#「 plot 」 ACT ONE : DYING & RISING

[killingofadeer]

After being— deployed— on the Fourth house, there had been the first few months of trying to nail the mannerisms of the Nercolord Prime's children. They walked a little different than the people on New Rho, there was surety in the steps of the young cohort soldiers that Bells had to figure out how to mimic. Eden had taught all of their soldiers how to be quiet, while the Cohort emphasized being decisive in every movement made. Thankfully, Bells had no trouble assimilating to the culture. They'd been carefully pressed into a mould by their mom, while mama was responsible for teaching him every little thing about the houses he'd need to know. Bells was good at playing Mercurio Chaur now, who walked with a steady gait and had a bad habit of laughing when he was in trouble. Rio became known for his streak of luck, all the more amplified when the heat of a IED bursting under Euphemia Antipas managed to just nick Rio in the thigh. The shrapnel wound was bad, but it was nothing in comparison to a dead soldier. Pieces moved, and Mercurio's lot was drawn as cavalier primary. Funny how that all happened. Canaan house reminds him a little of New Rho, the way it's falling apart. Except Canaan house chips marble, while New Rho is made of cement. He's with the fourth house's scion, who is as curious as she is talkative (the talkative bit was a new development that Rio was still working around). The skeletons are unsettling, considering Rio isn't used to seeing constructs that move on their own. He almost jumps out of his skin when he hears the clatter of bones as the constructs move around Canaan house with ease. Still, Philly suggests looking around the grounds, which Rio can't say no to. It's nothing like they've seen before, and they find their eyes wide and gasping in awe more than they should be. Rio left one of the paintings he was looking at to see what Philly was referring to, leaning close to the tapestry to see the stitching. It almost didn't look real, and as Philly pointed out-- out of place among the rubble. Rio reached out to touch, "Maybe some of these skeletons took up weaving since the last round of lyctors," he suggested, completely unserious. He grinned, "Think they'll fix up the edges of my cohort uniform? I grew a few inches since my last fitting." "I've never seen this stuff before," Rio admitted, "Even the paintings have people I don't know anything about, " He gestured at some of the paintings that lined the walls, rows of peoples and figures that he hadn't heard of. Some of the paintings had plaques inlaid in them, but they didn't help him discern what he was looking at. The fourth house wasn't big on paintings and tapestries anyway, and New Rho had graffiti. Paintings like this, was nothing they'd ever seen before. "Why don't we ask the Teacher guy for a hint? Maybe he has a guide or something....just walking around the house isn't going to be any use if we have no map." He suggested.

Where: Lower Floor Hallway Tag: Private Who: Mercurio Chaur (@killingofadeer)

Some days were harder than others. Philophrosyne Tettares sometimes felt like a ghost wandering these unfamiliar halls, drifting more than moving. The first few days had been easier, the excitement, the novelty of it all. A pool! When had she last seen a pool? And one they could actually use no less!

But as the newness settled into familiarity it became less useful as distractions. Now sometimes she'd round a corner and only be struck by how much she wished she could have shown Euphemia. The birds that flitted above their heads at meal time. The truly singular skeletons. The sea. So instead she tried to share that enthusiasm with Rio. Asking if he'd ever seen such colourful fauna before? Had they ever learned to swim? Whether they sometimes missed the colours their sky had turned at sunset… That was a weird one to be hung up on. But beautiful as the pinks and oranges of this blue sky were at times, sometimes she just missed the simple fading of the light, yellow sky turning slowly to grey. She'd missed it since her first deployment but now it felt like an ache in her chest. She missed simplicity…

She missed feeling connected. Philly had been trying, no one could accuse her otherwise that's for sure. But even with all her effort she missed simply knowing another person. Knowing them inside and out. She'd never felt like an individual, apart from Euphemia, she didn't have to guess how she'd have reacted to things at Canaan house. She just knew. But now she watched her Cavalier, carefully observing how he responded to things. Trying to find some way to regain that feeling of knowing someone. Really knowing them.

"There's no way this could be original right?" Philly ran a hand delicately over the short fibers of a tapestry. "This place is at least," she counted in her head, "several thousands of years old." Counting had never been her strong suit. "Parts of Canaan house are crumbling practically to dust. And yet others are, well not new, but remarkably preserved." The pair had made their way onto one of the lower levels, working slowly through the floors. She hated the not knowing what they were looking for, just… Looking. So they often stopped, spending time with anything that caught her eye, never knew when she was about to pull on a book and discover a hidden staircase behind a shelf! That hadn't happened, yet… But she also tried to notice if anything caught Rio's attention. They were both strangers here and despite struggling to feel as connected to him as she had Euphemia being on the front line with someone did things.

She trusted their judgement, their wits. He sometimes saw things she didn't. She'd learned to trust that.

[norikuna]

GOO GOO MUCK #3 — jujutsu kaisen x reader choose a storybook to open. aka my mythos take on jujutsu kaisen.

you've turned the page to: CHAPTER III. RYŌMEN SUKUNA go back to the table of contents.

as if he heard me, he smiled. and his face was like the sun. (the song of achilles / madeline miller)

prologue. → at first, a humble servant, now capturing the attention of the king of curses. suddenly, you're caught between fear, desire, and a really irritating demon with a bad attitude.

excerpt.. one of the guards’ brows lifted, as if you’d said something unexpected. the other, still doubtful, scowled. "and what would you know of sukuna's laws?" you privately thought sukuna's laws would be quite simple. if it moves, beat it with a stick. if it moves again, let's grab a sword and hit it twice as hard.

pairing. demon king!ryomen sukuna x villager!reader (sfw but suggestive!)

song inspiration. goo goo muck — the cramps / i can see you — taylor swift

warnings. sukuna is very much himself, rude and dubious and evil. kissing, making out, mentions of blood and injuries and war. word count. 4.6k!

a/n. im actually so happy w this one lol i was having a bit of a giggle writing it. consistent plot? what is that?

ask/comment/dm to be added to a taglist 🩵

mp3. when the sun goes down, and the moon comes up, i turn into a teenage goo goo muck!

they had bound your wrists with iron chains, biting into your skin and doing little to still the tremor of fear that seized you. the villagers around, or at least what remained of them after sukuna's merciless invasion, shuffled forward in exhausted silence, carrying that eerie pall of defeat. you dared not look at the faces of your people around you, sensing that each set of eyes held the same mute dread that coursed through your veins.

and sukuna's fortress was an ugly, wicked thing. no doubt a testament to his dominion and dark prowess. but one could only avert their gaze from the jagged black stone that tore through the depths of the earth, and iron maw of a gate that glistened with dark stains that you dare not name.

a tall and severe figure stood waiting beyond the threshold, tall and severe, draped in robes of silky onyx that swept against dead leaves. a member of sukuna's household, no doubt, and he had eyes of dying embers.

it seemed that everything in this estate was dead, or dying. you could only hope that you would not join the pile of skulls that clattered in rough-strewn piles on the pavement.

"you all belong to the king of curses now," he intoned in a voice of polished steel, "you will serve him with unwavering obedience, and if you do not..." the man trailed off, splayed his fingers against his neck — and he suddenly bared his jugular upwards and your stomach lurched at the sight. lines and rows of stitches, sickly healed, where one's throat might have been cut. a walking corpse.

"act rightly, or lose your head. he has little patience for insolence or error."

and so, you were led through winding halls, walls of dark stone and low-hanging torches. the air was thick with a strange, almost metallic scent of thick blood and burning coals.

at length, you passed a vast and open chamber, a throne room that was unlike any you could have ever imagined. granted, you came from a small village, and thus, had not seen a throne room before so the bar was already quite low.

massive pillars framed the space, rising up like trees, branching and curling towards a ceiling lost in shadows. gathered around the centre was a council of some sort, hulking and dark curses of varying forms, from towering demons with sharp, ridged spines — to giant warriors with dented armour, from the scourge of warfare.

and at the heart of them, seated upon an iron throne wreathed in dark filigree, and dazzling red stones, was sukuna himself. the king of curses. he was massive, even in respose, broad shoulders and four thick arms that were drapes across the arms of the throne. you weren't quite sure where to rest your eyes, on his shock of dusty-rose hair, or the sharp set of eyes that were the colour of dried, old blood.

you felt a shiver of terror crawl down your spine, before curling at the base in loving tendrils, freezing your limbs in place. and then, with a heart-stopping clarity (though none would believe you), his gaze seemed to fall upon you. for a single, unbearable moment, you were certain he was looking directly inti your soul, with a gaze as sharp as a blade and as hot as a forge. you felt every muscle in your body clench, a sharp ache spreading through you.

but just as quickly, you were shoved forward, and his gaze fell elsewhere — almost bored. the rest of the newly enslaved muttered and murmured nervously as they led you onwards, down yet another corridor.

devilry and villainy aside, sukuna needed to hire a new interior design team. because this many corridors and needless, steep stairs were just unacceptable.

still, you felt those eyes burning in your memory, like four brands seared into your mind and the hollow of your chest.

they finally ushered you into a small chamber, little more than an alcove carved out of stone and lined with rows of rough, wooden pallets and blankets as coarse as burlap. here, you were instructed to remain until summoned to serve, the harsh whispers of the overseers reminding you to act “rightly, obediently, silently,” words that had already begun to feel like a new set of shackles.

and so, life in the palace of the king of curses was like treading on eggshells, and you had learned early on (after losing the contents of your stomach several times, watching brutal executions) that to speak out, or draw attention was a risk. one that could end with chains, or worse.

yet today, as you walked the winding corridors, a commotion caught your ear, and you had slung your basket on one hip — peering around the corner. you had turned to see katsuro, gentle and quiet, being held roughly by two guards, his slight frame no match for the iron grip of their clawed hands. one of the guards was sneering down at him, his expression gleefully cruel. poor katsuro was only two winters younger than you, and hardly built for the life of a warrior, rather a sweet and shy scholar.

"you made a mistake, little human," one guard hissed, his fangs bared in a twisted grin that would do his reflection in the mirror no favours at all, "sukuna demands perfection, and you will learn the price of failure."

katsuro's face had gone pale, his dark eyes wide with fear and you could see his hands trembling, most likely mirroring your own at the moment. it was not fair, the 'mistake' had been minor, a missed steps in the protocol for cleaning the great hall for the evening's feast. you were certain that sukuna was too busy terrorising the weak and bathing in blood to notice that the wrong number of lanterns had been strung up.

driven by something reckless within you, you stepped forward before you could think better of it.

"wait!" your voice rang out, catching the guard’s attention. their eyes fixed on you, surprised at the audacity, and your heart pounded in your chest.

they were probably excited that instead of one human to torture, they would get two.

but you stood firm, lifting your chin to meet their gaze, ignoring how your gut was working overtime to make you nauseous. "punishing him so harshly for a minor mistake — would that truly serve sukuna's purpose?"

the first guard narrowed his eyes at you. "and who are you to question his purpose?"

"i am not questioning it,” you tried to reply smoothly, carefully choosing your words like your life depended on it (because it did), “but rather, i’m considering it from his perspective. the king of curses values loyalty and productivity in his subjects, doesn’t he?"

you didn't quite appreciate how the guards were rolling their eyes in your one moment of courage, you just couldn't have anything around here.

"if the servants are in constant terror of the slightest mistake, they won’t be able to perform their duties effectively. fear is powerful, yes — but so is loyalty. if they feel a measure of mercy, they may serve him more willingly, rather than cowering with each step."

one of the guards’ brows lifted, as if you’d said something unexpected. the other, still doubtful, scowled. "and what would you know of sukuna's laws?"

you privately thought sukuna's laws would be quite simple. if it moves, beat it with a stick. if it moves again, let's grab a sword and hit it twice as hard.

"a great deal, actually,” you replied with a steady gaze, but with a lie basically dancing on your tongue. "every decision is weighed, every outcome calculated. a punishment too severe for a minor fault? it's…," you tried not to say stupid, "...wasteful. if katsuro is punished to the point of uselessness, that is one less pair of hands, and the workload falls heavier on the rest of us." you dared a glance around, noting a few other servants lingering, listening with furtive, hopeful expressions. "wouldn’t it be better to maintain strength among his servants? for his grander plans?"

frankly, you were just pulling words out of thin air. making things up and lying to such an extent that your mother would grab a bar of bitter soap and wash your mouth out. still, one had to be an opportunist to survive.

the guard holding katsuro faltered slightly, glancing at his companion. It was clear they weren’t accustomed to reasoning, and though they looked unimpressed, they were not entirely unmoved.

