#Like it is wholly and completely my own perception

[drones-of-innocence]

👓🐬?

From this ask game:

👓 What helps you focus when you write?

This is a difficult question for me to answer because I have no methods 🥸 I'll try any kind of gimmick I find to focus better, but ultimately my mildly ADHD ass will distract myself no matter what even if I'm doing something I enjoy. I have to be in the correct mood to write, and being in the correct mood usually involves immersing myself in music (solid but doesn't always work), staying up very late (unhealthy to do repeatedly), or the once-in-a-blue-moon type of moment where my muse possesses me and I manage to write unhindered by anything. The only time I can reliably write is when I am facing a pressing deadline for something very important that I am procrastinating on 😅

🦈 Which character is the toughest to write?

Any character that I have no deep or sincere interest in is very difficult for me to write. Also, any character that is a lot smarter than me. A specific example of the first point is Bowser; he's cool, and I've finally managed to include him in an effective way in my most recent fic, but he's largely absent from everything else that I write except in passing mention. I don't choose my brain's selection of blorbos, so I just simply don't find Bowser (or even villain archetypes in general) very compelling except in a few circumstances. Bowser is necessary to Mario's story though, so that's why I've buckled down to characterize him recently. As for a second example of a character I think is smarter than me, probably Pauline. I really want to explore her actually (and I have an idea for a Rosalina/Pauline fic) but I am a little intimidated by how intelligent I perceive her to be.

(For some reason this doesn't apply to Rosalina, who I portray as super wise. I think it's because I can write wisdom in terms of big picture patterns which is what matters to her, if that makes sense. But Pauline comes across to me as someone who really gets into the weeds and specifics of everything which is what I have always struggled with.)

Thank you so much for the ask!

[msfantasy-comics]

The Opposites Attract

Dick Grayson x Reader

Summary: A Head Cannon on which Dick Grayson and Y/n oppose each other yet remain wholly compatible.

Warning: Y/n is depicted as angsty and a little feral. 

Masterlist - Tip Jar

Opposites attract they say.

Yet Dick and Y/n are such polar opposites surely their difference outweigh each other.

Despite it all, the two love birds gravitate each other due to their completing differences.

Extrovert vs. Introvert

Dick is insanely outgoing and is recharged by socialising. His perfect setting is in a crowded rowdy rooms where the conversation moves like wildfire. Wild and Abrupt.

Y/n on the other hand, prefers a quite space with one-on-one conversations.

In typical extraverted fashion. Dick adopts the introverted Y/n and encourages her to step outside her comfort zone and talk to others.

But it’s just not in her nature.

How the hell are you meant to jump into a conversation?

How are you meant to have a say on a topic when three other people are talking over each other to get their 2 cents in?

You gave up almost immediately and retreated back to your safe corner always from the shoulder bashing and elbow jabbing walk way.

Dick was initially disappointed to see you give up so quickly until he noticed that you were carrying on your socialising in your own way.

You sat silently as strangers poured their heart out to you.

Silently nodding and humming in agreement every now and then before the person sighed, thanked you for listening and walked off.

Dick really admires that about you.

Dick: “Need some company.”

Y/n: “Only if you bring me the good vibes.”

Optimist vs. Pessimist

Dick is a buzzing bundle of bountiful energy.

Dick is never short on absurdly positive outcomes despite all odds indicating otherwise.

Why live in a delusional state? You know the realities of life.

And the reality is that life can be shit and it doesn’t turn out well for everyone no matter how much they try or desperately scramble to achieve their hopes.

Hope is pointless.

There is just something obnoxiously wonderful about Dick.

How is it that your boy wonder lights a flame in you that fills you with certainty that all will be right as long as he is here?

You greatly admire how infectious Dicks positivity can be.

Y/n: “Why keep sending them to Arkham only to escape and ruin lives? Might as well just put an end to their burdensome presence.”

Dick: “Oh honey nooooo. Everyone deserves a chance at redemption. Snuffing out the life of a person doesn’t solve the root of the issue.”

Y/n: “Who cares! Nothing matters in the end anyway, we will all die and become obsolete. Only to let the next generation bitch and moan about the inequality of it all.”

Dick: “Ah, my precious little sunshine can be such a downer, yes you can.”

*Condescendingly pinches cheeks*

Secretive vs. Open

Dick just wants the best of both worlds.

To be the figure head for heroism, hope, peace and safety, without an of the consequences of having your image publicly known.

Dick would never want to endanger the lives of those around him due to his passions in crime fighting.

Therefore, he must maintain the secrecy of the bat and the mask.

You, however, don’t understand how or why your boy wonder hides his true identity.

It’s not like Dick Grayson is an every day normal civilian.

He’s a fricken heir to Gotham wealthiest philanthropist.

It’s not like he doesn’t have any privacy on either alter egos.

But the Bats secret is not your own to share.

So instead you live freely by your own rules.

You admit your identities and aren’t afraid to show the public your true self.

You honestly couldn’t care less about public perception.

Dick, admires your unapologetic lifestyle.

Aggressive Random: “You shouldn’t -“

Y/n: “Piss Off- no one asked you.”

Dick: “Ah sweetie… maybe you should listen to what they have to say.”

Y/n: “I couldn’t give a rats!”

[wood-white-writer]

"We Shall Be Monsters" [One-Shot]

— Enver Gortash x F!Durge!Reader (Baldur's Gate 3)

Pairing: Enver Gortash x F!Durge!Reader

Summary: Long before you became the Savior of Baldur's Gate, you were the Chosen of Bhaal; his unholy offspring. More than that, you were the Chosen of Bane's. There are memories beyond you grasp, forever lost in the oblivion of your mind, but he never forgot, as much as he yearned to.

Warnings: Explicit 18+ | Enver Gortash's POV | F!Durge!Reader (unspecified race or appearance) | Bhaalist-typical acts of violence and gore | Implied loss of virginity | Soft/Dom Gortash | Religious Themes | Bhaal Ideology | Self-flagellation | Gortash is whipped for Durge from the get-go | Gortash is a Freak | Pre-lobotomy Durgetash | Post-lobotomy Durgestarion (brief hint)

Wordcount: 7k

A/N: Guess who spent the last three weeks playing Resist!Durge, only to fall for this raccoon of a man? Apologies for grammatical errors, will correct them later. English is not my first language.

Enver Gortash had a revelation, presenting itself as a dream.

He was surrounded by darkness, wholly alone, when a deep and otherworldly voice spoke from the shadows. Whether it was instinct that compelled him or something else, he knew almost instantaneously that it was his God that spoke.

The Lord of Tyranny granted the mortal soul the title as his Chosen One; an honor beyond the kind the mortal world could ever hope to provide with. At the moment, it was far too grand for the mortal to properly acknowledge – a pinnacle of shame he would come to live with for years to come.

Just before the dream faded and the newly appointed Chosen of Bane returned to the material plane, he recalled his God’s parting words:

“Seek out the One whose path is paved with Corpses. The one who’s Who will build her castle with bones.

Seek out the Chosen of my Sworn Foe; his unholy offspring. Make an ally of her.

Do what is necessary to make the world bow before you, and when the time comes, do what must be done to ensure that my rule remains unchallenged.”

---

As it turned out, he had no need to spend any coin trying to scourge you out.

You sought him out instead.

The first time he laid eyes upon you, he found you almost disappointingly unremarkable.

Not in the sense that you were hideous to look upon. No, quite the opposite.

You looked normal.

Normal in a way that, had he crossed paths with you elsewhere – be it at a gala or across the streets of Baldur’s Gate – he wouldn’t have paid you much notice. Maybe offered you a drink and some pretty words, but little more.

Unsurprisingly, he had his reservations about whether you were truly the one he expected.

A Bhaalspawn– No, The Bhaalspawn.

The God of Murder’s very own Chosen Child – his flesh and unholy blood comprised into one singular being.

He had heard tales of you long before he met you.

He had anticipated to come face to face with a monster sprouting tentacles and rows of razor-sharp teeth, blood leaking from every orifice, and a wicked smile stretched across her lips.

Every bit the beast the stories and cautionary tales circling Baldur’s Gate portrayed your kind as.

Not this – someone who looked like they had simply wandered into the completely wrong place.

You were no monster - not at first glance, but he didn't quite know what to make of you. Even in the darkness, it was hour to make out your shape, and you didn't provide him anything to go by.

You were as silent as the evening itself.

Enver considered himself a perceptive man, taking every advantage he could reap whenever an opportunity presented itself. Whenever he happened to come across a potential ally or a new associate, his first instinct was always to read them; figure out the kind of person they were.

He could tell a lot from a person based on their initial demeanor. Were they the worrisome kind? The arrogant type? Self-assured in their position, or meek and subservient to those they considered their superiors?

Lickspittles or servants; equals or subordinates.

He believed he had come to know them all.

You, however, were a blank canvas.

There wasn’t a trace of blood on your clothes, not that he could tell. Not a wayward piece of flesh stuck between the white of your teeth, peeking out past your lips.

He couldn't even see something as menial as a smile.

Hardly the stuff of nightmares.

He couldn’t tell if it disappointed him or not.

However, the Archduke-to-be would come to realize his mistake the moment your eyes met, and all he saw gazing back at him was darkness.

Complete and utter blackness. Absence of light; of life.

Not even the depths of the Hells could compare, nor the shadows which made up Shar's domain. A black whole circling the universe.

You possessed the eyes of a killer, angled in a way that reminded him of knives searching for skin to sever, and they were aimed straight at him.

A shiver ran up and down his skin.

Oh, you were the real deal, all right.

He found that the smile that stretched across his lips was a genuine one for once, unlike the kind he typically displayed when first meeting a potential associate.

He clapped his hands together, suddenly eager to proceed with the introductions. “The Chosen of Bhaal, it seems we finally have the pleasure to speak.”

He took a few steps closer, mindful that you could probably mince him without any effort if he got too close. It was only then that he noticed the blade you kept strapped to your hips. Crimson as the blood it had undoubtedly spilled.

