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imdefinitelyfloating · 2 months

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A Perfect Chaos (spencer reid x reader)

Pairing: Spencer x fem! Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

This will switch between Spencer’s POV and Reader’s POV – the first paragraph is Reader, and from there it alternates. I hope it isn’t too difficult to follow along!

The universe can be funny sometimes. It puts us in places we never expect to be, and sets into motion the new chapter of our lives. And I believe that is exactly what happened when I walked into the BAU bullpen on my first day at my new job, 3 years ago. The only empty desk sat across from a man, with his curly golden locks, his sharp jawline, and the softest eyes; I was sure, this was the most beautiful man I had ever seen. I don’t know if I believe in love at first sight, but that’s the only way I can describe what I felt at that very fateful moment.

My whole life, I’ve been trying to narrow down all the things around me to an exact science. But when she walked in that day, I felt something I had never experienced before. I was… speechless. The way her hair flowed, the way her eyes sparkled, the way her skin shone despite the harsh lighting of the BAU bullpen; I’m sure, this was the most beautiful woman I had ever laid my eyes upon. There’s an old Buddhist saying that, when you meet your soulmate, remember that the act to bring you together was 500 years in the making. So always appreciate and be kind to each other. I don’t know if I believe in soulmates, but that’s the only way I can describe what she would become to me.

Spencer and I became fast friends after I joined the BAU. I don’t know if it was intentional or just a simple coincidence, but Hotch always paired us together on cases, we sat opposite each other every day, and even rode all the same trains on the Metro. It’s safe to say we were quickly becoming the best of friends; we’d have Doctor Who marathons at his place, and have sleepovers at mine. Platonic, of course. There is no doubt in my mind that this is who I love, and this is who want to spend the rest of my life with. But I know he’ll never feel the same way, not for me.

Y/n became a place of comfort for me after tough cases, and she’d always be the one to pull me out and lift me up. She was my best friend, and I loved her, in more ways than she could even understand. I still remember the first time we sat together on the jet. It was a long case, and everyone was worn out. I felt the warmth radiating from her as she rested her head on my shoulder. I’m not the best with touch, but with her I didn’t mind. With her, I wish I could stay like that for all eternity. But I know she’ll never feel the same way, not for me.

Sitting opposite the man everyday, I quickly realised how much Spence loved his coffee (or in his case, sugar with a hint of coffee!) It soon became a tradition for us to bring coffee for each other every morning, and to go down to the little coffee shop a few blocks away on our shared breaks. As we’d walk, he would ramble on about Star Trek, and I’d counter back with my love of Star Wars! If there’s anyone who was going to challenge one of my favourite movie series, I’m glad it was him.

Valentine’s Day was always tough for me. To be honest, I was never really bothered by it until I met Y/n. Seeing her almost every day, but not being able to hold her, not being able to tell her how I really felt, it killed me inside. Every year, I thought this time I’m going to tell her. But when I would open my mouth to speak, it was like I’d forget how to talk, how to breathe. Now, three years later, I’m still just as speechless as I was when I had first met her.

February 14th – a day of love. It was meant to be a beautiful day, but for me it was just another day gone by when I hadn’t confessed my feelings to the man I so desperately wanted to hold, and to love. Still, me and Spence both went for our daily coffee break, both pretending to ignore the clearly obvious tension between us. We both had a lot of paperwork to get through, so we ordered our drinks to go. February in DC is unpredictable to say the least; the sun was finally shining through as we stepped into the small café, but as we stepped out, I felt the rain brush upon my face as I looked up to see clouds looming above us once again. And of course, just my luck, I don’t have my umbrella!

I must have forgotten my umbrella at my desk. The rain is really coming down now, so Y/n and I decide to take a shortcut through the park. We’re practically running now, and well, I’m not the most athletic of individuals. I stop at a bench, with Y/n coming back to hopelessly get me back up. She quickly gives in, sitting down on the small, wooden bench with me. The two of us sit in silence as I struggle to catch my breath in the cold Virginia air. But just as I felt my breath coming down to a more normal pace, I heard Y/n ask me the question I had been hoping she would never ask.

“So, Reid, who’s your Valentine’s?”

It had become something she’d ask me each year, always pestering me to go on dates or trying to set me up with one of her friends. But all I wanted to say was “I wish it was you.” It amazed me, a profiler, and she is still oblivious to how I really feel about her. Instead, I just brush her question off and ask her one instead.

“Who’s yours, Y/n?”

It’s now or never. If I don’t tell him now, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. He has to know.

“I wish you were my Valentine.”

Is this real? Did she really just say that? No, she must be joking. She could never love someone like me. I’ll just laugh it off. Why isn’t she saying anything? And that’s when I saw it. I looked in her eyes. She’s serious? This is happening? Oh, this is happening. It’s now or never, she has to know. And with that, I pressed my lips to hers, and we stayed like that. The rain was pouring, the wind was howling. People were shouting “Get a room!” But we didn’t care. You always hear it in children’s fairytales, that when you truly love someone nothing else matters, the whole world stops except for you. I had never believed it until now, but Y/n is my fairytale come true.

As our lips parted from one another, we rested our foreheads together. Magic really does exist, because Spencer Reid is my magic.

Eventually, Y/n and I made it back to work. We were so ready for a trademark Hotch glare, coming back so long after our break had finished. But all we heard was Rossi, “Finally, thank God they admitted it!” I was about to speak, but Y/n read my mind and beat me to it:

“How did you- HOW?!”

Everyone erupted into a fit of laughter, Emily and JJ making pointing fingers and teasing as Garcia literally suffocated me in a classic Penelope hug. And then there’s Morgan patting Spencer a little too enthusiastically on the back, “Pretty Boy, my man!” Even Hotch gave a rare smile as he and Rossi observed the scene. It was a perfect chaos, and in the middle of it all stood Spencer and I, my soulmate and I.

Thank you for reading! 🥰💗

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amhrosina · 1 year

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To Be Loved (Namor x f!Reader)

MASTERLIST // JOIN MY TAGLIST

A/N: I read a Druig fic with this concept like a year ago and it’s stuck with me since then. However, I’ve searched through an entire year’s worth of tumblr fics & ao3 bookmarks, and I still can’t find it. If you know who came up with this concept, PLEASE tag them or let me know! I would like to credit them for the idea! Also, I can’t stop writing Namor (and I won’t, I love that man so much).

Update: A very kind soul found the fic that inspired this one and sent me their @! It was @itsapeterthing who originally wrote this concept and you should definitely check the Druig fic out!

Summary: Reader is an Eternal (you don’t have to know the movie to understand the fic) who can time travel. We follow her as she visits her lover, Namor, in different stages of his life over a 500-year time period.

(Warnings: no big ones, some descriptions of war I guess?, soft!Namor, this is pure fluff like I somehow made myself fall more in love with him writing this??)

Translations:

in yakunaj – my love

pixan – my soul

ki'ichpanech – pretty girl

Namor was being watched, though he didn’t know it yet. As he stood on the outskirts of his mother’s homeland, holding his mother’s body in his arms, the beauty of her memories was tarnished, ripped to shreds by slavers with whips and hatred in their hearts. Namor was a boy of ten and two, barely old enough to grasp the responsibilities he’d inherited in his birth, but strong enough already to understand the gravity of the situation in front of him.

The hatred that burned in his heart mirrored the flames he’d set to his mother’s homelands, his homeland, which had become a falsity so grand that he could no longer contain the rage within him. It was a wound that wouldn’t heal, a festering cesspool of a memory that would play in his mind for years afterwards. This day would go down in his people’s history as the day the boy-king became a man.

From a young age, laying his mother to rest was something Namor knew he was going to have to do, but no amount of time could have prepared him for the overwhelming heartbreak he felt as he laid her down in her final resting place. He remained by her side, content to sit with her body for as long as he pleased, but he knew he would eventually have to return to Talokan.

All the while, an unfamiliar set of eyes peeked at him through the brush. You would not reveal yourself to him, not quite yet. This moment, as important as it was to Namor’s moral compass and the man he would grow to be, was not a moment you felt the need to share with him. You had travelled through time and space to be here, at present-day Namor’s request, and you would not interfere with this moment.

The young Namor, the one that was blissfully unaware of your presence, knelt down and whispered his last goodbyes to the woman who raised him. You remained in your kneeling position amongst the greenery, unwilling to move until you were sure Namor had gone. When the last of his people returned to the sea, you stood, shaking the ache from your knees.

You tapped into your power, the warm hum traveling through your body as you focused on returning to the present, to your home where Namor was likely waiting for you. It was only a snap of your fingers, a quick blink of your eyes, and suddenly you were in familiar territory again.

The walls around you were filled to the brim with Namor’s art, painted over the centuries. They told the story of him, showcasing different memories that he deemed important. The first one, the one you’d just returned from visiting, was a small painting of his mother, lying in her shallow grave.

“How was it, my love?” Namor’s voice carried from the above water chambers you shared, his voice so warm and deep that he might as well have been standing right next to you.

You peeked your head around the corner, spying his relaxed form in his favorite armchair. You had spent hours there, wrapped in his warm embrace. It was your favorite place to be, too.

You scurried forward, eager to take your designated spot in his lap. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his protective hold. You looked down at him, placing a soft kiss on his brow before cupping his cheeks.

“It was informative, my King. I can see why you were so angry when we met.” You stroked his cheeks with your thumbs in an attempt to soothe the ache.

“I spent many years after that day consumed with vengeance. It was only when I met you that I learned I still had the capacity to love.”

“I’m sorry, my love, for the hurt humans have caused your people throughout the years.” You winced at the thought of Namor consumed by anything but love.

“Don’t apologize, in yakunaj. You will see the man I became to protect my people, and you will see me as my enemies saw me. I did not know mercy for a very long time, and I fear you will not like the man I thought I had to be.”

“I will always love you, K’uk’ulkan. Nothing,” you gripped his jaw for emphasis, “will ever change that.”

Namor gripped your hand, pressing his lips into your knuckles. “I am undeserving of it, but I will accept it anyways, pixan. I am greedy like that.”

He smiled, and your heart warmed at the sight. At one point, it had been decades since a smile had graced his beautiful face, so you always cherished the smiles he sent you, even if you got to see it all the time now.

“Where am I going next?” You asked, glancing at the wall of art.

“To our favorite place to hide away, before it was ours.” He nodded to a small, somewhat hidden section of the wall that had always been one of your favorites. You grinned in response.

