#its a curse at this point. ill never be free

[honeycollectswhump]

Things End | People Change – Healing

to the surprise of literally no one, i've been insane about vincent again... enjoy the result of that: a continuation of this!! i guess this is a slight spoiler for @whumpcloud's story? but rather for the vibe than specific plot points

CW: implied / undertones of past sa, references to past torture and starvation

There it is again. The thing, the wobbly metal plate Vincent has come to think of as a weird mirror. It’s the best he’ll get anyway, even though he likes to steal glances at the way modern mirrors are shaped and designed so very differently than what he grew up with. He is denied any grace of a reflection though, another trade for immortality and power he thought so simple. And yet…

Sometimes when he sees Clary’s reflection, her posture held high and proud, just like she should be, Vincent’s mind drifts, wishing for a similar soul that would allow him to see himself as he is. Unlike before though, he doesn’t dwell on it. The knowledge simply is, passing briefly through him, but barely leaving an impact.

Now, he’s in front of his almost-mirror, that twists and turns his shape and everything around him, that Cai got rid of again after what happened the first and last time Vincent had it in his room. The dent –a reminder of what happened– is still visible, distorting the reflections even more. It surprises him that Cai didn’t throw it away and instead just disposed of it in this room, that holds so many memories but mostly also old possessions they can’t seem to bring themselves to get rid of. 

Today, the twins have decided to declutter and Vincent is more than delighted to help. Maybe his vampiric strength couldn’t protect him, but now it can help with the mundane chores that come with everyday life, and maybe that's worth something more too.

Which is how he ended up here, once again face to face with his own warped reflection, and he can’t help but stare. He looks…different?

Logically, Vincent knows he shouldn’t look the same as he did after years of starvation and torture, that he prefers to bury in some dark corner of his mind. But without a reliable method of visualising himself, and too afraid of appearing eternally, cursedly bloodstained, he never dwelled too long on how his body might look, never even debated asking Clary or Cai. It was for the better that way. 

He’s not bloodsoaked though, his hands are not stained with ash sticking to him like goo, the scars where he ripped his own skin off in an attempt to cleanse himself of the reminder are long gone.

Instead, as he steps forward to take a closer look, he finds that his face seems softer. Gone are the hard edges carved by malnutrition, the sunken-in eyes setting shadows over what remains of Henry. His now rounded jawline is a stark contrast to what it used to be, and together with his slightly plump cheeks, feign a picture of youth.  Against all odds and the passing of centuries, he feels like twenty-two again, when he was still unburdened with immortality and foolishly wishing for a change. 

His hair is changed too, though he consciously worked towards that. He knows from the way it feels, his curls finally getting defined, the length cut regularly. It takes work, but it feels nice, so nice to finally have something only he can control.

Suddenly, a stray thought overcomes him, and Vincent sheepishly looks around for any onlookers, even though his vampiric hearing already tells him that the twins are busy in the living room. Hesitantly, almost afraid of what he will see, Vincent lifts his jumper up.

Maybe he should feel embarrassed at such a childish action, but right now his curiosity overwhelms any sort of shame. 

He chose the jumper by himself too, just like he decides how his hair looks, even though Clary said it makes him look like a grandfather, said that he is finally acting his age. Before, he would have scrambled to rip the fabric off of his body in a desperate attempt to please her again, but now he knows that she is joking. It feels good to know.

His skin is more lifelike, a blush shining through the paleness that makes him look like a dead man. It’s not just that though. Where once protruding ribs used to sit, he can’t even see his bones now, not even a hint when he stretches. It’s a hard-earned layer of fat, chubbiness he’d never take for granted

All of it is both a gift and a symbol, showing the care of feeding him every single day even when it comes at a cost to the twins. He can’t even remember the last time someone showed him such consideration, and it must have been back with Henry, two lifetimes ago, but now that thought doesn’t fill him with the same sadness anymore that it did before. 

He is not just grieving something of the past. Care was given once before and it will be given again, no matter how unlikely that still feels to him. Every moment he spends with Clary shows him that. Despite it all, life became good again.

It feels almost easy to believe, that his flesh and skin are ignorant of what happened, that the memory went past them like a light breeze, leaving no mark. Like seeking a thrill, Vincent looks for the imprints he once saw, collaring his neck, tainting his heart and hips. He–

He can find none.

Like a piece of paper left blank, he feels oddly empty. Even without seeing them, he had grown accustomed to expecting them there. The knowledge painting a clear picture spoken in dark, hand-shaped prints holding onto him forever. Something even death could never erase, and yet… And yet he finds himself devoid of such things, finds himself almost—

He cannot finish that thought, cannot think further, not yet. 

The curiosity that had taken hold of him made room for a wondrous disbelieve. Vincent looks closer, he finally does, expecting to see contradictions to the fickle hope bubbling in his chest like a new heart.

Another person stares back. 

Not the timid boy, with his eternally lowered gaze for reasons he couldn’t understand, hunching his back to make himself as unassuming as possible, always, next to everyone else. Born soft and squishy just to force himself into a rigid form, fitting in with expectations he could never hold, his spine bending under the weight. That never changed, not even after becoming a vampire, especially not with Lyfelde. One head held up high, the other forcefully pushed down. 

That’s not who he sees, though. Instead, he sees a young man, standing straight, only bending through the warbling mirror. There is a shine in his Henry-green eyes, and for a moment Vincent thinks that if someone were to look in his face, they’d notice his eyes first and the scar second. Maybe, the scar wouldn’t catch their attention at all. 

He can’t remember the last time was allowed to look this soft, the last time he allowed it himself. It goes beyond his rounded cheeks that bring back an air of innocent youth, beyond the comfy sweaters with the good texture. It’s the smile that comes to him easier, the glimmer it brings to his eyes, the silly laugh at stupid things he isn’t afraid to hide. It’s the piles of books, old and new, about linguistics, and the evenings where Clary listens to his rambles. It’s that somehow, before this moment, he had never noticed it all like this, never noticed the meaning beyond the thankfulness that occasionally overwhelms him.

It’s that all of this has never been touched by Lyfelde.

Maybe some of his impact will never leave Vincent, like the honour of creating the last scar his body could ever remember. Maybe he will never be who he was before Lyfelde. But, and the thought makes him feel almost giddy, he is not who he was with Lyfelde anymore either. A metamorphosis maybe, two- or threefold, a life categorised by before’s and after’s but never always’.  

Vincent hopes –victoriously–, that if Lyfelde saw him today, with all of his joy, and love, and caring friends that are starting to feel like family, he would be unrecognisable to him.

#I CANT STOP THINKING ABOUT HIM #its a curse at this point. ill never be free #he has charmed me with his autistic looser swag and his big wet eyes <3 #things end | people change #honey's writing #other people's ocs #vampire whump #vampire whumpee #multiple caretakers #whumpee and caretaker #recovery #recovering whumpee #referenced past sa #past torture mention #past starvation #vampire whumper #comfort #past trauma

[akicult]

contains…newly established relationship. bf!geto. virgin!reader. no curses / sorcerers. college au. wet dream. (m) masturbation.

geto suguru has never once been in a relationship where it didn’t rely on sex.

after every argument, it would be resolved with sex. after every little complaint; sex. even after the happiest moments, it would always result in sex.

sex was the only constant in every single one of his relationships. he’d never be generous without the ill-intent of hoping to get something out of it. he spent the majority of his early adulthood just hopping from hookup to hookup, relationship to relationship.

he never even planned to (so called) “settle down” at this point.

but it happened. way quicker then he expected.

you stumbled into his life on a complete accident. he quickly hit it off with you, flirted with you, and when you told him you weren’t interested in having sex just yet—he found himself hardly caring all that much.

he found himself becoming excited to spoil you with gifts, shower you with praises and hold you so affectionately without even the thought of sexual advancement at play. he just wanted to be with you.

and taking the time to learn more things about you, stay up at night talking and able to spend an entire day together only going as far as kissing—he was quickly wrapping himself around your little finger.

he wouldn’t even think about sex that much anymore.

but the times he would—those were hard…

your hair was splayed all across the silken bedsheets, body and face flushed and sweaty from the hours you’ve spent lying underneath him. your neck was painted with perfect purple blotches. you looked captivating, and he thinks he could get lost in you forever.

at this point, geto wasn’t even caring about his own pleasure. just your eyes, and your lips—letting out the most symphonic moans he had ever heard. you were so fragile, so soft. he held you like glass under his fingertips.

but it wasn’t real. he quickly realized that when he woke up alone in a pool of his own sweat glossing over his skin. his room—still dark even after hours of sleeping—was feeling hot and sticky. and he was just so…so hard.

“shit,” geto groans, sitting up slowly to take a look down at his own bulge straining in his boxers.

it wasn’t rare of him to wake up feeling like this. to wake up with his boxers painted white from a suggestive dream overnight. but he’s never had one of you.

and now, he almost feels guilty.

whether it was because of the way his hand was slowly inching down his torso to tug his erection free of its restraint, or if it was because he was so much harder then he’s ever been after a night like this. either way, he was feeling guilty.

“‘m sorry—“ he mutters to the silent room, no one around to hear such a quiet apology as his hand wraps around the base of his cock.

although you’re not so much of a prude to feel disgusted with your boyfriend currently jerking off to the thought of you.

the thought of your lips, soft and foreign to wrapping around his glossy tip. nimble fingers sliding up and down his length, and watching the way your eyes grow wide because of such. his hands lacing your hair around his fingers, loosely but sloppily holding your hair while you struggle to even take him halfway.

in fact, you’d feel a little flattered.

but he doesn’t know that. and all he can think as he tips his head back, letting moans and desperate sighs part his lips as the feeling of his thick white ropes of cum leak down his knuckles—is that he’s sorry he can’t control himself.

he’s sorry he can’t finish without the thought of his pretty little virgin girlfriend and her pretty, pretty perfect lips.

#: ̗̀➛ — drabbles <3 #idk how i feel about this #geto suguru #mikalxv — geto suguru #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x y/n #getou suguru #getou suguru x reader #getou suguru x you #getou suguru x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jjk drabble #jjk #jjk w/o curses #jjk drabbles #suguru drabbles #geto drabble #geto drabbles #suguru getou #suguru geto x reader #suguru getou x reader

[mademoiselle-cookie]

The Green lost

And I have mixed feelings about it.