"fine," the taller guard growled, loosening his grip on katsuro with a snarl. "this one’s lucky you spoke for him. but if he slips up again, no clever words will save him."

with a final warning glare, the guards stalked off, leaving katsuro visibly shaken but unharmed. relief flooded you, and you could suddenly breathe again, and you moved to steady him, as his eyes glistening with gratitude.

"thank you," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

had you turned around and paid more attention to the shadows, you may have noticed the king of curses standing with all four arms crossed, biting the inside of his cheek. he never liked those guards anyway.

the morning air had been crisp, a rare light filtering through the stone walls of the estate as you were woken by unexpected news. you were...summoned? not to some distant hall or remote chamber of, but to the throne room — sukuna's command. the message itself was terse, and impossible to interpret, but you had been wrapped in a cloak and ushered out the door.

and there you stood, among three other summoned servants. each one pale and quiet with apprehensions as you gathered at the base of the throne's towering dias.

sukuna sat sprawled across his throne, two arms flat and still against the arms of the throne, and the other two holding his head up — as if this was the most boring task in the world. but his eyes, all four of them, scanned you and the others with a look of dull interest, and he almost seemed to sigh, rolling his eyes in open exasperation.

"so," he began, and his voice was a low and raspy tone, "you four are my new...personal attendants?" the king of curses leaned back, half-amused and half-irritated.

you felt a prickle of irritation beneath your skin at his obvious disdain, it was not like any of you had been gunning for the job anyway. but you held your tongue, reminding yourself that it was better to stay silent than risk having your sliced and pickled head served on a bloody platter for sukuna's morning snack. still, he noticed your reaction, his lips quirking into a slight smirk as he arched a brow.

"something to say, little servant?" and sukuna's tone dripped with mockery, as though he were daring you to speak.

"not at all, my lord," you replied, managing to keep your voice steady. "merely… adjusting to the honour of being here."

sukuna snorted, barely containing his amusement. "honour," he repeated, as if the word were a joke. "tell me, did they threaten you to get you here on time, or did you simply decide to be obedient today?"

you did not like this bad attitude, but frankly, you lacked three major things when it came to battling sukuna. an immortal soul, an array of weapons, and a spine. so you tamped it down, a faint, thin smile tugging at your lips. "i would have come either way, my lord. threats or no threats."

you would swear that his eyes glinted with a mix of surprise and interest, though he rolled his eyes again as if unimpressed. "spare me the heroics," he muttered. "i need obedience, not gallantry." he looked you over with a critical eye, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer than necessary. "and i have no use for someone who can’t keep up."

"what a shame that would be for me," you replied, the retort was sharp on your tongue before you could stop yourself. and you felt your heart coil up in fear once more, while you were certain your brain was chasing your tongue around with hammers.

sukuna's gaze narrowed, and a faint, fanged smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "careful, servant. i don’t particularly like attitude from those under me."

you dipped your head, averting your gaze just enough to keep from meeting his eyes directly, you didn't want to lose your lunch. "noted, my lord. i’ll be sure to remember that…if it pleases you."

for a moment, he merely looked at you, his expression inscrutable. then he let out a low chuckle, a sound that sent a shiver through you, something dangerous and thrilling laced in its depths. "very well, then,” he said at last, sounding almost amused. "if you’re so eager to please, you’ll start by attending me closely — very closely. i do like being pleased."

how crass.

you swallowed, catching his faint smirk as he dismissed you all with with a lazy wave of one lower hand, but not before he smiled at you. a cruel and wicked curve of his mouth, but it felt like the heat of a thousand suns. whatever game this was, he intended to play it with you — on his terms.

over the next following weeks, sukuna's summons became frequent and baffling, his demands were a tangle of trivial tasks and strange whims. he seemed to relish keeping you guessing, testing the limits of both your patience and your compliance.

he would call for you in the mornings to help arrange his robes — an affair in which you found yourself having to climb onto a small wooden box to even reach his shoulders, carefully smoothing the crimson and black fabric over the width of his frame. with his arms stretching out from every side, you had to manoeuvre and balance each fold with precise care. and sukuna just watched you intently, an amused smirk tugging at his red-wine lips as you struggled, muttering instructions that barely felt necessary.

yes, you knew how to tie a simple knot.

in the evenings, he’d request you make him tea — a task simple enough, but then he’d take his time to drink it. each sip was drawn out, his gaze occasionally sliding over to meet yours, one brow arched ever so slightly, a smug satisfaction radiating from his silence. he would take another long, slow sip, before turning back to the window, as you shifted your weight from foot to foot, wondering if it was acceptable to launch boiling water at the king of curses. just as a treat.

and then you had been summoned to his chambers to polish a set of blades that had seen their fair share of battles, surely the one that took the lives of your own village, and you shuddered. the blades were heavy, each one forged with a dark, tempered steel that seemed to drink in the dim candlelight. as you worked, your hand slipped, and the edge of one blade sliced through your skin, leaving a sharp, stinging pain and a line of red across your palm. you hissed under your breath, pressing the wound to your tunic as the blood quickly seeped through your fingers.

"stupid," came his voice from behind you, sharp and cold as steel itself. you turned to see sukuna watching, leaning against the doorway with an expression hovering between annoyance and satisfaction, as though your injury were just another way you’d managed to disappoint him, and now he could unleash his tongue upon you. "are you intent on making a mess of my things, or are you simply that clumsy?"

you opened your mouth to retort, a spark of irritation flaring, but bit it back, too exhausted to argue. "it’s just a scratch, my lord," you replied, though the blood was beginning to drip onto the rich furs sprawled across the floor. you quickly wrapped your hand in your sleeve to hide it, hoping to avoid further scorn.

but sukuna must have seen. he let out a low sigh, crossing the room in a few slow strides, and took hold of your wrist, and surprisingly, without a grip that would snap your bones. for a moment, he simply stared down at the cut, his four eyes narrowing with something that looked suspiciously like...regret.

"how ridiculous," he muttered, more to himself than to you, and with a curt wave, he pulled out a cloth from under the blades. but his hands were large, and searing with heat, as they held yours with a shocking deftness as he bandaged the cut.

you dared a glance up at sukuna, only to find his expression unreadable, his gaze focused intently on the task at hand. when he finally spoke, his voice had lost its usual harshness, his tone quiet, almost distant.

"try not to stain the rest of my furs with your carelessness next time," he said, though the words lacked their usual bite.

you wondered if it had finally happened, he'd really lost his mind. there had been no threats of disemboweling, no burning, no being trampled under horses while he ate peaches in the shade of his favourite tree (yes, his threats were that specific).

you murmured a huffed response, more of a mumble, suddenly feeling quite stifled. but sukuna's hands lingered on yours for just a moment longer than necessary, his gaze distant yet searching, as though seeing something he hadn’t expected. then the king of curses drew back, the walls you’d glimpsed in that moment quickly slamming back into place as he straightened, stepping away with a curt nod.

“just go, get some rest before you inconvenience me more," he muttered, barely looking at you now, his tone cool and dismissive. but for the first time, it seemed as though he were hiding something, something even he didn’t quite know how to name.

the air in sukuna's quarters was thick with the scent of burnt incense and faintly lingering smoke, a reminder of the battles he waged just hours ago. as you moved quietly about the room, collecting and folding the strewn garments, you glanced at him, sullen and seated on the edge of his bed. a dark, odious blood was seeping through the bandages wrapped tightly around his torso, three jagged wounds crossing his chest and back where the arrows had pierced. though the arrows were long removed, the gashes looked raw and angry, staining the linen with every breath he took.

sukuna noticed your stare, and with a small, reluctant grunt, he beckoned you over. "the bandages…" he muttered, voice heavy with fatigue but his tone demanding. "fix them, redress them. i don't need another healer bumbling over it."

you swallowed, nerves prickling as you gathered fresh cloth and approached him. you so hated wounds, and the sight of blood but it was better than seeing your own spilled for defying him. sukuna remained still, watching you through half-lidded red eyes, his body larger than life, his skin faintly gleaming in the dim light. but he leaned forward slightly, allowing you to reach the wound. with slow, careful hands, you unwrapped the old bandage, then pressed the clean cloth to his skin, feeling the solid warmth radiate from his chest, searing your fingertips with its intensity.

as you worked, wrapping the bandage around his vast, muscular torso, you did your best not to breathe, not with each breath of his matching the rise and fall of your own. and you tried to ignore how his eyes were flickering over you with an intensity that made your heart stammer.

when you finished, the king of curses didn’t move. instead, he brought his hand up, fingers grazing your chin as he tilted your face to meet his. and the pads of his fingers dug into the skin of your jaw.

"tell me…" he began, his voice low, each word a slow murmur. "do you see me as a monster?"

your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, the words were lost to you. his hand remained firm on your chin, holding you in place as you searched his face — the high cheekbones, the strong jaw, each line and scar a mark of the warrior he was, of the warlord who had taken everything from you. you closed your eyes briefly, feeling the ghosts of flames from your village flicker in your memory.

"it’s… hard to forget what you did," you replied, your voice a whisper, yet steady. "it’s hard to forget that you burned down my village."

a flicker of something — anger, resignation — crossed his face. sukuna let out a long, quiet exhale, a shadow of bitterness touching his voice as he said, "a tiger cannot change its stripes. being a beast is in my nature. i am what i was made to be. you cannot expect elsewise from me, nor would i try to promise it to you."

you held his gaze, your heart beating harder. "i know that now."

his thumb brushed softly against your jaw, lingering. there was something dark and magnetic in his gaze, a glint of restrained hunger that sent a thrill through you, a pulse of awareness that you were crossing an invisible line. maybe someone had hit you on the head, messing with your cognitive awareness. he leaned forward, his face mere inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin as his two sets eyes dipped to your lips.

for one heart-stopping moment, you felt his mouth ghost near yours, a feather-light touch as though testing, hesitating. the world around you seemed to vanish, leaving only him, and his dangerous restraint.

but then, he drew back, jaw set as he tore his gaze away, his hand dropping from your face as though burned. he said nothing, his expression now closed, guarded, as if he, too, was reeling from whatever had just passed between you. you took a shaky step back, pulse racing, not daring to break the silence as you quickly left the room, with some false excuse of disposing of the old bandages (you were going to ask someone else to do it for you).

sukuna's attention had grown increasingly overt, his dark gaze trailing you with a possessive weight whenever you entered the throne room or crossed his path in the vast, torch-lit corridors of his palace. whispers fluttered among the other servants, the concubines, and the court. it was impossible (and almost embarrassing) to ignore the quiet looks and questioning glances they cast your way.

still, a demon could never be expected to be patient forever, and he had sought you out, appearing in the corridor as you were preparing to leave his chambers. his large hand moved to your waist in a firm, claiming gesture, pulling you to him without hesitation, as though he was unbothered by the curious stares around him. you briefly wondered at how just one arm could snap your spine in half, but his touch was almost...fragile.

"you’ve intrigued me," he murmured, his eyes blood-red, glinting as they locked onto yours. "in a way no other has. why do you deny this?" his tone was brusque, but you would have lied if you had said you did not find satisfaction in the way his voice had a snapping plea buried in it.

but sukuna's cruelty was an undeniable part of him; every scar he bore and every command he uttered reminded you of the power he wielded and the danger that simmered just beneath his surface, one that could ravish nations and empire-states. anger, fear, attraction — they were tangled so tightly together you could scarcely tell them apart.

"am i meant to be flattered?"

sukuna chuckled, a low, dangerous sound that resonated through you. "so i am a monster, am i not?" he murmured, his tone almost teasing, yet a sharp intensity flared in his eyes. he leaned close, his face inches from yours, his voice a gravelly whisper. "a monster who could crush you, break you, make you kneel if i so desired…"

you swallowed, fighting the quickening of your breath, but held his gaze, your words biting. "then why don’t you?"

for a moment, he seemed almost stunned, his eyes searching your face. slowly, sukuna reached out, and with an uncharacteristic tenderness, the king of curses had tentatively placed a hand on your cheek, his thumb tracing a gentle line along your jaw, just as it had done all those weeks ago. "because," he murmured, "you’re the only one i’m compelled to protect."

your heart slammed in your chest, every part of you at war, caught between terror and something far more dangerous, a yearning that he, and only he, seemed able to awaken. he drew you closer, his lips brushing over your temple, voice barely a whisper, rough and unguarded.

