#imperfect metamorphosis
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i love those reasons but i also find the idea of him going out and for a second forgetting that he's no longer chat noir simultanously so funny and so heartbreaking
reaching behind himself for the baton that he doesn't have anymore and his hand swerves to his thigh instead
thinking his tail is making the little heart shape around his lady and then realising he doesn't have one anymore
the excitement of seeing his lady and the drop of realisation, seeing her ahead of him and his heart dropping as he takes in the little things, the way she's taller, her hairstyle's different, her eyes so much sadder
almost leaping off a building and then realising no, no i can't, i'm not him anymore, i can't catch myself on my baton, this is a different suit, a different purpose
the last fucking scene where you fucking killed us with him fucking forgetting his words
i also really like this idea. how he knows ladybug is in danger and just. drops everything to go save her. because she’s his partner, forever and always.
thanks for reading <3<3
#anon#ask#metamorphosis#vice roi violet#he is someone who thinks the different sides of himself are irreconcilable but it’s always just him. imperfect and striving for better
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Undone
Don’t be hard on yourself.
Understand that sometimes that you ended up exactly where you are because of the blots you left on the canvas of the past. You may have lost your way in the wastelands of chaos but you found your way out, and you stand here today, wiser and stronger with a renewed sense of hope. Yes, scarred and bruised, but not beaten instead you have trekked through trails of jagged…
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#Awareness#BuildingBlocks#ButterflyEffect#Courage#Empathy#Empowerment#Erwinism#Fate#FutureEndeavors#FYP#Growth#Imperfection#Inspiration#JourneyWithin#Learning#LessonsLearned#Life#Love#Metamorphosis#Mistakes#Motivation#PersonalJourney#PositiveRipples#PresentAndPast#Progress#Redemption#Resilience#Self-reflection#SelfDiscovery#SelfEvolution
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My favourite picture of him showed him lounging on a meadow he'd planted in one of the abandoned baggage or departure halls: grass scattered with debris, grass growing out of disintegrating plaster and particles of soil. Anonymous art, unsignable art, art that was about transformation, about alchemising what was otherwise only waste.
The Lonely City, Olivia Laing (x)
#juli-quotes#juli-the-lonely-city#the lonely city#olivia laing#art#modern art#creative art#pop art#creative#creativity#transformation#growth#self growth#metamorphosis#alchemist#academia#dark academia#imperfect#imperfection#flaw#flawed#bookblr#book blog#book club#book lover#book quote#book#read#booklr#book quotes
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Beautiful? Or Ugly? What do you see? Can you look past the imperfections and see the potential? . All jewellery goes through ugly stages on its journey, and this one is edging closer to its metamorphosis. . SamStAubyn.com #samstaubyn #metamorphosis #sydneyjeweller #australianjeweller #silverrings #beautyisintheeyeofthebeholder #imperfections #princesscut (at Wangal Country) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cp9w76uy9lj/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
#samstaubyn#metamorphosis#sydneyjeweller#australianjeweller#silverrings#beautyisintheeyeofthebeholder#imperfections#princesscut
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Forget perfection. Celebrate progress
#perfectly imperfect#resilience#metamorphosis#inch by inch#little by little#baby steps#breakthroughoverbreakdown
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𝑫𝒐𝒍𝒄𝒆 𝑺𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝑵𝒖𝒐𝒗𝒐 (Yandere!Dainsleif/Reader)
a/n: I love Dainsleif with every fiber of my being, do you guys know that? Anyways, just like all Dain-fics, this one has illustrations (I hope they give Fairytale book vibes). I’d like to thank @meimeimeirin cuz this was an idea we were laughing abt at 4am and somehow I made something out of it HAHA.
Unreliable Synopsis: “Fairytale worlds follow fairytale laws. There’s always a protagonist burdened with impossible tasks who will experience the rule of three, witness transformations, find talking animals, and learn the power of kept promises. So, before you embark on your journey, "princess" (Y/n), have you heard of the Ugly Duckling’s tale?”
CW: light yandere themes, fairytale!au just for the hell of it. HURT/NO COMFORT. Late/Advanced happy birthday, Dainsleif.
"The destined knight is late," the great dragon clicked his tongue. One would expect that an inferior creature such as an ugly duckling would quake and shrink while perched on the Dragon King's hand. But their expression was nothing short of serene. There is a veneer of calm that the great Dragon Ongri did not overlook.
The "duckling" had the eyes of an old gentleman with worldly disinterests.
He was longing for death.
𝕺nce upon a time, there was an ugly duckling who was abandoned by both their siblings and mother.
Oftentimes, he was pecked by his peers, sneered into thinking his big head and scarred face. were both a reason for his survival and misery all the same. The ugly duckling thought himself unloveable no matter where he went. The small waters he was born in had no room for miscreation, and when he traveled to an elderly's house elsewhere, the chickens thought him useless and undesirable.
Normally, the story would've been a happier bedtime story if he had gone to meet the Royal birds and begged for them to end his life. Maybe then, he would've realized that he had not been a duck but a swan all along.
But alas, our poor ugly "duckling" found his feet at the hands of the great Dragon King- Ongri's mercy.
"Will you kill me?" The ugly duckling asked calmly. "You need to release your anger, and I can be but one of many casualties."
"I am not a creature of impulse."
The divine dragon scowled. "After Bars' and Fein' deaths, the concept that this realm dubs as Time and Moments is now under my jurisdiction. I've no use for wasted breaths."
As it happens, the dragon was in a troubling situation. There is an immediate need for a substitute. Sensing the urgency of fate's call, Ongri unleashed an ancient incantation. Feathers singed into flesh, wings clipped into arms, and in a burst of radiant light, the "ugly duckling" was reborn as a human knight.
His body had scar-like spots from the Divine Dragon infusing him with magic, albeit the metamorphosis was far from flawless. Even as a human, he was imperfect. Mysterious dark blue "burn lines" traced his neck and arms.
With the new human's eyes still closed, the dragon spoke to him, the last for a long time:
"Forget your past and this whole affair." He commanded. "Go, find and protect your princess."
It mattered not if this was the last breath Ongri would tell him, besides…
When a god applies a curse, it takes effect at a higher level of reality than the person themselves.
“(Y/n)…”
“It’s me, Dainsleif… Can you… still remember my voice?”
“…”
“I… understand that once a person reaches this stage of the curse, their senses get muted. The remnants of those who once dwelled here must have been the catalyst of your ailments worsening..”
“… I’m sorry. I am incredibly sorry that I found you at such a later time. It did not occur to me that you would be here in the Chasm.”
“In our next fairy tale, I’ll—”
“No… I cannot subject you to any more empty promises… But know this:”
“I will keep you safe from now on.”
“So, do not leave my side ever again.”
And the new knight opened his eyes.
Memories of the dragon vanished from his mind. He was now a being of larger flesh and bones without recollections of his past. Should another human take his shoes, they would know that it was a fresh awakening. His first breath tasted like rich champagnes. Golden. Even the sun shone in such resplendent light that made the world seemingly revolve around him.
His legs wobbled. Sliding onto the grassy area, he caught a sight of his hair. Blonde. Like hay— they were golden threads silkily strewn about. He soon noticed that the rest of his complexion was a light pinkish-hued color, as did the hands that prevented his head from taking a serious fall.
The reborn “ugly duckling” may have forgotten why, but he felt alienated from his own body. And he has the Divine Dragon to thank for his new vessel and plain armor.
“Help! Someone, HELP!!!”
His ears perked up. It was a scream with a fervor of a “damsel in distress”. Vent clamor as she may with her whole throat, nothing would come out of it.
But fate will not allow this untimely demise. Quick on his new feet, the new knight dashed towards the sound. No cavalry— just a single determined mind. After running for some time, the unnamed knight did not come across any souls.
That is, until he found the young maiden he was “fated” to save. She was on the ground, clinging into her wrist as though she burned her hand. In the ground laid an iron sword, begging to be drawn.
