#the ultimate life-form descends.

[goblinbugthing]

The True Ultimate Life-form — AU/OC Lore

It was going somewhere. Where was it going? It didn’t know. Just somewhere. It senses a very powerful being in this universe, in this galaxy. It’s nearing the solar system the being is in at alarming speeds.

Still. Too. Slow.

It didn’t warp, even though it could. It just kept flying through the stars, only a little faster. This was as fast as it could go without warping.

Still. Too. Slow.

What kind of God can’t get to its destination when it wants to? Pathetic, really, of the Ultimate Life-form itself.

Pathetic.

Go. Faster.

…

Can’t. Go. Faster.

Must. Go. FASTER.

It didn’t have time for thinking. What kind of God berates itself for something so insignificant?

It stopped in its tracks.

It roared loudly. Nobody heard it. This was in space, after all — the sound waves it produces cannot be carried.

Good. Nobody needed to know it was there.

Nobody would know it was there until it was too late.

“Goodbye. Meaningless universe.”

“Ultima. Marks. Your demise.”

It continued speeding towards its destination.

Warp speed.

A gorgeous planet of green plains and forests, sandy golden deserts, warm autumnal trees, blue oceans, and snowy tundras awaits.

Ultima cares not for its beauty.

All it cares for is the destruction of the Greatest Warrior in the Galaxy.

It will win this time. It has to. It absolutely refuses to accept another humiliating defeat like the last one, millennia ago.

“Soon.

Soon. I will. Regain. What I. Have lost.”

It narrows its many eyes at the planet the energy signature emanates from.

This is the home of its mortal enemy.

The one who destroyed it, innumerable years ago.

“Soul Knight. You. Will not. Defeat me. This time.”

Stars above, what unknowable chaos will befall Gamble Galaxy this time?

[mo0nfairy]

ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ BLOMSTERTID, PART TWO !

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 :: 10.9k

content warnings :: NO SPOILERS! yandere!viktor, obsessive!viktor, g/n reader, violence/gore, s3lf-harm, (very light) s3xual implications, needles, vomit, & terminal illness.

viktor's yandere traits are . . .

worshiper, heroic, & obsessive

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

He imagines himself consuming the correct remedies and garnering the ability to walk, to run, to stand tall on his two feet. He is merely a child, but he is well aware of his weaker form. In the fragrance of these illusions, he can become capable and mighty; he can be the fearless warrior who protects his loved ones from lurking danger. 

To heal and obtain strength — that is the haunting desire which paints his dreams.

The young boy now greets the sun in all of its blistering heat. The cloudless sky casts a shimmering glint upon the rusted scrap metal and bent screws of his handmade boat. Viktor’s frail hands place the creation upon the surface of a river stream. In the light of his childlike wonder, he imagines himself the captain, guiding his loyal crew across a grand sea overwhelmed with thunder and lightning. His dreams remain stagnant in his brain, though, where they have remained his entire life. 

The jagged gears and sprockets hasten down the current before Viktor can bring himself to his wobbly knees. The boat has now accelerated to speeds little he cannot keep up with. When his crooked cane escapes from his grasp, he falls down with it. His nose aches from the harsh plummet against the ground and specks of tears begin to build in his bambi-brown eyes. He winces from the few painful jolts in his weak legs before he is finally able to stand once more. 

When he searches, Viktor cannot find his beloved boat anywhere in sight. His eyes follow the stream ahead, which descends into an abysmal cave. He measures the weight of his options, but ultimately decides that his boat is too precious to abandon.

With a gulp, he carefully treads forward into the cave. Here, there is no light to guide him, only sound. And every drop of water and subtle echo of breath has his tiny heart hammering. He imagines some great, big, green-hued monster to crawl from the darkness and chow down on his thin bones. Viktor imagines the utmost worse to occur, but does not relent with his original intentions. He has to be brave, he asserts to himself.

When he rounds a corner, he spots a strange patch of light in the distance. Within this light, he recognizes the familiar cog of his boat peeking from behind a rock. He is moments away from cheering and celebrating the return of his greatest invention, until he notices the journey he will have to endure to retrieve the boat.

Viktor will have to squeeze himself through a narrow crack, threatening to release the avalanche of boulders from above. Still, he concludes his boat to be more important than his safety. He wastes no time in rushing forward to enact on such.

There is a struggle as he sinks down to lay on his stomach, but he captures success when he finds his small frame to fit perfectly through the tight gap. Chunks of rock protrude rudely into his emaciated form as he crawls, but he continues onwards. Viktor reaches his hand out, grasping air momentarily, before he finally lodges the wheel of his boat between his two fingers. With a soft “yes!”, he yanks the boat back into his possession. 

Before he can leave, however, he finds something striking in his periphery. In its journey, his boat landed in a space overwhelmed with glistening crystals.

Viktor eagerly slithers himself into the expanse. Bringing himself to his feet, he proceeds to marvel at the sight before him. 

The one fraction of the area that fascinates him the most is the great boulder directly in the center. It twitches and heaves with faded life, while radiating an aura of blue and purple luster. The opalescence is muted from its old age, but the sparkles still captivate him beyond belief. It does not take much to impress a boy raised in the lanes, after all. It is beautiful, Viktor thinks to himself.

And in the height of his desire for answers, he slowly places a hand upon the surface.

His vision abruptly goes dark and flashes of images then skim through his head. 

Viktor sees a person, almost. They have jagged skin and colorful flesh, with swirling hues of blue and purple levitating from their open palm. The scars treading along their skin spell out some form of incantation. The letters are ineligible, but Viktor still attempts to grasp the meaning within the short spurts of clarity casted across his brain. Incomprehensible whispers in this language permeate from every corner of the cave, as though the bats have been assigned the task of delivering a message. 

Viktor cannot grasp any of the statements spoken, but one word is emphasized with acute clarity. 

Y/N. 

There is a vision of a grand tree, bristling with life and color, before that image is replaced by his normal sight of the cave. The floors and walls surrounding him all rumble and vibrate, threatening to crumble. A few loose stones descend from the ceiling and nick his ragged clothing. 

Viktor does not waste a second more before he is scrambling toward his point of entry. Squished through the skinny gap, around the several corners, and out the sunlit entrance — he has successfully escaped the crumbling cave with his boat held tightly in his grasp.

A thundering pain then sinks into his leg. The force brings him to the ground with a violent wince. When he looks to the source, he finds that his leg is in its normal condition. What he doesn’t find, however, is his cane. Somehow, he had endured the entire escape without the support of his cane, which has now been swallowed by the tumbling rubble of the avalanche. 

Viktor tries to catch his breath and find a feasible explanation. Was it adrenaline that got him to safety, or possibly… Magic?

The topic of this “earthquake” spread throughout the Under-City, before ascending into the glamorous land of Piltover. Without wasting a beat, Piltover swiftly claimed rights to the cave and utilized the expanse for resources, all of which Viktor watched from the high surface of a neighboring water tower. 

Seeing the men work themselves to the bone, shipping off samples of what was his discovery, Viktor makes a promise to himself. 

He will fight tooth-and-nail to cross the bridge of Piltover. Then, he will reclaim possession of those crystals and protect them as his. 

He will succeed, he solemnly swears to himself. 

In the span of the years that followed, this mysterious creature, Y/N, has ushered Viktor to chase after his brightest dreams: to heal and obtain strength. They have been his light as he guides himself to this goal; his lantern through a violent blizzard. 

The journey to success began when Viktor first dipped a toe into adulthood. 

The remaining years of his adolescence were spent in a ridiculous back-and-forth cycle with several prestigious schools in Piltover. Viktor was an exemplary student, that has been made abundantly clear. However, the elites in the academies were wary of his background as an Under-City citizen.

Time after time, he persevered past every expectation of him and flourished with flying colors. Viktor was prepared to stand outside their offices, down on his knees with fresh coffees in hand for their approval. 

It wasn’t until a few days after his eighteenth birthday were his efforts finally taken into account. It was through the eyes of Heimerdinger that Viktor finally received recognition, who offered the young scholar the role of his assistant.

Viktor accepted the offer with embarrassing speed.

The role of an assistant is not his dream, though. It is merely one stepping stone toward the finish line of his goals. These are facts he has to relentlessly remind himself of. Upon scrutinizing the failed efforts of a Talis scientist, however, he realizes how difficult this task is. Possibly bridging on the edge of impossible, if he is honest with himself. 

After an abrupt explosion, Viktor was sent to study the materials used in Jayce’s experiments and verify their safety. He ventured into his isolated office and began his scrutinization of the notes and toolsets scattered around. A steel metal box, adorned with intricacies of blue and gold, calls out to his curiosity. Flicking the metal tab open, Viktor lifts the heavy lid and finds the very last thing he expected to see. 

Held in copper claws are fragments of the crystals he discovered as a boy. All glistening and pulsating in those tones of blue and purple. 

“Y/N…” The word crawls out strangled from his throat. Accompanied with his stuttering gasps, he has been rendered to a man absolutely breathless. 

His hands tremble like a thundering earthquake as they take one of the crystals into his gentle grasp. And just like that, all the resentment and festering anger he harbored for Piltover had vanished. As though merely touching these shards provided him with the impossible tranquility found in forgiveness.

All he needed now was to return to you, then anything other than serene bliss can melt away.

Viktor offered (with a stifling fervency) to join Jayce in his efforts to learn more of this magic. From here, “Hextech” was born.

Many, many years have now passed since their partnership. In these years, only puny progress has been made in Viktor’s chase for his dreams. With what success they’ve grasped, they’ve managed to capture the attention of scientists and investors across the world.

Jayce, the born-and-raised Piltie he is, has claimed all credit for the perseverance of Hextech with loud, prideful words and his chest puffed out like a bird. He revels in the bouquets of applause and praise he is drowned in. 

Viktor, on the other hand (and despite being the sole reason behind Hextech’s success), cannot find it within himself to care for Jayce’s entitlement. All he has ever cared for is you and the dreams you keep safely nestled in your palms. Everything else is immaterial.

2021 has now reached its lively Summer. Unfortunately, the goals Viktor set out for himself that year are miles away from fruition. His primary focus has been the runes he saw adorning your form and what definitions remain in every scratch. Translating the characters will lead to your location, he is positive of such.

With that being said, all these wasted days have been spent finding himself in the same dead ends he’s visited countless times. He can feel his worn body eroding with every passing second, with the glimmer of his dream now beginning to flicker with old, neglected light.

Home again, Viktor partakes in his evening routine before bed, a routine he has followed for years. The thick paper in his at-home office is used to its utmost value, where the ink of his pen bleeds his heart out onto the draped scroll. 

If it weren’t for his broad vocabulary and expensive handwriting, you would think these scrolls were the works of a teenage girl gushing about her crush. In reality, it is Viktor releasing the pent-up emotions he’s forced into captivity during the hours at work. Here, within the safety of his home, all of these feelings can be exposed in all of its ugly brilliance. His sentences may be frivolous, but they are overwhelmed with an ardent need.

Without realizing, he sometimes finds himself unconsciously sketching your face from his memories as a boy. That breathtaking, tragically enchanting face has haunted him beyond belief. And that is especially the case now, as he signs off yet another letter to you with his signature “Yours Forever and Always, Viktor”. He takes one last longing glance to your features he sketched over the romantic words.

Propping himself onto his cane, he curls the scroll into itself. He then treads to his bedroom and rests the scroll on the flower bed just outside the window. Joining this letter is another gift he addressed to you.

Viktor takes hold of his handmade boat he carried with him into adulthood. It is now miserable and rusted, but remains one of the most sacred items he owns. He nestles it safely beneath the thick hedges of the flowers, ensuring no gusts of wind or fluttering birds can disrupt its placement.

These actions are taken with one intention in mind: garnering your attention. 

Surely, from wherever you may be, you will catch sight of the boat and be reminded of the connection you formed with him long ago. He is sure of this, despite waking every morning to the same, untouched flower bed. Still, this neglect is not anywhere near enough to hinder his efforts. 

Slowly, he situates himself into his bed and faces his body toward the window. Sleep is something that rarely ever finds him, but in the midst of these rarities, he sleeps like a restless child on Christmas Eve. One day, Viktor will wake to your heavenly silhouette peering at him through the window. He falls asleep with this prayer ghosting his lips.

Another day of fruitless work is what he is met with the following morning. No soft, jagged hands stroking his hair or crooked smile to rival the early-day sun. 

These failures, mended with the countless rough patches Hextech has faced in recent months, have taken a perceptible toll on Viktor. Again and again, he rearranges the runes of the Hexcore and provides it with a multitude of subjects to learn from. Still, he does not earn even a glimmer of a possible translation. All this effort forged into finding your whereabouts has resulted in defeat, yet again.

The hours of the day drag on in agonizing lethargy. The walls of the headquarters could almost resemble the metal bars of a prison. Here, however, the office space provided by Heimerdinger’s connections and Talis House money was far more luxurious than a dank cell. 

A window with intricacies molded into the surface provides a blinding light from their high-view point in the city. The gold spheres painting the marble floors and bright walls could almost resemble eyes scrutinizing his every move. The space is vacant, except for the wide desk built into the wall with notes and gadgetry scattered about the surfaces. 

The room is dull in comparison to others in the building, yes, but neither he nor Jayce had time to concern themselves with appearance. Maybe… Maybe you’ll help with decorations when the time comes. Maybe you’ll adorn these boring walls with those opalescent crystals and shimmering jewels of yours. You can provide this room with life, just the same as you did for him.

So engrossed in the bewitching pondering of you, Viktor fails to notice another person in the room. Sky, he thinks he can recall her name as. She rambles nervously about nonsense he cannot be bothered to discern. It is only when she treads a little too close to the Hexcore is he finally brought out of his inner turmoil. Her elbow unintentionally nudges a nearby house plant toward the Hexcore. 

A scolding bridges on Viktor’s tongue, but is replaced by a suffocating silence when the Hexcore clings to the plant. 

A bolt of purple springs from the runes and clasps to the plant like a hand, twitching as it absorbs the energy from the leaves. When the potted plant wilts, the Hexcore bursts with new energy and flourishes with greenery that reaches the ceiling. It radiates in the colors of blue and purple he knows all too well.

From the illumination is a character of one of the runes. Viktor watches in enraptured amazement as said rune unfolds and spells out something tangible.

“SAN T  RY”, the letters speak.

Santry? Maybe it is an incantation or a phrase native to the language you speak, he is not sure. Nonetheless, the heavy ache in his chest eases and welcomes the light of excitement. 

His brain dares to assume you would then somehow blossom with the flowery, there to breathe life into the dream he’s spent years striving after. Much to his horror, however, all the thriving organic matter soon withers away. As the decaying fragments descend, Viktor rushes over, discarding his cane. He clings to the dead remnants piling on the floor as though it were you who died in his hands. 

As quickly as it had begun, it has now ended. And through the shocked silence, he is sure he can hear the tortured remains of his heart die alongside this damn house plant.

