#eternal faith leaks

[biantianyang]

a peek at bridelian 👀

#BRIDELIAN OUTFIT SO PRETTY!!!!! #I remember staying up for the leaks… think I’ve seen like 4 total bridelian pics ugh I wanna see jxgz so bad #eternal faith #jxgz #xie lian #tian guan ci fu #zhai xiaowen #jxgz bts #photo #once again don’t think I saw anyone post these here ?? unless I missed it lol #credit in the link ofc

[pretty-dianxia]

I've decided, I'm going to pretend that Immortality is a work in progress and that MAYBE we are getting it in five years.

I don't care about the news, the rumours, and whatnot. I'M NOT GOING TO LET THEM PLAY WITH MY FEELINGS.

FIVE YEARS!!!

#same for Eternal faith #mark my words #immortality #erha #2ha #ranwan #and still a MAYBE #but I have hope #pretty sure some people want them to lose relevance to never airing them #BUT WE ARE AN UNSTOPPABLE FORCE!!! #I'd forever keep liking and reblogging the same leaks over and over again; THIS PERSON WON'T FORGET!!

[https-furina]

✎ i wasn’t ready to say goodbye [various men - part two] ft. lyney, zhongli, childe, ayato, alhaitham, cyno & tighnari x fem!reader content: angst, heavy trigger warnings for death, blood, injuries, gore & murder, fontaine archon quest spoilers (lyney), hurt no comfort, suggestive for a moment (zhongli), sumeru archon quest spoilers (alhaitham), ooc ayato (i'm not confident with him, sorry) not proofread.

detective's notes. this is the second part to the 'i wasn't ready to say goodbye' series i've started following aly's request, which is part one and you can find it here.

lyney put a lot of trust and faith into you the moment you'd uttered precious sweet nothings to him and promises you swore you'd keep. the magician was hopeful that for once potentially things were going right, he was landing on his feet if it wasn't for the heavy, nagging feeling working for the fatui left on his shoulders. it suffocated him, no matter how many loving smiles you'd send his way. he could drown every moment in your familiar scent - his home, his four walls but it would never rid him of his actions.

even when he so blindly puts that trust and faith into the auspicious blond traveler travelling teyvat and bringing nothing but destruction in their wake.

a shaking gloved hand reaches out for your silhouette against the backdrop of crackling fires, embers rising into the deep night sky like fireflies. dilated lilac eyes search your facial expressions but they keep trailing that to that blade piercing through your abdomen, soaked in the precious liquid you need so desperately. he doesn't understand - he didn't do anything wrong. he'd followed every rule in the book, he'd been a good man, he swears! yet that look of fear on your face and the hatred in the traveler's eyes... he's lost. the traveler yanks their arm back, withdrawing their sword without another word. no explanation, nothing that could ease lyney's mind as he rushes forward to catch you in his arms, falling to the floor with you when your vision darkens. the loss of the blade in your wound results in a heavier blood loss, nothing is there to stagger the waterfall that leaks through your attire and lyney is desperately pressing his hands to your wound but to no avail. "y/n?" he murmurs, panicked and breathless as he hyperventilates and his eyes burn from tears. your eyelashes are fluttering, lips parted as shallow breaths escape you but no words come out. you do not respond, prompting lyney to continue begging you, "please, hold on, i'm sorry - i'm so sorry y/n-" he doesn't care to know where the traveler disappeared to. the fires roar louder in his ears, competing with the rush of blood that's sending him crazy. he can hear his own pulse thudding, heavy as he watches the light drain from your eyes. words are flurrying from his lips, his voice cracking as he wonders whether begging to the hydro archon will get him anywhere. but it doesn't when your tense shoulders fall limp, your head rolling to the side as one last breath intakes into your lungs. he promised you his work would never affect you. he promised the traveler his eternal loyalty and the concept that he was a good guy. he never lied but when he's sobbing into the crook of your neck, hugging your body close, he can't help but think his entire being was built on a web of tightly knit lies created by the fatui.

zhongli vowed that falling in love with a mortal would be unwise, he knew from the very start when amber eyes as warm as cor lapis landed on you from across the room. it was like there was a pull, a tug in your direction and the benevolent man had no choice but to approach - just like that you had the archon wrapped around your finger, not that you knew. he couldn't tell you, no, that would be even more unwise and he'd already made one grave mistake swallowing pretty moans when his lips pressed to yours in the dead of the night.

but if it had protected you from those who wanted his blood, who wanted him to hurt and his heart to ache, would it have been wise? for then, he would not have to relive this stabbing grief once more.

sal terrae remained one of his favourite spots of his country, with dazzling waterfalls and memoirs of the god of salt - a memory long drifting away - he could spend days here, camped out under a tree and listening to the calm that nature brings. but this is not the sal terrae he remembers, no. not the blood splattered on the dirt ground beneath you or the way there's a small, delicate red river trickling out of the corner of the mouth he'd kissed so many times before. he should have known not to trust the fatui the way he had whilst they were in liyue - specifically that damn ginger harbinger and the bank. he scowls, brows knitting together as he hesitantly takes a step forward. he considers whether you'll yell at him, scream and cry out in anger for his mistakes. after all, perhaps you would have not been pierced in the chest so brutally had he protected you and even more so, if he hadn't lied about his identity. you don't. you gasp out for breath, choking on blood as you cough it up. it dribbles down your chin, an horrific scene. he'd seen many in his thousands of years walking teyvat, he'd seen so much mortal blood it felt like water by this point but seeing your specific blood clawed at his heart. he wishes he could forget the vision, forget the way there are tears glittering as they spill down your cheeks. zhongli feels an immense amount of guilt and he knows the heavy weight of it will drag on his ankles for the rest of his existence. "z-zhongli?" you croak out, your vision blurring as you make out the tall man from where he stands. you reach out, your hand covered in your own blood from where you were just holding your chest. blood seeps through your clothing, the reality is starting to hit zhongli more. he approaches quicker, hands cupping your cheeks as his thumbs wipe your tears. he isn't sure how to comfort you - perhaps he can't. the adrenaline is fading, you're feeling the burn of your wound every time you gasp for breath. your lungs hurt, your head feels light. zhongli wraps an arm around your waist quickly when your knees give in, lowering you to the ground softly. he kneels at your side, swallowing the lump in his throat. "i'm... i'm sorry, my love..." he whispers, unsure if that's the apology he wants to drop right now. you're fading in and out of consciousness, your bloodied hand clutching at his coat as if he's the one who is going to fade away at any moment now. zhongli grimaces, the unfamiliar sting of tears in his eyes as he watches the way your chest doesn't rise again.

childe cherishes you to the point of possession. you're the best thing that's ever happened to him, he'll remind you at least once daily. if it doesn't come out of his mouth verbally, he'll show it in the form of actions, gifts, anything he can consider a love language - you have to convince him that killing people who look in your direction is not a love language.

his wealth brings unnecessary trouble as well as his association with the northland bank. there are many souls in liyue who would crave for an ounce of it, at any means possible.

he doesn't remember ever giving you a reason to leave the front door wide open - not that you need a reason but it's the peak of winter in liyue and you always complain at the thought of heat escaping through cracks in the window. upon closer inspection, the harbinger sees that the door handle is busted, hanging on by a limb. there's a sudden pang of anxiety in his chest, his gloved hand pushing the door wide open. childe is met with the sights of shattered glass and broken pottery, porcelain decorating wooden floorboards. there's a lump in his throat now, making it hard to breathe as he calls your name out and begins to frantically search your shared house. he can hear your whimpers, your soft begs to not hurt you as he approaches the kitchen. there's a bloodied kitchen knife on the floor beside you but his eyes land sooner on the puddle of deep red liquid staining your clothes and the floorboards beneath you. the blood is seeping from your neck, your voice strangled and gurgled when you cough up more blood onto the floor. your fearful eyes meet his blue ones and you choke out a sob. "c-childe- ajax.." you cry out any name you can but it's barely a whisper when you finally realise there's no one else here to attack you. his eyes are cold, his blood running even colder when he grips at the bow in his hands, his knuckles turning white and he swears he'll kill whoever did this to you. he swears that they'll feel his wraith, he'll spill their blood and he'll taint teyvat's ocean with it until they remember his archons forsaken name. when he doesn't respond to his name, you sob once more and he snaps to reality, dropping his bow as he kneels at your side. he peels his gloves off, his hands still warm as he clears your neck to look at your wound clearer. you wince, whimpering and whining at any form of contact as you grow fainter, hands weakly grabbing at childe's clothing. "i'll kill them, i swear baby - i'll make them pay, they'll regret ever coming near you-" childe's tone is sharp, stabbing the solemn air as you struggle to breathe, gasping for your final breaths. you can't even form the words to argue back against him, to tell him that killing people doesn't solve everything. that silence kills him. it sends him insane as he watches you helplessly die in front of him. he hyperventilates, brows knit together in frustration. you were supposed to argue back, tell him he's wrong. why didn't you? he shakes your shoulders gently but you're limp, unresponsive.

ayato is not a man of many words nor actions, you should have seen it coming the moment you married a socialiate, let alone the head of his clan. the man has an image to maintain and that is not limited to the likes of his wife either. you do not mind, heavily avoiding the limelight of inazuma's tabloids. ayato can do many things to protect you from scenarios like that as the commissioner of the yashiro commission.

he could not have foreseen enemy clans using you, his devoted wife against him and he could have not particularly predicated this scenario.