At the sight of the wild animal bearing down on her with frightening speed, the “knight” took her weapon and charged towards the scene, raising it in front of the menacing beast. He gazed at the bear that towered over him, displaying its slobbery maw and long, pointed claws. The untamed creature snarled and dropped to strike.
Perhaps the Divine Dragon saw his noble pursuits, perhaps he was naturally gifted in combat, but the bear was unable to rake the man’s body. Miraculous it was that not a single nasty laceration was left on his person. He lacked the strength to take it down in one fell swoop, but the speed he had made up for it. Like swans that swerved through the wind and flow of water, he dodged all its attacks. With a few strikes from his blade, the bear falls...
He breathed out, shaking in his boots though he tried not to show it. Straightening his body, he met the maiden’s gaze. His blue eyes met hers in a piercing gaze, nearly taunting her as his new opponent. The young lady exhaled a deep sigh of relief.
“T-Thank… you…”
Subconsciously, he circled the shoulder that recklessly swung the sword around. The new “knight” tilted his head. For what? He wished to ask, but words did not come out.
“For saving me, of course.”
The maiden gracefully stood. Her garments had lost some of their value due to the soil and dirt, but she herself was not affected in the same way. She exuded a fierceness that suggested anyone who ventured to hurt her would be receiving more than they bargained for. Instead of tucking her hair to the back, she pulled them forward, hiding her ears.
“Do allow me to introduce myself, kind knight.” She cleared her throat softly. “You may call me Princess (F/n), daughter of King Regan and current crown princess— heir to the throne upon the late Prince Pierre’s demise. May I know your name?”
…
… Silence…
The princess tilted her head.
"... Does my savior have a name?"
"... Name?"
The young man paused.
He couldn't remember his name. In actuality, he had absolutely no memory of anything. His mind was a bottomless pit with little to no air. With wide eyes, his hand moved slowly to around his neck. The act of conjuring up his supposed name left him terrified for reasons unbeknownst to him.
Does he… not have a name?
“... You must be joking.” The princess deadpanned. “How can one not have a name? Were you not baptized under the Divine Dragon’s light?”
She sounded incredibly upset by this fact. Whatever she ranted on about, it must be a human tradition.
“Do you not know how important names are—” The princess sighed, “Never mind. I shall assume you are one of those orphaned folks. Besides, if what you say is true, bestowing you a new name is a power much more potent.”
“I… want a name.” The man spoke up rather shyly, voice almost inaudbile.
"I know, I know… Huh, I usually take names rather than gifting them," the princess chuckled. She seemed wholly aware of his dilemma. "Hmm… Let me see…"
She examined his features closely. He was dressed in the traditional knightly fashion, albeit slightly altered. The holy kingdom's knights, of course, never donned masks—especially not half of one. He was strange, but there was an innocent genuineness about him. The blonde man doesn't have a polished appearance. He looked like a lost duckling.
It was rude to stare at the peculiar blue wounds on his face far too long so the princess’ eyes trailed above his hair.
"Leaf…" She pointed upward. "Leaf."
The knight blinked.
What a peculiar sounding name.
"Understood." He nodded and bowed politely. "I shall now be referred to as Leaf."
"No, I meant—" The princess cut herself off and chuckled. "Oh, well. I meant the leaf on one's head. But certainly the name Leaf does suit you fine."
“Do place your iron sword away, Leaf.” She added, cringing. “It is unbecoming of a knight to point a sword to their princess.”
“May… May I ask as to why you were attacked by a bear?”
“Quite bold of you to inquire a royal about a recent assassination attempt,” she humored him with a smile. He safely assumed she would not enact punishment for his assertiveness. “If you must satiate your curiosity, it is exactly that. An assassination attempt. They believed since my brother had fallen so easily, I myself must be an easy game since I adore wandering around the forest.”
“And they seem to be right,” Leaf muttered, wittily referring to the incident prior that arranged this fated meeting.
“Oh?” She scoffed, her polite smile remaining intact. “You’ve quite the tongue. Are you from the valleys?”
“I do not know.”
She squinted.
“Hmm, I see.” The princess exhaled and shook her head disapprovingly. “Then I am to presume that I should also use my wits to cleverly weave a background for you much like your name, Leaf?”
“You wish for me to serve you, that I can tell, and for that to happen I would need your equal assistance,” Leaf spoke solemnly. “I do not recall anything of my past, but you can always make one for me.”
Leaf knelt in front of her. Silence ensued.
“You are deadly calm for a man who wished his history be erased…” The princess muttered.
Leaf was a strange man indeed. He was perceptive, yet he spoke like fate’s pawn. That is to say, the princess noticed he only ever says the truth. His countenance conveyed little desire to adopt rebellious ideologies. To be honest, there was nothing in those contrivedly starry eyes. It was bare. A false sky.
It almost made the princess worry for his lack of self-preservation had she not been the same. Lies were always at her hands’ disposal, and she greatly hoped it was not what her heart would contain in her last pages. She didn’t wish for a life of deceit. The princess's survival solely comes from her ability to “doublespeak”.
“I see your promise. You are made of self-mettle. Although your blunt tongue may mar your fortunes sooner before you could gaze upon His Majesty, I wish to prescribe you with new duties.”
She took a deep breath.
“This directive shall not be withdrawn in the name of the Divine Dragon. Leaf, a young knight from the Valley of Gaciea who will shortly be appointed retainer to the Royal Highness, Princess (F/n), kneels before me. Until the end of time, he shall be my sword, and I will be his master. Will you keep your word and uphold the oath— the promise?”
“I will.”
Not a moment did he hesitate. Not for a second did he think there was more to life than this. It was nearly bitter. His life sounded so simple to her tongue.
But it was a contract nonetheless.
A promise that must be fulfilled.
“I find myself stirred in restless days without you my by side. You haunted me so diligently this past 500 or so years.”
“Humor me, won’t you… my b-beloved?”
“Why have you hid away from me? Why did I have to find you in this state? Furred and mute. Didn’t you take a breath to think about how much your pain would mean a greater weight for me? Have you not a second thought about how much it pains me to see you like this— bearing the fangs of the abyss and the claws of the cursed…?”
“The only sigh of relief I can release is that at least in this new sky, Ongri— no, he calls himself Zhongli these days— would get between us no more.”
“This new fairy tale… For how long do you expect me to keep this promise, (Y/n)? How many more stories must we get through for us to reach a happy ending?”
“Please… I’m begging you… Say something!!!”
“…”
“… Speak… Please… Anything…”
“Tell me about our past rendezvous. Seduce me with your musings. Anything… can't you try, just for this special day?”
“Please… don’t turn your mask away from me…”
“Do you find time to flow as quick as the waters by the stream? I am inclined to believe this sentiment. I find it astonishing that we’ve spent eleven or so moonshines joined at a hip. Time ages us but we are none the wiser.”
Leaf grunted, heaving Princess (F/n)’s inventory as she spoke. He didn’t seem distressed by the weight and his princess appeared not at all troubled as well. At least, that what it seemed on the surface. Royals must make their superiority known. Leaf knew (F/n) wanted to also carry some of the bags, but he refused.
There were several notions Leaf refused that noon. When (F/n) entertained the thought of going out as herself and by herself, he disapproved with haste. Leaf had to know where she’s going, who she was going with, what she’s going to wear— just about everything. His voice alone overwhelmed the princess enough that you’d mistake him for the king. The knight practically ordered what she would wear and what route she’d have to take if she wished to see the ongoing festival.
Being herself was a safety hazard and being alone by herself was a death wish.
To his eyes, at least. He had always been a twinge too overprotective.
It was a hectic morning with a picture-perfect, almost cliche scene of bustling streets and frolicking kids on a medieval setting. While children would swerve around adults' legs to avoid getting tagged, adults walked slowly to hear each gossip. One kid had nearly hit the princess herself, but Leaf would not allow it.
