#A raven among crows | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

4mrplumi · 3 months ago

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( crow choir. entry two) ── ravens hiding in a shoe ( m.s | prev/next )

IMPORTANT author’s note at the end.

note: this entry is entirely re-written. you can read the first, now “non-canon” version here. events there do not apply to the current story.

crashed out on the couch with some abysmally boring show on the tv and the filthy humidity of your apartment is exactly how you expected to spend the week. your phone’s acting all funky while you scroll through a net-tabloid about oliver green with a plastic pen in your mouth, the cracked blue paint on it crumbling onto your lips.

you’ve long since tuned out the annoying buzz from the faulty lights in the corridor, the sound of them breaking through your door like the thieves that take cover at your place often, and you have to set your overheating phone down for a moment before you get up and wipe a hand against your face.

shortly after turning nineteen, you’d moved out with less than a word to anyone, figuring they’d piece together your whereabouts if they really needed to. and you doubt they do, since you’ve been living in genuine, peaceful, boring simplicity for a few months now. as peaceful and boring as it gets in gotham anyway.

you don’t have many friends, have a side job at a corner-store that gets robbed habitually on tuesdays and fridays, and have to shoo away loud kids playing at the front like an old man. it’s absurdly mundane, and you can’t help but calm down from your raucous everyday doings.

you’re finding peace in the silent shadows that you used to fear as a little kid, basking in them to make up for the lack of sun in the city. the more you grow older, the more you change. it’s expected of course, but it must be odd to not have anything really stopping you from ever-continuous change. some kids had parents doting over them turning into teenagers, teasing mood swings and scolding more often. some parents teared up when their kid turned old enough to be called an adult, feeling eighteen years slip through their fingers like sand. you don’t have a mother to wipe your tears or a father who wants to pat you on the back for a job well done.

growing up in the wayne manor is an experience envisioned as boundless privilege, written about in absurd fictions by wealth-worshipping teenagers from other cities, and scorned by the angrier lot of the unfortunate here in gotham. and you suppose it is. it is a privilege, and much different from the life you’d been living before. you guess you’ve payed your due for living so selfishly in that luxury by being ignored all your time there. you know your siblings also pay for that privilege, in more difficult, harsher ways, with fists and feet and rods and ropes.

changing, changing, changing. you think that for now, you’ve stopped changing, thinking back to the numerous times your mentality morphed to your surroundings like an asocial chameleon. when you were very young, freshly twelve and thrown into a house with your real father and a permanent family, you hated them. detested them even. you’d scowl and hiss at any glance from a brother, any dignitary waving at you at a gala and even the greenhouse plants that withered upon your arrival in dismay. you hated your fathers ploys at power and sauntering smiles, the skin with which he shook official hands and the pearly teeth with which he grinned. you hated richard’s comforting nod, and the way tim talked to guests, the way alfred always knew and the way bruce never did.

but you softened. you matured, is that the word? you saw them in a warmer light after hearing a girl squabble and wail at her patient father at the park and thought with a surging need, you wanted that too. so you smoothened out your frayed ends, stitched together competency. it would be hard to raise yourself to your brothers’ level, but you could try. among the chaos of being bruce wayne, being batman, being father and being vigilante, you’d resolved to be a beacon of peace for them.

but what beacon could you have hoped to be, if your light was so dull?

they didn’t ignore you, no. your father’s eyes glazed over you, like the block of your body was an insignificant dot among many others. like you were a clear champagne glass, like the ones served at his galas, to be nursed all throughout the event, but never indulged. you’re lucky others loosen themselves at drinks though, because you’d manage to craft quite a respectable social image among his associates and guests. grayson junior, an old lady draped in large, large pearls, had laughed, a charming little thing with only half his enthusiasm. a washed out, non-temperamental, unfeelingly warm version of your eldest brother. a stain of what he was, and a poor attempt at following his example.

but you twitched smiles through backhanded compliments about your inheritance in the family, the ushering prods at you to speak to your father about a deal (you’d never even dream to) and various vain offences made a speciality by gotham’s elite class. you’d endured all of that with half the mind to sock those prudish grins right off, so that your father would recognise your discipline and nod at you. he never even looked.

and after attempts after attempts after attempts at harbouring their favour, to grasp onto this life and make the best of it, never let go, you destroyed the little smudge of any real anger you ever had. you were reduced to a plain slate, an unused blackboard, a project in the making. you had no end goal, however, no final version. ever-changing.

you began to resent them, once more. miserably sulking over “how could they?”s and then, “how dare they!”s. you took to meaner methods of nagging for their attention. always being at the scene of some altercation at school, having prodded or initiated a fight between people was just a perfect look. you could justify any slight guilt at seeing bleeding lips curved into bruised scowls directed to you by thinking, your friends were much worse! so there’s really nothing wrong. those guys are odd anyway, they had it coming. but even that changes, and you once again erode to nonchalance.

your friends, however, do not change, redirecting their focus from messing around at school to sneaking into bars and clubs with comically fake ids, slipping into petty crime and street-fighting, racking up tickets on their profiles like medals. but you didn’t leave them, no, you were attached. forget rose-tinted glasses, yours were bright, hot, pink, finding a way to justify just about every brawl they stuck up, every man they mugged and every shot they downed while being well under the right age to. but gotham’s an odd place, it’s not too absurd to see a bunch of scrappy fifteen year olds running about with forks and foxes in their hair.

and you stayed this way, morbidly going through long, lonely days of watching your siblings live a life entirely parallel to yours. an ache that carved down from your chest and across the first bones of your ribs became a permanent one, and your throat would sting far too often to be considered normal. you’d kick and scream and fight with anyone you could, breaking into gushing tears the second they looked away. always conflicted and always changing, it messed with you, especially with no one to tell.

your family would be out at night, fighting the very same thugs that your friends are turning to become, all while you languished through the day counting bills and reading licenses off the wallets they pocket. after particularly violent exchanges, you couldn’t even look at the warmth that radiated off of bruce’s hand on damian’s shoulder, dick’s grin at tim or cassandra’s strange card game with duke. you couldn’t want to be a part of them, because you knew that maybe, you never would be.

yes, they have bigger problems. and yes, you blend perfectly into the blur of all the hooded and masked faces of gotham, and yes, you never do any real harm. but you can’t imagine being caught, returning to such unpleasant ways of life despite being given a hand at the one offered to you on a gold-plated platter. guilt and pride fought with their fists in your head, the second beaming at the idea of their surprise and notice if you ever made a mark, and the first ashamed at the thought of it at all. but you couldn’t live this life.