"who did this?" his words cut the silence, it's tense and heavy. all that resonates in the courtyard is your desperate gasps for breath, your brows knitted together as you try to recall anything about your attackers but nothing comes of it. there's no one but the two of you around, ayato had long sent everyone on a wild goose chase to find who did this to you. red soaks the white of his sleeves, hanging in the pool of blood you lay in. ayato lets out a shaking breath, there's a tight feeling in his chest. did he feel guilt? potentially. he trusted himself enough to protect you, he swore he'd never fail you. it seems he'd failed himself in that regard too. "i-i... love you..." you whisper shakily, weak and barely audible above the winds of inazuma that blow through the kamisato estate's courtyard. ayato grimaces, a cool hand cupping the soft skin of your cheek. shadowed eyes belonging to that of your beloved husband drink in the sights of your blemishes, your insecurities - the things that he has forever found beautiful. "yes... yes, i know, dear," he reassures softly, his voice cracking ever-so-slightly as he gives you a broken smile, "i love you too." you're beginning to fade out of consciousness, the blood loss taking you in its toll when your chest becomes heavy and you're struggling to find the strength to breathe. ayato coaxes you to keep going, to keep trying for him. just hold on a little longer, he promises, clasping your bloodied hands in his. he does not care for the liquid staining his clothing, it is yours and anything of yours is precious to him. but his reassurances and promises begin to fall on deaf ears when he is the only person left breathing in the courtyard of his home, his sacred sanctuary he swore would be safe for you. it's always been safe for him but as he cries out into the night, exposing his vulnerability in the moment of being alone, he wonders why it could have not been for you, truly.

alhaitham claims he has no reasoning for falling in love. he's a busy man, especially when he's thrust into the role of the acting grand safe following his expeditions helping the traveler free lesser lord kusanali. but between stacks of paperwork and arguing with one particular blond in the house of daena, turquoise eyes find you, another ordinary scholar of the akademiya. he swears he had no intentions of knowing you further than polite words shared as you pass each other in the halls.

is that why months later when he doesn't hear from you while you're out researching in the desert, he decides to go searching for you in a worry he'd never voice aloud?

thick, red liquid is binding the sand together under you, dripping from your open wound across your side. your attire is ripped, the wind occasionally blowing sharp granules of sand onto your exposed wound and causing you to yell out in pain. alhaitham is pale, his eyes wide. he should have trusted his gut sooner when you stopped writing back to him, keeping him updated on your adventures out in the desert. better yet, perhaps he should have just came with you in the first place. there are no polite words shared in the heavy atmosphere as you pant for breath. alhaitham is no better, struggling to breathe at the sight of one of the only people he'd allowed this close bleeding out in front of him. his eyes don't leave your wound, you're way too far from the bimarstan for him to get you help. you fall to your knees and alhaitham follows, his hands fumbling as he struggles to remove his cloak and wrap it around your shoulders. you're in the middle of the desert and yet you're drenched in a cold sweat, hugging his cloak around you tighter. you breathe in his familiar scent, it's warm and hugs you back. it's comforting when the wound burns harsher on your side. alhaitham should have known better than to let you venture into the desert alone, the guilt biting at him aggressively when he pulls you into his chest, burying his face into your hair. he drinks you in, feeling your shallow breaths against the shell of his ear. he listens helplessly as the seconds between your breaths become longer and they become quieter to the point he no longer feels them anymore. he refuses to pull away from you, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck as your skin turns cold beneath him. he's in denial, his breaths struggled when your arms fall from around him, limp. just a little longer... he'll wake up and you'll be in front of his desk once more, that wide smile almost rubbing off on him.

cyno warned you the moment you'd figured you had a chance at getting so close to the general mahamatra - he worked a dangerous job and not only that, he himself was a dangerous man. yet you were stubborn, initiating a conversation with him any chance you got. had he been on an expedition recently? did he have any criminal arrest stories to tell your curious mind? cyno could almost chuckle at how much his work did not seem to bother a citizen like you.

he should have held his breath as he ran from the akademiya to treasures street, having been told of a murder happening in broad daylight of sumeru's summer.

"what happened?" "oh archons.." "is she dead?" cyno scowls at all the voices, the questions, the intrusion of a victim's privacy as he pushes through the crowds of civilians. his brows are knit together, trying to comprehend the idea that someone would be brave enough to commit such a vile act in broad daylight like this. a matra tries to stop him, reassuring him the case is covered but cyno shakes his head, pushing further. ruby eyes fall to the body that lies on the ground, half covered by a white sheet. the pavement below is pooled in blood that seeps through the cracks and stains the cream colour of the tiles, soaking into the white sheet being used cover for privacy. he takes note of that familiar anklet around the victim's ankle and it feels as though his whole world just came crashing. "general mahamatra, sir?" the matra from before asks wearily, appearing beside him as cyno is yet to say anything. there's a lump in cyno's throat that won't budge even though he keeps swallowing, he tries to put it down to dehydration in the summer heat but he's never struggled before, "eremites, sir." cyno wanders to you slowly, catching sight of the way your familiar hair spills out from underneath the sheet. he was hoping that the anklet was just coincidence, it was a gift from him when he'd ventured to aaru village one day but that was most definitely your hair - it was definitely your hand that peeked from the cloth. he shakily reaches for it, attempting to keep his calm in front of so many eyes. the voices whisper, gasps and sorrowful when he kneels next to your body in a rigid silence, his knuckles white from his grip on your cold hand. he chews his tongue, hoping you'll wake up and scold him for having such a strong grip and not being more gentle but you don't budge. the sheet doesn't lift, the blood doesn't disappear as if it was a bad dream. he knew you'd be in danger at his side. he has enemies, many of them. ones he has never cared for before, never bothered to utter an ounce of consideration in their direction but the man was very much aware of their existence. you was a weak spot for him, a vulnerable moment with soft, shared kisses and gentle, lingering touches. he should have known. the guilt eats at him, it follows him to bed that night where the empty pillow beside him witnesses his pillow soak in salty tears.

tighnari was head over heels from the beginning. you'd finished your studies in the amurta darshan and had promptly beelined for the avidya forest to gandharva ville, much happier out in the nature than you had been cooped up in the house of daena. if anything, he also saw you as the most dedicated forest ranger in gandharva ville. he loved that particularly.

he related to your need to protect the avidya forest with your life, you was so passionate about it but he didn't expect you to physically use your life to protect it.

there was definitely something protruding from your chest, no amount of blinking was going to make it vanish now. tighnari's tail droops as he rushes to your side, sending one last arrow in the direction of a treasure hoarder, piercing him in the neck. you're alone now, left in a vulnerable state as tighnari eases you against the green grass you've valued more than your own life. "nari?" you ask softly, confused as to why those precious, fluffy ears were flattened against black hair the way that they were. tighnari assumed the adrenaline of battle hadn't fully worn off and you had caught a glimpse of the arrow buried into your heart, which was beginning to slow its pulse as it keeps your body going. blood oozes out of your ranger uniform, something you wore with the utmost pride. "i'm here, love," he chokes out, a sharp sensation stinging at emerald eyes as he pulls his gaze away from the arrow lodged in your chest to those eyes he treasured so much, "you know i love you - right? you'll always... be mine?" your brows knit together, eyes glancing over his face. why does he look so sad? the concept of him reminding you foxes mate for life was nothing new but he always seemed so joyous when he'd remind you - this was different. there's a stiff feeling in your chest and your eyes fall down to it, where tighnari's gloved hand is gently laid around an arrow pierced into your skin. he's not attempting to pull at it nor apply pressure, he is simply keeping his hand close to the thing that meant the most to him - your heart, specifically while it's still beating. "i love you too, nari." you finally realise what's happening, the corners of your vision going dark and hazy as you admire the fox male once more. he'll be the last thing you see, laying on the grass of your home, the avidya forest. he'll be your last comfort, the last thing you smell and touch. you know it was reckless to have put your life on the line in such a way but you would have done anything to protect the forest. tighnari lets out a wail into the calm of the avidya forest, praying that someone hears his cries of sorrow. your skin is cold to touch hours later but tighnari has not left your side, his tail curled around your body with only an emptiness left in his chest in your absence.

© https-heizou 2023.

#꒰꒰・♡ cold cases #https-heizou #genshin angst #genshin impact angst #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #zhongli #tighnari #lyney #childe #tartaglia #ayato #kamisato ayato #alhaitham #cyno #zhongli x reader #tighnari x reader #lyney x reader #childe x reader #kamisato ayato x reader #alhaitham x reader #cyno x reader #tartaglia x reader #ayato x reader

[rainbowoasis]

But it’s Over Now, Go On and Take a Bow

4.2 Update Spoilers!!!

She’s tired, so so tired. She wishes she could turn her brain off, wishes she could sink into Fontaine’s waters for eternity. Her knees shake and her arms are jelly as she shoves everything she owns into a suit case. Half the items end up scattered on the floor around the suitcase, and she sighs as she delegates more concentration to getting them inside. 

Reach, grab, lift, drop in suitcase.

She has to walk herself through what to do because her body doesn’t want to listen. Her joints are locking up. Her legs and arms are tingling. She is so tired, and she’s not even sure that she’s allowed to be tired.

Reach, grab, lift, drop in suitcase.

Everyone is alive. The prophecy had not come to fruition after all. She can’t be more relieved than she is now, so then why does everything hurt? Faking the roll of an archon for half a millennia, refusing to let anyone into her facade, pretending that everything was under control when Fontainian lives were slipping through her fingers, sobbing on stage and desperately clawing for her people’s approval, hasn’t it all been worth it? Why must it still hurt? Tears leak past her lashes, trailing down her cheeks. Her chest snags with a hiccup, and another, and another. It’s worth it. It’s worth it. It has all been worth it! Never mind that she sacrificed her humanity, her soul. Never mind that no one will acknowledge her pain and thank her for her contribution. Her nation is safe and that’s … she sniffles … that’s all that matters right? Right? The resounding click of approaching heels echos throughout the opera house. Furina scrapes at her face in a hurry, sifting her mind for a reason to excuse the tear stains.

“Lady Furina,” Neuvillette appears in her room, as austere and imposing as ever. Furina owes a lot to him. She had tried to transform him into a pillar she could lean on without disclosing her true identity. It had only kind of worked, but he still shouldered the burden of a nation’s cruel expectations for her nonetheless.

“Ah, Iudex Neuvillette,” Furina offers a mighty greeting, flourishing her wrist. “You’ve come at a good time. I’d like to announce my resignation from the position of hydro archon. I hope you understand.”

“But of course,” says Neuvillette, “Had you not decided to leave I would have fired you myself.”

“What?” she squeaks. Then clears her throat and asserts, “Pardon me, but what ever gives you the right to presume you’d relieve me of my position?” Oh, Celestia and all its principles, she’s pulling on her facade despite the soreness in her bones. She has been acting for so long, the role might as well be designed on her very spirit.

Neuvillette smiles, a soft, pitying tilt of the mouth and a lowering of his gaze that makes it appear as though he’s mourning and trying to be strong. “Setting the matter of your trial aside, I also spoke to Focalors, God of Justice.”

“Wasn’t that me?” Furina asks.

“In a sense. She was the woman that encouraged you to do all this.”

“Oh,” Furina breathes, “The mirror me.”

“Exactly,” Neuvillette nods, “Her machinations have been realized, which means you no longer have to play your part.”

“Ahh yes, good good.”

“Lady Furina,” Neuvillette’s voice trembles as he strides toward her. He nudges the suitcase aside with his boot and sinks to one knee in front of her. His gloved hands find her shoulders, and squeeze. Furina wants to crumble beneath a grip so firm.

“I am so, so, so sorry,” Neuvillette says. His eyes are enormous. “No amount of apologies will mend the wounds you’ve taken for Fontaine, but I am so incredibly sorry that you had to. I’m sorry you were all alone. I’m sorry you could confide in no one. I’m sorry your Iudex had no faith in you and therefore did not lend you his support. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” The apologies pour forth like water. Neuvillette can’t hold back his flood of emotion. Furina listens, lips parted, unsure of what to say or do. Should she soothe her dear Iudex or dismiss his concerns? What would be most appropriate? Acknowledgment! Someone’s expressing their grief for her pain. Finally, finally! 