Namor looked over the landscape in front of him, a little envious of the humans that got to see it every day. The view his hiding spot offered was a spectacular array of gold and red, surrounded by lakes and rivers, and if he didn’t have a million things waiting for him back at home, he might want to appreciate it more. The sea was his home, but he couldn’t help the desire to explore the surface every once in a while.

Home. The empire he had built with his bare hands. Hidden from the world, protected from human interference. Namor was proud of his people and what they had achieved, but he had spent so many years fueled by anger that he feared he may have forgotten the beauty of living along the way. He was lonely, and he could not let this weakness lead his people into their graves. This hiding place was a respite from all of that, but the loneliness tended to follow him here.

A sharp buzzing interrupted his thoughts, and he swung around, ready to defend himself. A being, no – a woman, stepped into the clearing. Namor studied her. A human? No. He could feel the power drumming in her veins, and he tried to make sense of her human-looking face. A threat? Maybe.

You raised your hands in an innocent gesture. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

Namor couldn’t stop the chuckle from leaving his throat. No one, no one, could hurt him.

“Who are you?” He pointed his spear at your heart, ready to drive it deep in your chest at the slightest movement.

You murmured your name. “We’ve met before.”

“I think I would remember meeting you.” His brow furrowed.

“Not yet, I mean. It won’t happen for another few centuries.”

Namor’s confusion grew, and you reached towards your sleeve, rolling it up a few inches. The bracelet Namor had given you was tied around your wrist, and you held it up for his inspection. He balked. That was his mother’s bracelet, and he knew for a fact that it was tucked away in a safe space, miles under the sea.

“You gave it to me a few years ago. You sent me here, K’uk’ulkan, many years in the future. It’s hard to explain.” You scratched the back of your neck. “The paintings on your cavern walls tell a story, and he, you, wanted me to experience them with him, er, you. Is this making any sense?”

Namor eyed you carefully but lowered his spear.

“I feel your power, deep in here,” he gestured to his chest, “but I do not understand it. It’s different from mine.”

You smiled and lifted your hand, allowing a tiny sliver of your power to form into a ball in your palm. A stark yellow lit the clearing. The orb pulsed with power, and Namor took a step forward. Present-day Namor was also enamored with the way your power manifested and loved watching you create different shapes with it in your palm.

Namor stepped closer, watching the orb float in the space above your hand.

“How?” He asked, flicking his gaze up at you.

“You will understand it, one day, in yakunaj.” You fell into your natural pattern with him, even though the man standing in front of you was centuries away from the man you knew and loved.

Namor startled at your ability to speak his language so easily, and then inhaled sharply when he realized what you had just called him. He knew he should’ve been hightailing it home by now. This display of power could mean trouble for his people, and it was his duty to protect them, but the gentle caress of your power in his chest rooted him to the spot. His curiosity always did get the best of him.

“You speak my language?” He asked in his mother tongue, too enthralled with you to worry about the rules he was breaking by doing so.

You nodded, watching as the power faded back into your hand. “I know many languages.”

“We are...together in your time?” He asked, looking over you again.

“Yes. We are bonded, though that probably doesn’t mean anything to you right now. It will, one day.” You paused. “I must return to my time.” You gestured towards the forest, even though you didn’t technically have to move your body anywhere to jump forward in time.

“Will I see you again? Before we officially meet?” He asked, taking a step closer to you.

“Would you like to see me again?” You returned, tilting your head curiously.

“Yes.” Namor said bluntly.

“Then you will see me again, in yakunaj.”

In a flash, you were gone, and Namor spent a long moment staring at the spot you had been standing in moments before. He wondered how long he would have to wait to see you again and hoped it wouldn’t be too long of a wait.

Namor waited decades for you, searching for you in every face he came across. His cousin and closest confidante, Namora, didn’t miss the excitement buzzing under his skin every time he had to leave for the surface. He finally told her of your existence after years of holding the secret close to his heart. She was cautious, warning him of the surface dweller’s wrongdoings, but he couldn’t think of you in the same way that he thought of them. You were different, gentler, and he spent the vast majority of his free time thinking about you.

The night that you finally reappeared was a night of celebration for his people. It was Winter Solstice – the one night of the year that his people freely travelled between the sea and the sand. It was always a huge party, but he had spent the majority of it stewing in his longing for you. He had almost convinced himself you were a dream of his when you appeared.

You stood towards the back of the crowd, looking up at the stars. Namor’s heart thundered in his chest as he approached you, unsure of what to say to the person he had spent the last 80 years of his life longing to see. Fortunately, you spoke first, and he wondered if it was possible to fall in love with someone after only meeting them once.

“There are so many stars here. The doesn't look like this anymore, where I’m from. The surface dwellers have many flaws, and I think that is probably their worst transgression.”

Namor said the only thing that he could think of in response.

“I missed you.”

You smiled bashfully, turning to look at him for the first time in 80 years.

“I know. Thank you for being patient, in yakunaj. I go where he sends me, and there is always a good reason for it.”

“Is he...like me? I mean, are we the same, or do you see us as different people?”

“That is a hard question. You are the same Namor I know, but you are also different. At your core, though, you are the same man that I love in my time.”

You looked back at the sky, shifting your body to stand next to his. A somber expression formed on your face, and he couldn’t help but brush the back of his hand against yours.

“What is it, ki'ichpanech?”

“I want you to enjoy this night, in yakunaj, because you will not have another one this easy for a very long time.”

A cold chill ran down Namor’s spine. The conviction in which you spoke left little room for denial, and he could not ignore the uneasy feeling building in his stomach.

“What do you mean?” He finally asked, breathing deeply.

“I mean,” you paused, linking your pinky in his, “he chose this moment for me to visit for a reason. I cannot tell you details, because even I do not know them, but you will have to face an unimaginable threat, and it will be very hard for you. I will not return until after the carnage, and I want you to enjoy tonight, because you will have a hard time enjoying anything for many years afterwards.”

He looked out into the sea, processing your warning. He wasn’t aware of any threats to his people, but the pleading look in your eyes told him he would soon face horrors, maybe outright war.

“How long will it be before I see you again?” He asked, taking your hand in his and lightly squeezing it.

“Do not worry about such trivial things, in yakunaj. Everything will right itself in time.”

Your tone left no room for argument, not that Namor would want to argue with you anyways. You tugged him further away from the crowd, turning to face him after the darkness had blanketed you from the light of the party. You rested your palms on his cheeks, pulling his forehead down and pressing it against yours.

“Be strong, my King. You will be pushed beyond what you believe your strength to be, but do not let that break you. You are a force to be reckoned with, and you will do anything to protect your people. Remember your strength, and above all, remember that there is love in your heart, even if you cannot feel it yet.”

You pushed your lips against his in a chaste motion. It was over before it had even begun, and when Namor opened his eyes, you were gone. Namor clutched his chest, attempting to remember the feeling of your body against his.

Your warning rang true a few days later, when the borders of Talokan were breached for the first time in its history. The water surrounding the city remained a misty red for months afterward.

Namor pushed his spear deeper into the chest of the enemy King, finally ending the slaughter that had plagued him and his people for many years. The jungle around him rang with a silence so sickening that he fell to his knees. He hung his head low, exhausted from the fight. You had been right about everything, and the only thing that had kept him fighting for this moment of triumph was the speech you’d given him all those years ago.

The guilt of his warrior’s deaths weighed heavily on his shoulders. It didn’t seem fair, that he would continue living after so many of his people had to mourn the loss of their family members. Their family members, who had died fighting his fight. The weight was almost too much to bear, and he was suddenly glad that he was alone.

His people did not deserve to see his pity-party. He slammed his fists into the ground, letting out a brutish grunt. It was over, but his mind was still reeling. The sound of your soft footsteps brought him out of his rage.

“You shouldn’t be here.” His voice was hoarse as he pleaded with you not to see him like this.

“I am here, all the same.” You waved your hand in a nonchalant motion, lowering your body into a kneeling position in front of him.

He couldn’t look at you. The awfulness of what he had done, of the person he had to become to defeat this threat was so far beneath you, and he couldn’t imagine anyone loving the broken man he had become. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes, and he squeezed them shut to stop them from falling.

“You should go.” He pleaded with you, shaking his head at the thought of you being so close to the gory battlefield he had just fought on.

“I will not leave you, in yakunaj, just as you would not leave me if our positions were switched.”

You reached forward, gently wrapping your hands around his wrists. The steady drum of your power grounded his thoughts for a moment, and he prayed to the universe that your touch wouldn’t leave him. He didn’t move for what felt like hours, cherishing the warmth in his chest at having you so close to him after so long.

“I cannot stand being apart from you like this.” He mumbled, head still hung low.

“It is not for much longer, my King. One day, not so far in the future, we will be together.”

“How much longer must I live with this torment of longing I feel when you’re gone?”

You cupped his cheeks, swiping at the dirt and grime that coated his face with your thumbs.

“Soon, my love. I promise.”

You walked with him as he made his way back to the sea, the urge within him to return home too strong to deny any longer. There weren’t many words spoken between the two of you, but words didn’t seem necessary. You were here, and you were a gentle reminder that his future was bright, and that’s all that mattered to him at the moment.

When Namor stepped onto the beach, the bobbing heads of Namora and Attuma a few hundred yards out at sea caught his eye. They would return to Talokan with the news that their King had come out triumphant, and that the war was officially over.

You watched as their heads dipped below the surface before facing him.

“I have been gone for too long. I must go.” Namor’s grip on your hands tightened, unwilling to let you go so soon.

“Stay. Please stay.”

You smiled warmly, bringing his knuckles to your lips. “I cannot, in yakunaj. I must return to the present. But I will leave you with a gift, so that you don’t forget me while I’m gone.”

“I could never forget you, ki'ichpanech. Even if you don’t return for 1,000 years, I will still remember you.”

You smiled, pulling your hands out of his. You cupped your palms together, tapping into your power until the yellow orb appeared, floating between the two of you.

“Take this with you. It will shine brightly in Talokan. Bring your people the sun, K’uk’ulkan, after the dark times this war has brought with it.” You pushed the orb into his hands, releasing the speck of power from your being.

Namor gasped, shaking his head. “I cannot do that. This is yours.” He tried to push it back into your chest, but you wouldn’t accept it.

“It will be mine again, one day, in yakunaj. Until then, let it guide your people. Let it guide your heart.”

Namor looked at you, wide eyed. The orb floated around his body, refusing to move further than a few inches from his skin.

“I do not know what to say, ki'ichpanech, other than that I am undeserving of this gift.”

“You will take it anyway,” you say, patting the area of his chest near his heart. Your hand lingered on his skin, and he could not stop himself from crashing his lips into yours. You smiled into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck. He held you tightly against his body, arms wrapped fully around your waist in a tight embrace.