Your eyes maintained direct contact with his for a moment longer before they shifted to the window, not a smidgen of interest or … much of anything, really.

He tried to scrutinize you for any thoughts or feelings, desperate for some reprieve in the enigma that was your character. The moon would not permit him any clues, even as a blade of her light diagonally cut your face.

You were a blank slate, cold even from a distance; wholly indecipherable.

Finally, you spoke: “Chosen of Bane, Enver Gortash.”

He could not hope to conceal his intrigue. “Ah, it seems you already know who I am, then?”

You nodded, only once, like the conversation had already lost all appeal.

“And may I have your name in turn?”

“You have my title. It will suffice."

For now.

Ah, quick and precise. A lady after his own heart.

Just as he was about to offer you a glass of wine - for curtesy’s sake, of course – he looked back only to find your piercing gaze suddenly less than inches away from him, the Lash of Bhaal tilted dangerously close to his jugular vein.

It didn’t cut through him, though he could already tell it was a tempting thought on your part. Still, that didn’t keep you from allowing the blade to dance across his skin, cold and hot at the same time.

Sharp indeed.

A dance of death, with only a moment keeping him from Death’s cold embrace.

Enver fleetingly wondered what it would feel like to have his life claimed by Bhaal’s offspring. Would it hurt? Most likely, but it didn’t frighten him even half as much as it should have.

He had heard the reports of what remained of those who were unfortunate enough to find themselves on the receiving end of Bhaal's knives.

He had seen the detailed drawings and read in-depth descriptions Baldur's Mouth publicized, and while he was a skeptic towards the media's reliability, he had no doubt that they had spared no details when it came to your crimes. Children, women, men, it mattered not. Anyone with blood pumping through their veins could become a target, and he was no exception.

What would the headlines be?

"Aspiring Military Advisor found dead in his own chambers - The Cult of Bhaal strikes again!"

He imagined his blood would run warm down his skin, soak the imported fabric of his clothing, forever staining the expensive carpets beneath his feet.

Oh, what a sight it would be, should he be fortunate enough to remain conscious for only a few seconds long to see his execution through.

He instinctively held his breath, but all sense of fear and self-preservation evaded him, as it had done numerous times already. He could feel your breath upon his skin, scorching and acidic, yet he could find no trace of repulsion within himself. Instead, all he could focus on were your eyes.

So deep and hollow, like the expanses of Shar, but tenfold as captivating.

Oh, how the goddess would’ve wept upon being usurped.

Patiently, the Follower of Bane awaited your verdict. Truthfully, he had no interest in dying before this alliance came to fruition, however brief. Perhaps he could make an exception this once, if only to die gazing into those eyes of yours.

They contained a beauty meant only to be beheld by the dead or the dying, he discovered.

You tilted your head to each side as you studied him, like a cat inspecting the prey caught between their claws. The blade followed your as though it possessed sentience of its own, scraping against his neck in a manner he almost mistook for fondness.

Then, a sharp sting reverberated across his skin.

He suppressed the urge to wince.

A drop of his warm blood escaped through the cut you had inflicted on his chin. Not fatal by any means, but it would undoubtedly scar.

A scar worthy of a story.

Your eyes trailed down to the crimson liquid gathering on the collar of his shirt, and he could’ve sworn your pupils expanded to the edges of your irises. You took a deep breath through your nose, and upon releasing it, he found your face changing into something … thoughtful.

“You’re not afraid.”

There was no disappointment laced between your words. A hint of surprise, perhaps, but not disappointment.

Enver tilted his head to get a better view of you, the edge of his lip tugging slightly. “Does that offend you?”

You didn’t answer and withdrew the blade.

He might have said something else, but never got the chance to speak up.

In the blink of an eye, you were gone, like a wraith having returned back to their grave.

All that remained of your presence was the opened window that allowed the evening breeze to ruffle his curtains and the lingering scent of death he had grown intimately acquainted with.

As he drew his fingers over the fresh cut down his chin, feeling the warmth of his own life coat the digits, he could not keep a smile at bay.

---

It wasn’t until weeks later that he saw you again, in your natural habitat – for a lack of better description.

You were kneeling on the ground, covered in blood, viscera, and gore, like a devoted monk in the temple of their deity – begging for recognition.

Barely an inch of your skin was visibly underneath the many layers of blood that coated your flesh.

In a way, it felt like he was intruding.

When your eyes snapped to address him, it was like an animal seeing a potential threat. He couldn’t help but feel something stir in the depth of his chest, lodged between his ribcages like a raven yearning to break free of its chains.

Once more, it was in the confines of his chambers. He had retired for the evening, more or less hoping to catch a glimpse of his enigmatic new associate, when Lord Bane apparently saw fit to grant his loyal Follower the visage of his sworn foe’s daughter – completely naked at that.

You were beautiful.

Covered in blood from head to toe, the individual strands of your previously maintained hair separated by layers upon layers of bodily fluids, your clothing cast aside as if to merge yourself completely with the remnants of your prey.

It was like he was witnessing something he had no right to, but still being granted permission. This might have been sacred on your part, meant to be a private affair.

If you wanted to, you could kill him for this slight – if you considered it as such. You could strip him of his teeth, separate the layers of his skin, pull apart his bones, and place his corpse alongside the one you currently had positioned in front of you.

One of his servants, he realized shortly after. A young lady named Serah Lancastor, daughter of a nouveau riche lord who had entered his services not long ago.  

Whatever blood remained of her corpse had been spent drawing the Symbol of Bhaal. A tribute, perfected in the chambers of the Child of Bhaal’s adversary. It would have been the perfect sacrifice – an insult to Bane and a gift to your Father.

The Banite in him certainly would’ve considered this an insult of the gravest sort, deserving nothing short of a lifetime in Wyrm’s Rock, but Enver himself was more eager to finally get more than a few sentences out of you if he could.

“And here I was under the impression that our respective Lords were at a truce, or have I been misinformed?” He asked as he assessed her, arms crossing over his chest in a way that would’ve come across as self-assured.

You did not reply at first. As you got up to your feet, he could not help but notice that your movements were unsteady, like a foal fresh out of the mare’s womb.

“You were not mistaken,” you answered, your voice hoarse, and the Lash of Bhaal clutched tightly in your grip as you marveled at your masterpiece.

“Oh? Then, pray tell, what reason could you have for killing one of my servants – in my chambers, no less?”

You regarded him stoically. “The woman poisoned your wine.”

An assassination attempt? How ambitious. “So, you killed her for my sake? Considerate for a Bhaalist, wouldn’t you say?”

Your eyes narrowed. “Your usefulness would expire upon your premature death, Banite. The servant maintained hers after.”

His gaze flickers between you and the corpse for a few moments, thoughts washing over his head. It would seem that – despite your inherent nature – your urges were not without cause. Not wholly, at least.

This meant, for the time being, you would have no reason to kill him unless you saw any benefit from it. He would live for as long as the alliance between your Gods did.

Did it vex you, knowing you could not satiate your hunger for blood just yet?

Did it intrigue you? Did you sleep at night, dreaming of the day you could finally add his name to the long list of your victims?

So many questions and only one knew the answers. Only one could answer them.

But he was in no hurry to receive them.

“There’s a bath in the back, should you feel the need to use it.”

“Does the blood disturb you?” you asked, almost hopeful.

“No," he admits truthfully. "but I imagine it would be difficult leaving this place like that. The servants would be frightened – as they should be – and the guards would be on your trail in an instant. Why not spare yourself trouble when you can afford it?”

You continued to stare at him like he was a puzzle to be solved, and he granted you all the time you required before you finally reached your verdict. With the flick of your blade, and drops of blood splattering across his floor, you turned around and made your way to the bathroom.

Enver was not a salacious man by nature, despite what the Baldur’s Mouth would imply, but even he had to admit – it was a lovely view.

Alas, there was the matter of explaining the unfortunate fate of poor Serah to the cleaning staff …

---

He didn’t see you again for quite sometime after that, and although he’d never admit it to anyone in person, he’d grown accustomed to the way each of your previous visits had left his adrenaline surging through his veins.

To be without it was proving … tedious.

There were reports of various murders committed in the Lower City, some more grotesque and messy than the rest, but he could already discern yours from anyone else’s.

Your kills were methodical; and pragmatic. You didn’t waste time decorating your victims with their innards or putting them up to become a spectacle for the rest of the poor denizens in Baldur’s Gate to find the following morning.

Whoever was responsible for those murders was… wasteful.

It couldn’t have been you.

While Enver was parading about to the many lickspittles and politicians, his mind always shifted back to whether he would open his chamber doors and be greeted by you standing there in the dark. He could care less if you were covered in blood or not, as long as you were there.

What would you do?

Finally make an attempt on his life?

Kill another one of his servants?

He'd give you ten of them.

He had enough at his disposal, he’d be more than willing to pay the cost if it meant getting another chance to peer into those acute eyes of yours one more time.

But when he retired once more to his chambers that night, he was disappointed to find it vacant. Not even a corpse was there to greet him.

---

He sent a letter.

Not a long one, but one he was sure would reach you, and sure to pique your interest if his mere presence failed at that.

It regarded the House of Wonders – more specifically, what the House itself contained.

He had waltzed through the halls there on several occasions – attended galas and gatherings hosted by the city’s elite, and he’d seen what rested behind their meager display cases.

Remnants of your history: Bones of fellow Bhaalspawn, ancestral instruments that deserved more than to be poised up for show. The people of this city exploited these instruments as a sign of peace. To know that – if one Bhaalspawn could be felled, they all could.

But you were not the kind to fall so easily as your brethren did.

At first, he was doubtful his message would reach you, but when he found you standing in the corner of his room not even two nights later with the messenger’s severed head positioned on top of his work desk and his letter tucked between what remained of the boy’s teeth, he grinned.

You, however, were evidently not in the mood for idle chatter.

The moment he shut the door, your eyes were once more on him. “Speak.”

And so, Enver did.

He had already planned the groundwork: how to get in and out without alerting the guards, and successfully make away with the torture racks using a Scroll of Dimension Door. It was child’s play, really. The House’s security had dwindled in the last couple of years, and for once, it served him well.

