#(his lore remains mysterious even to me as of yet. he just sort of stands there menacingly)

[undefeatablesin]

Anyway, please behold my special boy that I love dearly and my other hunters loathe 💕

[blackcherrykiss]

BLOOD BOUNDARIES - Enhypen OT7 Fanfic (ch.5)

[CH.1] [CH.2] [CH.3] [CH.4]  previous chapters

[CH.6] next chapter (now available!)

genre: vampire au, romance, drama, mystery, thriller

note: written inspired by enhypen's storyline, given-taken lyrics & teasers. please keep in mind all members are apart of this fanfic and the main theme is mystery/drama!

P.S Niki and Sunoo's roles become bigger in later chapters :) sorry I took 2 weeks to update. School + new enhypen teasers made me alter the story now jesus their lore is confusingly interesting. Didn't proofread half of this chapter LOL. Happy readings <3

"Well now that everyone is here, I'd like to announce we have a new student who just transferred here." Your eyes were immediately drawn to the student's platinum blonde hair. Despite his sharp and charismatic face, his eyes were delicate and innocent. He had an exceptionally small face and a sunkissed skin tone. The new student snapped himself around so that the entire classroom got a good look at him, "Hello, my name is Park Jongseong or Jay, call me whatever you feel." He bowed slightly, his voice having a cool ring that played over in your head.

"Everybody please welcome Jay to our astronomy class. Lend him any of our previous notes because midterms are coming up and I'd appreciate as a teacher if you guys helped him catch up before our long weekend coming up in two weeks." Your teacher gave a warm smile, nodding in such a way that made the rest of the class nod with her.

Without a student saying a word, everyone's eyes followed him as he took a seat at a desk a couple of rows in front of you.

You stared at him tirelessly, barely listening as your teacher rambled off-topic. You noticed Jay often stared out at the crying sky that occasionally flickered with lightning. His eyes focused intently on the woods. You were sure you weren't the only one who was interested in the new boy as you frequently caught other students glancing over at him every few seconds. Jay carried an attractive and dark aura that clearly contrasted from the crowd. Both girls and boys stared at him not because of his pretty face but because he was far different from the new students who had joined your school mid-semester.

The class flew by for you because of Jay until a simple but intriguing question was purposed by the teacher, "Bonus marks today if anyone can guess when the next full moon is." she lifted her eyes off the projector for a few moments, waiting for answers to come sailing.

"Saturday?" Somebody from the front called out, followed by numerous answers that ranged between the second week to the fourth week of the month.

"Come on now. Don't blurt out, give others chances to guess. Jay why don't you guess?" Your teacher questioned welcomingly, expecting no answer from him.

He leaned back in his chair, scraping the non-writing end of his ballpen on his thumb, "November 30." A gentle sound of thunder playing perfectly when he said the answer; like some sort of scene out of a comic.

"Ding ding ding!" Your teacher switched to a PowerPoint slide with the new unit name bolded, "I know this isn't part of the curriculum but I got it approved by the head of the school." She took a breath, giving students time to comprehend what was presented in front of them. "Our next unit will be looking deeper at the moon. More specifically, we'll be looking at both the sciency and non-sciency sides of this topic. And before anyone asks; no, you don't need to believe in astrology or superstitions to understand the non-sciency material. It's just very fascinating because it connects to many cultures." Your attention was now far away from Jay. You were enthusiastic about a topic for once in the class.

"And looks like we're running out of time." Your teacher's wrist clock blocking her eyes. "That's it for today's class everyone! I'll have your projects marked for next class, I promise! Have a good day." She said while shutting off the projector.

You slid all your handouts into your binder, not bothering to align the three-hole punches of the papers to their designated rings.

"Y/N before you go, do you mind helping out Jay? Today or tomorrow?" Your teacher stopped you on your way out.

"Like lend him my notes?"

"Yep! I just forgot to ask but he just left so you might be able to catch up to him. Maybe ask if he's got the notes yet."

You waved your goodbyes and chased the new boy down, his uniquely blonde hair standing out from the hallway of heads. You picked up the pace to catch up with his swift steps when you caught him chatting with Sunghoon and Jaeyun. Your feet froze straight down in their place.

Were they new friends? Or perhaps they were old friends?

You weren't going to bother talking to Jay as you already knew what kind of funny business would come up if you did. You could only watch them swing and lean their arms against each other in a close and friendly way. The picture was becoming more and more clear to you as to what kind of association Jay had with Sunghoon and Jaeyun perhaps even Heeseung, Sunoo or Jungwon.

...

You throw yourself violently over your thick mattress after finishing a long study and homework session at your dorm. The session wasn't productive but the time you spent surrounded by your schoolwork made it feel that way. Your dorm was awfully quiet that afternoon as your dormmates had music rehearsals for their extracurriculars. Nana had told you to come by the music rooms around a quarter past five when their practice was over to go down to the dining hall and have dinner but you couldn't think of a way to kill your remaining hour alone.

Phones were forbidden in your school and you often felt uncontrollably alone and bored with your thoughts during your free time. You could only lay tangled in your bed with your half progressed work in the corner of your eye. You shift on one side to watch your wide-open binder until you got some burst of motivation to finish studying until an idea hits you.

After eyeing your handouts from your astronomy class, you decide to hit the library and do some reading to get a little advanced in the class. Sure you could study for your other class but the sudden idea was far more worth your time in your mind. You quickly twirl out of your room, clearing your desk while you're at it. Excitedly, you hop into your shoes and head straight for the library. You were put in a good mood as you skipped along the long journey to the bookhouse.

The library was moderately packed as you don't bother to recognize any faces there. You get deja vu as you trail the same path you did when Sunghoon and Kyungeun were around. Sliding between the thin space between the bookshelves once again, you search for the section related to the moon, feeling dizzy at the sight of books your school owned. You could've made your life easier by asking the librarian but you were confident you could find it on your own. You move up and down the aisles as you catch a glimpse of theoretical and astrology related books that sit next to a couple of history books.

Backing up, you awkwardly bend your knees forward to get a better look at the small selection of books under the genre. You peel a random book spine out from its tight spot as if it had never been taken out before. You dust off the book a bit, reading the wordless cover and open it to check if it was really related to any sort of astronomy as you find a much stranger subject being discussed.

"Finding everything alright?" The librarian comes by, pushing a kart from the other end of the shelves. "I-I'm looking for books related to the moon." You say, standing up and forgetting you still had the old book in hand.

"The scientific information is just on the other side of this shelf but the section you were just looking at has some interesting stuff that might be related." The librarian stuffed herself in between the shelves to get toward you.

"Yeah, I noticed... This book I just picked up was talking about vampires." You laugh a little as you hold it up.

"Ah, that book..." She paused, snatching the book out of your hands to examine it, "I read this before... It relates to astrology. I think there are some parts of the book that go into detail about the moon, you should give it a read."

"Is this book just theoretical research about vampires though?" You were unconvinced with the idea.

"Yeah, real or not, our school grounds and the neighbouring town are talked about in the book. Apparently many years ago this place used to be a hotspot for vampires."  She looked you dead in the eyes.

"Do you think the information is true?" You questioned with deep curiosity upon her answer.

"Some information in there is haunting. I think vampires did exist." She said with some sort of distress beginning to seep into her face.

Shivers ran down your spine, if she was just trying to sell you the book, it was working damn well on you.

"I'll leave you be, no need to sign out the book, nobody ever takes it out so I trust you'll return it." And with that said, she left you cold with mystery as the book between your fingers stared at you with big round eyes.

You shake back to reality, checking your wrist just to find out your time has vanished. You shift your priorities to getting to the music department, throwing the book into your bag without much thought.

...

The sun was already going down around the afternoon as the days got shorter with autumn blossoming. You're standing between rooms full of beautiful voices and instruments, peering through every window attached to a door in an attempt to find your roommates. The issue was the widows didn't give much of a view as to who was in the rooms. But your ears were drawn to a gentle piano that played a bittersweet melody beneath the louder sounds of people singing in a harmonious glee. As you move in the forward direction of the hallway, the piano gets clearer to your ears. It became clear that the sound was coming out of a room with its door wide open. Your back attached it to the wall in fear of being seen as slide yourself until you meet the spine of the door where you could see into the shadowy room.

Your eyes lit up when they see a familiar platinum blondie behind the keys. The melody was enchanting and was played in such a personal way as the sounds escaped into the noisy environment where it hoped to go unheard. Jay had reached the final notes of his song as he turned his head in your direction. It was as if he knew of your present from the moment you started watching him from the doorway.

[prismartist]

(warning: i wrote this past midnight, so if i seem deranged at parts, that’s why)

okay, so after eret’s recent lore stream, i think it may be safe to say that there’s possibly something weird going on with members and not having any memory of their past. we’ve seen it in three people so far, and most of the other inhabitants never mention their backgrounds aside from their time in the server. what’s weirder is that there are exceptions to this case, with people like phil (tentatively) or schlatt using their past SMPs as background, even though other people who were in those same servers, like wilbur or eret, make no mention of them at all.

from a meta standpoint, there’s a simple explanation: those who had significant roles in those smps are more likely to reference them, especially if the fandom keeps reminding them of it. everyone is at least a little familiar with the Antarctic Empire, or Schlatt & Co. but not as many people know of the time when eret dug out the entirety of hawaii in smpearth, so he doesnt bring it up as much, or at least, not in character. it’s also probably because people pick and choose which aspects of their former servers to induct into their character’s past, which is confusing, but yknow.

there’s also the fact that backstories not directly linked to the smp became more popular with the arrival of ranboo, who constantly hinted at his ~mysterious past~ (and the possibility that it’s the cause of his memory loss), and some people taking that, but simply without the amnesia. foolish, for one, seems to have a pretty good grasp on his past, and didn’t see a reason to have his character forget it. 

from a worldbuilding standpoint, though? when considering the fact that everyone’s individual character lore, no matter how separate they are from the current plots, will probably be all connected at one point or another like dream promised? i feel like we have to look at some possibilities as to what this could all mean.

(keep in mind the following probabilities could overlap with each other.)

tis farfetched theory time :]

so, what are the possible causes for the unnatural amounts of amnesia in the dream smp?

1. the dream smp is something akin to a night vale-esque region, one protected by a god albeit through extreme means, wherein there’s (almost) no way in, unless accepted by a mysterious force, and (almost) no way out.

isn’t it weird how members can travel as far as possible and yet encounter no civilization aside from some villagers? yet tales has confirmed that such regions definitely exist and even operate in more real-world rules, like only having one life instead of the usual three? 

don’t you ever wonder if the dream smp perhaps operates on a different... level, than the rest of the world? mod-less, the end being barred, no farms allowed?

do you think the inhabitants of the smp never mention/don’t remember their past because they’ve been totally cut off from it?

the dream smp could be a creation in a similar vein to night vale; a specific section of the world completely separated and hidden from it, as well as oblivious to the fact that it's hiding from anything. 

the reasoning for this could be to serve as a sort of protection. if you look at it a certain way the server does seem sort of baby-proof compared to other servers. three lives instead of one, no access to the end, no automated farms. why does it need to be protected? maybe it's a safe space for dreamxd to keep people theyre fond of. maybe it's a social experiment. maybe a tragedy has befallen it before that forced it to be so. nonetheless, that part remains a bit more vague. 

of course, there are exceptions to the "no one can get out" bit; karl is basically given permission to travel a bit more beyond the boundaries, glatt is a ghost and ghosts have been shown to have a bit more free will than live people, and connor potentially has necromancer/fellow time traveler/main character privileges. basically he's just connor. 

now i know this completely ignores the characters who i just mentioned have pasts, but there are ways to go about this: a) theyre simply Built Different (aka these people are mentally stable or powerful enough to remember their past), and/or b) past smps could have inhabited the land before it dissolved and dream took over (risky, but not impossible). 

My brain did come up with c) people can retain memories from alternate dimensions, not if theyre from the same world as the smp itself, but it does seem the least likely if you want the narrative to make sense, as this wouldn't explain how foolish, who is implied to have been on the server long before the dsmp was established (as judging from jack the potato farmer’s journal) still remembers his past, and why wilbur doesn’t remember smplive. but he does seem to be the only one with this problem, as everyone else that i know of who was on smplive seem to have some familiarity with each other. which leads me to the next possibility. 

2. the amnesia picks and chooses. 

this post by @noobsomeexagerjunk brings up this point; if there is someone behind the amnesia, they simply pick and choose whose past to wipe. beatrix’s post suggests it’s mostly people who do potentially stand as some sort of threat against dream, as they all oppose him and can overpower him provided they have resources and are in the right state of mind, which they seemingly are not as of late. that suggests dream does have some form of power over the server, or maybe works with dreamxd to make it happen. 

but if not that, then what? perhaps these people are more likely to figure out how to break the server rules? maybe they have abilities that could easily overpower dreamxd themself? if that is the case, maybe we can consider karl as well; there are theories that dreamxd is possibly connected to the inbetween and could be behind karl’s amnesia as well as the others, perhaps as a way to limit his abilities. but again, foolish would be an exception, as he is incredibly powerful. but then again again, foolish is incredibly powerful, so he could have avoided this fate. 

3. it’s all purely coincidental.

out of the five amnesiacs on the server, two of them have causes that we are aware of; ghostbur because he’s repressed, and karl because of time travel/whichever one of the two alternate dimensions he’s visited that are fucking with him. ranboo’s reason is hinted to be because of something that happened to him. so i don’t think it’s unlikely that puffy and eret’s memory losses don’t necessarily have anything to do with the nature of the server. maybe puffy hit her head on a rock and washed ashore far from her ship, and eret’s a reincarnation, similar to link from legend of zelda, except he can’t remember anything about his past life/lives (there’s also several theories explaining this). this is… the most probable one, as it would be a clean explanation with no inconsistencies. so. 

tl;dr either the dream smp wipes the memory of most people in the server when they enter, it picks and chooses based on who is a potential threat, or the amount of amnesiacs is purely coincidental. 

[bumblebee-moreno]

Sacrilege (part one; Selkie!Tovar x GN Reader)

Selkie!Tovar is finally here! 

Word count: 1566

Warnings: None? probably some historical inaccuracies but idk tbh, personal Selkie Lore, the title will make sense later, I promise.

A/N: Meant to take place shortly after the events of The Great Wall. Part two is scheduled to come out Feb 3, but if y’all like this part, I may release the next one early. Talk to me if you liked it (I would love any excuse to talk about Selkie!Tovar tbh)!

Pero grips his coat closer to his chest. The bustling of the crowd around him is almost overwhelming. Markets like this, he supposes, are the closest thing humans get to the crowded beaches his mother used to bring him to. It seems rather silly to him: why gather together if not to enjoy the peace and comfort of being safely surrounded by your own kind?

Very few things humans do make sense to Pero. This market, for instance. Why buy fish when you live right by the ocean? He can’t find much of a difference between the fishermen and the rest of the population. Is there something he’s not seeing that makes most people unable to hunt? Pero pities the poor land-creatures who had never felt the thrill of chasing down a meal for themselves.

Pero rubs at his eyes with his free hand in a half-hearted attempt to quell the ever-present exhaustion that had made its home in his head over the course of his journey. He can’t wait for nightfall when he can return home.

His family had been right. Humans are greedy, self-centred warmongers. It’s a wonder they haven’t brought their own extinction upon themselves yet.

It was a silly decision to join the world of the land for so long. Pero knew the evils of man. It was childish of him to think the ones who made their homes on dry ground would be any different from those who journeyed to the open sea.

No, humans make no sense to Pero. But then again, he’s not sure he wants to understand them anymore. Why would so many surrender their lives to steal an armload of a mysterious black powder?

Was it sheer curiosity, much like the wonder that had brought Pero on the very same journey? Pero scoffs at himself. No. Humans may take without much concern for the consequences, but they do not take for such frivolous emotions as curiosity. No, the reason has to be far more sinister.

After all, he’s seen what the black powder can do. He’d been told it could change the world. He’d been told he’d be a hero if he brought back even a tiny bit of it. He doesn’t understand. It seems as though the powder only takes lives. How could he be a hero if he spread the use of such a destructive substance?

Pero’s thoughts are drowned out by voices shouting around him. Angry words echo over the crowd and people begin to push and shove with the intention of moving others, instead of to create a path for themselves.

The few mothers Pero can spot begin gathering their children and seeking escape from the changing energy of the crowd.

Pero lifts his gaze in hopes of spotting the origin of the sudden outburst of the people around him. All he can see in every direction is fighting. People push and shove and hit and pull at each other without much care as to who they may be hurting. Or, perhaps their motivation is to hurt as many as they can. After what he’d seen these past months, Pero figured the latter was more likely.

The crowd grows more and more intense, much like the surface of the ocean on those angry nights where the sky and the sea disagree. If Pero knows anything of conflict like this, it’s that unless you wish to fight the waves, it’s best to avoid it altogether.

He begins to weave his way between people, pushing through when he cannot find an opening to slip himself into. It’s slow, he gets shoved into several people who didn’t seem to care he was moving past. But it’s better than remaining stranded.

Pero can see people walking away. He’s close to freeing himself from the horde of angered people.

Then suddenly, he feels a pulling. He tightens his grip on the soft material in his arms, but it’s too late. The fur slips from his fingers and disappears. Pero whirls around in place, searching for the source of the pulling. For his coat. But all he can find in every direction are the faces of the species he is pretending to belong to.

Pero’s heart quickens. Where is it? Shouted words blur together into an unrelenting howl and echo through Pero’s head. Pero searches through the crowd. It couldn’t have gone far, could it?

He’d thought the most terrifying point in his life would be the battle he’d escaped a few weeks ago. But that terror pales in comparison to this.

Pero’s knees weaken. His hands begin to shake. What if he never finds it? What if someone saw the coat being pulled from his grasp and decided to keep it for themselves?

Tears sting at Pero’s eyes. His vision blurs. His body threatens to collapse on itself. He just wants to go home. And yet, somehow that was too much to ask of humanity to allow.

How could he be so stupid as to ignore the stories he’d been told? He should have known this would happen. It always happens. That’s why no one ever dared journey past the beach. And yet he had.

Over the ringing in his ears, he hears a single voice.

“Excuse me,” It says before a small tap on his shoulder sends Pero spinning on his heel. “You dropped your coat,” The voice, now matched to a face, finishes, lifting the familiar fur as an offering.

Pero tears the coat from your grip and pulls it close to his chest, almost as if he were guarding an infant. His voice refuses to work, so he gives you a teary smile of gratitude. He hopes humans understand smiles.

You smile back.

***

“Not again,” you groan when the usual market commotion elevates into enraged shouts.

Why couldn’t they wait just five more minutes before starting a fight? Five minutes and you would’ve been at your stand, out of the way of this nonsense.

You shift your basket to your hip and use your free hand to push through. You’re already late this morning; you don’t need to get stuck in the middle of this.

Your hope begins to diminish, though, when you lift yourself onto your toes and discover that you can’t see the end of the chaos.

You curse under your breath before continuing to push in the direction you know you will eventually find your stand. Why did this have to happen today of all days? Sure, you’d been telling yourself for months to arrive before sunrise so you’d beat the morning rush, but was it too much to ask for the stars to align and give you one, just one, nonsense-free day?

A fist narrowly misses your ear. If it had been years ago, you’d have flinched. But you’ve swam through this sort of crowd enough times by now that a stray punch is the least of your worries.

A body slams into yours. You stumble backwards, shifting your basket just enough that its contents don’t spill out. You’re about to move on when you feel a tug at your arm.

You pull back to free yourself and are met with hardly any resistance. You look down. A strange coat falls at your feet.

Your visions snaps back up in time to see the last of the soft material slipping from the arms of its owner. He’s a strange man. In another town, perhaps he’d fit in. But in this small gathering of fishermen and farmers, he stands out like a sore thumb. The scar over his eye, combined with the clumsiness as he navigates the crowd tells you this man spends very little time in a bustling market like this.

The crowd shifts, pulling the man out of your sight.

You’re tempted to continue on. The coat isn’t your problem. If it were important, he’d have kept a better grip on it. But, as you take a step, something stops you.

