Value

[Shadow & Omega, Rouge & Omega]

Art 1 Art 2

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Ball & Chain of My Own Making

[Sonic & Porker Lewis, background Sonic & Knuckles, background Sonic & Tails]

Art 1 Art 2

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Sonic Together - Chaos and Soul

[Sonic & Tails & Amy & Blaze, Knuckles & Shadow & Rouge & Omega]

Art 1 Art 2 Art 3

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Star Opposites

[Surge & Kit, Sonic & Tails]

Art 1 Art 2 Art 3

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The E-103 Delta mk. II Incident

[Sonic & Tails & Knuckles & Amy]

Art 1 Art 2

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Close Encounters of the Grim Kind

[Tails & Nine, Tails & Sonic]

Art 1 Art 2 Art 3

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Hunger Pangs & Bloody Fangs

[Shadow & Sonic, Shadow & Rouge, Shadow & Tails, Shadow & Everyone]

Art 1 Art 2 Art 3

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OPERATION: SELF-DETERMINATION (OR HOW E-123 OMEGA LEARNED TO STOP LETTING EGGMAN BEST HIM IN BATTLES OF EVERYDAY COGNITION)

[E-123 Omega & Sonic, E-123 Omega & Rouge, E-123 Omega & Amy]

Art 1 Art 2 Art 3

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What Was I Made For?

[Metal Sonic & Amy, Metal Sonic & Sonic]

Art 1 Art 2 Art 3

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Return to Sender

[Silver & Shadow]

Art 1 Art 2 Art 3 Art 4

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Woke Up New

[Sage & Eggman & Metal Sonic]

Art 1 Art 2 Art 3

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Moving Forward

[Shadow & Rouge]

Art 1 Art 2 Art 3 Art 4

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I See Your Monsters, I'll Chase Them All Away

[Shadow & Maria, Shadow & Gerald Robotnik]

Art 1 Art 2 Art 3

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Our Lights In The Sky

[Sonic & Shadow, Sonic & Tails]

Art 1 Art 2

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[aparrotandaqrow]

A lot of folks, especially in the Jewish community, have mixed feelings about Harris picking Walz as her VP over Shapiro. Some wanted Shapiro for the Jewish representation, especially a Jew who is Zionist and yet decries Netanyahu and expresses the desire for peace that so many of us have. Some worried that having two Jews in the White House would provoke yet more antisemitism and possibly even sink the ticket, given the massive surge in leftist antisemitism recently.

Many of us were frustrated and angered by seeing leftists campaign for Walz being the pick over Shapiro more or less entirely because Shapiro is Jewish—and felt a sense of dismay that perhaps Harris had caved to the antisemites.

I'm a Jew but I'm also a Minnesotan. I was glad to see the Walz pick for many reasons unrelated to my Jewish identity or Israel. But I want to also submit that Walz, uniquely among the politicians Harris could have picked, brings something to the table that is desperately important both to the nation more broadly and our community more specifically.

I present as Exhibit A, this archived NYT profile of Walz from back in 2008:

The teacher, Tim Walz, was determined that even in this isolated place, perhaps especially in this isolated place, this county seat of 9,000 that was hours away from any city in any direction, the students should learn how and why a society can descend into mass murder.

...

“The Holocaust is taught too often purely as a historical event, an anomaly, a moment in time,” Mr. Walz said in a recent interview, recalling his approach. “Students understood what had happened and that it was terrible and that the people who did this were monsters. “The problem is,” he continued, “that relieves us of responsibility. Obviously, the mastermind was sociopathic, but on the scale for it to happen, there had to be a lot of people in the country who chose to go down that path. You have to make the intellectual leap to figure out the reasons why.”

My ancestors immigrated to the US around the turn of the century from Mariampol, Lithuania and Luboml, Ukraine. When the Nazis arrived in those towns some 40 years later, the Jews there (many of whom would have been my ancestors' relatives) were massacred not by Nazi soldiers, but by their neighbors, who welcomed the Nazis with open arms. You cannot truly help protect the Jewish community from antisemitism if you don't understand this crucial detail about how the Holocaust happened.

So Mr. Walz took his students [...] and assigned them to study the conditions associated with mass murder. What factors, he asked them to determine, had been present when Germans slaughtered Jews, Turks murdered Armenians, the Khmer Rouge ravaged their Cambodian countrymen?

...

They read about civil war, colonialism and totalitarian ideology. They worked with reference books and scholarly reports, long before conducting research took place instantly online.

...

When the students finished with the past, Mr. Walz gave a final exam of sorts. He listed about a dozen current nations — Yugoslavia, Congo, some former Soviet republics among them — and asked the class as a whole to decide which was at the greatest risk of sliding into genocide. Their answer was: Rwanda. The evidence was the ethnic divide between Hutus and Tutsis, the favoritism toward Tutsis shown by the Belgian colonial regime, and the previous outbreaks of tribal violence. Mr. Walz awarded high marks. The next April, in 1994, Mr. Walz heard news reports of a plane carrying the Rwandan president, Juvenal Habyarimana, being shot down. [...] Mr. Walz’s students, now juniors, saw their prophecy made into flesh and blood.

...

“You have to understand what caused genocide to happen,” Mr. Walz said, with those grim anniversaries in mind. “Or it will happen again.”

Y'all, Tim Walz is not Jewish. He's a white guy who grew up in Nebraska and then lived in one of Minnesota's smaller cities, up until going to Congress and then the Governor's mansion. No, he does not provide us with representation, nor will he ever truly understand what it feels like to be Jewish in America in 2024.

But he gets it. He understands not just academic history but people, and understands that "Never Again" is only feasible if we look at root causes, and strive to nip the factors that lead to genocide in the bud. We have all understood that allyship for Jews is only meaningful if you're here defending us before it gets violent.

Governor Walz represents an opportunity to have someone in the White House, on the national stage, who understands the big picture and the history well enough to actually be able to navigate incredibly complex and painful issues like the Israeli/Palestinian conflict, like the regional conflicts within the Arab world, like the experience of progressive Jews in the US who would have found ourselves ostracized and alienated from increasingly hostile leftist movements. I cannot begin to explain how rare it is to have a politician at this level who also carries an experienced teacher's grasp of both history and empathy.

Maybe Josh Shapiro would have also brought that. But honestly, I'm not so sure. Walz may not be Jewish. But I think we're going to find that he'll be an ally, and a deeply learned and wise one at that. And I think we really need that right now.

[imperatorcaesaraugustus]

Rhaenyra and Alicent: A Struggle for Agency

(this is one section of my House of the Dragon Season 2 Review)

I have saved for last the two main characters of this story, and the theme they share is also present throughout all the others I have discussed. But for Alicent and Rhaenyra in particular, the issue of agency, especially but not exclusively the way it is limited by their femininity, is paramount.

            Rhaenyra begins the season lost in grief over the death of her son Lucerys while her supporters struggle to act without her. When she does return, Daemon acts without her knowledge to send assassins into the Red Keep, killing Aegon’s son Jahaerys rather than Aemond, and when confronted about this he flies off to Harrenhal. Rhaenyra tries to prevent the escalation into a full war, much to the chagrin of her council, and even goes so far as to sneak into King’s Landing to speak with Alicent in the hopes of brokering peace, but it cannot happen. Even after committing to the path of war, Rhaenyra is still questioned by those around her who do not view her as capable of military leadership, but when she goes to confront Daemon he puts his strength behind hers.

            Alicent starts the season in a position of relative power, something that slowly erodes as time goes on. When Aegon dismisses Otto as hand in favor of Ser Criston Cole, Alicent looses one of her few allies on the small council, and her cautious advice is increasingly not heeded as the council becomes ever more eager for war. When she attempts to bring Aegon to heel, telling him to do what his advisors instruct, he sets out in an attempt to regain his own agency, leaving him horribly burned and placing the much stronger-willed Aemond in charge. Alicent argues that she should be made regent, citing her years of experience ruling on behalf of Viserys, but is dismissed in no small part because she is a woman. After a conversation with her brother about her youngest son, Daeron, and a trip into the Kingswood, Alicent goes to Rhaenyra in a final attempt to salvage what she can, offering to surrender the city in exchange for the lives of her children, but Rhaenyra is now the one who resists, calling for Aegon’s death.