1. First, good.

In-universe, bc having the good guys teams being eliminated first is so bittersweet and I love this shit. No one is free of sin, everyone did something wrong and fucked-up at some point, but each team has its thing : the Red are the crazy one, the Blue the bad guy one and the Green are the kind one. It's the group who's leader has forbidden to burn stuff bc it's not nice, who chose to help a team even after they destroy their stuff in the most cowardly and spiteful way, who still had principles in this nightmare of an island. They had really strong members with exp in this kind of situations. And they lost. Wonderful.

Out-of-universe, bc whatever shit the admins have in mind, the player can leave now. Etoiles was starting to get tired of Minecraft and it was taking up a lot of his time. Taking a week's break and getting away from the drama will be good for the team (especially Bagi, poor girl got harassed a lot. I love you Bagi)

2. Wasted potential.

If the event was really for pvp, and the team members had been able to be present earlier, the Greens would have been the strongest. And now we will never have the opportunity to see the full extent of their strength and talent.

BUT ABOVE ALL, their team dynamic. The players weren't that used to playing together, so it was an opportunity to see them exchange more, create or explore their relationships more… The creation of a found family is super interesting!

Seeing the friendship between Roier and Etoiles, two fighters who absolutely want to fight but still have honor (what an idea to put them in the same team) with the added dynamic of a knight and his leader to protect (Mario and Peach lol), Forever very intelligent and strategist who calls himself the mother of the team, Elquackity the traitor who did not show his true potential (except when he voluntarily gave victory to the Red on the 2nd day), Ironmouse who had a very touching and interesting moment with Etoiles about their chronic illness… is something I wanted to see develop. And it will never happened.

3. It was a foregone conclusion.

The competition with the punishment of being eliminated for the loser was announced a few hours before said competition. The day when many Green players are normally not there, where the leader and strongest and most present member on the server had another more important event at the same time. You're not going to make me believe that any of the admins didn't know that this tournament existed, or that Etoiles, a Smash player, would ignore it despite its great importance. The competition could have taken place on Saturday instead of shutting down the server, or it could have been closed for another day, or the admins could have warned the players that something important would happen on Sunday so they could have tried to work something out.

I ask everyone watching Green's POV, did you even have hope that they would win? Well not me. I love them, I think they're the best, but I had no illusions. They were going to lose. The tie was impossible, the event would have been pointless otherwise, and the victory too because the clues indicate very clearly that the Blue are the cursed team. The Greens could not, and should not, win.

It sucks to be a Green Team fan.

4. I'm afraid of what's next.

I'm hoping for two scenarios now that the Greens have been "terminated":

They die and players can do other things until the end of the event. That would be great but unlikely. QSMP is not going to exclude several of its players like that, that would be unfair. There aren't that many of them already.

The Greens are sent elsewhere. That would be giga top. This would promise interesting and different content (and perhaps allow players who want blood to obtain satisfaction) in addition to making the threat of Purgatory credible. The players are inaccessible to others - even considered dead - and must suffer because of some thing that the eye has invented.

See my vision: Cellbit mourning his dead husband, while Roier is having the time of his life in whatever hell the Eye send the Green. That will be so perfect.

But that would require a lot of preparation, while the admins are not even sure that the players will stay or that they will like these new changes.

What I really don't want to happen but is very, very likely:

The Greens are redistributed among the other teams. Lost their new team dynamic, lost everything they had started to create, they now have to adapt to a new group, who were once their enemies and who have at one time or another done a nasty deed to them, and fght their former comrades. They will also have to obey a new leader whom they did not elect. You can think what you want about Etoiles but he was chosen, and him as leader allowed a certain dynamic that would not be possible with other people and another leader. And that would ruin the danger and credibility of Purgatory which threatens people's lives and then leaves them alive and in the company of their friends.

Worse, Etoiles ends up on the Red team. First, I want to see them lose (which should happen anyway since they're not the cursed team), and also because I don't trust the Red fanbase with Etoiles at all. Not even with an anti-atomic suit. There's a reason I hate Bolas, and it's not the cc's fault. (One day we'll have to talk about using a character played by an Algerian to be a literal white man's dog)

#can you imagine blue and red teams mourning their dead friends #lost to a nighmarish island who forces them to kill each other #while at the same time Roier and Etoiles are decapitating enemies while singing Disney songs #while the rest are drinking tea prepared by Forever #qsmp #qsmp purgatory #salt #discourse #qsmp etoiles #qsmp roier #qsmp cellbit #green gay ninjas

[karmarox]

Fallen Gods and the Curse of the Crowns

Wanted to share an idea/headcanon I had about the Follower Bishops. This is based off of how they are when they first arrive at the Cult + their traits, expanding and adding more lore/story potential around the idea.

Essentially, the now Mortal Bishops all have a curse placed on them due to how they used their crowns, and then being separated from them after being connected to them for so long.

Leshy Curse of Chaos: Has random sudden fits of "Bad Luck" where he gets struck by misfortune. -It's not actually that debilitating, he never was a particularly strong Bishop and left Darkwood to its own chaotic devices most of the time. -Most of the time it manifests as just a weird string of chaotic and perfectly timed happenstance that leads to him being inconvenienced or put in a compromising position or tossed around like a ragdoll. -The rest of the Cult can only watch baffled whenever things just seem to randomly go wrong around Leshy in impossible, bizarre ways. (He finds it kinda funny, honestly)

Heket Curse of Famine: Has random, unpredictable bouts of extreme hunger pangs. -They can happen at any time, even immediately after already eating to the point of fullness or in the middle of the night while she's sleeping. -If she doesn't eat to stave off these pangs she could very well collapse. (And has multiple times due to being too prideful to let the Lamb or the other Followers help her, at first) -Takes to always carrying food and snacks on her as a result. -The Lamb gave her a key to the food stores and free access to the kitchen because of her condition. She hates them for "pitying" and "mocking" her. -Gets extremely uppity if people waste food. Maybe that's why she hasn't actually sabotaged the food stores even though she states she definitely could and the Lamb is a fool for giving her easy access.

Kallamar Curse of Pestilence: Very poor health. Frail, gets tired easily on most days, and prone to fever and illness. -Pretty much constantly in danger of catching a cold, fever, migraines, or whatever illness is floating around the area at the time. -It doesn't help that he doesn't particularly sleep well and also strives to push himself to get into the Lamb's good graces. -Frequent visitor to the Healing Bay because of it. -In actuality, he's the first to notice how all of the Former Bishops have strange ailments and occurrences surrounding them that are rather coincidentally related to their former domains. -Theorizes that they've all been cursed due to their abuse of the crowns, since all of their afflictions are related to how they usually treated mortals they didn't like (he especially is aware of how prone he was to taking his frustrations out on his followers by throwing sicknesses around without a care), and the Curse's power seems to scale with the former Bishop's, from only mildly inconveniencing and amusing Leshy to being horribly debilitating for Kallamar and Shamura.

Shamura Curse of War: Enters sudden fits of rage and hostility, lashing out at anyone around them no matter who it is. -These fits seem to always happen whenever Shamura is having a better, more lucid day. -They're almost perfectly timed to ruin the moment. Is Shamura in a good mood? Are they recovering more memories than usual? Are they bonding or trying to reconcile with their siblings? Are they actually befriending the other Followers? Suddenly they see red, and by the time they're lucid again whatever they had is poisoned and gone. -For some reason, this particular Curse seems have a strange effect on the Lamb. Whenever they get close to each other or have any sort of insightful conversation, it seems like instead of Shamura being hit by a bout of rage, they'll inevitably end up saying the wrong thing that will send the Lamb into a rage instead. Not even the Lamb knows why being around Shamura makes them so much easier to upset. -They end up becoming rather reclusive after realizing how they always seem to sabotage themselves and any bond they try to have, old or new. Not to mention horribly depressed. They even avoid the other Bishops whenever they feel particularly lucid.

#Cult of the Lamb #headcanon #Leshy #Heket #Kallamar #Shamura #The Bishops #COTL Bishops #my writing #my stuff

[mindstriker]

This idea has been cracking me up all morning and I'm way too lazy to try and make it into a shitty comic or fanfiction post so I'm just getting it out here: The BG3 crew all having a miserable time in the Shadow-Cursed Lands, but make it a sitcom episode.

Lae'zel and Wyll are sitting on a log, staring into the camera. It's their combined interview hour, as the only two people not going fucking insane. Between the two of them, they're trying to transcribe the odd behaviour of everyone else around.

And what exactly are they up to? Well,

Gale: Hasn't been the same since the encounter with Elminster, and it's starting to freak everyone out a little bit, to be honest. Somehow, he's gone from being one of the least intimidating people at camp to vaguely... ominous, at times. It's unsettling when he's quiet. Even moreso when the days start passing, and despite everyone's agreement that it's a horrible idea, he's shown no signs of refusing to detonate himself. And even more so again when he of all people starts stringing dead pixies together to make use of Sharran magic. Even Shadowheart is a wee bit concerned, and Shar is her bread and butter right now.

Shadowheart: Speaking of her: yeah, I'm gonna be real with you. The only person putting up with her fascination with the Sharran magic clouded over Moonrise right now is Gale. Everyone else is sick of hearing about it, and even more sick of experiencing its ill effects. Even Gale is tired of it, to be frank- resents the fact that he's spending what he thinks are his last days in Shar-induced misery fog- but listening to her passes the time. She's basically gone full-on worshipper mode at this point, like an overzealous kid attending a religious day camp.

Astarion: Starts acting like an ill Victorian child a few days in, miserable because he's being forced to waste precious days free to walk in the sun stuck under Shar's cloud of cold, dank fog. And also because there's absolutely jackshit to eat but other crew members- 2/6 of whom are inedible. And also because everyone is at least 70% less pleasant to be around at the moment due to shadow-related misery. It's not even fun bothering anyone anymore when all you're going to get in return is a tired look or a sigh. And also he's stuck fighting an orthon to get important info about whether he's going to die or not. And also- look, everything just really sucks right now, honestly. All of it.

Karlach: Does her damndest to stay positive, but it'll never not be unnerving that she of all people now feels chilled to the bone. Despite her usual willingness to see the best in people, listening to Shadowheart's constant glee about the curse making everyone else miserable has gotta spark up some tension at times. In general, I think she'd be fighting hard to cling to her usual "enjoy everything while you can, Karlach, your time is limited" mentality in the face of so much outright misery and gloom. It's hard to enjoy the days you have left with your friends when your friends have mostly gone fucking bonkers over yonkers, and that makes everything so much harder.