You pulled away, gently cradling his face. “Stay safe, my King. I will see you soon.”

Namor stumbled forward in your sudden absence, and he couldn’t help the frustrated grunt he let out. Soon had better be soon, or he’d start scouring the Earth for signs of you.

Namor had not expected to see you so soon. It had only been a few years since your last encounter, and after the enormous stints of time between your previous meetings, he had not expected you for another few decades. An enormous eruption from the sea had beckoned him far from Talokan, the furthest he’d been from his home in years.

Something was different this time. Unlike your previous appearances, where you’d appeared seemingly out of thin air, this time you were accompanied by a small group of people. Your hair was disheveled, and it looked like you and the people around you had been fighting something, something huge.

He rushed onto the beach towards you. If there was a threat to you, he’d eliminate it faster than you could blink. It wasn’t so much a choice, but more of an instinct. He stumbled forward when he felt the full brunt of power between you and your friends.

Oh. They were like you.

Your friends stiffened when they noticed him, but your smile was the only thing he could focus on as he made his way towards you. This felt different because it was different. You weren’t here from your present. This was the present, and he was about to officially meet you. He was suddenly glad you hadn’t told him the details of your first meeting because he hadn’t had time to grow anxious about it.

You met him halfway across the beach, jumping into his arms when you got close enough to reach him. He pulled you into a hug, wondering if he could get away with never letting go of you again.

“I would say it’s nice to meet you, but we’ve met before, ki'ichpanech.” He mumbled into your ear.

“Yes, we have.” You let out a light laugh, planting a kiss on his cheek.

Namor’s brow furrowed as he tried to figure out how this version of you could know who he was, or how you would know about your previous meetings since they technically hadn’t happened yet. He shook his head. The thought of it gave him a headache, and he wasn’t going to try and figure that one out on his own.

“You are here to stay, right?” He asked, hopeful.

“Yes, in yakunaj, I’m here to stay.”

Namor kissed you sweetly, arms still wrapped around you. He wouldn’t be letting go of you for a while, and you seemed perfectly okay with that.

When you stumbled back into the present for the final time, Namor was stretched out in the bed you shared with him. It was late, much later than you had intended on being, and you opened your mouth to explain your absence before realizing that Namor would remember the encounter with you, and likely already understood why you had been gone for so long. You crawled into the bed next to him, pressing a kiss into his bare shoulder before cuddling into his side.

“Now you have seen me at my worst.” Namor’s voice was a hushed whisper against the late hour.

“I love you, even at your worst, in yakunaj.” You responded in an equally hushed tone.

He pulled you closer, angling his body so that he could wrap you into a hug, and you shuttered against him. He was always so warm, and never once complained about how cold your skin was.

“You are my greatest inspiration, ki'ichpanech. You are my strength and my love. My people are very lucky to have you as their queen. I cannot express the love I have for you in here.” He tapped his chest, resting his head on the top of yours.

“You are an unbelievable sap, Namor.” You chuckled, nuzzling your face into his chest. “I love you even more for it, though.”

End Note: I really really love how this came out. I hope you enjoyed it! Either way, thank you for reading!

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iloveyanderes · 1 year

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Sagau idea(taken by the themes of sumeru and a whole bunch of other sagau fanfics I've read), new thing yandere god reader x lumine(kinda yandere), and yandere everyone else.

Warning sexual themes and a little itty bit of smut.

Third pov:

Imagine a long time ago when teyvat was just fill of emptiness and they're was no life to be seen anywhere, a god was born.

This god bared no form simply being nothing but yet everything, this god brought life to teyvat, creating the plants, humans, and even other gods.

It was then that this god took a form that replicated that of a nature gods, nature stemmed from life, the humans dubbed her the goddess of life worshipping her intently.

The gods however fought over each other to get her attention, creating wars and deciding only the best is capable of being in her presence.

Eventually celestia, another one of the gods she created grew pride full, think themselves to be better then the god that created them, with a bit of manipulation they convinced the human that the goddess of life was a cruel oppresor.

No wanting to live under the reign of an oppresor the human race gathered up to kill her, only those of kheanri'ah being smart enough to not attack the one who created them, sticking back but eventually facing celestias wrath for not obeying, a certain golden braided traveller help them and plotting against celestia.

Not wanting to destroy her creations the goddess of life tried to flee, getting caught and (pulling a Xie lian) being stabbed a hundred times but yet she somehow did not die, the endless amount of torture drove the goddess insane, to the Point of praying for death, anything to get rid of this endless pain.

It was at that time two golden twins had came to teyvat, seeing the danger of this world who's residents attack they're own creator they tried to flee but not before the female of the twins took pity on the goddess and set her soul free, allowing the creator to finally die, completely unaware of how much the creator would become obsessed with them.

Apon their exit they were stopped by an unknown god from celestia, angry that they had stopped the creators eternal agony, she sealed lumines memories of what happened and sent the twins into slumber.

500 hundred years later your ghost form who cannot remember any thing meets lumine on a beach, not knowing who you are, what you are, or how you got here you agree to help lumine with her journey, at this point you weren't even aware you were dead.

Saving cities was okay, it was all to help lumine find her brother, what bothered you was how much people talked about the creator and how much they loved her.

They didn't deserve to talk about you, they didn't deserve to sing praises about you after what they did-

Smacking your head you suddenly forget what you were thinking about? Startling the people of mondstadt when you slapped your head so hard.

Meeting childe was a weird experience, unlike most people who just look at you normally this man looked at you with utter devotion, he didn't even know you!

Hiding behind lumine you feel safe behind your golden haired knight l,the star blessed traveller, the only one that mattered.

The adepti also worshipped this creator, zhongli practically making entire novel series about her.

One person that did interest you in a good way was kazuha, he was a free spirit not being bound by blind obsession, he also said you smell like life, how odd...

Then came the time you actually met lumines brother, staring apon the twilight sword you couldn't help but feel sympathy, you didn't know where it came from but it was there.

Lumines brother aether was intimidating, he stood blank face and went on a speech about how they had a war with destiny, though when he looked at you his face was the complete opposite of blank. After dainsleif left lumine started to cry, helpless at the fact her brother didn't want to see her.

In that moment you couldn't help it, you really really couldn't help it, without thinking you kissed lumine, getting surprised when she kissed you back.

By inazuma you were completely and utterly in love with lumine, your mind wasn't any help, constantly putting images of doing things to lumine, instantly making you red when you looked at her.

Then came the resistance, teppei was a wonderful person, you immediately felt anger when he died, all due to those... Delusions. Disgrace to life itself.

Meeting scaramouche was exactly like meeting childe, those same eyes filled with devotion and obsession, disgusting.

By the time you finished saving a third nation, lumine looked dead inside, your heart physically hurt, how dare they hurt the love of your life.

Sitting in the teapot you think about kissing her again, last time it worked so it'll definitely work again.

So you do what you thought about, pressing you lips against her you relish in her divine taste.

Anyone can imagine your surprise when she pins you to the bed and makes out with you, she tastes better then any sort of wine, a few kisses led to neck kissing which led to deep dark Hickey's and eventually sex.

That night was the best of your entire life, you want to do it again, lumine seemed alot happier after it so you definitely will do it again.

Sumeru felt like a fresh breath for both of you, it was so green and the air was untainted by pollution.

Though if you could go back in time you would have never stepped foot in that place.

Immediately lumine passes out and you have to get the help of a guy with the largest ears you've ever seen, getting stuck in a timeloop inside of your head was torture, finding out sumeru locked there god was even more of torture.

But the one thing that you could never have prepared yourself for was meeting dottore, walking onto a crowd of people cheering for you was a shocker.

But then they started touching you, hands wrapped themselves around you waist, people grabbed your hair from all sides and practically yelled about how soft it was, people cupped your cheeks.

Then dottore showed up, claiming you as the creator, nahida who'd been right beside them realized he was telling the truth, immediately made you run away.

A whole bunch of stuff happened that I'm to warn out to write about but coming back to nahida you learned three things.

1. You were dead

2. your the creator

3.. This world forsaked you a long time ago

All of a sudden all of your memories came back to you, the pain the suffering, everything this world did to you.

Without a second thought you kidnapped lumine to your shared teapot, it took a lot to convince her to stay but when you did, you lived happily with her, spending the rest of your immortal lives together, not caring as teyvat burned without your presence.

After all this world forsaked you.

So now you'll forsake them back.

The end.

Sorry if the ending was rushed but I got burned out by the end.

Hope you enjoyed.

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unhealthyfanobsession · 1 year

Text

New Nessian Drabble

just a little brain child I couldn’t shake off. Set a few years after ACOSF.

“What the fuck was that, Nesta!” Cassian snapped at her the way he only did when pure terror was coursing through his veins. Posture tense, fists clenched at his side, chest puffed out in that undeniably general-esque way of his. A stance and expression and throaty growl that brought fully grown Illyrian warriors to their knees.

But there was only one reason Nesta went to her knees in front of Cassian, and respecting his bullshit attempt to give her the general stare down was not that reason.

“I made the right call,” she shrugged, loosening a clip to slide the dagger buckled to her bicep down. “A little help?” She motioned to the intricate series of loops and fastenings that kept Ataraxia firmly sheathed down the column of her spine.

“The right call?” Cassian wretched his own twin blades easily off his back, wings splaying out to tear the buckles open.

“Showoff,” Nesta muttered.

“This isn’t funny.”

“I’m not laughing.” Nesta stared at him. “Im waiting for you to help me with my sword. Or do I need to find someone else?”

Cassian’s long legged stride ate up the meters of carpet between them in four strides. His hand raising to the side of her neck, head shaking in exasperation as his large thumb carefully stroked the column of her throat. “You could have died, Nes.”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “It’s a war, Cass.”

Cassian heaved a breath in, lungs filling with Nesta - crackling flames and honey toasted almonds. What would he do if he had to live the rest of eternity without that scent in his lungs?

“Hey,” Nesta said, a touch more gently. The ice-dipped flames in her eyes blinked out and were replaced with a brilliant, clear blue. She placed her hand on top of his, moving it down from her throat to the centre of her chest, just over her left breast. She took a deep breath in time with him and held his palm against her skin until the rhythm of their hearts slowed into one even beat. Not two hearts beating in sync with each other, but one single organ responsible for the lifeblood of two mates. “It’s ok. I’m safe. I’m right here.”

Cassian swallowed, nodding once before letting his forehead rest on hers. Golden-brown eyes ringed with emerald blinked slowly in time with blue-grey ones. So close their eyelashes fluttered against each other.

