#So it's not like the knowledge of their origins would magically make them know how to control it))

[madschiavelique]

Hi! So, modding has ruined me and as such I’d like to request the Origin Companions with a Lich Tav / S/O? Like, they did the whole process a while ago and only now with the Tadpole Sitch have they returned from death and have no idea what they’re doing and are far weaker than they expected. Maybe they show the companion a sign of “I love and trust you” by allowing them to (gently) hold their phylactery? Idk, fill how you see fit if you want :]

hi anon!! sorry it took so long but i wanted to make a bit of research for it to be accurate. i hope you'll like it!!

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ characters : shadowheart, astarion, gale, lae'zel, wyll, karlach

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ content warning : a bit of angst, but some comfort

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ words : 1.4k (250~ per characters)

( not proofread, english is not my first language ☆)

─ ‧ shadowheart :

at a first glance, you amazed her as much as terrified her. but it was mostly a terrified respect. because being a lich, aka an undead sorcerer who seeks to transcend death itself is in clear opposition to the cycle of life and death, which is a central theme of most faiths including Shar’s.

she swore you must have followed Shar herself though as, per her words, “the darkness that precedes you would make a fierce soldier in her eyes.”

chances are that Shadowheart will have to put some parts of her faith in question for you, but on the other hand she could simply see your powers as a sort of extension of Shar’s influence.

as time goes by however, she realises a lot of prejudices held against lichs such as being cold and goal driven can be wrong, especially when it comes about you.

she’d be very much interested in hearing you talk about the process of becoming a lich. she admires your patience and devotion so much, a person as old and wise as you has seen more than she ever will and she craves to know more about your life, before becoming a lich and during it.

if you ever allowed her to hold your phylactery, she would never doubt your sincerity ever again. she knows how much this act means for her, for you, for your relationship, and she would not forget it nor lower it for anything in Faerun.

─ ‧ astarion :

when astarion learns about you being a lich at the very beginning of your adventure, it is certain that you and him would bicker about your age.

“how old are you? i didn’t know mummies could have such deplorable fashion styles, but how could it be otherwise considering you’re older than most of Gale’s books“ he said, to which you’d answer “it pains me that i have lived long enough to see idiots like you being born.”

it’s really just a game of bickering at the beginning, especially when you underlined that most liches are more powerful than vampires.

this however brought a spark to him, because if you were indeed more powerful than most vampires, then you would be of great utility in helping him go against his master.

over time of you gaining back your powers and abilities, he found something absolutely breathtaking in your darkness, your devotion, your ambition to outlive anything in your path.

he would see an opportunity to live in eternity by your sides. all other mortals perish eventually, and the knowledge of having you by his sides for all eternity makes him impossibly happy.

you offering him to hold your phylactery would mean the world to him, because he knew that if he had such a thing, he would have gave it to you. it’s an incomparable proof of your trust for him, no one had ever allowed him such an honour and you can be sure he will value it greatly.

─ ‧ gale :

this man is a scholar, and it would be lying to say that apart from being frightened and pretty much offended that you are here, he is extremely curious. 

he obviously has a deep fascination of magic, particularly the forbidden type, and you are a literal gift from the skies to be in his path.

ethical boundaries aside, i don’t think he will be able to shut up. 

you will be bombarded by all types of questions about the whole entire process of becoming a lich, from your years to learning about the Arcane arts to the gathering the rare and powerful components needed for the creation of your phylactery. 

He will not let you rest, he needs answers he’s been pondering on for so long and you’re here with all the answers.

This however raises for him the question of morality and mortality, unless he takes the path of moving from Evocation to Necromancy, in which case one could say he found the perfect pair.

Having gale as your s/o while being a lich is something you didn’t expect, in the sense that being with gale made you feel understood and seen.

If you allow gale to touch your phylactery, he would jump to the ceiling. He would hold it gently and ask about each and every part of it, asking how you got the components, how you assembled it all and how it felt once you had completed the entire process. But most of all, he is extremely aware of what it means and how much of a token of trust and respect it is for you to allow him to handle such a precious object.

─ ‧ lae'zel :

Lae’zel’s first approach would most definitely be one of suspicion. Githyankis and their traditions consider others as weak or unnatural, especially those who use necromancy. Chances are her first thoughts about you gravitate around repulsion, since you alone represent a source of power that is so dishonorable.

She would take quite the time to let herself trust you. There is one thing she cannot deny about you that changes during your adventure : you’re powerful, very powerful. When you start gaining back some of your powers and offer proper almost overwhelming force of will, you’ve owned lae’zel’s respect (no matter of grudgingly she acknowledges you as a worthy potential partner). 

Plus, your immortality is an asset in battle that cannot be circumvented.

In the end, your strong senses of battle and unrelenting determination won her.

When you allowed her to handle your phylactery, she was confused as to what such an artefact was. But when you explained to her that your very remains of life and mortality were in that very object, her heart leaped in her chest. For you to offer your life and allow her to have it in her own hands proved to her that you were more trustworthy than any other allies and lovers.

─ ‧ wyll :

His original reaction to your situation would be disbelief. He’d only ever heard of Lichs in storybooks or tails one would mysteriously count in a tavern. But a real one, in the flesh ? that was a first for him.

The concept of necromancy alone is not one Wyll appreciates much. It defies moralities and mortality to bring back from the dead. He’s worked hard to defeat enemies in the past that used such methods to build armies and soulless soldiers, and he is frightened of having feelings for you when these questions pull to the front of his mind.

But his sense of forgiveness would take over. Along the road to Baldur’s Gate, during your many adventures, he saw how your dedication to getting the team out of a deadly situation was pure and true.

It’s hard for him to deconstruct so many beliefs he’s had on necromancy and lichs in general, but he’s willing to do it for you. He does fear that it will be an imbalance relationship, but he wants to try.

But this thought vanishes from his mind when you allow him to touch your phylactery. He’s heard of such artefacts, of what they hold within, and it undoubtedly makes his heart stammer. He’ll never ever doubt of your love for him, that is for certain.

─ ‧ karlach :

Karlach’s first impression of her s/o being a Lich would not be positive, since being a lich represents the concept of immortality at the cost of the soul, and it could be something she finds repulsive.

Because you had the choice to abandon your mortality, your life, and you took it while she never had a choice on her own mortality.

But when you started travelling together, fighting together, living together, she didn’t find you so bad after all. It felt like you were just one of them, just a person with ambitions and goals.

She realised the lengths at which you were ready to go for your companions, and it owned her trust and admiration.

And when you kept finding infernal iron and stopped anything you were all doing just to go see Dammon as soon as you could to get her heart fixed, she knew she could trust you and appreciate you.

She has her own fears of being with you though, the fatality of her own heart failing her in opposition to your eternity frightened her beyond belief. What will happen if she dies and you go on without her ? She is very much tormented about this question.

But she loves you, and she knows you love her.

When you allow her to touch your phylactery, she would crumble in tears as if you’re offering her a wedding ring. If she could take out her mechanical heart from her chest and give it to you without dying the same way you give her the last piece of life you own in this world, she would.

[warning-heckboop]

Wait, hang on

Wait

Changeling

Changeling

Hang on I'm cooking

[oceantornadoo]

IDK! HEAR ME OUT THO!!!

Simon, staging the break in and what not so he could push you back into his arms??? INSANE!

Delicious story. Thank you for the food! <3

so originally when i made that last fic (which unexpectedly blew up tysm everyone) i added in the creepy elements almost on accident?? but this and another reply has me thinking...

tw: slight humiliation (but you'll like it)=

simon riley wasn't a bad man. he also wasn't a bad husband. at least that's what he told himself.

when you had presented him with those divorce papers a bit ago (13 months and 4 days, but who was counting), he thought it was a bluff. a joke. he had gone too far in your last argument, and that was your reaction. when he told you he'd go to therapy, you stared at him with a look he'd only see on men in the battlefield. dead all the way through, a walking husk. so he signed them and went to therapy anyways.

the whole time, this whole 13-month break, where you had been 'building a new life' or whatever, he had been planning. internalizing the commentary his therapist would make, and then spitting it back out to you while you moved out of his place. every time you seemed to forget one extra box, and who's to say if he hid a couple in his room? he had a plan.

over time, simon really seemed to have learned so much from therapy. so much about communication. he had become open and welcoming, far from that man who would respond to your complaints with hard stares and a lack of words. so maybe you met for coffee a couple of times and that's how he knew about the cafe by your new place. maybe that's how he tailed you one night after a date, just to make sure this new guy didn't try anything (and not to figure out your unit number). whatever he did, he played a dangerous game by letting you have this illusion of freedom while balancing his presence in your life, just enough to make you want more. after weeks and week of stagnant progress, he needed one extra push. something small, not even a shove.

and if he happened to mention your unit number to a bunch of shady guys that hung out in the alley by your building? happened to brag about your pretty pussy and sweet-smelling panties? maybe mention your habit of not locking the window when you left for work? who's to say. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

and now here you were, back in his arms where you belonged. a little frightened but comforted in the knowledge that he could protect you. the ghost wasn't shed when he took his mask off, but you didn't need to know that.

--

your body was so used to being in simon's arms you didn't even realize you had been grinding on him for the past ten minutes. his boxers you wore were sticky with arousal as you grinded against his clothed cock in the dark. even in your dream, it was simon underneath you, no one else. "si." you panted, a near-whisper that only a military man could have heard. "dove?" he adjusted your sleeping positions, tossing the covers to give you more room to maneuver against him.

"i know i said that thing about the line not being crossed." he gave you a low chuckle. silly little girl. you had finally realized how much you needed him and he was going to milk you for all you were worth. "and?" you stopped. shit. he needed to seem more responsive. he moved you from his thigh to his boner using one arm, the other one snaking its way under your shirt to stroke your back. you moaned as he massaged the tension from the day's earlier events away, giving you sweet relief. the sweetness of the massage made a hard contrast to the friction in your core as he rubbed you against his hardened cock.

"spit it out, baby." he growled. "can you-fuck." his hand had moved to the back of your neck now, holding it in a tight grip. his hand was so large he could feel the pulse points on either side of your jaw, heart racing. finally. "can you get me off? just this once?" he snorted, moving you up and down against him faster, dragging your sensitive clit over and over. "what's the magic word?" he flipped you both around, pressing his body weight on top of you.

simon turned the light on, wanting to see how needy you were. you were panting, shirt sticky with sweat as your chest moved up and down with exertion. he hiked up your shirt and took off your boxers, exposing your sticky cunt to the cool air. he took a sniff of the fabric, noting your small gasp as if you didn't know how obsessed he was with you already. "magic word." your mouth dropped. guess you weren't getting off that easily. "please, simon." he clucked his tongue at that. "ghost?" he left out a short laugh, arms reaching out to tug his shirt off of you. your nipples were so hard, aching to be pinched and sucked just how you liked them. "not ghost." he reached over to his nightstand, pulling something out of the drawer. he fumbled with his hand for a second, then held yours up to the light as he slipped something on it.

"husband." the words left your mouth in a whoosh, eyes transfixed on your wedding ring that was on your hand. the one you had flung at him after he complained about the divorce papers, the one you said you'd rather die than wear again. and here it was, right back on your finger, sparkling in the lamplight.

simon captured your mouth in a rough kiss, entering you with his ring and middle finger at the same time. "so willing for your husband, hm? all puffy and wet. look at your cunt, darling." you both looked down at your pussy at the same time. it was squelching, your vibrator sessions not holding a candle to what your ex husband could do to you. you were almost embarrassed by how desperate your pussy looked, clit enlarged from its earlier friction. his fingers worked in and out of you, wedding ring covered in slick. you watched as he pressed his thumb to your clit in small circles, a tightening sensation in your lower belly rising to the surface. "simon, si-fuck" he gave your pussy a small slap, pulling his fingers out as you addressed him incorrectly. "husband, please." he entered you again roughly, drawing a low moan from you. he captured your nipple in his mouth, teething it just enough to make you hurt. punishment.

"please please please i'm right ther-" he pressed hard against your clit and sent you careening off the edge into your orgasm, back bowing off the bed. simon gave you small love bites as you recovered, hand still working your cunt to draw out your orgasm.

finally, he removed his fingers and drew back from you, forcing eye contact. he put both in his mouth, moaning at the taste of your arousal mixed with the metal from the wedding band. your jaw was still open, looking at him like you had never seen him before. like the sheep's skin had finally been removed, and now only the wolf remained.

"let's get you to bed, wife."

[hotvintagepoll]

Do you have any opinions on modern (post-1970s) movies that you feel capture the essence (in a good way) of Old Movies?

No, unfortunately. That doesn't mean I don't like modern movies or that modern movies aren't good, but modern movies—and here I'm really using modern to mean post-2010, so contemporary movies—have different standards for pacing, characterization, budget, and production that make it harder (or impossible) to capture some of the magic of old movies. Even when modern movies clearly try to emulate that old-movie feeling—I'm thinking of La La Land, The Artist, The Shape of Water, In the Heights—they play the homage too broadly, or they ignore crucial components that make the original films work.

There's kind of too much to go into here without writing a full essay, but essentially, the Old Hollywood system—ugly, failed beast as she was—made some movies simply more accessible to make, due to the ongoing storage of props, sets, master craftsmen, crew, and onscreen talent that could move from one movie to the next without pause. If you needed a dancer, he was already on staff. If you needed a fancy bed, it was already in the warehouse. That kind of longterm storage is invaluable if you want to crank out movies quickly and cheaply because it saves so much time on individual negotiation and sourcing. Modern production companies have to work out individual contracts for every actor on every film; crew members have to negotiate rental contracts and source pieces from scratch; if you need someone with specialist skills, you have to contract them specially at a high rate, which a lot of small companies can't (or won't) budget to do. There's sand in the wheels where there needn't be any. It's wasteful, and costly, but that's the system modern movies are made with.