"don’t you see?” he continued, his tone softer, aching, and you wondered if the king of curses would ever deign to beg. "it’s you i crave, you who won’t bow so easily. and i…” he exhaled, as though he had to fight against his very being to snap out the words, "find myself undone."

the intensity in his gaze was pulling you in, daring you to come closer, to test the fire you’d spent so long resisting, the fire that you had long been ghosting your fingers over, letting it lick your fingers. you could feel your pulse thrumming as sukuna drew nearer, his towering form casting a shadow that made you feel both caged and protected.

"you do realise," he murmured, voice a deep rumble, "that i’ve thought of this — of you — every night."

your breath hitched as his words sank in, and you attempted a weak laugh, faint in the air, "your enemies would kill to see you so undone."

one of his hands brushed up your back, pulling you closer, aligning your body with his in a way that left no space between you. with another arm, he tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze, his red eyes dark, "i would kill my enemies if they ever laid their eyes on you, in a way that i did not decree."

sukuna's breath was warm against your lips as he leaned down, inch by torturous inch, his mouth hovering just above yours, and you could see the light refract from his pearly fangs, "you have no idea the restraint it’s taken to hold back from this."

and his lips brushed against yours, just a whisper of contact, but enough to ignite something within you. and then, as if some unspoken barrier shattered, his mouth claimed yours in a kiss that was searing and fierce, pouring all his pent-up longing into that single moment. he moved with raw intensity, his mouth firm, demanding, yet achingly tender as he explored every inch of your lips, making you gasp with the force of it, stoking a heat lower within you.

you felt his two remaining arms circle you, anchoring you securely against his chest as he deepened the kiss, pressing you firmly to him. his fingers splayed across your back, drawing you impossibly closer, and you realised with a shiver that you liked the way he held you — possessive, unrelenting, as if he’d never let go.

and so, though you'd never admit it, you melted into him, your hands reaching up to grasp his shoulders, feeling the hard muscle beneath his robes. his lips moved with a rhythm that left you breathless, his kiss filled with a heat that left you weak, pliant in his arms. he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and half-lidded, a soft, dangerous smile curving his mouth.

"you’re mine," he murmured against your lips, his voice low and filled with an almost reverent awe. and this time, you leaned up to catch his mouth, enjoying that for the first time in written history, the king of curses had purred.

[sickuma]

SILLAGE — a Simon Riley fic. 1/2

❱ This is the au i wrote on tiktok captioned "he realized he wanted to stay too late" this will have two parts! I've been making a lot of ghost fics lately LMAO and I'm sorry if the plots are consistently angst, it's what I like doing the most. This one though is a little heavier than most of what I've written, definitely has some personal linking to it with my experience :)

ꜝ？ Warning. . this is a heavy angst fic, mentions of suicide and acts of committing, if that is something that triggers bad emotions, please exit the fic.

paring is Ghost x Reader this is unedited! mistakes such as spelling and grammatical errors are to be expected !

! if you are going through something heavy right now, please seek someone you trust and you are able to talk to about your emotions, nobody should have to go through their troubles alone, you're loved<3 My messages are open if you need a stranger to listen :)

Part 2 (^_^;)

SILLAGE — (n.) The scent that lingers in air, the trail left in water, the impression made in space after something or someone has been and gone; the trace of someones perfume.

"The deployment takes place soon."

He mumbles, without turning to face you. Occupied by packing up the things he'll need for this mission and more,

He was packing everything.

"Do not wait for me [name]."

"What does that mean?" You ask, a look of indifference plastered on your face. It wasn't necessarily the first time this conversation has been held. 

Though it is the first time you're not opposing. For the entirety of that 7 months you're together, fights happened, arguments would sprung. Yet you find yourselves back into each other's arms within a week,

It was a tiring cycle. Something you knew was unhealthy for the both of you, especially with your deteriorating well-being which he has no waking idea about. You've never brought light to it.

It was an ugly part of you, something you despised.

Something you won't ever show him yourself.

With a short sigh, he stood straight, hands propped on his forehead indicating his rising stress. "I can't, we can't."

"I can't let this go on longer.

You kept quiet, awaiting for him to speak more, to tell more of his worries you're evidently familiar with. It was something you've grown aware of,

His fear of abandoning you,

His fear of dying on the field while you wait aimlessly for him.

"This is for the better [name]." Cowardly, is what you would have described this. But you are in no place to be speaking of such as you're also deep into your own hell of mental instability.

For a lot of times this argument has happened, it was the first time you are not tearing up. Asking him to stop spewing nonsense and convincing him to stay.

Why did you keep doing that? You wondered. Now you finally have the answer. 

It's the fear,

Fear of your darkness once he's far from you, far from your heart. He was completely unaware of how he'd changed you temporarily, how your sleeping heart awoke with just the sound of his voice.

For the longest time you have not felt anything close to what he made you feel; for the first time you are able to feel. And the thought of that suddenly being taken away from you made your body tremble.

But this time you stood firmly,

He was right. This can't go on forever,

You two may have different reasons for saying such but what mutual fact was that it was true. Staying with each other will only drive you to madness.

With his fear of attachment, and your fear of abandonment. It was bound to fail.

You were already planning on cutting ties even before he brought this up once again; you knew you can't stay. Not any longer,

Not when this void plagued you like a curse.

The air was thick and dire, your lack of response threw him over the edge. It was unpleasant. He had expected you to do the same, to react the same, to stop him.

To fight for him like you always have,

But you're no longer capable of doing that. If you can't fight for your own will to live, how does he expect you to fight for this wilting relationship?

You hated it. Feeling helpless.

But you're certain it's the right thing, tonight, you'll finally do it. Like you always planned.

"I see."

Simon felt conflicted, your short answers and your lack of expression, it gave him a strange gut feeling. This sudden gut decision to stay and make sure everything's okay,

He can't.

He needs to go, one way or another. He's doing this in regards to you, and the safety of your feelings.

If only he'd know you're incapable of feeling, without him you can't. Your gaze followed his walking figure as he brought his things at the door,

Turning to you with a pinched expression, though he was shocked to see you looking at him with a smile.

"Be safe."

You spoke ever so gently, with that slight smile he adored but for some reason it felt odd to see it. It troubled him, he shrugged it off, not wanting to drag this moment longer,

Afraid he'll give in and pull you into his arms.

He kept staring, as if he didn't wish to walk out the door. If he does, it means permanently, his heart was against that. "Can I hug you?"

"One last time?"

He was taken aback, stunned at your sudden request. And for a lot of reasons it hurt him, to hurt you in such a way you end up smiling in acceptance, asking him for one final hug.

With an anxious swallow, he dropped the bags and slowly drew closer to you. Pulling you close, perhaps too eagerly? Too desperately. But he didn't care. 

If its the final time he gets to have you in his embrace, he'll make the most of it. 

He lets the moment linger, with your hands clutching his shirt, he took you in. Taking your scent, the calm thumps of your heart, he needs all he can get.

With his eyes closed, he carefully rubs the back of your head when he suddenly felt warm on his chest,

It was tears,

Your tears. You were crying silently.

"[name]—" 

You interrupt him with a chuckle, pulling away from the hug to wipe your tears. 

"Sorry, it escaped." You humoured, wiping them away.

Right at that moment he felt his heart shatter, he felt cruel. On the other hand you felt fulfilled, with the final hug you wanted,

You can finally do it.

"I love you Si." You smiled once again, looking up at his towering figure. Though his expression remained stoic, almost softening as his thoughts dwelled with what his heart wants.

He shook his head, closing his eyes shut as he turned around to take his things. Twisting the knob in the process, stopping to spare you one last glance.

"I—" he almost said it but he stopped himself, he didn't want to make it any harder for himself, no matter how badly he wanted to say it.

"Goodbye [name]."

Those were the last words he spoke to you, as the sound of the door closing erupts in your ears. Leaving you in the eerie room you dreaded,

It's as if you could still feel his embrace.

Once you're sure he's far enough, it's when you started the preparation. Sitting down indifferently to write a few notes; letters to those few you held close.

One final regard of what you were too cowardly to say in person, a goodbye.

And so, you wrote.

﹑

To Simon,

My Simon.

If you're reading this, I am gone.

Whether or not you find this letter, I can only hope you know how much I've loved you. That even without reading this, you're still aware of how much you made me feel.

Thank you, truly.

For the longest time I have struggled to feel, most times it would just be devoid of yearning; my yearn to view life as something worth living for. To no avail I never got that, the idea to keep living never shone bright to me, of course, until you showed up and brighten up my space with your own special way,

It took us quite a few to get along, we really did.

But when it happened, it was ethereal. Things felt right, for the first time I was able to feel,

For the first time I had this sudden urge to keep living, to keep living for you. To see you, to hear your voice, to be beside you. I'm afraid I've grown dependent on that,

As someone who has never felt love nor care, I had no sense of value for myself. Yet you looked at me, you told me you love me and believe me I was ecstatic.

I depended on you, you were my source of happiness and I owe you for every bit of happiness I've gotten from this unfortunate life so when we're apart i find myself remembering just how miserable i am, how my family is, how i am as a person and how hard it is for me to feel.

Without you I can't feel anything.

But that was unhealthy,

I was merely distracted. The void never left, it was there temporarily filled with what I convinced myself was a will to live. I'm sorry. I really am, I wish I could have been better. I wish I could have been stronger,

Braver, to see your achievements even if we're not together anymore. My heart remains yours. It's not your fault, it never will be. I'm sure that you know If anybody could have saved me it would have been you. 

I know I lack the ability to feel, but with you, I never lied. I never faked anything. My love for you is here and it's the only feeling I am able to recognize, I know that night you walked out of the door saying we are better off apart, for the safety of my feelings and for the sake of your growing attachment. I cried but I cried because I agreed.

I'm sorry for surrendering to my weakness,

But I can't keep it together; not any longer. I can only hope that you'll be glad to know that maybe I'm somewhere free from the void of my emotions. I'm somewhere better, freely able to feel. Please be proud, with you I felt so much and that will never change. It's me your [name] :) always will be.

Goodluck to the strongest lieutenant! Remember to keep him happy and healthy, take care of the person I cherish the most, okay? Wherever I am, I am somewhere carrying the short-lived love we had. Treasuring it forever,

Stay frosty yeah? Don't be like me. 

Until next time, lieutenant :)

﹑

[kingdoms-and-empires]

After Dark Review (Zombies!)

I recently had to go travel and read a few works that I never got around to reading but was interested in.

PLEASE REMEMBER THIS REVIEW IS DONE BY ME AS A READER AND IS MY OWN OPINION.

This means I will review in accordance to my own tastes, how the game caters to me, and what I feel. Do not take my word as gospel, what I may not be interested in or dislike, may be what YOU are interested and love!!!

@dalekowrites

Synopsis:

A few years from now, in Little Peak, Michigan, a teenager is ready to go to sleep.

While the heavy industry is more active than ever, the effects of global warming are evident, with higher temperatures, dying bees, and animals acting weird.

It has simply been another normal Wednesday, but little do people know that it’s the last day of normality Mother Nature has granted them.

After Dark is a scientifically accurate apocalyptic horror. You’re tired of zombies rising from the ground for no reason? You don’t believe in ghosts? Glittering vampires aren’t for you? Then you have to try one of the three different stories that unfold in After Dark.

When a global pandemic starts to transform people into dangerous monsters, which path will you choose? Will you fight for humanity? Will you stay for your family? Or will you run away in search of a better future?

Review:

The Good: Why does every IF Zombie game have the authors kill themselves in the coding department? This is in the good section, so it isnt a bad thing, though sometimes I worry for the sanity of the author lol. Anyways, After Dark is ambitious! Here are some of the things the author implemented:

Three different routes with three completely different stories. (1 is being worked on right now, the other two have not yet been implemented yet as far as I know)

A phone with a social network, gallery for the ROs, a newsletter, and a weather forecast app... of which you need to charge without it being annoying thankfully!

Characters remember what you talk about and will bring it up in future conversations, so you cant be two faced lol

A romance autonomy system that you can switch on that allows ROs to flirt with you!

Random encounters to encourage re-playability.

An inventory system.

A weather system, that can be prepped for using the weather app on your phone.

Hourly progression system, there are only a set amount of hours in a day that you can use to do things without affecting you.

Discoverable side stories.

A private journal that keeps track of stuff for you. Kinda Elder Scrolls coded and i jive with it haha

And crazy enough, there's more. The above sounds complicated and overwhelming, but it isnt for the reader somehow. The author was able to integrate all the above without it feeling intrusive or annoying.

As for the story itself, remember this is currently one route. The writing is well done, it isnt overly flowery or super descriptive to the point of walls of text. Instead it gets to the point effectively and without losing points.