      ��     The struggles these two characters have with their agency can roughly be broken down into three parts: their agency in the face of misogyny, their agency in the face of duty, and their agency in the face of war. Regarding misogyny, Rhaenyra and Alicent follow opposing arcs in this season. Rhaenyra begins the season largely absent from rule, leaving first to find Luke’s body and then to speak with Alicent in King’s Landing. In her absence, the members of her council flounder, debating the extent to which they should take the war into their own hands. Daemon especially tries to claim authority for himself and leaves for Harrenhal once Rhaenyra has returned. She is constantly questioned regarding her ability to rule, but gradually solidifies power, culminating in Daemon swearing his loyalty to her at the end of the season. Alicent, meanwhile, has a significant amount of influence at the start and has that influence eroded over time. There is an aspect of her voice being discarded because she is hesitant to head into war, but it is also made clear that her status as a woman is also a significant factor. This is both due to the inherent misogyny of Westeros and to the implications of having a woman in a position in power would have regarding Aegon’s claim over Rhaenyra.

            The struggle in the face of duty is also experienced in opposing ways by the two characters. Rhaenyra is often absent from her throne in the start of the season, either due to grief or because she is trying to reach a peaceful resolution with Alicent. The Black faction struggles early on from a lack of clear leadership. But once Rhaenyra has concluded that there is no means of avoiding war, she takes on her duties with grim determination. Alicent, meanwhile, has been defined by her sense of duty since season one, but as she is pushed further and further away from having any real power, she reaches a breaking point. Alicent travels out of King’s Landing, free from her responsibilities, and eventually comes to Rhaenyra. She is willing to give up her responsibilities to her family and her faction, to surrender the city in order to bring everything to an end.

            The two meetings Alicent and Rhaenyra have this season are the clearest illustration of the two characters’ struggles against the seeming inevitability of war. First is Rhaenyra’s meeting with Alicent in the Great Sept. Rhaenyra holds onto some hope that war can be averted and believes Alicent to be the one most likely to prevent it. But too much blood has been spilled. Jahaerys has been murdered, and Alicent cannot let that go. Nor does either side wish to renounce their claim. Rhaenyra attempts to explain to Alicent her misunderstanding with regards to Viserys’ dying statements, but as Alicent correctly says in a later episode, Viserys’ intentions no longer matter. Things are already set in motion.

            The second meeting, where Alicent comes to Rhaenyra at Dragonstone, highlights the way these characters have been inverted. It is now Alicent who wishes to stop the war, offering to surrender King’s Landing when Aemond leaves in exchange for her other children’s lives. But things have gone too far now for Rhaenyra to let that be. Aegon must be killed as a traitor, or her reign will forever be questioned, Alicent’s actions of trying to put her son on the throne leading to the very thing she warned him about in order to convince him to take power. In a final plea, Alicent asks Rhaenyra to run away with her, but Rhaenyra refuses. Although Alicent has come around to the idea of breaking free, Rhaenyra is now bound by duty.

            Regarding these two stories and their themes, I have mixed feelings. Outside of their two shared scenes, I think the Alicent story worked relatively well. I was not personally a fan of her scenes with Criston Cole, but I think they fit thematically with her pushing against the limits society has placed upon her, and the rest of her story I found very compelling. It very much is a story of her own decisions coming back to bite her until she has a moment of crisis, seeing the futility of it all and finding some agency in breaking from the system. Rhaenyra's story was less strong in comparison, but I would not go so far as to describe it as weak, and Emma D’Arcy’s performance was very good this season.

            The two meetings between these characters were a mixed bag. The mere fact of them meeting like this is, as many have pointed out, nonsensical bordering on absurd. I don’t want to overly emphasize plot holes or the idea of a story needing to make complete logical sense all the time, but when it gets to where the suspension of disbelief is stretched to its breaking point these sort of things do become a genuine problem. On top of that, I am not a fan more generally of the first scene where they meet in the sept. A significant portion of the scene is a discussion of the misunderstanding over the prophecy, and the prophecy is one of my least favorite plot elements from this show, so overall this scene did not really work for me. The scene in the final episode where Alicent visits Rhaenyra on Dragonstone is just as ridiculous in its setup but the scene itself was good enough to mostly justify that in my eyes. The way their conversation highlights the changes each of their characters has undergone is very good, the acting is excellent, and overall I do find it compelling.

            Since this section of the review discussed the ways Rhaenyra and Alicent have worked to stop the oncoming war, ultimately failing to do so, I wanted to take a moment and discuss how the season ended. Standing on the cliff edge of war, knowing that it’s coming but not seeing it happen just yet, has some thematic weight to it, but it still leaves much to be desired. I am aware of the circumstances which led to this being the case. The season was cut from ten episodes to eight, and the writers’ strike prevented the series from being rewritten to account for this, so what we received is what would have been episodes one through eight of a ten episode season. Be that as it may, I think it is still important to look at the show as it exists, and as it exists I don’t think it quite works as an ending, although I would not go so far as to say the ending was bad. Just a bit anticlimactic.

[twstmagica]

Fetch Quest part 1

From the way Crowley had hyped it up, Yuu had expected acquiring a new magic gem to be an epic quest. She envisioned delving deep into the earth, scaling treacherous caverns, and narrowly dodging ferocious beasts. What they got instead was a relatively peaceful stroll.

Yuu says relatively because her company was totally dragging down the vibes.

“Myah! Are you crazy! It’s pitch black in there!” 

Fire Catcoon, don't you have literal flames coming out your ears?

“I can't believe I’m stuck with a literal scaredy cat! This is pathetic.” 

Stop egging him on Ace. That attitude is literally how you got here in the first place. 

“You – !”

“Shut up! Both of you!” Fed up, Yuu seized them by an ear each.

“Yeouch!”

“What the fuc – !”

The brats struggle but there's no escape. “We’re here because the two of you couldn't handle one day without starting a fight that destroyed seven hallways!” Also Deuce’s shit aim but he wasn't being a problem right now.

 The duo tries to protest but Yuu digs her nails into their ears.

Deuce watches in discomfort but doesn't actually try to stop her. Good.

“From now until we get back, I’m in charge, and I won't tolerate any more arguing. Are. We. Clear.” Yuu practically hisses the last part.

“Like I'm gonna –” Yuu pinches harder and twists. “Okay!”

Satisfied that order had been restored, Yuu surveyed the trio. Grim was still nursing his sore ear, Ace had retreated a few steps, shooting daggers with his glare, and Deuce was standing ramrod straight.

“So what's the plan then O’ mighty leader.” 

Ace's sarcasm was thick, but Yuu ignored it. She had a job to do.

If she was being honest, Yuu didn't actually have much experience with leadership. Still, she could improvise. Channeling her experience teaming up against fiends, Yuu tries to imitate some of the squad leaders she's worked with. 

“We go in staggered column formation. Myself at point, Grim and Ace take left and right respectively, and Deuce at the rear.” Yuu glares at them, daring anyone to interrupt.

“In the event of a hostile encounter, I’ll engage because I’m the only one with actual combat experience,” – Fire Catcoon starts to speak up but a pointed look silences him – “while Grim acts as my backup,” thanks to that night in Ramshackle she at least has an idea how he fights. “Ace and Deuce will provide cover fire when needed. Any questions?”

Deuce nervously raises a hand. “What's a staggered column formation?” Shifting in place he follows up, “and, uh, cover fire?”

Yuu blinks. Oh, right. Despite this world's freaky magic these people are still basically civilians. Glancing at the other two Yuu suspects they didn't understand much more than Deuce, but were too proud to admit it.

Motioning them over, she kneels down and starts drawing in the dirt.

 “So we are going in with a four point zig-zag pattern,” Yuu starts, drawing four circles connected by a line.

“I’m this dot at the front, then Grim is a little behind to my left, Ace will be further back at Grims right, and we end with you at the back on Ace’s left.”

Deuce is looking avidly at her crude sketch and nods. Despite his aggression from today's earlier fiasco the blunett was being surprisingly cooperative. 

“Cover fire means that if we get in a fight, while Grim and I move forward, you and Ace will use long range spells when we knock an enemy back.” I stand up and dust off my pants.

Fists clenching in determination Deuce looks in my eyes, “Got it!” 

That's the spirit!

Too bad Ace has to speak up. “You're putting the weasel before us? What the hell?”

“Grim is my backup because we’ve fought together before and know how to avoid getting in each other's way.”

At this Grim puffs up with pride. “Yeah!”

“And I've been in combat situations since I was ten. So I’d say I'm qualified to decide this stuff.”

“Wait what?”

Ignoring Ace I summon my scepter, “Alright, nothing else? No? Great.”

“What's that about you fighting since you were ten?”

“I’ll tell you later. Now squad, get in formation.”

“Yeah!” Deuce and Grim cheer. Ace is still looking at me dubiously but he gets in position. 

“Hold still, I'm going to cast a support spell. Grim, we did this before with the dorm ghosts.”

Grim’s tail wiggles as eyes light up with recognition. “The butterfly thing that made me stronger!”

“That's the one. Now, [Dreamer’s Blessing]!”

Shimmering butterflies spiral gently from my scepter and envelop the trio in a gentle glow.