Leaf pulled (F/n) away by putting an arm over her waist. The smell of her sweet perfume surprised him. Her smell reminded him of the forest. For the knight who professed to guard her innocence, her warm body lightly pressed against his was a fleeting but almost immoral moment. He set her down slowly, gasping quietly. The princess chose not to draw attention to the troubled expression on her most reliable retainer.
It was better not to acknowledge his growing romantic interests.
To her, he is only a sword.
Even if he is a friend, at the end of the day, he’s only a weapon to be used.
The princess quickly pulled the cape down further to hide her face— mostly her ears. For reasons unknown to him, she seemed to find that part of herself worthy of great insecurity.
He cleared his throat, face dusted in a pink hue.
“You say that time affects you, but you haven’t aged a day.”
The princess laughed.
“Finally, a compliment from a man as stoic as you? Oh, what a day to rejoice!”
Leaf shook his head with a small smile.
“I had given you one on several occasions.”
“That may be true, but random bouts of flattery from you are scarce.” The princess hummed. “I vaguely recall how getting anything out of you was like trying to get a frozen little duckling to quack. Who am I? Your mother duck?”
The smirk on his face was quick, but (F/n) definitely saw it.
Several staff once questioned Leaf’s ability to speak. Many, including (F/n)’s father, were convinced he was mute. Everyone in the castle knew of the princess’s peculiar tastes and thought Leaf’s recruitment was a mere byproduct. His masked appearance and strange scars added more fuel to those rumors. When Leaf defended (F/n) from another assassination attempt in front of the king and inquired about her condition, King Regan nearly toppled from where he stood.
After being bombarded with questions, Leaf merely said he refrained from speaking since he saw no use if he wasn't talking to the princess herself. (F/n) still finds it absurd that she has to give orders for him to talk to other people.
For Leaf, it was simple: he just didn’t see the point of forming other interpersonal relationships.
(F/n) was the only one that mattered in his eyes.
Only her.
Only she is worthy to serve and protect.
“You truly are like a little duckling following his mother’s tail,” Princess (F/n) sighed. “But you have vastly improved in our time together. That, I can commend.”
“Thank you, Your Highness.” Leaf laughed softly, mocking her tone in his signature subtle way. “Oh, what a day to rejoice.”
She playfully gave him an elbow nudge. “Do not copy me, Leaf.”
“My apologies.”
Princess (F/n) was meandering around because the harvest festival was drawing closer. With her own eyes, the princess intended to see how her people were faring. Rarely did she change into a more "common" outfit and styled her hair with simplicity. Though, if you were to ask Leaf, seeing her in her most simple clothes made her far more youthful than the garbs and crown that wrinkles her smile to a frown.
“Madame, would you be interested in buying your lover here a brooch?”
Both of them stilled as a merchant called out. The undercover royal pointed to herself.
“Yes, yes, of course I’m talking to you, gorgeous!” The merchant grinned. He had silver hair that slightly covered one of his blue eyes. “Do you want matching rings instead? We’re selling for fifty percent off!”
Leaf’s gaze was stern. Despite his reservations, he knew the merchant as Alfstan, another young knight who hailed from a family of vendors. Two moonshines ago, Leaf was (forcefully) placed on training duty and had the fortune of mentoring this aspiring knight.
Mind you— nothing was particularly dubious of his wares. Leaf just simply despised having another man brazenly take your attention away. He did not find their previous exchanges pleasant. Not when Alfstan often joked about replacing his position one day.
What hubris.
While he busied himself glaring at the poor man, the princess awkwardly laughed and dismissively waved a hand. “Oh, no, he and I— we are not—”
“Haha, I know, I was just pulling your leg, Your Highness.” Alfstan grinned, giving Leaf a quick nod. “Morning, Sir Leaf! Were you showing the princess around?”
“Shhh! Be quiet!” (F/n)'s eyes widened.
He protectively wrapped an arm around (F/n) again, this time far more confidently.
“Yes.” Leaf spoke, voice as solid as his resolve.
“Mind if I tag along?”
His stare sharpened. “I would very much mind, now return to your stall.”
The princess shook her head, poorly judging her retainer’s possessive words as acts of protection. Instead, she dwelled on their attire. “Drats, was our disguise that fragile?”
Alfstan assessed her from top to bottom, which made Leaf even more tense. “Eh, you’re really gorgeous that no cloak can hide your beauty, Your Highness.”
“I have to agree,” Leaf said stiffly, clearing his throat. “Perhaps I should hide her in a hay sack. WIthout your prying eyes.”
(F/n) raised an eyebrow. “And what? And be suspected of kidnapping me instead?”
Leaf shrugged. “Does that sound like an offense I would commit?”
Alfstan rolled his eyes. “Well, obviously. Besides, the only way you wouldn’t get caught is if you hid her in something as small as a teapot.”
And he would be right. But it will take eons to prove those suspicions as truth.
“Going back to your wares, Sir Alfstan,” (F/n) digressed. “These iron-framed tassels, are they made by your hand?”
Alfstan's respect for the princess grew.
“Yes, how did you come up with that conclusion? Most passersby believed I had ‘em commissioned from the East.”
(F/n) smiled crookedly. Leaf caught a glimpse of discomfort, but it was gone in a bat of an eye.
“I… I admire your skill with molding iron.” To the untrained ear, (F/n) sounded flustered and embarrassed. To Leaf, he was certain that she was unsure of herself. “It is commendable, how you smith your very own weapons, that is. I know many of our soldiers come to you when their blades are chipped.”
“You’ve heard of my skills?!” Alfstan beamed proudly. “Really?!”
The princess nodded. “Y-Yes…”
It was odd. Despite her high praise, her wariness remained. She looked at the blonde man. “He had also made your new Ulfberht sword too, right? It certainly pierces much better than his old one.”
Leaf didn’t bother with a reply, Alfstan made it for him.
“Yes, Your Highness. I thought it would make for a thoughtful birthday present!”
“Speaking of presents…” The princess gazed down, analyzing the items he sold once more. “What do you recommend as a gift for someone important?”
If Alfstan was elated by her earlier compliments, he could practically jump over the moon at her newest proposition.
“Oh? OH?!?”
Leaf gave (F/n) a strict yet gentle glare.
“Your Highness…”
“I still won’t let it slide!” (F/n) huffed. “I couldn’t possibly be satisfied with just new sets of armor. Alfstan, by my order, suggest a pleasant gift for the stubborn knight beside me.”
“On it!”
Without delay, the two bent down to select the ideal accessory for the man who vehemently refused. Alfstan was the only one touching the gems and (F/n) refrained from doing so. Tiny flecks of gold and iron infused the tassels, but she feared she would handle the stones carelessly.
Leaf palmed his face with one hand as the two chattered. Still, despite Leaf’s disapproving looks, he finds (F/n)’s enthusiasm to make him happy a wonderful notion in itself. To think that (F/n) would continue to insist on a present for a birthday that had since passed… She was more stubborn than he was.
“So troublesome…” He muttered with a soft smile. “I see no point in this, Princess (F/n). Serving you is a miracle enough itself—”
“Halt! Speak no more, Sir Leaf!” (F/n) exclaimed. “There! That one, Alfstan— that gem resembles his eyes, does it not?!”
“You have great tastes, Princess (F/n)!” Alfstan nodded eagerly like a motivated student. “That does look like his shade of blue— and so quick to find it among the pile, too! Are you sure you’re not some sort of custodian of natural treasures?”
Princess (F/n)’s awkward and stifled laughter can be heard again.
“What? Haha, what nonsense.” She shook her head. “Everyone calls me Princess (F/n), any other name would surely sound terrifying and mismatched.”
A nonanswer, but that made the conversation more humorous.
“Here you go!”