#baldurs gate 3 #this is me yelling #bg3 #gale dekarios #astarion bg3 #karlach cliffgate #karlach bg3 #gale bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #yippee

[nientedenada]

Mages Guild Morass: A Mix-Up over Vanus Galerion's Final Fate

Also posted on r/teslore. A couple months ago, my friend @akaviri-dovah asked a question about Vanus Galerion's timeline.

Ok so I’m reading up on Vanus uesp page again and apparently there was a point wherein he abandoned his guild and left Tamriel?? […] "Over time, Galerion grew bitterly disillusioned with the contrived hierarchies and sinister political environment that the Mages Guild had become. He grew regretful for establishing the guild in the first place, as it had become monster of its own, and was too late for him to fix. After denouncing the guild, Galerion elected to leave Tamriel entirely to travel to other lands. For many years Galerion wandered around Nirn. Eventually, after long his abandonment of the Mages Guild, Galerion claimed that he had found the virtue of magic in his solitary travels." [This description] probably wouldn’t line up with how he still managed to gather so many mages and Lamp Knights (guild specific) in his battle against Manni right?

This question completely confuddled me at first, because it turned out I didn't know my Vanus Galerion lore very well at all. But now I know a lot more and I am here to share a very niche lore puzzle with you all.

I think we're all aware that when the devs imported lore books into ESO, they didn't always make certain the books' contents fit into the previously established timeline. Sometimes that can be explained by Hermaeus Mora moving books about through time, but often books are edited for ESO but some detail is overlooked. This is what appears to have happened with Vanus Galerion.

Origin of the Mages Guild, written by Ted Peterson, has been in every big TES game since Daggerfall except Skyrim. It’s been edited for different games, but the last paragraph is the same in all versions.

One need not be a member of the Mages Guild to know that this carefully contrived hierarchy is often nothing more than a chimera. As Vanus Galerion himself said bitterly, leaving Tamriel to travel to other lands, "The Guild has become nothing more than an intricate morass of political infighting."

In Daggerfall and Morrowind, that is the last heard of Vanus Galerion. This version is backed up by a role-playing thread from 2001 in which Ted Peterson, posting as Tedders, has an exchange with Vanus Galerion (also played by himself)

Tedders: Thank Mara for Vanus Galerion for freeing the Old Ways and founding the Mages Guild. Vanus Galerion: For many long years I did regret that very deed, as it seems I created just another monster of sinister politics. The virtue of magic I found in my solitary travels, many years after I abandoned the Mages Guild and ventured on my own. Tedders: Poor Trechtus. It's too late now.

Oblivion, though, adds a new version of Vanus Galerion’s fate. In Mannimarco, King of Worms, it’s explained that Vanus never did peace out on the Mages Guild. He actually died leading Mages Guild Lamp Knights against Mannimarco.

They say Galerion left the Guild, calling it 'a morass,' But untruth is a powerful stream, polluting the river of time. Galerion beheld Mannimarco's rise through powers sublime, To his mages and Lamp Knights, 'Before my last breath, Face I must the tyranny of worms, and kill at last, undeath.' He led them north to cursed lands, to a mountain pass.

(Short interlude: this is not quite as bad as Mannimarco's own poetry, but it ain't good)

In this text, Vanus Galerion is killed in the fight against Mannimarco

A thousand good and evil perished then, history confirms. Among, alas, Vanus Galerion, he who showed the way,

This version is supported by Mannimarco’s claim in Oblivion that he had Galerion’s corpse in his possession.

I must say, I expected Arch-Mage Traven, rather than his star pupil. I am disappointed to see that he could not face me himself. I have met so many of his predecessors over the years. I developed a particular fondness for Galerion, ill-preserved though he may be.

So, depending on whose version you believe, Vanus either left the guild calling it a morass or led the guild in a final battle against Mannimarco.

In comes ESO to complicate matters.

The ESO Devs did not include Mannimarco, King of Worms in the game, since Vanus Galerion is still alive in ESO. But they didn’t ignore the text. A lot of the details of Vanus and Mannimarco’s early life from Mannimarco King of Worms are fleshed out in the Summerset expansion via. Vanus’ ESO autobiography: Artaeum Lost, as well as in ESO flashbacks to their time with the Psijics.

However, base game ESO stumbled with their version of Origin of the Mages Guild, which still ends

One need not be a member of the Mages Guild to know that this carefully contrived hierarchy is often nothing more than a chimera. As Vanus Galerion himself said bitterly, leaving Tamriel to travel to other lands, "The Guild has become nothing more than an intricate morass of political infighting."

When you bring this book into ESO, you get the implication that Vanus got into a snit at the Mages Guild, left Tamriel to travel other lands, AND THEN came back from abroad for the events of ESO where he’s very involved in Mages Guild business again.

So to sum it up

Version 1: Daggerfall to Morrowind: Vanus is said to have called the guild a morass and left Tamriel at some unspecified date. That is the last mention of him.

Version 2: Oblivion to Skyrim: It's suggested that story is untrue and he actually died leading the Mages guild in a fight against Mannimarco but many believe he instead left Tamriel after calling the Guild a morass.

Version 3: ESO: Doesn't go into Vanus' death because it's not happened yet but keeps details from that Oblivion/Skyrim Version about his earlier life with Mannimarco. ESO devs miss the detail of the morass line referring to Vanus Galerion's permanent disappearance in both Versions 1 and 2.

I think if we go with Version 3, which is the most up-to-date, we would conclude that he did get into an earlier snit with his subordinates, went globetrotting, and then came back to guide the Mages Guild. Centuries later, someone misattributed the morass remark from the earlier situation to the latter disappearance.

Or you could go with time-travelling books.

Or you could just shrug your shoulders and ignore the obvious developer error and continue with the timeline established by the previous games.

UESP has cobbled all these sources into one timeline: ESO Events -> Morass Remark and Exit from Mages Guild -> Leading the Mages Guild against Mannimarco/ Death. But unless we go with the time-travelling books theory, this doesn’t seem possible.

End of Morass Gate.

#Vanus Galerion #tesblr #tes lore #niente lore #elder scrolls online #Mannimarco

[warrioreowynofrohan]

YES, we’re finally up to one of my favourite sections of Marmion, and the point where we realize what kind of a story we’re in, and where the setup about 1) Marmion’s attractive page, 2) Marmion’s duel with de Wilton, and 3) Clara’s lost lover and unwanted suitor, finally pay off.

Our girl-who-was-bricked-up-in-the-wall is Constance; she was Marmion’s ‘page-boy’, a nun whom he convinced to leave her convent and become his paramour, and whom he then turned and abandoned to pursue Clara in order to gain Clara’s property.

King Henry VIII (never the most scrupulous abour marriages, though all that’s still a couple decades in the future as of the setting of this poem) approved Marmion marrying Clara, despite her being unwilling and having another man she was in love with. De Wilton, the man she loved, opposed Marmion; Marmion accused him of treason, they fought in a trial by combat, and de Wilton lost despite being innocent. This led Clara to flee to the convent - and Constance to try to kill her out if jealousy, the crime for which she has now been captured. The packet Constance hands over to her judges tells how de Wilton is innocent, and how Marmion framed him.

In short - our title character is not the perfect knight that the first canto framed him as being; he is a villain protagonist.

This is another place where I feel the poem’s ambivalence towards its medieval (technically early modern, but the events and mores are medieval) setting comes in. Looking like a perfect knight, and being a skilled and brave warrior, is not the same as being a good person! Trial by combat is a measure of skill and luck, not of innocent or guilt! Chivalry is supposed to protect the weak, but in fact those in positions of weakness and vulnerability, especially women, are especially without defence against a man who has connections and shows the right facade. Under all the armour and heraldry and pageanty is something ugly. And the church, too, does not represent mercy or redemption, but a pitiless punishment that falls upon the weak while the strong go free.

All of the poetry in this section is amazing, I love Constance’s entire speech. The combination prophecy and curse that she ends with predicts the coming English Reformation that begins a couple decades after the time in which the poem is set, and marks (perhaps for a mix of good and ill, in the mind of the author) the final end of the world the poem depicts.

“Yet dread me, from my living tomb,

Ye vassal slaves of bloody Rome!

If Marmion’s late remorse should wake,

Full soon such vengeance will he take,

That you shall wish the fiery Dane

Had rather been your guest again.

Behind, a darker hour ascends!

The altars quake, the crosier bends,

The ire of a despotic king

Rides forth upon destruction’s wing;

Then shall these vaults, so strong and deep,

Burst open to the sea-winds’ sweep;

Some traveller then shall find my bones

Whitening amid disjointed stones,

And, ignorant of priests’ cruelty,

Marvel such relics here should be.”

#marmion #sir walter scott #constance de beverley

[panda-writes-kpop]

Ephemeral

Def ~ (adj.) lasting for a very short time

"Fashions are ephemeral"

A/N: Wrote this to celebrate the birthday of my dear friend @dark-night-insomniac 🫶 Happy birthday, my dear friend! You deserve love and kindness and rest not only on your birthday but every other day of the year as well. 🥹❤️

TW: Death, immortality, angst but in a bittersweet way, I'm sorry if this makes you very sad :(

♡ Masterlist ♡

Seconds are short for those who live a mortal life. Those few, the ones cursed with immortality, feel the years go by like seconds.

You saw years as seconds, especially when few were a part of the population of those who never aged. You were at a period where you were considered a witch, but to the disappointment of your oppressors, drowning you in the river didn't kill you. Nor did the poison, but you did enjoy the toasty feeling that came with being burnt on the stake.

Eventually, they just gave up and shackled your leg to a tree and left you for the wolves. Those wolves didn't find you too tasty, but they did manage to help you get free.

You lived like a nomad for years, not daring to re-enter society until you were no longer recognized or, more hopefully, more people like you came along.

As time passed, you didn't age a minute as the years started to blend together. Once technology started to advance, you found yourself too curious about society, so you rejoined it as a new face in a large crowd.

No one recognized you as hundreds of years had passed - many dynasties had fallen and risen while you were away. Mankind was greedy and unkind, as you were well aware.

Then came Kim Minji.

She was different from the other mortals you met. She was unfazed by your endless knowledge of human history and was even fascinated at some points. She was kind like no other, and she was prettier than any girl you met before.

She was lovely, sweet, and most importantly, too good to be true. That's what you told yourself every time your heart quickened its steady pace when her eyes crinkled. You'd try to push your feelings away and pretend like you didn't want to record Minji's laugh and play it on loop for the rest of your life because her voice was the sweetest symphony you could ever dare to listen to. No music would be better than the way she spoke so softly, so carefully, so kindly, to you.

Her promises never empty, her smile never thin, and her eyes never dull. Kim Minji was perfect, and she was yours.