so when it got too heavy, you made the quick decision to leave. you’ve been changing so much, doing so much. moving out of the manor with all the necessary legal requirements was the tamest of them. you made all the proper requirements, choosing to call alfred after you moved out with just the slightest hesitance, worrying that he’d snitch you out in a way that doesn’t seem right. doesn’t justify your decisions.

and it’s after your budding malevolence for the lame-vigilantism stream of gotham’s legality is relocated from the estate’s concrete, and into the plywood of your apartment, can you really feel satisfied with yourself. when you hide a scrambling girl with a gun in her sleeve from the officer that knock on your door a minute later, can you feel satisfied.

admittedly, it is petty to be harbouring the same small-time criminals your family tries to turn over, but who cares? your friends are among the lot, those who couldn’t escape gotham’s gravity and leave, coming through your door with botched noses and empty barrels, and you wouldn’t turn them over. especially not to people who turned you away. there’s an ebb of sadness, a doubt that asks if you could have turned out different, and you squash it with the joy you get at seeing the vexed silhouettes of the caped crusaders perched on terraces from your window.

and with a tremendous stretch and a yawn, you pull yourself and your stiff joints out of thought, going to open the main door after a squealing notification from a regular visitor asking you to open the door. the people behind the door change, but at least they always come back.

it was troubling to say the least, when alfred informed bruce of (name)’s relocation. of course, he’d expected at least a little knowledge of it from the kid themselves, but didn’t dwell much on that. according to his accounts and alfred’s motionings, (name) was well and enough the age to own an apartment, own it legally and without trouble, and sludge through the days just fine, since they’d speak regularly with alfred.

he does bristle at your unsaved contact number, noting it from alfred and resolving to call you later. he does however send it to the kids as well, asking them to check in on you incase they haven’t recently. he doesn’t know if they met up with you after you left.

right now, he’s more focused on a little branched out gang that the commissioner, gordon, was troubled with. the week had been relatively quiet, spending patrol through stopping little crimes and such. offering a little assistance wouldn't take up any time, and was a productive way to spend little time too, according to him.

he went through witness files, the crimes all regular, as regular as they get. robberies, violent fights, keying cars (bruce purses his lips at the immaturity) and more. one case however, sticks out. the members of the gang, group even, considering their lower than low presence in the crime world all seemed to disappear right after making turns outside an apartment owned by an elderly estate manager. bruce deduced that it must be their hideout, but couldn’t really risk chasing them in, since the building was well occupied by civilians too and it’d be difficult to figure out their exact residence without prior investigation. not to mention, a little background check assured him that the man running the place was not affiliated with the people gordon was motioning at, other than the fact he presumably (and unknowingly) was housing them.

but what caught his eye was the disappearance of a girl near the same place. a profile by another victim of the gang’s mugging described her as somewhere around twenty years old, or just an exceptionally old looking teenager. according to the poorly kept case files one of GCPD interns, she was not identified among the regulars, and did not leave the building like the rest of them.

the whole thing was very mundane, low-profile, and her disappearance could also be swept away as just a reconsideration of career choices on her behalf. a new member, who decided quickly she didn’t want to be a part of it all. of course, that’s rarely ever the case in gotham, and could very well set a stage for a suspected murder, kidnapping.

first things first, simply a checkout of the place should be enough to confirm any further decisions that he’d tell gordon to carry through. in the meantime, he ought to check in with the league, the asylum, crime alley and nightwing. bruce can be described as paranoid, even if very few people can say it to his face.

he prefers being prepared. if not the strongest or the fastest, he can be the most prepared. maybe, he was prepared for this too.

“(name),” tim sighed, “won’t answer my message.”

bruce had put him to reaching out to his older sibling, over a number he’d spent a few minutes memorising before texting. dick, present at the time, insisted he called, but quit after getting a look.

he leaned over the back of the couch to see, staring into the chat. “let me see,” he prodded, “maybe you’re being too blunt,” tim raised an eyebrow at him, “not everyone can be as persuasive as me, you know”.

tim drake - 21:32

where are you

(name) - 21:43

tim

you moved out right

where’s your address?

(name)

why are you asking?

tim

can’t i?

dick cringed at the screen, exasperated as he asked “really? right in the face like that?”. tim just rolled his eyes, frustrated, a little embarrassed. “just scroll.”

tim - 21:45

sorry

where are you

(name) - 21:56

dude

why do you want 2 know.

tim

bruce wants to know

read

(name)??

read

“very suspicious,” dick proclaimed, poking his shoulder, “i can’t imagine why they wouldn’t tell you. so surprising.” tim frowned, taking his phone back and frowning “look, i tried didn’t i? but if they’re not responding, i’ll have to tell bruce,” he ran a hand through his hair, “i don’t think he’d be much less conspicuous about (name) not telling us their address.”

dick nodded. when he first moved to bludhaven, he’d wanted a start as his own man, without the help of the batman or bruce. maybe (name) wanted the same? tim shouldn’t have said bruce wanted to know, he thinks, could’ve played it off as a “i want to visit". he suggests the thought, only be faced with an awkward smile on tim’s face.

“i don’t know if that’d work,” a short reply, “me and (name) never really talked much. it’d be strange to just butt in like that.”

dick hummed, resting his chin on the couch’s head in thought while he spoke “me and (name) have… talked a bit. send me their number, i could ask,” he elbowed tim’s head gently, joking, “one-up you.”

“you don’t have (name)’s number?”

…

“never had the chance to get it.”

your thumb grows numb from pausing at an awkward position on your phone. stuck on the same chat for about six minutes. two new numbers messaging you on the same day, both from your brothers. you’d assumed it was a new phone from one of the girls, but the first was from tim’s saved contact, his personal one. of course, since you’d read the message, you had to respond, sending in an aloof question mark to dismiss him.

when the second one, an unsaved contact, messaged you with a whole lot of exclamation points after a waving emoji, you’d assumed it was a rebooted number of one of your guys. but no, of all people, it was richard grayson, your older brother. you weren’t daft when he sent in a message asking the exact same thing, your address, saying he “wanted to visit”.

did he take you for an idiot? you know it’s bruce who wanted to know, as stated so bluntly by your little brother. even if he did want to visit, you’d go five floors down hell before letting him come over. a thumbs-down reaction and shutting your phone off did what you wanted it to, slamming a figurative door in his face.

but what makes your whole body go numb and buzzing is when your bell rings. it’s out of habit of course, not a lot of people ring the door unless it’s the landlord or a visitor’s family member, with prior notification first. it could be just one of them, if it wasn’t nine in the evening. the only people who clocked in at this time were your friends, and they never rang the bell.

you peek through the keyhole, and your breath stills. it’s then when you back up from the door, cursing as an unnamed objecy clatters to the floor and miraculously, doesn’t break. you can hear the wooden plank of the floor outside tense, and you just know the person outside heard it. you can’t play off a “no one’s home” game this time, and considering who’s behind the door, you don’t assume she’ll leave peacefully.

you have to gather yourself, level your breathing, skim through quick backups depending on whether she’s looking for (name), her sibling, or (name) a crime affiliate. it’s been a minute, and you quell your nervousness, wiping your lips after biting them so hard, to open the door.

cassandra cain looks surprised, and her narrowing eyes make you nervous, even as you lean against the doorway. you pray she doesn’t read through that, giving her the blankest look you can, the same one you give to the neighbours when they come to complain about the noise.

silence. you speak up first.