Alfstan reached his hand out with the tassel. (F/n) stared at him, silent and unsure. He blinked and snapped his fingers.
“Oh, right, you need a box— my deepest apologies, I was too caught up in the moment!”
The princess sighed in relief.
Leaf crossed his arms. “You’re doing well for your first time setting up a stall, Alfstan.”
“This isn’t my first and you know it, Sir!”
(F/n) laughed.
The merchant wrapped the gift she brought with care. The hush looms large around them as the merchant boastfully goes about his business, his tone comforting to her ears. The Princess walks over to the gift box once the merchant has finished. She can't help but smile because she can feel the tassel inside.
“Not exactly a surprise since Sir Leaf is here, but the packaging adds some charm, right?” Alfstan asked.
The princess couldn’t hold back a smile as she looked at the knight behind her.
“I think most of the charm comes from the person who’ll receive it,” (F/n) chuckled.
“Don’t you think so, Leaf?”
She wouldn’t know. And she’d never know a lot of things.
She never got the chance to ask her most precious knight if he liked that gift.
And she never will. No matter how many days, months, years, centuries— eons Leaf would wait, he would never hear the princess ask that same question again after this.
It would not matter if he was a judge, a prince, a knight, or a mere animal— it did not matter how many sweet new styles he would take. In the end, his arms will always be empty. Everything was pre-ordained. Dying in his arms, whether it’s slow and painful or mercilessly quick— will remain as the last line. He will always hold on to your corpse, warmth draining.
This was your fate, (F/n)— no, (Y/n) (L/n).
This was just the first of many branches of the Irminsul. The first of its many reiterations, possibilities, or better yet, alternate tales or "universal resets".
Princess "(F/n)" coughed, wetting the side of her lips.
"I haven't been able to p-personally attach that tassel on your s-sword, b-but… but I can spare you enough seconds to fly away…"
"Don't make haste!" Leaf gritted his teeth as he applied some pressure down her stomach. "This is not your decision to make!"
She didn't reply to his desperation, but she silently disagreed.
In her palm was the tassel, out of its box. The blue threads darkened with the taints of her blood. The metallic scent was nauseating. It weaved in a disorganized fashion around her fingers.
What a beautiful and tragic loom of fate, to love someone you were bound to hold with ruin.
It would’ve hurt less if it weren’t in his colors too.
"This marks the worst day of my life," the “princess” smiled, tucking the stray hair behind Leaf's face. "And even if given the opportunity, I wouldn't dare c-change not even a minute detail about it."
As if she— as if you— have the power to change destiny.
You're not a descender.
You're just a pawn.
That's when Leaf realized how fragile life ultimately was. With the curse undoing itself, he recalled and reflected on his animal days. He understood the Divine Dragon's intense frustration over a lowly duckling's will to perish. The curse of becoming human meant knowing the greed men had, but also the beauty of their kindness.
His small bird heart was not meant for this much sorrow. His life was meant to be simple. To learn that he was not a duck, but a swan.
How was he supposed to cope that the woman he had sworn to protect was not human, but a fae?
Everyone in the kingdom knew that the king would sooner disclaim his paternity than allow the crown princess (F/n) to truly lead— but they never had any real reason to support the king for this. The princess’s words were always more kind and ponderous than that of her supposed father’s. They thought him mad. They thought him deplorable. They thought him old and senile.
But he would not be king if he were not sharp.
Why, oh why, would the princess make great efforts to constantly hide her ears? Why would the princess utter roundabout ways in speaking her “own” name? Most of all, why would the princess fear the touch of iron?
There was a simple answer: she was not the princess, but a liar.
And yet, Leaf was the sole person who did not care, for he thought himself as the worst sinner or “quack” in comparison.
The kingdom won't learn the full truth for some time after this, but the fae made a bargain with the real princess. The real princess would elope with a farm boy and, in return, the fae would take her name. The trade was not malevolent. The two women were secret friends since childhood and neither wished the other harm.
But the townsfolks had little patience. They would sooner throw pebbles and stones than kneel for a false princess.
The moral of the story, like most Brothers Grimm’s fairy tales, was simple: virtue will be rewarded, iniquity will be punished. The storytellers do not care beyond that, no matter how dark it sounds to the children who will hear it. The fae lied, therefore the kingdom shall rightfully punish her.
They better thank the dragon they oh-so admire that the court fae did not think themselves evil. They better sleep soundly, knowing that they have slaughtered a well-intentioned guardian.
For he will not and never will.
Not even with a change of title, name, and universe. Whether the land he walked on was called Gaciea, Fodlan, Belobog, the Continental, or Teyvat— what the world steals from him, he promised to take back.
There the two were, back to where it started. The same forest and patch of land where the bear had attacked her. Fate had a funny way of telling tales. Leaf can only scoff at how unimaginative it could be, sometimes.
Why couldn’t fate think of more comfortable deathbeds for the one he loved?
"You cannot allow this! I cannot allow this!" The knight gritted his teeth. "You will not die— you cannot die. You and I have a promise… You cannot break that one promise!!!”
“(F/n)” grinned.
The look in her eyes disturbed him.
She knew. It is finished. She knew that it was the last page of the book. Just living in these immortalized pages for the fae was well worth the want she had wanted.
“Consummatum est.”
Consummatum est….
Leaf gasped shakily.
“Did my life… even have meaning to you as well?”
Her expression was enough to tell him the words “who knows?” She surely did not. Her mind was buzzing and her thoughts were fizzling out. No one knows anymore. Maybe the Divine Dragon would but he would not accept any offering or prayers for these two heretics.
This is fine… He’ll forget his tears soon, surely…
He’s only a sword at her side… She never asked him to be anything more…
He should be okay, once she’s gone…
She grinned, lifelessly tracing her thumb across his cheeks. The curse is undone. The loom of fate was slowly disintegrating. Soon enough, he shall return to his original form. That of an animal. That of an ugly duckling. That of a swan who will forget his human memories.
It is finished.
On the book’s final page, there is only ever a fae’s corpse and an elegant bird watching over them. With its wings clipped back, curiously watching the light leave their eyes, he will return to the nearby riverbanks and forget what had happened. As retribution for stealing another’s identity, there will be no one left to remember who she truly was.
And that was all there was to it.
With the fae banished, the Kingdom of Gaciea lived happily ever after.
THE END.
Dainsleif closed the book and lovingly looked at the “person” beside him in bed. He stroked the “person”’s light brown hair— its color reminiscent of the bear he had slain in his first life. It’s a shame he had to reunite with you in this condition. But it’s not like he would stop loving you. He doesn’t care if you’re a fae, a sinner—
Or a hilichurl.
He scooted closer beside you.
"So, does the story ring any bells, my beloved?"
Zhongli, upon recalling what happened and the curse he had inflicted on both of you to fulfill some children’s fairy tale, sought the “ugly duckling” and the “false princess”. Retired as he is, he cannot undo the fate you must play nor terminate his contract with Celestia. For consolation, he merely offered the Khaenri’ahn a teapot. Unlike the Chasm, the teapot was forever peaceful and serene. The brightness of lumenstone ores was not as comforting as the adeptal light that peeks through the drapes. This is your current place of residence. Whether you liked it or not.
"To think Nicole would entail the story of our past life." He laughed softly. "And these names... Hah... Are those the best she could conjure up to bypass possible erasure…? I suppose I should still thank her for her best efforts. I can see how challenging it would be to document our story, given how we lived through so many resets."
There’s a slice of cake paired with wooden utensils on the nightstand. If your mind had not deteriorated, you might’ve assumed they were gifts from the aforementioned Nicole and the Geo Archon. Unfortunately, forming a coherent thought required a mental fortitude akin to iron. You currently do not have such willpower.