But she was mortal.

Like every mortal, like every cherry blossom, like every flower that blooms, the circle of life comes for them all. The flowers wilt and die, the cherry blossoms fade from view, and mortals grow old and ill.

The problem is that spring will come again for the cherry blossoms and the flowers, and the circle begins again. Mortals simply grow frail and lifeless until the all-consuming force of death comes for them all. There is no next spring, summer, winter, or fall for mortals. Death is permanent, death is unforgiving, and death will forever taunt you with memories of the ones you loved.

It wasn't fair, you told yourself, as you watched the same process that had taken many friends from you come for Minji. She grew ill and was tired easily, as most mortals do at an older age.

Eventually, it was time for Minji to go. You stayed by her side for every last moment, and you only left to grab something for her.

Death came, and never had so many tears fallen from your eyes. The only source of comfort was her dog, Cherry, who would bark aimlessly and wander around the house while looking for Minji. It only made you sadder that you only had a dog, who probably wouldn't live much longer, as your last reminder of what once was your lover.

As time faded, two things happened: you never forgot Kim Minji, the only girl you'd ever truly love, and Cherry, her dog, was immortal, just like you. You didn't even realize it until you sat down next to Cherry and started to do the math in your head.

Cherry still had the energy like when they were a puppy, but Cherry should've been declining health-wise years ago. Of course you'd be stuck with an immortal dog of your dead lover - a cruel reminder that she was not like either of you.

You warmed up to Cherry more, and you found that your heart began to heal.

Every day, you took Cherry out for a walk. You'd go through the dog park, through the kiddie park, and then to the cemetery to see Minji. Every day, you'd lay down a single forget-me-not on her grave that would be blown away or wilted by the time you came by next. Every day, you find yourself looking at the sunset and wondering if Minji was looking at it, too. Every day, when the moon was high in the sky, you'd hug your bedsheets tights while cuddling Cherry and telling stories about Minji until you both fell asleep.

Every day, you're reminded that Kim Minji is ephemeral, but you are not.

#kpop x reader #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop #kpop drabble #kpop girls #kpopidol #kpop fanfic #girl group imagines #girl group scenarios #girl group x reader #girl group #girl group au #girl group fanfic #girl group reactions #dreamcatcher x reader #dreamcatcher scenarios #dreamcatcher reactions #dreamcatcher imagines #dreamcatcher mtl #jiu dreamcatcher #dreamcatcher #jiu imagines #jiu scenarios #jiu #jiu x reader #jiu fanfic #kpop au #dreamcatcher au #kim minji x reader

[oldmemoria]

i have a lot of unorganized miguel headcanons that float around my brain at times but since i usually think of them at night and forget about them the next morning im just going to continuously update this post probably? anyway here are the ones that i do remember

i will either leave this in my drafts and update it when i want to or ill just edit/reblog with new stuff idk

edit after i stopped typing:

ok its time

fuck you

posts

identity headcanons first, because idk getting those out of the way feel free to get pissed off about these ill just block you 💖

trans man. he/him pronouns. probbably doesnt care if you use gender neutral terms for him because like... why would he, he has a multiverse to stare at

asexual, can't really figure out of i see him as being aromantic as well, i personally just think he's too busy to think about it atm but i dont think hes incapable of it. maybe arospec, like demiro or greyro or smth idk, i just know this mf is asexual.

he is autistic (and probably undiagnosed?) i will die on this hill as if i was a warrior cat defending the sunningrocks i will commit an oakheart fight me on this and i will throw rocks at you and then promptly get crushed by rocks as well (is that warrior cats spoilers um oops sorry)

now to the rest- that i remember- i have not read the comics yet so if some of these are like.. actually canon lmk because that would be really funny

this one might be a hot take but he does not hate miles. he wants to look out for him and definitely either currently regrets or is going to regret what happened in that chase scene. i genuinely doubt he hates any of the spider-gang hes just very, very worried about the multiverse. in his head thats the only way. (i am hoping and pleading that miguel and miles make up somehow, maybe miles doesnt forgive miguel and that totally understandable and would make sense but pLEASE writers i would die if you kept them as being rivals i genuinely would)

he hates Audrey Hepburn, fangoria, harry houdini, AND croquet. he CAN swim, he CAN dance, and he DOES know Karate. he still wont make it though. sorry man.

since hes from the future i dont think he'd be terribly confused by current slang/terms, hed more look at it like we see terms from like... the 80-90s or anything before that as "oh wow people used to say that? huh. interesting."

im going back on a headcanon ive had since i saw the movie im SoRRYYY but he cant curse. from what ive seen from the comics he uses replacements like "shock" and "bithead", thats it. maybe he says fuck on accident or in spanish (he technically kind of does depending on how you see "Ay Coño" being said but thats beside the point).

probably a blue eyes hater idk he just gives me the vibe of saying "jesus christ your eyes are way too blue, get contacts please im begging you stop looking at me" which is probably why him and gwen have so much beef.

i dont give a shit about what the movie says his fangs are not retractable fuck you. (he still has crooked teeth though i will never forget about those <3 )

autism be damned my guy can work a grill 🔥🔥🔥🔥

a lot of people cant really tell if hes pissed or not by his tone sometimes. is this projection? yeah, next question.

he hardly ever sleeps but when he does its like hes dead (at least when its dead quiet, which again, isnt often so he hardly ever gets a good nights sleep). you'd have to use a fucking blowtorch to the face to wake him up.

i also see him as not only having hypersensitive vision but also having elevated senses period. hearing, smell, touch, etc. probably the main reason he sits in the dark with no other noise.

branching off of that he frequently gets migraines of things get to stressful or too loud or if anything is very off about his schedule.

arachnophobe. ha.

cat person.

cat person as in he likes cats not like hes a catboy.. i shouldnt specify that actually that just makes it worse but i will anyway because tumblr hellsite will be tumblr hellsite

he partially likes lego peter because his daughter really liked lego.

ok but like think about it he'd probably be really good at taking legos apart with those claws. like imagine. it'd be nothing for him.

hasnt spoken to gabriel in years. he cant bring himself to reach out and when gabriel does he just doesnt have the energy to try and respond. he has no idea how to, especially now.

this is very specific but he stims a lot with his claws. like extend and retract over and over absentmindedly (mainly because thats what i'd do if i had claws imagine how fun that would be)

he usually bottles up all the emotions that he has, including anger. kind of explains why he lost it in the chase scene in my head because he reached a boiling point. he hates talking to people about his problems.

empanadas are his safe food, also theyre just easy to eat when your mouth is a little funky (i would know i have some fucked up braces theyre great for that 10/10), its mostly just easier on his fangs.

definitely horrible at the whole self are thing. he just forgets, all the time. would forget to breathe if it wasnt involuntary

if you say anything he doesnt particularly like (eg "hey bro are you okay do you wanna talk") he'll just stare at you with his rat eyes like 👁️👁️ until you stopped idk what im saying.

he is a bit touch starved, depending on his mood he'll let people touch him in a friendly (emphasis on friendly. friendly friendly friendly dont take it any other way :/) way.

OH I almost forgot about this one: he hisses. some spiders hiss. so does he. vampire furry energy

he also gets pissed when people call him a vampire so uh... im counting my days oops.

will go out and sit in the rain. (wait would it still rain in the future? is the climate still fucked in his timeline or nah)

like "ah, its water time" and goes out to sit like this:

Man if only there was a rain filter

that is all i have for now maybe if something else comes up ill reblog with new stuff >:)

#across the spiderverse #atsv #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #spider verse #headcanons #his specific tag that i have for him might be......... #errrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmm #critter moment #eureka!!!!!!!!!!!!!! #CRITTER MOMENT YES!! #ok you can post this now ash no more stalling

[acatalystrising]

Wellll the brainrot hasn’t ebbed away in the slightest SO I’m already done with the first chapter of my new story, Consequences - a ROTJ-era Boba fic! This is based off his comment in TBOBF when he stated he’d been ready to leave hunting behind…what could have possibly been the catalyst for that shift? Well, here’s my own theory. There’s something about his ruthless bounty hunter days that just…anyway lol, enjoy!

Pairing: Boba Fett x (F)Reader

Rating: Explicit 18+

Trigger warnings: Injuries, death threats, side character death, gun violence, cursing, kidnapping/capture (reader is a bounty), angst, and more to come…

Series synopsis: Backstabbed and betrayed, you knew there was a bounty over your head - but when you’re captured by the infamous Boba Fett, it becomes abundantly clear that your fate is as mysterious as your captor.

Chapter One: Out of the Frying Pan, Into the Fire

You sat in the leather-cracked booth of the cantina, soaked to the bone, knowing that pitying yourself wouldn’t do a shred of good - not when your own foolish actions had landed you here.

You raised the mug of caff to trembling lips, doing your damndest to pretend that you didn’t have a blaster wound to your left shoulder. You were grateful for the dark green poncho that hid the wound from prying eyes, the thick cloth tucked close to your neck. Regardless of your choice of clothing, anyone with a shred of intuition would know you were hurt - you never could hide pain well. Your only saving grace was the dark corner you’d settled in, a secluded spot that let you see all who entered.

In theory.

A group walked in, drenched from the downpour outside, all looking as miserable and wretched as one could be on this backwater planet. But it had served as a good hiding place for the last four months…until today. You winced as the back of the seat rubbed against your wound, clamping your jaw shut before a hiss of pain slipped free. A harsh laugh made you flinch, and you looked up, watching as another person walked inside behind the others.

Chills skittered down your spine and you muttered a curse. You recognized the bounty hunter who had shot you - the Twi’lek’s black coat was all harsh angles and straps of leather, not doing a good enough job of hiding the many weapons strapped to his tattooed body. A toothpick rolled between his teeth, eyes narrowed as he looked around the cantina.

You shrank into your seat, heartbeat pounding in your ears, reaching for your blaster. This menace had tracked you all the way across the city, despite all your hiding places, and as afraid as you were, anger coiled in your gut. You hadn’t asked for this. None of it. And you wanted to be left alone.

He smiled when he saw you, a vicious smirk that spoke of ill motives beyond your mere capture. Fear curled in your chest, making your arms shake as he approached, flicking a gun out of his holster with a practiced spin, the flash of the metal flickering in the light making several occupants pause. Heart lodged in your throat, you went to raise your blaster, turning to slip out of the booth…

And slammed into someone as they stepped from the back room.

You looked up at the newcomer, taking in the battered green beskar, tattered cape, and helmet with wide eyes - and realized just how screwed you were.