“cass… andra,” you add, a slight hesitancy when you remember yourself, “hi?”

she tilts her head at you staring up with a look that could be described as innocent, if her lip didn’t unconsciously twitch when you glanced away for a second. gosh, even after having knowledge of her intellect, you’re still messing up. get a hold of yourself.

she drops her arms from where they were crossed, giving you a knowing look. yes, cassandra, i’m here, you want to say after deciphering that glare with a little trouble, holding it back. what’s she here for? you didn’t give anyone even an inkling of your whereabouts. did alfred snitch? but you never told him either. did bruce figure it out? no, you think morosely, you don’t think he’d do all that.

you try to play it off, a hand to your head, staring down with just the slightest feigned frustration, hoping she takes the hint. “look kid,” you say, voice carefully dry, “i’ve got shit to do, you need something?”, with a seconds’ hesitation, a little demeaning comment slipping out of your mouth before you can stop it, habit, “or are you girl scouting for bruce?”

nice. great way to go. not only does she know that you’re purposefully avoiding him but also that you don’t want him to know. your sister is incredibly adamant to being loyal to him, worryingly so, and you know she won’t let it go. you’re no trained mind-reader like her, if you can call it that, but even your heart rate spikes at the subtle tensing in her jaw.

she points at your apartment, careful, slow. and you frown, obviously. no, she can't come in. she drops it, looking away.

silence stretches on before she exhales sharply through her nose, taking a step back. she’s leaving, you understand anxiously. you know she won’t listen to you if you ask, know she won’t answer any of your questions either, but you try anyway.

“going off to tell bruce are you?” she pauses, turning around to face you again. you’re put off, straining the rest of the sentence so it doesn’t sound odd. you want to say, beg, don’t tell him, you want to say, snarl, get out. instead you just draw your shoulders in and return inside, shutting the door. man, you messed up.

bruce is only momentarily distracted by tim and dick’s hushed talking, weary of what they’re up to, before quickly focusing back to the apartment layout he’s handed by the owner of the building, a mister ford, after requesting for it through a burner account. cassandra’s there too, dressed in gear to leave for patrol in a bit, getting a head start before bruce does the same. he’d sent her out to check the place out, maybe set sights on figures she could suspect to be a part of the trouble he was reviewing earlier, time-pass assignments to sludge through the dullness of the evening.

and she comes back with results, circling an east facing room on the third floor on the flat plans. he can’t help but notice a slight moment of hesitance before she does though, turning to bruce with her grimacing full-face cowl, a silent statement. he thinks about asking her, but decides against it. if she’s worried for their safety, thinks them to be innocent, or doesn’t want them caught, she must want it for some reason. he’ll make sure the GCPD knows after sending gordon's intern the file later, in hardcopy via an open window or softcopy through yet another burner account.

but it’s then when he catches a stray hiss from tim, a “just tell him later,” and pulls away from the screen for just a second. “tell me what?” a brief sombre octave to his voice, he knows it’s not wise to leave tim, of all people, hiding something. especially not moments before patrol.

the boy just shrugs, shaking his head, “nothing important,” he lies, “err… bludhaven stuff.” dick blanches, gesturing in a “what the hell?” manner and cassandra inclines her head. bruce sends in the file, before turning around with the slightest frown to his face. if you have something unimportant to say, the unsaid message floats through the room, say it now, before patrol.

before tim can though, dick gets to it first, a hand to his head in perplexed motion; “you know how you told us to check in on (name)?”.

bruce responds plainly, “i asked tim.” dick’s lip turns downwards just a hint as he lets his arm down, “i’m getting to that.”

“(name) didn’t respond to his,” dick jabbed a thumb in tim’s direction, “message, so i tried. won’t answer mine either.”

“so, you don’t know where they are?” bruce finishes for him, a hand yo his chin in thought, “it’s fine, tim, dick, i’ll see to it later. carry on with patrol, and if you have the chance to, look for robin and tell him to return to the cave.”

it’s funny to dick how easily he slips between proper names and aliases, even if the surroundings are occupied only by associates. paranoid, he thinks, uselessly so. cassandra clears her throat, causing everyone to turn to her, glance in her general direction since she's so well hidden.

she points at the screen, the file sent to a contact with the police department’s logo as its profile picture. her voice is soft, but holds a small, uneasy reluctance to it.

“(name) was here.”

oh.

oh?

INTERACTIONS, REBLOGS AND ASKS VV APPRECIATED!!

- woah. re-written entry?? whatever for?? i overestimated myself.. got carried away and derived way off my ideas.

i have plenty things to add and a hollow head full of things to talk about which ill eventually get onto depending on everything. don’t take my characteristics VERY seriously and dont shy away from feedback.

thank you for reading!

# taglist: @cxcilla @strwberryglass @c4xcocoa @yaoizee @secretsandwriting @sirenetheblogger @charlenexoxo1 @mirabilis-polaris @jsprien213 @tfimherewhy @yuyuzi-ling @crazycaoticsimp @m0na-lis4 @trashlanternfish360 @thehammerx4 @ninihrtss @kaitense1

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wings-of-ink · 1 month ago

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Progress and Updates!

Hello my dears! I hope you are all doing well. I wanted to just make a wee post with some info on where Chapter 6 stands currently as well as some other bits of GOOD news and a couple fun things for subscribers in April. (Little sneak peak below too!)

Chapter 6 is sitting at 52k words! And there's...uh, a ways to go yet. I have begun the third segment which is probably going to be the largest. It's the bit with the most coding as well. Everything is outlined and planned, and I just need the time and energy to bring it to life.