With very little grace, you stoop to pick up the coat, nearly dropping your basket in the process. You drape the coat over your arm and run your fingers over the soft fur.

You search through the slowly calming crowd. With every passing moment, you begin to lose hope of finding him again. Every minute of your day is precious and you’ve already lost time to the crowd.

You’re about to give up when you spot a tense figure. He’s searching around him, and upon closer inspection, you find panic in his eyes. He turns to search in the other direction, unsure as to where to look.

You push through the crowd until you’re close enough for him to hear you.

“Excuse me,” you speak up over the hum of the busy town square. He doesn’t respond for a moment, so you tap him on the shoulder.

As if he’d been burned, the man whirls around. He looks as though he can’t decide whether to lash out or collapse in panic.

“You dropped your coat,” You shift to offer him the peculiar fur.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he tears the coat from your grip and holds it close.

His eyes threaten to overflow with relief. The coat must have been incredibly important to him. A family heirloom, you suppose.

He offers a hesitant smile. You return the gesture before adjusting the basket at your hip and shuffling away.

Tags: @justanotherblonde23​ @itsaisopodkillmepls​ @andriecastana​

[sepublic]

Dana Terrace AMA (Part 1)

           LESBIAN AMITY LESBIAN AMITY

           Why am I gasping? I already KNEW THAT!

           HA-HAAAAA my wishes are true! Lumity is officially Bi-Lesbian solidarity!

           Okay, in all seriousness… Who am I kidding this IS serious business! AMITY BLIGHT IS A LESBIAN there I said it!

           But with that out of the way, let’s get onto lore-related stuff!

           Dana said that she imagined Boscha’s Mother and Mrs. Blight to have been childhood rivals who are vicariously living out this rivalry through their children, seeing them more as a reflection of their own personal accomplishments instead of as individuals! With Mrs. Blight I’m not shocked by this revelation, but Boscha’s mother is interesting for me. In the past I speculated she may have been washed-out and trying to reclaim her old life through her daughter, but now…?

           If she IS trying to use Boscha as a means of one-upping Mrs. Blight, I feel it recontextualizes her asking to join the Moonlight Conjuring; Perhaps she wasn’t being pathetic, she was just being VERY obsessed with ‘scouting out’ enemy territory, perhaps getting to confront Mrs. Blight in a very subdued, passive-aggressive manner? Her asking Boscha if coming along is pathetic could come more from a sense that she’s treating Boscha as a ‘lieutenant’ in her war against Mrs. Blight, which is also still super-messed up. Not sure if this still counts as treating Boscha as an emotional crutch or just a tool, given the implication that her mother was and still IS rather competitive!

           What’s interesting to note is that the Blight family is framed as higher than, say, Boscha’s… So I guess Boscha’s mother sees herself as an underdog trying to take on the bigger, nobler family? Projecting those ideas onto Boscha… Kind of reminds me of Wing it like Witches, another Boscha episode, and how Luz almost fell for the same trap! I wonder what Boscha’s mother had to say about her daughter winning the Grudgby match, or succeeding Amity as the Captain of Hexside Banshees?

           It’s worth noting that despite this aforementioned rivalry… Mrs. Blight still wants to make connections with Boscha’s family! And while it’s possible it’s because of her husband’s advice, I do believe the implication (more on that later) is of Mrs. Blight being the head of the household and likely the one born into the Blight family… So is she trying to keep tabs on Boscha’s mother through their respective children? What did Boscha’s mother have to say about this, is she concerned with both appearing palatable while at the same time one-upping Mrs. Blight? Is this just a thing where Mrs. Blight has to swallow her pride because her childhood rival and/or her husband have something she wants? I can only imagine…

           I wonder what Boscha has to think of this? It’s worth noting that up until Amity’s ‘betrayal’ for Willow and Luz, she never seems intent on outdoing her? Amity also makes it clear at multiple points that she’s a Blight and thus better than Boscha, and while now it’s possible that it’s her mother wanting to stress the Blight superiority over Boscha’s mother, I still think it’s likely that the Blights are of higher status than Boscha’s family. Does Boscha realize what her mother is doing? Given her lack of reverence and casual ability to say ‘no’ to her mother, I think she does…

           Which, this implies that despite Boscha’s mother’s efforts, her daughter was at least able to become her own person for the most part! Did it ever bother Boscha being beneath Amity…? Maybe not, we see how intense Boscha can be when she gets competitive; The fact that she seemingly remained on good standing with Amity for years implies that –coupled with her lack of reverence for her mother- she was just NOT interested in continuing her mother’s rivalry… That Boscha just wanted to be friends with the nice Blight girl, that I don’t see any reason why I should carry out OUR childhood issues, Mom!

           And while that is mature on Boscha’s part at least, I have to wonder if she ever thought about how her being ‘lower’ than Amity in the context of their mothers’ past rivalry. Now that Amity has cut ties, is Boscha going to follow down her mother’s path and become a rival, but this time for actually personal reasons? Or will she just ignore Amity entirely because she doesn’t hate Amity enough to do what her mother wants…!

           Similarly, I have to wonder if Amity also knew about their mothers’ rivalry, and how that might’ve affected her relationship with Boscha… Given how remorseful she is of injuring her ‘friend’ back in the Island Championship, was Amity concerned of becoming like her mother, of being caught up in a senseless conflict and rivalry with Boscha? And by forfeiting she stepped down and became the bigger person?

          Knowing all of this, it seems more likely that Mrs. Blight was displeased with Amity stepping down as Grudgby Captain, as even if her skill as an athlete over Boscha was still proven, it could’ve been seen as ‘conceding defeat’ in her eyes. And to think Amity risked the wrath of her mother just to avoid being like her, while at the same time perhaps extending some grace to Boscha for trying not to let their parents’ rivalry get in the way of their ‘friendship’…

          (Boscha must feel extra betrayed, she ignored their mothers’ rivalry and focused on being Amity’s friend, only to be ‘thrown aside’ for Luz and Willow? Made a fool of again in Grudgby? Dang…)

          While Doppelganger Luz isn’t deconfirmed and Dana has expressed enjoyment over the theory, she HAS clarified that Creepy Luz referred to Luz speculating on meeting a ‘hot yet vulnerable upperclassman’ in The First Day! You know, I had concerns that Creepy Luz would just be OUR Luz, but acting a bit unusual (presumably because of how enraged she was at Lilith), but I won’t deny this WAS a surprise, and…? Not sure what to say! Dana didn’t exactly deconfirm the theory, but one of THE major points for evidence is gone…

          (Still going to enjoy the Creepy Luz/Lus headcanons and art though!)

          More character ages! Eda is in her mid-to-late forties, with Lilith being two years older… That puts her on the same age-gap as Amity and the Blight Twins! Which if the Grudgby pic is any indication, makes sense… I have to wonder if the difference in height is either an animation error, OR Eda and Lilith at least got to live out their glory days and Grudgby AFTER the curse! That Eda still got plenty of fun and beloved memories at Hexside and her dropping out was INDEED more her ideals than the curse itself… Not only is that reassuring, but it also says a lot about where her values stand, being of higher priority than curing the curse itself… And how Lilith just completely misses this and acts like it was the curse that caused her and Eda to become distant, and that curing it will somehow fix their issues completely!

          Nevertheless, the implication is that Belos’ reign was only a few years old, not even a full decade, when Lilith was born, shortly followed by Eda! Dang, he made that propaganda work quickly, huh…? Or at the very least Lilith was just one of those ‘suckers’ for that sort of thing, which given her dumbness makes sense! Also, we’ve learned that Willow is 14 like Luz, and Gus is 12…! Baby boy…

          (King’s age is unconfirmed and implied to be a mystery, which combined with allusions to learning more about his broken horn and why he wears a collar, imply backstory for him in Season 2! Yes!)

[recentanimenews]

INTERVIEW: After 13 Years, Indie RPG Masterpiece Ruina is Finally Available in English

All screenshots of Ruina: Fairy Tale of the Forgotten Ruins taken by author

  This article was made possible through the invaluable contributions of translators Dink and bool, and further aided by context generously provided by writer, translator, and RPG Maker scene dweller Kastel (@kastelwrites). Sections from their answers were excerpted for this piece and edited for clarity and content.

  Last year, at the start of the pandemic, a lapsed member of the RPG Maker community known as Dink stumbled across a screenshot while trawling Japanese free game websites: a black obelisk standing in the midst of ruins. “This is going to make me sound like I've been huffing paint, but this image spoke to something quite visceral for me — like I'd been waiting to find this game. Something about the sepia tones, the light and shadows, the elegance of its very archetype. I knew I had to play it.” Dink had stumbled across Ruina: Haitou no Monogatari (Fairy Tale of the Forgotten Ruins), one of the most acclaimed free RPGs ever made in Japan. Released in the antiquated RPG Maker 2000 engine in 2008 by developer Shoukichi Karekusa, it retains a strong cult following and has even been translated into Chinese. Yet unlike its RPG Maker siblings Yume Nikki and Ib, Ruina is practically unknown in English-speaking countries. Dink decided to change that.  “Once I realized that it had yet to be translated into English,” he said, “it was like I’d become possessed.”

  Ruina is unique. A role-playing game that takes direct influence from tabletop games and gamebooks, it boldly defies conventions established by classic console role-playing games like Dragon Quest and Final Fantasy. Rather than controlling the main character across a top-down map, the player slowly uncovers a hand-illustrated map of nodes. Survival in the dungeon requires the use of ropes, pickaxes, and oil for your lantern, resources that are all expendable. Your party members are valuable not only for their combat skills but for their out-of-combat abilities: thieving, sneaking, even swimming. Most of all, Ruina allows for choice and consequence, a phenomenon far more common in western RPGs than Japanese RPGs. Say you stumble across treasure in a dungeon, but are ambushed by thieves who want the treasure for themselves. Do you give the treasure to the thieves? Stand your ground? Or attack the thieves before they can do the same to you? Since your ability to save in the dungeon is heavily rationed, you may find yourself having to choose between restarting a save or living with the messy outcomes of your choices.

    There’s something to Ruina that grounds it in the Japanese RPG tradition, rather than a straightforward riff on Wizardry or Might & Magic. Those earlier games gave you several choices as to building your party, but little in the way of story or character. Ruina is a far more curated experience. On starting the game, you’re offered four “backgrounds” that align you with certain other characters, just one year before Dragon Age: Origins would pull a similar trick. Rather than being given the full freedom to explore a sprawling world, your options are limited to navigating a single, contained dungeon. The characters available to be recruited into your party have defined personalities and quirks — some are already good friends of yours, others are insufferable, and still others have significant flaws that speak to the kind of person they are versus their gameplay function. These are NPCs out of the Baldur’s Gate school, given the illusion of life, rather than the team of personalized murderers you’d recruit in an Etrian Odyssey game.

  Very little else in the Japanese games scene is like Ruina. You could draw comparisons with games like Unlimited Saga and Scarlet Grace, representing the legacy of controversial SQUARE ENIX auteur Akitoshi Kawazu. You could similarly connect Ruina with Yasumi Matsuda’s experimental Crimson Shroud, which takes influence from tabletop to the point that it has the player rolling dice in-game. But Ruina is more accessible and polished than a Kawazu game, and far more fleshed out than Crimson Shroud. Even Etrian Odyssey, with its comparatively barebones story and characters, doesn’t quite compare. Ruina stands alone in the Japanese free games community, a legendary title that people respect but don’t fully understand how to replicate.

    A few days ago I reached out to Kastel, an academic, writer, and translator who is very familiar with Japan’s RPG Maker scene, about where Ruina fit in Japan’s wider field of indie games. “I know many people in the furige (free game) scene who love the game to death,” they said. “But they also found it to be a hard sell due to its unique, almost western take on the scene. The fact that the game is even this popular speaks to something.” Despite its crunchy mechanics and niche inspirations, the game is popular enough to have spawned light novels, an honor not unique to it (other RPG Maker games have accomplished the same) but certainly significant. Kastel drew a comparison between Ruina and Darkest Dungeon, another weird and uncompromising game that draws from both Japanese and western RPGs. “Ruina is sorta different from everything, but you also see dungeon crawlers get inspired by it,” they said. “Not all games take direct inspiration, but you can’t help but see a little bit of Ruina here and there.”

  So why did it take so long for anybody to translate Ruina? Dink isn’t the only person to try his hand at translating it into English; just last fall, another forum dweller placed an ad recruiting a translation team to tackle the game. The unfortunate reality is that translating text within the RPG Maker engine into English requires intensive and repetitive labor. “There’ve been tools developed by vgperson [a prominent translator of RPG Maker games] for RPG Maker 2000 and some other machine translation tools for newer games, but they all remain difficult to use for translators,” Kastel says. “The way games are scripted uses events inside the map and developers rarely name them. So not only do you need to edit it via the appropriate RPG Maker engine, but you also need to go through each event contextless unless the creator actually notes things down.” So, the enterprising Ruina translator doesn’t just need to translate all the text in the game into English. It isn’t even a question of whether or not to manually edit the game’s many pictures and custom menus into English by hand. It’s the sheer difficulty of navigating between thousands of (often poorly labeled) events and variables in the RPG Maker engine, ensuring not to introduce any new bugs or errors in the process, while also finding the time to do all of the above.

    Dink was assisted by a friend of his named bool, who played through the game alongside the translation process and gave invaluable advice and fixes. “Uncovering the mystery in the game's story sort of ran parallel with the translation of the game itself,” bool says. “As the story progressed, the characters would decipher and learn more about the lore of the eponymous ruins within the game, and as the translation progressed, the same held true for us. It really captivated me to be a part of this process, and I started to look forward to each new area that I could explore and each new morsel of the story I could understand.”

  Without bool’s efforts, it might have taken far longer to put together something workable. As it was, it took four exhausting months. “I worked long hours — 12+ hours a day, 6, sometimes 7 days a week on top of my day job — and very rarely used my free time on anything else,” Dink says. “I did manually input the text in RPG Maker 2000, which has raised some eyebrows because there are some very nice tools available for game translation that would have saved me a lot of time. However, a huge advantage of working directly in the editor is being able to see the game more or less as it appears to players. A Notepad file streamlines the basic translation process, but it also heavily obscures context, whereas the editor allows you to see what switches and variables are being used, what music is being played, and sometimes even helpful creator comments, all in the same relative order you'd experience it from within the game.” Dink had one more secret weapon up his sleeve: the experience of working with the RPG Maker engine as an adolescent. RPG Maker has a reputation of being a tool designed to churn out Dragon Quest clones with ease; but nobody knows the intense difficulty of forcing the engine to do something, anything, like a former RPG Maker developer does. 

    The English version of Ruina, as it currently exists, is a workable but inevitably compromised version of the game. Running the game requires installing the Japanese RTP pack of visual and audio resources for RPG Maker to function, along with the use of the EasyRPG player to provide English-language player name entry. There’s the matter of the custom menus, as well. Several of the menus have been replaced with functional English equivalents, but by Dink's own admission they could use an expert's attention to better compare to the original. Other pictures, such as place name displays, have yet to be replaced by English-language equivalents at all. And the strict character limits of RPG Maker 2000 led to some creative truncating when translating from Japanese to English, especially with item and skill descriptions.

  But the existence of an English-language Ruina, one that renders the whole game playable from beginning to end with a readable script, is a miracle. Speaking for myself, I started the long process of learning Japanese two years ago in part so that I could one day play this game, never expecting there might one day be an alternative. Others in the Japanese RPG Maker scene, knowing the brutal difficulty of translating a game made in the earlier engines, were shocked that a game of Ruina’s complexity and length was successfully translated at all.  Speaking for themselves, Dink and bool insist that their own story doesn’t matter much. What matters is the quality of the original game and the hard work developer Shoukichi Karekusa put into its creation. Anything else is an addendum, another version of the game that — while it cannot ever be the original — might at least make something resembling that original experience accessible to others.

    Frankly speaking, I think there’s something to that. The “true” version of Ruina will always exist in its original form, released for free by Karekusa in 2008. It stands as the defining work of a creator who sought to create a unique experience combining the appeal of console and tabletop roleplaying games, with no concessions to market sensibilities. A creator who not only released their baby on the internet for free, but insisted that a game like Ruina must always and ever be free. An austere monolith, it stands side by side with Yume Nikki, Ib, and even Cave Story as one of the great works to come out of Japan’s independent scene. Now any English speaker can pick up and play this new version of Ruina, and learn what that monolith is and where it leads to.

  You can download the English translation of Ruina here. For those who want to learn more about the Japanese RPG Maker scene, I recommend checking out Kastel’s page here.

  Are you a Ruina fan? Let us know in the comments! 

    Adam W is a Features Writer at Crunchyroll. When he is not working through exercises in Wanikani, he sporadically contributes with a loose group of friends to a blog called Isn't it Electrifying? You can find him on Twitter at:@wendeego

  Do you love writing? Do you love anime? If you have an idea for a feature, pitch it to Crunchyroll Features!

By: Adam Wescott

[dragonkeeper19600]

What is the Medicine Seller?

The subjectivity of Mononoke is a large part of what makes the series unique. But, one of the biggest mysteries that the show leaves unanswered is what exactly the Medicine Seller is supposed to be. From his weird powers, traits, and appearance to the fact that he clearly doesn’t age, it’s an understatement to say that this isn’t a normal guy. All kinds of theories have been floating around about the Medicine Seller’s true identity, that he’s a onmyōji, a god, or some kind of benevolent mononoke. 

However, for my money, looking at all the evidence combined from the show and Japanese mythology, I’ve concluded that the Medicine Seller is most likely a kitsune. 

Now, I feel like most anime viewers have at least a cursory idea what a kitsune is, but just to recap: “Kitsune” (狐) is the Japanese word for fox. Traditional Japanese folk beliefs attributed all sorts of mysterious powers to foxes, including shapeshifting, creating illusions, and warding off evil spirits. Taking cues from ancient Chinese lore about fox spirits, kitsune have captured the imagination of Japanese artists and storytellers for centuries and continue to do so in the present day.

I’m far from the first person to come up with the “Medicine Seller is a fox” theory. It’s the only theory cited on the admittedly bare-bones Mononoke Wiki, and numerous commentators and Tropers have speculated that our favorite flamboyant exorcist might be a fox in disguise. So, allow me to take some time to display all the compiled evidence as to why I think this is the most plausible theory.

Let’s start with the obvious: The guy looks like a fox.

The red markings on his face are very reminiscent of the red paint you see on the traditional kitsune masks people wear around festival time. These markings are highlighted in the anime’s opening, so you can really see the similarity.

His long ears and fangs could also be considered vulpine.

The literature is rife with examples of foxy traits showing through a kitsune’s human disguise, especially when they’re startled or caught off-guard, such as ears, a tail, or canine teeth. We’ve never seen a tail on the Medicine Seller, but who knows what he’s hiding under that robe? I’ve also seen some sources claim that the tail will be revealed if you see the kitsune’s reflection or shadow. We haven’t seen either, so who knows?

Secondly, there’s a hierarchy to keep in mind when thinking about Japanese foxes. Some kitsune are holy messengers while others are malignant spirits that bring ruin to humans. Some are merely pranksters, using their powers to pull hilarious tricks on unwitting humans, sometimes to teach them a lesson but often just for shits and giggles.

Holy, high-ranking foxes are said to be messengers of the Shinto god Inari, the rice god and the patron deity of merchants and sword smiths. 

Pictured: A merchant with a sword.

Fox statues like the one pictured above can be seen standing guard in front of Inari’s shrines, where they are said to ward off evil. The A-to-Z Online Buddhist dictionary has this to say:

“[T]he fox is associated with the concept of Kimon 鬼門, literally “demon gate,” a Japanese term stemming from Chinese geomancy (Ch: feng shui). In Chinese thought, the northeast quarter is considered particularly inauspicious. It is the place where "demons gather and enter." This belief was imported by the Japanese and is referred to as Kimon. Kimon generally means ominous direction, or taboo direction. In Japan, the fox is considered a powerful ally in warding off evil Kimon influences. Fox statues are often placed in northeast locations to stand guard over demonic influence, and two foxes typically guard the entrance to Inari Shrines, one to the left and one to the right of the gate.”

