#transcendent ruination

[unknownsigils]

AND THE WORLD SCREAMS, “KISS ME, SON OF GOD”!

[gracelyngrausamkeit]

Luck is a fickle thing. Too little of it and the cruel world swallows you whole. Too much of it and the silvery brambles of complacency and arrogance suffocate you. Intoxicating and ever-elusive, luck is fate itself. For, have many a great conqueror not met a shallow grave after a single unlucky day, and have happy coincidences not given rise to great visionaries?

Uncaring to the world, the Weaver of Fortune walks their transcendent path, spurring Ages of Silver wherever their vigorous foot treads and spelling the ruination of every land only touched by their withered limbs.

It is Fate-Seekers’ holy mission, therefore, to chase after the divine on their inexorable journey. Riding under the banner of a thorn-crowned void, the Silverthorn devotees hope to guide the direction of the very Weaver's pilgrimage.

[kurimiaki]

May I please ask for Primrose and Cypress with Malleus?

flower prompt list is courtesy of ddarker-dreams

tw: yandere, female reader, abuse, allusions to bodily experimentation

Primrose - In the yandere’s ideal world, what would their relationship with their darling be like? 

Initially, he’s not entirely sure. You, child of man, will wither with time, one human lifespan comparatively ephemeral to an everlasting faerie. Malleus loves you, he does, but you do not fit into his life. You’re an inscrutable puzzle, a final piece that simply does not have a place in the kingdom to which he is bound. He’s meant to rule Briar Valley, and you simply lack the tenure and experience his future partner must have. Although overzealous in his lavish, ever-intimate proclamations of love for you, your prince is not delusional by any means. Malleus’ advisors try to dance around the blaring emergency that is you, bastardizing creature that you are, sneaking in portfolios of potential candidates and foreign crown princesses Malleus may deign to take as his queen. They know better than to overstep their bounds and outright declare you a threat to his position, a hindrance, only vaguely attempting to sway their heir apparent away from a human of no notable existence. Malleus initially makes no move to refute their persistent endeavor to find him a partner, disregarding it for as long as you’re unaware of their deriding chatter. It’s true: you’re not fit to rule. You could hardly gain a modicum of the experience he’s gathered in your lifetime; and again, that quality of experience is something the current queen demanded Malleus gain before he assumed the throne. Why would his future wife be exempt from such a cardinal expectation?

You are no one of significance, not in anybody’s eyes but his, or so he’ll tell you. A fleeting life, with your comparatively barren mind, that wisp of a presence. You’ll die unknown, loved only by the man who pried you from what creatures dared to.

These are qualities Malleus is very well capable of forcing out of you. If he wills it, your humanity can easily be reworked into something transient of time. Operating beneath his public’s watchful eye, or rather, shielded from it, he has the necessary resources to remold you in his image. Perhaps his grandmother, dutiful in her fervent maintenance of tradition, of a pure royal bloodline, one flush with magic, would have no qualms offering up knowledge of millennia-old transformation spells, should her devoted grandson request it. Given how rich with magical history Briar Valley is, vast and transcendent, it’s not beyond the bounds of reason to suggest that a human’s genetic makeup could be altered with the proper arcane wisdom. Malleus is capable of forcing his fanatical ideals, his hopes of a fully committed life with you, to take true form in reality. As you are now, a human born without magical reserves, his hopes are left an impossibility. As you are now, biologically unfit to rule alongside him. But you will be, in time. Your body’s very framework is collapsed, broken apart by his deft hands, and built you back up to the standard he’s subconsciously yearned for you to achieve. By making you something else entirely, a creature so fundamentally different from what you once were, he can openly claim you as his with no external complaints.

Cypress - How does this yandere comfort their upset darling? 

Hesitant as he is to admit it, Malleus hasn’t a clue of what to do when you inevitably suffer a mental break. Entering Briar Valley, a domain you’ll be constrained to for the foreseeable future (requests to visit outside are denied, denied, and denied again), proves to be the catalyst for your mental ruination. Malleus loves you ardently, to be sure. Any harm he inflicts upon you, intentional or otherwise, does not bring him a modicum of pleasure— but that’s not to say he suffers any guilt when you’re thoroughly rearranged to suit his needs. Whatever good humor you once bore is snuffed out, replaced by a despondent, melancholic countenance he doesn’t exactly know how to approach. And, regrettably, the irreparable damage you’ll imminently face as his lover, the pain of being reborn into something new, is not something he shows much pity for.

Your physical health, at the very least, is something Malleus is fully equipped to care for. Truly, he went to great lengths to ensure your sedation and complacency while work was done to distort you; to his luck, and your misfortune, his diligent efforts to keep you unconscious resulted in a foggy remembrance of the entire ordeal. Initially, there’d been a great display of defiance, a strong abhorrence and rejection of his monumentally deranged proposal to make you into something ‘eternal’. You fought, bucked and wailed and resisted, tried to flee, but even still awoke an ill-defined amount of time later, changed, exactly as he promised you’d be. The tether of your fragile mental integrity is something he snapped without care. And now, dealing with the aftermath of his recklessness, he must learn patience. The patience to rebuild you in another way, more gently now, to nurture your mind back to the quality it once was. It will feel as if your brain was carved out and sewed into the skull of someone new; even if, by large, your looks have hardly been altered. Malleus cannot be as hasty in meddling with your mental state as he was your physical— it’s a fickle and inscrutable thing, the mind. Even more so when you feel it’s not your own. Patience is something so easily applicable to every other facet of his life, with how rapidly time flits by. He’s never minded waiting, but of course, it isn’t the same with you.

For a time, he’ll try to justify his actions— although Malleus doesn’t truly believe he’s committed too grave of an offense towards you. It was for your benefit, he’ll claim, soft whispers while he soothingly stokes your hair. If it weren’t for what he did to you, the utterly dehumanizing dichotomy between his treatment and yours within his castle would go unchanged; hush-hush as servants and courtiers alike struggle to keep their rigid prejudices at bay. Without magic, in such a sacred place of sworn nobility, you would be eaten alive. Malleus disregards the complete truth. That, in reality, what he did to you was more irrevocably cruel than any derisory words uttered could ever prove to be.

