ROBBED OF MY LIGHT

cure my adhd and relieve me of my daily duties so I have more time to post aimlessly on malekith

because this could be the last time

i kind of hate the lack of empathy involved when people discuss viego??

"oh hes selfish, hes controlling"

yes and that doesn't make him a bad person, it makes him you

the feeling of loss is selfish. i understand it can be hard to imagine yourself in viego's shoes, because statistically most people, especially young 20 somethings have never loved to the degree that viego has.

we can make arguements about the legitimacy of his marriage to isolde or the power dynamic behind his proposal but i don't think anyone can argue that his love for isolde was disingenious?

the kind of loss that viego suffered can completely unmake a person. viego is a man who suffered unfathomable pain, had no support network to help him out of it ( a king is a very hard person to get therapy for ) and then, as if putting a cherry on top of it all, became a ghost, which many people who believe in ghosts or many authors who write ghosts in fiction agrees only amplifies negative emotions and trauma out the wazoo

viego should be viewed by people as what could happen to anyone who goes through something as devastating as the lose of your s/o, and doesn't get the right help. he is YOU if things went horribly, horribly wrong. instead because he's a man who wants to 'control' a woman i feel like people write him off as an "incel" or womanizer or wife beater or something.

and can we talk about that for a minute? there is no point during viego's quest where he sees what hes doing as bad for isolde? he is trying to bring the woman back from the dead, and in his mind everyone trying to stop him is just trying to keep them apart.

the only point in viego's story where isolde herself tells him otherwise is moments before she is killed, permanently, and if you pay attention he looks confused and remorseful.

a comparison they made in wild rift and one i cant shut the fuck up about is lucian and viego. ask yourself what the difference between the two of them really is? they both lost their wife, the only difference is viego became obsessed with bringing her back, and lucian became obsessed with revenge. they both became self destructive and potentially dangerous, unhinged people. lucian just accidentally got his wife back in the end.

the point is that viego is not a villain because hes an evil person who got ghost powers, hes a villain because he is a regular ass person who didn't get the help he needed. he can be anyone. which, by the way, is why his possession works; he can control any champion because he can literally overwhelm them with their own emotions, essentailly making them go through what he went through

aatrox laughs, a dry facsimile of humor, more mocking than jovial. it was a sound that came from deep within the darkin, both in the literal sense and the metaphorical; the sound reverberated as if bouncing off the walls of a great hollow expanse within his chest, and felt loaded with an ancient bias on the subject to which she preached. it was the familiar feeling of an elder condescending the young, weaponizing age and experience against youthful exuberance.

and aatrox was her elder; for thousands of years before morgana was even a babe, the sword of the sun walked the earth, fighting and loving and living and learning across its echoing expanse. indeed, from the scorching sands of shurima to the vermillion glades of camavor, the forgotten aspect has surely bloodied ancient soil the world-wondered woman will never have the priviledge to tread.

he has seen the rise and fall of civilizations, the birth and death of gods, and has witnessed both from the eyes of the divine and the unholy. in both life and unlife, aatrox has become a constant. a force of nature. the forever war.

this, too, he will end.

the flesh colossus sits himself on the trunk of a great petricite tree, the stony base even larger than the horror himself. his body thanks him for the rest; the aches of weeks of endless muscles and the cries of muscles pushed to their limit are not his own, but the voices of a thousand stolen souls forged into his false body. he feels the pull of the petricite all around him, tugging at the magic sewn deep into the fabric of his muscles, holding him together. it was like a burning, as if pieces of him were evaporating into the air around him, but the pull was not enough to unravel the darkin; he has had a hundred lifetimes to perfect his magic. a million scars that taught him to ignore the pain.

he buries the tip of his sword into the cold earth below, resting his hands lazily over the grip. she felt his eyes linger on her, but they were hollow, without presence. the real gaze came from within the blade itself, which pulsed with the eerie rhythm of a heartbeat.

" how quickly mortals remember cruelty, and forget kindness. "

he drifts off into a thoughtful silence after that, as if lost from the moment completely, adrift in a sea of memory he had no hope of navigating.. she can see the light in his eyes return as he does.

" what do you know of the sunborn, little angel? -- of all the stars in the sky, i was the noblest, the sword of the people.. when the gods chose to enslave life, i stood against them, slaying my brothers and sisters in defense of mortal freedoms. can you recall what aspect i was?

no, you can't. because the mortals struck my star from the sky.