#slay the old usher in the new

[eorzeashan]

Thinks about Keeper and Eight's first meeting. Eight, who hadn't even cleaned the blood of the previous Intelligence administration off him. Who still had bolts in his shoulder and was dripping onto Keeper's floor (there's a blooming stain with a dagger-shaped tear on the back of the chair he's sitting in. best not to surmise who sat in it previously. his unfortunate predecessor, late). Eight, who didn't bother to look forward with the hollow eyes of a dead man. Head hung heavy. Dead on arrival. Keeper knew what he'd done. What he could do.

All he asked was that he sign on the dotted line.

Swear yourself to the new Intelligence. To me. It's the only way I can save you.

I, ___, do hereby swear.

[moltensmusings]

Rwby au idea, has this been thought about? Maybe. But I offer

Au where there aren't Academies and instead all training is done by huntsmen either related to an apprentice or from the same town as.

Huntsmen were once considered noble heroes but with the death of Ozma centuries back, a darker Era was ushered in and the once revered fighters fell into greed. Largely they're mercenaries now that defend towns or make journeys across Grimm infested territories in exchange for a price.

Technology is far more limited with the most advanced society, atlas, being considered almost a myth among other kingdoms due to it closing itself off from all the others 2 centuries ago.

Faunus are a more reclusive group, a few appear in towns every so often and are met with awe and treated often like spirits, but they figured out ways to survive in Grimm territory and find humans far too dangerous to spend long periods with beyond simple trading.

Fairies and witches used to exist back when Ozma was alive but seemed to vanish following his death. Every now and then a new malevolent being crops up with some horrific magic power that they use to terrorize a town or two and while sometimes huntsmen get dispatched on dangerous missions to slay the villains, sometimes the threat will disappear on its own. No one is sure why yet.

The story would follow Ruby setting out to track down her uncle who went missing. She's an idealist who still believes in the honor of the old huntsmen. She's fascinated by the history of heroes and has a strong knack for dealing with Grimm. People not so much. She isn't exactly a skilled fighter but us tenacious and her spirit helps keep the group moving.

Taiyang runs the tavern in town and as such Ruby and Yang would hear a ton of conversation from huntsmen and few travelers with news of the outside world. This is where ruby hears of a fighter that sounds like Qrow who hasn't returned home in months and decides to set out to find him.

Yang joins the journey after noticing ruby missing and being unable to convince her to turn back.

Blake is the third to join when ruby and Yang get lost in a forested area trying to escape Grimm. Her plan is to initially lead them out of the woods and tell them to stop being a bother and return to safety, but hearing of one human that still believes in the honor of huntsmen and the power of Ozma she begrudgingly joins the group to try and make sure Ruby doesn't die.

Weiss would join after they've been to a town or two because she'd be the sole survivor of an envoy headed from atlas to the largest city in Vale as they'd attempted to escape Grimm attacks.

[tomb-of-flora]

Introduction Post (V2)

I did an introduction post 7-8 months ago and it's really bad, so I wanted to do a new one.

Hello! I am relatively new to tumblr, but I've been here for over six months now, and it's the only social media I've been able to stick with for this long. It feels like I've officially put down roots with this blog, so I wanted to give myself a proper introduction.

A little about me: I'm a writer with a particular emphasis on poetry and fiction that angsts about identity. I'm a Dungeon Master who has been playing D&D (and occasionally other ttrpgs) since I was 12-13. I'm in my mid twenties (and am going to post accordingly so I don't want to see any minors interacting). I'm a lesbian, and ngl pretty much everything I say or do has an undertone of sapphic yearning. If i had to define my taste in general I love anything that is super feminine, pink, and princessy, and also anything that is gothic, rotted, and miserable. Anything that could combine the vibes of like Princess Peach/Sailor Moon and Edgar Allan Poe would be a dream come true for me. I also have a deep love on run down apocalyptic settings (especially if they include a theme park).

This blog will mainly be reblogs, fandom posts, and random things about myself and what I'm thinking. It's just kind of a personal haven to express myself and show my friends cool stuff I saw. I was originally going to make this a place where I posted about my writing/D&D, but all of that stuff kept getting buried, so I decided to delete those posts and make a couple dedicated sideblogs.

If you want to see my original posts i use the hashtag #entombedpost and for reblogs where I remembered to say something I use #entombedreblog

Follow @myovergrowngarden if you want to read/hear about my writing

Follow @yeehaw-in-magic-space if you want to hear about the adventures that take place in my space western/fantasy horror D&D campaign. I recap every session and drop random bits of lore on this account.

Some of my favorite books/short stories include: The Locked Tomb series, The Poet X, Clap When You Land, Family Lore, Any Other City, The Honey Month, This Is How You Lose the Time War, An Education in Malice, The Fall of the House of Usher, Mexican Gothic, The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas, Why Don't We Just Kill the Kid In the Omelas Hole, Orientation, White Smoke, The Iliad/Odyssey.

Some of my favorite shows include: Supernatural, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Midnight Mass, Black Sails, Game of Thrones (seasons 1-4), House of the Dragon, Breaking Bad, Chernobyl.

Some of my favorite cartoons/anime include: Steven Universe, Over the Garden Wall, Arcane, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, Cowboy Bebop, Delicious in Dungeon, Puella Magi Madoka Magica, Noragami, Hunter X Hunter, Simoun, Chainsaw Man, the old DCAU (Batman TAS, Superman TAS, Batman Beyond, Justice League, Static Shock, JLU), Teen Titans, Star Wars Rebels, High Guardian Spice, Gravity Falls, Amphibia.

Some of my favorite video games include: The Last of Us PT II, Get in the Car, Loser, Hades/Hades II, Darkest Dungeon, Fallout: New Vegas, Celeste, Ace Attorney, Dark Souls, Epic Mickey, We Know the Devil, Slay the Princess, Long Live the Queen, Monster Prom/Camp/Road Trip. I also love a lot of board games, but I think that would push us over the text limit so I'm just going to mention that briefly.

Some of my favorite movies include: I Saw the TV Glow, Star Wars (particularly VI, VIII, IV, V), Lord of the Rings, Whisper of the Heart, Kiki's Delivery Service, Birds of Prey, Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Snowpiercer, Annihilation, Sorry to Bother You, the Fear Street Trilogy, a bunch of the Saw movies, Us, Nosferatu (1922).

[docgold13]

Profiles in Villainy

The Evil Queen

Lady Grimhilde Malis, erstwhile known as The Evil Queen, was a vile and ambitious tyrant.  She gained tremendous magical powers by selling herself body and soul to the evil spirits of the Harz Mountains.  She went on to gain her royal position by marrying the widowed King, giving her rule over his kingdom following his death. As the realm's new queen, her every word was law, and all trembled in mortal fear of her wrath.

The vain Queen used her magic to make herself the most beautiful woman in the lands.   She owned a magical mirror that she frequently gazed upon. She regularly asked this magical looking glass who is the fairest in the realm.  ‘Magic Mirror on the wall,' she would query, 'who is the fairest one of all?’ And each time the mirror would reply that it was she.  One day, however, the mirror stated that the fairest of the realm was now the young princess, the Queen’s stepdaughter, Snow White.  

The Queen was sent into an envious rage.  She dispatches her Huntsman to slay Snow White.  Yet the Huntsman was taken by Snow White’s beauty and innocence and he chose to spare her, telling her of the threat and helping her to hide in the woods.  Deep in this secluded forest, Snow White found refuge in a cottage and was cared for by seven kindly dwarves. 

Ultimately discovering that she had been betrayed by her Huntsman, The Queen decided to kill Snow White herself.  She created a poisoned apple that will put whoever eats it into a death-like sleep. This curse could only be broken by ‘love's first kiss,’ yet the Queen was certain Snow White would be buried alive before this could occur. 

Using her magic to disguise herself as an old hag, the Queen traveled to the cottage while the dwarfs were away. The animals of the forest saw through the disguise, but were unable to warn Snow White; instead these animals rushed off to alert the dwarves.  The Queen fooled Snow White into biting the apple, and she fell into a death-like slumber.

The dwarfs returned with the animals as the Queen was leaving the cottage.  They gave chase and the Queen became trapped upon a cliff.  She tried to roll a boulder to crush the dwarves but just then she was struck by lightning and fell from the cliff to her death.

Unwilling to bury her in the ground, the dwarves placed Snow White within a glass coffin and kept vigil over her along with the animals of the woods.  Some time later, a handsome Prince discovered Snow White's fate and he visited her coffin. Saddened by her apparent death, he kissed her, which had the effect of breaking the spell and awakened her. The dwarves and animals all rejoiced as the prince took Snow White to his castle where together they ushered in a new era of peace and happiness.

Actress Lucille La Verne provided the voice for The Evil Queen, with the villainess first appearing in the 1937 Disney feature, Snow White and The Seven Dwarfs.  

[coraniaid]

Vaguely related to my Season 1 / early Season 2 Buffy rewatch:

I already talked about this a while ago, I think, but at some point the show pulls a slightly weird retcon about the Order of Aurelius.

If you look up the Order online, you'll find lots of sites talking about how it's the name for the group of vampires led by the Master, and had been since the 18th cenutry. Its members apparently include both Darla and Luke and ... well, pretty much every single vampire we see in Season 1.

And, yes, if you watch the second season Angel the Series episode Darla, there's a flashback that backs all this up. We see the Master himself, Darla explains that "he commands our Order", and the Master gives Angelus the whole recruitment spiel:

"The Order of Aurelius. We are the select. The elite. [...] We live below, giving tribute to the Old Ones. Awaiting that promised day when we will arise-- arise, and lay waste to the world above us."

Okay, not much ambiguity there.

Only ... in Season 1 of Buffy, that's pretty obviously not what's going on at all.

In Season 1, the "Order of Aurelius" is only mentioned in one episode: Never Kill A Boy On The First Date. Buffy and Giles learn of their presence because a vampire that Buffy slays at the start of the episode is wearing a ring with a strange symbol: a symbol that Giles eventually recognizes as being the mark of the Order. "The Order of Aurelius is a very old and venerated sect," Giles tells us. "If they're here, it's for a very good reason."

Now, obviously, if the Order of Aurelius is just the name of all of the vampires who work for the Master this whole conversation is a little silly. Giles's books would make it clear that the Order work for the Master, so there'd be no need to speculate about a 'reason' for their presence. Giles would know that Buffy has been fighting against the Order for weeks. Rather, the clear implication of the episode is that the Order are new, and that they've only just arrived in town. Otherwise why wouldn't Buffy have seen the symbol on the ring before? Why would it stand out?

Indeed, we're told in the episode -- by both Giles and the Master himself -- that the Order are here to find the Annointed One and bring him to the Master. Giles tells Buffy that "the writings of Aurelius himself [...] prophecised that the brethren of his Order would come to the Master and bring him the Annointed." The Master recites a prophecy that "the Annointed shall rise. The Brethren of Aurelius shall greet him and usher him to his immortal destiny."

The thing is, that seems to be the the only thing the Order are here to do. To find the Annointed One. Yes, they clearly work for the Master, but the strong implication is that they just work for him in the same way that the Three will a couple of episodes later. In the context of this episode, the Order of Aurerlius are some vampires who work for the Master, but there's no suggestion that every vampire who works for the Master this season is part of the Order, or that the Order have been working for the Master for long.