The best way he knows to display comfort is to offer you an embrace. He hugs you quite often, in private, with a frequency that will grow to annoy you. It’s a light and tender hold, but not too lax, always tightening in some jarring manner should you attempt to pull away. He pets your head, soothes your back, rubbing up and down, an endlessly repetitive motion. He touches as if he were analyzing you, memorizing your every dip and curve, and enjoys sliding a lone finger up and down your spine, enjoying the way it makes you bristle— how you lurch forward, gripping his shirt, trembling and vulnerable. Like grabbing a kitten by the scruff of their neck. Malleus embraces you with the intent to soothe; but, selfishly, subconsciously, turns the intimate act into something akin to torture, for you. But, ultimately, if Malleus’ words ever seem to lack in sincerity, his touch will make up for it. At some point, you’ll come to intrinsically understand the extent to which he’s monopolized your every relationship— he’s all you have left. And so, if you turn away his offers to touch you, be it a hug or massage or something overtly sensual, there won’t be any opportunity to ask the same of another person. When your tears dry out, and all you’re able to do is helplessly gag and gurgle on the heady affliction that is your despair, he’ll be there to kiss your throat, to sweetly coddle you in the distorted way a true lover would.

[lokittystuckinatree]

“Loss is in our nature, but not death.”

In the comics, Loki achieves immortality. In the MCU sacred timeline, every time the writers tried to kill him off, they had to bring him back because the fans wouldn’t let him die. In the Loki series, Loki and Sylvie (another Loki variant who survives eternal ruination) have a conversation about how they are unkillable while waiting for an inevitable death that never comes. I see three poetic ends: irony, where Loki and Sylvie end as they began and die hand in hand as they should have on Lamentis one, as this time even love cannot save them; tragedy, where Loki survives eternity while Sylvie is lost to time, proving she is not a Loki after all; continuity, where Loki and Sylvie transcend death and time until the multiverse and it’s branches like Yggdrasil braid with the veins under their skin.

[trouticecream]

Intermission: Old Wounds Reawakened 1/2

It had only been for a little bit.  Just a tiny glimpse–against the very bits of rationality and cold, clear-cut logic which had cemented his original decision on the matter–into the life of the one Gregory had once been in conflict with… –approximately a decade ago, if one is to view the timeline in a more linear manner; in exactly the way in which Ninten himself would have experienced it.  Safe within the rocky and somewhat ancient–it being the very first Psion base ever constructed on Earth post preliminary contact with the seemingly ordinary planet–confines of the Mt. Itoi base, the Psion himself had utilized its built-in surveillance system–capable of zeroing in on any temporal-spatial coordinates–to extract concrete visuals centered on Ninten.  His original intentions had only been to capture a brief ‘check-in’, but like anything else of such a nature… like any other ‘slippage’... it never remains at one neat point, but rather unravels like an unwieldy thread down a labyrinth-like ravine, never to be reclaimed again.

What had started as a mere ‘peek’ had quickly evolved into something far more extensive; a task that certainly tests (if not outright transcends) what humans ordinarily regard as an ethical boundary.  Visuals which he had tirelessly followed over the course of several days, subsequently pushing back his own schedule and sending away the Starman Super which now stood by his side in his overarching quest here on Earth, in order to collect a sufficient enough degree of data on the human’s current life to (perhaps a touch selfishly) assuage his own (increasingly weighty, oddly enough, despite the lack of tangibility to it) concerns over whether or not he had permanently bestowed undue ruination upon Ninten’s life.  And according to his own observations of the human’s life thus far…

… nothing in particular seems to be amiss.

By the arbitrary definition of what it means to be ‘okay’... by the most commonly-recognized standards of humanity… Ninten seems to be okay.  Changed, but otherwise ‘okay’.  The first thing the Psion had ever noted about him is that the human boy had undergone striking physical changes, as is customary for the progression from a child and to a fully-baked human-being.  Ninten is no longer the diminutive human he had once towered over in his own full–and thus truest–adult form, but now the one who would certainly tower over the Psion himself now, stuck as he currently is at a height of 2”3;  a complete reversal of their positions when the two originally met, for the first and final time.  The form of a child–aptly referred to as the “child phase” among Psions–and though Gregory himself would like to claim otherwise… a pervasive lapse in his perceived age from before.  No matter how much knowledge he has or how many experiences–be it a collection of clear memories or vague impressions, filling the prevalent holes in-between–he has, the “adult phase” no longer seems suitable either.  Perhaps it had never been suitable from the very beginning.  Perhaps he had never been a ‘proper’ adult, but merely projected a facsimile of it and now, he had been resynchronized to what he had always truly been the whole time.  Just as the human boy had gradually grown up to the form of an adult to better match the many more experiences, knowledge, and maturity he had likely acquired since the confrontation at the summit of Mt. Itoi.

But then… that is only natural for humans is it not?

It is only natural for them to change, evolve, and grow in not just physical but in ways that far transcend mere physicality; their very flesh casings themselves.  One of the many ways in which humans prove to be surprisingly resilient, despite what shallow conclusions one may initially surmise from their comparatively fragile compositions.  A quality that, despite their renowned technological and psionic advancements, Gregory has personally found the Psion species to be lacking in.  The former is barely natural for Psions, requiring a special Magicant-oriented process to shift from the “child phase” and into the far more functional “adult phase”.  And the latter is almost unheard of.  

Change is not natural for Psions.

It is not natural to be anything, but the role that one is created to fulfill in society; nothing more and nothing less.

To undergo as many physical changes as Gregory himself has.

Child.  Then Adult.  Then a state beyond even adulthood; one so explosive and intense that it could not be contained by what Psions would define as an ‘adult’.  Then something not quite whole, but cognizant enough to pull whatever it could back together.  And now Child again, but with a kind of understanding and elevated perspective he never had the first time around.

