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lurochar · 24 days

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Little Abomination

That... thing was separate yet still a part of him. It was how Alastor even became aware of your existence to begin with. You were his. You just didn't know it yet. Alastor x Reader (sorta) + Catlastor

Warnings? - You call Catlastor ‘Little Red’. Reader sorta has a backstory.

–-------

“Settle down now.”

His shadow chittered with excitement and restlessness as it fluttered from building to building, moving along ahead of him like an enthusiastic child who possessed no manners whatsoever.

Well, he supposed his shadow was just mirroring what he truly felt deep down that he certainly could not display publicly, so he could let it slide for now.

After all, he had been watching for seven years and now that he was back, he could finally come and claim what was rightfully his.

You, that is.

Not that you even knew it yet.

Well, how could you? You had only just recently woken up in Hell shortly after he disappeared, probably only hearing of the ‘Radio Demon’ through rumours and gossip, if you even bothered to pay attention at all.

You had more important things to worry about than missing Overlords, such as surviving the brutal environment of Hell with your small and frankly pathetic build.

Yet survive you did.

Sure, you didn't have the rich and opulent lifestyles that Overlords such as himself could easily obtain through power or wealth.

In fact, you had absolutely nothing but the clothes on your back and even those were stolen with a skill that was practiced far too much.

He did believe you probably had done so often enough in your mortal life that you had no choice but to do so.

And in the seven years he had been watching you, stealing was the only crime you committed.

If that was the reason you were sent down to the burning pits of fiery Hell to suffer for your ‘sins’, well, clearly Heaven was nothing but a fucking joke.

No matter, he would get what he wanted and if Heaven made a blunder, it was his gain.

Of course, there was the pesky obstacle standing in his way, the reason he even knew of your existence to begin with.

Your little bodyguard.

That cat(?) creature-like thing that had become your companion and grew an affection for you simply because you showed the little abomination kindness again and again, over the wellbeing of your own health as you fed it the last scraps of your stolen food.

You foolish girl.

Did you really think that creature could not fend for itself? That it could not rip the limbs off whichever Sinner that it designated for dinner?

Who knows how many the little beast had already devoured for your protection? How many times you may have been killed if not for that cat stalking after you and pouncing on your would-be attackers before they could even hope to reach you?

How your protector dragged those fools away out of your sight into the shadows, never allowing you to see just how gruesome Hell truly was?

You were a pretty little thing and many would be eager to snatch you up and ground your soul down until your light was snuffed out.

No, but him – he saw you for the pretty little gem you were, a pure indulgence that should not have been sent to the depths of Hell for such lowly crimes.

As for your little beastly companion, Alastor was not too sure what it was, but if he had to theorize, he would guess it was simply the remnants of flesh, fur, bone, and even bits of his antlers that he lost during his uprising and toppling of the previous Overlords during his first few years in Hell.

He supposed it just took years and years for the pieces of himself to slowly form into something (he would not say that creature resembled himself in any shape or form, it was a hideous little thing).

Despite it somehow growing its own consciousness, Alastor could still look through its eyes and it was then your fate was locked and sealed.

You were his.

Even that beast, separate yet still a part of him, already knew that and he did expect that you would come willingly now.

Wouldn't you?

–

You sighed.

“It's not much, I know.” You leaned back against the wall of the warehouse that served as your current ‘home’, “But it's better than yesterday! That bakery is on to me, I think. I'll have to move on to something else.”

The cat stared at you, its chilling grin not creeping you out in the least (not anymore anyway). Its unblinking eyes didn't move away from you even as you placed two pieces of bread in front of it.

“C'mon, Little Red, don't let it go to waste!” You begged. You knew it wasn't exactly fond of food like baked goods and it usually took a good while for your companion to relent to your pleas, but it eventually would gobble down whatever you managed to scrounge for that day.

Something like meat was a luxury you definitely couldn't afford.

“See, it's not so bad?” You let out a forced laugh when your furry friend swallowed the two pieces of bread after unhinging its jaw in a manner that used to disturb you, “Yeah, I know it’s plain. I woulda went for the doughnuts, but that baker was eyeing me pretty hard.”

The cat’s tail wagged and it let out that strange staticky purr as it bumped its head against your leg and you let out a huff of amusement, feeling its odd protrusions poking you. You scratched behind its ear and you felt the critter literally vibrate under your hand.

It was a bizarre creature, but it proved it was the only one you could trust during your time in Hell thus far.

You had come across the little fellow only a month after you woke up in Hell and despite your shock and despair at your fate and the cat’s initial indifference to your presence, your stubborn insistence in giving it the meagre amount of food you stole, and were sometimes beat bloody for, had won it over in the end.

(If you only knew it had stalked you the entire time, intrigued by your absurd reasoning. It had thoroughly enjoyed consuming those who did lay their hands on you).

Its grin widened at the memory.

“Maybe I should try getting a job again?” You muttered out loud, sighing as you let out a breath, “Try to save up money, get an apartment.” It was a pleasant thought, but that required you to actually retain said job.

Your mortal life hadn’t been so great, with a drug-addicted mother and an absent father, it didn’t take much for both of you to end up on the streets and your mother dying of an overdose not long after.

It had been under the directive of your mother at first, stealing had become a second nature to you. Anything for her drugs when she was alive, but after she died, it had turned to necessities only.

Food, clothes, money.

It was never a good idea to steal money though.

You had chosen the wrong person to steal a bit of cash from and got a bullet in the head for it, only to wake up in Hell for simply being born in shitty circumstances and having to do what you did to survive.

It sucked.

You had sorta lucked out where you spawned in Hell however, in a territory owned by an Overlord known as the ‘Radio Demon’.

He had apparently cleaned up the area, turned it into a civil area compared to other territories owned by other Overlords, and the denizens of his territory behaved (whether out of fear or respect, probably both) like a polite society.

Even though the Radio Demon had not been seen or heard from for years now, the citizens of his territory still acted cordially (again, out of fear and respect) since no one wanted their soul to be ripped apart over a live broadcast whenever he decided to return.

Or angering Rosie, the Overlord who was supposedly looking after the Radio Demon’s territory in his absence.

Due to your past life, you retained bad habits and the few jobs you tried to uphold, your sticky fingers had gotten the better of you and you were fired for stealing, even though it was mostly just food.

You really didn’t want to find out if you could starve to death in Hell.

A paw lightly smacked your face and you jumped, startled out of your thoughts and you looked down to find your cat friend sitting in your lap, its grin as wide as usual, “Heh, just lost in my head, Little Red,” you patted its head, “wondering what kind of job I could even do?”

The cat’s ears twitched.

Your body stiffened unwittingly.

Static hummed in the air, growing louder by the second and you began to shake uncontrollably, feeling your heart pound against your chest as you struggled to your feet. “W-what’s that noise?” You barely noticed as the cat tumbled off your lap while you looked wildly around the warehouse.

A shadow streaking across the ground caught your eye.

“Fuck, what is that?” You tried to keep your eyes on the quick moving shadow, but it was just so fast and your panic was not helping nor was the dim light, “W-where did it go?”

You almost screamed when you felt cold hands grab your shoulders and a strange chittering sound and you blindly threw your arm out, hoping to at least hit whatever grabbed you.

Yeah, you were pathetically weak, but you still had claws and fangs like the majority of Sinners, so you would put up something of a fight.

You hit nothing as you stumbled, looking behind you to see nothing either before those same cold hands skimmed up your sides. You shrieked when you were literally lifted off the ground from under your arms and you found yourself looking at a shadowy figure with glowing eyes and a grin that eerily reminded you of your little cat companion.