“Ugh,” Furina groans, “Monsieur Neuvillette, let me assure you that mmff-“

“Hush now,” Neuvillette stamps a finger to her lips, his words still quivering. She’s surprised he isn’t shaking with the force of his own emotion.

“Don’t say anything,” he says, “You are no longer a performer. I do not wish you to conduct yourself as an actress. You have no need for that merciless role.”

“Oh well then, um,” Furina ducks her head and averts her gaze. Her heart flutters in contrast to how her stomach dips. She can’t help but worry that this is all wrong, that something terrible is bound to happen. It prickles the back of her neck. She wants to believe Neuvillette, to collapse into his words and do exactly as he instructs, to shed her role. But what if .. what if?

“Monsieur Chief Justice,” she gasps, “Is it really over? Am I really done?” She’s imperceptive to the new rivulets of tears running from her eyes, or the way her shoulders hitch.

“Yes Mon Petit Ange,” he coos.

“But we’re still in the opera house,” she cries.

“Then I shall take you out of it,” Neuvillette declares. With little ado, he collects her in his arms like a bride and rises to his feet. Her head lulls against his shoulder, and she clutches his jabot. Her eyes drift shut, but she can’t get her mind to quiet. “I’m never coming back,” she murmurs, more for herself than anyone else. She isn’t sure if she means it or not.

“You may only return if you will it,” Neuvillette says, “I will gladly govern Fontaine in your stead.”

“That’s good, cause I don’t wanna do it anymore.”

“I’ve already arranged suitable accommodations for you,” Neuvillette exits the room. Furina can  hardly tell he’s moving, his embrace so steady.

“You needn’t work or worry.”

“You’re so nice,” she yawns.

“Nonsense,” Neuvillette says, “It’s the least I can do.” 

…

When Neuvillette at last sets her down, it is upon a lace canopied bed of soft blankets and endless pillows. She feels like she’s melting into a cloud. She opens her eyes for but a moment, taking in the opulence of the bedroom and the low lighting before she closes them again.

“I’m so tired,” she whispers. She can only say it. She’ll never make anyone understand how fatigue weighs down her gait, how exhaustion has her living life through a dreary haze.

“I know Petit, I know,” Neuvillette breathes from somewhere below her. There’s a hand holding her ankle steady as her shoe is coaxed from her foot. Then her other shoe hits the carpet with a quiet plunk. He really is a kind person, the kindest person. Rain patters beyond the window. How long did it take her to notice? She curls up and hopes her consciousness surrenders itself, the rain her lullaby. 

…

She wakes as an unwilling participant. Her body is cramping and her eyes are dry. For a second, she frets over her duties for the day. Then she remembers. She isn’t in the Opera Epiclesse anymore. It is all over. She may cry again. She pushes herself up in her pillows. The room is dark, not a hint of light getting through the curtains. Sleep is so alluring. She’s draped in a lavender chemise she doesn’t recognize. Who is responsible for this?

“Lady Furina?” three knocks come to her door alongside a woman’s voice. “Are you up?”

“Yes, yes you may come in,” Furina calls, confounded at how hoarse her voice is, words raking up her throat. She coughs a little. The door pushes open and Navia floats in.

“Good to see you up My Lady,” Navia says, a radiant smile shaping her lips. In one hand she balances a long tray cluttered with pastries and juice. Navia sashays past the windows, yanking back the curtains as she does. Sunlight filters through the room. Furina squints. Navia sidles up to Furina’s bed and settles on the edge of it, placing the tray in Furina’s lap.

“Am I late for something?” Furina asks. The platter warms up her bare thighs and the aroma of the pastries sweeten the air the way flowers do spring.

“No, I’m just bringing you breakfast,” Navia laughs.

“Aw! Well then, I should thank you for your generosity,” Furina says, reaching for a bacon quiche. “Ahem, where is Monsieur Iudex Neuvillette?”

“He’s very busy establishing himself as Fontaine’s sovereign,” Navia says, “We’ve all been taking turns looking after you.”

“All?” Furina asks.

“Monsieur Neuvillette, Duke Wriothesley, Clorinde, and I”

“My! I did not expect my subjects to flock to my aid.”

“Ex subjects,” Navia says, twirling a bouncy tress of caramel blonde hair. Right, right. She is Fontaine’s archon no more. This mercy can’t have come soon enough.

“You have a rotation yes?” Furina grabs up a slice of vanilla cake topped with strawberries, “How long have I been resting?” 

‘Four days,” Navia says. Furina pauses mid chew, cheeks full of cake. She isn’t sure how to respond. Four days? It feels like she slumbered for only six hours.

“Sigewinne’s been monitoring you though, and your health hasn’t declined.”

“Ah yes. That is wonderful news,” Furina says. She swallows down her cake and takes another slice. “This is truly a delicious confection,” she sighs as the cream icing melts on her tongue.

“Really? Yay!” Navia claps her hands, “Fantastic! It would be a terrible shame if I disappointed you.”

“Hmm, you? Did you make this divine breakfast Ms. Navia?”

“Yes,” she bobs her head in a nod.

“Thank you. I love it! It quite befits me!”

“Well, you certainly deserve a treat.”

“Deserve?”

“Yup,” says Navia. Without warning, she dives into Furina’s space and throws her arms around her. Furina shrieks as her face is stuffed into Navia’s plush chest. She’s enveloped in strong arms and the fragrance of Navia’s floral perfume. Furina crumbles into her. She’s gooey and drenched in warmth like the cream of a hot confection.

“I wanted to thank you personally Lady Furina,” Navia speaks into her hair, “Your contribution to Fontaine is truly wonderful. My gratitude is eternal.” Oh, wow… Something crowds Furina’s throat, snatching her breath away. Her stomach cranks like the gears in a clockwork mega because, she failed Navia the most.

“Your the last person who should be thanking me,” Furina mutters. She’s taking up too much space in Navia’s embrace, cozy in a sanctuary she lacks the privilege to seal herself in. “Your attendants were dissolved before I could stop the prophecy.” A fresh wave of tears press behind her eyes. She has no right to mourn them. She hardly knows who they are, but she can’t help it. She had done everything her mirror self told her too, and innocent people still lost their lives. Navia stills against her. She holds her breath for a small eternity, then sweeps her hand through Furina’s sugar white hair.

“No, don’t say that,” Navia murmurs, “It isn’t your fault. You did your best, and it was enough to save practically all of Fontaine. I’ll never blame you for their passing. And I will never stop marveling at the perseverance and compassion you offered your people. Thank you.” She rocks Furina through her tears. Furina doesn’t ever want to leave.

…

Next time Furina wakes, it’s to a ridiculously sized man hanging over her, assessing her with shrewd blue eyes. She screams to the top of her lungs. Wait. She knows his face but can’t put a name to it, and the logical part of her brain loses the battle to the panicked part.

“Ah, you’re good and alive then,” his smirk is sideways and cavalier, “I thought I might have to get Sigewinne to examine you again. How are you feeling?”

“Um, Duke Wriothesley?” Furina dodges the question with one of her own, trying the title on her tongue. She hopes she got that right. She can’t answer that question. Every moment she’s awake, she wishes she was sleeping, and there are a million reasons why. None of which she desires to express or explain. 

“Yes?”

“It’s your turn to babysit me?”

“Perish the thought,” Wriothesley extends one bandaged hand, “I’m here to invite you outside for a cup of tea.”

“I’d rather not be seen by anyone,” Furina daintily shakes her head.

“We’re not going beyond your backyard,” says Wriothesley, “But everyone needs a little sunlight.”

“What an ironic notion, coming from the Duke of Meropide,” Furina snorts, but she sits up and slips her fingers through Wriothesley’s.

“To be fair, I’m a criminal,” Wriothesley says, “Flowers like you bloom best in the sun. I’m more like the moss that lurks between rocks underground.”

“You could’ve chosen any manner of night blooming flower or houseplant, and you chose moss for your simile. Your self esteem is rather deficient Monsieur Duke.”

“Well,” Wriothesley heaves her up. She squeals, kicking her legs until she’s cradled proper in his arms. She holds tight to his massive shoulders, worrying her lip at how far from the ground she is.

“Then we’re in the same boat, aren’t we Miss?” he carries her outside with ease. It’s a bright day, a warm one too, the sun’s heat on her skin, with no hint of a breeze. Neuvillette acquired her a house with a garden suitable for tea parties. Wriothesley dips her down in a cushioned chair, and sprawls in the chair opposite her.

“What?” Furina throws her head back into a laugh, “For five centuries I have been Fontaine’s archon, adored and trusted by all”

“But do you adore yourself?” Wriothesley drums his fingers on the mug before him, “Often when you’re supervising a vast sum of people, you lose the comfort of putting yourself first. And you learn that people don’t love you so much  as they love what you can do for them.”

Furina hiccups, almost choking on her tea. She takes another sip. It’s hot and sweet with honey and milk. Wriothesley’s tea is always welcome and exquisite, just like the duke himself. “You’re right,” she says, the words full seconds apart. “All I know how to do is pretend to take care of others. I don’t know how to love me.” She imagines she won’t ever learn either. She is too exhausted to rewire her brain to think normally. Her cup sloshes in her trembling hands,and she sets it down as not to drop it.

“See?” Wriothesley smiles, mouth in a rueful curve, and shelters Furina’s delicate hands in his big ones. “We are in the same boat.”

Furina’s breath stutters. No, no! The tears are coming back. The ache in her chest swells and it’s as if her ribs shatter.

“If I may make one correction,” Wriothesley says, and takes her silence to be permission. “While you may have been pretending to be an archon, every aspect of care and attention you granted your people was real.”

She doesn’t let go of his hands as she cries.

…

When she wakes, the steady, rhythmic bouncing of her body lets her know she’s being carried. Again? She hasn’t touched the floor since she arrived here. Is that on Neuvillette’s command? Does he wish to spare her legs? She’s delighted no one else appears to mind either. She forces her eyes open and tries to blink the dryness away. A purple jabot sways in her vision.

“Clorinde?” Furina asks.

“Good evening My Lady,” Clorinde says back. Her easy, syrupy voice travels down Furina’s neck, raising goosebumps as it goes. When last they saw each other, Clorinde had a sword pointed at her. What a horrifying time. Every second on that stage had been miserable, the air squeezed thin with her own fear. Everyone had turned against her. She doesn’t blame them, but it doesn’t soothe the pain.

“Where are we going?” Furina asks.

“No where,” says Clorinde, “I’ve been in charge of your bathing and dressing.”

