#aka mysterious third thing

[group-dynamic]

Love how the Pitt keeps dropping little hints about the interns / student doctors' sad, messed up relationships with their families.

Whitaker being asked "Do you have a best friend?" by the pregnant farm wife and answering like: um. . . I have three older brothers. . . Does that count? (like he doesn't know!!) and then he goes " Actually they kind of tortured me growing up, so :( " Like, I know he means in an older sibling way, but ooh, lonely, isolated and different from the rest of the family, first to go to college in a third generation farm family Whittaker my beloved!

Santos who it goes without saying had a shitty unstable or traumatizing upbringing that she references through her rage at the potential abuser, struggle to make genuine connections, and self awareness that she deflects and snarks as a form of self defense. Santos who hates herself and lashes out so badly when she screws up only to immediately walk her words back because she was too mean to Whittaker and didn't like that. Santos who needs reassurance more than anyone. Santos who bullies the other interns but also tries to defend Mohan and take care of Whittaker's finger like a good sibling in an abusive household.

Mel aka "I hate to see families torn apart" who has visceral reactions to shouting and when parents fight and genuinely worries and asks questions about whether fighting adults are going to break up like she thinks she's witnessing a divorce before her eyes. Mel who seems to be the sole caretaker of her sister as a result of. . .?!

Mohan who for most of the show is a mysterious, wonderful angel who keeps getting reprimanded by the ED father Robbie for being the doctor she wishes hospital bureaucracy would allow her be, and then it turns out her father died when she was young!!?? And she's an only child??? And she was clearly her father's favorite, (but not in this ED!) and while she's handled that loss by now, she goes around being the big sibling to all the less experienced staff despite not being a sibling herself, like now she's got so many!!

And Javadi whose parents BOTH work for that hospital who is so young and feels so deprived of appreciation and love and support who is a "pressure cooker" child who has found the kind of understanding and support and chill vibes she's wanted from "actual cool yet responsible" mom McKay and that little connection she has with Dana who's so attentive to her with her Utah metaphor and wishes her many Utah's like "I hope you experience many things in life" to a kid who has been set on such a narrow and difficult path she hasn't been able to look up to see the sky!!!

aaaahhhhhuuuggghhh!

[miedei]

plots and plans

the team's gotten to know spencer's gf very well... but now there's a new face in the bau (aka emily gets initiated into the team... by meeting mystery girl!)

a/n: this fic took an ungodly amount of time its been in my drafts for months but <333 mystery girl <333 (this is fr just a bau team fic at this point)

(look at '#mystery girl!au' on my blog to see more musings about them <3)

cw: alcohol consumption, reader referred to as a woman, reader is around spencer’s age in s1/s2 (23-24), the team plotting, use of y/n eugghhhhh

wc: 3.4k

part one | part two | mlist

(reblogs are the only way to promote fics on tumblr! please reblog if you enjoyed it :) )

SSA Emily Prentiss is perfectly wonderful. Garcia thinks so, and so does Morgan. Sure, they miss Elle, and they miss working with her, but leaving the BAU was something she’d needed. Besides, Penelope wasn’t letting Elle out of the team’s outings anyway. 

So, the two of them really have nothing against Prentiss. She’s kind, good at her job, and fits into the dynamic of the team well. However, at the end of her third case with the team, something of interest happens that makes them start to plot against her. Lovingly.

Morgan’s on the phone with Garcia, letting her know that the unsub was in custody, when Emily comes up to him, tapping his shoulder. Without hanging up, he draws the phone away from his ear, turning to her questioningly.

“Morgan. Can I ask you something? About Reid?” At his sound of agreement, she plows on.

“Does he… He’s so young. Do you think he’s had the social experiences he needs?” She shakes her head slowly. “He’s so sweet that it makes me worry. I mean, a kid going to university at 14, that’s got to make you miss out on a lot of things, right?” She gestures to Spencer, and Morgan turns to see him. 

Spencer is fiending off the officers mobbing him with thanks and congratulations for his breakthrough on the case. A smile creeps up on Morgan’s face, watching him fiddle with his hands and bow his head nervously, trying to find a way out of the group.

“I mean, yeah, Reid’s a little clueless in some ways, but I don’t think it really affects him too much. He’s learned to adapt quickly.”

Emily frowns, still looking at Spencer. “I feel like there are things everyone deserves to experience, you know? He hasn’t been able to do so many things because he’s achieved so much. I mean, he’s never even dated someone, has he? Did you see the way he handled that witness?”

Morgan bites back the urge to laugh uncontrollably. Earlier in the case, Spencer was interrogating a witness, Morgan, Emily and Gideon watching through the one-way mirror. He recalls the way the woman grabbed hold of Spencer’s patterned tie, twisting the fabric in her fingers with a sly smile. Spencer, the sweetheart he is, had recognised the flirting, but did his best not to mention it, pulling his tie out of her grip multiple times as he stuttered through his questions, until Gideon came in to save him. 

Morgan recognised that for what it was, Spencer’s incredulity that anyone other than you, the person he’s so obsessed with, would ever try something with him. 

But Emily, poor, sweet, Emily, had assumed the same thing the rest of the team had, years ago. That Spencer was nothing more than an inexperienced nervous wreck, that had never even kissed a girl. Morgan shamefully remembers the time he’d been proven wrong of this same assumption.

Emily’s face is so earnest, that Morgan almost doesn’t want to pop the bubble, disturb her impression of Reid. Instead, he just pats her shoulder with the hand not holding his phone.

“Trust me, Prentiss. Reid’s missed a few things, but he’s fine.”

Walking away from her, he remembers that he didn’t hang up the phone, bringing it up to his ear to hear Garcia speaking rapidly, clearly having heard his exchange with Emily.

“-and she doesn’t know! Oh my god, you hunk, wouldn’t that be so good? She’d experience what we did back then and-” Morgan cuts her off. 

“Babygirl, what? I didn’t catch that first bit, who’s going to experience what?”

Garcia takes a deep breath, and Morgan can picture her smile. “Okay, I know you're always thinking, ‘what is the wonderful thing about having the most beautiful and brilliant woman you’ve ever seen in your life?’, and, sweetheart I’ll tell you. It’s that I have a wonderful, wonderful brain, and I have a plan we have to set in motion.”

Derek sighs, but he knows he’s all in before she even says the word. “Alright, princess. Hit me with it.”

Garcia insists that the plan must be unfolded in three stages. Three stages, in order to make sure that Emily’s introduction to you will be just as bewildering as it was to them.

Stage 1: Confirmation. 

Emily’s assumption of Spencer’s inexperience had to be nurtured, demonstrated to her, to lull her into a false sense of security, the way the team had for far too long. 

Morgan and Garcia begin just one week after the case, a paperwork day where the team is confined to the bullpen for hours. Emily is sat at her desk, across the aisle from Morgan’s, when Garcia walks by, a phony excuse for her presence spilling out of her mouth. 

“Just got to drop these files off to Gideon!” She speaks too loudly, to no one in particular, and Morgan groans internally at her unsubtlety. Emily quirks an eyebrow at him, but he doesn’t say anything, even when Garcia taps her nose in a very exaggerated manner. 

No time to cover up for her, Morgan’s got work to do, and a time limit to boot.

“So, Prentiss. You’ve had three cases here so far, you’ve gotten to know the team. I wanna know, what are your impressions of all of us?” Emily narrows her eyes at him, but swivels her chair so she’s facing him. Bingo. 

He grins as she leans forward, speaking lightly. “My impressions? What, you want me to profile you guys?” 

He holds up a finger. “Ah ah ah. I’m a profiler too, don’t act like you haven’t been doing that to us since the day we met. Now, tell me. Why don’t you start with, say, Reid?” He winces internally, hearing the eagerness in his voice. Despite that, Emily replies readily.

“Well, I’m probably just going to tell you things you already know. He’s brilliant, insecure, anxious about not only himself but us, worries about his mother all the time. Socially unsure of himself, especially in non-professional settings.” As she speaks, Spencer walks into the bullpen from Gideon’s office, accompanied by Garcia, whose eyes are filled with poorly-contained mischief.

“...and, my good doctor, she was flirting with you! Didn’t you see the way she tried to give you coffee for free?” An expression of puzzlement flits across Spencer’s face, looking at Garcia as he grips the file in his hand. 

“Garcia, why are we talking about this again? That happened weeks ago, and I still don’t think she was doing anything more than-” She cuts him off with a palm facing him, barreling forward with her rant, eyeing Prentiss blatantly as she speaks.

“You never think they’re doing anything more until they’re the ones gripping those little ties of yours. Spencer, you don’t think anyone is ever flirting with you!” Prentiss nods at Morgan, speaking under her breath with a smirk.

“Uncomfortable in non-professional settings, especially romantic ones.” She sits back in her desk chair, swivelling away as Garcia ushers Spencer to his desk, ignoring all of his questions. 