“Alright, let's go!”

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

I've got this and the end sorted but the fight scene in the middle is giving me trouble so I'm just splitting the mine into three parts. Part three is the start of where this au really diverge but it doesn't feel right to just 'yada yada' away the things that lead up to that.

[cutthroatcarnival]

What Happens When The Light Leaves?

Important tags: main character death, slight descriptions of a wound (mild gore?)

Do be warned, this is relatively heavy angst.

It had gone wrong. It had all gone horribly wrong. It wasn’t supposed to go this way. The monsters had been cleared out, 7 heroes fueled with vengeance after one of theirs had been struck down made for a quick clean-up. The field was littered with their enemies’ remains, the grass wet with blood of red and black varieties. It seemed like a cruel joke, a now peaceful field surrounded them when their minds were torrential.

Warriors barked out orders as he kept pressure steady on the wound, his hands already slicked and tacky with red, the blood seeping through the spare tunic.

He could see bone beneath it all.

“Don’t you dare die on me, soldier.” The blood kept coming.

“Captain...” His head snapped up from where he had zoned in on the free-flowing red that trickled between his fingers, meeting the equally determined yet grim gaze of Sky, who had been instructed to keep the kid’s airway clear, whose lips were stained with blood.

The whistling breaths grew weaker.

Warriors had no options left. They had no potions, no fairies, no bandages. Stitches were useless, he had no more sterile needles or thread. Nothing he could put over to seal it. The harsh pressure he was applying wasn’t enough.

The struggling breaths stopped, so did the spurts of blood. Slowly drawing his hands away, Sky followed suit, gently lowering the kid’s head to the ground. With a gentle hand, he rested his fingers against his pulse point.

Nothing.

“…I’m sorry.”

A scream tore through the field and a multicolor blur rushed in front of them.

“No, no, no! Fuck, c’mon Rulie, you can’t leave us!” The veteran was near hysteric, sobbing and pleading as he held Hyrule’s wrists in a tight grip.

Time’s heavy hand rested on his shoulder, with a trembling and bloodstained hand, Warriors held onto his forearm with a tight grip. Around them, the others looked on, too in their own grief to speak.

Four and Wind had plastered themselves to a sniffling Twilight’s side, wrapped up in the rancher’s arms, their faces wet with tears. Wild’s face was buried in the wolf pelt, body racking with barely audible sobs. Hiccuping gasps escaped Sky as the tears he had been holding back flowed freely.

The captain’s hand slid from Time’s arm, leaving a macabre trail of red smears on the older hero, and he stared. Stared at his hands as they trembled. Stared at the blood of his brother coating them. Stared at still-dripping rivulets as they danced down his palms. Stared as Legend wailed.

A seasoned veteran who had seen so much from such a young age. Forced again and again into adventures that left him just a little more raw and a little more hardened than he was before.

Legend is tougher than I am.

He had seen war, he had seen carnage. As a captain and the hero, he had seen bloodshed, he had seen gore. Warriors has had people die in his arms, under his watch, had witnessed grieving families.

But this…

How can I take it?

“Why can I take it when Legend can’t?” He wasn’t present enough to register speaking aloud, eyes and brain trained on his brother’s lifeforce staining his hands. His fingers. His wrists. His forearms. Warriors could feel no tears rolling down his cheeks. Time’s other hand clasped his other shoulder, a gentle pressure that squeezed tighter with every hiccup and word from the vet, the old man’s breathing heavy with repressed sobs.

Legend begged and pleaded, shaking violently above Hyrule’s prone form. Words fell from his lips, repeated over and over like a mantra. He had seen this before…

Then it clicked. Warriors knew.

Hyrule was the only thing Legend loved… And now Hyrule was gone

[findyourrp]

🕊 hey! 21+, an experienced advanced literate - novella writer here searching for someone to write with and urgently craving a dark, horror - supernatural roleplay. at the moment, i have several ideas in mind;

(recently developed a small obsession with all things to do with folk horror hehe) a gothic-western / southern gothic setting. in which muse A, a detective, travels deep into the desert [or whatever region we decide on!] to investigate the mysterious disappearance of a group of teenagers. their tracks lead the detective to a small, eerie, and heavily religious town—whose people detest outsiders and behave cult-like… and they all seem to adore muse B, the pastor. only, he is not what he seems. what is the twist here? perhaps there is something more evil/supernatural going on, and it turns out the pastor was the inhuman source of it all, even taking sacrifices? let’s plot together!

it is a world where the ancient gods are openly recognized and worshipped. however, with continuous advancements and breakthroughs, mortals have begun to believe that they don’t need the protection or the influence of these deities anymore. muse A is one of them; a scientist who gives lectures discrediting/scorning the gods. only for muse B, one of the gods, to attend a lecture of muse A’s out of morbid curiosity to see what the fuss is all about, and that’s where it all begins. perhaps muse B is enamored right away, or simply hates them and everything they stand for—they become determined to show muse A just how great the gods are, how powerful, until that determination becomes yearning, and soon darkens into twisted obsession with the mortal.

because of unfavorable circumstances, muse A has no choice but to move in with a relative they’ve never met before—a wealthy, secluded uncle who has little interaction with the outside world. it is not long, however, before muse A discovers that the only reason their uncle took them under his wing is because his family made a vow to an influential family of vampires long ago; that he’d compensate them for having wronged them in some way in the past. now the time has come, and the compensation is a bride for the eldest son of the family—muse B.

muse A, a diplomatic envoy, is hosted by the royals of a foreign kingdom/empire—the twist here is that the envoy is actually an elite assassin sent to murder muse B, the ruler. only for the ruler develops a dangerous obsession with the envoy and refuses to let them return to their homeland.

a setting loosely based on ancient china / east asia: in which muse A, a princess, is forced to marry muse B, the head of a nomadic empire [inspired by the mongols/the huns], in order to bring peace.

a grim setting inspired by WWI - WWII, a world where humans are the inferior race—living in a perpetual state of poverty, suffering, etc.—and the tiny, elite portion of society is composed of wealthy vampires. muse A, a spy, is sent to work as a nurse for a high-ranking officer’s disabled wife.

i prefer to write muse A! mxf pairing preferred, in which i write f. 

worldbuilding, tropes, pinterest boards, playlists, dead dove and dark themes [such as elements of power imbalance, toxic/unhealthy dynamics, obsession/yandere, etc.] are all heavily welcomed!! i might ask you for a little self-intro and a writing sample, or what ideas you have in mind for your muse (if you don’t already have an oc you’d like to use!) to get to know you better as a writer and make sure we’re compatible. like if you’re interested in any of these prompts and I’ll reach out! 🫶

+; idk why people do this but it’s so frustrating; please don’t like if you’re not genuinely interested! i hate reaching out and not getting a reply in return. please and thank you 🫶

.

[maytheoddshq]

Isabel Grey (she/her). District Five Mentor. 104 Victor. Twenty-Eight. Adria Arjona.

Soleil and Sebastian Grey were a love story for the ages, with a childhood romance blossoming into a marriage that stemmed five children. Rafael was a copy and paste of his father in looks, with his mother’s calm temperament and determined demeanor. Following this, came Tomas and Isabel, twin blessings with their fathers’ curious minds and their mothers’ curious doe eyes. But where Tomas inherited their mother and brothers’ temperament, Isabel inherited her fathers’ passion for justice, a sense of right and wrong with a habit of getting into trouble with pranks and tricks and experiments that would often go wrong. Their family almost complete, almost two years after the twins brought another pair, Elena and Gabriel, the babies of the family coveted and protected as such. Tight knit, anyone who knew the Grey family knew that they were tight knit.

The Grey family lived a life of relative privilege in District Five, where few families had the need to claim for tesserae, they knew that it didn’t lessen the odds or work in their favor when it came to reaping. They hated the Games, of course, and what came with it. But they remained practical and sensible, often planning what they would or could do if they were to have a child reaped. This plan put into play during the 98th Games when Rafael was reaped. Terrified for their brother, they all watched helplessly as any sensibilities and practicalities failed them, and they reacted poorly to the death of Rafael not long into the bloodbath. Each of the Grey’s knew that they would do anything to keep from feeling that again, despite the fact it felt more likely that it would, eventually.

And it did.

The reaping for the 104th Games came during Elena and Gabriel’s first reaping, and it had begun like most days. The Greys had dressed in silence, processed through the crowd and gathered in their respective year groups. No one prepared them for the names that would be called.

First, they called Elena and without even hesitation, Tomas’s name shot into the air before anyone could react, yelling that he would volunteer. Two things rushed her mind: first, she didn’t want to lose her brother, and she hated that he’d moved quicker than she did. Second, she wanted to hit him and ask what he was thinking, despite the reminder in her head that a goodbye for them shouldn’t have anger if it was going to be like that.