As he laid out his plan for you, taking out the House’s blueprints to further emphasize the brilliance of his mind, he maintained your attention long enough for him to deduce that you were interested.

When he was finished, he turned back to you, patiently awaiting your verdict.

Your eyes flickered between him and the blueprints before they finally settled on him with the same sharpness he had grown to appreciate.

“Tomorrow, at 11 o’clock,” you answered, shortly. “Do not keep me waiting.”

At that moment, Enver could’ve wept with joy.

---

The Heist was a success.

Truly, only the damned Devil’s death could’ve surpassed the satisfaction Enver felt the moment they escaped.

Not only had you two been successful in infiltrating the House of Wonders and making away with the instruments unscathed, but he got to watch you doing what you did best from the front rows.

There were guards there, more than a few, but not even five seconds after they made their debut, screams were reverberating through the halls of the House to the point where the Banite could feel the tremors through his very bones.

There were possibly ten or fifteen guards in total, and you killed them all.

Killed them?

No, that’s too undignified of a word to apply to your craft.

You remade them entirely.

There was so much blood, screaming, and bones being pulled apart from the stems, that he didn’t have the capacity to focus on it all at once.

Blood rained wherever you went.

The One whose path is paved with Corpses.

They were dead long before you ever touched them, he knew as much. One after the other, they all fell until all that remained was a pool of blood gathering under the soles of his shoes.

It was like you were dancing.

You were a monster.

Oh, but what a beautiful monster you were.

In the end, there were no more screams. You stood there in the middle of the circle of death you had just made, blade in hand, clothes soaked thoroughly and clutching to your skin. It seemed like you were on another plane of existence entirely, your mind not your own for a moment, no word brushing past your lips.

All he could hear was your shallow breathing in the aftermath of the chaos you had created.

And when you finally glanced over your shoulder to look at him, your face smeared with the liquid life of those around you, eyes lifeless and cold, Enver could deny it no longer.

Not to himself, not to you, not even to Bane.

“You’re beautiful.”

The way in which he said it was unbefitting of an Archduke-to-be, much less a Banite, but damn it if his pride was not worth this moment of admiration.

For just a moment, he detected a glimpse of something different in your eyes when he spoke that confession. Something he had never seen before. For once, it was not hidden underneath layers of indifference or antipathy, not even perverse satisfaction. It was bare and vulnerable like a snake having shed their most recent skin.

You looked… Surprised. Shocked.

Flustered?

You opened your mouth to say something, but then for some reason, you shut it just as quickly. He had never seen this manner of indecisiveness with you before, and it felt like he wasn’t supposed to.

Still, he couldn’t will himself to look away, to be denied the view of you being anything other than Bhaal’s Chosen.

Then, you finally spoke, and it was so hushed that he almost strained to hear it.

“Enver Gortash … You’re something else.”

He caught the glimpse of something tugging on the edge of your lips. Not quite wide enough to qualify as a smile, but the closest thing he had seen thus far on your countenance. He expected it to be of the perverse kind – the smile of a killer, satisfied with their recent excursion in the name of their Father and Lord.

But it wasn’t.

At least, it didn’t seem so.

Whether it truly was the amount of deaths surrounding you or what he’d said, he didn’t have time to deduce before the bells began to ring in the distance, and their heist came to an end.

Even so, he could not shake off the mental picture he took of that moment.

It was scorched into his brain forevermore. He could try to scrub it as much as he wanted, it would never leave.

Nor did he want it to.

The Heist was indeed a success – but not for the reasons he initially believed in.

It signified the night he finally got to see you, if only a brief glimpse of it.

---

It was as if the Heist with the House of Wonders further cemented your respective alliances, for better or for worse.

On one hand, you began to seek him out more, as he oftentimes found you already waiting for him in the dark of his chambers as per usual. The two of you spent the majority of your time discussing how to advance your plot, while simultaneously attempting to avoid the missteps of your predecessors.

After all, you aimed towards a fruitful alliance, and to sully its potential too early would be a waste on both accounts.

Fortunately, it seemed like you had decided to keep the number of deaths in his quarters at a minimum, for the most part. Whether it was for your inconvenience or his own (his servants had begun to grow disturbed by the piling numbers of deceased in his room), he could not tell.

On the other hand, there was the matter of both Ketheric Thorm – the Chosen of Myrkul – and your second-in-command – Orin the Red.

The geriatric and the child, as he mentally preferred to refer to them as.

Ketheric was at least useful to some extent. His obsession with reviving deceased family members was a thorn in Enver’s side, but not without its advantages.

Orin, on the other hand, was a migraine from the moment he was introduced to her. Admittedly, she looked more the part of the Bhaalspawn he had expected to encounter before being introduced to you. Stained in blood, colorless eyes akin to a corpse, giggling and shouting at the turn of a coin while waving around a blade much like a child would their precious toy.

In the name of Bane, he was fortunate it was you he had had the pleasure of meeting instead of her that night. Having Orin as the Leader of the Cult of Bhaal would’ve made eventually cutting this alliance much easier.

You knew how to dance hand-to-hand with your blade.

Orin merely toyed with hers.

---

With how often you frequented his office nowadays, Enver began to suspect that you were neglecting your Cult in your absence. Not that he ever brought it to your attention, he simply pointed it out to himself.

For the most part, you would stay and discuss his plans with him, still never speaking more words than you deemed necessary. If there was something you didn’t agree with, silence would remain your answer until he figured out the source of the problem. You were incredibly smart, he’d be a fool to deny that.

But with more time, he discovered that your brilliance was not the only reason he wanted you to stay.

With every session you partook in together, he swore he could see your face softening ever so slightly. Every gesture became more relaxed, and you ceased to pull away from his proximity. There were times when he could put a hand on your shoulder, even brush a wayward piece of hair away from your face without you threatening to spill his innards.

He took his victories in small measures.

Then one evening, he found you inside his chambers, only that you weren’t making standing now as you usually were when awaiting him.

Instead, you were perched in the alcove of his window. While your blade was clutched tightly in your grip, your eyes were closed, and the manner in which you sat seemed almost … peaceful.

Were you resting?

The second he closed the door, your eyes shot open, and he quickly found your blade pressed against his neck. It likely would’ve killed him had your eyes not fallen onto him in time.

He blinked. “… Good evening?”

You blinked again, recognition falling over your features, and sheathed your weapon.

Unperturbed by the most recent attempt at his life, Enver proceeded over to his desk. “Apologies for disturbing your rest,” he said, and what surprised him was that he meant every word of it.

It sounded like you were struggling to come up with a proper response. “I wasn’t resting.”

“Oh?” He glanced over to where you were previously not-resting, intending to make a subliminal point, when he noticed something.

Your previous seat – the layers in his window alcove – were drenched with blood. He initially suspected you had a corpse stowed away somewhere for him to find, but with a quick glance across his rooms, he found none. You never hid your kills, not from him, and upon turning back to you, that’s when he discovered that it was the back of your clothing that was drenched.

It wasn’t anyone else’s blood.

Just yours.

And no shortage in amount, either. It was dripping from the edge of your coat, staining the expensive carpets he as of five seconds ago couldn’t care less about.

His first instinct compelled him to investigate, all while maintaining the façade of complete composure. You were no mere person. You were a Child of Bhaal, you had no equal on the battlefield as far as he knew. Even the mightiest foes fell victim to your blade, regardless of their race, height, or armor.

The only one who could prove strong enough to even get close and inflict this amount of damage on you would be …

You.

A warmth encompassed him, foreign to his inherent nature. Warmer than the fires of hell, twice as scorching; twisting and clawing under his skin like desperate souls in search of freedom, but not even all the gold in Raphael's vault could tempt him to be rid of it.

“You’re injured,” he concluded.

“I heal fast. My Father’s blood ensures it.”

“An admirable and useful trait, but judging by how much you’ve already lost, I would say you’re still at risk until you’re healed.”

“Of dying?”

“Nothing as dramatic, I doubt. My furniture, however, is at risk of being stained beyond repair at this rate. Do your friend a favor and let me assess the damage, then.”

Your body stiffened.

“Is that what we are? Friends?” you asked, one eye looking over your shoulder to pinpoint his exact location.

He looked at you in turn. “Do you wish to be?”

You said nothing in return, but there was no sharpness to your gaze. No perceived slight at the casual words he permitted to come out of him. It felt like you didn’t know what to make of this, and he was in no hurry to make his meaning plainer.

Rather than waiting for a verbal response, he gestured to the stool by his bedside and headed to his bathroom to retrieve what little he possessed of healing balms, a washing bin full of water, and bandages. He usually had people for this kind of matter, but he doubted you would feel inclined to accept help from strangers when you scarcely permitted it of him.

He returned to find you seated, your upper clothing already discarded on his bed, with your bare back presented to him.

Enver Gortash had seen his fair share of the grotesque, whether it was from the Hells or in the city. He believed himself numb and desensitized to such; he never had a problem dishing it out himself.

Yet somehow, the sight of your back – borderline skinless with how marred your flesh was, blood already starting to coagulate across the edges of each cavern, made him pause for a moment. Anyone else would’ve died had they suffered the same injuries, but you were not anyone else.

If it were anyone else, he wouldn’t have given it a second thought. Hells, he wouldn’t have allowed them the liberty to sit here, partially naked like a disgraced courtesan, and offered them his assistance. He had seen you naked already, but not like this.

But with you … He’d be willing to make an exception.

He discovered that he would be willing to make a lot of exceptions.

Folding up the hems of his sleeves, he began the process of wiping off the excess blood. He imagined that the salve in the water would sting, possibly hurt, but he warranted no reaction from you. Not a wince, not a moan, not a single sound. Your skin was cold, like the corpses you created, but soft in spite of the state you were in.

The basin soon turned red with the remnants of your life’s essence, and he imagined that – were it true that Bhaal was in your blood – the God of Murder would’ve surely found it affronting to have drops of him wasted in a washing basin.