Still, the tortured soul does not impede his intentions of translating the runes of the Hexcore. If anything, his motivation has endured an incredible increase. 

His crafted boat and another written scroll have found their home on his flower bed, once again, but Viktor is far from his bedroom. He remains in his at-home office, grinding the hours of the past week into understanding the meaning behind this groundbreaking discovery. 

Why was there such a dramatic reaction to biological matter? Does this serve as a step forward in the direction of his dreams or does this eradicate all his original effort? Will he have to scour through every note he has written in the past decade to find something that explains this revelation? 

And could it… Is it really you?

The runes scribbled on his notepad may as well have been chicken scratch. Despite his unwavering intelligence, he still cannot piece together the meaning of the characters the Hexcore had given him. At this point, translating a mere syllable would be enough for Viktor to shout “eureka!” from the highest building in Piltover.

“Viktor.” 

Time stands still. 

The voice that permeates through the office is almost strangled, as though his brain can’t quite grasp what the voice actually sounds like. Still, it is an elegant conundrum of the most ethereal music he has ever heard. And he knows, he just knows where this beautiful melody has perfused from. 

Oh, Y/N. 

My angel. My dearest. 

His brain begs for him to turn around and bless his vision with what he knows will be the most perfect sight he’ll ever witness. His body, however, has been reduced to that of a frozen statue, completely stiff and still. 

“Look at me.” 

The demand falling from your tongue erases all of that. 

His body seems to move on its own, beginning to slowly, breathlessly, turn around. He knows it will be too much for his weak body to endure, yet still, he cannot stop himself. It is as though you’ve plunged a hand into his nerves and began conducting his movements like a puppeteer.

Viktor finds you standing across the room and a sob is yanked from his chest. Your figure has personified in a mess of blinding brightness and confusing colors — a watercolor portrait detailing every speck of the word perfection. It strains his eyes to look at you. Yet still, he cannot bear to look away. Not now, not ever. 

What is clear in his vision, though, is what you present in your hands. You hold the rusted boat he crafted as a child, with your fingers exploring the gears and cogs plastered against the scrap metal. As you fidget, you tread closer to where he sits. And with tears seeping down his face, Viktor watches your every move in absolute devastation. 

“I’ve been searching for this for quite a while.” You hold the boat in an admirable presentation. “For you, as well.” 

His heart exhales, almost. As though something had been digging their tight nails into the gooey tissue and finally, finally eased their grasp.

When you bend down beside him, glorious face just inches away from his, Viktor can truly feel his freed heart melting down to puddled nonsense. Your hand then finds his cheek and you cup his boney face in your palm. Your touch feels like fuzzy static from the devices he tinkers with. Electrifying, and most imperatively, warm. 

“My beautiful masterpiece.” Your voice still remains a mellifluous scratch and punctures his soul with every timbre and tone. 

He can’t help but feel small beneath your gaze. Like a nasty insect. Weak, immaterial, and easy. Skittering across your flesh and ensnaring his prickly limbs around this grand sugar cube he’s stumbled upon. He is something so trifling in comparison to you. Potent, imperative, and intricate. Exuding saccharin with every step you take and indifferent to this foul pest lapping up any sliver he can get. 

“How could you let this drag on so long, Viktor?” You question. “You were cut from the cloth of my flesh. Soaked in the rivers of my blood. There is no you if not me. You and I are one.” 

Viktor has been rendered to a man overcome with twitter-patted hysteria. He is shocked he is even still able to breathe, no less, maintain consciousness in a moment of such frenzied elation. No words escape him in response; all he can do is stare and revel at the sight he’s been slaving his entire life just to find a glance of.

Another euphoria-induced beat passes before you do the unthinkable. With a few measured glances to his mouth, Viktor watches in astonished rapture as your eyes flutter close and your mouth subtly parts. Then, you lean into him. 

Just before your lips touch, impaling him with the inevitable exaltation he’ll surely die from, he blinks and finds himself face-down at his desk.

Reality may as well have slapped him across the face.

A light, delirious gasp leaps from him as consciousness settles in. Viktor finds his lips puckered against his knuckles, where drool seeps from the corner of his mouth and onto the notes beneath his head. He buries his face into his hands with a jagged, frustrated groan. 

Dreaming of kissing the partner of his dreams, is he a teenager again? Then again, you’ve always had your clever ways of making him feel as such. This romantic disposition of his did not flourish until the later years of his adolescence, of which he assumed were the normal changes every young man faces. Then, as a mature adult, he can continue his efforts of translating the runes with complete clarity.

Bridging on almost two decades later, these feelings have yet to cease. Viktor is still horrifically and irrevocably in love. Not even the promise of heaven could help fizzle out these emotions. What is heaven compared to you, anyway?

He peeks his gaze through the creases of his fingers and finds he had fallen asleep on his planner. In the ink (now diluted and splotched from drool), he finds the date of the fundraiser he had promised Jayce to attend. With a glance at the clock, he realizes he has several minutes to prepare himself until the event begins. Another groan rumbles from his throat. 

All Viktor wants is to return to the dreamscape of your enchanting words and magic-spun lips. Is that too much to ask for?

Dusk has now begun to fade down the horizon, illuminating the artwork of Mel Medarda in a scintillating glow. The art is irrelevant to all, however, as scientists and engineers across the globe have traveled here to sell their million-dollar ideas to Piltover’s greatest investors. 

Viktor now stands behind Jayce as they saunter through the gallery, stifling a grunt with every dry conversation he’s unnecessarily dragged into. The scientist they’ve found themself shackled in a conversation with trails on about his success in other nations. He is quite famous for his fruitful discoveries and resolute intelligence, but Viktor could not care less about what this stranger has to offer them.

Standing here, idle chatter and rich laughter perfusing from every corner, all Viktor can find himself thinking of is you. He juggles with the reality of the previous events, trying to differentiate whether it was another sugar-spun dream or a message sent straight from your pen. He’s never had a dream so explicitly vivid before, after all. Could it have been a sign? Was this your reciprocation? Do you truly possess the same feelings for him as he does for you? 

“That sounds incredible. Doesn’t it, Viktor?” 

A nudge from Jayce and Viktor is barely yanked back to reality. 

“Ehh, yes. Yes, it does…” 

Without another click, Viktor then returns to his favorite place: the thought of you.

That dream was the encapsulation of his greatest desires falling into his palms. The only proof he has that it was an actual dream and not reality were the current speeds of his fluffed-out heart. To witness you through his naked eye, to feel the genuine touch of your hand, to mold his needful lips against yours — it would kill him instantly. The fact that he is still alive now is all the evidence Viktor needs to realize that, unfortunately, it was just another dream in a sea of thousands. 

This does not halt his brain from soaking in the contents of his dream, however. All he could think about in the midst of this stupid cocktail party was your face, your body, your voice. God, could there be anything so indubitably perfect in this world?

And your kiss, oh, the things Viktor would do to receive such vehement affection. Your presence is enough to kill him, yes, but your kiss would revive him, just to kill him all over again. 

A delicious juxtaposition between life and death — that is what you are made of. This lethal, intoxicating essence swims through your veins and weeps from your soul; it is a weapon any sane man would be ecstatic to succumb to. Viktor surely would, he has no hesitation with his judgment. He merely thinks of your face and is moments away from collapsing to his knees.

A server treads by with a platter hoisted over their shoulder. On the surface are several gold-painted champagne glasses. Viktor has no second to think before the server is shoving one of the glasses into his hands, no regard for his resistance. 

He makes the motion to grasp the server's attention and return the glass, but something about it stops him. Twirling the glass in circles and watching the liquid swirl with the motions, he finds himself entranced. Viktor has never been one to drink alcohol, as it does more harm than good for his feeble body. With this glass now in his hand, he can’t prevent himself from contemplating the flavor. And perhaps the flavor could even be similar to you, maybe.

Would your kiss be as smooth as the thick liquid? Would it sting like the bubbling effervescence of the champagne? Just like the bolts of fervent electricity he garnered from the Hexcore? Would it be rich? Sour? Sweet? Maybe a mouthwatering collision no one has ever tasted before? 

Viktor’s mouth waters as these thoughts invade his brain. If he were correct, he’d bottle the essence and get himself drunk on the taste for eternity. Even if it was poison, he would welcome the paradisiacal venom with a sun-bright smile.

Just before his lips meet the edge of the champagne glass to truly test what his angel may taste like, something captures his attention. 

The words “Hextech” and “sell” should never exist within the same sentence, yet Viktor hears them crystal-clear from the mouth of this scientist. All bubbly, blissful nonsense frolicking through his mind is brought to an abrupt cut.

Viktor has caught the man halfway through a proposition regarding the sake of Hextech. 

“Just between us scientists, you can tell me the truth. You’re surely getting nowhere with your experiments in that cramped office, no?” 

Viktor tries to intrude and bring an end to the idea before it is even spoken aloud, but he is rudely interrupted.

“Imagine how much prosperity and success you can bring to the Hextech name with me there! All the profit you’d earn with my skills and experience.” 

His nails dig violently into his palm as he drags on with his proposition. Like hell will he let some greedy capitalists put his hands on what sliver he has of you. It hurt to simply let Jayce touch the Hextech materials, despite the fact they were originally in his possession in the first place. To send it overseas to god-knows-where would wound him in ways he would never heal from.

A brutal rejection bridges on Viktor’s tongue. Maybe even a foul remark to add insult to injury. When he glances at Jayce, however, he finds the man's expression to be scrunched into puzzlement. Almost as though he were considering this scientist's offer. 

A sharp shatter then pulsates through the room. 

Viktor looks to his hand and finds he had shattered his glass in the height of his fury, cold champagne seeping down his folded sleeves. 

A few partygoers fall silent and look at the sudden intrusion of volume, but soon return to their chit-chat when nothing feasible comes from the noise. Jayce, on the other hand, wastes no time in trying to inspect the glass shards punctured into Viktor’s pale palms. He yanks himself away before he can place a finger on him, however. 

“No!” Viktor asserts. 

He is not embarrassed of his outburst, either, despite how composed he presents himself to be. Not when you are on the line. How could he ever remain calm with this prospect knocking on his door? 

A sharp glare to Jayce and the man begins fumbling through an explanation. 

“I-I never said we would take the offer, just that-” 

“Just what, Jayce?” 

Viktor’s voice increases in volume. Eyes follow, but he does not care. 

“It-It’s just… I’m worried, Viktor. You are clearly not in good shape and I don’t think the future of-”

Viktor swings his frail arm behind him before surging it toward Jayce’s face. 

The punch does not land, as Jayce dodges it with ease, ultimately resulting in Viktor to trip over his leg. He lands on the marble floors with a violent thud, piercing pain spreading through his sensitive body upon impact. 

All eyes are locked on the two now, hushed whispers drifting through the silent room. As fast as it had begun, it was now over.

Jayce attempts to assist his partner, but Viktor bluntly slaps his helping hand away and brings himself to his feet. If he has proved anything over the past decade, it is not Jayce he needs. It is you and only you. When he is met with the possibility of losing you, he cannot restrain the rampant, infuriated emotions coursing through his bloodstream. 

Viktor then limps out of the building with rage still perfusing from him like a thick perfume. Jayce acquiesces, but does not attempt to follow his lab partner. The Talis name cannot be tarnished, after all.

He apologizes to the scientist with shame plastered across his expression. With a paranoid glance over his shoulder, he speaks in hushed tones and proposes the topics they spoke of beforehand.

Meanwhile, Viktor hastens to the sanctity of his home. It is the only safety he has been nestled with in the trajectory of his life. It is all done by your hand, as his home is where you are. Yes, with a slyly-sewn excuse, he was granted permission to keep the Hexcore in his possession, of which he wasted no time in snagging away. Now, he will protect and nurture this fragment he has of you by whatever means necessary.

Viktor soon trudges past the threshold adjacent to his living room, the mahogany doors creaking as he does so. Sauntering through, he is then met with an instantaneous peace.

His library is the place he possesses the utmost pride for, since all books present have been written by his hand. Here, every etch of ink correlates to you.

You are not something he can contain within the whorls of his mind, no. You must be expressed in any form of physicality Viktor can garner. Writing assists him in translating the runes, but it also serves as another desperate attempt to assure himself you are real and not just some psychic phenomenon he experienced as a child. You are real, you must be. You do not have a choice. 

Many of the books detail your physicality, as much as his fuzzy, muddled brain can decipher. Other books are unorganized gibberish regarding your whereabouts. The runes, the crystals, the Hextech — all this science is just stepping stones leading him closer to you. 

The other pieces, the more hidden ones, are for more frivolous exertions. Nights when these fantasies cloud his mind, he jots them down in messy splotches of ink and marvels at the ideas he bleeds onto paper. Said ideas are too intimate for him to revisit without flushing like a young boy stepping into the world of puppy-love. Nonetheless, they assuage him on the lonelier nights cramped in his office. 

All of these books overwhelm the several isles of shelves within the grand library. Through the warm wood and soft lamplights, Viktor rushes past and does not bother to drag his thin fingers across the leather spines, as he usually does in admiration of his work. Instead, he rushes to the set of double-doors opposite to the other doorway.

Through this entrance is his at-home office; the room in which most of his time is spent. The area is nothing short of dull, but serves its purpose — that being supporting Viktor’s hard work and delusional fits. 

That is certainly the case now, as the man chucks his cane to the ground and collapses onto a neighboring sofa. The materials are bristly and jut into his skin uncomfortably, but he cannot find it within himself to care. Not when his precious Hextech is at risk of being sold off like livestock. Not when you are moments away from being shoved onto a ship and sent overseas. 

“Ridiculous. Selling you? How dare he even consider it!” 

Viktor’s gaze finds the rolling chalkboard situated just beside his desk. On the green surface is a sketch of your face, drawn perfectly centered in the mess of numerous equations and jotted formulas.

“There is not enough money in the world- in the galaxy for me to even consider disposing of you!” 

He stands to feet, wobbling slightly, before he limps over the chalkboard. He rests a gentle palm upon the surface where your cheek would be.

“No… Never you…”

Viktor had not realized how shockingly realistic the drawing of you was until this moment. All the hours spent sketching your face have resulted in him becoming quite savvy in his artistic abilities, as it shows, to a degree where he finds himself captivated with the sight. As though you were standing right before him, just as you were in his dreams.

“Never you…” His thumb caresses the jut of your traced cheekbone. “Perfect, magnificent you…” 

With a light thud, his weary head lands against the board, where your foreheads align. From here, the neglected taste of champagne then returns to his memory. Truly, how would you taste? What emotions would he be flooded with if his dreams weren’t so rudely halted? 

Viktor is now breathing heavily before the chalkboard, practically panting against the rugged surface. The idea of kissing you is not foreign by any means, but as he is still fresh out of the arms of his fuzzy dreams, his body cannot restrain itself from reacting dramatically to the concept.

He then presses a languid kiss to your chalk-drawn mouth. Sure, the surface may not have the softness and jagged texture he is certain you possess, but the concept alone is enough to get his heart burning. 