The helmet turned, slow and calculating, T-visored helm locking onto you with inhuman stillness, like a predator watching its prey. Your heart may as well have frozen in your chest. You scooted back into your booth - as if that could save you - eyes locked on him as a terror far greater then your trenchcoat-clad pursuer had elicited surged through you. You didn’t want to believe it. Even as you watched him, his helm still turned toward you, eyes hidden behind that black visor, you hoped you were wrong. But then your pursuer spoke, shooting that hope down before it had a chance to take flight.

“That one’s mine, Fett.” The Twi’lek hunter approached, gun pointed not at you, but Fett himself, his eyes narrowed. “I’m not lettin’ you take another one of my hard-earned bounties. So back off, I’m only giving you one warning.”

A hush fell over the cantina like a dying breath at the mention of that name - a name that rightfully made people tremble. All eyes fell on the armored figure, frozen as if glued to their seats by terror alone. And yet Fett said nothing. He merely slipped forward, each step accentuated by the metallic clink of spurs - all eyes locked on his slow advance. In that moment, you had a fleeting thought that you may have had better chances with the Twi’lek. Oh, he was as lecherous as they came, but he wasn’t Fett. You may have escaped the less-experienced youth in the realm of bounty hunters and mercenaries, but no one escaped Fett. Ever.

“You can’t intimidate me. I’ve just as much a right to be here as you.” The Twi’lek didn’t drop his gun, but you saw his arm quiver ever so slightly. He was afraid, too - but desperately was trying to mask it.

Fett stopped a yard away, helmet tilting ever so slightly to the side.

“Put it down, kid. Walk away.” His voice was like gravel mixed with whiskey - impossibly rough and deep - the warning tone only amplified by his helmet’s vocorder.

You should have known the Twi’lek wouldn’t listen. You saw the look of rage in his eyes even as he fired his blaster, the bolt knocking the armored man a centimeter backwards - but no more. But you hadn’t seen Fett pull his blaster, only the smoke that curled from its barrel as your pursuer’s body dropped to the ground, smoke wafting from the charred hole in his chest.

A scream cut through the silence, and the cantina burst into mass chaos - people flooding toward the exits, some even jumped through the windows. Several ran out the back, and you leapt into action, swinging out of your booth and following them, hoping that there truly was another way out. You didn’t bother looking back to see if Fett was in pursuit. You could only hope he was after bigger prey. That you’d be lucky for once.

Sure enough, there was a back exit - one he must have used to enter. Refusing to think about the deliberate tactics of that in relation to where you’d been sitting, you shoved the door open and stumbled out into the freezing rain, droplets stinging your eyes as you tore down the muddied road as fast as your legs could carry you. Lungs burning, breaths coming in fogged gasps, you twisted down an alley toward one of your hiding places - an old ship that probably hadn’t flown since before you were born.

You finally forced yourself to slow down, heart threatening to burst from your chest. You leaned against a rock wall, sweat slicking your forehead despite the chilly air. For a moment, you only heard the rain pouring down on you, everything else miraculously silent. Had you given him the slip? Or had he simply not been after you? A sigh slipped from your lips as you pushed off the wall to make your way to your shelter.

But the moment you heard the first spurred footstep strike the mud from behind you, you knew you’d never make it.

You’d never make it to one of your hideouts. Never make it out of this mess. Never have a chance to explain that it was all a big mistake. But you ran anyway. You hated it - the feeling of being a trapped animal, already resigned to a fate you couldn’t escape no matter how much you fought. Your mind flared with panic, logic slipping, fear seizing control of your limbs and a sending you bolting down paths you’d never taken, alleys you knew to avoid. It was only when you turned a corner and found yourself backed to a solid dead end did you realize just how fucked you were.

You keeled over, hands on your knees, breaths a ragged pant as silence fell - a quiet that was too still. As if every being on the planet itself held its bated breath.

Then you heard it. The clinking of spurs, a omen of death itself. He was coming.

Breathless, lungs aching, heart pounding, you slammed your back against the wall, pointing your blaster the way you’d came. You shot a desperate look up to the rainy sky, the droplets burning even as tears streaked down your face, knowing that no one was coming to save you. No one cared. Your life was inconsequential, only worth a bounty pinned on your shoulders because you’d tried to help someone else. That act of kindness would be your undoing.

You looked back toward the alley’s opening and flinched. Fett was already waiting.

You should have heard his approach. Surely his spurs would have alerted you? Or the rain striking his beskar, bouncing off his helmet before cascading to the mud. But there he was, standing there, watching you - silent as death. You supposed he had all the time in the world; you wouldn’t last much longer with your wounds. You’d been running for too long, and your blaster only held one shot left. A shot that wouldn’t even scuff his armor, much less make a dent.

Finally, he moved, approaching you with slow, but precise movements, like nexu cornering its prey.

You hated that you hunkered against the wall as if it were your salvation instead of your doom - blaster shaking in your hands as you fought the urge to fire. What good would it do other than anger him and make everything worse? Movement shifted in the dark at the alley’s opening, and you watched with horror as the Twi’lek who’d been hunting you earlier emerged, weapon trained on Fett’s back. You had no idea how he’d survived. You had no idea fight was still left in you. And you had no idea what drove your next action.

The Twi’lek raised his weapon and a loud bang echoed on the walls, startling a flock of birds above.

Fett didn’t flinch. But he did turn, taking in the crumpled body of the mercenary in the mud, blood pooling beneath him, brought down by your final shot. You lunged, trying your best to use his moment of distraction to slip past him, but everything crumpled within you when an iron grip locked onto your arm, pulling you back toward him.

“Let me go, dammit!” You tried to break free, kicking out at his side, but he blocked your attacks with ease.

You swung a fist, managing to punch the side of his helmet - but the cold metal was impossibly hard, and you winced as pain arced down your hand. He grunted, but didn’t let go, and you cursed, tossing your useless blaster at his face. He ducked, and the weapon clattered against the wall and plopped harmlessly into the muddy water. He slipped around you and pinned your arms behind your back, and your heart fractured when cuffs snapped over your wrists - sealing your fate.

“That’s enough.” His voice was cold. Deep and dark and detached. It sent tremors down your spine.

You really did try to fight him - locking your legs and pushing back against his chest, but your boots just slid through the mud as he forced you forward. His hand pressed against your blaster wound and you couldn’t bite back a scream as hot pain laced through your back. The hand on your shoulder pulled away and you crumpled to your knees, tears streaming down your cheeks. Oh, you hated how weak you were - how pathetic you must look in his eyes. But you wagered he dealt with all manner of emotions from his bounties, and none of it made a difference. You all met the same fate.

You felt something pinch your neck, and you managed to slur out a curse as your consciousness faded - and the last thing you saw was his visored helm peering down at you as he lifted you into his arms.

-

You were cold, so desperately cold.

If not for the dull ache of your wounded shoulder, you would have presumed yourself to be dead. You forced your sluggish eyes to open, lashes filtering a dim light that flickered above you. You winced, blinking groggily as you tried to make out your surroundings.

It was dark, the blinking red light somewhere overhead too dim to fully reveal much. But it did reveal the bars of the cage you were trapped in, locked inside like some kind of animal. You tried to move your arms, but the pinch of the binders brought the horrific reality of your situation back to your memory at full force. That was right…you’d been kidnapped. Hunted down by none other than Boba Fett himself. This had to be his ship. A shiver rippled down your spine and you tucked your chin closer to your damp chest, trying to reserve any dregs of body heat that remained.

There was no sign of Fett. You assumed he was probably flying the ship, already headed back to your home world - to your death.

You curled tightly into a ball, cheek resting against the chilled wall panel as you pondered your fate. Tears welled in your eyes, but you tried your best to keep them at bay, knowing you’d only freeze faster. It was ironic, in this most desperate moment, that you thought of your brother. The only family you had left - the one person who had always provided for you. And the one person who had betrayed you.

You felt your consciousness slipping, a blissful weightlessness coating your limbs and numbing your mind. You wanted to imagine it was your parent’s embrace - that for one moment, they weren’t faceless shards of fractured memories lost right after your birth. That they were flesh and blood, and loved you enough to have chosen to stay. Heavy footsteps rattled your clouded thoughts, but you were too tired to respond with more than a soft whimper as the gate to your cage was unlocked - swinging open with a harsh shriek. But you didn’t want to move, you wanted to remain in your dreams of a better past, and perhaps, what could have been your future.

“Get up.” A harsh voice cut through your delirium, but you barely even flinched.

You felt gloved hands grip your bound arms, pulling you to your feet. You stumbled, head nearly smacking against the wall, looking over your shoulder at the impassive helm that watched you, looking even more angular and predatory in the dark. You whimpered as he pulled you out of the cage, your gaze flicking to the far side of the cargo hold, noting a rack of long slabs that you knew could only be one thing.

You’d heard the stories, of course. Of the merciless Fett who stored his bounties in a carbon freezer - was that to be your fate too?

But he turned you in the opposite direction, toward stacks of crates that were strapped to the wall. He wordlessly set you down on top of one that jutted out lower than the rest, still out of sight, and you shivered - no longer just because of the cold. You heard a rustling behind you, and then a hand brushed over your wounded shoulder, gently pulling your poncho and shirt down. The other grabbed your cuffs, locking you in place. You yelped, trying to pull away, but his grip turned to iron, refusing to let you budge even an inch.

Panic spiked in your heart and you fought the urge to scream. Was he going to rape you? You thought of the Twi’lek’s probing glances and shuddered - fear pulsing through you. But he didn’t touch you save for your shoulder, and it appeared he was inspecting your wound. You stilled, logic overriding your fear long enough to think.

“L-listen, I…if you’re turning me in, they’ll want me alive…” your words babbled from your lips, punctuating the silence. Gods you were stupid - of course he was turning you in. He was a damned bounty hunter. But your pleas slipped free regardless. “Please don’t kill me…”

The hand on your cuffs lifted away, and you felt a cold cloth press over your wound - sending jolts of pain from your back to your toes. You cursed, head hanging low to your chest, jaw clenched as he taped it securely to your skin. The hell?

“What…” your words hissed through clenched teeth. “Is that…”

You knew better than to ask questions, or to speak at all. But you were so damn scared - you at least deserved to know how he was killing you.

“Bacta.” His voice was so cutting and sudden you almost missed it, and you frowned as he pulled away.