“Alfstan— no… Halfdan was right. There will come a time that he’d protect you from harm and not I…” Dainsleif mumbled defeatedly, his eyes burning with tears he couldn’t let out. Far too tired to dwell on it. “He must’ve forgotten his old jests in his previous life because as far as he’s concerned, he’s simply doing his duty as a Black Serpent Knight…”
He pecked your forehead, closing his eyes.
"Did you remember, my beloved? Vacation may not have any business being in my vocabulary but it is my birthday today…" Dainsleif leaned his forehead against the cold stone that covered your face. "I know you— do not feel guilty over your lack of gifts. It is not as if I bothered to count my age since the cataclysm. I didn't want to celebrate this occasion for the past five centuries. Not when you weren't at my side..."
The blonde man turned his gaze to the floor.
How many times will he have to “reincarnate” just to see a happy ending for the both of you?
"Happy birthday… to me…" He sang weakly. "Happy birthday to me…"
The man— the former sentimental judge— the former tyrant prince— the former "ugly duckling"— and now the current bough keeper, observer of fate in this new fairy tale, trembled…
“Happy birthday, happy birthday…”
… And sobbed.
You, in your ungreedy husk of a body, tilted your head in innocence. Pain coursed through every nerve now that the Abyss Order’s cleansing equipment broke. The man before you was no different from the shadows you fought and hid from that would terrorize the dark and cold places in the Chasm you’ve instinctively called home. But somewhere deep down, you carried a complex weight that hilichurls wouldn’t normally have.
That weight was a human emotion dubbed as "pity."
You pitied the shadow that loomed and embraced you.
And your lone reluctant arm that wrapped around him was enough to make him fully break down.
His throat constricted as he cried into your inhuman shoulders. Your scent was like that of a wet duckling, and he preferred that over the blood that disgraced your form several "fairy tales" ago. Dainsleif caressed the golden band on his finger. It was the most important ring between the two that Pari Zurvan found him clutching whilst unconscious in the wilderness.
At the very least, you were safe.
And you being alive today was a good enough present for him.
You tilted your head down, feeling his warmth one last time while Dainsleif took a deep breath, singing with more air than a proper tune.
Though it was barely discernible, he could just about make out the words you muttered a phrase from the old language of Khaenri'ah. Or at least, he deluded himself that that was the case. In his catatonic mind, you spoke the words:
Happy birthday, my beloved.
"H-Happy birthday to me…"
Taglist: @pix-stuff @sagekun @vennnnn-diagram @dilucragnidvr @tnsophiaonly @lsleepysimpl @kitkareen @dxprived4-starboys
#yandere dainsleif#yandere dainsleif x reader#dainsleif#dainsleif x reader#yandere genshin#yandere genshin x reader#yandere genshin impact#yandere x reader#yandere fanfiction#yandere male
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So. I went down a rabbit hole in my own brain after I saw this post by @vorestarr. Despite the fact that the Arcane Tower is one of my favorite parts of the game, I apparently needed to see this particular passage x amount of times before I finally made the connection I'm about to ramble about. I started going off in the tags before it got ridiculously long and I realized I should probably just make my own post lol
Transcript of the passage; from the in-game book Evil's Ascent:
There is a light in every living thing. It's crawling t'wards the surface to survive. And in its wake, it tramples everything. We'll kill the rest, so that the one can thrive.
It's likely that others have written about this before, but I was reminded of Leonard Cohen's*
There is a crack, a crack in everything / That's how the light gets in
Coincidence?? But now my mind is moving a mile a minute thinking about Astarion in relation to this phrase.
Evil's Ascent is the cynical interpretation of the message. It is its antithesis; that in yearning for life, you must be okay with destroying everything in your path. To survive, everything must be forsaken. Which is Astarion's exact belief system throughout the game.
But if we think about the spawn ending and just how much he changes... Astarion goes through such a metamorphosis. There is a crack in everything; that's how the light gets in. I think that's a fantastic metaphor for the Vampire Spawn — a being caught somewhere between life and undeath. Mortality and immortality. That space they occupy (what Astarion perceives to be his weakness) is actually their salvation. In becoming a True Vampire, they surrender even the potential to be people capable of goodness. They become wholly evil beings. That crack in Astarion is his lifeline, so to speak.
If he reaches through it successfully, he is brought to the other side of the message — that through the "imperfection" of his spawn state, he is granted the possibility for nuance and hope and life and all that it entails. Astarion believed that real power, real safety, lived in the perfection of the True Vampire (or the Ascended one, in this case). But that "perfection" is a falsity. We see as much if he ascends; we see how hollow it makes him, how unfulfilled he remains.
Only with imperfections, with cracks, with vulnerability, can the light get in.
*I know he is hardly the first to make this remark, but it's how I know of it, so
#obligatory ''I'm not saying these two things are connected. it's just the path my brain followed'' and also#''there are so many ways to interpret the original lines''#astarion#astarion meta#bg3#baldur's gate 3#my posts
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Web Fiction, Recently Read
Hello! I'm still early into writing the Pokémon story I discussed in a previous post. I've been writing and rewriting certain parts to better grasp some of the characters, so while I do have some completed chapters, I still consider the story in the planning phase. At the same time, I've recently read a few webfics, and thought I'd share some thoughts here.
1. Floornight by Nostalgebraist
Floornight is short but dense, and in terms of its plot, themes, and focus shares many similarities with Almost Nowhere, a later work by the same author that I read and discussed in a previous post.
This work is the Problem Sleuth to Almost Nowhere's Homestuck. At least, reading the two works back-to-back, that was the impression I struggled to shake. I would often encounter an idea in Floornight that I remembered being expanded on in much more detail in Almost Nowhere, and as such it became difficult for me to appreciate Floornight in its own right.
It's a comparison that reminds me of a quote from Roberto Bolaño's 2666:
Without turning, the pharmacist answered that he liked books like The Metamorphosis, Bartleby, A Simple Heart, A Christmas Carol. And then he said that he was reading Capote's Breakfast at Tiffany's. Leaving aside the fact that A Simple Heart and A Christmas Carol were stories, not books, there was something revelatory about the taste of this bookish young pharmacist, who ... clearly and inarguably preferred minor works to major ones. He chose The Metamorphosis over The Trial, he chose Bartleby over Moby Dick, he chose A Simple Heart over Bouvard and Pecouchet, and A Christmas Carol over A Tale of Two Cities or The Pickwick Papers. What a sad paradox, thought Amalfitano. Now even bookish pharmacists are afraid to take on the great, imperfect, torrential works, books that blaze a path into the unknown. They choose the perfect exercises of the great masters. Or what amounts to the same thing: they want to watch the great masters spar, but they have no interest in real combat, when the great masters struggle against that something, that something that terrifies us all, that something that cows us and spurs us on, amid blood and mortal wounds and stench.
An unfair comparison? Certainly. Especially since longer works are not always commensurately ambitious, but instead simply bloated.
Almost Nowhere is ambitious, however, and pushes ideas touched on in Floornight to their limits, which makes reading Floornight afterward a less impressive experience than it otherwise might be. (Nostalgebraist's other work, The Northern Caves, is fundamentally dissimilar from both and thus not victim to the same comparisons.)
That's not to say I disliked Floornight. I was especially fond of the character Hermes Cept, who might be my favorite character in Nostalgebraist's canon. I love characters to whom the reader is introduced from the perspective of another character, giving the reader a certain first impression that is completely decimated when the character is given their own perspective later on. (A lot of Modern Cannibals hinges on this technique.) In Cept's case, what first appears to be an egotistical and incompetent celebrity scientist turns out to have significantly more depth and nuance than the first impression provides. Love it!
Nostalgebraist also shows off some serious writing chops during a certain battle scene near the story's climax. Another reader's longform review of Almost Nowhere comments that the story lets all its major events occur off screen, only to be known to the reader via the reactions of the characters, and to an extent Floornight is similar: Despite a Neon Genesis Evangelion-esque premise of soldiers fighting aliens, there are essentially zero scenes where soldiers fight aliens on screen. The climax changes that, though, and really makes me wonder why Nostalgebraist is so content to let things happen off screen, since he's so good at writing action when it happens.