Spencer sits with a huff, confused. He pulls out his phone surreptitiously. 

SPENCE <3: They’re being weird. Again.

Garcia has filled JJ in, and she is ecstatic. She still remembers the horrifying embarrassment that she hadn’t realised something so huge about her best friend. It might be a little juvenile, but it will definitely bring her a little comfort if Emily, profiler extraordinaire, makes the same mistake. 

It’s five days later, and they’ve moved onto the second phase of the plan.

Step 2: Doubt.

Garcia has decided that sowing seeds of confusion, the way the team had been confronted that one time at the bar, was the way to make sure Emily has the full experience of being one-upped by that infuriating man, according to her.

JJ’s role is the whisperer, making sure that Emily witnesses suspicious activity. She’s taking this immensely seriously, Garcia having impressed upon her the responsibility of this guise. 

Walking past Spencer’s desk, she shoots a glance at Emily, confirming her distraction, before speaking into the room, “Everyone had a good day off yesterday? Spence, went to that exhibit at the Living Museum?” 

A dreamy smile flashes over Spencer’s face, before he makes sure to school his features, allowing only a small grin to remain. “Um, yeah. We went to go see the aviary, they’ve got some new Southeast Asian birds in.” Yes. JJ resists the urge to smirk, but her hopes are quickly dashed when Spencer moves on without a word. “I think Gideon would really enjoy it actually, I’ve been meaning to…” She groans internally, tuning out of his meandering ramble about bird migration patterns. There’s no way Emily clocked that tiny ‘we’. 

JJ isn’t one to give up easily, though. Any good plan requires patience, so she waits another day before attempting again.

The team is on the jet on the way to a case, and JJ is sitting strategically at the table with Emily, Derek, Spencer, and Garcia on the grainy laptop screen. Garcia’s hands fly around animatedly as she finishes describing the state of the case. 

Hotch raises his head from the case file, proceeding to assign everyone preliminary tasks, when JJ nods at Garcia subtly, and watches as she begins to rush around her office in a whirl, finally snatching up her cell phone. It’s a wonder that no one else notices the rush of movement on the screen, leaving JJ holding her breath, hoping that Emily or Spencer don’t catch wind. 

Finally, two minutes later, Garcia sits back down at her desk, feigning nonchalance. 

“Yep! Okay, sounds like you guys all have it under control, so— I’m going to go, do my techy things in my techy room. Okay? Garcia out!” 

The image of her disappears from the screen, and JJ grips her mug tightly, fearing that Garcia gave it away. Gideon chuckles, but other than that, it seems that everyone has written it off as a regular Garcia-ism. Thank god. Hotch continues his spiel.

A few seconds later, Spencer’s cell phone rings, the ringtone different from the one everyone is used to hearing when he’s called by one of the team members, but JJ recognizes the 8-bit rendition of Vivaldi’s Summer that you helped him set up for your number.

She can see Emily tilt her head from next to her, but JJ resists the urge to look up, keeping her eyes trained on the case file in her hands, and nodding along with Hotch’s words. 

The sound of Spencer rustling around for his phone meets her ears, and the subtle sigh of happiness that he lets out when he sees the caller ID. The beep of him accepting the call and standing to walk to the kitchenette float through the cabin, and the whispered ‘excuse me’ when he walks into the curtained room.

JJ can almost hear the confusion radiating from Emily, knowing that the newer agent’s utterly baffled at the sight of Spencer missing out on the discussion currently happening.

She can only pat herself on the back for having maneuvered Emily into the seat closest to the kitchenette, too, because the way she stiffens when hearing Spencer’s saccharine-sweet voice say ‘hey, angel’ is just the cherry on top.

JJ whips out her cell phone, texting Garcia discreetly that the plan was a success, receiving a flurry of emojis in return. Unseen, Gideon looks over her shoulder.

In the kitchenette, Spencer furrows his brows, confused. 

“Wait, Garcia told you I needed to talk?” 

Your tinny voice flows through the phone and into his ear. 

“Yeah! She texted and said you asked for me but wouldn’t call for some reason? I don’t know, it was strange. You know I don’t call you when you’re on a case, but I thought it was an emergency or something.” 

He sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. 

“I told you, they’re being weird! I asked Morgan what was going on and he just laughed.”

Your matching sigh rings out. “If they’re not going to tell you, I think there’s nothing to do but let it happen until it comes out. They always tell in the end, anyway.”

His shoulders slump in annoyance, but he begins to nod. 

“I guess you’re right. It’s still annoying.”

The case wraps up four long days later, and the team pile into a booth at O’ Keefe’s all in similar states of sleep-deprived delirium. Spencer would much rather be at home right now, but Garcia was persuasive as usual, crooning on about how ‘your ladylove gets you every day, can’t you give us one evening?’. 

Despite his love for the team, their increased strangeness hasn’t abated over the days they were working. 

Even now, JJ, Derek and Penelope sit across from Spencer in the booth, huddled around each other and whispering behind cupped hands. Granted, they weren’t this obvious over the last few days, but their drinks have only weakened their resolve to not let Spencer and Emily in on whatever they’re doing, not broken it. 

Making up his mind to ignore them, Spencer has resorted to leaning into the other end of the booth, chatting idly with Gideon, Hotch and Emily. Hotch is smilier than usual, three beers deep and showing them a seemingly endless amount of baby pictures of Jack from his wallet. 

He can’t help but smile at the grainy photos of the chubby baby, grinning to himself at the memory of the last time he saw Jack. 

He’d been leaving the office to meet you, and ran into Hotch and Haley in the elevator, stroller in tow. The image of you excitedly waving at little Jack, holding out your hand and letting him grip on to your index finger is burned into his brain. He’ll probably never forget it, eidetic memory or not. 

The multiple drinks he’s had allow a lovestruck look to settle on his face as he half-listens to Hotch’s tales. They also make sure that he doesn’t notice the puzzled look that Emily flashes at him, same as the ones she’s been sneaking for days now. 

However, no amount of drinks can let him ignore the strange way that Gideon is acting. The stately profiler is normally rather talkative on nights like these, subtly teasing the team or devolving into long tangents about an old far-fetched story. 

Tonight, however, he’s silent, merely nodding along to Hotch’s words. 

Spencer can’t help but be weirded out, especially when he catches Gideon looking over at him with an expression of repressed mirth, as if he knows something Spencer doesn’t. It’s slightly infuriating, the way it feels as though everyone is keeping things from him these days. 

He knows it’s not exactly the smartest thing to do, but he offers to go to the bar for another round of drinks. If they’re going to be weird, he might as well have something to help tide him over. 

You’re at home when Gideon calls, informing you that Spencer’s gotten more drunk than usual, and it’s probably a good idea that you come get him. 

As you pull on your coat, you can hear Spencer ranting loudly about Rachmaninoff in the background, laughing to yourself when Gideon assures you that he’s fine. 

(Curiously, you hear an unfamiliar voice question Gideon, ‘Who’re you calling?’ before he hangs up.)

Arriving at the dimly lit bar, you crane your neck to try and glimpse Spencer and his coworkers, coming up blank. 

You’re just about to call Gideon again when a suspiciously swaying, lanky individual catches your eye. Sure enough, Spencer is standing by a wall, gripping a glass in both hands and staring into the middle distance, seemingly alone. 

Pocketing your cell phone, you make your way over to him, feeling a familiar infatuated smile start to bloom on your face. 

“Hey, handsome. You here alone?” He blinks rapidly before focusing on you, eyes widening dramatically. 

“You’re here! How are you here, I thought-” He hiccups, the action causing his entire body to wobble, your hand shooting out to steady him. 

“I thought you were at home!” He takes the hand you have on his waist, tugging you closer until he can drape himself against your side, tall frame hunched over you. 

You have to giggle, widening your stance so you can support the two of you as you look around the bar, hoping to find any of his coworkers. 

Unfortunately, you come up blank, assuming they're in the booths towards the back that you can’t see. Sighing, your hand comes up to rub at the nape of his neck, causing Spencer to sigh happily, bending even further so that his face is buried in your hair. 

“Spence, where’s the team? We’ve gotta say goodbye before we go,” You murmur softly, feeling him relax further and further. His voice is higher than normal, muffled due to his refusing to raise his head from yours. 

“I dunno, they’re sitting… somewhere, and Emily said she’d come find me after I came here. Did you know, she listens to Eric Carmen? I was telling her about the lawsuit Rachmaninoff’s estate filed against him, and…” 

He must keep talking, you can feel the vibrations against the crown of your head, but he’s shifted his face to where his mouth is pressed against your scalp, taking with it any hope of understanding his words.

You’re waiting patiently for him to finish, when a dark-haired woman catches your eye. She stands a few feet away from you, peering at you curiously, as if trying to suss something out. Her face is obscured due to the shadowy lights, but she looks vaguely familiar. 