It made me want to read more, and that is exactly what we readers look for as we scour the IF space for more stories.

ABBY

I really like Abby. She's the preggo lady you can find, and I love the humanity she brings to the story. She does some things thatll make you go:

All of the characters feel grounded and not tropey if that makes any sense. And the dynamics of the group can change with the MC's input, or lack of it.

And then food. Holy shit, the need for food actually felt immersive lmao, whenever id find a snack or something id snatch that mfer up

The Bad:

I would like more zombies. The characters, the narrative, and the plot works well. But I'm worried of being presented with more human on human conflict/drama instead of the undead, and to that I recommend the author to introduce more scenes where we can see the horror, eeriness, and sadness that such an apocalypses would induce. Make a scene where the player is being chased by the undead because of a fuck up, it can be MC's or one of the characters to create tension or drama and it can even make an RO moment occur. Or a scene where you can enter a school, or one of the FEMA camps and see the aftermath of an incident where the zombies break in or someone infected got in. Of course, the author is steadily updating, and what I just said may very will be in the cards of a future update! But I do think something involving the zombies should occur sooner than later, as the beginning scene with the parent and the chaos, horror, and tension of the scene still stayed with me, and i was hoping to reach those emotional heights again while playing!

The Ugly:

Other than a few gender variable errors of the ROs and the regular grammar mistakes found in any IF, the biggest issue i had was with presentation. I'd recommend the author to clean up the spacing between paragraphs in the future when they have time alongside the new update.

The Aftermath:

Zombie IFs just don't seem to miss. Almost all are able to land within the "good" category whenever one releases, and this has the potential to land right in the "Chef's Kiss" tier. I'd recommend this game to anyone craving a zombie IF, and im excited to see this develop more in the future! The characters are grounded, flawed but not annoyingly, and capable. The story is plausible, and the narrative makes sense. Honestly? I want more and I want it now!

[killingofadeer]

𝓣he keyring that the Teacher had provided sits against Gawain's hip, its weight negligible in comparison to her other vestments — but still, it irks her to no end. A 'keyring without keys' sounds like a bad metaphor that she might've heard during her schooling years. She tested the thought, trying to discern if the object was a riddle in itself. Her musings had her walking the perimeter of the Canaan House, soaking in the sights of a planet like this one. It made sense that the Emperor claimed this one to be the seat of His power. It was beautiful, with water stretching out for miles and miles. The sight itself made their shoddy living situation bearable (though if Gawain had to guess, the princess wasn't exactly impressed when Gawain rolled the carpet up to show the warping of mold underneath). Gawain was a soldier, though. A cot was the least of her worries. Gawain was just about done with her tour of the Canaan House, the last leg of her travel taking her to the narrow stairs that led, presumably, to the higher levels of the castle. There were sections of the stairs where entire slabs had fallen off and littered the ground below, but the structure seemed relatively stable as she walked up. It was just when she was right at the top of the stairs she heard a muted fall. A few steps later and Gawain saw the pot on the floor, and a cavalier looking like he'd been caught red handed. She blinked, hadn't really gotten the chance to see him properly back when they landed. His garb introduced him well enough, though. Then, Gawain blinked in recognition. She stepped onto the landing, and gave him an honest shrug, "The scene sets itself, Virgil." She teased, gesturing at the vase, "You still broke the vase, pity. Maybe I'll ask the teacher to give the Third the Sixth's first key for this...." she shook her head dramatically, "grave error."

THE GARDEN TERRACE.

♘ ˚ — closed starter, written for @killingofadeer !

              𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍   𝐕𝐈𝐑𝐆𝐈𝐋   𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐒   𝐔𝐏𝐎𝐍   𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆   𝐓𝐇𝐄   𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐘   𝐎𝐍   𝐇𝐈𝐒   𝐎𝐖𝐍,   𝐇𝐄   𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒   𝐔𝐏   𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆   𝐀   𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐋   𝐎𝐅   𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆   𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒   𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓   𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄   𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐒   𝐀   𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘   𝐁𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓   𝐎𝐍   𝐀   𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄.   The   metal   framing   is   stained   with   rust   and   decay,   and   some   glass   panels   are   shattered   while   others   are   altogether   missing;   the   whole   ones   are   opaque   with   dotted   hard   water   buildup,   making   Virgil   think   that   the   island   sees   heavy   rainfall.   Insects   hum   dreamily   about   some   of   the   plants,   and   pipits   sing   high   overhead,   and   the   blue   sky   shines   cloudless   beyond   the   glass   chamber.   Virgil   takes   a   bite   out   of   his   apple.   The   gush   of   fresh   juice   makes   him   forget   that   there   are   dangers   in   the   world,   or   pain,   or   death. 

He   feels   for   half   a   second   that   the   rest   of   the   universe   doesn’t   exist,   that   dominicus   only   shines   to   keep   the   creatures   he   can   see   alive,   and   that   there   is   nothing   else   beyond   the   undulating   waves   that   meet   the   horizon   line.   He   takes   another   bite   and   keeps   walking   until   his   foot   catches   on   a   string   of   vine   attached   to   a   pot.   Virgil’s   useless   daydreams   are   rudely   interrupted   when   the   ceramic   lands   on   the   footpath   with   a   crack,   muffled   by   the   grass   growing   between   the   flagstones,   but   he’s   not   saved   from   the   embarrassment   when   just   then   Gawain   turns   the   corner   to   witness   his   folly. 

Virgil   looks   at   her   like   a   startled   cat.   He’s   tugging   his   foot   free   from   the   entanglement,   desperate   to   be   dissociated   from   it.   ❛❛ You   saw   that,   right ? ❜❜   He   hopes,   seeking   an   ally   in   her.   ❛❛ You   saw   that   I   was   just   walking. ❜❜

[buckybarnesss]

Someone recently called Derek a "whiny edgelord" and I was like, wow, so you've seen two gifsets and not the actual show then.

Literally everybody else complains more than Derek. I think Derek complains one single time and it's when he points out that Allison and Lydia screwed him over and never apologised.

Dude is literally dying during season 4, and is like "well, i'm 23, it's clearly my time to go" and just naps.

derek has peak millennial energy but what's so funny to me is that one of derek's major character features is that he refuses to discuss his traumas with anyone. ever. at all. he would rather die. it's a huge plot point that no one knows that kate argent was the one who killed the hales. except derek.

like, laura goes back to beacon hills and begins looking into the fire. she does the footwork that peter later uses for his killing spree. they don't know it was kate. derek does.

the fire was never a mystery to derek but he didn't tell anyone because of the guilt he felt for the role kate forced him to play in what happened. he never told a soul what kate did to him.

only stiles and peter figure it out once they have enough of the puzzle. neither of them advertise the information.

derek doesn't even speak to kate all that much when she taunts him in the tell and later when she captures him.

the closest we ever get is in code breaker when he says to scott in the strongest case of projection beacon hills has ever seen:

"you want me to risk my life for your girlfriend? for your stupid little teenage crush that means absolutely nothing? you're not in love, scott! you're sixteen years old! you're a child!"

derek hale never talks about paige. other people talk about paige. not him. he never, ever says her name to anyone. jennifer and peter are the ones who co-opt the tragedy for their own purposes.

he doesn't talk very much about what's happening to him in season 4 and when this man is on his deathbed he tells stiles -- someone who means a lot to him and clearly is hesitating to leave him -- to go save scott.

derek hale don't talk about shit. sure he does get vocally angry about things and annoyed like you mention. he does with scott and stiles all the time and with lydia and allison in chaos rising:

this one [lydia], who used me to resurrect my psychotic uncle--thank you--and this one [allison], who shot about thirty arrows into me and my pack?

it's why his pants are so tight. they're holding in all his trauma. i mean what's he gonna do? talk about it? hell fucking no.

it's why stiles being derek's secret keeper is such a fascinating choice this show made. stiles learns all of derek's darkest secrets such as his involvement with kate and what happened to paige without derek having to explicitly tell him.

but derek knows stiles knows.

derek letting that lie and stiles not only never telling anyone else but never really confronting derek over these things is an act of trust.

anyway none of these characters were really whiny. not even jackson. they're just traumatized and that makes people uncomfortable.

[moltengoldveins]

hm yes emduo and bedrock bros and the eggs in Space. Phil is one of the last surviving members of a fragile but technically immortal species of elytrians that is now only whispered about in fairy tales. He’s a private investigator and enforcer (space pirate and muscle) for his beloved wife’s galaxy-wide uhhh….. Independent illegal group of people dedicated to protecting order and monitoring corruption? Gang of space pirates who steal from rich people? League of assassins but with morals? Unclear what the Syndicate Is Exactly but it sure do Be. He’s the pilot for the SBI Boreas, a light cruiser with a frankly Absurd munitions outfit. (Tubbo’s his mechanic) 

Techno is a member of the only recognized sentient deathworlder species, an odd mix of orc, elf, and pig features, and is by all accounts a living legend, or a living nightmare. He’s solidly twice the size of most other species, capable of surviving injuries what most would deem a death sentence, and a highly trained warrior to boot. Now, by all human accounts the texts of his people are pretty self-explanatory, (the Art of War is 89% Common Sense by volume) but in a galaxy of peaceful races on peaceful planets, it’s complex and brutal enough to be nigh-incomprehensible. He’s on a Lot of watchlists, but he’s also the like… platonic third partner in Phil and Madam Kristin, The Lady Of Death TM’s marriage??? So not a lot can be Done about him. 

Tommy is a younger avian teen (distant relation to the elytrians, definitely Not Immortal) who Techno found breaking into the Boreas and decided to keep (Phil took one look and his Dad Instincts kicked in) and his life is going swimmingly until he gets Yoinked for leverage against his dads and mum. The organization who gets him runs a blood sport colosseum, and while in transit his cage was stuck next to this weird hairless thing?? Chained with like Heavy Duty restraints. Tommy doesn’t have a ton of time to bond with this Strange Thing before the hostage negotiations happen, but they do manage to exchange names and Tommy decides with his classic impulsive passion that This Thing And He Are Brothers For Life Now. then the negotiations immediately go south, there’s a bit of a standoff, and Techno ends up trading himself for Tommy, which is what the organization wanted in the first place. They run a Reeeeally expensive exotic show for super Rich Jerks in an undisclosed location and Techno is their latest attraction. They’re also painfully cocky, and will be dying with extreme prejudice the moment Mumza gets her claws in them. 

So Techno gets Got and shoved in a high-security cell once they reach the colosseum, along with, surprise! This strange hairless creature with four limbs. It’s Chayanne, who is A Very Human Teenager who Did Not Want To Be Abducted By Aliens, Thank You. They’re both deathworlders, which Techno Does Not Realize until they get assigned to the same team a few weeks into the battles and watches Chay rip a bug man’s limbs off (Chay is Not having a good day. His dad (Missa) taught him self defense and was a martial artist, a butcher, and a rather morbid man, so some Relevant Knowledge and some general chillness around death is to be expected, but Not a chillness around KILLING PEOPLE FOR SPORT) Techno thinks this must be a fully grown adult whatever-it-is all the way until Chay breaks down crying and sounds Just Like a shoat (baby pig) and Techno feels the Dad Instinct rising again. 

Meanwhile, Halfway Across The Galaxy: the government has been developing space flight, but are really only at the borders of our solar system when they catch some aliens in the act of Yoinking another kid, this time from an orphanage (Tallula) they don’t manage to save her, but Holy Crap ALIENS???? Missa, who saw a bit of his son’s abduction but not enough to know exactly what happened, sees the news broadcast, puts two and two together and gets plot advancement. He starts pulling strings, asking about old connections in the space force (Cosmonaut Fit Emsi, godfather to Chayanne and Missa’s college best friend, may or may not be involved in the Turning Of Blind Eyes) and manages to get access to a hanger bay with a captured alien ship in it a few months after the incident in what might be the coolest heist sequence ever not-actually-written. (It’s very cool in my head, think Oceans 11 but the majority of the qsmp cast, trust me I swear.) He launches himself right into space and proceeds to systematically work his way through spaceport after waystation after colony planet in search of The Aliens Who Steal Human Kids (Specifically My Son) 

Techno is at this point playing the long game. He knows Kristin and Phil aren’t about to leave him hanging, and that they have enough firepower to burn this place to the ground, but he’s not sure when that’s gonna happen or how he’s gonna get Chay out. Meanwhile, Chay has No Idea what this strange Exceedingly Chill Pig Man has going on, but as far as he’s concerned, this is his life now. Forever. And making allies is important. They start trading languages and Techno starts teaching Chay katas (modified for the drastically different joint structure) in their free “big open space enrichment time.” (Side note: what aliens consider almost horrific cruel and unusual punishment is at worst severely unpleasant for humans. They just can’t take psychologically what humans can, so they kinda Have to treat their slaves better than we would. Doesn’t mean it’s good treatment, but it does mean Chay and Techno are both doing significantly better than they could be.)