Viktor’s mind becomes overwhelmed with the thought of you, like some hungry parasite latched into the fleshy grooves of his brain. How you’d taste, like lapping up the juice seeping from the forbidden fruit. How you’d feel, like the warm blanket of heaven’s clouds embracing him. Viktor is overwhelmed with the contemplation of everything; all the madness and repose that would follow with your lips on his.

The kiss hastens, until he begins utilizing his tongue in the state of vehemence. Thick chalk pervades through his mouth, but he is too far muddled by the fantasies bleeding through his head to pay any mind. He is messy and inexperienced with his mouth, yes, but the feverish need seared into his affections eradicates any nervous ticks or fearful hesitation.

Viktor’s efforts are abruptly cut short when he is overwhelmed by a coughing fit. He failed to anticipate how his fragile body would react to the thick chalk. It is an inevitability he should have realized sooner, had he not been so blissfully blinded by the imaginary, dusty lips of his lover. 

What was expected as a few coughs to rid his throat of the dust resulted in him choking on rugged gags. His body slams against the surface of his desk as a desperate means for support.

Blots of hot blood and chunks of chalk amalgamate and splatter out from his retches. Far too light headed to notice, a few drops of this excess land on the Hexcore. Immediately, it begins pulsating with new life. From this vibration, a heavenly aura of violet and blue perfuses and sways in languid circles. A new set of runes he has never seen before join the cloud of color, which spell out incomprehensible letters as they glisten and churn. 

This sudden change soon grasps Viktor’s attention, who is now met with a new sense of clarity upon discerning the sight. When the revelation simmers, he may as well have died right at his desk. 

“Oh, dearest…” A wide, almost manic smile stretches on his thin face. “Is it me you need?” 

The emotions swarming through his body have rendered him weak, but he has never known strength like he does in this moment. Viktor should have known from the beginning: you have always been calling out to him. It was never the measly plants that triggered a reaction, it was him! It was always him! 

And so fervently will he give himself over to you. Whatever it is you desire, Viktor will personally deliver on a golden platter. He will be your warrior and your servant; he will set the world ablaze to ensure your happiness.

“Y/N… I promise…” 

Viktor collapses before he can bring this new revelation to fruition.

The sounds of a robotic beeping is what greets Viktor next. The steady rhythm guides him as consciousness pervades his body. Through his blurry vision, he finds white walls, white floors, and himself in a white bed beneath white sheets. Everything is stale in its dull, depressing appearance. 

Turning his heavy head, he finds a figure seated beside him with their head buried in their hands. A glimmer of hope sparkles through him. 

“Y/N?” 

Jayce raises his head with sharp speed and Viktor is met with acute disappointment. He fails to notice the trepidation and pity in his partner's eyes. 

“Viktor… The doctors, they, uh, they said…” 

He sinks further into the mattress. His goals, his dreams, everything he has ever wanted — none of it will be his.

Even beneath the weight of shocked grief, all that permeates through his weary head is you.

The runes inked on your flesh, how he’ll never caress them. The crooked frame of your smile, how he’ll never earn it. The contours of your jagged hands, how he’ll never hold them. The symphony of your musical voice, how he’ll never hear it. Viktor will never be able to have the one thing that matters most to him and this fact punctures him worse than any weapon forged by man. 

“I-I know- I know you don’t want to hear this right now, but…” 

Viktor’s waiting gaze deepens. “But…?” 

Jayce’s eyes dart around the room, searching for something other than Viktor’s eyes to look at. With a deep breath, he breaks the silence.

“Hextech is going nowhere, Vik. We just keep finding ourselves at dead ends and clearly, it's taking a toll on-!” 

“Wait, what are you suggesting?” 

“What I’m saying is…” 

Jayce stammers before finding the words to speak. 

“Some scientists arrived overseas and I gave them a tour of our office. I think we should-” 

“You what!?” 

“I-I just showed them around and they provided some guidance. All I’m saying is that I think it’d be best for us to-” 

“Absolutely not! I will not give up Hextech!” 

The beeping of his heart monitor accelerates. 

“You’re not listening, Vik. There is no you, anymore.” 

Beep, beep, beep. 

“What is that supposed to mean!?” 

Beep, beep, beep. 

“With how much… time you have left, I-I made the decision to give your role to one of the scientists.” 

Beep, beep, beep, beep. 

“I’m sorry it had to be like this.” 

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep. 

“No, no, Jayce. Please- Please don’t do this.” 

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep. 

“I’m sorry, but I promise this is for your own good.” 

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep. 

“I will do- I’ll do anything, Jayce, don’t- don’t do this to me!” 

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep. 

“There’s nothing I can do, Vik. It’s out of my hands.” 

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beepbeepbeep. 

“We’ll be collecting the Hexcore from-”

BeepbeepbeepBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP- 

“I WON’T LET YOU HAVE THEM!” 

Viktor falls to the tiled floor, his shout spurting out like a glass shatter. Sharp and ragged, it is a tone he cannot recognize; the picture frame displaying the heart-shattering devastation of his unmet dreams. 

The tubes strapped to his narrow limbs snap and spring into the air. Tears seep down the jagged juts of his cheekbones. Viktor’s slender, ghastly fingers grip the edge of the bed frame and he drags his limp body forward. Crusted fingernails dig into the ankles of Jayce, who abruptly stands from his seat and cowers away from the crazed man. 

“They’re mine!” 

The door bursts open and a gaggle of nurses and doctors follow the intrusion. They swarm into the scene like a school of fish darting away from the jaws of a great-white. Before Viktor can merely blink, they ensnare their hands around his thin body and restrain him to the cold ground. Despite his resistance, the needles of their syringes glint in the glow of the lamp. 

Jayce mumbles another apology under his breath before he scurries away from the mess he has made.

The night passes quietly. So quietly, in fact, the staff that had stuffed Viktor with needles before had forgotten of his existence altogether. The door to his room has remained closed since their departure, and obliviously, they remain unaware of what remains beyond that threshold. 

Just after the clock strikes three, the door peers open. A tiny squeak perfuses through the lengthy halls of the hospital, but the quiet night does not react to this intrusion. A head of brown hair peeks out from the opening. Assuring the coast is clear, Viktor takes a careful step out. He takes another, then once more, before he finds himself in a hurried limp out of the premises. 

The streets are cold and unforgiving. Every street lamp and drunk pedestrian has his heart hammering. The sight of a horribly-emaciated man in a hospital gown will surely raise a few eyebrows, but nonetheless, he perseveres. As he stated before, nothing else matters when it is you on the line.

Viktor soon reaches the doors of his home. He wrestles with the key momentarily before the lock clicks and he’s barreling through the entrance. It is a weakened effort, but he rushes through his home and arrives at his office. When he finds his beloved equipment safe and sound, he releases a pent-up sigh of relief. His lanky hand rests upon the arm of the neighboring couch, as his body is just mere inches away from sinking into unconsciousness. 

Viktor’s gaze, swaying with dizziness, then finds the rendition of your face he sketched on the chalkboard (which has since been smudged by the works of his mouth, but not that he’ll ever admit that to anyone). In a dazed attempt at finding your chalk-ridden lips again, Viktor begins to limp over to the chalkboard. In his efforts, his weak body fails him and his hands reach for his desk to maintain his balance. Here, he is greeted by the sight of the Hexcore, still glistening and pulsating with its hues of blue and violet. Still beautiful as ever, he thinks to himself. 

He sits himself in the adjacent chair and continues to marvel at the runes illuminating the dim room. Viktor’s brain, always hungry, then treads toward the runes etched into your flesh, spelling out the same vocabulary scribbled across his desk. 

As a child, he always wanted to be you. His mother often found him etching these runes with markers across his arms and legs, scolding him as she scrubs the doodles. As an adult, however, he found he’d rather be with you. Now, those inked stains have since washed away and he can’t help but ponder over their permanence.

An idea then flickers in his brain.

Viktor grasps the letter opener left languidly on the surface of his desk. With a few rushed breaths of fear, restless assurances begin permeating his brain. He no longer has a choice anymore. A second more of waiting and you’ll be ripped from his weak hands like candy from a baby. Spending his entire adolescent years without you was torturous enough. To do so for the rest of his lifetime will kill him before this illness does. 

He faces this revelation head-on and begins reminiscing about the day he spoke to you. The day you truly spoke to him, no dreams or fantasies in sight. When you grasped one of the plants on his desk and gifted them life, before scribbling out a message just for him.

“SAN T  RY”, you spelled out in magic runes.

Forever the mad scientist he is, Viktor has dissected every scratch and itch of this rune, trying so desperately to decode your letter. Now, things are different. There is no ‘tomorrow’ to start anew, there are no more second chances. All he has left is tonight. And he will stop at nothing to understand the words you whispered to him.

The tip of the letter opener punctures into his thigh with a wet squelch. A muffled groan of pained agony fights against his clenched teeth as he finishes carving the first character. Then, Viktor moves onto the next. Moist blood seeps down his thighs and spills onto the marble floors as he continues, spreading like the excess of a thick soup. 

Sweat cascades across his body. His legs begin to quiver. The blistering ache almost becomes a second home. Still, Viktor refuses to relent and soon, he sits in a pool of his warm, oozing blood and gapes at his work of art. Sloppily engraved into his pale-white flesh are deep-red incisions spelling out your last distinguishable message. 

A sense of pride fills his chest at the prospect of displaying his level of reverent devotion to you. At the prospect of earning his place at your side, to a degree where the pain seems like an afterthought. Huffs of lightheaded, delirious laughter fill the empty silence. Unbeknownst to him, a lazy finger makes contact with the Hexcore.

The Hexcore then begins to tremble, palpitating like the speeds of Viktor’s heavy heart. A light then floods from the runes and drowns the room in its blinding effort. Through the flashes of white, Viktor is overwhelmed with visions of an uncharted territory. Tall trees align the edges of a pathway, where whispers of incomprehensible incantations dance with the cold winds.

“SAN T  RY”, the phrase that has haunted him for weeks, finally receives its final pieces. 

A few bolts of prismatic lightning from the Hexcore and the word “SANCTUARY” glistens in a blinding presentation on his thigh.

And without another second wasted, that is exactly where he rushes to.

On the outskirts of the Under-City, Viktor stands at a clearing in a deep, overgrown forest. The trees that swayed in his vision from before are identical to those here, aligning the path he has been treading on. Blood continues to hasten down his thighs and into the dirt beneath his bare feet. Despite the searing pain, he continues forward. With the inevitability of losing you just upon the horizon, no pain in the world could falter his efforts now. The fear is more formidable than any torture he could endure. 

As he continues limping forward, the ground suddenly begins to rumble violently. The force of it sends him to his knees, his frail hands digging into the soil for stability. A whirlwind then sprouts from the ground, forming a thick cloud of dirt and wind around him. Viktor cowers into himself in a desperate attempt at protection.

This tornado accelerates and spreads, engulfing him in its entire wrath. Roots then pierce out the soil and stretch into two tree trunks, chunks of dirt spattering upon the aggressive intrusion. The roots soar into the air and intertwine with one another, intricate grooves of warm brown slithering up their jagged bark. They soon meet and their limbs intertwine like two loving hands, forming an oval shape.

Just before he is sure the force of this whirlwind will take his body with it, the wind reaches its breaking point and bursts into the air. The storm has now been reduced to a gentle fog resting against the forest floor. The ground stops rumbling, the whirlwind eases, and Viktor can finally see the night sky in sheer clarity.

Trailing his vision forward, his attempts at standing are halted when he finds the newly-grown trees. The space within the oval has been filled by a sort of gray haze, almost like a portal. It is reminiscent of a surface of water, Viktor notes. Glistening like a midsummer lake beneath sunlight, with hues of violet and blue swirling around the edges. There are icicles descending from the leaves of the two trees like a weeping willow, as well, which sparkle in swaying hues of the same tones.

Scrutinizing further, Viktor is almost certain he can discern what lies beyond this newfound portal, but the mist is too distorted for him to reach a conclusion. When the image of you flickers through his mind, he garners strength he did not know he possesses. He then barrels past the threshold in animalistic speed. His vision is overwhelmed with a blinding white as he lands with a violent thump, before it eases back to its normal precision. 

The clean pavement is harsh against his skin as he stands to his feet. Illuminated by heavy moonlight, Viktor finds himself on a quiet street. There are a myriad of shops and centers aligning the pathway as he saunters through. A library, a performance hall, an alchemist’s laboratory, a farmers market — an entire civilization has been cultivated right beneath the nose of the Under-City.

He limps over to several of the locations, pounding his fists on the door, calling out his lover's name, but none of his efforts are brought to fruition. Soon, he abandons his intention of entering the locked premises and continues onwards. 

When he reaches the end of the street, Viktor discovers a tree that could touch the moon with its tall height. The trunk is almost as thick as a building with several holes punctured into the wood. From these holes, a blue and violet hued sap bleeds out and cascades into a fountain centered in front of the tree. Blossoming leaves adorned in these same colors stretch down from its branches and nearly graze the ground.

Through the leaves, golden lights flicker with warmth. Here, the broad branches of the colossal tree support the weight of several homes, all connected to one another with wooden bridges. One of the larger branches hidden beneath the canopy of leaves serves as a form of bridge. Surrounding this tree are towering mountains, which this bark-woven bridge leads to.

Viktor thought crossing the bridge to Piltover would reach the height of his amazement, but Topside riches have never left him this breathless. Then again, he has yet to find something that engrosses him with wonder the way you do. 

When the tip of his foot collides with the edge of the fountain, he realizes he has been mindlessly wandering forward, too enthralled with the sights he has discovered to care for clarity. He attempts to scrutinize further, before his body is overcome with a sudden rush of lethargy. He collapses against the edge of the fountain and clings to the corners for stability. Blood seeps from his nose and oozes onto the pristine stone. 

Before Viktor can scold himself for this disgusting weakness of his, two pairs of arms ensnare around his waist and hoist him to his feet. A sparkle of hope tells him it is you, but with flesh too smooth and bones too prominent, his delusions are brought to a halt before they could even run free. The appearance of these two remains a mysterious blur as they guide Viktor forward. 

In his sluggish state, he watches his feet travel up the staircase wrapped around the trunk, limping past the lively houses, and across the bridge connecting the tree with the mountains. And passing this bridge was not reminiscent of his previous journey into Piltover, no. Had it not been these strangers keeping him upright, he’d have collapsed to his knees upon the newfound sight before him.

Nothing short of a palace has been built into the mountainside. Those familiar tones of blue and violet paint the expanse, accentuated with a rich gold. Stained glass windows reflect in the moonlight and irradiate the land in its colorful glow. Ensnaring the walls is a beautiful ivy, where Dusk-Petals and Moonflowers adorn the growing vines and blanket the intricate, elegant architecture. 

A grand waterfall descends from the mountains above the palace and into the several rivers spreading throughout the land, meeting the fountain below in its journey, as well. The palace is almost a moat, but the sea of trees disturb any attempt of obtaining the title. The trees resemble the several he has already seen with drooping leaves and twinkling icicles, painting the land in heavenly hues of that familiar azure and violet. 