You were speechless as the shadow seemed to chirp at you, shaking you with what seemed to be excitement(?), but before you could react to this alarming situation, you felt something wrap around your midsection and the shadow was literally ripped away from you and thrown across the warehouse.

Shadows had mass?

You were placed on your feet and you looked down to see what was wrapped around you–was that a fucking tentacle?!– before you shakily glanced back up when the appendage released you.

What in Satan’s name?!

“Little Red?” You weakly asked, staring at your little cat friend, which now looked like an Eldritch Horror monster, complete with a drooling jaw at least half the size of its body and whipping tentacles sprouting from its back.

The shadow recovered with no damage and growled back, but stayed the distance as the two beings glared each other down.

What the fuck was going on!?

“Now now, didn’t I already tell you to settle down?”

You were trembling again at the sound of a voice – one that sounded like an old-timey radio host – “No.” Your eyes widened as you took a step back, “No.”

“Oh, but I’m afraid it is, my dear,” the tall figure arose from a void of black through the ground, “I’m quite honoured you know of me despite my disappearance for seven years.”

“I-I mean, who doesn’t?” You swallowed thickly, “a-are you here to kill me?” Would there even be a point putting up a fight against the Radio Demon? It might just piss him off more, “I’m sorry for stealing! I’ll… I’ll find a way to pay you back somehow!”

“Oh, dear me! You believe I care about a misdeed as petty as theft? Especially when it’s concerning your very survival? No no, Darling – I’m here for something far more important.” Alastor’s chilling smile widened when you looked at him with uncertain surprise.

“W-what does that mean?” You asked, flinching under his unwavering red gaze, “You have much more important things you could be doing, r-right?”

Alastor took a step forward, stopping when a tentacle slammed down in front of him only inches away. “I couldn’t expect any less,” he eyed the drooling cat, amused with its warning to stay back, “You are a part of me, after all.”

“I’m sorry, what!?”

“In a sense, I suppose you could call this… thing a familiar that split off from me. And it chose you, my dear, because it was drawn to your soul,” Alastor’s proceeding smile almost split his face, “Now tell me, why do you think I am here?”

“No, no. Nope, nope!” You shook your head, clutching your chest protectively, “I’m not giving you my soul. Y-you’re just going to have to kill me!”

There was a yowl and snarl and the Eldritch cat and Alastor’s shadow were suddenly encased in some sort of black barrier glowing with green symbols with a slam of his cane and you would have fallen to the ground in surprise when Alastor appeared abruptly in front of you, only avoiding it when he gripped one side of your face and forced you to look at him.

“It would be a waste to take your soul. No, I want you complete and whole, my dear girl. In either case, the result would be the same. One is simply instant gratification. I am a patient man, I have no need to use force for my desired outcome.” He released you and you took several steps back, certainly glad to see the manic glee in his red eyes fade ever so slightly, “I have come here with an offer. No deals.”

“What’s… that?” You asked hesitantly, unsure if he was trying to trick you.

“Princess Morningstar has just announced a ridiculous plan, a hotel to redeem Sinners, in hopes they will be allowed into Heaven.” Alastor chuckled darkly at the utterly laughable idea, but he had plans and he needed the princess for them to come to fruition. “Even if it is a foolish endeavor that is bound for failure, surely staying at a hotel is better than this?”

You eyed him warily.

“My offer is that you simply come with me to this hotel. Why, I even heard what you said earlier, that you wanted a job?” Alastor’s grin was sleek when you looked at him sharply, “I’m sure the staff there will be quite lacking. Perhaps you can pay back what you stole?” It was a simple jest, but it seemed you took it seriously.

“Y-yes, maybe I can do it this time! Especially if this hotel wants to redeem us!” You said excitedly to yourself, not noticing the dark look in Alastor’s eyes at the idea of you ever being ‘redeemed’, “I’ll go as long as Little Red can too.”

“‘Little Red’?” Alastor repeated as his brow rose, glancing over to the barrier he had conjured to contain the two while he simply talked to you. There had been no need for a fight after all, “Ah, that… thing.” He slammed his cane against the ground and the barrier dissolved at once. “I am sure Princess Morningstar will allow it.”

He didn’t care for the creature himself, but it was your companion and he knew you would never leave it behind. Besides, the little abomination could act as your bodyguard when Alastor himself was out and about as he couldn’t stay near you 24/7.

“You okay, Little Red?” You approached the cat, noticing that it was back to its more normal form and its tail wagged when you picked it up gingerly, “I didn’t know you could do something like that! Tell a girl next time!” You giggled when it gave that staticky purr.

You heard the sound of a chitter and looked up to see the shadow practically leaping towards you and you flinched, closing your eyes and waited to be toppled to the ground. The cat vibrated in your arms in anger, hissing as its pupils turned into radio dials.

“Enough.”

The shadow immediately stopped, letting out a whimper as its ears dropped, giving you one last look before it disappeared behind Alastor.

“Well then, are you ready?” Alastor smirked, watching as you simply grabbed the cat, your only ‘possession’, and nodded, “Let us hope this was the break you were looking for, my dear.”

You were his.

And you seemed partially aware of it now.

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #cursed cat alastor #x reader

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vigilskeep · 3 months

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do you actually have a ranking or like. rundown of each love interest's particular brand of insanity re: tranquil beloved...? or if that's too big an ask perhaps the highlights.. i am sitting so attentively reading all of the ones you've detailed thus far

in no particular order

zevran: cruel to the end to ask him to have his love’s blood on his hands again, but if he believed it was what they would have wanted, it would be the gentlest, tenderest, of assassinations

morrigan: what power does a templar possess that is beyond her ability to reverse? she will claw the answer from the far corners of the earth and the furthest reaches of the fade before she abandons what is hers

leliana: once, the chantry sunburst was a comfort, a sign of refuge in a world of darkness. now she can only see the one burned into their skin, the wondrous gifts the maker gave to them stolen in the maker’s name, the cruellest game he has played yet. could she keep her faith through such a test? would she even want to?

alistair: there is a hollow in his life that can’t be laughed around. a sick weight in the stomach, remembering flipping his runic token between his fingers in distraction through every chantry lecture where they promised this was necessary. he’s angry. he’s beginning to think he might be a very angry person, really. he’s beginning to think he’s got good reason

fenris: he wonders if, when the lyrium was touched to their forehead, it burned the way his does. he thinks better of asking. there was a time when magic felt like a curse on them both that he couldn’t break. he wants it back

anders: history always repeats itself. there are certain inevitabilities, foregone conclusions, lessons the circle teaches well. you escape, you get caught. you love something, they take it away. you destroy the last thread tethering a mage to humanity—you’re that brutal, that cruel, that stupid—and all you’ll have left is an abomination

merrill: she never understood tranquillity until it was this close; she could never really believe it was possible. it doesn’t matter. her love’s not quite here right now, even as she chatters away to them, but it doesn’t matter. you can fix anything, as long as you’re willing to pay the price

isabela: it’s her own fault, really. her own fault, for taking a chance on someone so targeted, so foolish, so—brave. her own fault for believing them, when they promised she wasn’t going to lose them. she should leave. there’s nothing left for her here. but it’s gotten so hard to run away

sebastian: this changes nothing. his love is as cold as the portraits that line the halls of the palace in starkhaven, as silent and empty as the chantry statues that offer no guidance for what will come. he still kisses their cheek, takes their hand, walks at their side. he is still a husband; he still has his vows, and one more to add to the rest—to find who blackened the maker’s name with this, and teach them what His judgement truly looks like