“You aren’t allowed to die before me,” Cassian whispered.

Nesta snorted in her attempt to cover up a laugh. “I do not remember agreeing to that.”

“It’s only fair,” he muttered. “I had to live 500 years without you.”

“That absolutely does not count,” Nesta scoffed. “I wasn’t even alive. And it’s not as if you were sitting around like a monk pining for your potential mate.”

“It counts,” Cassian nodded his head against hers. “I always knew something was missing. Someone.”

“Cute,” Nesta shrugged, “still doesn’t count.”

Cassian smirked, hands coming to wrap around Nesta’s waist. He let him thumbs wander naturally to the dimples on her lower spine, where she seemed to carry all the tension of Ataraxia’s massive weight. Slowly working relieving circles through the muscles. “Should we make a bargain?”

Nesta laughed out loud, forehead falling forward onto Cassian’s chest as she keened into her mate’s touch. “You really don’t get enough credit for how funny you are.”

“I’ve been saying that for centuries.” Still rubbing her back, Cassian rested his chin on her head and breathed her in once again. “I want the opposite of Rhys and Feyre’s bargain.” Nesta stilled. “I want you to promise me that you will keep living, even if it is without me.” Nesta’s mouth opened to argue, but Cassian continued speaking over her. “A few decades, even a few centuries … it isn’t enough time, Nesta. I love you, and I will always love you, but if something happened to me.” He swallowed, “Just promise me that you would still live. Not just survive, live.”

“I can’t promise that,” she whispered into his chest. “But I can promise that I will keep going. And that I will try.” She shrugged, the motion lifting his chin. “That’s the best I can do.” It was far more than she could have promised before the first war they saw together.

“Thank you,” Cassian whispered, pressing a kiss into her hair.

“It would be pointless to ask the same of you, wouldn’t it?”

Cassian took a deep breath in, “I’ve had my time, love.”

Nesta did not argue with him this time. She knew exactly what he meant. He had time to experience life, to learn and grow. To be young and reckless, to be wise and respected. He had time.

Nesta had survived so much, and lived so little.

#nessian #nessian fanfiction #nesta archeron #cassian #acosf #a court of thorns and roses #sarah j maas #nesta and cassian #a court of silver flames #klaus and caroline #a court of mist and fury #acotar #nestaxcassian #a court of wings and ruin

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genshinlover101 · 11 months

Text

“when we were kids, i used to have the biggest crush on you.”

Characters: Yae Miko, Ningguang, Mona x gn!reader

Warnings: none

A/n: I initially planned on having Nilou on this cause I’m in love, but I’m so unconfident in writing for Sumeru characters

• Yae Miko had a crush on you before the war. Before things turned for the worst and she could focus on you. If she could turn back time before she had lost everything she would, but now she had bigger responsibilities and priorities. You were far from one of them.

• Your falling out started when Ei abandoned her nation during its all-time low. Miko’s hyper fixation on chasing Ei left her little choice but to forget you as Inazuma in its entirety lost hope for their Archon.

• Whenever you crossed paths with Miko it was like you never had a history together. When you two needed each other the most, when you two only had one another, you mutually refused acknowledgment. Your petty pride disguised itself as self-respect to avoid someone who wouldn’t choose you above her selfish leader.

Out of 500 years of no contact, on a random Tuesday night, you’re forced to break it outside the Narukami Shrine. You’re not fine, but you don’t mind. You want to run away, you can run away, it’s not like you’re confined- but you choose not to. You decide at this moment If it was her, she can break your heart over and over again, you don’t want to fear her any longer. “What did you say?” You asked with an annoyed tone to hide your desperation.

“When we were kids I used to have a crush on you.” She said with a straight face. You began regretting your efforts all these years to avoid the woman you loved. Maybe if you had just tried harder, “It’s nothing new really.”

You haven’t matured a bit, your knuckles turning white. Even biting your tongue at such an emotionally vulnerable moment for the both of you. Not willing to admit your own feelings for her just yet.

“I mean how dense can you be.” She rolled her eyes at your unresponsiveness, another habit that frustrated you about her. “It seemed like everyone knew except you. Even today- you don’t know. You will never know.”

“And how about now?” You asked, not wanting her to continue her demeaning tangent against you. Her eyebrows raised like she was asking you for clarification. “How do you feel about me now.”

“How unfair of you to ask me these questions, do I get nothing in return?” Her voice was laced with momentary amusement, a red devious glare in her eye. “Of course, I don’t feel the same.” Her smug smirk dropped at the same pace as your heart sinking to your stomach.

“But I won’t lie, I waited for you to reciprocate for a long time after situations tensed.” She seemed solemn, her ears flattened down low yet her demeanor at ease. Like a knot in her shoulders was finally coming undone. “That’s what I do, I wait for those who abandoned me. I waited for you. How pathetic of me wouldn’t you agree?”

“Then why didn’t you choose me.” You mumbled, your confidence lowering. You were here right now, standing beside her, while she was nowhere to be found. Even over the years when you didn’t talk, you still watched over her. She must’ve known… did she not?

You wanted to comfort her, but you felt like you couldn’t even lift a finger. A familiar wave of lethargy lingers over you. “You obviously don’t know the full story. I thought as much. Ei never trusted you enough and frankly, I don’t have the capacity to care” She teased a glowing purple chess piece in your face pulled from her pocket.

That was all you had to see as evidence that you were 500 years too late to reciprocate her feelings. Her confidence was just as wavering as yours as she didn’t even trust her own decisions, “all I have to do is focus for the one who entrusted me with Inazuma’s fate while she rests for eternity. That is my responsibility that I accepted willingly.”

• Ningguang had a crush on you when she could afford silly things like childish crushes. Although she was poor, she was happy with you blissfully unaware of her feelings. However as life got more serious she had to mature, you were simply a distraction to the bigger plan at stake.

• Your falling out wasn’t the worst. You two just grew up and matured. Little did you know Ningguang intentionally avoided you, knowing contact with you would put a wrench in her bigger goals. But you just assumed it was one of those things that as people grow older they lose contact.

• Occasionally, you’d run into Ningguang. The Tianquan was surprisingly hard to avoid. Catching up like old friends, your bond never as strong as it was before. Frankly, you were happy it wasn’t, knowing how awkward it would be if your feelings lingered even if you were in denial.

Something felt awkward about that night. Something along the lines of the burning silence as you watched the multitude of stars occupy the night sky, Usually you two would be chatting up a storm, but the atmosphere called for silence. Ningguang leaned against one of the Jade Chamber's supports, her signature pipe in hand as she exhaled a smoke cloud.

You stared at her a bit too intently, almost creepily. Lost in thought as you always found smoking an ugly habit, but when it touched her lips you couldn't help but find yourself in a beautiful trance. "You know staring is rude," she broke the silence. The smell of clear air discomforting, amplifying your distance. "And yet I find you still staring at me."

She sighed deeply, you could tell something equally as heavy crowded her mind. "When we were kids..." a brief pause before she decided it was necessary, "I used to have the biggest crush on you." Your ears perked at her impulsive confession.

You stare blankly at her, words couldn’t describe how you felt at that moment. Happy she confirmed your delusions, or sad at her use of past tense. "I apologize for putting you in such an awkward position," She shook her head in frustration mixed with immediate regret. "I should've never admitted such a thing to you."

You stuttered over your voice, not saying anything specific. Just a sad desperate attempt to get your voice out so she wouldn't be so shameful. You wanted to scream that it was mutual, that it still is. Your pride holding you back- because archons forbid what if it wasn't how she felt today? "I care for you still and I think I will forever, that was my part of the contract… But how the future of Liyue is looking, my priorities are clear.”

Your face flushed red in embarrassment that you thought you even held a candle to her ambiance in this great nation’s future. Of course, she has responsibilities, something of bigger than you. “How unlike me huh? I mean acting without proper fruition. Why else would I confess other than setting my selfish mind at ease. ” Your worst fear reincarnated. “You don’t have to say a word. I’ll even answer for you, because realistically I never wanted you to reciprocate such feelings.”

• When Mona had a crush on you she was still an apprentice under that old hag back in Fontaine. Her whole life was romanticized and she felt she ruled the world with you. However, when she found herself stuck in Mondstadt for an unknown time, she knew better than anyone that her feelings couldn’t carry over. She killed whatever she had felt for you.

• Your falling out was simple. You gave her one last tight hug before she left on her mission, expecting her to return within a month. But a month unknowingly turned to a year, a year without hearing anything from the astrologist.

• every night Mona would read your constellation in her scryglass. However two months after she settled down your fates quickly rerouted. For whatever reason you were no longer soulmates. She just as quickly betrayed you and found no reason to write to you as she prolonged her grudge against your dynamic fate without a proper reason.

You set out to meet Mona in Mondstadt from Fontaine, the locals worrying far too much for such a capable girl as herself. After you had your short reunion, you two stuck together like glue for the remainder of your stay. You seemed to mutually not address the animosity between you two despite it being the elephant in the room.

That was until your last day, however, your travel warrant expiring. “I’m gonna miss you when I leave Mona,” you said solemnly, going in for a tight but friendly hug as she walked you to the gate of Mondstadt. Mona being as affectionate as ever towards you and pressing her forehead against yours in return, her hand gripping the back of your head, intertwined between the locks of your hair.

“I’m not sure if I should admit this, but- when we were kids…” she seemed lost, biting her lip as her gaze trembled. “…I used to have the biggest crush on you.” Your head instinctually stumbled away from her hold in shock. Your hug still holding your bodies together like a vice.

“I’m sorry I waited so long to tell you,” she mumbled, the distance between you widening. You could tell from her tone of voice that she had already seen your constellations, and once she received an answer there was no changing her mind. “But you have to go back home. And it's my fate to stay here,” she sounded defeated.

She had so quickly forgotten that constellations read a forever-changing future, not emotions. Not once did you ever lose feelings for her. Yet her habit of jumping to conclusions had led to your doom. “I’ve had feelings for you for a long time too,” was all you could say in hopes you could change her mind. “I still do.”

While your pride crumbled, hers stood as stubborn as ever. You belong to Fontaine, while Mona was needed in Mondstadt for an unknown period of time. You both separated from your closely-knit hug. Your touch lingering on her loose hand. You couldn’t help but notice she never reaffirmed your feelings. The wound amplified as you knew it wasn’t reciprocated despite your courage.

“Right person wrong time as they say,” Mona said, her ears turning a bright red in embarrassment. She knew it was corny, but she needed something to break the silence.

Your gazes wouldn’t let each other go, but her words said otherwise. Yet you knew if she wanted you, she would’ve fought for your presence to remain. “Such silly expectations of mine huh? I’m sure in another life our constellations would’ve told a different story.”