It is far more extravagant and palatial than anything he has ever seen in Piltover. It is more grand than anything he has ever seen in his entire life, for the matter. He couldn’t conjure a better estate for you than this, as you deserve to rest in the pinnacle of luxury and opulence. And this palace is not lacking in those areas in the smallest slight. 

Dragging forward (as Viktor has completely abandoned using his feet anymore), they pass through the stone-carved doors and enter the palace. Once through the entrance, Viktor begins to study the interior. And the interior is an almost perfect reflection of the exterior. 

Blue and violet permeate the expanse through surrounding furniture and decor, most of which support the weight of art sculptures and trinkets Viktor fails to discern in his lethargic state. They go hand-in-hand with the spreading greenery, which you have evidently and happily allowed to perfuse throughout the entire place. 

These details spread through the several twists and turns these helpful strangers drag Viktor through. They finally reach a halt in one of the numerous rooms.. Softly, they loosen their grasp and guide him to the ground. They promptly take their leave without a single word spoken.

A greenhouse is where he has found himself, he assumes. The walls and ceilings all consist of windows, with intricate white frames woven across all surfaces. The edges of the stone pathways beneath his feeble body are adorned with hedges and flowers, all varying in different colors. They compliment the wisteria drooping from several miniature trees, their thin branches adorned with several ornaments that exude a golden light. 

Languidly bringing himself to his feet, once again, he finds one of the larger wisteria trees hovering over a pond. It resides in the corner with a small arrangement of rocks surrounding the edges, supporting the stream of a small waterfall leading into the pond. Here, birds surround the stream and bathe their feathers. 

The embodiment of tranquility, that is how Viktor would describe this. He almost considers the possibility he had died in that hospital bed and this was the heaven waiting for him. All that is missing in his nirvana is you- oh, God, it’s you.

Simply shifting his gaze to the left, he finds a slab of stone residing in the middle of all this greenery. Upon the surface are several clay pots and cloth-woven bags overflowing with fertilizer. And tending to these products is no other than you. 

A strange, overwhelmingly perfect light radiates from your body. Beneath this light, he finds you are draped in a cloak of varying adornments, all shimmering in opalescent hues. There are jewels and crystals sewn into your torso, pearls and wind chimes dangling off shoulders. There are feathers draped down your arms, with seashells aligning your ankles. Harp strings are woven around your every limb and tied into pretty knots. Your body is a centuries-old story told through the embellishments aligning your flesh. 

And Viktor, oh Viktor. 

No words could encapsulate the ethereal, deific, uncanny, godlike emotions this moment has overwhelmed him with. 

There is no room to merely think with these feelings suffocating his brain. It is as though the melody of your love has swelled in their highest magnificence, the Dusk-Petals and Moonflowers blossoming into its most surreal beauty. It is the perfect moment.

Everything he has ever wished for conjured up into a single creature; the light at the end of the tunnel every sorry soul dreams of reaching — he almost doesn’t even believe it to be true. As though the creeping hands of his desires have ensnared their hands around his throat, allowing him one last morsel of illusory bliss before his life fades. 

When you then turn over your shoulder, blessing him with the sight of your beautiful, tragically beautiful face, there is no denying the authenticity. This moment leaves a harsh toll on his physical state, as well. 

Viktor’s eyes begin to roll back into his skull, but he strives against the force to continue indulging his vision in this glorious sight. Nausea pulsates in his stomach like a wrangling insect, but a few hard swallows keep the sickness at a weak bay. His knees tremble, threatening to buckle once again, but he maintains his posture with acute effort. 

It is a battle against him and his body, of which inevitably, leads to failure. Throat pulsing with gagged coughs, Viktor then leaps to the ground and finds a nearby, empty plant pot. He empties his guts into the container. The excess looks like coffee grounds; all blood-stained and chunky. Guilt and shame are expected, but they have no room to thrive. Not when you are here.

He is, in fact, met with the very opposite when he watches from his periphery as you tread closer and bend down to his level. Weakness overwhelms him as he begins to digest more of your physicality. His body sways again from the weight of it all, beginning another descent back to the ground. You halt the motion by catching his cheek in your palm. The effort is enough to set his skin aflame, with a simultaneous bitter chill tickling down his spine. 

His body is overwhelmed with these suffocating emotions, but is also blissfully light and peaceful. Horrifying euphoria stirred with devastating tranquility — a delicious juxtaposition. 

And the way Viktor looks at you could rival the most devoted of religious followers finding the face of heaven. Eyelids lazy and drooping, framing the glassy tears building in his honey-brown eyes. His gaze is buried into you, more attentive than he has ever been with his brows furrowed into a weak, stuttering curl. Mouth hung agape in fervent shock, drool pools on his tongue and his bottom lip trembles like a child who skinned their knee.

He doesn’t even think before he’s leaning in to kiss you. 

“This was not an easy effort, I can imagine.” 

His intentions are bluntly interrupted, yes, but he could not have imagined a better way to be halted. A deific incantation, a call straight from heaven, a harmony the world's best musicians have devoted their whole lives trying to emulate — that is how Viktor would best describe the tones that drift from your lips. In fact, your voice catches him off guard to such an aggressive degree, he forgets he had even tried to foolishly kiss you in the first place.

“If I may ask, how did you find us?” 

A flurry of words drift through Viktor’s head, toppling out of his mouth through stuttering gasps and pathetic attempts at the human language. It all becomes a mess of English and his mother tongue the further Viktor trails on of how he found the sanctuary, his first encounter with you as a child, and all the turmoil he gleefully endured just for this moment. Sprinkled in with gallons upon gallons of praise, of course. 

There is some clarity, however. Fragments, albeit, but he does manage to establish coherency. One statement strikes abundantly clear.

“My Y/N, there is not a line in the world that I would not cross for you.” 

And of course, inevitably…

“I love you.” 

Those three words, heavier than the world he’s been blessed to stand on with you, continuously tumble out of his mouth. Viktor repeats the same sentiment again and again and again, each time possessing the same heart-shattering devastation. 

You do not react, however. Despite his wishes for you to be overcome with euphoria upon receiving his confession of devotion, all you do is stare. You do not return his affection, either, but he is too muddled to notice this. 

“You work beside Jayce Talis, correct?” 

Viktor’s eye twitches. A flicker of betrayal catches flame, but the ignition is weak.

“Then, I am sure you have heard the Council speak about the influx of ‘Shimmer’, as they have titled it.” 

The jealousy (that failed to overpower the miserable rapture, albeit) is eased instantly. If it is not Jayce you are concerned with, then what is it about Shimmer that has engrossed his beloved so? 

“As gutted as I am to admit my faults, I am partially responsible for this distribution.” 

Through the distorted daze of Viktor’s jubilation, he clings to your every words. You? Y/N? A drug lord? This does not make any sense… 

“I am not aware how, but someone has grasped possession of my Dusk-Petals. They are only bred at my hand, so I fail to understand where they have retrieved them, but nonetheless, they have obtained them. They have derived the possessive component of my Dusk-Petals and have utilized the essence as the major component in this “Shimmer”. All for the sake of power and profit.”

Not a word is uttered from Viktor as your explanation settles. His darling has been so overcome with guilt and he was so oblivious! He attempts to scavenge the power to adorn you in reassurances, but beneath the weight of your light, he might as well have been a lifeless corpse on the stone pavements of your greenhouse.

“If I had a…” 

Your gaze returns to his, expectantly. He nods along dumbly to every word parting from your mouth.

“Messenger, of sort, I may garner the opportunity to halt the expansion of this poison.” 

A gasp, equivalent to that of one witnessing a murder, flees from Viktor’s chest. Yes, yes, yes, a million times, yes! 

“Oh, my Y/N, you do not have to ask! Of course I will help you!” 

He attempts to scoot closer to you, practically throwing himself into your warm arms. You hinder this effort. 

“You… Y/N, you could shatter this entire world to nothing but scattered shards and I would crawl over the sharp glass with utter elation! As long as I can deliver whatever demand you send directly into your palms, I will do it all with a smile-!” 

He interrupts himself with a coughing fit, rendered breathless from his own blabbering. He scrambles to wipe his hand of the inevitable blood that has spattered from his throat. In this effort, however, he is startled to find no blood at all. Not even a mere drop. 

His gaze returns to you in all your heavenly form. You return his gaze, almost knowingly. His body cannot resist just melting beneath your attention.

“I love you, sweet angel.” Viktor confesses for the umpteenth time. “I cannot feel anything but my love for you.”

Your expression remains blunt and calm, as it remains stagnantly. Nothing short of utterly bewitching.

“Very well.”

Like the triumph of a curtain call, Viktor’s dreams have come true: to heal and obtain strength. After an entire lifetime, he is finally strong. Here, beneath the light of you, everything sings. 

Now, his dreams have shifted. Viktor will be your loyal warrior. 

No matter what it takes.

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

❝ I WILL LOVE YOU TILL I DIE AND

I WILL LOVE YOU ALL THE TIME . . . ❞

gif creds.

(you are free to imagine Y/N however you’d like to. nonetheless, this and this were my inspiration for what Y/N looks like, in case you were wondering. (nothing adhering to the gender or physicality, just their style and character!)).

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

[ghettogirly]

hiii (: can you do a armando headcanon on how he acts if he has a crush on you?

𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐒 𝐇𝐄��𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐍 -> HOW HE WOULD ACT WHEN HAVING A CRUSH ON YOU.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐒 𝐗 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊!𝐅𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐄!𝐎𝐂 (Y/N BURNETT)

[🕷️] warning: mature language, use of weapons, mention of a inappropriate lifestyle (cartel), family issues, mention of abandonment, Armando is going to be a little aggressive.

[🕷️] Authors note: Hope you enjoy!

[🕷️] 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐀𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐔:

-> When he first saw you at the house with Kelly and Dorn when his father brought him there, he was attracted to you.

-> You obviously hated him of course, he tried to kill your father a couple years back.

-> However, he couldn’t take his eyes off you. There was something different.

-> You had beautiful curly hair, your coils being tight forming a C-shape. Your eyes were a deep, dark brown while your lips were full and two toned.

-> He noticed the similarities between you and your dad, however, you was more the serious one out of the two. You hardly cracking that many jokes while your dad was sitting there laughing at life.

-> Maybe that’s partly his fault as you was a LOT more tense around him, not taking your eye off the male wherever he went.

-> was that a sense of attraction too though?

[🕷️] 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔:

-> when he first spoke to you, he was rude.

-> you was ranting to Mike about the potential dangers of being here which resulted in an argument with your Dad when he failed to listen to your side. However, he eventually got you to calm down and hear him out.

-> “She better be calm.”

-> “What the fuck did you just say?”

-> So, it did not go off to a great start.

-> Eventually, he got little sentences out of you. Whether that was making you explain the plan from the top to him again or to explain how to work something. He was always asking you questions. You eventually got sick of his persistence to talk to you,

-> Do you ever stop fucking talking?!”

-> That pissed him off. However, he couldn’t really allow himself to somehow retaliate, only feeling a sense of frustration yet guilt for your reaction towards him.

-> “Perdóname. I simply just wanted to know how my father was like before i came into the picture.”

-> That silenced you, the sentiment coming from out his mouth that you thought be was incapable of doing. Apologising, you decide to give him a chance.

-> “He was…”

[🕷️] 𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐎𝐔𝐓:

-> this was the worst part for him.

-> he’s not a man to actually crave a relationship with a girl, especially to ask them out. they usually come flocking to him.

-> however, he found himself unable to hide his feelings for you. finding that one person who actually completes him fully and makes his day. he hates you for it.

-> it reminds him of his dysfunctional family. his father and his mother and how they were ok too of the world before his father sold his mother away. the perfect couple destroyed by a deadly betrayal leading to a web of lies and ultimately where he is today.

-> it would be a conflicting battle for him to eventually come to grips with his feelings. yet, i think he would be unable to verbally say them so he would have to write his emotions down in a letter.

-> the letter would be a symphony of words coming from his realisation of how and why he is the way he is, descending down to his feelings for you. the passion burning through the piece of paper as you take a journey through his hectic life.

-> the battle of abandonment issues to his anger for the world.

-> how could you really say no to his confession?

[🕷️] 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄:

-> he would take you to a fancy restaurant.

-> initially Armando would want to impress you and show you the ways of his impressive cartel connections before he was eventually caught and forced to leave it behind.

-> he would at first treat you as any random girl, thinking you would be impressed at the high calibre restaurant. but you wanted more than that.

-> you wanted the child Armando, the little kid inside who was unable to express himself as he had no-one to confide in. You wanted to see the things he enjoyed.

-> Then he took you to a park. Your “real” date.

-> It has street vendors of all the Mexican food you could think of, showing you the happiness and flavours of his culture.

-> This was the man you wanted to see.

[worldsewage]

Hehe may I ask about evil Callie?

(The evil/brainwashed) Callie here functions a bit differently… as I also use her to explore what exactly mud mouths are… and the octarian’s relationship with their ally, Salmonids…

Explanation under the cut. 🚧

Due to constrained relations between them and the other main dominating species— (salmonid/octarian vs inklings)— most Inklings, namely younger generations, are more desperate to fix and mend the relationship.

(There is plenty more to this! But I don’t want to make this come across as far more convoluted than it needs to be, so here have this for now:📒)

Octavio contacted Callie directly, albeit in secret, telling her that he has plans that would be a step forward in ending the tension between the Inklings and Octarian-Salmonid groups. What he had introduced was a new type of “ink” that would make their species “salmonid friendly”, and he wanted Callie to be the one to be the first public appearance with this new Ink in hopes to reach a wider audience…

Most of that isn’t true— but to Callie— who is a direct descendant of a war leader, was raised as an agent, and lives in a fairly dangerous city zone that floods, that sounded like a better step towards a better life, and she went for it.

This ink is known as MUD— and this “ink” isn’t technically ink at all, as mentioned in a previous post, most inks are a synthetic toxic poison, designed for warfare, but this ink on the contrary, wasn't designed by Inkfish, it was designed by Salmonids.

MUD is a slimy corrosive ink designed to rival Inkfish’s ink, namely in salmon runs and Ink Wasted territories, one that blends into the grounds and spreads out quickly and efficiently much like Inkfish ink, but one that corrodes Inklings by absorbing into them, and leaves salmonids completely safe from any burning effects.

The Octarian were the ones tasked with creating this new bio-weapon, as an added benefit being it would not affect their species, (they would be safe from it regardless, considering Salmon-Runs are an Inkling exclusive event, and Octolings were surprised when they learned about them.)

They tried different methods of testing it, and ultimately, the project failed— Mud uses both Salmonid and Inkling DNA in its creation, and when Mud was being developed, it melted Salmonids like Ink typically does due to its hyper-corrosive nature, but because it carried Inkling + Salmonid DNA, the salmonid’s skin would attempt to mimic the properties of inklings and constantly try to reconstruct itself into the “swim” form, which made Salmonids a walking (or rather, squirming) sludge, these monsters became known as MUDMOUTHS, and are not truly considered alive, since they run exclusively on the Running Instinct that exists in Salmonid DNA.