#these are simply the first thing that comes into my head. also i stuck to the first two games bc i dont know all of those other guys #hope this helps! :)#i am willing to accept other suggestions and scholarship on the subject

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illustrious-ia · 2 months

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＃𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙇𝙇𝘼𝙍𝙊𝙉 𝙃𝙐𝙉𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙎 ⠿ 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 AU! 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐄 HEADCANON

✶ ! [ 578 words ]

✶ ! [ CW: dark content, yandere themed, unhealthy obsession, overprotectiveness, stalking, potential ooc, written by non-fluent english speaker. ]

✶ ! [ Uniquant's Note: This abomination has been sitting in the basement for a month... I'm quite cringed at how messy the original hcs was, so it took me fairly a long time to make it acceptable (to me at least). Anyway, I hope u enjoy my monstrosity ♡ ]

✦ Request Status: Open

✦【 Type: Overprotective, devoted 】

: Let's start with how or what the weapon itself sees in you, shall we? Well, just like any other weapon, he himself needs a master in order to have any purpose in existing. And in this case, the master of this particular weapon is you.

: Weapon and master bond are quite complicated to break. The master needs their weapon to protect themselves and the weapon needs the master to have use of them thus care for them.

: When someone threatens its bond, it's either up to you, the master who should command your Blade to rid of such interloper or he'll purge the foul soul himself till they depart unto the afterlife. Oh also, he's a unique weapon. Under certain circumstances, he would moves on his own to protect his master. How marvelous is that?

: Now let's move to how he behaves. He follows you everywhere. To the highest mountain peaks of the Divine Ship, to the bottomless pit of lies built upon the Dreamscape, he is right there, guarding your back from any potential misfortune charging in your way.

: He thinks he is not quite worthy of your attention yet he won't let others bask in it either. Such an abomination like himself shouldn't even breathe the same air as you, yet he appears unwilling to leave your side anytime soon due to his obstinacy and selfishness. He convinced himself that he is doing all of this as an effort to keep the mortal wounds which scarred his past self away from you.

: The only moment when he stands the same step as you is when he deems someone 'dangerous' approaching you. Even if you inform him that the said someone is harmless, at least to you. All he would do is back up and glare daggers at them as his sword long unsheathed ready to dig into the interrupter's neck if they dare to even flash any form of hostility toward you.

: Should he act like a sword, then, should he too sacrifice his flesh to protect you. He'd scathe himself only when it's needed of course. He does not want you to worry your hearts out because he was too careless in his previous battle. He might hurt himself a bit more so your attention lingers awhile on him or his wounds. Will stop if you scowl him for it. But alas, he tends to forget things, including your scoldings.

: Once in a while, he is befuddled by how fast his entire world changed. Was his encounter with you part of Elio's script? But at the same time it doesn't make any sense to him, since Elio has always been open about how any part of the script would go. Was The Equilibrium finally witness his suffering and opted to to alleviate his agony by directing his life changing-encounter with you?

: Either way, those thoughts swiftly vanish as he remembered that nothing really matters as long as he is still by your side.

: As a mere weapon, he shouldn't act this way. Yet here he is. YOU tampered with his broken self and infected it with deuced mortal desire. Since he is yours now, shouldn't you take care of him as a good master?

: He is a bit stubborn and rash sometimes. But it's all for the sake of your safety. So, please forgive him and his wrongdoings, if you see it fit, do punish him. For he believes that you could do nothing wrong.

#•°. *࿐✶ ! 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚌𝚝'𝚜—𝙵𝚒𝚕𝚎 #tw yandere #tw obsessive behavior #tw overprotectiveness #tw stalking #yandere x reader #yandere blade #yandere blade x reader #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr #yandere honkai star rail x reader #yandere hsr x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere drabble #yandere imagines #overprotective yandere #devoted yandere #male yandere #soft yandere

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after-witch · 8 months

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Horrorfest: To Make me Fret or Make Me Frown [Yandere Scaramouche x Reader]

Title: To Make Me Fret or Make Me Frown [Yandere Scaramouche x Reader]

Synopsis: You bought a life-size puppet in terrible condition and restored it. But now it doesn't want to let you go.

For Horrorfest request:

Might be cheesy, but Scaramouche haunted puppet for horrorfest? Maybe reader inherits an uncannily lifelike doll, or finds him as an antique?

Word count: 1156

notes: yandere, puppet shenanigans

“He’s creepy,” your friend says. Her nose crinkles and she puts a hand up as if she can ward away whatever haunting abominations she imagines must be inside the doll, waiting to slither through her nostrils. “And weird,” she continues. “And broken.”

The doll has colorful blue hair and most of his strings are missing; one of his eyes is missing its pupil and an arm is cracked, a jagged wound that goes all the way to the fingers. If the doll were to be lifted, the damaged pinky on that arm would probably come right off--maybe the forefinger, too. He’s dirty and wearing only some cast-off shirt, itself probably too damaged to be sold by the secondhand store.

Your friend moves on, eager to head to the second floor where all the nice, expensive secondhand goods are kept, often behind glass cases so they don’t get damaged by looky-loos.

But you stay where you are.

Because the moment you took one look at the damaged life-size puppet propped up at the back of the store, in the same pricetag-less limbo as piles of tupperware with no lid, ripped books and ugly dolls missing arms, and your heart swelled.

“He’s perfect.”

The pinky on the damaged arm did come off before you even left the store, but you were able to salvage the original forefinger. The pinky, sadly, couldn’t be repaired--but you made a new one using the original as a mold and unless you’re staring quite intensely (which to be fair, you often do, when working on the puppet) you wouldn't be able to tell that it’s not original to the hand.

“I’d like to keep all your original parts as much as I can,” you murmur in the direction of the puppet, currently propped up on a chair you’d dragged into your workroom for the sole purpose of letting him have somewhere to sit while you worked. “You really are exquisite, you know? I can’t believe someone let you get into such rough shape.”

You sigh, lamenting the treatment of such a unique piece of craftsmanship, and place the finishing touches on the puppet’s repaired eye. The pupil needed to be filled in with new material but you went ahead and refreshed the iris of both eyes to make them look newer.

“Good as new, see?” You hold up both repaired eyes to the puppet, but realize your mistake when you’re greeted with a prim looking puppet with two black holes where his eyes should be.

“Oops.” You carefully slide the eyes back into the socket, fiddling with your finger until they slot right into place. “Sorry about that. I wasn’t thinking. There!” You grab the magnifying mirror from your desk and hold it up in front of the puppet. “Now, see? Much better.”

It took a few months of work, but the puppet was just about restored, in your view. You’d even bought a new outfit for him, a simple white blouse with ruffles and plain trousers. It wasn’t exactly what you imagined he might have worn originally, but that was fine.

“I’m glad I found you,” you say, to the puppet--and to yourself. “I’ve had a really nice time working on you!” You hum to yourself and start tidying up your work bench. “Now all that’s left is attaching your new strings, and I can have you picked up.” You smile, to yourself, to the puppet, to no one in particular. “I can’t believe that antique shop gave you away for free--they had no idea they were sitting on such a rare item!”

But you, who repaired dolls and the like for a living, immediately knew what the puppet was worth; and who to contact as soon as you were able to get it home, as you knew a friend with an antique shop that took special requests, and he had a particularly wealthy customer who was dying for one of these rare life-sized pieces.

The puppet with freshly painted eyes stares back at you and says nothing.