As he began to dry the jagged edges of your self-inflicted wounds, he couldn’t keep the question that was nagging him at bay.

“Why?” he asked quietly.

“Repentance.”

His eyes furrowed. Why would Bhaal’s favorite child – the one he had personally witnessed commit massacres in the name of her Lord – be required to repent? What could someone as devoted as yourself have to repent for? “For what?”

He received no answer in turn. All he gained was a look over your shoulder, one that quietly requested that he didn’t delve deeper into the matter.

You could’ve demanded his submission with pain.

You could’ve turned around and forced his head into the blood-mixed water, held him down until he was all but begging for the sweet relief of death.

But you didn’t.

So, he didn’t delve deeper.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a friend,” you murmured.

Enver smiled as he applied the balm to your skin. “Then I would be honored to be your first.”

---

He began to make note of the things you liked.

---

You liked blackberry, he discovered that when he left a bowl of them unattended on his desk - a gift from an associate overseas.

He returned to find the bowl near-empty, and the window open.

After that, he made a public announcement that blackberries were his favorite flavor, and although he received plenty of gifts from admirers and lickspittles alike, he never indulged himself.

The gifts were always gone from his chambers come morning.

———

You preferred the sound of the violin to the piano.

Whenever he hosted gatherings, he would insist on having the violinists perform the longest, if only to catch a glimpse of you hiding somewhere no one could spot you.

———

You never slept - you claimed to have no need for it

But every so often, while he was working on his desk, he would catch you closing your eyes and rest with your back against the wall.

———

“So, what do you think?” He swirled the wine in his glass before taking an appreciative sip. Imported recently from Neverwinter, a batch from 1359. Perfectly aged, and perfect for an evening such as this.

You looked skeptical at the drink in your hand from the opposite side of the table, internally weighing the pros and cons before finally taking a tentative sip. To his delight, you did not look disgusted, which meant that you were pleased.

He knew you would like it.

“Your verdict?”

“It’s sweet.”

“It’s composed of Blackberry syrup, quite popular in the region and a personal favorite of mine. Unfortunately, not many of my associates seem to share my taste for the beverage, so I’m fortunate that you do.”

“Do you wish me to kill them?” you asked, completely serious.

He grinned and rested his cheek atop the knuckles of his free hand. “While I can appreciate the gesture, I’m afraid that I need these particular associates alive for now. When their usefulness eventually expires, I’ll be sure to send word for you.”

You nodded in acquiescence and took another sip of your glass.

The both of you drank for a while longer, and while your conversations felt rather one-sided on his part, you listened and supplemented when you saw fit to it.

At first, the subject varied from different aspects of your plan regarding the Absolute, who to kill, and so forth. Then, when the liquor seemed to loosen both of your tongues, the subjects delved deeper. Deeper than they ought to have, but none of you felt the need to correct this error.

“What is your name?” he finally asked. He had wanted to ask that question for a while now – since the moment you first met – but you had never indulged him.

Maybe now, you finally would?

You tilted your head slightly to the side as you assessed him. “Does my title not suffice?”

“A title is one thing, but a name is another,” he explained, releasing his glass on top of the table to focus completely on you. “There have been other Bhaalspawn before, though never one such as yourself. I believe that requires a designation on your own.”

The way you peered at him, sent a warmth to his cheeks that he could not credit the alcohol for. Those eyes, the very ones who looked so hollow and lifeless, now had a certain glow about them that captivated him like a moth to the moon.

You glanced out the window for a moment, and he could faintly hear you whisper something he doubted was meant for his ears.

(“Forgive me, Father…”)

Then, you gave him your name; ushered it like a secret that was meant for him, and only him.

At that moment, Enver Gortash realized that he was willing to forsake it all.

Forsake Bane.

Forsake his work.

He would gladly toss it all away, if only he could keep your eyes on him at all times, to speak your names as many times as he desired.

At that moment, there was nothing more he desired.

Well, almost nothing more.

There was one thing.

As if all effects of the liquor had abandoned him, he got up to his feet and walked over to your side. The blade you had previously put aside found its way back to your hand with his guidance, and he helped up get up to your feet.

With little care, he buttoned his shirt down, exposing his chest to you; his skin, his flesh, all bare for you to indulge in as you pleased.

There were question marks aligned in your eyes at the gesture.

“Cut me.” His words were soft enough to be perceived as a request, but there was no room for negotiations, not this time. You had displayed painful self-control in his presence, never harming him since you first met.

Now, he was permitting you to do what you had undoubtedly denied yourself all this time.

You could kill him – sever his link to the mortal plane, dig out his heart, and eat it if you wished to. You had his permission, if only you could make him last long enough to see you smile once again.

You had only smiled once in the time he’d known you, and it was because of him.

Maybe his death would bring you a greater joy?

He’d hope you would smile for him one last time.

He felt the blade pierce his skin, but not deep enough for it to leave lethal consequences. A prolonged line from the right side of his abdomen up to his left shoulder. That’s all it left, hardly enough to be considered a tribute to your father’s name, but your pupils grew wide all the same.

With his hand circling your waist and pulling you closer, Enver forced your face into his blood-stained chest. “You have my scent,” he whispered into your ear. “Now have my taste.”

He did not have long to wait before he felt your nails piercing holes through the fabric of his coat, leaving crescent-shaped indents on the skin of his back as you pushed yourself tighter into him. It was near-suffocating, but Hells, if it wasn’t euphoric.

Your teeth on his chest came next, sharp and merciless – predator tearing into the carcass, like you wanted to devour all of him. Your tongue slid across the length of his scar, drinking in every drop of blood he could offer at the moment. It hurt, it stung, and it ached, but whatever blood his body could afford to spare went south on record speed.

It all dawned on him, then, in a moment of euphoric ecstasy

Why you were always covered in fresh wounds of your own making whenever you went to see him.

Why you were always murmuring prayers when you thought he couldn’t hear.

Begging for forgiveness from your Father – For your God.

It was all because of him.

For all the troubles he had unintentionally caused you, it was only fitting that he compensate for it, right?

When you finally pulled back, lips drenched with his blood, you looked absolutely beautiful.

“Tell me,” He clasped his hand to the side of your face, his voice hoarse with pure, unadulterated want. “How do I taste?”

In your dazed state, so content and so nourished by the essence of him, only one word pushed past your lips:

“Sweet.”

He claimed your lips in an instant, tasting himself on your tongue – Harsh and unyielding, and you matched him with equal vigor. To anyone else, the two of you would’ve resembled two animals in the midst of a fight, or a rut.

What others would say if they knew, he cared little for. His God could cast him aside for this wicked sin, and he’d accept it with a self-satisfied smile as he walked backward to the Hells. He wanted to taste every part of you, savor every piece you would grant him, and let you taste him in turn.

You bit and you clawed, shedding his blood, tearing at it skin.

A lesser man would have found it repulsing.

A lesser man would have pushed you away, redressed himself, and left.

But Enver Gortash was not a lesser man, and all you did to him, it only added to his eventual undoing.

Your skin was surprisingly soft against his, for all your scars from years of service to your God. The sounds you made as you came undone, be it by his fingers or his tongue, he could never hope to tire of it. For someone who never spoke much, you sure compensated for that with the unholy moans and snarls he earned.

Just before he entered you, your legs wrapped tightly around his hips, he could detect the faintest flicker of … fear? Hesitation? He did not have an estimated answer to the cause of this, but he did have his suspicions.

Before establishing the foundation of your friendship, he had noticed how you would go out of your way to avoid physical touch unless it was you who initiated it.

Of course, that boundary was cast aside when it came to reaping lives, but it seemed that in this particular instance, it was different.

Had you never known such pleasure?

Never allowed yourself to feed? To indulge?

Did your God only permit you to touch something - someone - as long as it resulted in death?

A gnawing began to tug at his bones.

He did not think you would care much for gentleness, nor did he ask you to clarify, but he was still measured with his intrusion and quickly discovered that you were tight. You left him breathless, and he in turn provided the same.

His suspicions were correct.

What a slight Bhaal would consider this; to know his precious offspring was defiled by no other than the Chosen of his Sworn Foe.

Enver was not a petty character - he was more dignified than that, but just this once, he was willing to spite the God of Murder.

Not that it’s was a point of focus to him.

With some adjustment, he searched your face for hints and signs that he could proceed. Where your voice fell short, your eyes provided. If you had objections, you did not voice them, but he made sure to commit to every act necessary for you to call out to him - not Bhaal, but Enver Gortash.

He learned what place made you sing to him. Made you scream his name.

And you did – several times.

He made sure of it.

And he called out yours.

---

By the time you were done, the bed was a mess, and you both looked like you had just narrowly escaped a chance encounter with death.

In a way, he had.

“Enver,” you called into his chest, your arm wrapped in a bruising hold around his stomach.

“Hmmm?”

“A friendship with you … has its uses.”

He almost laughed and wrapped his arms around you in return. “Care to elaborate?”

“You do not taste foul.”

He could live with that.

In fact, he wanted to live with that.

With you.

You would leave for Moonrise Towers soon, and your plan would come to fruition. Ketheric would fall – Orin could too for all he cared. The world would be at your feet, and you would both reign as Gods over the rest. There was no other he would rather share it with, save for the only one he considered his Equal.

Nor would there ever be anyone else.

This he swore to all the gods that would listen, - to Bhaal, to Bane, to Myrkul.

Enver swore it.

If the world considered you monsters, then you could be monsters together.

---

The next time he sees you, it’s months later, and you’ve changed.

You’re not alone this time, as much as he preferred it so.

A vampire stands beside you, looking awfully grateful and smug about being in your proximity – a hand on your hip for emphasis, unintentional with the spite aimed towards the Archduke. Gortash finds that he wants to squeeze out whatever blood is left in him just for breathing the same air as you.

There’s Duke Ravengaard’s wayward son, looking a little devilish as of late with the addition of two horns glued to his head.

Then there’s Karlach. He makes it a point to ignore her glare.

He has no interest in your companions.