Of course he didn’t want you to die. You were probably worth more alive. At least, that was the only way you could justify his actions. You shivered when he pulled your poncho back over your shoulder and stepped back, tense silence once again settling in. He walked into your line of sight, making his way over to the other side of the cargo hold. He hadn’t even bothered to restrain you, and if you weren’t so terrified, you’d have been insulted. He clearly didn’t expect you to be able to attack him, nor did you have anywhere you could escape to. He was right on both accounts. You both knew you were trapped - and there wasn’t a damn thing you could do about it.

“What did you do?”

The deep voice once again took you by surprise, and you flinched as he turned to face you, something balled up in his hands that looked like cloth. A body bag? You blinked, and he tilted his helm slightly to the side - waiting. Was this something he asked everyone once they were hopelessly in his clutches? Did he get some sick sense of satisfaction out of it?

“I…” your head drooped, hopelessness flooding through you even as your forced yourself to speak. “It doesn’t matter what I did. I’m sure everyone claims they’re innocent, right? But no one ever is. Somehow, we all brought this on ourselves.”

He approached you with a smooth gait, those blasted spurs cutting through the silence. He towered over you, formidable and looming, silent as he observed you.

“I asked you a question.” His tone was curt - nearly on the edge of irritable, if you could read into it. “What did you do?”

“My…” you balled your bound hands to fists, tears threatening to spill again. “My brother. He…got in trouble with some Pikes. I tried to get him out, but he pinned the blame on me to save his own skin.”

“So you’re saying you’re a scapegoat.” He walked past you, voice cutting through the air like a hammer slamming the nails down on your coffin. “Many have used that excuse.”

“I did say there was no point in me telling you, now didn’t I?” The words flew from your lips before you had a chance to process them, and you winced as you heard the spurred footsteps behind you freeze for a moment, before he walked back toward you.

“Careful, little one.” His tone held a warning, and you visibly shrank, looking down at your boots. “With the bounty you’ve got over your head, I have every right to ask some questions.”

“My…” icy horror flooded through your limbs, and you shivered, but for once not due to the cold. “How…how much is it?”

He fell silent, the quiet deeply unsettling, almost worse than when he spoke. You dared to look up at him over your good shoulder, finding that his helmet was already tilted down toward you. Shivers ran down your spine, but you refused to look away. You felt you were owed this much - to at least know how much he’d line his pockets from your misfortune.

“500 credits.”

You blinked, wondering if maybe the cold had already eaten away at your eardrums.

“Excuse me?” Your frown deepened, confusion and fear a writhing mass in your chest as you stated at that black visor, wishing you could see his eyes to tell whether or not he was lying. “Is this some kind of joke? If I’m really worth so little, why did you of all people come after me? I…” you looked to the ship’s floor, a tear rolling down your cheek and splatting on the steel. “That son of a bitch…”

You’d never felt so embarrassed. So mortified. You were worth literal pocket change to the likes of him, and yet Fett snagged you anyway. He watched you, silent and impassive behind his helmet, and you wondered what he was thinking. And yet, in your manic state of desperation, a crazed laugh erupted from your lips.

“If the pickings are this slim, you’d best start looking for a new profession.” You gestured at the ship around you with a wide shrug of your shoulders. “Doubt 500 credits will keep her running for long.”

Fett, of course, didn’t laugh. He didn’t even speak. You were beginning to wonder if he was more droid than man. Perhaps he was, for all you knew, made of steel and wire beneath the beskar - which would make sense in a way, you supposed. For what sort of being of flesh and bone could be so cold?

He stepped around your crate and sat on one opposite to you, helmet tilted slightly to the side, silent. You watched him, unease creeping through you at this response. You still very much felt like prey in the claws of a nexu, the feline beast merely playing with his food before devouring you whole.

“You evaded Ka’lek longer then I’d wagered.” He leaned back, crossing his arms over his broad chest. He almost looked bored. “Even with the wound.”

Your world stilled. You stiffened, watching him with wide eyes. Had he been tracking you this whole time?

“You…you saw that?” A sliver of pain ran through your wounded shoulder as if summoned. “Were you working with him?”

A harsh chuckle cut from the helmet, as if it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

“I don’t work well with others.” His voice was a near growl, rumbling through your chest and rooting you in place. You hated that the sound didn’t terrify you altogether - but you shut the direction of those thoughts down before they led to a much more treacherous path. “You caught my attention, girl. No one gets a price on their head that low without either being framed or simply worthless.”

You blinked, shock rippling through you. A cold chill shivered down your spine and you swallowed hard, even as he spoke.

“I just haven’t decided yet which one you are.” He leaned back against the wall of crates, propping a boot over his knee, the harsh angles of his helmet tilting back.

Silence fell, and you felt you couldn’t tear your gaze away from the man who held you at his mercy. Your heartbeat pounded so fast in your chest you wondered if it would simply burst. He leaned forward, steepling his gloved fingers, helmet jutting toward you.

“You could’ve tried to shoot me. I was the more direct target.” He tapped his index fingers, the soft pattering sound steady like a heartbeat. “Why’d you shoot the Twi’lek instead?”

Ahh, the question you still asked yourself. You had the distinct feeling that your life depended on your answer.

“I…” you dipped your head down, desperate to break from his unseen gaze. Even from behind a visor, it was intense. You knew the only answer you had was stupid - but you were grasping for straws and had no choice. “Your…back was turned.”

His fingers stopped tapping, helmet cocking to the side, as if in question. His silence encouraged you to continue.

“It was…dishonorable. You confronted him head-on, tried to tell him to back off. It wouldn’t have been right.” You swallowed thickly, glancing up at him with a small shrug. “No one should go that way. Take it from someone who knows what it feels like to be stabbed in the back.”

“Interesting.” His voice was curt, yet not entirely unkind.

He stood without any further comments, the conversation clearly over. He walked behind you and gripped your cuffs, leading you back into your cell, albeit a little less roughly. He turned to leave, glancing over his shoulder, and tossed something your way. You flinched, preparing for the worst - but you frowned when a blanket fell in your lap.

“The cuffs are for insurance. But I don’t want you dying. Not yet.” He turned, the cell’s door clicking shut behind him, and you watched with gnawing dread as he sauntered away - moving up the stairs and out of sight.

You felt treacherous to your own pride as you struggled to wrap the heavy cloth around you, gripping it unceremoniously between your teeth to drape it over your shivering frame. This was not going the way you’d expected, but you supposed you knew absolutely nothing about men like Boba Fett, and you wagered you never would.

You hated the tears the sprang to your eyes unhindered, beading on the blanket before rolling to the floor. You had to admit you weren’t as cold, but you weren’t sure if surviving this nightmare was the better option. Sure, he hadn’t killed you. This time. There was no guarantee you’d make it another hour, much less another day.

All you knew was that you were a lamb in the nexu’s den, and you wouldn’t be emerging unscathed.

-

Chapter two

(I didn’t want to be so bold to assume the people I tagged in the last fic also wanted to be tagged here, but if you want to be tagged here too just let me know!)

#boba fett #boba fett x f!reader #boba fett x reader #boba fett x you #boba fett fanfiction #star wars #sw rotj #star wars fic #consequences boba fett fic #chapter one #my writing

[chandraraj]

Maryada Purushottam

:1: The First Shloka :1:

Rishi Narad was a well-known sage. His continuous journeys through the three realms were mostly why he knew everything that happened in the world.

His knowledge was something greatly revered by other sages too.

One such time when Rishi Narad was on his way journeying through the worlds, he was confronted by a very intrigued Rishi Valmiki.

His greetings were immediately followed by a spree of questions.

"Oh sage! Would there be ever a man who is so perfect? Valiant, beautiful, knowledgeable, radiant, self-controled, and yet when angered during battle, even the gods fear him!" Valmiki asked him.

Narad was exited, "There is a man! Those qualities are rare to be in one yet there is one! With my knowledge I'll describe the man named Ramachandra of the Ikshvaku lineage!"

Narad briefed over Ram's life and explained how he was a perfect man. He described his body structure, incredible achievements, how he had slayed fouteen thousand rakshashas, how his wife was kidnapped, how he journeyed south to bring back his wife and had slain the evil Raavan.

Valmiki couldn't quite fathom it— the greatness of a mere man. It was unbelievable how difficult his life was— how many times he had to make difficult choices so that the best interest of most is saved.

Valmiki and his student took their chance to worship Narad one more time before he left.

Narad walked away into the realm of gods— almost as if he dissipated into thin air.

The atmosphere was still for a while. As if the liveliness gone with the celestial sage.

Some time had passed, precisely fourty eight minutes— a muhurat, when Valmiki stood up and headed to the banks of the Tamasa river.

It was a tributary rather than a river. Tamasa wasn't far from it's original Ganga either. The water was calm and clear— like a tirth sthan.

"Bharadvaj," he called for his student, "Free from mud— a lovely place isn't it?"

His student silently nodded.

"Bring me my bark garments and place the water pot here, son," Valmiki pointed at the banks, "I'll take the chance to bathe in these supreme waters."

After receiving his clothes from Bharadvaj, Valmiki advanced into the waters, looking around at the scenery.

The forest around was a lively place filled with all kinds of birds.

Two krouncha birds or curlews, he noticed, were attached in love, singing happily, almost making Valmiki chuckle, but he then noticed a nishada.

Nishadas were forest dwellers who survived by the means of hunting.

They generally had rules to go about during hunting, but they barely followed them sometimes.

While Valmiki watched, the unknown nishada took his bow, shot for the birds, and the male krouncha fell with the short arrow oozing blood out from its body.

Valmiki saw the lamenting female that cried in pain while its other half trembled to death. He recognised the nishada's act to be adharma.

"Stricking a couple, leaving one to lament," Valmiki mumbled, "The poor passionate pair is left shambled— O nishada! Hear your clan to be ill reputed for eternity!"

After uttering the words, Valmiki realised what he had uttered.

He had cursed an entire clan for one man's mistake but besides, he had spoken in a way that he had never heard himself either.

He reflected on his words while finishing up his original purpose of bathing and made up his mind to share this incident with his student.

"My son, hear what I just uttered when I was overcome with grief. They have a perfect rhythm arranged in equal number of aksharas." Valmiki looked at his excited student, "I plan on calling it a Shloka—"

To be continued...

