#stranger of paradise spoilers

[rivscribbles]

home (art trade for @hoshizoralone 🫶)

[doodles-on-big-bridge]

Ever wonder why Astos suddenly broke the fourth wall in the ending credits? Well let's just say a certain friend coached him on that (and is prepared tissue for the possible tears the dark elf will have)

The implication of Gilgamesh helping out via dimension distortions mean he is with Jack's party and has interacted with a familiar moogle

[superthatguy62]

Jack & Garland 2.0: 2 Garland 2 Furious

A while ago, I made a post about how the Garland from Dissidia and Jack Garland should not be the same characer. Time has passed since then: Opera Omnia has shut down and I finally managed to play through Stranger of Paradise (2/3rds of the way through the DLC now).

While I intended to touch up the post to include fix some things and whatnot, a realization occurred to me: The original post was heavily slanted into explaining why making the Garlands both the same character would make specifically Dissidia Garland a weaker character. In hindsight that is unfair given that the decision also weakens Jack and the theme of his story. So this is an addendum that overall touches on two aspects: The theme of Garland and why Jack and Dissidia Garland being two different takes on Garland isn't as far-fetched as it looks.

As before, this essay assumes that you are aware of the overall plot elements of the Dissidia Final Fantasy series as well as Stranger of Paradise and all of its DLC. It will also touch upon Final Fantasy XIV, although the only major spoiler is maybe something in regards to the Return To Ivalice plotline.

The Man Who Walks The Wheel of Time (The themes of Jack Garland and Dissidia Garland)

One of the major themes that Garland has come to embody over the course of the series is the concept of fate, and by extension, free will. In the original Final Fantasy, this was implicit in the form of the time loop: Garland created a perfect loop in which he abducts Princess Sara, is killed by the Warriors of Light, is revived, is taken to the past, becomes Chaos, creates and sends the Fiends forward, loses his power and memories becomes a knight of Cornelia, rinse and repeat. The loop's existence implies that it is inevitable that the Warriors of Light will die by Garland's hand just as Garland will die by theirs. This is so until the end of the game, where the Warriors of Light somehow manage to defeat Chaos. This breaks the loop and causes it to cease to exist, to the point that it is implied that Garland never lost his sanity and the Warriors' tale only lives on in legend.

Dissidia Final Fantasy expanded on this with its take on Garland. Dissidia focuses on Garland's once noble form as a knight and the nature of the time loop to present us with an awkward mid-stage Garland: One regains his sanity long enough to realize that he himself is a victim of his own plan, yet is powerless to prevent the cycle from playing out. This facet of Garland's character is important to explaining why, after the pact is made and the parties involved realize that no progress is being made, Garland reacts the way he did. Not only is Chaos, whom he mentors and overall cares for, now trapped in a cycle of conflict, but Garland himself is now trapped within yet ''another'' cycle. The museum descriptions imply that Garland's fondness for battle is largely a coping mechanism due to his belief that he will always be destined to fight.

While NT doesn't explore this aspect of Garland's character much due to the nature of that game's plot, Opera Omnia takes an interesting approach. The game's main backstory is Materia and Spiritus were told by the great crystal to create a world of respite for their champions, whom they were pushing to their limits with constant battle. However, Garland was displeased and attacked the Warrior of Light, setting the events of the game into motion. In Opera Omnia, Garland is even more obsessed with battle than before. The reason for his battle lust is explained towards the end of the second act: The Warrior of Light finished the events of FF1, meaning that the Garland back home was restored to the noble knight he once was. But the Garland of the World of Respite is the one who came from the cycles; While everyone else could be sent back home to their own realms, he has no place to return to. Garland therefore decides to allow conflict to define him: It is to the point where he considers combat to be his form of respite. The Warrior of Light indulges him for the majority of Act 3 (leaving Onion Knight as the party leader), but hopes to show Garland another way.

This leads to an odd portrayal of Garland that isn't quite foe, but is far from a friend. He wishes to keep the world intact, partially to have somewhere to fight and partially out of respect towards Chaos. Garland occasionally shows traits of that knight he probably once was even if his obsession for war is rooted in his issues with his existence.

Jack also relates heavily to the themes of fate and free will, but goes in the opposite direction as Dissidia Garland. The main plot element of Stranger of Paradise is that Jack and his friends are strangers: People from other worlds who are sent to Cornelia to act as Warriors of Light. While they appear to be saving the land, their true purpose is to regulate the levels of light and darkness in the land: As they were sent by Lufenia who relies on that imbalance to ensure that the link between their pocket dimension and the rest of Cornelia remains closed. It's not as glamorous a job as one may think. The nature of Chaos means that when people's negative emotions like fear anger or sadness bond with darkness (or the energy from the crystals), they go insane or turn into monsters… which spread further darkness and negative emotions. On top of that, it is heavily implied that the "Strangers" that the side missions describe are past versions of Jack and his allies, who died in various gruesome ways or fell into despair. All because Lufenia was content to experiment and toy with the land and its people, a bitter irony considering the implication that it was once looked down upon by Cornelia but inexcusable nevertheless. Jack grew to hate the Lufenians. So much so that he engineered a plan. A plan to ensure that he would be pulled into the depths of despair. A plan that would allow him to harness the rage and hatred he felt towards his bosses. A plan to break Lufenia's hold over the realm and guide its people to create their own destiny. A plan to push him into becoming the one thing Lufenia could not control. Chaos. When Jack creates the time loop at the end of the game to summon the Warriors of Light, it is not a mistake made in a fit of anger. It is a calculated, meticulous, intentional plan to ensure that Cornelia will be free of Lufenia's grasp once and for all. Jack willingly re-entered the cycle, this time on his own terms. And while he and his allies do manipulate the Warriors of Light, they do so in a way that gives the Warriors more freedom in the matter: They don't pick four specific individuals to become the Warriors of Light. They set up circumstances that will one day result in the Warriors of Light appearing (a plan that backfired in at least one timeline, but shush). The only qualifier is that the theoretical Warriors of Light be Cornelian and even that is thrown into question based on one of the monster conversations. The end credits theme is "My Way" for crystals' sake. This leads to some interesting implications when factoring in Different Future's endings. The default ending has Jack stay true to himself and his friends' goals. Their end justifies their fate and the Moogle's schemes fail because Jack and his allies choose to forge their own future. By contrast, the Different Future sees Jack inadvertently become the God of Discord and is told that he now must site opposite the Warrior of Light, who will become the God of Harmony. The two gods will become the pillars of a new world. While Jack doesn't show much reaction and seemingly goes along with it, one can't help but wonder if Jack Garland, the man who despises gods for essentially doing as they wish, is less than thrilled by this development.

Jack Garland and Dissidia!Garland are two sides to the same coin, that coin being the concept of fate and one's control over it. Dissidia!Garland feels that he has no control over his fate, that he will always embody conflict on some level. Even in a world where he no longer has to fight, the nature of his existence drives him to fight as a means of asserting it. Jack, after many hardships that he, his friends and the people of Cornelia go through, reaches that light at the end of the proverbial tunnel, even if Jack and his friends don't live to see it. He does it his way.

Which raises a new question: What does making Garland and Jack Garland the same character ''do'' for either of them? In the case of Dissidia Garland, it weakens that aspect of self-induced tragedy. Garland has moments that remind you that he was once an upstanding knight of Cornelia, particularly in his loyalty to Chaos - He's just browbeaten by his own actions and his constant habit of entering unending cycles of battle. It makes for an interesting contrast to some of Chaos' other warriors, especially his Famicom contemporaries: The Emperor (who is pure evil) and the Cloud of Darkness (who is a cosmic phenomenon, or the herald of it at least, that merely does its job). But his dread over making the 'mistake' mentioned in the report from his point of view, that tragedy that, were it not for his loss of hope, he could be redeemed as WoL promised to do (and as the end of FF1 implies)… all of that is weakened if it turns out that the "mistake" was not a mistake at all and that Garland had very justifiable reasons for doing what he did. As for Jack? Jack's story, despite everything, is not the traditional shakespearian tragedy. Jack's story is one of hope. A flicker of hope in the midst of the largest, darkest dungeon to ever exist, but hope nonetheless. It takes dozens of resets, but Jack forces Lufenia away. It takes unorthodox methods such as the Dragonking's boons, but the Warriors of Light eventually manage to kill Garland. And while there is a future where Jack becomes the god of Discord, there is also a future where Jack and his friends accomplish their plan. Jack being Dissidia!Garland essentially takes that concept of hope and throws it in the dustbin. Jack no longer has any form of hope. He devolves into a shell of a man, a pawn of his own plan that was 'meant' to inspire hope who later becomes a battle-hungry maniac as a coping mechanism (as opposed to a battle-hungry maniac who keeps said hunger under control and shows much more restraint) and 'willingly' serves under a god (out of pity, but still, shows how far he falls). Factor in Opera Omnia and Jack becomes a parody of himself; A man who was willing to sacrifice himself to bring peace to the land is now constantly fighting and threatening the land to assert his own existence.

While tragic in its own right, it doesn't gel well with either Garland's theme regarding fate.

And then, there's the factor of Dissidia!Garland and Jack being seen as different people in-universe. The Moogle born of Cosmos' will tells Jack that there was a man named Garland on the World of Conflict, but it knows for a fact that that man was not Jack. The Emperor also states in his missives that, while similar, Jack is a different Garland from the Garland he knows. Meanwhile, in Opera Omnia, Neon sees Dissidia!Garland, mistakes him for Jack, and then says "No wait, you aren't him." The closest to an exception is Gilgamesh, who is the one to suggest that the Garland from Dissidia may be a future version of Jack... but some of his dialogue makes it clear that even he is unsure of the truth. Some argue that we aren't meant to take these at face value or play with technicalities (the Moogle is correct in saying Dissidia!Garland isn't Jack because he's from a different future/timeline branch/whatever). On top of some of general issues with those arguments, let's point out a few specific ones:

The Moogle came from the future that that alternate Garland hails from, which is the same future it's trying to push Jack towards. From its perspective, That IS Garland.

When the Moogle makes its pitch to Jack to take the crystals, it does not even so much as allude to this other Garland. In fact, that line is the only time it mentions that other Garland. Why even mention him or call him a different Garland to begin with?

On a related note, Sophia gives the Moogle an out by implying that they would run into the Emperor in the future. There is no reason to claim that the Garland from the world of conflict is a different man.

But more importantly than all of those

If Jack fundamentally changes so much that Neon thinks that she was confusing him for someone else, what is the point of making the resulting Garland Jack?

Interdimensional Echoes (Final Fantasy and the multiverse)

In interviews, the writers for Stranger of Paradise's story, Nomura and Nojima, note that the game isn't intended to directly be a prequel to FF1, but rather an 'alternate universe' that 'uses FF1 as a motif'. Were they just being technical, given the game's nature when involving time loops? Maybe. But maybe not. There are some differences after all: Astos goes from a generic dark elf who pretends to be a king and wants a crown to a handsome, darkly humorous and loyal manipulator. Cornelia and Pravoka are the only two towns to get any focus in the game. Bikke is an actual fighter rather than a coward who hands over his ship once his pirate band are defeated. And even if all of those were handwaved away, there is still the matter of Lufenia: While the assumption is that Sophia forced them out of the Flying Fortress as Tiamat did in the original, the situation is far more complicated: The Fortress is seemingly abandoned in Stranger, with the Lufenians instead residing at "Central", their pocket dimension which is sent spiraling into ruin by Nil and had their connection to Jack's dimension severed. While it's not impossible for the Lufenians that were abandoned after Central cut the link to retake the fortress, get thrown back out and build a village on the surface… I dunno, feels a bit complicated. But let's say that none of that bothers you. No stylistic differences in the depictions of everything in SoP. Let's assume that Jack reset the world to be exactly like FF1 (WoL seeming to have a Dragoon as a companon aside). Surely 'now' Jack HAS to be Dissidia's Garland, right? While the Multiverse is a trope that people have been getting sick of, Final Fantasy has utilizied it since at least FFVIII or FFT. Obviously, these were just for the sake of Gilgamesh or Cloud being where they shouldn't but the former's constant appearances gave the concept more weight, especially since it riffed off how the Warp spell was consistently portrayed (warping the target to another dimension/the rift). Another multiverse trope people get sick of is the concept of a replacable character/world: If a character dies, just replace them with a new one, or alternatively use that new one to tie up loose ends. While FF doesn't really indulge in that form of multiverse usually, the concept of characters existing in other continuities tends to hold more weight to it. The obvious answer is FFXIV. Due to its MMO nature, it shout-outs numerous other FF games through raid series or bosses or areas or what have you that are modeled after a particular FF game. There's cases like Xande, reminagined as an Emperor or the Baldesions, with Krile being a lalafell or Golbez, who had some significant changes to his background, but is still the man in the cool armor. Return to Ivalice is the most blatant example as it features the characters and general events of Final Fantasy Tactics, but makes hefty changes to the point it's not a pure adaptation - the biggest of which being the explicit demise of Ramza's party despite Matsuno's comments and certain appearances of Ramza and Agrias suggesting otherwise for the original game.