What he does have is an interest in you, even if he can tell the feeling is not mutual. Not anymore. There’s that sharpness in your eyes, the one you always harbored before towards him, then ceased to.

Now it has returned, only it feels tenfold as cold compared to before.

“Shall we be allies?” he asks after making his proposition.

Shall we be friends again?

Silence, once more, remains his only answer.

It seems you were the only one who received the benefit of forgetting.

He never did.

Not once.

[rickktish]

I feel like this entire fandom got as far as "Dumbledore had a messed up past!" and turned off their brains from there

This drives me so fucking nuts.

Dumbledore WAS attached to an extremist group in his youth-- Grindelwald's "greater good" was an ideal he believed in, it's true.

UNTIL it wasn't any more.

It fucking pisses me off when people write fics about Harry having to deal with "greater good" phase Dumbledore because!!! the whole point is that he saw the error of that way of thinking!!! He deconstructed and decided to avoid positions of political power!!! That's why he refused to be minister, not because he wanted to keep manipulating from the shadows or whatever but literally because he did not trust himself with that much power!!! The existence of the prophecy put him in a deeply strained situation between "I have a duty, a responsibility, as a person with the abilities and experience I have, to do everything in my power to stop Voldemort" vs "I literally do not trust myself in positions of power or responsibility because I have proven to myself in the past that I cannot be trusted." He doesn't want to make it a numbers game! He wants Harry to grow up and live happily ever after, so much so that he nearly destroys all of his own plans in order to achieve that end! Calling Dumbledore manipulative and equating that with him being bad is such a shallow take. Yes, he's manipulative; that doesn't make him evil! If slytherin ambition and slyness can be positive traits why are you intentionally plugging your ears to avoid letting machiavellian manipulation be used for a positive end as well? Is it because you decided in your edgy middle school phase that the Light Side are Secretly Evil and the Dark Side is Tragically Misunderstood and you haven't grown or matured since then? Did you completely miss the part where Dumbledore utterly despises himself with his whole being? Did you miss the part where he made the choices he thought he had to, not because he wanted to but because they were necessary, and even then he couldn't keep from sabotaging himself in the hope that Harry might get just one more happy year, one more happy month with his friends instead of having to fight or die in a war he shouldn't have had to face? Grow the fuck up. Do you want me to get on your level? If you think Dumbledore was "raising Harry like a pig for slaughter" you're agreeing with Professional Racist and Child Abuser Severus Snape. You're agreeing with the guy who quit the KKK not because he didn't agree with them anymore, but because the girl he wanted to be his exception didn't survive her family's honor killing to marry him instead. How's that for a childish argument? Does that get through your thick skull? Does that appeal to your barely pubescent sense of morality? "It's for the greater good" my ass. If your year-5 or -6 Dumbledore is still making Greater Good arguments then you've accidentally transposed him with the teenage version of himself that Rita Skeeter exhumed for clout and controversy. Dumbledore was a highly intelligent cult victim who got out and never trusted his own perception of a situation again but still did his fucking best, okay? get over your authority issues without reasonable solutions, deprogram yourself, deradicalize yourself, and figure out that people are still people no matter their past mistakes and when they're genuinely doing the best they can, especially when they're drowning and alone and trying to make the best of a shitty situation for everyone involved, maybe have like. A single ounce of compassion instead of declaring them wholly evil without possibility of parole.

[blitz0hno]

Let's be real. Realistically, every time we see Mikoto it might as well be a different alter.

Does that make for an easy-to-follow narrative? No. Is it what the authors intended? Not likely, but also this is a game all based around perception and life experiences.

"Mikoto" and "John" as we know them are functionally made up by the audience (and thus Es) for narrative flow. Just like how ppl w DID irl are generally assumed to be "themselves," as in their body's name/main identity. Whether you're singlet or plural, the "you" in someone else's mind is a tiny piece even to your closest people. They see you through a special lens all their own, and these interpretations reveal more about the viewer than anything (not that that is a "bad" thing; it just is). Every individual consciousness is a different lens. You really can't know shit about any system unless you ask within the system, even w alters in your own brain. Mikoto hasn't had enough time to process his different parts yet, so it's wholly ambiguous.

Oblivious as we are, we've noticed a bit of friction surrounding how people view Kayanosys and tbh it makes us kinda sad; but the subject matter is touchy, so it's understandable. In my humble opinion, while they give us many clues as to "who's who," it's all still purely hypothetical. And it's fun to guess and theorize and even make shit up! You wouldn't do it to a real system but Milgram is not real; all respectful interpretations of 09 are valid in my book.

Personally I like the idea that he has more alters than just who we see, and I like interpretations of Mikoto/John/Kataboku as their own people. I also like completely ambiguous interpretations, and everything in-between bc if we wanna be Really Realistic, there's no end to the possibilities whatsoever, especially with as little info as we have so far.

This makes writing him So Difficult for me, but it only adds all the more layers to why I love these characters so much. I am so so sick of being a system sometimes, but it's a complex worldview that few experience and even fewer fully grasp. Plurality deserves to be talked about openly and with patience, and I couldn't be happier that Milgram even dares talk about them to such a large audience.

The reasons to talk about these things, after all, won't go away even if we do stop talking about them. I'm not gonna say "it all happens for a reason," but we certainly have words to describe such experiences for many reasons. I feel like we all need to stop being afraid of not fully understanding things. I certainly don't understand a lot, but I understand a small handful of things that many do not. Sharing helps us understand more, even if we miss the mark sometimes.

Idk. I love Mikoto and I love our little mikotoverse on tumblr dot com, that is all.

[thrillofhope]

Since this show keeps adding fuel to my Adar = Maeglin hc: (in no particular order; some of these are less serious than others)

Quoting Rúmil - Pengolodh of Gondolin later continued and completed much of Rúmil's work. Who lived in Gondolin? Maeglin. (Who seems like an angsty, brooding boy who would read poetry? Maeglin.)

Knows of Melian/what Melian looks like - Eöl, kin of Thingol (and later Aredhel and Maeglin) lived in Nan Elmoth at the mercy of Thingol, Melian's husband. Melian used to wander those woods.

The scars - Maeglin was thrown from the ramparts of Gondolin into the flames. Adar seems to have burn scars

General appearance - pale with dark hair; seems plausible he could be the son of the "Dark Elf" and Aredhel, a Nolofinwëan, especially as Maeglin was known to resemble the Noldor and Adar looks a little Noldorin.

Demeanor - Of Maeglin: "His words were few save in matters that touched him near, and then his voice had a power to move those that heard him and to overthrow those that withstood him." Fits.

Using Fëanorian form in Quenya - Aredhel, Maeglin's mother, was quite close with her cousins Celegorm and Curufin, and perhaps taught her son the "forbidden" language.

Was taken in the by the promises of Morgoth/Sauron - see the Fall of Gondolin; and if he survived, he would have little choice but to choose the darkness; the elves would only see him as traitor after that.

Serves as a parallel/mirror to Sauron - Maeglin, like Sauron, wants more than the power and influence he's been given (which is considerable) and turns to Morgoth to achieve those ends; Adar serves because there is something Morgoth/Sauron can give him (children)

Seems to hate Elrond - maybe he looks a little like Idril, too, and Maeglin was more than a little obsessed with her. Who took him away from her (to his mind) (and also "killed" him)? Tuor, Elrond's grandfather.

Maeglin's name in Quenya is "Lómion" (Child of Twilight) - Adar seems to occupy this strange place that's not wholly dark, but not light

The name Maeglin means "Sharp Glance" and was given to him by his father because he "perceived that the eyes of his son were more piercing than his own, and his thought could read the secrets of hearts beyond the mist of words" - Adar seems to have a very keen sense of perception: the way he sees through Galadriel, through "Halbrand" when he comes to him as a prisoner. He seems to know a lot of things he shouldn't know.

Military prowess - Of Maeglin: "proved fell and fearless in battle."

“It would seem I'm not the only elf alive who has been transformed by darkness." - Yes, the very literal corruption by Morgoth, but even before that for Maeglin "amid all the bliss of that realm...a dark seed of evil was sown." (and then of course later he is taken in by Morgoth's promises and ultimately leads to the destruction of that city)

The rivers on his armor - this is probably weak, but I've only seen this imagery on other Nolofinwëan's: Elrond and Gil-galad (iffy, bc this show hasn't confirmed his parentage, and I might have just missed it elsewhere, though I suppose if it showed up in other places, those elves could be of the House of Turgon, Fingon, etc.)

"I am no god. At least, not yet." - Maeglin wanted to be a king/have more power. I could see him taking this to an extreme after his "death"/being corrupted by Morgoth/Sauron.

Arondir, the river and "sage blossoms" - could refer to the River Gelion. Maeglin would have crossed that way on his trips to see the dwarves in Nogrod and Belegost, and Arondir could be from Ossiriand.

Children - giving someone the means of mastering the thing they fear so you can master them - Adar was given children as a means to get him to fall in line. You could make an argument that Maeglin, having lost his family (even as consequences of choices that he made in pursuit of power) would greatly fear being alone again in the darkness (after having grown up in the dark of Nan Elmoth). Giving him children, a family would be a way of helping him master that fear. (This feels like a bit of a stretch, but not completely implausible).

Elven kings - less a reason and more just interesting, it would be cool to see a "Noldorin king" that rules over the orc. Doubly cool for the contrast with Gil-galad (if he's Fingon's son, they would be cousins) (hoping to see at least a conversation between these two, because the parallels are there, but that's another post). Arguments against: 1. Maeglin not dying kinda cheapens his father's prophecy that he would meet the same end (I could excuse this if Sauron pushes him from a very tall tower in Eregion) 2. Timeline - depending on when Adar was taken and corrupted, this is obviously not possible 3. Adar would be more interesting as an OC 4. Probably many more.

Did I spend far too much time on this? Probably.

[satanicallypanicky]

If it's not too personal, would you mind sharing how you view Satan? Is it from a relatively Christian perspective (like i do)? if so, how do you see the Christian God in all this? What does each of them represent?

That's so complicated. Please accept this extremely long post about my personal theology. I didn't type it up for you but pasted it in from my files.