To undergo as many non-physical changes as Gregory himself hopes to achieve, beyond the ones that have guided him beyond the confines of Psion society and into goals determined by himself.

A Psion that does not follow orders from anyone other than himself.

A Psion whose role is determined not by others, but by his own reflections.

A Psion that grows almost as the likes of humanity does.

As Ninten certainly has.

The physical changes were what was immediately evident, but though the base personality traits remain intact, the Psion himself could tell that there is a kind of acquired maturity and (surprising) level-headedness now; a sharp contrast to the brash, reckless, and hotheaded nature he had originally been acquainted with a ‘decade’ ago in chronology, thousands of years ago in his own total amount of time spent existing.  And fortunately, changed as the human boy might have been, the life that he leads seems to be ordinary.  Nothing short of what any other human might pursue were their interests to align precisely as Ninten’s have.  He engages with various sports on a regular basis.  He attends some kind of educational institution dedicated towards studies beyond that which something referred to as ‘high school’ entails with a focus on what appears to be fauna in a medical context.  He plays a particular ‘role’ in his society as a preparer of coffee in a cafe, albeit within very limited temporal constraints and in exchange for currency.  And he regularly maintains contact with the associates which had accompanied him at the summit of Mt. Itoi.

All constituents of that which many humans strive towards; a ‘normal’ and ‘happy’ life.  And relatively ‘normal’ and ‘happy’ Ninten seems.

It is… a ‘relief’ as humans would put it.

A miniscule bit of a kind of… –’heaviness’ proverbially lifted off his petite shoulders.  Not quite all of it, but at this juncture, that should not have mattered anyways because this is done.  Logically, Gregory should have logically left it at that.  Should have simply forgotten about this entire… detour altogether… and re-centralized his focus towards doing something that will actually help the Earth and its life-forms; not something that has already long since overstayed its ‘welcome’ or lack thereof.  And yet… against all the precise calculations and ice cold logic which had originally led him to decide against doing any of this to begin with… something… –irrational, compels him to pursue the matter beyond its originally limited scope.  More than merely conducting surveillance from within the safe confines of the Mt. Itoi base… the Psion somehow manages to convince himself to take this data collection a step further and observe Ninten a little more closely.

An in-person excursion rather than merely observing him from behind the filter of a screen, no matter how advanced.  Just to be extra-certain.  To conclude that without a reasonable doubt… Ninten’s life has not been ‘ruined’ by either invasion.

And nothing else.  Inexplicable as the sheer strength of such a pull is towards continuing on with this… there can be no other reason.  No other reason is acceptable.

And so, now the disguised alien–emulating a pale blonde human boy, no more than 5”2 in height, with dark blue eyes–lies in wait, deftly hidden behind an especially thick tree along a few others scattered about the general vicinity of the human’s residence in the town referred to as ‘Podunk’, dark blue voids fixed on the residence in question.  At this point, the Psion already has a good sense of what Ninten’s schedule should be.  What to expect.  And how to most efficiently gather further data in order to properly eradicate any lingering concerns so that he can finally put this matter aside and stop wasting time accordingly.  It will only be one day and nothing else–

…–his uncharacteristically distracted and haphazard thoughts abruptly get cut off with a sudden brush of physical contact in the form of a light yet somewhat firm application of pressure to a shoulder.  A mere poke punctuated by a “hey” whispered all too closely into his ear, but an action nonetheless so surprising–a novelty in and of itself with how rare it is to ‘sneak up’ on him like that–that Gregory immediately stiffens up, mouth flattening into a tense line, and he unconsciously projects a barrier of pale blue light from his own person and outwards.  A barrier which, as a result, ends up knocking back the mysterious ‘assailant’ and hard into the ground a more comfortable distance from the disguised Psion himself.  Gregory sharply turns, his hand slightly raised and dark blue voids narrowed with a mixture of irritation at having been startled and an analytical edge, ultimately intent on quickly assessing what action this change in situation warrants.  A state of agitation which almost immediately evaporates the moment he not only gets a proper look at the ‘assailant’ in question, but hears their voice through the air as they rub their side before wildly waving toned appendages before them in protest.

“OW!  Hey… HEY, take it easy kid will ya?!?  I didn’t mean any harm –I was just trying to mess with you a little, honest!”

Ninten.  Of course.  The height, athletic build, messy dark hair, brown eyes, voice, and tanned skin all match up.  But, even so, Gregory sharply stares for just a moment more before he puts his hand down and the barrier around him dissipates.  An action which elicits a sigh of relief from the human man, before he rather gingerly pulls himself back to his feet, half-heartedly dusting dirt from his red and blue striped hoodie adorned with an illustration of some sort of Earth creature–a ‘penguin’ he believes to be the correct term for such a thing–in its center and plain black gym shorts as he does so.  The disguised Psion, in the meantime, merely stares straight ahead without a blink, his mind utterly frayed and buzzing with a million different thoughts; utterly unprepared for an encounter of this sort, the rarity of being surprised aside.

He cannot parse out how to respond exactly.  How much he should bother with blaming himself for the transgression of any contact with the human at all.  How he had been caught by surprise at all… before ultimately determining that much of these thoughts don’t matter right now anyways.  He needs to say something… an ‘apology’ he thinks based on what all those books on causing accidental harm suggest… but before he can even manage to do that much, something oddly petty steamrolls through any semblance of ironclad restraint.  The disguised alien neatly crosses his arms over his chest with a huff, his tone taking on a kind of militant sharpness, tipped in just a bit of disapproval.

“Well.  Do not do it again.

Someone of your experience and developmental phase should know better than to do something like that.”

By the time the disguised Psion finishes speaking, Ninten has already regained his footing and recovered from the fall albeit a bit sore, and though he’s clearly the so-called ‘adult’ here, something about the primness–almost like being scolded or something–rubs him the wrong way; in a way that any other kid definitely wouldn't, as if somehow there’s something more complicated or deeper than the surface than it seems, in a way that’s just a touch familiar.  Yeah yeah maybe sneaking up on what, now, seems like an obvious PSI-user–beyond the more visible display of power–isn’t a great move, but geez it’s not like it’s the end of the world or anything!  The human man crosses his arms–as though intentionally imitating Gregory–and cocks his head almost challengingly, just about barely stifling the urge to dismissively stick his tongue out in contempt of the pretentious air being given off by the other, before he sharply shoots back a response of his own, making sure to match the disguised Psion’s tone exactly.