And, of course, it's time to talk about Final Fantasy III.

The Obligatory FF3 section

This was going to be a whole thing on the remake and the OG/Dissidia's continuity (the short of it is Refia -> WoFF -> Enna Kros -> Opera Omnia, give or take some stuff like FFRK that prioritizes the remake), but it suddenly hit me what this entire situation reminded me of.

It's Onion Knight-Luneth all over again.

Luneth and Onion Knight are both the main protagonists of Final Fantasy III. So they're both the same character, right?

From a personality perspective, Luneth is more brash, more laidback, and while I can't articulate it well, his attempts at bravado feel different from Onion Knight's. Appearancewise, you'd think would be a flat 'no'. Given Luneth looks like this:

And Onion Knight like this:

Which are starkly different, even with the differences that FF tends to have between artwork and in-game appearances. But still people confuse them, mostly because of this:

Which does have Luneth's face... but not his distinctive purple color scheme that he uses while using the Onion Knight job. Instead, it's what you'd get if you put Luneth's facial features on this:

Which has apparently caused some people to mistake the above for a Luneth costume.

Additionally, in some fanfics and whatnot, the author may give Luneth's name to Onion Knight. But that misses the point behind Onion Knight: Onion Knight is based on the original blank slate famicom protagonists. He is unnamed for the same reason that the Warrior of Light's name is never revealed: because, metawise, he never had one. Incidentally, I feel like the whole connection between the Warrior of Light and Onion Knight in OO didn't work as cleanly as the devs probably intended for a number of reasons, but that's a discussion for another day

(Though given this is in reference to Garland and they had the same mothers, it technically makes sense, but come on, we all know the real reason people give Onion Knight Luneth's name. Also, no useful distinguishable aspect like Jack Garland)

Much like the Garlands, Onion Knight and Luneth are technically the same character as both are based on the original Famicom Onion Knight. However, in terms of their actual characters, right down to their identities, they are wildly different. By the same token, Dissidia's Garland and Jack Garland are both takes on the Garland from Final Fantasy 1. However, they both differ heavily in certain ways, that would feel forced to try and make them the same guy.

Conclusion: The Cycle Continues

With Opera Omnia ending service and NT having done so long ago, we probably won't get an answer to DIFFERENT FUTURE's cliffhanger until the next Dissidia-related project chooses to answer that question, whether it be a full-on Dissidia game or

Whether or not Stranger of Paradise or Dissidia is canon, is largely irrelevant to FF1 itself. Square Enix has rarely ever allowed subseries or sequels to impact the original games (FFIV being a rare exception, and even then, largely the script and largely confined to the PSP version, which had the sequel bundled in). This is especially true with the Pixel Remasters, which removed even content that was in prior re-releases. Dissidia has never impacted the Final Fantasy 1 re-releases and it is incredibly unlikely that Stranger of Paradise will do so either. However, there is the question of impact in regards to Garland's appearances going forward: SE now has two potential Garlands to choose from, at least in theory. In practice, I can't imagine Dissidia Garland going away forever.

Regardless of what SE chooses to do, however, I remain convinced that Jack and the Dissidia Garland aren't literally the same guy. In terms of role, Jack seems pegged to be a God of Discord, not a right-hand as Garland tends to be. Thematically, they are opposites in regards to fate and their end results. And I feel that they would be cheapened, on top of needing some retcons, if they were to be the same person.

At the end of the day, both being Garland is enough reason to appreciate them both.

[hungarianmudkip69]

started sop dlc 2 last night and im losing my mind over the jackstos.

i keep thinking about this from @taptroupe on my sop poll

i keep telling my friends "the yaoi truly is so awesome"

[wanoboywednesday]

i want the shanks has an evil twin/clone whos a celestial dragon theory to be real so so bad its just so silly and funny to me i already have this au in my head where figarbro gets wrong-place-wrong-time roped into some epic pirate crime shanks commits and gets kicked out of mariejois bc they now think he’s a turncoat

figarbro is like ‘noooo this is a mistake let me back innnnn’ something something he ends up on the red force and shanks’ crew is like ‘lol captain ur brother is kind of a loserass little bitch’ and shanks is like ‘lmao trueeee’ then they have an epic adventure where they take figarbro around and forcibly teach him how to take that stick out of his ass.

[the-skull-breaker]

Orgelz : this place is now under my dominion. rejoice to kneel before me !

Lance : I knew you'd start spouting bullshit the second I saw you, you've got the look.

Orgelz : *swifts his staff to his other side, visibly offended*

[shoyslayer]

[mo0nfairy]

ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ BLOMSTERTID, PART FOUR !

summary :: Centuries-old mage, Y/N L/N, possesses magical abilities unheard of. A few citizens monopolize the remnants of magic they find, of which they now title “Hextech”. Hearsay of this power bleeds through all of Runeterra, until Piltover and Zaun find themselves in an anarchic war to obtain said power. Before Y/N can even blink, however, the humans neglect their plans when they realize they’d rather have Y/N instead.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 10.7k

content warnings :: SPOILERS! obsessive!vi, yandere!vi, yandere!jinx, yandere!viktor, gender neutral reader, alcohol/alcoholism, violence, suic1de attempt, & some s3xual themes (but nothing too explicit).

vi's yandere traits are . . .

ambitious, territorial, & controlling

⋆ ｡ ˚ ⋆ ⸺ When the moon rises and the vibrant world eases, Vi always finds herself dreaming of the same thing. 

She imagines herself beneath a shower of softness, the sight of prickling tears or bruising flesh disintegrating. Even in the height of her childhood, her desires have always been adorned in thick blankets of fluff. Instead of toys and trinkets, it was hopping sheep and tickling feathers. Here, there would be no further need for clenched fists anymore, not when there is tender love. 

To feel the touch of gentle warmth — that is the haunting desire which paints her dreams.

It is a desire that is entirely foreign. A stranger, indubitably. Yet, this hunger is so immense, the mere thought of actually satiating this emaciation causes her stomach to sway. 

Even standing at a high point in Piltover, identity exposed to any lingering pedestrians, Vi does not feel at unease. Beside Mylo, Claggor, and her sister, Powder, the heist they frivolously forged in their heads fails to provoke any nerves within the young girl. If anything, she is fearless, as many have described her as. Not a worried bone in her body.

Slithering into the apartment of a Topsider came with its bumps in the road, but nothing that team could not swiftly smooth out. The mess of golden gadgetry scattered around is framed in an array of twisting cogs and sprockets. Books are spread through the expanse languidly, a few left open and dogeared to certain chapters. A wide chalkboard joins this scientist’s paradise, as well. Scribbled in white chalk are a myriad of mathematical equations she couldn’t decipher even if she cared enough to try. 

With a warning of concern to Powder (and a quick scolding to Mylo and Claggor), Vi sets out by herself and finds an office space nestled at the end of the hallway. The door is of a dark mahogany wood, carved with dark golden frames and intricacies. Oh, to be born so lucky and care for the appearance of a simple door. 

Within, there is a wider variety of books, scattered pages of blueprints, and even a lone, half-eaten sandwich. 

And right in the center of this mess is a figure. 

She cannot articulate how (or even why, for that matter), but the sight of them yanks the breath right from her chest. For the very first time in her tumultuous, violence-induced life, flight-or-fight has become a afterthought. Standing on the threshold, she freezes. 

Bent over the desk is a cloaked stranger. Their fingers, jagged and dark-hued, toy with some electric experiments. The subtle jingle of the jewels and adornments beneath their coat perfuse through the silence. A cloud, almost a halo, suffuses from their form in hues of purple and sapphire. All that is missing is a fluffy pair of wings and Vi would be positive she’s just stumbled upon an angel. 

When they turn over their shoulder to identify the sudden, yet sneaky entrance, she truly feels like she has become a statue.

They are pretty. Frighteningly so. Not in the same vein as the Piltover Pageant Queens, but something entirely beyond that. It is pure and unearthly; something soft, yet gut-wrenching. A whole other universal level of ‘pretty’, she’d describe. And as high and mighty as she carries herself, that stone-hard facade crumbles to baby pebbles when a subtle smile stretches on their serrated lips. 

They stand to their feet, abandoning their efforts with Topside science in favor of her. As they step closer to her, something unknown crawls about in her stomach. That hunger, so comfortable in its withering starvation that the mere scent of nourishment has it itching to sprint away. Still, she remains frozen in dazed wonder. 

It is only when they halt before Vi does the realization settle. She wished she had chased them through that sandstorm. Chased them through any storm, for that matter. She can no longer count on her fingers the instances in which she found her sister doodling that exact face among the walls of the Last Drop’s basement, her hands a permanent stain of old chalk and dry markers. It is simply a sloppy cartoon, she always assumed. But now, it is everything and so, so much more. 

“You may have a good heart, but you must not let it blind you.” 

Wind chimes. 

That is what the voice sounds like, accentuated by summer winds and sprinkling rain.

Wide-eyed like some stupid puppy-dog, all Vi can do is stare as they bring their hand up to her cheek. The heavenly warmth perfusing from their palm meets her flesh and in a flash, her vision is overwhelmed in darkness. Images flood through the shadows, all painting a picture of this stranger. 

They sit beside a river’s edge, peering into the water surface and scrutinizing their appearance in utter horror. Splotches of purple and blue cover their skin, contrasting in varying sizes and hues. Incomprehensible gibberish glitters across their exposed, sparkling skin. Black streaks of dirt and ash leak down their face with the seeping tears. Horrific perfection. 

“Mama…” They whimper, cracked and devastated.

A gasp leaps from Vi’s chest as she is finally granted clarity. 

Her feet fail her in awkward tumbles, before she inevitably falls to the ground. She finds herself to still remain in the office of this rich Topsider, but she is now in complete solitude. The stranger has vanished. Nothing remains in their departure besides the open window panes swinging with the wind. 

They leave the girl no room to digest the fact that every desire of softness and tender touch was just clutched in her palms. Not when it had abandoned Vi as quickly as it was granted to her.

This sense of abandonment festered inside of her for the remainder of an entire decade. 

Desperate endeavors at grasping a sliver of what you had gifted her all prove to be futile, no matter how ambitious the attempt. If anything, the sheer opposite had infested Vi’s life; a pendulum swung ahead to something amazing for only a second, just to remain stagnant on the opposing end for many agonizing years. 

Any effort at forcing that pendulum back, maybe even reforging the events of her memories, only serves as a blunt reminder of what she is now. A pit fighter, of all things; a savage spectacle. All her hands now know is violence.

Large streaks of dirt paint the expanse beneath her eyes. A smudge here, some dusted there — just the same as you, peering at yourself on the reflective surface of the river. And as devastating as the conclusion is, she has no choice but to accept this is what her life was made for.

The only remnant of peace Vi can grasp in this life is within the walls of her bedroom. As artificial as it may be, drinking herself sick and watching her poisoned brain carve fantasies into reality is the highlight of her day. 