Stopping your ministrations on Spencer’s neck, you entreat him to look up. 

“Hey, do you know who that is?” He raises his head with a heaving sigh, as if it’s taking all his energy. He nods once, before returning his face to your hair, snatching your hand and placing it on the back of his neck again. 

“Yeah, it’s Prentiss.” He falls silent after that, but at least he gave you something. 

You’ve heard a lot about Emily Prentiss from him, although you haven’t had the chance to meet her yet. Waving her over, you smile brightly. 

“Hi! You’re Emily?”

She walks over to you, expression wary, until she catches a proper glimpse of Spencer’s face, at least, what’s visible of it. 

“Reid? It is you…” Her face is bewildered, confused, looking at you. 

“Sorry, who are you?” You stick out the hand that Spencer isn’t holding hostage, shaking hers.

“Hi, I’m Y/N, his girlfriend. It’s really nice to meet you, I’ve heard great things from Spencer and the others.” She looks more stunned, if that’s possible, but stutters out a greeting. 

It reminds you of the time you met the rest of the team, the way they’d stared incredulously at you when Spencer introduced you. Thinking back to Penelope’s multiple texts confirming that you weren’t coming tonight, it seems you’ve figured out why they’ve been acting weird.

You can’t help but smile pityingly at her, knowing how she’s feeling. Gesturing at the man clinging on to you, you give her an out from the conversation.

“I think I should be taking him home. Would you mind telling the rest where we went? I don’t want them to worry.”

She nods wordlessly, watching after you as you slowly lead Spencer out of the bar and into the night. 

SSA Emily Prentiss is a profiler. A spy. She’s accustomed to learning everything there is to know about an individual within a few days of knowing them. It’s for these reasons that she stands, dumbstruck, in the middle of O’ Keefe’s. 

Spencer Reid has a girlfriend. And she didn’t figure it out??

She resolves to go back through the profiling notes she’d taken in her time at the academy. Maybe twice. 

Shuffling back to the booth, she’s stuck in her head, eyes wide and thoughts flickering at ten times their normal speed. It’s clearly noticeable, Derek looking concerned when she slides into her seat once more. 

“Prentiss? Are you okay?”

She reaches out to snag her beer, turning the glass in her hand. Her voice is low, still confused as to how she missed it. 

“Spencer’s girlfriend came to take him home.”

Her words incite identically incredulous squawks from JJ, Morgan and Garcia, all of them incensed. 

“You met her? She wasn’t going to come tonight, we had a plan!” Penelope exclaims in frustration, looking around the table. 

Gideon merely shrugs, his amused half-smile finally emerging. 

“Plan took too long. Took it into my own hands.”

Morgan has to hold Penelope back from lunging at him.

[emiko-matsui]

What I love about Dimension 20: Time Quangle is that it's advertised as a canon non-canon series of live shows where they don't have a set campaign but play with all their settings and characters, but the world building within these shows established that it does in fact take place in Dimension 20: Fantasy High. Hear me out.

The first time the Dimension 20 audience is introduced to the concept of a time quangle isn't when the cast announces their Time Quangle Tour, but rather in the beginning of Fantasy High's third season. In Junior Year Arthur Aguefort is absent on a trip with his daughter through history and leaves the school in the hands of Arcturus Grix and Jace Stardiamond. It is established that Aguefort has concurrently gotten himself involved in a so-called time quangle on this journey which is the reason why some canonical events in Spyre's timeline has been displaced (with Junior Year and The Seven supposedly taking place at the same time but entailing contradicting events). In every stop of the canon non-canon Time Quangle Tour it is Arthur Aguefort (and at times his daughter Ayda Aguefort, whom we know he's travelling with) that is the guiding force that helps the characters unquangle their universes, which lines up perfectly with the established canon of Fantasy High.

At first Aguefort believes that he accidentally created the quangle by travelling through time, but in the last stop of the Time Quangle Tour we see that Aguefort has begun to doubt this, because if the quangle was simply an unmotivated force he would've been able to sort it out much quicker, but now he realises that the quangle is actively evading him. In this last stop we find out that the one who created the time quangle was Chungledown Bim after failing his quest on hunting down Fabian. The person at the centre of the time quangle, that Aguefort is fighting with throughout Junior Year's run, is Chungledown Bim. Now this does also line up with Fantasy High canon. In Fantasy High's second season Fabian encounters Chungledown Bim for the first time who swears vengeance upon him and vows that he will stop at nothing to hunt him down. We see Chungledown Bim follow through on this vow at the end of the second season when he chases Fabian into the forest of The Nightmare King and during other liveshows in Spyre (AKA boys night). Mysteriously enough however, in Junior Year Chungledown Bim doesn't make a single appearance, something that I, personally, found very strange on my first time watching it, since we know he is enacting his vow to hunt down Fabian. With the revelation in Dimension 20: Time Quangle that it is Chungledown Bim that Aguefort fights throughout the quangle and throughout Junior Year, and the revelation that the quangle was created in the first place to bring Fabian into a place where he could not physically escape from Chungledown Bim, the entire thing slots perfectly into Fantasy High canon and even solves the problem of Chungledown Bim's missing presence in the third season.

In every intro of the Time Quangle Tour Brennan introduced the following story as "canon non-canon", which meant that the following events were somehow canon despite none of the events actually being canon. As well, Brennan refers to all these stories as "divergent timelines and universes." This solves the final piece ever-so neatly in the fact that with the final piece of lore we know that the non-canon part is the characters and settings, which are from divergent timelines, and not the ones shown on Dimension 20's various seasons. However, the canon part is still there. This is still all happening in at least one canon. Fantasy High. A lot of non-canon events from non-canon timelines are happening, but the quangle is still, and always was, canon in Fantasy High. Before the tour even started. This is the time quangle. It aligns with the canon of Fantasy High and even explains the canon of Fantasy High. Chungledown Bim is dead. He died hunting down Fabian, and Fabian doesn't even know about it.

Now, I'm not gonna claim the Time Quangle Tour was all planned as a Fantasy High tie-in by Brennan, that would be ludicrous of me. But... planned or simply inadvertently, Dimension 20: Time Quangle is a new Fantasy High season.

[good-advice-ganondorf]

Majora's Mask and what it means to be grown up

(aka my collected analysis of the Legend of Zelda Majora's Mask)

I will say that generally I don't think Termina is purgatory, or a dream, or anything like that. To me, Termina is kind of like a Silent Hill type parallel world, where you face your deepest traumas.

First, the parallels between Majora's Mask, and the child section of Ocarina of Time.

The first dungeon for both games is in a vast wooded area, there are woodland races inhabiting both areas, the Kokiri for Ocarina of Time, and the Deku for Majora's mask. The second dungeon is in a great mountain, inhabited by the Gorons. The third dungeon is in a vast body of water, inhabited by the Zora.

Then, things split. After Jabu Jabu, Link becomes an adult. After Great Bay, there's Ikana Canyon. A land of nothing but Death.

Who caused the death of Ikana? Who else but the king, Igo Du Ikana. Ikana was plunged into disrepair, after Igos started a war with a clan of Ninjas, to receive a powerful artifact, in a great and mysterious temple. Sound familiar? It should, this is exactly what Ganondorf did, after Link was sealed away for seven years. But Ganondorf was successful.

But Ikana isn't completely occupied by the dead, no. Pamela remains, with her father, turned into an undead monster. Much like Sheik, the last Sheikah, who is revealed to be Zelda. And her father? He's never seen, but I'd imagine it would be easy enough for Ganondorf to become king, if the other one was no longer around. From a man, to a corpse.

So, if Ganondorf is a parallel to Igos, and Zelda is a parallel to Pamela, what about Link? He's a little different. I believe that, along with Kafei and Tingle, all three of the transformation masks are a representation of Link, and his feelings towards being forced to grow up.

Tingle is, as we know, a 35 year old man who thinks he's a fairy boy. Similar to how link was a 10 year old boy, who thought he was a fairy boy. I believe Tingle is a reflection of what Link could have been if he never left Kokiri Forest. An adult hylian man, thinking he's a Kokiri.

On the contrary, Kafei is distraught at the idea of becoming a child again. He's weaker, he can't marry his fiancee, and everyone treats him like well, a child, despite his maturity. I believe this is how Link feels after becoming a child again. He used to be a strong adult, and even if he's not as mature as Kafei, he still went through a lot, and knows a lot more about life now. Kafei even reuses Link's model and animations.

There's a reoccurring theme in Ocarina of Time where Link just doesn't belong anywhere he goes. He's an outsider to the other races, because he's a hylian, but he's also an outsider to the hylians, because he was raised as a Kokiri. I think the transformation masks reflect that.