“Wellllll… –maybe I wouldn’t have to if you weren’t skulking around like a weirdo!”

He wouldn’t normally address a kid–no matter how pretentious–like that, but man something is definitely up with this one.  Something weird enough that it somehow feels fitting to respond as he would anyone else; it just feels right somehow, especially for the weirdly blank demeanor and the way that the kid talks… which oddly enough, also feels right somehow hence why he doesn’t question it much at all.  Maybe even more so given just how much, odd as it may be, it re-ignites the same rebellious spark that propelled him forward against all odds back when Giegue–.  He cuts his own thought off with a shake of his head, disapproval of his own, before completely pushing away the overall ick of just how unsettling, disturbing, and well… complicated it ended up being.  He doesn’t really know why he’s thinking about him now of all things, but well, old habits die hard, especially when dredged back up by yet another attack.  Some time might have passed since then, but the scale of it this time around was something else altogether.

The human exudes a heavy sigh, acutely noting that Gregory had deigned not to respond with an utterly inscrutable expression, before pressing on a bit more gently though not quite letting up entirely yet.

“Guess what I’m saying is that… I’m trying to piece out what you want exactly.”

He animatedly yet vaguely gestures at the other.

“On why you’ve been watching me.”

He sticks up a finger, almost scoldingly, as if anticipating denial of the fact.

“And don’t say it isn’t you.  It’s gotta be you.  I got the same feeling I’ve been getting over the past few days right as you arrived, but stronger.

I’m a PSI-user too, y’know?

Maybe not as talented as one of my best friends, but not exactly a lightweight either, you get it?”

Just as was the case before, Ninten is met with silence or at least that appears to be the case at first, before Gregory averts his gaze, small hands agitatedly gripping the ends of his yellow sweater and twisting it to and fro.  As his own bout of pettiness slowly ebbs away, a combination of frustration–in having miscalculated so severely and violating the one thing he had vowed not to do–and shame sets in, causing the disguised alien to hesitate a little before he ultimately responds.  There’s no utility in lying.  Not about observing Ninten at least.  As for the reason why… well… he will have to make something up.  A moment’s thought is granted to that notion before Gregory straightens himself out to a more upright position and nods, flatly speaking as he does so.

“I do know.  You are the one that stopped the alien invasion a decade ago.  I have heard many stories about it and was hoping to learn something more from observing you.

I…”

The disguised alien glances back, expression perfectly neutral, before he seems to ultimately relent in some way, hands falling back to idle positions by his sides.

“... –sorry.”

And though his stoic demeanor dares not falter, it ‘feels’ as though the ‘floodgates’ have effectively been opened or as though something has burst on the inside in a way he has not experienced in a very long time.  It’s an oddly rending sensation; resonant with that which he had pushed back before being inadvertently pulled back in with a biting vengeance.  A buried desire to apologize–to rectify–wrongdoings against his adoptive human mother’s kin now reborn anew and embodied by the simple expression he had just managed to utter.  Something that means so much more than just this situation in particular, but no less a truth that he could not reveal here and now.  The ‘cruel’ truth of the matter is that Ninten could never be allowed to understand just what the ‘sorry’ means in full… what it exactly means to the Psion himself… because it would go against his current mission on Earth.  On what he means to achieve in ways that far transcend the mere physical actions of cleaning up after what he’s done here.  It isn’t just about rectifying the physical damages, but ensuring that no further harm comes to the life-forms on Earth because of him and that they can exist in relative peace without having to see even the remnants of the invasions of Earth.

“I should depart.  I will bother you no further.”

And to that end, out returns the only correct response to such a situation, in Gregory’s personal opinion.  Personal feelings must never come before his mission.  Be as that may however, it would seem that such a thing is not entirely up to the Psion himself because for better and for worse, the human isn’t quite as content to let this whole thing go.  Not after he’s heard not just the reason why, but the way the other seems to relent shortly after.  An apology goes a long way and while there’s (still) this overwhelming sense of oddness and vague sense of familiarity–something that’s been pushed back time and time again, throughout the entire ordeal–it doesn’t exactly stop him from sticking out a hand (but this time, without making the mistake of suddenly coming into physical contact with the other) in a stop motion.

“Wait!  Listen, this is all super-weird okay?  Let’s just get that out there, but hey, if you wanna know more about that whole invasion thing, I don’t mind telling the story.

But some advice for next time? if you wanna get something outta someone, it’s usually better to just be direct about it y’know?”

He smiles, reassuringly, at the disguised alien.  It seems that for the time-being, everything preceding this moment, is water under the bridge.

“Makes it easier to avoid situations like this to begin with, yeah?”

Gregory averts his gaze for a moment, mulling over the human’s words for a moment and turning over his revised options, before looking back at the other with a curt nod, his own expression a somewhat cold and blank contrast to Ninten’s warmth.

“I suppose so.”

And… that’s all he says for the time-being, unable to put together anything better.  In the end, it seems that since the ‘damage’ is effectively done… he might as well see this through to the very end; this way he gleans something from it as opposed to something this happening… with nothing to show for it afterwards anyways.  Fortunately, he doesn’t need to say much because Ninten himself is talkative and outgoing enough to fill in the spaces left in the wake of Gregory’s woeful inadequacies in such a thing.  The hand that the human had extended out earlier is promptly turned over in an open gesture, receptive to being gripped in kind by another.

“Ahem.  Now that that’s settled, why dontcha head back with me to my house?  It’s better to talk ‘bout this kinda thing in comfort!”