We don't see any vampires we recognize in the ranks of the Order this episode (in fact, I'm not sure that the writers had even decided Darla was still alive yet; she isn't seen or mentioned on screen between being doused with holy water in The Harvest and her return in Angel a couple of episodes later). And the Master is very angry that "one of the brethren" went out and got killed, which hardly makes sense if "the brethren" include Luke and all the other vampires Buffy had already killed before this episode aired. But it does make sense if the vampire Buffy killed at the start of the episode was the first member of the Order we'd seen on screen.

And after Never Kill A Boy On The First Date, the Order of Aurelius are never mentioned on Buffy again. (Aurelius himself gets mentioned once more, in Prophecy Girl, but only in reference to his prophecy about the Annointed One.) The Master gives several more speeches but he never claims to be the head of the order the way he will in Darla, or even acknowleges that they exist. The remnants of his supporters we see working for the Annointed One later don't use the name either.

So, yeah. I can't say I have any strong feelings about this -- Buffy hasn't ever been a show you should watch for its rigorous and consistent world-building -- but it does feel a little bit weird. It's as though the writers of Season 6 had realised they never gave the group of vampires who work for Spike and Dru in Season 2 a collective name and so decided to retroactively call them the Order of Taraka. It just feels a bit arbitrary.

Does anybody know exactly when this retcon happened? Was it commonplace in the fandom to talk about "the Order of Aurelius" in this way before the second season of Angel? Is there an older use of the term (used to refer to all of the Master's followers) that appears in canon prior to Darla?

Have I completely missed something in Buffy itself?

[ayatoscupid]

holy shit that new trailer made me so fucking sad i have to adopt xiao as a sibling figure now. lore rant under cut

its just. the "fighting hard to not become the very thing they swore to destroy" trope always HITS and xiao is such a tragic character through and through that i think itd be hard for anyone to not feel sorry for him, once they have a deeper look into his story. it can be easy to dismiss him as the growling edgelord character but really just a deeper look in and u can see just how...... sad he is

ive said before that i hold a soft spot for adepti lore- after developing lore for xue yin ive come to rly appreciate what the adepti symbolise n common themes that they have, and how it connects to the overarching themes of genshin as a whole.

idk if ive said this before? i forget what i say in my (few) lore rants here LMFAO but i feel that genshin is, to me, a story about grief. about loss. how it happens, how people cope with it, and how they ultimately move on. a more obvious theme in the narrative is ushering in a new era- mond and inazuma having already done this imo by thriving without their archon's guidance, liyue moving on from the loss of rex lapis, and sumeru finally reuniting with their archon. but in order to welcome a new era you have to say goodbye to the old one- you have to lose the old one and move on. such as the archons have to cherish but move on from old friends and old memories, the people have to as well

adepti are sort of deital beings who served the same purpose for thousands of years and now have to learn to adjust to a liyue thats rapidly changed before their very eyes- and they deal with this change. some of them have already started (ganyu, madame ping), and it comes easier for them

but not for xiao.

im very much not qualified or informed enough to make an in-depth analysis on this specifically but ill say that xiao's current story focuses on his recovery from his ptsd. and i dont think im informed enough to talk about ptsd so i wont- but his recovery is so very carefully written in that its so slow. he's not quick to accept these things and can even be harsh about them. not only is his duty ingrained in his brain from years and years of war, but he is physically unable to stop, lest he succumbs to his karmic debt.

(at least. thats how i remember it. cries if im wrong)

i love how we got an update on him during lantern rite actually (i mean, lantern rite is always xiao time but yk), bc ive been dying to know how hes been since we last saw him in the chasm. and it looks like hes been doing the same old things he usually does- but hes making an active decision in getting better, and that makes me proud of him!!!

he interacts with baizhu and qiqi now (though he leaves right away lol, but from their interactions this isnt the first time theyve taken care of him. cute!!) and he even walks around liyue harbour instead of just leaving, even letting a little girl interact with him and letting her grandpa give him some rice wine (from venti noticing that he's already drank, by the time they see each other)

of course, it's hard- hes constantly haunted by his debt. by the demons he's slayed. by the evil he's purged. by himself. he has nightmares about himself- about his fear of one day becoming the very evil he swore to purge. that's why we get those nightmares of the two xiaos- in it, hes the one with the mask on. hes succumbed to the darkness, and he cant take it off- hes become the very thing he swore to destroy.

(AAAAAAAAAAAAA ANAK NG PUTA ANG SAKIT)

hes still haunted by his nightmares, his secret fears- but hes getting better now. though its slow, and he may not see it, his development is there and its incredibly meaningful. and i Cannot Wait to see more of him, and his journey in learning that: "It's good to take the mask off once in a while... even just for one night."

[dawn-of-worlds]

The War for Wera

The forces of the Deep One Kǎlkayer face off against those of Kaluutalo (7 vs 7) and the natives of Wera (8 vs 8). The war becomes a stalemate, with much of the surrounding countryside depopulated and Wera only accessible by sea, but still holding out.

Neither gets what they want.

Kǎlkayer’s forces devastate the southern coast of the region, stripping the land bare. Punitive expeditions are mounted inland to destroy towns and burn crops, for Kǎlkayer has no need of such; by the coast cities are captured and their populations turned towards the cultivation of algae in bays, deltas and salt pans. Those slain inland are carried down to the coast as skeletons, to be bathed in the weedvats and rise as new drones for the Deep One. The army marches towards Wera, seemingly unstoppable.

But for all Kǎlkayer’s advantages, it is ignorant of many things, and siegecraft is one of them. Wera’s walls are not the strongest in the world, but they are manned by the forces of Kaluutalo; their armour is strong, their shields sharp, and their leaders wise. Three great assaults fail to take the walls, and sallies from the castle manage to spills and burn great tanks of algae-flesh that the army brought along to resupply itself. In a rage,  Kǎlkayer sends the drone of Ullunortho, a great Eppethikuja, to lead the next assault; the Deep One had hoped to save such a mighty weapon for stronger cities further north. The bones of the manta-dragon remember its control of winds, and it breaks down the west gate of Wera like a hurricane flattening a forest. Yet when it enters the courtyard, the Ataila are waiting for it.

The Ataila are few in number, but they are the most skillful of all mortal races, for they have had a long time to come by those skills. In the courtyard that day were three of the most ancient of their race; Yumöni, the Flower of Starlight, Esseḿi, the Premonition of Dawn, and Säpori, the Waker of Thunder. They were old before the first Eppethikuja was awoken off Kaniten; they have dwelt in each other’s hearts since before all other mortal races were woken; there are gods whom are youths to them. They lead the Ataila in the defense, and they slay Ullunortho when he comes through the gate, though Säpori is wounded unto death in the deed, and dies in the arms of those she loves most.

As the courtyard is retaken and the gate rebarred, Yumöni and Esseḿi swear a vow to their creator, that they will not allow Wera to fall and the death of Säpori to be in vain. If the end times should indeed come, then Wera will be the last refuge against them, no matter the cost. Dedoubled in their spirit and purpose, they lead the defenders in holding off further assaults from the armies of the dead.

Soon salvation comes. Kǎlkayer has left the flanks of his forces exposed as he focused his efforts on encircling Wera, and soon smaller militias and bands of hastily-hired mercenaries from further north reclaim towns, free enslaved mortals, and destroy weed-vats and algae-pans. Kǎlkayer’s designs on Wera come to naught as the great trading fleets of the region begin to ship in food to keep the defenders hearty and new weapons and supplies to keep the defense strong.

Slowly the war grinds down into a stalemate. Kǎlkayer continues to devastate the countryside until the whole region becomes known as the Bone Wastes, but cannot take Wera. Wera even maintains some of its status as a trading hub, though many merchants do fear to visit the city. Kǎlkayer also cannot advance northward without the defenders of Wera sallying forth to wreak havoc on the infrastructure the Deep One has built to maintain itself. Yet this same infrastructure prevents armies from making progress across the land; the foul designs of the Deep One have built dams and weirs that trap water across the landscape, then salted them until sea-algae can grow in them. These have left the region parched and infertile, and armies struggle to march across lands where no crops are grown for them to forage. The war continues, driven Kǎlkayer’s inexhaustible drive for power and the indomitable will of Yumöni and Esseḿi to resist.

[sinterling]

Sint's Warcraft Lore Journal

Entry 2: Revised History of the Centaur Pt.1, Zaetar

Exploring Azeroth - A Study of Our World's Cultures and Legacies

Centaur history is somewhat of a blurry one. Their birth is known, but just about anything else is fairly vague and the subject of legend. It is hard to keep a history when one's history is so bloodsoaked and so scattered.

So, Azeroth's best scholars have done what they could to reconstruct the timeline.

It's rather easy when you have access to the Emerald Dream. We were able to gain some measure of insight by asking the Primogenitor of the Centaur himself, Zaetar, whilst he rested in the boughs of Amirdrassil prior to its entry into Azeroth.

I first approached the Father of the Centaur with a query about the origins of his hybrid children, one which he at first bristled at, but quickly calmed from. His immediate irritation, it seems, is still from an ancient trauma and a regret just as old. The Keeper regaled me on this enigmatic history. I will quote him word for word.

"A world once whole was the world I ushered the Centaur into. Over ten thousand years ago, perhaps double that."

I will note now that our previous timeline estimated the origins of the Desolace Centaur around 1,100 years ago. The discrepancy is exciting.

"I exited the Dream, sent by my father to study why a once lush valley had been transformed into a barren waste. Concerned by the mass loss of life, I was quick to ascertain that the young tauren had awoken a servant of the Old Gods. I tracked her, hoping to destroy her and return the life energy she'd consumed to Desolace, but... when I found her, I did not find a monster. Safeguarded from the corruptive influences of her masters by the power of the life energy she'd devoured, Theradras was free. And to me, she was beautiful."

Theradras was always believed to have been an agent of the Old Gods. To hear that she was not, at least she was not for a time, is new information.

"I met her as an enemy, but in time, we fell in love. And akin to Elune and Malorne's union bringing my father, Cenarius, into the world - our union saw the Centaur born. This... is my greatest shame. When I saw that they were not children of the Dream, that they were mundane and mortal, I grew withdrawn. I believed them cursed. That Theradras and I had accidentally given form to a cursed union, and that they were doomed to serve the Old Gods."

"I retreated into Maraudon. Away from Theradras's power, I became susceptible to the influence of her old masters. And so, where we once fostered a Dream away from the Dream, I began to transform it into a Nightmare."

This predates the actual formation of the Emerald Nightmare. It seems like Zaetar may have been an early attempt by the Old Gods to corrupt the Emerald Dream. Perhaps more seeds were laid for the Dream's corruption than originally thought.

"My children, the ones I believed accursed, were the ones to slay me in my madness. Ironic, is it not? I was the accursed one."

He could not tell me what happened following his passing. While understandable, many of the new revelations his testimony brings desperately require expansion. Simply, with how ancient the centaur now appear to be, there are untold eons of history now missing.

Everything we know seems to be somewhat incorrect, or entirely incorrect. The only truth that is certain is that Theradras and Zaetar were responsible for all Centaur.