Which all means that even if the modern movie system wanted to make a classic movie musical just like the old ones, they couldn't, because the talent isn't already there—it hasn't been trained up enough, and there's not that breadth of knowledge you can only get from people who have been allowed to work in the same department in the same place for decades. Movies like La La Land fail, for me, because they present themselves as descendants of Fred Astaire or Busby Berkley movies, while missing the bit where Fred Astaire was a master of his craft. When you watch Fred Astaire dance—or Moira Shearer, or the Nicholas Brothers, or Ann Miller—you are watching a true artist at work, purposely showcased by the studios because they already have them on contract. Modern movies, on the other hand, tend to take people who already have star talent (as actors) and try to convert them into dancers/singers—or they pull dancers/singers off of Broadway, but then they don't have the star power built in. You end up with lackluster musicals where no one truly knows what they're doing, or they do but they're not built up enough by the studios to sell. And that's me discussing just on-screen talent for musicals—there is a huge loss behind the scenes, as well, for all kinds of movies, where roles that would have been filled by union crew who moved continuously from one job to the next have been swapped for freelance labor who live with immense turnover, financial insecurity, and knowledge loss. You could hand me the budget and I could try to make an old movie, but the industry itself has changed so much it's impossible to recapture that charm of steady, niche talent, the amazing possibilities of bonkers set design, and the ability to take a risk on a smaller movie because the other films being produced by the same studio can help balance the budget.

I've talked way, way too much about all of this! Sorry, I just have a lot of thoughts—and the one above is just one of them; the talent loss and storage issues are only facets of a much bigger problem that extends to how we watch movies today, how we market them, what we expect of them, and what's allowed in them. It's a crying shame because the talent is still there, but times change and so does the industry, for better or for worse. (And, just again to clarify, I don't think modern movies are bad—they're just missing a lot of the juice old movies got to play with, even if there's more talent available than ever before.)

[radiance1]

A castle mysteriously appears in Gotham one night.

Nobody who noticed it knows where it came from, nor how it got there as it seemingly appeared overnight. It wasn't anything big, as far as castle's were concerned, it seemed to be on the smaller side of things.

However, no one could truly estimate it's actual size. For there seemed to be an ever-present fog that never seemed to stray past the castle's gates.

Just like the fog, you always seemed to hear the cawing of crows and the flapping of bats whenever you step close enough. Yet their visibility was kept hidden in the fog.

Appearances aside, there did seem to be something... off, about the castle and not just because it appeared from thin air, no. It seemed to have a distinct aura of something... other.

No one knew how to explain it, but they could tell there was nothing natural about it. There was something fundamentally wrong with the castle, it wasn't the way it appeared out of nowhere, nor it's appearance.

===

When Sam finally became an adult, she didn't have to think twice about moving out. It was a bit difficult, with her parents not wanting to let her go just yet, but her grandmother managed to persuade them, thankfully.

When she was younger, Sam had always dreamed of owning a castle. Though its appearance did change in her mind when she grew older, from pretty and pink to one of darker colors and crows, which is why she never got one when she was younger, she realized.

But now that she was an adult, what was stopping her?

Nothing, that's what.

So, Sam buys one that matches her tastes and moves in. There was a lot of space, far more than she really ever thought about and now had to find a use for.

Magic.

Was something that enthralled Sam ever since she was young, that and the occult as a whole. So, for a few months after moving did she try and get her hands on things like magical tomes, items, scripts and learn it.

Surprisingly, she was strongly successful in her attempts of learning magic. It was surprising to be sure, but now that she compares it to the portal to the afterlife, having a half dead friend and having hunted down ghosts, she realizes that magic wouldn't be that much farfetched in the equation.

A fair bit of her time now was spent covering her castle in wards, sigils, and runes, ones that would strengthen themselves over time, various protection wards and multiple others that she found useful. Most of them were ones that she found through text, though others were ones she personally made.

After she finished the entirety of the castle, she studied thoroughly to gain more knowledge and power for herself, she even made a few spells of her own along with various potions. Unfortunately, she was interrupted in her studies by various other witches, because apparently having such a powerful fledgling witch on her lonesome was too tempting of an offer to pass up for the nearby covens.

So she had to... move, before they tried to force her to join them. As for how, well, she moved her entire castle! What better way to refuse, really?

Unfortunately, it was her first time using such large-scale teleportation magic and she messed it up. Not that her calculations on where the castle was supposed to be were wrong, but while in the midst of moving through space she was... thrown off kilter.

She didn't even know how or what caused her to mess up. But her castle both was and wasn't where she wanted it to be. Her original destination was coordinates near Amity Park, and while they were on said coordinates.

This wasn't Amity Park.

To say she worried was an understatement. She scrambled to find something about where she ended up, and realized not only was she thrown off kilter, but she was also thrown off so badly that she ended up in an entirely different dimension. Luckily, she managed to make the philosopher's stone.

To say making it was easy would be wrong, for even she didn't know how she created it. It was by accident and for a while she didn't even know she had made it, when she had and tried to do something with it the stone had, uh, well.

It fused into her skin.

It had placed itself right over her face, on her chest, and it granted her immortality it seemed. Though that wasn't the effect she was currently thankful for no, the effect of making gold would be valuable to her, she wouldn't have the Manson wealth, but she could at the very least sustain herself.

For now, though, she did have her studies to get back to.

[thatnonameuser]

I feel like a lot of yandere can use Lilia's bullying to their advantage if they find out. Like, "oh! That mean old bat from diasomnia? Psh, elementary spell. I can remove it for you, but you'll owe me." Especially the extremely smart ones like the OB boys.

Another note: Platonic Yan vs Platonic Yan! Teachers removing another darn curse placed by Lilia; like maybe Trein who's knowledgeable in history like Lilia is and old spells. Or Crewel who has rare ingredients in his part of the school greenhouse for that nasty ancient potion that Lilia snuck in your drink.

For what I’m about to say, take no offense. 

Insert mocking tone here….You think Lilia ‘General of the East’ Vanrouge would curse you if he knew it could be removed easily?! That’s funny. Mocking tone ceased.

Lilia really wouldn’t waste his and your time with an easily broken spell. Plus, because Lilia’s been around long before the teacher’s grandparent’s parents were born and that the fae have been doing the darling thing for a very long time before it was widespread in the human nations. A lot of the old ways have fallen out of practice with many of the spells, potions and curses being lost to time. Mostly because they were either banned or lost from records. But hey, there are a good few that have survived the test of time. 

Night Raven’s connection to the Great Seven allows for some of the best and strongest spells to have survived to the present day. And along with those spells come cures. Each dorm at NRC has a manuscript of spells, both to entrap and to cure, that are protected under lock and key by the dorm leaders. So depending on the dorm, one might have the knowledge to cure what ails you. But that’s not to say that comes without a price. 

Listen. While it pains them to watch you suffer, they all, cough Azul cough, know an opportunity when they see it. And it would be so helpful if you cooperate with them, and maybe give them something in return? Maybe something you originally said no to?

They might or might not know whoever your attacker was. Some of the ones from more ancient families, specifically Leona and Idia, might be able to recognise it and put two and two together, but once again powerful and ancient spells are hard to come by so others might not.

Either way, you’ll be suffering one moment and severely indebted the next. 

As for the teachers….. Same packaging, different purpose. 

The teachers have an arrangement to all protect you from the yanderes, even if you actually want to be with one of them. So if any one of them notices that you’ve been claimed, willingly or otherwise, they’re all stepping in. 

Crewel, Trein and Sam are especially helpful for this. Crewel teaches you how to avoid or notice them and provides the potion cures. Trein does the research to handle the really old ones and dispels them for you. And Sam, can get you any and every magic charm, repellant or tool that can free you or prevent any recastings. 

Don't go to them too often though, because if they start to think you're in capable of looking after yourself, you'll be isolated in a whole new way.

Also don’t think Lilia won’t wise up to whatever anyone’s plotting. He will find any and every way around it. A lil idea that came up while I was writing this is Lilia negotiating with the teachers to make them stop intervening in the claiming process. Like how often they’ll get to visit, will they be able to walk you down the aisle, et cetera.

[istoleyoursk1n]

How would the companions react to a Tiefling!Tav who, after the first meeting with everyone's favorite cambion, reveals that Raphael is their father?

•❅───────────✧❅✦❅✧───────────❅•

How would they react to a Tiefling!Tav who’s actually the child of Raphael

(Note that their kind of written in a way where in this is how I think they might initially react to such a confession. If you want one where the Tav don't associate themselves at all with Raphael or even despises their father then do tell me cause they’d have an entirely different reaction.)

.

.

: ̗̀➛ ASTARION

“Let’s get this straight, Shadowheart’s a Sharran, Gale is a ticking time bomb, Wyll has ties with a literal devil, and by the gods- you're a damn child of one! Are there any other secrets I should know about in this bloody party?!”

Genuinely shocked at first but perhaps he should have seen it coming knowing that everyone in their weirdo batch always seems to be hiding some dark secret.

Would have probably assumed that you must have the same demonic abilities as your father! Why exhaust everyone when you exist? Can't you just ‘mAgiC’ the enemies away?

No, it doesn't work like that? Well shit.

Truth be told, he isn't actually bothered by it. As long as you are on his side and you aren't planning on burning him to a crisp then why should he care that your father’s Raphael?

Just as long as you aren't as obnoxiously theatrical as the damn bastard. His patience is always being tested each time that damn devil talks in rhymes.

Perhaps he may even ask for your assistance rather than Raphael’s in regards to his scars as he’d trust you over that man any day.

He doesn't even have to make some sketchy deal with you. You’re just a kind enough soul to offer your aid despite how darkened your heart may or may not be.

Though truly, he would never judge you for being affiliated with such a man. Whether you want to associate yourself with your father or not is entirely up to you, he’d support you either way.

: ̗̀➛ GALE

“You?! The child of Raphael?! Why, I never thought such a histrionic fiend would even consider having an offspring. No offense to you, of course. Besides, I’m certain you’re better than that conniving devil if I do say so myself.”

Utterly baffled.

He knew that Tiefling’s had ancestral origins leading all the way to devils but he never thought that it was inherently possible for a tiefling in this day and age to be a child of one!

Good luck because this man now has hundreds of different questions, half of which you probably don't know the answer too either.

Though he will be a tad bit skeptical of you for a while, especially if he doesn't know you all too well. Being associated with the devil is a big deal and who knows what type of cunning scheme you may be plotting.

Soon enough, his own growing curiosity will overtake his skepticism. He’d rather understand and learn more about you then completely shun you away.

“How did you come to be?” or “What are the various powers you have inherited?” are some of the many questions he’d be throwing at you. Note that some anatomical questions may grow a tad bit awkward if you don't tell him.

He’d grow far more enamored by you the more he gets to learn about you and devil culture as darkening as such knowledge could be. Suddenly he has one person who could tell him all about the hells!

He’d have a newfound understanding of devils and people of your kind, his heart no longer caring any form of judgment towards you as long as you prove to be kind at heart.

: ̗̀➛ WYLL

“By balduran’s bones, you’re a devil?! One of them?! I should have seen this sooner. All this time I’ve been traveling with one of their children?! And to think I’ve let my blade go unsheathed around you.”

Unfortunately, the most distrustful one amongst the party the moment he finds out.

He's already having such a hard time with Mizora on his shoulder, what more if another devil joins the damn party? But to be fair, he’s been proven wrong time and time again.

Even so, you can tell that he's been avoiding you. Keeping his distance as he tries to process such information.

He doesn't even know how he can bring himself to trust you after what he's been through. He doesn't want to find himself being used as nothing more than a devil’s dog once more.

But after what happened to Karlach and soon enough his own transformation, he slowly begins to open himself up again. Albeit he is still quite wary.

It’ll start with him first asking others about you, trying to get a gist of whether or not you seem like a trustworthy person before finally confronting you with both a proper conversation and surprisingly an apology.

The world seems to be changing around him and if either of you is ever going to overcome this whole tadpole mess together then he should be able to place his past mindset aside in favor of forging stronger bonds.

Besides, who better than to help him overcome his own mild dysphoria with his new-found devil traits than a half-devil themselves?

: ̗̀➛ KARLACH

“He’s your dad?! Fucking hell, out of all the damned people that could have been your pops it just had to be that bloody bastard. Please tell me if you’re not like that pompous motherfucker? I like you too much to hate you.”

She’s surprised and confused. It's honestly just a mess for her.

She wants to distrust you for being the child of a devil seeing as she's been tormented by them for such a long time but at the same time- you’re a friend.

She can't just cast aside everything you two built up together despite knowing this information.

Yet still, it's hard for her. Every time she sees you, she’ll think about those dreadful moments she’s spent in Avernus, fighting in the front lines of the blood wars against her will.

But she needs to be the bigger person. She can't immediately associate you with those heartless fiends who forced her to do terrible things. If anything she wants to believe you aren't like that at all.

She’ll give you a chance despite her reluctance, doing her damn best to not shun you despite how your mere presence does trigger some things for her.

Regardless, she moves on from her weariness soon enough in favor of treating you like an actual friend. A friend whom she wishes to make happy memories with.

Perhaps both of you are just misunderstood in your own ways, and if that's the case then she’d be more than willing to support you and cheer you on whenever the hell she can.

: ̗̀➛ SHADOWHEART

“And just when I thought this ‘unique’ little group of ours couldn't get more interesting. The child of a devil? I can't help but wonder what more you could be hiding. After all, apparently, this entire camp is known for locking away such sensitive little secrets.”

Startled but intrigued.

It seems that everyone in this damnable group has some sort of hidden secret. Though, she wouldn't have expected this.

You can tell she's weary around you now but she hardly brings it up. Why would she when the very words she speaks could be used against her?

She's already having a hard time trusting people, what more if the person she was slowly beginning to trust was in fact the child of a devil?

It's like starting all the way back at square one again, except at least you both know some information about each other.