The Deku Butler's Son is what he could have been as a Kokiri. He could have been a happy little boy, living with his father, and his community. But Link and the Deku butler's son both left home to explore, and as far as both the Kokiri and the Deku are concerned, neither came back.

Darmani is what he could have been as a Goron. A powerful hero to the Gorons, celebrated by them for clearing Dodongo's Cavern. A close link between the goron elder, Darunia, and their sons. Both him and Link remain after death, lamenting on their histories as heros.

Mikau is what he could have been as a Zora. Maybe not a cool as hell guitarist, but a husband to Ruto, and Prince of the Zora Who would stop at nothing to keep her happy and safe, like infiltrating a fortress, or climbing inside of a whale.

Even the Fierce Deity is just Link, but back as an adult. As if so much changed so rapidly, he felt like he transformed into something less like himself, and more like a powerful god. He could have continued being strong, and powerful, the defeater of Ganon, but he had to become a child again. He has to stay as a small, and unknown child.

The ages of the masks even match the human life cycle. According to the debug menu (and if you subscribe to the theory that Link and DBS's ages were swapped), DBS is 5, Link is 12, Darmani is 30, Mikau is 78, and, Fierce Deity is 17, likely due to his model being recycled from adult Link's. Link starts the game in the body of a 5 year old, then a 12 year old, then a 30 year old, then a 72 year old, and finally, a God.

We don't exactly know how Link feels. But I can't imagine it would be easy to go from a child, with no concept of death, to be thrust into a position where he's forced to fight and kill an adult man so much stronger than he is. And then everything was just reversed. Like that. As if it never happened. And only Link remembers the impending doom he faced. All he can do is remember Ganondorf's reign. Almost like he's reliving the same few days, again, and again, and again.

[cryptfile]

⋆౨ৎ˚ ࣪ over the moon [ benedict bridgerton x wife!reader ]

summary — based on a request but went slightly off with it aka when your husband starts to stay up painting till late you start plotting a good plan to make him go to bed with you and actually rest instead.

warnings — pure fluff, since the rumors of sophie being latina sparked, personally went crazy with the information so it’s implied that reader is latina also, mentions of sex (nothing explicit,,, implied as part of a establish relationship).

side notes — English is not my first language, so if you find any mistakes i’m sorry in advance. this is for my latin girlies out here reading in tumblr, working extra hard to translate your works to bring new content to the page, tkm <3 reblogs, comments and likes are much appreciated,,,as brittany broski once said: i'm a benedict bridgerton believer, i'm a benedict bridgerton ally.

You really didn’t know what you were getting into when you accepted Benedict’s marriage proposal.

Nobody told you that loving an artist is a tricky thing, cause while you’re always giving Ben’s new ideas, you hate him at the same time when he’s at the art studio until late, painting as if the absence of light it’s not enough to separate him from the canvas.

God, it just drives you crazy. He lacks of a schedule so he’s able to keep on painting till the rays of light start to appear again in the window he leaves opened all night long, and you’re afraid he’s going to catch a cold if he continues with his bad habits.

It suddenly hits him, that inspiration he ends up being the victim of, kissing you quickly as he escapes so fast you aren’t able to say anything when he disappears leaving you alone, you tolerate it at first, but the second? The third? He's just testing your patience at this point.

Your marriage has never been a troubled one, your husband does not make you mad most of the time and you enjoy being in love, those little things that made your heart skip a beat. You enjoy talking to him at night, spend your day in his art room as he encourages you to keep on writing that mystery book you're so into lately, bickering about how unfair life is for women your age — Hell, woman of all ages.

You love the sound of his laugh when he's careless about everything else, when he admits he doesn't want to go that night's party cause he just wants to stay home and fuck you senseless, his way of seeing art and explain it to you as something totally opposite as what you really think it is.

Thing is, you choose to marry Benedict Bridgerton cause you're indeed, head over heels with him. You've fall for the charming smile and sassy attitude that made you finally settle after years of being called a spinster. He finds the way to intrude the walls of the maze that was your heart and managed to plant a flag in the middle of it when you're confident enough to talk to him, let alone be seen in public after all the rumors you've heard that he was looking for a wife that season.

Even when you try to avoid him, he makes you fall in no time, following you around like a lost puppy, going to your house to spend time with your family, convincing everyone he's desperate to try the food your nana makes, cause you've talked about how good it taste all the time.

It's almost like he tricked you into make you love him, to have you between the brushes dipped in a funny smell water. He has you hooked by the first months and soon after? God, he has no education when he makes you love him, how he obliges you to stain yourself with all the things he was his daily life mixed with yours functioning so well.

It's a thorn nailed in the palm of your hand, those moments of privacy when the moon evolves you and your lover completely that are now being taken away. It's selfish, surely it's something childish so you don't want to say anything to your friends, or even Daphne Basset when she visits you to have an afternoon of tea free from her kids, asking you about how everything's going days before you came up with this great idea.

You can take the matter by your hands, that's why the next time Benedict's painting at midnight your mind works like a machine.

After all the time together you happen to know him more than you know yourself, the things he enjoys what he dislikes the most — So it's not very hard to plot against your husband.

Benedict doesn't seem to hear you when you silently glide through the half-open door, unaware as the light of the candle lights is not enough to illuminate the whole room, the fire he kept close to the canvas he was currently working on. He looks handsome all concentrated. His brows furrowed as he takes the pigments with his bare hands and mix them in his wood palette to get that exact color he was looking for. A shade of pink for a piece he hasn't shown you officially yet.

"What are you doing up so late?" you ask coyly when you are close to him, hearing how his breath hitched for a second before noticing it's you, your hands coming from behind just to intrude in his space close to the easel. He's taller than you, but it doesn't stop you from standing in your tiptoes, pressing your cheek against the crook of his neck as you hugged him.

You cannot hide that you're tired. You lost the track of time when you got out of bed, so when you have your husband close and finally smell that nice and subtle aroma he carries with him, you relax in his back, the sound of his heartbeat loud against your ear.

"You scared me for a second," he says with a grin, muscles relaxing under your touch. "Didn't hear you coming in."

He has dry paint on his neck, so while you're cleaning his skin with one hand, he leans into you, back pressed against your chest seeking for your warmth, that contact he always seems to enjoy, your attention in all the ways he can get it.

“Bed’s cold without you” you say, fingers on his recently trimmed hair. "Done waiting for'you."

He has the nerve to laugh at your words, slowly at first, the sound of it making your skin shiver. He's going to defend his choices, you know it, and you hate how much you enjoy it, the way he always seems to find an excuse making you totally offended as you retort something equally ridiculous.

"Just thirty more minutes I promise," he says pressing a kiss in the palm of your hand he so gently grabs. "If you stay with me like this, can do the work in twenty."

"You can fool anyone else with that Ben, not buying it" to be honest, you're just trying to contradict everything he says, far from what you thought doing first when you plotted against him. "You said the same last week, amor. Not falling for any more lies."

"Not falling huh?" he asks, lowering the wood palette to look at you, his eyes meeting yours when you're so comfortable pressing your chin on his shoulder, looking at the painting he was doing — "You've learned the lesson then?"

"Twenty more minutes mean an hour in Benedict's language," he's the one that's now offended when his mouth opens in disbelief "Turns out I know my husband, and we both know that’s way more than twenty minutes.”

He loves it. It’s almost a secret, but he loves how you demand his company, the way you don’t fold against anything and you stand for what you believe. He loves how you claim to know him, your lavender smell filling every single space available in the room as he smiles happily in response. He was so unsure of marrying you at first, but now he doesn’t know what his life would look like without you in the picture.

“Ah, I’m guilty as charge” he says, his own hand going to his chest like it saddens him to hear you talk like that. “Thought you wanted me to paint more.”

You've been encouraging him to show his art to more people, a small gallery that displayed his talent, but that’s using your words for his advantage.

“You little bastard, that’s unfair coming from you.”

“Woah woah, you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Kiss you even” you stick your tongue out, and he’s suddenly turning you around to place a kiss in your forehead, making you move in front of him instead — “You wouldn’t even imagine.”

Benedict’s a romantic. A poet at heart, so he doesn’t let any opportunity slip to show his affection, his infinite devotion to you. His heart flutters in his chest and suddenly he’s kissing you, staining your white nightgown with the fresh paint of his hands and not caring about it at the slightest. Kisses you like he missed you, like he didn’t see you the whole day when in reality you’ve spent all day in the same house, baking cookies cause you’ve suffered from a burst of love to the kitchen.

“You’re not convincing me” you say between kisses, hands pressing you closer to him. “I’m not leaving this room without you.”

He chuckles at your words — “Not even ten minutes?”

He’s devastatingly handsome in a way that makes you stare at him, wonder what you did to make him so interested in you, so attracted to the point he has to marry you.