Though Chapter 6 is gonna be a biggun, Chapter 7 will be more streamlined story (a bit like how Chapter 4 was). So, I think it will be quicker to write over all. I would love to release it soon after Chapter 6, but I'm not sure how plausible that will be. There's still too much in the air yet, but that's my goal.

The GOOD NEWS is - I'm working with a character artist! More details will follow later, but I'm currently compiling references and then we'll get to business, lol. I'm very excited for this, but I feel like I am rubbish and finding adequate references, so it's a learning experience for me.

Also a learning experience for me has been this whole year so far. I do apologize for not being as present on Tumblr as I was in the past and that my asks are still a bit restricted, but I'm mitigating a lot these days between myself and my partner. Chief among these is mental and physical health, and making a balance in life to keep us going during the current state of things. Just know that I am still kicking around here and I do check my inbox and respond whenever I can to general questions. I am still learning how to balance having subscribers as well. A lot of this comes down to my energy levels which have not bounced back much since winter.

Anyway, on to more fun things...if you are interested in Ko-fi or Patreon for April, on the 15th, three extras will available. Our focus this month was on our beloved fathers with a bonus for Oswin. The "Crow" Tier will feature some cute highlights from Kip and Dov getting accustomed to life as parents. The "Raven" Tier will feature 1 extra with the fathers that contains spicy content. This story will also be posted without the spice in case you just want to read a little bit about their romance (and not walk away scarred for life). If the daddy spice is not for you, I am also posting a short and spicy extra for Oswin (solo).

Voting will begin soon to determine May's content for both tiers!

In the meantime, here's a little sample of Ch 6:

You look to Oswin thinking he will try to break up this contest, but to your shock, he is trying not to laugh. His cheeks are puffed as he holds it in. Aster just glares back. "How clever." "You're welcome," Duri says with a big smile. "Nothing wrong with a pet name." Oswin nods. "I agree, it's endearing." You look at Oswin as he remains hunched over his meal. You tried to call him Yari when you were kids because he always shortened your name to Ravi… [[You want to give him a pet name.]] [[His name works just fine.]]

Can anyone guess what Duri decided to "affectionately" call Aster? ^_^

#god cursed if #twine if #if wip #twine wip #gc ro oswin #gc if parents

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blightedcrow · 4 months ago

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The type of belly-deep laugh you'd hear from the opposite side of the building at a bar/social event that's just really warm and deep. The kind you know if you're within arm's distance, you will be held onto with a hand on your shoulder while he's nearly lost his balance from his own laugh, tbh

A little nasally, light, the type of laugh that you can tell he's trying to hold back with a hand over his mouth. He'd be the type to end his laughter as quickly as it came and then deny he ever laughed at all FHJDKS "No, you're hearing things, that wasn't me." You suck at lying!!

Tumblr users, friends, dwellers of the dash, please rb and tell me all about how your Rook laughs. Is it quiet and controlled? A full body howl? An Infectious burst of joy? I need to know.

#ivy debut you havent seen this rook just yet and thats just cuz. well. i havent touched him much LMAO #crowsrook #i just realized too i took both of these screenshots from the same cutscene LMAO whoops. unintentional #🐲: Ivy Mercar #🐦‍⬛: Raven Among Crows

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creamtese · 9 months ago

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Demons and Stigmas

I made a reddit post about this, and thought I should post it on tumblr too for easier reading!

I wanted to make a post about all the stigmas and demons that we know so far. The names are all anagrams of Ars Goetia demons, and some of them have similar powers to the demon or have potential motives to summon said demon. With that, we can possibly predict what some of the stigmas do that we only have a name for, as well as what might have been their motivation for summoning their demon.

I've taken some information from the Ars Goetia wikipedia page, and bolded some things that I thought are noteworthy.

Frostheim

Kamurai Jin, Bianerus.

Bianerus is an anagram of Naberius

Jin can command people to do as he says with his stigma

The demon Naberius (also Naberus, Nebiros and Cerberus, Cerbere) was first mentioned by Johann Weyer in 1583. He is supposedly the most valiant Marquis of Hell, and has nineteen legions of demons under his command. He makes men cunning in all arts, but especially in rhetoric, speaking with a hoarse voice. He also restores lost dignities and honors, although to Johann Weyer he procures the loss of them. Naberius appears as a three-headed dog or a raven. He has a raucous voice but presents himself as eloquent and amiable. He teaches the art of gracious living. He is depicted as a crow or a black crane. Concerning his name, it is unclear if there is an association with the Greek Cerberus. It is said that in 1583, Johann Weyer considers both of them to be the same demon.

Ishibashi Tohma, Argeas.

Argeas is an anagram of Agares

Tohma's stigma lets him send vibrations long distance.

Agares (or Agreas), ruling the eastern zone of Hell, and being served by 31 legions of demons. He can make runaways come back and those who stand still run, finding pleasure in teaching immoral expressions. He also has the power to destroy dignities, both temporal and supernatural. He is depicted as a pale old man riding a crocodile.

Lucas Errant, Iggnaim.

Iggnaim is an anagram of Gamigin

Lucas has a barrier

Gamigin (also Gamygin, Gamigm or Samigina) is a Great Marquis of Hell who rules over thirty legions of demons. He teaches all liberal sciences and gives an account of the souls of those who died in sin and who drowned in the sea, speaking with a rough voice. He also answers what is asked about, and stays with the conjurer until they are satisfied. Gamigin is depicted as a little horse or a donkey, which changes form into a man under the conjurer's request.

Fuji Kaito, ???

No stigma name currently, but we have an idea of what his powers may be from something Hyde has said.

Vagastrom

Mido Alan, Yagsal Olbalsa

Yagsal Olbalsa is an anagram of Glasya-Labolas

It's never been explicitly said, but it seems to be some sort of super strength

Glasya-Labolas (also Caacrinolaas, Caassimolar, Classyalabolas, Glassia-labolis, Glasya Labolas, Gaylos-Lobos) is a mighty President of Hell who commands thirty-six legions of demons. He is the author and captain of manslaughter and bloodshed, tells all things past and to come, gains the minds and love of friends and foes causing love among them if desired, incites homicides and can make a man invisible. He is depicted as a dog with the wings of a griffin.

