Tyrux

@tyrux.bsky.social

203 Followers 336 Following

24 🏳️‍⚧️ - she/her - @gayvateinn.bsky.social 💜 @lyriarose.bsky.social ❤️ - writer - fire emblem, genshin, hsr, ffxiv, soulsborne, drakenier, d&d - header: @nimiszu - Discord: grandpaladintyrux

A picture of a markedly not-shiny Mesprit in Pokemon BDSP.
(She, I whisper to the mirror. There’s no one left to call you that, is there?) That this winter will never end. That I never want this winter to end. (The abyss does not deny it.) That I unclasp my hands, that I say, because I can no longer delude myself that you are holding my hand, that the light is well and truly dead; that I take her hand, my hand: do you remember Aeriv? Do you remember the girl we loved? That I want to remember her. That I want to remember you. That I want to remember I want to remember I want to remember I want to remember I want to remember, please. (No. The abyss does not lie.)
f!au ra girl sitting between two tiny and very cute whalesharks captioned: "fish to fish communication, fish to fish conversation."
a picture of my au ra girl riding leviathan over the water in a venice-esque city, captioned: "where the FUCK is noctis"
so it's my shinyhunting website and the minecraft video "Destroying a World That Doesn't Exist" is in picture in picture covering most of the stream and I have a tiny little discord pop-out stream of my wife fighting a lies of p dlc boss in the corner. also I'm hunting bulbasaur in pokemon leafgreen on the switch but behind the minecraft video is my dreaded shiny mesprit bdsp hunt
this is emergentslop you only like it because it's outside the box with endless replayability this is babyslop you only like it because goo goo gaa gaa this is residentslop you only like it because you're evil
And as she grips this sensation in warm hands like a beating, bleeding heart she feels, she feels… Every wish, every prayer, mortal joy and woe—trivial yearnings, petty passions… (She sits within the workshop, staring back at her creator. Imperfection reflected upon perfection—her robes are the Shogun’s pale lavender, yet she is the shadow, contrasted so starkly against her creator’s fading light. It is a birth and a death—the slaying and reforging of the self, and for four-hundred long years to follow she shall stare into the face of Raiden Ei in the mirror: trace the tilt of her nose, the curve of her jaw, the beauty mark beneath her eye, never knowing this is the very last indulgence she allowed herself before departing this existence without farewell. She once gazed into lightless eyes and asked: “Do you regret nothing?”) (Your existence is my answer.) I do not doubt, she whispers to the voice within her heart. She cannot say if it is to comfort or to promise. I do not fear. I have never given anything less than my best. I have never been disturbed by idle thoughts. She feels thunder and lightning made manifest, a storm that screams through the perfect stillness within; she sees the gripping, agonizing loss that rings out in a glimpse of the tachi’s sheen, sharpened by blood and tempered in tears. But this, too, is the pursuit of Eternity—and in that she cannot waver. The glass cracks, cracks, shatters beneath her touch, and Raiden takes her cherished tengu general's hands in her own, and utters this: “These feelings are not a sin. They are beautiful. To manifest this, your true self, is to manifest Eternity. All who would claim otherwise disgrace my dream, defy my will. Do you understand?”