Gregory himself merely stares at the offered hand, perhaps for a moment too long as though more complicated deliberations are going on in his head, before relenting and gingerly–cautiously–taking it.  Something so simple yet utterly complicated.  He has not held anyone’s hand in literal millenia much less anyone that could effectively be regarded as ‘family’ by proxy.  It is as though he had grown so accustomed to existing in a particular state–with a perpetual figurative hole in his ‘heart’–that he had not realized that anything was amiss anymore until the realization struck him anew.  Re-awakened a particular kind of awareness that had been numbed before and in turn, alerted him to an old pain as it’s now being eased, even if only a little bit.  Were he precisely the same as he was before, the disguised Psion is certain that he would have retracted his hand immediately and though the impulse isn’t entirely absent, rather than falling to its mercurial whims, he tightens his grip just a bit to avoid inadvertently slipping out.

Grip secured and confident that he’ll be followed in kind, the human man begins to almost casually make his way across the short distance to his home while Gregory silently follows along, still a touch conflicted but more willing to put that much behind him in favour of making certain that everything goes well here.

“Soooo… you obviously already know me, my name and everything… –so I gotta know, what do I call my newest fan?”

The word ‘fan’ immediately cuts through the remainder of the disguised alien’s internal conflict if only because such a notation is absurd, his mouth twitching just a bit with a barely contained resurgence of that pettiness from before.  It does no good to become unnecessarily combative like that.  The assumption made is a convenient one and so, after the initial affrontement passes, Gregory responds in a more comparatively amicable (if not fundamentally neutral) way in return.

“You may refer to me as ‘Gregory’.  I look forward to learning from you, Ninten.”

[quixotickeeper]

The Progeny of the House of Mischief (ocs, picrew).

Picrews used: pepperjackets: https://picrew.me/en/image_maker/1322863 chicken.nuggts: https://picrew.me/en/image_maker/1427462 hunbloom: https://picrew.me/en/image_maker/626197

Going forward, the first and middle names, as well as the ordinal numerals, of the characters will be listed. Their shared surname is 'Mischief'.

KILGORE FITZGERALD II [he/him] "His House in Ruination" / "The Laurel Wreath" The eldest sibling of his generation, as well as the oldest brother. Of respectable military standing, even if granted due to his family's status. Is probably a nice guy under the mask. Probably in his 40s, for what that's worth. Prickish. Not much is known of his personal life or inner machinations.

AURELIUS ALOYSIUS V [he/him]

"His Mind Transcends Us" / "The Left Hand" Probably the finest mind the Family has produced. Lord knows he hides it well. Of a hedonistic and flighty disposition. A most reliable fellow in times of crisis. Known for his dalliance with his fellows among noble poets. In his late 30s, most likely. A 31th century rake.

TACITUS KILROY VI [he/him]

"His Strength Rivalled by Nature" / "The Inexorable Man" A kind-hearted fellow of prodigious strength and cosmic determination. Quiet and withdrawn, yet charitable. Product of curious experimentation during pregnancy. Around the same age as Aurelius, but a bit younger. Could carry the weight of the world, if sufficiently motivated. Considers himself a cinephile.

FLORENTIA SISYPHUS X [she/her]

"Her Estate Tainted and Unearned" / "The Heiress of Mischief" The oldest daughter and the heiress apparent of the Family. Often away in distant continents¹ attending to personal business, as it is called. Socially maladjusted, though good at acting like she isn't. Coddled beyond belief for her value to the bloodline. Doesn't have an opinion on much of anything. Likes her siblings well enough, especially her younger ones. Mid 30s, most likely. Prefers to be left alone.

FELIX MADSEN VII [he/him]

"His Knowledge Transient and Absurd" / "The Scholar" Twisted by his pursuit of knowledge that is not desirable to be known. Discovered the answer of the so-called 'MCV² spiral question', a metaphysical anomaly studied for centuries by modern academia. No one would understand if he ever thought to publish his findings. Prone to lapses into lucidity, in which he will be polite if a bit absent-minded. Has a love for ufology and conspiracies. Early 30s.

TITUS PERICLES VI [he/him]

"His Heart Rejects Us" / "The Brother-Keeper" The goodest of good fellows. Not terribly smart. Partial to Old-World³ mysticism. Forsook the Family for his brother's sake, and he didn't even need to be asked. Unintentionally funny. Has a brain-to-brain connection with Andronicus, though this manifests in sapping away Andronicus' IQ to temporarily add to his own. Unwaveringly optimistic. Probably late 20s to early 30s, though not as 30ish as Felix. Brief stint as a lawyer. Professional mobster impersonator.

ADDYSON ISADORA III [any, but prefers she/her or they/them]

"Their Mind Fractal Yet Unified" / "The Mind of Madness" The heiress presumptive of the Family, though this will never amount to anything. The kindest one of all, even if it manifests in odd puppet-based ways. Loves good fashion and magic tricks. Styles herself as a magician supreme. Has produced a series of puppets based upon her family members. Is not respected by the older members of her family, though looked on as a source of entertainment by her juniors. Late 20s.

ANDRONICUS VALERIUS II [he/him]

"His Brother's Keeper" / "The Heir of the World" A gentleman of supreme anxiety and intellect. A quiet and unnoticed scion, even at his birth. Fled into exile with Titus not long ago. Supported by his siblings in his gestalt of identity. Touched by cosmic chance. Professional lawyer impersonator. Brief stint as a mobster. Tries to help as much as he can, regardless of circumstance. Has plans of godhood. Mid 20s but feels much older. The youngest brother of the Family.

SIOBHAN LUCILLE IV [she/her]

"Her Creed Dappled with Sorrow" / "The Prime Philosophist" The Family's resident philosopher, even if she isn't very good at coming up with her own ideas. Or having an actually coherent philosophy at all. A source of vexation to the members of her Family who remember she exists. Bought one of those scam degrees online and thinks it makes her a true 'philosophist'. The only sister born out of the Iridescence⁴. Dalliances with local non-nobles are overlooked due to her insignificance to the Family's grand enmachinations. Probably had the best relationship with Andronicus not counting Titus. I'd say about early 20s, maybe very late teens.