“Oh!” Furina yips and covers it with a cough. A rosy heat spreads along her cheeks and nose, and she hides her face in Clorinde’s neck. A low, sultry chuckle vibrates through her in response. Clorinde’s shoes reverberate off the mosaic floor as they enter Furina’s bathroom. It is just as luxurious as the rest of her bedroom, with a capacious claw foot tub beside a window that peers into her garden. Clorinde sets her on the counter. She leaves her to light a few candles, golden light spilling along the walls. She returns, beginning to unfasten Furina’s clothes. When done, Clorinde scoops her back up and lowers her down into the bath. Furina expels a dramatic sigh as the hot water ripples around her. 

“Is the temperature to your liking?” Clorinde kneels at the side of her tub.

“It is more than adequate,” Furina says.

“Glad to hear it,” Clorinde says. She starts with Furina’s shoulders, lathering soap smelling of hyacinth in her palms, and massaging it into her flesh. “You’re usually asleep when it’s my turn to tend to you, so I’m glad to see you awake for a change.”

This feels like it shouldn’t be happening. Furina’s vision frays at the edges, her thoughts going fuzzy. The water is blurry with incandescent candle light streaking through it. Her body gives a pleasant shiver with every glide of Clorinde’s fingers. She must be sailing through a dream. Soon she’ll wake up, and she’ll have to resume being a fraud god once more.

“I have been sleeping a lot,” she admits, a giggle skipping through her words.

“That’s all right,” says Clorinde, “You’ve earned a rest. If I were you, I’d be in a six month coma. Actually scratch that. I would’ve given up a long time ago.”

“I wanted to give up so badly though,” Furina whimpers. Sheesh! Emotions are governing every aspect of her, aren’t they? They’re so hard to hold back, as insistent as a hungry audience. Not even her feelings offer her clemency. As loud as an encore, her heart throbs in her chest.

“But you didn’t,” Clorinde says, “You didn’t and you’re brilliant. Anyone else would’ve given up and no one could blame them. You’re job was to act as a god, but isn’t the strength you cultivated its own divinity?”

“Shoot!” Furina screams. She collapses into a litany of sobs, her body spasming. She can’t stop crying. She can’t stop crying. 

“You know?” Clorinde’s voice softens, “I hate crying, but I let myself anyways because of Navia. She’s always vulnerable and there is such a beauty in that. You needn’t take any shame in your own sorrow. After all I’d be flooding Fontaine if I were you. So, thank you for everything. Cry all you need.”

Furina only cries harder.

…

She wakes again. Her room is in darkness and she can’t move, so frozen by her own fatigue. Her eyes are heavy, and a portal of dreams and abyss sits just behind her eyelids. To think she has all these people pampering and spoiling her, and she’s still bereft of energy. There’s shuffling in her bedroom, and she yells.

“Lady Furina,” Neuvillette’s sonorous voice answers from somewhere in the black.

“Ahh, My Dear Iudex,” Furina exhales, relief loosening her taut drawn muscles.

“I did not intend to frighten you,” Neuvillette murmurs, “I only meant to insure that everything was still in order here. I wasn’t expecting you to wake.”

“It’s fine,” Furina says, “What is the hour?”

“A few hours past midnight,” Neuvillette says. Slow, gentle footfalls descend on the carpet. Then, the bed sighs as Neuvillette sits on it.

“You’re up so late,” Furina whines.

“Indeed. Such is the nature of reestablishing a dilapidated nation,” she can hear the weary smile in his words, “And it fairs little compared to your own exhaustion anyhow. Also, Wriothesley visits nigh every night with tea to drink and oil to soothe my aches with.”

“How gentlemanly of him,” Furina isn’t sure why the idea conjures up a flush to her complexion.

“Quite,” he chuckles. He pats over the blankets before he finds Furina’s head. He hums and runs his fingers through her hair.

“Monsieur Neuvillette?” she asks. Her mind gets away from her, and she liquefies under his affection. It takes her a few moments to finish verbalizing her concern. “Everybody is taking such good care of me, and yet I can't seem to stay awake.”

“Why yes,” Neuvillette says, “The prophecy was not fulfilled in a day, so too will you not be ameliorated so soon. Please don’t fuss over it. We are all honored to serve you.”

“Are you sure?”

“As Fontaine is the nation of hydro.”

Her eyes flutter shut, and Neuvillette’s nails on her scalp coax her back to sleep. She reflects on the time she’s spent awake. Her subjects were spoiling her, gentle with her body and tender with her heart. They all acknowledged her in earnest, let her cry and expected nothing from her. If this is all real… if her show has truly come to an end and these good ladies and gentlemen don’t mind pampering her soul till it’s whole again, then perhaps she no longer has to dread waking up. A tear rolls down her cheek and her mouth lifts in a phantom smile. One day, she won’t be tired.

A/N: Thanks for reading. Title is from Rihanna’s Take a Bow.

You can find me on AO3 as RainbowPools

Lastly, wishing everyone luck, love, and safety, and encouraging everyone to boycott and interact online for the people that really need us.

#genshin impact #fanfic #fluff #hurt/comfort #furina #neuvillette #navia #wriothesley #clorinde

[muqingapologist]

alright now who’s gonna “accidentally” leak eternal faith this year😗after this whole spirealm thing, ya know…

#tgcf #eternal faith #heaven official's blessing #tian guan ci fu #cdrama #tgcf live action #lily posts #seriously… #the spirealm #kaleidoscope of death

[celticcrossanon]

BRF Reading - 7th of August, 2023

This is speculation only

Cards drawn on the 7th of August, 2023

What does Camilla want?

This reading is driven by the frustration of seeing yet another "Sant Camilla the Victim" article via one of her family members, so my apologies if that frustration leaks through into my interpretation of the cards.

Note: I turned all the cards upright for this reading, to clear any old energies out of the deck, so there are no reversals in this reading.

Interpretation: Camilla wants to replace Princess Diana and be the one who glows brightly in people's hearts and minds.

Card One: The Nine of Wands.

This is a card of making one last effort to achieve your goals. It speaks of persistence, perseverance, being absolutely exhausted but pulling yourself up for one final effort to achieve your goals.

The suit of wands here is giving me PR energy.

There has been a long campaign conducted via PR to rehabilitate Camilla in the eyes of the general public. It has worked somewhat in the past, but at the moment we are having 'Saint Camilla' shoved down our throats and it is not working. People know her past. They lived through her past. When they call her an adulterer, they are not calling her names but speaking the truth. When they call her Charles's mistress, they are not being mean but speaking the truth. Her past is known, and trying to change what happened in that past is telling people that what they saw and read at the time was not true and didn't exist, and that is gaslighting, and people do not appreciate it. We know what happened.

Camilla's past is like one of the rocks in the picture on the card, and her current attempts at rewriting that past are the other rock, and she is going to be squished in between them like the unlucky boats that tried to pass through the rocks. She can defend her actions all she wants through PR. People made up their mind about her a long time ago and all this current PR push is doing is annoying everyone who knows otherwise and alienating people who might otherwise be sympathetic towards her. A past mistress who hung on, married the man, and then rode out the wave of bad press by keeping her head down and doing some good work is acceptable. Rewriting that person as a mix of Her Late Majesty, the best girl boss to ever boss, and a sad victim of circumstances is not acceptable (or even logical). I feel that the palace is going to persist in this PR, and I don't think it will work.

Card Two: The Queen of Cups.

This card represents a Cancer person. It can be Camilla or Diana, both Cancers, but here it is giving me Princess Diana energy. Diana's story is written and finished, and it annoys Camilla no end that she can't change that story and eliminate Diana from the history of the BRF. Camilla wants to be the victim, not Diana, Camilla wants to have the sympathy and love of the people, not Diana, Camilla wants to be the one people remember and mourn for 30, 40, 50 years after her death, not Diana. The energy of this card is of a very emotional Camilla trying to shove Diana out of the picture, and Diana is firm on her throne and won't be shoved out of the way.

I feel that Camilla has never let go of Diana, that she lives in Diana's shadow even though no one else is comparing them or even thinking about Diana when they are around Camilla, and that Camilla brings Diana with her as a constant third person in her marriage. The solution is for Camilla to stop embracing the lesser qualities of the Queen of Cups (needy, dependent, making herself out to be a victim, super sensitive) and to embrace the higher qualities of the cards (compassion for Diana and for herself and her role in the tragedy, to view Diana with warmth and kindness instead of seeing her as the eternal competition, to heal/release herself from whatever complex she has about Diana and to let Diana go).

Card Three: The Star

The Star is a card of hope and faith. It can mean having your wishes come true. It can also mean literally wanting to be a star. In its lesser energy it speaks of despondence, negativity, and a lack of faith.

The energy I get from this card is that Camilla wants to be the star. In her mind she has done her time, she is now Queen, she may not like the job but she wants all eyes upon her and everyone paying attention to her when she walks into a room. She wants to be the shining light that everyone looks up to and admires, and it would be all her dreams coming true of that was to happen. However, that is not happening, and Camilla is upset over that (hence the PR campaign to gaslight a nation).

I feel that Camilla is very despondent that Diana is still very much alive in people's minds, still shining her warmth after all these years, still spoken about and adored so many years after her death, instead of fading away into a quiet obscurity and letting Camilla have centre stage. Camilla is doing her best to outshine Diana and it is not really working, and she knows it.

The advice to Camilla here from the cards is to give up and stop hoping for the impossible. She needs to create other dreams for herself, dreams that can come true, and pursue those. Camilla has many earthly blessings and she should focus on those, be grateful for those, and continue to use those blessings to help others instead of clinging to the past and trying to win a popularity contest against a memory.

Underlying Energy: The Seven of Cups.

The Seven of Cups is a card of possibilities - some good, some bad, some realistic, and some not realistic. You have to make a choice about which of the many possibilities in your life you are going to focus on and try to manifest in this world. It can be a card of illusions, as some of the cups contain goals that you will never be able to manifest, and the energy of this card in this reading is just that: someone is trying to manifest an illusion and is ignoring the other practical things that are available for manifestation.

Camilla is trying to manifest an illusion. This may be because she lacks a real purpose in her life, or because she is emotionally attached to this illusion (Cups are emotions), or because of some other reason. She either won't be able to manifest her illusion, or the manifestation will be torn apart by its first contact with reality (as happens with all illusions).

The message from the card is to let go of the illusion, choose a solid/practical/realistic goal, and put in the hard work to make it a reality (as Psyche completed hard tasks for Aphrodite in order to be reunited with her husband Eros, as referenced by the image on the card). If Camilla does this, she may very well find that her hard work is noticed and appreciated and that it brings her some of the attention and acceptance that she seems to want.

Conclusion:

Camilla wants to be loved/admired/adored and she is using PR in final attempt to achieve this. I don't think the PR will work as it ignores certain hard facts that everyone knows about her.