She’d be trying to balance out the both good and bad about you in her head. Thinking of that one time you saved her but also the fact that you may just be doing that to manipulate her later on.

Her mind is utterly in shambles right now but perhaps remaining distant and reserved won't get you both anywhere. Even she can understand that she’d rather see you as an asset than a disturbance.

I’d like to believe that in the end, she does eventually move past her distrust against you. Especially after everything you've done for her. She welcomes your demonic origins with a smile and even teases you about it a little by asking to make a deal or two.

: ̗̀➛ LAE’ZEL

“Chk. I will not be so foolish again to ever give an ounce of my time to your kind. You should have fled whilst you had the chance less you truly wish for my blade to dig right into your flesh.”

She just flat-out doesn't trust you. She even says it to your face.

She hardly even knew much about Tiefling's but knowing that you're a child of a devil? Now she just has more of a reason to not put her faith in you.

Probably even suggested eradicating you before you turned your back on everyone.

From what knowledge she has gathered, she sees devils as condescending, evil, manipulative, and cunning in both words and actions. She could only assume that such traits would pass on to their offspring.

It would take a lot for her to ever trust you again after that, if she even trusted you to begin with. She hasn't slept easy since.

Perhaps she even went to Karlach for assistance as to how one could possibly kill a child of a devil but surprisingly enough, Karlach wasn't on board with it.

If you can prove yourself once again to be worthy of her respect and trust, then she’ll finally begin to treat you with reverence.

Being more than what devils were made out to be and rising up as a far more honorable warrior than most would be just enough to finally get her back on your good side.

: ̗̀➛ HALSIN

“That was quite the surprise. The child of Raphael himself in our midst and yet you appear to be no more than another one of the tiefling refugees. I truly hope that you aren't as sinister as most devils tend to be. I’d hate to see such a vibrant flower wilt from its own corruption.”

He’d be just as startled as the rest but he’s lived too long to start judging people by their origins.

He hasn't quite met someone, particularly of your kind (being that of a devil’s child.) but perhaps he has encountered people similar to such.

His weariness would hardly last seeing as he’d rather understand you as a person before immediately jumping to conclusions.

Besides, he doubts he’d be foolish enough to be led on by a devil, especially with the amount of experience he has. He’ll put his morality above his skepticism but know that once you show the few signs of true betrayal then he will act accordingly.

Nevertheless, he's actually the one who's trying to get others to understand you, even vouching for you at times when others are against you.

Who you are related to by blood should not define who you truly are as a person, devil or not. It's simply up to you to decide whether or not you want to be associated with such a diabolical lineage.

Regardless, he’d do his best not the judge you. He’ll see you as just another Tiefling more so than the child of a literal devil.

If the looming reminder of being the child of such a devil ever haunts you or disturbs you too badly, he’d always be there to be a shoulder to lean on. You’ll always be accepted by him.

•❅───────────✧❅✦❅✧───────────❅•

[majorproblems77]

LU Update! So welcome back to the analysis corner with me!

We have another LU update! Called Moving forward we see the heroes leave the town and make their way to the location that Sky found. With learning a little more about the team as a whole.

With 10 pages there's a lot of information to work through so I hope you are sitting comfortably

As always Linked universe (LU) belongs to @linkeduniverse and Jojo, I own none of the pictures I'm using and please give the original post some love. It's very well done and I love this comic so much.

You can find the comic here!

And as always there are spoilers abound for the most recent update!

Now sit back, grab some water and snacks and let's do this!

So before we get started im just gonna say that the brain cell is pinging around this lot so much that I'm bound to miss some stuff. But I shall try my best to get everything I wanna say said.

It was only some of you, captain, dont forget that.

(Oblatory look at my blorbo picture, he's so sweet. Blorbo blorbo blorbo)

Okay I'll behave this time

(No i won't)

I can understand the concern from the captain, as a captain from the army during a time of war secrets are dangerous. He's probably thinking if Twilight has concealed this what else has he concealed.

And then we get snarky wars again

I missed the snarky captain, he's wonderful.

Also the line about double duty, Come on captain, you know full well that patrol is an important part of a group dynamic like this.

This also confirms that the group have had encounters with monsters outside of what we've seen. As the line from wars about missing fights implies that they've fought a bunch of stuff. But we've only really seen wolfie in a fight back in the sunset arc.

Twilight fondly mentioning Midna, I'm so proud of him.

These two are the goddamn brothers ever and I love them dearly. Also, the knowledge we are about to be given about how this works is very exciting.

The brothers ever

All of them

Twilight thinking Wild had more than two brain cells. I love him. And the hug? The hug gives me life.

Also the captain, the captain is a point to talk about here. This feels like an accusatory sentence. The "You dont say?"

Me trying to figure out how time travel works in LU.

Legend, why are you so grumpy about this? Like he looks angry to hear this.

Four thinking about the implications of this sentence. I can literally hear the brain cell bouncing as it pings from hero to hero as they try to figure out this time travel thing.

Wind is a small bean as well look at him. The youngest I love the eyes.

Ahh, so thats the explanation. A spirit wolf that helped guide him on his journey which he trusted so much that he thought that the wolf he saw here was just another spirit until twi changed in front of him.

But this line from him is so sad. "Right after my resurrection" and "we both would have known the grave." This feels like as a person wild is at peace with it but doesn't want others to have to go through what he did. He's a chill dude and i love him for that to be honest.

Meanwhile, my blorbo Sky is out here trying to get actual work done. This is 10/10 the sksw dousing experience if you've not played it. You just swing the sword around while it pings at you until you eventually find what you are looking for.

Fi is trying her best.

Lads all of you need to remember that not all of you have had things that perform transformation magic. Im surprised (But also not surprised) That Time doesn't have anything to say about this. Like my man has used a tone of different transformation masks that change him into various different things and has one that turns him into a god.

The magic users ganging up on the non-magic users, like please behave.

Ahh Time, Time is the disappointed old man that has to coral a bunch of kids. And Wild is like the most kid of them all. (Tell me why I'd love to know! :D) (Which makes sense if we take LU to be at most a few months after the end of his game. Wild would be 18 at most.)

the sort of conversation you dont want to involve yourself in Time trust me on this one.

JUST SOME GUY WILD JUST DESTROYED TWILIGHT OKAY RIP

Feels bad for twi man he earned that title and to have it reduced to just some guy.

Wild is gonna get told off by Time if he ain't careful, that's his blood descendant right there and we all know he has a soft spot for him.

This is important, because I'm pretty sure most of them did at one point.

Another thing that appears to be a constant amongst the team is the need to conceal an identity. Either from them or them to others.

I'm not versed in all of their games so I can't go into full details but these guys ain't the only ones. Pretty much all of them have. The spirit of courage does love secrets, doesn't it?

Thats my blorbo and he's so sad help he

Blorbo blorbo blorbo

Give him a hug and reboot Fi and it'll be fine.

To echo the words of Time.

Curious.

Now this depends on what exactly Sky was dousing, was he dousing the portal, the helmet outside the portal? The postman even?

My money is on the helmet outside the portal, so that Dink came back into this timeline to retrieve it before leaving. But I may be incorrect on that account because Fi is able to track people as well as objects (Sksw would often have you tracking Zelda directly)

OHHHH

I was wondering how they were going to do it. But with Twilight able to track it they'll be able to use a combination of dousing and him sniffing out Dink's scent to be able to find him no matter where he might be.

It's so distinct, twilight you know by saying that you're gonna have some of these guys asking questions. Just wait for the next campfire story time it's gonna come up.

I can see Wind and Twilight having a conversation like this.

"What does Dink smell like?" "What?" "You heard me."

Oh he's so excited look at him!

Oh four.

I wonder if we are gonna have a four and Twilight conversation about this, with four's past he's understandably worried about the use of dark magic in one of his friends.

Oh come on legend lighten up, the child has never seen something like this before.

I'm glad Hyrule is coming in for his defence and all but 5 minutes ago Hyrule you were with Legend and saying to Wild that there's a load of items that do it.

Why is wind just so wonderful?

Look at him go!

Thats gotta be Wind, He's been so excited about this I can't see it being anyone else.

Bark Bark!

Wolfie beloved.

Im here for more brotherly content from the team, they are wonderful.

Now lets go find us a Lizard, or iron knuckle or whatever he transforms into next.

And thats all from me! I loved this update and there was so much to unpack I know I've missed stuff! But I hope you enjoyed it! :)

(Also apologies for spelling mistakes I'm sick rn but wanted to get this done)

Have a great day!

[rayroseu]

💚Mallevan/Levanoa Headcanons (2/?)

PART 01 PART 02⬇️

you guys dont know how often i brainrot about these couple who never even talked in game yet KDJAKSK

Am glad to see that Levan's receiving the "Yuusona treatment" because of the various ways that twst artists draws him lolol

• • • Headcanon 2.

Malenoa is the strongest of the trio. Because she is a royalty, she is much more knowledgeable about magic— particularly if its related to dragons. Naturally, she became kind of like a magical tutor to both Levan and Lilia when they were children.

i really like the thought of eastern dragons in TWST🥰 its a nice foreshadow that Levan is a Long bcs thats Malleus' Halloween costume✨

(if its really like that,,,, im going to cry bcs that means Malleus dressed up like his papa who he never knew 💔😭)

(also I'm praying with all my heart he's not some plot twist jerk in game like King Stefan from Maleficent 1 😭)

I think dragons are rare on TWST not only because they're really particular on their mates but also because raising one is extremely high maintainance.

Its 1: life threatening to the caretaker, 2: needs constant attention and love, 3: once it grows up, you even need to withstand its tantrums and emotions (who are btw magically powered) 😭💥

That's why I think ??? there's limited knowledge about mediating their power (so they just get stuck in this cycle of being the strongest but that very strength can bring disaster bcs its uncontrollable)

Thus, I thought of Malenoa being Levan's friend who teaches him about controlling his draconic powers because Levan doesn't really want to accidentally harm others because of his uncontrollable strength--✨✨✨

I like to think its because of Levan's pacifist nature that Land of Briar chose to have war treatiest first instead of just crushing the Silver Owls through Malenoa's military strength. He's aware that killing off humans would just make them more hostile to faes in general, and I don't think both Malenoa and Levan wants Malleus to grow up in war once he hatches-

—

Levan's fire is purple because I remember getting surprised when Overblot Malleus used that on his attack despite Land of Briar/Malenoa (?) being "mainly green colored" all this time...

So, I think that's one magic he got from his father??? because most of his features already derives from Malenoa (horns, tail, magic (i think his green fire is from Malenoa), straight hair, etc)

The purple fire might've originate from Malleus' mastery of void magic (I hc their dorm spells' element are their forte magic and Dorm Malleus is double void card) but we've never seen void magic used like a fire... its usually like an energy beam right? I think it was so exciting when he attacked like that💜👆‼️✨ (I literally squealed lol its so pretty?? but I know I'll die from that lol)

I love the thought that Lilia is the "mom friend"/"sensible friend" of this trio... 😂 because he says hes the one constantly working for these couple... mostly to deal with their antics lol

plus Lilia is literally the sole person working for Levan and Malenoa to meet together right now---

since Levan's missing and Malenoa can’t really leave the castle since she’s guarding unhatched Malleus--- and its just a bad move to send the best queen on the frontlines when they can just send Lilia yk 😆

i hope we get more dragon egg lore and also specifically egg malleus reveal🙌🙌 like how do THEY take care of a dragon egg anyway.... do they put it on cradles as well like human babies??? or their parents will hold them since they require vast amount of love-

i'd used to think malleus backstory would be his child self being lonely (which in the future might??? but for now?? his backstory is literally just him being an egg and all of us are crying over an egg JDHJWJD 😭😭😭

[macabr3-barbi3]

Yours, Mine, Ours

We're finishing up week two! We've got one more ultra hot story coming up from @synamartia (who also made our stunning Masterlist where you can see everything that's been written so far, including some absolute bangers from @fraugwinska @minkdelovely @sugoi-writes and @hazelfoureyes) and then we're on to week three!

Everything is moving so quickly, and y'all are in for some treats for the rest of the month! 😈

(As always, thank you to my beloved Frau for making my banners for this event- I love youuuu 💗)

Summary: In helping Charlie, some magic goes awry and Lucifer and Alastor swap bodies for a week. The usual shenanigans occur (and lead to boning) Tags: Lucifer has a vagina; body swap shenanigans

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

The last thing that Lucifer had expected three days ago was getting stuck in the body of the Radio Demon thanks to his daughter’s lack of magical training. He had assured her he wasn’t upset- and he wasn’t, really- but that was before he had awoken this morning after insisting they sleep in their own, original bedrooms with a throbbing erection that he couldn’t decide if he was allowed to touch or not.

One the one hand, this was technically his body for the next couple of days still. And with it being his consciousness in here, he didn’t think, ethically, there would be anything wrong with touching.

On the other hand, Alastor would probably kill him as soon as he found out- and he would find out, Lucifer was sure of it. Also on that same hand was the knowledge that when his mind was back in his own body, he would remember what it felt like- how Alastor’s gasps sounded as he pleasured himself, the weight of his cock in his hand as he stroked it, how-

Fuck, that wasn’t helping.

There was another little part of his brain reminding him that Alastor would be respecting his body. That the Radio Demon wasn’t interested in sex, and that anything below Lucifer’s belt would likely be ignored in favor of seeing if he could use his angelic powers since they were tied to the body and not the mind. Alastor also wouldn’t be touching himself if he were in his own body.

Maybe that was the cause of the problem though. If Alastor was ignoring his body’s needs, it made sense that the persistent erection wouldn’t go away- he needed release. And in theory, Lucifer could provide that. 