Slumped over the thin mattress, she gapes in reverie at the blurry sights of you. Sometimes staring into the cracked mirror, a deity admiring the masterpiece of their appearance. Other times laying right beside her, gentle hands that cannot get enough of her flesh. Maybe even bludgeoning her fists into the punching bag, imagining some lovelorn, teenage-like fantasy of her defending your honor, to where you drown her in praise and gratitude. 

The peace is puny, pitifully so. Yet, is the only drop of fuel pushing her forward through this pathetic life.

And indulging in these visions is exactly Vi’s intentions as she returns to her room after another win in the pit. That is, until she is greeted by a sight that alone is enough to ruin her entire night. 

“Violet.” A smooth accent speaks.

Standing beside her door is a figure dressed in that familiar, irritating gold and blue uniform. Navy-blue hair is slicked back into a ruler-straight ponytail, framing her sharp face, paired with a gun almost as tall as her towering frame.

“Who are you? And how do you know my name?” 

She displays her badge like a shimmering trophy. 

“Commander Kiramman. Leader of House Kiramman. Address me with respect, or keep your mouth shut.” She speaks with direction, chin held high and chest puffed out. Classic Topsider.

“Still doesn’t answer my question.” 

“It’s written on your face.” 

Vi sighs out in defeat, entering her room and grasping a random, half-full bottle from the ground. She lands with an exhausted groan on her mattress.

“So, what is it now? Random search? Escort off the property? Or are you just here to waste my time?” 

The Kiramman follows suit and stands on the threshold, gaze stern as she glares at Vi. 

“I’m here for an investigation. I’m sure you and your people,” She spits out, “have heard of the attack against the council.”

“Yeah.” Vi snickers. “Just means we got a few less Pilties to worry about.” 

The last syllable barely parts from Vi’s mouth before she finds herself staring down the barrel of a gun. 

“I warned you, filthy rat.” 

She merely rolls her eyes at the aggressive gesture. Violence is a second home, after all. 

“Fine. I don’t know shit, alright? Bomb went off, rich people died — I know just as much as the other schmucks in this pit.”

With measured ease, the Kiramman sighs out a breath, folds her gun, and tosses it over her back. 

“We’re looking for Jinx, the criminal mastermind behind the attack. We’ve received several reports of her appearing around this area.” 

She folds her long arms over her chest. 

“Since you are the most prominent figure in this… pigsty, surely you have seen her.”

Vi sneers in response. “I don’t know who you’re talking about. I’m too busy trying to keep myself afloat down here. Not that you Topsiders know jack shit about that…” 

She then takes a hardy chug of the alcohol in her hands. As she drinks, the Commander slips her fingers into her back pocket. She unfolds a wad of paper, before presenting it to Vi. 

“Then, do you recognize this person?” 

Cheap whiskey spatters from Vi’s mouth when she registers the contents. Eyes blown wide, she goggles at the sight of your face sketched in almost exact clarity amongst the lined page. A near identical replication of the day she was blessed with the genuine sight. 

The bottle in her grasp is swiftly abandoned in favor of snagging the paper from the Enforcer. A grunt of disdain huffs from her, but Vi is too engrossed in you to care for the disrespect of the stranger in her room. Every intricacy and trace is done with such grace, she may as well have been holding your face in her palms. 

“We are under the impression they played a role in this attack-” 

“No!” Vi abruptly interrupts. “They wouldn’t- You don’t know anything about them…” 

“Well… Whoever is behind it, we believe they are after Hextech. We’re halting all trades until further notice.” 

The words may as well have been background noise to Vi. In one ear and out the other, inevitable when she is met with the most realistic depiction of you she’s seen in years. 

“If it interests you,” The Commander begins, shoveling another item from her pocket. “You seem to know more about Y/N than you let on. And we need as many bodies as we can get.” 

The gold glimmer of an Enforcer badge grasps Vi’s attention. Taunting her, almost. She slaps the badge out of her hands almost as quickly as it was revealed, the metal clinking with the several empty bottles left languidly in the corner. 

“Fuck. You.” Vi seethes, her grasp still latched to the paper in her hands. Possessive is her disposition.

Nonetheless, the Kiramman remains just as stone-cold as she was when she first waltzed into the room. She does not utter another word before she leaves Vi to herself, her offer still plaguing the silent air.

Vi’s back hits the mattress with a hard thump. Paper still in hand, she stares into the etchings as though you were truly here beside her. Terrifying perfection.

It is that very perfection that sat Viktor here in the first place.

Right beside his partner before the city's councilors, who all look down at him as though he were a muck-covered stray at their doorstep. 

Piltover has never been his home, nor has its people accepted him as. The only home he has ever been granted full claim of is you and the paradise that is the sanctuary you’ve cultivated. Now, that serenity has been robbed straight from his hands; he was granted a second of heaven and nothing more. And it is torturing him more than he is willing to admit. 

Viktor’s disposition alone does all the confessing necessary, however. Urgent conversations from the councilors are drowned out by the forlorn, cry-ridden mold seeping through his mind. What was once soul-crushing anguish is now simply nothing. A hollow numbness that permeates his entire being; a deep pit that could only be filled by you.

Some frantic entity within him desperately latches onto any loose thread of yours he can find, but any breath of you is merely a figment of his imagination. No matter how hard he may fight and thrash, the truth still bludgeons its bruised, bloody fists into his form: Viktor was not strong enough for you. And without you, there is nothing else in this life that interests him.

“If the Under-City possesses even a sliver of Hextech, this could only result in-” 

“It is not the Under-City you should concern yourselves with.” Viktor interrupts. “It is Jinx who is the problem.” He snarls her name like he is spitting out rotten food. 

All attention is forced to Viktor, but his gaze remains far and distant. His thoughts have lost themselves in an open field of torturous disarray. 

“How are you so positive this is the effort of a single individual?” Cassandra questions him. “How do you know this Jinx you speak of is not working with others?” 

A sneer itches at his lips. 

“That rat stole Hextech directly from my hands. She will stop at nothing if it is for the sake of Y/N.”

“You speak quite highly of this… Y/N.” Mel Medarda inserts herself into the discussion. “Seems to me they hold some imperative power. Am I mistaken?” 

“They are of utmost importance. Y/N is an absolute necessity.” 

Whether this imperativeness is for the sake of Piltover or himself, he isn’t sure. Still, he will lay his deepest feelings bare for all the Councilors to judge and belittle if it means bringing you home. Viktor is now miles beyond desperation and this new sensation frightens him to no end.

“Power that Jinx could want, perhaps?” 

Viktor shakes his head in disagreement. “No, no. These… feelings Jinx has for Y/N tread deeper.” 

“You propose Jinx is possibly in love with Y/N?” Mel inquires further. 

“I believe Jinx thinks she is in love with Y/N, but it is merely insincere. No, a creature like her will never amount to anything worthy enough for Y/N. They are simply too…” 

A soft fog drapes over his expression. 

“Resplendent. Brilliant a-and radiant. An angel we have been-” 

“I think what my partner is trying to say is… Jinx is a problem that needs to be promptly addressed.” Jayce rescues Viktor from the social-suicide he was seconds away from committing. 

This does not save him from the ghost of his memories plaguing his body, however.

In the clap of a second, Viktor has returned to the scene of the crime: within the whorls of your beloved sanctuary. That laughter, that haunting laughter, pervades through his memory like a thrashing storm. Perfusing into every corner of his mind, granting the tortured man no possible room for clarity. And so enchanted with the moment, Viktor does not attempt to fight the urges his body indulges in before his eyes are rolling back and he’s leaning in to kiss you. 

Before your lips can meet in a music-swelling moment of bliss, an abrupt explosion penetrates through the air. The romantic scene is brought to a record-scratching halt and instinctively, Viktor leaps to protect you from the sudden intrusion. A fraction of his mind curses him for not discerning the threat sooner. He’d be a stronger knight if his monarch weren’t so damn hypnotizing. 

The swarming fireworks are soon engulfed by the encroaching of smoke bombs, erupting the once breathtaking environment into hazy clouds of purple, pink, and blue. Viktor does not hesitate before sacrificing his body as your shield, tackling you to the ground and ensnaring himself around every inch of flesh he can reach. 

Just as he begins to drown you in relentless assurances of his protection, his devotion, how he’ll never abandon your side, the rampant chorus of footsteps then accelerate behind him. 

In a flash of blue braids, he is knocked out cold.

When Viktor wakes, he discovers himself motionless in a pool of his own blood. Through his dizzy gaze, the colorful smoke has eased and the sun has reached its highest point. A bitter silence has now overwhelmed the air. Nonetheless, the only thought present in his mind is you. 

He searches through the havoc to no avail, dragging himself to his stuttering legs to further search his surroundings. Limping forward, every nook and cranny present is scrutinized by this crazed man, prayers of finding your face drifting from parted lips. 

The frightened villagers have all scurried to their homes, barricading the doors and windows with any fragment of protection they can garner. Cowards, Viktor mutters to himself. There is no force in the universe that could restrain him from ensuring your safety. He would tear mountains asunder just to see a smile stretch on your face.

Abruptly, Cassandra Kiramman is what halts Viktor’s trip down memory lane. 

“We cannot ignore the possibility that Y/N may be working alongside Jinx. What proof do we have that tells us otherwise-?” 

The snap! of Viktor’s cane splitting into two permeates the room’s expanse when he slams it against the desk edge. 

“You keep their name out of your filthy mouth!” He spits out, wild and enraged. “There is no boundary I will not cross if it means being united with my spouse! Be it another bomb from that blue-haired mutt, I will persist through all-!” 

In the matter of a second, a violent force crashes into the room and several councilors are killed beneath its weight. 

Viktor, horrifyingly so, is almost among those several. Not with the desperate enforcement of Jayce Talis, who rushes him to the lab to treat his fatal injuries.

And this very lab is where Jayce has remained for the past several days he has lost count of. 

His partner remains stagnant in the mess of Hextech, opalescent strings of gooey sludge enmeshing his unconscious body. Meanwhile, Jayce scrutinizes every etch of Viktor’s journals, searching for some antidote that will wake him from this magic-induced coma. Though, the most redundant theme in these scientists’ notes is the etchings of the same face, sketched over and over again in an obsessive harmony. 

Jayce’s fingers drift among the surface of the page, dragging his gentle touch among the curves and shading of their paper face. He can understand why Viktor is so enthralled by them, as they are evidently, heart-wrenchingly beautiful. But, Jayce is not an easy man. Thus, he does not waver for the artistic works of a man head-over-heels. He’ll just choose to ignore the strange pit in his stomach every time he recalls Viktor using the word “spouse” in regards to them.

“We need to begin preparing ourselves for a full-scale invasion.” 

Caitlyn Kiramman announces herself abruptly as she struts into the room. 

Upon this intrusion, Jayce slams the journal shut as though he were caught by his mother sneaking sugar before dinner. He cannot put a finger on the reasoning behind such a culpable reaction, but he digresses to accommodate her presence, anyway. 

“You’ve taken this time to secure Hextech, I presume?” 

She rounds the corner, but her determined strides reach a sudden halt upon finding the sight of Viktor. For just a moment, there’s a glimmer of emotion in Caitlyn’s expression. Brief, albeit, but its existence had prevailed fleetingly, nonetheless. 

“He’s breathing. That’s… That’s all I know.” Jayce mutters.

Her weakened attitude is swiftly replaced by her habitual, stiff disposition. Chest and chin held high, she continues. 

“There is no use dwelling on these matters. Not when the Under-City is potentially planning another attack.”

Exhaustion getting the better of him, Jayce scoffs at her persisting suggestions, rubbing the ache in his temple.

“Cait, I already told you. I promised Viktor. You can’t just go down there, guns-a-blazing-!” 

“And I have told you, Jayce, this is no longer up for debate. Jinx has proved herself to be an extraordinary threat. Now, we have proper reason to believe Y/N is, too. It is absolutely imperative these threats are located and neutralized.” 