Kurosagi Leo, Haxs

Haxs is an anagram of Shax

Leo's stigma allows him to have enhanced hearing

Shax (also spelled Chax, Shan, Shass, Shaz, and Scox) is a Great Marquis of Hell, and has power over 30 legions of demons on evil horses. He takes away the sight, hearing and understanding of any person under the conjurer's request, and steals money out of kings' houses, carrying it back to the people. He also steals horses and everything the conjurer asks. Shax can also discover hidden things if they are not kept by evil spirits, and sometimes gives good familiars, but sometimes those familiars deceive the conjurer. He should not be bothered too often. Shax is thought to be faithful and obedient, but is a great liar and will deceive the conjurer unless obliged to enter a magic triangle drawn on the floor. He will then speak marvellously and tell the truth. He knows when lies are told and uses these to teach lessons. He is depicted as a stork that speaks with a hoarse but subtle voice; his voice changes into a beautiful one once he enters the magic triangle.

Haizono Shohei, Spurno

Spurno is an anagram of Purson

We don't have an explicit answer for what it does yet, but he was able to trip? throw back? the anomaly in episode 2

Purson (also Curson, Pursan) is a Great King of Hell, being served and obeyed by twenty-two legions of demons. He knows of hidden things, can find treasures, and tells past, present and future. Taking a human or aerial body he answers truly of all secret and divine things of Earth and the creation of the world. He also brings good familiars. Purson is depicted as a man with the face of a lion, carrying a ferocious viper in his hand, and riding a bear. Before him, there can be heard many trumpets sounding.

Jabberwock

Sagara Haru, Bahnti

Bahnti = Bathin

Haru's stigma reduces the affect of gravity on his body

Bathin (or Bathym, Mathim, Marthim) is a Duke (Great Duke according to Pseudomonarchia Daemonum) of Hell, who has under his command thirty legions of demons. He knows the virtues of precious stones and herbs, and can bring men suddenly from one country to another. He helps one attain astral projection, and takes you wherever you want to go. He is depicted as a strong man with the tail of a serpent, riding a pale horse.

Otonashi Towa, ???

Another one we aren't really sure of

Shiranami Ren, Raothtas

Raothtas = Astaroth

We don't have an explicit answer as to what his stigma does, but he was able to remove ink stains from the floor

Astaroth (also Ashtaroth, Astarot and Asteroth) is referred to in The Lesser Key of Solomon as a very powerful demon who commands 40 legions of demons. In art, in the Dictionnaire Infernal, Astaroth is depicted as a nude man with feathered wings, wearing a crown, holding a serpent in one hand, and riding a beast with dragon-like wings and a serpent-like tail. According to Sebastien Michaelis he is a demon of the First Hierarchy, who seduces by means of laziness, vanity, and rationalized philosophies. His adversary is St. Bartholomew, who can protect against him for he has resisted Astaroth's temptations. To others, he teaches mathematical sciences and handicrafts, can make men invisible and lead them to hidden treasures, and answers every question formulated to him. He was also said to give to mortal beings the power over serpents. His name is possibly taken from the goddess Asherah or Astarte.

Sinostra

Hoshibami Taiga, Malab

Malab = Balam

All we know is that he has good luck

Balam (also Balaam, Balan) is a great and powerful king of Hell who commands over forty legions of demons. He gives perfect answers on things past, present, and to come, and can also make men invisible and witty. Balam is depicted as being three-headed. One head is the head of a bull, the second of a man, and the third of a ram. He has flaming eyes and the tail of a serpent. He carries a hawk on his fist and rides a strong bear. At other times, he is represented as a naked man riding a bear.

Romeo Lucci, Tiris

Tiris = Sitri

He can turn things into bombs

Sitri (also spelled Bitru, Sytry) is a Great Prince of Hell, and reigns over sixty legions of demons. He causes men to love women and vice versa, and can make people bare themselves naked if desired. He is depicted with the face of a leopard and the wings of a griffin, but under the conjurer's request he changes into a very beautiful man.

Shinjo Ritsu, Acimo

Acimo = Camio

Ritsu's stigma lets him harden his body, to the point bullets cannot damage him

Camio (also Caim, Caym) appears in Ars Goetia, the first part of The Lesser Key of Solomon as a Great President of Hell, ruling over thirty legions of demons. Much detail is offered: he is a good disputer, gives men the understanding of the voices of birds, bullocks, dogs, and other creatures, and of the noise of the waters too, and gives true answers concerning things to come. He is depicted in 19th and 20th century occultist illustrations as appearing in the form of the black bird called a thrush, but soon he changes his shape into a man that has a sharp sword in his hand. When answering questions he seems to stand on burning ashes or coals.

Hotarubi

Kagami Subaru, Talnandio

Talnandio = Dantalion

Psychometry

Dantalion (or Dantalian) is a powerful Great Duke of Hell, with thirty-six legions of demons under his command; he is the 71st of 72 spirits of Solomon. He teaches all arts and sciences, and also declares the secret counsel of anyone, given that he knows the thoughts of all people and can change them at his will. He can also cause love and show the similitude of any person, show the same by means of a vision, and let them be in any part of the world they will. He is depicted as a man with many appearances, which means the faces of all men and women.

Kusanagi Haku, ???

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Kotodama Zenji, ???

ahhhh eto...bwehhhhh

Obscuary

Edward Hart, ???

thanks old man!

Mizuki Rui, ???

I don't recall him saying his stigma, but he's able to relieve pain and exhaustion temporarily.

Lyca Colt, Ramsochisa

Ramsochisa =��Marchosias

He can follow the scent of anything, so long as he's smelled it before

Marchosias (also Marchocias) is a powerful Great Marquis of Hell, commanding thirty legions of demons. He is a strong and excellent fighter and very reliable to the conjurer, giving true answers to all questions. Marchosias hoped after 1,200 years to return to heaven with the non-fallen angels, but he is deceived in that hope. He is depicted as a wolf with a man's form as well as a griffin's wings and a serpent's tail, that under request changes shape into a man.

Mortkranken

Isami Yuri, Agnihaet

Agnihaet = Haagenti

10000 iq moment

Haagenti (also Haage, Hage) is a Great President of Hell, ruling thirty-three legions of demons. He makes men wise by instructing them in every subject, transmutes all metals into gold, and changes wine into water and water into wine. Haagenti is depicted as a big bull with the wings of a griffin, changing into a man under request of the conjurer.

Kirisaki Jiro, ???

wahoo

Let me know if I missed anything or got anything wrong! Hope this helps with your theorycrafting and oc making 💖

#tokyo debunker #frostheim #vagastrom #jabberwock #hotarubi #obscuary #mortkranken #tokyo debunker spoilers

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im-not-a-ghost · 10 months ago

Text

What's your life purpose?

Trigger warning : the content of these readings may be touchy. My intention is never to hurt or make anyone feel uncomfortable. Feel free to stop reading if it is too much to handle.