But she didn’t have to think about their goodbyes, not a few minutes later as Tomas took his sisters spot on the stage, and the escort reached for the next name.

Gabriel Grey.

Dread filled her features, and her hand shot up despite the glare that she received from her twin on the stage. Just like that, the Capitol lost a pair of twins, and gained a pair of twins, and the 14-year-old Grey twins saved their younger siblings from the same fate as their brother. Their grim-faced family waved them off, all crying unashamedly, and Isabel vowed that one of them would get back and she would make sure that it was Tomas. They remained close in training, trying to learn everything that they could to prepare themselves. They worked the crowd, working their way into the Capitols hearts in order to carefully ensure that they had every available resource in the arena.  They felt as prepared as they could be.

Their arena itself, was a whole different situation and nothing could have prepared them for what came. An abandoned ghost train that moved continuously in a circle around a desert arena. The lunch cart was the cornucopia, and each respective district was assigned a carriage. The twins worked to barricade their door for peace, to try and fashion some weapons from what they had in the carriage. Muttations in the form of desert creatures, train drivers and staff would attack at random points through the game. The career tributes were quick to pair up and work their way from carriage to carriage, and as soon as they heard the screams from District 3, they realised that they were going to be next and fled. They paired up with District 12, trying to fortify what they could. But they heard the cannons, over and over, until their pack of four came up against the four from 1 and 2. With the train’s rapid movement, it was hard to stand up but somehow, the career tributes were killed by Tomas and a boy from 12. Tomas looked stunned by what he’d done, and she knew that there was no way that he could come back from that, as what winning meant hit home with her brother.

But she couldn’t protect him from that, especially now their allies were now their enemies as they became the final four. District 12 turned quicker then they thought, and Isabelle was forced to kill one by pushing them out of the open window, and their district partner fled the cart for the front of the train. Fear and adrenaline took over as the girl realised and she glanced up at her brother. They were the final three. She began to speak, but he raised a hand, taking hers to lead her to their cabin.

Despite how he quietly went about as if what they'd done didn't bother him, she knew her brother like the back of her hand and that taking a life would weigh on him. His eyes had retained their sparkle until that moment, dulled by the memory of the career tributes deaths. It was something that he wouldn't get past it, and it scared Isabel thinking about what he would do. The two gathered what they could, and went and found the District 12 tribute. The final fight between the three of them resulting in Isabel injured on the floor, leg broken and trapped beneath some of the corncucopia. Tomas was pinned against a carriage door, as the boy from Twelve’s hands gripped his throat. He looked at Isabel, eyes conveying more than his words ever could and knowing he couldn't handle life after victory, he gripped the door handle to rip it open. They fell out of the Cabin, both dying on impact. Isabel screamed as the double cannon signaled the end of the games.

Isabel came home to just her mother at the station, where she slapped her daughter before leaving her alone. She refused to let Isabel return home, and at the same time refused to let the Grey family move into her house in the Victor’s village. It was tainted by the memory of what Tomas and she did, and didn’t do. Her father tried to visit, explain that it was something that she would heal over in time, but now at 28, she has seen her mother a handful of times. Eventually she gave up and moved to the Capitol, preferring to live in a place with no reminders of what she had had, and lost. Looking at Gabriel and Elena hurt too much, and the alienation that the Grey family had was something she took on the blame for. Plus, the idea of taking trains was something that she couldn’t get through.

When she’s not thinking on how she’s failed her family, she dreams of her games and her brother. What they went through, what they did, and what she had lost. She knew that Tomas wanted this, that he wouldn’t have handled the way he killed someone and that he would’ve ended up dead not long after his victory if he’d made it out instead. But that didn’t help the loss that she felt. She tries to make it up to her family, through her tributes, trying to bring home wins but with each passing games bringing no victory she is more than a little bit jaded by mentoring.

Deep down though she is still the fiery child that would be the first to defend her siblings, even if she was in the wrong. She would still be the first to call out injustice, as long as they weren’t involving the games, and she is the first to tell her tributes that they can come home again, even if she knows it’s a lie. She’s passionate, fiery and still a little mischievous, her experiments and pranks often causing trouble around the arena.

+ compassionate, loyal, strategic

- reclusive, hot headed, arrogant

PENNED BY: Han

[gallusrostromegalus]

Daytime Reblog with more Franklin and Louie Fun Facts and information about Bankai Blood Brawls under the cut:

They are some of the oldest characters in the series- they came into existence before writing was invented, and Nobody/Soul King didn't know about people until well after the invention of writing, so it's entirely possible that Franklin and Louie existed BEFORE the current Life Machine was born, making them Actually Older Than God.

They pick out new names, genders and origin stories at least once a century.

Nobody knows if they were once human or just appeared as Giant Magical Skeletons, and they refuse to tell.

One thing they do tell and that nobody disputes is that Franklin and Louie were the first souls to CHOOSE to go to Hell and help others re-balance their Karma.

Franklin and Louie occupy a fairly important position in the Administration Of Hell, and can effectively be in multiple places at once- it does not take their full concentration to monitor the Gates Of Hell so they are free to have conversations and do other stuff.

Like annoy people.

Franklin and Louie's canon height is "Exactly Tall Enough That Whoever They Are Having A Conversation With Has To Look Up At A Slightly Uncomfortable Angle", because this amuses them.

Franklin's favorite food is "A Full Breakfast" which is the "Full Breakfast" of as many cultures as possible, so it's really more like a World Breakfast Buffet, but as a single meal.

Louie's favorite food is Black Coffee, because of it's Comedic Applicability.

---

Bankai Blood Brawls or B3 tournaments:

One of Franklin and Louie's responsibilities as Administrators Of Hell is to organize and run the Bankai Blood Brawls, which happen whenever a soul in the living or spirit world passes the power threshold that means they will HAVE to go to Hell to burn some of that off (typically about when that soul manages to achieve Bankai). The Brawls are essentially complex tournaments open to every Demon in Hell to determine who will get to personally manage this new powerhouse when they inevitably die and end up in Hell.

B3 events vary wildly in terms of standards, degree of participation and sheer bloodiness- Managing A Captain-Class soul is often an *extremely* desirable job- many of the captains have good-to-neutral Karma so the entire job is just following a Fun Little Guy around and inventing things to keep him out of trouble all while enjoying an unlimited expense account and that sweet, sweet Soul Energy.

Captain-class souls that have really bad karma or are so strong they're going to take FOREVER to get under the power threshold again? Not desirable at all- A Demon who wins a B3 tournament and assumes responsibility for a Captain-class soul cannot leave Hell until the captain-class soul in their care has managed to get to the appropriate Power and Karma thresholds.

More than once, Louie and Franklin have had to ASSIGN some unfortunate bastard to look after a particularly Rancid Soul.

Ukitake's B3 event was WILD and got really nasty in a few places- looking after the good-natured lil' guy was a HIGHLY desirable position and the competition was FIERCE! In the end, the winning candidate was widely regarded as The Right Choice, and is looking forward to Spoiling Jushiro rotten.

By Contrast, Aizen's was exceptionally peaceful as One Specific Candidate was agreed to be the correct choice to manage him by all the other participants, who bowed out in an act of profound respect. Aizen's Manager is rather grim about the prospect of being reunited with him, but still considers the job a privilege- rehabbing Sosuke Aizen is a job that only he should do.

Yamamoto has actually had THREE candidates for his manager, but the old bastard has lived so goddamn long the previous two lost their demonic powers and reincarnated from Old Age. His current Management Candidate was selected at least in part because of their relative youth.

B3 tournaments are designed to select an Appropriate Manager over one who is just strong or particularly good at fighting, but given the nature of most captain-class souls as, well. captains, there is always at least some combat element to the tournaments

The Gambling rackets on B3 tournaments are INSANE, and HEAVILY encouraged by the Skelebros.

Got any more ocs that are tied to cool concepts? 😍

Remember the two Skele-Bros from the Gates of Hell in that one plot point kubo dropped and only started to expand on recently?

These lads.

In AEIWAM, they both have extensive, badass and HEAVILY guarded True Names but in daily conversation the one on the left goes by Franklin (Not Frankie) and the one on the right goes by Louie (Not Lewis) and they are jolly fellows who constantly tell terrible bone/skeleton/death/hell puns. It's like having this guy but ridiculously tall and in stereo:

They get to meet and ADORE Ukitake, promising to "fix you up with a good supervising officer for whenever you get here"

[valoisfulcanellideux]

For questions about These Stones Remember:

How did you decide on names for OCs and what kind of rules are you following for changing the names of the characters (like Pix -> Paix)?

Ooh, that's a good one!