~Penned by Sion Findragon, Ambassador and Scholar

[abookishdreamer]

Character Intro: Hermes (Kingdom of Ichor)

Nicknames- Jackrabbit by Dionysus

The Busy One, The Lucky Lad by the people of Olympius

He Man by Apollo

Smart Ass by Thalia (muse of comedy)

Age- 18 (immortal)

Location- Arcadia, Olympius

Personality- He's a cheerful laid back guy for the most part. There’s always a sly devilish grin on his face. He loves being the center of attention. He’s cunning, clever, and quick on his feet. Hermes never passes on the opportunity for a dare, bet, or wager and he also has a wicked sense of humor. He’s pansexual & is currently single.

As the god of roads, travelers, thieves, merchants, messengers, speed, trade, sports, borders, thoughts, communications, money, & luck, he has a wide range of powers/abilities. They include clauditikinesis (being able to control locks), magically expanding storage spaces, telepathy (being able to read minds), chrimatakinesis (money manipulation), teleportation (through a red mist), force field generation, chemokinesis (chemistry manipulation), super enchanced speed (the fastest deity in the pantheon!), hypnokinesis, communicating with/shapeshifting into animals that are sacred to him (like tortoises, rams, hawks, and snakes, etc...).

He gives off his natural scent- a mixture of ground up coffee beans & gasoline.

Being the god of many things (roads, thieves, hospitality, etc...) He oversees a lot of businesses in Olympius. Hermes helps his father with his several powerful business conglomerates, he helps his half-brother Hephaestus (god of the forge) with his tech & construction companies- more specifically with road construction. Hermes even works for his uncle Hades (god of the dead), ushering souls in the Underworld. He's the founder/head of the OPS (Olympius Postal Service). He also owns most of the banks and has his own chain of casinos in the country- called Caduceus Palace. Hermes has other ventures including a few night clubs, his own airline (Diaktoros), a successful fitness magazine (Powerpulse), a business/finance magazine (The Acropolis Street Ledger), his own gas stations, the largest oil refinery in the entire realm (Polytropos Refinery), karaoke bars, novelty prank stores, & nationwide gyms called Fit to be a God. Hermes also has a popular sneaker line called Airopolis, an athletic/streetwear fashion line called ViVoTrack (which includes eyewear), and a line of energy drinks called OmegaDash.

He even has his own amusement park- Talaria Theme Park!

His mischievious nature started out early in life when he stole a herd of cows from his half brother Apollo (god of the sun, music, poetry, healing, medicine, archery, plague, light, & knowledge) when Hermes was barely a day old! Another notable moment from his godly career was when he slayed the hundred eyed giant Argus.

He's the creator/founder of the social media website Fatestagram, the video sharing site PanopTube, as well as the internet search engine Omega.

Hermes' favorite football team is the Arcadia Rams!

As an induction gift his father gave him a white gold chunky chain necklace with a key charm covered in white diamonds.

His most prized possession is his smartphone that can also transform into his caduceus.

He’s also one of the co-chairs of the annual Olympic Tournament- the biggest sporting event in all of Olympius!

Hermes is fluent in all the languages spoken in Olympius!

His go-to drink is a rum and coke. He also likes soda (most flavors) & energy drinks (especially his brand). A usual for him from The Roasted Bean is an olympian sized iced coffee!

As well as living in New Olympus, Hermes also spends some time in the Underworld. He lives in an apartment at The Obsidian Tower. He also has an estate in Arcadia where he owns a farm with a lot of cattle and sheep!

Hermes has the largest, most extensive sneaker collection in the pantheon!

His all time favorite dessert from Hollyhock's Bakery is the rocky road brownies!

Hermes' favorite ice cream flavor is chocolate coffee.

As far as his relationships with the other deities, Hermes tries to be friendly with everyone, even his step-mother Hera (goddess of women & marriage); in spite of her thinly veiled insults.

Hermes was the second deity to be mentored by Pan (god of the wild, satyrs, shepherds, & rustic music).

He adores his mom, Maia, always taking the opportunity to spoil her with extravagant gifts. Hermes also has a cool relationship with his aunts, The Pleiades. He considers Electra to be his favorite aunt. Hermes feels that he has to put on a show (less flashy, more restrained) when his grandmother Pleione (Titaness of sailing & stars) is around.

He loves snacking on pickle flavored chips!

In his free time, Hermes loves pulling pranks on people and the other deities! He also enjoys playing basketball, playing dice, sailing, writing (in his journal), cliff diving, playing dominoes, video games, doing live streams, bungee jumping, poker, mountain climbing, billiards, playing jacks, skateboarding, bowling, rollerblading, football (soccer), traveling, and working out. He's also been bitten by the photography bug & has enjoyed taking pictures! Hermes has become quite the photographer with many of his pictures being in art galleries in the city. His father Zeus (god of the sky, thunder, & lightning) even allowed him to do the photography for the New Olympus travel brochure. He's even started to collect cameras.

Hermes enjoys teasing Hecate (goddess of magic & witchcraft) about them making out at Hades’ Ta Kalanta party. He remembers the taste of spiced rum on her lips. He has a “friends with benefits” relationship with Peitho (goddess of persuasion & sensuality) and hate-sex arrangement with Chelone (goddess of tortoises).

Hermes' last long term relationship was with Chione (goddess of snow). Their breakup was shown on a HUGE jumbotron, as they were arguing during a basketball game.

He also had a crush on Philotes (goddess of sex, friendship, & affection)- with him having a life size poster of her in the penthouse apartment he shares with Apollo & Dionysus (god of wine), that was personally autographed by her.

Hermes has been in a “duel” of sorts with Thalia (muse of comedy). It all started after he performed at her comedy club and garnered a louder standing ovation. They’re always trying to one up each other to see who's the funniest. They both say that they hate each other. Other beings (like Aphrodite) say they have angst & sexual tension.

He also kinda hooked up with Adephagia (goddess of gluttony).

His favorite meal is a large mediterranean pizza. Hermes also likes his mom's fried rice, lo mein, and szechuan chicken. He also likes steak (well done) topped with sauteed onions as well as olympian sized onion rings with a cheesesteak burger from Olympic Chef!

His favorite from The Bread Box is the reuben sandwich (sometimes added with extra coleslaw) along with a medium container of potato salad.

“Sometimes, a sweet lie goes down easier than the bitter truth."

[zhaozaipalooza]

Your Weekly Insight into SA Culture! - The Ocean

ALRIGHT Tui, you’ve had your turn in the spotlight (rightfully so, all hours are Yue-loving hours), BUT the ocean is pretty significant in Hinduism, and clearly to the navy. So we’ll shift the lens for a minute, and come back to the Moon Spirit next time... ;s

I know three main stories involving the ocean in our mythology, and boy, they’re dramatic. There’s the god Rama from his own epic, the Ramayana, who pulled a very close Moses when crossing the ocean to reach Lanka and rescue his wife. Instead of large-scale waterbending, though, it was more along the lines of earthbending. Rocks inscribed with Rama’s name were tossed into the ocean, and voila - his name itself defied gravity, and the stones were used to form a floating bridge.

And guess what? You can see this bridge from space! Check out Rama’s Bridge, or the Ram Setu, located off the northwestern coast of Sri Lanka.

The second and third stories would be the incarnates of the actual Avatar in our mythology: Vishnu, known as the superior deity - who dealt with the ocean flooding the world on two separate occasions. These floods served as a sort of “cleansing” before a new epoch, washing away the old world and starting anew. The first appearance was in the form of a fish, the next a boar.

Matsya, the Fish, was actually the very first incarnation of Vishnu (there’s ten total, the tenth is yet to arrive... *Scooby-Doo theme music*). Matsya warned mankind of the flood and told them to save their grain, and to usher living creatures onto boats (yeah, God, stop playing favorites with Noah << guys that’s a JOKE).

Varaha, the Boar, is the third incarnate, and like his name suggests, was called to dealt with rougher circumstances. The asura Hiranyaksha dragged the entire frickin’ earth to the bottom of the sea, and Varaha singlehandedly raised it back to the surface using his tusks. (TW: some bloody demon-slaying below.)

And hey, looks like there’s another ocean-related incarnate I’d forgotten about. The second incarnate of Vishnu, Kurma, the Tortoise, churned the ocean, such as one churns milk. The ocean itself was considered to be full of mysteries, so when it was stirred, many of them emerged! Among them were new gods and goddesses, rich gems, powerful horses, and other divine creatures and treasures.

Now, the more conceptual belief-oriented aspects of the ocean were highly diverse, and I found it all brilliant. We’ve already seen the ocean as a reset mechanism for each new age (called a “yuga”, I believe), and as a swirling enigma, full of magical secrets. Sagara or Sumadra would be the name of the actual ocean god, and MAN, what a realm he presides over...

Existence is compared to the ocean, which manifested all worlds, beings, and materiality. Rivers are seen as connected to the supreme entity Brahma, with us as the individual souls flowing back to a cosmic whole. The ocean is seen as the source of life and immortality, producing an elixir that was drunk by gods and asuras to live forever. The ocean is also seen as all-pervading, in the form of storms, tempests, waves, and monsoons.

Hindu philosophy compares the ocean with instability and struggle, which humans have to cross in order to conquer themselves. In early times, the ocean was considered to be the edge of the earth, hence seen as the realm of immortals, the wellspring of creation, and the universe itself! The ocean is a “subterranean world”, filled with living and celestial beings, water spirits, nymphs, etc. The ocean is “the resting place of the sun”, the battleground of gods. The ocean is consciousness, commotion, tranquility, suffering, support, death, life, infinity... a yin-yang on its own! 

I didn’t know half of these meanings myself before some light research. Just incredible!! Really a shame the ATLA world didn’t dive deeper here... though we always have the chance to take it upon ourselves!

And that’s your South Asian two cents on the black koi fish, basically ~ give it up for La! 🎉🎉

[itsybiggy]

you’re my midnight moon

Part 3/3: does time heal all wounds?

word count: 2323

Thinking about doing a bonus chapter with smut, let me know! Hope you like the fluffy angst!

You starred down at the note. It had been brought here the other day and had it done nothing but haunt you ever since it arrived. It was an invitation to the festival that was taking place in two months. Each district had one in each of the walls and anyone was free to go between them. It would take a while to prepare and all of humanity was helping. But this invitation was from Armin. More of a letter than a formal invitation, but he wanted you to go to the festival with him.

To reconnect, my old friend.

Old friend.

Suppose that was less awkward than old lover. But even then you and Armin had not even been lovers then. Both not having time and being too shy to go that far in your relationship.

Still, this was an opportunity to make amends for your past. For abandoning him. So you wrote back.

Dear old friend...

______

Despite the fact that you lived in the same district as Armin, you had managed to barely see in in the months leading up to the festival. You didn’t exactly do this on purpose, it seemed that your mind was attempting to protect yourself. When you would see him in the market, a bar, just out in town, you conveniently remembered what you had to do at home, go somewhere else. You ignored when you felt his gaze on you. You never engaged with him. You felt like a mole, hiding from the sun itself.

Sasha had come one day, filled with questions. She spared no time opening you up, though if anyone could it would be her. You cried together for your fallen comrades, for the awful memories, and your once lost connection. Your connection that was quickly rekindled after that day. Her kind, but at times brash words had given you the confidence to have this closure with all of your old friends, most of all Armin of course.