Something is sitting on your chest. Something heavy and cool to the touch.

Sleep paralysis? It wouldn’t be the first time. You did sleep on your back, after all, and your nights were sometimes restless.

But you open your eyes without trouble, and the sensation does not go away. It takes a few moments, blinking in the dark, to realize who (no--what) is sitting on you.

It’s the puppet.

Freshly painted eyes stare down at you, a face framed by the carefully sewn-in hair. In the dark, you can’t see the wood grains of his skin or the repair marks that you’d buffed until smooth. All you can see is his human shape, the gleam of glass eyes.

“What--” you say, before a wooden finger presses to your lips.

“You were going to sell me.” It’s the puppet--the puppet is speaking.

You nod, terrified, every nerve in your body inflamed.

This can’t be happening, and yet it is.

“Why?”

Your lips are dry and you stutter out an answer, hoping to wake up from this dream at any moment. But the more time goes on, the more you realize that you’re living in reality. An awful one, but reality all the same.

“I-I needed the money, you… you’re worth a lot.”

There’s a sound that comes from the puppet’s wooden throat, but you can’t quite place it.

“You can’t sell me,” he says, simply. If you weren’t sure that you’d lost your mind, you might say that he sounds upset. Not just angry, but--hurt.

“I-I won’t.” You swallow. “Just um. Get off me and I can…”

“No.” The glass eyes bore down on you, and you wish your eyes weren’t becoming accustomed to the dark. It was better not to see the cool stillness in them, unmoving, unblinking.

It’s then that you notice the strings.

Not on the puppet--but on you.

The strings are wrapped around your wrists, tight, pinching into the skin. When you look up you see he’s attached them not to a marionette control bar, but to his own fingers. To himself.

He raises his repaired pinky and your wrist goes along with it--too fast and harsh, nearly flopping over your face.

”Ah.” He regards your flopped appendage with curiosity, before simply lifting it himself and placing it back on your chest. “Well. I’ll have plenty of time to figure that out.”

He leans forward, pressing his weight down on you, until his face was close enough that you could spot your own work; spot the little fine details in the paint, the grooves of his wooden flesh, the way his hair fell in a certain manner thanks to the placement of your carefully created knots.

Oh, you thought, as his face came closer to yours, as he kissed you with puppet eyes wide open and wooden lips stiff.

The paint on his lips needed to be touched up.

#yandere scaramouche #yandere genshin impact #yandere #afterwitch writes #aw horrorfest #scaramouche with abandonment issues but in puppet form! dun dun dun

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sporesgalaxy · 25 days

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Pacific Rim isn't anti-nuclear in the same way Kaiju movies usually are. The resolution is facilitated by the detonation of a nuclear warhead and a nuclear reactor power core. So........what's up with that?

I mean, it's deeply American, obviously, but what else? Why does it not feel particularly pro-war in the same way, say, a typical MCU does? What does it mean that the Kaiju are prompted by human activity (carbon pollution "practically terraformed" Earth for the invading aliens), but are ultimately not a true manifestation of Nature's Wrath (not even from Earth)?

What arguments is Pacific Rim making in the place of the typical kaiju movie anti-nuclear-pollution, wrath-of-nature fare?

I stream-of-consciousness rambled about this for multiple paragraphs and don't feel like cleaning it up much. Basically: I think Pacific Rim is a commentary on the myriad problems with political responses to climate change over the years.

•••

So, in the Great American Kaiju Movie, two nuclear blasts save the day rather than creating all the problems. Despite the fact that at least one of those nuclear blasts still probably did a lot of collateral.... I do wish Pacific Rim had focused a bit more on collateral, and the environmental damage caused by both the Kaiju and, inevitably, the Jaeger project AND Wall of Peace. Food rations are mentioned once-- but surely metal and construction equiptment rationing must also be in place to allow for wall construction! I want my environmental messages shoved violently down the audience's throat, damnit! But I digress

I think an important detail to consider in the Kaiju/Nuclear discussion is how Mako and Raleigh's Jaeger's nuclear power generator is what really allowed them to save the world, multiple times.

The history of politics around nuclear power plants vs nuclear warhead production is interesting, especially in the typical kaiju movie thematic context of man carelessly abusing nature. The argument in defense of nuclear power plants is that, despite the need for extremely rigerous and long-term nuclear waste disposal considerations, there is a lower volume of waste created by nuclear power plants in relation to the energy provided by them, when compared to other modern methods of energy generation like coal power. So, in theory, nuclear energy could be a beneficial power source for minimizing environmental impact.

In the Kaiju movies I've seen, nuclear power is only ever addressed as an extension of the inherently unnatural and harmful abomination of the invention of.the nuclear warhead. It's understandable, the environmental devastation caused by radioactive pollution is massive, and its something a nuclear power plant is very capable of doing if enough goes wrong.

So, what do the Jaegers represent within this conversation? what does the Wall of Peace represent? Here's my thought: they represent (more) active versus passive solutions to the growing threat of climate change. Jaegers represent the way that active work against climate change is only funded as far as it is beneficial to the image of the government.

Yes, the Rift was found to be impossible to blow up with nukes, but it's pretty clear that the world governmemts were putting more money into the publically popular and flashy Jaeger program than they were putting into researching the increase in Kaiju frequency and a permanent solution to the issue. Because of the complicity the world fell into once Kaiju and Jaegers were Rock Stars, the root of the issue with Kaiju goes unadressed for an entire generation, in favor of defeating each Kaiju in impressive and propogand-izable ways.

Only once the problem becomes too big for the propoganda-friendly Jaegers to manage do the world governments start looking for alternate solutions, and the Wall is immediately shown to be too little too late. As soon as it stops being useful for propoganda, the government loses interest in truly solving the problem, and begins investing in moving itself inland and leaving poor coastal populations to die.

The kaiju are only able to be defeated in Pacific Rim because a group of people separate from the government comes together and searches for a solution to the root of the issue-- the Rift being open in the Pacific at all.

Nuclear power is therefore not posed as a solution to war against fellow humans, but is used as a solution to a collective human effort to fight the exponentially speeding destruction of the Earth. The Jaeger pilots and everyone else working in the resistance HAVE to be willing to do anything, willing to take drastic active measures, in order to stop the destruction of the Earth's climate. Yay :)

#syd writes an essay #adddna

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orbital-inclination · 1 month

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Moltendreams - Error Sans Alias - Static Pronouns: he/him, they/them Personality: Petty, holds a mean grudge, Big Tsundere, Complete Shut-in, Quick Tempered and Moody, fanatic with his interests, externally aggressive when in actuality he is quite shy. An absolute troll. His favorite passtime is messing with others. Paradoxically touch starved and suffers from haphephobia. Reckless with his own well being.

This variant of Error is capable of both love and compassion, he just hides it under a grumpy exterior and several layers of denial and self-destructive dogma. Other Notes:

He is reluctant to harm Papyrus directly, and will generally avoid encounters with him in any given AU.

Had a good relationship with his dad/W.D Gaster, actually.

Relates to "pest" pets; rats, mice, snakes, spiders, beetles, he loves them all.

Would have a pet rat of his own if he wasn't afraid of it shocking itself by chewing on his wires.

His favorite kind of chocolate is mixed with a hazelnut filling.

Considers Frisk to be a younger sibling.