Finally, Phil and Kristen rock up to the party incognito, dressed to the nines and attending a Big Event To Show Off Our New Deathworlders. They see Techno in the ring and have to Play It Cool, but he seems to be doing ok actually, so that’s good. Eventually the Head Honcho Man gets into a discussion with Phil right by the viewing window, so Phil has to pretend he’s fine when he sees a door open in the arena and A @:&;!ING HUMAN STEP OUT AND SQUARE OFF WITH HIS BEST FRIEND. (Shockingly, being immortal tends to inform you of such things like Secret Deathworlds and their Scary Inhabitants) Kristin is of course Immediately On The Move, but it turns out to be not necessary: Chay just kinda strolls up to Techno and gives him a side hug (bLEASE, you want me to fight my Roommate? Get out) and while Phil is laughing to himself, the Head Honcho gets maaaaad. He pulls it around though, announcing that he “already knew the two monsters had bonded the way only such vicious creatures could, and will be giving them a challenge only they could hope to face!!” And releases, like, four of the heccin Dune sand worms into the arena. Techno and Chay proceed to fight like demons while Phil and his squad take out the party and Kristen and her squad sweep the lower levels of the colosseum in an effort to keep More Worms out of the arena. Slavers die horribly. The end. 

Meanwhile, halfway across the galaxy: Missa returns!! Now with Even More Rage! His ship has broken down and because he ain’t got no Space Green Card, he’s got to get it repaired at a place that’ll take anyone. Enter Tubbo Underscore, Syndicate Member and Tinkerer Extraordinaire. Tubbo takes one look at this guy and goes “yeah that’s not a normal guy there’s something Wrong here” and through a series of pointed questions (and aggressive preening by Benson, a rather horrifying eldritch duck-dog thing the size of a small horse) Missa eventually explains why he’s in space. Tubbo, having just recently repaired Philza H Minecraft’s ship on its way to wipe out a gladiator ring, puts two and two together to make more plot, explains his Theory, and decides to accompany Missa, getting them into the next Syndicate raid on this organization. They, along with an undercover agent by the code name of Boo (It’s a word in Old Enderian that means ‘Eldritch’ or ‘Unknowable.’ Missa has to choke to keep from laughing) storm a freighter and rescue a bunch of valuable slaves and also!! Sunny and Tallulah! They have different first languages, Sunny was treated Significantly Cushier by the slavers than Lulah bc she was younger and viewed a bit more like a pet than a fighter, and they haven’t really spoken to one another before the rescue, so their rough start happens at this point. Cue Missa and Tubbo # Struggling to keep these two feral children from each others throats while they keep searching (‘Chay was literally never this bloodthirsty, the heck???’ -Missa, holding two backpack leashes apart while the girls are trying to strangle each other) 

Meanwhile on the Boreas: CHAY AND TOMMY REUNION POG???? Techno formally adopts Chay according to his culture (think Mandalorian, but to the left) and Chay has enough language to understand, but not enough to inquire about, yknow, whether Going Back To Earth is an option. As far as the Boreas crew know, it isn’t: Earth is a no-fly zone and Chay’s been out here for nearly a year and a half. They have no idea how they’d begin to get him home. 

Then finally, on a Syndicate-owned spaceport in the middle of nowhere, Missa finds the Boreas and sees his kid across a crowded bazaar. They hug, it’s super dramatic, very tearful, (Phil and Kristen are already planning his room on the ship: if they’re gonna coparent, they’re gonna do it Right) and after a bit of waffling, both Chay and Missa decide it’s for the best if they spend some time in space before heading back to earth, what with the whole “definitely stole a star fighter and wanted by the government, the entire world knows about aliens now” bit. There is fluff. There is cultural sharing. There is hair braiding. It’s amazing. 

Then comes my literal favorite space au trope Ever: a few days into the new and improved Boreas gang’s voyage, their ship is boarded by (shock, horror) a group of Human Pirates and the crew is Immediately captured. Turns out: it’s kinda hard to keep the existence of an entire galactic community from Everyone on Earth, and these are guys who, similar to Missa, yoinked a spaceship from their military and went rogue. (I’m putting Quackity here, cause I love charismatic villain Quackity and I think it works) they pirates are very VERY “humans are gonna expand to cover the universe” “might makes right” “come, join us, and together we can rule the galaxy” about it when they realiz Missa and Chay are aboard, and the Boreas crew honestly expects Missa and Chay to join them. They’re human! They speak the same language! They value the same things! Obviously they’re gonna take that way out, we wouldn’t even blame them! (Techno feels pretty betrayed but Phil/Kristen/Tommy just look resigned) Missa and Chay play along, pretend to hate their ‘alien captors,’ and arm themselves “to help them secure the ship.”

What follows is a rather emotionally charged but Very Very Cool sequence in which Missa and Chayanne use the skills they gained in their unfortunate struggles across the galaxy to Clean House, clearing their home the ship room by room until they’ve got a pile of bloodied and unconscious or dead humans and a very very shocked new family. There might be a bit more plot after this as the family settles, perhaps a sequel made of short stories, but this is generally the end.

The epilogue is five years later, when Fit Emsi, head of the new Intergalactic Human Intergalactic Relations Organization and Expansion Section (HIROES) has his monthly checkup call with Missa and Chay, who’re having a blast with Techno and Phil and Tommy traveling the universe. Fit calls them in to consult in cultural stuff during the negotiations with, yknow, the Actual Galactic Government, the one that views the Syndicate as a crime organization, but it’s pretty well known at this point that Mumza is In Charge Of Things on the Downlow, and Fit’s still Chay’s godfather for heavens sake: there’s simply nothing the government can Do about it. Tubbo has adopted Sunny and Chay took one look at Talulah and decided “Thats My Little Sister.” Phil apparently has had a crisis recently related to some kind of ancient evil ex long thought dead, but is on the road to recovery. Everyone lives happily ever after, the end. 

[arceus-insanity]

This is a long rant so you can totally delete if you’re not interested, though I don’t know who else to talk to about this so I hope you don’t mind me getting something off my chest: I feel really bad for todoroki.

He tried the hardest to save his villain (making a plan to stop Dabi by creating a new move, continually tried to get Endeavor to cooperate with him to meet Dabi, letting Dabi take his anger out at him, and racing meet him not once but twice, saving him from killing himself even when he was the most suicidal out of the villain trio), hell, he was the most empathetic to his villain without ever needing to see the child self because he thought they would have been the same if Todoroki didn’t get the support from his friends. Too bad Touya was so hell bent on his suicide mission with Endeavor that Todoroki couldn’t get through him the first time.

Which leads to the ending of Touya dying in a machine and the brothers still having glass stuck between them. Endeavor may have took over the ending, but Todoroki was the only one who connected to Touya by asking him about his favorite food instead of talking over him. Even then, Endeavor gets to seem cool with “I’ll handle the consequences” and Natsuo complimenting him despite him running away until he couldn’t and almost did a murder-suicide with Touya. Hell, Endeavor literally never faced any consequences in the end as the next time we see him with his psuedo-family (on another note, it feels like salt in the wound Hawks got to live out his happy family dreams while Also not getting any consequences for killing Twice as a hero). Rei sticks by him for some goddamn reason and the last thing Fuyumi talks about is losing her job because of Endeavor’s actions. Before then, the only consequences Endeavor faced was for him failing as a hero and civilians getting mad at that. Everytime someone brings up the abuse, it always brushing it aside besides Iida/Kirishima commenting on it. Sero’s “no one needs that tragic crap” doesn’t really help either since it was more about his own motivations than helping Todoroki dialogue wise. We don’t even get to see All Might’s reaction who was told in the beginning Todoroki was only born to defeat him (Endeavor actually used pronouns calling Todoroki an object in the original Japanese in this convo). We don’t get to see anyone who knows Eri (outside of Midoriya) give the same sympathy to Todoroki because now they know he went through a similar experience a decade of his life (but even then Midoriya praises Endeavor once when fighting Dabi so :/).

Barely anyone in the family comforted him on screen and it truly feels like his family fell apart despite doing his best learning about them in under a year. Todoroki doesn’t get to have that bowl of udon OR soba with Touya now.

The narrative kinda also barred him from the origin trio thing in the end, and he didn’t even get to talk to/cry about Touya to Uraraka and Midoriya (even though I personally feel like both their stories kind of fell apart because of that talk) (also he has the most complicated/interesting relationship with both All Might and his villain/brother but whateve). Todoroki is still haunted by Endeavor’s name a decade later (even if it’s a smaller shadow) and EVEN THEN Endeavor is still looked at as one of the greatest heroes. Endeavor almost killed Touya and the family for not acting sooner and he gets labeled as great. Endeavor gets to have replacement children while everyone else don’t get the justice they deserved.

He doesn’t even get his rising title in the anime!! They took it away from him!! The anime wants you to think all of the Todoroki family saved Touya, but Todoroki did 90% of the work!!

This might seem odd change in topic, but Tenko/Shigaraki has a lot of parallels to Todoroki, and I guess their abusive guardians taking over their plots and leaving behind tragedy can be added to that list.

I’m so mad Endeavor got to live… Though it seems like anyone didn’t get any justice about their abusers besides Eri.

I’m not the biggest Shoto fan, but I’ll do my best to focus on him for this

You know, I’d say there are three levels to why I hate Endeavor so much.

He is a shit guy. He’s an abuser, who’s entire reason is oh he didn’t get first place in a popularity contest, and couldn’t be bothered to try and be decent to the public.

The narrative refuses to acknowledge it. His actions once All Might is forced to retire are all massively downplayed mixed with excuses, and he gets an undeserved angst fest every time he faces even the possibility of consequences.

Every other character and the plot has to be sacrificed to prop him up.

And even after Endeavor’s ‘redemption’ and cryfest at the hospital, the whole fucking family puts Shoto at the center of everything. As if that hasn’t been one of the main reasons everyone in the family (except Endeavor who gets nothing but benefits from this) is struggling. If either Endeavor was dead, or Shoto was allowed to hate Endeavor, things wouldn't have turned out so badly.

I saw a fic a while ago and the premise was that the rest of the Todoroki family was with Touya and Shoto was left all alone. And even just reading the fic’s description I’m thinking what are they talking about they weren’t there for Touya, they were there for Endeavor!

Shoto is the only one who talks to Dabi, everyone else is at mass talking at him, in both the battle and epilogue. The battle the rest of the family is just victim-blaming/ scapegoating Dabi blindly, not questioning anything. Natsuo, Fuyumi and Rei don’t say a single word to Dabi after, no they’re talking to Endeavor, they only get a few minutes to see Dabi, possibly forever considering the prison system, and they spend it on the Manbaby. Shoto only manages to ask one question at the end, while they're being forced out, which Dabi demonstrates that he aware and was willing to talk to the best of his abilities, the family just couldn’t be bothered.

I’m disgusted by 1A, UA, the other pros, etc, ’s response(s) to the reveal, no one ever asks if Shoto is okay, or his feelings are. They all just assume, and earlier in the series we see Midori-enabler-ya tell him that he’s forgiving Endeavor, and that shows he’s moving on. Forgiveness isn’t needed to move on, and I believe can very much get in the way of it. And that’s the closest we get to anyone actually caring about Shoto’s or any of the other victims feelings that weren’t the villains.

I wish I could say I was surprised by Rei (or Fuyumi) but I’m not. Rei basically tells Natsuo and Fuyumi they have to forgive him because he sent her a flower. Besides the disturbing parallels from "Harlequinade" Batman: The Animated Series except this one sees it as a good thing. This moment and the continuing progression/ reveal of her character, never made me think highly of her. She reads as someone who is massively codependent and an enabler, regardless of the reason for that, that is the result

Natsuo I was disappointed by, he was the only one who didn’t see the bare minimum of effort from Endeavor as reason to forgive/ forget everything he’s done. Yet in the final showdown he directly blames Dabi for being difficult.