I feel that Camilla is almost haunted by the memory of Princess Diana and her popularity. She wants to push Diana out of the way and take Diana's throne/place in people's hearts and minds, instead of letting go of Diana and creating her own place/throne in the minds of the general public, which she could do by choosing an achievable goal and putting in the hard work to make it happen/manifest. Instead, she is trying to create an illusion where she is the victim/martyr of the situation who has risen to the heights through the power of true love and who is now the best girl boss to ever boss, which somehow is a good thing, while also being exactly the same as the late Queen? (Her PR makes no sense to me so it is hard for me to summarise it.)

The illusion will not work and Camilla would be better off putting all this effort into dealing with her Diana complex and getting on with her life. She can't change the past but she can make her image better by her choices in the future (and at the moment she is making all the wrong choices that will not achieve her goal).

[overwatchfics]

My Sweet Sacrifice

A/N: You open a portal for Moira, the queen of hell, into your plane of existence.

Blood, the whole lot of it, painted in a complex demonic sigil across the floor. You were picked as a sacrifice for the lady of Hell herself, Moira and you were given away without so much as a goodbye from your parents. When you reached your eighteenth birthday, traded for money, shacked in chains and dragged to a hidden cellar in the desert that lie outside of your little town. Your blood was especially craved as you were a scholar, as knowledgeable intellects were revered by the queen of hell. Now you wait on your knees, many other sacrifices blind folded and tied also on their knees. Some prayed for a savior, other wept, and few screamed at the robed figures sharpening their ritual dirks.

You just wanted to go home, but you knew death was the only way out. No tears, no screaming, just waiting for the end seemed to be your only option. To say you were upset was an understatement, you craved knowledge, but death would seal that away from you, and now you were some meaningless sacrifices. oh, what you'd give to see these robed figures on their knees and bleeding from their pores, to silence the voices gnawing at the edges of your mind, to wield the power to remake the world in the chaos of a bloodied rebirth. You shook your head this wasn't you, so what is it?

Hello Dear~

A voice, clear as day and crisp as a chapels bell rung in your ears. All the noise in the room seemed muted as the voice continued to speak.

That's right, listen to me, I'm the only voice you need to hear pretty one. You're about to die to fools who think spilling a scholar blood would appease me, how wrong they are. The others I sense do not want to hear me, too drowned in fear, but you... I sense a deep wrath in you, I think I might like you.

Deep down you know this voice, it's almost shifted in place like a lost lover, a power that would bring you to your knees willingly and leak years of ancient intellect into your jaded mind. The name slipped into your mind, and it all shifted together.

Moira

Correct dear, I can save you if you wish and promise the knowledge you seek, as the queen of hell, I absolutely have the power to do so, but you must bind yourself and your bloodline to me for all eternity, you must serve me. All you have to do is give relent your soul to me, or not. Your choice mortal, time is running short. Call me by name if you wish to see the world reborn at my side.

If on cue one of the robed figures, kneeled and slit the throat of the scholar a couple bodies away. The next scholar's screaming was cut off by a choked gurgle and you could hear the splatter of blood against the stone tiles beneath you. You were scared, should you die with faith or live damned for eternity, enacting Moira's penance on the world. Faith be damned, that was the whole reason your parents gave you away, all this suffering all this suffering maybe it could end by the Queen's hand. The scholar next to you fell wetly to the floor, the blood pooling and soaking into your frayed linen robes. The cold steel of the dirk pressed against your next, and you met the gaze of the cultist, who hesitated to see the burning resolve in your eyes. With all the rage you could muster, you screamed into the air and called the queen by her name, drawing the "A" out as the cellar's walls began to shake dust sifting onto the floor. The cultist holding the blade against your neck fell onto her back with a shriek.

Excellent choice dearest, you won't regret this.

Your body didn't feel it was yours anymore and it started to move on its own accord. Power flowed through your veins akin to rivers of lava, your veins glowed a vibrant red. You had visions behind your eyes of the queen's own suffering being cast out of the heavens. You felt her vengeance, her rage, her pain, and all you could think about was painting this room the same shade of redthat pooled around your feet as you stood. You could only watch as the Queen took control of your body. She acted through you, and your hand reached out towards the cellar opening, a force magically sealing it shut, the cultists huddled into a corner with bloodied prayer beads and skin bound tomes. The leader, still on her back looked up with fear in her eyes, your hand reach down and picked up the downed cultist lifting them by the neck. The queen spoke angerly through you-

Did you REALLY think meaningless sacrifices would please me, to spill the blood of humanities evolution would humble yourselves to your queen, I will ensure you will rot in my hell for your insolence.

As thought about earlier, with a squeeze of your possessed hand, the cultist's blood was drawn from their very pores, tearing their body to pieces as your absorbed it into your own vitality. The huddled cultists were bloodied and sucked dry one by one. After the last cultist's body thudded lifelessly to the ground, your body stumbled over the sigil and drew an alchemical combination across the floor before channeling the leeched blood into the runes decorating the floor beneath you. A portal burning brightly with hellfire opened and the presence of another mind in your own left you, your will was your own again, but stepping through the portal was a figure pale as the moon, her black armor shone like polished obsidian, and her glowing orange ringed eyes blazed mischievously. Panting with exhaustion, you fall to your hands and knees and bow to the queen, your face lowered enough to touch the blood on the ground. The queen stalked towards you and kneeled, her hand cradling your jaw and tilting your head towards her. Her lips hot as they brushed against your ear.

You show great promise mortal, maybe I shall make you my queen, how would that sound hm? You followed my every beck and call effortlessly and your belief in me was strong it allowed me to take control of you so easily. Come, hold yourself high, we shall remake this world how I see fit, and I'd like you to be at my side for all of it dearest.

A/N: Not a whole lot of romance but to all you moira simps, here's demon queen moira.

#moira x reader #moira o'deorain #overwatch 2 #overwatch x reader #overwatch

[roxannepolice]

Outside the boundaries of the universes lie the raw realities, the couldhave-beens, the might-bes, the neverweres, the wild ideas, all being created and uncreated chaotically like elements in fermenting supernovas.

Just occasionally where the walls of the worlds have worn a bit thin, they can leak in.

And reality leaks out.

Thank you, sir Terry, for once again providing me with an excellent opening quote for a Doctor Who rambling. That probably has nothing to do with the fact that both DW and Discworld fall into the Gulliverian satire poetic.

So yeah, about what's grown to be called a Truman show theory, and I cannot stop making it clear, me critically poking at it is not me hating it especially if Ruby's story ends up throwing shade providing metatextual insight on the mystery baby extravaganza of 2010s (am I the only one who thought that Splice looks like Rey?).

But the problem is, how far would the revelation go? Is it just the endgame for the season? Did it start when Fourteen invoked a superstition at the end of the universe, as the text implies? Or does it go further back, as the Newton and apple story is unreal, too (HOT TAKE: THEY'RE IN VOLTAIRE'S BRAIN. THE CRITICISM OF ORGANISED RELIGIOM CONFIRMS THAT). Or was it already there when Fourteen regenerated in new clothes (he does talk of "canon" in the Dalek Mini-sode)? All of this is just digging deeper into figuring out just how clever the Cave is. But let's dig even deeper, shall we?

Ok, maybe it's Flux. Flux definitely messed up a lot of things, such as replacing Russia with Sontarans. Except...

There's Robin Hood in season 8. And not just a guy called Robin Hood, it's the Robin Hood of legend. Twelve is explicitly confused by that.

In fact, fourth wall breaking was probably most recurrent in Twelve's run.

Though let us not forget Thirteen looking straight into the camera to explain humans must recycle or else we'll turn into props.

Hey, remember how in Let's kill Hitler Eleven is like "The British are coming" and Hitler reacts with fear? In 1936? When the alliance between Third Reich and UK looked like a very realistic prospect? When the Windsors were enthusiastic over what was going on in Germany? PROPAGANDA MUCH?

Bashing on the royals will definitely go down better than my next point on this anarcho-communist coffeeshop AU website, but if you guys think the Red Army's involvement in WWII was fresh faced boys so filled with faith in equality for all people that they came to fight its eternal enemy of fascism then no. Nonononononono. No. NO. Go read about Ribbentrop-Molotov pact NOW. Sincerely, a person living east of the Berlin wall.

Seventh era is also when we get a hint there's a Doctor Who show on BBC.

I'm not going to go through every single time DW has leaned into a made up version of events (wonder if the Doctor ever changed their mind about Mao Zedong, though), but you're getting the drift, but there is one last point to be made.

Nero didn't start the great fire of Rome. The eternal city was a densely packed stack of wood and would go up in flames quite often, though the one from 64 CE was a particularly nasty one and putting it out could have been coordinated better. Still, the idea Nero intentionally started it is 100% made up.

Why should this be important? Well, The Romans are from the 2nd season of Classic Who, from 1965. While we're at it, season 1 historicals are also based more on simplified ideas about Marco Polo, the reign of terror, or Aztec human sacrifices (Barbara Wright Victorious, my love) than true facts (probably because documentary about everyday life of the Aztecs would work better as a way to get children to sleep than to get them hooked on history), but that's more a matter of how than what. In case you want to somehow reconcile this via the Pantheon, then the Toymaker first appeared in season 3, and that after the Doctor visited the Trojan war and Vicki stayed there with Troilus as actually faithful Cressida.

So. The thing about Truman show revelation is. It's either groundbreaking on a last episode ever, goodbye yellow brick road, level, or not meaningful at all. I just can't see it work as a seasonal endgame, because if the episode from 2023 is in unreality, then so is the one from 1965. Just, where do you go from here? It's either waking up in the crude reality or. y'know. acknowledging the convention, which is what the Truman show theory kinda set out to negate in the first place.

Again, I genuinely want to discuss! I myself am never sure if hot take posts are open to discussion, which is why I made a separate post, so I want to make it clear, I want to have the holes in my own rambling explained!

#doctor who #dw meta #dw spoilers #classic who #doctor who season 14 #maybe i would be more on board if this season didn't include the paul mccartney died in 1966 pedestrian crossing

[asktheplethaura]

If Only, If Only (Unicorn Wars Fanfiction)

(((Chapter One)))

Azulin had done it. He had been the last bear standing, and he had mauled the last standing unicorn. He had taken fate into his own hands, jumping with faith at the will of fate given to him by Padre. The yearning for something beautiful. Something eternal. Something MORE. He had been chasing this newfound dream for such a short time. Maybe that is where h went wrong.

Now, he lie here on the ground, watching as a looming monster of sludge and inky darkness towered over him. 

He was choking. The rotting flesh of the Unicorn he had just started to consume making his tongue burn and eye water. The flesh melting and spoiling further in his mouth. He felt his insides lurch, and his head grow light. 

Everything. Everything had been for nothing. 