-More Info undercut! -

Abilities: Error uses wire instead of string. Wire and summoned attacks can and do hold an electric charge. His presence alone messes with electronic devices. Residents of a particular AU may get a few minutes or seconds of warning as sweaters get staticy, computer screens glitch out, and anything with a battery spontaneously dies or gets super charged. By creating a circle of alternating RED and CYAN bones, Error can create a sort of reverse faraday cage. While Error can produce electricity, he can't directly control the voltage. He can only hope to direct it. If you do touch him, you will find his clothes zappy with static. Do NOT attempt to fight him in humid or watery environments for, hopefully, obvious reasons.

About: Fed up with the anomaly's time looping shenanigans and watching his family torn apart, Sans injected himself with modified DETERMINATION magic and began messing with things he really had no business messing with: his late father's research, all in the hope of separating the anomaly from Frisk. He wanted to save the kid too. But something went catastrophically wrong and as a result he was ripped from reality, and caught in the space in-between. Eventually, he escaped but not unscathed. Error doesn't remember much, he doesn't remember the events described above, at all, but has vague memories of Papyrus, Frisk and his father. They were good memories. He misses them. He can't find his original AU and secretly fears it may have been the first world he destroyed.

He is still looking for it.

Outcode Politics: Error views all outcodes the same way he views every iteration of the original timeline that even slightly deviates: as glitches to be terminated. Bugs in the code he needs to hammer out before it all goes to hell. Error believes that by destroying deviating timelines and AUs, he is preserving the original. He is “saving’’ it by trimming the branches back. Despite his position as the self proclaimed Destroyer, Error is not above biases and making exceptions.

Error believes he is one of the glitches in the code that must be destroyed, but he won’t let just anyone dust him for good. Ultimately, he wants someone in his family to do it. That is, if he can find them first. Error has a different view on the Spirits of Creation that Fable/Ink does. (Spirits of Creation are in-universe term and stand-in for the creator of an AU). He calls them eldritch parasites. Abominations that should be avoided at all costs. And absolutely should not be encouraged or interacted with. Though he won't admit it out loud, Error is terrified of them. OG Error @.LoverofPiggies/CrayonQueen) Moltendreams @.me Edit: he has been named!

#moltendreams!au #MoltenDreams!error #error sans #error!sans #errortale #utmv #utmv au #underverse #underverse au #undertale #undertale aus #undertale au #my art #the gober the gremlin the most problem child of all problem children #finding a color palette for this guy was tough

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crguang · 1 month

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a lover’s goodbye kiss

Are we ever truly done with grief?

angst, gn!reader, ptsd. 6k words of mourning and bitter reunions

A/N: this really got away from me, i also cried while writing it so do with that what you will. not entirely satisfied with it, but it’s okay. hope someone enjoys it regardless

Grief is a part of you. It seeps into your pores, settles in your bloodstream like cancerous chemicals and forces you to live with it, to endure the brunt of it lest memories pull you under permanently. For long-life species, grief is ironically common. The belief that Xianzhou natives are unaccustomed to death is a false one; though it is slow to come, it envelops them regardless, often twice over. The Mara curse is first. Its inevitability leaves an imprint in people’s hearts, a sort of impression they are born with and cannot outgrow. To be a long-life species is to become Mara-struck, a shell of your former self driven by bloodlust and fragmented memories. That, in itself, is death. Your body is no longer your own and neither is your mind, you are a senseless abomination destined to roam the world until someone or something delivers the fatal, long-awaited blow needed to end your misery. Though this heavy subject is not often discussed among the people, accepting that fate is done with bloodied teeth and scorched fingertips, a personal battle with grief from which you come out only somewhat victorious. Knowing that you’ll eventually be stricken by Mara is one thing, accepting that your loved ones will walk the same path is another entirely. No one talks about the worst part. Nobody tells you what you’re supposed to do when the memories fade away, replaced by the acrid smell of sulfur and a chill in your bones that you can never shake.

Hundreds of years of memories— content smiles, sun rays onto sweaty skin, cold hands in pale locks of hair, unspoken devotion— are hidden behind mist requiring immense focus to see through. You are not Mara-struck yet. Your mind is still your own, as much as it can be, and you are still alive. You ask yourself why often. Why it was her, first, and not you. Why you’re stuck living with holes inside of you when maybe you should’ve died along with the hundred Cloud Knights that had the misfortune of crossing her path that night. Loss has made you ashamed, you can’t even speak her name. It’d been erased from history and forbidden after that night, out of social disappointment and shame, but that is not why you can’t bear to utter it. It’s unfair that this is what you remember most of her; the collapsed buildings, the unbearable smell, the frozen corpses… Her beloved blade through your stomach. The way her gaze softened after a few glasses of wine has been replaced by the flash of crimson you caught a glimpse of before her sword buried itself in your guts. You vaguely recall how endearingly tight her muscles always were, how you or Baiheng had to smooth the knots out of her body once in a while. The news of her breaking out of the Shackling Prison, however, along with the screams that followed form a clear image in your treacherous mind. What use are memories if they are so fickle, so easily supplanted by horrors that quicken your heartbeat on thought alone?

If anything, you do not shoulder this immense grief alone. Jing Yuan was a scrawny, eager boy when you first met him, almost half your height and always trailing behind her like the dutiful apprentice he was. His enthusiasm lit up the training yard and his youthful determination quickly earned him a place amongst your most cherished. He would seek you out after hours of conditioning, sweat still clinging to his bushy brows, and request a friendly spar to show you what he’s learned, how fast he was getting, how swift he could slash his sword. Your position as a Lieutenant of the Cloud Knights made him look at you with naked admiration, he’d hang onto your every word with a seriousness unfit of his age and at times offered insight only a boy who had never known war could come up with. You think you remember a figure in the shade of a growing tree standing several feet away from where you and Jing Yuan sparred. Quiet as a golden eagle, diligent gaze making note of every sloppy thrust and slow retreat she would reproach her retainer afterwards, his master only revealed herself when the tip of your blade against his neck announced his defeat.

Jing Yuan was the one to rescue you on the ice. His quick intervention allowed for healers from the Alchemy Commission to reach you in time and tend to your injuries. He was also the one to end her. It had to be him, you know, but you regret your own weakness, your faltering steps and half-hearted parries— it’s a burden you wish he never carried. He bears it with a solemn glint in his eyes and an impeccable posture but he’s not General of the Xianzhou Luofu to you, and so he lets you keep him close whenever he visits your empty home. His appreciation for the comfort goes unsaid, though his shoulders stand inches lower once he sets out the door. After all, he lost her too.

You get déjà vu when Jing Yuan walks across the training yard with a skinny blonde boy in tow and introduces him as his retainer, Yanqing. His apprentice is just as eager and energetic as he was, and it’s easy to fall back into old habits when the boy eventually nags you into sparring with him. He’s talented, determined to achieve his goals, but a little too proud and overconfident. His arrogance reminds you of an old friend who once forged the sword you still wield like an extension of your arm. It’s somewhat endearing, and not entirely unearned. A part of you vaguely recalls the annoyed purse of the Sword Champion’s lips whenever your mutual friend would go on another spiel about mastering the way of the sword. Your fingertips trace the sheath of your blade at the thought.

The Stellaron crisis plunges the Luofu into disarray. It brings destruction and death to the Xianzhou on a scale that reminds you of her, of the illuminated moon in the night sky and the blood on your hands. You can’t allow the memories to paralyze you like they often do, however, so you work with Jing Yuan and the Master Diviner in order to eliminate the internal threat that pose the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus. The Mara-struck fall twice under your steel and the rest of the Abundance’s abominations quickly become light work for someone as experienced as you are. Since the Ambrosial Arbor crisis, they’ve been gathering in Stargazer Navalia the most, forcing an evacuation of all civilians to safer areas of the Luofu.