And in turn, when the ink was absorbed into Inklings— the previously noted “running instinct” would have an almost Kraken-Esque affect on inklings before corroding and splatting them.

The running instinct would work as intended, everything they eat immediately converts to growth in preparation for an arduous journey, they’re extremely aggressive, and they have a desire to return to the salmonid birthplace.

Mud would splat inklings upon prolonged contact, but Inklings who were test subjects for mud were slowly injected with Mud over a course of time. These subjects were disoriented and had a sort of “positive” aggressive attitude that didn’t falter even in the face of family or friends.

They are easy to persuade and it’s unclear if this is due to the pain of getting the ink-content in their bodies replaced by this synthetic fake-ink, or if the running instinct muddles their thoughts. It’s probably a healthy mix of both.

Dj Octavio, kept Callie by his side, since in her current state her mind would be too fogged up to dispute or make sense of what he’s making her do.

He planned on using Callie to stir up trouble in Inkopolis solely for the sake of rising tension. Octavio is constantly searching for reasons to make Inkling’s an enemy in the eyes of everyone who sees them, and painting Callie— a well known public figure; a known descendant of Captain Cuttlefish— as vicious would do wonders for allowing most people to view the Octarian as a force that would more desirably be backed up, it would reinforce their armies. And make them overall stronger if people felt they had reason to target Inklings.

He didn’t get this far due to Agent Four’s interference.

But, he got to accomplish many theft missions using Callie— which included robbing Inkopolis of some of the Zapfish Generators, which are giant machines that are powered thanks to the Zapfish, and thanks to the Zap-Ink— ⤵️

(Above image is from here) — Octavio was able to use said generators to restore power to many of the war-affected bio-domes that have been obsolete for decades, WITHOUT the need for a Zapfish.

But his reasoning can still be dumbed down to a petty move on Octavio’s part— who despite having a safer ground in the domes due to a good trade relationship with Salmonids and a vast space away from water— he still feels bitter about losing the remaining lands. And because of this the Octarian are plenty more war driven, and they are more likely to easily fall to the fervor of these schemes and battles.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Samuel Seo x Reader: Moments

To @rikosseen. G/N. Masterlists

On the darkest nights, when there's no stars in the sky, and not even the lights of Seoul can pierce the gloom, Samuel broods.

What should have been defining moments of his life-

The painful pieces of his childhood, forming the Gangseo Gang, joining Big Deal, the gut wrenching reveal of his own father's identity and the path that he ultimately took-

-are not the moments that play on his mind.

It's pathetic and desperately sentimental, yet he considers his life defined by one moment; split by the before and after.

Before he met you, and after.

The one person who makes Samuel feel less alone in a desperately lonely place.

The only person, only thing that feels real and who reminds him there’s more to life than the expectations you place upon yourself.

There’s joy in the trivial details, in insignificant moments, in days where absolutely nothing of worth is achieved except knowing looks and comfortable silences.

Except when those moments don't feel enough and nothing may ever feel enough, you invade his subconscious even when he’s at his worst. And it helps.

Instead of his downward spirals being a plummet, the breakdowns descending into madness, there's at least a soft landing, a solace that it will get better.

If Samuel was the type to believe in fate, he would think meeting you was.

That he would have met you in every lifetime. All his moments would have led up to you, and every life would always be split into the before and after.

But he doesn’t, so he doesn’t consider fate tonight or any other night as he chain-smokes, trying to breathe through the poison in his throat and the venom in his mind.

The saving grace is at least there's no fog, no haze to stumble through. He can keep up with his treacherous brain.

Because Samuel thinks of you. The nights are no longer as dark as they once were and morning will always come.

[sehtoast]

Milk and a Treat (Homelander x gn!Reader Smut)

18+ | indulging in his milk fixation, literally licking it off of him, blowjob, somehow turned lovey idk it always does, gender neutral reader | Fic Directory

You drag your tongue from navel to chest, catching streams of his favorite treat. This was your idea, though he all but came in his pants at the mere mention of the concept. 

Won't you please let me lick milk from your perfect body? 

His pretty blue eyes had gone wide and his cheeks burned a satisfying pink. You always loved to get him that way. Second only to how you have him now. 

Homelander sits in a chair for you, legs splayed so that you can kneel before him properly. With an excited, shaky hand, he tilts a bottle of milk to dribble down his chest. Ideally, the roles would be reversed and he’d be practically feasting upon you. But he can't deny how fucking amazing this is. 

You stroke him with one hand while you focus on lapping away at his skin. His cock aches for more, mind hazing beyond reason. Your tongue dances to his nipple, following the trail he pours for you, and his whole body jerks as if he'd been struck by lightning. 

You hum against the bud in amusement. You tease it while thumbing the tip of his cock. The fact you can feel his self control waning drives you insane, makes you want to devour him. You know, more than anything, he wants to please you. He's trying so hard to keep himself together for you, to keep that stream of milk steady and controlled, but he's beginning to falter with every stroke and swipe of your tongue. 

You drag your fist to the base of his cock, squeezing slightly just to hear the sweetest little whimper fall from his lips. 

Ever the merciful lover, you move down again. This time, though, you follow the trail of milk to the base of his shaft, kissing and licking away until you've lapped even his balls clean. 

He really fucking likes the sight of you suckling his sack– he always has. If it were possible to burn an image in the back of his eyelids, that's the one he'd choose for the rest of his life. 

He mewls your name when your lips finally wrap around the tip of his cock. You vaguely hear the sound of gulping, and a quick peek at him reveals his desperate slurps at the remnants of the bottle. His chest heaves with breaths that betray his true state of neediness– though it was never hard to tell to begin with.

You take him to the base, tongue laving the underside as you descend until he’s lodged firmly in your throat.  You hold him there until your pesky gag reflex interrupts, though he’s always happy to tell you how much he loves it when your throat clamps around his shaft.

“Oh f–” he gasps, panting like a dog in heat as you draw back.  His hips follow you up, but you’re suckling the underside of him faster than he can nudge the tip to your lips.  You’re gentle with him in that special way you know will devastate him.  Homelander routinely wants nothing more than for you to take him apart at the seams just so you can show him the ultimate form of love when you hold and put him back together again.

You wager this is so much better than being rough with him.  Dragging it out, making him wait for it– teasing him until his release hits that much harder and he spirals into the sweetness of an orgasm so intense he etches proof of his undoing into the ceiling.

Making him feel it, making him know he was worth taking your time– it’s so much fucking better.

You take him in your mouth again and hum.  He slumps down into his seat for leverage and thrusts– slow at first, testing the waters.  You’ve always given him permission to take as much as he needs, as hard as he needs, but Homelander knows full well he wouldn’t quite be your good boy anymore if he fucked a hole into the back of your head.  Sure, it would take a lot of effort, but… he’d rather not.

He’d rather keep you, his little ray of sunshine, happy and alive.  So he simply gags you with his cock until there’s tears running down your face.  You pushed him this far; it’s only fair that he pushes you back a little, right?  God, you feel so good too.  All hot and wet, perfect for him. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”  He whines, head tipping back as heat builds behind his eyelids.  “So good, so good, so fucking good!” 

Your nails digging into his thighs are his undoing.  He pulls your head down as far as possible, engulfing him whole just so he could paint your throat with proof of how much he fucking loves you.  You’re his from the inside out.  You belong to him.  You indulge him in even his most embarrassing fantasies; you kiss him like he matters; you hold him and coo in his ear at night; you love him.

Every fucking bit of you drives him insane.  You push him over the edge in a way no one else ever could.  The proof of it is your charred, tally-marked ceiling.  It’s the way his heart stills as you kiss back up his body, all the way to his lips.  There’s no shame in the after.  No humiliation or fear of mockery for his little… liquid fixation.

Just you, gazing into his eyes, delivering those three little words that he’s going to kiss off your lips in a mere second.

“I love you.”

He loves you too.  More than you’ll ever truly know. 

[pipasong]

Chinese Ghost Part 2:

Why Chinese People Don’t Need Heaven or Hell

🌿In the eyes of our ancestors, ghosts are not merely entities; they are intricately tied to humanity. The ancient concept of "ghosts" stems from the belief in the immortality of the soul. Early humans believed that upon death, the soul would leave the body, and this soul is known as a "ghost."

In this way, ghosts represent the final resting place after death, transforming from humans and signifying the continuation of life. Death is not the end but the beginning of a "return." As the Book of Rites states: “All beings born between heaven and earth are said to have a life. Among all things, death is referred to as 'breaking.' The death of a person is termed 'ghost.'”Here, "ghost" is merely a term for death, similar to how "breaking" is used for other beings.

For those who believe, death signifies a return to the earth. In Chinese, "归" (return) and "鬼" (ghost) sound similar, which is why it's called a "ghost."

The Spirit Treasure of the Limitless Degrees of Human Nature says: “When a person dies, the spirit is called a ghost.”Likewise, in The Compilation of Ancient Texts, Ruan Yuan notes, “Ghosts are the spirits that return.” Thus, in the minds of people at that time, the dead retained their "soul."

Although ghosts depart the living realm to return to the earth, they do not sever ties with the world of the living or their kin. Ghosts are believed to possess supernatural powers, bridging the realms of life and death.

They frequently interact with the living, returning to observe their descendants, communicating through dreams, omens, and visions. When necessary, they may reveal their true forms or issue warnings in dreams.

Yet, ghosts can also cause trouble and harm to the living; illnesses are often attributed to their actions, evoking fear and concern among people. Thus, it's said in Chinese culture that the living are merely passersby, while the dead are those who have returned home.

🪦For the descendants of Yan and Huang, “入土为安”“burial brings peace” is seen as the ideal resting place after life, a tradition that has never waned. As the Southern Song poet Fan Chengda wrote, “纵有千年铁门限，终须一个土馒头。” (“Though there are iron gates for a thousand years, one must ultimately return to the earth.”)

This line expresses the yearning for eternal rest, and the notion of “burial brings peace” is deeply rooted in Chinese customs. Traditional funeral practices hold that only when laid to rest in the ground can the deceased find their place, allowing the family to feel at ease.

If one is not buried in the earth, their "journey of reincarnation" remains unresolved, leaving them without a sense of "home" and condemned to an unsettled existence, unable even to become a ghost.

[youremyheaven]

Fated Love in Astrology

So, every person has a divine partner that they are meant to be with. Your union with your other half (I hesitate to use the world “twin flame” only because of how misconstrued it is in mainstream astrology/spirituality discourse) depends entirely on both of your individual spiritual awakening and commitment to the spiritual path.

In astrology, the 7th house represents marriage, or, as I like to call it “union”. The 7th house, is the 7th house from the 1st house. It is the descendant to your ascendant. It is the shadow to your ego. Whenever we cross paths with an individual whose luminaries fall to our 7th house, it creates a very magnetic & intense attraction. It’s almost inexplicable what you feel for each other.

With that said, this sort of connection is not logical or rational. It defies all norms. The key to recognizing your divine partner is the intense attraction you feel towards them right away. There is no hesitation or second guessing, you’re simply awestruck by them. Nowadays, we all have a very tedious approach to relationships (due to our collective trauma and bad experiences), everybody walks around with a checklist to find someone who will fit their criteria but that is not how Divine Love works. You just know instantly that there is something different about this connection. That is not to say, the nature of the relationship will be easy. Fated connections are never easy and not everyone is meant to find their Divine Partner. 

When such a person comes into your life, it usually triggers your ego death; they become responsible for you losing the shell of identity you held close to you. All your fears, your shame, your vulnerability comes to the forefront and you have to confront everything you’ve ever repressed. It leads to a dissolution of self. 

In Sufism, there is the concept of “fanaa” which can be translated to “annihilation”. In order to merge oneself with God, it is first necessary to annihilate everything that you consider to be you. It’s important to "to die before one dies". Love & Worship are very closely intertwined. This is exactly what “twin flame” connection feels like. You rid yourself of your ego, you dissolve your sense of “self”. Sounds intense? That’s because it is. It irks me when people talk about twin flames in a casual way because a) not everyone has a twin flame b) this is not a fun experience in any way, shape or form c)This is the least casual of experiences

(I am using the word twin flame here only because it is a term that more people are familiar with, I wanted to speak of the spiritual background of that experience whilst using a term that’s already familiar)

In Jungian psychology, there is the concept of anima/animus, which refer to the unconscious masculine aspect of a woman and the unconscious feminine aspect of a man respectively. One aspect of being a “whole” human being is to integrate these unconscious parts into yourself. This is similar to what a twin experiences, your other half seems to be in the shadow, hidden from your view, crossing paths with them, brings that realization to you and now in order to unite with them, you must first dissolve yourself and merge with that unconscious image of them. 

There is a reason why twins “mirror” each other; they are a reflection of you and vice versa. This is why every interaction with them strikes a nerve in you and you feel their absence like a phantom limb. 

If you’re on a twin flame journey or would like to know more about it, I suggest immersing yourself in Sufi philosophy. To a lay person, the Sufi concept of Love may seem dramatic and over the top but for those in the know, it will seem deeply familiar, because ultimately your longing and yearning for your “twin” is your innate longing to seek union with God/the Divine. We were all made in pairs and to know the other is to know God and to know God is to know Love.

These connections are presented to you in order for you to ascend. Why were you chosen for ascension over millions of others? That’s the divine plan, not up to us to question. It is entirely possible to meet such a person at a time in your life when you’re completely spiritually unevolved (this is very common) and they usually trigger your dark night of the soul. This leads to positive disintegration although nothing about this experience feels positive in any way, shape or form.

Actually uniting with your twin and sharing a life with them is a long shot. Its often an unrequited love. It requires A LOT of work by both people. There is a lifetime of purging, integration and inner work before union could ever be a possibility. Most people who use the term “twin flame” are using a fancy spiritual label to describe their excessive interest in someone. You don’t have a twin flame, you’re just manic. 

In Arabic literature, there are 7 stages to love, it is as follows:

1. Dilkashi or attraction

2. Uns or attachment

3. Mohabbat or love

4. Akidat or reverence 

5. Ibadat or worship

6. Junoon or madness

7. Maut or death

If you believe you’re experiencing a twin flame connection, you have probably gone through these stages, maybe not in this order but you’ve probably experienced all of these. 

You experience an inexplicable attraction that draws you to them, regardless of how far you stray from them, your heart clings to them & forms a deep attachment, even though you don't seem to understand it, you're consumed by love for them, without even knowing why, this love morphs itself into reverence and soon enough it's eclipsed even that & embedded itself as worship. Your feelings for them are so strong, intense and powerful even in separation, even in their absence that you feel yourself going mad. This madness is key because it brings you to the death of "self". You lose all sense of who you were before you met them. You're ripped of your ego. You die and die and die again, hoping to taste the love that will give life to you.