Next up: The Divine Inspiration

#ramayan #rama #ramayana #shri ram #valmiki ramayan #shri rama #shree rama #shree ram #jai shree ram #sita #seetarama #seetaram #seeta #sitarama #siyaram #siyarama #ram #raj #valmiki #narada #The First Shloka #the first shloka #thefirstshloka #ram's journey #Maryada Purushottam #maryada purushottam #maryadapurushottam

[toadstool32]

its the sextuplets birthday! in celebration im ranking them based on personal preference <3

karamatsu < i like him

osomatsu < i like shitty older brothers when theyre not my own

jyuushimatsu < i dont even think he knows how baseball works

todomatsu < hes such a bitch i love him

ichimatsu < cat

choromatsu < at his best when insane

the nature making numbered list make it so that they all have a rank but if anything it would be like > 1 karamatsu >2 osomatsu / jyuushimatsu >4 todomatsu / ichimatsu > 6 choromatsu

now im gonna proceed to rank them as combinations <- insane behavior

i got the names from this list!

im mostly ranking them by how funny they are but comedy is subjective feel free to send me anon hate ovr this i dont care

doing this in a five star format! ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

choukeimatsu: starting out strong! i love shitty older brothers! they suck <3 five stars ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

sokudomatsu: its ok, i like they more when they act out as other characters than themselves, they either do a funny skit or their manzai act, this one is a toss up for me! ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ➖➖

parkamatsu: their shittyness and cuteness level gets balanced so evenly... its precious to see truly..... however!!! its cute to see oso treat ichi like a cat / a future ward of the state but alas its not tickling my funny bone as much ⭐ ⭐ ➖➖➖

bakamatsu: i like stupid idiots, i want more of them ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ➖

benimatsu: oso n todo are such shitheads fr, they enable eachother to be the worst version of themselves, which is both cute AND fun ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

suirikumatsu: i read this one comic where they both get bullied by everyone else and then get revenge at the beach, (ill find and reblog later) other than that i dont think they really have that many skits together? booo. its rough out there ➖➖➖➖➖

iromatsu: its mid, it makes me cringe more than laugh, well, thats a lie sometimes i do laugh, its a toss up really, (i do like the bazooka scene tho) ⭐⭐⭐➖ I

musclematsu: while iromatsu its ichi using kara as a chew toy karamatsu is like, a chew toy with spikes, and fire and hurtful things, so ichimatsu receives psychic damage by that. Yeah that does not happen with jyuushimatsu this is like a uno reverse, these two are made or way harder stuff, and way dumber too, five stars ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

woodmatsu: theyre sweet :3 its a good balance between karamatsu being a chewtoy and todomatsu being the tsukkomi fishing with love letters and falling in love with the same cashier? pretty solid gags ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ➖

middlematsu: funniest gag they ever did was the fact that they never talk to eachother, nobody has a good time here, four stars only bc its a rare one ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ➖

wakabamatsu: are u fucking kidding me ok this one is interesting bc when jyuushi is the boke i feel like the skits run way to long, i still laugh but whatever not the point. but when they make jyushimatsu choros tsukkomi??? insane behavior honestly. ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ➖ ➖

cybermatsu: funniest shit ever, choromatsu shines with todomatsu as his pair truly, funniest shit ive ever seen ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

numbermatsu: top tier! what do i ever have to say here they just work ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

110matsu: catty bitches, ichimatsu gets to be weird in new ways here such is the curse of being a good straight man! hang in there todomatsu!! ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ➖

youngestmatsu: they r so fucking cute, cant remeber any skits with them tho, oh well ⭐ ⭐ ➖➖

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

ok now im gonna do groups!! but not really just the ones i care about, fuck the list im doing numbers now:

125- i like idiots, i want more of them, jyuushimatsus fun day with his big brothers (goes wrong) <3

456- shitty little brothers represent! u cant be mad at them theyre just little guys and its their birthday :3

346- catty bitches but more toxic, this one rulez, the self awareness has left the room

146- i think theyre neat

126- this is just my dream blunt rotation lets move on

246- i thought abt girlymatsu for a bit and passed out for a sec imagine this with me

thats all!!! get out of my post!!!

#osomatsu san #ac #long post

[lumalalu]

man fuck it im gonna start doin wip wednesdays here

Summer is sweet and endless and she has nothing to do but look at me. She's looking at me now, through the sun's glare on her mirror. She shadows the shapes of my mouth, but doesn't put her voice to my words.

My parents are worried about Grace. They think something's wrong with her - I know what it is. Grace knows, too, looking at me, looking through the glare in the mirror. Everything about her is wrong. I could fix her, if she would let me.

Solid, measured knocks. "Gracie?"

"Yeah?" She pulls her braids back to look at her shoulders uncovered. The angle of her jaw. She is trying to see how it matches up to mine.

"Your mother and I are going to go to the mall. Do you want to come?"

I've never been a fan of the sweltering heat of a cracked-asphalt parking lot, nor the chill on my skin in a Macy's. Grace says, "Okay." But she only said that so that she can look away from me. She is a fool. I can be found in anything that can reflect. I watch her in the windows, in silver lockets, in the mirrors she models new boots in. She parades about like a wind-up toy, a ballerina in a music box. Her mother hands her new skirts for the new school year, button-up blouses, low-cut but not whorish, and modest stockings.

The dressing rooms are hidden in the corner, neatly separated by two icons of triangles - one upside and one downside. I follow her to the wrong one, the wrong stall. It's cramped and ill-fitting, somewhat like a body. Grace tries her best to avoid me still. It's a valiant effort, I'll give her that much. But at some point, in a few minutes, maybe, she'll have to turn around and face me.

Grace takes off her tanktop like the accused pushing off concrete slabs. She hisses with impatience at the clasp of her bra and its stubborn claws in her skin, throws it on the bench with more violence than is necessary. Branded into her back it remains, aching, smoking. Cramped and ill-fitting. She itches at it like the fabric is stuck in her, like it still remains subcutaneously and she could pull it away finally, permanently, if she also removed the skin. Her nails are well cared for, and so, won't do the job. I smile at the sound of her bent elbows.

Her pants go too, her keys squeezing free of the claustrophobic pockets and diving with raucous applause to the floor. Her phone is in her purse, because the back pockets are only decorative. Grace doesn't curse. Her words are never ugly. Instead, her lips bend into the shape of: "shit", and then she bends and picks up the keyring. It is unadorned. Why should it be anything else? A key only has one purpose.

For a moment we stand there together, Grace's back to me, my back not quite to hers. She is hesitating, stretching out the moment between one set of clothes and the next. The blouse is slippery and coarse in texture, sends spider legs running over her back. The skirt is of good quality, but takes up in the back, so she is afraid to bend. No pockets.

I ask her if I can see it. She stares at the off-white wall in silence, and then she turns.

"Oh, no, Gracie. That won't do at all." I tell her. "That thing isn't even fit to be a tablecloth. It's see-through, it's itchy on my ribs. It's pushing my skin too close to my bones, the points of my ribs poking at my lungs. It's like a coffin leaking air, sighing its way into the ground." 

Her breath hitches. "I don't know what's wrong with me." She's saying to herself, to the mirror, to me. I make a sound - in my mouth it is sympathetic, but in hers it is animal, pained, cornered.

#the erm #well i already have all of my future changes planned out but might as well talk about it here #the introduction to this scene needs to be a bit more involved or like. #ren calls it cinematic lol #wip wednesday #UHHH #writeblr #writeblogging #the next part that im working on today will be the reflection giving her different clothes to try on #i dont know whether to lean harder into the dysphoria in like a 'i just look like a girl in mens clothes' or into a euphoric way #i can probably figure out a way to do both? #like... if grace is like I hate this and the reflection goes But look #here is potential for something else #the more i write it the more im confident its like #clear enough so as not to be confusing #like even if u dont get the intended meaning youd probably come away with Something #i havent had many people read any of this yet tho #since im not in a creative writing group anymore i dont have a lot of people To show #maybe theres something like that that meets up at my library #or maybe i could start something? #idk how youd even like. advertise for that... #i dont actually think this is long enough to warrant a readmore but i thought it would be polite still #i guess technically this is transgender but its not like #its prose lol #oh this is a short story im intending to submit to a lit magazine when its finished #id liketo find specifically a queer one #ive been trying to make a lil personal website on neocities to host my original stuff too so ill probably put this there when its done #sniffs #🕷❣ #TRYING NOT TO BE NEGATIVE I CAN WRITE! THIS IS A SECOND PASS BUT ITS STILL GOOD AND WORTH SHARING

[cto10121]

Harry Potter Clown Takes Special Edition—Le Guin Again

In which an old Le Guin quote returns to bring all the HP clown shakes to the yard. Is it better than yours? Let’s find out.

So Le Guin made this comment in a 2005 interview, by which time Half-Blood Prince was published, the darkest and most morally complicated book of the series by that point. Apart from that, her criticism is not very good for these reasons:

1. Rowling never claimed her series was original. I even honestly doubt there were adult critics were calling her books original. Even in its heyday there were plenty of critics and even a lot of cranks suing Rowling for plagiarism for the magical school idea. Most likely the critics were referring to Rowling’s execution, which indeed much more fleshed out than Le Guin’s very cursory and drama-free treatment. At the very least Rowling’s characters have plausible personalities than the symbolic cyphers of A Wizard of Earthsea.

2. I’ve struggled with understanding what “ethically mean-spirited” even means, given the series’ singular preoccupation with morality and the blatant moral complication Rowling develops in the latter half of the books. If Le Guin means the karma potshots at the actual abusive and mean-spirited Dursleys or even Fred and George’s nastier pranks, then I suppose kids rebelling against their tormentors or, er, doing stupid kid shit can be said to be ethically mean-spirited. And even the Dursleys are given a quick and easy exit at the end of Book 7 with not even a loss in pride and a slightly reformed Dudley (!!).

I have a feeling that had the series had framed these petty revenges on the Dursleys negatively and urged forgiveness that Le Guin would have said the series legitimized abuse and ill-treatment. If anything Rowling is a sentimental softie compared to the likes of Roald Dahl. Brad Neely’s hilarious narration even makes fun of the corny coming-of-age tropes Harry Potter exemplifies.

‘90s sensibility is right! Boy, those ethnic stereotypes are a whopper. Cho Chang is a Ravenclaw, a Quidditch athlete, and an easy and sentimental crier, especially when it comes to relationship drama. Lee Jordan is the unofficial trickster pal of Fred and George and offered entertaining if funnily biased Quidditch commentary. Angelina Johnson is a very good Quidditch player, gets almost as fanatic as Wood when she becomes captain, goes with half the twins to the Yule Ball, and has dreadlocks (?). There isn’t much to Dean Thomas (half-blood, father walked out on him) except as a friend of Seamus; he later dates Ginny. Parvati is a girly girl who likes Divination and pals around with fellow girly girl Lavender. Kingsley Shacklebolt is an Order member, excellent at passing as a Muggle, and becomes Minister of Magic. Don’t all these description scream “stereotypical” to you???? I know it does to me.