And about Eri, I firmly believe that she was only helped at all because Overhaul was a villain outside of abusing/torturing her. If he was an ‘innocent’ civilian, hero, or part of the commission, they would have given(read forced) her back without hesitation or a second thought, they basically did that anyway when she was first introduced. Here’s a link on what I mean https://www.tumblr.com/thr0wnawayy/764328039502987264/whats-your-opinion-about-eri-i-mean-shes-cute?source=share And a whole lot of @thr0wnawayy ‘s first reblog could be taken and applied to Shoto

[nunalastor]

Guy / Serial Roommates

Anonymous asked:

Goes anyone else get mixed-vibes about Guy? I don't know what he's meant to look like but I always imagine dark hair, dark grey eyes, and tan skin. Like he might be white-passing but there is some Asian in there somewhere.

Anonymous asked:

Vox finds out about Guy and what he hears makes him think that Guy is Alastor's lover. There's no way Alastor suffered through all that for just a friend, right? And that would explain in Vox's head why Alastor rejected him if his heart belonged to someone else.

Guy and Alastor find out about that false impression and do the crazy cross-eyed laugh together.

Anonymous asked:

Serial Roommates Plot Twist: Guy is miserable in heaven (he and Al are friends for a reason) but convinced himself if Alastor is there, everything will be okay and they can fix all the problems together. Part of him knows he is more alive in hell and so is Alastor, but preconceived notions of what heaven and hell are meant to be makes him think helping people leave hell is best. Either way he acts as a therapist to give others the kindness and grace about mental health he couldn’t find in heaven.

Anonymous asked:

At this point, every demon with a brain knows it would be suicide to kidnap or hurt Guy. It reminds me of this episode of Superman of a plane being hijacked and Lois Lane is on it. When she tells them her name they’re like, the one Superman always saves?!

Imagine that with Guy? He just let his would be murderers know his name and they instantly know, they fucked up. By then it’s too late and they hear the screeching of an elk and radio static.

Anonymous asked:

The combination of Guy dying from cancer or some other sickness and Alastor still dying first is so painful! He would need the support of a friend, but one day Alastor never came home from his hunt and Guy was left to suffer and die alone. Any comfort he could have in reuniting with him after death also destroyed when he finds out he went to heaven and Alastor went to hell.

Anonymous asked:

Oh! Guy has a death now! It makes sense for disease to do him in, nobody in the cast we know of died of illness and after looking up images of the Bakers Estate that looks like somewhere someone would get all the diseases, mold cure or not.

Buckshot Anon, your time has come!

Anonymous asked:

What characters do y'all think Guy and Llewella would play in the DnD AU? I imagine the two of them being guest party members who only occasionally join the main group.

Also, Cherri Bomb takes over playing Sir Pentious's character after he dies.

Anonymous asked:

Currently obsessed with the song Albi by Sevdaliza and it gave me of the idea of genderbend Alastor and Guy.

Guy would still work for the police but possibly a matron or secretary. (Who knows maybe still an officer cause I just googled and apparently the first female cop was in the 1908) So her focus would be focused on women. So when she learns her roommate is killing the abusers, rapists and other killers; of course she’s going to support her.

Can you remember when the last time was

You felt safe in the dark?

This world was never meant for a woman's heart

But still, you rise through it all

When I'm out of breath, she's my vitals

When I need to rev, she's my ride-or-die

When I'm out of faith, she's my idol

I just killed a man, she's my alibi

Anonymous asked:

Can we all agree that if Guy were to fall for whatever reason, his demon form would be legitimately horrifying? His base form would probably look mostly human like Alastor (didn’t we say he had some dog traits, like he is to dogs what Alastor is to deer?) but going into his full demon form would tap into the mold he was infected with for months in the Baker Estate and become something grotesque. Shit like his burned away angel wings regenerating comprised entirely of the mold. That, and if he died of cancer related to his exposure to the mold, what is a more fucked up demon form to have than that of the thing that caused your torture, possession, and later slow death? 

Anonymous asked:

Alastor's suitors: *kidnap Guy for yandere reasons*

Guy: ROOKIE NUMBERS

[justanotherfanfolks]

JP Book 7 Spoiler Warning!

You know, I've been deeply curious about what Ruggie's dream is going to be, and I think I have an idea.

Buckle up, I'm back at it again with my giant text posts:

Ah, Ruggie! A fan favorite! At least, I hope he is. I love this little dude! Who doesn't love our hyena kleptomaniac that's worked hundreds of jobs?

So ever since Part 2 of Book 7, I've been dying to see everyone's dreams. Therefore, I SCREAMED when Book 7 actually ended up taking that route! Of course, I've been speculating for months as to what their dreams could be! I mean, it's really, like REALLY, hard to predict where the TWST story goes, they always throw you a curveball and keep you super engaged. I don't think I've ever correctly guessed something for TWST. But I'm not gonna let that stop me from guessing Ruggie's dream!

From what I can tell, Ruggie is the type of person who wants to work for what he gets. He's definitely a fan of free things, absolutely no way this dude would turn down free food! But my guy is not a fan of those high and rich in society acting above everyone and walking all over the lower class. He knows you should get in with the rich, but 90% of those people aren't going to give him the time of day. He definitely knows that. The only rich people out here giving him the time of day are Leona and Kalim, which makes them pretty interesting cases and this is entirely due to their childhoods. Anyway, in Wish Upon a Star, Ruggie's wish is for a high-paying job. Not for straight cash, not for everything he could ever want, a job. Doesn't even humor the idea of just wishing for what money could buy. So I don't think Ruggie's dream is going to be him sitting on a giant mountain of gold and lounging around. On a surface level, someone could think that would be his dream, but that doesn't sound like Ruggie. Ruggie "Eat the Rich" Bucchi would NEVER. I mean, it'd be hilarious and iconic, but the story doesn't use Ruggie's character in that way. He can get intense stuff. Besides, TWST is anything but surface level. Therefore, I think his dream is going to pull from character traits from all the way back in Book 2.

It's interesting that Ruggie doesn't think he stands a chance at getting a high paying job. Like, my guy probably had the thickest resume known to man, and he doesn't think he's gonna get one of these jobs because of how competitive they are. He calls out the interview and testing process, is it too far fetched to assume his background may be of concern to him as a hurdle? If I may pull from Savanaclaw Novel my beloved, hyena's are heavily discriminated against in Twisted Wonderland (Lion King plot points go brrrrrrrr). Ruggie's a hyena from the slums, a place where no mages are expected to be and no one is expected to make anything of themself. He's a pride of the town, he's got his whole neighborhood rooting for him! This makes him ambitious. And this gives him his motive for success.

Ruggie wants a better life than the one dealt to him. But the thing is, Ruggie doesn't JUST want to be able to live a comfortable life. He wants to make a name for himself. That's why he believed so much in Leona's plan. He wants to flip the world on its head, he wants to prove himself, he wants to be seen, he wants to show the world a hyena can rise above. He's a mage, he's going to NRC, he's a star player on the Spelldrive team at school. He's already breaking barriers for himself, but that's only at school. Life is so much crueler to him out there. He's ready to fight against the world that wants to push him back down. He had goals in life, but some he speaks louder than others.

So what do I think Ruggie's dream is going to be?

He gets recruited by professional Spelldrive team.

This is his most far fetched dream in his eyes. That dream he's almost afraid to utter out loud with full sincerity. When he brings it up in the line I started with, he just backtracks like he was crazy to even consider it. Back in Book 2, the only time he felt like he could say it was when he believed so much in Leona's plan that he actually considered it possible. That's why it hurt him so much when Leona crushed that hope right in front of his eyes.

Spelldrive is clearly special to Ruggie. He uses every part of him in Spelldrive: his size, his magic, his trickery. He's made a name for himself on his team at school, even making it on TV broadcasts and being known by incoming freshmen. This is something he's good at and perfect captures multiple aspects of who he is. But what's the big thing with Spelldrive? It's a famous sports thousands of people tune into. What better way to make a name for yourself than as a famous athlete. A famous athlete with a background that said he'd never make it there. A little hyena that proved everyone that said he'd be nothing wrong. THAT'S what Ruggie wants. Spelldrive is the perfect way for Ruggie to go "Here I am! This is me! And you're all going to see me as I rise above." And that would make his wake up call extra cruel.

I only really have like, one thing that makes me think this may not be the case: The origin of that image I put at the beginning of this post.

I'm under the impression Ruggie is getting a Book 7 Card. Jack has the least in the dorm (one? ONE?!), so it should be him, but I think it'd be kind of weird to give the not Ortho/Sebek freshmen cards considering Epel didn't get one. If they want to give Jack a card, heck yeah free that boy from R jail! But let's assume for a moment it's Ruggie. If in Ruggie's dream he's a professional Spelldrive player, uh, Ruggie already has a Spelldrive card. It'd be really redundant unless either that card is just that swanky or he's not in uniform. But if they do this, how could they not give us any visuals?

It's just- I really feel like this should be it!

Ok, watch me eat my words when the Savanaclaw Chapter comes out-

[toytoriyadorm]

CHAPTER 15: Plastic Swords

The final day of the festival had practically come and gone, save for the final acts before Lotsie’s big dorm leader decision. As the sun set, Ramshackle’s first year duo sat in the front just as Lotsie asked, finding him in the seat right next to them. The scheduled acts by most of the students were comedic at best, embarrassing at worst. 

“I’m starting to see what Leona meant by the students sucking at acting.” Grim said as the two watched a second-year try and fail to get the audience to laugh through some poorly-made jokes about the student body.

“I might have to agree,” Lotsie jokingly lamented with the beast. The dorm uniform he wore looked significantly different compared to the other students, with a deeper magenta coloring the coat and a light feather decorating its hat. In a way, it complimented the sweet appearance Lotsie already had. He noticed a student pulling out his phone.

“Hey! No photos during the Festival, please and thank you!” Lotsie sighed. “Hmph, I just want people to be focused on making memories, not capturing them.”

The second-year slowly walked off with only a small applause from the crowd, who were all waiting for the next group. The drums from backstage began to roll as they did with all of Toytoriya’s crews. However, a loud cheer–likely from Winston’s fanclub–  began to rise from the front as he, Zackery, and a whole lot of the latter’s robotic props came onto the platform. Dressed in rather princely uniforms, the two raised what looked to be swords and began the act.

The premise was rather simple based on what Yuukei read on the day Grim and Winston practiced. It was a scene from a play that was rather famous in Twisted Wonderland about a soldier betraying his country. One of the bots began to play haunting music as the two re-enacted the climax of the plot.

“I can’t believe you, betraying our glorious country just for some pitiful peasants.” Zackery spat with a venom Yuukei didn’t expect to see out of the bubbly teen. “Your soul has become corrupted!”

Winston glances back at Lotsie with a strange look before growling, “What’s corrupt is this empire! The king starves his people, leaves them dying on the ground begging for food! And all for, what, for a war that he’ll never win?!” 

“You best watch your tongue, traitor, or I’ll have your head with it.” 

“Hah! I’d like to see you try!” The bright-eyed student yelled.

But as the audience watched the argument play out, a certain pair of second and third year students were behind the curtains, ensuring every part of the stage looked perfect. 

“You got this, buddy!” Saturn quietly cheered on his villain-loving friend. The other student didn’t look as happy. 

“Saturn…” Pat whispered as he peered at the blades the two first years fought with. “Why do those prop swords look awfully familiar to the real ones you and Zackery were looking at online?”

The pair of black eyes were now on a sweating Saturn, looking around before whispering back, “Look! The props team was already busy with their own teams’ projects, Zackery had a lot of extra fund money and the site said shipping only cost 5 extra madol!”

“Are you insane?!” Pat yelled quietly back, 

“Winston got training from that Yuu guy, remember? He’ll be fine!”

“Oh yeah, a few minutes of fighting with magic is surely enough to fight with actual swords.” Pat’s voice oozed with sarcasm. “Y’know what, at least Heidrich got a little battle training.”

“Aha…about that–”

Pat looked dumbfoundedly at his underclassman, ready to yell at him when a slight gasp came through the loudspeakers. Their heads both darted towards the stage. Back in the front row Yuukei had successfully gotten a shot of the act, yet paid the photo no mind. He stared at where the tip of Zackery’s sword looked a little too red, and the slash across Winston’s cheek that began to drip red onto the gray floor. 

CHAPTER 16: How To: Save The World

The silence in the coliseum was deafening as Winston touched his cheek and looked at the blood from it. Zackery looked in shock, now clutching his sword with shaking hands. 

“I’m so-”

“So this is how you treat even your best soldier.” Winston spat, flicking the blood off his fingers. “I’m nothing more than another ‘rebel’, right?”

The brunette pointed his head to the audience, reminding the “villain” of their act. Zackery shook his head in return and refocused.

“You made your bed, so sleep in it.” He snarked. “It's not my fault your naivete pushed you this far.” 