It is in constant flux and I update it regularly with new information. This is not the complete version, only the relevant parts to your question (I think). It is 5/22/2024 so if I learn something as the result of reactions to this absurd post, it will officially be out of date. You're allowed to reblog this and I accept constructive criticism as long as you're not an asshole about it.

With regards to gods generally, I believe that:

gods exist.

we don't really know if the gods are real or not, even if we believe in them or worship them or think they might exist. There is no objective truth to be found, only subjective perception and shared gnosis. Treating the gods as if they do exist, even as archetypes, can bring objective knowledge of one's self, the nature of the universe, and (most importantly) can bring meaning to a life that might otherwise feel devoid of it.

my belief in the gods exists in a half-agnostic, half-theistic middle ground of reasoned-yet-pious unknowing and positive nihilism.

belief in gods is not a good reason to ignore or reject science; the two are not mutually exclusive nor is one morally superior to the other.

gods are NOT "real" or "flesh and blood" being that inhabit other realms.

man made the gods. We invented (and continue to invent and re-invent) them through worship and myth-making.

the gods are given the powers and domains by the faith of those that believe in them (they are powerful, influential, and  semi- independent egregores).

if there is a cosmic creator god that created the universe or started the Big Bang, it is not invested in the least in what humanity is doing and thus doesn't care if we worship it or not, so we might as well not.

the gods either ARE their domains (when it comes to natural domains such as "water" or "lightning" or "death") or have some measure of control over their domains (human constructs such as "music" or "motherhood" or "law"), but the line there is really thin and open to a hell of a lot of debate.

there are gods that are invested in humanity and that actively respond to attempts to build relationships with them.

there are gods that accept physical and symbolic offerings as well as "actions as offerings" and that respond by bestowing favor on the worshipper in the form of blessings (the Gifting Cycle).

according the their own myths, the gods are not wholly benevolent, but have their own ambiguous and independent wills. They chose when and why to answer prayers, if at all.

no god is stagnant. Gods change with time and with people's changing beliefs about them. The gods of ancient people remain powerful but the beliefs surrounding them have morphed and changed over time, creating newer versions of the same old gods.

because no god is stagnant, it's impossible to worship the exact same god as my ancestors even when they are called by the same name. Too much knowledge has been lost, and the culture surrounding me and the gods in question have shifted and changed dramatically.

ancient polytheists incorporated new ideas and myths into their worldviews all the time and were not jealous of other gods/pantheons - in fact, many gods were "adopted" into pantheons or syncretized into becoming a part of one or more of their old gods.

other gods beyond those of my direct ancestral lineage are both worth worshipping and open to being worshipped (within reason and with appropriate consent of the spiritual traditions to which they belong). 

engaging in the Gifting Cycle with people and gods/spirits I respect brings us into greater community with each other

With regards to the Christian God, I believe that:

a local god of the Canaanites, known as El, and gradually became conflated and syncretized with other related gods such as Yahweh, an early Israelite god of storms and warriors. This god became the god of the Jewish people. With time and differences in theology, a version of this god eventually became the god of the Christians.

the Christian God and the Jewish God are not the same god, in the same way Thor (Norse) and Thunor (Anglo-Saxon) are not necessarily the same, or Zeus (Greek) and Jupiter (Roman) are not necessarily the same. They share an origin and have a great deal of similarities and can be easily conflated, but Judaism perceives their god much differently than Christianity perceives theirs. Thus, references to the Judeo-Christian God are at best overly simplistic.

J!God's early insistence on monolatrism and later monotheism led to the violent displacement and literally "demonization" the other gods and spirits of the Levant. This continued into the C!God. As Christianity spread, this process was continued against the gods and spirits of the places where the C!God was carried by his worshippers and where they proselytized.

neither the J!God nor the C!God created the universe, this world, or humanity. No record of him exists until the Bronze Age and humanity did a hell of a lot of existing prior to that, not to mention the world and the universe.

it is likely that J!God's existence is a direct antecedent of the Jewish people, meaning he effectively created the Jewish people, in that they would not exist as a people without J!God.

it is possible that there are two versions of the C!God- a patriarchal and jealous version, and a progressive and loving version, who are conflated by Christians themselves and perhaps worshipped by different Christian denominations. The loving and progressive version might just be Jesus.

Jesus' existence in Christianity is at least in part a function of Buddhism's influence on Greco-Levantine philosophy and mythology.

Jesus' gospel of forgiveness, generosity, mercy, and hospitality is both excellent and completely out of character for the C!God, who is shown to be violent, jealous, and unmerciful.

the C!God is not omnipotent or omniscient.

the C!God is real and powerful, especially to his followers. This god affects their lives in concrete and measurable ways, many of them beneficial.

The C!God (at least one version of him) is occasionally openly hostile to the pursuit of human knowledge and achievement, and his followers violently reject any non-Christian religious or cultural knowledge as being "of the Devil" and seek to destroy it. 

the foul actions done in the name of the C!God by modern and ancient Christians alike (Christian dominionism, Christofascism, religious and cultural genocides, crusades and the actions of Crusaders, conquests and the actions of Conquistadors, honor killings, nigh-apocalyptic destruction of the Earth because Jesus is returning soon anyways, White Supremacy, etc.) are precisely in keeping with the goals, powers, and domain of the C!God, or at least the patriarchical and jealous version..

Jesus is marginally more worth worshipping, but by his connection to the C!God and his/their monolatrism (trinitarian monolatrism?) is fundamentally excluded from worship from non-Christian polytheists.

With regards to Satan, I believe that:

Satan originated as a spirit/demon in early Judaism called ha-Satan ("the Adversary") that was an ally and accomplice of the J!God.

Satan gained a reputation as an evil and powerful demon over time and with the influence of the Christian church. People of all Semitic religions (both modern and ancient) have constantly contributed to the mythology of Satan.

Satan is a god that is made powerful and fearful both by his own worshippers and the fear and recognition of Christians.

Satan is the god of rebellion against authority, particularly the harmful and destructive cultural and religious authority that the C!God and Christians attempt to place over all of humanity.

many other spirits or beings have become connected to the name Satan and can be included as "Satans" or having become an aspect of the being called Satan. For me, these include Azazel, Leviathan, Belial, Asmodeus, and Lucifer. These each have powers, personalities, and domains of their own, but are all included when I call upon the god called Satan.

Azazel is the spirit in all people that leads them into temptation. It is "goatish" but formless, somewhat ghostly or shadowy, and creeps around the edges of your vision. It represents all that is "sent away" from people who consider themselves holy or pure- questioning authority, base drives and desires considered by some to be sins, corruption, impurity, disobedience, temptation, and all manner of wickedness.

Belial is shadowed and mysterious. He is the god of practicality, strength, physical labor and wealth, steadiness, patience, responsibility, and perseverance. He is connected to wickedness, at least the Christian idea of it. Many evangelicals believe that anything not done in the name of their Lord is evil- thus working hard and being patient and responsible in the name of Satan must be extra evil.

Asmodeus is the Devil that tempts people into the pleasures that others call sins. Where Lucifer is suave and sexy, Asmodeus is brash and lustful. He rules passion, courage, pride, and destruction. He inspires sex, drugs, and rock n' roll. He wants you to let go of your inhibitions and give in to sins with your whole heart. Asmodeus is, however, also a demon of wrath and destruction. After all, giving into emotion with ones whole heart sometimes means smashing things with a hammer. He is also a compassionate and healing force.

Leviathan represents the unknown, the subconscious mind, chaos, and madness. Leviathan is both male and female. They are the Serpent of the Abyss, the unseeable monster that lurks in the vast unknowable depths. They are the coiling snake and grasping tentacle and divination and intuition and initiation. They are loneliness and despair and darkness.

Lucifer is a man- charismatic, suave, and sexy. The Morning Star is the lord of rebellion and an enemy of tyranny. He is the light that emerges from the darkness, beckoning exploration of dark or forbidden realms to attain knowledge. He bids indulgence, pleasure, and sex as well as revolution, destruction, and enlightenment.

Satan is the circle surrounding the five-pointed star. He is all of the other five at once, a god/demon of knowledge and pleasure and rebellion and perseverance and despair, an Unholy Spirit that unites and sets the five aspects as a whole in opposition to unjust authorities of all sorts. He is the true god of humanity.  He is the god of sin and blasphemy and edginess, death, fire, and the underworld. He is the god of psychological dominance, of obedience, of punishment, of power. He is both the Enemy, Opposition, and Adversary… and the Master.

Satan rules a realm called Hell. The Christians believe this to be a place of eternal torment where only the unworthy are sent. And for them, perhaps it is, eternally separated from their god. Not all of un-Christian humanity goes there, however- their spirit goes where their belief system takes them. For the devil-worshipper, Hell is anything they want it to be, from a quiet place of gentle repose to a non-stop Bacchanalia to a hall full of honored non-Christian ancestors waiting to welcome you home. It's also entirely possible that it's not a "real" place, but having a conception of an afterlife can bring peace to the living.

Satan is a god of many things, including "evil" (as in a mindset or acts that are in opposition to the predominate religion or culture of a place), Jung's "shadow self", fire, power, psychological dominance, and death; rebellion and rejection of authoritarianism; justice, trials, accusations, and punishment; temptations and the "sins" of pride, lust, greed, etc.; secrets, forbidden knowledge,  challenging dogma, magic, and the rejection of Christianity.

early Christians equated Satan with the wilderness and with other pagan gods seen as being "outside civilization". This connection remains - Satan is both a god of wilderness/wildness and of rejecting civilization as it currently exists in favor of replacing it with a more just and equitable one for all of humanity regardless of their faith. Satan represents a wildness of spirit and exhorts his worshippers to "become ungovernable".

worshipping Satan and choosing to rebel against Authority is an inherently anarchist act.

Satan enthusiastically responds to the Gifting Cycle. He bestows power, confidence, and knowledge, among other things.

worshipping Satan involves integrating the darkness within (Jung's shadow) with the outer self entirely- accepting all of one's flaws and hidden pieces as being a part of the "true self" that is presented to the world- fully living into your pride, lust, greed, shame, and fear, and thus receiving the wisdom and power of being ones true self openly.