Though he has plenty of work on his hands, this is where Yanqing likes to disappear for an hour each day— additional training, he says. You trust his abilities, but today he is needed at the Alchemy Commission and is currently unreachable. No one has seen him for a while. You have an idea of his whereabouts, so you offer to look for him and relay the General’s message.

Two Cloud Knights stand guard as you enter Stargazer Navalia. Their posture straightens when they see you and they nod once in greeting.

“Has anyone seen Lieutenant Yanqing come through here, by any chance?”

One of them replies, “He was there an hour ago on an official investigation. Passed through here and went further into the docks.”

You don’t know about any official investigations but you offer a thankful nod anyway before walking past the Knights. The large shipping containers and crates create paths that workers use during the day but you figure it’d be easier to look for Yanqing if you had a better view of the area. You jump on top of a container and carefully skim the place ahead. As expected, abominations and Mara-struck lay on the floor, strewn about like discarded clothings. You follow their trail further inside Stargazer Navalia, between growing starskiffs and through already opened doors. It takes a little over ten minutes to catch up with the freshly cut-down enemies laying about as you hop from container to container. Shards of rock hard ice glimmer in the sun near the bodies, no doubt Yanqing’s doing. Honestly, that boy…

You can see his blonde hair when you advance a little further. He’s turning a corner, so you take a shortcut running above a long, empty container and land on the one behind him with a thud. The sudden noise alerts him and he swirls around with a hand on his sword, ready to attack, but you’re not looking at him. The ghost of a woman long gone stands beside him, her back to you, with a stillness that indicates she’s been aware of you before you made your presence known. The sight of her pale locks burns into your brain. The intricate design of the familiar attire she dons chokes you like firm hands around your throat, and you falter. The blues and whites and reds mix together as you blink to regain your footing.

“Lieutenant!” Yanqing straightens up, sheathing his blade. “What are you doing here?”

You taste ash on the roof of your mouth. Your fingers curl around the handle of your sword. Falling buildings, frozen corpses, sulfur burning your nostrils. Her blade through your stomach. (Hesitant fingertips against your cheeks, implied confessions, oiled palms on tense muscles.) A feeling that has been dormant for centuries stirs in your guts, snakes around your intestines and tightens your stomach. It travels through your ribcage and up your bobbing throat, forcing you to swallow it back down. There’s the slow ascent of the moon behind your eyelids with each blink and the stutter of your chest with each breath— a chill spreads over your limbs and they tense as if frozen in place. It paralyzes you; you feel mocked by the way your feet are glued to the metal under them. You are reminded of your previous weakness, of your blood on the ice and its frigidity seeping into your skin. You grit your teeth.

“Jingliu…” Her name is forced past your lips, evicted after uncomfortably sitting on your tongue for hundreds of years.

She does not move, except for the flicker of recognition that goes through her fingertips. A mirage, she has to be— a nasty trick of your fractured mind because she cannot be here, breathing, when Jing Yuan assured you of her demise.

“Huh? You know her?” Yanqing asks, oblivious to your struggle as he glances back to the woman next to him. His query confirms that she is flesh and blood but leaves no hint as to her state of mind. If she is the same as she was centuries ago, then he and the Luofu are in great danger.

“…Yanqing. The General is looking for you. Alchemy Commission.”

The boy frowns. “Did something happen? There’s something I have to finish up before—“

“Yanqing.”

He stops in his tracks with furrowed brows, displeased at having been interrupted. You finally tear your gaze away from Jingliu’s tense posture to look at him. He sees your hardened eyes and hesitates, turning towards his new acquaintance for a few seconds before clenching his jaw and nodding once. You outrank him, and though it often pains him to do so, Yanqing knows to respect the Cloud Knights hierarchy. He walks away without a word and disappears between the various shipping containers.

You stand above her, a hand on your blade, and breathe in the smell of the docks to loosen the pressure in your guts. It’s the middle of the day, the weather is warm, your skin is uncut. Blurry images of grasping hands sinking into bed sheets and locking lips fill your mind until you can’t see anything but the way her asymmetric bangs frame her face as she hovers over you, breathless. The crimson of her irises are dulled to a lustful cherry and she looks at you like she doesn’t believe you’re real. A fragment of her one-track mind and hateful heart made tangible for one night, to appease the disgusting yearning for closeness that lingers in her bones. She is not a weapon used against the Abundance and you are more than the fellow Cloud Knight that joined the ranks before she was thrusted into them. As her knuckle trails down your cheekbone to the corner of your parted lips, you are a new constant in her future, an immovable force that she cannot plan around, and she is just a woman. Not a survivor, not a fighter, she is a woman who longs for another’s recognition and gentle hands. And as she leans down to graze her bottom lip against your top one, you feel the searing pain of her blade piercing your flesh.

Blood trickles on your tongue and you realize it is from how hard you are biting the inside of your cheek. The visions are gone, replaced by Jingliu turning around to face you, her free hands limp at her sides. Her chin tilts slightly upward. She’s wearing a dark blindfold over her eyes— some part of you is grateful to be hidden from her sight— but you know it wouldn’t alter any of her abilities.

“Lieutenant…” She only says a word, trails off as if it leaves a strange sensation in her mouth. It’s not a question or a tentative statement; she utters your title with an infuriating fondness, like you’re an old friend she hasn’t seen in a while. It makes you sick.

“…...You are not dead,” you state blankly.

Jingliu takes a short breath. “Not yet, no.”

There’s a sluggishness to her words and a rasp more prominent than you recall it to be. Her voice is raw and breathy like every sentence comes at a price, and you are reminded of the curse that plagues her. You don’t understand how she’s standing here, seemingly sane, when the Mara had overcome her the last time you laid eyes on her. Still, the hand on your sword tightens its hold. There’s a thousand things you want to ask, a thousand more you wish to convey through touch alone, but you cannot trust her.

You wonder if she remembers almost ending your life. You wonder if she is haunted by regret and grief the same way you are. You wonder if some part of her still clings to that stricken body.

“You can let go of your sword,” Jingliu says, “I mean the Luofu no harm.”

“And me?”

“...You?”

You swallow a lump in your throat. Your toes tingle with sudden restlessness and it thaws the rest of your limbs, allowing you to take a measured step forward. “And me, Jingliu? Will you draw your blade against me once more?”

She is silent for some time, tense, and her fingers slightly curl inward in a momentary loss of composure. You can’t tell if it’s because she doesn’t recall ever doing that or because she does and the thought brings her pain. Finally, she shakes her head.

“You are not my enemy.”

“I wasn’t your enemy back then, was I?”

“…Your trust in me is inconsequential. I came to the Luofu to atone for my sins and surrender myself to the Alliance.”

Your jaw clenches. Past the initial confusion, you feel cheated. Angry. Hundreds of years of broken memories, lasting grief and paralyzing terror have eroded you, flayed you until you are nothing but bones and ligaments. You are walking the earth as less than half a person for no other reason than this is the destiny of all long-life species. Your closest friends have either fallen or withered around you, and that loneliness has debilitated you. How utterly unfair. You have dedicated most of your life to the Xianzhou Alliance and its people, you have been selfless, understanding, devoted, and you are rewarded with injustice. The person who you once called your strength has become the main character in your nightmares, and here she stands, ready to give up the pieces that are left of her to the same people who have ostracized her out of shame for centuries. For all the unbearable pain she caused you, she came back for them. You are the one she has a history with, you are the one whose life is intricately woven with hers. You are who she should be seeking atonement from, not the Ten-Lords Commission and the Arbiter Generals.