He bites his lips as he contemplates, wincing when Alastor’s sharp fucking teeth pierce the sensitive skin. Just to test, he palms himself over the blanket- and Alastor’s hips buck into the faint sensation, the slight friction feeling far, far too good. He holds onto the hope that Alastor would forgive him as he slips his hands under the covers, below the waistband of the deer’s stupidly comfortable pajama bottoms.

The first touch to his cock makes Lucifer moan, and it’s Alastor’s voice that rings out when he circles his fingers around the base and strokes. It was thicker than Lucifer’s own, when he opted for that set of equipment, and filled his hand perfectly, the skin silky smooth and hot under his palm as he set a steady rhythm. He wonders if he could convince Alastor to fuck him when they’re back in their respective bodies- Lucifer could always change what he had to offer on his lower body depending on Alastor’s preference, but whichever hole the Radio Demon wanted Lucifer would be more than happy to oblige if he could have this inside of him. His grip grows slick as the cock in his hand leaks, Lucifer’s thoughts making Alastor’s body react.

He pictures Alastor doing the same thing to his body- fisting his cock or pumping fingers inside of himself depending on what manifested in response to the arousal, caught in a cycle of crying out and being more turned on by the sound of Lucifer’s voice moaning out his name. He knows it's a pointless fantasy- if Alastor was doing anything with his body, it was probably just pinching and poking and prodding to see what weak spots the King had so he could use them to his advantage down the line- but it’s an effective one. He feels Alastor’s balls drawing up tighter to his body, just on the precipice of release. He opens his mouth to moan out his own name, just to know what it sounded like in Alastor’s static filter-

“Why do you suddenly have a vagina?” The doors to his private quarters fling open, and Lucifer opens his eyes to see his body centered in the doorframe- Alastor had come, his cheeks aflame and his eyebrow creased. Was that what he looked like when he was angry? “I was minding my business this morning, just waking up, and now there’s- this,” he snaps, gesturing at Lucifer’s lower body. 

And Lucifer knows with startling clarity exactly what happened, having been in his body for millenia and having been in relatively close quarters to Alastor for almost a year.

He had caught his own scent on his sheets and Lucifer’s body reacted like it always did- like a fertile doe ready for the strong buck it had scented. Sure, it was a little embarrassing to be in a meeting with Charlie and suddenly realize his genitals had changed when Alastor walked by and wafted his scent by him, but Lucifer was used to that.

Alastor, obviously, was not.

He tries as casually as he can to remove his hand from Alastor’s dick, but of course he notices- he might not have his monocle but in Lucifer’s body he would have perfect vision, certainly enough to see the subtle shift of the covers as Lucifer released his weeping cock. “What are you- have you been doing this the whole time?” He stalks further into the room, the door slamming behind him, and Lucifer wonders if he could actually die trapped in a Sinner’s body like this.

“Hold on, Al, just- wait, what are you doing?”

Because the sight he was seeing didn’t make sense as Alastor used Lucifer’s limbs to climb atop the bed, straddling his body’s waist and grinding down.

“Do I smell like this to you all the time?” He asks incredulously. “I want to devour you.”

The words travel through Lucifer’s brain and manifest in the form of Alastor’s cock straining, hips bucking up against the wet heat he finds from his own body. “Fuck, Alastor, slow- slow down!” He panics, when Alastor snaps his fingers (of course he figured out how to use the most basic of Lucifer’s magic) and the pants on the King’s body disappear while shoving the blankets down below Alastor’s waist. Lucifer garbles out some sort of noise when his hands wrap around Alastor’s cock again, slotting up against the slick folds of Lucifer’s cunt- and fuck, he really needed to stop this or they were both gonna regret it-

He grips his hands onto the waist of the body that Alastor inhabits and forces him to still- and shit, had he always been so slight? No wonder Alastor was always making comments about his size, when one of the Radio Demons hands could easily encompass nearly his whole thigh. When their eyes meet, Lucifer can hardly belief his own face was capable of such an expression; eyes glazed over, cheeks flushed, a bit of drool that started to drip from the side of his mouth. “Fucking Satan, you don’t actually want this,” he mutters. “You’re just- my body is reacting to your body and scent the way it always does, but that doesn’t-”

“Lucifer-”

“And I’m sorry! I just- it was so hard, I couldn’t help it- but I promise I won’t touch again, we can just forget about this-”

“Lucifer.”

“-and I can move out if you’re uncomfortable after Charlie fixes us, and once you’re back in your own body you won’t feel like this anymore-”

“The body I am in does not matter,” Alastor snaps, ceasing Lucifer’s static-laden babble. “Do you think I’m an idiot? Do you think you would have woken with that between your thighs had you not insisted on sleeping in our own beds?” He shifts Lucifer’s body enough to weaken Alastor’s hands on his waist, dropping the King’s weight back onto his lower body and giving a slow roll of his hips. Lucifer drops his head into the pillow and moans, the heat of him near unbearable. “My sudden arrival was not due to anger but frustration- imagine my surprise when I’ve been touching a cock for three days and it suddenly has magically become a slick hole that I have little experience with.”

Lucifer is so startled by the filthy words that he lets go of his waist completely, giving Alastor the free reign he needs to line up properly and start slowly sinking down on his own cock using Lucifer’s pussy- he was starting to lose sense of the possessive pronouns in play if he was being honest. All that mattered was one of them was inside the other and it was apparently exactly where both of them wanted to be.

Tight, silken warmth envelopes him, and he feels the sudden weight of Alastor’s antlers growing atop his head, digging harshly into the headboard. He hadn’t fucked anyone since Lilith had left, certainly not with his pussy, so the walls that clenched around him gripped like a merciless vice, velvety soft and slick with desire. He found the sense of mind to dig Alastor’s claws into his body’s hips again, pulling him down harshly and punching a moan from his chest with the force of it.

This was how Alastor would experience it, Lucifer realized, when they were back in their own bodies. This was the sensation he would have wrapped around his cock, the body held in his hands soft and supple and pliant- if anything, Lucifer would make more noise being fucked so well. 

Alastor makes a soft, broken sound above him, Lucifer’s face contorted in frustration. “It’s not enough,” he pants, “why is it not enough? I can fucking- feel it, like a bone about to break but I can’t finish.”

He takes one of his hands, guiding his own fingers to the sensitive clit at the apex of the angel’s thighs. When Alastor takes over, brushing across the swollen bundle of nerves, the body he occupies jerks- inner walls tense around Alastor’s cock, twitching and fluttering at the sudden onslaught of pleasure. “Oh, fuck,” Alastor moans in Lucifer’s voice, and Lucifer has to agree. It made everything that much more intense as Alastor started furiously rubbing, free hands coming down to sink claws into his own body’s chest as his hips bucked wildly, chasing the sensation. The sounds in the room were filthy, spurring Lucifer into digging Al’s feet into the bedding and thrusting up to meet him. It has to be the right move, because Alastor whimpers above him, eyes flying open to meet Lucifer’s.

“Please don’t regret this,” Lucifer says, radio filter broken with feedback that Alastor can evidently still understand. “Please, I’m begging you, don’t-”

“Never,” he snarls, and Lucifer’s horns and wings spring forth, blocking what little light was coming from the room, creating the perfect darkness for the glow of the King’s eyes as Alastor stared down at him. “You have no idea how I’ve waited- how I’ve craved you- to know that my scent alone brings your body to this state is bliss,” he pants, “that I can never live without knowing again and again.” His whole body is tensing, fingers working hard between his legs before he lets out a whine, collapsing to press their mouths together as he shudders into a strong orgasm .

The rhythmic clenching around the sensitive hardness of Alastor’s cock has him cumming, sharp jolts of ecstasy causing him to spill into his own body, hot pulses of release that flood and leak from Lucifer’s messy cunt. His brain feels fuzzy, head aching from the weight of the antlers, muscles sore from vigorous movement that Alastor’s body clearly wasn’t used to. The last bit of his orgasm has his cock twitching inside the still fluttering walls, a sensation that makes Alastor shudder on top of him and moan weakly into his mouth.

It’s an odd experience, to taste the way one’s own sounds of pleasure sound. He hopes that when they’ve returned to their own bodies that Alastor will find it enjoyable as well, Lucifer’s panting breath along his tongue, lips brushing together. 

Maybe there was part of Lucifer hoping that the act would put them back into their own bodies so they could repeat it, but minutes pass and nothing changes but the slowing breath of the body that rested on top of him. He brings one of Alastor’s hands up to card through his own soft blonde hair, knowing exactly the pleasurable tingles that it would send down his spine. 

“Give me ten minutes,” Alastor says muffled into his chest, “and we can go again.”

“I think you mean give me ten minutes,” he says, though he can already feel the jump of his cock in response to Alastor’s words. “I’m the one with the dick at the moment.”

“I’m aware. And I’m also aware of my body’s refractory period.” He trails a finger down his body’s fluffy chest, circling a nipple and making Lucifer release a warbled hiss. “I think there’s quite a bit that we can teach one another before we return to our own bodies, don’t you think?” He seems to take an answer from the sight of his signature grin, bringing their mouths together once more with a contented sigh.

[a-star-that-burns-brightly]

So uh. Maybe I'm just really stupid, but despite being in this fandom for a year now I for some reason was convinced that Killcheroy killing herself was like, canon, because of how widely accepted that theory is in the fandom and spoken of as if it's fact. But after looking through all of Fuuta's stuff again (voice dramas, music videos, the like,) I've come to realize that not only is Killcheroy's actual cause of death never actually confirmed, but I've also realized something else: Y'all I really do not think this girl killed herself lmao. In fact, I am very confident that she didn't kill herself, mainly due to the fact that, as we know, Milgram has a very specific motif when it comes to characters who have committed suicide or have themes of suicide in their character

Mahiru and Kazui's victims both have a shoe off, because both of them died via suicide

Muu is often presented with only one shoe, because she is implied to be suicidal

Fuuta's victim also has a shoe off, because as we know she died of-- ...Huh? Oh shit. Both shoes are intact. Now I've seen people, though often briefly, point that out before What I don't see pointed out however is that Backdraft has three perfect opportunities to follow up on the shoes motif, and just doesn't.

These are the first two I wanna talk about. Killcheroy's shoes are perfectly in view, yet both of them are still in tact. Since this whole scene is basically a creative reenactment of Killcheroy's death, wouldn't it make sense for one shoe to be off if suicide was what took her out? But at the same time, these scenes are still depicting her when she is 'alive,' so maybe it wouldn't make that much sense for a shoe to be off in this particular scene. But what about after she burns up? That's where the third scene comes in

Even after she dies, her shoes are not there. Milgram is a series that loves including small, blink-and-you'll-miss-it details. If Killcheroy really killed herself, there's no way her shoes wouldn't be visible in these shots as Fuuta's running away, right? And this shoe motif, coupled with the fact that when looking at what we have, there's no actual evidence that Killcheroy killed herself (to my knowledge) makes me doubt this theory a lot more than I had when I originally assumed it was canon. So what do I think took Killcheroy out? Well, though we have no evidence that she killed herself, we do have evidence that Fuuta doxxed her.

(x) Storm Pazuzu Should we destroy her?＾＾Just because you’re a middle school girl doesn’t mean you can act like this lmaooooo don’t go easy on her just because she’s cute  QRT Miss Magic I got permission from the store owner, it’s allowed as long as I’m only replicating it for personal use. Storm Pazuzu Yeah, yeah, thanks for the late excuses QRT Storm Pazuzu I think I’ve got all her details now. Based on her previous tweets I’ve worked out her school. The fact she lives so close is hilarious lol Judgement☨Onizuka You’re the worst offender of all

And the fact that this scene transitions

to this one, where Fuuta is reacting to the news of Killcheroy's death, leads me to believe that this doxxing was the final bridge that caused Killcheroy's death. Now, a lot of life-threatening events can result from doxxing, for a while I was even pondering the possibility that Killcheroy was swatted and killed that way. But I think someone in Fuuta's group killed her, because the text in the MV makes it a note to specify that Killcheroy "lives close" to Fuuta and presumably the rest of his friend group since they all go to the same university and live in the same area. I can see people arguing that that would remove a bit of Fuuta's agency and responsibility from his murder, but I don't think I would agree with that. Regardless of what truly happened to Killcheroy after the doxxing, whether she was killed by someone in the group, or swatted (which I think is less likely, but is still a possibility), this presumed culprit was only able to do the things they did because Fuuta gave them the tools to. He gave them a target, Killcheroy, who he demonized and dehumanized into the role of Petulant Witch, and enough details of her location for anyone in the area to find her and enact punishment in the most direct way they can. Fuuta's story, to me anyway, isn't just about the consequences of cyberbullying and cancel culture, but also the cult-mentality of it and how others are influenced into it.

(x) Storm Pazuzu The people in charge here are shit. I could do a much better job

Fuuta did not come out of the womb cancelling people, but due to the injustice he saw around him and his desire to Do Something About It, he was influenced into this cesspool of online toxicity and cancel culture.

Now, it's his turn to influence justice. And boy, did he.

[buriedpentacles]

How to Discern Sign from Coincidence

I've noticed that in both on and offline witchy and pagan communities a lot of people's first question relating to deity work and communication is "how do I tell if something is a sign" so I wanted to share my perspective and how I vet something as being a sign or message from my deity or not. This is a pretty simplified 'checklist', but it's important to note that signs are not my main form of communication with my deity which is why I'm quite 'conservative' in identification of them!

How many times? Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence but three times may be a sign. This is a general rule I use for signs like angel numbers, specific animals or imagery or something similiar. Though it doesn't always apply - for example, if I see five crows on a nearby roof I don't see it as a sign because that is a very common sight where I live. But if I see three deer near my house in one day, that IS pretty mystical.

How unusual is it? If something 'makes sense' or can be easily explained by mundane reasons it is less likely to be a sign, and this can work in "levels". E.g. if I see a spider in the corner of my room, that's pretty unlikely to be a sign because that's just what spiders do. A spider running across a specific chapter in my book or tarot guide is still explainable but I'd probably check if it was meant to be a sign. And a sparrowhawk landing on my windowsill would almost definitely be a sign because they rarely come into the area where I live.