Winston charged at his partner, the audience gasping as the swords clashed together. Like a real duel, the two danced across the stage until the blue-eyed student was nearly pushed behind the curtain. “Admit it! You know what this country has done! And you know it's wrong!”

“Shut up, shut up!” He yelled, pulling his sword and “stabbing” the hero in the abdomen. The brunette’s breath hitched as he fell to the floor, yet he still cracked a smile at his classmate’s panicked face. “My naivete… Of course you’d call it that, you’d call the dream we shared as nothing more than a childish memory–!” 

His crumpled form finally speaks no more, the light now focusing towards the purple-haired student. Zackery stared at the body before the sound of a guard called his character’s name, hesitantly turning his head in response. The stage’s lights finally go out, and a wave of applause comes afterwards.

Yet, when Yuukei turned to the dorm’s most lovable door leader, he was surprised to see Lotsie sitting silently with a look of apathy on his face.

—

“This evil one did not mean to swipe at your face!” Zackery announced to his classmate as the first years got backstage. “But that said, this villain must applaud your quick thinking, hero. But know I will not make the same mistake again!!!” 

“I know, I know.” Winston muttered as a second year put a colorful bandaid on his cheek. 

“Hm? Has the hero been lacerated upon his heart as well? I said my apologies rather well!”

“No, no, you didn’t hurt my feelings, weirdo!” Winston exclaimed. “Lotsie’s just…been weirding me out. If I wasn’t so focused on it I could have dodged your swing anyways.”

“Hoh?” Zackery looked on with genuine concern. “Whatever could the great king of this land do to throw off its bumpkin hero?” 

“I don’t even know if you’d understand…” Winston began to explain, but was interrupted by someone from the backstage crew. “Guys, Lotsie’s about to announce the winners! Hurry up with the bandage and let's go!”

Zackery turned to move, but first responded to Winston. “If it’s really troubling you, then just talk to me. This villain will surely know the answer to your problem!” 

The latter looks on, sighing. He feels for the bandaid across his face, making sure it really is secure before taking uncertain steps toward the rest of his dormmates.

[blood-teeth]

hi! any tips for turning an idea into a plot / story?

hiiii sorry this took me so long!! tumblr doesn't tell me when i get an ask anymore for some reason???? idk idk but!

✨✨✨morgan's guide to turning ideas into a story✨✨✨

these may not work for you BUT if you're having a hard time piecing together something then i would give these a shot!

the first thing i do when i have an idea i write it down. USUALLY my ideas for me come in a sentence. For Tell Me If There's A Way Home, the sentence was "cowgirl that has to keep burying a body that pops up along her journey"

for This Grave Calls You Home it was "in the light of a dying star, the last astronaut wakes up"

BRAINSTORMING:

so anyway i immediately write this down somewhere, usually the notes app on my phone and i STOP WHAT IM DOING IMMEDIATELY

for me, i have hundreds of these sentences written down somewhere, but the ones that stick with me always stay in the back of my throat.

if its one that gets me really hot and bothered, then the seed is planted and it needs some water babes....

im RUNNING to find media that i feel fits with the idea ... on that netflix or spotify or library app STAT looking for anything that will help that seed grow inside my head. i need the VIBES and the MUSIC and ATMOSPHERE.

once that's on lock...i'm plotting with my little grimy hands rubbing together...

...and i buy...another....notebook... and i KNOW this sounds ridiculous but hear me out...writing in notebook vs on a computer has genuinely saved my life with writer's block so many times. ideas and thoughts and fragments just flow when i allow myself to write in a notebook. idk what it is. but this is just me, if computers or typewriters or what have you works then STICK WITH IT

by the time i'm done scribbling ideas in my notebook and acting unhinged, i have a decent idea about the atmosphere and the themes i'm looking to write about

IF AN IDEA CAME TO YOU, IT MEANS SOMETHING IMPORTANT. DON'T DISREGARD THIS

you need to figure out what it is about the idea that means so much to you - and whatever that reason is, that's gonna be the fundamental core of your story.

PLOTTING:

i have to admit something. i dont plot my stories. i dont know how to plot. i like to discover the story right alongside everyone else. what's gonna happen next? idk babes you and me are gonna find out together.

BUT i do try to have a general idea of where the story STARTS and ENDS. everything else is trial and error. and if u dont have any idea where the story ends, just know it'll come to you eventually. u have thousands and thousands of words to write before the end, so don't sweat this; it'll happen. even if its really simple!

using Tell Me If There's A Way Home as an example:

Start: a woman doesn't know who she is, only knows that she's looking for something

End: She's Found The Thing

think of it like a question and answer. (also! NOT answering the question is totally valid story telling too)

if u are really struggling, the number one thing i suggest is READING. you can glean so much information from reading its actually crazy. study your favorite books or movies or video games. almost always in western media there is the exposition, conflict, rising action, climax, falling action, and denouement. (this is super formulaic, so don't feel tied down by this! just a guide line.)

SETTING:

i think everyone gets really tied up in knots about setting. and it shouldn't be like that! this should be YOUR fun!!

setting has very little to do with story/plot itself. it affects the ATMOSPHERE of the story you're telling instead. (except, like, if you're telling an alice in wonderland story or a story about climate change ofc, there's exceptions to everything)

look the locked tomb for example. take out the space aspect, this story at its heart would be the exact same if it were set underwater inside decomissioned underwater research facilities. its just cool as fuck to have a space nun living on pluto.

Take twin peaks and put it in space. the heart of the show works anywhere, but the atmosphere and the mood is enhanced because its in a small, strange town.

you can write a story about generational trauma and put it into the world of jurassic park.

anyway, i hope that you are hearing me say have fun with your setting. it absolutely is a part of the story you're telling, but it is not the heart of it (sometimes)

MISC TIPS:

remember that this is YOUR work. you do whatever you want. it's not up to anyone else.

be obsessed with your own world and your characters!! i literally went to a craft store and made a rosary today for one of my characters and it has actually helped me write a ton today.

you are not stuck in this story. i feel like a pitfall i face often is like "ah man but this writing doesnt make sense in this genre i cant write this" and its like YEAH I CAN. why cANT I . do whatever you want with your story im so serious. you have no idea how many books are releasing now and the common feedback is "man this feels like a book ive read a million times before" and with movies its a remake or based off a book like the entertainment industry DESPERATELY needs new original ideas SO SO BAD. dont be scared to write that book that you're worried is too weird or doesn't make sense trust me.

make playlists! watch movies! play video games! these are all things that count as writing believe it or not.

and remember you are loved !

[gold-rhine]

Hello, you said you would change some things about mavuika in the archon quest. 👀 Would love to hear your thoughts on her. I liked her a lot and thought it was a great introduction to her character.

i generally liked her and as i said, im not commenting on bigger plot until i see what they're cooking, the problems i have is with presentation and dramatization

1.i think they should have made tournament a bigger deal. yeah, kachina can have central role, but we could have time to run around as traveler in between her segments and see other fighters, bc rn its like. oooooh nation wide sacred tournament!!! and then its kinda just kachina has 3 fights and thats it. fountain act 1 i think did better job at presenting opera and trials as gigantic centre of attention and being important for the entire country.

2.ode of resurrection failing to call kachina scene is good as plotpoint, but execution is very mid. idk if its my own audio, but it sounded to me that the ode as mixed very quietly contrasting to dialogue, as like background music. they should have BLASTED it, like they have insane piece of music, they should have utilized its power to the full. if you havent heard, please do. it gives me chills every time, except for how it was used in game. like. stadium is almost empty, you had like giant rows of seats with about 3 ppl on the row. hoyo fucking come on, crowd in some npcs. it should feel massive, not like 15 guys at a local village football match. and like. mavuika just walks off screen and then walks back like hey guys our resurrection failed. this moment has so much drama potential!

like. we're shown the CROWDED stadium. chorus rises. the sacred flame is growing bigger and bigger. chorus almost at its peak, blasting. mavuika is reaching to the flames, her own hair turning into fire. music at crescendo, flames are roaring sky high, and then WHOOSH purple abyss flash, flames flicker, almost going out completely, mavuika is thrown back, crowd is scared and flailing mb we have a momentary frame of seeing scared crying kachina in the night kingdom. much more obvious impact to emphasize what a big deal sacred flames are

3. mavuika giving up her power is another great plot beat that was executed super meh. like. nothing against iansan, but she's standing there looking at mavuika the whole time, like are you done with your traumatic event? was it very traumatic? mavuika is like haha im dying on the inside but its fine, lets go. no music, no fanfare, very little emotional gravity for how important this is.

instead it could be like. mavuika dismisses iansan, like, this is something i need to do alone. she's slowly walking up to the flames. ode of resurrection theme starts playing, but no chorus, its very somber version. natlan is about unity of ppl, no one fights alone, etc, but at this moment mavuika feels very lonely and deep down, scared. she doesnt know capitano doesnt fight weakened enemies, she's giving up what she thinks is her last line of defense, she believes in her ppl, but in this moment she feels powerless. her fair turns to fire, she reaches out, hesitant, music is a single wind flute playing natlan theme, and mavuika lets go of her power, fire draining from her hair slowly, she's visibly distraught, its a melancholic and quiet moment that lingers for some time. then she gathers her strength, puts on the brave face and goes to iansan to joke about taking photos, but she's allowed the moment of vulnerability, for the latter acts contrast to when natlan ppl will be coming together.

4.the moment when group is trapped in night kingdom and rescued is already good, but i think itd be insane if we had resurrection ode call back. like they just fell, the gap in the ceiling just closed, they are looking at each other in the dark, scared. natlan theme starts playing, very quietly at first, the chorus is barely audible, but as the cracks are showing on the cavern ceiling, it grows lowder and lowder, until the darkness shatters, we have that great shot of mavuika breaking the border between 2 worlds, and the chorus is finally able to reach the highest point, in contrast to how it had to break short of it the first time. and then the group is immediately AT THE STADIUM, crowded with all the people here singing. the mavuika shot already shows stadium behind her, lets just get there, have a wonderful call back to natlan people coming together and greeting them as heroes coming back, including kachina, who can finally be treated as a hero. like we can say its magic, time moves differently, whatever, its much more cinematic flow than the group wakes up at the random hill and has to waddle back to mavuika's room, and then like 20 minutes of info dump later we get stadium scene of praising kachina.

[pessimisticpigeonsworld]

https://www.tumblr.com/rise-my-angel/740720343328686080/the-new-hotd-trailer-has-reminded-me-how-badly?source=share.

1. Jaehaera was not raped...

2. Rhaenyra was having a breakdown on Dragonstone after learning about Luke's death when she received Daemon's letter stating that he would avenge Luke (the letter doesn't even explain how he would avenge Luke). How is that her fault?

3. Aegon is also a rapist in the books, it's not an invention by the writers.

"Who are you?" [Helaena] demanded of the two. "Debt collectors," said Cheese. "An eye for an eye, a son for a son. We only want the one, t' square things. Won't hurt the rest o' you fine folks, not one lil' hair. Which one to you want t' lose Your Grace?" Cheese warned the queen to make a choice soon, before Blood grew bored and raped her little girl. Strange to say, the ratcatcher and the butcher were true to their word. They did no further harm to Queen Helaena and her surviving children. (Fire and Blood: The Dying of the Dragons - A Son for a Son)

You're right anon, Jaehaera was never raped, it was only threatened to hurry Helaena along. I don't understand why TG stans want to add to this event so badly, it's already horrific. It's actions like that which show how GRRM is once again choosing to have morally gray protagonists. TB is in the right about the Dance and who they're supporting, but that doesn't mean their heroes or even morally good in their actions.

It's interesting how op decided to complain that Aegon might be portrayed as incompetent. Aegon was incompetent in the book, so incompetent he was murdered by his own supporters. He's remembered as being one of the most useless kings of Westeros. Saying they're going to dumb him down to make Rhaenyra look better shows how op has never read the book, or even Aegon's wiki lmao.

Further proving my point is the stupidly blind argument of how Aegon "isn't a rapist in the book". The delusion of the TG stans is neverending.

I think the most incredible take in this post is how apparently, in the eyes of op, Criston isn't an incel in season one?? Did we watch the same show? Criston makes the immediate turn to hating Rhaenyra and literally killing people associated with her family after she rejects him. He makes hating her his entire personality for the whole ass show once she refuses to run away with him. He thinks he's entitled to Rhaenyra's entire life and body just because she slept with him once. He's the definition of an incel, go cry about it greenies.