You don’t notice how pale your knuckles are from the grip on your weapon or the heaviness of your chest quickening your breath. You stare her down with gritted teeth and Jingliu doesn’t shy away from the growing fury in your gaze.

“Inconsequential,” you repeat in disbelief, your voice a little louder. “Inconsequential, me!”

“This is what I have to do. It is bigger than you, bigger than me.”

You jump down the container to land in front of her. She simply adjusts the inclination of her head.

“Do you remember, Jingliu? What you did to me?”

Her lips form a thin line. Her lack of response angers you further. You unsheath your sword and point the tip to her own weapon resting against her hip, then to her chest.

“Draw it.”

Jingliu makes no move to obey. “I will only unsheath my blade against my enemies, and you are not one of them.”

“You are cursed to forget, but I cannot. It is in every blink, in every pause; the destruction you caused, my—” you swallow, features twisting in a pained grimace, “my blood on your sword.”

Jingliu doesn’t reply, though her fingers twitch with restraint. Her chest rises and falls a beat faster, the only indication that your words are getting to her. You know this is unfair, that you’re only contributing to the injustice you have to face as a long-life species, but anger clouds your judgment and incites this hostile behavior.

“Draw it!” You exclaim in frustration. “Unsheath your blade and face me!”

You lunge forward in an instant, your weapon raised in a practiced arc towards her neck, forcing her to move out of the way. Her body instinctively bends into a defensive stance, but she makes no move to use her sword. You repeat the motion, over and over, and Jingliu evades each strike with an expertise only she possesses. She still refuses to fight you, to revert to the mindless abomination she was that night. You force her into a corner and as your blade descends at an angle to make contact with her bare shoulder, she leaps high over your head and lands gracefully behind you.

“Must we do this?” She sounds mentally exhausted, each word is spoken through pursed lips and a quiver goes through her sword-wielding hand.

You swirl around, molars grinding in anger. “Yes! You have haunted every part of me and replaced every cherished memory in my mind! You are what I see when I lay down at night, standing over me as I choke on my own blood!”

Jingliu brings a clawed hand to her temple and utters, “Enough…”

“You are the face of my nightmares, Jingliu.” Your voice cracks halfway through the sentence. “It ends today.”

When your weapon comes down to strike her this time, its steel meets Jingliu’s specially crafted blade. She uses the momentum of her parry and pushes you back with so much force it sends you flying, your back colliding into the side of a shipping container. You rise to your feet with a shaky breath.

The clash of swords rings in the air as you move between incubating starskiffs and metal crates in an emotional dance. Street lamps fall, stationed starskiffs are cut in two, jade wheels are damaged and incubators break. Jets of their liquid explode everywhere Jingliu returns your strikes with stronger ones, and soon you’re crashing into yet another door. Blood trickles down your nose. There’s a nasty cut on your hip that will require medical attention. You stand, unwavering, and pounce towards the other woman once more. Jingliu grits her teeth as her parry brings your face close to hers. The distinct melody of her blade in movement fills her ears and the ground shakes under her feet. All around you structures are falling, narrowly missing you.

Your muscles strain with exertion but with the feeling comes a strange sort of relief that only intensifies when Jingliu has you pinned to the pavement, swords previously discarded some feet away with an experienced flick of her hand. You’re both breathless for a long moment and for the first time since her reappearance in your life, you don’t taste smoke in the back of your throat.

The pink of her parted lips is the same shade it was almost a millennia ago. The world blurs and you see a flash of a moment long passed of the two of you in the same position; Jingliu’s smug smile hides the sun from view and the bustle of the training yard resumes the minute her victory is announced. When you blink your way back to reality, only a few seconds have gone by. You stare up into the blindfold, chest heaving. Your fingers hesitantly lift to graze the apple of her cheek. One of them slides under her veil and her hand wraps around your wrist to stop you from going further.

Her name is a breathy exhale past your lips. Her shoulders suddenly tense and her head tilts away from you. The moment breaks as she separates from you, rises to her feet and takes a couple steps back. Almost immediately, Cloud Knights rush to the scene in formation, followed closely by the General and his retainer. You let out a sigh, gaze raising to the clear sky. You lose yourself in its endless blue, a heaviness in your chest, until Jing Yuan’s outstretched hand appears in your vision. Jingliu is gone when you accept his help and stand with difficulty, along with Yanqing and the squad of Knights. Jing Yuan wraps a strong arm around your shoulders, steadying you, and you make your way back in silence.

He doesn’t leave your side even as you step into your home and make a beeline for the bathroom. His arms are crossed over his chest and he leans on the doorframe as you rummage through your cupboards for bandages and disinfectant. You find what you’re looking for after a couple minutes and sit on the toilet seat, lifting your armor over your head and discarding the bloodied shirt underneath. The cut on your left hip stings when you gently inspect it. It’s deep enough that it won’t be able to close on its own but not life threatening. You softly apply disinfectant so it doesn’t get infected, clenching your jaw at the pain.

“You should let the Dragon Lady take a look,” Jing Yuan finally speaks up, “or the Alchemy Commission have other experienced healers. They’ll treat you in minutes.”

You almost roll your eyes. You’ve been patching up wounds before he could hold a sword.

“Pass me the stitches.”

He complies, tossing you the plastic box on the counter. You catch it with a hand. Another silence settles between you as you sink the needle into your skin and tighten the thread, occasionally sucking in a breath. The space lingers with tension but neither of you acknowledges it until you break the thread of the stitches and apply a large bandage over the wound. You sigh tiredly and raise your head to meet his guarded gaze.

“Why did you lie, Jing Yuan?”

He takes a moment to reply. There’s a hint of guilt in his golden irises. “…I thought it to be the best course of action at the time.”

You don’t blame him. The days following Jingliu’s departure from the Luofu are a blur, hidden behind a smoke screen so thick you might as well have forgotten them. You only recall the sting in your throat, raw from how much you cried, and the darkness of your bedroom. Jing Yuan was there, as much as he was able to, so he must remember those days better than you; how shattered you were, like fractured shards of glass swept under the carpet. You can’t fault him for wanting to bring you closure.

You rise from your seat and put back the supplies in their rightful place. Jing Yuan steps aside as you walk out the door and watches you disappear in the bedroom for a change of clothes. You grab the first top you see and shrug it on. You don’t bother fixing your hair, you just make your way back to the living area to put on your boots and grab your discarded sword near the door. Jingliu should have been brought to the Shackling Prison after her arrest, so this is where you’ll go.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Jing Yuan says from behind you, making you pause. “We don’t know how stable she is.”

“She seemed stable enough.”

“For now.”

You turn to face him. “Then, why are you here? We both know bars can’t hold her.”

“I wanted to check up on you.”

“...I need to do this.”

Jing Yuan only shuts his eyes in defeat and nods once. He doesn’t follow you when you leave the house and shut the door behind you.

You have no issue getting into the Shackling Prison and acquiring Jingliu’s cell number. It’s not a place you visit often despite your position, the memories it holds have a way of consuming you and leaving you clenching your throbbing head. You navigate its somber hallways and silent cell blocks with an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. Your steps are swift, determined. You don’t stop to think about what you’re going to say once you’re face to face with her again. Jingliu is being held in a special containment chamber only used for dangerous criminals, with two Cloud Knights standing guard in front of the reinforced steel door. They look at each other when you plant yourself before them.

“No one gets in, General’s orders,” one of them says.