How does it make me feel? Sometimes I get a gut feeling that something is a sign or a message, even if it isn't unusual or has only happened once. This can easily be mistaken for 'wanting' something to be a sign so still vet and double check but the differentation does with time, experience and a growing relationship with a deity. Often, signs are clear that they are signs, because you're deity wants you to see them and so your intuition often drags your attention to the, and tells you that they're special somehow.

How do I confirm? I almost always vet signs and messages, typically it's just a quick tarot reading to confirm that something was a sign and what it might mean or represent. Often I'll also meditate or consider the sign to see what feelings or knowledge it inspires in me as well. Sometimes I don't need confirmation, I just know. But that has come with time and I would always check early in my relationship to my Mother Nature.

Important notes If something is just coincidence, that's okay, and it's still cool! So what if that crow wasn't a sign from a deity, you still got to see a crow! And so what if that fortune cookie message wasn't actually a message from your spirit guides, it can still be an inspiring and needed message! There is magic in the mundane and that's wonderful.

If you're new to paganism or witchcraft and want to work with a deity I will warn you to be wary and do a lot of research. Don't just assume: "I saw crows the other day, Odin must be reaching out to me." or "I found a bunch of rose petals on the floor so it must be aphrodite." Signs can mean a great number of things and if you truly believe it is a deity, vet and research source materials for that deity and pantheon. Ask for confirmation and take things slowly, it is very easy to trick yourself into seeing something you want to see.

Signs vary between practitioners and it's important to understand and respect that. What might mean one thing to you, means something entirely different to someone else - even if you're devoted to the same deity. While I always recommend checking original religious sources (if possible) for traditional omens and meanings, they will probably be quite unique to you!!

Tell me about some signs you've recieved from your deity or spirit guides (or whoever)! Mine tend to be animals or plants, which is definitely on brand!

[fangirlingpuggle]

I had an idea for an AU of your "the twins are bill and Fords kids AU"

So bill finds out about the kids before they hatch(?) a bit of time before it happens in your AU Bill basically kind of just remembers "oh shit I did that with Ford I should see if it actually worked"

and then he hatches(?) them and takes them and at first because it's a ✨manipulation opportunity✨ but then oh no at least some parental instinct has emerged as he takes care of them because they're his and they're wonderful

And as they grow they develop personalities and Mabel oh how she reminds Bill so much of himself the little creature of chaos she is

And Dipper reminds him of Ford (and himself too) with that insatiable hunger for knowledge to see the secrets the universe has to offer

(And when Mabel starts becoming a bit boy crazy Bill just tells her that when she's a bit older he'll let her start her own cult)

And instead of creating things with glitter Mable creates things with the stardust her dad stole from the sky when she wanted to bedazzle her scrapbook (and also glitter because it is an item that breeds chaos and that is something Bill approves of)

And Dipper has a journal that never runs out of pages where he writes down the secrets and stories of the universe (both freely given and stolen by Bill)

And they are Bills children because how could they not be they are so fundamentally weird these nigh impossible creations that were made in a drunken haze a combination of magic and science that somehow breaks the laws of both

And Bill dreams of how when the time finally comes he shall finally bring Weirdmageddon

and he'll give them like a 10th of the planet where they can do whatever they want (because he may be a parent but he still likes to party and also doesn't want his kids to accidentally eat some hard drugs so it's basically a dedicated area for the kids where he doesn't have to worry about them too much because sometimes you just need a little you time okay!!!)

And getting back on track with the original plan surely when Ford meets the kids surely he'll at least love them as much as Bill and they can finally play one big happy Family ruling the world together

[In the meantime Ford had no idea any of this was happening didn't even know he had kids so imagine his surprise on Weirdmageddon

(Should Ford even trust these children they are Bills kids not to mention the fact that he's the one who raised them

a part of Ford wants to protect these kids another part of him thinks that Bills spawn shouldn't be trusted shouldn't exist)]

Anyway do you like my idea do you have anything you'd like to add (please say you like it 🥺🥺🥺)

(I just thought this would be a fun AU for your AU I got a bit inspired do you like it? you better like it because you have infected my brain with your ideas it's time I returned a favor with mine)

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! I LOVE THIS SO MUCH!

Bill being so ready to use these kids as pawns and then he sees them and his heart instantly melts and 'I have only had these 2 for a moment and if anything happens to them I will burn the worlds down to the ground'

Him telling Mabel she can start her own cult is hilarious!

Dipper being like him fascinated by things out of his reach like the stars were for Bill and Bill encouraging him and making sure he can get all knowledge he wants.

Them breaking both magic and science is just perfection.

Bill giving hids a part of the world to have fun and sew their own chaos so he can have some me time, 'Ok kiddos go and do some destruction Dad is going to hang out with some friends and make a throne of human suffering ok'

OHH Ford's reaction to them is brilliant him being torn between wanting to protect his kids, but also these kids are Bill's and like him and raised by him. Probably twisted and manipulated by him and what if these kids are a trick a trap just a manipulation... he'd be in full paranoia mode.

This is so awesome!

[bones4thecats]

What Are They Like With A Rafiki! S/O?

Type of Writing: #7 - Poll Result Characters: Cater Diamond, Leona Kingscholar, and Lilia Vanrouge Name: What Are They Like With A Rafiki! S/O? Original Poll Link: Here

A/N: My hands are currently dying! I'm making the special stuff for the 19th! Also, I will not be posting that much that day, since I'll be out of my home for the day to spend time with my family. Anyways, I do hope you enjoy this!

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

💎 Cater first heard about you from Ace and Deuce, and he had to admit, you sounded quite entertaining

💎 You were noted by many to be quite nutty-sounding, as, whenever someone came to you for advice, you'd offer it in tounges. Words sewn together for the listener to figure out for themselves

💎 Even he'd have to admit, for someone who uses hashtags and quite a bit of social-media related lingoes in his sentences, your words were confusing!

💎 But, once he got past of all of that and he saw how tame you were with maintaining this 'Circle of Life', which he guessed you meant by how things chase others and whatnot, Cater grew to start admiring you

💎 The reason you used those metaphors to drive many insane was because it taught them to think and learn that wisdom is not something you can just grab, but it's something that one must learn, with difficulty, after all, as you say;

" Nothing is easy to obtain when it comes to wisdom. Wisdom is something that pushes and pulls on your struggles and weak spots like children playing tug-of-war in elementary school. "

💎 Cater loves to mess around with people, especially when you come into the mix and make them not only annoyed, but confused beyond belief

💎 It also makes him laugh when you play chess with your old friend, Leona. You're basically the only person that he knows that can beat him in the strategic game

💎 He also adores watching you draw things using some random items, such as fruits and flower's petals/colorings to make one colorful

💎 Your boyfriend loves posting stuff on his Magicam, and ever since he noticed how amazing you were with both magic and hand-to-hand combat, he would take videos of you training in Savanaclaw and post them with a classic Cater-style hashtag

" Oh, my lovely S/O is so talented with that bakora stick! " #caycay'sdarlings/o #caycay'ss/otraining #caycay'saveragedaywiths/o

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✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

🦁 Leona and you grew up together

🦁 While his ego blocked him from doing so, deep down in his heart, he admired how talented you were with magic and your words

🦁 He also found it entertaining watching you speak with your words twisted around to confuse everyone, including his older brother, Falena, and his wife

🦁 Leona first became interested in you when you began to study the darker-parts of magic, the stuff that your family and ancestor had banned from being learned in your home

🦁 Due to your flaw in 'rule-remembering', you were transferred into Night Raven College, just after your first years at Royal Sword Academy and NRC respectively

🦁 People from all different dorms could tell there was some tension between the Savanaclaw housewarden and the vice-housewarden, and Ruggie used this to his advantage a lot

🦁 Or, he attempted too...

🦁 The two of you are very strong apart, but when you come together against something, those you have seen you fight know that that person better just hand in the towel, unless they want to get their asses handed to them

🦁 Leona loves watching you use your wisdom to your advantage, teaching your under-classman about the value of knowledge and acceptance of all types of magic

🦁 He also adores watching you train with a new member of Savanaclaw each year, using your mandrill-beastman abilities to leap into the trees to hide and plan you next attack or use your bakora stick to whoop them into place

🦁 By the way, he plays chess with you whenever he maintains energy, and he gets very grumpy when you win. And by that, I mean he doesn't let you get up from your napping-sessions for two hours

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

🦇 You were the mentor of the Kingscholar brothers, so, when you walked up to their group of four Night Raven College students when visiting the beastman's homeland for the Tamashina-Mina Event, he gained an extreme interest in you

🦇 He noticed that Leona was appearing annoyed, but in his eyes he held a glint of adoration and joy at seeing you so joyous at meeting his so-called 'friends'

🦇 When he asked Leona about you after you left, he learned everything

🦇 You and your friend Kifaji were the maintainers of their home and helped raise the boys whenever their parents were busy with their royal duties, and you had been the main caretaker of the younger of the boys

🦇 From teaching him about magic styles to the many ways to fight hand-to-hand, you were the person who Leona was closest to, and Lilia had to admit, he was smitten by your personality from the start

🦇 Despite your age, you were a very well-versed person. You were fairly eccentric and happy-go-lucky, and the way you spoke made everyone who heard you confused

🦇 All except Lilia, who understood exactly what you were saying

🦇 Lilia and you quickly bonded and began spending a lot of time together, and when he went to perform his part of the event, you gave him a big thumbs up, showing your support full-on

🦇 Leona wasn't very happy to see his only parental figure being close to such a 'fae-dickhead', but, he had to admit, seeing you so happy and carefree with the guy made him feel slightly good

🦇 Before he had left to go back to his adoptive son(s), he gave you his number, winking at you and slyly telling you to message him sometime

🦇 He has never felt thing young in years!

[thekingofwinterblog]

You know what the most annoying thing about the Twists regarding the Elves in Inquisition was?

That all the twists, if taken on their own, would make for a really good story.

The reveals about Solas backstory and how him and his fellow God Kings rose, became decadent, warred with each other and fell, setting the stage for their transformation into the Old Gods is frankly speaking, some of the best lore that Dragon Age ever had, and lines up really well with how the world is structured while explaining how the Old Gods came to be, how the elves fell, and so on.

That the tevinter imperium when it conquered the nation of Arlathan was not the great imperial state lead by mighty mages their descendants liked to think they were, but instead a bunch of weaklings that needed years and years to take on one, measly city-state that had utterly obliterated itself in civil war.

There is so much great stuff here.

So where did it all go wrong?

The answer, is of course execution.

Inquisition overall is a great game... But man did it drop the ball so hard with the Elves that it's pretty much hard to believe that they will be able to tell a nuanced story about them in Dread Wolf.

Everything from the companions, to the world itself as the game presents , to retcons regarding mages that's there, not to tell a story about the elves, but to try and make the Templar vs mage conflict grey.

Starting with the companions, we have a great example of coming so, so close to greatness... and then falling right on it's face.

The game has two Elf companions, solas and Sera... and the contrast between them really illustrates the big picture with how incapable Inquisition is with trying to tell a nuanced picture with the elves.

Solas as a character is perfect. Love him or hate him, he is a fully fleshed out character with very clear, defined, understandable motives that makes sense to him.

And most importantly of all, his way of viewing the world is WRONG. The game acknowledges that he is wrong.

The entire story of where dragon age 4 is heading, is all about how the Dread wolf, for all his knowledge and intelligence and genuine virtues, is at the end of the day, a monster, who is willing to see the world burn to restore the Elves magic and immortality.

He is a racist, he is bigoted, and ultimately misguided. Despite all his development with the inquisitor, he does not manage to grow enough as a person that he manages to abandon his genocidal goals. And the game does not pretend othervise.

That is what makes the story of Solas rise to become the big villain of the sequel great.

There is no disconnect between the story, the characters, or the way the game wants us to view solas.

Solas is far, far more bigoted and close-minded than any of the dalish he so despises, and the game ultimately does not pretend othervise.

Which brings us to the opposite end of the elf spectrum with Sera.

Sera is a very disliked character by a lot of people, but by dalish and elf players/fans more than most.

Just like Solas, she is bigoted, racist, and ultimately misguided in her hatred of her fellow elves, whether they be city elves, or Dalish, or ancient elves.

And that frankly, would not be a problem if the game acknowledged that fact. If her character arc was about it, and either how she could not overcome her own issues, or actually managed to grow beyond them, she could have been a great character.

The problem is the fact that the game is not willing to handle this fact head on. Its not willing to come out and portray Sera as just as bigoted against her own kind as Solas is, and to treat this as a flaw.

Instead the game treats her as if her biggest flaw is that she's annoying, and not the fact that in a game that is in many ways about setting up the rise of the dread wolf, she is just as bad as Solas, just from a different origin point.

Sera should have been a mirror to Solas, both from a story point, as well as a thematic one, but unfortunately she is not.

Hell, she doesn't really overcome her racism either. The closest she comes to doing so, is basically burning out on hating the dalish and other elves in trespasser, not admitting she was actually wrong to hate them so much in the first place.

The game does not treat Sera's disdain for other elves and their culture as a problem, and it does not give a dalish inquisitor the option to tell her to go fuck herself on the topic that you are given with Solas if you really desire to do so.

You are given the option of kicking her out of the inquisition, but not actually stand up for the dalish or even city elves the way the player could against Morrigan's flemeth raised cruelty in origins, anders and Fenris obsessions with, and hatred for templars/mages in da2, or solas ideals in inquisition.

And thats a problem that really illustrates the bigger issue with the way Inquisition took what could have been a great story about the Elves and the reveals about their anceators, and frankly ruined it.

The dalish and city elvea were very thouroughly fleshed in both Origins, Awakening and DA2.