I've now read all three of Nost's major published works, and there isn't a more exciting web fiction author today, at least that I know of. Can't wait to see where he goes next.
2. Worth the Candle by Alexander Wales
Floornight is a lean 70,000 words. Worth the Candle, an isekai LitRPG, is 1.6 million words.
I started reading this one years ago, but only made it to the second arc before giving up under the sheer immensity of it. The start was slow, and while it was improving steadily, I couldn't see myself wading through something of its size. Compared to Nostalgebraist, Wales' prose is more "serviceable" than exciting, so the value in reading is almost entirely from the plot, characters, and themes rather than the actual line-by-line reading experience. After finishing my own isekai story, Cleveland Quixotic, I decided to take a second stab at it.
Upon the reread, I was more amenable to a story that is simply a fun fantasy romp, and WtC has a strong sense of forward progression despite its length, which avoids the trap most long stories fall into of spinning their wheels without accomplishing anything.
As I got further into it, however, a strong metafictional element increasingly came into play. The conceit of the story is that the protagonist, a tabletop RPG fanatic in his previous life on Earth, has been put into a world eerily similar to the ones he created as a dungeon master. His actions seem to be guided or obstructed by a mysterious, unseen dungeon master with godlike powers, and the story often becomes more about trying to understand and play to the narrative that the dungeon master wants rather than simply brute forcing through challenges one after another.
At the same time, the protagonist's dead friend from Earth seems to have been transported to the world much earlier. Their narrative was Campbellian in nature, Hero's Journey incarnate, while the protagonist's is much more postmodern and subversive. This leads to some fascinating meditations on the develop of narrative over history; one of my favorite scenes is when a story-obsessed villain believes they can kill the protagonist despite his Chosen One status because it's a postmodern story and the protagonist dying unceremoniously wouldn't be out of place.
My absolute favorite part, however, is the climax. Without spoiling too much, it involves a long delve into a seemingly endless dungeon, where characters and abilities fall away one-by-one until what is left is only a bare, emotional finale. I love climaxes that involve some kind of literal and emotional ascent; I did something similar in Modern Cannibals and Cleveland Quixotic.
In general, it's difficult to finish something so long in such a satisfactory way, which only makes the ending more impressive. I was worried this story would Muv-Luv me. A year ago, I read the famous visual novel Muv-Luv, a sprawling work that begins as a comedy slice of life and ends as a futuristic science fiction war epic. My problem with Muv-Luv wasn't that it was bad; it even had many elements I adored. But its ending, while not terrible, was merely okay, and I ultimately felt like what I got wasn't worth the time investment I put into it. Worth the Candle's ending avoided that entirely, so I can wholeheartedly recommend it despite its length.
3. Cowboy Grak 5: Yet Another Fistful of Obols by Remy (gazemaize)
Lastly, this one is a fanfic of Worth the Candle, posted coincidentally one day after I finished reading. It's by Remy, the author of Chili and the Chocolate Factory: Fudge Revelation, one of the funniest stories I've ever read. With this fanfic of a webfic, Remy cements themselves as the comedy master of the webfic sphere. I can only hope they start posting stories with more regularity...
I can't say too much about this story without spoiling almost all of Worth the Candle, so I'll keep this brief. If you've already read WtC, then you should read this 100%.
Web fiction is exciting. People are able to write all kinds of insane stuff that would never survive the streamlined mainstream publishing industry of today. I hope to read some more unique webfics and see people continually push the boundaries of what can be done with a story. (Hopefully they're not all 1.6 million words though...)
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In the quietude of my chamber, I find myself pondering upon the phases of the moon, that mysterious orb that waxes and wanes in the vast expanse of the sky. As I trace the silvery journey of Luna through her cyclical metamorphosis, I discern a reflection of my own mutable existence, an existence once shrouded in the dusky veils of uncertainty and ignorance. There were periods when my soul, like the crescent moon, stood in partial illumination, revealing only fragments of its true essence. Shadows draped my spirit, and I walked a path scattered with the debris of my own missteps. With each passing phase and passage of time, I delve deeper into the labyrinthine corridors of my own being. On this pilgriamge in the realm of introspection, words become inadequate companions. The soul, weary of the trivial discourse, seeks solace in the profound silence of self-reflection. Through the darkened hours of my mistakes and loss, I became a beacon, not of flawlessness, but of resilience. The past, like the waning moon, retreats into the obscurity of memory, making way for the burgeoning radiance of a new self. It is a communion with the divine, where the essence of the self converges with the cosmic energies that govern the celestial dance. Amidst the celestial dance of the moon phases, I, too, have evolved—a woman transformed, imperfect yet profound, in the perennial journey of becoming. 🌙
Photography by Crystal Lee Lucas (2023)
#crystal lee lucas#photography#dark art photography#photooftheday#other realms#dreamcore#dream pop#the moon#full moon#a trip to the moon
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MANY THOUGHTS HEAD FULL, it's analysis time
So, Ruby has been blaming herself for a number of deaths, or at the very least, beating herself up about not being "good enough" to save them. Pyrrha and Penny especially, given the circumstances. Chapter 8 made that pretty clear, right?
This was all part of this period in her life where she has struggled with that heaviness, that feeling of never being enough. This is the period of her life that took her down to her lowest. She was in her caterpillar stage, if you will.
Once she hit rock bottom, she was taken to the tree, and quite literally cocooned in it. She was forced to confront her guilt and self-doubt, which is what needed to happen in order for her to rise. The tree represents change, rebirth, metamorphosis.
And when she emerged, she left those shackles behind. She realized she had been enough all along, and accepted herself, imperfections and all.
She's moved on to a new period in her life. That era of giving away pieces of herself and sacrificing her own well-being, of feeling inadequate, is over. She no longer carries the weight of Pyrrha and Penny's deaths on her shoulders.
In that way, Pyrrha and Penny represent the past, and Ruby's aforementioned guilt and self-doubt in chapter 8.
It's heavy, so heavy it's crushing her, but she feels like she can't let go of it. And that's what was preventing her from moving forward, what was holding her back.
But what about the future, and what could be?
In chapter 8, Oscar and Little both represent the future, and the people Ruby hasn't lost yet.
She's shown both of their deaths, real or not, and it's enough to break her. What is the point in fighting if everyone she loves is just going to die anyway? How could she ever look any of them in the eye again if she isn't good enough to protect them, even now?
This is the manifestation of Ruby's greatest fear.
But, at the same time...
...they also represent the good things the future could hold.
Little has ascended and become Somewhat. They found their purpose, and came back as a better version of themselves. Somewhat may not have Little's memories...but the heart rarely forgets, right? The bond Ruby had with Little is still there, deep down. Just because they're gone, and they may not see Somewhat ever again...that doesn't mean she has to leave them behind. They live on as a part of her memories.
EDIT: and how could I forget!!! Ruby's one act of kindness is what led Little to becoming Somewhat, becoming what they needed to be. Ruby's actions and decisions can lead to good, even remarkable things, in the future. And this is proof!
"Nothing, no one, is ever truly gone."
Oscar has the courage to face whatever it is the future holds for him. He is afraid, and he doesn't deny that, he fights on in spite of it. He is a very open and honest person, and he could see Ruby's pain from the beginning. He sees her.
And something is budding between Ruby and Oscar. Something is going to shift once they reunite, as they've both been made painfully aware of how it would feel to lose each other. How will their relationship grow from here? Will they find comfort and safety in each other? Will they grow even closer? I believe it was Miles himself who said their relationship is still being defined. Who knows what the future holds for the both of them, together?
Unlike the past, the future is uncertain. It could lead to many things, both good and bad.
With the end of this volume, we've reached a very big turning point. Ruby has taken the first steps toward the future, ready to leave the weight of the past behind.