Your relationship with Jing Yuan is not a secret and often opens a lot of doors for you but encountering soldiers eager to please is a common occurrence. You have a few dozens under your command, they’re usually easy to deal with. However, the day has been long and you’re lacking the required patience to do so.

“Take it up with Jing Yuan, then.”

You push past them and they hesitate to stop you, glancing at each other. They grip their lances tighter when you open the door but don’t move as you enter the cell and close it after you.

The chamber is big enough to hold a single bed and a toilet in the corner, though its grey walls make it seem smaller than it is. The room would be casted in total darkness if not for the dim glow of the singular lightbulb on the ceiling. Jingliu is seated on the untouched mattress, legs crossed and palms flat on her knees. Her back is straight, her blindfold in place even in the low lighting, and you seem to have caught her in the middle of a meditation. She doesn’t speak as you stand awkwardly near the door, a hand curling around the handle of your sword in search of familiarity.

A couple minutes pass in tense silence with only the gentle buzzing of the electricity crackling through the lightbulb. You take that time to observe Jingliu for any sign of Mara. The even movements of her chest indicate her calm state of mind. Apart from the veil, she looks exactly the same as she did centuries ago; there’s no trace of the curse on her, and you are suddenly reminded of the first time you noticed her— you were the previous Lieutenant’s apprentice and she was a thin, pale girl haunted by nightmares of burning planets and suffocating fumes. That day, she crossed the training yard with a limp and cuts over her body, shattered sword held tight in one hand. You hadn’t gone out onto the field yet, your master didn’t think you were ready, but Jingliu had and you remember thinking that despite her poor state, she must be stronger than you. She would walk back at the end of each day with splintered and bruised skin and you would sneak her a glance, wondering what enemy she could have encountered this time. She was forced to survive and grew on the battlefield long before you did.

While you both learned the way of the sword, you did it to protect and she did it to cut down the object of her nightmares. Together, you climbed the ranks of the Cloud Knights and surpassed your masters. The burden of war brought you closer and your relationship transformed over the centuries; from comrades, to friends, to the one she went to whenever she craved peace from the visions plaguing her, to something more. You are deeply embedded in each other, her life story is yours and your mind is hers. The Mara curse might twist your perceived memories of her but it could never erase the affection you hold for her. It’s precisely because she means so much to you that thoughts of her have been tormenting you so.

Jingliu raises her head in acknowledgement and you’re brought back to the present with a blink.

“Sending you to interrogate me,” she says with a short exhale, words slow and raw, “how cruel.”

“That’s not why I’m here.”

She doesn’t reply, waiting for you to continue. You swallow the emotion in your throat.

“I’m here for closure.”

You take your eyes off her and turn away, facing the blank wall with a hand in your hair. You take in a slow breath and exhale through your mouth as fatigue begins to take over your limbs.

“You don’t get to come back,” you start. “After all those years, you don’t get to reappear and trail all those memories along with you. You said you were seeking atonement from the Alliance. So you remember, then.”

Jingliu is silent for a moment. Your back makes contact with the wall as you sit on the floor with your legs limp before you. You don’t look at her, instead staring at your covered toes.

“…I remember the voices,” Jingliu says softly, “so loud I couldn’t hear anything else. I remember people, the ice… you.” She takes a breath and shakes her head. “I am aware of the hurt I’ve caused, of the sins that cannot be erased. They will follow me until the end, but I cannot let them hold me back.”

“From what?”

“From cutting the heart of a star.”

The turn of phrase transports you back to a drunken evening and Baiheng’s contagious laughter, to the sweet aftertones of fruit in red wine and the flush in Jingliu’s cheeks as she stares at the setting sun. Flashes of that day appear in your mind; Baiheng’s ridiculous dares, your shared competitiveness, Jingliu’s tipsy kisses as consolation prizes. The unexpected memory warms you.

“Revenge, then. Even stricken with Mara, this is what you hold on to.”

“I was never satisfied with letting our enemies come to us.”

That much is true. Jingliu only ever plays the offensive.

Your head turns to face her. “Do you remember us? Even I only recall bits and pieces, now.”

Jingliu’s pointer finger taps her knee for some time. Then her chin tilts to the left, towards you.

“Bits and pieces, yes…” she repeats pensively. You wish you could see the pinch of her eyebrows. “You used to hate losing to me in duels.”

“Of course you’d remember that.”

There’s a hint of a smile on Jingliu’s lips. A light silence descends between you. It’s strange, being in a confined space with someone who you thought long dead; even stranger conversing with Jingliu after everything that went down with Yingxing and Imbibitor Lunae, with Baiheng, and the Luofu’s growth that she didn’t get to witness. You never thought you’d have a chance to see her again, let alone hear her voice speak back to you. Your fingertips twitch with the desire to hold her close.

“I forgot to ask, earlier,” you say, “about the blindfold.”

“It keeps me from seeing that which pulls me under the influence of the Mara. I have pushed past the limits of my mind a long time ago, but… the reprieve it gives me is welcomed.”

“Your will is admirable. Always was.” You think for a few seconds, then speak up hesitantly, “Will my touch be a trigger?”

Jingliu is slow to respond. You see her lips part to let out a sharp exhale and notice the new tension in her shoulders. You feel selfish for needing a semblance of the intimacy you once shared when her mind is so fractured and fickle. The feeling tightens your throat.

“…It shouldn’t.”

Your emotions threaten to consume you as you stand and wipe your palms on your thighs. You take some steps forward, hesitating when you reach the bed. Her head tilts backward as if staring at you through the cloth over her eyes. With a gentleness that surprises even herself, Jingliu uncrosses her legs and outstretches her hand. Your fingertips touch hers and with a flick of her wrist, slowly lace with hers. She pulls you into her, your knees on each side of her hips and your nose in her shoulder; her freezing hands travel over the expanse of your back and her head dips to breathe in the smell of your hair. You pinch your trembling lips and squeeze your eyes shut to keep the tears at bay, but it’s no use when you can feel the empty sockets that loss has dug inside of you over the years fill up with tenderness. A quiver runs through you. You feel Jingliu’s shaky breath near your ear as she pulls you tighter into her. Your arms wrap around her with as much emotion and warm tears roll down your cheeks over her frigid skin. Her touch makes you whole again, if only for a moment— she is tangible against you and not a fragment of the darkest recesses of your mind. It would seem unreal if you couldn’t feel the softness of her flesh beneath your fingertips.

“How lonely you must have been,” Jingliu mutters into your hair. You know she relates.

“I mourned you,” you manage to say, voice tight. “I’ve accepted that you’re gone. I won’t grieve any more.”

“Good. Then allow me a proper goodbye.”

You cry into her for a long time. Jingliu simply holds you closer with a hand on your back and fingers buried in your hair. You won’t see her again, she will be tried and judged on the Xuling and will go back to being a ghost of your past years. You only hope that this time the memories will be softer, full of her touch as she cleans your cuts; the curve of her mouth when you whisper good morning into her shoulder; the exhilarating sensation of her lips on yours after an exhausting day of wielding the sword. She remains your strength even as your tears dampen her clothes, with the scent of her around you and her breath in your ears, you feel strong enough to let her go. You lost her to the curse of the Abundance once, but she won’t slip through your fingers now. Regret and shame fade away, replaced by this new warm memory of you in each other’s arms. Her unnatural coldness expands your heart instead of constricting it and you let go of the collapsed buildings and acrid sulfur in the air; there’s only Jingliu’s lingering fondness and her calloused palms on your body. In this confinement cell, you say goodbye to a part of you.

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