Group 1 - Rollerblade

Cards : Shadow, Compassion, Power, 9 of cups, Hierophant, 9 of swords

This felt very emotional and very specific but for some of you your sole purpose is to come out. Is to finally be yourself unappologetically, to get out of your shell and express your true nature. This will speak to anyone that considers themselves queer or wonders about their identity in general, whether it's about genders, sexuality, fashion, beliefs. Your purpose is to hep other people do the same. To raise awareness and compassion about being out of the norms, thinking and feeling outside the box. To empower people so that they can be themselves without feeling ashamed or fearing other people's opinion. Your purpose is to help people feel secure in their beliefs and feel fulfilled, to stop worrying about the future or whether they'll ever be able to be free. You're here to help shift paradigms around the notions of identity, norms and beliefs. Some of you may have faced public shaming in the past, whether it is in this lifetime or previous incarnations, surrounding your sexuality and/or your appearance. I was picking up specifically on World War II. There might be people amond your ancestors that were persecuted for similar reasons. I'm feeling very emotional doing this reading. If that is something you have gone through, I am sincerely sorry and I hope that you will no longer suffer the pain of being rejected for who you are. I'm getting the feeling of people being demonized because of their beliefs and wrongly accused of things they had nothing to do with. Your purpose is to help people get rid of such karma, to cleanse and purify transgenerational wounds surrounding sexuality, body image, cultural differences. Especially for women. And one of the ways you could be doing that is through art and/or entertainment. Like dancing, rollerblading, singing, painting. I asked for further information regarding hobbies or careers that you can pursue to accomplish your purpose and you got Self Love and The Explorer. So the general answer would be anything that gets you to explore and deepen your sense of self love. If I'm getting more specific, I'm thinking of modeling, yoga, group therapy, reiki, hypnose, meditation, sound healing. Since Self Love depicts a peacock, the activities have to have a connection with beauty/aesthetics/the body somehow. I'm also thinking of tantra. For some it could be related to surgery. Like helping people transition from one gender to another.

Keywords/signs/extras : In the shadows - The Rasmus, bats, ravens, crows, Pisces, Taurus, life path numbers 9/5, pride, rainbows

Group 2 - Lips

Cards : The Warrior, The Universe, Sacred Sexuality, 6 of swords, 10 of pentacles, 4 of cups

There are possible future public speakers among you. And also artists such as graphic designers, digital artists because when I started to do your reading, my drawing software just randomly opened when I didn't even click on it. So if you were hesitating about starting to draw or going digital, this is your sign to go for it. Your life purpose is to bring people together, to reunite people that were seperated. I'm specifically picking up on immigrants, war victims, orphans, people that are homeless or that have a precarious situation. Your purpose is to raise awareness about these subjects, to join an organization and fight for these people's rights. Again, the theme of sexuality is brought out here, similarly to group 1. You could be helping out people that had to flee their home in order to be safe because of their sexuality. Your purpose could be to help people free themselves of toxic environments if that is their wish. So it could be helping victims of physical abuse, domestic abuse, victims of racism/homophobia or any kind of hate crime. I sense some influencer energy coming from this group as well. In all cases, your purpose is to provide people with a safe space where they can either live freely or share their truth. So you could be creating an app to gather people facing the same issues or to put in contact people that are willing to help with people who are in need of help. You could be using your social media and your status to raise awareness about specific causes. You could be getting legally involved by filing lawsuits, by protesting, by adopting. You could be helping people with their administrative papers. There are so many ways this can be done. But I'm getting a very proactive vibe from your group. If group 1 was more about providing moral and emotional support, you are more of the kind to go to the trenches and fight the battles. So some of you could even literally fight by applying for the military. The 6 of swords can indicate travel and we also have the Universe card so this would make sense. Also you could be donating money, funding the construction of shelters for instance.

Keywords/signs/extras : Aries, social media, roses, cranes, dogs, mountains, river side, Indestructible - Disturbed, letter S, life path numbers 1/6/9, NGOs, Not today - BTS

Group 3 - Disco ball

Cards : Patience, The Magi, The Weaver, knight of pentacles, 10 of wands, The Star

Some of you could be tarot readers or use any other form of divination. If that is not your case now, you have the potential to be. You also have the potential of being a public figure. And by that I mean an important one. Kind of Beyoncé level or any other artist that you can think of that you like, no matter the field. It could be acting, it could be film making, it could be fashion design, singing, dancing, ice skating. Anything. Writing also seems really significant. Your purpose is to guide other people. To help them weave their way through illusions and obstacles. To help them move forward and lighten their load so that they can shine their light onto the world and be the best version of themselves. We also have teachers here, coaches, spiritual practitioners of any kind, healers. You bring people to life. You help them give birth to projects. It could be litteral. As in you help moms give birth to their beautiful babies. You help new souls come to life and navigate through this world. I'm picking up on One Piece and Magi references. Specifically I was thinking of Nami and Basil for One Piece. As for Magi I was mainly picking up on Aladdin. I did some research on these characters, especially Basil because I didn't know this character that much and it turns out Basil's ability uses Tarot. He's a fortune teller. When it comes to Aladdin, he's one of the most powerful magicians and his lineage is beyond great but he has no idea because he doesn't remember his past and part of his powers are tied to his memories. He is destined to save his world and become the most powerful wizard of his era but has to fight a lot of enemies to do that. So it could be that you won't reach your full potential until you've uncovered some of your past life memories / traumas. Also you may be facing a lot of challenges and opponents on your path. You may meet a lot of naysayers or a lot of people trying to distract you from your truth and your calling. So that could transpire in your work environment, in your family, in your group of friends. You might notice people hating on you for no reason. That's because your light and power disturbs them. Since there are a lot of magical mentions it could be that some of your ancestors were accused of being witches and persecuted because of that. That might be part of the past life memories you have to deal with. Or you might be living in a country / city that has a lot of legends surrounding witches/wizards (i.e. Salem in Massachussets, Rouen / Orléans/Domrémy in France for their history with Joan of Arc, Britain when it comes to Arthurian legends, New Orleans, Greece with Circe / Hecate, Russia with Baba Yaga and Rasputin, Ireland with the Morrigan, Northern Africa for Kahena).