For Pix/Paix I mainly needed something to differentiate when we're with his past self as opposed to his present day self. Obviously, the past self had to be close enough to the present self, with the reason for the change simply being that 'Pix' was what his students called him because they couldn't get their tongues around the proper pronunciation of his actual name.

'Paix' came from me just adding vowels to see what looked best, realising that it also meant 'peace' in another language, thinking, "Ooh, what would be the thing that brings him peace? Well, he's a scholar, so that would be learning," and then having the delighted realisation that I could approximate his full MC name if I added that vaguely Arabic (since, y'know, desert king and all that) 'al' followed by the made-up 'Lareiff' to mean 'learning'. The 'Onorait' (meaning 'Honoured') part was me sounding out various ways of giving him a title, and that's the one that stuck. Thus, we have Onorait Paix al-Lareiff.

For the redstone Guildmasters, again, I wanted to approximate their MC names, but - since they're all desert-dwellers - I wanted to give them vaguely middle eastern-sounding names. That gives us Maah-em Behro, Impeh al-Sheveh, and Ehto al-Selahb. However, with Tango having such bright blond hair, I thought I might make him a little different - something of a 'foreigner' - so I messed around with his name a bit, in an attempt to give it an almost unpronouncable sound (as if the reader would struggle to say it properly, just like native Paixandrians might!) which led to Teng-ahtk.

For original Paixandrian characters - such as Nehle-aalh, Ehzhani al-Q’ireh, and Q'aliseh - I've just stuck with a few linguistic commonalities, as you can probably see. An apostrophe takes the place of a 'u' after Q, and the letters 'a' and 'h' repeat a great deal. I'm not really one for conlangs, but I do try to be relatively consistent.

For the other emperors I've featured:

Sausage became Ser’Zhege - mainly because there was no way I was typing 'Sausage' with a straight face! 'Ser' is sometimes used for 'Sir'/'Sirrah' in fantasy books (and it also means 'to exist' in Old English, which is perfect for a man who has existed across many lifetimes).

Xsia-Minai’Te was just a way of giving Gem some kind of backstory purely from her name, while making who I'm referring to absolutely obvious. It has an East Asian feel to it, so she truly feels like she's from another empire.

Caelamondorion for Scott is literally the Elvish for "from the hilly country of the Caels" (AKA Scotland) so it actually means 'Scot'.

And, lastly, fWhip. His name was a bit of an odyssey! His full title is N’dachVeip, Grav’n er-Rachzem, and it comes from me wanting him to have a part-Slavic/part-Germanic name (since I'd already determined that Grym is a guttural language). I hit up Google Translate to find words in both those languages for fail, whip, count, grim, and lands (they don't need to be wholly accurate words; if they look good to me, I'm gonna use them, since they only need to be a jumping-off point). Then I mooshed them all together and twisted around a couple of vowels and consonants. N'dach comes from 'neudacha' (fail), Veip comes from nothing in particular (it was my way of giving the name something that sounded a bit like 'fWhip'), and for the title - which was never used in the story - Grav'n comes from 'Graf von' (Count of), and er-Rachzem comes from a mashup of 'mrachnyy' (grim) and 'zemli' (lands).

[frenchy-and-the-sea]

FFXIV - Contingency

I originally wrote this for FFXIV Write back in September and was originally planning to just let it sit forever in my Docs folder. Then yesterday I reread both it and all of the other pieces I did, and determined that a bitch can, in fact, write. So I’m sharing them now, because I want everyone to know what a little menace my girl is. <3

This first one contains Post-Heavensward MSQ spoilers, particularly for the quest, “For Those We Can Yet Save.” In fact, this piece is a direct answer to the aftermath of that. >:)

~1200 words, featuring @urdnotgrunt’s Onion and @colonelcupquake’s Wickit, Tritchet’s steadfast sisters, who love her more than anything in the world.

----

Foundation at midnight was just about the only time Wickit liked the city. 

Bathed in the dim yellow glow of its dying streetlamps, muffled by the soft press of fresh snow, she was free to wander the empty streets in relative peace, without the distractions of would-be glory-seekers trying to bend her ear or the twenty-odd personal servants of the rich and powerful that harried her along on their errands. At that late middle hour, in the city at the top of the world, the universe stretched out ahead of her like a vast black blanket, wide enough to hold her, close enough to touch.

If only she could enjoy it.

Onion had slipped away at some point halfway through dinner, looking wan and tight-lipped the way she always did when there was a problem that needed her to solve it. Wickit had allowed herself the misguided hope that her sister would return on her own before long, but the hours had lapsed into still more silent, empty hours, and at last she hadn’t been able to stand it any longer. She had pulled on her boots, strapped a pair of hatchets onto her belt — just in case — and blundered out into the dark, frigid night to fetch her perpetually workaholic sibling.

Sense had taken her to the Manufactory. Even in the growing darkness of a city dousing everything but its watchlamps, the Skysteel Manufactory burned with the light of a working forge, glowing even from behind its shuttered windows. Shadows danced beneath the cracks of the doors, a sight that should have — and usually did — indicate that the building was packed with its machinist crew, all stripped of their heavy outer layers and bent over hot workbenches around some half-cocked project or another. Tonight, though, those shadows heralded nothing except the faint roar of the closed-up forge, and the soft, intermittent clanking of a tinker at work. One tinker, in particular.

Sighing, Wickit nudged the door open and slipped quietly inside.

Onion was seated at one of the low workbenches right beside the rumbling heart of the forge, hunched over a long jumble of metal and wood that looked astonishingly like the skeleton of a musket. She was testing, with careful, narrow-eyed precision, the ease with which the bolt along the top of it moved back and forth. From the doorway, Wickit cleared her throat.

“It’s midnight, you know.”

To her credit, Onion didn’t jump, but the look that she turned up to her sister was maybe just a touch too quick to be casual. 

“I know,” she said, though it was clear by her almost-guilty glance at one of the timepieces plastered to the wall that she did not, in fact, know shit. “I’m almost done.”

She was also very clearly not almost done, but when a project captured her attention, arguing with Onion was like talking to a brick wall — the Pock family trait of stubbornness in action. Wickit weighed the option of simply removing her sister by force, but there was a grim sort of shadow beneath her eyes that said that Onion would wake the whole of Foundation with her grumbling if pushed. So instead, Wickit strolled over, hands tucked demurely into the pockets of her coat, and said, with as much interest as she could manage, “Is that a Vath musket?”

The edge of suspicion in Onion’s eyes eased, just a little. “It is,” she said, turning back to the contraption in her hands. “Or, it’s most of one. I had Marcechamp trade for it to send back. I remembered how useful the Vath said that they were against the Dravanians and thought we should have one, too.”

She didn’t look up as she spoke, but there was a flinty anger in her words that made Wickit’s stomach turn. She chanced a look at the workbench at her sister’s elbow and saw a freshly pressed piece of vellum peeking out among the scrap metal, scratched to hell and back with a mind-numbing array of figures and labeled diagrams. But even if Wickit couldn’t have deciphered the thing in one or a thousand years, she still had eyes, and the long-barrelled rifle depicted at the bottom of the page looked deadly enough to kill on contact.

Certainly, it would do more damage than an arrow had.

Wickit closed her eyes and breathed, long and steady. Even hours removed from it, she could still hear Vidofnir’s anguished roar, the panicked rumbling of the crowd, the way her sister had been a shrieking streak of purple up to Aymeric’s side as he loosed his bow, screaming, “No! No!”

“Tritchet is going to be very upset if she sees this,” she said at last, stealing a sidelong glance at her sister. Onion’s frown deepened.

“I know,” she said, and sounded very much like she did know, this time. “That’s what I’m worried about. She was convinced that he was still in there before today, and now that Krile and Y’shtola have said that it might be true, she’s not going to be convinced otherwise. She’ll do anything, Wickit. You know how she is.”

“She might not be wrong,” Wickit said, even as her heart clenched. The Pock family trait of stubbornness, once again. Onion snorted.

“Maybe,” she said. “But maybe not, and she won’t be willing to listen to the difference. So I'm making a backup plan, in case she can't do what needs to be done. In case she won't. If she's going to hate me, I’d rather she hates me alive.” Onion flicked the bolt on her would-be dragon slayer again, green eyes hard and focused on something a thousand miles away. She had thought about this for a while, then. Wickit let out another long sigh, heavy and heartsick in the way that only her sisters seemed capable of inspiring. 

For a long moment, neither of them said anything, listening to the soft roar of the forge and the whistle of the growing wind outside.

"You need to be careful, then," Wickit said, eventually. Her heart ached like someone had tried to wrench it free of her chest, but she knew better than to argue when Onion was right about something. “Tritchet is used to you spending all of your time devoted to one project, but if she sees that you’re up to it again, she’s going to start asking questions.”