"No Bridgerton. Ni diez minutos." To be honest, the accent just makes him go weak at the spot. It's pathetic, but he cannot help it, his brain melts at the sound of your voice, even if he doesn't understand much of what you're saying. "Let's go to bed."

You know it's a weapon, your lips are on his face, and he forgets about everything else: How he's supposed to continue on working when your lips are kissing every inch of his face? Seems like an impossible task now that his hands are on your waist and all he can notice are your pink lips, how you're looking at him through half-lidded eyes cause you're sleepy, an smile that eclipses the rest.

Benedict's no longer worried of his painting. Hell, he cannot seem to remember what shade of pink he was so invested in finding before, but he don't care at all when he's the one now leaning in, kissing you with fervent love as he traces the outline of your lips, almost asking for permission to invade you before deepening the contact, tangling his fingers in the strands of your hair cause he simply cannot get enough from you.

"Take me to bed then, my beautiful wife."

He does not protest next. He loves every second of it, the slight force, your gentle touch when your guiding him through the cottage you two share in Wiltshire, the goosebumps in his own skin when you managed to get what you want.

You win. It's a war that Benedict never intended to win, a disaster he knew it would end up with the result of him leaving his work half done cause he cannot resist to the idea of being tangled with you in such an intimate way. He sleeps so well with you on his arms, burying his head on your hair as he relaxes beneath the sheets, the contact of your skin enough to make him have the best night sleep.

Can he resist it? He's neck deep. Talked about it with his brothers before, drinking too much as the words slurred together and he admits how you got him wrapped around your finger, so in love he would do anything to please you, let alone have your full attention — They surely made fun of him, but is it his fault? Being so in love with his wife?

"Can't say no to you," he says defeated "You know it."

In the privacy of the room you two share, you're washing his hands with a wet cloth, preventing him from getting the sheets dirty before pulling his linen shirt to the floor. It's so quickly, he don't seem to realize what you're doing until he's already in bed, covered with the thick duvet as he searches for you.

He realizes now he should have listened to you before, cause his back is surely happy now that he's able to rest, the weariness of being standing so many hours now falling over him as his eyes began to close by themselves.

"When are you going to stop working so late?" You ask, pressing your cheek against his chest as you hugged him, getting closer to him even when you stole more than half of the bed in the process. The second son of the Bridgerton family does not say anything about it, but instead, enjoys how needy you are of his touch, how you want him around.

"Inspiration always come late, angel" he tries to defend himself as you rolled your eyes. “Maybe it’s a curse.”

"Then i’m afraid i’ll have to drag you to bed every night," you protest. "Cause i'm not letting you stay all night in that studio, crazy man."

"Miss me too much in bed?"

"Hm, what if I do?"

"Cannot blame you," Benedict admits later, using the only traces of force he has left to caress your hair, fingertips against your scalp in a gentle massage. "I'm always missing you when you're not around."

Your heart skips a beat: How could you not be head over heels with this man? He always find the right words, what to say exactly.

Gently, your face come up to press a soft kiss against his lips, a quick one that’s not enough for Benedict when he makes you stay in the same position as he steals a much longer one.

Life is simple with him by your side, you know it cause you might as well be over the moon when you’re alone with Benedict Bridgerton.

Every. single. day.

my masterlist.

[tuliptic]

Let Me Describe Your Aura

Hello, I'm back again. I have this in my drafts for a very, very long time (since last year), and I have finally completed it. This was meant to be a short reading for Instagram, but well, it ended up longer than what I expected. Tho I posted it there, you can still read it here. Honestly speaking, this reading ended up quite different from what I've expected and I don't really know what I was hoping to get from this. Maybe colours? And vibes? No idea. But still, I hope you all enjoy the reading.

As usual, close your eyes, breathe in and out, make sure your mind and heart is calm. Then, open your eyes to see which pile talks to you the most/draws you in the most. Once you’ve found your pile, scroll down to the respective parts to see what are the messages for you.

Pile 1    -     Pile 2

Pile 3    -     Pile 4

Disclaimer: This is solely for my entertainment purposes. Take only whatever that you feel like it. If it doesn’t resonate, it’s okay to just drop it. That aside, I do not consent to my work or here to be used by third parties on this platform or other websites.

Decks used: Luna Cat Tarot Deck  (Major Arcana), Linestrider Tarot Deck, Starcodes Astro Oracle Deck.

Pile 1:

For some reason, it gives me a very Uranus vibe? It’s like you’re a person who’s constantly on board with change as you constantly get involved in almost everything possible. You also give me the feeling that you’re… Not satisfied. You are not satisfied with a lot of things, especially with finances. Imagine the hierarchy of needs. Every time you fulfill one of them, you constantly seek to fulfill the other level.  You’re constantly pushing yourself to achieve better and achieve more, but with this, you’re unable to have some form of balance and may have some conflicts with people you work with. I wouldn’t really say it’s insecurity, but there’s some form of fear and being “not enough” for others that I’m seeing here. Perhaps you come from a big family, and you feel that you have the responsibility to feed everyone and to answer to their needs as well as wants.  There’s an inner child in you that is trying to nurture yourself despite all the rush that you’re putting yourself through, sending you messages so that you can take a break from time to time. You not only receive messages, but you also send them out as well. Some (or perhaps, most) of you may like writing memos or notes for your loved ones.

Tl;dr: Instead of saying aura, I would say that there’s this air of uncertainty that you bring with you. You wouldn’t be called a wildcard, because there’s still some elements of earth in you, aka a sense of stability. But still, many may wonder how to approach you without feeling threatened, I guess. For some of you, you may also have an air of authority, or maybe an RBF, hence the fear towards you too.

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Pile 2:

For some reason, the first thing I’m picking up here is that you like to present yourself as mysterious? However, there is some secrecy involved here that I’m seeing, and you may be good at redirecting conversations or attention to other people. Butterfly effect as well? It’s like you’re fluttering away and not caring about what you’ve done or what are the actions they’ll take.  You have swords and court cards here, and I’m feeling that you’re that person, providing mental insight and stimulation to people around you. Just that there may be some concerns with how you present yourself, how you word yourself, and how people can be easily offended by you. Honestly, I’d say that they’re more offended to you as a person instead of your words or what you do. It’s like… They’re threatened by your presence. Pile 1 makes people feel threatened by their nature, but for you, people are threatened by what you’re capable of bringing - an unwanted change. It’s like seeing you will remind them of what they’re lacking and how much comfort they’ll need to give up, and hence, you may feel like an outcast most of the time, feeling that you do not belong to anywhere.  Still, I’d say, people who are close to you, especially your friends will find comfort in you. You’re a good listener and will be able to provide valuable insights. They’ll be glad that you’re on their team with whatever project you’re working on. If you’re ever interested in working on a collab, do it. You’re meant for it. 

Tl;dr: For you, your aura would be swords-ish, sharp but clear. You know how a sharp and strong sword can be used as a mirror? Yeah that. That’s you, reflecting the fear of others. It’s difficult, but with time, I believe you’ll be able to work along with it.

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Pile 3:

Hmmmm. Harmonious, I’d say. That’s the first word I’m picking up. I kinda have an image of an orange cat sleeping in the sun, probably the warmth, coziness and fuzzy feeling that it gives. You may have heard your friends or people around you describing you as a fun or sunny person, or that you’re like the sun, bringing warmth to people around you. You may also have a lot of passion projects and most of them are incomplete as of current, the same goes with how your life is right now too. Remember to continue whatever efforts you’re putting in. The rewards will come at unexpected times. Another thing I’m picking up is that you like to go along with the flow. Good things happen? Great! Not so nice things happening? Aww sheesh better luck next time. Kinda feeling. Or perhaps, this is what you portray yourself as. I’m getting a weight on my chest eventho there are happy cards. Probably it’s because you put up that mask so that people around you won’t see the pain you’re in.  Vulnerability sounds like a theme that you’ll need to explore, understand, and wield. It sounds difficult and probably painful, but it is needed for you to be able to understand the various facets of life. You’re very perceptive, or perhaps, you have a gift in it. But then, to be able to utilize that skill of yours, you’ll need to expand your knowledge base, experience the various emotions, look into all the tiny things that life has for you. 

Tl;dr: Some may say that you’re a person of culture but you know you’re far from that. Still, people generally like you with how amiable you are, and how you put an effort to make people around you comfortable. However, people will not cross you because you have respect for yourself too. There may be some similarities to Pile 1 with the earthy energy here, so you may check out Pile 1 if you’re drawn to it as well, especially if you have Saturn energy.