Which brings us to the festival

The town square in wall Cana was alive with all spurts of sights and sounds. Hoards of drunk soldiers and civilians alike sung their new bar songs; written about humanity’s victory.

“On the ground were their heads

As our mighty scouts caught them dead

Swinging their swords they cut those bastards down

Some say there were no blades just Levi’s frown

Our mighty scouts they slayed the beasts

So now we feast!

For the Titans are gone let's have some fun!

And humanity has WON!!”

The thick smell of well missed meat filled the whole district. Families had opened their doors with warm, home cooked meals inside. Food stalls were set up, with no charge. It truly felt as if humanity was at peace.

In the midst a group of soldiers in particular, more jovial than most, some say they saw hell more that Levi himself.

“SASHA SLOW THE HELL DOWN!” Connie smacked the back of her neck, effectively shooting the peace of meat she was choking on, out of her throat.

“Ah!” Jean leaped out of the way of the projectile meat “you didn’t even chew it you monster!”

Sasha looked like she was about to cry as Mikasa held on to her, keeping her from picking up the steak from the ground. “I couldn’t help it, I haven’t had cow in so long.”

“So savor it you idiot.” Eren rolled his eyes, Armin chuckled.

You were a few steps away from the group, your slow body separated yourself from the happy group. You didn’t want to rain on their parade. Though, you honestly wanted to join it. You had made up as much as you could with all of them...except Armin. Sasha was the only one who took it well enough. The rest of the group said they would need time to fix your friendships. Which was understandable. So, you just let them be content tonight without having to worry about you.

Armin didn’t seem to get the “Ignore me” memo. Shooting glances at you when he thought you couldn’t see him. It made you uneasy.

It made you scared that old feelings started to bubble up.

Armin Arlert had the uncanny ability to make you feel like a giggling school girl with what seemed to be only a look. Not that you audibly or visibly made any indication that he did so. But it was impossible for you to think of anything else but: <em>if your simple dress looked ok, was your hair a mess in the humidity or was your face just a tomato at that point?</em>

You tried to keep your head on the cobblestone road, as you tried not to meet any of his gazes. But also because you had stupidly discarded your cane. You didn’t need it most of the time, but if you were going to be walking for long periods of time you definitely did. One small miss step would leave you face planted on the ground unable to get up.

“Hey (y/n), come-“ With your eyes glued to the group you didn’t notice Eren being the first one who noticed you trailed behind. And so when he had went to playfully slap your back, ushering you forward it had taken you by compete surprise. So of course your back and legs give way, and you face planted on the stone road.

“(Y/N)!!” They all shouted, they had already turned around when Eren began talking. They rushed to your side, and helped you as you attempted to get up.

Eren looked quiet panicked as Mikasa begun swatting at him to be careful with my weak form. He swore he didn’t know the strength of his hit.

“I’ve got it, I’m fine. It’s ok.” You batted their hands away and attempted to ease Eren. You could feel warm blood as it was trickling from your chin and knees. But you couldn’t get up, only on all fours. Humiliatingly unable to move past this point, tears threaten to leave your eyes. Once again, you stared at the cobblestone in compete defeat. “I....I can’t move anymore...help.”

Strong arms lifted your body from the road. You were unable to even look at who they belonged to but the soft, familiar smell flooded your nostrils.

“I’ve got you.” Armin said, one arm under your bleeding knees, the other held your back and shoulders. “I’ll go get her cleaned up, we’ll meet you guys later.” He said and before You could even protest he walked from them.

Silence....awful, deafening, horrible silence.

It was almost impossible to tell what he was thinking. His face was blank, you could only detect the blush creeping from his neck to the tips of his ears. Quickly after seeing that, your face matched his.

<em>Did you want to talk to me or should I start?</em>

As if he heard your thoughts “Let’s get you clean and then.. we can talk.” His voice was soft and wavering. You could feel his nervousness, it was clearly heard in his voice.

So per his request you both were silent as he set you down at a table, a distance away from anyone. Families and soldiers were still clearly visible, but their singing and celebration muffled in the distance. He left me for only a second to the well nearby. He took a knife to his shirt and tore the bottom. You were glad it wasn’t more than a normal day shirt. But it still had made you feel guilty. Flowey and light blue, it was still a nice shirt despite its simplicity. He dipped a part of the shirt into the bucket which he had drawn and returned to you. The wind whipping his shortened shirt revealing his very muscular torso. You quickly averted your eyes.

He knelt down and lightly wiped the dried blood from your legs before dabbing the wound. Subconsciously your leg twitched, causing him to come down a bit to hard. A sting shot through the wound which caused you to wince.

“Sorry!” He quickly lifted his hand, panic in his eyes “I was trying to be gentle.”

“You were! Don’t be sorry...maybe if you held my leg in place it would help.” looking into his blue eyes, you desperately tried to imprint them once again into your mind. He looked away soon after the offer, embarrassed.

Still, red in the face he nodded. He placed his left hand on your calf, his finders gripping softly onto your soft skin. His right hand resumed cleaning the bloody scrape. “Does that feel better?” He asked, eyes fixed on your leg.

“I uh, still think they are shaking.” You took his hand and placed it in the back of your thigh. He lifted your dress so he had better access to your knee. “There I’m still.”

Except now it was Armins hands who were shaking. He finished one side before moving to the next. You easily noted how his hand was significantly higher on this leg than the other.

“All clean, you should wrap them when you get home though. here let me help you down.” He held out his hand, but you were not ready to let this tender interaction end.

You pointed to your chin, which still had some blood on it. “Uh could you get this too.”

He gulped and nodded. You scooted forward on the table and spread your legs so he could come close enough to reach your face. He stepped in between them and lifted his hand to cup your face steady, like your leg, to softly clean your face. Your eyes stared at the table, but his seemed to be going from your cut to your eyes. You could feel with certainty when his blue eyes looked into yours. You continued to stare down, but now because you could not meet his with yours so filled with tears.

Here he was, perfect and soft. Caring for you so tenderly, as if you hadn’t completely broken his heart. Left without an trace, an explanation. You didn’t deserve his kindness.

“All..um done.” He stepped away from you, held out his hand to support you.

“Thank you Armin. You took it and stepped down carefully. When your feet hit the cold stone you continued to look at it while you stood there. Finally , unable to contain your self, you looked up fully sobbing now.

“Armin I’m..” your face went in your hands as your trembled “I’m so sorry. I should have ne-“

He interrupted you before you could continue.

“There is one thing I’ve always regretted. Not telling you how the world can be so beautiful, but I was so lucky to have something, someone beside me who was more beautiful than a sunset creeping over the mountains, or a meadow wildflowers, the star filled night sky or even the ocean. And that was you, is you.” You looked up to meet his love filled gaze, completely star struck at the words that came out of his mouth. The world seemed to slow as he continued.

“I’m so sorry that I didn’t fight harder to keep you by my side. I just, I wanted to ask why you stopped loving me, and plead for you to stay but I just let you go.” He looked to the ground, seemingly ashamed for what you thought as innocence, it was you who was to blame.

You stepped into his arms, clinging to him for support. Your legs were weak now, but you also needed him to hold you. His arms had the gift to make all your worries disappeared. “Armin, I-. It’s not your fault. It was me. After we became scouts and then we were separated, my entire force was wiped out. My friends all gone. I was struck with the realization that life for us so fleeting. And it hurt so bad to see them go, I couldn’t and didn’t even want to imagine seeing you die. And I didn’t want you to hurt if I ever did.” He held your shaking, sobbing body as you struggled to continue.

“I pushed everyone away including you, only to save myself from having to lose you. And I still did. It hurt me so much and every day I regret it. I’m so sorry Armin. But seeing you again, I- I can’t leave you again. I still love you I never stopped. It was too late when I realized that life is fleeting so it is important to find something you live and hold onto it rather than push it away.”

“Armin Arlert I love you”

Calloused hands lifted your face to his, strong arms lifted you from the ground, soft lips kissed yours. You could taste his salty tears, they mixed with your own. You could feel his love, his hurt, and his relief.

You grabbed onto his silky hair, arms wrapped around his neck. He held your body close to his. You wanted to feel him, closer, connected. Your tongue slid across his lips. He eagerly tilted his head and opened his mouth to yours, now you could taste him. His lips were so soft, so tender parted from you to look at your face. A smile spread across his.

“(Y/n) (l/n) dance with me, we don’t need any music, just you and me. Come on.” Tears rolled down your faces as he recited the words you had so many years ago.

And as if on que your little world opened up as you begun to hear the tune of the festival music. He carried you closer to the music, but just far enough away where you both could stay in your own world.

He set you down, placing your feet on top of his as you both swayed with the music. You stayed like this, dancing, lips parted for a millisecond only to connect again. This tender moment you shared will not easily if not ever be forgotten.

Yaaay all done! Repost, like, send some love if you enjoyed! We need more Armin content!!!

[puttingfingerstokeys]

A little something I whipped up for @heamatic​ with her Shinnok in mind.

No timeline alignment stuff here, just pure gift work based on a thread we’ve got on my RP account @bastardsunlight. Ft. Shinnok being creepy because that’s kind of his thing. Shinlao, because we haven’t come up with a ship name and I am appalled at our laxity. 

Also like, I can’t believe I’m saying this but neither writer is in any way under some fucked up impression that this is a good, safe, or non-toxic ship. We use the term to describe people who are involved IN SOME WAY. That way is not necessarily healthy. 

This story features no NSFW instances.

The dimly lit corridors of the Bone Temple are familiar passageways to Kung Lao as he moves effortlessly toward the audience chamber where he will soon be needed. Shinnok does not often offer his time, but today, he evidently feels generous. It is therefore his favorite creature’s duty to attend as well. Lao has long since stopped thinking of himself as a monk or even a former one, though his spiritual power is still formidable. That life is behind him. Netherrealm is—if not his home—his territory.

Emerging from a massive double door at one side of the infernal hall, he surveys the emptiness of it, the cavernous opulence of the mad god’s particular tastes. Deeper, under vents in the floor—Shinnok appreciates the screams of his captives—is the dungeon proper, though the audience hall very much resembles it. The high pillars are of dark reds, shining obsidian, and shot through with veins of other colors difficult to distinguish in the Stygian light of the realm of dishonored dead. Everything is bone and sinew and suffering here, fire and brimstone and ugly deception.

“You have kept me waiting, little one,” purrs the Elder God of Chaos from his throne. It is, naturally, constructed of bones—not all humanoid. He leans to one side and regards Kung Lao with those inscrutable eyes characteristic of his kind. “Do you wish to bring punishment down on yourself?”

“No, master,” responds Kung Lao, approaching the dais and then ascending to within reach of the massive entity’s long arms. If Shinnok wishes to pull his guts out and toss him back down like a used doll, he may do so from anywhere; why inconvenience him?

“Yet you offer no explanation…” The Elder God’s finger came out and lifted Kung Lao’s chin before sliding down his neck, over the pretty young man’s Adam’s apple, and down to collar bone and chest. He has left this one alive, appreciating the responsive heat and goose flesh of living skin. It bruises so prettily.

“I offer no excuse, my lord.” Kung Lao meets his eyes with an impertinence he loves and hates and oh he has made the right choice in this one. He had known the moment they met upon the field of kombat that Kung Lao would, indeed, make an excellent addition to his collection.