“You won’t tell her, then?” Onion’s eyes were still flinty with resolve, but they turned up to Wickit’s with a faint, pleading hope burning behind them that made her stomach turn. She nodded anyway.

“Only if you come back with me right now, though. She saw me leave. If I come back empty-handed, she may well be out here next.”

“Fine.” The acquiescence was faster than any that Onion had ever given before. She laid the rifle carefully across the workbench — right across its blueprint, just in case — and then dragged a thick piece of sailcloth over the whole thing, hastily tucking in the corners until it was a harmless, shapeless lump. She would be back again first thing in the morning, Wickit knew, but at least tonight she would sleep in a bed. 

Five minutes later, they pressed back out into the wide, black expanse of Foundation’s empty streets, arm in shaking arm, and carried their rotten secret home.

[the-glorious-evolution-fanart]

Hey I would love to hear about your experiences as the og viktor stan- fandom history is fascinating! Thank you for what you’ve shared already

Hi anon, I'll try my best to give some overview, you ask me if you wanted something more specific?

I originally started following Viktor fans in the comments on his Wiki page, and some of those people are still my friends to this day. Back then we memed and talked about builds and game numbers as well as how epic his lore was.

I joined the Tumblr RP community in 2014. and then there were a few well-known Viktor rp blogs, where the focus was on character development, good writing and creating individual headcanons based on the original 2011. lore. I haven't been involved in any fandom drama ever, thankfully, so I don't know how things were in that aspect. Most popular ships with Viktor back then were ViktorCaitlyn and ViktorJayce if I remember correctly, but shipping was relatively rare. Viktor was generally perceived as a cold, calculating and brooding genius scientist, if sometimes silly and nerdy.

Then the Great Retcon happened and Summoners were removed, many storylines in League were completely cut off forever and so on. It was a grim time because a lot of fandom people left forever. There was a massive number of threads on (now removed) League Boards by players which stated they were adamantly against the Retcon; listing reasons and arguments, but Riot didn't listen. Those were still one of the most upvoted threads ever even by the time Boards were taken down.

And as original fans left, new people came in who never knew old lore, and they started reading new lore.

Some old fans still stayed, and created a plotline on Tumblr how the Institute of War fell, and champions and Summoners were having a summit to determine how to handle the situation and still keep world peace.

The 2016. lore rework of Piltover and Zaun got new people interested in roleplaying in the new content. By that time most of original Viktor blogs either quit because of rising toxicity in the fandom, or have simply finished their sagas and archived the blogs.

This was from my point of view only of course, and there are always exceptions to general trends - for example my blog is old but I still stayed active, albeit with less activity than before the Retcon.

[justcleodora]

Despite Cleodora's fantasies of being spotted by a royal dignitary and being propelled into a lifetime, far away from sharing clothes and numerous cousins, she did indeed listen to Bellamy's words of caution. Perhaps the dark beauty was right, perhaps one or some of the dignitaries were passionate about the town's distinctive wildlife.. perhaps, that was in fact a way in for the nymph. Perhaps one might fall for Cleodora, and fight for the land on the nymph's behalf. Love had compelled stranger things out of people, and Cleodora thought perhaps this was the grand future her family expected for her. Cleodora imagined herself a princess for the commoners, leading the way in charity and good deeds. Perhaps.

At the mention of the abomination horror brought a grim smile to Cleodora's face. Cleodora chose to keep her full lips pressed together. Any dignitary that might fancy the fickle woman were redeemable, the rest... well, if they made the mistake of challenging her lands peace... then, they deserved what was coming to them. Unlike her harmonious relatives, Cleodora possessed a thinly concealed resentment.

Cleodora was jealous in a way, she knew was alien to her fellows, and that jealousy burned within her. Like molten tar, Cleodora's imposter syndrome, glommed onto everything, coating it in immovable darkness, something that burned through everything it clung to and could not be washed away with anything as simple as water. This darkness in Cleodora was something she hid well for the most part, but it leaked.

For this reason, Cleodora was grateful for the momentary change of subject. She lifted her chin with obvious pride, and she smiled, her gaze blazing intently at her own reflection.

"No" Cleodora answered "The Gods have not yet graced me with a child yet". Though she even bowed her head it was clear that Cleodora was pleased with her vacant womb, but that she was highly aware this was not always a likeable quality, especially in a nymph. As such, Cleodora was accustomed to feigning disappointment. She was given a great deal of sympathy from her family for this great misfortune, and Cleodora bathed in the attention, lapping it up. Little did they know, that Cleodora's "misfortune" was entirely by her own design. In a town like Destarin, contraception was the least suspicious bounty to come by, yet Cleodora guarded the secret with her life. Better for the family to think, she had some "unfortunate" biology to contend with, rather than she admit she had no intentions of multiplying any time soon.

"Have you?" the nymph asked curiously, her blue eyes slyly looking the brunette over in the reflection of the mirror.

When Bellamy issued the nymph warning, Cleodora nodded slowly, lips pursing as if to emphasise just how seriously she was taking the warning. The woman was not the type to give an empty warning, and yet Cleodora wasn't entirely sure she could take it too seriously.

Destarin wasn't exactly the safest place to live, and in Cleodora's arrogance. she doubted any soft skinned royal were up to the challenge of gentrifying the town. It was this assumption that made her idolise royalty, and fantasise of marrying into a well established family. While she enjoyed the thrills Destarin could readily provide, a softer, more luxurious called to her vanity and void of sensibility.

"I'll take your word for it"" she responded sweetly, her voice raising in pitch and elongating harmoniously "I have never met a Royal" she admitted, gazing at the reflection of those carved initials. "I haven't met anyone of significance" a childlike pout on her lips as Cleodora mournfully considered her recent string of romances. She had no heartbreak to mourn, which seemed a great injustice. "Yet" her final word came with resolution behind it The nymph was determined to meet her supposed one and only, and she was certain they would be someone of nobility or infamy. Cleodora wasn't too concerned which, so long as their match garnered the nymphs riches and notoriety.

Bella certainly had no found memories of her time at court, but it was hard to diffuse the notions Cleodora had of it. How was she to crush such hopeful thoughts? Some of them were not wrong, Bella had worn gowns unbecoming the station she would have had were she not born aasimar, things she could have never afforded, food she never would have tasted. In truth she truly had been blessed, for parents as cruel as her surely would have been crueler had she not had something to offer them. Still, Bella lacked enthusiasm for the dignitaries that were to come to town.

"You would be surprised what they concern themselves with," she mused as Cleodora brushed off her mothers intentions with those coming. "Besides, at least to the south the forests are far too monstrous to destroy, attempt to ruin the habitat of an Abomination Horror and they might destroy your mind," she spoked of some of the beasts she had encountered when she was an escort through them, when she had been able to commune with them. The horrors were some of the most foul-thoughted beings she had ever crossed paths with and yet her nature then had insisted on sympathy and care, all they wanted was their homes...

The idea of her family being so large and so close all at once still confounded Bella. An only child to parents who had disdained one another and her allowed for the smallest preview of family to the young woman and had insisted upon her loyalty solely to those she chose. "Have you ever had one?" she asked. "A child?" Bella asked, aware it likely would not show on her body if she had.

Bella applied the last pin and nodded that Cleodora could remove the garment for sewing. "It is lovely you wish to stand out, but be cautious of people's intentions," she insisted, stone faced as she kept her focus on the garment instead of Cleo, not wishing to see the hurt upon her expression were the words Bella said to be too hurtful. "The courts have complex desires that go beyond the selfish and filter into the political, or the familial. The land your family desires to protect...I wouldn't want you to fall prey to someone who wishes to compromise it."

[popatochisssp]

This one’s a long one, sorry for all the backstory!

Potential tw for those who need it: body horror, loss of function, referenced violence and death

Horrorswap

A Fallen Human’s rampage has left the Underground in shambles. The monarchs and all of the collected souls are gone, many monsters are dust, the Royal Scientist has vanished, and the food supply is running out.

Alphys, the Captain of the Royal Guard, ascends to the throne. In spite of her grief over loved ones lost, she takes her new mantle with grim stoicism and makes a plan for the hope and safety of all monsterkind. They only need one more human to fall and then... she’ll take their soul and absorb it to cross the Barrier, the plan Queen Toriel had wanted to follow all along, but had been too afraid to; afraid of leaving her people without a leader in case she never came back.

Being left without a leader again is no longer the worst potential outcome for monsterkind and Alphys is willing to take the risk.

The waiting for that one last catalyst-human is...hard. On everybody, but especially the new Queen, thrust under so much responsibility with such high stakes, after so much loss.