There are astrological indicators obviously but just because these aspects/placements are present, does not mean they are your twin flame. The biggest indicator is the deep sense of knowing you have in your soul, you don’t even have to know the word “twin flame”, you’re experiencing a magnetic, excruciating and tortuous kind of attraction. 

Some indicators:

1. Venus in 12h 

2. Venus in Scorpio

3. Primary Scorpio or Taurus placements (the Taurus-Scorpio axis creates the most intense chemistry between two people)

4. Moon conjunct Mars 

5. Opposite signs occupying many placements (Virgo-Pisces, Cancer-Capricorn, Gemini-Sagittarius)  

5. 7h synastry 

6. Bharani nakshatra 

Uniting with your twin can trigger your kundalini awakening. It is not for the faint of heart. Union is a very intense experience. Much has been said about twin flames and tantric sex. Imo? What we call Tantric sex is essentially the heightened feeling and intensity of sexual experience that a Tantric practice brings about. (its possible to feel this way with a non-twin if you have a disciplined Tantric practice). 

Sex is the source and root of everything. It is the cause of creation and nothing less than divine. Eros is the first god that could be conceived by man, he is the creator of all beings and ruler of the universe. He is son of Chaos, the original primeval emptiness of the universe.

Longing, desire and Eros, all go hand in hand. When your soul has longed for someone for so long, the sheer passion and enormity of desire will make it a very one of a kind experience. Short answer being that sex with your twin will be out of this world and life changing.

In Sufism, there is a concept called baqaa which is subsistence through God. Someone who has experienced fanaa, or annihilation of the ego and self, finds God, unites with him and sees him in everything. This is what love of a “twin flame” nature does. It is all consuming and potent, you cannot walk away from it, even brushing with it briefly, transforms you. It purifies you and strips you of your pride, shame, fears and everything that you thought was “you” but the reward for this is understanding through first hand knowledge, a love so all encompassing, expansive, deep and profound that it forever alters the way you look at the world. You begin to love everything and everyone because you’ve tasted true love and its generosity. 

Karmic Partnerships

These are extremely common and almost everyone has one. They need not strictly be romantic. Many non-romantic associations can be karmic. These people to put it very plainly, come into your life, to teach you lessons. They need not explicitly be “bad relationships” but the energy is definitely not light hearted and its absolutely not meant to last a lifetime. You are meant to learn your lessons and move on from them and break the karmic cycle. However there are people who do not do this and stay stuck in the same patterns and perpetuate the same cycles.

Some indicators of Karmic Partnerships in astrology:

1. 12h synastry

2. 8h synastry 

3. Saturn aspects 

4. Capricorn/Libra placements

Soulmates

These are the most wholesome, fulfilling bonds between two people. Soulmates need not always be romantic. The bond is kind of instant and inexplicable. You just get each other. It feels fulfilling, empowering and light. It fills you up. There is no angst and there’s no chaos. 

Some indicators:

1. Moon signs that are compatible with each other

2. Moon aspects that are positive

3. Venus-Ascendant aspects

4. 5h synastry

5. Strong Venus or Jupiter aspects

6. Element compatibility (fire & air vs water & earth)

🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧚🏼‍♂️🧚🏼‍♂️🧚🏼‍♂️🦋🦢🦢🦢🦋🧚🏼‍♂️🧚🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧚🏼‍♀️🧚🏼‍♀️🧚🏼‍♀️🦋🦋🦢🦢🦢🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️

I’m sorry if I sound a little too esoteric on this post 😭😭😭idk how else to talk about this stuff and I tried my best to make it sound as simple as I could 😭I hope this was interesting and if you guys have any questions feel free to ask me💛💛

Further reading:

1. Plato’s Symposium

2. Sufi philosophy and poetry 

3. Carl Jung’s works

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hi Miss Raven! I’m new to twisted wonderland, so I’m still confused by a lot of things, and I still can’t understand Idia’s curse and what it exactly does. Also, I don’t understand, why his friends memories will be erased? Can you explain it to me? I’m really lost

I believe you’re bringing up some points I mentioned from this post (since I got this ask shortly after that original post went live)?

Your questions are answered in book 6 of the main story. However, I realize that not everyone has access to the game, the time to read/watch it, and/or the cards to power through to that deep in the story. It’s easy for newcomers to understand the gist in the beginning (~prologue and book 1), but books 6 and 7 are packed with detail and lore that can be overwhelming to understand without sufficient context.

Firstly, the Shroud family curse originates from the Age of the Gods. The Shrouds are considered a branch family to the Jupiter family, and during this time period they attempted to overthrow them. For their defiance, they and all their descendants were inflicted with a curse which quickly burns away blot (the byproduct of magic). This seems like a strength (since that means it’s hard for a Shroud to overblot), but in reality it condemns them since their bodies will start to burn away at their own magic/life force if there isn’t any blot around to consume. In other words, the curse is detrimental to the health of Shroud mages.

Back when mages were still feared and the relationship between magic and lot was not well understood, the Jupiters sealed away overblots and a Watchman (from the Shroud family) was appointed to guard them. Over time, the Watchmen would become Styx, a secret independent organization that researches blot. Some Shrouds they could perhaps find a cure for their curse through these endeavors. Being around blot for their work also technically benefits them, as their bodies would burn the blot in their environment, thus making it less burdensome on the Shrouds’ physical status. However, Idia often phrases their circumstances as shackling and restrictive, as the Shrouds have basically been put in positions they cannot escape from due to the nature of their curse. His childhood is also presented to us as very dreary, as he grew up in Styx HQ, isolated from the real world and in a sterile environment surrounded by Styx staff.

In book 6, Idia reveals himself to the OB boys up until that point as the acting director of Styx. He then proceeds to conduct experiments on them and they goof off a little as well. Ortho expresses hope that Idia could maybe become friends with the OB boys, to which Idia is pessimistic and claims it’s pointless to try since they’ll “be sent down the River Lethe” eventually. In Greek mythology, that river is said to wipe the memories of those that submerge itself in its waters; in TWST, it’s a special program thar Styx uses to purge the memories of outsiders brought into their HQ. This would allow the outsiders to return to normal life without issue while also preserving the secrecy of Styx. It’s like… the ultimate NDA 😂

Because the OB boys are outsiders, Styx has to wipe their memories as a safety precaution before they can be released. This means that all of the fun times Idia spends with them in Styx will be forgotten too, so Idia doesn’t believe it’s worth it to make an effort to befriend them. It’s implied that Idia has always been pessimistic about his chances at forming friendships because of his isolated upbringing in combination with the expectation that he is going to become the future director of Styx—a thankless job that forces him to toil in a cold, dark place, far away from any intimate human connections.

Hope that helps ^^

[charlesslut16]

-Blanket fort-

summary : Lando, you and your son build a blanket fort...

PAIRING : lando norris x fem! reader

Warnings : none

note : i hope that you had a great day! Today is christmas eve so i am hyped for tomorrow.

december masterlist ; masterlist   

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Christmas morning at the Norris household was a bustling symphony of excitement. Well it was always so, but at the Christmastime everything was exciting.

The air was filled with the aroma of freshly baked cookies and the sound of laughter as your little one, a spitting image of Lando with his infectious smile, tore through wrapping paper to unveil his gifts.

One time you were at his parents and visited them. You sat down together and looked through Lando's old pictures in the picture book, and if you thought back, your son looked exactly like Lando did.

As the day progressed and the sun cast a warm glow through the windows, you found yourselves in the living room, surrounded by a sea of wrapping paper and toys.

Amidst the chaos, Lando's mischievous grin caught your eye, and you instantly knew an adventure was about to unfold. He had this twinkle in his eyes that told you.

With a twinkle in his eye, Lando proposed, "How about we make the ultimate blanket fort? The biggest that the world has ever seen, and it will be from the Norris family."

Your little one's eyes widened with excitement as we all dove into the task at hand. Cushions were piled high, blankets were draped, and chairs were strategically placed to form the perfect hideaway.

It was a masterpiece of coziness and imagination, a haven within your own home. It really was a true masterpiece, you could have never imagined that it would be this cozy.

Inside your blanket fortress, giggles and whispers echoed against the fabric walls. Lando and you stole moments to exchange knowing glances, your hearts filled with gratitude for this beautiful life we had created together.

As the evening descended and the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree illuminated your makeshift fortress, Lando's voice took on a softer tone. The softer tone.

"You know," he began, his eyes meeting mine, "I've been thinking..."

Your heart skipped a beat, anticipation dancing in the air. "About what?" you asked, your curiosity piqued, but you in your inside you knew what Lando had thought about. As did you.

"I was thinking... maybe it's time for us to consider adding another member to our little team," he said, his voice filled with hope and a touch of nervousness. It was cute.

Your breath caught in your throat, surprised yet elated by his suggestion. It surprised you to a degree, as you had hoped that he would ask and you could answer his request.

"Funny you should mention that," you replied, a smile spreading across your face. "I've been thinking the same thing."

A shared moment of silent understanding passed between the two of you, your unspoken desire for another child palpable in the air. You had both always dreamed of a little team.

With your little one playing nearby, oblivious to your conversation, Lando and you exchanged a glance filled with unspoken agreement. At that moment, the decision was made, and a new journey lay ahead.

Later that night, as the house settled into a peaceful lull, Lando and you found yourselves in the quiet embrace of our bedroom. Your conversation from earlier lingered in the air, and with a shared nod, you embarked on this new chapter of your lives.

With the warmth of our love surrounding you, Lando and you embraced the journey of trying to expand your family once more, your hearts overflowing with anticipation and the promise of new beginnings.

And as the moonlight filtered through the window, casting soft shadows across the room, you knew that whatever the future held, you were ready to embrace it together as a team, united in love and adventure.

[rinkunokoisuru]

What if I decided to share Kintsugi again because I went back and did a design for when they were a child? And also cause I've been figuring stuff out about them

Kintsugi (They/Them, Any) Born to a human mother and Oni father in one of the many small villages surrounding Ninjago City, Kintsugi may as well have been a pure-blooded Oni for all appearances. Their human side really only made itself known by greatly increasing the difficulty of shapeshifting: their body fighting against what should have been the inherent ability to change shape leaving behind the golden crack-like scars which would inspire their name.

Despite their difficulty with shapeshifting, they are much more comfortable with their human form than their natural state. They never had the opportunity to get to know their father, as the Oni was found dead under mysterious circumstances when Kintsugi was still young, so they ultimately feel much closer to the human half of their ancestry.

At a young age, Kintsugi and their mother moved to Ninjago City proper, where they met Mystake. The elderly tea shop owner would often help Kintsugi with mastering their shape changing, and in return Kintsugi would help out around the store. As time went on the two became closer and they began to see her as a sort of grandmotherly figure, considering her part of the family.

After the events of Hunted, Kintsugi took it upon themself to continue running Mystake’s shop, despite their grief. One day while moving new stock into the store, they found a girl aimlessly wandering the streets, clearly lost and fascinated by everything. Worried for her safety, they invited her into the shop.

From that point on, the girl would come by every day to ask about life in the city. It didn’t take long for her to declare they were best friends and start doing small jobs around the shop. Ada, as she had introduced herself, became a fixture of the neighborhood. It was an incident where she wound up very nearly destroyed that revealed she was actually a Nindroid, and led to Kintsugi telling her about being half Oni.

After the Oni invasion, they expected her to be scared of them and leave, but instead she continued to insist they were the best of friends. After that, the two moved in together to better keep an eye out for each other’s safety.

Other: -For some reason, Kintsugi most struggles to properly shapeshift their teeth. As a result, they learned not to show their teeth too much when emoting, for fear of their fangs startling people. They start to loosen up about this after Ada learns their true nature. -They tend to use their human form as a sort of “outfit”. Something that’s used during the day and when around people. Despite the human form being more comfortable, they revert to their true form when relaxing at home. -Doesn’t actually care for the taste of tea, so is never sure what to do when customers ask for recommendations. -Has no interest in relationships beyond the platonic. -Is a descendant of an Elemental Master of Chaos on their mother's side, but due to past events, the element has been removed from circulation and is no longer passed on.

[sepublic]

The Immigrant and the Colonizer

            There’s something fascinating to me about the juxtaposition of Luz as the immigrant, and Belos as the colonizer; The whole interplay of the outsider coming into a different world. The Wittebanes and Nocedas both came to Gravesfield, but the Wittebanes have the historical context of being part of a larger colonial movement that sought to exploit the Americas; By contrast, the Nocedas are of Dominican heritage, meaning somewhere along the way, they immigrated to the U.S.

         So you have Philip participating in this colonization in order to be on the better end of the power dynamic, making the outsider status into one of oppression and dominance, and this naturally translates to how he interacts with the Boiling Isles and bastardized everything about it for his own ends. Conversely, you have the Nocedas, who given their backgrounds, are inevitably submitting themselves to the power structures that Philip was a part of and represents.

         Which means with the Nocedas, it’s the outsiders who are the ‘mercy’ of the world they’ve traveled to, and they’re the ones who are pressured into assimilating into it, being measured by Gravesfield’s standards of what a proper citizen should be, etc. Camila hides parts of herself deemed 'undesirable' and even ironed her hair flat. If the Wittebanes came to dominate, the Nocedas were made to submit.

         And this just ties into Luz maintaining her own identity and still holding onto that, as do Manny and Camila. The Nocedas ultimately understand that they can’t lose themselves to be a part of something, and I find that ties in nicely with the whole interplay of wanting to be your own person, but also wanting to participate, and balancing these two things; Otherwise you end up like Eda, who for a while was a lonely outcast, or Lilith, who conformed but at the cost of so much.

         What’s also interesting is that Luz is afro-latina; Meaning she’s the descendant of those brought over as part of the colonization effort, whether they wanted to participate or not, and the natives indigenous to the Americas. So there’s Luz once again navigating two worlds as the immigrant and the native.

         So amidst the Nocedas learning to maintain their identities in a foreign world, we also have Luz learning to engage with another one in the Boiling Isles, and this is where she differentiates from Philip; She does not become entitled to this world. She recognizes by the second episode that this world and its people do not exist to cater to her whims and fantasies; If she wants to really participate, Luz needs to put in the effort to actually engage with the Boiling Isles. And with Adventures in the Elements, Luz understands that it’s not just about engaging with the isles, but engaging with it on its own terms; She realizes she can find the glyphs in nature after learning to commune with it, in the form of the Titan. And nature will respond to Luz if she shows respect.

         There’s a lot to be said about how Luz worries over whether she’ll be a ‘real witch’, and how this can parallel how immigrants in general can feel like outsiders who don’t really belong, who don’t actually partake in this local identity; There’s a parallel to real life about a white Puritan immigrating to another land, only to colonize and make it hostile to a future Latina immigrant, all while his own double standard is left unacknowledged by his government (“Go back to your world” as said by Lilith during her time in the Emperor’s Coven). But in the end, Luz manages to figure out witchhood on her own terms, while co-existing healthily with the Titan and the people around her.