“You are wise beyond your years, it seems, if a bit pert.” Shinnok retracts his hand and waves it about. “Well, get on with it. I’ve better things to do.”

Quan-Chi materializes presently, late as well, though his arrival receives no acknowledgement whatsoever. His dark lord spares not a glance, instead watching the retreating back of the foolish monk who exchanged his own freedom for the life of his friend. Sentiment is worthless in Netherrealm and soon, the arrogant boy will learn this, if the old soul sorcerer must show him the way with his own two hands. His fists clench with the thought, imagining themselves about Kung Lao’s throat, squeezing until something breaks. The pleasure that arises from the thought sends a shudder down his spine.

Meanwhile, Kung Lao, unaware of this contemplation—or if he is aware, he cares so little, he doesn’t bother sparing the man, if a thing like Quan-Chi can be called a man, a single glance—turns to descend the dais. An oversized bone arm which has sprouted from the stone and bone floor of the mad god’s receiving hall offers itself, open-palmed, to the fallen monk. Kung Lao accepts it gracefully, laying his hand in the much larger one, knowing he has not displeased his lord on this day. The dry, brittle-feeling digits wrap gently about the young man’s hand as he makes his graceful retreat to discharge his duties.

Quan-Chi scowls at Kung Lao’s back until Shinnok actually turns his attention on his favored sorcerer—really the only sorcerer who will competently serve him with true, deep loyalty. It really is pathetic to watch, but sometimes a whipped dog is better than no dog. Shinnok has not even had to whip this one. He’s done it of his own accord. 

A strange Netherrealm native (as native as anyone can be in a realm of dishonored souls and demonic constructs born of the mad god’s fits of rage), it had been he who had approached the Elder God of rot and chaos to serve him. If Lord Shinnok could be said to be grateful for anything, he might have chosen that moment when Quan-Chi’s power had drawn him to his lord and master’s prison and set about events which would eventually free and embody him. Of course they have greater plans, but for the time being, this will do. 

This will do very nicely indeed, he considers, regarding his little pet’s taut backside as Kung Lao makes his way through the hall, the bone arm now sliding along with him, digging a furrow in the ground which seems to knit itself together just a few feet behind the abomination which now has its hand on the curve of Kung Lao’s lower back. Every sensation the bone arm feels, he also feels and the warmth of living flesh is delightful; he wants to grasp it hard, make the boy squeal with pain, make him bleed a little. Just a little.

Perhaps later.

“You have some… news?” Quan-Chi has been scheming—he is always scheming—to manifest his dark, mad god in Earthrealm and he clearly believes he has hit upon something. Shinnok can see it in the sparkle of the man’s eyes. Oh how he loves me, contemplates the Elder God with absolutely no reciprocity of that feeling.

“I do, my lord,” responds the sorcerer, bowing to one knee and standing to deliver his findings. Shinnok listens patiently, mind elsewhere as it must always be. He is chaos incarnate. There is little order to be had in Netherrealm beyond his absolute rule. Not much can hold the attention of an Elder God, in general, but Shinnok in particular has always allowed his mind to wander where it will. Aside from grand machinations of upset and overthrow which delight him endlessly, there is almost nothing of such magnitude in all of existence—no single object or concept which can so fascinate him. What could possibly be of such import that he, a deity, might need to focus his energies on it for any length of time? The boy, some part of his thoughts remind him sweetly. You’re quite captivated with your new toy, aren’t you? Ah but toys come and go. He will tire of this one… eventually.

That boy is now crossing the threshold of the temple’s audience hall, the doors gliding open before him. The dry heat of Netherrealm has ceased to move him and he walks out into it, ushering in the first petitioner, wondering if his lord and master will listen to this one, or slay it on sight. Any creature, demon, or lost soul who is bold enough to approach the Bone Temple and beg favors of the lord of the Realm is desperate, addled, or too cocksure for their own good. An obliteration by the death god is permanent, it is nothingness, non-existence. Somehow, that void is more terrifying by far than the screaming, burning, howling dimness of Netherrealm.

The first demon in line—he is first by virtue of having killed his way up the queue; the corpses of those before him are littered in pieces here and there as a testament to this, all still twitching and flailing as the death he grants is only pain—is a truly imposing figure, easily ten feet in height, with massive, twisted horns like a ram and a maw full of jagged teeth. His eyes ablaze with contempt. This expression does not soften when it lays its burning gaze (with all four eyes) upon the pretty, behatted monk—Kung Lao may not think of himself as a monk, but they do—but rather hardens to something bordering on obscene. The thing licks slavering lips with an exaggerated motion, clearly aiming to upset the small, soft-looking mortal, who does not respond, only gestures to the hall.

“The master will see you now,” he says in a neutral tone that betrays nothing. “Please, follow me.”

As they enter, the beast’s three-toed feet hit the ground much harder with each step than might actually be necessary, as if to emphasize his weight. Shinnok leans back upon his throne and assumes a semi-attentive posture. There is no real reason for him to pretend he cares; even the pretense is worthless, but for now, it entertains him. Some of the denizens of his realm wait the Netherrealm equivalent of months, even years, if Shinnok is indisposed and simply does not care. Lately, he has been taking more audiences, but then he has only lately had a… secretary. Kung Lao moves swiftly ahead of the demon, braid swinging tantalizingly behind his shapely back. The boy is an hourglass, upon close inspection, broad of shoulder, narrow of waist, and thick of hip and rear-end. The demon is inspecting.

“This is far enough,” instructs Kung Lao. “What are you called?”

The demon splutters with indignation. How could they not know him, the greatest general of the northern armies of Khadul, the god-king of the demons, the true creatures of Netherrealm! He has severely overestimated his importance, a grave error in the Bone Temple. The silent hall rings with its silence. An audience chamber ought necessarily to have an audience, but Shinnok prefers the cavernous immensity. It reiterates just how small his petitioners truly are. He eyes the demon, but has yet to speak. A bone arm sprouts near Kung Lao and it makes a twirling motion with its forefinger.

“Lord Shinnok bids you speak,” says the shapely boy through plump lips that look like they ought to be bruised and bloodied and used, in the creature’s foul opinion.

“I will speak,” he snarls, reaching out toward Kung Lao with the intent to brush past, “but with the lord of this Realm, he in whose temple we stand, not you, little slut. There are things I would do with you, yes, but speaking… it is not one of them.” The demon’s laughter rings out boldly into the hall, bouncing off the skulls and femurs and ribs and myriad other bones which make the walls, floor, and ceiling. Quan-Chi flinches minutely, though more at the brazenness of it than the sound. Shinnok is a statue. The bone arm has dissipated, crumbling like ash and ruin, leaving Lao alone. His lord is watching.

“No,” says Kung Lao, the syllable sharp and clear as a pretty bell rung in a mausoleum—and equally as incongruous next to the obscene, guttural speech of the demon. “No,” he repeats, “you do not speak. You bark like a mangy cur begging for scraps. Heel.”

He rushes the demon with lightning speed as it swings for him. There is a brief moment when it seems he might make a try for the beast’s sizeable testes, which swing visibly behind the scant loincloth one might say he is “wearing”. The idea occurs to him and a strange flash of melancholic amusement jolts Kung Lao’s spine before he disappears beneath his hat in a flash of red light and lotus petals. The creature, having never encountered this particular mortal, looks baffled and squats to examine the hat. Quan-Chi’s mouth opens to warn the beast of its insolence in his master’s presence, but a sharp gesture from said master silences him. His face heats with rage. How dare the boy show off this way? He will be punished—perhaps disemboweled or flayed. How delicious that would be!

As the as yet unnamed demon reaches toward the object to pick it up, the flash occurs once more and the deadly piece of headwear flips upward, turning vertically, its far edge held by the owner, the only man in any realm able to master such a strange weapon. The creature barely has time to cry out as Kung Lao draws the hat up its entirety, bisecting the thing and spilling its steaming insides along the floor. Midair, Kung Lao flings the hat, hard, toward Shinnok. Once more, Quan-Chi blanches, but the mad god catches it easily and holds it, bottom facing downward, toward his knees where he sits. This, he thinks, is the most fun I have had in millennia.

Kung Lao’s form plummets toward the gory mess he has made and for a brief, shining moment, Quan-Chi thinks perhaps he will fall and snap his neck and that will be that, one last escape attempt with the final spark of the monk’s spirit left to him. Lord Shinnok has no need of a broken doll. Of course this is a flight of pure fancy. Shinnok will find a use for that beautiful body, even broken.

Alas, rather than crashing to his death—or maiming, at least—Kung Lao’s body dives into a circle of blood, red light, once more accompanied by a flash and flurry of lotus petals. It takes only half a moment for him to repeat the trick, falling out of the hat and into his lord and master’s waiting lap. Shinnok allows the hat to settle upon Kung Lao’s head and once more tilts his chin upward so that their eyes meet.

“Far too impertinent,” he scolds, shaking his head, running his thumb over his little doll’s full, perfect, soft lower lip. Kung Lao is flushed with the pleasure of his accomplishment and hasn’t a spot of blood on his person. “Who are you to decide who I do and do not address, hmm? Is this not my domain?”

“His master would pretend it is not. One cannot serve two lords and you rule this Realm.” This is not a question, nor is it simpering. Kung Lao speaks cold, hard facts. “I merely saved you the trouble of hearing a dog bark.”

So bold, Shinnok thinks. I must curb this. But he does not punish his little favorite. The unpredictability delights him. Quan-Chi senses this misplaced delight and recedes from the receiving hall unseen, glowering over his shoulder and now hellbent on perfecting his machinations to bring his master to Earthrealm.

[dog-day-morning]

YOU OWE THEM NOTHING

People can be self-righteous when it comes to what they think God is supposed to do if, and when they call on Him. God is not a genie in a bottle that you rub, and a jinn pops out granting you 3 or 300 wishes. The saying faith without works is dead can be applied here. Have you ever heard of or read the book Daniel Webster and the devil? This tall tale or folklore legend was about a man who made a deal with old Slew Foot, and when it was time to pay up he had 2nd thoughts. Satan never plays fair. He's forever putting us in positions where we find ourselves desperate for a quick solution to a temporary problem that only leads to a difficult end. The Latin term for buyer beware is caveat emptor, and Satan knows how to spell. The power of a wicken comes from their basic weapon of spelling or casting spells by word of mouth. Even the Bible tells us that “Death and life are in the power of the tongue: and they that love it shall eat the fruit thereof.” Tell that to a Nicolaitan. Those who make deals with the most unclean should expect to suffer in the end. Never trust the father of lies who deals in treachery, and deceit. I look back at my mother's life and wonder if God had ever intervened for her, and fought her battles that surely He and only He would be able to deliver her from, and He has. Life is hard, for many it’s a nightmare that’s ongoing. Satan comes to you when you're at your weakest or most vulnerable in the hopes of snaring your soul into eternal suffering. Jesus comes to deliver us from death, sin, and temptations that confuse us in our trek towards His truth. If you have any aspirations of entertaining people with your gifted voice or your talent for playing lead guitar, don’t sign a contract that promises you the world only to find out you owe them your sweet ass which a man of honor wouldn't consider let alone make you cosign your body for their horn dog appeasement.