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Pile 4: 

A Chinese idiom came to my mind when I see this pile: 与世无争. It means there’s no quarrel or argument with the society, but it generally means a way of avoiding conflict in a passive way. As though you want nothing to do with the current world. Not sure if it’s correct to say that you’re disappointed with the society but there’s some apathy in here, not having much hope with the people you’ve seen. With this, you may have decided to keep yourself closed from the people around you. Not to use strong words, but you may detest the world and build a utopia in your head, imagining a world that is ideal to you and the rules you live with. Majority of the cards here are in reverse, which explains the dejection and dissatisfaction I’m feeling here. I am having problems in describing this pile and it’s making me scratch on my keyboard because of how I’m unable to phrase words. Still, despite all of that, you’re a very capable individual, especially with the King and Queens in your reading. You may have more feminine energy or may present yourself in a more feminine way than others, tho there’s a chance of you rejecting it. People may come to you for help and advice not only because they trust you, but also your words are able to assure them that things will be alright. You have quite a lot of resources on your hands, may it be finances/monetary resources, knowledge, or even network/connections, and you use them according to your needs and values. There may be some… Unconventional skills that you have. I’m not sure what they are, but it’s up to you to figure out how you want to put them to good use.

Tl;dr: This pile is the most difficult pile for me to write as the energy is all around the place yet focused at the same time. It’s very conflicting and confusing, which may be the aura that you exude. There is no clear definition of good or bad in this reading, but more of what you want yourself to be and how you’re going to work on it. 

[o-uncle-newt]

OK I've talked here, I think, about my strong belief that we need a Miss Climpson's Cattery TV show to jump on the mystery period drama bandwagon- and I've been thinking about what it might look like and have some ideas

Please feel free to add some in comments or reblogs!

The overall cast structure is basically like Call the Midwife S1 (or, more accurately, S2-3)- we have a POV "new to the crew" character who is purportedly the main character (but significantly lower-drama than Jenny lol) but it's functionally an ensemble. Miss Climpson is the Sister Julienne character, aka the on-the-ground boss, and then there are a bunch of other operatives, who all show up at SOME point in most episodes but only a few of them take center stage each episode in a particular case or two. There are also the support staff/actual typists, who are fun side characters.

Wimsey is a side character, and is played by a non-super-famous actor. He only appears in a few episodes at most in each season, usually as someone who is giving work to the operatives. While he can bring in operatives to help him on his cases, he is never allowed to solve any agency cases.

Harriet is a one or two episode max character. She meets Miss Climpson and possibly Miss Murchison but nobody else (as discussed in Gaudy Night). Honestly, if they don't show her that's fine too. At most she's brought in to provide help/insight on a literary world case.

The show starts right after the events of Strong Poison, and it's discussed as a recent case among the team. That said, unless it can be fit canonically into a Sayers story without undue bother, the episodes do NOT circle around existing Sayers plots.

Miss Murchison is a significant character, and has a love interest to whom she gets married sometime toward the third/fourth year of show canon (as we know that canonically she gets married sometime before the events of Gaudy Night). It is a cute older-nerd romance and everyone ships it. There is no "drama," just sweetness.

This is optional, but it is POSSIBLE that Wimsey brings Miss Meteyard into the firm, likely not permanently but possibly on a one-case basis for her advertising world expertise. She is initially snobbish about it but soon grows out of it.

As I've alluded to above, the main rule is- Sayers canon can never be violated. There is SO much space for great story and characterization that falls totally in line.

Everything else... is totally up to whoever! And I'm absolutely up for other ideas! These are just the main things I've thought of and I may come back and make additions/edits but here we go for now.

Though... casting idea- I'm not usually very good at this but I really feel like, speaking of Call the Midwife, Georgie Glen (Miss Higgins) could be an interesting Miss Climpson. Quite different than the excellent one in the Petherbridge/Walter adaptation of Strong Poison, but still good. I'm completely open to other suggestions though, as well as casting suggestions for other characters (including just actors who you think would be good for random currently-nonexistent/hypothesized ones- it's just so open ended, there are so many choices!).

[insomniacauthorfromhell]

Been watching some Twst vids on book 7 and boy, I know Ace is a pretty crier and all but damn they make him cry a lot in here, this is what? The third time?

Anyways, someone get the guy some water, he's been crying a lot in this book lol

Also I love all the Heartslaybul content we're getting in this book, best dorm fr ♥️♠️♦️♣️👑

Keep giving me that Ace content, Twst writers please! My guy has so much mystery surrounding him and I need more!

(Also I was listening to some MLP songs [cause let's be fr MLP songs are a banger] in the background, when 'Luna's Future' started playing, it's that song from the episode 'A Hearth's Warming Tail', and I started picturing Snowfall Frost (aka Starlight Glimmer) being OverBlot Malleus and the Spirit of Christmas Future (aka Luna) being Ace.

In Twst, Malleus appreciates Ace being very upfront about how things he feels is wrong and Ace even tells him his opinions to his face (like the Halloween event where Mal asked Ace his opinion on his costume and was happy when Ace told him it was scary) and when Ace was Malleus' birthday interviewer Mal even told him that. So Ace being the one to tell Malleus that he basically made the future a nightmare that they're all stuck in, for everyone in NRC really appeals to me (basically a bad ending route of sorts). Like really appeals to me.

Cause Mal knows Ace is not lying to him as Ace is very vocal about what he thinks is wrong on many occasions and even told Mal so to his face during the Halloween event) THE ANGST POTENTIAL IS REAL FOLKS!

Anyways, more Ace content please 🙏

[raayllum]

Aaravos' Treachery: A Secret Third Thing

Because we still don't know what the Archdragons believed he betrayed them over, and I wanna talk about it. Let's go!

Aaravos' Crimes

So Aaravos has a lot of crimes in arc 2. In arc 1, he'd mostly been contained to felling Lux Aurea / corrupting the Sun Forge and helping to orchestrate a war, but arc 2 really rounds out his roster. We get canon confirmation he gave humans dark magic (4x07, 7x07), he burns Katolis to the ground, kills dozens of people either directly or indirectly, manipulates and lies to people, admits to cannibalism, aids in filicide, inverts the Moon Nexus and tries to permanently corrupt the Sun. Because it's all just another wipe out Wednesday to him, I guess.

However, we still don't arguably know what his most important crime is, which is what Zubeia calls his treachery. In fact, we know a lot more about what doesn't fall under that umbrella, so let's start first with what we know the Archdragons (minus Sol Regem) knew, and imprisoned him over.

4x04 Lore Dump

And yes, he was a Star. A startouch elf, one of the Great Ones, respected and loved by all until we uncovered long-hidden treachery. Hundreds of years ago, before Avizandum was King of the Dragons, the Dragon Queen Luna Tenebris mysteriously died. Luna lacked a suitable heir, and the Archdragons fought bitterly over who should ascend in her place. As the conflict swirled and escalated towards inevitable violence, the great leader of the Sunfire elves, Queen Aditi, stepped in to broker peace. The Archdragons trusted this wise and kind leader and agreed to abide by whatsoever she decided. But before she could bring peace to the world, Queen Aditi went missing. Chaos and confusion erupted, and war threatened to tear Xadia apart as now the elves suspect the dragons had killed their queen. But truth came from an unexpected source. A young human girl uncovered a great secret of history. A dangerous deceiver was revealed.

For a thousand years, Aaravos had been pulling invisible strings like a puppet master. Every great crisis the world faced seemed the work of some ingenious and powerful leader, but in each case it was secretly Aaravos, whispering in their ear.

The implicit messaging we also get is that Aaravos had primarily been manipulating humans, as we've only seen him directly whisper in the ears of humans and human leaders. That the Great Treachery cannot be that 1) Aaravos was likely involved in killing Luna Tenebris and 2) that he'd eaten/killed Aditi because as of the end of S7, the Archdragons still don't know these things. So if the Great Treachery had to do with humanity... why would the Archdragons care, especially when pre-Orphan Queen, humans had certainly never helped them before.

Well, 7x03 sheds some significant light on the topic.

The Mage Wars

A thousand years ago, humans were entirely expelled from the east and send on-masse to the west (1x01). The known treachery that the Archdragons discovered also spans a thousand years, aka everything post-exile. This matches up pretty perfectly timeline wise with what Aanya says in 7x03:

The West wasn't barren at all. Before the Mage Wars, the land was the same as all of Xadia, full of life, full of riches, full of magic. In the new lands, the humans who rose to power were those who knew how to its magic. The mages became warlords. The mage warlords waged bitter, bloody battles for control of the lands they claimed. Their armies scoured the land for magic and bled it dry, and they hunted the magical creatures to extinction. When one mage rose to power, another was quick to dethrone them.

The wars only stopped when there was nothing left to fight for. All the magical resources were consumed or destroyed, and magic all but disappeared from the West.

So the 1000 year timeline — the 'beginning' of Aaravos' treachery according to the Archdragons (even if we know it likely goes back even further) — lines up with the expulsion and the beginning of the Mage Wars in Xadia, which seemingly lasted centuries. If it lasted for 700 years, it'd us to the Orphan Queen, who would've grown up in the violence and possibly established Katolis having a hereditary monarchy (Harrow and Ezran's royal line) over the mage warlord system.