Keywords/signs/extras : life path numbers 1/8/11/22, psychic abilities, magic, snakes, moon cycles, cranes, stars, Aquarius, Gemini, Youtiful - Stray Kids, wizards

#pick a card #spiritual pac #pac reading #oracle cards #tarot reading #just-a-ghost

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rottenpumpkin13 · 3 months ago

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If all of them got turned into birds, what birds would they be

Sephiroth: A Great Horned Owl with an impossible silver-gray coloring that makes ornithologists question their entire career choice. Looks like death with wings but is surprisingly gentle. Still terrifies every living thing in a five-mile radius just by existing, but will also carefully adjust fallen nestlings back into their nests when no one's looking. Local wildlife can't decide if they should run when they see him coming or wait for the mice he keeps purposefully dropping near hungry animals. His hunting cry sounds suspiciously like "mother" but everyone's too scared to mention it.

Zack: Absolutely a Magpie. Not because he's particularly attracted to shiny things, but because he physically cannot shut up and has to greet every single bird in a five-mile radius. A black-and-white blur that hurtles through the trees like a feathery missile, squawking at anything that moves. Keeps adopting every lost or awkward bird he meets, resulting in a ragtag gang of confused fledglings, crows, and other birds trailing after him as he dive-bombs puddles for fun. Constantly tries to share snacks despite magpies being omnivores, dramatically dropping grubs and stolen sandwich crusts in front of other birds. Researchers are losing their minds over this one magpie that does celebratory backflips after successfully stealing shiny objects.

Angeal: A golden eagle that's also a seasoned mentor. Spends his days guiding younger raptors on proper hunting form, efficient soaring techniques, and the philosophy of earning your flight. Has implemented a strict code of conduct among the local scavengers, turning squabbling buzzards into an organized, honorable cleanup crew. Regularly seen perched on the tallest cliffs, overseeing the territory.

Genesis: A raven with a massive wingspan and an even larger ego. He's not content merely cawing, he's learned human speech to recite poetry to startled park visitors. His nest isn't just a pile of twigs, but a carefully curated collection of shiny objects: hairpins stolen from unsuspecting women, pens from passing joggers, anything that glimmers.

Cloud: A chocobo, but not for the obvious stereotypical reason. It's because I think he'd terrify Sephiroth more if he were a chocobo.

#ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #sephiroth #final fantasy vii #genesis rhapsodos #ff7 crisis core #angeal hewley #zack fair #crisis core #headcanons

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blightedcrow · 4 months ago

Text

Wouldn't a pillow be more comfortable, Lucanis...?

#rookanis #lucanis dellamorte #dragon age veilguard #i have really big feelings about them #crowsrook #crowart #maybe one day i wont post art at ungodly hours #i say on a platform that allows me to schedule posts #i never said i was bright #🐦‍⬛: Raven Among Crows

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novaursa · 1 month ago

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Jojen Reed/Stark reader.

Since early childhood, Jojen has seen visions of a pretty girl who is destined to be driven far from home. He sees moments of her caring for her siblings and hints of a future that make him gradually fall in love with her. His dreams of her fade for a while around the time Bran has his accident, with Bran being at the center of his new visions. After House Stark falls and Bran and his siblings are forced to flee Winterfell, Jojen begins seeing the girl again with Bran, giving him another reason to find Bran.

Thank you!

The One I Dreamed

Requests are closed

- Summary: He loved you long before you met him and will love you longer still.

- Pairing: stark!reader/Jojen Reed

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @idenyimimdenial

From the first moment the gods gifted him with sight, Jojen Reed had glimpsed you.

Not in whole, never in clear vision—only fleeting flashes, the echo of you tangled in moss and mist. A girl with a face like sunlight on fresh snow, eyes darker than the Wolfswood at night, hands tender and strong, always cradling something: a pup, a younger brother, a dying bird. She wore a wolf’s cloak clasped with silver, and a storm followed wherever she went. Jojen had seen you since he was barely past his sixth name day, a whisper on the wind between dreams. You never spoke in them, never looked at him. But he saw you often enough to know the sound of your laugh, though it came muffled through the dreamscape, like bells ringing underwater. She will be driven far from home, the greenseers murmured, and he would wake with those words pulsing behind his eyes like fire.

He had asked his father once, eyes wide and earnest, “Can someone fall in love with a dream?”

Howland Reed had smiled, half-sorrowful, half-knowing. “If the dream is real enough, my son, it can shape your waking world.”

And so Jojen watched. He watched as the girl in his visions grew—your face sharpening with age, your hair darkening, your eyes hardening. He saw you among snowflakes with your younger brothers, with Sansa beneath a flowering heart tree, with Robb on horseback, racing across the godswood. Always you were surrounded by your kin, a loyal shadow, a silent shield. It stirred something in him he did not have words for then. He called it devotion. Later, he would call it love.

But as all visions do, yours faded.

When the raven came and told him to go to Winterfell, when the dreams turned to Bran—the boy with the broken body and the burning destiny—you vanished like morning mist. Jojen still searched for you in sleep, reaching out into the dark, but you were gone. In your place was Bran, crying out from the mouth of a three-eyed crow. Bran, standing at the edge of a cliff of bones. Bran, with blood on his hands and stars in his eyes.

And still, always, the whisper: You must find him. Protect him.

He obeyed.

Jojen crossed the marshes with Meera, their packs light but their steps heavy with purpose. When the world cracked open beneath Winterfell, when wolves scattered like seeds in the wind, Jojen’s dreams changed again. This time, it was the both of you.

You returned in the flickering firelight of his greendreams. Tired now. Pale. Your face was leaner than before, smudged with ash and fear. You clutched a dagger like it was your last lifeline, shoulders stiff from the weight of younger brothers pressed against you as you crept through strange woods. But you were still beautiful, in the quiet, weathered way of wildflowers surviving the frost. Bran was beside you, wide-eyed and silent, and Jojen felt something like hope stir deep in his chest again.

One night, as they camped beneath the stars on a dry patch above the Neck, Meera stirred beside the fire while Jojen gasped awake, hand clutching his heart. She was used to his jolts and murmurs by now.

“Was it Bran?” she asked, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

Jojen shook his head, staring into the flames. “Her. I saw her again.”

“Bran’s twin?”

He nodded slowly. “She’s changed. They both have.”

“Are they together?”

“Yes.” His voice was quiet. “She’s protecting him. And he’s leading her, even if he doesn’t know it yet.”

Meera tilted her head. “Is that why we’re still going? Not just for Bran?”

Jojen didn’t answer at first. He watched the fire lick the black logs, and thought of you with your hands in Bran’s hair, braiding it like in one of his earliest dreams. “I think the gods want them both,” he murmured. “And maybe…I want her.”

Meera raised a brow, but said nothing. She only reached over to gently squeeze his hand. “Then let’s find her too.”