He may not be a statue, but “warding off demonic influences” is basically half of the Medicine Seller’s job description. He often uses seals, salt, prayer, and other methods accessible to humans, but the Bakeneko arc of Ayakashi clearly shows he can keep a mononoke at bay just by flexing really hard. 

Yokai.com goes into some detail about the various ranks of kitsune, from the lowliest trickster to the most divine guardian. One rank of kitsune of particular interest to me is called the Kiko (気狐), a servant of Inari that has evolved to the point where it no longer has a physical form. Many Kiko adopt human disguises, but they have not yet ascended to a heavenly plane and so remain on Earth serving Inari’s will. 

We have never seen the Medicine Seller eat, drink, or sleep. There is, however, one physical need that he does indulge in.

If you get my meaning.

Pictured above is the Medicine Seller’s extensive shunga (春画) collection. Shunga is Edo period porn, and it wasn’t exactly uncommon for merchants to be carrying volumes of shunga on their person. However, 20+ volumes seems a bit excessive to me.

It’s a trait that doesn’t come up all that much in Mononoke, but the first episode of Ayakashi’s Bakeneko arc reveals that the Medicine Seller is a bit of a horny bastard. He trades info on various virility and fertility medications with Kayo, a conversation that involves a lot of whispering into her ear. He was about to share his porn with Kayo before they were interrupted. I’m convinced that if Sato had entered the kitchen ten minutes later, she would have found the two of them fucking on the floor.

As anyone who's watched Naruto can tell you, kitsune are often associated with sex. Inari, among other things, is also a fertility god, and there are many stories of kitsune adopting human form and seducing unwitting mortals, running the full gambit from the horrific to the romantic. A good chunk of these stories involve the kitsune marrying their human beau and even bearing his children in some cases. 

Most stories of this nature center on female kitsune, but it’s not like male kitsune don’t exist. The popularity of sexy fox women can probably be chalked up to male-dominated Edo society, but more and more male kitsune have been sighted in modern anime.

I believe we can add Mononoke to this number. Practically every woman in the series creams their pants at the mere sight of the Medicine Seller, and it doesn’t seem that their attraction is one-sided. The Medicine Seller has all kinds of sexual tension with Kayo in both series. And, if you look closely, you can spy some romantic tension with Ochou as well. There’s little doubt that the Medicine Seller is attracted to human women and is even capable of falling in love with them. However, due to his role slaying mononoke, it is unlikely that he can ever settle down and marry one the way many other kitsune do.

Personality-wise, the Medicine Seller is also reminiscent of a fox. Like I mentioned above, kitsune are often tricksters by nature. Although the Medicine Seller never acts in a needlessly malicious way, he does like to dick around with people. A lot of the aforementioned tension with Kayo takes the form of teasing banter. 

Keep in mind: It wasn’t him who changed the compass. Which means he’s being vague for no other reason except to mess with Kayo.

He also spend a good portion of his arc in Ayakashi trolling the Sakai household, especially Odajima. And do we even need to mention his gambit in the Nue arc? 

So, his appearance, relationships, and personality are all decidedly fox-like. What about his powers? Well, in the Nopperabou arc, we get a pretty clear hint that the Medicine Seller’s physical form is just an illusion.

The Masked Man’s attempt to take away the Medicine Seller’s face failed because that wasn’t his real face. He outright compared his face to a facade. Since it was just an illusion, it was easy for him to change it back. It should also be noted that the Nopperabou, the faceless ghost, often appears not as an independent spirit but a hilarious prank that other yokai like to pull on humans. Tanuki, Manji (badger spirits), and, yes, even Kitsune have used the image of a faceless human being to scare humans. This is getting into fan wank territory itself, but it is entirely possible that the Medicine Seller is all too familiar with the art of face removal, having pulled that trick himself in his younger days.

That the Medicine Seller’s body isn’t real could also explain the nature of his Other Self. During his first transformation sequence in Ayakashi (which is repeated in the Nue arc), we see the markings on his face and robes disappear.

Before gold markings reappear on his Other Self.

It might be possible to think of this “transformation” as more of a body surf. The flowing markings could indicate the presence of the fox spirit as it moves from one body to the other. This is a good time to point out that gold eyes are said to be another common trait of kitsune, and white fur is indicative of an Inari fox. The Other Self’s long white hair may be a hint as to his divine nature. 

Now, with all his powers and religious motifs, is it possible that the Medicine Seller is not a fox but in fact Inari himself? I did briefly contemplate that possibility, but I ultimately decided it probably wasn’t true. The Medicine Seller’s powers have limits that I feel a high-ranking god like Inari wouldn’t have. It looked like he did serious damage to himself trying to hold back the bakeneko in Ayakashi.

Ouchies.

Rather than being a human avatar of Inari, I find it more likely that the Medicine Seller is a kiko carrying out Inari’s will. In his first appearance in Ayakashi, some men spot the Medicine Seller standing outside the Sakai household, apparently talking to himself.

At the beginning of Mononoke’s first episode, he does the same thing outside the inn. His mouth is moving, but we don’t hear what he’s saying.

In both cases, the men who see him try to call out to him to get his attention, and in both cases he ignores them. He never says who he was talking to, and nobody ever asks. It is strange, however, that he always shows up just where a mononoke is going to be, even when he doesn’t seem to know anything about the mononoke before he arrives. Could it be he is actually receiving instructions from Inari? Inari might be telling him where to go, and the Medicine Seller figures out the rest from there. He can’t know about the mononoke’s form, truth, or reason yet, otherwise he’d be able to slay it right away. How else would he know where to go unless he was being told?

Of course, there are other possibility as to who he could be talking to. It could be his Other Self, if you hold the theory that the Medicine Seller and the Other Self are separate entities (which I don’t, so much). I also contemplated whether it was the sword he was talking to, but the sword is in the trunk. For my money, communing with a god seems the most fitting. 

According to Shinto beliefs, foxes can live for up to 1000 years, which would explain why the Medicine Seller is still around after centuries have passed. But, what happens after the millennium is over? At that point, a kitsune sprouts its final, ninth tail and ascends to the heavenly plain, leaving this earth behind. I personally believe that the Medicine Seller has been tasked to wander the earth for 1000 years, slaying mononoke until his time is up. At that point, he’ll become a being as powerful as a god, but until then he must learn to truly understand humanity. Only once he has become thus enlightened will he be able to ascend. 

This, I believe, is why the Sword of Exorcism can only be drawn once he’s learned the mononoke’s form, truth, and reason. He can only slay the mononoke if he comes to truly understand it and sympathize with it. It’s all part of a thousand-year long learning process in addition to aiding humanity.

And once he’s done, some day centuries from now, perhaps another young fox will take up the sword and walk through man’s despair, putting the souls of the anguished to rest. 

It’s a lonely destiny, but it has its perks.

頑張ってね。

[iwritethat]

Tim Drake: All Hallows’ Night

A/N: I’ve been waiting all year for this and love the Halloween story ideas and I hope you all do too.

🎃: Tim encounters a ghostly presence in the manner but it turns out you’re more than the folktales let on.

>>>>—————————>

Once upon a time, there was a mysterious ancient house. It was in the rumours, the city speculations and old wives tales that ghosts thrived in Wayne Manor. Of course, all that once lived there or continued to do so were no stranger to these mysteries although the current residents thought nothing of such folk lores as they had no proof to suggest otherwise and thus paid no attention to unusual tendencies.

That was at least until Timothy Drake had one eventful Halloween, one he would not soon forget. At first the odd occurrences weren't given a second thought, objects falling from shelves and peculiar echoes in the hallways were all a normal day to Tim, the single soul in the Manor at the time. That is until he returned to the Bat Computer, scrolling through the research he'd compiled linking to the newest case of underground dealings.

"Definitely a mobster, I'm thinking Penguin to be honest."

"Yes, it certainly matches his usual pattern." The vigilante replied without hesitation to whomever had commented on his case file despite being alone in the Manor that night.

"..."

"..."

It was an eery silence, one like no other, despite his focused state, Red Robin had realised the impossibility of having an unfamiliar voice answer the silence.

"Who the flip?!”

With his delayed startling, the stranger laughed, Tim scrambling to his feet only to find an unusual presence perched on the desk of the computer next to where he once sat.

"You're Tim Drake right?" Of course, the male was too bewildered to answer the unwelcome intruder, simply nodding whilst pointing his bo staff.

"I'm (Y/n) (L/n) by the way, thanks for asking."

"How did you get in here? The security systems are top of the range, they would've informed me of your access." He was astounded, tilting his head out of curiosity yet retained the offensive stance.

"Guess they're on the brink huh? No need to worry though mate, I mean you no harm~" The (h/c) beauty grinned with a wicked smile, offering out a hand for Tim to shake. The hero smiled in response, though still wary, met theirs in greeting - however instantly backed away upon doing so, their hands never met, instead his passed straight through (Y/n)'s own.

"Well then, I suppose you have your answer about security now." The entity smiled, hopping off of the counter and strolling towards him.

"What on earth are you?"

"Hmm, technically at this point in time I'm a ghost, wandering spirit? Although phantom has more finesse to it, wouldn't you agree?" The intruder brought a hand to their chin in thought before directing a smile toward him.

"I um, what?" Tim stared in confusion, closing his eyes as a break from the newest shreds of weird information.

"Oh no, you know what? Spectre has a nice ring to it too."

"No, I mean... wait, does that mean the stories are true? Wayne Manor is haunted? By you?" Tim was full of questions, just as expected by this latest phenomenon.

"For tonight it is, and for the unforeseeable future I'm afraid. Don't get me wrong, I had the full intention of keeping to myself but it's incredibly boring and this case seemed like a viable distraction." Was carefully explained, gesturing to the computer with a mischievous glint to their eyes much to Tim's fascination.

"Okay. Alright. Sure. For the sake of my sanity I'm not going to argue with a ghost... (Y/n)." Tim shook his head, once again sitting at his computer.

"Ah you're my favourite Robin already." Came the hearty response, the entity leaning on the back of Tim's chair as he scrolled through. They bounced ideas off of each other, methodology, motive, the next areas to strike and soon enough Tim was clad in his uniform readying to disappear into the night. The unlikely pair walked together towards the exit, planning a strategy on dealing with the Penguin and had the intent to carry it out - until Tim walked through the exit and the spirit clashed with an invincible force, curses spewing from their lips.

Red Robin was once again beside them, opting to offer physical comfort before he phased past them and had to settle for verbal inquiries.

"What happened? Is it some sort of barrier?"

"Damnit Constantine, tethering me to Wayne Manor of all places. Dumbass sorcerer..." It was only faint frustrated mutterings but explained your situation rather adequately.

"I'll take that as a yes."

"I haven't been completely honest with you, but in my defence you didn't ask. I'm verging between the spirit and living world and I'm relying on John bloody Constantine to pull me back from this purgatory. And since it's Halloween I'm guessing my spirit can manifest." The entity gave an exasperated sigh, rolling their eyes at the mention of their comrade.

"That's a lot to take in (Y/n), wheres Constantine now? I can go and lend my assistance, maybe I can -"

"No Tim, you have to help Gotham. You've known me no more than a couple of hours, you have more important matters to deal with." Despite their previous remarks it was obvious they had trust in Hellblazer and didn’t wish for their circumstance to interfere with Robins’ duties.

"Maybe so, but I'd like to think a couple of hours is enough to say you’re not so bad. I can't help but wonder what it'd be like meeting you in person." Tim wittily replied, raising a brow in their direction.

"Maybe one day, until then I'll stick to haunting."

"Hey RR, who are you talking to?" Dick Graysons voice rebounded off of the walls to the cave, Tim directing his gesture to his latest accomplice only to catch a glimpse of static where they'd once stood.

"Uh- no one..."

"Hah, for a second there I thought you were going to say a ghost. Anyway, I got an update on that case of yours."

-

(Y/n)'s presence lingered for a while after Halloween although it was not as strong as then, but there were the little quirks that Tim noticed around the Manor.

'Nice job solving the case detective~'

Was written on the dusty surface of the attic during one of his ventures, foggy windows also held innocent scrawling of which Tim happily replied to whether out loud or with his own scribbles.

Then there was the peculiar static on his TV if he ever watched it between 00:00-1:00am, one he'd grown to value.

"Hey Timbers.”

"Ah you're back, and still haunting the place I see." The male looked up from his laptop, crossing his legs and smiled at the TV.

"Yeah well Constantine is apparently taking his sweet time." The image of the spectre was slightly blurred and flicked every so often but remained viewable.

"He told me what you did to end up here y'know." He’d referred to the call he’d made a few days ago inquiring about the odd circumstance and if he could assist.

"He's lying." It was a confident and quick reply, (Y/n) unwilling to discuss such matters.

"About sacrificing yourself to bring them all back from Hell? Despite not being in the vigilante game?" Red Robin elaborated further, knowing a majority of the details beforehand.

"Yup, so hard to believe it must be a lie."

"Why did you-"

"Because they're my friends, they helped me out and I took on some damn demon curse to save them. Anyway, who are we looking into tonight partner?" With a brief smile, Tim flipped the computer screen in their direction as a visual response.

Tim also took to using the radio frequently whenever he was alone, making it easier for the  invisible resident to communicate with him.

"I miss food so much, it's rude of you to constantly eat in front of me you know."

"True but take out is just so amazing, I wanted to share the experience." He was being incredibly dramatic purely to get on his friends nerves though his playful side was rather endearing.

"I hate you right now." The guest replied, the radio crackling as a physical display of their words.

"Alright, alright, when you're back to normal I'm taking you out to dinner on me." Boy wonder instantly caved, but was truly sincere about his statement.

"Are you sure you can spare enough time to do that detective? Won't Gotham crumble without you?" The spectres sarcasm was heard even through the radio, and if he could see their expression Tim would bet they wore a smirk.

"I'll always take time out for you like I do now, but you have a point - I guess we'll have to take down some crime rings before dessert." It was accompanied by a shrug yet (Y/n) was grateful for his words none the less.

"Dinner and a show, I like it."

-

However it wasn't long before these daily instances Tim looked so forward to seemed nonexistent, the TV displayed the news without any interference, windows remained untouched of meaningful notes and the radio soon lost its appeal. Constantine was unreachable leaving Tim with no inclination as to what happened to the illusive guest and it seemed his family members noticed the sudden deterioration of his mood but chose not to pry quite yet.

It had been a week or two by his count, and he was currently packing for Titans Tower, shifting through his belongings and paperwork.

"Hey stranger, whatcha doing?" The voice held addictive familiarity, clearer to what it had been before, and due to this Tim answered like nothing had changed.

"I'm moving to Titans Tower, the Team thought it’d help our teamwork and I honestly can't wait."

"Hmm, when do you leave?" Their lovely tone held a hint of disappointment but was masked well for anyone but a detective.

"I'm aiming for this weekend, but don't worry I'll come back as often as I can to see you." He took a brief glance to the standing figure, lifting a box and walking straight through like he usually did purely to mess with them.

However, he hit a solid surface, the giggle following his actions causing him to almost drop his belongings but fortunaly the previously thought-to-be ghost stabled it with ease.

"Cool, I'll be able to visit you as well. But do you think you've got time for that dinner first? I'm starving after actually bypassing Manor security and climbing through your window." His realisation bringing a smug grin to (Y/n)’s lips as they finished.

“I- you- you’re back?”

“Yep, in the flesh although there’s some nice side effects... Nothing major though.”

“C’mon you’re telling me everything, the Manor is free tonight so how about take out and a movie?”

“Lead the way detective.”

Tim did so, however as the pair passed a hallway the former ghost halted before a beautiful oil painting and gently straightened the frame then turning to the questioning expression of Drake.

“Oh, it’s a half a centimetre off balance and it’s been winding up the ghost of the Manor for years. I promised to fix it once I returned.” (Y/n) nonchalantly explained, smirking as she passed an awestruck vigilante.

“...Ghost?”

“Who do you think told me about all your identities? Also, according to my recent conversation with the ghost, apparently you missed me Timbers~”

“Of course I did but how do you know that?!”

“Side effects, but don’t worry I missed you too.”