Revelation 2:9

9 I know thy works, and tribulation, and poverty, (but thou art rich) and I know the blasphemy of them which say they are Jews, and are not, but are the synagogue of Satan.

You're abundantly rich in spirit Yacob. Now’s the time to claim your position. These bastards have taken everything from you leaving your ancestors nothing but dust. If they could remove us off the face of the Earth they would. They're plotting to do so as you and I breathe, that's why the Father never sleeps. They are demon spawns who say they worship, and believe in God, but whose god, and what righteous god tells you to destroy a people with his blessing knowing what the children of Japheth have done to them historically? The spawns of Satan want your penuche, mouth, titties, and a-hole for their pleasure along with your talent that Justin Timberlake does not have. The new faces of R&B do not look like the people I grew up listening to or the race of people whose songs left an everlasting impression on my bleeding heart that helped me through my ill-fated, miserable existence. Robin Thicke, Christina Aguilera, K-Pop, the BackStreet Boys, and New Kids on the Block. Some of these groups are defunct, but they’re cranking out as many as they possibly can like Justin Bieber, and Demi Lovato. I just saw on YouTube where people were considering if Elvis Presley was Black, WTF?!! He was the biggest culture thief that Dr. Frankenstein, AKA Colonel Parker ever created. Man is cruel; Satan is a whole other type of bastard you shouldn’t entertain. I'm retarded. Some call me an idiot savant. YO MOMMA!!! People are blessed by the Father who has blessed many of us with gifts. There are many of you whom God has endowed with multiple talents that people would sell their soul in order to possess just one. If you're anointed by God to sing like Aretha Franklin may He lead you to sign with a label like Brother Carl Crawford's who won't make the same mistake he did with a very popular artist at this moment. More than likely you'll sign a contract entrusting your talent, blessing, and soul to the most unclean ones. Ain’t a reason in hell you should bow down or bend over for a leach like Mr. Friedman so he can butt bone your a-hole while enriching himself off your God given talents. God blesses those who seek him out, and those that don’t. I don’t know if Eddie Murphy went to Church, and sowed an offering every Sunday to God praying that the Father would make him the highest paid comedic actor in his prime. Richard Pryor was anointed in the womb to be the most blessed comedic talent, and influential comedian to ever walk this Earth bar none yet he and Mr. Murphy pursued their dreams in different ways with both of them becoming world renown. I'm inclined to ask, was it worth it?

Mark 8:36

For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?

The synagogue of Satan isn’t a trending pop culture manifestation that’s to be esteemed, cherished, or envied. These cults are trying to maintain a stranglehold on a world that’s not meant for them or their sort. People who play with Ouija boards or childhood games like Bloody Mary, and light as a feather are ushering dark spirits into their homes leaving their loved ones exposed to something sinister. Get the hell away from me and mine unless you're my sister, AKA Ms. Skunk Funk, who needs to get the crust burnt off her musty, dusty drawers. The whore of Don Juan has a death wish. Explain to me how running with the devil beats walking with God?

Isaiah 59:7

7 Their feet run to evil, and they make haste to shed innocent blood: their thoughts are thoughts of iniquity; wasting and destruction are in their paths.

This Nation was built on our ancestor’s blood, sweat, and relentless faith. Believe me when I say there's strength in every tear. I pray to God that I don’t shed anymore of them. Their wealth is not. It's a stolen Promise that the Father shall reward His children with. Bring ye all the tithes into the storehouse, that there may be meat in mine house, and prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it. The most glaring, and frustrating example that is also bitter and disheartening I can give you is our Promised Inheritance called Yisrael that the gentiles are squatting on. When a person or in this case a tribe or race of people believe in their own lies they've become reprobate; they're lost.

Revelation 3:9

9 Behold, I will make them of the synagogue of Satan, which say they are Jews, and are not, but do lie; behold, I will make them to come and worship before thy feet, and to know that I have loved thee.

This is what all of Esau's children fear. It's why the bland, colored people of the world are flipping over the Earth's axis, and killing us without any probable cause. They are a lawless people who've displayed their lack of empathy, and humanity for anyone save their own breed, they behave like blood hounds. I've become content with this planet being void of water (Holy Spirit.) Black people suffer from a social disorder called the crab bucket mentality. We hate to see anyone rise up, and we’ll do whatever it takes to keep them down or discourage them. That person may possess something that can benefit the collective, who cares. He who possesses that blessing needs to haul tail ASAP before the winter comes knowing the Father will bless him, and a downtrodden people beyond their wildest dreams. This is why Yeshua, and His Father call us children. It's why I pray, and bemoan to the Father daily that He slays me, putting the fear of the Lord in the heathen and His Son Christ Jesus uses us for His purpose. God doesn't need us, we need Him. He's given us so much power, and authority. When you acquire it, use it for something other than satisfying your sinful, carnal, flesh minded desires. Men, don't behave like horn dogs, and women do not behave as Aholah, and Aholibah, 2 whores.

Numbers 32:24

24 Build you cities for your little ones, and folds for your sheep; and do that which hath proceeded out of your mouth.

Out of thine own mouth you have power to tread over snakes and scorpions. You can exorcise demons and devils out of your present life braking generational curses which is what I' want for a family that's disowned me. To God be the glory. God is telling us to declare a thing, and claim it. What a mighty, just God we serve. Your tongue will become a weapon to use against the lawless ones who use theirs recklessly in their attempts to get us arrested or murdered by local, and federal authorities. You can call it giving them a taste of their own medicine, it isn't. You're reclaiming what they've taken, stolen, including those of us they've murdered.

Isaiah 54:17

17 No weapon that is formed against thee shall prosper; and every tongue that shall rise against thee in judgment thou shalt condemn. This is the heritage of the servants of the Lord, and their righteousness is of me, saith the Lord.

The thief cometh not, but for to steal, and to kill, and to destroy: I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly. Speak positive prayers out loud if you can. If you live with your family or have a roommate pray in the closet. You'll have favor with God that many people won't. They rebuked the Lord, and their anger did tear perpetually, and they kept their wrath forever. When they use their privilege, which is what we call it more often than they, comprehending they’re fully aware knowing they use it with a Demonic, driven hatred. They persecute Black men, women, and children for reasons that are not godly, and the Father does not condone. They, and all the Earth will have to answer for our individual sins against the Father in the end.

Luke 10:19

19 Behold, I give unto you power to tread on serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy: and nothing shall by any means hurt you.

We don’t worship the same god as they do. They're praying to a god to erase us off the face of the Earth. Why hasn't he?.

Exodus 1:12

12 But the more they afflicted them, the more they multiplied and grew. And they were grieved because of the children of Israel.

Their birth rate is dropping steadily. For the first time in the history of the census they decreased in population globally while indigenous, and other races of people stayed steady or in our case increased. This is the reasoning behind these draconian abortion laws. They're trying to preserve themselves while God is eliminating the Earth of their bloody dominion. God is sending the wicked a message before the storm comes, but no one's listening. Their violence towards us is documented, and more often it's unprovoked. They continue with the guilty until proven worthy of their mercy dogmatic mantra which is racist BS. The Earth will be lulled back to sleep. When they're confident that their world isn't in danger of being challenged by anyone, especially us. That's when God will do things that will scare them right back to the caucasus mountains bringing destruction to those who've touched, bruised, and abused the Apple of His eye. Speak life into your angel spirit, don’t entertain the demon seed that's trying to kill you, and the rest of Earth's indigenous people. You have much authority, use it. Elohim. 9/23/2021

[jaskiersvalley]

This blog is fairly new and you’re one of the first I’ve found that I hadn’t already with an old blog. I love your work. It’s very well written. 💜

Thank you! When you sent this ask, it was a fairly new blog (to be fair, I still think of it as such, it’s not even 6 months old). As a little thank you for being so encouraging so early in the life of this blog, please accept this random little story: Geralt the accidental gardener.

The Path was lonely without Jaskier. Geralt had grown to hate the silence, the way people turned away from him without the buffer of Jaskier between him and humanity. But Jaskier was off on better adventured now, Geralt had to hurt him so he’d realise at long last that there was a better life for him out there than one beside a witcher. It had hurt, Jaskier’s expression had burned into Geralt’s mind, the crushing disappointment and realisation that Geralt wasn’t going to come crawling back. But oh how Geralt had wanted to run after Jaskier, beg his forgiveness. Alas, this was the very act of being cruel to be kind. Maybe one day Jaskier would realised.

Contracts were few and far between but the lands Geralt had roamed of late hadn’t been too hostile towards an infamous witcher. There was even a contract advertised in a lesser court not too far. Geralt made his way to Lettenhove and was ushered into a hall where the Viscount and Viscountess greeted him.

“I’m here about the job,” Geralt announced, not beating around the bush. Nobody ever wanted a witcher in their courts, no matter how small their power was. As expected, he was given a hesitant once over.

“Do you have experience?” It was the Viscountess who spoke up, looking only slightly unnerved.

“Yes.” There was no point for Geralt to prove his worth, they either wanted him to deal with their issue or they would suffer until another witcher graced their courts with his presence.

“Then it is settled. Room and food are part of your contract. Reydan will show you to your quarters and tomorrow he will give you a tour. Your horse will be welcome in the stables of course.”

That was a much warmer and pleasant contract negotiation than Geralt had ever had. Even when he heard the Viscount mutter “you sure about this?” and the Viscountess’ “we owe him this much” which made Geralt frown in confusion. Maybe the Viscountess was one of those who hoped to bed a witcher for the novelty of it. That was Jaskier’s forte though, not Geralt’s, he tried not to tangle with anyone in a relationship.

The room Geralt was shown to was in the servants’ quarters and actually nicer than anything he’d ever had. Even Kaer Morhen paled in comparison. His window overlooked the garden to start with. And the bedding wasn’t torn or moth eaten. In fact, it looked barely used at all. The Viscountess was almost definitely a monster fucker. Geralt would do the job and get out as quickly as possible before things got awkward.

Settled into the room for the night, Geralt was surprised when Reydan knocked for him, inviting him to the servants’ dinner for the evening. It was strangely nice, being surrounded by humans who, while a little wary, were doing their best to be welcoming and friendly. They treated him like one of their own. For the first time in a very long time, Geralt felt at ease amongst humans.

Morning came sooner than expected and Geralt groaned, pulling his armour on, strapping his swords to his back, ready for Reydan to take him to where the beast was. He didn’t expect to be given a baffled look by Reydan but be led into the garden without comment. Various plants were pointed out, rose bushes, a vegetable garden, arches of wisteria and so many others that Geralt had never even heard of. It was all very nice but he couldn’t figure out what this had to do with monster killing. Maybe those were the plants the monster liked? Or the ones he was to avoid while battling the creature that haunted the gardens? The answer came as they walked through the front gardens and stopped to admire an apple tree. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw a sign being removed from the front of the property.

Gardener wanted

Oh fuck. Somehow the Viscount and Viscountess had assumed he was there for the gardener position and not the creature killing one. They took one look at him and, despite his inhuman looks, swords and general demeanour, they decided he couldn’t possibly be a witcher but rather an unusual gardener.

“That is about all that you’ll be responsible for.” Reydan finished up and looked over Geralt. “Do you have anything more suitable to work in? Leather tends to get too warm. And we have pruning shears which are more efficient than swords.” Laughing awkwardly, Reydan gave Geralt a small smile. “And I don’t think I ever caught your name, I’m so sorry.”