B&C was done without Rhaenyra's knowledge or approval, as you said. Daemon acted on his own (he is a true gray character). She was separated from Daemon when he made his choice, so she had even less control over what he did. Added to that is how Rhaenyra was busy with other fronts of the war and negotiating, how can she be expected to micromanage her husband?

Now, while the original post was written I think before Condal started teasing the whole "people will want to switch sides", the reblog definitely wasn't. Condal has revealed that he plans to make the audience sympathize with the greens more this season. Which is why it makes no sense why the poster who reblogged believes they will make the greens appear worse. They're already making excuses for Aegon raping serving girls, trying to make Alicent be completely innocent of her team's actions, and making Aemond "accidentally" kill Luke.

The show is already so obviously TG, they even aged up Rhaenyra and aged down Alicent to control who the audience sympathizes with. TG stans are just bitter that even the intense white washing can't cover up how in the wrong TG is.

Alicent is totally at least partially to blame for B&C. In the book, she was the head of the green faction and constantly plotted to usurp Rhaenyra, thus causing the war. In both the show and the book, Alicent raised her children to view their nephews as subhuman. She instilled the hatred of them into Aemond long before the Driftmark incident. She's the one who constantly affirmed to them that Aegon is the rightful heir and Rhaenyra is a murderous whore. Alicent bears the blame for what happened to her family just as much as Aegon, Otto, and Aemond.

[lifetimeinafist]

Shiva Hamlet: A Director's Scream in Progress

Three, almost four years ago, my mother died suddenly after a three-year struggle with adrenal cancer. It’s strange to say her death was sudden given how much warning we were given and how long she battled, but the end, I have learned, is usually a surprise to those left behind, no matter how long we spend watching and tending to the dying. There is nothing in life over which we have less control.  

In the year after my mother’s death, I was told by a cousin— also a member of the Dead Parents’ Club— to read Hamlet and see how I felt. I have been acting in Shakespeare’s plays since I was eleven and directing them since I was twenty. His work has been my life’s guide and constant companion, but Hamlet has long frustrated me. Hamlet’s inaction frustrated me and I found his frequent cruelty to be pretty damn indefensible. As I began to understand more how beautifully Shakespeare’s great works are constructed, Hamlet’s popularity baffled me even more. It was so oddly constructed: full of stops and starts, never quite developing a distinctive rhythm. Many characters felt underdeveloped and entire plot lines seemed tacked on. Written as it was by a newly bereaved son and grieving father, I tended to dismiss the play as an experiment, but in the wake of my mother’s long illness and later death, I understood: this is a play about the paralysis and isolation of grief.

What do we do when someone we love dies? How do we begin to make sense of the yawning chasm left after bereavement? How do we begin to reconcile the people we were before that loss with the people we become after? Can the two ever reconcile or does that before person die alongside our loved one? 

For most of us, two things come first: Art and Ritual. Art for the unanswerable questions and unspeakable emotions. Ritual for stability— a guideline for what to do when putting our feet on the ground feels impossible. But, more often than not and especially under the inhumanity of capitalist society, we do not make time or space for ritual to be respected. So it is in Hamlet. 

Hamlet arrives home from school and nothing is as it should be. His father is dead and his mother has hastily re-married her brother-in-law— the same man who has overleaped Hamlet and taken the throne. Hamlet is betrayed, confused, and devastated while everyone around him insists that his feelings are wrong and bad, even unnatural. Then he is met with the supernatural: the ghost of his father rising up to reveal both the cause of his death and the perpetrator. And yet, Hamlet takes five acts and roughly three hours of stage time to enact the revenge demanded of him.  Hamlet is paralyzed. Not by indecision, but by grief.  Killing his uncle will not bring his father back or fill the hole left in Hamlet’s heart. It will not heal his relationship with his mother nor give him back the friendships now strained by this seismic shift in his life.  It will release his father’s ghost to “th’undiscovered country,” but Hamlet will still be left to face the rest of his life without his father present in his life. And as much as we attempt to soothe ourselves with theories of life after death, the reality for those left behind is that the person we love is gone and never coming back.  

Shiva Hamlet reframes Shakespeare’s original play through my lens: that of a Queer practicing, Jewish person.  Jewish practice is rich with ritual.  We have a ritual or celebration for every stage of life, so it makes sense that for a people so frequently faced with death that our death rituals are the most detailed and prescriptive. We bury our dead as quickly as possible before beginning Shiva, a seven day period of reflection and meditation. During these days, we do not work, bathe for pleasure, cook, clean, or shave. We do not take in any entertainment. We cover the mirrors and sit low to the ground. The immediate family of the deceased are to be taken care of by the community.  After the insulation of those seven days, we begin to re-enter the world by degrees and with the tacit understanding that the wound remains fresh and that the journey through grief has just begun and will never completely end. 

My mother died of adrenal cancer— a literal one in a million cancer with a 1% chance of long-term remission. She was 63 when she died and in the prime of her life. Even now, there is still a part of me that is in shock. I thought we would have at least 30 more years together. She died just as the end of COVID lockdowns seemed to be looming ahead of us. The borders were closed and my multi-continental family could not gather together for the funeral or Shiva. Friends and one of my mother’s former students carried her coffin in place of my cousins and uncles. Days after she died, my employers wanted to know when I would be back at work. A week after, my dad began demanding I pack up my mother’s things. All of a sudden, my friends didn’t know how to talk to me anymore.  And as the world opened up again, I was trapped, isolated, drowning, paralyzed by grief. 

Nothing was right. Nothing made sense. I was supposed to get time to breathe and recover and process while the world insisted I hurry back. I had to move on and present a composed mask to the world when inside I was on fire. It was unsustainable and eventually, my body collapsed completely. Grief is an unstoppable force. If we become an immovable object in its wake, it will consume us completely. But moving on, moving forward is the hardest thing to do.

Hamlet is bereaved, screaming for everyone around him to slow down and mourn. In Shiva Hamlet, I have added an extra layer. Shiva Hamlet takes Shakespeare’s original play and hyper-focuses on Hamlet’s grief, re-imagining the Danish prince as a young Jew and Torah scholar. The timeline of the play is condensed to the last four days of sitting Shiva for Old Hamlet.  Young Hamlet desperately clings to the rituals he understands as everyone around him tears them to shreds. This is especially devastating coming from people who are supposed to hold these rituals as sacred as he does.  His mother remarries— forbidden during Shiva. His uncle tells him to move on and cast mourning aside— not very Jewish. By the fifth day of Shiva, there isn’t even a minyan anymore and Hamlet has lost all but one friend and all of his surviving family.  The further his only source of solace and solid ground slips from beneath his feet, the further Hamlet falls towards an inevitable collapse.

There are many ways in which Shiva Hamlet— a Jewish Hamlet— is in direct conflict with the decidedly Christian worldview of the original source material. Most importantly, Judaism sees revenge as immoral. We are urged to seek justice instead. We do not believe suicide is sinful, but more a tragic result of mental illness.  Our concept of heaven and hell is nebulous with our focus firmly on repairing our living world before the one to come.  But this tension is what interests me and what I feel makes Shiva Hamlet what it is. Of course Hamlet’s world does not make sense or feel right. Does death ever make sense to those left behind? 

I do not have an answer for how to rebuild after the loss of a parent. I don’t think it’s possible to go back to who we were before. For myself, the person I was before my mother died went with her and now…after. Accepting that after and learning who this new person is is one of the most challenging tasks of my life, one we all must face at some point in our lives.  Some of us genuinely lack the strength to navigate that seismic shift.  I am doing my best and more often than not, survival is the best I can do. My final duel is still on the horizon. 

[thesleepingdemonofhogwarts]

Barty Crouch Jr. was a deeply complex and tragic figure, a wizard who became one of Lord Voldemort’s most fanatical supporters. Born to Bartemius Crouch Sr., a prominent and powerful figure in the Ministry of Magic, Barty Jr. grew up in a household marked by high expectations and strict discipline. His father, known for his rigid commitment to law and order, had little time for his son, prioritizing his career over familial bonds. This neglect likely contributed to the deep resentment that would later fuel Barty Jr.’s descent into dark magic and loyalty to Voldemort.

Barty Jr.‘s turn to the Dark Arts was dramatic. He became involved with a group of young Death Eaters, fanatics devoted to Voldemort’s cause, and eventually participated in the torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom, a crime that shocked the wizarding world. Alongside Bellatrix Lestrange and others, Barty Jr. used the Cruciatus Curse to try and extract information from the Longbottoms about Voldemort’s whereabouts, leaving them permanently insane. His participation in this act led to his trial before the Wizengamot, where his father, Barty Crouch Sr., presided over the proceedings. In a move that reflected the elder Crouch’s strict adherence to justice above all else, he sentenced his son to life in Azkaban, disowning him in the process.

The years in Azkaban broke many Death Eaters, but Barty Jr. remained fiercely loyal to Voldemort. After spending years in the fortress, Barty Jr. managed to escape in an unprecedented and elaborate plot involving his mother, who, dying of illness, begged for her son’s release. Using Polyjuice Potion to swap appearances with Barty Jr., she took his place in Azkaban, where she died soon after, while Barty Jr. returned to freedom, though under house arrest imposed by his father.

The turning point in Barty Jr.’s life came when he was freed from his father’s control by Lord Voldemort and his servant, Peter Pettigrew. Once again, a free man, Barty Jr. became one of Voldemort’s most trusted and dangerous followers. His most infamous act was during the events surrounding the 1994 Triwizard Tournament. Under the guise of Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody, a well-respected Auror, Barty Jr. spent nearly a year at Hogwarts, manipulating events to ensure that Harry Potter was entered into the dangerous competition. Using Polyjuice Potion, Barty impersonated Moody with terrifying skill, gaining the trust of students and staff alike while subtly pushing Harry toward Voldemort’s trap.

Barty Jr.‘s dedication to the Dark Lord was unmatched; he believed in Voldemort’s vision with a near-religious fervor. His intense loyalty and cunning made him an invaluable asset in the Dark Lord’s attempts to regain power. However, Barty’s downfall came when his disguise was uncovered by Albus Dumbledore and his allies. After the final task of the Triwizard Tournament, Barty was captured and interrogated, revealing the intricate plot he had orchestrated to bring Harry to Voldemort. His unmasking was a turning point in the war against Voldemort, as it provided the wizarding world with the first concrete proof that Voldemort had indeed returned to power.

Tragically, Barty Crouch Jr.‘s life ended in obscurity. Shortly after confessing his role in Voldemort’s rise, he was subjected to the Dementor’s Kiss on the orders of Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, effectively robbing him of his soul and reducing him to a shell of his former self. His fate became a stark warning of the lengths to which Voldemort’s followers were willing to go, and the consequences of blind fanaticism.

Barty Crouch Jr. remains one of the most intriguing and unsettling figures of Voldemort’s inner circle—a man who, despite his background and potential, succumbed to hatred and darkness, becoming a symbol of the personal cost of the war on both sides.

And yes, Barty Crouch Jr. was responsible for the death of his father, Bartemius Crouch Sr., in a dark and tragic turn of events.

After escaping from Azkaban with the help of his mother, Barty Crouch Jr. was kept under house arrest, magically controlled by his father and living in secret under an Imperius Curse. His father, a high-ranking Ministry official, wanted to prevent any public knowledge of his son’s escape, hoping to preserve his own career and reputation. Despite this, Barty Jr. harbored deep resentment towards his father for abandoning him and sentencing him to Azkaban in the first place.

When Lord Voldemort returned to power and freed Barty Crouch Jr. from his father’s control, Barty became fully loyal to the Dark Lord. He then took on the mission to infiltrate Hogwarts by impersonating Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody using Polyjuice Potion. During this time, Barty Crouch Sr., who was under immense pressure due to his work at the Ministry and Voldemort’s growing influence, began to act erratically, noticing signs that his son might be involved in dangerous activities.

Crouch Sr. grew suspicious and, eventually, while wandering the grounds near Hogwarts, he encountered Harry Potter and tried to warn Dumbledore about Voldemort’s plans and his son’s involvement. However, Barty Crouch Jr. intercepted his father before he could fully expose him. In a cold and merciless act of revenge, Barty Jr. stunned his father, killed him, and then transfigured his body into a bone, which he buried on the Hogwarts grounds.

This act symbolized the ultimate breakdown of their relationship—a son killing the father who had once cast him into prison, both of them caught in the destructive forces of the wizarding war. It also showed how far Barty Jr. was willing to go in his service to Voldemort, cutting the last ties to his former life in favor of his loyalty to the Dark Lord.