That night, Jojen dreamed of you again.

This time, he was close enough to hear your voice. You were in some cold forest cave, your arms around Bran as he trembled from a vision of his own. You whispered to him like a mother might, like a sister should, and your voice was a song of Winterfell long lost: gentle, steady, full of ghosts.

“We’ll find our way,” you were saying. “We’re Starks. We always do.”

Bran stirred in your arms. “What if there’s no home left?”

You cupped his face in your hands. “Then we make a new one. For Rickon. For Robb. For everyone we lost.”

Your voice trembled, but your spine did not. Jojen could feel the love in your words, the strength, the sorrow. And there, for a single heartbeat, you looked up—directly at him. Dream or not, he swore your eyes met his through the grey haze.

He woke with tears on his cheeks and a fire in his chest.

That morning, as he and Meera picked their way north through the barrows and frozen creeks, he said softly, “She’s real. And I’ll find her.”

Meera gave him a sideways glance, a faint smile curling her mouth. “I hope she’s worth all this mud and cold.”

Jojen Reed smiled back, faint but firm. “She is.”

He could feel you getting closer. The pull of your fate wrapped around his heart like roots. And though he had never heard you speak his name, he knew—deep in the marrow of every dream—that one day, you would.

The forest was old here, dense with shadow and the sighing breath of winter wind threading through bough and branch. Meera moved like water through it, quiet and smooth, her spear at the ready. Jojen followed behind, slower, each step deliberate as if the earth beneath his feet might speak if only he listened closely enough. The gods had shown him this place. A half-ruined holdfast buried in snow and ivy, its stones split and swallowed by tree roots. He’d seen the cracked stairwell that led to a chamber in the dark, and the three children who slept within—two Starks with the blood of kings in their veins, and the youngest like a ghost of Winterfell’s last joy, clutching a direwolf like a knight with his sword. But it wasn’t the crumbled walls or the flickering hearth that lived in his dreams. It was her.

You.

It was always you.

When the reeds pushed through the thickets and came upon the broken watchtower, the direwolves stirred first—two hulking shadows standing sentinel at the mouth of the ruin, their breath misting in the cold air. Meera tensed beside him, but Jojen didn’t flinch. He looked into the eyes of the grey beast, and the world slowed. The wolf growled low in its throat, but only once, like a warning that wasn’t meant for him.

“Summer,” a voice called from within.

And there you were.

You stepped from the shadows like something pulled from the pages of an old story—wrapped in furs, dirt on your cheeks, your hair braided back but coming undone from wind and worry. A dagger rested in your belt, another in your hand, but your posture softened when you saw the newcomers. Or rather, when you saw him.

Jojen stopped breathing.

It wasn’t like the dreams. Dreams were blurry things, flickering and warped by time. But you—you were clear and bright, fierce and weathered, standing like a flame that refused to die. You met his eyes across the snow, and something deep inside him—something green and ancient—settled with a thrum.

Bran appeared next, clinging to the shoulder of the wildling woman. Osha, Jojen recalled from his visions, the woman with sharp teeth and sharper instincts. Hodor loomed behind them, cradling a sleepy Rickon in his arms. But Jojen could barely see them. The world had narrowed to you.

Bran squinted. “Who are you?”

Meera stepped forward, spear lowered. “We’ve come to find you, Bran Stark. I’m Meera Reed. This is my brother, Jojen.”

You placed yourself between them and Bran without hesitation, one hand held low in a silent signal to the direwolves. “From the Neck?”

Jojen swallowed, nodding. “From Greywater Watch. My father is Howland Reed.”

Bran’s eyes lit up, recognition dawning. “He fought with my father at the Tower of Joy.”

“Yes,” Jojen said softly. “He did.”

You studied him then, your brow furrowing just slightly. “Why now?” you asked, suspicion still curled in your tone. “Why come all this way to find us?”

Jojen stepped forward. Each movement felt like he was walking deeper into his own fate. “Because the gods told me to. In dreams. I saw Bran first, but I saw you long before him.”

You blinked, a subtle flicker of uncertainty crossing your face. “Me?”

He nodded once. “Since I was a boy. Before I knew your name. Before I even knew I’d leave home. I saw you with your brothers, your sister, walking the halls of Winterfell, brushing snow from Rickon’s lashes, holding Bran when he cried in the dark. I saw you become something unbreakable.” His voice was steady, almost reverent. “You were always the one constant in all my dreams. Even when they faded. Even when I forgot what warmth felt like.”

Your eyes met his again, deeper this time. Searching. And he let you look, didn’t flinch from it. It wasn’t just awe he wore on his face—it was something older, something like devotion. Like he had been waiting a lifetime for you to exist in front of him without fading.

“Greendreams,” you murmured, almost to yourself.

“Yes.”

Rickon stirred then, waking with a soft whimper, and you immediately turned to soothe him. It was such a small thing, the way your hand moved to cup the back of his head, the way your voice dropped to a whisper—but Jojen’s chest ached to see it, because it was exactly as he’d dreamed. You were fierce and bright and soft where it mattered, and he could barely breathe from how real you were.

“I believe you,” Bran said suddenly, his voice firmer than it had been in moons.

You looked back at your twin, surprise flickering across your face.

Bran gave a small smile. “I’ve seen him too. In my dreams. And he’s right. We have to go north.”

“No,” Osha barked, stepping forward, shaking her head. “That way’s madness. There’s death in that direction, cold and worse. I’ve kept them alive this long. We go south.”

Jojen turned to you. “It’s not safe in the south. You know that, don’t you?” he asked gently. “There’s fire there, and traps. And death that wears smiling faces.”

Your hand flexed on your dagger, and you said nothing. But your silence was telling.

“We have to go north,” Bran repeated, looking at you now. “To the Three-Eyed Crow. To where the magic still lives. You know it too. Don’t you feel it?”

You looked at Jojen again. And this time, something in you cracked, just slightly. He saw it. The fear, the exhaustion, the quiet hope you tried to bury. You opened your mouth to argue, but nothing came. Instead, you stepped toward him, just a breath away now, and looked up into his face.

“Are you real?” you whispered.

And Jojen—who had dreamt of you for years, who had seen you cradling the bones of your childhood and still standing tall—reached out and took your hand with both of his, his voice a whisper of wind through leaves.

“I’ve never been more real than I am standing in front of you.”

And for a moment, the forest fell away. There was no war, no ruin, no death waiting on the road ahead. Just the press of your fingers curling into his, and the greendreamer finding the heart of his dream at last.

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