Caitlyn glares daggers as she awaits his response. Jayce has been rendered speechless, however. The hopeful plans he formed for this nation a decade ago have all crashed and burned in a violent matter of seconds. He has found himself at a complete loss, no successful direction on this plane to resort to. All due to this Jinx character. Now, potentially, this beautiful stranger, as well.

Stuck within his inner turmoil, Caitlyn perceives his silence as an answer. She turns her shoulder and takes a single step toward the door.

“Let me try talking to them.” 

This grasps her attention.

“You… You wish to speak to Y/N? Why?” 

A confession of what lies in Viktor’s journal bridges on his lips, but he halts the efforts of his honest tongue. 

“I, uh…” Jayce gulps nervously, but conceals the motion with a forced cough. “I believe I can crack through them. If I can talk to them, I may be able to predict Zaun’s next attack.”

Caitlyn merely gapes at him in utter bewilderment, stammering over herself before she can properly articulate her puzzled thoughts. 

“That is vacuous! Our knowledge of Jinx is weak, yes, but Y/N is an utter stranger! A monster, at that! You’d be throwing yourself into uncharted waters, Jayce, you cannot be-”

Her expression drops from scrunched confusion to bitter offense when she realizes the intent behind his lies. He refuses to meet her eye and maintains his vision to the glossy floors. Ashamed, but he will not admit such. 

“What will Miss Medarda think of that? Hmm?”

Her tone is low and cautionary. A gentle threat, subtly jabbing at her new privileges as a respected councilor member.

“It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks. The sake of Piltover is most important.” 

The thinly-veiled lie provokes a sharp, dry laugh from Caitlyn. It is her final response before she promptly takes her leave.

Another powerful figure of the Upper-City has been claimed by this all-engrossing outsider. That being one of the closest friends she has ever known. This creature will surely claim more, unfortunately, but Caitlyn will not allow them to possess her. 

She will stop at nothing to bring this devil to their feet. No matter what it takes.

Down under, thundering music and flashing lights dance around Vi. Slumped over the ragged surface of the bar, the ache of alcohol hammers her messy mind. Her pockets are heavy with the coins she earned from another win in the pit, but her senses may as well have been melted to jelly with how much intoxication she has poisoned herself with. Just another night spent resorting to whatever means necessary to forget, the bartender knows all too well.

Tonight, however, another heavy-weight worry has been tossed onto the pile of thousands. 

“Me? An enforcer?” Vi chuckles at the prospect alone. “The peanut patrol can suck it, for all I care!” 

Another mouthful of liquor burns her throat as it descends. 

“That Piltie-bitch wouldn’t know Y/N if they punched her in her dumb face, heh!” 

Her bruised, calloused hand lazily grasps hold of her cheek, the very way you did all those years ago. A glance over to the busy dance floor and her evening intentions have found success. There you are, your cloaked figure like a sore thumb among the other partygoers; a scene so out of place, it is almost comical.

“Y/N…” 

With liquid courage working its wonders, she has an unbearable urge to shuffle over to you, collapse against your form, and pour her heart from her ribcage straight into your palms. The confession would be drunken and disgusting, stained in inky reverence and muddy worship. Yet, perhaps you’ll be so moved by this passionate declaration, you’ll let her drag you back to her room and-

“Sheesh, kid. Back at it again?” 

She’d let out a groan if her body had the energy to do so. 

Loris, a regular in the audience, sits himself beside her. Or, ‘Wannabe-Vander’, as she has jokingly titled him after one too many shots. 

“What’s ‘yer diagnosis this time, ‘ey? That ‘Y/N’ ‘yer still caught up on?” 

Her languid arm attempts to shove him away in her drunken state. Maybe sock him in the face for speaking of you so passively while she’s at it.

“Shut up… Dick…” 

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get ‘ye home.” 

His arms lock under hers and lift, bringing Vi to her wobbly legs. Reluctantly, she follows his guide. Her eyes are locked to the fuzzy hallucination of you with every step out of the bar.

The sight of the flags with the enforcers insignia threaded into the fabric is a brutal reminder of life without you present. 

“Enforcer… Fucking joke…” 

The thought alone puts a nauseating taste on her tongue. Do Top-Siders really think they can cast out their own people, only to return and take their pick of the litter? Despite all the inevitable disappointment their behavior elicits, Vi still finds herself in the same insufferable fits of rage with every action they take. Every damn day it seems they test her patience. Now, they’ve taken one step too far, from military stomps to an all-too aggressive, annoying intrusion.

Vi splats face-first into the firm plush of her mattress. Loris speaks, most likely a farewell, but the rampant ringing in her aching head fails to discern his words. The door closes with a clunky click and just like every other night, Vi is all alone. The air may be hollow and heavy, but her mind is alive with the softness she only touched once. 

“Y/N…” 

If it is true, if you are really out there somewhere and not just a pretty figment of a teenager's wild imagination, she cannot decide how to feel. She is at an odd juxtaposition between an ecstatic light and a lonely darkness. All those isolated nights, drunken ramblings, and savage bar fights — why weren’t you there to stop her again? All she has known her entire life is pain, why can’t you mend it the way you did all those years ago?

Even after all this buzzing noise, those words still echo in perfect precision. 

“You may have a good heart, but you must not let it blind you.” 

And to this day, she hasn’t a clue how this adheres to her life. 

‘Good heart’ this, ‘good heart’ that. It is what the most imperative figures in her life have told her. You, however, were different. You were a warning, a feather-touched glimpse into the brutality of her future. Swarming in like a steel crane, bludgeoning the walls she’s spent her entire life forging brick-by-brick.

A strangled gasp dances into the silence when the revelation hits. 

These walls have blinded her. That is why you are not here beside her! You must have attempted plenty of times, but the sheer girth of these walls has drowned out any call of her name. Vi was far-too engrossed in maintaining a tough, take-no-shit disposition and neglecting her need for gentler things. Neglecting her need for you, wherever you may reside beyond these thick layers. And this epiphany is shattering.

The Enforcer badge abandoned in the corner of the room calls out to her. A symbol of power and privilege, just beyond her touch. What was once something that churned her stomach by just a mere thought has now transformed into a golden, glimmering opportunity.

That navy-haired Commander, whatever her name was, seemed to know you extensively. Far more than Vi is comfortable with. Maybe if she bites her tongue and wears the badge, she’ll know just as much. Maybe if she leaves this pit, she'll know more than anyone ever has. Maybe if she crosses the bridge, she’ll obtain the proper resources to track down the love of her life.

Maybe, if she joins the Enforcers, she can leave the pigs a breadcrumb trail away from you. Then, just maybe, she can return some of that softness you gave her.

If one thing is abundantly clear, blue and gold are not Vi’s colors. 

That is a coherent understatement Vi is acutely aware of now, standing beside the Piltie’s who destroyed her life as their equal. Here, they utilize what they call ‘The Grey’ as a weapon against the people of the Under-City. Green puffs of poison perfusing from every possible angle, the place she has titled home is now reminiscent of a battlefield. 

Every building drowns in the gas, mere figments of shapes beneath its thick haze. ‘WANTED’ posters of this ‘Jinx’ character are engulfed in this matter, too. Respected members of the Chem-Barons are now left in languid messes of bodies, some dead while others gag and cling to life. The people of the underground deserve to breathe, until one of them is a bomb-wielding maniac. 

“We’ll begin in the Lanes then down to the Slums. Remember: if there is a clear shot, you may open fire, but it is I who will deliver the final blow. No matter Jinx or Y/N. Understood?” 

A series of “Yes, Commander”’s are mere squeaks against the booming authority of Caitlyn Kiramman. With a Hextech-powered gun in hand, she confidently guides several Enforcers through the quiet city.

Vi, amongst the several, feverishly scrutinizes through the green gas for even a prick of you. She is no longer blind; the mask has finally been torn from her face. As she concluded, it is surely only a matter of time before you come barreling out of the smog and into her embrace, there to never part again.

It is when their team passes an alleyway that her attention is garnered. 

The space is overwhelmed in green fog, but through the silent murk is a noise. It is a quiet sound, like skittering paws. Restrained coughing, almost. That sound is not foreign to the Under-City, an expanse overwhelmed with disease and infection. For reasons Vi cannot decipher, though, this is different. Familiar, she could further detail. 

The others have continued countless paces forward as she stands and studies the intricacies of the sound. Classic Topsiders leaving the Zaunite in their dust, once again. Vi does not take the rare moment of Enforcer eyes off of her for granted, however, and ventures into the alleyway. 

The sounds that once allured her have now been overwhelmed by her own rampant breaths, intensified within the barriers of her gas mask. Hope has consistently preceded betrayal over the course of her life, so she does not dare let your name touch her tongue. It still resides in her chest, however, where you have always lived. Calling out for you with every thundering beat of her heart.

When Vi rounds a corner, something juts out through the poisonous clouds. Anxiety thrashes inside of her, but she does not dare to halt her efforts now. When she takes a single step closer, her entire world plummets. 

Hidden behind an array of old barrels is no other than you. 

And just like that, the war is over.

Guns stretching into red-painted arrows mending broken hearts. Gunpoint threats overcome with strong declarations of devotion. Gunpowder residue building to form dust bunnies of a home well-loved. Gunshots easing to soft breaths of tranquility on a gloomy morning. Gunmen’s savage hands healing through bandages to fur-soft touches. 

Salvation has found its way directly to her doorstep, wrapped in pretty bows of purple and blue. The war is finally over and Vi can barely tolerate the rush of rapture now pumping through her bloodstream. 

You’re huddled into a ball, nearly nude and nothing short of terrified. Puffs of purple and blue spark from your palms in your effort of summoning your powers, but the sudden surge in strength from before has now run dry. Your attempts at shielding your coughing fit is futile, as well, evident in the second presence now towering over you. And it takes every fibre inside her to restrain herself from tackling you like some feral, emaciated animal. 

It is fate, purely. A few chapters late, albeit, but finally inked down in all of its beautiful, annihilating colors. You gifted her wisdom many years ago. Now, it is her turn to utilize her own wisdom to protect your precious life.

“Oh, Sweetheart…” 

Vi is swift in ridding herself of her gas mask to place it over your head instead. The relief in your expression is immediate when you are finally granted a gasp of clean air. 

It does not go unnoticed by Vi, either. She hadn’t realized she had placed a hand on your bare shoulder, but feeling your muscles ease beneath her touch has her releasing a shaky breath she wasn’t aware she was choking on. As though this was normal; as though neither of you had spent a single day apart from each other's side. Partners until the end of time, she muses, your paths and hands woven together with the universe’ needle and thread. 

Her lover. The thought alone sends a hot tickle up her spine. Lovers. 

Vi suppresses the gags induced by the gas in her elbow, while her other hand caresses the skin she has only dreamt of touching. Any turmoil hurled her way is now a cake-walk with your touch beneath hers. 

So engrossed in the whorls of you, in fact, it is only now does she take further notice of other fractions of your physicality. Some vibrant smudges are written on your forehead. “KISS ME, JINX!” is drawn in a blaring demand. Beneath the beautiful face, now covered in a thick mask, is an adornment around your neck. “Property of JINX!”, a warning threatening others off claimed territory.

It is a revolting collage of obsession, one that informs her without words how Jinx is the only threat present here. It could never be you, the pinnacle of tranquility. Too perfect to ever force harm. This Jinx, however, is a different story.

The memories then strike like cold water. 

Powder’s insistence of “the stranger” being taken alongside Vander, despite Vi’s assurances that they are nothing more than a fictional fantasy (a territorial motive on her end, she’ll admit). The relentless collision of blue magic that took the lives of almost everyone she held close. The quiet hope that somehow, you’d persevere through the wreckage and mend the impossible wounds.

Then, there was the red-hot rage ensnaring around her every action. Violent hands that swore to never touch family have done exactly so. “You’re a jinx!” erupting from her throat before she can measure the consequences. The enraged paces away, abandoning the only family she had left in ash. Stumbling upon the pit, where Loris took her under his wing. The place she has resided in for an entire decade.