However, city elves largely managed to avoid being utterly destroyed by the narrative the way the Dalish were, for the simple reason that outside briala, we don't get much if any interaction with them at all, making them essentially a non show foe the game for the most part. They don't get a city elf inquisitor, and so we have no point of view to look at them from a pc perspective.

They got off much better than the dalish though.

Starting off with the arguably single worst thing in all of DAI is the retcon that Dalish clans, if there is more than two mages in a clan, sends off the third one alone in the wilderness to fend for themselves. This goes against absolutely everything that has ever been established about the Dalish, and worst of all, wasn't even an addition meant to demonize the dalish, instead being an addition to handwave away the obvious fact that the Dalish had a much better system than the human circles when it came to magic... Which in turn was made irrelevant by the fact the Avvar was later shown to have a much better and more effective solution to the possession question anyway.

It was, in essence, a pointless retcon, that overall only made the dalish look bad, and has now opened the door for the idea that most dalish clans acts like this, and will be portrayed so in future games.

Its bad, but unfortunately it was only the start.

The game goes out of its way to portray absolutely every single person who critices the dalish as having a point, that they brought on their own downfalls, even as they are being the most imperialistic, racist assholes imaginable, while the dalish inquisitor can only offer a token of defence for his people, a far cry from way origins allowed you to handle the same situation wheter your main ethnicity was ferelden, mage, city elf, dalish, casteless or dwarven noble.

But nowhere is it worse than the way the game handles the fall of the dales.

Now the actual lore you learn about it, is not bad. At all. I know some complain that the reveals that ameridan(and presumably other elves) worshipped both the creators and the maker, as well as the fact that the dalish unfortunately did have a bad relationahip with the rest of the world, in particular orlais, is bad storytelling, but i firmly disagree.

No the problem is the execution.

Ameridan is not wrong when he says that The Dales should not have distanced itself from the rest of the world, especially not in the face of a blight... But the Dales of his era were in turn not wrong when they argued that the Orlesians were little better than the imperium, and they would be completely right.

This is not a grey issue, its a grey and black issue.

Orlais was, and still is an evil, expansionist empire with 99% of its population living as serfs, that can be raped and beaten at will, little better than slaves.

The dales were the morally right side of the exalted march on the dales. No amount of new lore we learned in inquisition has changed that fact. We simply get the details fleshed out a bit more to add context.

Orlais was going to invade and enslave the elves anyway, as they proved through their actions against all their other, very much fellow Adrastian neighbors.

The problem is that you are not allowed to express this kind of point of view and stick to it like steel.

The characters you meet having the bigoted opinion that the dales ultimately brought on their own fate is NOT a bad thing in and out of itself... the problem is that you are not allowed to challenge that opinion the way you could challenge Lelliana's view of the dalish in origins, or the way you could tell both Anders and fenris to go fuck themselves on their extremist opinions all through da2, and ending that fuck you by killing them in the endgame.

And thats a real shame, because just looking at characters like cassandra's character development through Inquisition, you could easily have made a really compelling narrative put of a dalish inquisitor who stuck by his or her principles, and actually challenged the people they met's racist views on the dalish the way you could in origins, just with a more fleshed out and(unfortunately something way too many people just cannot emote to a character withouth) an actual voice to raise those arguments with.

I do genuinely like Inquisition, and i think it's overall a much better game than DA2... but man did they drop the ball with the elves so hard.

I feel so sorry for anyone who really got invested in the elves as their favorites factions, and i honestly don't think the elves will be handled particularly well in Dread wolf, especially as the only Dalish we are likely to see fleshed out will be the villains fighting for Solas.

[dont-offend-the-bees]

Lived My Whole Life Before the First Light

Omg here we are. At the end. I'm sad, I've been having such a blast with you guys this week! But all good things... Anyway, this is a strange one, rambling and mournful but hopefully with some sweetness. I hope it makes you feel things, I hope it gives you something, I hope we part on this final day of Painland Week as friends and confidants 💛 Huge, huge thanks to the organisers of Painland Week for putting this magical event together! Special love on this day goes out to @mellxncollie , who has been creating amazing gifs all week and has made beautiful ones for this very fic. It's been so so wonderful to collab with you and everyone should go and look at these wonderful creations at ONCE. Warnings for canonical character death (sorry, Charles) and the stuff that comes with it (i.e. refs to bullying/hatecrimes), non-graphic injury description, and just general mournful grief vibes all round. But hopeful ending bc let's face it, we all know how this played out! 7.3k, M-rated, available on Ao3. Thanks again, @painlandweek!

"Colour! What a deep and mysterious language. The language of dreams."

~ Paul Gauguin

Edwin Payne had always possessed a thirst for knowledge. As a child, he'd wished to learn just about everything there was to learn — every fact in every field. He'd been told, many times, that he could live to be a hundred years old, and still not have enough hours to do so.

Edwin had most certainly not lived to be a hundred. But he supposed that if you added his sixteen years of life to his seventy-three of death, he was getting rather close.

The dead years, however, had been far from conducive to study. Knowledge was hard to come by in Hell. Found either in burnt and bloodied books scavenged from individual damnations, or delivered in the form of cruel trials. He'd been taught a lesson or two in his time, but not on anything so polite and pedestrian as geometry. Edwin's key area of personal study in Hell had been one thing, and one thing only: how to escape from it.

It had taken seven decades, a slew of disembowelments and innumerable failed attempts, but at last he'd passed his final exam with merit. Or at least, a version of him had. But there wasn't much to be done for his original self, whose body lay mouldering on the dollhouse floor beneath a thousand savaged duplicates.

Best not to dwell on it.

He supposed he should have been upset about where the door to Hell spat him out. Not many people would be happy to return to the place where they'd met their untimely, violent demise. But to Edwin, after a small infinity in the blackest pit, stepping back into St. Hilarion's hallowed halls felt like greeting an old friend. Well, friend might be a tad generous. More of an acquaintance, or perhaps a second cousin one barely tolerated. Not a person one enjoyed spending time with, but nonetheless a familiar face.

For a day or so he'd wandered about in a bit of a daze, glancing over his shoulder for any sign he'd been followed from the depths. He'd drunk in every familiar feature, and puzzled over the unfamiliar ones. It was a small change in the grand scheme of things, but he suspected they'd replaced the drapes. They were a lighter grey now than they had been in his time. He wondered what colour they'd chosen — or for that matter, what colour they were in the first place. He'd never thought to ask.

Then on his second day of wandering, he'd stumbled across the old library. And that, for several weeks, had been that.

He'd probably had dreams about this, in his youth. Dreams of being left to his own devices, surrounded by books. All the information he could inhale, with no interruptions. Not even from the other boys. Their voices had startled him a few times, and he was always wary when a gaggle of them descended on the library. But he'd quickly realised that none of them could see him, and so long as he turned the pages quietly, he was free to continue his reading unmolested.

And he did so, continuously, for days. Not even boring old human restrictions like hunger, tiredness or eye strain could stop him now. He read everything he could get his hands on, brushed up on everything, filling in the gaps of the last decades. On the future that had been robbed from him, subsiding into history while his back was turned. He'd sat in his own shellshock when he read not only about how the so-called 'war to end all wars' had concluded, but also how little time had passed before the next one. He'd blushed and skimmed the pages pertaining to the nineteen-sixties free love movement. He'd gazed, thunderstruck, at the moon through the library window; wondering what the Earth must have looked like to the man they put up there.

All these years he'd been trapped in the gutters at the deepest depths of suffering, reaching up towards the light; all that time, humanity had been reaching, too. Up, up and up, all the way to the stars.

It became habit, after that, to gaze at the moon in between books and chapters. An opportunity to gather his thoughts on what he'd just read, to file away the facts, to jot down the most pertinent in his notebook. It was rather a meditative process.

Or at least it had been, until the night he'd seen something else beneath that moon. Something tragically earthbound amidst the gently illuminated greys of the grounds. A hunched and trembling shape against the trees, lurching by Edwin's window. A boy, on the run — his pursuers baying for blood like wolves at his heels.

They could put a man on the moon, but some things never changed.

It would be the first time Edwin had left the library since re-discovering it. Holding aloft the pilfered lantern he'd been using to read into the night, he trod carefully through the darkened corridors. The majority of staff and students were in dorms or common rooms by now, voices a soft patter, bleeding with the light under the doors. No one marked Edwin, or came to investigate the lantern floating past. Though some extinguished their own lights and hushed their voices, mistaking him for a warden. Edwin didn't wish to scare anyone, but he drew some comfort from it. He'd grown tired of being pounced upon in long, black, twisting hallways. How comforting for once to be the root of fear and not merely its captive.

Edwin had to search a little while, but he was already familiar with the best hiding places. It wasn't long before he was creeping up to the attic, minding his ghostly tread upon the stairs. He didn't wish to cause alarm, or send the boy deeper into hiding thinking his assailants had found him.

He crossed the threshold, and at once heard a shuddering intake of breath as the harsh white aura of his lantern bounced off the walls. He supposed there was no disguising the glow. He hung back a moment, conflicted. All he wanted was to offer some light and warmth, but perhaps a floating lantern would be a sight too much for the terrified boy. Well, it was too late for that, now. He stepped into the room proper, peering past the flare of his lantern to the source of the sound. A shivering bundle on the floor, tucked into a nook behind the shelves. Trying to be as small as possible and, by and large, succeeding.

Wide, hunted eyes stared into the light. A voice, low and wary, spoke.

"What do you want?"

It was then that Edwin realised the eyes weren't looking into the light. They were looking at him. He glanced behind himself, just to make sure, but he wasn't mistaken. "You can see me?"

It was also when he noticed something equally perplexing happening to the light. It had started to look... less white. No, in fact it no longer looked white at all, but it had not dimmed, and it bore no resemblance to any shade of grey Edwin had ever seen. It was... he didn't even have the language to describe it. If he had to choose a word, he could only say it looked warm. He'd never seen anything like it. Not in seventy years of Hell, nor in his life before. It simply defied description.

He tore his gaze from it. There were more pressing matters to attend to. "I... I thought this lantern might help," he said, still dumbfounded. He approached, with care — this boy was clearly a victim in this circumstance, but there was a defensive set to his jaw. A wild look in his eyes. A creature caught in a trap was as liable to bite a rescuer as an attacker. "You can simply extinguish it if those boys come up here."

The guarded expression cracked, vulnerability bleeding through. As Edwin drew closer, he noticed that the strange new quality of the light was reflected where it hit the boy. There were notes of something else beneath the pallid grey tones of his skin, something richer. Just as something beyond simple black glistened in his enormous eyes.

"You saw them?" the boy rasped.

"I did. I went to school here a long time ago." Edwin knelt before him, bringing the light closer to the lad’s face and marvelling, quietly, at the strange tones that sprang into sharp relief. Whoever this young man was, Edwin's very perception of the world appeared to be shifting in his presence. "We had bullies, too."

He looked so weak, curled up and trembling. He certainly wasn't weak, Edwin suspected that much. Peeking out from beneath the blanket were shoes and trousers of a kind he'd seen these modern boys wearing out on the sports pitch. The lad was no delicate flower, but at this moment, at the mercy of his wounds, he was helpless.

And if he could see Edwin... then his fate was already sealed.

Edwin looked at the boy levelly, at the fear in his strange eyes. He'd seen that fear upon countless faces these last seventy years, on the wretched souls crying out for respite from their torment. He'd worn a similar expression some decades ago, when a careless act of cruelty had damned him, too.

"Rest assured," he said, gently, offering the lantern. "I shan't hurt you."

He could see the moment the boy decided to believe him. His shoulders slumped, his breath escaped in a rattle of relief. He reached out from his blanket shell, and flashed a sliver of that curiously saturated skin at his shoulder. Against the stark white of the sleeveless vest he wore, the difference was now undeniable. Not grey, not white, but something altogether different. Like his eyes, like the metal at his throat and ear that glimmered in the lamplight. Tones Edwin had never seen before, couldn't even name.

It couldn't be...

"Cheers, mate," said the boy, shivering as he brought the lantern closer. "I'm freezing. Never been this cold in my life."

Swallowing, Edwin nodded. "It's the least I can do."

The boy's lips twitched in a feeble half-smile. "Yeah? You mean you can do more?"

Probably not as much as he'd like. But Edwin nodded again. "Of course."

The light shone upon the boy's face and the dark, waterlogged curls of his hair. Steeped in that impossible hue.

"Stick around a bit?" he asked, his voice very small indeed. "Bit lonely up here..."

Edwin had not come here with any plans to stick around. He'd wished to help, of course. But to say he was unaccustomed to dealing with people was a tremendous understatement. He'd planned to drop off the lantern, check the boy was alright, and slip away without a fuss.

But the boy was clearly not alright, half-alive and fading fast. And he'd seen Edwin, asked him in no uncertain terms to stay. Asked him with all the broken hope in his voice and all the impossible buried, blooming hues in his eyes. And if those colours meant what he had always been told…

Well. How could Edwin begrudge his own soulmate a last request?

"My name is Edwin," he said, as measured as he could manage. "Edwin Payne."

The boy grinned. It wobbled at the edges. "Charlie," he introduced himself. "Charles Rowland."

Edwin hummed. Charles. A pleasant name. Respectable. He thought it rather suited the young man. "A pleasure to meet you, Charles."

Charles chuckled, drawing the lantern closer to himself. "Pretty bloody brills to meet you, too, Edwin."

The colour — for it surely was a colour, Edwin knew of no other word or explanation — of the lantern seemed to pulse, then settle, stronger than before. It illuminated the feeble grin upon Charles' drawn face in hues as yet unnamed.

Edwin would have to find some names. Compare what he could see with what he'd been told, what he'd read. Identify what he could.

While he still had the chance.

"Best thing to happen to me all night," Charles mumbled. "You showing up."

Edwin wished to tell him things could only improve from here; but he knew it to be a lie.