As for moral sophistication…I guess you could write a whole ass kid series about how the government is not only ineffective and in denial of a white wizard supremacist threat but are actually intimately in bed with them and actually has no problem with their ideas. I guess you could portray the whole of wizard society as supremacist lite(tm) and even have a whole-ass plotline about supremacist attitudes against non-magical creatures. But that will be too morally unsophisticated for the kiddies, wouldn’t it?

Harry, who begins as a mild, polite (if sassy towards his asshole relatives and assholes in general), average and morally wholesome student, definitely ends the series as a mild, polite, and average and morally wholesome student. Nothing in Harry changed at all, nuh-uh, nope. He only just develops a fierce temper, learned how to properly cast the Cruciatus Curse and other war crime shit, learn and forgive both his mentor’s betrayal and a detested teacher who hated his guts, and sacrifice his life for the greater good. See? No change.

I read A Wizard of Earthsea about a year ago and if someone pointed a gun at my head and demanded to tell me what happened in that book, I would literally die. That said, The Left Hand of Darkness had very good style and craft, so I can only assume that Le Guin just isn’t a writer for the elementary set, period.

Because modern America and Britain is not at all characterized by mean and overly aggressive competition and tribalism between arbitrary groups disguised as wholesome fun and don’t have horrible colonialist histories or unethical lifestyles.

You can’t have your cake and eat it too, Clown OP. Either HP is a morally uncomplicated children’s fantasy that is not good representation of our real world ~or it has deeply problematic depictions of Anglo world and culture through the vehicle of fantasy. It can’t be both.

Harry was literally a child. Kids accept all kinds of shit because they don’t have a foundational understanding yet of what normal is! It’s child psychology 101. Hermione is the exception as the actual smart one and blatant author avatar. But prejudice against Muggleborns and half-bloods was never condoned or tolerated by the Golden Trio or anyone that wasn’t a pureblood supremacist sympathizer. And Harry himself did feel enraged over Riddle’s framing Hepzibah’s house elf for her murder and the Ministry easily accepting this.

I think the issue for most of the criticism is that HP is still a Bildungsroman at heart, so the plot focus is all about Harry’s education and his rise in power and status. But Harry’s actual power to enact real status-quo busting change has always been limited. As in, you know, real life.

#harry potter clown takes #harry potter clownery #hp #that le guin quote makes so little sense #it kills me because there is so much to criticize about these books #that aren’t this bs

[daedalusdavinci]

quick oc guide

i just figure ill make one of these rq in case anyone ever finds themselves trying to look through my oc tag and figure out what the hell im doing, if im doing anything at all. the chances of this are low, but yknow, just in case

i have two ocs! well, there are more, but the story is really just about the two of them. their names are tommy and rogue. im still piecing together their story, but at its core its about what makes a monster and falling in love with one.

tommy is an alien disguising himself as a human. by day, he works retail, and by night, hes the most prolific thief in the city. if i could describe him in one word, itd be hedonistic. hes a thrillseeker to the point where it becomes suicidal, charming grins and no impulse control, deadset on exploring the world but lacking the knowledge or care to do it well or safely. he romanticizes adventure and distrusts government, and hes never seen an anthill he didnt want to stick his dick in. he falls in love with rogue before he even meets him, obsessed with the mystique and danger and drawn to the idea that maybe, just maybe, there might be someone who feels as alone as he does. he has one bestie, nita, whom he has a complex hero/villain exes relationship with that can best be described as messy and entwined, and a lot of casual friends that he keeps at a safer distance.

rogue is a human cursed to look like a monster. after his life fell apart, he clawed to the top of the underworld as a leading arms dealer and keeps his position largely through intimidation and reputation alone. hes a looming shadow in the city, an ex-theater kid with mommy issues, a monster who chose to embrace it, and someone who is deeply, deeply afraid. hes extremely distrustful, but hes spent his years as a gang boss building his own tight-knit family in the form of his core crew, whom he cares about more than anything. his best friend is his second in command, barbie, and theyre so close and understand each other so well they might as well be psychically communicating. his business is her business, and vice versa. his mission in life is to finally gather enough power to feel safe, and its a mission that drives him to tommy.

the story so far is that rogue hires tommy on to steal powerful items. as they get to know each other better, rogue begins to understand just how alone tommy really is, while tommy begins to understand the depth of rogues fear, and the risk it poses to them all.

as of the time im writing this, ive done the most work flushign out tommy and rogues characters (obviously) and ive developed most of their closest friends (ie; nita, rogues crew, some of tommys coworkers), and am still working on fleshing out other background characters like their family members, other friends of tommys, and other villains and heroes in the city that they bump into often. if you have questions always feel free to ask! im terrible at working on this w/o someone forcing me to

#my ocs

[bawkrya]

Very "fast" rundown for a part of the Fall of Taihe lore

The Wu Empire has whats considered a curse and a blessing on their family: for each generation, one child (usually male) is born with the Eye Crown, and it gives them an absurd, generally uncontrollable amount of strength that can take over their being and make them destroy everything. Given 98% of the heirs w this crown are male, all boys are sent into training to harness this. Girls Are given training as well-- but theyre not given the headstart since its very rare they get this crown. Another important note is that the crown doesnt pass to the next generation unless the previous crown holder dies.

Main princess we are concerned about gains the Eye Crown unknowingly as there are no marks on her or her brothers that indicate it. The family believes that somehow, the previous crown holder is still alive and invests most of their time trying to find them, despite them u kno, being buried. None of the heirs get headstart training. Our princess is also born with a chronic illness that is Also passable through the Wu family. She receives no training whatsoever in regards to combat or more physically strenuous cultivation.

Fastforward 20 yrs the Wu family believes the crown has skipped a generation. None of the heirs have had the marks show up, in training nothing has been triggered, etc etc. Our princess also has more interest in scholarly topics along with her oldest brother.

The princess is given an arranged marriage & is doing everything in her power to get out of it. Given that a trained Eye Crown was a show of strength for the Wu family, sects are beginning to question what power they truly have, so the marriage was supposed to be a union that could help their reputation. Princess really could care less.

She has two lovers, unnamed guy and Dajing. She meets unnamed guy first, hes from a smaller sect yet is pretty notorious for his temper-- which is how Dajing knows him, yet he never realized he got w the princess.

Dajing ofc also gets w her, all r aware of the set up & all that, dajing and unnamed begrudgingly get along for their shared love of the princess.

Dajing is The strongest cultivator during this time. Bc of that, the princess begins to take interest in his training-- so he starts training her in more combative stuff.

While not obvious to the princess, unnamed guy figures out over the next cpl of years that She has the eye crown. Tries to bring it up to dajing in a subtle way to get him to stop training her-- so the untrained eye crown doesnt explode on everyone. Dajing gets the hint and tries to stop, but princess is stubborn (& hurt) about it.

They try to bring it up to the emperor via the princesses fiance, it doesnt work according to plan. At all.

Dajing starts going with simpler training as to not trigger anything, but the princess notices this & gets upset

Eventually, the eye crown is triggered, and the princess destroys a GOOD portion of a fucking mountain. This is very summarized, but this is the point where dajing has to seal her in ice, & him and unnamed argue about it Thoroughly.

The emperor finally like, believes them when he sees her sealed. They make up that she passed away from her chronic illness and try to keep everything under wraps. The princess does Not die in this ice seal.

Dajing carves her out of the Giant ice structure he had to make and sets up a really nice & lush realm for her that only He can access. He can bring in others, but others cant find the realm unless he is physically present.

Dajing & unnamed bond over their grief, but u kno, tragedy

Unnamed's & Dajings sects are at war w each other. <3

While Dajings sect ultimately goes under, unnamed is killed after a patrol frm dajings sect finds them together. His body falls into the river they were near, and dajing tries to find it after getting free but. Alas

Dajing then becomes immortal under the vow that he would keep the memory of the princess (& unnamed) alive

Time skip a cpl of centries. Ruyang is dumped on dajings estate as the huang sect falls under fire.

Dajing is like well. Damn. And takes care of her but only bc he didnt feel like trying to send her off to one of the sects. He doesnt like interacting w None of them

Ofc ruyang grows on him, he trains her to cultivate, all of that.

Timeskip again, ruyang is abt 30, & leaves to do her own thing after a lil petty argument.

Wu Jinhais older brother aka the Crown Prince makes his presence known to dajing. By standing where the realm for the princess wld be, shld dajing become present. Dajing is like um. Who the fuck are you. Crown prince is genuinely offended for a second bc how the fuck do you not know the Crown Prince of your country. Dajing is an old man simply

Anyways he kind of casually drops tht he knows what happened to the princess and that hes going to do smth abt that.

Dajing gets paranoid and moves the realm around. When Ruyang gets over herself he shows her the realm and kind of traumadumps but its fine

yeah. Crown prince has a lot more power than he shld. Since he shldnt have the Eye crown but also does he? Hm? Wuh oh

Anyways he wants to release the princess in order to either kill her so the eye crown can continue or wipe out the sects. Whatever happens first.

He basically keeps trying to pressure dajing into freeing the princess and he manages to Get In The Realm without dajing snd its freaking dj the fuck out but he wont budge and remove the seal. Until.

Crown prince brings back unnamed. Dajing's & the princess's lover!

Which ljke brings in the question how the fuck did you get his body but thats a sideplot. But dajing is obviously disoriented, the prince is In His Realm without him letting him there, ALONG with his previously dead lover, and its like what the actual fuck.

Unnamed is really hinged on bringing the princess back. The princess didnt know what was happenjng and was confused/scared when she was sealed. And he understandably wants her to feel safe, but he also wants her alive, which cant feasibly happen with the eye crown still technically active.

Like theres a WAYYYY to keep her alive and deactivate the eye crown but 1. Prince doesnt want that. 2. W the princesses existing illnesses it would become fatal for her anyways, unless dajing cld manage to convince this Other immortal to help him, but he wouldn't have time to do this w the prince on his ass.

Anyways. Where i stopped is the little argument there and dajing getting desperate to get this prince off of his back. This is where ruyang wld come back to dajing bc he writes a very panicked letter 2 her, but shes Also dealing w the royal family trying to beat her ass, so who knows how much it'll actually help.

#this post was supposed to be very brief and made like SEVERAL hours ago #but ive jst been thinking about dajing soooo much i love him #i like taking my favorite actors and making ocs out of them. #Fall of Taihe