“Please…” 

And then, there was you. The essence of her wistful dreams; the only light present to protect her from the monsters under her bed. Now, plunging your hands into her chest and claiming her soul as yours, once and for all.

“Do not hurt me…” 

You may as well have clutched her heart in the process, too. The thick, gooey chunks of the red organ stuffed beneath your fingernails.

Placing harm on you will never be a possibility. Like an ocean without water, a galaxy without stars, a pair of hands without touch. It is a prospect that simply does not exist. And it kills her that you think it does.

“You think I wanna hurt you, baby?” 

As though she were approaching a feeble, wounded animal, Vi slowly shuffles closer to where you sit. Her arm slithers around your shoulder, your touch igniting a flurry of goosebumps down her flesh. 

The puny strength your body conjured to plead for your life is soon snuffed out. Your heavy vision droops and you fall unconscious, coincidentally landing against the chest of Vi. And of course, in typical Vi fashion, her mind reaches the conclusion of you doing such from the comfort you find in her embrace. Not a second more is wasted before she is scooping you into her strong arms. 

“Sweet thing… Nothing’s gonna hurt you…” 

She presses a kiss to your temple. Electric, warm bolts tickle her lips upon contact. 

“’Never gonna let you out of my sight again…” 

Bringing herself to her feet, Vi adjusts your position in her arms and sets off into the night. Eager to embark on this new chapter where she indulges in the sweetest blessing she’s ever received.

The twists and churns of your stomach is what welcomes you when you first awaken. Voices dance in an echoing synchronization, impossible to discern in your weakened state. Specks of your vision return in short spurts which reveal nothing more than swaying purple lights through a maze of darkness. 

“Aww, shucks, birdie! Just can’t stay away, can’t ‘ya?” 

The familiar tones have you thrashing about in a new state of adrenaline-induced clarity. You frantically search for those blue braids you know too well, but find no sign of the criminal mastermind. What you do find, however, is another figure rushing to your side. 

“Easy, Sweets. Just you and me here.” 

Violet sits beside where you lay and her hands are on you in record speed. The Enforcer uniform she has draped around your form does not protect you from her greedy touch, with her caressing any fraction of you she can clutch in an attempt at comfort.

“What a mess you have become, child. What would your father think seeing you in such disarray?” 

The sudden perfusion of a voice you have not heard in centuries yanks a sob from your chest. It is met with even more loving affections from the persistent presence beside you. 

“Why did you abandon me…?”

Vi gapes at you in response. Tears prick at her eyes and her bottom lip begins to wobble — sensations that have become strangers over the past several years. She doesn’t grant herself a moment to even consider what this “abandonment” is before she’s adorning you in fervent reassurances. 

“I…” She stammers. “I would never leave you behind! You’re the only reason I’ve stayed in this fucked-up city in the first place. I promise you, sweetheart, I’m not blind anymore.” 

The intensifying ache in your stomach drowns out her remaining words. It is then you realize this sudden illness poisoning your body must be at fault for the excessive blood intake during your stay in Jinx’s lair. It is surely the reason behind such painful visions, too.

Rest is an imperative necessity now, but you will not ease until you have returned to the safety of your sanctuary. And you will certainly not rest in the arms of the girl you have not thought of once in an entire decade. 

You can’t even grasp how you are supposed to confess how the “blindness” you spoke of was in relation to her father, not yourself. On the rare instances you leave the expanse of your sanctuary, you reserve a fraction of time to help outside citizens. Young Violet amidst her Piltover heist were among those citizens. It is only now do you realize the consequences of your kind actions.

The hushed pitter-patter of boots outside are soon met with the intrusion of a smooth tone. 

“Retreating down to the Slums? Makes sense for someone of your kind.” 

Vi’s immediate acknowledgment and panic tell you this is not another cruel trick your brain is forcing onto you. She then parts from your side, concealing a half-broken bottle behind her back before she faces the unwelcome visitors. Her figure passing through the crooked threshold is the last thing you see before you doze off, once again.

“Does it matter? I’m following orders, Commander, am I not?” 

A stable lie has always come easy to Vi. This is a tool she swiftly abuses in the heat of the moment, a skill that is more imperative now than ever before.

“Without your badge, I see?” The Kiramman fires back. 

“Heh, this is the problem with you Topsiders. You only look at shit from a surface level. Never had to dig your hands in the dirt like the rest of us.” 

Caitlyn’s fingers tighten around the gun swung over her shoulder. 

“Is that so?” She further challenges. 

“’The fuck else would it mean?” 

The Commander allows a silence to settle, stalking the nervous tics and twitches within the newest Enforcer. Soon to be former, but Caitlyn doesn’t mind allowing this mutt to run around in circles. 

Always straight-faced, Commander Kiramman sends out her next demand. 

“Search the grounds.” 

The panic that ignites in Vi’s eyes is nothing short of delicious. If it weren’t for the purpose of maintaining her image, Caitlyn would allow herself to smile in response to the all-mighty pit fighter’s horror.

The bottle she successfully hidden then barrels through the air, puncturing into the skull of one of the several Enforcers. Their death came as quick as the bottle was thrown, landing on the ground with a harsh thump. 

A flurry of gunshots ensue, all of which Vi manages to dodge. All she has to defend herself is her fists, which has been the weapon she has used for as long as she has lived. With ease, she is able to disarm the surrounding Enforcers and beat them into bloody pulps. Never has Vi been one to bend over easily. And that is certainly the case now with her forearms drenched in warm blood, blue-and-gold dressed corpses littering her path.

However, there is one missing. Through the enraged chaos, Vi cannot find the Commander amongst the mess of bodies. With the door to her childhood home wide open, she feels her stomach cave into itself. She clumsily scrambles to her feet and rushes into the dilapidated building, eyes wide and crazed as she enters.

The Kiramman is nowhere to be seen, and horrifyingly so, neither are you. All that is left of you now is the Enforcer jacket she blanketed you in.

A roaring scream bruises Vi’s throat raw as she collapses to the dirt. Tears mend with the mess, seeping down her face like they never have before. There is no torture like being so close to having everything, then having it torn from your hands in the matter of seconds. That is a reality Vi will do anything to destroy.

Never in the thousands of years you have been alive did you ever consider the possibility of being arrested. 

One of the most powerful creatures in Runeterra has now been locked in a cage. You would laugh at the prospect alone if your body weren’t so weak. The stiff, cold surface of the cell bed you’ve been thrown upon does not aid this sickness, either. Neither does the boisterous complaints of other inmates and clanking metal bars. 

Despite the rampant pounding using your brain as its drum, you’re insistent on staying conscious. No matter how torturous reality may be. Soon, you assure, you’ll be back beneath the warm blankets of your sanctuary, a steaming bowl of soup and cup of tea greeting you first thing. This adventure will be nothing more than a silly story to tell your beloved villagers.

It is when you glance out of your cell do your thoughts come to a halt. 

Through the thick bars of the cell before yours, you find doe-like, honey-gold eyes staring at you in complete wonder. Her gaze is almost shielded beneath the messy mop of chestnut-brown locks atop her head. The fearful tears glimmering in the corner of those eyes prick at your heart, as well as the chubby cheeks already stained of her cries.

A little girl, in a place like this? What measures has Runeterra resorted to while you were sitting cozy in your palace? 

“Oh… Hello there, little one…” 

Your coo is quiet amongst the calamity of the prison, but the young girl latches to your words, nonetheless. 

“Would you like to see something magical, perhaps?” 

Her attention, already captured, is now thoroughly piqued as she eagerly nods her head. Her tiny fingers grasp the rusted metal of the cell bars, impatiently awaiting your next move. 

Normally, in a healthier state, you’ll entertain the children of your village by forging shapes from these clouds. From cranes and flowers to blimps and dinosaurs, it never fails to put them in a state of awe. With your stomach still swaying with blood, the best you can muster is a few fireworks that lazily dance from your palms.

Despite the (in your opinion) pathetic performance, the little girl brightens with excitement, her hands clasped around her cheeks in amazed shock. For the first time in weeks, just about, you smile with her. Raw and real, just the way it is back in your sanctuary.

Like clockwork, that happiness is robbed from you when a certain somebody makes their presence known. The sight of the little girl is blocked by the bulky figure of Vi, who stares down at you in your cell as though you were served as the main course at tonight’s feast. 

“Don’t get too excited, sugar.” She muses, tone slow and greedy. A timbre you know all too well. 

A few metal clanks and twists of her hand, the cell slides open and grants this lovesick monster full access to you. Her gaze is predatory as she locks the cell shut behind her, unblinking eyes never parting from yours. An evident fire burning inside her that not even the most violent of oceans could extinguish.

“You think that stupid Kiramman is gonna be enough to keep me away?” She laughs mockingly at the idea alone. “Took some pathetic groveling to get back here, but I have a few ideas of how you can make it up to me.”

You curl into yourself, knees pressed to your chest as though it could conceal you from the hungry mouth drooling to sink its sharp teeth into you. This effort is merely futile as Vi wastes no time in sitting down beside you, calloused hand beginning to massage the juts of your knee. 

“Violet…” 

A warmth blooms in her chest at the sound of you cooing her name; the only noise she’d ever want to hear first thing in the morning, replacing the hangover-buzz diluting the demands to prepare herself for another fight. 

“I worry for my people. Please, I insist! I must return home-!” 

A finger pressed to your lips and you’re silenced. 

The sly grin slithering onto her face is impossible to avoid, as well. Evidently giddy over the concept of having such control over you. You also do not fail to notice the way she subtly nudges that finger against her mouth. A sloppy indirect kiss, you presume. Even though he was such an ephemeral figure in your life, it might as well have been Viktor sitting beside you with such teenage-like antics. 

“You don’t need to worry about all that right now, sugar. No monster is gonna get you while I’m here.” 

A hand to your shoulder and you are swiftly tugged into her embrace, the same way a python ensnares itself against defenseless prey. Your body feels like that of a stranger when the action causes lethargy to perfuse through your whole body.

With your head on her chest, one thought remains persistent as you drift to sleep for the umpteenth time.

This is really getting irritating.

“Well… It all went to shit.” Jinx admits in defeat. “Didn’t it, Birdie?” 

The nightlife has now overwhelmed all of Zaun, but Jinx remains on the outskirts in complete isolation. She passes the countless posters adorning her face in favor of treading mindlessly. She has no intended path in particular. Anything to keep her moving; anything that will outrun the demons that lurk in her path. 

Her hair drags through the sand as she walks the edge of the lakeshore, feet bare to the jagged litter and broken glass shards. The water is frigid, to a painful degree, but she cannot find it within herself to pay any mind to the matter. Not with you gone, no. Nothing matters with you far from her side. 

Footsteps drum from behind her, but she does not dare to turn. She is perfectly aware of what prowls in the darkness. 

Mylo, in his state of a decomposed, neon-adorned apparition, breaks through the thick silence. 

“What did I say? Like always, you find a way to jinx everything. Jinx.” 

His teasing remarks do exactly as they intended: sink deep beneath her skin. Almost, she turns to snap back at his insult, but she manages to halt herself. After all, none of it is real, and surely you do not wish to date someone whose sanity is several blows away from shattering beyond repair. 

It is when Claggor joins the party does she nearly crack. 

“Did you really think they’d settle for someone like you? Come on, you knew it was a bad idea from the start.” 

Her nails dig into her hair, attempting to shield her ears from the rampant abuse. You wouldn’t settle, you’re not like that! No, you’d love her, you were so close to learning how to! It was those stupid Topsiders who rid two innocent lovebirds of that chance! And that scientist, that bones-y creep! Couldn’t get it up for you and had to snag you away for a round two! 

“Y/N, hoo! That’s a catch you don’t find too often. Don’t think it’s somethin’ you can hook, kid.” 

Vander’s thick accent seeps deep into her bones. Jinx’s clenched fists pound against her skull as she tries to stop the thoughts from rattling around. She has torn Zaun asunder trying to find you, it was those Piltie scums who sunk their hook into you! It was them! Their fault, not hers! 