         And it’s not as if this quality of respecting the land and its people is inherent/unique to people of indigenous heritage, either; We have Caleb Wittebane, a white man who initially was a part of the colonization of the Americas. But as Caleb’s story proves, he is not doomed by ‘race’ or ‘genetics’, he can choose to learn and respect different worlds and people, unlike Philip, whose ravings on humanity needing to be saved from witches and demons boils down to bioessentialism. Caleb falls in love with Evelyn, he unlearns what he was taught, and he even becomes a part of this other culture by having a mixed child, from whom Eda and Lilith are descended from.

         The Clawthornes are unambiguously witches and people of the isles, despite their human ancestry; Mixed race people are often accused of not really belonging to either race, which again connects to Luz and how she worries about being a real witch and not belonging in the Demon Realm, even as she struggles to fit into the human world, and of course her Afro-Latina identity. Because in the end, yes; These ‘outsiders’ CAN and should engage with other cultures, and even become a part of them.

         In discussing colonization and appropriation, a lot of well-meaning people have fallen into the trap of acting as if there’s some inherently, morally wrong about white people, and just outsiders in general, engaging with a culture different from theirs; And this is just segregationist rhetoric, but reworded to sound progressive. Because discouraging people from connecting to and learning to understand those unlike them is actually a bad thing that contributes to prejudice. And that’s the importance of Luz and Caleb, with Caleb especially proving that white people have no excuse NOT to be respectful; In death, his pose mirrors that of the Titan’s, signifying him as someone who understood the spirit of the world.

         Fascism and racism in general relies on the premise of Us VS Them; But with how Belos is the colonizer, it’d be easy to fall into the trap of saying that humanity and witches should be separate, period. But that just risks casting humanity, or even just white people, as separate and inherently different (and thus excuses a supposed inability to connect with Us). And yet you have Luz, who is also a human outsider like Belos, and while Belos causes no shortage of problems, Luz herself is a solution who changes so many people’s lives for the better; Outsiders have a lot to offer, actually!

         And that just goes back to the key distinction between the immigrant and the colonizer, the one who imposes, and the one who assimilates. There’s the blurring of the distinction that is categories, and the questioning of the binary, as Luz CAN still maintain a connection to her human heritage and home, while becoming a part of the Boiling Isles. She doesn’t have to abandon one for the other.

         Likewise, we don’t know much about Caleb’s process in acclimating to the isles, but it’s worth noting how he abdicates the power dynamic of the colonizer to become a part of something else. Maybe this is assimilation, but maybe it’s not, because Caleb is doing this on his own terms. And given his joyous reaction to Philip, and assumption that he was here on good terms? I think Caleb would’ve gladly maintained ties to his human heritage, if the humans he knew weren’t explicitly rejecting co-existence and making it impossible for him to do that.

         But as Caleb himself, and finally the Nocedas prove, it’s not actually necessary to maintain this segregation just to maintain one’s own identity (Caleb doesn’t hide his ears). Even Caleb’s descendants in Eda and Lilith understand it; You can be a part of something and still be your own person. Luz can still make new connections and become part of a new world without having to renounce her heritage. These things aren’t inherently contradicting one another, it’s only the belief that they do. But you can choose to make things work and adapt, just as Caleb and especially Luz did.

         Yeah, an outsider spelled doom for the isles, but an outsider was also the one who saved them. By principle, the isles should still be open to others, hence Gus facilitating contact with his exchange program. Gus is deeply fascinated by human culture, he gets to visit its world, but he also misses his dad and home and gets to go back to that two, and now he gets to make them both meet; So the reverse to this human outsider to a demonic world also applies here.

We have Gus, but also Luz’s other friends, who adapt to the human world; Eda also applies, as someone unaware that she is technically REconnecting with her human heritage when pursuing her trash collection. And of course we have Vee, who becomes a member of the Noceda family we've been talking about, as someone also an immigrant who had to blend in to survive, and suffering the consequences of xenophobia.

         There’s also the Archivists and the Collector; The Archivists came in to control another world, converting it into scrolls under their possession, under the claim of preserving and protecting things. And part of their plan relied on using the Collector as an unwitting Trojan Horse to lower the guard of the native Titans. You have the Collector genuinely loving the Titans and forming bonds with them, only to be made complicit in invasion; And when the Titan retaliated, basically under the assumption that all outsiders like the Collector were evil, it led to more tragedy. And the Collector, for all their love of Titans, still had to learn to respect them and their agency, as well as everyone else’s in the Boiling Isles.

         Sure, there’s a potential risk to letting others in, both on a personal level, and on a larger one like how the Boiling Isles –particularly the Titan herself- let in others, such as the Archivists, and later Philip Wittebane. I wonder if her regret over mistreating the Collector led to her giving Caleb, and then Philip, another chance; But even when Philip backfired, the Titan still kept enough of an open mind to let in Luz afterwards, showing a sincere repentance for how the Collector was treated. They’re clearly capable and willing to learn, it’s not inherent to their species to dominate, any more than it is for white people like Caleb or Hunter.

         And that takes us back to Gus; It’s like how he realizes with Hunter’s help that even if people will take advantage of your kindness and hurt you, in the long run, that welcoming acceptance is better for the world. You’re obviously entitled to resistance and self-defense if repeatedly exploited and hurt, but that doesn’t mean you’ll always have to. Colonization/assimilation IS a thing but it’s not the inevitable result of cross-cultural interaction, you can and should let different things coexist.

[highdio]

DIO and the Plan for Heaven

I've received a lot of asks for my take on how the "plan for Heaven" in Part 6 relates back to Dio as a character. Some of these included theories and asked whether I agreed with their points. The best way to for me reply is to walk through some misconceptions I've seen repeated about the Heaven plan and at the same time give my own views on how the Stand ability that Pucci enacts in Part 6 can be reconciled with what we know about Dio in canon. Spoiler: IMO the form that the Heaven ability ultimately takes - a universal reset that grants all of humanity knowledge of their preordained fate in advance and down to the micro-level of individual occurances - is not necessarily the outcome that Dio predicted or even desired.

1) The "Heaven" that Pucci enacted in Part 6 is not derived from a subconscious psychological need for security or safety on Dio's part.

This seems basic but I've seen this in comments: the belief that the Stand ability Pucci unlocks through Dio's "heaven" formula relates back to Dio's own need for security and peace of mind. This panel specifically gets talked about, in both discussions regarding Heaven and of Dio's larger worldview:

Of course here Dio is describing "human" needs. Dio doesn't consider himself human and doesn't include himself among those seeking these comforts. Importantly, neither does Araki:

"From perspective of the world in which living creatures naturally prey upon the weak, what DIO is doing is the correct thing. It's out of line with society's norms though, which were created to make it easier for humans to survive. Considered from the worldview of the "Law of the Jungle" [弱肉強食], DIO is acting normally. …People might say I'm anti-social when I say this, but, in a sense, DIO is someone I admire (lol)." (Jump Remix Vol.11 (March 2002), my translation).

Asked to describe his feelings on Dio, Araki heads straight into setting up a direct opposition between "society" - which provides the security, comfort and safety for its participants that Dio describes in the above panel - and Dio, who lives by what Araki calls an "anti-social" code unconcerned with these comforts. It's central enough of a character trait for Araki to say all this unprompted in response to a general ask about DIO.

So anyone claiming that Dio's Heaven plan came out of a need, conscious or not, to allay his own insecurities and for his own peace of mind ignores the fact that Araki wrote Dio with an entirely contrary mindset.

It's also worth considering the context of the panel, since it will relate to a discussion of whether Dio even wants a world where people know outcomes in advance. Dio is describing humankind's need for comfort and security in an attempt to convince Polnareff to submit and to continue to serve him. Araki ties all of this to fear: Polnareff must either give into his fear and resign himself to a comfortable life of submission or he must overcome his fear and reject those comforts.

ofc Dio is playing a game with Polnareff at the same time, using time-stop assisted sleight-of-hand to convince Polnareff that his own body is physically submitting, unconsciously descending the same two stairs. This game, where fear and submission are directly tied to the promise of comfort and security, presents choosing the comforts of society as the weaker, non-heroic path. tl;dr, accepting the security that Dio describes in that panel is a bad thing. Keep this fact in the back of your mind.

If Dio isn't motivated by a need for security, and instead lives according to rules of the natural world, maybe Dio wanted a universe where all of humanity knows its fate in advance for practical reasons, i.e., it would make humans resigned to their fates and simple to rule over?

Again, we need to consider what, exactly, this would mean for Dio.

2) Dio did not intend to create a world where all of humanity became resigned to its fate as a means of ruling over mankind, because this would remove all the pleasure of accumulating and exerting power.

I've discussed this before: Dio actually likes people who take the most arduous path, seemingly rebelling against their own security and comfort. While it is possible that Dio wanted humans to be more docile, this would definitely take away one of Dio's favorite hobbies: subjecting humans to extreme psychological pressure to see how they react, something Dio indulges in regularly. The Heaven achieved by Pucci (a universe where everything is known in advance by its participants) would mean that everything - from that lady sacrificing herself so her baby could be spared in Part 1 to Hol Horse trying to shoot Dio in the back - would be robbed of all dramatic tension. A knowable universe is a boring one. Dio as an immortal would be highly aware of this. And we know that Dio loves a good fight (Araki draws Dio at his most alive and expressive during direct physical confrontation) and loves an opponent who fights back (it's the reason he moves from disdain to respect for Jonathan over the course of Part 1 and the reason he "realizes he likes" Hol after Hol's rebellion). A known universe changes the very nature of "fighting back." When opponents know the outcome of a fight before it starts, combat is reduced to simply going through the motions.

In short, Pucci's universe makes it too easy for a guy who is all about the drama of testing and transcending limits. It would take all the pleasure out of being Dio.

This is where the value judgment I discussed earlier comes in, the one where the comfortable path is also the easy one, and where choosing security means choosing resignation and cowardace. How is it possible then to assert that Dio wants a universe, an eternity, where everything is resignation? It isn't, and he doesn't.

(Here I should point out the obvious fact that the Dio and Pucci flashbacks in Part 6 take place, from a timeline perspective, concurrent with Part 3. While it's surprisingly often that people attribute what they perceive as a difference in Dio between Parts 3 and Part 6 as an easing or maturing in Dio's outlook over time and reflection, there can be no evolution or softening in Dio's thinking between Parts 3 and 6 because there is no time gap. Dio's words in Part 3, if we take them at face value (since sometimes he lies), reflect what he's thinking at the same time he's devising his plan for "Heaven.")

Instead, there's a telling scene early in Part 3 where Dio discusses that "standing at the top of the World" means overcoming fear:

Now consider the Heaven ability that Pucci unlocks at the end of Stone Ocean within the context of this monologue as well as the Polnareff stairway scene. Knowing your fate - the ultimate goal of the universal reset - isn't overcoming fear, it's having the hardship of fear removed. "Fear" in the above passage results from the experience of failure and the reflexive bodily reaction during future struggles to the possibility that one will fail again. When all is known in advance, this fear is removed. The possibility for "conquering" fear that Dio describes to Enya is likewise removed altogether.

Additionally, in Part 6 and while discussing "Heaven" with Pucci, Dio directly states that "true happiness cannot be attained… by being the ruler of the human race," contrasting this with the true victory of "getting to see Heaven." This dialog yet again gives the lie to an assertion that Dio wants universal precognition as a practical means to easily dominate all of humanity.

3) IMO Dio did not know what form the "Heaven" ability would take, just that it would be an OP, transcendent power.

I've talked about this before too but one of the coolest elements to the Heaven formula is how gnostic it is. Some people just ignore this fact, but it's critically important to look at how Araki chose to characterize the "formula for Heaven." 14 cryptic words, the "souls of 36 sinners," a specific latitude and longitude, the phases of the moon. This is esoteric, occult-type stuff. Add to this Dio's own description of how the destruction of his stand will "give birth to something entirely new":

This language is extremely important. It seems the critical detail that's missing from the formula of heaven is what shape exactly the "heaven" ability will take. The outcome of Dio's heaven plan is missing from the formula because that outcome - "whatever is born" - will be revealed through the process. This is precisely why "courage" is needed: this is a leap of faith into the unknown.

It stands to reason that Dio himself would be uncertain what power would be unlocked through the formula. After all, this theme is a throughline throughout Dio's life: Dio constantly does stuff where the outcome is both unknown and radical. Using the stone mask, taking and assimilating Jonathan's body, powering up on Joseph's blood: Dio's pursuit of power consistently leads him to make "leaps" where the outcome is knowable only as "something new" and something transcendent. So it's not just plausible that Dio didn't know what new ability would emerge with the destruction of his Stand, it's in character. And of course, unknowability and the need for "courage" in the face of an unforeseen outcome directly mirrors Dio's assertion in Part 3 that "the one to stand at the top of the World" is the one who "conquers Fear."

4) Pucci has as much a role as Dio in shaping the form that the "Heaven" ability ultimately takes.

If you ignore all of the above and instead assert that Dio had his plan fully mapped out and specifically envisioned a future where he and all of humanity were disavowed of the illusion of free will - comforted by going through the motions of a fate they had already lived through - then Pucci himself becomes unimportant. The character gets reduced to a simple cog or a lackey, carrying out the gruntwork of an absent master architect.

Instead, imo the specific backstory and worldview that Pucci brings to his and Dio's relationship is the key element that shapes the form that "Heaven" eventually takes. After all - this point is not debatable - it's Pucci himself, not Dio, who seems most in need of the comfort, the certainty and security, that a universe in which all know their fate would provide. Pucci's entire backstory is built around the trauma of unforeseen consequence. The reset universe really is, then, the realization of Pucci's own personal "Heaven."

Please keep in mind that Dio did not expect to die and fully expected to be the one to enact the Heaven formula himself. Of course Jotaro had something to say about this, so instead we get Dio's disciple and "trusted friend" executing the formula.

(Add to that the obvious, meta fact that Araki developed the "plan for Heaven" specifically for Part 6. The plan (or even the notion of "getting to Heaven") isn't mentioned in any prior part, and isn't part of Dio's story anywhere prior. In the true "meta" sense (e.g., the real-life production conditions surrounding the fictional work), the Heaven plan is written by Araki for Part 6 and as the major driver of Pucci's story, inseparable from the character. Araki tightly tailored Pucci's backstory around the idea that bad twists of fate sow profound misery and that knowledge of what fate has in store can allay inevitable suffering, the premise of the universal reset. Even Pucci being a priest has obvious synergy with the concept of "Heaven." Without Part 6, without Pucci, the heaven storyline never gets written. And within the story itself, without Pucci the formula to get to "Heaven" is never enacted.)

All of this is to say that discussions that try to link the reset universe and resultant universal precognition too closely to Dio's own personality, his backstory and his philosophies ignore the fact that Heaven was enacted by the gravitational convergence of two individuals who each brought something to the formula. Dio strongly shaped the course that Pucci's life took and Pucci in turn shaped the form that "Heaven" took.

[zal-cryptid]

Toyfolk Glossary Masterpost

Collected in this masterpost is a glossary of terms concerning the worldbuilding of my series Misfits in Toyland.