Sans, one of the only best friends she has left, does his best to talk to her and to get her to open up instead of internalizing her feelings, but she’s in no way ready to talk and when he keeps pushing...

Well.

Even a little angry shove with Intent can do damage to a monster. Only half an HP in this case, but when the monster only has 1 HP to begin with, it’s still nothing to sneeze at.

Alphys is horrified, no matter that Sans is ready and willing to brush it off--his fault for pushing, he understands it was an accident, he’s usually a much quicker dodge--and however brief, the Incident just makes her shut down even more.

It also sets the stage for Sans to return home with half his HP gone to horrify his brother in equal measure.

Papyrus hadn’t liked the talk of killing humans when Toriel was alive Queen, but now it’s worse and everything else is getting worse by the day, sometimes by the hour. The Fallen Human betrayed them, Undyne is just gone, everyone is starting to go hungry, and now his brother’s at risk too?

Papyrus is scared and he’s not used to the feeling. He never thought about Sans’ 1HP before; he never had to. Sans was always just his tough and energetic big brother, and in their peaceful world it  had never even occurred to him that something could... happen.

He can’t lose Sans too... Sans, expectedly, gives Papyrus the same ‘IT’S FINE’ speech he gave Alphys, to similarly dubious effect, but his pep talks just aren’t in top form these days--he’s got a lot on his mind too. In this plan of the Queen’s, for the Next Human, he’ll be the one with the responsibility of escorting them straight to the Capital to meet her axe. His sentry station is the first out of the Ruins, no one in the Underground can travel quicker than he can...and he was the Judge who let the Fallen Human pass, he didn’t stop them when he could have, it’s only right that this responsibility now should fall on him no matter how guilty the thought of leading a probably innocent human to their death makes him feel. Eventually, the Next Human falls. Sans does his duty and escorts them to the Capital, promising them a way out… And in the split second before Alphys pulls them into their final Encounter, after they realize the friendly skeleton has betrayed them, they swing on him.

Sans dodges it, just as he promised Alphys he could, and as he promised Papyrus he would...

But it’s close, and it digs the thorn of doubt just a little bit deeper. Alphys kills the human and absorbs their soul, subduing it beneath her will to save what’s left of her people. She crosses through the Barrier to retrieve more souls, promising to return in a few weeks, a month at most. If she’s not back by then...

.........

In the meantime…Sans stews.

He’s in charge while Alphys is gone. Another human could fall. They could fall at any time and it would be on him to...well he wouldn’t want to kill them but he’d surely have to contain them somehow, so they didn’t wreak the same kind of destruction that the Fallen Human did… And now, with everyone’s doubts in his head, layered on top of his own...

What if he can’t?

What if he needs...help?

Sans used to be a scientist, back in the day. He knows where the Royal Labs kept their DT, extracted but never used--deemed too dangerous to experiment with, even on monsters who were already Fallen Down.

It’s unfortunate that Undyne of Underswap never ran the DT experiments, because if she had, Sans might’ve used an even lower dose of the raw Determination he injected himself with in his anxiety-driven attempt to become stronger.

And Sans does get stronger. His HP increases significantly above the single-digit it’s been his whole life... but it’s... not without its drawbacks.

He doesn’t go home for several long days until he can get it all under control, and by then, Papyrus is suspicious, all too aware that Sans seems different somehow, more...muted and serious, intentionally calm... He doesn’t understand it, and he definitely doesn’t like it, but figures it’s stress getting to him or something… They’re all stressed these days, food growing scarcer and scarcer as they wait for the Queen to come back or not.

Papyrus doesn’t really understand what’s happened until another human falls, before Alphys has returned.

Sans sees the human too, and he’s frozen with indecision of what to do. He’s stuck between his pacifist code and the need to at least act, for the good of all monsterkind...! And right there, right in front of Papyrus, Sans starts to melt.

Papyrus, naturally, freaks out, launching himself into his first panic attack in literal years--and why wouldn’t he? This is obviously his brother dying, the last person he had to hold onto in all of this and Sans is dying, in a horrible, awful, messy way that he didn’t even know monsters could die, and…

Papyrus isn’t proud of it, but he runs away.

Beaten down by weeks and weeks of hunger, of worrying about his brother, of grieving for Undyne, of thinking about all the undeserving and probably innocent humans that were being hunted down and killed up on the Surface just to get them out, his body and soul are at their limit.

Papyrus Falls Down. By the time Sans, not as dead as previously suspected, finds his brother, Papyrus is already unconscious, his condition looking bad—already starting to disintegrate to dust—and there’s only one option that remains.

As much as Sans fears being wrong again; condemning his brother to his own semi-solid existence…

It’s Papyrus.

And he’d rather Papyrus be alive than not, so he gives Papyrus a dose of DT, too.

This time, it works.

Papyrus stops dusting and only remains comatose for another day before coming to and having a horrendously upsetting heart-to-heart with Sans, just a little too late to do either of them any good.

The hapless human who triggered the whole scene wanders straight through the Underground, all the way to the Barrier without ever encountering another monster—the survivors of the last human they remember too weak and afraid to even think of confronting the new one.

They arrive just in time to see Alphys’ only mildly overdue return through the now shattered Barrier…and quite naturally, panic and flee up to the Surface, never to be seen again.

Monsters are free.

Alphys turns herself in for the humans she killed as a gesture of goodwill and ensures that the rest of monsterkind can live peacefully amongst humans once and for all.

And everyone else just has to learn how to keep going with the scars of the experience.

Horrorswap Sans (Merc)

The DT injection destabilized his form, tied directly to his emotional state: relatively pleasant or middling emotions can make him drip a bit, while strong or negative ones can reduce him to a puddle making disturbing attempts to form limbs. He can still maintain structural stability, but only by staying in tight control of his emotions as much as possible

He’s researching ways to properly blend the DT into his magic to stop having to worry about melting at inconvenient moments, or at least to give himself control over when and how he liquidizes. It’s…a slow-going process…

Absolutely blames himself for his brother’s near-death experience and partial dusting (and the consequences therein), and for what he did to himself. If he’d just waited a few more days, if he hadn’t gotten so caught up in fears about the future and self-doubt, then… Well. It was senseless and there’s no changing it now, that’s what kills him the most

There’s a rift between him and his brother now and it’s jarring from how close they used to be. He doesn’t like it that he can’t get Papyrus to talk to him anymore, or spend time with him just…hanging out… but he figures it’s probably no less than what he deserves, for his own stupid hubris…

He gets into yoga at some point so he can still train his body in a lower stress way, and runs a small home cake-decorating business out of his kitchen, and between that and a deep, abiding love of all the science-fiction media there is on the Surface to engage with, he’s actually mostly hopeful about the future

Horrorswap Papyrus (Ell)

Not unscarred by his brush with Falling, low-energy and missing his legs above the knee, both turned to dust before he could properly stabilize. Wheelchair-bound and not too happy about it, but nowhere near ready to even have a discussion about prosthetics just yet

Definitely struggling with the loss, and the rest of the trauma of everything else that happened Underground, and doing himself a pretty huge disservice by figuring he should just ‘get over it.’ Grappling with a lot of bitterness and frustration over it all and trying to either blow it off or ignore it

Absolutely blames himself for his brother’s instability and the loss of his own legs—if he hadn’t psyched Sans out, if he hadn’t immediately freaked out and jumped to conclusions like an idiot when he saw… Well. It was senseless and there’s no changing it now, that’s what kills him the most

He hates the rift between him and his brother now too, they used to talk openly about whatever, they could just be brothers... but then The Human and the secrets and the lies… He wants to fix it all somehow but it’s so raw and he just doesn’t know what to say—he can’t read his brothers face like he used to anymore, and half the time it feels like he’s living with a stone-faced stranger…

He’s teaching himself some programming languages in his spare time around the house, thinking he might try to freelance someday. Still into writing and fiction, but his tastes have taken a turn for the darker fare, and horror/ghost stories are becoming a great outlet for him—he spends a lot of time with creepypastas from reddit playing in the background while he tries to figure out why his stupid code won’t work

[imaginethebeautifulworld]

prussia x reader: silly squabbles

Hello, lovelies~ I was plagued by images of this dumbass and his general ridiculousness, so of course I had to write it all out. This fic is pointless, but I hope you enjoy anyway.

"You are really annoying."

"And yet, somehow, I'm not detecting any real annoyance. Wonder why?"

His words hung lightly in the air, gentle and playful, just shy of taunting.

You did your best to ignore them, trying to focus on your book. But his fingers were moving again, trailing over your back in an inconsistent pattern, heavy enough a presence to register, yet just light enough to torment.

You were sure, in some long-winded, ridiculous, roundabout way, he would blame you for this predicament- for not reading as fast as him, for not paying him enough attention during a lazy day in.