This was where he would die. This is where he would meet the cruel end of his even more cruel life. Perhaps, it was a good thing. In his dying moments, it put everything into perspective. Everything he had ever done, or planned to do- it surely would have been only to make the now empty world worse. 

Massacre and Mass Special Genocide. All in the name of ascension and progression. In the name of fulfilling a prophecy that had lead to death and pain and misery. 

Was that even what he truly wanted? What did he even wish to accomplish? The become something beautiful, and wonderful. Eternal presence and power and beauty. 

All of it seemed so... trivial now. So useless. Lonely. 

Even from childhood, the thing he felt was loneliness. Not because he was alone, but because he had never done anything to feel more loved. He was spiteful ever since childhood. Vindictive, and angry; vengeance, pride and spite. He had always been drawn to such evil little impulses he had. He knew he was doing wrong, though, to be frank he always had. Once upon a time, he had known the word regret. 

In his final moments, regret felt like such a foreign, overwhelming feeling. 

The sludge over him had stabbed him through his abdomen. Playing with him, it was mocking his loss and enjoying his pain. In a way... the sludge reminded him of the current version of himself. Evil with no direction, and nothing to sustain it. Driven, but to where, after a certain point?

It was for the second time, in the longest time- Azulin cried. His innermost morality was showing, breaking through his cold, angry shell of a heart. All this time, his poisoned mentality was like a muddy lake. You know the ground is in there somewhere, but haven't a clue where to start looking. 

The world was growing fuzzy. Everything was turning into a blur of bleeding colors. Everything blended in an ugly hue. The world around him was so dark and lifeless. This is what the war had done. This is what he had contributed to. There was no eternity, nothing more than a lost dream and two collective societies of creatures who all died for nothing. Azulin didn't bother wiping his eyes free of the welling tears. His open socket burning because of the salty liquid leaking out of his somehow in-tact tear-duct. 

He felt cold. Ever so cold.

Despite how much he hated her before... Azulin finally admit to himself that he missed the warm grasp of his mother, pulling him into a hug- before resting her chin on his head as she pat his back. 

He missed his somber dad, patting him on the head when he was proud. 

He missed Gordi's voice. No matter how awful Azulin was... Gordi was there. The bigger, pink bear showing him nothing but love, despite the wretched way that Azulin had been around him his whole life. 

Gordi....

The tears started falling faster. The blue bear heard the cackling sludge monster, watching as it seemed to get bigger and bigger. It didn't matter anymore, anyways. The blue bear used every last bit of it's strength to flip over onto his aching stomach- and he desperately pulled his bleeding body over to his dead brother. The brother he had killed. 

Eventually, he was face-to-face with his deceased sibling. His clouded vision clearing for a moment. 

He stared despondently at the face of his brother. The darkened pink eyes unseeing as blood dripped down his forehead over his left side. Part of his brain was exposed, it seemed. Skull caved in from the rock bashed against it earlier. 

It was too late to say sorry. Sorry wouldn't even begin to cover all the mistakes he made. 

Willing himself to get closer, Azulin stifled a pained cry as he dragged his mostly limp body of a sharp rock. Eventually, he managed to wrap one of his bloodied, tired arms over Gordi- giving him something that would be about as close to a hug as his exhausted form could muster. 

Azulin blinked, tears falling down his face to the dampened, crimson-tainted grass. He swallowed. Even if sorry wouldn't fix anything... it was the best he could do. He had so much he wanted to apologize for, and his damaged throat wouldn't allow him. If he had such freedom to speak his ailing thoughts, he would probably make excuses. 

He can't justify what he has done. 

Leaning his head forward, Azulin closed his good eye, tightening his stiff arm around Gordi's shoulder, before closing his eyes. With his last breath, the very last thing he did manage to speak to the bigger, pink bear finally reached the open air. 

"I'm sorry... my brother."

At that point, the body of Azulin completely went limp, every tense limb freeing itself of stress. 

The last thoughts of the blue bear would only ever be known to himself, and himself only.

If there were ever anything he would want more in the world, it would be a fresh start. He would want to know how to cure his own vile nature. 

All he wished for now, was for a happy ending... for all of them.

((To Be Continued))

#unicorn wars gordi #unicorn wars azulin #unicorn wars maria #unicorn wars #unicorn wars fanfiction #unicorn wars angst #unicorn wars au #azulin #gordi #azulin unicorn wars

[droughtofapathy]

The Gilded Age's Broadway Divas: Anne Morris (Katie Finneran)

Everyone's favorite unlikable snob, Anne Morris was last seen in season one, storming out of Aurora Fane's drawing room in full mourning regalia. Though Katie Finneran's husband may have found his way on the union strikes, she has not been seen on the show since, much to my eternal dismay.

Though seen here as the upright and haughty Anne without a humorous bone in her body, Katie Finneran is Broadway's gift to comedy. Yet another Diva with two Tonys to her name, she transcends categories. Best Featured Actress in a Play (Noises Off), and Best Featured Actress in a Musical (Promises, Promises), both knee-slapping comedies--a particular achievement when statistically dramatic roles are more likely to net awards.

Other notable stage roles include: It's Only a Play (Julie), Annie (Miss Hannigan), and one of the many Sally Bowles replacements in Cabaret, for which, alas, I have found no footage, and only one production still (but I think about it a lot). Most recently, she was in The Thanksgiving Play on Broadway this past spring. I saw it three times. It is quintessentially Katie Finneran unhinged. (And you should all read my fanfiction HERE)

#1: "Getting Married Today," Company (2011)

Starting off strong with yet another Sondheim, Katie Finneran tackled the hardest Sondheim number to master just a few months after giving birth. Playing Amy, a bride-to-be with pre-wedding jitters, Katie delivers comedy gold with her breakdown performance. Anyone who has attempted this nightmare of a number knows that there is no recovering if you get tripped up.

While my favorite rendition of this song remains Madelaine Kahn, now and forever, Katie has the honor of taking second place. This is a mesmerizing performance, and I am terrified for her.

Katie has previously discussed the abject fear of performing this song, compounded with the trials and tribulations of having given birth, and leaking breast milk into the white dress.

#2: "Little Girls," Annie (2013)

Continuing with Katie Finneran's musical theatre comedy breakdown, here she is as reviled woman and beloved character Miss Hannigan from Annie in the 2012 revival. Reviews were largely mixed, and Katie's personal experience was largely overshadowed by having an infant child to take care of, but it's a hell of a number nonetheless.

The show only received one Tony nomination for Best Revival, and lost to Pippin. And yeah, that tracks. After seven months into her run, Katie left the show to pursue a television role, and was replaced by Jane Lynch, who performed at the Tonys, and was then replaced by Faith Prince to close the show.

#3: "The Boy From..." The Lilly Awards Cabaret (2014)

If you're sensing a theme, good. A character actress through and through, Katie enjoys songs she can sink her teeth into, and Sondheim always delivers. This particular number is the most well-known song from a little-known off-Broadway revue called The Mad Show with lyrics semi-anonymously written by Sondheim.

The song is a direct parody of "The Girl From Ipanema," and every character cabaret artist has covered it at some point. It's just a delight.

Katie also performed this song during a mini Gilded Age reunion on Stars in the House during their marathon Ukraine fundraiser. During the course of her time on the show, she flirted with Norman Lear, made out with Seth Rudetsky's husband, and proposed Anne, Dorothy Scott, and Agnes van Rhijn have a threesome in The Gilded Age season two. And I beg you to watch that clip HERE.

#4: "A Fact Can Be a Beautiful Thing," Promises, Promises (2013)

No full clip of this number can be found online, and that was both a massive mistake on the marketing team's part, and a devastation to me personally.

Thirteen years after Christine Baranski delighted Encores! audiences, Katie Finneran stepped up to the plate to deliver a truly unhinged performance which netted her a second Tony. The actress who originated the role in 1968 also won a Tony.

Here Marge MacDougall is a drunk, bold, and leggy barfly who dances on bars, and lifts Sean Hayes up and carries him around whilst dancing in heels. Yeah, Katie Finneran is also very strong. Unfortunately, the wildest parts of her fifteen-minute show-stealing time aren't in this clip. There is a bootleg out there somewhere, I've seen it, and I will dutifully keep looking for it.

#5: "Go To Jail," Broadway Bares XX (2010)

Veering from musical theatre just a little, please enjoy this hammy sketch from the BC/EFA Broadway Bares XX Strip-opoly show of 2010. Though Katie keeps her clothes on, we're treated to a little surprise curtesy of fellow comedy legend Jackie Hoffman.

LINK TO MASTERPOST

#the gilded age #anne morris #katie finneran #promises promises #annie #sondheim #company 2011 #broadway #musical theatre

[biantianyang]

bian tianyang 20211026

cr. 不与荒野

#bian tianyang #bian tian yang #biantianyang #eternal faith #eternal faith cast #jxgz #jxgz cast #tgcf #qi rong #边天扬 #邊天揚 #photo #the date might be a bit off but I’m pretty sure it’s correct #i feel like I should also say again if I’m not supposed to share these leaks I’ll delete them but as far as I know it’s all right so hehe

[perexcri]

part iii: fides et ratio [faith and reason]

Mike is about to retort, but the light that’s been leaking out of Will has just reached the edges of where his heels dig into the dust. It tickles his skin with warmth, and he doesn’t want the angel to leave just yet; he craves this light.

He craves his light.

Will studies him, the wind shifting around him. It always seems to do that, as if the very air has to make room for his presence in this dead and dying place.

It doesn’t do the same for Mike, of course. Will brings light and life and color to this dreadful expanse of eternity, but Mike is its keeper, always cloaked in grays and dripping in pain and seeking to hurt, to lash out, to tear at the world for making him feel like he does.

part 3/7 of si vis amari, ama is here!! it’s later than what i intended because i saw across the spiderverse~

#byler #byler fic #will byers #mike wheeler #si vis amari ama #cherryweek #cherry my beloved 💜

[izzyfromdeadspace]

This is written for @blank-vessel about their muse L and his life being taken and warped by the church of unitology and a dark eldritch god. The song is 'Jeasus he loves me' by Ghost. Putting under a readmore due to the length that it may turn out to be.

The saint had been found and the church gave a grand celebration. For weeks they threw parades and parties to show their faith and to try and draw in more people into their faith. For the longest time they kept his identity a secret to drum up more hype. Glimpses were leaked and rumors went wild. People were whipping themselves up into a frenzy just trying to see the man who would bring their god to them. It all culminated in the day that he was to be finally revealed to the masses.

You see the face on the TV screen?

Coming at you every Sunday

You see the face on the billboard?