(Y/n) remained cursed for the rest of her mortal life, to become a spectre as the clock strikes, marking the Witching Hour for every Hallows' Eve to come until the festival was up.

~~~

"The End." You dramatically finished, accompanied by a spooky hand gesture for emphasis as you enjoyed the warm glow of the campfire.

The fellow hero's seated on surrounding logs remained silent for a few moments before cheering, thoroughly enthralled in the tale you bestowed upon them as per tradition of Halloween night.

"That's one hell of a story (Y/n), and basing the characters off of yourself and Tim was genius!" Cassie complimented, standing up with sheer delight as you smiled.

"Way to put a twist on a classic horror story telling, never would've thought of something like that." Conner nodded in approval, proudly smirking at the exchange of smiles between yourself and your boyfriend.

Tim sat beside you, nudging your shoulder out of the playful knowing you both shared and of course what came with the success of your tale. The chime of the cities bell tower echoed in the distance and with it you stood before your fellow hero's who had no intention of sleeping quite yet and wished them a good night. Tim followed your lead, gently brushing his fingers with yours as you strolled back to your room for the evening as the Team watched you both disappear into the eery night exchanging playful remarks.

But... if they had just looked a little closer....

Taken more notice...

Maybe they would have caught how Tim's digits effortlessly phased through your own as the witching hour had begun...

[turtlepated]

The Ghost and the She-wolf

Part 6

----

This one is looooong. It might be the longest yet. I’m also dumping in some lore, some backstory, and a whole bunch of angst so brace yourselves!

Zhuk, pirate or otherwise, and the Mafia!Beejs brought to you by @monsterlovinghours 

[TW: Mentions of torture, nothing descriptive but proceed with caution.]

Tag list: @beetlejuicebeadoll , @do-ya-hear-that-sound , @dilfyjuice , @nikkivfx , @insomni-snacc , @young-erstill

----

In a daze, you allowed Zhuk to steer you aft. Being submerged had put out the few remaining fires licking at the ship, and the crewmen had already unlashed themselves and begun to get to work clearing the deck of the blackened and burnt mainsail. Your head was full to bursting with questions, so much so that you couldn’t even decide which to ask first. So you held your silence as the two of you passed through the doorway into the narrow corridor. He paused and you kept going, stilling when you felt his hand part company with your lower back and turning to see where he’d gone. He had managed to squeeze his large frame into one of the small cabins that lined the hall, emerging moments later with folded clothing held in his hand. “Here,” he said softly, offering it to you. “Feel free to use my cabin to change.” You swallowed down a fluttering feeling in your chest, turning and walking ahead of him as he gestured you onward with a sweep of his arm. Zhuk shut the door behind him as you crossed awkwardly to the center of the room, looking around uncertainly as if waiting for his permission. “Ladies first,” he said with a smile, motioning to the privacy screen in the corner. You gulped again, perturbed by the jittery sensations bubbling from deep inside as you padded meekly behind the screen. You tugged the end a little closer to the wall for good measure. 

It was more difficult getting the dress off than it had been to put it on, but that was probably more due to your trembling fingers and the uncooperative nature of heavy wet fabric adhering to your damp and chilled skin. After struggling for a few moments you managed to shimmy your way out of the ruined and sodden layers of skirts, pooling on the floor around your feet. The sound of movement from outside your private little nook drew your attention and you stood on tiptoe to peek over the screen. Zhuk stood by his bunk facing away from you, shucking his own drenched jacket and tossing it across the arms of the chair behind his desk. His equally drenched tunic clung to his broad back, showing off the fine musculature between his shoulder blades. Your eyes watched them work as he reached back with both hands and began to peel the soggy shirt off over his head. You were shocked at yourself when you realized your cheeks were warming, torn between looking away to give him the privacy he had considerately given to you and indulging in the chance to see him in a state of semi-undress. 

The thing that made you make up your mind, however, wasn’t his admittedly impressive physique that was revealed when his tunic was removed. Your eyes widened as you took in the vast collection of scars that marred the Russian captain’s skin. Two in particular, thick, ropey, and pearly white, ran parallel down either side of his spine and you wondered what could have possibly caused them. You could only imagine the pain he must have endured to receive such ghastly marks. “I suppose you have questions, volchitsa,” he called to you over his bare shoulder and you choked on your own breath, ducking back down before he could see you peeping at him. You cleared your throat, buying time to make sure your voice was at its normal register when you spoke. “Several, yes,” you admitted, busying yourself with getting dressed quickly and angrily steering your wandering thoughts away from visualizing him changing out of his tight, wet breeches. You huffed in mortification as warmth flooded through you from the top of your head to your toes, forcing yourself to focus on your own clothing. It was a simple tunic and breeches, clearly a man’s cut, so not terribly well fitting on your own body. But it was nice to be in pants again and out of the troublesome skirts. “I suppose the first and most pressing is where are we headed? I’ve never heard of Nav.” You jumped slightly as he knocked on the wooden frame of the screen, smiling inscrutably as you tucked the hem of your overlarge shirt into the loose waistband of your breeches. You willed yourself not to squirm as his gaze swept down your body, nodding approvingly. “You look much more like yourself,” he said with a chuckle. “Nav is an island in the North Atlantic.” 

You frowned, squeezing between him and the screen when he seemed uninterested in standing aside to let you pass. Heat spiked in your face again, but you studiously ignored it and the low rumble of him chuckling to himself. You went to his desk, where charts and maps and documents were arranged in orderly stacks, flipping carefully through them until in search of one particular sheaf. Finding it, you withdrew a large navigational chart of the North Atlantic and spread it out on top of the desk as Zhuk moved to stand beside you. You could feel his eyes on you, but you concentrated on scanning the map. “Where precisely is this island?” you asked, frowning when you were unable to spot it anywhere. “You will not find the island of Nav on that map or any other, moye sokrovishche. It has never been plotted and it never will be because only the dead can reach it.” At that you jerked upright, nearly headbutting him in the chest because he stood so close. “The dead?” you repeated incredulously. Zhuk nodded sagely in affirmative. “Nav is not it’s true name, it is simply what I call it. The island itself has no name, but given that its purpose is as a gathering place for the souls of the departed, I chose to call it Nav: the name the ancient Slavs used for the land of the dead.” 

Zhuk spoke with such surety and confidence, as though he were not spouting nonsense born from myths and fairy tales. But when you considered all that you’d seen since coming aboard his ship: the sea monsters, the waves seemingly obeying his commands, his own startling transformation, you had to question whether or not he really was telling the truth. “If this Nav is an island of the dead that only they can find, how is it that you know how to get there?” Zhuk’s easy smile slipped from his face and a somber, sorrowful expression took its place. “That,” he began with a heavy sigh, propping himself upright with one arm braced against the desk. “Is a story I will tell you another time. For now, tell me what you and Renard talked about when you paid him a visit.” You surprised yourself with how forthcoming you were in answering his inquiry. When exactly had you come to trust him so easily? He hummed pensively as you explained Renard’s plan, revealing that he had been vaguely acquainted with the man during his pirating days. “He was always a cunning and vicious bastard,” Zhuk said with a mirthless scoff. “It’s no surprise to find out that the Navy endorses his methods.” You scowled distastefully. “Not all the Navy,” you insisted. “He’s a monster, and I’ve long thought that by the time the Lord High Admiral realizes that he’s loosed a mad dog on the seas it will be too late to stop him.” 

The Perperuna was made ready to sail before sundown and Zhuk, with his mysterious power to compel the tides and winds to do his bidding, was able to set her on her course at top speed. You accompanied him at the helm, a little awestruck by how he seemed to know instinctively which direction to go without need to consult the charts, any sort of tools or even a simple compass.  As the ship sailed further north, the temperature dropped considerably. Zhuk had taken one look at you with your arms pressed hard against your middle, breathing into your cupped hands to warm your fingers before he swept off his own greatcoat and draped it around you. It swallowed you, but you were grateful for the gesture and for the warmth. When you asked what he would do when he got cold himself, he only chuckled in that damnable enigmatic way he had. On the second night of sailing north you came up on deck to find a dense fog swirling out over the sea, so thick it was as if the clouds had settled just above the gentle lapping of the waves. The sea was smooth as glass, the ever-present wind dwindled down to almost nothing, yet the Perperuna cruised steadily forward into the fog bank. You padded to the forecastle rail and leaned against it, staring hard into the fog until it felt as if you’d gone blind but you could see nothing. This far north, without breakwater at the bases to give them away, there was always the risk of icebergs. Coupled with this blasted fog and the threat only compounded. What was Zhuk thinking, steering through this mess? The ship had only just managed to stay afloat after Renard’s assault and then being swallowed by a whirlpool. 

You didn’t even realize you had company until he settled himself at the rail beside you, copying your posture and gazing out past the bow. You jumped and gasped, startled. How could such a big man move so silently? Predictably, Zhuk chuckled at your little start. “Keeping watch?” he asked, the easy smile you’d grown so accustomed to on his lips. Despite yourself, you flashed a smirk back, not willing to let him think he’d got the better of you. “Someone should,” you retorted with no real venom. “Especially in this.” Zhuk shifted, turning to face you and propping himself against the rail on his elbow. “After all you’ve seen, you still think this ship can be foundered by the elements?” he teased, his eyes glittering despite the low light. You frowned, privately seeing his point but again refusing to concede. Now that you had a moment with the captain, there was a question you had been wanting to ask but had not been sure how to broach. “If you would rather not say, I understand,” you began gently, thinking that it might be too unpleasant a memory to revisit. “But I saw the… the marks on your back…” You trailed off, certain that the shrewd man beside you would know exactly what you were asking. 

Zhuk hummed, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest. “Yes, I know you did. And I did promise to explain,” he admitted while you ducked your head away, hoping he wouldn’t see the blush rise to your face at the realization that you had been caught spying on him. With a sigh, Zhuk told his tale. 

“I was not always a pirate, volchitsa. I had a family once, a village. A home. It was a hard life, but it was a good one. Fighting was never something that I enjoyed, it was a necessary evil to protect those I cared for. Though I did have a talent for it, I must admit. I took that talent and, with many others, joined the ranks of men to fight against the Crimeans to preserve our homeland. I thought I had seen violence and bloodshed before, but this was no battle… This was a massacre. I was the only one to survive, but I was captured before I could even think to escape.” He paused and breathed deeply, letting it out in a long exhale and turning to you. “I do not wish to upset you, volchista,” he murmured. “It is not a pretty story.” You stepped closer to him, pressing your arm flush against his, wishing to impart some sort of comfort. “Tell me anyway? Please?” you entreated. Zhuk nodded and continued. “My captors used the opportunity I presented to test an execution method used by the Nords, to make an example of me. I was stripped of my shirt, my wrists bound together and suspended over my head. They cut me, as you saw, opened my back and pulled my lungs through the wounds.” You made a shuddering sound of revulsion at his description of their cruelty, unconsciously leaning further into him, pressing your head against his shoulder. “Barbarians,” you seethed, furious at the men you would never meet for what they had done to him. “How did you survive such brutality?” Zhuk sighed through his nose, pressing his face against the top of your head and whispering into your hair: “I did not.” 

You gasped, stunned, but did not move away. Some part of you had known, deep down, that this was no ordinary man you had devoted yourself to pursuing. Now you knew the truth, once and for all. You could sense him beside you, so still, waiting to see how you would respond to his admission; if you would fear him, recoil from him, the dead man who had saved your life. “What happened?” you asked, feeling the tension leaving him as he sighed again, his breath gusting through your hair. “I was dead, but then I was not. I was brought back and given a task: to gather wayward souls and shepherd them to the other side.” Your brow furrowed, not understanding. “Brought back? How? By who?” “A woman I pray you will never meet, moye sokrovishche. But that is enough for now. We are here.” 

As suddenly as it had appeared, the Perperuna exited the impenetrable mire of fog and you could see an island in the distance. Monolithic sea stacks rose up on either side of the ship like the fingers of a giant, standing guard to the mouth of a bay. You could already see that the dark shape of the island was dotted in flickering lights, so it must be inhabited. But Zhuk had said only the dead could find it… Perperuna docked at a wharf in the bay, the crew bustling around making final preparations to disembark while you stood at the gunwale and surveyed what lay around you. It looked like a settlement of some kind, there were buildings that could have been shops or houses, roads clearly laid out, but not a soul to be seen. All the lights you had glimpsed from further out in the bay had vanished, as though thousands of candles were all snuffed out at once. Zhuk called for you as the gangway was lowered to the dock, waiting for you and directing you ahead of himself. It was the first time your feet had been on solid ground in months, and it felt odd to be standing without the constant motion of a boat beneath you.

All around you the crew began to disperse, save for the loyal bosun who was once again conversing with the captain in quiet Russian. As they conducted their business you ventured off to have a look around this island of the dead. So far it was rather demure, apparently abandoned. You meandered from the docks toward the vacant town square, where there was a stone fountain with no water. While studying the statue of some sort of strange serpentine creature that dominated the center, a soft voice behind you made you turn. “Captain?” There was a man standing just at your back. You had not heard him approach and you were certain he had not been there when you went to the fountain. You also knew the man, a midshipman still clad in his blackened and tattered Naval uniform, to be dead. “Captain, it is you!” he said, his voice drifting as if from a great distance. “We wondered where you were, what had taken you so long.” A hard mass was forming in your throat as other forms began to materialize around him, starting out as vaguely blurry shapes like heat mirages that coalesced into the visages of your own crew. They greeted you heartily, relieved to see that you’d finally made your way to the island. When they all fell silent at the same time, all glowering hard at something behind you, you looked back to see Zhuk standing a short ways away, watching somberly.

“Captain… did he bring you here?” asked the midshipman who first recognized you. “You’re with him? After everything we went through?” The man stepped closer, studying you, and you couldn’t help flinching guiltily as understanding dawned in his eyes. “You’re alive,” he said, creating a ripple of murmuring in the ghosts gathered behind him. “You led us all to our deaths, and here you are now with the pirate responsible.” “That’s enough, Brown,” came another voice, and all eyes turned to an officer as he made his way through the assembly. Your own lieutenant, Jonathan Mathers; steadfast and loyal as any person ever could be, smiled warmly when he saw you. “Glad to see you’ve finally arrived, Captain,” said Mathers. The warm rush of fondness and gratitude gave way to guilt, clawing at your insides. “Mathers, I…” you tried to say around the lump in your throat. “I’m so sorry, I never meant any of this to happen.” Mathers’ smile turned sad and vacant, and you realized that he and the midshipman and the other crew were losing their definition, dissolving at the edges as though evaporating like water vapor. “I know, Captain. And I know how you must be feeling. Don’t fret, we are dead, our troubles are now over.”

His gaze cut over your shoulder, at Zhuk, and he stepped in closer, leaning toward you so that you could feel the chill of death curling off him. “But you are alive, and I fear your troubles are only just beginning.” With that they were gone, dissipated like fog and leaving only a faint snap of cold and an ache deep in your chest that stretched up your throat, throbbing in the roots of your teeth and burning your eyes. You felt a heavy hand curl gently, protectively around your shoulder as Zhuk stepped up behind you. “I am sorry, volchitsa,” he said sadly. “I should have warned you.” You wiped at the moisture threatening to spill from your eyes, taking a deep breath. “I got them killed,” you said, your voice hollow and raw but certain. “Oh, now, don’t take it so hard.” Your eyes snapped up, glancing around for the source of the sultry, amused voice that had come echoing from somewhere in the shadows. Gradually you heard footsteps, as well as the soft metallic clacking as of a walking stick meeting the pavement. “The dead do so love to deliver their cryptic warnings,” the newcomer went on, now a discernible shape in the gloom as they came closer. “It makes them feel so mysterious, you see. A bit of free advice, ma cherie?” You could see him now. He was shorter than Zhuk and nowhere near as broad, but there were certain traits that piqued your interest. The pale skin, the greenish tint to his hair. And his striking eyes, one green, the other startlingly purple.

His grin as he watched you taking in his appearance was vaguely predatory, but you felt no fear as he chuckled and delivered on his promised words of wisdom. “Don’t dwell on dead words. Worse than riddles, more often than not, and far less entertaining.” His mismatched eyes drifted past you to the Russian captain. “Zhuk, you old pirate, it’s been a long time.” Zhuk was chuckling as he stepped up next to you, reaching offering a hand. “That is has, Scarabee. I did not expect anyone to be here already.” Scarabee grinned again, a faint sort of glow to his eyes as he shook Zhuk’s hand with glittering jeweled rings clinking on his fingers. “You know I have my ways, mon amie. But why don’t you introduce me properly to your lovely friend?” Zhuk dutifully reported your name and rank to his associate, whose cat-like smile widened as he held out a hand to you in invitation. Swallowing, you laid your hand in his and he bent forward, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “Well, ma jolie, welcome to Carrefour.” 

-----

[Translation: moye sokrovishche – “my treasure” ] 

Introducing: Captain Scarabee! It’s my first time writing him and I’m kinda nervous about getting him right.

Thanks for reading! If you’d like to be tagged in the next bit, say the word!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

[weaselbeaselpants]

Hazbin Hotel Review part 2: Mistakes were made please don’t kill me

This pilot is polarizing at the moment. In between the two sides of the anti-fanbase (ppl crying “if you like HH you’re homophobic”, or the BWW with it’s cringey politics), you have lots of fans who are falling over themselves about how good this is. If you love Hazbin unconditionally that’s fine, but here’s the thing:

I like it too.

I’m the kind of person who’s naturally critical, pokes harmless fun at what I like, and is always rewriting and reimagining things within the fandoms I like. I want to be a ‘Hazbin’ fan but I don’t know if I’m allowed to since the fanbase can be so staunchly overprotective and Viv herself has said she doesn’t like criticism, no matter how valid or done in good faith.

Tbh, that’s why the drama revolving around @frootrollup1​ upsets me: the fandom is fine with lumping all criticism or redesign stuff in the realm of ignorant hate, when redesign, rewrites, revamps and other fan dribble are kind of a labor of love onto itself in other fandoms. Guess that’s a talk for later though.

With all this in mind, let me go over my thoughts:

There’s no PROPER establishment of Hell as a place, setting, world, or proper establishment of the characters.

The armor-piercing question Hazbin needs to be asked is this:

“is this a generic version of Hell we should all be familiar with and need no introduction to, OR is this a unique take that requires it’s own rules?”

^ It feels like the latter but we don’t get a good rundown of said rules. Besides that, characters are one note and serve either no purpose or become flies on the wall to other characters’ purpose.

Things were said and places were shown but we honestly don’t get a good idea of Hell by the end of the pilot. It’s a ritzy(?) place where souls of the damned literally become demons and then get purged. I THINK. I THINK, that’s what the writer’s were going for here. TBH, it feels like they’re skipping ahead and thinking of the show as a finished, fully realized product with developed characters and plots already, and not an introduction to a series/standalone piece.

If I didn’t have some inkling or the lore prior to watching it, I wouldn’t have known that the demons sans-Charlie were once human. Angel says in passing in the car that he’s already dead, but really references to the fact that they were once human are rare.

Now I’m a simple woman - I ain’t picky with mah demonology - But, call me crazy, when I think Hell I don’t think of the people who end up there turning into demons, I think of people going there to be tortured. That’s the hell I’m used to seeing and is prevelant in like every religion that has a hell. Taking a spin on that and making demons the souls of sinners trapped in hell? A-okay, but I NEED MORE. Instead of talking in a car or spending time on this lolsofuny demon turf war, we really needed more time given to the fact that Vaggie, Angel, and others were once human. No, I don’t want a full flashback, but it would give us a better grasp of the mechanics of sin in this world if these two characters told a little bit more themselves than just having some lines offhandedly explaining how everything works. 

EX- How to do revamp of a familiar setting right while still leaving certain details vague? One Word: Hadestown. 

Hadestown doesn’t need to give you all the details of it’s setting cause that’s not the point. You don’t need to know if the workers of Hadestown are literally dead, metaphorically dead, or both or where other gods live. Those aren’t the things we need to know for the musical to progress. What we need to know is Hades’ underworld is a mining colony of doom, that Hades buys peoples souls so the workers can never leave, that Persephone and Hades are on the rocks which is messing up the seasons, and that oop! Eurydice had to go back. Between the commonplace to complex knowledge westerners have of Greek mythology and the revamped Prohibition-era setting, all is explained that we the audience need explained.