We also know thanks to 7x03 that the Staff of Ziard indicated power and passed from hand to hand in the violence. And we know thanks to 4x03 that Ibis and the Archdragons know something about the staff as well, as Ibis says things like, "I'm going to destroy it before it can do anymore harm," and "if you wish to return that staff to its true owner, you pose a greater danger to this world than I can allow."

I'm afraid this can only mean one thing.

I think most of us probably surmised that part of what was revealed to the Archdragons, though, was likely dark magic. It's something we know most Xadians to feel very negatively about, and had already wrecked havoc on Xadia historically pre-exile. We can also see that 4x04 and 3x01 ("It was a gift from one of the Great Ones") just with the Staff alone paints a pretty clear picture that this is what they learned. But I sat here like if this was all they learned, why not just say so? Feels like it'd be pretty easy to quickly communicate.

So there had to be something else, and I think that's

Aaravos was Encouraging Humanity to Attack Xadia

When we cut to the collection of human leaders, they've taken shape to resemble the Pentarchy formation. However, all their markers are entirely put on the Xadian side of the border, not the human side.

We also know that the Mage Warlords would have an incentive to go where there was magic. They'd consumed everything on their side of the continent, but the East still had plenty. Xadia was already weakened at this point too, thanks to infighting amongst the elves and Archdragons, and no clear appointed dragon monarch. It would've been ripe for the picking. Aaravos could've brought humanity together against their common enemy, stating that if they united their armies, they could take Xadia successfully (which would also make the archdragon killing spell make a lot more sense).

If not for Avizandum, maybe, which would also explain why he was chosen to be the new dragon monarch as opposed to any of the others.

That was always his favourite sport: stomping on ants and calling himself a conqueror. [...] Protect Xadia? Ha! Avizandum wants an endless war. He loves to provoke and destroy human armies, it makes him feel big and powerful.

defending the border alongside an army of elves in the 1x01 intro against an army of joint humans, in a place (the lava border) that looks exceedingly similar to the Mage Wars background. Hm.

As of S3, Xadia was likewise weakened: Avizandum was dead, Zubeia was sick and dying, Domina and Rex had retreated to their domains. Aaravos then found himself a human mage he could make a king and then turned Viren into a warlord, leading 4/5 human armies on war against their shared enemies.

And now, as of S7, Xadia finds itself in a similarly weakened state, with the Archdragons flat out gone, and little Zym set to inherit the monarchy. If Aanya's brother turns against her, wielding Project Sun Ruby rather than just dark magic to go to war against Xadia... History would be repeating itself. Again. (Cause the Cycle is going to cycle, am I right?)

Getting humanity into the place, mindset, and power in which to launch a full scale invasion would definitely count as betrayal to the Archdragons no matter which way it was sliced, after all. Depending on what the Orphan Queen discerned from the cube — its link to Elarion could've been it (+ the staff), even if she didn't find the book itself or hide it there — it might've been enough to worry her that the violence unfolding in the west would take the east, and she went to the warn them. Luckily they listened and managed to trap Aaravos, with the Orphan Queen stepping in to lead Katolis and dismantle the war effort from the other side of things, since Katolis is the largest kingdom and holds the border.

"Confusion and chaos erupted.... the first step in the long slow spiral to chaos."

None of this answers why, exactly, Aaravos wanted to conquer Xadia — or why he's wanted to at any real point, in terms of it tangibly helping him against the Cosmic Council — but I do think it's likely that this is why and what the Archdragons consider his hidden treachery to be, and why it concerned them so.

As always, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed.

[uzumaki-rebellion]

"There's Some Whores in This House" Geechee!Erik Killmonger (Part 2 of Ice Cold Jax)

Pairing: Geechee!Erik Killmonger x Black Female OC x Hoodoo!Terry Richmond (as the Crossroads Man)

Warning(s): 18+, Smut, Supernatural Horror, Period Piece, Erik Stevens AU, Terry Richmond AU, Black American Folktale. You have to read "Ice Cold Jax" First!

Summary:

P-Valley Meets Black Supernatural Goodness in 1940s Itta Bena, Mississippi as the second world war winds down to a close. Lulabelle hasn't seen her Geechee man for months, but there's a new whorehouse deep in the woods that's keeping her busy as they steal loyal customers from her juke joint and her stable of working girls. Lulabelle suspects the new Madame in the woods has something to do with Geechee Erik not coming around anymore and she intends on finding out what that heffa is all about, especially when previous customers start dropping dead near the crossroads. An old friend of Erik's, Terry Richmond aka High John the Conqueror, shows up to help. (Need to have read the first installment, "Ice Cold Jax With Geechee!Erik Killmoger")

Word count: 12.9K

"There's some whores in this house

There's some whores in this house

There's some whores in this house

There's some whores in this house..."

Frank Ski – "Whores in this House"

The first dead body appeared at the crossroads after the rising of Hunter's moon.

No one thought much of it because the deceased was a known pickpocket and rabble-rouser named Earl Lee Washington. Folks around Itta Bena didn't pay it no mind for about a week until they found another body in the exact same spot in the middle of a Saturday night. This time it was Reverend Mosley from the Hopewell Missionary Baptist Church and people fell out because why was Reverend Mosley out near the crossroads? The only thing around in that part of the woods was a creek for good fishing, and Lulabelle Humphreys juke joint and whorehouse called "Lula's". Since Mosley didn't have any fishing pole on him in the middle of the night, that only meant that he had been tippin' over to Lulabelle's place pretending to save lost souls for Jesus as he felt up a thick thigh or two with moonshine on his lips.

Lulabelle herself thought little about the dead men. Everybody had their time to go, but that third body stirred everybody up because it was a woman. Zadie Greene was married to Butchie Greene who worked as a Pullman Porter for the railroad. He had emptied his pockets at Lulabelle's on good pussy and strong corn liquor while listening to the hottest backwoods band on that side of the Mississippi River, The Midnight Ramblers featuring Gertie Mae Robinson, the nastiest woman singer to ever touch a stage with her vulgar lyrics and raunchy, good-time energy. The man stumbled across his own wife's body on the way home smelling like another woman's cooch and marijuana. Zadie had worn her J. C. Penney nightgown and a big overcoat hunting for her man and headed for the only place that could keep him from her bed.

The cow shit hit the fan then. Lulabelle couldn't afford folks getting spooked by the specter of death hanging near her establishment. She was an enterprising woman who sold a commodity that folks craved, whether they wanted to admit it. Death was terrible for the pussy business.

Zadie's death hung a pall over the town, and Lulabelle became worried once she started counting up days and putting two and two together. Her Geechee Man, Erik Stevens, hadn't been around for a long time. There might be a random shooting or stabbing that left a man wounded and his ego bruised for a few weeks, but rarely did folks outright die under mysterious circumstances. She became extra concerned when the problem hovered around his territory. Geechee Erik was the Crossroads Man. His dominion was the protection of the supernatural world and preventing otherworldly beings from coming around her. He had claimed Lulabelle as his woman and promised that no harm would come to her, and part of that harm wasn't just physical. Her livelihood meant everything to her. Erik kept the haints, boo hags, the Plat Eye, and the Devil away.

Something must've happened to him.

She fretted about it, reading the paper on the latest victim while sitting on her juke joint's front porch. Honey Boy, her part-time male whore for sweet men, rolled her hair in long metal duckbill clips. She had taken a liking to tight curls all around her head with a side part, and it wore her fingers out, putting the curlers in herself. Honey Boy curled and clipped and she stared at a church photo of Zadie Greene, a plain-faced woman with a big heart and four children to feed by herself now that her husband was gone. Lulabelle tutted under her breath.

"Business is already slowing up. I don't need dead people scaring off my money," she grumbled.

The war had ended and all the men in uniform were coming home once V Day had been declared. Dollar bills sat on Lulabelle's eyelids every day. The boom was heavy for an entire year until recently as it trickled off to regulars and the occasional cross-country traveler.

"If you ask me, ain't none of this mess started happening until them other ladies showed up," Honey Boy said as he twined hair around the clips with nimble fingers.

"What ladies?"

Lulabelle put down the paper and twisted her neck around to stare at Honey Boy.

"You ain't hear? There's a new madame in town. I hear she's got some of the finest women around. No one wanted to say nothin' to hurt your feelings, Lula."

"Eva!" Lulabelle shouted.

Eva, the juke joint cook, and barmaid stepped out onto the creaky porch. She smelled of fish grease and her fingers were covered in cornmeal.

"Why are you hollerin' like that?" Eva said, putting a heavy cornmeal hand on her plump hip.

The older woman looked crossed at being interrupted with her work.

"You know about some new woman setting up shop out here?"

"Sadie Blackstone," Eva said.