Toyland - A phantom island of games and toys inhabited by the toyfolk. Also known as the Land of Toys, Island of Misfit Toys, the Doll Kingdom, and Merryland. Although autonomously ruled and governed by a monarch, it belongs to its creator, Krampus. It exists in a parallel plane of existence that dances in tandem with the mortal realm known as the Otherworld.

Toyfolk - People who’ve been transformed into living toys and sent to Toyland as punishment for their misdeeds by Krampus. This punishment is reserved only for adults. They don't possess any vital functions and thus have no need to eat, drink, or breathe.

Rule of Play - the magic that allows toyfolk to interact with toys as if they were real simply by playing pretend with them. For example, toyfolk can move their bodies simply by pretending that they can, despite not having muscles, a nervous system, or any of the necessary organs. Same goes to their ability to speak and sense the world around them. Externally, they can make any toy real for them by interacting with it as if it were real - such as pretending to eat toy food in order to mimic the sensation of eating. There are, of course, limitations to the Rule of Play. For example, it cannot be used to create life (playing with a normal doll or a toy animal won’t cause it to come to life) or cause death (playing dead won’t cause suicide). Toyfolk roleplaying with each other can even temporarily alter their perception.

Phantom Nervous System - named after Phantom Limb Pain, the Phantom Nervous System is what allows the toyfolk to move without muscles, see without eyes, hear without ears, taste without tongues, think without brains, and even feel (temperature, texture, pain, erogenous stimulation, etc.,), all without possessing any organs or nerves. Toyfolk are essentially undead - the mind and soul bound to a lifeless object and animated by magic.

Toy Fugue - Named after Dissociative Fugue (although the two should not be conflated), Toy Fugue is an altered mental state where Toyfolk lose their memories and sense of identity. Their minds are subsumed by their Toy Brain and form a new identity based around the type of toy they are. Toy Fugue is a mental escape triggered by traumatic events and emotionally distressing experiences. It’s often the end result of those who fail to find a way to cope with an existential crisis. Unlike dissociative fugue, Toy Fugue isn’t temporary, nor does it cause one to wander. While some have been able to snap out of it, others may be doomed to remain that way for the rest of their lives.

Toy Brain - also known as Play Brain, refers to the “programming” that all toyfolk have that gives them a collection of instinctive urges to play the part of whatever type of toy they are. Many struggle to find a balance between these urges and their own personalities, and it's a great source of discomfort for many of the toyfolk. Much like a Chinese Finger Trap, attempts to resist these urges will only cause them to intensify and worsen. If toyfolk fail to control their urges, their urges will ultimately end up controlling them and descend into Toy Fugue. These urges can range from specific (such as tea parties) to more broad (such as animal behaviours).

Magic - Magic works differently in the Mundane World than it does in the Otherworld. One can be forgiven in thinking magic doesnt exist in our world, but the truth is exists in its most fundamental and purest form - imagination. In its passive form, it manifests as thoughts, ideas, creativity, emotions, and problem-solving. In its most active form, it can manifest as psionics (also known as psychic powers and ESP). Long-term exposure to another plane will cause an entity to slowly acclimatize to the laws of that reality.

Wind-Up Keys - Wind-up keys have the ability to temporarily influence a wind-up toyfolk's personality and behaviour. Each key contains toy brain traits of the wind-up toy it came from. For example, a toy soldier wound up with a music box key would suddenly start to act more feminine and want to dance like a ballerina.

Voice Boxes - While most toyfolk are able to speak through the Rule of Play, those with voice boxes are bound to the rules of the voice box. Those with pull-strings, for example, cannot speak unless their pull-string is pulled. The voice box isn't just an analog for the larynx, but also functions as the speech center of the brain (particularily the Broca's Area). It contains their voice, vocabulary, speech patterns, accent, language, everything. Damage to this aparatus may cause something akin to aphasia, dysphasia, or dysarthria.

Playing Dress-Up - For dress-up dolls, costumes and outfits can influence their behaviour and personality. For example, a business suit could make them feel and act confident, a girly dress could make them feel and act girly, a maid uniform could make them feel and act like a maid, a collar could make them feel like a pet, so on and so forth. The affects are temporary, only lasting as long as they're wearing the outfit, but their original outfit they ever wore as a toyfolk gets imprinted into their toy brain, making it their default trait.

Currency - The official currency of Toyland is the Standard 52-card deck of French-suited playing cards. Playing cards were chosen over play money on account of the fact they couldn't decide on which nation's or board game's play money to use. They ended up turning to Quebecois history for inspiration. Playing-card money was a type of paper money used periodically in New France from 1685 to the British Conquest in 1763.

[rex-shadao]

The Lonely End of Belos

Or why Hunter, Caleb, Evelyn, Lilith, Collector, or anyone that Belos personally wronged didn't get to be the witness to his demise.

I admit, I was a bit unsatisfied with Belos' demise. After all the build up with Caleb hallucinations and Grimwalker bones, I thought he would fall into the graveyard pit, see the ghosts, and realizing all too late it's his fault before he melts into a pile of bones.

Prior to that, before Thanks to Them, I speculated on Belos' fate would be him being hunted down by an angry mob of humans led by Jacob Hopkins believing him to be some kind of cryptid monster either threatening the town... or offer a rare opportunity to get rich on the news. And then he falls apart like an animal.

And when Watching and Dreaming trailer hinted at Belos possessing the Titan, I wondered how they were going to defeat Belos without resorting to revenge or poetic irony (since Belos is this big final boss that the heroes would blow up like with the core). I thought perhaps they would turn Belos into a Palisman tree and make him give back all the Palisman he devoured in a twisted form of redemption. Perhaps they'll remind him of his past and start a mental collapse that causes him to lose control of the Titan as he sees images of Caleb. I was pretty sure Caleb would show up just before Belos dies, giving him the realization that he's damned.

But his actual demise... feels empty. He did fall apart as I expected and there's sense of loneliness in his demise, but... no Caleb. No Evelyn. Nothing hinting to his past. Heck, I don't think the name Philip is even brought up once. It feels like we've been cheated out of a cathartic demise, and I spent the hours since the special aired trying to make sense of this choice and why. Why is there no Wittebane lore.

And ultimately, I make this conclusion:

Belos refused to open up about his past. It's quite telling the Collector spilled everything of his Freudian Excuse from being bullied by the Archivists to being wrongfully imprisoned by King's Dad to his desire for friends and being accepted. Him opening up communications of his insecurities allowed Luz, Eda, and King to empathize and help him. To teach him kindness and forgiveness. To teach him the value of life through death. And through their teachings does the Collector become better and ultimately redeemed.

But Belos? We know he had a traumatic past and a lot of insecurities with his brother. We know he's a lot like Luz and the Collector when he was a child. But unlike them, he never opened up about his insecurities. He forcibly molds them into abstract ideas and rules. For the greater good of humanity. For the good of your souls. He always tries to make it non personal, thinking it makes him selfless and pure.

But what he ends up creating is a caricature of himself. A shallow representation of his former human life. The Hollow Mind portraits released this week on Twitter shows tragedy with the happy memories being free of scratches and burns. Those were the original looks. But in the actual episodes, even the happy memories were scarred and burned. As Understanding Willow reveals, if you burn the memory pictures, you essentially erase them from existence. This means that Belos barely remembers his past. Now that I think about it, Belos never actually used the word brother at any point. Just an old friend. At first, I thought he was trying to avoid triggering trauma memories regarding Caleb's murder, but now I wonder... did he actually forget Caleb was his brother?

Because if he did, then it explains why he never seem to make the connection that Eda and Lilith may in fact be the descendants of Evelyn and Caleb. He only remembers Evelyn's first name but can't remember her face or anything that would link her to the Clawthrones.

And then it hits me. Despite being the big main antagonist of the series... Belos has only one personal connection to our main trio: Luz the Human. Eda, he dismisses her as an Owl Lady outlaw who isn't important in the grand scheme of thing. And King, he thinks it's a weird dog demon, not a baby Titan. But Luz, he's obsessed with because A) she would help him learn the Light Glyph and find the Collector and B) she's the first human he has seen in centuries.

Thus, it is Luz that Belos focuses on the most. It's Luz that Belos wants to form an actual connection since Caleb's death. And when you think about those witnessed Belos' demise... Luz is the only one that Belos has any genuine interactions with. Eda, King, and Raine... they were all background pawns or obstacles, not even worth specializing personal grudges towards like he would with Lilith, Hunter, Evelyn, or even Caleb.

So in spirit, Luz is the last lifeline for redemption and forgiveness. And Belos blew it. He was so obessed with Luz due to her human status but he never gave anything about his past to her (Luz only got Belos' backstory from Masha). He assumes that being human alone is sufficient enough for speaking terms. And he choose the best looking human look for her: A non-broken nose Philip Wittebane. Just as how she saw him in Elsewhere and Elsewhen. The ideal adventurer and hero of the 17th century. He evidently forgot that this bearded Phillip destroyed Luz's respect for him. This Philip lied to her and betrayed her and Lilith. This Philip was not the hero Luz envisioned. After all, the Philip she idolized in the diaries was clean shaven. He could have chosen that form... if he actually remembers that.

And then he sloppily try to make himself sound like he's freed from a curse, sloppily using the term dark magic instead of wild magic, and taking great pains to even say that he did horrible things, even under the excuse of a curse. He has no idea on how to make himself relatable when it's all there within him deep down. He just uses the surface-deep level of relatability and Luz doesn't buy it. And the boiling rain melts away that skin deep humanity, revealing a rotting ghoul barely clinging onto life, screaming of how witches are evil and unforgivable as he crawls to Luz. Notably, he still doesn't give a reason as to why he thinks they're all evil. We all know what it likely is, but Belos never confirms it to Luz.

Belos is virtually on autopilot, repeating the mantra of humans are superior and witches are evil. He never speaks about how Caleb was "stolen" from him by a witch. He never speaks about how Gravesfield taught that witches are evil. His memories almost completely erased by his self-inflicted denial, all he can think of is wiping out witches and saving humanity. A caricature of his former self.

And by failing to swayed Luz, he's completely alone. There is no Caleb now. No Evelyn. No Hunter. No Lilith. No Grimwalkers. No Flapjack. Just Luz whose connection he tries to forge is now a shallow parody because of how much he doesn't understand her at all. But she wouldn't kill him since that would give him a known company at his last moment. Instead he meets his end by those that he doesn't even see as personally important beyond pawns. Though they have a lot of personal grudges against the former Emperor and tyrant, Belos only sees strangers at the end of in his long life.

Philip Wittebane is nothing more than a faded memory of a bygone era. He died with his brother Caleb, regulated to just folklore ghost stories told in Halloween of Gravesfield. To some, they may never really exist in the first place since 1613 is a very long time.

The creature that resembles Philip is just Belos and he is little more but a parody of a man, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

[obsidian-pages777]

Dionysus in your astrology chart. Where do you receive Revelry, Pleasure and transformation?

Asteroid Dionysus, named after the Greek god of wine, ecstasy, and revelry, can influence various aspects of life depending on its placement in an astrology chart. Each house represents a different area of life, and Dionysus's placement can highlight where a person might experience themes related to pleasure, creativity, chaos, and transformation.

Dionysus, the Greek god of wine, fertility, and revelry, is a complex and fascinating figure whose mythology weaves together themes of ecstasy, chaos, and transformation. Born to Zeus, the king of the gods, and the mortal Semele, Dionysus’s birth was marked by tragedy and divine intervention. Hera, Zeus’s wife, tricked Semele into demanding Zeus reveal his true form, which incinerated her. Zeus saved the unborn Dionysus by sewing him into his thigh until he was ready to be born. This unusual birth symbolized Dionysus’s dual nature as both divine and mortal. Raised by nymphs, Dionysus grew to embody the life force and was associated with the vine, which produces wine, a substance that can both delight and destroy.

Dionysus wandered the world, spreading the art of viticulture and the ecstatic worship that accompanied it. His followers, known as Maenads or Bacchae, would enter frenzied states of ecstasy through dance, music, and intoxication, often losing themselves in the process. Dionysus’s mythology also includes themes of resistance and acceptance. For instance, King Pentheus of Thebes resisted Dionysus's influence, only to be driven mad and ultimately torn apart by his own mother in a bacchic frenzy. Conversely, Dionysus was also a god of liberation, bringing joy and divine madness that could free individuals from societal constraints. He represents the primal, untamed aspects of human nature, the potential for both creation and destruction inherent in ecstasy and revelry.

Here is an interpretation of Dionysus in each house:

1st House (Ascendant)

Influence: This placement brings a vibrant, charismatic, and magnetic personality. Individuals may have a strong desire for self-expression and indulgence. They might be seen as exciting, unpredictable, and sometimes chaotic.

2nd House

Influence: Dionysus here can indicate a love for luxury and material pleasures. There may be a tendency to spend impulsively or to find joy and meaning through possessions and sensory experiences.

3rd House

Influence: This placement can make communication lively and expressive. There might be a penchant for storytelling, social interactions, and a playful approach to learning and sharing information.

4th House (IC)

Influence: With Dionysus in the 4th house, the home and family life might be dynamic and sometimes tumultuous. There could be a strong connection to family traditions involving celebration and revelry.

5th House

Influence: This is a powerful placement for creativity, romance, and pleasure. Individuals might seek excitement and drama in love affairs and creative pursuits, enjoying a life filled with passion and artistic expression.

6th House

Influence: Dionysus in the 6th house can indicate a need to find joy in daily routines and work. There may be a struggle between maintaining order and giving in to chaos, or a desire to bring creativity and playfulness into work environments.

7th House (Descendant)

Influence: In the house of partnerships, this placement can bring dynamic and sometimes tumultuous relationships. There may be a draw towards partners who are exciting and unpredictable, with a focus on intense, transformative connections.

8th House

Influence: This placement suggests a deep connection with the themes of transformation, sexuality, and the taboo. There might be intense emotional experiences and a desire to explore the darker, more mysterious sides of life.

9th House

Influence: Dionysus in the 9th house can bring a love for adventure, travel, and philosophical exploration. Individuals might seek ecstatic experiences through expanding their horizons and embracing different cultures and beliefs.

10th House (MC)

Influence: In the career and public life house, Dionysus can indicate a public persona that is charismatic and possibly controversial. There might be a drive to achieve recognition through unconventional means and a desire to stand out.

11th House

Influence: This placement can make social circles and friendships vibrant and dynamic. Individuals might be drawn to groups and causes that celebrate freedom, creativity, and unconventional lifestyles.

12th House

Influence: Dionysus in the 12th house can indicate a deep, hidden connection to the unconscious mind, spirituality, and mysticism. There may be a tendency towards escapism, and a need to balance the desire for transcendence with grounded reality.

Summary

Asteroid Dionysus's placement in the astrological houses highlights areas of life where themes of pleasure, creativity, chaos, and transformation are prominent. Understanding this can help individuals navigate their tendencies and harness the dynamic energy of Dionysus in a constructive way.