I have the feeling Hazbin Hotel wanted the same thing: explain what needs to be explained for the currant plot and leave bits and pieces in the dark. It just didn’t really work.

The flow of the narrative was bad.

So apparently on the PizzaPartyPodcast Vivziepop admitted there were things that were moved around or turned out rushed.

Fair enough but even with that excuse can someone please tell me why they thought it was a good idea to start the story after Angel has already been made a patron of the hotel?

Getting to know not only how the world works first and foremost, but who our main character (Charlie) is and what she is doing (the hotel), would be the easiest way to drop us into the action of the story and get the ball rolling. But instead we start off with an intro song that sort of shows us what this world is like but doesn’t explain anything about who or what we’re seeing until the newscasters come in. Angel’s introduced in this time and the build up and execution of this character is poor, rushed, and feels more like writers fudging around with a character they like than giving us, the audience, a proper introduction*.

After that, I’m sorry to say the spots where the story picks up, drifts off, lulls about, or comes around all kind of melt into this big slurry the characters are drowning in, without any real care for telling a story. BUT THIS IS A STORY!!!

This is not a little menagerie of random characters ala the Pastoral Symphony from Fantasia. This is not a collection of little things just for the fun of it to get to to know these people (it does a bad job at getting you to know these guys). This is a three act structure. I can tell where the intro, rising action, climax, and falling action are SUPPOSED to be, but they don’t stand out, don’t do their job, and melt into the fluff in a way that makes the emotional impact we’re supposed to feel null somehow...

The pacing was bad. 

While some scenes go by far too quickly others go on for faaaaaaar too long. These are the bits that don’t surprise me when I hear this pilot was changed around, cut down, or fudged with a bit.

Scenes like this include Charlie’s back and forth with Katie Killjoy before and after her song, Charlie and Vaggie’s fight in the car, Alastor explaining himself to Charlie and Vaggie trying to talk him out of it, ALL of the Ser Pentious/Cherry Bomb terf fight bits.

Oddly, it feels like these parts are trying REALLY hard to get a point across but they end up being more of a hindrance to this otherwise snappy dialogue and supposedly simple set up. This pilot is 20+ minutes, but the bits we need to endear ourselves to our main cast are squandered on what the writers thought was “fun to write” at the time.

Too many characters, even in a 20 minute pilot. 

Instead of getting a good idea of our leads, everyone is treated with the same level of importance or interest in a world that hasn’t even been fully introduced yet.

The truly important supporting characters to Charlie, Vaggie, Angel, and Alastor are Husk, Katie, and Nifty. Katie provides conflict to the first half of Charlie’s story, while Husk and Nifty are hires by Alastor for the hotel; they establish his power over other demons and his influence on the hotel and it’s success. Sir Pentious and Cherry Bomb needed to be cameos. Their characters should be glorified plot contrivances/resolutions, No More. I ain’t gonna care about a cast of billions from the start. We gotta start small first. Not only do we have four mains, we also have a bunch of little guys who need to eat up screen time...except they absolutely don’t need to and should be simple background cameos for now.

Sir Pentious and Cherry Bomb get as much character time as the four mains even though Angel is underdeveloped and Alastor is overdeveloped. When it comes to storytelling - unconventional or otherwise - priorities, is what this pilot needs.

Angel basically does nothing after Alastor is introduced. 

Of all the characters in Hazbin to get left in the dust (lol) and be underdeveloped, Angel Dust would be my last guess. He’s popular with his creator and with the fandom but because of how the pilot is set up, his character falls to the back-burners and is kind of unnecessary: (Charlie uses him as an experiment to see if she can reform a sinner but he doesn’t hold up, so when Alastor comes into play the focus of Charlie’s plan switches almost entirely to Alastor and Angel is unneeded). If this were two episodes of a series; one about Charlie getting to know and trying to “fix” Angel, and another about Alastor coming in and taking over, that’d be fine. But this is a pilot so the plot and character development is kinda crushed in and neither Angel nor his existence amounts to much of anything.

I honestly forgot Angel was even in the latter half of the pilot. The poor demon-spider whore dies on the way to his home planet.

Not to fan-blurb here but I think it’d be more interesting if the conflict in the latter half wasn’t Vaggie trying to warn Charlie away from Alastor but Angel feeling shown up by Alastor and him being the one protesting to Alastor’s take-over of the hotel. It would have given Angel more to do and would cement him as one of our four leads.

Alastor gets a backstory because he is A) not the character I thought they were going for, or B), they’re jumping the gun on him. Alastor is a maddening character in my book because if he’s the character I thought he was supposed to be - our main villain - then they royally messed up a good villain by explaining his story. If he ISN’T the main villain, than color me confused on what he’s supposed to be. 

It goes without saying that a good villain should remain somewhat mysterious throughout the rising action, which is what the pilot is building up to (I think?). Alastor’s personality makes him an absolutely wonderful villain and probably the most outwardly “demon”-like of anyone in Hell. Him being a rogue demon that scares the inhabitants of Hell should be alluded to, not stated.

Vaggie and Angel get passing “we dead” bg but our villain gets a backstory dumped on him? For the standalone pilot this episode is, his backstory doesn’t do anything for the plot. For the rest of the series, this feels like a big waste to reveal this guy’s history over anyone else. The rest of the HH cast are sorta small stereotypes and cliches that the writers want to endear to us because of what they do and what they go through, though since there’s too many of them they end up just being there. Alastor, on the other hand, is where they hit gold and really have a character who oozes personality and the feel of their show...but they kind of taint him by giving him an unneeded (at this point) history.

Big problem with him not only being explained but him outright stating his intentions with the hotel.

Maybe I’m wrong and Alastor is not the bigbadvillain in a cast of villains...in which case I don’t know what the pilot wants us to think of him or where the show’s going with him. Is he a demonic version of Harold Hill who learns to care about ppl and gets redeemed? Maybe that will change with future episodes....

Hazbin is confusing as a person not privy to the franchise/development prior ,and feels disappointing from the pov of someone getting hyped for these characters. As a follower of the project it feels like a let down to the respective characters and plots we’ve been anticipating. While, as newcomer, it’s hard to care about anyone. My sister, who had far less info on the pilot than me, was watching it the whole time going “who are you?” and by the end said “why should I care?” Really good summary from this IMDB review here:

Little harsh but my thoughts exactly.

TL;DR: The writers need to really rethink how to introduce their world to newcomers AND fans alike. -

There’s so much passion in Hazbin Hotel but I feel it’s misaimed and a prime example of why “write/draw what you like and what sounds ‘fun’!!!!” isn’t a good idea for storytelling.

There’s technically a story in Hazbin Hotel, but because of the bad pacing and lackluster approach to world and character development, for the kind of project that it is, it’s not very good. 

-

Again, for the people in the back: if you think I’m a bully because I happen to be harsh with my criticism, sorry but harsh critique isn’t the same thing as bad faith criticism (CinemaSins, NC, Bad Webcomics Wiki) and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t lump me in with those turds because I don’t love every second of this. I may not be the best writer, but storytelling is my passion and I think this dropped the ball. IT DOESN’T MEAN I HATE IT. - Alternatively, if you love Hazbin unconditionally or disagree with me on these things: great! Like what you like as long as everything’s safe, which it is. Stuff is problematic but hey so is everything look at the stuff I like. Also, if you’re one of those people who unironically says “if you like HH than I’m blocking you teehee unfollow me”, you fittingly have a very special seat in hell set up for you. Don’t threaten my friends cause you don’t like something they like. =)

[stevenuniversallyreviews]

Episode 124: Lion 4: Alternate Ending

“Please tell me my destiny.”

We’ve had Ronaldo as a toxic gatekeeping fan intent on harassing the creator. We’ve had Lars as a disappointed fan whom the creator is desperate to impress. We’ve even had Navy as a false fan who’s only interested in robbing the creator’s spaceship (arguably a rarer breed than the first two). So now it’s time for the obsessive clue-hunter, who parses through the creation so deeply that the original meaning gets lost in the shuffle. And this time, our fan stand-in is Steven.

Lion 4: Alternate Ending is an episode about Steven trying to ruin Lion 3: Straight to Video. All the magic from that first glimpse of Rose Quartz threatens to be extinguished through overanalysis, to the point where his discovery of a new tape is met with dread instead of excitement. For all the Steven Universe fans that get frustrated by Steven not being as invested in the lore as they’d like, well, this is what happens when Steven gets as invested in the lore as you’d like. 

To be clear, I don’t think Steven succeeds in ruining Lion 3, especially because the conclusion of Lion 4 manages to enhance its predecessor. I also don’t think it’s a bad thing that he tries: it fits his post-Storm in the Room state to tear through whatever evidence he's got to figure out why he was born, and it’s properly painful to see him so desensitized to the wonder of Rose’s tape that he’s reduced it to a possible decoded message. What better way to express how Steven feels than tainting a pivotal moment with his mother?

I’m super into stories where a mystery to the characters isn’t a mystery to the viewer: the core example is Cowboy Bebop episode Speak Like a Child, where our 2070s crew is trying to solve the case of a strange antique object that a 1990s audience already knows is a videotape (although a fifth of the way through the twenty-first century, we’re already getting removed from an era where modern audiences would know what a Betamax is, even as a cultural relic). Because the writers don’t have to try to fool us, we can focus more on how the characters tackle a problem instead of trying to beat them to the punch with our own deduction skills. I wouldn’t call Lion 4 the most concrete example of this sort of story, as it’s not impossible that Rose was leaving encrypted messages behind, but to me at least the “twist” that Rose’s tape wasn’t part of some dubious master plan is obvious enough that I can just enjoy the ride.

“Enjoy” is perhaps the wrong word, because while this is an excellent episode, it’s not a fun one. There are comedic moments, because this is still Steven Universe, but watching a kid at the end of his rope struggling to understand his place in the world is bound to be harrowing stuff. Steven’s determination is compounded by his solitude: the Crystal Gems are pointedly absent, as the last time he asked them for answers his dad got abducted to a space zoo and it’s easy to confuse correlation with causation. So it’s just Steven and Lion for most of the episode, and it’s telling that Lion answers Steven’s final cry for help by bringing him to see his dad. Some things can only be fixed by talking, and for all his strengths, Lion isn’t a great conversationalist.

Before we get to Greg, this Steven/Lion solo outing uses constant activity to sidestep the dullness factor that bogged down Steven’s Lion. After a strong first impression of Steven’s mental state as he scours Rose’s tape for clues, going so far as to try to find meanings in anagrams, Lion revs up the plot by retching up a giant key. I love that Steven’s first thought is the same as mine, and likely yours: the chest in Lion’s mane that we first saw in Lion 3, which unlike Bismuth remained a mystery (and it still is, because we never saw what Steven found in there between Change Your Mind and the movie). Even though the key is comically oversized, Steven ignores the obvious and keeps trying to make it fit. So right off the bat, we get two little stories about Steven looking for answers where there clearly aren’t any and doubling down despite the futility out of sheer desperation for the truth.

From here we get a montage of past locations a la Marble Madness and Warp Tour, accompanied by a gorgeous medley of location themes from Aivi and Surasshu; I will never not complain that we don’t get to have an album of their scoring, because this episode’s soundtrack is one of their best. Visiting the Armory harks back to Lion 2 as the tape did for Lion 3, and we also get a glimpse of Rose’s Fountain and Rose’s Room to continue our references to the many known areas tied to Steven’s mom. When nothing works, Steven pleads with Lion for more information, aware by now that the cat has some answers.

While I’m not huge on Steven’s Lion as an episode due to the aforementioned dull pace, it’s awesome to see our heroes return to where Lion was first found. Buddy’s Book already did a great job of reminding us of Lion’s desert home, but now it’s time to finally investigate the area further. 

Jesse Zuke and Raven Molisee paired up for our last episode, leaving their usual respective partners Hilary Florido and Paul Villeco at bat for Lion 4. The ragtag team has so far given us rich visuals, with a particularly expressive Steven and Lion (crucial for the non-talking member of the duo) and a callback to the lovely settings of the past, but every aesthetic choice they make is topped by the desert run. It’s a beautiful shot, evoking the iconic ocean run of Lion 2, but Steven’s exhaustion (aided by Zach Callison’s beleaguered performance as he narrates his thoughts) tinges the scene with melancholy where there was once only magic. Steven’s desperation is no longer the frenzied need from when Greg was kidnapped, or even from the beginning of this very episode, but has been worn down to a weary determination that just breaks your heart. This is Charlie Brown after a yanked football too many; he hasn’t been thrown a single bone in his search for answers, and this might be his last chance.

I try not to include too many images in these reviews, because they can mess with the flow of the text, but screw it this shot is also amazing:

The pyramid-like structures leading to the locked door are the first we see of a new hidden getaway, and retrospect makes Steven’s plight even worse: as we learn in Legs From Here to Homeworld, all he had to do was touch one of them to get a major hint about Rose’s true identity. 

It wouldn’t have solved everything, as Garnet would likely assume they were spoils of war, Amethyst wouldn’t recognize them, and Pearl would keep her mouth shut. And it would’ve ruined the pacing of the mystery for such a strange hint to be presented, so from a storytelling perspective it makes total sense to keep this in the backburner. And it’s not like it’s that weird that Steven doesn’t feel compelled to touch what seems to be a couple of statues when he’s spent the whole episode looking for a lock and it’s right in front of him and he just survived hours of desert travel. But knowing what we know now adds to the drama of how close our hero is to the truth he deserves.

In yet another bummer, Rose’s hidden landfill is worn down to the point where most of the walls had collapsed, meaning Steven didn’t even need the key. Which isn’t to say the key wasn’t important, as it prompts his trip in the first place, but it’s just one more way that the universe seems to be throwing unnecessary hurdles at him. In the same vein, Lion not only could’ve warped him to the destination as he mentions, but he could’ve done so without hacking up the key in the first place. But we’re long past the point where we should expect straight answers from Lion, so I forgive the big lug.

The first thing that came to my mind when Steven saw the dump wasn’t Amethyst’s room, although there are obvious similarities. It was Greg’s storage locker, the place where we first talked about Rose all the way back in Laser Light Cannon, the place where Greg expressed confusion about why a magic woman fell for a regular guy like him. And as frustrated as Steven is, this room is a wonderful unspoken answer to that distant question: among Rose’s many imperfections was that, like Greg, she was kind of a slob. It’s so nice to have a mundane flaw after nearly a full season of focusing on her as a liar and murderer, especially a flaw that reminds us of why she and Greg were so great for each other.

But yeah, Steven isn’t interested in subtext, and his tantrum is both realistic and reasonable. He finds the tape for Nora by accident, right after kicking some garbage in anger, and this is where that Speak Like a Child oomph comes in. It’s crystal clear that the tape was a backup in case Steven was a girl, but he’s so primed for lies and complications that the obvious answer eludes him and he suspects the worst. I honestly can’t blame him. If you learned out of nowhere that your mom killed someone, who’s to say you don’t have secret siblings?

The contrast between harsh desert and soothing sunset is another treat for the eyes, readying is for a cooldown after two distressing acts. Greg’s excitement over seeing the old tape blinds him to Steven’s angst in a way that adds honest tension to the exchange, because he’s trying to give Steven a fun treat but has no idea how much anguish his son has been through to get to this point. To Greg, telling Steven the answers outright would be ruining the moment, but the wait is already killing the kid. In an episode without an external villain it’s such a clever way to present a final “confrontation” to overcome.

When we finally see the tape, it becomes even more apparent that it was a backup for a hypothetical daughter. Still, I love how the strange new version of a video we know and love is only half-seen, as we focus so much on Steven’s reaction at the expense of footage. Where he was once gazing at the marvels of a new glimpse of his mother, his eyes are now furrowed in frustrated concentration. As in Lion 3, he has a viewing partner, and Greg’s welling tears mirror those of Steven and Sadie from the first tape, highlighting that the Steven of the present isn’t feeling an ounce of tenderness.

Tears do come for Steven, but in the form of anxious release. When he’s told that he’s Nora, meaning he’s the person the tape was intended for, Steven still doesn’t get it and exclaims that he’s his mom and his sister; it’s sort of a joke, but boy is it rough to hear him slip that in some way he does see himself as his mom rather than his own person. So thank goodness he’s saying this stuff to Greg, who’s calm at first but leaps to the occasion when Steven frantically asks why he exists.

As is standard by now, Greg's got fatherhood down cold. He adjusts his tone to show he’s taking Steven seriously, but rather than jump in he sits his son down and lets him talk. He addresses Steven’s concerns gently but firmly, leaving no room for doubt that he’s loved and appreciated no matter what. He brings himself into the conversation by saying he changed his name, doing so not to turn the topic to himself but to reassure Steven that it’s okay to not be stuck on one identity. And just look at how perfectly our three main characters exist in the shot during this last talk:

Steven gets those happy post-tape tears after viewing the last part of the video, and our happy ending is earned, but it’s not a full victory. Rose still had issues, but at least Steven has gained some confidence back that she wasn’t all bad. He’ll go back and forth on how much guilt he feels for her actions, but at the very least he knows now that his decisions to try and atone for her mistakes are his to make, and not a mandate from a dead parent looking for an escape route.

Whiiiiiiich means that now he’s able to try and feign a sense of control over helpless situations by assigning blame to himself in new, exciting ways. Hey, it’s not like the show could’ve solved all his problems less than halfway through Act III of the series. Lion 4 thus doesn’t have the conclusive oomph of Lion 3, which closed a trilogy of Lion Episodes as well as the stage of the show where Rose was a well-realized but distant idea more than a full character. For all its strengths, Lion 4 feels much more like Just Another Episode. But that’s okay. It doesn’t owe the past a thing.

Future Vision!

Again, those pyramids return in a major way, because they’re not pyramids.

Greg talks about Garnet’s inability to predict things about Steven, which is an element of their relationship throughout the show but gets major focus soon in Pool Hopping.

Escapism blends the two big Lion Runs by setting it back on the ocean, but making the passenger an exhausted Steven facing one last ordeal before relief in the form of his dad with a guitar.

We’re the one, we’re the ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!

It doesn’t make the top twenty, it does make the top twenty-five. Just like Bismuth right before our hundredth episode, this doesn’t mean much now, but it will next time, because I’m expanding again to a Top Twenty-Five when we hit the big One Two Five with Doug Out. 

Top Twenty

Steven and the Stevens

Hit the Diamond

Mirror Gem

Lion 3: Straight to Video

Alone Together

Last One Out of Beach City

The Return

Jailbreak

The Answer

Mindful Education

Sworn to the Sword

Rose’s Scabbard

Earthlings

Mr. Greg

Coach Steven

Giant Woman

Beach City Drift

Winter Forecast

Bismuth

Steven’s Dream

Love ��em

Laser Light Cannon

Bubble Buddies

Tiger Millionaire

Lion 2: The Movie

Rose’s Room

An Indirect Kiss

Ocean Gem

Space Race

Garnet’s Universe

Warp Tour

The Test

Future Vision

On the Run

Maximum Capacity

Marble Madness

Political Power

Full Disclosure

Joy Ride

Keeping It Together

We Need to Talk

Chille Tid

Cry for Help

Keystone Motel

Catch and Release

When It Rains

Back to the Barn

Steven’s Birthday

It Could’ve Been Great

Message Received

Log Date 7 15 2

Same Old World

The New Lars

Monster Reunion

Alone at Sea

Crack the Whip

Beta

Back to the Moon

Kindergarten Kid

Buddy’s Book

Gem Harvest

Three Gems and a Baby

That Will Be All

The New Crystal Gems

Storm in the Room

Room for Ruby

Lion 4: Alternate Ending

Like ‘em

Gem Glow

Frybo

Arcade Mania

So Many Birthdays

Lars and the Cool Kids

Onion Trade

Steven the Sword Fighter

Beach Party

Monster Buddies

Keep Beach City Weird

Watermelon Steven

The Message

Open Book

Story for Steven

Shirt Club

Love Letters

Reformed

Rising Tides, Crashing Tides

Onion Friend

Historical Friction

Friend Ship

Nightmare Hospital

Too Far

Barn Mates

Steven Floats

Drop Beat Dad

Too Short to Ride

Restaurant Wars

Kiki’s Pizza Delivery Service

Greg the Babysitter

Gem Hunt

Steven vs. Amethyst

Bubbled

Adventures in Light Distortion

Gem Heist

The Zoo

Rocknaldo

Enh

Cheeseburger Backpack

Together Breakfast

Cat Fingers

Serious Steven

Steven’s Lion

Joking Victim

Secret Team

Say Uncle

Super Watermelon Island

Gem Drill

Know Your Fusion

Future Boy Zoltron

Tiger Philanthropist

No Thanks!

     6. Horror Club      5. Fusion Cuisine      4. House Guest      3. Onion Gang      2. Sadie’s Song      1. Island Adventure

(Kind of unbelievable to me that a Lion Sequel doesn’t have official promo art, but luckily we have discount-supervillain’s measured take on what Nora Universe would realistically look like.)

[lswritingdesk]

2. Seers

In which baby Kyrie learns to be a Seer. No mention of Daniel Jackson in this particular fic. We’re still setting the stage here.

-

Kyrie had to take a teleporter to get to the City Cube where the bulk of House Jezerinac resided. It was inland, far away from the oceanic City Cube where her own House lived and ruled the seas. Kyrie found the streets oddly quiet without the dull roar of the ocean acting as background noise. She was nervous. Aside from the fateful day that she had visited the Fragment, and the odd days that she had accompanied her mother to the main market in Rata Sum, this was one of the first times that she had been outside of her City Cube. In fact, it was her first time unaccompanied. Now that she had accepted her veil, she was considered old enough to make the journey alone, and so when she received Elder Rhea’s instructions to appear at the Jezerinac City Cube’s Educational Centre on the sixth day of the week, her parents had sent her alone.