This was a crossroad in Geralt’s Path. He could either declare this had been some great mistake and he was here for the monster. It would be awkward, he’d be sneered at, ostracised and thrown out for taking their resources, even if by mistake. He’d still kill the monster but probably to take his frustrations out rather than for coin. Or, he could lay his swords down for a while. The world was tiring and disappointing. One evening in the company of people who treated him as an equal had been invigorating and, selfishly, Geralt wanted more.

“I’m Eric,” he said, quietly sending a “fuck you” to Vesemir who had denied him the name.

Gardening, Geralt realised was more difficult than he had ever thought if would be. Knowing what to cut when and how, which trees needed what compost or how much water was beyond him. Geralt tried his best though, tried to watch what everyone else was doing. Thankfully, Reydan had been kind enough to find him some dungarees and a floppy, wide brimmed hat to work in. He had been absolutely right, such work in his leathers would have been worse than uncomfortable.

Miraculously, none of the plants in his care died. Sometimes it looked like a close call, Geralt fretting that he’d cut something at the wrong time or the wrong way but, somehow, the plants survived his inexperience. Even better, the other servants and staff seemed to genuinely warm to him. The few times he encountered the Viscount or Viscountess, they nodded and smiled at him, only once enquiring how he was settling in. As well as food and room, Geralt was granted a weekly wage which might have been meagre but it was more and steadier than he had ever had before. While he was loath to spend it, he found that it built up into a tidy little stash at a surprising speed. Soon, Geralt was going to be the richest witcher in existence.

To keep his skills sharp and also repay the kindness of those around him, Geralt secretly sneaked out at nights and on his days off to slay local monsters. It was both to keep his newfound job safe and also to feel that he hadn’t quite given up on being a witcher. Merely, he was taking an unofficial hiatus.

Months down the line, Geralt was cutting roses for the dinner hall bouquet when a murmur went up around him. He couldn’t see the cause of it but the words were easy enough to hear.

“He’s back!”

“The little master is home!”

“He’ll be so happy we followed his request.”

While Geralt didn’t get a glimpse of the ‘Little Master’, everyone seemed to be cheered by his appearance. In fact, the whole court was in a bubbling upheaval. A feast was ordered and all servants were invited to take part in the meal in the main hall to celebrate. Curious, Geralt let himself be playfully bullied into attending too. He didn’t quite blend in with the rest of the servants but the crowd was almost large enough to swallow him. It was nowhere near enough though when he walked in and sat at the high table with the Viscount and Viscountess was none other than Jaskier who was staring right back at him.

Noting their staring, the Viscountess scowled at Jaskier then rose, dragging what was so evidently her son behind her.

“Julian,” she said, stopping in front of Geralt. “While you’ve been away, we’ve hired a new gardener. This is...Eric.”

“Eric?” Jaskier looked incredulous.

“Yes. He has been with us for a few months. Eric, this is my son, Julian. He’s often away, travelling the continent as a bard.”

Sudden bright, clear laughter broke out from Jaskier, head tipped back, eyes creased and mouth wide open.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he gasped. “Can we stop this charade. Geralt, what the fuck? Mother, this is the bastard who broke my heart.” Without any warning, he swept Geralt into a hug. “You fell off the face of the continent without anyone knowing what had happened. Eskel and Lambert mourned for you, you bastard.”

At least the Viscountess looked relieved rather than anything else. “You asked us, Julian, that if any witcher ever came, especially one with white hair, we would make sure to give them respite. So we did.” Sniffing daintily, she looked at Geralt. “No offence Eric, Geralt, whatever, but you make a shit gardener. Poor Reydan had to sneak around after you to try and keep the plants you butchered alive.”

Jaskier laughed even more at that and a few of the braver servants crowded closer, listening. Geralt looked at them all, the ones he had been able to call his friends for the last few months. They all knew he was a witcher and yet welcomed him with open arms just because Jaskier had asked his parents to help. All in all, Geralt felt rather foolish.

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience. I’ll leave immediately.”

A hand shot out to grab his arm. “Or you could stay.” Jaskier said.

“Just please, spare the plants.” That was Reydan interrupting, giving Geralt a friendly slap on the back. More of the servants echoed Jaskier’s suggestions that he could stay, at least until Jaskier went back on the road.

There was a bit of an uproar when Geralt didn’t move to the high table to catch up with Jaskier. Instead, Jaskier had moved down to his table and joined the servants. Oddly, Jaskier’s parents only looked on fondly.

As the meal wound down, gossip was exchanged, Geralt laughed at in a friendly way for all his bumblings as an incompetent gardener, it was time to retire for the night.

“Come to my rooms for a nightcap?” Jaskier asked, a hand on Geralt’s arm. “I feel we have a lot to discuss and catch up on.”

Hesitant at first, Geralt accepted the invitation and followed Jaskier to his rooms. If Geralt had thought his room was fancy, Jaskier’s were downright lavish.

“Got something to say to me?” Jaskier asked, a smile teasing at his lips.

“You engineered all of this?” It wasn’t at all what Geralt wanted to say but it was what came out to start with.

“Oh come now, if a witcher comes looking for a job in these lands, it means he’s desperate. My parents know how to keep beasties to a minimum here. I’m thinking we should have Lambert come this way next, he’d excel as a cook for a few months.”

A very good idea, Geralt could imagine Lambert taking to life in the kitchen, experimenting with the spices on offer. It would do him good to have a break too. And Eskel, though he probably would be better in the stables. And Vesemir too, if he could be enticed there, he would excel as an adviser to the household. But that was all beside the point, Geralt had something much more important to say.

“Thank you. And I’m sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing for you.” Geralt hadn’t thought Jaskier would still travel as a bard, had assumed he’d settle in a court. Instead, he’d sought out other wolves and kept them company.

“Never do that again.” Jaskier’s face hardened. “If you have a concern, speak. Don’t make my decisions for me.”

Nodding, Geralt looked a little chastised. It had been so much easier to express emotions recently, around friends.

“Now. I do believe before you so rudely chose our paths for us, we were building towards something quite beautiful.” Jaskier handed Geralt a glass of something rich and smooth. The clinked glasses. A week later, they were leaving Lettenhove together, once more a witcher and a bard rather than a gardener and a viscount.

[lycanthrop-ee]

Sires and Sons (ON HIATUS)

Chapter 1 of ?

Next chapter

A/N: YALL. I’ve been trying to figure out if I should finish this before posting the first chapter, but I’m honestly so pumped- this is my first even multi-chapter fanfic! Like,,, EVER. So anyway, it’s my birthday today and I do what I want, so without further ado- HERE WE GO. 

Synopsis: When the twins split two years ago, Janus was tasked with raising Remus. His only help was the evasive and sullen Virgil- who he already had to wrangle like a stray teenager. The endless days in the Dark Side’s Mindpalace were broken only by monthly catch-ups with Patton, and the only thing that ever changed the stories that Janus used to get Remus to bed. This time, though, something was different: secrets were slipping through Janus’ lips- and past the divide between Dark and Light. 

Ships: Moceit (probably just bg but I don’t actually know can you tell I’m a professional-)

Word count: 1312

Janus still remembered the day Patton came to the door, two little boys walking along behind him on the twisting path from the Dark Mindscape to the Light. He’d explained the situation and nudged a clumsy four-year-old towards him, clad in green, and that was the end of it- there was nothing to argue. As he’d taken the child by the shoulder and gently ushered him through the black door to where he’d be raised, the tiny child never once turned his head to watch where he was going. He simply kept his eyes set on his twin over his shoulder, standing confused at Patton’s feet, until the door had closed between them.

That was the last Remus had seen of Roman, but Patton had made a habit of knocking on the door every few months. Janus would put the kid under Virgil’s watch (never a good idea, but what else could he do) under the pretense of a ‘Work Meeting’. They’d follow a winding trail through the Imagination and just talk. About the twins, sure, but Janus also picked up a lot about Patton’s life. He’d grown to enjoy their meetings, and found the tales of the other sides flowing through his mind long after each encounter. 

One late night when Remus was hopped up on sugar and newly learned swear words that could be attributed completely to Virgil, Jan was pulling his hair out trying to get the tiny side to sleep. He suddenly sat up, earning a new sigh from his caretaker.

“Tell me a story!” 

Janus smiled softly, reminded of the kid’s secret brother- adventurous, brave Prince Roman, as the Light Sides had taken to calling him. In any case, a quick tale had never failed him in the past- and the stories of the others still bounced around his skull. So Janus sat Remus on his bed, settling across from him.

“Once upon a time,” he started, smiling as Remus stuck out his tongue. 

“Boring!”

“Just let me start, Remus. Once upon a time, there was a royal advisor. He knew all there was to know in the whole land of…” Janus wracked his brain before sighing and turning to Remus. “Looking for a name?” 

The six year old smiled. “Assvile.”

“Remus. We aren’t calling it-”

“Shit City. Bitchtown. Fuckopolis.”

“Remus!” Janus scolded, hiding a smile.

“The Light Side.” Remus’ face had grown serious, and he looked soberly at Janus.

“Remus-” He started the sentence as an automatic sigh.. And then he heard what the young side had said. His eyes widened, and he scanned Remus’ face- had Virgil told him more than he should have? But the mushy-cheeked child’s face was earnest and interested. “The Light Side?”

Remus nodded quietly, and Janus felt a pang under his ribs. His eyebrows furrowed.

“The Light Side. The poet knew everything to be known in the entirety of The Light Side, and was hailed across the city for his sharp tongue and serious eyes. He was known for his sobriety, sure, but those closest to him- the… the king he advised and the princes under his feet, and the royal pâtissier-” Janus smiled- “They all knew him to be kind. They saw it in his fleeting and smothered smiles, or even the rare grin to be won.” Remus settled into the story, and Janus tucked him under his blanket. The younger side did have one question, one that lead further into the tale:

“What’s a patisser?”

“Pâtissier- he’s a baker. The royal baker, and there’s more about him next.”

“The royal pâtissier was one of the advisor’s closest friends. He was the nicest man in the land, a friend to anyone willing to extend him a kind hand. His baking was… questionable, really, but they needed some front to keep him around- he brought the mood of the whole castle up in the darkest of times, and he was the caretaker of the youngest princes. His cookies were exceptional, as well, leading to his official role.”

Janus searched for signs of sleep on Remus’ face, but his eyes peered up the blankets, pleading for more to the story. Janus continued begrudgingly- he agreed that keeping the twins a secret from each other was the easiest way to keep all the sides in their proper places, but there had always been something in him that had yearned to introduce the two, to see how their personalities clashed and complimented, to watch them interact with someone their own age. And so he pressed on.

“The two youngest princes were twins. One’s name was Romulous, a courageous young boy with a knack for sparring. He was imaginative and robust, and loved stories with happy endings. He dreamed of beautiful roses and handsome adventurers, of slaying beasts and saving kingdoms…” 

And, to Janus’ surprise and relief, Remus was drifting off. 

“Promise…” He yawned. “Promise to tell me more later?”

Janus wanted to tease Remus for liking the story he’d started off mocking, but he didn’t want to get the six-year-old riled up again.