~

"It is the color closest to light. In its utmost purity, it always implies the nature of brightness and has a cheerful, serene, gently stimulating character. Hence, experience teaches us that yellow makes a thoroughly warm and comforting impression."

~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

"Just didn't seem right. Letting that kid get beat on 'cause he's from Pakistan," said Charles.

His socks peeked out from the blanket, bright white in the lamplight. Interesting — a part of Edwin had always presumed that white would look vastly different with the rest of the spectrum unlocked. It didn't, but there was much less of it. The world was full of more off-whites in more hues than Edwin could've previously imagined. Charles' skin wasn't dissimilar. Pale-ish, but bearing pleasant warm under-and-overtones that made Edwin's look near-translucent by comparison.

"I mean, I'm half Indian," Charles continued. "Why am I so different?"

"That is a fair point," said Edwin, thoughtful, harkening back to some of the history books he'd skimmed of late. "They were the same country back when I was alive."

Fascinating how the times changed, new lines drawn in the sand. Fascinating, and frustrating. In the time Edwin had been gone wars had started and ended, entire countries had been ruptured, borders reshaped. And yet some of life's most persistent mysteries remained unanswered.

He'd not looked much into it, but it seemed little advancement had been made in understanding of the so-called 'soulmate' principle. It had been a frequent enough phenomenon to be common knowledge in Edwin's time, but no one ever had any real explanation for it. Plenty of spiritual explanations, of course. But it seemed no one could point to any tangible scientific reason why a person, upon hearing the voice of a certain other person, had the entire hidden colour spectrum revealed unto them. An entire dimension of the visible world remained inaccessible to the vast majority of the population, and still no one knew why, or even how. Clearly, there was still much research to be done on the subject.

And clearly, the notion of this mysterious person as a 'soulmate' was romantic drivel. Charles seemed a pleasant fellow, but he was a fellow. And two boys could hardly be soulmates, could they? No God-fearing Christian would embrace the concept if that were the case. So no, Charles couldn't possibly be his soulmate. Perhaps the phenomenon represented something else entirely. Like minds? Charles seemed an easy boy to get on with — and Edwin seldom got on with anybody. He even felt at ease sitting beside him on the hard attic floor, nearly touching. Perhaps Charles was simply his universe-appointed fastest friend; the one person in creation who could truly understand him.

Or maybe it was a cosmic fluke, a quirk of biology. Maybe it could have been absolutely anybody in the world.

Yes, that was probably it. Nothing deeper at play than that.

Still, it was a pity Charles would be dead before the night was out. Soulmate or not.

(Definitely not.)

"Right..." Charles mumbled. Followed by a frown. "Wait, what?"

"Hm?"

"What d'you mean 'when you were alive'?"

Edwin looked at him. Charles still seemed rather small, rather sorry. A chilly little lump, all curled in on himself, even now they were side by side and of a height with one another. He looked cold, sallow. Not even the warm hues of the light Edwin had tentatively designated yellow could hide it, cheerful though it may be.

"You ought to move around a bit," said Edwin, standing smoothly. "You must keep your circulation going."

It would do no good, of course. But who knew? Charles might be hardier than Edwin gave him credit for.

"Edwin," said Charles, all seriousness. "What d'you mean when you were alive?"

Edwin's brow twitched. He held out his hand. "Get up, and I shall tell you."

Charles took his hand — and startled. "Fuck — you're colder than me, mate!"

"And for good reason. Come, now. Two or three quick laps of the room. I'll hold the lantern."

~

"Red lips are not so red as the stained stones kissed by the English dead."

~ Wilfred Owen

Edwin had heard some truly hideous sounds in his time. Crunching bones, squelching organs, agonised screams. And yet somehow, the wheeze of Charles hacking up water from pulverised lungs was among the worst to date.

"Are you alright?" Edwin asked, hands clasped upon the table — lest he risk something overfamiliar like a pat on the back.

"I'm fine," Charles deflected, voice hoarse and unconvincing. "Just answer my question.

Charles was looking worse by the minute. The warm tones of his skin that Edwin had grown so fascinated by were receding under sallow grey. A new colour was blooming, in and around his eyes; in the puffy lids underneath, in the spiderwebbing veins across the whites.

This colour was not nearly so puzzling — the veins were a dead giveaway. Edwin had read more than enough crime literature to be able to identify the colour of blood.

So, this was the famous red. A bold colour, possibly quite charming in the right context; which this most assuredly was not. Edwin was no physician, but he'd read a number of medical textbooks. Charles bore all the hallmarks of a man bedevilled with internal bleeding. It was not a matter of whether he would die, but of what would kill him first; the cold, or the injuries.

He tore his gaze away. Anger, bitter and harsh, had him by the throat, had his fists clenching together until his gloves creaked. Who were those wretched boys, to lay hands upon Charles? To break him so? This boy who, insofar as Edwin could tell, hadn't a bad bone in his body? Whatever Charles was to him, soulmate or not (definitely, definitely not), he was his. He was supposed to be his, and soon he would be dead, and Edwin understood, now. Understood how people found themselves mired in Hell's fifth circle, swamped in wrath and rage. For no reason, no reason at all, those boys had taken Charles’ life without a care. Taken his life, and the colour from Edwin's eyes, all in one fell swoop. Soon both would be gone; and if Edwin ever found the hooligans responsible they'd have a formidable haunting on their hands.

"Nineteen thirteen, to..." he counted one, two, three, slowly. Collecting himself. "Nineteen sixteen."

"Bullshit." Charles cocked his head, a small smile of disbelief upon his lips. It was a charming expression, in its impertinence. "When did you go to school here for reals?"

"Nineteen thirteen to nineteen sixteen," Edwin repeated, slower. "I am dead, Charles."

Charles laughed. Edwin raised his eyebrows — and pretended not to be fascinated by the flash of not-red in Charles' mouth, his tongue and gums. What was the word for a light red, again? He was sure he'd read it somewhere...

The laughter died, and Charles' eyes went wider still. "...Oh."

There was more of that not-red than Edwin had thought, actually. The shells of Charles' ears, where the dawning light from the window glowed through translucent skin. He'd never considered that a person's ears might appear a different colour to the rest of them. How many secret tricks of the light had he been oblivious to all these years? How many more had he yet to discover? How many would he never get the chance to see for himself?

Just how much more could possibly be stolen from him?

"I... I dunno if this is, um, bad to ask, or what, but..." Charles swallowed. "How'd you die, mate?"

His lips, too, were redder than the rest of him; although that was fading, rapidly. Cooling at the edges. Edwin suspected that wasn't supposed to be the case.

"As I said," Edwin replied, sadly. "We had bullies, too."

~

"Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay."

~ Robert Frost

He had Charles move around again, though it was clear it would serve no purpose. He was delaying the inevitable. Charles was all but shutting down already; the occasional boost to his circulatory system was hardly going to bring him back from Death's door.

But perhaps Charles would beat the odds. Why not? He seemed a resilient fellow. Perhaps he would, indeed, outlast the night, see another day. Perhaps help would arrive. Perhaps Edwin could give him the push he needed to survive this if he only persisted.

Besides, he couldn't let Charles seize up and expire just yet. Charles had questions and damn it all, Edwin would answer them!

"Actually, you can move around any space however you like," Edwin explained. "It is not that you cannot touch things, you just cannot feel them."

A blessing in disguise, on occasion. Though Edwin had done his utmost to fill up this nook by the window with whatever musty blankets and futons he could salvage, he doubted the floor was comfortable. He himself sat with his knees tucked up to his chest, bracing for discomfort he couldn't feel. It was far from ideal. But he supposed that a hard floor was the least of Charles' problems.

Charles was rapidly declining. That cool tinge upon his lips was growing more prominent, his coughs harsher and more visceral-sounding. But here, at least, he seemed as snug as Edwin could make him. Swaddled like a babe, tucked up against the cluttered old shelves. Perhaps this was warm enough to get him through. It certainly seemed warm, with the yellow light burning merrily on.

It glowed not only off Charles' skin and his eyes, but a myriad small reflective surfaces strewn about the forgotten nook. Edwin was particularly taken with the shimmer of it off what appeared to be a dented instrument — possibly a tuba? — near Charles' head. Metals had always looked very similar to one another, in Edwin's grayscale vision. Now he could see the metal of the horn was a somewhat deeper shade than that of, say, the earring Charles wore. Finally, he could see first-hand the differences between the precious and non-precious metals. Alas, he had few of them to choose from, and little way of knowing which was which. He supposed it safe to assume that the instrument was brass, hence its orchestral designation.

But the metal Charles was wearing was his favourite so far. It had a little of the yellow about it, but richer, more lustrous. Edwin found himself quite transfixed by the way it fluttered and flickered in the light.

He was familiar with the saying all that glitters is not gold, of course. But for want of further evidence, gold seemed as good a guess as any.

"It's stupid, but... I think I'd miss kissing," said Charles. He looked right at Edwin, earring and eyes twinkling with the motion. He did have... handsome eyes. Edwin simply must figure out what colour they were. Of a similar hue but different tone to his hair, to the old wooden shelves at his back. "Do you miss kissing?"

"Mmm-mmmm," Edwin mumbled, with a small shake of his head. "No. Not as such."

How many people had Charles kissed, he wondered? Surely not an abundance, they were of a similar age. Had he kissed someone this month, this week? Today? Before his lips grew cold and chapped, when they were... oh, what was that word for a lighter red? Pink, yes, that was it.

Then again, perhaps he went about with painted lips in every day life. He already wore some sort of cosmetic on his eyes, after all, so maybe it wasn't a stretch for a modern young man. Imagine. A boy, staining the lips of his paramours with lipstick when he kissed them...

Goodness. The world really had moved on.

Edwin cleared his throat. "No," he repeated, firmly. "No, I don't miss kissing."

He supposed it was fine that Charles liked it, though. And maybe he'd get the chance to do it again. He just had to hold on a little longer, outlive the dawn chorus, until the teachers noticed his absence and sent people searching. Then he could keep on living, and kissing and whatever else he wished to do and Edwin...

Well, Charles probably wouldn't have much use for a ghost friend. But at least Edwin could keep the colours. Just a little while longer.

Charles chuckled. It was a bit of a sadder sound than the last time Edwin heard it. "Must've had some shit kisses in your life, mate."

Edwin smiled, tightly. "Something of that ilk."

"Shame we weren't mates," said Charles. "I'd've..."

"You'd have... what?"

A smattering of colour returned to Charles' face, then. It might've been a trick of the light, but Edwin could've sworn his cheeks warmed. "I'd've... well, I'd've found you someone to snog, wouldn't I?" he laughed, drawing his blanket closer around his chin. "Got some fit mates from my old school. And the birds proper fancy the brainy lads."

Edwin frowned. "The... birds?"

"Y'know. Lasses. Girls."

"Oh." For whatever reason, Edwin felt... disappointed. And not just at the apparently abysmal state of modern slang. "Yes. Girls."

He cocked his head, watching Charles carefully. He was a very good looking boy. And he wasn't Edwin's soulmate, couldn't be, but...

Edwin cleared his throat. "Charles?"

"Yeah?"

"Do I look..." He wavered. "...Unusual, at all? To you?"

Charles blinked. "Um. Well. Outfit's a bit retro." His eyes widened slightly, a dash of mortification. "Not being rude! I like it! It's... it's cool."

Edwin rolled his eyes. "I don't mean my outfit, I mean... have you noticed anything different about this room since I walked in?" he pressed.

"Well, yeah."

Edwin inhaled. "You have?"

"Yeah."

He leaned in closer. "What have you noticed exactly?"

Charles smiled weakly. "Well. It... feels a lot less lonely. With you here. Warmer, too." He chuckled. "Daft as that sounds. With you being dead, and all."

Edwin's fingers flexed on his knees — all he could do to stop himself hugging them, wretchedly, to his heart. "Yes," he agreed, dully. "Daft, indeed..."

~

"Green makes me think of silence, or maybe it’s loneliness. I get the feeling of a terribly distant star."

~ Kobo Abe

Edwin had only ever known one person ‘fortunate’ enough to meet her soulmate.

Aunt Florence had always been a bit of an odd duck. Flighty and fickle, a perpetual embarrassment to her brother — Edwin's father — whose job it had been to lend financial support to her spinster lifestyle. As she alleged it, she'd found her soulmate in the late eighteen seventies. For reasons undisclosed (to Edwin, at least) they had never married. Edwin had never had the pleasure of meeting her mysterious match.

She had always seemed very fascinated with the world around her, Aunt Florence. A trait she shared with Edwin; though while his interest lay in facts, hers lay in aesthetics. He’d seen her dedicate hours to the study of a singular rose petal in her garden. Edwin was told she could do quite beautiful things with oil paints, for those with eyes to see. They were passable, too, in black and white, but lacking dimension.

Once, when Edwin was about nine or so, Aunt Florence had taken his chin between her willowy fingers.

"What lovely eyes you have, my boy," she'd said, in a smoker's croak. Uncouth for a woman to smoke, particularly one of her social standing, but she'd never much cared what others thought of her. Her tobacco-stained nail had nipped his chin as she held him close. "Your mother's eyes. Sea green... You'll find yourself someone who can appreciate them, won't you?"

Edwin, of course, had had no idea what green was, and little desire to find out. Not if finding a so-called soulmate was the prerequisite condition. He was of an age where the fixation that grown-ups seemed to have on kissing one another was both vexing and perplexing to him. A phase of his life that, to be frank, he'd never entirely left behind. He'd extricated himself from Aunt Florence's talons as politely as possible, and given her a wide berth for the rest of her visit.

The next time he'd seen her, she had taken one look at his eyes, and burst into tears.

They all ended the same way, these soulmate stories. It was a law of nature. Death was not neat, or particularly fair. No matter how blissfully happy the pair, someone always had to leave first; and when they did, the colour left with them.