Satan rejects a single coherent sense of morality outside of a very anarchistic "live and let live". He wants all people to be free to do as they please, to honor the asking and giving of consent, to destroy bigotry and hierarchy wherever they take root, and to seek out pleasure and truth wherever you can because nothing else really matters anyways. Be true to ones' self! Eat drink and be merry! Be queer as fuck! Liberty or death!

[fictionkinfessions]

@ https://fictionkinfessions.tumblr.com/post/762249101640450048/open-question-what-is-the-difference-between

As a fictive in a system that has both fictive and fictionkin members, I think I can give some tips on this. It might run a little long but bear with me.

In general? The main determining factor is individuality.

Fictives are wholly separate people from our hosts. We have our own individual perceptions, emotions, beliefs, and a distinct sense of identity. We experience the world differently than our host does, and it's very common for us to have differing identities (genders, sexualities, etc.) and opinions than our host as well.

On the other hand, for someone who's fictionkin, their kintypes are synonymous with who they are in some way. There can be some degree of separation, and some degree of difference in behaviour while shifted. But a kintype is an aspect of your own identity, personality, experience, and sense of self. Kintypes do not display a sense of self or agency separate from your own.

Anyone can be fictionkin, whether you're a system member or a singlet. But singlets cannot be fictives, since a fictive is by definition a system member.

Before a fictive knows they're a fictive, amnesia and dissociation can potentially make them assume they are the host for awhile. When that happens it can sometimes be difficult to differentiate their presence from a kintype.

In my opinion, the easiest way to get around that is to discern whether your supposed kinshifts are in fact switches or not. Some questions I'd ask someone who's just starting to explore that would include:

– Do your kinshifts involve you experiencing a drastic change in personality, sense of self, and values that revert when the shift is over?

– Do your kinshifts involve a dramatic change in behaviour that you are confused by or can't relate to when the shift is over?

– Do your kinshifts involve consistent memory issues around what you did or why you did it that aren't present when the shift is over?

– Do your kinshifts involve a sense of detachment from your body or the world around you that ends when the shift is over?

– Do your kinshifts involve a feeling of being on 'autopilot' or lacking complete control over your actions in a way that you don't experience outside of that shift?

– Do your kinshifts involve you forgetting about your other established kintypes, or other aspects of your identity that you don't usually forget outside of that shift?

– Do your kinshifts involve a sudden change in your gender, sexuality, preferences, or opinions that you do not experience outside of that shift?

– Do your kinshifts involve you liking certain things (foods, music, activities, etc.) that you typically do not enjoy outside of that shift?

– Do your kintypes feel like 'parts of you' that you can't always tap into? Do they sometimes seem to disappear from your identity entirely, only to reappear later with the same strength they originally had?

– Do your kintypes seem to have separate thoughts from you, or do their thoughts seem to interrupt your own? Do those interruptions ever involve them speaking to you directly or replying to your other thoughts?

None of these things are exclusively system experiences. But if you said 'yes' to a lot of them– especially the last one– then you might want to look into systems or plurality.

Best of luck figuring it out from there, and try not to stress too much about whatever conclusions you come to. And remember to take this and all other anecdotal advice you receive with a grain of salt, since no two systems experience things exactly the same way.

d

[fishing-lesbian-catgirl]

There was a period in my life where I really didn’t understand why people write fanfiction when they could be writing their own stories and characters. But over time I eventually figured it out. People can’t see all the ideas in your head unless you write them, your characters need to have a substantial amount of writing and be of a certain quality for anyone to be able to get invested in them, and they have to be open to reading something completely foreign to them in the first place. But for fanfiction people are already invested in the characters, they already know stuff about the story and setting. The writer doesn’t have to do a ton of work setting all that up and can instead get right to writing the juicy scenes they want without committing to writing a whole bunch to establish everything. And at the end of the day theres no guarantee anyone else will like your characters, but if its a story about a character they already like then its so much easier to get people to read it. These definite advantages are very appealing.

That said, there are also disadvantages. Someone with no interest in the property it’s based on is more unlikely to read fanfiction than original work, both because they don’t have any interest in reading a work that is derived from something they have no connection to and because fanfiction expects reader to have at least a baseline understanding of the story. Another thing is that readers might disagree with your interpretations and headcanons about characters and events. It’s also harder to get published, and people who do “file the serial numbers off” a long fanfic are frequently looked down upon for understandable reasons. One of the major parts of it that I saw as a downside, which was the reason I used to not understand why people write it, is that it is ultimately a derivative work that cannot exist without its source material, and it is not a purely original work of your own creation.

That last part, about pure originality, is what eventually led to me realizing that “hey maybe a derivative fan work can still be valuable and gold”. As I was trying to work on my own things, and trying to be wholly original, I came to realize how impossible it is the come up with ideas that are not at least partially shaped by your perception of the world and how the things you’ve seen have affected your tastes. You can’t write a work of fantasy, sci fi, or any other fiction genre without reflecting the art in the genre that you have experience with. The most extreme version of realizing that no idea exists in a vacuum was when I was trying to come up with names for things. Coming up with a name for something without any outside influences is essentially impossible other than by throwing random syllables around and creating something that hasn’t been used by chance, and even then the syllables you choose will be reflective of the language you speak and other factors that influence your thoughts and who you are.

[houseofbrat]

I've seen you mention a few times that William will be a failure as king.

Do you think it's mainly because of his ego? I've been watching him for a while. I adore Catherine for various reasons but never really cared that much for him as he seems arrogant and egotistical. Similar to his brother in many ways, but willing to stand by the Crown.

I'm not wholly impressed by earthshot for various reasons, and I'm definitely not impressed with his new pledge to end homelessness. Jumping the gun, making promises that in my opinion, are impossible to keep. Is this saviour mentality why he will unsuccessful?

I'm firmly in the " do the job you have (bread and butter engagements) don't try to be King of the World and make "meaningful impact" - these words smack of egotism to me. Did we ever see the late Queen using words like that? Absolutely not. Just quietly doing her duty and making uniting the country she loved.

Thanks for your thoughts.

(this ask is from 27 June 2023)

I think it'll end up being for a variety of reasons.

First, let's consider this quote about Diana from Kitty Kelley's 1997 book, The Royals, page 457:

Diana publicly reinforced her image as the mother of a future King by talking to Richard Kay about her firstborn son. She bragged that at thirteen he was "taller than his father…and so very different." She belittled Charles by building up William: the son is "decisive"; the son has "sense and sensibility"; the son takes "people for what they are, not who they are." The son is handsome, "not burdened" with stick-out ears. "Tell him he's good looking," wrote Richard Kay after visiting with Diana, "and Wills says he can't be because that would make him vain."

Again, that quote is from 1997. The "positive" image that so many Will & Kate Cultists and Charles-hating Diana stans have is straight from Diana's pr games thirty years ago. Most of the perception of William going to be a "great" king comes straight from the drivel Diana connived to get published in the UK tabs in her hate campaign against Charles.

Yes, William certainly is arrogant and egotistical. Notice how he never bows to The King in public, except during the actual coronation ceremony last year. You see Kate curtseying to The King and Queen in public, but not William. He is petulant, just like his brother. (And sorry Wales stans but keep showing your lack of age when you don't realize that Charles bowed to his parents in public all the time until the last seven to ten years, when he started being treated as a pseudo king because he had been heir-to-the-throne for so damn long.)

Consider now that William has completed more than a year of time as the heir to the throne. Yet, in 2023, he could barely best The Duke of Gloucester in engagement numbers. The Duke of Gloucester is older than King Charles and currently 32nd in the line of succession.

William is hardly more prepared now for being the monarch than he was a year ago. (He has less than eight years to become prepared.) It is plainly obvious to me--and probably a few other people--that he is straight-up avoiding increasing his workload. He is not going to be prepared to be monarch. He has not done enough diplomatic tours. He has not done enough engagements for causes that are not "close" to his heart.

Basically, when it gets down to it, he is setting himself up for failure because he refuses to prepare for the job. When he suddenly becomes king sooner than he would like, he won't be prepared. With his stubborn nature, he's unlikely to seek guidance from anyone within the royal family because he believes himself to be their superior in all things. He inherited his mother's ego and her ability to create her own misfortunes. Serious misfortunes.

[gojuo]

the TB speech that Alicent is driven by envy of Rhaenyra's 'sexual freedom' frustrates me so much. And that's all because in episode 4, they had that conversation in the godswood, where Rhaenyra lied to her. from my perception the last thing that was going through Alicent's mind there was envy and yes concern for Rhaenyra's future due to her being 'dishonored' and not only that, but being seen doing it in a place wholly unsuitable for young maidens, let alone a princess soon to be queen. if viserys had been another kind of person, he could have sent her to the silent sisters! And Alicent believed her, which made her defend her, causing her only court ally to be sent away. Otto may be a terrible father, but he was there for her. Alicent was completely alone there to defend her babies, since Viserys didn't give a shit about them, not even her brother was there to support her, and Rhaenyra's betrayal hurt her a lot and proved that her father was right, that she couldn't trust Rhaenyra with anything, least of all the lives of her children, that's why she decided to create her own faction to put her son on the throne, because she opened her eyes to who Rhaenyra has become, if she can lie about sleeping with someone she can lie about worse things and that's exactly what she did these next 16 years between episode 5 and 8 like having multiple bastards in a row and get rid of her husband to marry her sociopathic uncle, who hates Alicent and her children

The "Alicent is jealous Rhaenyra gets to cum and she doesn't" take has got to be the most bottom-of-the-barrel low IQ braindead lobotomized garbage nonsense ever known to man. How do you see Viserys beating up Daemon in the episode saying, "We were young men. She's just a girl. Your niece! [...] You have ruined her! What lord will wed her now? In this condition?" and then forcefully & immediately marrying her to Laenor Velaryon knowing damn well he's gay and think ahh yes Alicent's problem was Rhaenyra getting good sex while she didn't. Especially after watching Alicent defend Rhaenyra's honor to Viserys. Especially after watching Rhaenyra lie on her dead mother's name while knowing that a few episodes ago Alicent revealed how her own dead mother still haunts her. Literally d!3 !!!?!?!!11

[grandpasessions]

Completely absent from the thought of the Fathers is the eudaemonistic teaching about destiny and the identifying of the mind with the divine essence.