#yae miko x reader #ningguang x reader #mona x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact nilou #yae miko #ninggaung #mona megistus

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koukaaa-descent · 2 months

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sits politely in your inbox. saw your post about jester lifecycles and wanted to ask if you have ideas for masked lifecycles. to me the dramatic masks you find as scrap used to be maskeds before, the hosts bodies simply ran out of "juice" and weren't useful anymore so the mask dropped off (the remaining corpse is scavenged by other creatures).

okay long post time!! I’m glad people like what I drag from my brain. (This is very long)

This post will cover topics such as; decay, insects (not in detail) and body horror. If you’re sensitive to things like that, I recommend looking the other way. Otherwise, enjoy however many words of my brainrot! :]

I like to think that the Masks themselves were made rather than born, albeit still organic. I’ve always been a fan of horrifying grotesque body horror scenarios. (User Pangolin-404 and their masked having webs of nerves that root inside of a host’s body, which is so fucking cool by the way, reminded me of this. I realize after writing this whole thing that my brain likes that more than expected.)

Honestly.,, I have a feeling that the masks themselves have been around for a very very long time, and new ones only ever appear when someone unfortunate is converted. There was a war (ingame lore!) roughly 500 years ago which may or may not have facilitated their creation.

In my eyes, Comedy masks are the ones that’ve naturally spawned (I.e, already with a host or otherwise lying on the ground.) I like to believe that the comedy masks are the ‘first’ of the masks to exist, which have been around since the beginning. The ‘first generation’, per se.

I also like to think that the Tragedy masks are made when someone is converted. They’re basically the supposed ‘second’ generation of masks. It goes like this; comedy masked converts someone, they become a tragedy masked. That tragedy masked converts someone else, and then, well... thus begins a cycle. (Ex. Comedy gen 1>Tragedy>TragedyG1>TragedyG2> etc etc..)

There are a relatively smaller amount of Comedy masked as a result of this, but their quantity is still very much immense. (Ex. For every 10 Tragedies, there is 7 Comedies). The reason for this is that, despite how well they can trick and capture prey, they are still oftentimes rotting and weakened from extended periods of isolation without access to new hosts. There is henceforth a greater number of Masks than there is the Masked. Comedy Masks tend to have a greater lifespan with their hosts, as they are very, very experienced and have gathered a significantly larger amount of knowledge. (They are still not entirely sentient, no matter how deeply convincing it may be. They have a measure of sentience, but not enough. This only ever occurs within Comedy Masks.)

I doubt that they ever actually die unless the mask itself is utterly destroyed, shattered or rendered otherwise unusable.

After this point is where more visceral topics are covered. However; with a host, that specific lifetime is pretty simple, I think. In the beginning, the corpse is fresh, probably still warm (and kept warm by presumably boiling blood) and likely behaves the same as any other human body. Even has a heartbeat and continues to breathe. Vocalizing is possible although usually incomprehensible (typically just a weird slurry of sounds). Finer control is possible, down to curling its toes or flexing individual muscles, along with blinking, moving its tongue, or focusing and unfocusing its eyes. (Please note; a majority of those features tend to be entirely lost during possession, either melted from the host’s body or simply consumed during the process of conversion.)

After a day or so, natural body functions begin to slowly and steadily cease as, despite the Mask’s support, the body has finally lost enough of its own blood and thus slowly shuts down. The Mask’s replacement blood—the substance rendered eternally boiling—is not a suitable replacement despite its apparent compatibility with regular humanoid blood regardless of the type. It carries too little oxygen and remains too thick to move properly through the veins without its host’s own biological assistance. Rigor mortis sets in to the majority of the body by the end of the second day, and the mask has to relearn how to use the body as it has new limitations and requires different efforts in order to move as it used to. Movements become clumsier (not just from the disorientation of change) and the fine control it once had is now unable to be achieved again without outside assistance. Vocalizations are now completely incomprehensible as the entity can no longer fine-tune the required muscles in order to produce the vaguest notion of words. (Not that it was able to speak beforehand.)

The body remains this way for about a week total before further decay begins to set in. The nature of the planet that the host was on beforehand does matter; if it was on Offense during this phase, it would proceed much faster in comparison to Dine or Rend. Temperature affects decay times. Masked typically tend to avoid hotter areas for this reason during this period of its host’s ‘lifetime’ (if it cares for or understands what is happening.)

By the third phase of its ‘lifetime’, the body begins to rot. Fortunately, no insects or decomposers infest the body; the natural heat that the Masked’s blood produces keeps anything untoward away, up to and including foreign materials, unwanted substances and undesirable parasites. Most biological poisons have no effect on Masked in general, typically being denatured on contact with its blood. Artificial poisons, venoms and other toxic substances do occasionally effect a Masked, although usually only in the region that it first made contact in. They do not have very good blood circulation.

The skin of the host cools down rather than remaining at the warm temperature it previously had, which is likely an instinctive response from the Masked as it senses the decay. By this point, points that usually chafe or experience too much friction begin to slowly rub away from the flesh and bone, scraping skin and viscera away with it. The Masked does not experience pain, only discomfort.

At the very end of its current lifetime, true rot begins. If the host is using an entirely sealed suit, blood begins to fill the inside. The corpse begins to slowly, steadily, achingly liquify. At one point it will start to drip from the helmet’s filters, pushed outward with every movement. The Masked can no longer run, as doing so will simply worsen its condition. It is now at risk of abandoning its host and awaiting the next.

If its current host is wearing an unsealed suit, flesh simply sloughs off and out of it as the body weakens. During this state, the Masked first feels pain. (It does not recognize the feeling, and does not usually react. There are cases wherein first or second generation Tragedy masks attempt to cry or otherwise vocalize with screams, keens, gasps or sobs, further obliterating their remaining throat. The third generations and those afterward display no such behaviors, however.)

At the very end of its host’s lifetime (where it is left as merely bone, softened flesh and tendon), the Mask finds a very quiet place. Oddly enough, they seek out small and warm areas, usually dry in nature. It is not uncommon for a Masked to give itself to a member of its Masquerade (a term used for groups of Masked, taken from another researcher (Pangolin-404!)) or to another entity that it has taken a liking to. Albeit, this ‘fondness’ is based upon the creature’s unwillingness to kill it, and its own lack of desire to kill the creature. Several cases have been documented wherein Masked have given themselves to a varying assortment of creatures; other Masked, Hoarding Bugs, Spore Lizards, Nutcrackers (which is a very peculiar interaction), Jesters (thought to be out of malice, seeing as Masks can devour a grown Jester if it is attached for a length of time), Coil-heads (incredibly strange), and Brackens, who occasionally partake in attaching the Masks to their bodies in return for the Mask’s boiling blood, forming a symbiotic relationship with as many as three at a time.

In the process of placing itself somewhere or giving itself to another entity, the Masked takes itself off of its host. The body remains beneath its control for a very short amount of time afterward, as its disconnected span of vein-like ‘roots’ within the body act upon its last commands. Shortly afterward, the body collapses and becomes entirely harmless, likely having placed the Mask somewhere, or having handed it to another entity.

After that, the Mask returns to dormancy, awaiting a host. (I imagine that they place themselves in a warm area as to facilitate “good dreams”. I suppose that staying in a cold, lonely place would be rather unfortunate when one is in a state of dormancy, unable to wake and move by one’s own terms. This is just a theory, however.)

Notes; 1 Masks are typically made out of a material similar to bone. Comedy Masks resemble porcelain, retaining a certain shine rather than the dull white that most Tragedy masks have. 2 Masked tend to place their Masks nearby fireplaces or Hoarder Bug hives at the end of their host’s lifetime, as they both retain a great amount of heat. 3 It is thought that the symbiotic relationship that a Mask can create with a Bracken is entirely beneficial to both parties—hence symbiosis. The Mask typically partakes in any form of possession with parasitism, and it is unknown if it chooses to leave the Bracken’s bodily functions alone because of an inability to control it or because of its supposed lack of desire to do so.

Thankyou for reading ,,, my brain likes to rattle around a lot and. I am entirely normal about the masks and I can be trusted to speak a normal amount about them. I’m like 12% sure I answered your question

#lethal company #lethal company masked #lethal company headcanons #headcanons #asks #i was writing this like damn do I have issues #but I remembered that I love body horror #i really like the idea that the masks ‘dream’ during their dormancy #sometimes I start thinking like a researcher when I write these #idk if you pick up on that just imagine it’s indigo or some random employee character writing these #the masks being living objects is so just eueshehehe I love it

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queercontrarian · 7 months

Text

Rhysand Week Day 4: Court of Dreams

To The Stars Who Listen

Rhysand is more than 500 years old. He has had many dreams throughout his long life. These are some of them.

@officialrhysandweek

Rhys is seven years old. He dreams of traveling the world. They don’t get visitors often in the Court under the mountain, but when they do they always have the most fascinating stories to tell. He wants to be a traveling merchant and a scholar and a pirate. He wants to see the Continent, and the islands, and all the other Courts. Being stuck in one season forever sounds strange to him, and he wonders why there is no Eternal Night in his father’s Court. He consults his cousin Mor and their tutors and the books and even the High Lord himself but no one can give him an answer. He supposes he’ll understand when he’s older. Cauldron, he wants to be older. Once he’s an adult he’ll finally get to travel and read all the books in the library he isn’t allowed to touch and talk to whoever he wants to and no one will be able to tell him no. He dreams of going everywhere, seeing and knowing everything there is to see and know.

Rhys is eight years old. He knows he can't stay in Velaris forever but Illyria scares him. It’s colder here, and he’s alone a lot with his mother and their guards. He doesn’t get to see Mor much anymore, and he misses her colorful imagination and funny comments, even being bored together during their joint lessons. He doesn't miss his father as much, who stays away from Illyria for reasons he doesn't yet understand, although he wishes he could show the High Lord his progress. Maybe he'd finally see him once he becomes a great warrior like the males at camp. But before that can happen Rhysand needs to become the best. The best at training, fighting, leading. Anything less would be unacceptable for the Heir to the Night Court. He’s not here to make friends. Still, Illyria is a lonely place for a child. He dreams of finding a companion.

Rhys is fourteen years old and he dreams of flying alongside his brothers in the sky they rule. They have so many ideas, so many dreams to share in the dead of night, huddled together in Cassian’s room. They’ll reshape his father’s Court, they’ll make every place in the Night Court as safe as Velaris is.