GANYMEDE HESTIA VIII [he/she]

"His Pride Laid to Waste" / "The Speaker to Crocodiles" A mild-mannered and fun-loving child. Considers the conservation of 'special' animals to be of the utmost importance. Volunteer of the month 16 months running at the local animal sanctuary in Zürich. To be quiet honest, barely anyone in the Family remembers she even exists. Sometimes mistaken for a burgularish urchin when returning home. I'd say mid teens — 15, say.

HUXLEY JAZMINE XII [they/them]

"Their Goal Obfuscated by Spite" / "The Young Doctor" A young academic type. Lives in the lower levels of the House, close to the foundations. Lives where many haven't walked in years. Dreams of achieving the perfect biological gestalt being. I'd say early to mid teens.

ATHANASIA BARNUM I [she/her]

"Her Defiance Enrages Us" / "The Witch" The youngest child of the Family. Touched by something sinister, buried deep in the ruins of the Old-World. A complete unknown to the Family. Still has regular appointments with the house doctor. 13 years old.

¹Mainly in Asia, but occasionally in the Americas ²A reference to The Library of Babel by Borges, page 2 I believe ³Anything predating the year 2401 AD ⁴Referring to the hair colour represented here as blue, denoting afab children as possible heiresses

[themetalwanderlust]

Track Premiere: "Putrefaktor" - Vomitheist

Swizerland’s Vomitheist creates an atmosphere of seething devastation with HM-2 infused guitar riffs, vicious vocals, and drums that’ll knock you straight on your ass. Four of the eleven tracks on the band’s upcoming full-length album, NekroFvneral, have already been unleashed upon the world, giving us all a little taste of the ruination to come. May 19th via Transcending Obscurity Records, to be…

[writer59january13]

While in deep sleep tuning fork synchronized circadian rhythm in pitch perfect qi

while channeling the energy of Google exemplified by cute and cuddly moogle.

I awoke from mid-day siesta exuding peaceful easy feeling total all encompassing bliss suffused body electric of mine. Ecstasy resonated within these lovely bones triggering subliminal stimuli from head to toe profound tranquility linkedin entire corporeal essence, what me worry mindset bundled every nerve transcendent state issued forth analogous to standing in the middle of an intersection, where converged sense and sensibility without pride or prejudice experienced as orgasmic natural high rippling into soothing nexus of acute momentary emotional nirvana watching within third eye blind "the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog" which sentence contains all the letters of the alphabet if in doubt (take a pawn) and Google for yourself. Despite any care and concern within the webbed wide world, I seemed to float above the fracas, especially the fiasco of the fires their utter ruination laying waste entire Los Angeles neighborhoods seen from afar absolute zero familiarization, a futile endeavor trying to identify any hint of recognition impossible mission to comprehend the mind boggling death and destruction encompassing the second largest city within the contiguous United States far as the eye can see extensive obliteration and desolation analogous to aftermath of dropped atomic bombs unleashing their powerful fury minus the radiation fallout offering foretaste of hell on earth annihilating life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness shaking and baking bedrock faith witnessing enraged shaking fists screaming (at the top of one's seared lungs) accursed blasphemy exploding against omnipotent creator questioning unfair punishment, nevertheless birthing good samaritans offering emotional nurturance while drones buzzfeed truckloads of information using radio frequency (RF) communication through a data link, sending data like location, altitude, speed, and live video footage from the drone's camera back to the ground control station via a dedicated transmitter and receiver, typically operating on frequencies like 2.4 GHz or 5.8 GHz depending on the drone model and intended range; this allows for real-time control and monitoring of the drone's flight. Suddenly doggone petty trials and tribulations in Lake Wobegon (my adopted hometown out there on the prairie offtimes visited by Garrison Keillor) finds us speechless, and numb structures of silence crackling, popping and snapping courtesy non-verbal communication linkedin to eerie decimation courtesy ferocious acceleration of Santa Ana winds strong, dry, and hot winds that blow from the inland areas of Southern California towards the coast, typically originating from a high pressure system over the Great Basin desert, causing them to be very warm and dry as they descend through mountain passes, often exacerbating wildfire risks; they got named after the Santa Ana Mountains through which they frequently flow.

[godstrayed]

my body is dead , but i'm still alive . - abigail to hannibal

memes. ╱ always accepting.

　Survival was always an astonishing thing. The human body could endure the most horrific of things. Organs could be dragged outside the comfort of their skins, flesh could be marred and painted with torment, and minds could be twisted into his design. And the host would keep breathing, labored and wet with their own sanguine despair, but inevitably alive.

Was Abigail truly as dead as her fragile mind dared to perceive? His lips twist into a knowing smirk as he continues sipping his wine. "Death merely serves as the threshold to another chance at being enshrined. Will is going to witness your transcendence as it is his ruination too. Do not fear, dear Abigail. It will be quick, painless, and you will be of use."

There is a slow and steady pause before he reaches out for her face. So young, so naive, but so tortured. She knew far too much but not quite enough it seemed. "It is as your father would have wished."

[quotemeasonnet]

there is beauty in ruination.

glass shatters. its impact on the harsh unforgiving ground creates music and the aftereffect is numerous shards that dazzle under the light as enchanting as the finest of diamonds

walls crack. life seeps between lines left untended – hues of green peeping from the concrete, sometimes even pink, or red, or yellow; this is how you find art blooming on forgotten buildings.

fire burns. before the ashes comes the dance of its flames – an entrancing duet of auburn and golden hues; their warmth on your skin thaws your frozen fingers and your frozen heart.

flowers wilt. then they find their place between pages of a book, a lover's locket or homemade crafts decorating corners of someone's abode – transforming a house to a home.

scars etch. they paint your body in synonyms of "survivor" and in scattered medallions of battles surpassed; they are your autobiography.

hearts break. the tears running down your cheeks are pearls plucked from the hands of gods and flowing out of your fingers is feverish poetry – poetry is divine – and now so are you.

wars ensue. the taste of blood it leaves in your mouth is sweet and metallic; the bones littering the arena are merely cages of mortality abandoned by men who have transcended to something eternal.

stars fall. the arc of their descent is a glimpse of celestial glory; on them we pray with our fingers gripped tight, parcelling off our hopes to the ears of the universe.

death greets. it paints the canvas in shades of grief : all greys and blues and muted hues; the possibilities it brings stretch onto a horizon unseen – it is an end and a beginning, a damnation and a salvation, an escape and an incarceration.

there is beauty in ruination.

