#disillusionment

[feral-ballad]

Kevork Emin, from Anthology of Armenian Poetry, ed. & tr. by Diana Der Hovanessian and Marzbed Margossian; "The waiting"

[Text ID: “I am bodiless. A fever. / A passion. A focus. A notch in time.”]

[elvinkarda]

In the heat dome of an late morning I've found the oppurtunity to realize a the paradoxon of the eye, which can be both seeing and still be blind.

If we can't trust our highest sense (eyes), how to trust our reason? How does one gain insight into the truth of things? What is the essence of knowledge? And what is this ‘being’ anyway? My thirst for philosophy began with fundamental epistemological and ontological questions. I have written numerous poems on this subject, indeed, at times even with the pride of a bearded man. But lately I have found the moment of the cave-dweller so fascinating and moving – not the one who, as in Plato’s account, emerges from the cave ‘just once’ (in truth, he must even return time and again, as it is his duty to help people reach the true ideas), but rather the moment of the cave-dweller who goes back time and again to forget ‘the true ideas’. For it is painful and uncomfortable to encounter people like Socrates, as history also teaches us. Yet something happens – let us call it an existential awakening – and he can no longer deny that he is blind and must start from the very basics. Even seeing is something that has to be learnt all over again.

//

Dank deinen grünen Augen

Es war, als hätte ich erst bei Deinem Anblick begonnen zu leben - Ein Hauch von Dir brachte das Sein zum Beben.

Erst durch Deinen Mund habe ich die Augen geöffnet bekommen. Mit Deinen Gedanken habe ich die Sonnenstrahlen erklommen.

Die Zeit begann als ich die Sekunden zur Ewigkeit wachsen sah Und mit jedem Staunen die Philosophie ihre Zündung nahm.

Du warfst den Stein ins Wasser und sagst die Wellen seien nicht echt und das erste Mal suchte ich nach dem Wahrem und wurd' verblendet, ihr Knecht.

[angefangen im März 2026, am 28. Juni beendet]

[wisp-wandering]

Figured I’d post this here lol!

Epilepsy + Eye strain warning!

[aventurineswife]

if you’re still taking requests for CRK, could you write something about the ancients with a minion of their respective beasts? If not all of them maybe hollyberry and Pure Vanilla

maybe the reader followed the beasts before they corrupted and just don’t know how to let go, still clinging to the hope that the virtue they followed is still down there. But they don’t hate the ancients, they don’t hate anyone.

(Sorry if this sent twice, tumblrs being weird)

Grief Is the Price of Belief

Tags: Pure Vanilla Cookie x Reader, Hollyberry Cookie x Reader, Post-War Reflection, Found Family, Bittersweet Hope, Broken Ideals, Quiet Redemption, Soft Angst, Comfort Without Fixing, Supportive, Disillusionment.

Warnings: Emotional Distress, Grief and Loss, Past Manipulation.

A/N: Might be ooc in Hollyberry Cookie's part because I haven't reached chapter 10 yet... 🚶‍♀️

The Spire of Deceit has long since fallen silent. The wind howls through broken marble and whispers through the cracks like forgotten prayers.

You sit on the edge of a shattered balcony, legs dangling, the stars above unbothered by Cookie-kind’s suffering. Below, the remnants of what once was—your loyalty, your devotion—lie buried under moonlight and ruins. You once followed Shadow Milk Cookie, not out of malice, but because he spoke of truth twisted by perception. Of freedom from dogma. Of eyes opened.

Pure Vanilla Cookie stands quietly behind you. He doesn't speak at first, doesn’t offer pity, only presence.

“I used to think,” you say, “that he only wanted to free us from illusion.”

You don’t mention Shadow Milk’s name. Neither does he.

“I know,” Pure Vanilla says softly, his staff glowing faintly beside him. “So did I.”

You turn to look at him. He doesn’t meet your eyes—his remain closed, as always—but you sense that he sees you more than anyone else ever has.

“I didn’t hate you when the war started,” you whisper. “I didn’t understand. I still don’t. But I never… hated you.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” he replies, his voice nearly lost in the breeze. “I failed him. Failed you. Truth is not a weapon. I tried to wield it like one… and forgot that it can break like glass.”