Vi’s voice perfuses next. 

“Time to cut your losses, Pow-Pow. They’d do better with someone like me-” 

“Shut up!” 

A bullet pierces through the wind when Jinx whips around to blow her sister's brains out. When the silence settles, deep and lonely, she registers her sanity has finally received its final blow. Now, there is nothing but the chunks of her persistent failure that remain. She is a jinx and that fact prevails like it never has before.

A single step sinks into the wet sand of the beach’s shoreline. Another sinks deeper, then another, and another. Her frail body begins to shiver from the ice-cold contact, but still, she does not cease her efforts. 

Floating on her back, Jinx sways along with the gentle waves, a juxtaposition to the pandemonium within her mind. It is a strange peace the sensation earns her. Nothing reminiscent of your all-consuming tranquility, but the resemblance is puny, nonetheless. Serving as her only comfort through all of this noise. 

With the flap of her hands, she descends her body further into the waves. The water gladly consumes her whole, gleefully robbing her of any oxygen. It clutches at her lungs with no hope of ease and indulges in the thrashing fight. Through the chaotic wasteland of her mind, however, Jinx can only find you. 

Instead of the violent calamity she is so familiar with, the images stamped in her thoughts are inked in your happiness. Her eyes close and she revels in the picture-perfect scenery of what her life could have been. 

Vibrant paint splattered amongst each other, a playful fight in the midst of the renovation of yours and (now) Jinx’s palace. Toying with gadgetry and inventions, forging utensils to better the lives of your villagers (and maybe the bedroom, as well). Cheesy, romantic music perfusing from the gramophone as you both clasp onto each other in an intimate dance. Cherries-on-top present themselves through kisses on cheeks, flustered giggles, and warm nuzzles. The very definition of a perfect life, that is how Jinx would describe these fantasies. 

They continue to play as her lungs grow tighter and tighter and tighter. Though, there is no pain with your smile shining behind her eyes. 

Then, with one final gasp of your name, there is nothing.

Across the bridge, you’ve now found yourself in an irritating routine of succumbing to your body’s incessant need for rest. Asleep for years, it feels like, only to be granted mere minutes of energy. Every time you stir awake, without fail, Violet is the one you wake up against. How a prison guard has not raised the question of why one of their Enforcers is cuddling an inmate, you haven’t a single clue. 

What you do know is that she is currently in a deep slumber. Testing the waters, you lightly nudge the thick muscles of her arm. With no rousing in sight, you take advantage of her unconscious state and your sudden burst of energy.

With slowness that would put a snail to shame, you lift Vi’s arm from its permanent residence around your waist. Just before you can slither out of the new space for escape, that arm locks around your form, its sudden tightness forcing a gasp from your throat. 

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” 

Her leg is then brought into that equation, too, now latched around your hips. Nuzzling her face into the nape of your neck, you try to ignore the possessive affections and instead, measure the weight of your possible choices from here.

Simply walking out of this cell is not a clear option here. There is also the matter of being patient for your powers to return, but the waiting game is not something you wish to play. A repeat of what that blue-haired mastermind put you through is nothing short of a nightmare. With only one feasible option on the horizon, you take a deep breath of preparation. 

Evidently, this girl has a weakness. And that very weakness is heavy-eyed and lethargic, locked in this prison cell. Weaponizing this could result in your escape, sure, but it could also lead you into a… Sticky situation, if you will. Even if you read thousands of books on the skill of romance, you would still be oblivious in any effort to navigate that world. In the centuries of your life, you have never cared for such, either. 

The people within your village have always been of utmost importance. Tending to them has been the path you have happily tread down for years. Never a kiss, never an embrace, never even holding hands with a special someone — your interest in these pursuits has never been piqued. 

Sure, Viktor and Jinx are not the first to piece together your runes and find their way to your sanctuary, greeting you with lovelorn declarations of devotion that would take the trophies of the most talented of poets. None of their romantic pursuits ever compelled you to indulge them, though. Until the feelings are mutual will you ever consider the choice.

With that being said, this does happen to be the first time their reverence has pushed you and your magic outside of your sanctuary. Locked tight in a prison cell, no less.

From here, you bite the bullet and put on your best award-winning performance. 

Before Vi’s grasp can tighten once more, you swiftly slip out of her greedy hold. She reaches for you like a child parting from their teddy-bear, but another demand of your return gets lodged in her throat when you straddle her.

Fake smile plastered on your face, you take her face into your hands and simply stare. A few well-measured caresses of your thumbs and she’s entirely at your will, evident in the exasperated breaths and powder-grey eyes sparkling like a puppy-dog with a juicy bone. Vi’s hands clutch around your thigh, jagged nails digging into the flesh as a desperate means to not let them travel further. This attempt at self-control is weak, however.

“Fuck. C’mere-” 

Her lips just barely graze yours before you interrupt her intentions. 

“I was so frightened before. Not a soul could fathom the weight of my fears.” 

Paired with a gentle pout and nervous tone, any disappointment surrounding not having your lips on hers is replaced with genuine, unbreakable interest. 

“Jinx was so, so cruel, Violet.” 

The name of her sister should never sit on your tongue, only hers. It causes her to tense beneath you, a stirring pit of rage forming from the frail tones in your voice. The sight of tears building in your eyes does not assuage these feelings, either. No, it adds even more fuel to the fire.

“Even my cries were not enough to stop her vicious hands. Extraordinary violence, she always treated me with.” 

It is faux innocence; a sloppy attempt, at best. Still, your efforts work marvelously with the anger you’ve managed to ignite. The fact she has not thrown you back onto the cell bed, stormed out of the prison, and returned with a pair of blue braids on a silver platter is nothing short of a miracle. 

“You…” 

Your finger traces the jut of her collarbone, eliciting a chill with every centimeter your nail treads.

“You are simply different. A softness I did not deem myself worthy of, crashing into my world like the catalyst you are.”

Accentuated with laughter, Vi falls even deeper into your magic spell. It is only now do you realize a mere caress would have done enough damage, why hadn’t you utilized this skill sooner? You did not expect such antics to work so obnoxiously well. So much so, you fear you may have abused this tool a pace too far.

“Let me make you feel good, ‘Sug. ‘Promise it’ll be nothing you’ve ever felt before.” 

Her arm then ensnares around your waist once again, the other clasping your jaw to prevent another escape. The gasp it pulls from you is misinterpreted as something sensual, of which she gobbles right up. 

“Tastes like candy, I bet.” 

Vi’s lips find your neck before you can merely react to the sudden movement. Lapping and sucking onto any stretch of skin she can claim — a heaven she has only dreamt of clutching. 

You twitch uncomfortably from the affection, which she, once again, mistakes as an act of passion. If her mouth weren’t occupied with the best meal she’s ever tasted, she’d reassure you of how there is no need to rut against her for more of her touch. If she were to speak of such, your act may falter from the disgusting insinuations behind the filthy words. 

“Violet…” 

Your attempt at grasping her attention is perceived as one of pleasure, evident in the satisfied groan it pulls from her. Brows curling upwards and all. 

“Allow me to kiss you. Please.” 

The words are so foreign, they feel equivalent to vomit crawling from your mouth. Anything to remove this blood-hungry vampire from your innocent neck. 

Vi obliges in an almost whiplash-inducing speed and her eyes flutter shut as she leans in. With a prayer to no one, you enact on a power you did not ever believe you’d wield in such circumstances. 

Two fingers pressed to her closed eyes, you whisper your next action. 

“Sleep…” 

And just like that, it was like the humiliating scene had never occurred in the first place. Violet is out like a light, sinking down onto the concrete-surfaced prison bed. This mechanism has only been explored in more light-hearted scenarios. It was normally exercised to lull fussy babies. Now, it is used to pacify the animalistic exertions of this dark-haired street fighter.

With your weakened state, you cannot accurately anticipate how long Violet will be asleep for, nor can you measure how much time is left before you’re forced into a state of unconsciousness, once again. You yank the dangling keys from Violet’s hip and fiddle with them clumsily, before the correct one finally unlocks your cell with a click. Centuries spent applying your powers to any barrier makes for an awkward runaway, you surmise.

Scanning the long aisle of cells for any lingering guards, you dash to the cell directly before yours. Another graceless scrambling of clanking keys ensues before you finally hear that melodious click. Upon entering, frantic and horrified that you had possibly let a child witness such a fiasco, you release a pent-up sigh of relief when you find her fast asleep. And, most imperatively, safe. 

With another paranoid glance over your shoulder, you bend to her level at the edge of the prison bed. You inspect the skin not covered in rugged scraps for any wounds, of which you thankfully find none. The people beneath this roof are prone to aggressive violence. Forcing such hands onto a child is an act you deem unforgivable, and frankly, impossible to understand. It is an overwhelming gratitude you are met with when you find they spared the girl of such. 

The adorable coos of gentle snores almost prompt a spike of guilt in you, but you insist on nudging her awake before this rare window closes.

Golden eyes peer around in confusion as she rouses from her sleep. Upon discerning the sight of you, the girl practically throws herself into your arms. You stumble back upon the surprising act, but do not hesitate in returning the affection. What kind of monster would deny a child the necessity of comfort, after all? The heart-shattering cries muffled into your shoulder only strengthen this belief furthermore.

“Oh, Rabbit… I will not let them harm us. I promise you.” 

When she retreats from your hold, you clasp her face in your hand and stroke her chubby face.

“I know of a place I am positive you’ll adore. Somewhere you will never be hurt again.” 

Her eyes are hopeful as they stare into yours, sobs having eased to hiccuping sniffles. A smile, just a hint of one, stretches on her scarred lips.

Shifting your gaze a little to the left, you find a rusted helmet with cracked goggles had been left underneath the bed. Possibly belonging to an old miner, it appears. You place the hat atop her messy locks, pretending you were crowning royalty. 

“You will need your best armor, soldier. Only the strongest can embark on such a journey.” 

That earns you a giggle, of which you revel in the success of. 

“Remind me, soldier, what is your name?” 

The girl seems to consider your question thoroughly, measuring how exactly she should inform you of such. Several motions of her hand spell out her name in sign language, of which you read in perfect coherence. 

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Isha.”

Meanwhile, Violet remains limp in the neighboring cell. A peaceful, blissful slumber that is oblivious to what is happening just several feet away. And in this slumber is where she revels in the exhilaration of a love she’ll cling to for the remainder of her days.

Like the triumph of a curtain call, Violet’s dreams have come true: to feel the touch of gentle warmth. After an entire lifetime, she is finally soft. Here, beneath the light of you, everything melts. 

Now, her dreams have shifted. Violet will keep a tight clasp on this feather-touch. 

No matter what it takes.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

❝ YOU REALLY GOT A HOLD ON ME,

SO THIS ISN'T JUST PUPPY LOVE . . . ❞

gif creds.

tag list: @honey-beeuwu @mrprettycom @makangelo @thelonelyme @solavily @eldritch-bunny @decaffeinatedclodbagelweasel @orbitingmarswithp @frickidyfrog @phantomdomi @mermaidm0tel6 @numbu5 @applepinsss @anon34570 @biohazardousbunny @vogelaqwry @lorely788 @mellowangeltree @myathegoat @alix-37 @lavandercinnamon @vrnicky @mellowfishauthoreggs

[rivscribbles]

Jackstos comic that was supposed to be for Valentines Day/Opera Omnia end of service :)

[overtaken-stream]

What's your opinion on Katakuri being a dad ^-^, ik he doesnt pull out

Father!Katakuri headcanons

This is all my brain can come up with. It's a bit short, and I'm not satisfied with this, I feel like I could have added more, thus this has been collecting dust in my drafts. I hope you like it anon.

Warnings: End of Wano spoilers, this is meant for F!Reader.

I imagine he had children after Big Mom passed. Or a few years before she died, and of course, the marriage was arranged once Big Mom realized that she might just be left without any offspring from her third child.

And as much as I'd like to get lost in Father Katakuri, I can not ignore the warning signs this road presents.