[unknownsigils]

and the universe said the darkness you fight is within you / and the universe said the light you seek is within you / and the universe said you are not alone

[int3rnall]

I find it ugly how grossly uneducated I am as of recently. Why am I doing nothing meaningful? Why am I not outstanding and what exactly am I doing wrong? Why am I not spectacular and special? Why am I not a prodigy at something? Where did all the prior remarkable schemes went? Whose grave did they plunder into?

I can't stay stagnant. I can't recycle my days and I cannot become ordinary. Mediocrity is an insult. I'd rather be amusingly terrible at something than being average at it. Now how exactly do we solve this? I suggest we start identifying the root of the problem. My routine.

Not only does it lack variety, there are also little to none tangible benefits that I could harvest from this immovable tree. I need to recognize what skills will significantly hoist me up the societal ladder of wealth and diminish habits that will reap the very essence of success from me.

Starting from TikTok. Don't get me wrong, the app is great for education as well. It offers real time news that isn't tainted by government propoganda influence or is particularly biased to any agenda, but on the flip side, it is also astonishingly distracting. One could argue your will is stolen from you with consent. You're betting your time over potential benefits (videos with useful information that will retain).

This is a highly risky gamble and will result in a disproportionate victory on one side, which is the forgettable videos littering the for you page. Tell me, do you remember what you watched yesterday on the app? What about 5 hours ago? No? 15 minutes ago? Impossible right. It's not meant for long term retention unless the video is somewhat of an essay or targets a specific audience (particularly scholars or those who are interested in the given topic). TikTok is meant for short, forgettable, highly entertaining junk videos that can be equated to shots of vodka the longer you scroll. Drugs, if I'm being straight forward. It's useless. The cons outweigh the pros, yet the dopamine levels in our brain refuses to uncurl it's grasp on this god forsaken app.

Not only that, but I also do nothing productive. I would pull out my yoga mat and lay it outside, only to ignore it as I watch a series of YouTube videos about foreigners visiting Korea as they ride whirring boats and stuff their mouths with fresh seafood from Jeju island.

I don't understand why I'm like this. I need to be more than this. I'm destined to be incredible. I will have some level of fame and wealth and I will inevitably attain it one way or another. I will scrub my hands with thorns if it meant being successful. If it meant being the smartest person in the room. The coolest, most calculating yet warm. I want to become something more than human, as absurd as it sounds. I've always had this dillema.

The desire to become more than I am, yet it is just a pipe dream. All I see is a wasteland. Chaos, sitting in the womb of hollow ruination.

I starkly recall one of Albert Camus's quote: 'Man is the only creature who refuses to be what he is'

As well as this quote from my second mother, Sylvia Plath: 'I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in my life. And I am horribly limited.'

I used to curl into a ball as I miserably weep over this jarring, emptying realization. I had so much to do, so many people to become and lives to live. I wanted to be God. I wanted to kill myself and transcend. I wanted to be everywhere yet nowhere. Become everyone yet no one. Be known by everyone yet understood by none. A living cocoon swelled with bitter contradictions.

This is me, the butterfly trapped within the suffocating cocoon. The walls enveloping my soul are slowly crumbling away.

Any moment now.

Once it hatches, it will be ugly.

Mark my words

It will be revolting

[usagimen]

                          @grievice :  "let me see your hand" // from naoya who is also checking her ring size :'3 

           𝑰𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒍𝒚, she wishes to seize her hand from his grasp. Those who once sat before them gasp in horror, a wolf has managed to find his way within their sanctum interrupting the precious moments where her skin is caressed by the sun. “This is vulgar” echoing a sigh, she watches him cautiously. As a child, did she not clutch to him tightly? Tugging upon his robes as her own fluttered carelessly, digits entwined as the soft cooing of a serpent exclaimed gingerly; they were never to be apart.

   The bright sun that circled around a crown of black, venomous green eyes that were similar to another, chaos && harmony entwined within each palm. A hand that was merciful, just, kind to those who wished to find safety; in his eyes, one that would burn itself alive for those deemed lesser. Has time managed to harden them both? His grasp was larger, digits that barely align to hers. Calloused && worn, they both held onto the same blade, snarling teeth when they continued to play into the same game they once denounced, winner take all.

   “Quickly now, I have other obligations than to sate your ego” long legs that unfurl from underneath her, white lace catching reflecting light, she trembles at the intimacy between them. Isn’t it the same like before? Sinking into the depths of a shadow that drowned everything out, including her thoughts. Stronger, both of them who wished to transcend all limitations, her eyes quickly averted as teeth grit.

    “Naoya….” he’s taking too long, trinkets that are lovingly placed upon her wrist, silver bangles && plastic beads, charms of fortune with permanent bruises, girlishly pink nails - she loathes the connection yet could not stomach for it to be severed. In a distant dream, she wondered what type of ring he would place upon her hand? Beautiful, it had to be the envy of all. Emerald? To match their eyes, diamonds? No, it was akin to the serpent who mocked their very union, the thought made her cheeks swell in crimson. With her other hand, she suddenly reached to capture the tip of his nose within her digits, “Enough, your thoughts are consuming rationality. Either help me to bind my hands or politely wait outside, you cannot barge into the estate as it is!” a scowl that permeated but not dared to stop him.