That man is me

The saint had to have certain characteristics to prove that he was the chosen one. His hair was to be white and flowing like the last breath upon a grave. He had to bleed blacker than the void and cause miracles with it. And then his eyes. They had to hold the sorrows of the world within them to show the humility of humanity and give hope to the world that they could be forgiven. It had taken years but they'd finally found him. After purchasing him from his parents he was sent straight into training.

The saint was schooled on how to behave in public. How to hold himself, how to dress, how to listen to his flock and give the proper prayers of absolution. Countless amounts of credits were spent to make his body perfect in every way. Any genetic deformities and diseases were wiped away thanks to an unlimited bank account and doctors who worked for money not ethics. As the day approached for the reveal he was told how to present himself and what the rules were to keep him in line.

You must dress proper to your station so as to not be mistaken for the common folk.

You must always keep the weight of sorrow upon your shoulders and in your eyes. Show the people that you carry their sins to save them.

Listen to their stories and prayers. Offer them peace and direct them to the church for absolution.

Denounce the nonhumans as abhorrations of our god. Only those pure of blood will be allowed to commune with our god and ascend to eternity.

Any donations are to be given to the church to help expand its reach.

The saint does not lower himself to the lusts of the flesh. He is to remain pure so his flesh can change to the will of our gods not the will of man.

On the cover of the magazine

There's no question why I'm smiling

Buy a piece of paradise

And you buy a piece of me

The day arrived to reveal the saint and everyone waited with baited breath. Expecting a godly form to emerge there was confusion when the saint emerged wearing black jeans, a black hoodie with a skull on it and heelies. The crowd would whisper and mutter in shock as he began grabbing random people and taking selfies. The smile he wore seemed almost maniacal. He carried himself as if he were weightless and moved through the crowd with no rhyme or reason. He ignored the wealthy and just seemed to have his own agenda.

I'll get you everything you wanted

I'll get you everything you need

You don't need to believe in hereafter

Just believe in me

"Oh that's fucked man." He listened to their stories and prayers as if forced. Making faces he just kept cracking open cans of monster and chugging them as if he didn't wish to speak to his flock. More often than not he'd walk away mid sentence and just start checking things out. He made fun of paintings in the church and had several removed as he claimed they didn't meet the will of their god. Yet no matter how much they asked he refused to show proof of his connection.

It all came to a head during one of the ceremonies when someone demanded that he give them some sign that he was the chosen and not some amalgamation of their version of the antichrist. The saint wasn't given a choice as he was brought to the marker and forced to touch it. As it lit up he began to choke and scream before he went silent. As they all prayed and began prostrating themselves they didn't notice how he began to change. They were all blind to how the world just seemed to get a little bit darker.

His hand seemed glued to the marker as his fingertips became black and his nails were pushed out to be replaced with claws. His mouth bled black ichor as human teeth were replaced with sharpened ones made for tearing flesh. His ears seemed to stretch out into points resembling an elfs. A sickening crack came from his back as a long bone like tail grew out and its bladed tip gleamed in the red light. Eyes once green flecked with brown turned black and red with a slitted pupil. His blood began rotting his clothes off as the doors all slammed closed and locked.

'Cause Jesus, he knows me

And he knows I'm right

I've been talking to Jesus all my life

Oh yes, he knows me

And he knows I'm right

And he's been telling me everything is alright

They began to whisper in awe seeing their saint change and begin floating above them. Blissful whispers turned to gasps of fear as his lips split apart to reveal his true grin and caused blood to flow freely down his chin. A seam appeared along his collarbone that moved down to his hips. As it spread open to reveal a mouth the screaming began.

Some started to tear themselves apart in a frenzy as others tried to escape. All those blessed by the blood became animals and the dead began rising. Bodies twisted and malformed they became beasts made to tear apart and kill all the living bodies around them. As the saint floated there seeming to feed upon their suffering their prayer and begging voices were mostly ignored.

A few wishing to escape all this were pulled in and consumed slowly. Those still alive watched in horror as their so called brothers and sisters slowly disappeared into the maw of their saint with sickening crunches and waves of blood. By the end the entire temple was turned into a graveyard patrolled by the dead whose entire purpose was to harvest suffering and flesh for their god.

I believe in the family

With my ever-loving wife beside me

She doesn't know about my girlfriend

Or the man I met last night

The slaughter wasn't on the front pages of the tabloids for long as the scandals started. Pictures of the saint started to appear showing him in bed or dating nonhumans. There was speculation that he was dating several people at once from how often he'd be caught sneaking out of their homes. It was hard to keep up with where he was coming or going from and it led to a bit of an outrage. People began standing up and demanding answers. Their saint was supposed to be the perfect vessel for their god. With his body twisted and formed into something nonhuman it led to a break in the church.

Do you believe in God?

'Cause that is what I'm selling

And if you wanna go to heaven

Well, I'll see you right

He began to do commercials and propaganda for the church after awhile. It was assumed that all proceeds would go to the church and to memorialize those who died during the awakening ceremony. A new main temple needed to be built as the last had become a graveyard and contaminated. Yet after each show or gig he did the money would disappear and nonhuman charity's would suddenly gain large anonymous donations overnight. It led to many higher ups in the church to call to have their saint collared and retrained.

You don't even have to leave your house

Or get out of your chair

You don't even have to touch that dial

'Cause I'm everywhere

His face graced the covers of magazines and posters. From pamphlets to promotional ads to brand advertising he would be seen everywhere. It was hard to go five feet without seeing the saint doing some sort of act. One one magazine he was interviewed for his thoughts on church politics. On another he was interviewed on what he imagined his perfect partner would be. From religious propaganda to sexual deviancy inserts he had a stranglehold on the plant. Despite his appearance and lack of holy divine glow people still wanted to know about him, see him, own him and to become him.

'Cause Jesus, he knows me

And he knows I'm right

I've been talking to Jesus all my life

Oh yes, he knows me

And he knows I'm right

And he's been telling me everything is alright

He disappeared suddenly out of the public eye. Rumors went wild from sudden inhuman love children to being captured by a cult and held hostage. Rewards were posted around to try and garner clues as to where he'd gone. The police and military bounty hunters scoured the cities trying to find any clue as to where he'd gone. They uncovered some old papers about the church's methods on creating the saint and the news went wild. Stories began being pumped out about the saint being a lab created being and not truely chosen by their god. People were debaing if lab grown beings could be considered people. The topic raged on for months as the hype never seemed to die down.

Won't find me practicing what I'm preaching

Won't find me making no sacrifice

But I can get you a pocketful of miracles

If you promise to be good, try to be nice

God will take good care of you

Just do as I say, not as I do

They never seemed to check the forests as who would be stupid enough to risk disappearing into their depths. If they had they would have found him rooming up with the last of the Nova's. They'd taken him in despite who he was but treated him like a normal person. Instead of asking for prayers and to be blessed they asked him to pull his weight. Where he once might be baptizing babies he was now harvesting vegetables and joining in on hunts to gather meat. Where he'd be getting interviewed and slapped onto any surface that sells he was asked to pick up after himself and keep it in his pants.

After several months he seemed to be really close to the endling of the Nova's and clung to her side. She warned him that if they were ever caught she'd be forced to be either sacrificed or taken by the church as another way to control him. But he didn't seem to care. And after awhile she didn't either. They had each other.

I'm counting my blessings

And I've found true happiness

'Cause I'm getting richer, day by day

You can find me in the phone book

Just call my toll free number

You can do it any way you want

Just do it right away

Their hapiness lasted two years before it caught up to them. During one of their dates they'd strayed too close to a campsite and he'd been recgonized. The humans had gone back to the city and informed the church who sent bounty hunters after him. They both fought tooth and nail to keep the life they'd made together. The humans had taken enough from the both of them and it just wasn't fair. It seemed like they'd actually pull it off until one of the hunters pulled out a marker and stabbed him with it. His eyes seemed to grow dark and he'd yelled at her to run. As he watched her run off the consequences of their actions came to fruition.

There will be no doubt in your mind

You'll believe in everything I'm saying

If you wanna get closer to him

Get on your knees and start praying

He didn't seem to fight them after that and had just become eerily silent. It was far too easy to bring him back to the city and into the hands of the church. They wasted no time cleaning him up to once again have their golden child, their saint, to control the masses. As they cut his hair and trimmed his claws he didn't react. They stripped away years of freedom and love from his flesh. It wasn't until someone complained about the glittering dust caked around his heart that he moved for the first time.

Crushing their jaw he stared deep into their eyes and kept his face emotionless. Voice hollow he demanded that they shut up and stop trying to erase her. Shoving the human hard they went flying and hit the wall with a sickening crunch. Taking a deep breath he moved back into his original position and let the others resume what they'd been doing. After months of reconditioning and an attempt at breaking his will he seemed ready to be reunited with the public.

Once again there were parades and parties. A large stage was erected in the center of the town for a great event where he'd be speaking. Dressed in the proper robes he was marched out and the public worshiped him just as they had before. If anything his absence had created an even more powerful cult that had strangled the city in it's grasp. As he stood before the crowd they'd see him smile.

'Cause Jesus, he knows me

And he knows I'm right

I've been talking to Jesus all my life

Oh yes, he knows me

And he knows I'm right

And he's been telling me everything is alright

As the leader of the church addressed the crowd in an epic speech he ended by telling them all that they could now see their saint at any time and that he was a perfect vessel for their god. As they all clapped the saint's smile just continued to grow. Flesh began to split and blood rushed down his chin. Robes once pristine now began to blacken and rot away.

In one quick movement he grabbed the leader by the head and was upon him. People watched in horror as the eyes were sucked from his head. They seemed frozen as he turned the man to face the masses and shoved a hand into his back. The cameras would pick up seeing a mass rise up through his body until it reached his head and he began to choke on his own blood. Using him like a puppet the saint made him speak using his own voice.

"And now the time has come to worship our god made whole. Rip off your flesh and embrace the agony!"

With a laugh the saint pulled his hand free and stood before them all nearly naked. The seam had returned and it burst open in a spray of black blood that covered the first few rows of people. As they began to change and rip each other apart chaos erupted. Those not tainted or blind by devotion attempted to run but didn't get far. Shadows erupted from every corner and began to drag people down into them as they screamed. Bodies were broken and melted into a paste that was sucked into the earth. The dead began rising in twisted broken forms.

Everyone watching the broadcast would be attacked in their homes and none were spared. As the sun began to set entire suburbs remained dark and lifeless. The saint just floated above them all feeding on the suffering and chaos. He devoured tjwir their bodies and began ripping apart the very city around him. Buildings rotted and flowed into his gaping maw until the entire city was gone. The earth in his wake was black and diseased. It rotted and spread like a fungus as if to begin to consume the entire world.

They had their saint.