There’s a freedom found in their trio that Rhys never knew before; the freedom to speak his mind, to share his thoughts as they pop into his head, without stiff traditionalist judgment or anyone snitching to his father. Cassian and Azriel don’t belong to the Court - they’re Rhysand’s, and he will make sure nothing and no one can ever separate them again.

Rhys is sixteen years old and he wants to shatter the mountain his father’s throne rests in, wants to challenge his father's right to rule just for this. For allowing Mor, his Mor, to be taken. He dreams of sending him and Keir to the beasts under the mountain and making them fend for themselves the way they had surrendered his cousin to Autumn. He dreams of declaring war on the Court and taking Beron and Eris Vanserra's heads as trophy. He dreams of bringing Mor back to Velaris, where she would be safe, and free. He dreams of being free, too. He’s not so sure anymore that there is anything to save in this Court of Dreams and Nightmares. He only knows that if he were High Lord, he never would have let this happen.

Rhys is 29 years old. War has come to Prythian, and while Night has no stake in the cause of the humans or the petty disputes of the Seasonal Courts, the North is sharpening the sword. He knows that behind closed doors, his father is conferring with Ozias on whether Day and Night should involve themselves in the War. He also recognizes that his father has no noble reasons to join the fight, but that he will not pass up the opportunity to war with Spring and Summer.

⁂

Frankly, Rhysand doesn’t much care what will convince his father. He wants to fight for what's right. He wants to show the rest of Prythian what he and his brothers are capable of. They will defend Night, they will put Hybern and Spring and Summer in their place. They dream of being heroes, of victory, honor and glory.

Rhysand is 31 years old and he dreams of going home. He dreams of his mother, who stayed behind, alone in their home in Velaris. He dreams of seeing Cassian and Azriel again. He doesn’t even know if his brothers are alive, and for the first time in his life he prays, to the Mother, to the Cauldron, to any god who will listen. He dreams of an end to the war. His father's letters are short, and he’s taking so long to respond to Rhysand’s requests for support. Rhysand doesn’t think that’s a good sign.

Rhysand is 33 years old and he can't sleep. The desert is cold at night and the commander's tent is lonely. He’s far from home, from friends or family. He hears his soldiers crying out in the night, and knows many of them won’t make it to morning. Most of them are his age, some even younger. He hears them die, knows every last thought as life bleeds out of them. Their fear is so loud that it’s impossible to ignore. They dream of their family, of loved ones left behind at home or on the battlefield. Every dream is an accusation. We had so much life left to live. We didn’t have to die.

Whose dream did we die for?

⁂

Rhys is 35 years old. They have returned from the war to find his mother with a small bundle of black wings and dark curls in her arms. He has a baby sister. Her name is Cecilia Riona. She is so small and strange and wonderful and when Rhysand is woken up by nightmares he crosses the hallway and sits in the nursery for hours instead of sleeping. More often than not he finds Cassian or Azriel already there, watching over their sister. They marvel at how quickly the center of their world has shifted. They think they understand now. This strange little girl is the reason the brothers needed to keep going. She is everything they fought for, what they suffered, killed and nearly died for. She is their Stars Eternal and they vow that as long as they live, nothing will ever hurt her.

Rhysand is 75 years old and he hasn’t flown since the War. His wings won’t work as they used to. They feel like they are encased in stone. Even when he manages to make them appear they hang heavy from his back, dragging him down with them. He's in pain all the time, his body stiff and aching with the weight of his leaden wings. Some days he thinks they'll break his spine. Some days he thinks he might be better off if they did.

Riona is 40 years old now and has long since learned to fly without him. His sister explores the sky above the Night Court with Cassian and Azriel while he stays behind like some old invalid, too weak and damaged to even lift his useless wings higher than his own shoulders. His mother remains with him, and he knows she means well but it makes him feel worse. He’s holding her back. He’s holding all of them back. His brothers look at him with pity. He feels cheated out of his youth.

Rhysand is 85 years old and he dreams of a quiet century, of a continent no longer falling to petty conflicts and the whims of egomaniacs. He’s accepted that he can’t rely on his wings anymore but suppressing them has made the problem worse. They break through his skin uncontrolled, like they have a mind of their own. They’re no longer cold, instead they burn and burn and nothing will soothe or settle them. He’s come to a point where he would rather live without them than spend another sleepless night on the floor because his body won’t let him relax. He wonders if this is what it feels like to have his wings clipped. He wonders how anyone can stand it. He dreams of feeling nothing at all.

Rhysand is 87 years old and he dreams of peace between Night and Spring, of an end to the feud that has lasted for much longer than he or even his father have been alive. He's so tired of the fighting. He doesn’t have much hope that Aldwig and Gawain will ever get along, but he’s found a tentative ally in the third son, Tamlin. Rhys is confident that he can get the male to cooperate with him, and he’s been so desperate for a project, for a challenge, that he will cling to every shred of hope he can draw out of the Spring Court princeling. Maybe in his lifetime there will finally be peace. And wouldn't that be something worth fighting for.

Rhys is 90 years old and he's flying again. He's slowly been putting himself back together, piece after piece handed to him by a stranger. He dreams of cool Spring nights, of music, of dancing in the dark with flowers in his hair. He dreams of green grass glistening with dew in the morning, of freedom, of seeing his stars from another angle. He finally feels as young as he is.

Rhys is 100 years old and he’s split down the middle. There are few nights where he doesn't travel south to see Tamlin. Their fathers can't know, so they meet in the other Courts where there are fewer eyes on them, and they don’t interact in public beyond what little diplomacy is expected in their respective roles. Cassian and Azriel are the only ones who know that their secret alliance has bloomed into an even more secret friendship, and even though they don’t exactly approve they don’t say anything. They're his, after all, not his father's. And so is Tamlin.

Together, they break into Thesan’s herb garden and the forbidden lower levels of the library on Thíva, they brave the deep forests of the Middle and climb The Mountain to touch the sky. Rhys is barely sleeping but he's happy. He’s so ridiculously, obscenely happy that it feels like a dream.

Rhys is 112 years old and he dreams of killing the High Lord of the Spring Court, slowly, painfully. He wants to break every bone in his body like he has broken his son’s bones. He wants to make him bleed. He wants to shred his mind to pieces. But more than that he wants to grab Tamlin and take him somewhere far away from his horrible family. Maybe the Night Court. Maybe further. Maybe they'll travel the world together, like he once dreamed when he was a child. Their options are endless, he only needs to convince Tamlin to take the leap with him.

Rhys is 134 years old and he’s in love for the first time. He’s been in love for a while now, but he doesn’t quite understand it yet and to be perfectly honest he’s scared of understanding, of grasping fully what that means for him, and for his Court. All he knows is that for better or for worse, everything will change if he dares to act on these feelings. So he doesn’t dare. Not yet. I love you. It's on the tip of his tongue and he dreams of being brave enough to say it. He just needs a little more time.

⁂

Rhysand is 135 years old and he is wide awake. Now that the shock is wearing off all that remains is the pain. There is so much of it, and he doesn’t know where to put it, so he locks it inside. Rhysand is caving in on himself. He dreams of turning back time just a few weeks. He dreams of being ignorant again.

Rhysand is 138 years old and he dreams of giving it all back. He doesn’t want to be High Lord anymore. He’s barely holding on; the only reason he’s still standing is because Cassian and Azriel hold him up. He feels so heavy. He dreams of flying with his mother and sister.

Rhysand is 185 years old. There is an uprising in Illyria. He wanted to be different from his father, do more, do better. It turns out he has neither the energy nor the support to change things. Later, he tells himself. He dreams of a time where he didn't have his own people's blood on his hands.

Rhysand is 216 years old. Mor is back from the Continent. She'll be taking over the Hewn City for a short time while he recuperates, and then they'll restructure the Court together just like they dreamed they would when they were younger. They'll fix it, he knows they can. But at night, when he's all alone again, he dreams of finding an equal, someone to share this burden with.

Rhysand is 335 years old. It's been 200 years since he last saw his mother. He hasn't slept in nearly a year. He dreams of her dark curly hair, and of Riona’s clever eyes. He sees them every time he looks in the mirror. He hopes he never forgets them, no matter how much it hurts to remember.

Rhys is 417 years old and he’s soaked from head to toe in ice cold water. The snow is wet and heavy this year and he’s lost their snowball fight for the first time in six years. The pure joy on Cassian’s face is worth the cold feet though, and knowing there’s a nice hot steam room waiting for them makes everything more bearable. Later, they will join Mor and Amren at the Townhouse to exchange gifts. He has a family again, one that is whole, one that sees his dreams as he sees theirs. His Court of Dreams.

⁂

Rhysand is 486 years old and his dreams have turned into nightmares. Only this one he can’t wake from. He is trapped and there is nothing he can do.

Rhysand is 500 years old and he dreams of home. He dreams of Velaris, tucked safely in the shadow of the mountains out west. He dreams of his family. At least his family is safe.

Rhysand is 514 years old and he dreams of running away, far away, somewhere she can't touch him. He dreams of the greenest grass, of clear, cool nights and flowers, a life that feels so far removed from the one he's living now.

Rhysand is 520 years old and he dreams of the warmth of his mother’s arms. He dreams of the sun on his face, of the silver glow of the moon in the sky. He dreams of stars. He hasn’t seen his stars in so long.

⁂

Rhys is 534 years old. He dreams of her and only her, every night. His mate. One day, she will share his dreams. One day, they will dream together.

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

#someone get this man some therapy #rhysandweek2023 #rhysand #acotar #tamsand #night court

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hollow-keys · 1 month

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Obsessed with this 1966 behind the scenes description of regeneration and information about the Doctor's original backstory.

To keep faith with the essential Doctor Who character, he is always suspicious of new places, things or people – he is the eternal fugitive with a horrifying fear of the past horrors he has endured. (These horrors were experienced during the galactic war and account for his flight from his own planet.) The metaphysical change which takes places every 500 or so years is a horrifying experience – an experience in which he re-lives some of the most unendurable moments of his long life, including the galactic war. It is as if he has had the LSD drug and instead of experiencing the kicks, he has the hell and dank horror which can be its effect.

#the doctor #first doctor #second doctor #doctor who #classic who #📨

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tanoraqui · 3 months

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I would like to request a level 10, Hey, you know what would be really fucked up?, headcanon for the Silmarillion, please!