Some, at least, got time to enjoy it all. Before their love — and their colour — died away. A few decades, or years. Months, even.

Some, like Edwin, got far less. Hours, if that.

And some, like Charles Rowland, got no time at all.

~

"They're out of the dark's ragbag, these two

Moles dead in the pebbled rut,

Shapeless as flung gloves, a few feet apart —

Blue suede a dog or fox has chewed.

One, by himself, seemed pitiable enough,

Little victim unearthed by some large creature

From his orbit under the elm root.

The second carcass makes a duel of the affair:

Blind twins bitten by bad nature."

~ Sylvia Plath

"Shut up, mate. That is brills."

Edwin was inclined to agree. Especially now he could appreciate the full effect. He'd been aware, of course, that his form seemed to partially dissolve into a mirage when he passed through solid surfaces. He'd been unaware that the mirage seemed to possess a certain hue. Not unlike the hue beginning to bleed through the filthy window.

The pre-dawn light was different to the majority of the colours Edwin had identified so far. It was colder. Greyer. Pale and stark against the opaque black silhouette of the distant treeline (interesting, how the trees still seemed black in this light. He wondered if he'd get a chance to see this green he'd heard so much about before the night was over.) If Charles' face was warmed by the yellow lamplight, it was cooled at the edges by the seeping tones through the glass.

This, like the red and the blood, came with an easy reference point. Everybody knew that the sky was supposed to be blue.

Seemed Edwin finally had a word for the sickly tint of Charles' lips.

"Why don't you fall through the floor?" Charles asked, puzzled.

"There are many, many, so-called ghost rules," said Edwin, sagely. He had, after all, spent several weeks conducting his own personal study and compiling the rules himself. "I shan't waste your time listing them."

"Well, I only asked about the floor, didn't I?" said Charles, a teasing lilt to his lip. Honestly, the cheek of the man.

"Because I choose not to fall through the floor," Edwin replied, in utterly falsified exasperation. "Happy?"

Charles had a certain way of smiling; one that spread up from his grinning mouth and into his eyes. Despite the cold, miserable state of the rest of him they fairly shone with warmth, a merry humour. A knowing gleam that said 'look at us, in on the joke'.

Edwin had never been in on the joke, before.

Charles chuckled; and Edwin did likewise, helpless to the draw of it. The magnetic sound. It had his lips lifting of their own volition — even as his heart sank further and further into the floor.

The blue devils, that's what his father had called it. On those rare occasions when he acknowledged Mother's low mood, or found Edwin weeping silently upon his bed. "You've just got the blue devils, my boy. Chin up, now, and soldier on. You've better things to do than mope."

He could feel them, now, those blue devils upon his shoulder. Cold, heavy, and the colour of Charles' bloodless lips. Weighing Edwin down like stones in his pockets. He hadn't felt hot or cold in decades, but now he felt as Charles must have done with the chill lake pressing down upon him, filling his lungs. And unlike Charles, he wasn't sure he possessed the tenacity to break the surface before the bubbles stopped.

He'd fought his way from the pits of Hell itself, and yet this climb seemed more insurmountable by far. He was no longer fighting his way from the dark to the light. There was no light above the surface of this icy water, no light at all. The light was here, the entire spectrum of it; above was only grey, grey, grey, as far as the eye could see.

"Oi," said Charles. He looked so very tired; but still inquisitive to a fault. "What other cool stuff can you do, then?"

Edwin huffed. "I can travel through mirrors, if you must know."

Charles' blue lips parted, breath escaping on a wonderstruck wheeze. "Wicked."

He ought to be more careful with his breaths. He couldn't have had all that many left to draw.

~

"We love the sight of the brown and ruddy earth; it is the color of life, while a snow-covered plain is the face of death."

~ John Burroughs

Charles Rowland passed away in the small hours of the morning. Edwin didn't even need to look up from the page; he just watched the pinkish tint bleed from his own ghostly fingertips, and made a deduction.

Even before his passing, Edwin hadn't looked directly at Charles in some time. He hadn't been able to bring himself to. The colour in his ailing new friend had diminished all but completely, his skin a sallow patina, his lips a cracked grey slate.

Edwin had only come to know colour on this night, and already he could feel its absence like a hole in his heart. He understood, now, why Aunt Florence had dragged herself so mournfully through her twilight years. Going through the motions of existing. Colour, for Aunt Florence, had been life; without it, there was simply no point living.

Somehow, Edwin found his voice, and he read on. Because Edwin was no Aunt Florence, arty and flighty and prone to outpourings of passion. Edwin was his father's son; he soldiered on. No matter what.

But the ache in his chest persisted, despite his best efforts to quash it. There had been so much yet to see. He'd never witnessed the colour purple — an expensive hue of which he'd heard a great many appreciative things. He'd never seen a flower, any flower, in full bloom, or watched one of those famous sunsets.

In the end, he never even got to see what his aunt meant about his eyes. But he had no reflection anymore, so. Perhaps that one was always a lost cause.

On the topic of lost causes; there was someone else in this room with him, yet. Someone who'd lost far more than a fleeting glimpse of creation in technicolour.

""— I cease to believe,"" Edwin finished reading with a soft, forced chuckle. To no response. He looked up to find Charles standing tall, gaze turned to the window. It was the first time all night he'd been without his blanket; and the first time he'd borne not the slightest shiver.

Well. At least he would never be cold again.

"Not enjoying this one?" Edwin prompted, gently. "Carrados the blind detective was just becoming quite popular in my day."

When Charles turned around, of course Edwin already knew what he would find. Knew what his own eyes would fall upon when they followed Charles’ gaze.

But knowing did not prepare him for the reality. The cold, desaturated tableau of Charles Rowland's demise, illuminated like a crime scene in the stark white light of the lantern. How a person so vital, so vibrant as Charles should be without blood and colour defied all reason. And yet there he lay; bereft of hue, and of life.

Edwin swallowed, and closed the book gently upon Max Carrados. "When you could see me, I knew it was too late."

Charles was silent. For the first time all night. Silent as the grave.

"But I simply..." Edwin hesitated. "I did not want to scare you."

In the corner of Edwin's eye, the lantern guttered and died. Good. It didn't seem right; all that light upon Charles, and not a drop of warmth in it.

"Well. Glad you didn't say anything." Charles' voice was stronger, now. How different he sounded, without the rattle of lake water in his lungs.

Charles looked at his hands. As did Edwin. How strange they appeared, in the bleak grey of Edwin's impoverished eyes. How unsettlingly close to the pallor his skin had taken on in his death throes. And yet he wasn't pallid, not in the slightest. Standing tall, unchained from his ailing flesh, he was more wholly and healthily Charles than Edwin had yet seen him.

"Doesn't feel like I imagined. Being dead," said Charles, thoughtful. "Feels okay, doesn't it?"

In truth, there was nothing remotely 'okay' about this situation. Edwin felt... robbed. He felt robbed. Because he would never know the colour of Charles' skin when it wasn't frozen grey, or beaten black and blue. He'd never see this Charles, standing tall in the dawning sunlight, the way he was designed to be seen. The way he was chosen, by God or fate or an impossible quirk of biology to be seen, by Edwin. Only by Edwin. For he was Edwin's, no more could he deny it.

And Charles would never see Edwin. Not the way Edwin saw him. Because by the time they met, it was already too late. Because in a wretched twist of fate, Charles’ soulmate — his unfortunate, unorthodox soulmate — was dead in the ground before Charles was even born.

And Edwin had thought Hell to be cruel and unusual punishment.

"I sincerely wish we could have been friends for longer," said Edwin, dropping the magazine and standing from his seat on the old trunk. "But Death will come for you, now. You should go with her when she arrives."

He turned, and began his brisk march to the door. What's done is done; and Charles was, unmistakably, done. Done in and done for, done in just about every sense.

So Charles would be off, now. He'd be off, and Edwin would just have to carry him, too. In his head, with his facts and his torments and a thousand tiny heartbreaks. What was another one, in the grand scheme of things? What else was there to do in this fugitive afterlife but keep his chin up, and soldier on?

"Well I'm not ready, am I?” Charles called out. “I don't wanna go somewhere else, yet."

Edwin faltered. Turned. Charles was watching him.

"What if I stay here for a bit with you, instead?" said Charles, preposterously.

"Then you will always be running from her," was Edwin's quick, logical response. But Charles was still watching him with those... those damnably appealing eyes, and he felt the need to defend his case. "Also, I'm not good with other people. And I only just came back to this school after escaping Hell, so. I'm out of practice, to be perfectly frank. So. When the light comes. You stay, and I go."

He smiled, tightly, and turned once more. There. He'd avoided mentioning Hell all night, but it was done, now. No boy with a lick of sense would —

"Well, I'm aces with other people."

… He simply could not be serious.

"Pretty chuffed you got out of Hell, mate," Charles continued, maddeningly blasé. "That sounds hard. Nice job."

Edwin turned on him, incredulous. "That is not how you make decisions," he snapped, taking a challenging step towards Charles. "Just based on whatever you happen to be feeling in the moment!"

"It's how I lived my life."

Charles turned his head, looked down at his own body. Edwin couldn't bring himself to do likewise.

"Doesn't seem all that different now."

Charles looked at Edwin, unflinching. And what a different creature he was, free of cold and pain. Lithe but lax, eyes slightly narrowed in almost catlike contemplation of Edwin. He stood before a hellbound soul, near naked and freshly dead, and yet the easygoing slope of his narrow shoulders bore no strain.

He shrugged, nonchalant. White light glimmered from his dangling earring. "Looks like you're stuck with me.”

For a moment it was nigh on impossible to believe he hadn't seen it, too. Hadn't seen the spectrum unfold when Edwin said his name. Because how else could someone look at anyone, let alone Edwin, with such certainty? As if he'd never been more sure of anything or anyone in his tragically short life.

Breathtaking was not a word Edwin liked to use lightly. In fact, he preferred not to use it at all. Who had ever seen something so rare, so staggeringly beautiful they'd lost their breath? It was the sort of word Aunt Florence would have used; flowery and hyperbolic.

It seemed Edwin owed her yet another apology.

Light flared in the corner. Their eyes leapt to it. It was of no colour that Edwin could see and yet he could feel it, deep in his soul, he knew its shape and colour; blue. A kinder, softer blue than that of bloodless lips and dreary skies. The wild blue yonder that he was barred from forevermore; the one that awaited Charles Rowland with open arms.

Charles looked at Edwin.

Edwin looked at Charles.

Charles smiled, soul glowing lantern-bright in those dark, confident eyes. He didn't move, not towards the light or away from it, but he held out his hand. Planted like a tree, unbending, unbowed. His roots sunk deep into the loamy earth of life; his branches beckoning Edwin into their boughs.

Oh, thought Edwin, when he understood — didn't see, simply understood — the colour that had been gazing back at him all along. That's the word I was looking for.

~

Thirty years passed, fading into memory, and with them faded the sting. It was hard to mourn the loss of colour when one could scarcely remember what it looked like in the first place. Those fleeting hours blended and blurred amidst the grey years, lost to time; a single hand-tinted frame in a hundred miles of monochrome celluloid.

Though he tried to remember, Edwin struggled to visualise the yellow light that had bathed their faces; the gold that glinted at the cut of Charles' jaw. Pink lips, red veins, the blue stain of death. Such things were impossible to note down in a world of black ink and white pages, and his aide-mémoires soon failed him. The colours fluttered away into the past, scattered to the winds of memory like his mother's smile, his father's voice, Aunt Florence's smoky laughter and the roses she painted on the guest room walls.

But though he could not recall the exact shade of Charles' eyes, nor compare them to any other — not even his own — Edwin knew something about them. Just as he knew Death's light shone heavenly blue. And for once in Edwin's long and tormented afterlife, he felt truly fortunate. Because he'd been allowed to experience only a fraction of what the visible spectrum had to offer; colours he could count on less than two hands.

And yet somehow, by some stroke of luck, he'd seen the best one nonetheless.

~

"At breakfast that morning I had been struck by the lively dissonance of its colours. But that was no longer the point. I was not looking now at an unusual flower arrangement. I was seeing what Adam had seen on the morning of his creation - the miracle, moment by moment, of naked existence."

~ Aldous Huxley

~~

Thank you for coming on this journey with me, my darlings 💛 Love to hear your thoughts! Reminder to check out Olly's amazing gifs! This one took a little while to come together, bc in my first draft Edwin's feelings/progression were a bit all over the place. But I realised that all the sections of the attic scene (not including the very first one/my inserted flashback about Aunt Florence) could track along the five stages of grief quite nicely and that gave me a good framework to loosely follow, starting in his denial of the implications and ending in devastated acceptance of what he's lost. As to why he didn't like, *tell* Charles, well, what would you do? Be honest? If you were a dead Edwardian ghost boy and you found out your actual soulmate was not only another boy, but a doomed one? One who isn't even seeing what you're seeing. Maybe he thought Charles wouldn't believe him, or would take it badly. Maybe he thought telling him would sway him unfairly into staying when Edwin believed he should go. I think he will tell him, one day. And Charles is gonna be PISSED that he kept it from him so long xD For the quotes, I tried to stick to things Edwin could possibly have read, so pre-1989 things, as I like the idea of him using literature as a framework for understanding what he's seeing. It was really interesting writing about colour from the perspective of someone with no reference for it! Some of the quotes might have ended up anachronistic by a couple of years, tbh people are *shit* at sourcing their quotes and while I could source authors easy enough it was hard sometimes to isolate what specific book/anthology the piece came from, or what year it was published. If I'd have had more time I would have done more digging! Anyway, that's about all I got right now. I dunno when I'll be back, probably (hopefully) in a few weeks with the next chapter of Lonely Bones. In the meantime please, feel free to continue chatting with me in the comments, on my tumblr, come be a pal, I've had the time of my life with y'all this week and I'm not ready to get off this train just yet! Until next time! 💛