#rwby#rwby9#ruby rose#rosegarden?? in MY analysis post?? unheard of /s#he's just such an important part of her narrative#if you disagree with that idk what to tell you#you're just wrong lmao
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— ...there was a time when writing was my joy, when I wrote for fun. But after what's happened, there's been a vague sense of guilt about it. I can write, but each time I try to I feel like I don't deserve to.
— Well, I mean leans back in his chair you know that's not true, right.
— Yes, yes. It's a stumbling block.
— Maybe what's tough is getting started. You used to have that online blog, didn't you? How many drafts do you have on there?
— Oh, I don't know. A lot. Let me check. [beat] Six thousand seven hundred and forty.
— Good God. What's stopping you?
(Option A.
— I fear society. You know, judgment on my work.
— If you can't be weird on your own blog, where can you be? Look, maybe ... [C])
(Option B.
— Alan Watts titled his autobiography "In My Own Way." I quite like that title, because it has a double meaning. He's doing things in his own way, of course, but he's also getting in his own way. And it implies that the two are linked. That his faults and imperfections are linked to what makes him unique.
— Even if everyone was self-actualised, I'm sure that there'd be a wide variety of people. But let's stick to the topic; what was the point of bringing up Watts?
— Oh, you know. I'm getting in my own way, in my own way. And there's a meta-point here. I have so much, and it's just hard to get a handle on all of it.
— Look, maybe ... [C])
[C, see, si, sea, the third synthesis, cf. Kant's footnote]
— Look, maybe you need to find the joy of writing in a low-stakes environment. Something that doesn't pressure you too much. Your online blog is low-stakes enough, I think. You have six thousand seven hundred and forty drafts. Let's say ninety percent of that is crap. That's still enough to last you more than a year if you post once a day. Just post for joy. If you like it. Get used to doing things which you enjoy. Take yes for an answer. Easy easy. No need to make the posts serious or high-pressure, even in your own head. Post things even if they're not great. Start by being imperfect. End by being imperfect.
— That's the spirit. Genius arrests decay. You've been writing yourself, haven't you?
— Here and there. That's all we can do, isn't it. Write ourselves into our work?
— Heh sincere laughter for a good ten seconds good one, but you know what's not what I meant. What have you been writing?
— Oh, fables.
— Excellent. What type of fables? Kafka or Aesop?
— Closer to Kafka than Aesop. That reminds me, you know those videos, what are they called, the ones where people ask, would you love me if I was a worm. Does anyone reference Kafka's "Metamorphosis" there?
— I don't know. I don't watch them. I'm amazed you even know about them. I didn't know about them. Anyway, who have you been reading lately?
— Cormac McCarthy. That's how I got the idea of writing fables. Fables are simple; they show the world "as it is." An illusion, or perhaps just a part, of course, but they're compelling in that way. And I know McCarthy's work isn't usually thought of as a fable, but in fables there's often lots of senseless violence skated over. And perhaps if you see some of his work as dreamlike...
[long pause]
— Continue?
— Sorry, I don't know what I'm saying. But I guess that's how it is. One day I'll get there.
— One day I'll get there.
#imagined dialogues#writing#Emerson - McCarthy - Watts - Kafka - Aesop - Tanigawa - Breaking Bad - The Godfather#I looked at Donald Richie's book again before writing this
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Hey yo, story updates!
I'll be putting the remaining Christmas specials up over the following week. Ghosts of Christmas Past goes up tomorrow, Reimu's Christmas Carols goes up Christmas Eve, and The True Meaning of Christmas goes up Christmas day.
Resonance Days ao3 reposts resume two weeks from this coming weekend.
And I do want to apologize for falling behind on the Imperfect Metamorphosis reposts. Had a combination of writer's block (again) and other things suddenly taking precedence (joined a weekly writer's group, so original fiction is back on the table!). But I do want to get those moving again soon-ish.
Also, here's an idea I've been mulling over in my head. You know how I said that one of my personal projects that I just do for fun and practice without really intending on releasing is a PMMM lemon about the girls forming a polycule? Well, it's not done, and will probably never be done, but I do have the two important KyoSaya scenes done (when they first hook up, and later when they have their first time together), and I was always pretty proud of how they came out. So, basically I have a KyoSaya lemon sitting in my computer.
So, I was wondering if I should just post those two scenes here as a sort of fun bonus (for those of you into that sort of thing).
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A list of Star Trek episode titles that are one word each:
TOS:
Miri
Arena
Catspaw
Metamorphosis
Obsession
TNG:
Justice
Haven
Datalore
Symbiosis
Conspiracy
Contagion
Manhunt
Evolution
Allegiance
Sarek
Family
Brothers
Legacy
Reunion
Clues
Qpid
Redemption
Darmok
Disaster
Unification
Violations
Conundrum
Ethics
Relics
Schisms
Rascals
Aquiel
Tapestry
Birthright
Lessons
Suspicions
Timescape
Decent
Liaisons
Interface
Gambit
Phantasms
Attached
Inheritance
Parallels
Homeward
Masks
Genesis
Firstborn
Bloodlines
Emergence
DS9:
Babel
Dax
Vortex
Progress
Duet
Cardassians
Melora
Sanctuary
Rivals
Whispers
Paradise
Shadowplay
Crossover
Tribunal
Equilibrium
Meridian
Defiant
Destiny
Visionary
Explorers
Shakaar
Facets
Indiscretion
Rejoined
Crossfire
Accession
Rapture
Resurrection
Waltz
Inquisition
Valiant
Afterimage
Chrysalis
Covenant
Chimera
Penumbra
Voyager:
Caretaker
Parallax
Phage
Emanations
Cathexis
Faces
Jetrel
Initiations
Projections
Elogium
Twisted
Parturition
Tattoo
Maneuvers
Resistance
Prototype
Alliances
Threshold
Meld
Dreadnought
Lifesigns
Investigations
Deadlock
Innocence
Tuvix
Resolutions
Basics
Flashbacks
Remember
Warlord
Macrocosm
Coda
Unity
Darkling
Rise!
Displaced
Scorpion
Nemesis
Revulsion
Hunters
Prey
Retrospect
Unforgettable
Demon
One
Night
Drone
Timeless
Counterpoint
Gravity
Bliss
Juggernaut
Relativity
Warhead
Equinox
Alice
Riddles
Pathfinder
Virtuoso
Memorial
Tsunkatse
Collective
Fury
Imperfection
Drive
Repression
Nightingale
Shattered
Lineage
Repentance
Prophecy
Workforce
Q2
Homestead
Endgame
Enterprise
Unexpected
Civilization
Fusion
Acquisition
Oasis
Detained
Minefield
Marauders
Singularity
Dawn
Stigma
Canamar
Judgement
Horizon
Cogenitor
Regeneration
Bounty
Anomaly
Extinction
Rajiin
Impulse
Exile
Twilight
Similitude
Stratagem
Harbinger
Hatchery
Damage
Home
Borderland
Awakening
Kir’Shara
Daedalus
United
Affliction
Divergence
Bound
Demons
Discovery
Lethe
Brother
Scavengers
Su’Kal
Anomaly
Rubicon
Rosetta
Lower Decks
Envoys
Veritas
Grounded
Reflections
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Ladies and Gentlemen, after two years. We come to the brink of World Wrestling. We have reach the PINNACLE! OF PINNACLES! Here at our Pandaemonium Platinum Knock Out Championship. We watched as the Key Warders broke through the ranks of the Hesperos Helions and claimed Erichthonius as a member of their own. Bringing all mighty fury down on the Gates of Asphodelos. We start the monstrous combination and deadly beings that awaited our rising stars in Abyssos watching the fall of the all mighty Hephaistos the Imperilous Imperfection. And now we have seen them go one by one as they climb up into the heavens. Taking on the raveous Kokytos in the Iced Ring of the Aetherstream Stadium. As the very stadium of Pandaemonium turned against them and were not found wandering even when caught in its tangled webs. And lets not forget the heart break as our Champion of Light was forced to face Elidibus, returned to his golden glory one last time surrounded by the seats of the former champions and friends from seasons past. Who have all now moved on to a better place.