“Sure, Remus. Goodnight.” Janus shook his head gently to clear it, running his hands over his eyes as he stood. He made his way softly to the door, emerging into the kitchen, where Virgil was sitting on the counter with a butter knife, a jar of peanut butter, and a box of graham crackers. It seemed he’d meant to eat the crackers with peanut butter spread on them, but had deteriorated to eating straight peanut butter with a knife. Janus sighed.

“Virgil, could you use a spoon for that? You’re giving me anxiety.” 

“I’m giving you anxiety?” Virgil snorted as he hopped off the counter. Even as he mocked Janus, he was screwing the top back on the jar and putting the knife in the sink with a clatter. “Is the kid asleep?” 

Jan nodded, taking the graham crackers from Virgil and reopening them before he got the chance to put them away. He looked around the room lit dimly by the light over the oven. “Its only 10, Virgil. You can turn on a light.” 

The anxious side shrugged; 

“I could.”

Janus sighed and flipped the light on himself. Virgil looked as though he was only contemplating actually washing his knife before he spoke. “So…how was it?”

“It?”

“Patton. Your-” he motioned quotation marks around the phrase- “Work Meeting?”

“Oh.” He thought of the day spent wandering the sunny forest, Patton towing an adorable but somewhat impractical picnic basket, full of luke-warm sandwiches and a conspicuously commercial bottle of apple juice. “It was… nice.” Janus picked his words carefully, although he wasn’t sure what he was trying to hide. Virgil smirked.

“Did you have a lovely little sunlit picnic?” 

Janus snorted. “Would it surprise you in any way if I said yes?” He took out a stack of crackers before closing the box and returning them to their cabinet.

“Not in the slightest,” Virgil sighed. “How’s the kid? The.. Other. Kid.” He hesitated for the first time that night, his voice lowered.

“Same as ever. They’ve been taking him further into the Imagination, so, as usual, we have to be careful about when we bring Remus out.” Janus yawned, ending the conversation with a “Night, Virgil,” and pulling out a few crackers before shoving the sleeve back into the cabinet hap-hazardly.

By way of a goodbye, Virgil waved halfheartedly. Janus walked the short hallway to his room and sat on his black-sheeted bed. He rubbed his eyes, head in his hands, and let out a deep breath, putting the snack aside. His reading glasses stared at him from his night stand, and he finally slid them on before shuffling into his tiny bathroom.

The glasses made him look old.

And not particularly villainous.

He went to the bathroom, washed his hands in cool water, and quickly washed his scaly ace. The Dark Side’s Mindpalace had no windows. It was a questionable design, if on-brand. It increased the risk of mold growth. It made the feeling of being trapped so much more potent. It also meant that each time Janus closed his eyes he couldn’t help picturing the gorgeous green trails and the white sunbeams of the forests… as if anything could erase that from his mind’s eye. It made Virgil, Remus, and him all pale as shit, while the tan glow of the others’ showed in their equally bright faces. Janus wasn’t even sure if it was a metaphysical glow- it honestly could have just been the effect of extra Vitamin D. All things considered, Janus’ room was about as gloomy as the rest of the Mindpalace. Not as many frills as Virgil’s or the Others’. He did have a pet snake, but that was more by design than a choice of his- nevertheless, he’d named it Missy, and dutifully fed it every two weeks. 

Today was not a feeding day. Today had been a Patton day, and in the Mindscape there was only ever one Thing per day.

If that. 

Things had gotten boring very quickly before Remus came around.

Janus brushed his teeth, no longer hungry, made a couple notes on the pad next to his bed, and fell asleep to brightly-colored thoughts of the Others as long-ago royalty.

[infinite-xerath]

Runeterra Retcons 8: Kog’Maw

I’ll be honest: when people consider Champions that could use a lore rewrite or update, Kog’Maw is probably far from the top of the list. Frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised if this was Riot’s thought process as well. Kog’Maw is another case similar to Twitch where his current story isn’t bad per se, but more-so that there isn’t really much there. His bio on universe consists of only two paragraphs, which obviously leaves him feeling a bit neglected compared to other Champions post-reboot…

Except it kind of doesn’t? While significantly shorter than most Champions’ bios, Kog’Maw’s actually more-or-less does what it needs to. See, Kog’Maw is a Voidborn, a monster born from the eldritch realm of all-consuming cosmic horrors who want nothing more than to see Runeterra and all of reality assimilated and wiped out. While champions from the Void have been shown to have capacity for intelligence, they’re all really just monsters at the end of the day with their only driving force being to consume and grow. They enter Runeterra for that express purpose and that will continue to be their only driving motivation until they either die or until the world ends.

Now, every Voidborn is slightly unique in the ways they go about consuming things. Cho’Gath eats stuff just to grow larger, whereas Kha’Zix eats to evolve, adapting the most useful traits and abilities of his prey. Vel’Koz absorbs the knowledge and information from what he disintegrates, while Rek’Sai eats primarily so that she can continue to multiple and spread her brood across Shurima. It is interesting how Riot made a bunch of monsters whose primary goal is literally just eating and gives each of them a unique twist on the act, and though Kog’Maw is little underwhelming in that department. To get what I mean, let’s take a look at his bio.

So Kog’Maw, similar to Vel’Koz, eats primarily to learn and satisfy his endless curiosity about the world. Kog’Maw is a little unique among the Voidborn in that he’s not malicious or apathetic, but rather possesses an almost childlike innocence that drives him to simply learn all he can. Unlike the others, it’s not clear if Kog’Maw really even understands the Void’s mission or purpose to destroy everything, making him arguably the most sympathetic Voidborn by far.

As things stand, Kog’Maw’s current bio says all it really needs to about his character… Well, all but one thing. Since his inception, Kog’Maw has always been somewhat special among the Voidborn, having a direct link of sorts to Malzahar. The only real change from his original bio is removing any mention of the Fields of Justice or the League itself, but the fact remains that Kog’Maw has always been driven to find Malzahar for some unexplained reason. He wasn’t directly summoned by the prophet like his Voidlings are, but rather, it seems like the Watchers sent Kog’Maw to Runeterra to find the prophet...

But that’s all we know. Seriously, even Kog’Maw’s bio literally says that it’s “anyone’s guess” what will happen when the two finally meet, which, knowing how League storylines rarely get to see a conclusion of any kind, will probably be never. What makes Kog’Maw so special? Why does he need to meet up with Malzahar? How does this acid-spitting Void dog pose more of a threat than the likes of Cho’Gath or Baron Nashor?

Today, that’s what I wanted to explore. I suppose you could say that this episode is less of rewrite or retcon, and more an expansion. I want to give Kog’Maw a more significant role in the story, and while we’re at it, continue the trend of giving him a unique reason to consume things that makes him stand out from the others. So, without further ado, let’s build upon the Mouth of the Abyss and finally give an answer to these age-old questions.

For eons, the Void has gnawed at the barrier between itself and reality, aiming to break through it to usher in the end of all things. The unfathomable horrors that rule over the Void have sent countless of their malformed spawn through cracks in the barrier to further their ambitions, and on occasion have even contracted humans desperate enough to become their heralds. The most prevalent of these heralds are the traitorous ice witch Lissandra and the Shuriman seer Malzahar, but none would ever suspect that the true key to oblivion is a lone Voidling simply known as Kog’Maw.

When Malzahar swore himself to the Void in the remnants of Icathia, the broken seer proved oddly compatible with the otherworldly powers of the Watchers. Just as the Void had called to him, the seer unknowingly called out to something in the depths of the Void. As Malzahar left Icathia behind him, a writhing, twisted creature emerged from the cracks in the earth. A strange, caustic substance secreted from this larva as it slowly took shape. Eventually, the creature formed a mouth and eyes, and found itself intrigued and perplexed with the strange new world around it.

For months, the Voidling wandered the wastes of Shurima alone, driven by a deep-rooted desire to find the one that had summoned him to this world. The more he wandered, the more he began to develop a taste for the unusual, fascinating creatures of Runeterra. Even as he sampled everything he could, however, the Voidling continued to search for the one who called for him. It wasn’t long before he encountered other humans, but they were of little help, offering screams rather than any means of finding the one who summoned him. In response, the Voidling simply melted and devoured those who proved otherwise unhelpful. Those who survived such encounters named the beast Kog’Maw: Mouth of the Abyss.

Having no luck with the caravans, Kog’Maw turned his attention to one of the strange human cities to resume his search. As expected, the humans all screamed and ran, but some, to his surprise, lashed out. Sharp objects pierced Kog’Maw’s flesh, leading to him retaliating with globs of acid that burned through the armor of his attackers. Despite the potency of his bile, though, Kog’Maw was outnumbered, and soon found himself surrounded by soldiers who all drove their sharp sticks into the Voidling’s hide.

In that moment, a violent explosion of energy burst forth from Kog’Maw’s body, consuming the soldiers and their weapons and leaving nothing behind. After that, everything was darkness.

Kog’Maw awoke hours later, alone in the desert once again. Though confused and hungrier than ever, Kog’Maw resumed his search with renewed resolve to find the one called Malzahar. He believes that the Void seer is the only one who can satisfy his curiosity and help Kog’Maw to understand the nature of the mysterious power that dwells within him. The more he consumes, the more this power grows… And all-the-while, Malzahar waits for the destined time when Kog’Maw will arrive before him, ready to unleash that power and tear open the veil of reality once and for all.

So, ominous, right? I admit, it’s still a little vague, but I’d like to think that the implications are clear enough without me flat-out saying it. Basically, in my rendition of the lore, Kog’Maw is a bomb.

One of Kog’Maw’s most notable but also most out-of-place abilities in-game is Icathian Surprise. This passive ability basically makes it so that Kog’Maw explodes when he dies, allowing him to deal True Damage to members of the enemy team. This ability is never brought up or referenced at all in the lore, and it’s certainly a strange ability to have for a creature who’s all about melting things down with acid.

So, crazy thought: what if we actually gave Icathian Surprise lore relevance? What if Kog’Maw’s ability to self-destruct is actually his main ability? He melts things down to eat them, and the more he eats, the more the power inside him grows and swells. When he’s killed, Kog’Maw unleashes that power in a violent explosion powerful enough to obliterate everything around him… And if he eats enough, that power could even become so strong as to blow open reality itself.

Yes, Kog’Maw is more than just an acid-spitting Void dog. In my interpretation of the lore, Kog’Maw is a doomsday weapon. His purpose for eating is to build up power, and when he’s consumed enough, Malzahar will bring him to Icathia. where the Void already has a foothold. There, the prophet slays Kog’Maw so that the resulting blast will widen the gap enough for the Void to begin its assault on Shurima once again. This is the prophet’s grand plan, and for now, all he has to do is let Kog’Maw wander and feast…

The one silver lining is that if Kog’Maw dies prematurely, all the power he’s already built up is released and he has to start over from scratch. This, I think, is a much more interesting direction to take the character and gives him a much deeper significance in the Void plot overall. I also really like the idea that, despite seeming like the weakest Void Champion in the game, Kog’Maw is arguably the most dangerous because of his true purpose. I suppose I’m just a sucker for the trope of relatively harmless-looking characters possessing terrifying hidden powers deep down.

But, that’s my take on it. What do you guys think? Does Kog’Maw work as a secret doomsday weapon for the Void, or do you prefer to keep him vague and more comedic? Leave your thoughts below, and I’ll see you all next time.