[ask meme]

Toward the end of the First Age in Beleriand, ironically DURING the War of Wrath—when the Valar had at last sent aid, yes, but it clearly still wasn’t enough; they were fighting a war hellish like it never had been before and they were still just barely evenly matched—there were Elves who took the path of Ulfang and sided with the Enemy. They were not captured and put the torment until they broke. They were not blackmailed or bribed with promises of respite for their loved ones (well, maybe a little). They were affected by the ambient negativity that Morgoth was pouring into the whole war front, a subtle (or sometimes overt) psychic miasma of malice, vindictiveness, pride, despair, and every other terrible thing in the cracks of a soul that leads to discord and defeat.

They came to the conclusion, after 500+ years of blood and fear, that their choices were acceding to the will of Morgoth or eternal blankness in the Halls of Mandos…and maybe even that alleged “place of rest” wouldn’t hold out forever against the Mightiest of the Valar in all his wrath! And they wanted to live.

Some went openly to his side, and led battalions of orcs against their kin. Some stayed silent, feeding information to the enemy and eventually, about 3/4 through the War, making an assassination attempt/attempted coup that very nearly cost Gil-Galad his life. Lalwen had to kill one of her oldest friends, put a sword through her chest and watch the Light fade from her eyes.

There weren’t many elves who did this. All we’re those who had been fighting Morgoth for many long years—no Amanyar who swept in, no ignorant Eastern Avari whom he’d been lying to for years. (He did try to woo other Elves, briefly at some point. But Elves have enough Music-sense to tell that something about this guy and those who serve him is wrong—out-of-step, out-of-place, jarringly or insidiously discordant. It’s easier to hear when not muffled by the aura of the Trees.) But even a couple dozen individuals, over the years, was a terrible blow to morale.

To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well; and by treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass.

#ask meme #war of wrath #eldar

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gsirvitor · 6 months

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I'm a slut for some 40k lore, tell me about the funny gas mask men with the shovles

Ah yes, the Death Korps of Krieg.

Krieg is a toxic, radioactive Death World within the Imperium of Man, and it is the homeworld of the Astra Militarum's Militarum Regimentum known as the Death Korps of Krieg.

Known for their common deployment in the war zones of the Segmentum Tempestus and Segmentum Solar, the Death Korps are particularly skilled at attritional trench warfare, sieges of and assaults upon heavily fortified static positions and warfare in extreme environments known for their biological, chemical and radioactive hazards.

Why are they like this? It's simple, nuclear armageddon.

Krieg was the site of a rebellion against the Imperium over 1500 years ago, in response to the rebellion the Loyalists bombarded the surface of the world with nuclear weapons, which was then followed by 500 years of grinding trench and tunnel based warfare between the Loyalists and Traitors.

After those centuries of nuclear destruction and tunnel warfare, Krieg was reduced to a radioactive husk, and its people were forced to live Metro 2033 style in underground hive cities to survive the toxic environment.

This forged them the people of Krieg into grim, fatalistic and dour individuals, and the soldiers of the Death Korps are even more so, they selflessly wade into the most abhorrent war zones satuarated with radiation and other toxins.

The military engagement they're involved are often decades long sieges with astronomically high casualty rates, and only those of Catachan stock are comparable to the men and women of Krieg.

Almost all Imperial Guardsmen from Krieg, save vehicle crews, wear their distinctive and highly advanced respirator units that filter out toxic and radioactive particles.

These gasmasks are a relic of their world, and act as a legacy and reminder of Krieg's eternal service to the needs of the Imperium.

Oh yes, and I forgot to mention, the nuclear armageddon was not a one off thing, the Loyalists didn't just fire the nukes once, they had kept firing nukes for the 500 years they were fighting the Traitors.

Now I don't need to tell you this as it is fairly obvious, the Death Korps of Krieg are modeled after WWI German soldiers, the trench warfare of WWI, while their name means War in German.

The helmet top shares a profile with the French Adrian helmet while the bottom part is clearly inspired by the German Stalhelm.

The iconic gasmask is extremely similar to the British SBR gasmask used during the war.

The bayonet is modeled after the American M1917 Bayonet.

The Lasgun Model 98 is named after the German Gewehr 98.

The breastplate worn by Krieg Officers and Death Riders is inspired by the French Cuirassier breastplate.

The Krieg soldiers retreat when an objective proves too much, is a waste of men and materiel or is a tactical decision to ensure victory.

While this all make sense, have you actually heard of them running in fear? Became they have, on page 72 of Imperial Armor Volume 5, the 158th Regiment of the 12th Line Korps routed due to heavy heretic resistance on the second Vraksian defense line.

They retreated and even fragged their own commissars who tried to stop the retreat.

Aside from that, there are multiple instances of Krieg engineers screaming in fear as they faced Khornate Beserkers, proving that they are not unfeeling soldiers bred for war, their grim outlook is a byproduct of their environment, they aren't soldier who will march endlessly to their deaths, it just takes longer for them to break in comparison to other Imperial Guard units.

That said, I think it's important to consider that the Siege of Vraks, fall of Orpheus, and Dead Men Walking portrayals of Krieg all vary considerably, as each is an interpretation by a different author.

It is hard to picture the automatons of Dead Men Walking or the other short stories by Steve Lyons acting in the same manner as the Krieg soldiers in the routs described in Siege of Vraks.

Outside of those sources there are also occasional examples of Krieg soldiers who are pretty much indistinguishable from cadians in gasmasks.

Unfortunately Krieg soldiers caving in heretic skulls with their entrenching tool is a meme the community came up with and is not canon.

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sketching-shark · 2 months

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niuhou for ship opinions?

Aroace Sun Wukong truther though I am, in all honesty anon the niuhou ship is one of my favorites in the jttw fandom <3.

It's true that in Xiyouji itself we don't get a super in-depth amount of space dedicated to the details of their relationship when they were sworn brothers, but there is a real sense that they genuinely liked AND respected each other. And that's a feeling that's really increased when we see their reunion later on during the journey, when even with an absence of over 500 years and a lot of reasons for antagonism for the both of them (the Demon Bull King wants to eat Tang Sanzang & otherwise hinder Sun Wukong's journey, Sun Wukong played a major role in getting Red Boy captured by the Bodhisattva Guanyin & caused Princess Iron Fan a lot of physical pain), both spend quite a few pages dancing around whether they're going to attack the other because of their former strong bond until things irrevocably crumble. Wu Cheng'en even dedicates an entire poem to how tragic this break-up is (and how epic the resulting fight was lol).

But probably best of all for me is that this is one of those ships where both characters really get to shine through as their own individual people with rich stories. When you look at other ships involving the Monkey King (especially the tons of movies with a SWK romance) it tends to be the case where the romantic partner in question seems to revolve their entire life and personality around old Monkey in one way or another, usually with a heavy dose of "being eternally patient & forgiving no matter how much shit he gives them" and also ending with the fate of them dying so that he can be sad/having to Learn a Lesson. So yeah said "romantic partners" often feel more like hollow shells or desperate obsessives than full people.

Which to put it academically sucks major balls.

With Niuhou, however, that's not the case at all! Obviously a good chunk of Xiyouji is dedicated to Sun Wukong's character and his multitude of complexities and development, but even in the few chapters we see him the Demon Bull King really stands out as one of the yaoguai kings who had a very active life after the Mt. Huaguoshan war with heaven, doing everything from gathering wealth, allies, power, and friends to getting married and having a child that he very much loves to then having a falling out with Princess Iron Fan because he took on a concubine with Princess Jade Countenance. He's also described as being just as powerful as the Monkey King (while also being stockier), and his rage really is something that can shake the Heavens! It all makes for a very involved part of the journey, ranging from Sun Wukong and numerous gods having to go to battle against a colossal Niu Mowang to the Demon Bull King calling time-out on a preliminary fight because he wanted to go party with some of his dragon friends.

And as a final bonus this is also one of those rare ships involving the Monkey King where he's actually very obviously invested in maintaining it, from being his active and ambitious social self as a warlord to trying every which way to get what he needs from the Demon Bull King to continue the journey while still maintaining his bond with Niu Mowang. And while it does end in tragedy, you do have the delight of thee Monkey King approaching the situation like "PLEASE bestie my beautiful princess with a disorder PLEASE remember what we mean to each other!!!" And then the Demon Bull King being like "me remembering that is the only reason why I haven't killed you where you stand."

#xiyouji #jttw #journey to the west #sun wukong #monkey king #demon bull king #niu mowang #niuhou #for never was there a story of more woe #than that of this fuckin bull and monkey #anyway #main point being that it's nice to see a swk ship where both of them get to be assholes with layers lol #anon answered

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ryin-silverfish · 6 months

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Chapter 14: The Mind Monkey Cometh!

-This chapter begins with a poem by Zhang Boduan, a Daoist master of the Quanzhen Sect whose theory of internal alchemy heavily inspired that of JTTW's, and would appear later in the book as an immortal guest star.

"The dharmakaya has no shape or form…"

-Hmm, what is a dharmakaya? The Yu translation doesn't have a footnote for that, so here's my brief explanation: in Mahayana Buddhist beliefs, there's the idea of the Trikaya, the Three Bodies of the Buddha——three facets of existence for an enlightened being.

-Dharmakaya, "Body of the Law"(法身), is the bits of pure existence and universal Buddha-nature in all living things that is immutable and eternal.

-Sambhogakaya, "Body of Benefits"(报身), is the miraculous body a practitioner attains after countless trials and cultivation that receives all the good karma they have accumulated over the years.

-Nirmanakaya, "Manifested Body/Body of Transformation"(应身), is the physical form a Buddha/Bodhisattva takes in order to assist and educate the masses, and can be anything, from a holy statue to a person to a plate of food.

(Very unserious analogy: if Buddhahood is water, dharma-kaya is like H2O molecules, sambhoga-kaya is like the ocean, and nirmana-kaya is the convenient cup of drink nearby that can quench your thirst.)

-Boqin mentioned that SWK was trapped under the mountain during the time of Wang Mang's usurpation(9-23 CE), between Western and Eastern Han dynasty. Which, if we are to be chronologically accurate, would be 600-something years before Tripataka's pilgrimage instead of 500.

-The 100 years off may post a problem to people who wanna calculate SWK's birth year and age for fun; I, however, am more interested in the fact that he was either born in the Spring-Autumn or Warring States period, and the earlier option would make him a contemporary of Confucius(551-479 BCE).

-Just imagine him going "Confucius? Really tall guy, lotta students, wandered from state to state lookin' for work? Yep, I think I ran into an old man like that while seeking immortality!"

-Allegorically, the Six Robbers represent the six senses, something the footnote has pointed out. However, I feel like this warrants a more in-depth explanation.

-The Yogacara School——not the Ming administrative division, but the tradition of Buddhist thought the historical Xuanzang followed, has a theory of consciousness that divides the mind into eight layers. The first five layers are the five senses, and the inputs they receive are sent to the sixth layer of Thought for processing.