   They already had become accustomed to a boisterous hound, proudly declaring the magnitude of his affections, for the elders who watched it was nothing more than a bark that pierced their ears. She would not indulge in fantasies, a life that was once promised, forbidden to flourish as she sought freedom, fated to shatter her restraints by sheer will. Her heart would not allow it, promises, promises…that’s all they would remain. A kiss against candlelight, could he feel the gentleness of bone that collides with flesh? Blossoms woven into her hair, where all would forewarn; she’ll drive you to ruination, madness that is bestowed upon the weeping lily. Why allow such thoughts to enter of all times? She could never understand. Breathless laughter claimed her sweetness upon sharp cheeks as she taunted playfully.

     “Auntie will find you for this spectacle, then you will have to contend with both of our wrath, tch! The Zen’in heir never ceases to stop with his ambitions - it’s almost admirable” 

compare hands with a rabbit. (accepting)

[calypsolemon]

also imma let u guys in on a little secret. technically oldman lloyd au and transcendent au stem from the same au canon, just diverging very early on. In oldman lloyd the ninja never turn evil like in ruination, events largely play out as some mix of the movie and s2. The god prophecy is still there, and at some point post s11 or so wu reveals fsm's full plans to the ninja because he begins to doubt his father's teachings. This essentially nullifies the whole thing because they know about it, but due to being now pretty well-adjusted adults, they aren't motivated to take up the mantle of gods. Most of them are uncomfortable with the idea of choosing to exist forever. Lloyd eventually gains almost equivalent power to his god counterpart, but remains very much alive (his immortality a natural part of him being oni/dragon). The difference really is just that he had the chance to grow up, and his role - which in oldman lloyd au he has the chance to accept of his own volition - is of a protector, not a god.

[scara-meow-che]

so i just got back home from the beach 😌💞 and i thought of like a sweet drabble with body appreciation featuring kaeya with a chubby! s/o.

okay, fight me if you hate me writing about this bcs i won't hesitate to throw some hands. as a busty and chubby person, i won't let anyone say any shit about anyone, even when you're skinny or fat. if you hate this, fuck off and block me.

as your insecurities blinds you to how you should love yourself, kaeya was the one who saw how perfect you are.

you're always insecure about yourself, being surrounded by girls who are often the standard of this cruel world. every time you look at the mirror, the hate in your heart just swells more in anger, forcing hot tears to cascade down your cheeks. whenever you take a peak under your shirt, all you ever thought of were the words "fat, ugly, disgusting." it never ends, how much you lose the fight between the imposed beauty where in fact, you are beautiful with your own unique traits.

"come on, it's bright and hot out so it's the best day to enjoy the beach!" you want to, god, you don't know how much you want to enjoy going out with him.

"butㅡ," as you're about to fight back, the gentleness swirling in his eyes, the flaming adoration shimmering in those orbs had you taking in a sharp breath just to stop the tears once more filling your eyes.

"i promise i won't let anyone say a word about you. i won't let them take away more of your confidence. i promise you that." kaeya lays a hand on your cheeks, thumb gently brushing up and down the skin.

if you can describe how he looked at you, all you can see is how much it transcends the honesty of what love can give, of how much your appearance doesn't matter, of how willing he was to drive away the standards set upon those who rule this world.

if only it was easy to fight back all the words being thrown at you, the very words that had ruined the innocence in your soul. if only it was easy to ignore all the name calling, all the labels, all the nasty looks... if only it was that easy butㅡ

"you're really beautiful, all these curvesㅡ," kaeya pauses with his words, hands traveling down your chest, paving a path down to your hips, the ghost of his hands dances on your stomach, on your thighs, every place you felt so negative about yourself. "ㅡare god damn beautiful, a work of art that you have. you are so pretty, so kind, so perfect f/n."

if he can, kaeya is more than willing to erase everything you've been through. he hates it, he hates it when you hate yourself. he loves you but he wants to let you love yourself more.

"i don't care what other people say about you, as long as it's you, i won't hesitate to pour all my love for you." his eyes casted downward, the anger he felt glows in those blue orbs. "don't let them tell who you should be, just do you."

this time, you can no longer hold back the tears. your hands shake, desperately trying to hold onto something but kaeya held you, he always do. he holds you in his arms, embracing you with his warmth.

it was love, this world that had drained you of love supposedly for yourself, the type of love that's so hard to gain, to keep. this world had abused you to the point of ruination but to find someone to give you their love, to fill in the empty gaps, what you thought to be impossible had turned possible.

love, it was love that once gave you reasons to love yourself.

"i love you, i love you so much," you uttered beyond the cries and sobs you let go. but the short confession of your adoration to this man had him flushing, heart thumping fast inside his chest that he's afraid you might know how much a part of him already belongs to you.

"i love you too, i love you so damn much f/n."

[definegodliness]

Muse: cyclical transcendence

She wields death As if it's a ribbon in rhythmic gymnastics, So full of life it's enigmatic; She lowers herself In the sludge of ruination, Yet whether sinking, drowning, Or violently reemerging, She will offer detailed descriptions Of the rotten foliage Like a brilliant botanist, Acknowledging Time, and all it gives and takes. Then she will speak; write, As if granting second lives To these buttoning flowers Now lain to waste, Etching their stories in time-space Before they're off to feed A new generation. She is a Cyclical, timeless being; Corkscrewing existence Since ever it did shape up to plug The free flowing of consciousness. She lets the wine breathe, And, so keen, her senses, She experiences Every grape's lifespan; The vine, the vineyard; The attentive fingers Of the long gone viticulturist... So can it be Life, And death, And rebirth's ever after All fit in her crystalline glass; Its mixture, Her ouroboric elixir. She drinks, She savours; She lives -- Again.

--- 18-8-2021, M.A. Tempels © “... written for my oldest and dearest friend here on Tumblr. Happy Birthday, @haikkun!! Haha, I could have just written ‘Muse: Maureen Armstrong’, but you know I’m a sucker for uniformity. And vaguetry is part of the series! However, today is your special day, and I hope you’ll have a good one. I hope this poem will contribute to that a little.

To those reading this, I’d like to forward you to > this post < , go on and say ‘hello!’, or drop something nice in Maureen’s inbox. If ever you’ve wanted to make a birthday wish come true, this is your chance!”