Regardless, you tried to focus on the passage at hand, rereading the same paragraph for the tenth time now as he teased a particularly sensitive spot near your ribs.

He wasn't quite tickling you- not yet- but the shifting tempo and pressure all played upon the obvious threat.

Only mildly irritated- really, you were too familiar with his shenanigans by now to ever be truly annoyed- your focus landed on the bookcase, the only immediate target for your long-suffering gaze. "Do you mind?"

There was a hint of pride in his voice as he answered, a cockiness at successfully distracting you. "Nope!"

His fingers- now having tasked themselves with massaging more than teasing- paused between your shoulder blades. "Why? Do you?"

Rather than allow him another victory, you huffed quietly, pointedly making an effort to lose yourself once more in your book. "No... Not at all."

If he was amused by your answer practically being ground between your teeth, he made no indication of it. Instead, he resumed his massage, keeping his palm mostly flat against your spine, adopting a steady rhythm that lulled you into some semblance of security.

You allowed yourself to relax, turning your attention fully to your tale, praying he would at least let you finish this chapter in relative peace.

It was a hope to be short-lived alas, his posture shifting, bringing him near enough to read over your shoulder.

You were far too invested to truly pay him any mind, but then he was hovering near your temple, fingers drifting ever closer to your neck, once more dancing in that maddeningly light way which he employed solely in effort to agitate you.

You knew what he was doing, and you'd be damned if you'd let him win; summoning every ounce of self-restraint within you, you purposely, blatantly, chose to ignore him.

It took only a few moments for him to acknowledge your determination towards defiance (a few torturous moments where he had started tracing his nails against your hairline and whispered some of the passage aloud), his huff of displeasure bring you a small taste of sweet, sweet victory.

You would have been naive to think he had given up, knew it would be foolish to assume, to dare to presume, that he didn't already have other strategies in mind.

What you couldn't guess, regretfully, was exactly which plan he would attempt next.

When he sat upright once more, leaving you to lounge peacefully on your stomach, you unwisely surmised that he was actually finished with the whole affair, that he'd grown bored, that he would actually leave you to your novel in peace.

Feeling him shift back to the head of the bed, hearing him tapping away at his phone- these factors allied with his distance away from you all allayed your worries, letting you escape once more to the realm belonging to the pages before you.

The temporary tranquility was somehow less than simply fleeting; it had scarcely existed at all.

Not even five minutes had passed, and you felt teasing fingers once more, now grazing ever-so-softly against the bare skin of your ankle.

A jolt of panic fueled your reflexive movement away from him, your legs kicking, book falling to the floor in your surprise.

You shot upright and fixed him with a glare, hoping to convey just how furious you were with him. "I swear to God-!"

The villainous grin on his face revealed vanity in its purest form, and it did nothing to reduce your resentment.

Scowling now, and forcing yourself into an upright position, you narrowed your eyes at him. "What do you want, asshole?"

He was quiet for a moment, by all appearances still savoring his triumph. But then his smile shifted, the self-satisfied smirk falling slowly into something softer, fonder.

It took you by surprise, sent a stutter through your pulse, all irritation rapidly transitioning into confusion. "What?"

He shifted forward, leg bending beneath him as he drew closer.

Suspicious, but not too concerned, you offered an unimpressed expression, relaying your distrust. "Gil?"

There was a flicker to his smile, but it was soon replaced by something far more serious, his eyes languidly studying your features.

Briefly, more a passing fancy, you considered teasing him for his sudden quiet, yet there was something too tremulous tormenting him, and you dismissed the thought as quickly as it came, instead offering your concern. “Teuton?”

Whatever spell that had held him within its grasp was finally dismissed, his head cocking to the side and a considering tone coating his next words. “You love me, right?”

It sounded innocent enough, and his behavior certainly suggested no ill-intent. But you knew him, and knew all-too-well not to fully believe in it. “Is that a trick question?”

You made sure to keep your words only just on the side of playful, but tempered with enough sincerity to assuage any possible self-doubts that may be afflicting him.

It was clearly the right approach, the left corner of his mouth only just hinting at a smile, a familiar spark almost tangible in the air. “It’s a simple question, Liebling. No need to sound so suspicious!”

You felt your eyes narrow as you studied him, his wording only heightening your wariness. “You know- The fact you feel you have to say so really isn’t winning you any points here.”

His grin was back at that, disorienting in its intensity, just enough that you nearly forgot his previous grimness. “I’m just asking if you love me, mein Schatz. ‘Snot like I’m asking you to sell me your immortal soul or something.”

You neglected to point out how those two things were near one and the same, instead choosing to offer a faux sincerity. “Oh no, you’re right. I hate you so much,” you quipped, each syllable oversaturated in sarcasm.

He scoffed, melodramatically pressing a hand to his chest. “I’m wounded.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning down just long enough to rescue your book from the floor, marking your page and setting beside you on the comforter. “I’m sure your pride will be just fine."

“I dunno…” His words trailed off, and you could make out the distinct, irritating sound of him sucking on his teeth. “I think it may be mortal this time.”

You decided to play along, content to lose yourself in the absurdity. “Oh no,” came your reply, emotionless a tone as you could muster, in spite of the smile playing on your lips. “How could I possibly live with myself?”

He hummed, running a finger over his chin as if he were seriously considering it. “You’d probably take my fortune, settle somewhere warm.”

You fought a laugh, unsuccessfully. “Mm, definitely. Have sordid affairs with all the cabana boys and the waitresses.”

“Sing drunken renditions of Mamma Mia during karaoke night.”

“And I’ll adopt some ugly, exotic pet that I insist travels with me everywhere.”

“Only after your third husband disappears after mysterious circumstances, of course.”

He was only half-serious, and you couldn’t resist raising an eyebrow in mock offense. “Only three?”

Your question made him snicker, his eyes shining in amusement, but he didn’t continue the exchange.

Several moments passed, and with them the lingering ridiculousness of the “argument” faded away. There were many of these odd backs-and-forths, all somehow sillier than the last. The quiet was just as pleasant though, and you embraced the comfort it carried.

That was, until, he was biting his lip in thought, his amusement long abandoned.

Concerned, you shifted closer, studying his features carefully. "Gil?"

His eyes were glued to some distant place you couldn’t see, miles and centuries away from the here and now. “You do love me, right?”

“Of course,” you replied almost reflexively, still taken aback by the sudden shift back to solemnity.

“Really?” His eyes turned to yours once more, unguarded, open, a haunting fragility shining in them that made your heart clench inside your chest.

Wherever this insecurity came from, you wished you could rid him of it, tear all traces of it from his psyche, make it so he would never question his self-worth ever again.

As it was, you did what you could, lifting his hand to your lips and pressing a soft kiss to his ring, meeting his gaze as you lingered against the silver. “Would you be wearing this if I didn’t?”

There was a smile, the one you fell in love with: fond, slightly shy, just a little cocky. “Good point.”

You couldn’t help but feel as if something was still off about him however, something bothering him that you couldn’t even hope to guess. “Why do you ask, anyway?”

He took to studying your features again, his free hand rising to trace his fingers softly against your cheek. His eyes were warm and gentle, posture completely at ease. His words however-

“Sometimes I can’t believe this is real, or how lucky I am; some days I swear you’re just a figment of my imagination.”

His words carried an almost unbearable amount of loneliness, layered among disbelief and adoration. They triggered several different emotions within you, stirring them into a frenzied muss of affection and sadness, leaving you breathless.

Several potential reactions came to mind, but were all dismissed as you weighed his words, compared them to the relaxation of his shoulders, the familiarity as he languidly brushed his fingertips behind your ear, lightly teasing your scalp.

You could easily surrender to it, could already feel your own posture relaxing with each steady shift of his fingers. Still, you weren’t quite ready to abandon your prior playfulness, offering a haughty hum to prelude your reply.

“Unfortunately for you, I’m very real.” You felt a passing smirk flicker to life for a moment, blazing brightly before it was gone again, sober sincerity settling once more in its place. “You’re stuck with me, Beilschmidt. Forever…” you finished in an elongated stage whisper.

He breathed a laugh, the slightest hiss, his grin irrepressible now. His tone, however, mimicked nonchalance. “Eh. There are worse things, I guess.”

The tease was impossible to ignore, especially as that all-too-familiar deviousness was taunting in its own right.

You tried to keep your words accusatory, but they came out entirely too fond. “You’re a dick.”

He smirked, offering a half-hearted shrug.

“Guilty,” he sang, almost entirely too proud.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, he was cradling both of your cheeks, and before you could guess at his next move, he was shifting forward, gently pressing a kiss to your forehead. “But I’m a dick who loves you very much.”

Thanks for reading!