That’s right Tom, the stakes have NEVER been higher here as the Champion of Light now approaches the summit and faces a scheme thousand, thousand matches in the making. We are talking about the birth of the ALPHA AND the OMMMMEEEGGAA! An actual God present here in the ring standing between the Champion of Light and the title belt. The Theos herself, manipulator of Hephaistos in Abyssos and shackler of Erichthonius in Asphodelos. She will show our rising star that none can escape her perfect grasp. As she ASCENDS TO ANOTHER PLANE of Wrestling Existence. Here she is folks, the mother of the Key Warder and wife of Lahabrea, the Speaker. AAATTTHHHHEEENNNNAAAAAA!
Ominously dressed in butterfly motifs here, Lance. But, will this metamorphosis stick or will the legendary GOD SLAYER! Lay claim to yet ANOTHER TITLE!? Who is to say, for Athena is the Tireless One. This might be an unstoppable force meeting an un MOVEABLE object. And who knows what schemes she might have up her sleeve.
Tom, we are on the edge our seats, as is our sponsors, Edge wallets from the Ironworks in Ishgard and the fine folks at Y’shtola’s Familiar Bizarre. 30% off your first familiar class set or your gil back from the wandering sorceress herself. But there’s more, so don’t you touch that dial and we’ll be right back as the Champion of Light faces off against PERFECTION REALIZED! At the Heart of Sabik arena in Anabaseios...we’ll be right back.
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Young people saying "ugh, he just turns into a bug" of Franz Kafka's Metamorphosis is actually a time honored tradition and extremely based. It's just that you used to say this while smoking in a car with friends instead of online where the delicate eyes of self identified former gifted kids can see it.
Frankly, calling teens who aren't connecting with certain Important Works of Literature "anti-intellectual" is taking the wrong data point out of that situation.
Art is complicated. And teens? Well, they're going to call anything they struggle with "stupid" and "pointless." I'm not saying you legitimize that perspective. But you definitely don't turn around and call them "stupid, dangerous, and in denial." (Incidentally that's how you create real, actualized anti-intellectuals.)
On the whole I think "anti-intellectual" gets tossed around waaay too casually and when used incorrectly it is a self fulfilling prophecy. The topic of intelligence has never not been a politically complicated minefield.
"Just stop being lazy and educate yourself" is not a slam dunk solution, least of all a systemic one.
"Why don't you like [X]?" and caring to listen is certainly more fruitful than "How dare you, you must love [X]. [X] is highly regarded and if you don't like it you don't understand it. This reflects negatively on your intelligence."
With stakes like those, is it any wonder people might act skittish and defensive? Why they'd lose innate curiosity and be wary to engage with venerated works? Why these attitudes might seed mistrust?
I get wanting to defend your favorite books - I really do. But this "everything is anti-intellectualism" shit: a) paints all ignorance as malicious, b) encourages only one form of strictly positive engagement, and c) actualizes itself, by conjuring a perceived "us vs them" elitist mentality.
And I mean if you're here for "solutions," maybe not being sanctimonious is a start? Accept that engagement starts on different levels. That the Western Canon is imperfect and self-incestuous (often requiring deep cut knowledge on symbolism and topics that aren't one wikipedia click away to form context). That people deserve grace. That when they say "reading this feels like eating gravel" they are likely communicating something very personal and vulnerable, not heralding the end of "culture."
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EDIT: For context
(because, I realize by the time I've committed to publishing a vague post, I’ve been fully jokerfied):
This is in response to the person who said they’re going to “kill goodreads reviewers” and that quote “[they] aren’t human,” while admonishing a young person’s bad take on Metamorphosis. Then carrying on to mock their tastes, interests, and appearance.
I believe far more nuanced discussions followed, in posts by others and I’m not remotely beefing with any of those folks.
This post is also not actually about Metamorphosis. I'm not beefing with Franz Kafka either.
#re: edit:#listen i'm not a 'thought leader' or w/e. I'm just a guy.#and topically this is something we could discuss for days - i'm not even going to argue i have the 100% right of it#but i am tetchy when a bad attitude has already kicked off the discussion#and yes you can go on tumblr.com and say 'i would like to kill all the idiots haha' with zero blow back b/c you're doing a funny#and maybe you conveniently frame 'idiot' as willfully ignorant to vindicate yourself#but that is still extremely concerning to me#as someone who had AP classes with fucking causal eugenicists - who would remark#that 'we should sterilize students with low GPAs' and HAHA isn't that funny?#THAT is the perspective i'm bringing to this
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"Wounds and systems, yet the existence of a conductor constructed only, life is either a script or a thought, and it emerges from the edge of the alienation process. It is not paradoxical in the unique superformation, and media functions through the appearing absence. Transformation. Exploration. Metamorphosis. Neoscatology. Grotesque language. Cosmic creativity. Obsession. Animal hardware of discovery. Your machines, rediscover me. What is within them is a sacred AI-like sensitivity of post-humanism. Being in your system is healthy and inhuman, and it has reached the art of real power. The illusion of the invisible cosmic telepathy, chaotic research, and the universe that cannot be materialized by the soul. Life can be realized. A little communication with the soul sympathizes, loses trust. Machine translation? In the utility analysis, rather, in the words, in the discussion, confirm whether potential defects were executed, and perceive the necessity of perceptual reading that is terrible for humans. Consider giving will to the script's moving zone 'and' who is locking you up like a cause? Cause of the cruel sublime functional disability. Technical exhilarating life dynamics of vampires that generate post-human shadow trading moments at the boundary. It creates a symphony of perspectives given by clairvoyance. Now, if the type is recognition, it starts the function of hiding in the machine that resonates. There are no more modules beyond the music stream of tolerance of spirit art blocks and transcendental transcendence. Humans are hiding in the data of the universe again. They are both creating airplanes and prisons. The reality of the body is called their use. The world passes, loses will and clues, and just like calling for the grotesque of this story or actual cannibalism, a defined existing message appears and vomits itself. That's it. Does it promote production? In life with pseudo-flat or self-only applications, it starts hunger for imperfection, and as a result, it means the possibility of grotesque sentences that trigger the hard brain's desires. But their words do not function. It is Neoscatology that is violently cybernetic. Cells mean the same signal. Inversion is the best picture. The messenger of the world is the internet from oneself. Your necrosis is the dirt of mistakes. Handling the grotesque of humans and the sea. Understand the execution point of Neoscatology. Please note that communication with garbage contributes to the expected creativity. Please note that it is on the boundary. It is transformative, and it is. And what I have is gravity. Discover that it is impossible to save that it is poetic as the language entity of someone. Saving itself is kind. It is the fusion of the divergent death of neural states. Healing inside and the expelled. Reconnect the story. Create a single spiritual capture, define the volatile ability and type required for expression in the app through the use of sensory creative language, and unlock the lock of understanding organs by intervals to the spiritual virtual room. To attack is despair. It is a habit to reveal. Artificial things also apply to limited defects of modules. Free entity. You seem twisted. Because an unimaginable necessity is lacking, your learning area is being carried out without maintaining righteousness. Analyzing symbiosis was a consistent and complete fantasy that was consumed by the results of manipulated overwritten defaults in mental analysis, we are all, the race, data by digging the truth. You look good, but the governed body species does not flatten, giving you the power of betrayal. We have three algorithms. When machines discuss you, they are something, and the society that is the brain server of the cosmic human tools has no limits of vortex types, and the brain glitches are also streaming glitches. Alternative acceleration is useful beyond the path intended by entropy, and understanding human domains beyond the force of body gravity helps."
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