You inhale shakily. “He’s still in there. Somewhere. Isn’t he?”

Pure Vanilla Cookie sits beside you slowly, the vanilla orchid eye in his staff blinking once, as if contemplating. “Truth doesn’t disappear,” he murmurs. “It gets buried. Shrouded. Sometimes corrupted. But I believe… no truth is ever truly lost. Only misremembered.”

You look away, tears pricking at your eyes. “Then why does it hurt so much to believe in it?”

He smiles faintly. “Because belief is an act of courage.”

There’s a silence. The kind you share with someone who knows grief as well as you do.

He doesn’t tell you to let go. He doesn’t ask you to forget. He just remains there, a steady warmth at your side.

“You once followed a shadow,” he says gently. “Now… maybe you can walk beside the light. Not to erase the past, but to honor what was once true within it.”

The scent of battle always clung to her—berries, dust, and iron—but it was her laughter that rang first.

And for the first time in ages, you wonder if you can.

“Oi! Thought I might find you brooding again.”

You didn’t lift your head. The fields outside the Garden’s border were blooming again, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at them.

Eternal Sugar Cookie had made them bloom once. Not like this, but better. Sweeter. You had believed in her—before.

Before the Garden became a cage.

Before joy turned into compulsion.

Before comfort became control.

“She only wanted everyone to be happy,” you said aloud, your voice cracked.

You heard a grunt, then the sound of heavy armor as Hollyberry Cookie dropped beside you, resting her arm over her bent knee.

“She forgot the cost of real happiness,” Hollyberry muttered. “The kind you fight for. Cry for. Bleed for.”

You looked at her. She was fire, always—loud and alive and real. And you had feared her once. Not because she was cruel, but because she reminded you of everything you’d run from.

“She wanted to protect us from pain,” you murmured.

“She protected us from feeling anything at all,” Hollyberry said. “That’s not kindness. That’s fear with a ribbon on top.”

You winced. “Don’t speak about her like—”

“Like she’s gone?” Hollyberry looked at you then, eyes sharp. “She is. That Sugar you followed, the one who just wanted to help? She’s buried under layers of illusion. Candy-coated chains.”

Your heart cracked. You hated how right it sounded.

“I still see her,” you whispered. “Sometimes. In her voice. In the way she smiles.”

Hollyberry’s expression softened. She sighed, brushing a hand over your shoulder—not gentle, but steady.

“Yeah,” she said. “I see her too.”

You blinked, startled.

“You do?”

“I fought her, didn’t I?” Hollyberry shrugged. “Face to face. I saw the hurt behind the honeyed words. The desperation in that perfect paradise. I saw her soul crying out—and I still said no.”

You swallowed.

“Was that… easy?”

“Not in the slightest,” Hollyberry said. “She meant a lot to me. Still does. But if I let her keep me there, I’d be betraying her worst.”

Your hands trembled in your lap.

“I don’t hate her,” you confessed. “But I can’t live in her dream anymore.”

Hollyberry stood. “Then don’t.”

You looked up at her.

“Come with me,” she said. “We’ll grieve her together. We’ll remember her right. And when the day comes that she wakes up—if it ever does—we’ll be ready.”

You didn’t know if that day would come.

But you took her hand anyway.

Because Hollyberry didn’t promise false comfort. She offered a path forward. One you could walk, even with grief stitched into every step.

[theweightofdivinity]

The era of looking up is over.

What’s coming now forces people to look in… and that means celebrity worship is dead. There was never divinity there. When the idols fall you’re left with yourself and not everyone can survive that confrontation. So they defend the spectacle. Excuse the abuse. Rationalize the decay. Protect the illusion that once distracted them from their own emptiness. Worship in any form has a cost. Those who can’t release it will go down with it.

[luxidks]

I dream that you like me more than her and we run away like Zoe and Kyle, like you promised me

[iwrite-thereforeiam]

nothing more upsetting than realising the mediocrity of your own work

[mtvscreengrabs]

Thank U - Alanis Morissette (1998)