She had spent the week fiddling with her veil like she had been instructed, and she could now see relatively well without the veil darkened to its highest intensity. She was still getting used to the occasional flicker that occurred on one’s vision when using an electronic veil, but for the most part, she was getting used to it. 

The Educational Centre bordered the main square like it did in her own City Cube, which made sense, considering they were all designed by the same Architects. It was a blessing to her, because it meant she didn’t have to stop anyone to ask for directions. She wasn’t sure she would have been able to get out the words. She already looked different in her clothing of blue hues compared to these people’s greys and whites. She was dreading going into the Educational Centre. She entered anyway and found herself standing in a lobby with others milling about. She backed into a corner, trying to hide herself.

The tactic did not work. A young person came over to her, hands on their hips, and seemed to look her up and down, though Kyrie couldn’t be sure as the woman? was also veiled. “So you’re the Tethyos Seer.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Uh, yes,” Kyrie stammered. The person’s voice betrayed a woman, Kyrie thought, though she wasn’t sure. “My name is Kyrie.”

“Oh, we know what your name is. After Lilac came out of the Fragment not a Seer, and then you came out after triple the amount of time as the others and almost bled out on the lawn, almost everyone knows your name.”

“Oh,” Kyrie said. She didn’t like the thought of people knowing her without her knowing them. A second person joined them. 

“Don’t you have other clothes?” the second person asked. A male, this one, maybe. Also young.

“Clothes?” Kyrie asked, smoothing her hand over her tunic. It was one of her nicest. The maybe-male gestured at the cut-off sleeves.

“You’re not going to like it if someone brushes your arm,” they said.

“I don’t understand,” Kyrie said, genuinely confused. 

She could almost hear the eyeroll in the maybe-male’s voice when he said, “Like this.” He pulled off his glove and touched her hand. Her eyes rolled back in her head at the shock of his touch. She could feel everything he felt, hear every thought in his head. He thought she was an idiot, that was clear. “Didn’t they tell you anything?” he said, as rough hands separated him from her.

“Hey! Not cool!” the first person, the girl, said, pulling them apart. “She’s practically a baby and from a House that hasn’t had a Seer in generations. Who do you think would have told her the protocols? A ghost?”

“I don’t know, maybe an Elder? They should have sent her here better prepared than that.”

“We’re all sent here to learn, Tyrus. You were once clueless, too. And if I catch you pulling a stunt like that again, I’ll report you to a Teacher.” Tyrus huffed and slunk off. The girl turned back to Kyrie.

“I’m sorry he did that. He knows we’re not supposed to touch each other, even if you don’t.”

“What was that?” Kyrie asked, still shivering from the seconds of contact. 

“After your Thirteenth Cycle, after the Fragment, you can’t just touch people anymore. Not bare-skinned. If you do, it opens up their mind to yours. That’s why all of us are covered in cloth head to toe. I’m surprised they didn’t warn you.”

“They didn’t really tell me much,” Kyrie murmured.

“Well, it’s been a long time since a new Seer came from an outside House, so they probably just forgot that they have to tell you little things like that. They’ll get your clothing sorted soon, I’m sure, and tell you all the little things you don’t know. I’m Iris. Lilac is my sister. That’s how I know about you. I was there at the Fragment when you came out. I’m three Cycles ahead of you.”

“You’re not...mad about your sister? Isn’t there supposed to be one Seer per Cycle? Shouldn’t it have been her?”

“Mad? No. It could have been anyone. There were 7 Jezerinacs in your Cycle. Yes, it’s weird that none of them were the Seer, but we are taught that the Eternal Alchemy keeps balance in its own way. Don’t you get non-Tethyos Wavewalkers?”

“Frequently. But Wavewalkers are a lot more common than Seers.”

“Are you sad not to be a Wavewalker?”

“No, I wanted to be a Scholar and study the old Cities.”

“Is that what your sacred geometry showed you, before it took you on your side path?” Kyrie froze.

“Are- are we allowed to talk about that?”

“Who is going to tell a Seer, a Keeper of the Timelines, that they aren’t allowed to talk about timelines? You don’t know much because you weren’t raised around Seers, but you get a lot of free range being one. My mother is a Seer, so I grew up with the lore.”

“So we’re Keepers of the Timelines?”

“That’s one of our official titles. Our visions, our side paths- we have ‘extra duties’, as they call them, to help keep the timelines pure. There are a lot of forces and people who seek to corrupt the timelines for their own gain.” This was a lot to take in for Kyrie. Seers had always been mysterious figures to her growing up. She didn’t know their purpose or function, other than that they had visions and saw futures beyond the sacred geometries.

“Well, yes, it showed me that I would be a Scholar before it showed me my visions.”

“Don’t talk about your visions,” Iris warned, before Kyrie went any further. “Those have to stay your own, unless Elder Rhea asks. She’s the only one who can ask about your visions. But you can talk about your regular old sacred geometry all your own. I’m going to be a Teacher of Eights,” she said with a smile. “Old Cities sound interesting, though. We went on a field trip to one when I was a Ten. Did you?”

“Yes, and that was when I knew that I wanted to study them, though I knew I wanted to be a Scholar before then. I always preferred books over the sea.” A bell chimed and doors opened.

“We have to go in now. It’s the beginning of a Cycle, so there’s always an introductory presentation before they split us up based on skill level. Come, you can sit with me.”

The presentation filled in a lot of details that Kyrie did not know about Seers, though most of the people around her radiated a feeling of boredom. She drank it all in, though. In the end, she and Iris were sorted into the same learning group, and by the time the day ended, Kyrie felt like too much had been stuffed into her brain. Iris assured her that every learning session would be like that. 

Kyrie was sent back to her City Cube with instructions for proper clothing, exercises for her veil and Dreamscape, and more. When her parents asked her about her day, she found herself speechless. In a way, she had never felt so far apart from them. They would never fully understand that she couldn’t just embrace them anymore or share the contents of her studies, because they were so foreign to them. Part of her wished she was a Wavewalker so she had that in common with the family and House at least. But...she was beginning to embrace that she had a larger role to play. 

Her mother helped her find pale blue clothing in the market that would cover her newly sensitive skin and allow her to hold onto a piece of Tethyos without standing out in the navies and royal blues she wore the rest of the week. She wouldn’t let becoming a Seer take away everything. 

Her classmates in her regular classes gradually got used to her changes, and though they did not invite her to join in their activities as they once did, they no longer regarded her with outright fear. She no longer thought of transferring completely to the Jezerinac Educational Centre, where people wouldn’t mind her veil or Seer-ness. 

-

Gradually the Cycles passed, and the end of Kyrie’s Eighteenth Cycle came upon her. She applied and was accepted to the College of Statics, just as her sacred geometry had indicated. She had not dreamed of the garden in years, and she thought maybe her ‘extra duties’ would not come to pass after all. 

She and Iris had remained close, though the older girl had passed through the College of Dynamics and become a Teacher of Eights the year before. They still saw one another monthly at the Educational Centre, where they proved that their skills were still up to snuff in various tests and games. Neither had yet felt the pull to re-enter the Fragment as some of their peers had.

--

@heathenterkin​ @luckyninetales @logicheartsoul​ @sky-of-starflowers​ @kirazalea​ @star-fish23

[mythicallore]

A Dark History of The Hellfire Club

     Perched atop an expanse of grassy knolls and rather charming scenery, at a place called Mount Pelier Hill, near Dublin, Ireland, is an old, abandoned stone structure from another time, standing out there defiantly amongst the elements. Today it just seems like the crumbling ruins of another bygone era, like many that dot the lush countryside here, but this place in particular had a rather colorful history and an even more haunted reputation. Commonly called the Hellfire Club, the building was first erected in 1725 by Irish Speaker of the House of Commons William Conolly, and was originally a hunting lodge then called Mount Pelier, as well as other monikers such as The Brass Castle and Bevan’s Hill. It is also well known as being one of the creepiest and most aggressively haunted places in Ireland, with a dark history that would soon transcend its humble beginnings to devolve into a world of the occult, sacrifices, and black magic.

Things begin to get spooky from the years of between 1735 to 1741, when the building was frequently used as a meeting place for the notorious Irish Hellfire Club, a sort of secret society, who allegedly used it as a venue for all manner of occult rituals, black masses, ceremonies, black magic rituals, sacrifices both animal and human, and it was generally full of orgies and wild drunken debauchery, a place of sin and depravity. Illustrating the club’s full on hedonism perfectly was their motto, which was “Fais ce que tu voudras”, or “Do what thou wilt.” Adding to the occult imagery of the club in general is that they were said to always leave a chair open for the Devil, and that their mascot was an enormous black cat.

The Hellfire Club

There are also many stories of the supernatural around this place when it was in use, the most popular being that one evening a stranger dressed all in black visited the Hellfire Club out of the rainy night. The members allowed him in, and to even join them in a game of cards. At one point a player purportedly dropped a card under the table, and when he went to retrieve it he noticed that the stranger had cloven hooves instead of feet. At that moment, it became clear that this was the Devil himself, and he stood up to go shooting up into the air, where he vanished in a ball of fire. In another tale, the Hellfire members were in the process of sacrificing a black cat, and when a priest performed an exorcism on its corpse a demon was said to spew forth from the carcass, in some versions of the tale setting the place on fire as it did. In yet another tale, club member Simon Luttrell, Lord Irnham, later Earl of Carhampton, made a deal with the Devil to give his soul in exchange for clearing his debts, and when the Devil showed up at the Hellfire Club’s front door to collect Luttrell reneged and ran away. In yet another story a local farmhand once found his way to the club and was invited in for the night, only to be found the next day babbling nonsensically and in a vegetative trance, living out the rest of his days in an insane asylum, never recovering enough to even be able to explain what he had seen, doomed to remain a drooling madman.

In later years the building would be moved further down the hill to a place called Killakee House after a devastating fire gutted it, said to have been started by lighting a person on fire during a black mass. The club’s nefarious activities continued, including allegedly kidnapping, murdering, and consuming a farmer’s daughter on the orders of a notorious member named Thomas “Buck” Whaley. In the wake of Whaley’s death the club sort of disbanded, and paranormal tales have orbited the location ever since. One of the main ideas is that the building itself is cursed. This has its roots in the fact that during the original construction of the hunting lodge there were found to be ancient cairns and an underground grave complex beneath, and according to the lore many of the cairn stones were repurposed into the actual construction of the lodge, angering the spirits in the process to the point that it is said that the roof was mysteriously blown right off the building by a mysterious terrifying force right after it was finished.

In addition to this the Hellfire Club and the nearby Steward’s House have been intensely haunted by an eclectic mix of different spirits. One is the apparition of a huge black cat the size of a large dog, said to be able to speak and to have blazing red eyes, a humanoid face, and to be wreathed in the smell of sulphur, which roams the building and its surrounding countryside. There is also the spirit of a wailing woman on fire, said to be either one of the victims of the Hellfire fire centuries ago or a sacrifice, as well as an unidentified ghost that apparently will rip off any jewelry that visitors wear, especially crucifixes. Most unusual of all is the presence of the ghost of a dwarf, believed to have been a sacrifice by the club. Interestingly, reports of the ghost dwarf have had a bit of an infusion of believability when the remains of an actual dwarf were found buried under the floorboards of the Killakee House during renovations in 1971. Adding to the ghostly party are the apparitions of an Indian and two nuns known as Blessed Margaret and Holy Mary, also thought to have been victims of human sacrifice during the club’s active years. In addition to all of these wandering spirits and entities are the numerous complaints of people having nausea or chest pains when visiting the area, and the whole place is reportedly absolutely infused with a sense of dread and despondency. Even paranormal investigators get squeamish at this place, and the Head of Paranormal Researchers Ireland has said of the Hellfire Club building:

There have been two places I have been that I got absolutely terrified and I don’t usually. The Hellfire Club in the Dublin Mountains, and Loftus Hall in Wexford. We were up the Hellfire one night, a group of eight or ten of us. We stood in a circle and the next minute there was a thud, it was like a vibration went through the whole building and all the equipment went mental. One of the guys was in the hall and he is a cynic and he said a black shadow crossed him, 100 per cent — a tall black shadow. Another guy started getting sick, and then a girl said she heard a whisper in her ear, very clear, and it just said ‘get out’. All in the course of one minute. Chaos. That was the first time ever I called an end to the night and said we didn’t feel safe.

Other paranormal investigators have agreed, such as Tim Kelley, the head of the group Irish Ghost Hunters, a crack group that uses hi-tech gadgetry, including thermal-imaging cameras and state-of-the-art audio equipment to investigate haunted sites throughout the country. Kelley’s team have been to the Hellfire Club on numerous occasions, but have been so completely assaulted by unexplained malevolent activity that they have vowed never to step foot in there again. Kelley has said:

We’ve been everywhere in the country at this stage, but the Hellfire Club is somewhere we have no intention of returning to because there’s a very sinister energy there. I know people go up there all the time, and no doubt it will be a popular destination at Halloween, but I would advise people to think twice about going there, because there’s a very negative energy there. There’s a really weird sensation as soon as you go in it and it’s something I don’t want to repeat again for the rest of my life. So it’s the only building in Ireland that’s off limits for me in terms of conducting a paranormal investigation.

The Hellfire Club building and the surrounding area have gone on to become regular features on lists of eeriest or most haunted places in Ireland, and with so many hauntings and such a morbidly dark history it is easy to see why. It is unfortunate that the history of the Hellfire Club is so shrouded with secrecy and pervaded with scary urban legends, to the point that it is difficult to unravel where the truth begins and the fiction ends. As with any remote, spooky place it has managed to gestate within it many tall tales and scary campfire stories that we will probably never know the extent to which the Hellfire Club’s depravity really sank or how much of it is true. However, one thing that is known is that this is considered to be one of Ireland’s most evil haunted places, and the reports of paranormal activity here continue.

[wardensantoineandevka]

A couple hours late but I just saw you saying how Jesse and Fareeha are more inverses of each other and I completely agree! I personally see Sombra and Jesse as more paralleled, and would be interested in hearing your thoughts on that idea? You tend to be very well-spoken and are good at analyzing concepts, I've come to notice.

EDIT - NOVEMBER 3, 2018: With the release of “Reunion” and Ashe’s hero reveal, the majority of what I wrote about Deadlock in the first three sections—Sign of the Skull, Those Left Behind, Revolutionaries and Rebels—is incorrect. Despite this, I maintain that the socioeconomic context outlines in Those Left Behind remains relevant to the American Southwest in-universe and maintain my belief that it is applicable to McCree specifically, even if it does not apply to Deadlock. I will be writing a new post on Sombra and McCree soon. Stay tuned.

in reference to this post… from months ago

Lucky for you, I was thinking about Jesse and Sombra the night before you sent this! Deadlock and Los Muertos, actually, but I’ll get to that. I absolutely agree that the two of them make much more direct parallels than Jesse and Fareeha, who are interesting as a pair in their own right but they aren’t direct parallels.

I often joke that Gabe adopted the same child twice: smart-talking, hyper-competent Latine who tote around skull logos and are from gangs with the word “dead” in their names. It’s a joke—I don’t consider Gabe’s relationship with Sombra to be that of a parent-child, for one thing—but I believe that Jesse and Sombra are very similar regardless.

They both have similar backgrounds: joined local gangs at a very young age and earned later membership into a high-level covert organization through resourcefulness and an admirable natural aptitude in a specific desired skillset. Although both at first look to be unserious and overly laid-back, they prove themselves to be precision operators who indeed execute plans and achieve goals with immense gravity. They’re both supremely confident in their abilities, to the point that one can accuse them of having too high an opinion of themselves and being overconfident.

They come from similar backgrounds, having been orphaned during the Crisis and suffered under economic disparity driven by infrastructure changes in the rebuilding period. They both similarly drop off the map and resurface under new identities. They both have a deep concern in seeing done a justice that is beyond the reach of the law—or when the law refuses to deliver it.

All this, and more, under the cut. The post is very long.

I would also like to thank @segadores-y-soldados for all he’s written, especially on Sombra and especially recently. I make heavy reference to his writing on Sombra in certain portions of this post. I also must admit that reading his posts on Arturito has motivated me to finish this after three months of slow progress, though I still have a nagging feeling I’m forgetting a point.

Sign of the Skull

To make a quick run-through on Los Muertos and Deadlock Gang themselves before moving onto how these organizations inform Sombra and Jesse specifically. Sort of a section to outline basic things about the gangs that doesn’t neatly fit into other points. It’s mostly to establish their context, and some similarities between their structures and presentation.

Screenshot from the Sombra Origin showing members of Los Muertos. Each member has painted skeletons onto themselves with phosphorescent paint in varying colors.

Los Muertos is a Mexican gang with apparent regional influence with members in both Dorado and the nearby Castillo, and it even has some international reach judging from the Los Muertos graffiti on the Hollywood map. Little is known to us about their structure besides this, and even in-universe they are noted to be mysterious with little information publicly available about them.

However, Los Muertos openly broadcasts their intentions: to right the wrongs committed by the wealthy and powerful against the disadvantaged of Mexico. They position themselves as transgressors of the law specifically to disrupt the lives of the “vipers” in power. More on that later.

The name translates to “The Dead”, and they are identified by skull motifs, specifically the calaveras associated with the Mexican holiday Day of the Dead. Individual members openly identify themselves and indicate their membership by painting skulls and bones on their bodies with phosphorescent paint.

Screenshot from the Route 66 map of five motorcycles parked in front of The High Side bar. The Deadlock emblem is spray-painted by the entrance.

Deadlock Gang is an American motorcycle club and organized crime ring occupying a Southwestern town on an abandoned stretch of Route 66 running across Deadlock Gorge. It’s unclear where exactly the Gorge is, and the Visual Source Book’s pin for the map is highly unspecific, but I tend to believe it’s in somewhere in northern New Mexico because Jesse’s base of operations is listed as Santa Fe, NM.

In one lore piece, Deadlock is holding a national rally, suggesting they’ve got chapters nationwide and the founding chapter is in Deadlock Gorge. While it’s unclear what their reach is, there is a possibility of international chapters. (Torbjorn’s motorcycle-themed Deadlock skin may suggest this, but it does not have any Deadlock iconography, notably showing a bear where one expects the Deadlock emblem.)

This does not necessarily mean all of the Deadlock Rebels Motorcycle Club is a criminal organization, nor every single member a criminal, but… y’know, the founding chapter is a weapons trafficking racket. They’re a one-percenter outlaw motorcycle club, and there’s a quick and easy comparison in the real-life Hells Angels, whom the show Sons of Anarchy models itself after.

Deadlock, besides naming itself after the concept of death like Los Muertos does, also uses a skull in its emblem. We haven’t seen any member of Deadlock pictured, but extrapolating from the typical behavior of motorcycle clubs, they likely openly identify themselves and indicate their membership by wearing standardized jackets or most likely vests. Members likely have tattoos indicating membership as well, seeing as Jesse has a tattoo of the Deadlock emblem on his inner arm in his Blackwatch skin.

Those Left Behind

Sombra, orphaned during the Omnic Crisis, was taken in by Los Muertos, a gang that positioned themselves as champions of the underclass ignored during the post-Crisis rebuilding process. They’ve done this most notably by opposing the CEO of LumériCo Guillermo Portero, who they’ve described as having exercised his social influence to have many wrongfully imprisoned and who we know is working with the not-as-noble-as-they-put-forward Vishkar. 

The social context of Los Muertos and Sombra is very directly told to us. From Sombra’s official bio:

After ░░░░░░ was taken in by Mexico’s Los Muertos gang, she aided it in its self-styled revolution against the government. Los Muertos believed that the rebuilding of Mexico had primarily benefited the rich and the influential, leaving behind those who were most in need of assistance.

From a lore post published to the website:

…its members style themselves as revolutionaries who represent those left behind by the government after the widespread devastation of the Omnic Crisis.

And Michael Chu on Los Muertos at Blizzcon 2016 (transcript):

Mexico really suffered a lot at the hands of the Omnic Crisis. The war destroyed much of the country’s infrastructure. […] They claim to be kind of revolutionaries fighting for people who were left behind during the rebuilding of Mexico after the war.

Despite their noble stated goal, they seemingly also cross a line in their illicit activity enough to earn the ire of Jack, who isn’t exactly on the straight and narrow himself but still seeks the right side of things. As Chu added:

Whether or not that’s really what they are up to, because they’re also engaged in a lot of other shady activities. It is up to you decide.

Given a lot of other suspect activity they engage in, that noble work might not be the only story to be had on them—especially depending on where you’re standing. Saviors with their thumbs in certain pies not meant for them, possibly.

The social context that Sombra rises out of is made very plain for us. But what does it have to do with Jesse?

While we know few specifics about his circumstances growing up, other than he also lived through the Crisis and was likely similarly orphaned during it, the description and in-game environment of the Route 66 map suggest the area is one of difficult social and economic circumstances, emphasis mine:

Though the travelers and road trippers who used to cross the US on historic Route 66 are gone, the Main Street of America still stands, a testament to a simpler time. The gas stations, roadside shops, and cafes have gone into disuse, and the fabled Deadlock Gorge is mostly seen from the comfort of transcontinental train cars. But amid the fading monuments of that earlier era, the outlaws of the Deadlock Gang are planning their biggest heist yet.

Concept art of The High Side, showing the abandoned bar in disrepair with boarded windows and faded paint.

At least one building, the Cave Inn (ba dum tsh) in the streets portion of the map, is visibly abandoned, and the theme of disrepair and long-gone halcyon days is especially prevalent in the concept art for the map. This all paints a portrait of a Deadlock Gang that operates out of an area that suffered immense economic hardship in recent years, likely particularly after the introduction of the transcontinental train cars, one of which is featured in “Train Hopper”, a comic which takes the time to emphasize the wealth of the passengers traveling on them. So, the Deadlock chapter is localized within a region that suffered economically under infrastructure changes that largely benefit the wealthy and powerful. It’s possible that these infrastructure changes were made possible because of efforts to rebuild after the physical devastation of the Crisis.

Without going off on a tangent about it, there’s a bit of a difference between “Deadlock comes out of the lower class in a geographic region beset by poverty” and “Deadlock gang itself currently has no money”. Apparently, well after the effects of financial misfortune set in, Deadlock was and is making enough money to maintain long-distance shipping, as suggested by their semi-trailer truck, and keep an entire town functioning well enough as a cover for their criminal enterprise. Also, missiles don’t sell for cheap. Deadlock might be financially comfortable now, but their context still involves deep socioeconomic disparity.

This is especially poignant against the Route’s invoked nickname, Main Street of America, which conjures images of the average American person. Those average people who owned gas stations, cafes, diners, roadside trinket shops, dive bars are the ones who are forgotten while the more affluent folks pass them over, traveling in style. There’s also a historical precedent in poverty and social disparity as driven by infrastructure changes specifically affecting the way people travel across regions and the country, specifically in the history of the freeway.

To sort of make the clarification, Jesse’s tattoo states that Deadlock was established in 1976—happy centennial, Deadlock—so they’ve certainly changed a lot as their social context and membership make-up changed. There’s much to be said about social non-conformity, outlaw motorcycle gangs, one-percenters, community integration, and how these intersect with both the politics and economics of the local communities along Route 66, especially given how the Route was recently listed as one of the country’s most endangered historic places, even in Deadlock’s apparent founding in a period of American social unease after the Vietnam War and during the late Cold War, and extrapolate a lot about Deadlock from all that, and even about Jesse himself from some of it, but that’s for a different post.

Revolutionaries and Rebels

In that context, it’s worthwhile to note that in their insignia, seen in the graffiti all over the Route 66 map and in Jesse’s tattoo in his Blackwatch skin, they calls themselves the Deadlock Rebels. Generally, outlaw motorcycle clubs are also known for their contempt for social convention and disdain for status quo.

Screenshot of the Deadlock Gang hideout with their insignia, which includes the words Deadlock Rebels, spray-painted onto a wall.

Deadlock is quite the opposite of Los Muertos, though. Deadlock maintains a law-abiding public face—holding innocuous and even advertised national rallies and hiding their illicit activity under numerous cover businesses—and are more discreet in their disrespect of law. One can double down on this by looking to how successfully real-life one-percenter clubs maintain their public image: openly contemptuous of social norms but keeping public knowledge of any legal transgressions to only the small indiscretions while hiding the major ones.

Taking a look at Deadlock’s primary targets, military installations: the train cars on the map are military-related, the gang traffics military hardware and weapons including missiles. Although Deadlock comes from a similar social context as Los Muertos, these aren’t targets seeking to effect a change in society like how Los Muertos seeks to. Deadlock appears largely self-interested, with little interest in changing the fortunes of anyone else in the American lower class. Los Muertos bills itself as other-interested, seeking to change the fortunes of the Mexican underclass as a whole.

Archetypically, Los Muertos are revolutionaries, Deadlock are rebels. While they both groups reject the status quo, the revolutionary seeks sweeping social change but the rebel rejects the status quo on a personal level. The revolutionary wants society to change to suit their vision of what it ought to be while the rebel positions themselves outside of society and will redefine themselves as society changes.

The difference is apparent in their choice of targets. Los Muertos targets institutions and people who directly have a hand in the building of their social context, and attacking those targets will potentially affect a social change. Deadlock targets institutions and people who may have a hand in their social context, but such targets are chosen primarily for the gang’s financial gain.

Los Muertos is politically motivated. Deadlock is financially motivated.

Admirers in the Shadows

Sombra and Jesse don’t remain in their gangs. They both end up joining shadow organizations with global reach, the terrorist organization Talon and the covert ops organization Blackwatch, respectively. Both organizations were wooed by their specific skillsets.

Sombra launched an even more audacious string of hacks, and her exploits earned her no shortage of admirers, including Talon. She joined the organization’s ranks…

With his expert marksmanship and resourcefulness, he was given the choice between rotting in a maximum-security lockup and joining Blackwatch, Overwatch’s covert ops division. He chose the latter.

A young Jesse McCree was recruited into Blackwatch after Gabriel Reyes saw his potential and gave him a choice: join Blackwatch, or rot in prison.

The difference here is that Sombra was offered a place, but she did not necessarily need that offer to continue on with her life. She takes it because Talon resources allow her to more effectively pursue her goals. If McCree did not take the offer to join Blackwatch, his life effectively ended. (There’s a whole thing to be said about this offer, why it was the best offer that could have been made to him at the same, and criminal rehabilitation—but that’s another post.) McCree’s decision to join Blackwatch isn’t motivated by pursuit of a specific goal. He just didn’t want his life to be over before it started. In that regard, his entire life is shaped very directly by his relationship to Overwatch as an individual and Blackwatch, even more than simply its role in ending the Crisis and overseeing the rebuilding efforts.

Sombra, as someone who survived the Crisis, similarly has that more distanced influence of Overwatch in her life, but there’s the possibility she may have a more direct one.

With the recent spawn interaction between Sombra and Hammond showing a sentimentality for her stuffed Overwatch bear, seen in her den in Castillo, there is a possible picture to paint of a Sombra who may have some sentimentality toward Overwatch and might be aiding individual members on the sly not only because she wants to uncover the Grand Conspiracy they’re caught up in but also because she has a personal motivation.

segadores-y-soldados has a lot of good and very recent speculation on what this could mean for Sombra, either working with the room in her background for her to have worked with Blackwatch or having her as never having worked with Overwatch. If she worked with Blackwatch, which is admittedly a shakier theory, it creates a direct and clear mirror with Jesse: given a second chance at life through working with Overwatch and Blackwatch. If she did not and the influence is only the distant one, and she simply remained on the edges of society and making use of the space available, it is an inverse of Jesse. I recommend reading these two posts on the idea: one, two, three.

Name: REDACTED

One could compare Sombra attempting to eradicate her identity as Olivia Colomar and later returning as Sombra to Jesse going underground after leaving Blackwatch and later resurfacing to work as a bounty hunter. Their decisions to drop off the map have different motivations and different degrees of extreme, and there is a different tenor in how one disappears as Olivia and returns as Sombra and the other disappears as McCree and makes a resurfaces in a return to that identity.

Sombra accidentally stumbled onto a massive conspiracy that controlled the world and drew their attention, compromising her security and forcing her to destroy all trace of Olivia Colomar to go into hiding. She came back as a completely new person with no trails to her old identity, a transformation so complete that it took years to connect the two.

It is possible to draw a stronger parallel between them here. Jesse similarly has parts of his identity that he’s hiding (but which Sombra knows about):

Sombra: Pleasure working with you, McCree… if that is your real name.McCree: Don’t know what you heard, but my name’s not Joel. Best remember that.

There’s a strong case for the Jesse is the journalist Joel Morricone theory: at some point in his life, he created a second identity for himself and is working to keep the two separate. It’s currently unclear exactly what the details of the arrangement is or why he goes to these lengths. Given that he disappeared for “several years” after quitting and before reappearing again as Jesse McCree, gunslinger for hire, it stands to reason he spent the intervening years living quietly under the Morricone identity. 

We don’t really know much about the specifics of what motivated Jesse to go to ground, but based on his official bio, it seems related to the infighting following the Talon infiltration at Overwatch and Blackwatch that also drove him to quit. It could likely be motivated by security reasons—in a similar but less drastic way that Sombra burned her old identity to protect herself.

Justice Against Law

One of the building blocks of McCree’s character is his stance on justice. He makes it very clear: he is concerned primarily in dispensing justice to the point that he only accepts jobs as a bounty hunter if he believes the cause just and constantly gets involved in vigilantism, putting a stop to crimes both petty and serious.

Through this dogged pursuit of seeing justice done, he seeks a self-redemption for the wrongs he committed early in his life: “he came to believe that he could make amends for his past sins by righting the injustices of the world”. At the same time, he makes it clear that he believes justice and law run on different wavelengths. He appreciates Blackwatch for its “flexibility” to move “unhindered by bureaucracy and red tape”. The Morricone article seems to suggest a belief that justice can be defended by law, but everything else about him strongly states that he does not believe justice is exclusively defended by law.

The short version: McCree has a rigid sense of justice and dedicates his life to seeing it carried out, but he does not equate it with the law. Both of those points are amply evidenced and are at the forefront of McCree’s character. 

Edited sequence from the “Searching” comic where Zarya and Lynx-17 go door-to-door, showing everyone a photo of Sombra. Zarya’s internal dialogue in the last panel: “But no one has seen Sombra. Or nobody admits it. They see her like our Stepan Razin—attacking the rich to defy the czar.”

Sombra is (perhaps surprisingly) similar. As stated previously, she was brought in by a gang who billed themselves as seeking a justice for the Mexican underclass that they believed could not be achieved through legal means.

On her own? She holds to those ideals and that goal. She attacks and exposes the CEO of LumériCo, creating an opening to see some justice done for the Mexican people. (The attempt failed, and Portero is reinstated, but that’s besides the point.) Her continuing interest in seeing the Viper Portero removed only makes sense if she continues to have a personal investment in seeing justice for the underclass of her country.

This leads to Sombra being seen as an extrajudicial force of change and good by the Mexican people, particularly those in the Castillo and Dorado region. Zarya compares her to Stepan Razin (Wikipedia), who as I understand it led force composed in part of peasants in uprising and, though he failed, was immortalized as a folklore hero.

Though her methods are different and her goals much more specific, her actions, at least in Mexico, are similarly driven by a search for justice that cannot be delivered by the law.

The Enemies of Talon

I don’t have a lot to say about this, and segadores-y-soldados has summarized it quite better than I have, but it’s important enough to get it’s own section. But, Sombra working against Talon actually puts her technically on the same side as Jesse is—even though Jesse as of “Train Hopper” doesn’t seem that interested in actually ending Talon’s activities or denying them what resources they want, only in preventing them from hurting and killing innocents. (Though, I doubt Jesse is going to remain in that mode for long.)

It is entirely possibly, maybe even likely, that Sombra is aiding Jesse somehow as well as aiding Jack and Ana. I linked a couple of segadores-y-soldados’ relevant posts earlier, but I’ll link them again: linked before, new link.

Miscellanea, Smaller Comparisons 

Sombra is embraced by her old gang Los Muertos, even though she has broken ties with them for her safety, as evidenced by the gang’s enthusiastic and open support of her attacks on LumériCo. Deadlock openly rejects Jesse and is suggested to have a “shoot on sight” policy for him, as evidenced by the numerous photos of him accompanying rifles and his photo pinned to a dartboard; it’s possible that they resent him for having avoided prison and taking the presented opportunity to turn over a new leaf.

Even after leaving their respective gangs, both Jesse and Sombra still make use of variations on the gangs’ symbols in their personal iconographies. Sombra identifies herself through a simplified graphic calaveras. While in Blackwatch, Jesse openly displays his tattoo and wears a buckle of the Deadlock winged skull; after leaving Blackwatch, his prosthetic arm features plating shaped like a skull. (The iconography extends to the game’s UI also, with EMP represented by a calaveras and Deadeye with a skull.)

Both take somewhat similar relationships to Gabriel: Jesse is framed as a surrogate son and a right-hand, Sombra is framed as a young accomplice who takes a more familiar tack and a frequent trusted partner. They’re opinionated and vocal about it, unafraid to talk back to Gabriel and criticize his planning.

Further in the personality vein of things, they’re characterized as deeply confident in their abilities to the point of cockiness and overconfidence, and they can be accused (and have been, by Gabriel, though with dubious sincerity) of having too high an opinion of themselves. But despite the breeziness, they are highly competent, thorough, and conscientious, and although they may appear to have a lot of things to say about other people’s plans, they execute their own plans with precision and utmost gravity. Arguably, both are playing a bit of the fool to mask how sharp, observant, and cunning they really are.

[pizza-is-my-buziness]

So this was originally supposed to be for the “alternate reality” space on my card but I got a prompt I really liked when I was halfway through writing this story so...free space time!

I’ve been listening to a lot of My Favorite Murder and spending a lot of my time on the unsolved mysteries pages in Reddit so...sorry? This is definitely true-crime inspired, but I tried to do like “true crime lite” but there are still mentions of murder whoops.

Also come talk to me about true crime? Thanks.

“I think it’s appropriate that we’re making a video about murder,” Jemma grumbles as she tries to avoid tripping over yet another twisted rooted, “seeing as we’re about to get murdered.”

“We aren’t about to get murdered,” Daisy amends, sounding remarkably unphased by the midnight hike that they’re taking through the woods. “And it’s not a video. It’s a documentary.”

Jemma lifts her hand to brush what she hopes is not a spiderweb out of her face, sending the beam of her flashlight flickering up toward the canopy of trees overhead. “What’s the difference?”

In front of her, Daisy shrugs. “A video just sounds so…amateur.”

Jemma doesn’t get the chance to point out that they are, in fact, amateurs before Mack is calling out to them from a few yards off to their left. “I think it’s over here.”

It’s not the sudden sound of his voice in the darkness that gets Jemma’s heart suddenly pounding in her chest. It’s not even the fact that she’s here, in the middle of these massive woods that stretch out beyond the college campus, with a few flashlights and a half moon overhead.

It’s the fact that they’re really doing this. That the reality of Daisy’s suggestion is suddenly settling in.

That there really is a cabin out there in the woods where a bunch of people got murdered and she’s about to be face-to-face with it in the dark for the sake of Daisy’s senior project.

Daisy is carrying a handheld camera in one hand and a flashlight in the other and Jemma can see half of Daisy’s face, illuminated by the glow of the flashlight. There’s a look of trepidation on her face but a hint of anticipation too.

Jemma can’t help but step closer to Daisy as they catch up with Mack and Fitz, the former who is carrying his own camera as Daisy’s official partner on the project. She’s having more than a few regrets at this particular moment, the first being that she couldn’t just admit honestly that she’s had a crush on Daisy for four years and that she really would prefer that their date take place in a coffee shop or in Daisy’s apartment and that she didn’t have to result to agreeing to help Daisy with her murder video in order to spend time with her.

But it’s a little late for all that, seeing as the cabin they’ve come looking for is looming in front of them, a shadowy figure in the faint glow of their flashlights.

Jemma figures that her closeness to Daisy can be blamed on the eeriness of the situation, which is the majority reason that she’s standing over her shoulder. “Why did you want to do this again?” She asks. “Couldn’t the top of your project been something a little more mundane?”

“I want to stand out,” Daisy says and Jemma realizes that they’re both whispering and that the woods themselves seem silent and still around this house. “This is pretty memorable.”

Fitz scoffs. “You could definitely say that.”

Jemma glances over at her friend and can see the same uncertainty and trepidation in his face that she’s sure she’s wearing on her own. She can’t even tease him for being out here, in the middle of the woods, when he’s clearly afraid because they’re both here for the same reason. Stupid, stupid crushes.

“I guess we have to go inside, huh.” It’s not so much a question as a statement, a comment muttered resignedly and flatly as Jemma traces the outline of the cabin against the glow of their flashlights.

The cabin isn’t exactly in the best of shape, having fallen into disrepair in the thirty years since the occupants were murdered and the land started to be bought up and parceled off. Most of it now belongs to the college, including this spot that has remained untouched despite continual talk about bulldozing the cabin in order to deter people from doing exactly what they’re doing right now. Jemma figures that the cabin is still standing because no drunk coeds ever actually make it this far into the woods to find the place, giving up long before they even get close.

The windows are broken or missing completely and vines and lichen spread across the rotting outsides like thin fingers. There’s a spot where the roof is dipping downward, one breeze away from falling in completely. Jemma doesn’t have much hope that the stairs themselves will survive long enough for one person to walk up them, let alone all four of them.

“Why don’t we come back during the day?” Jemma figures that she won’t even be annoyed if they turn around and head back to Daisy’s apartment.

“We will,” Daisy says and Mack nods his agreement. “But we wanted to check it out at night too.”

Jemma makes a face. “Please tell me this isn’t some sort of paranormal thing.”

Daisy rolls her eyes. “Ghosts? No. But, you know-”

“Memorable,” Fitz supplies for her.

Daisy nods. “Exactly.”

They’re all clustered together, none of them making the first move to try and get any closer to the cabin. Mack and Daisy are filming the poorly lit front of the cabin and Jemma is glad that she doesn’t believe in ghosts because that added superstition would undoubtedly make the whole experience unbearable. The woods seem eerily quiet and every inch of movement from Daisy or Mack or Fitz makes her flinch.

“There used to be other cabins here,” Daisy says and Jemma jumps, hoping that no one notices. She’s not sure if Daisy is telling them or is trying to record this for her video…documentary…whatever. “But no one said they heard anything that night.”

“Four people were murdered and no one heard anything,” Mack scoffs. “I find that kind of hard to believe.”

Fitz nods. “Especially since the primary suspect lived next door.”

Jemma looks at him, lifting her eyebrows. He shrugs, grimacing. “What? I did my research.”

Jemma only smirks. She’s sure that this research took place in Mack’s room with the laptop between them and Fitz’s brain short-circuiting. Something similar had happened between her and Daisy a few nights ago, when Jemma had been attempting to study for her final exams and Daisy had been messing around with her camera while outlining her plans for the documentary.

Unfortunately most facts about the place had gone in one ear and out of the other, replaced by more important observations like the smell of Daisy’s shampoo or the delicate tattoo on the inside of her wrist.

“Well.” Mack looks pointedly at Daisy. “After you.”

Daisy hesitates for a moment before squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin, marching toward the crumbling, rotting, front steps.

“I don’t think that’s safe.” Jemma has to fight the urge to reach for Daisy’s hand to yank her backward.

“Definitely not safe,” Daisy mumbles before that doesn’t stop her from testing the first stair with her weight.

There’s a creak, unnaturally loud in the stillness of the night, but the stairs hold. Each one does, though Jemma can see Daisy walking on the front of her feet, trying not to put too much weight down.

The front door eases open, leaning drunkenly on one of the hinges when Daisy pushes against it. And then Daisy is inside, disappearing into the darkness of the cabin with only the flashlight to signal where she’s gone.

Jemma lets out of a breath, forcing herself to follow in Daisy’s footsteps, ignoring the creaks and groans of the stairs beneath her. It doesn’t seem much better when she makes it into what used to be the living room of the cabin, but it feels a little more stable than balancing her weight on the stairs.

Jemma slowly sweeps her flashlight against the corners and eaves of the cabin, noting all the spiders’ webs in the corners and the peeling, yellowed wallpaper. “They left the furniture?”