(Reference to these six also appears in the Heart Sutra: "None is shown by eye, ear, nose, tongue, body nor mind"——无眼耳鼻舌身意)

-Beneath the sixth layer is the seventh layer, Manas, which sends the processed information to the eighth layer, and is the layer responsible for the illusion of selfhood + all the woes that stem from said illusion. The final layer, Alaya-vijnana, is the consciousness that stores all information in the universe, and contains the bits of inherent Buddha-nature obscured by regular human cognition.

-The historical Xuanzang had a poem that referred to Alaya as the "Master/Head of Household", and the Yogacara theory of consciousness was also taken up by later Daoist thinkers, who believed that Alaya was the same as the internal alchemy concept of "Spiritual Mind"(元神).

-That's why SWK refers to himself as the Six Robbers' proper master, the True Mind who is supposed to dominate these senses. However, my personal reading of the allegory is that he isn't the True Mind yet, and his killing of the Six Robbers is akin to someone who uses extreme means to free themself from worldly distractions.

-Like, sensory pleasures and experiences can be very distracting and serve as a serious obstacle to getting things done, but you don't free yourself from those distractions by blinding your eyes and cutting out your tongue and engaging in self-imposed sensory deprivation.

-Thus, Tripataka's chastisement isn't just about SWK committing multiple homicides and violating Buddhist laws. The way I see it, it's also a subtle way of telling you that the mastery of heart and mind cannot be forced, and a truly powerful practitioner is one who can triumph over the distractions of the senses without cutting themself off from the world.

@journeythroughjourneytothewest

#journey to the west #jttw book club #jttw reading group #xiyouji

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morally-grey-girlbosses · 7 months

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Propaganda under the cut.

Marcille Donato:

marcille attempts (illegal) necromancy, makes a deal with a demon, and goes (temporarily) mad with power thanks to said demon—all on a quest to rescue her girl best friend. she and her friends must survive on strange foods on said quest, and she's FAR more hesitant to do that than the illegal necromancy stuff. she's both girlboss and girlfailure and i love her for it

Raiden Ei/Beelzebul:

Her crime is bad decisions and complete apathy. She's a dictator/goddess who lets civil war and nuclear radiation be while she sits on her plane contemplating concepts. Not evil because she doesn't like outsiders and fights to prevent to war from encroaching the borders and there's no maliciousness

Ahhh, I hate her. But that just means she's really effective as a morally gray character. I can't say she's evil because not having empathy is fine and doesn't make you bad. But the almighty shogun, dictator of Inazuma just. doesn't. care!! She self isolated for 500 years contemplating the concept of eternity while her country (that she was the god of) went to civil war. Then read some light novels written by her friend and caught up, discovered a new sweet, reworked some of her eternity ideas. And that's IT. Her people are like ants to her. She STILL DOESN'T CARE. Not even at the end of her Kecharacter arc! No helping restoration of her war torn country! No restructuring the system that allowed bad things in the first place! She repealed ONE law that's it. One of her islands was under active nuclear radiation btw for reference. Anyways she's morally gray girlboss because she's very powerful goddess. None of her personality traits make her an actual bad person. Her actions and consequences of deliberate inaction/apathy are astoundingly horribly bad and I'll never forgive her personally. Unrelatedly she did abandon her kid but that's actually the funniest thing she's done. No space 4 more

#poll #tournament poll #round 1 #marcille donato #dungeon meshi #beelzebul #raiden ei #genshin impact

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that-one-gay-writer1227 · 1 year

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Hiyo! It's me again, about the Scaramouche/Wanderer x Fem Archon reader it can either be sfw or nsfw the specifics of the story is that they're old acquaintances that met before scara joined the fataui then later met again with him as wanderer

Forever and a Day

A/N: Thank you anon! I'm sorry for the inconvenience earlier, I just needed to make sure of the details before I started writing ehe. I meant to post this sooner, but the past few days have absolutely been chaotic for me and I had to step away from writing much to my dismay, but anyways, I absolutely love this idea! wishing you a happy Friday, I hope you enjoy it!

Summary: You and Scaramouche had been close before he joined the Fatui, back when he was known as Kabukimono. You were assigned to help Ei create her puppet, as you were a fellow archon. You were never told of the events that happened in the town where the furnace workers lived and, after Kabukimono had left what remained of the Raiden gokaden, he went missing. At least you thought until you meet someone on your journey with the infamous traveler centuries later.

Warnings: mild cussing, mentions of past death, !fem pronouns!, slightly angsty (dw dw i promise there's comfort T^T), I had to change some of the canon around for this, also even with as much research as I've done I haven't gotten this far in the game myself so I apologize if it's way too off the mark.

~~~~~~~~~~~

500 years.

It'd been 500 years since the fall of K'haenria.

It'd been 500 years since Ei created her puppet, the Raiden Shogun.

It'd been 500 years since you'd seen your friend Kabukimono.

You curse yourself for the incident, if you'd just been there Kabukimono wouldn't have left. He'd still be with you. He'd be happy with you. He wouldn't have run off. He would've been ok. You would've known he was ok.

Despite it having been centuries you couldn't release the fact that you blame yourself for him going missing. You missed him with your entirety of being. I mean you've known him almost since his creation. The electro archon, Ei, was someone you'd known for a long, long time.

You weren't particularly close with her, but you'd known her ambition enough to assist her in making a puppet body that would outlive her, granting her eternity as she so strived for.

During this journey of learning how to create puppets, someone special was created as a prototype. A young man left unnamed. You'd spend your days with him, teaching him, learning from him. You'd grown to be friends. even after Ei had sent him to the Shakkei pavilion, you'd still meet with him.

But that all feels so fuzzy now. It's been so long that you barely remembered his face. You could only remember the good days, the bad, and the accident.

Since then you'd left Inazuma, not wanting to be reminded of your old friend and not wanting to see the archon that had made you choose your work over him, without even allowing you to know what had happened, or even how it happened.

Spending time traveling all of teyvat for 500 years as an archon was interesting. You'd make some lovely friends in your time. Some close, others not so much. To be honest it was painful and numbing watching as the others had been growing old, getting to spend their lives with their loved ones while the one you'd give anything for just an hour with was archons knows where.

You started in liyue, exploring all the city had to offer, meeting the geo archon rex lapis again for the first time since the archon war. You'd spend time with him reliving good times.

Then you'd travel to Sumeru to explore the region. You weren't able to meet with the current archon due to her being in isolation. The cities and nature surrounding Sumeru were quite beautiful. the food, nature, and the atmosphere were all intoxicating.

The final stop in your journey and your most recent abode was in Mondstat, the city of freedom. you'd meet plenty of different people in this city and eventually you even met the infamous traveler. This is where your journey begins.

The months that followed were on and off in your journey. For parts of it, you and Aether (plus the emergency food) would venture together, and for some parts, you'd spend on your own.

You'd be with them while traveling through Sumeru city. It was a relatively peaceful day, the sun was just barely set leaving you, Aether, and Paimon in the bast of the evening. The air was cool and the breeze was gentle. You'd come back to permanently traveling with them as a result of an emergency not too long prior. You'd heard that someone named Scaramouche had recently tried to steal your old project partner and previous friend's gnosis, inevitably failing.

As you continued down the winding roads of merchant stands and stores, you spotted something familiar,

A little too familiar.

At first, you felt your eyes were deceiving you. Plenty of people wore that style of hat, hell you'd seen countless hats of the style. You did your best to ignore it, pushing that sliver of hope down as low as you could. Hoping and pleading it would die out, but curiosity got the better of you.

Aether seemed to notice your attention, pulling your hand back as soon as he noticed what you'd been looking at.

"You can't just go up to him. We don't know what he'll do.." Aether's tone was cautious and you could hear a hint of anxiety behind it as he warned.

You'd never felt so confused. Did Aether know him? Was this not Kabukimono? If not then who was this person who seemed to have the same hair, hat, height, and posture-

The more you'd think about it, the more you felt he was familiar. The more you thought he was just who you were hoping for. You pulled your hand from Aether's softly, giving him sympathetic eyes.

"Aether, I need to see if it's him. Please don't try and stop me."

And with that, you left the poor blonde and his flying emergency food paimon alone as you walked slowly towards the young man in a large blue hat with tassels and decor.

The walk felt like it went on forever, your heart beating in your chest, your legs feeling like they might collapse under the pressure at any given moment. All it would've taken was a little push and you'd tip over. Part of You wanted to do that, but you needed to know.

You'd take two more steps before he turned around, looking dead into your eyes. You were only out of arms reach, and you felt miles apart.

"K-Kabukimono?..." You felt your eyes fill with tears. boiling, painful, and godamn swollen tears. You weren't sure if it was joy or sadness.

The confused and startled look on his face told you enough. You felt hurt by his next statement in the way it stung under your skin.

"I'm sorry, you must have the wrong person. Miss are you alright?.."

His voice was timid and gentle. He was genuine and quite quiet. It made your heart clench. You'd begin letting the tears fall, try to catch them with your hand as best as you could to save yourself from the embarrassment.

"Well miss, I don't know who that is, but I wish you luck in finding them, Here's this. Please don't cry.." He handed you a soft napkin. One you recognized as the one he gave you back at the pavilion so many centuries ago. It was worn severely, but almost perfectly intact. The color was faded and the fabric was no longer as soft as it once was so long ago. "I apologize, this is all I have at the moment. I hope it will suffice. please do not worry about returning it, it's not a problem"

You'd nod taking the tissue, looking it over. Your initials had been engraved in small silver letters in the corner. You patted your eyes and took a moment to compose yourself.

"I'm sorry, you just...You look like an old companion of mine that I'd lost a long time ago." You flushed slightly at how broken your voice sounded. You pivoted your head to look anywhere except him subtly. That solely lasted a moment before you turned your head to face him directly in his sonorous blue eyes.

His regard softened as there was a beat of silence. He glanced at you with a hint of a smile and gentle eyes. You missed his eyes. You missed his smile. "I have to go harvest a few sunsettias, Would you care to join me? I may not be your lost friend, though I'd love to get to know more about him, and you as well."

You accepted his request, your heart fluttering in your chest. 500 years may make some forget the names and memories of even the closest companions, lovers, and soulmates. But for you, 500 years of what you thought would be endless searching really put into perspective just how much you truly loved him, and this time you wouldn't leave his side for a heartbeat.

#wanderer #scara #scaramouche #wanderer x you #wanderer x reader #wanderer x yn #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x female reader #female reader #genshin fic #genshin impact #reader is an archon

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