'Cause Jesus he knows me

Jesus, he knows me

Jesus, he knows me

Jesus, he knows me

Jesus, he knows me

Jesus, he knows me

Jesus, he knows me

When all that remained was darkness he seemed as cold as the void around him. Staring into eternity his gaze was drawn to a small blue speck in the distance. Body closing up and returning to normal he seemed to fly to her. Frozen in the depths of the void his Nova lay crystallized and glowing. Soft blue light seemed only to illuminate the immediate area around her. As he seemed afraid to reach out she moved. Eyes opening up she gazed upon him and that love he'd thought gone shone back at him. As her light finally reached him she smiled.

#stories for friends #dead space #song fic #tw dark topics #tw abuse #tw gore #tw death #tw blood #tw eye trauma

[bug-catcher-in-viridian-forest]

tonight i dreamt that a scene from eternal faith had been leaked and it was filmed and acted in the style of '60s western movies

xie lian's temple looked more like a shop and there was a closeup of the small statuettes xie lian was selling (which had a moving arm that demonstrated how to use a real size needle he was also selling on oneself to cure something).

so hua cheng is waiting outside for xie lian to return to the temple/shop and he is eyeing the statuettes because he doesn't like that the needle is stinging xie lian, so he wants to get rid of them. then xie lian returns and they go quickly in the temple/shop, close the door and block door's screen with a straw mat and other stick-shaped furniture. the reader is meant to think that they are about to abscond intimately, but the scene moves inside and they are actually just discussing something secret xie lian learned when he was away

but wait, there's someone already in the shop! and a kicks-and-fists fight starts. after a moment xie lian realizes it's just nan feng and fu yao and tells hua cheng to stop beating them (but did hua cheng already know it was them?)

then a red bloody screen appears with some dario argento soundtrack and a text that says all this was ai generated taking set pictures and videos as a source

#tgcf #hualian #tian guan ci fu #heaven official's blessing #xie lian #i'm going to convert this in a fic maybe someday #like i would do it immediately if i wasn't already doing something else i'm in a hurry to finish #like this could even be written in 2nd person

[artdecosupernova-writing]

Relationship Snippet Tag

was tagged by @outpost51, thanks!! tagging @drippingmoon, @drabbleitout, @pertinax--loculos, @druidx, and anyone who wants to do this ✌🏽

Rules: Share a few lines or a snippet that sums up the main relationship(s) in your WIP.

As usual I went ham oops.

A few from the Darkspace Portent series, centering Warren and Thrive:

Thriving: Eternal—

"Groundmasters," Thrive said. "The most expendable of the ranks." "The higher-ups must have a lot of faith that you won't obliterate them," Warren said. "Mostly unfounded." Warren snorted and climbed into the shuttle. A silver tendril whipped out and grabbed him by the wrist, the sharp edges digging into his skin, and though he couldn't feel it, Thrive stepped up and separated the limb from the beast's body with an effortless tug. It wailed and slammed itself into the wall as the other two did nothing. Black fluid leaked from its wound and Thrive carefully freed Warren's wrist. The cut wasn't too bad, not compared to every other wound he'd received during his never-ending adventure. It stopped bleeding as soon as Thrive touched it.

Thriving: Meridian—

[Vriea] looked around the comm hub. "Well...we're hanging in there. If you're looking for [Thrive], I can grab him real quick." "No need. Can you run me through to his office?" "Sure...I need to warn you, though, he's not in a good mood. He's just returned from Leviathan." Warren stretched his back. "Great. I'll handle it." Vriea signed off and routed his call to Thrive's office, and after a second he connected on what appeared to be the wall panel beside his desk. He stood at the picture window, staring outside, a deep frown on his face. "Hello, love of my life." Thrive turned his scowl onto the screen.

Centering Guetry and Scotty and his other partners:

Thriving: Aurora (Guetry/Scotty/Mercury)—

"I am now in control of armor and form suit regulation," Scotty said. "Provided I choose not to completely take over autonomy and run a rampage through Torris before fleeing the planet via any one of you, I will monitor your vital signs and administer temperature control." Warren snorted, yanking the lever back on his rifle and setting off the neon stripe on the side. "Guetry, get your boy." "Bad Scotty!" Guetry barked. "If you're gonna take over anyone's body, it's gonna be mine." "That's a visual I really am not proud of having," Mercury groaned.

Thriving: Rebirth (Guetry/Scotty)—

[Guetry] pointed to the empty stretch of space, where the Palace's cloak failed and fell away like the petals of a dead flower. His port eased into a low lavender shine, and he stared as it traveled down his arm tattoo. "I apologize for the delay," Scotty said. "Traffic was heavy." Guetry let out a deep exhale and screwed his eyes shut, the ghost of a smirk crossing his features. "…Feels so good to have you inside me again, Scotty." "You'll just say anything at all, won't you," Warren muttered.

From WASTE:

Guetry and Oren—

[Oren] snickered and leaned back, throwing an arm over the back of the couch. "Alright. Maybe I deserved that. What's the set for the next gig?" "Don't pretend you give a shit about my music," I laughed, already halfway into loading the beat guitar with loops from our latest tracks. A couple of favorites, actually—ones Alec had put together and got bouncy whenever she played them. "Hey, I'm trying my best, here." A bit of Oren's levity faded and I desired very strongly to see if I could make it disappear altogether. Before I could, though, he leaned toward me and rapped the instrument on my lap with the tip of a finger. "I'm here, and I'm asking, and I'd actually like you to play me something right now." I dropped the tablet onto the couch next to me and folded my arms. "How about instead of doing that, you come see a fucking show? Throw a few slats our way, buy a couple shirts, stop being a goddamn deadbeat for once in your life, Altavian?"

Uh...Guetry and Oren 😬—

I kicked a discarded box over to the couch and perched on it, pipe and bottle in one hand and the other still clutching my gun. I used the edge of the bottle lip to scratch my temple. "I'm so fucking tired of you," I grunted, my hoarse voice breaking an unknown curse of silence. Oren leaned forward, frowning deeply. "Look...you didn't deserve that. I never should've done it." "Did you fuck her in my bed?" "No," Oren said immediately, which meant it was a lie. Fantastic. "I wouldn't do that to you." "Oh, but you'd go behind my back and hurt me like this, no problem!" "Can you blame me though, man?!" Oren bellowed at me. "Whenever I'm with a guy I get to a point where I start craving pussy real bad. You can't provide that for me, so I lose my head a little. I'm weak!" "You're weak?! You're pathetic!" Anger building in my chest again, I got to my feet and punted the box across the room. It smashed through a glass wall and embedded itself into my bedroom door. "Fucking Christ, Altavian!" "Hey, don't lose your head, Guetry. I love you, okay? I'm sorry. It's never gonna happen again." I'd already halted dead in my tracks, frantically dragging from my pipe to erase the path toward a total meltdown from in front of me. "You love me," I muttered. I eyed the shards of glass on the floor, dreading the cleanup. Prickling arced over my face and down my throat. My heart startled against my ribs. "You're fucking trash, dude."

Guetry and Scotty—

You've done more than most, Guetry. How many humans out there are willing to hold children of a different species in their last hours and tell them repeatedly that they are loved? This quality is rare, a precious gem hidden among humankind. You have given your life to protect others. My eyelids pried themselves open, nearly glued shut with a layer of crust, and through a blurry film, right over my head, beneath the dimmed lights of my hospital room, floated a gently spinning ball of glowing neon purple, bigger than my head. It seemed like he was smiling at me, but I couldn't have even told you my name at that point. For all I knew, I'd hallucinated everything. Scotty's mechanical rings rotated around his nucleus and I watched them with wide, barely-functioning eyes, a breathing tube doing a fine job of making sure I still had no gag reflex. It is high time someone protected you.

Guetry and Mercury—

"This is where we part ways, I'm afraid." I tipped my head, my lips curling into a bittersweet smile that I didn't want to maintain for too long. "You sure?" "Yeah." Mercury turned away from me to watch the ships coming into dock for a moment. "I think...maybe you've got a lot goin' on." "I'm pretty unattached, actually. I've got some time off and I haven't had any of that in a long while, and…" When Mercury imparted a knowing and sympathetic look onto me, I sighed, nodding. "I know. It's...a lot. And I wouldn't ask you to deal with it." Mercury searched my face. "We'll see each other again. I know it. If we're supposed to, we will." I sniffed. "Are we supposed to?"

#tag game #haha I hate Oren #which is funny because I've been parasocially stung too many times by Guetry's face claim and Oren's is fine lmao

[grayintogreen]

TITLE: can you build an emerald city from these grains of sand?

FANDOM: Critical Role

CHARACTERS: Cree Deeproots, Lucien

SHIP: Cree/Lucien

WORD COUNT: 4354

RATING: E

NOTES: I only had time to do one treat this year, so of course I glommed onto the ONLY OTHER person who requested Creecien. Hi, @capitola !! I'm obvious!

The old hideout had never been the most comfortable of locations, but it had been home once and that was all that mattered. The roof might have leaked and the floorboards creaked and there was no telling when the second floor would just completely collapse inward on itself and leave the whole thing a wreck- a house of cards left in shambles in a forgotten corner of the Savalirwood- but it was the first thing that belonged solely to the Tombtakers and that had mattered a handful of years ago before Lucien decided the whole world belonged to them.

After two years left abandoned, Cree expected to find nothing but splintered wood and shattered memories but, remarkably, it had stood the test of time and remained, albeit a little worse for wear. It was suitable for the five of them to regroup and recover and decide what to do next and she wanted to keep Lucien in familiar climes as much as possible. It wasn’t the world, but it would do for now.

She was eternally grateful that he had shown no signs of forgetting or of being someone else, but he had also spent a great deal of their journey sick as a fucking dog so there wasn’t much room for anything else. He was sensitive to touch and constantly vomiting up bile that reeked of decay. Something had sped up the process of decomposition of his body after it was buried and it had left him with the worst case of resurrection sickness that Cree had ever witnessed and she was almost certain she would lose him again, that her magic was not strong enough to fully pull him back to her… to them.

He endured, however- much more a credit to his own will than it was to her power, as far as she was concerned. He might have been ashen and frustrated by the time they reached Shadycreek Run, but he was her Nonagon and not the liar wearing his skin that had distracted her broken heart. The world was righting itself and once they reached Aeor and found the crests, then it would all be precisely the way it was meant to be. Lucien at the head of a new age, a brighter age.

Cree found herself surprisingly impatient to get started. Two years in a holding pattern after a horrific mistake that cost Lucien his life- her darkest thoughts warred with her faith during that time, unable to decide whether she would ever get him back or if he would return greater- and she desperately wanted to stride forward into destiny before something else could happen to prevent it.

But Lucien needed a little more time and so she had to be patient. She was good at being patient. She was good at waiting. That didn’t mean she wasn’t tired of it.

READ ON AO3.

#critical role fic #creecien #cree deeproots #lucien nonagon #my writing