The man doesn't see his children often enough. He always wanted to spend time with his family, but in this job, that isn't possible. Big Mom often holds his family over his head, making empty promises about him having a week off to help take care of the children, only to call him back before the sun rises on the fourth day. He had the courage to ask her for more time at the beginning, or to not disturb him during that single week where he spends time in metaphorical paradise with kids whom he loves and his partner whom he tries to shower with affection. He asked that of her once and when Big Mom does not deliver, Katakuri learns to cope with the dissatisfaction, it's a song he has heard of all his life, he knows every word and note that plays, he wants nothing more than to stop listening so that his kids don't step away from him again. It's impossible, and he comes to terms that he won't have that fatherly privilege. He feels like a stranger around the kids. No amount of comfort will be able to hide the truth.

It isn't the first time Big Mom pushed away a father from his biological children.

Although his time with his kids is short, it's always full of adorable moments, Katakuri is trying very hard to be a father even with his mother standing in his way.

I see Katakuri as a father of 3. Two girls and one boy, who is the youngest.

The man loves sweets, donuts, chocolate bars, cinnamon buns, and all, so he will be DEVASTATED if one of his kids isn't a big fan of sweets. He'll try to make them change their mind, maybe persuading them to eat a different kind of dessert, but once it becomes clear that they aren't into it, he accepts the fact with great pain, since he cannot share the simple pleasure of eating sugar with his child.

Katakuri often can't get his emotions across to others, including his siblings, but with his children, he tries, he really tries. This can be seen in spending quick yet platonically intimate moments with them alone and making small talk that he isn't a big fan of.

He also hopes that when the children grow up, there won't be any distance between them, it's basically a death sentence for him.

The moment Big Mom dies, Katakuri is finally able to keep his promise to his family and breathe with no one holding his leash.

I also think of him as a laid-back father who's strict when needed. His behavior is the result of countless years he spent mulling over his future family and what type of parent he would be. So this led to him walking on metaphorical eggshels that he imagined every time he got close to his children. Which they definitely took for granted.

Katakuri is very careful with his children because of it, I'd say that he is so scared that the kids would build a wall and be mad at him for not spending enough time with them that the man unconsciously started constructing the said wall.

[superthatguy62]

Stranger Of Paradise + Dissidia: Manikins

(This was part of another thing I was typing up summarizing the Moogle's plan in SoP, but I felt it long enough to be it's own thing.)

Spoilers for DLC 3 of SoP (and the reports of Dissidia)

The third DLC for Stranger of Paradise is a stage representing Lufenia Central. Throughout the stage, purple crystals are strewn about, which summon “Manikin” versions of enemies.

This continues until Jack reaches his former boss, Nil, who has her own crystals; One of which allows her to make manikins of Omega.

The Moogle notes in one of the missives that it is just like how the [REDACTED] of its world “created an ore from which they could forge an approximation of life “.

In Dissidia, Manikins were created by “the state” from crystal ore found in World B. This ore allowed for the creation of creatures that take the form of lifeforms that approach them. However, they lack wills, act like soulless killing machines and fail to retain human likeness (possibly referring to how they remain crystalline). The failures, both from before and after the cycles start, were disposed of through the same “Door to the Rift” that Onrac had. This largely justifies the player being able to fight copies of the other characters during the storylines, with the actual characters functioning as bosses.

The concept of manikins is also greatly intertwined with the aspect of memories. In the original Final Fantasy, The Lufenians mention in passing that they have a technique for passing down memories from generation to generation. Stranger of Paradise downplays this aspect: A lot of the memory shenanigans are instigated via the Dark Crystals, and outside of Jack and his friends sharing memories whenever the memories/darkness/phantoms/whatever rush at them.

In the Dissidia 012 reports, “the state” hires Cid of the Lufaine so that he could use his Lufenian techniques to transplant memories into manikins in hopes that it will give them a will. An experiment involving the memories of 10+ subjects results in a monstrous manikin with the potential for great power. However, it’s implied that tests are less successful and the resulting failures were tossed into the "door to the rift" – which the villains would later find and use to summon manikins as henchmen.

In addition to Chaos and the general manikins, there is the concept of a “perfect manikin”; A manikin that is indistinguishable from an actual person as a result of a successful memory transplant. There are two “perfect” manikins at least: Cosmos and the Warrior of Light. Cosmos was created by Cid under pressure from “the state” in order to control Chaos, due to the latter refusing to listen to them. As a result, Cosmos is modeled after Cid’s wife.

The memories she is derived from, however, changed a bit between games: In the Chaos Reports of the original, it is said that Chaos’ memories were ‘culled to create a new being’ while the 012 reports hint that Cosmos was derived from Cid’s wife’s memories.

The Warrior of Light is derived from the memories of Cid himself. However, Cid was only able to succeed with a partial memory transplant, and as a result, the Warrior of Light retained human likeness, but initially lacked a will.

This too is a retcon: The Chaos Reports in the original Dissidia is ambiguous about how many warriors were summoned and how many were “drifting consciousnesses” that had drifted to World B [1] and were housed in manikins. 012 explicitly confirms that the Warrior of Light was the only “perfect” manikin among the warriors created by Cid.

More Manikin Musings:

- Chaos is suggested to have been younger and smaller when he was originally created but rapidly grew to his appearance in the game. Neither Cosmos nor WoL are suggested to have gone through similar phenomenon. He is also suggested to have had a childlike demeanor initially.

- Cosmos is implied to physically resemble Cid’s wife. This would imply that the Warrior of Light is physically modeled after Cid, although Cosmos’ resemblance to Cid’s wife is by design while the Warrior of Light’s appearance is not suggested to be such.

- While Cosmos eventually regains her memories of Cid’s wife, Chaos shows no signs of remembering the 10+ subjects used to create him.

- While Cosmos was intended to be a copy of Cid’s wife, the museum states that she lacked the original woman’s strength of will, with Cosmos’ being frail by comparison (implying that ‘the state’’s plan was doomed to fail).

Dissidia Opera Omnia explores the ties between manikins and memories particularly in Act 2. In a misguided attempt at ensuring her warriors can relax in the World of Respite, Materia removes the painful memories of her champions. These memories end up in the possession of manikins who become Dark Manikins; They grow stronger and are able to speak and feel, although the latter is more of a curse than a blessing due to the pain that their memories bring. The most interesting examination is probably Act 2, Chapter 5: Where Bartz, feeling guilty about the burden his manikin was made to bear, intentionally allows it to take all of his memories. This breaks Exdeath’s control over the manikin but renders Bartz himself into an empty shell, largely unresponsive to everything around him.

[1] For what it’s worth, Stranger of Paradise would do something similar with Bahamut: The dragonking explains that after Humanity killed him, his soul was sent adrift into the rift until the Moogle summoned him.

The rift being an afterlife? A connection to the collective unconsciousness? Who’s to say?”

[hungarianmudkip69]

flagrantly stealing this from a friend on discord but like this actually works so well??? both riku and chaos!jack specifically use the power of darkness to protect the people they care about and to protect the light and im just. Nomura please put SoP into kh4 im begging you i know jack says fuck but you can make him not swear

[elizaaarts]

[AU] LITTLE NIGHTMARES: DARK FATE (PART 53)

A brick fell in my eye 😭

> NEXT

> PREVIOUS

This part has an emotional weight focused on Six, what she feels, how she is suffering from all this, the feeling of lingering betrayal. She misses her little boy before he turned out to be someone completely different from the one she knew. That's why she says Mono is "a stranger" in the previous part.

Six is just tired of everything that's happening. So much so that she's kind of "accepted" her fate as The Lady, she didn't even struggle to refuse like she did the first few times. Six just wants time so she can save her friends and return them to Little Paradise safely. This part is also about time, will Six and Mono have time to be friends again? We'll see as the other parts unfold.

By the way, a curious fact is that Ferryman doesn't understand human feelings very well and he's also not one to be close to any child, but he understood that Six was suffering a lot at the moment and wanted to stay a little while, even though he felt uncomfortable with the hug.

I won't lie that this part really affected me, I felt a lot of pity while I was drawing this. I just feel PAIN (which is ironic).

A little spoiler: PART 54 will be a new journey, a new adventure in a new place and with this new dynamic between Mono and Six.

See you next time!

[obscured-everything]

​​OBSCURA trailer analysis & theories

The OBSCURA trailer is very pretty (watch it if you haven’t already <3) and is also full of interesting symbolism and snippets of Latin. In this post I’m going to be manually translating and providing notes on the Latin, as well as discussing what the numbers mean and giving my own plot speculations. SPOILERS for OBSCURA’s Chapter 1 with every love interest. 

I’m going to be working with the theory that the numbers correspond to the Major Arcana in a Rider–Waite–Smith tarot deck. I’ll be pulling tarot card information from A.E. Waite’s 1910 book ‘The Pictorial Key to the Tarot’, where he discusses the symbolism of the images in the cards and provides divinatory meanings. 

Shoutout to @/starlitmanta and @/mostlygayrage for posting their own analyses before me! I got inspired by both of them to both write down my thoughts and then actually finish the post after leaving it for months lol. @/mostlygayrage has some interesting stuff on the imagery and also delved into the Latin! Although he took it as one sentence which I won’t be doing – I’m going to take the double forward slashes as an indication of a break. 

Disclaimer that I haven’t formally studied Latin in years so if there are any errors feel free to point it out in the notes! 

Cirrus

18. Presbyter // Ecclesiae lunaris XVII: The Moon. Priest // Lunar churches 

18. Obsequium // ducit ad caelum Obedience // he leads to heaven TL notes N/A Tarot meaning To quote Waite, “The moon is increasing on what is called the side of mercy… the path between the towers is the issue into the unknown. The dog and wolf are the fears of the natural mind in the presence of that place of exit, when there is only reflected light to guide it…the message is: Peace, be still; and it may be that there shall come a calm upon the animal nature...” 

Upright: Hidden enemies, danger, darkness, terror, deception, occult forces, error. Reversed: Instability, inconstancy, silence, lesser degrees of deception and error. Speculation I think we can all agree that Cirrus is not trustworthy, hence danger, deception, occult forces etc. Nevertheless, Vesper (if you’ve got a good ending, at least) puts great degrees of trust in him. ‘A calm upon the animal nature’ calls to mind his odd ability to influence Vesper’s choices and force them into saying ‘yes’, but I also thought it might reference something about Vesper putting aside their instinctive reservations about Cirrus’ suspicious character to follow him into an unknown future. 

Leading to heaven is, to me, a bit double-edged; it could mean death or paradise. Very fitting, I think. 

Keir

20. Keir // Cavillatur fur XX: Judgement. Keir // Mocking thief 

20. Fatum // vestrum vel extraneus [Destiny / (calamitous) death] // yours or a stranger TL notes I’m inclined to believe that Keir’s name being his plain name rather than an epithet is probably just part of his blunt kind of character, and ‘mocking thief’ is probably related to his personality too. Also, there is another piece of Latin on that first screen – ‘cultellus’, which means ‘dagger’ and points downwards towards where his dagger is held. Also, ‘fatum’ is a very interesting word in that it carries an intriguing potential double meaning. Tarot meaning Upright: Change of position, renewal, outcome. Reversed: Weakness, pusillanimity, simplicity; also deliberation, decision, sentence. Speculation Waite’s initial discussion of Judgement is very Biblical which I doubt has much to do with OBSCURA’s use of it. I do think the divinatory meanings are very interesting – I think that at a good/best end of Keir’s route, he’ll be able to come out on top and secure a good and/or stable future for himself and/or Mouse Hole. 

My current theory is that, since we have had mentions of Keir and Oleander in each others’ routes, that they have direct effects on each others’ fates. This fits with ‘yours or a stranger��� of course, but also the double-edged ‘destiny or (calamitous) death’ – I’ll speculate more in Oleander’s route, but I think he and potentially most of Mouse Hole will not fare well if Vesper picks Oleander. 

I’m interested in why his dagger was explicitly pointed out and labelled. I’m kind of shooting in the dark here but I think it’ll be significant in the future – either as a symbol of his history (specifically with Oleander, perhaps?) or as a plot device of some sort. 