“People thought the place was haunted,” Daisy says, “so after the cops were done with their investigation, they left pretty much everything. No one was interested in packing the place up or cleaning it out, not even the guy who owned it. So it’s stayed pretty much like this for the past thirty years…I mean I guess aside from whatever people messed with when they came to check it out.”

Jemma crinkles her nose against the damp, earthy smell in the cabin, trying to ignore the shudder the passes through her body as she looks at the rotting couch and the leaning coffee table in front of it. “Awful.”

Daisy is in what Jemma assumes was once again the kitchen, talking about the murders, how a mother and three children were murdered one night and how one boy, the youngest, slept through the whole thing and somehow survived. Jemma knows the story, mostly because of Daisy but also because it’s part of the college’s lore, this murder that took place when the college was still small and trying to expand. Daisy and Mack are attempting to use their senior project to solve the mystery once and for all, though Jemma isn’t sure how, exactly, they plan to do that. Looking at this place, it’s pretty obvious that there’s nothing left but rotting furniture and the animals that are now calling this place home.

Mack and Fitz are checking out the living room as well, slowly taking video of the furniture and how it casts elongated shadows against the peeling, warped walls. Jemma steps around them, making her way down the narrow hallway toward the back bedrooms where the murders actually took place.

The master bedroom door is closed and Jemma stamps down the impulse that tells her to open it. It’s harder to ignore that little voice in her head when she sees the other door, ajar and enticing.

Jemma pushes the door the rest of the way open with the toe of her shoe, peering through the darkness at the trio of beds still lined up in the room. Two are nothing but frames, the third a mattress stripped of sheets and blankets. But there are still fading posters stuck to the wall, difficult to make out and curling, but still there, proof of the lives that were lived in this room, once.

It seems impossible to believe that someone walked through the door one night and-

Someone grabs onto her wrist and Jemma yelps, her shoulder knocking against the doorframe. She spins around to see Daisy there behind her, still holding tightly to her wrist. “Sorry. Sorry.”

“What is wrong with you?” Jemma pants but she doesn’t make the move to yank herself free.

“There’s a hole, on the floor.” Daisy points with her flashlight and Jemma can see the most of the floor in front of the door has fallen away. “You were going to fall.”

Jemma exhales. “I wasn’t going into the room.”

Daisy shrugs. “It looked like you were.”

Jemma is about to protest again, but she’s not sure that she believes the words herself. Her foot is precariously close to the edge of hole and she can still feel some small, reptilian part of her brain straining with curiosity.

“Thanks.” It seems like the safer thing to say, especially since Daisy’s fingers are still against her skin and she can smell her shampoo over the smell of the damp rot that pervades the house.

Daisy smiles at her and Jemma figures that she’s going to hell for thinking about things like Daisy’s smile when she’s standing outside the room where children were murdered.

“Ready to go? It’s too hard to see anything…we’re going to have to come back with better equipment if we want to get the night shots,” Daisy says.

“Oh, good, we get to come back,” Jemma mumbles, allowing herself to be lead back down the hallway and toward the door.

Mack and Fitz are already waiting outside and everyone seems to breathe a collective sigh of relief they’re out of the house and back on solid ground. “Okay, I don’t believe in ghosts,” Fitz says, “but that was creepy.”

Mack shakes his head. “How can you not believe in ghosts? Especially after being in there?”

They start bickering about the scientific possibility of ghosts and the afterlife as they lead the way through the woods, flashlights bouncing in front of them. Jemma walks beside Daisy, unable to keep from constantly looking over her shoulder as the house disappears behind them. There’s a weird prickling on the back of her neck that makes her not want to turn her back on the house.

“Well, that was exciting,” Daisy says, pulling Jemma’s attention reluctantly away from the house.

“Yes, the perfect way to spend a Saturday night,” Jemma says dryly.

Once again, Daisy is smiling at her. “Thanks for coming.”

Jemma makes a noncommittal noise but she’s pretty sure that she can’t hide the smile on her face.

~ ~ ~

A few days later, Daisy is sprawled across her bed, messing around on her computer while Jemma sits at Daisy’s messy desk, trying to take notes for one of her finals. “Want to see the footage from the other night?”

It’s the first time they’ve spoken in nearly an hour, lost in the comfortable silence of being immersed in their separate tasks.

Jemma looks up. “I thought it was too dark.” Still, she gets up, sitting next to Daisy when she scooches over to make room.

Daisy shrugs. “Some of it turned out okay. Mack is still going to get some better lights from the film department so we should be good to try again this weekend.”

Jemma makes a face before she can stop herself and Daisy smirks. “You really don’t like this true crime stuff, do you?”

“Is it that obvious?”

Daisy looks at her, her face suddenly serious. “So why did you come?”

Jemma can feel the tips of her ears turning pink. “I guess I wanted to…help you.” It sounds better than admitting that she wanted to spend time with Daisy.

And a lot more rational, too, because Jemma figures that most people don’t hang out by going to murder sites.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Daisy says, not unkindly.

“I know but…” Jemma can feel the words coming out of her mouth anyway, unbidden. “It seemed like a good way to spend time together.”

At least Daisy doesn’t look at her like she’s gone crazy. “We spend time together.”

“I know.” Jemma can definitely feel the heat from the tips of her ears spreading down the back of her neck. “I just…I like being around you.”

Their knees are pressed together, the laptop forgotten on the bed. It takes almost no effort for their lips to brush together, tentative and testing, and Jemma isn’t sure which one of them pushes closer, deepening the kiss.

Daisy is breathless when she pulls away, already grinning. “I mean, I like being around you too,” she says. “I really think we should do that more often.”

“The kissing or the hanging out?” Jemma smirks, her lips tasting like Daisy.

“Both.” Daisy kisses her again, pulling Jemma close to her. “You could have just done this instead of going to the creepy murder house.”

“I didn’t know this was an option,” Jemma admits. “Though…I guess that means I don’t have to go back to the creepy murder house.”

Daisy lifts her eyebrows. “No, you’re going back. I need you to help hold the lights.”

Jemma’s protests are cut off by another kiss, and the another, and another…enough to make Jemma forget all about arguing with Daisy in the first place. It just doesn’t seem all that important, all of the sudden.

[queen-scribbles]

Time Well Spent

For @pillarspromptsweekly: Afterword. I kinda stretched it a little, since most of my Watchers got endings to everything I’m pretty happy to leave alone. (There’s always Derrin, but I’ve written that fix-it fic before) So this is me “fixing” the fact that the Watcher always stays in Caed Nua at the end. (Really I just wanted an excuse to write Adi and Kana buddyfic /cough)

Ah-CHOO! It was a big sneeze for a tiny person, and the acoustics of the stone chamber made it echo even louder. Adela sniffled and wiped her nose on her sleeve.

“Sorry,” she said sheepishly, picking up the lantern she’d dropped. “Gods, it’s dusty in here.”

Kana’s chuckle echoed much lower than her sneeze had. “Adi, it’s a crypt. No one’s been down here for six or seven hundred years at least. I’d be more surprised if it wasn’t dusty.”

“That would portend some advancement in burial procedures we’ve not yet encountered,” she agreed with a laugh. “I’ve never met a culture that knew how to completely seal a crypt. Coffins and caskets, yes; crypts, no.” She ran her finger through the dust on the wall, revealing a thin line of the colors painted underneath. “Most kith are more worried about grave robbers than a little dust...”

“Which accounts for all the traps,” he muttered, absently rubbing one shoulder.

“I told you to wait,” Adela said fondly. “You’re lucky your reflexes have gotten better and I can yell louder than one would think.”

Kana nodded acknowledgement. “That I am. I’ll be more careful in the future.”

“No, you, won’t,” she laughed. “I’ve heard that promise three times in the span of six months. You forget about it every time you get excited about something.”

He wiped the dust off a larger section of the wall. “I do try. But some of the things we’ve found since you joined me... They’re so fantastic I can’t help but get excited.”

“I know. And I’d never ask you to change. I will, however, tease occasionally.” Adela winked at him before studying the door they needed to get through. “And this is heaps more fun than being Roadwarden. I just don’t wanna watch my best friend die or get hurt ‘cause he was too caught up to properly check for traps.”

She squinted at the characters carved into the door frame. They looked almost familiar, as if from something studied long ago and half forgotten. With a little more concentration, she realized that was exactly what they were. But that only brought more questions. Chiefly, why the blazes there was a dead Ixamitl dialect in a crypt on an island so small it wasn’t even on the map.

But mysteries like this was exactly why Adela had jumped to accept when Kana invited her along on his explorations once he’d made his report to the lore college. She didn’t have anything against being Lady of Caed Nua, but this was type of puzzle she liked to solve. Not how to fund restorations without raising taxes, or work out trade disputes between two groups with equally low opinions of orlans, and thus her.

“Adi?” Kana prompted, dragging her from her reverie.

“Sorry. This is Katl, a dead language, and one I’m rusty on, so it’s taking longer to translate.” She brushed her fingers over the stone, nails catching briefly on the carven words. “This is the way we want, but it has the typical ‘only the worthy’ rhetoric, so...”

“Take it slow?” he finished with a meaningful look. “Look out for traps?”

“Exactly.” Adela grabbed the pulley chain next to the door and hauled on it. Even digging in her heels, it barely moved.

Kana chuckled and reached one big hand over her shoulder to wrap around the handle. It opened easily for him, with the rough grinding of ancient stone they’d become all too accustomed to over the past several months. “There we go.”

“Thanks.” Shaking out stiff fingers, she peered suspiciously down the hall they’d revealed. “Y’know, for a crypt built in an overwhelmingly aumaua region, that looks awfully small.” She looked up at Kana. “Are you gonna fit?”

He took a moment to examine the passage. “I may have to duck in a couple spots, but I believe so.”

“I’m more worried about traps,” Adela said pointedly. “If you don’t have much--if any--extra room, Wael forbid we set anything off. You wouldn’t be able to dodge.”

“Well, then I’ll just have to keep a sharp eye out, won’t I?” Kana said with a reassuring smile. “I’m as curious about this place as you are, Adi. I’ll not be turned back by close quarters.”

Part of her wanted to protest further, but Adela bit her tongue. Risky as it might have been in the close confines of the crypt, it made sense for Kana to go first. He’d always had a better eyes for picking out traps than she did. (Didn’t stop him from triggering them if he was sufficiently distracted by some tantalizing discovery)

So she fell in step behind him and drank in the beautiful--if faded--frescoes that decorated the walls. She was so lost in that she almost missed the faint shink as Kana’s shoulder grazed the wall despite his best efforts. At first, nothing seemed to have happened. Then she noticed some of the floor tiles, scattered in a seemingly-random order, had sunk fractionally further in their settings. Including the one she was standing on.

Oh, no. Adela tensed. Something clicked in the wall and she flung herself forward, rolling past Kana as the tile dropped away completely. “Wael’s eyes, whoever built this crypt really didn’t want aumaua getting in.”

“They picked a bad location for a grave they didn’t want my people visiting,” Kana said with a wry chuckle. “Are you alright?”

She nodded and twirled the end of her braid. “Is this worth it, Kana? I’m just worried you’re going to wind up with more than a bruised shoulder if we keep going...”

“I appreciate your concern, Adi, but we’re almost there.” He gestured at the doorway ahead, flanked by statues indicative of the crypt’s central chamber. “We came looking for something, I’d much rather find it. And we have some questions that need answers, do we not?”

She was rather desperately curious why there was a crypt with Katl inscriptions two days’ sail from Rauatai. “Alright, you have a point. Just be careful, yeah? This hallway turned into a minefield of trigger tiles when you bumped the wall just now.”

Kana glanced at the remaining distance and frowned. “It looks the same to me...”

“Must be ‘cause you’re so tall,” Adela teased. “You can’t see the difference from up there. I’ll have to tell you which ones are safe to step on, then. Follow me.”

Now she took the position of guide, stepping--and occasionally hopping--from one safe tile to the next. Kana followed behind her, laughing that this reminded him of some of the Engwithan ruins they’d explored more than any other culture.

“One more thing to add to the mystery of this place,” Adela rejoined with a chuckle. “Dead Ixamitl language, built near Rauatai but practically designed to keep aumaua out... let’s toss elements of Engwithan design into the pot as well. Why not? It makes as much sense as everything else here.” She paused by the dark doorway, chewing her lip in thought. “Unless... what if our contradictory dead friend was Leaden Key?” Adela curled the tail of her braid around her thumb as she tested the theory. “We know they were... widespread, to vastly understate things, which explains the Katl. That they were missionary, which explains why this kith is here. They were Engwithan, giving the mixed design styles. And they’re blazing secretive, which explains why this place is not designed to accommodate the locals. But they clearly wanted access to what’s in here--hopefully the writings we’re after--hence there being a way around all the traps for kith who know what to do.” She snapped her fingers. “Those who are worthy to find it, as in, other Leaden Key members.”

Kana looked thoughtful, trying to peer through the darkness of the room ahead. “A sound theory, my friend. But if it was of such import, why does this place look to have been abandoned for several hundred years?”

Adela shrugged. “Whoever was responsible for passing down the location died unexpectedly. Or they decided the writings or whatever’s here were no longer important, so they just sealed it up. But with the number of traps in this place, it must’ve been really important.” She glanced at him slyly. “Perhaps the sort of knowledge someone dogged enough to hunt down the Tanvii ora Toa would look for?”

Kana laughed and shook his head. “Dogged is a kind way to put it, Adi. It’s a sound theory, though, far as I can tell. I suppose you appreciate the irony of being unable to avoid the Leaden Key if you’re correct?”

Adela nodded. “That and us finding something that might be ancient Key activity when Aloth’s busy hunting down the more modern branches.” She sighed. “I wish the records pointing this way had been just a little more clear. Knowing what we’re walking into would be nice.”

“It would, but we can manage,” Kana said encouragingly. He gestured toward the doorway. “Shall we?”

Adela gave her braid one last tug and scanned the doorway for any sign of traps. She didn’t see anything. “Might as well.”

The two entered the central chamber cautiously, lanterns held high. Even with the illumination, they couldn’t see more than a fraction of the huge room. Unlike the hallways and entry chamber, the walls here were plain. Not a fresco or inscription in sight.

“Huh.” Adela chewed her lower lip in thought as she examined what she could see. Kana followed as she walked closer to the sealed sarcophagus on the far side of the room, both keeping an eye out for things that might set off traps. 

When they reached the sarcophagus, it was plain save a short inscription in Katl along the rim facing the door: Given to the gods and their service.

Adela ran her fingers over the words as she murmured the translation for Kana. He pursed his lips in thought and surveyed the room thoughtfully once more.

“Sadly lacking in iconography if this is truly the final resting place for one of their own,” he commented.

She shrugged. “They are all about secrecy. And maybe they figure everything out there”--a gesture back the way they’d come--”was sufficient.”

Kana chuckled. “Perhaps. What next?”

“Since there’s no writing or decoration on the walls, I’m pretty sure there aren’t any secret compartments...” Adela said under her breath, more thinking out loud then talking to him. She looked at the sarcophagus, eyes narrowing. “Which means the writing we’re after, if it’s here, is probably in with our nameless dead friend.” She tentatively rested one hand against the stone. No enchantments or traps that she could sense. “Help me open it.”

Kana shot her a skeptical look. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

“C’mon, Kana,” she wheedled, flashing him a wide smile. “It’s just a box. No harm ever ever came from opening a box.”

He made a noise of not-quite-disagreement and raised an eyebrow. “I seem to recall hearing that one before, shortly preceding a battle with several walking skeletons.”

“That only happened once,” Adela protested, rolling her eyes. “And I hadn’t checked that tomb for enchantments. This one I did.” She pushed against the stone lid, but her slight frame wasn’t even enough to make it rattle. “Come on, we’ve made it this for and we’re so close.”

“If you’re right,” Kana pointed out, then shook his head. “Ondra’s teeth, you know how to use a man’s curiosity against him...” He smiled fondly. “Though I suppose I did know what I was getting myself into when I invited you to join me. Very well, then.”

He swung his pack down from his shoulder to the floor, produced a prybar, and in short order had created enough of a gap they could slide aside the sarcophagus lid. Adela barely had time to register the partitioned inside--one compartment holding the occupants’ bones, the other a set of beautifully preserved scrolls--before a shimmering bluish-white spirit rose between her and Kana and their prize. It paused a moment, as if to get its bearings, before deigning to notice its company.

When it did, Adela felt an icy wave of suspicion radiate out from the spectral form as it spoke imperiously. “You stand before the Keeper of the Book. State your name and purpose.”

Caught off-guard by its presence and manner both, all she managed was a confused, “Huh?”

It was clearly not the answer the spirit had sought. It let out an angry screech and dove toward her. Adela yelped and batted it away with her grimoire.

Knew there was a reason I brought that, she thought with a grim smile as she dropped her lantern to pull out her sceptre.

It was, unsurprisingly, not much of a fight. There were two of them to the one spirit, and they’d been fighting together long enough to make quite a deadly pair when they needed to. Sure, by the end of their scrap Adela’s hair was singed and Kana had a lightning burn along his forearm from the one nasty spell it managed to cast, but they’d beaten the spirit back to a more... charitable disposition.

It still bore an air of supremely ruffled feathers as it resumed its position between them and the sarcophagus, but there was trace more respect in its voice. “Tell me of your labors.”

That’s when it clicked--even though it skipped a question--and Adela couldn’t stop herself from slapping one hand to her face and letting out a heavy sigh. I’m. An. Idiot. It had been her damned theory and she hadn’t connected those dots.  “To see that the craft of kith and wilder does not disturb what bones the gods have buried,” she replied.

The spirit flickered approvingly. “And how is your oath guarded?”

“It is sealed by the Leaden Key.” So she’d been right. Galawain’s beard, why couldn’t she get away from these people?

Another approving flicker as the spirit swayed to the side. “And why have you come here, young acolyte?”

“I seek the centuries-guarded knowledge,” Adela said, reaching back to grab the side of Kana’s hand and squeeze as he started to interject. Shhh. “I wish to share in the knowledge and protect it.” By taking it away from here.

The spirit flickered a few more times as it deliberated, then bobbed in assent.  “Very well, child. You are worthy to share my knowledge. Treat it with the respect it deserves.”

“I will,” she promised. She waited for the spirit to dissipate before approaching the sarcophagus. Now with time to look, she could see the skeleton that occupied most of the space. It looked to be either a tall elf or short folk from the stature. Any clothing they’d been wearing had long since turned to dust, leaving only the jewelry at hands and neck to show their importance.

Satisfied on that score, Adela turned to the scrolls. Dark green seals on all of them gave off a faint aura of magic, explaining how they were still in such good condition after centuries. She ran a finger along the one on top and felt the preservation spell shiver at her touch. Such a shame most enchantment methods like this have been lost...

“Adi.” Kana nudged her shoulder. When she glanced over, he was holding out one of the extra shoulder bags they brought on expeditions for exactly this purpose. 

“Oh, thank you.” She eyed the number of scrolls. “If I hold the bag, can you put them in? I don’t wanna drop any.”

He chuckled and handed it over. “Of course.”

In short order, the two of them had all the scrolls--fourteen, total--in the bag, which Adela shouldered. (It was only fair; Kana was carrying everything else, plus he’d gotten the worst of the fight.)

“Ready to be on our way?” Kana asked, already turning toward the exit. His arm probably hurt like the blazes, Adela mused. She couldn’t blame him for being in a hurry. But just as she was about to agree and lead the way back up that infernal hallway, a flash of pink caught her eye inside the sarcophagus.

“One second,” she said instead. Upon closer inspection, it was a ring on the skeleton’s little finger; silver band with a round, inset pink gem. She briefly battled the little voice screaming grave robber! before giving in to temptation and scooping up the ring.

The crypt didn’t collapse on their heads, and no angry spirits rose to call her a thief, so she took that as a sign she was safe. It’s my favorite color, I’ll appreciate it more than a skeleton can, it’s not like I’m planning to sell it....

Rolling her eyes at the rambling justifications, Adela turned back to Kana and smiled brightly as she slipped the ring on her thumb. “Now I’m ready.” She nodded toward his arm. “Let’s get back to the ship so you can get patched up.”

“I would appreciate that, yes,” Kana said with a sheepish smile. “Hopefully the way out will go more smoothly than the way in, since we know where all the dangers lie.” 

“Hopefully,” Adela agreed with a laugh.

It did. The trapped hallway was still tricky to navigate, but she had a good memory and they made it out without triggering anything. After that, it was a short walk back to the beach and an uneventful ride out to the Seeker with a waiting crewman.

“Don’t start without me,” Kana said, tone teasing but eyes serious as he nodded toward the scrolls before heading down to see the ship’s doctor.

“Cross my heart,” Adela promised and headed to his cabin to wait. It was hard--she was so very curious--but Kana had put just as much time and effort into finding the scrolls. It was only fair they read them together. So she waited, all but vibrating with excitement as she perched on the edge of Kana’s bunk, until he showed up. “All taken care of?”

Kana nodded. “It wasn’t as bad as it looked.” He ran his fingers over the bandages. “Carinna said it should be fine, so long as I don’t try to do too much the next few days.”

“I don’t think she has anything to worry about.” Adela grinned and handed him a scroll. “We have a lot of reading to do.”

He laughed and carefully broke the seal. “Indeed we do. Let’s get started on that, shall we?”

So they did. And both considered the next several days time well spent.