Before Justin became a Christian he used to argue in a Platonic manner: "Philosophy is the science of being and the clear knowledge of truth, and eudaemonia is more revered than science and wisdom." The elder Trypho questions Justin, "What is it in us that is akin to God? Is the soul also divine and immortal and a part of that regal Mind itself? And as the mind sees God, is it also attainable by us to comprehend the Divinity in our mind and thence become happy?" Justin, in the end, replies negatively.

Thus, regarding his turning to Christ he writes,

"I spent as much of my time as possible with a man who had recently settled in our city, an intelligent man who was prominent among the Platonists. I progressed and made the greatest possible advancement every day. And the perception of incorporeal things uplifted me, and the contemplation of the ideas gave wings to my mind. Within a short time, I thought I had become wise, and I stupidly expected forthwith to look upon God, for this is the aim of Plato's philosophy."

Philosophy's teaching of moral perfection is not capable of transcending the idea of selfish eudaemonia because, for the latter, that which is perfect is unmoved toward anything outside of itself. If it is thought to move toward something, then the unmoved either moves toward that which is part of itself (pantheism), or it is not truly perfect. The moral perfection of those things that derive from the One is acquired through their union with the most high One, and then every movement and desire is terminated.

In other words, moral perfection consists in the fulfilling satisfaction of the selfish eudaemonia of man. It has nothing to do with the attainment of unselfish love but instead with the total and highest degree of fulfillment of the selfishness that rules man.

According to these presuppositions, then, the fall consists of an inexplicable turning away of man's selfish love from the highest good to secondary things. Consequently, the penalty for this irrational act consists mainly of the deprivation of the only thing capable of really satisfying man's selfish inclination to eudaemonia.

The West's great debates about whether divine grace is necessary or not for the achievement of man's destiny are based on such presuppositions. Accordingly, for the West the image and likeness of God in man cannot be mainly a matter of spiritual labor for the attainment of unselfish love that seeks not its own. The functioning and makeup of the soul and will that seek selfish eudaemonia are just as they were when God first made them; the mechanism is wholly in tact. The soul lacks only the correct object towards which it needs to be directed.

For the West, therefore, it is not a matter of spiritual labor to attain the image and likeness of God in the full freedom of being perfected, as it is with Greek patristic theology, but merely a matter of losing or gaining the highest good.

Ancestral Sin John Romanides

[boogiewoogieweeb]

for the fic writer ask: 12, 20, 64? 😇

well, well, if it isn't one of my favourite people ever... 😎🥰😘 sure thing, lil! here we go:

12. How does receiving or not receiving feedback/support impact you?

like a great many fic writers, while i write primarily for myself, feedback from my readers plays a crucial part in motivating me to continue writing and improving my craft. good concrit is always welcome (though i often take it through gritted teeth, being the stubborn little shit that i am), and any praise or show of support is massively and genuinely appreciated (even when i struggle to accept it due to my own insecurities). and while getting kudos on your work is gratifying, receiving a heartfelt comment on the effect or impact your writing has had on someone is absolutely mindblowing and wonderfully empowering by comparison.

20. Have you noticed any patterns in your fics? Words/expressions that appear a lot, themes, common settings, etc?

i tend to use plant imagery and symbolism in my work A LOT (specifically, trees and creeping vines). i also often include birds or bird symbolism. both of these are tied rather closely to my own perception of what love feels like (whether filial, platonic, or romantic). another subset of literary symbolism i often include in my writing is that of injury or chronic pain, which is also deeply connected to the id, and my own perceived sense of self.

thematically, a lot of my writing features requited unrequited love or unerring devotion, mainly due to my own persistent issues with being limerent and chronically in love with the idea of being loved and/or desired.

lastly, when writing humour, i like to inflict outbursts of intense embarrassment or deep unease on my focal characters, since that's usually how i feel about interacting with other people around 70% of the time. (but watch out! when i get comfortable with someone...)

64. Something you love to see in smut.

emotional vulnerability and intense passion. look, a good raunchy pwp is great and all, but being that i'm limerent and rather prone to melancholy and introspection, i love seeing characters be overwhelmed by the realization of the depth of their feelings for one another, and allowing that to bleed through into intimate scenes. having characters give themselves over so wholly and completely to one another in both mind and body that at the end of a given sex scene, i, as the reader, almost feel like i'm the one that got lovingly and seductively taken apart and put back together again.

alternatively, lately i've been getting really into breeding kink and possessive tops 👍

thank you very, very much for the ask, lily! 🌹🌹🌹 these were super fun questions to ponder and come up with answers for. ily and i hope you have fun reading these!

[altocat]

I've recently fallen into FF7 hell and also fell in love with Zack and Sephiroth. I've noticed Zack likes to flirt. What do you think Sephiroth's reaction would be to Zack flirting with him?

Sephiroth is kind of...well, dense. The man is brilliant, but generally very awkward and uncomfortable when it comes to reading certain social cues. For as perceptive and clever as he is on the battlefield, romance is completely alien territory for him.

Likely, he'd brush it off as Zack being...well, Zack. More jokes. He'd grumpily tell Zack to knock it off and get back to work, not even realizing that Zack's being completely genuine. Should Sephiroth become convinced that things are wholly genuine, after a lot of huffing and doubting and trying to unsuccessfully push Zack away, he'd eventually give up and reciprocate in his own stunted, shaky way.

Honestly, I think Sephzack has a lot of potential, and it's one of my favorite rare-pairs. Their personalities just blend so well together!

[reddragonprincess]

It is not quite the same to welcome Marth to the medical tent as it is her sister. One, the Hero-King; the other, her hero, right from the very beginning. Of course what silliness she spouts about her brother and sister being the strongest is ever made in cheek, but still — how odd it still feels to let that little piece of childhood slip between her fingers.

“Sister!” A juice box is hastily pressed into the elder princess’s hands, the younger squarely settling her gift there and wrapping her own around them. It would be a hug, were there not wounds for her to consider; nevertheless, into this she wholly pours her heart, her warmth, scoldings and rest be forgot — no force in all the world shall keep her from her family.

“You were so incredible out there, Minerva! I knew you would be!” Soft fingers curl over the heel of the woman’s palm, and from them, faith flows in abundance. Gently as a cleric may, Maria mends her sister's hurts; and, when she looks up to her again, it is with that irrepressible adoration she has always held. Changed though it may be from their halcyon days, it knows no decay — only love, boundless as the skies above Macedon.

“Did you have fun? Oh — did you make any friends? Tell me you did!” The little robin’s head tips back, a tittering laugh flowing upward. “Or were they intimidated by how strong you are? The super cool way you swing your axe? Hee hee! Now everyone has to know how amazing you are!”

After the ending of the event, she did not expect no less than the much needed rest; as a matter of facts though, she had some wounds to be treated properly and a stop at the medical tent was compulsory and she knew that above all, her sister would scold her if she would have skipped it.

Speaking of sister, she did her best to seek for her during the event, but the incredible rythm of the rounds completely made her out of reach for most of the times, especially since she was in one of the team that made it to the final. Minerva thought that Maria would be extremely happy with that result… and so she was.

A sudden sister! called out her attention and as she realized the evidence, the little body of the girl was already sticking against the woman's body, still wearing the heavy armour from the previous battles.

"Maria.. I'm so glad to see you" she gently patted her head, picking up with her other free hand the juice box, but the irruence of the little sister completely absorbed the love of her big sister: despite the differences, they were very connected to each other, a love that overcome every single limit and boundary - she was the real treasure, for Minerva.

"Ah, I just did what I thought it could be the best for my team" she scratched her head, a slight smile as she felt a little pain in the legs, but the acute perception of Maria made her realize she needed a medication and of course she was the master of healings and cures.

"But I can see you did a great job as well here at the medical tent" she sighed as she let the pain slowly fade away while the younger sister proceed in her treatments. "You're like an angel to all of us, dealing with concotions and heals" she snorted lightly, enduring the pain and knowing that it would soon go away: love healed everything.

"Oh no, I'm not as cheerful as you Maria.. But I did find some nice and cool battle companions" in all honesty, she wasn't fully certain to define them as friend, but she certainly made some favorable meeting. "But enough talking about me, let me properly thank you for this little medication: how about a tea break? - just you and me, like we used to do at home.." she outlined a fleeting smile, caressing the cheek of her little sister with tenderness and lastly adjusting the leg finally medicated. "Let's celebrate together.. since it's almost your birthday!" she blushed a little; she knew she was not good with this, but all that battlings have messed up with her head and she just wanted to be with her for good.

"You know I'm not good with celebrations and such, but please, accept my gift and proposal" and she lastly embranced her tiny body in a warm hug, hoping they would continue to be like this forever.

[osarina]

carina, mi cariña hehehe ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹❤︎₊ ⊹

i am here to shriek and shout and sob about your characterization of beast dazai. you deserve a medal and a smooch bc you are so spot on already it’s insane. the imagery of his depersonalization/derealization is so vivid and palpable. i feel like i’m there with him. i adored bandlands and i’m so excited for the rest of unreal unearth

ÉLIANE I LOVE YOU SO WHOLLY AND COMPLETELY if you knew the number of times i almost got cold feet posting the first part 🥹🥹🥹 i’m weeping this means the world to me i was so nervous im so particular about my characterization of dazai and like beastzai tenfold he means the whole world to me i just wanna do him justice 🥹

my fav part of beast is being able to like get inside dazai’s mind and figure out how his interaction w the book & learning about all of the other universes affected his perception of his own reality and i feel like with him, it would end with a lot of dissociative states where he struggles to separate himself from what he’s seen