Oleander

11. Nerii // Periculosum scurra XI: Justice. Of oleander // Dangerous clown 

11. Patiuntur // sicut habes They are suffering // just like you are TL notes More technically, ‘nerii’ is the genitive of ‘nerium’, which means oleander. This makes sense to me when I think about how he’s had a history of changing names – he’s moreso embodying the qualities of oleander (a pretty but dangerous plant) rather than taking it as a definitive name. 

‘Patiuntur’ is in the plural, and suffering might be a strong word depending on how you look at it – the original word is like enduring through something difficult or unpleasant. Tarot meaning Waite basically says that the card has ‘obvious meanings’ so I don’t think I need to look too closely into it. 

Upright: Equity, rightness, probity, executive; triumph of the deserving side in law. Reversed: Law in all its departments, legal complications, bigotry, bias, excessive severity Speculation The second half of the second piece of Latin, ‘sicut habes’, is in the second-person and I’m assuming that this is meant to address Vesper/MC. Maybe Oleander is also looking for something that he can’t find or afford, although the plural throws me off a bit if that’s the case. Maybe it’s referencing Oleander’s previous Vigils (since Vesper is currently holding that position, ‘just like’ they have) or something…? 

Now, here is my plot theory which may or may not be insane. We know that Oleander has committed murder, and was very blasé about it; presumably he’s done this sort of thing before. We know that in his route, Keir has been alluded to, Griff has shown up and Keir is presumably going to show up at some point. I think that Oleander’s involvement with Keir is going to end very poorly for Keir, even leading to the calamity insinuated in Judgement. Specifically, I think that Oleander and Keir are going to be caught up in a serious crime and Keir is going to take the fall, leading to a permanent end for him (death, probably) and the following collapse of Mouse Hole. Oleander will get off lightly or scot-free (Justice’s ‘triumph of the deserving side in law’, ‘deserving’ as opposed to Keir who is indisputably a criminal and receives ‘excessive severity’). 

This could be from Keir and his group failing the burglary since Vesper isn’t there to cover for the injured lookout, or it could be something else that brings in the dagger which was pointed out in Keir's portion of the trailer. I’m thinking murder, honestly. 

Francesco

10. Franciscum // innocentes nobiles X: Wheel of Fortune. Francisco // innocent nobles 

10. Tempus // decurrit Time // runs out TL notes Grammatically, ‘Franciscum’ is in the accusative (the case used to mark the ‘object’ on which a verb acts). This could be a stylistic thing or it could allude to how he’s being ‘acted upon’ by whatever power/influence his family have. 

‘Decurrit’ is literally ‘runs down’ which fits with the hourglass imagery, but I imagine that the spirit of the phrase is ‘runs out’ especially since his route already alludes to that. Tarot meaning To quote Waite, “the symbolic picture stands for the perpetual motion of a fluidic universe and for the flux of human life … the essential idea of stability amidst movement. Behind the general notion expressed in the symbol there lies the denial of chance and the fatality which is implied therein.” 

Upright: destiny, fortune, elevation, luck, felicity. Reversed: increase, abundance, superfluity. Speculation I think that at some point within Francesco’s route, his family is going to be further involved. I assume that these are the ‘innocent nobles’, which makes me think that whatever state or situation that they find Francesco in won’t be very innocent at all. Alternatively, it could be that his family is more innocent/harmless than they present themselves as – depending on circumstance, this could be a big win for Vesper or a big loss because they don’t have the family backing that they thought they did. 

The Wheel of Fortune carries connotations of luck and change in fortune. I assume that Vesper provides Francesco with some degree of ‘stability amidst movement’ and that any ‘denial of chance’ involves Francesco leaving the marketplace and returning to the very clearly mapped out future that his family has for him, thus leading to a bad end. ——————————

Thanks for reading to the end!

[velvet-waltz]

Character study: Hans Landa

With Stranger in Paradise back in full swing, I thought it might be fun to dissect my concept of Landa (both in the movie and the Velvet Waltz-verse), and answer some questions I've gotten over the years.

(I'll mark spoilers for VW and Stranger accordingly)

What is it about this guy?

Hans Landa is a FASCINATING character. Like everyone else writing fic about him, I wanted the opportunity to rummage around in his head a bit. Put him in situations outside the scope of the movie and see what happens.

The 'point' of my fic is imagining how differently (and the same) Inglourious Basterds would play out if Hans' motivation were to change, early on. I was surprised at how many of his decisions still made sense. And how little I actually had to change about his canon characterization to accommodate this shift.

So why write a romance about Landa? He's a Nazi!

He sure is. And generally a very cold, calculating, and selfish man. I kinda think of movie/"before" Hans as the Landa Machine, operating one way, for one person's benefit (Landa's.) In my fic universe, I introduce an original character - a Jewish American spy, motivated by a strong sense of justice - who immediately throws a wrench in the Landa Machine when Hans develops a weakness for her.

He tries to have her on his preferred terms…and fails. The only way he can have her is to behave in ways that jeopardize his power, status, and personal safety, thus compromising his primary motivation. This is why the Hans Landa Machine starts to unravel: he finally wants something he can only have by putting himself second.

Love is interesting that way. Does Hans go out of his way, sacrifice his own power and status, and endanger himself, out of true love for Sylvia, or out of his selfish need to have what he wants? It's a good question, and one that she continues to ask throughout.

(Also Christoph Waltz is very hot in the movie and there's something about power and danger and etc etc etc. But really, there's no better way to crack a character like Landa open than with a love story, imo.)

What I think is true of Landa both in canon and in my AU:

Hans' primary loyalty is to Hans. He joins the SS because it's an opportunity for him. In the movie, he joins Operation Kino last minute because he sees which way the wind is blowing and determines he could benefit from switching sides. He's always gotten whatever he wanted, and the means never mattered. Until Sylvia, of course.

He doesn't really subscribe to the Nazi party's ideology. As a true opportunist, he makes whatever decision will ultimately benefit himself most. In VW, Sylvia's Jewishness is neither here nor there to him. Inconvenient for sure but having her is just one more thing he can get away with.

Hans sees himself as superior to others, and all evidence supports him in this.

Hans hates lying, or anyone else bending the rules besides himself. I think this is why he strangles Bridget in the movie - because her lies are pathetic and insulting to him. And he freaks out at Aldo for shooting the other German soldier because it wasn't part of the deal they agreed on. (VW spoiler) In Velvet Waltz, he similarly freaks out at Aldo during the prison liberation when he realizes Stiglitz is killing everyone in the building, not just the witnesses. Which is typical Basterds m.o. but not specifically part of their arrangement. [Aldo is a great foil for Hans because they're so diametrically opposite.] Hans doesn't necessarily hold himself to those same standards, lol.

Hans helped the Basterds and has a relationship with a Jewish woman. Does that mean he's 'good' now?

Great question. Honestly, THE question. I don't believe in moral absolutes myself so I keep this complicated throughout my fic.

What does it mean to be "good"? Is it enough to do good deeds that benefit others, even if you ultimately benefit as well?

(VW spoilers) There's no "switch flip" in my story, and I don't think Hans catches what's happening to him until it's too late, but there is a moment, when he's called to a house very clearly sheltering Jews, and can't bring himself to pull the trigger. He doesn't fully understand why he can't do it and feels nauseated as he goes downstairs to lie to his men. But he knows he can't do it and go home to Sylvia. I think that's the moment he really knows he's cooked, lol.

He's also very aware that by Sylvia's standards, he's a monster and will never be fully worthy of her. He tries to shield her from the details of his past for as long as possible.

(Stranger spoilers) I won't go into detail here because I haven't posted all of these chapters yet, but in Stranger, a character shows up from Hans' past who observed him from his SS days through his 'hero' turn and life with Sylvia and sees no conflict between those actions. To him, it all squares with the Hans Landa he knew from the beginning: selfish and opportunistic.

Is Hans even capable of goodness? I went into this fic with the presumption that somewhere, locked away, is a softer, more human Hans (which I'm sure Tarantino would disagree with.) How that part of him operates in conjunction with the rest is what makes him so damn interesting to me.

And what about that scar?

In the movie, Hans seems to be getting away with his crimes without an ounce of remorse. Because we have no access to his inner life here, it's satisfying to see him given the scar to ensure he's haunted by what he's done.

(VW spoilers) In Velvet Waltz, where he's been cracked open and tormented by his memories, I decided the much more insidious punishment was for him to be branded a hero. To carry the sickening knowledge of all he's done while honored and celebrated for decades. The dissonance between fact and fiction would be unbearable for him.

(mild Stranger spoilers) I left the door open for a sequel at the end of Velvet Waltz because I knew there was more to dig into, and that Hans' past would never be resolved. More crucially, that his marriage to Sylvia was still underpinned by the ugly truth neither one could fully acknowledge: the many, many innocent people he had killed. In Stranger, I'm utilizing a real event, Operation Paperclip - in which the US government quietly invited Nazi scientists to help the US develop weapons against the USSR - to force Hans to confront his past on a deeper level. Which of course brings all of that internal dissonance roaring back to the surface.

Please feel free to leave questions in the comments, and I'll answer as many as I can. And if there's interest, I'd love to do a series of these about all the characters, including my OCs. So feel free to ask about them as well!

[intothegenshinworld]

Fate’s Destiny ~ Chapter 1 || A new beginning

When you choose to re-enter the world of Teyvat, how will you change the story this time?

Warnings: Spoilers for main story.

Word count: 500

↺ ... || ↻ ... || ...

[ YES ]

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Your eyes flutter open as a soft summer zephyr brushes against your face. As unusual as it might be for someone who fell asleep in a bed, you don’t notice the change in environment immediately. Instead, confusion takes control of your rational thoughts and you’re stuck in a daze. 

Fluffy white clouds fill the blue skies, meadows of green stretch beyond the horizon, and rays of sunlight descend from above. And when you tilt your head upwards you see something even stranger. Leaves in the most vibrant shades of green cover your figure from the bright sun. 

While there was no denying the fact that you somehow made it outside in your sleep – the scenery seemed unlike any other you’d seen before. 

The wind chimes again and leaves fall until they land before your feet. And if you look closer, you can see some of the individual leaves glow a teal colour, so yes, unusual. But what explanation could there be for something like this? Can you still call this a dream when you’re so vividly feeling the breeze of the wind, smelling the scent of the season, and feeling the morning dew under your fingers? Is something real if it feels real? – even if it is impossible to be?

You lift your body from the tree trunk you had been resting against. Another thing you immediately notice is the sudden weight lifted from your shoulder. Both in a literal and figural sense. As you take your first few steps in this strange paradise you experience your body much lighter than before. It’s a strange but welcome feeling, one that gives you a sense of freedom and bliss. 

By now you’re finally free from confusion and you’re able to take in your surroundings properly. 

A river stretched in front of you. You can see the end of a cliff far into the distance. But most noticeable is the statue a few meters to your side. It gives off the same glow as the leaves had done earlier. Without any more leads on where you were, you approach the statue. 

It’s a lot taller than you had expected. Almost twice your size, but undoubtedly a familiar one. You let out a chuckle when you stand in front of the Statue of the Seven. A dream, surely. If not, what other explanation could there be for waking up in the game you’ve been playing for years now? 

You take a deep inhale. 

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Genshin Impact

That’s where you are— 

— inside a game.

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“[Y/n].”

A voice calls out to you. You remember it.

When you turn around, you are met by a familiar face. Half of it is covered by a mask. His blonde fringe falls in his face. His lips are parted and his eyes are crossed with a feeling unknown to you.

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He seems to have been in a hurry to get here.

A laugh escapes your lips as you move into his arms.

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What a wonderful dream you’ll have…

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AFTERWORD / NOTE (important!)

If you liked this chapter and think I deserve a comment, please leave one behind! I appreciate it a lot and it'll make me more motivated to write in the future ♡

© intothegenshinworld. Do not copy, repost, translate or take heavy inspiration from my content. Thanks for reading.