"Sadie Blackstone?" Lulabelle said.

"That's what she said her name was. She come 'round here about three months ago. You were in town shopping, and she come right up here introducing herself. She had a big ole fur coat and a fancy car too, filled with pretty girls. She got all the colors of the rainbow, just like you."

"Ain't not one of you heffas think to tell me some new bitch is horning in on my spot?"

Lulabelle swatted Honey Boy's hand out of the back of her scalp.

"She said she was opening a little dress and hat boutique over yonder. It was cheaper than tryna rent a building from the white folks and house her dressmakers in town. She looked all expensive and was using big words like she done came from up North. Y'know how them northern negroes like to act uppity," Eva said.

"That bitch rolled up here with a car full of hoes and everybody kept their lips shut? I oughta fire both of y'all right now!"

"Who 'gon fry up this fish then, gal?" Eva said, staring Lulabelle down.

"Y'all supposed to be loyal and warn me about interlopers. They sitting out there stealing my customers and taking money outta my purse... and yours."

"They ain't got no mens, so I'ma be alright," Honey Boy said.

He left the porch and went inside the juke joint to set tables and prep glasses for the night. Dust kicked up from the slope of the road that led to Lula's, and a black car rolled toward them.

"What is it now?" Lulabelle said. "Betta not be someone telling me they found another body at the crossroads or I will scream!"

Lulabelle and Eva waited on the porch until the car stopped twenty feet away from them.

"Lawd, Jesus," Eva said.

Eva kissed the cross around her neck and grabbed the knob to the screen door.

"Wait now, who that is?" Lulabelle said.

Her heart skipped a beat thinking it was Geechee Erik, but instead, another man with honey, caramel skin, and piercing green eyes that hid a dangerous cunning behind them approached the porch. His dark brown suit was tailored, crisp, and casket sharp. The brim on his head was stylish and new, with a small peacock feather in the band.

"You don't wanna mess with that one, Lulabelle," Eva whispered. "That there is High John the Conqueror."

"The conjure man from over in Yazoo?"

"He more than that. Send him on his way, and don't let him come inside!" Eva said.

Eva ran into the juke joint and locked the door. Lulabelle wasn't worried; she had keys to get inside clipped to her dress. She turned and faced High John.

"Sorry to bother you, Miss. I'm not from around these parts. I'm lookin' for a fella that goes by the name of Erik Stevens."

Lulabelle stayed on the porch. Something told her to stay there and not step down to the man. As fine and polite as he was, there was sinister energy around him. He stepped forward, and she held a hand up.

"You can stay right there, mister. I can hear you good from here," she said.

"He's a big strapping fellow, about your color. Not as pretty, though."

"Whatcha want with him?"

"You know him?"

"I know the Geechee Man," she said.

There was no sense in lying. The man came there directly, so he clearly knew Erik's stomping grounds. The Geechee wasn't human, so that man on her property probably wasn't human, either. Lula stepped closer to the door and kept her eyes on High John.

"Whatcha want with him?" she repeated in a firmer tone.

"I ain't seen him in a long time and that ain't so good for my business," High John said.

Lulabelle was worried herself.

"He hasn't been around here for a couple of months," she said.

"You're worried about him. You his woman?"

"I am."

"Hmmm. I see why he likes it around here so much. Big fine woman like you to lay up with."

Lulabelle's cheeks warmed up. High John moved in closer.

"Big hips. Big titties. Big legs. You sure you didn't swallow him up between your thighs, beautiful?"

Lulabelle squinted at the audacity.

"Maybe I need to spend some time with you and follow where he went," High John purred.

"You best move along, sir!" Eva shouted.

She ran out of the juke joint and flung a bowl of salt on the ground in front of High John. He chuckled and kicked black dirt over the white grains.

"That don't work on me, ma'am, but I respect your efforts," High John said.

He tipped his hat at Lulabelle.

"I'll be back around again. I can smell his scent all around here. Tell Elizabeth I may need her services soon," he said.

He hopped into his car and drove off.

"Who is Elizabeth?" Eva asked.

"Just an old friend of mine," Lulabelle said with a chill running down her back.

Elizabeth had been dead for nearly two decades. But her ghost still lingered around Lulabelle's juke joint and whore house.

Something awful bad must've happened to Erik, and none of that trouble started until Sadie Blackstone showed up in Itta Bena. Ghosts, the Crossroads Man, High John, and a northern bitch stealing her customers had her thoughts in a tizzy. Lulabelle wanted to sell pussy and moonshine in peace. That's what she aimed to do. She marched herself to her bedroom attached to the back of the whorehouse to find her best dress and shoes. It was time to meet Sadie Blackstone. Her mind was on her money, and money was on her mind twenty-four seven. No northern hussy was going to ruin her pockets. If she had to fight haints and conjure men, so be it. She lived in goddamned racist America. Money was the only thing that would protect her, and since Erik Stevens wasn't around anymore, she'd have to face the enemy all by herself. Human or not.

The new whorehouse was within walking distance of the crossroads.

Lulabelle trampled through the heavily trafficked path of grass and fall leaves that led past tall loblolly pines. She curved around a few rotting snag trees and swatted away annoying gnats that buzzed around her eyes seeking moisture. A clearing opened up and she expected to see a ramshackle house. Instead, a sturdy tan and brown craftsman home came into view. Lulabelle stayed hidden behind a trio of skinny trees. Although it was daylight, the house gave off a cold dread that overtook the warmth of the sun toasting her skin.

The land they were on used to be part of a plantation with an old manor that had long burned down to the ground four miles away. It had now become part of the overgrown woods. An unfinished stretch of railroad tracks sat near the property covered with overgrown brush that ran out behind the creek it tried to follow a long time ago. The train route that was supposed to pass through and flatten out that part of the woods never came into fruition, having been moved a couple of miles away by the railroad company. It was the main reason why Lulabelle picked that part of Itta Bena to do business in. Close enough for travelers far and wide to get to her, while also discreet enough to hide from main street's conservative prying eyes. The Choctaw words "itta bena" meant a house in the woods or a camp of trees, and the area lived up to the small city name. Shrouded with the canopy of branches and leaves protecting it from sunlight, the house looked out of place. Unnatural. Only decomposing trees belonged out there, and the whorehouse reminded Lulabelle too much of the Hansel and Gretel story from her childhood. Sadie Blackstone's place was a lure for straggling adults. Instead of a house made of candy and gingerbread, grown-ups came to taste the nectar between the legs of lascivious women. In the light of day, Lulabelle shivered and wondered if it was better to come back with other people. Being alone in the woods with a pristine house that looked too new, too bright, and so wrong brought goosebumps to her arms. She twisted her hands in the pockets of her dress.

Dollar bills weighed on her eyelids again and Lulabelle shook away her unease and focused on her task. Meet the enemy. Better to do it in the daytime when she could see everything out in the open.

She stomped her way to the house and marched right up onto the porch. Banging on the screen door, she waited with bated breath for someone to open up. Tapping her left heel on the porch, Lulabelle sucked her teeth and slammed a hand on her hip. She noticed the door frame had a thick lump of brown paint that bubbled up from a cheap paint job. Running her nail against the paint, Lulabelle peeled back a strip and crinkled her nose when a few termite larvae squirmed inside a rotted hole.

"Well, hello, neighbor," a silky feminine voice crooned behind the opened door.

Lulabelle squinted to get a good look at the tall, pretty, dark-skinned woman with a heart-shaped face and a bright, winning smile. Her teeth were whiter than the cracker cops that took a cut of Lulabelle's money to look the other way with her establishment. Naturally thick eyebrows were plucked perfectly over deep-set, dark brown eyes that twinkled with the promise of a good time or some good trouble. Her lush lips were covered in a thick coating of red lipstick. Lulabelle admired a dark woman who was brave enough to wear bold red like that in the daytime. It wasn't the norm.

"You must be Lulabelle Humphreys."

"I am."

"I'm Sadie. Sadie Blackstone."

"I knows who you are."

"Do ya now?"

Sadie opened the screen door in a welcoming manner. She wore a tight, spaghetti-strapped wild berry pink dress with a rose-tinted flower brocade. Lulabelle looked over Sadie's shoulder and observed a slithering den of good-looking women of all hues staring back at her from settees and chairs spread around an inviting front room.

"Heard you been stealing my customers," Lulabelle said, cutting to the quick.

"Stealing?"

Sadie tilted her head back to her stable of whores.

"You hear that, ladies? She accused me of stealing," Sadie said with an indignant chortle.

The other vipery women giggled back at the comment, infuriating Lulabelle.

"Sister girl, there are plenty of men in the world to go around for everybody," Sadie said.

"This is Itta Bena. Not the world, Toots. I've been selling pussy by the pound for five good years here, and I'm fixin' to keep on selling for many more years to come. This city ain't big enough for two cat houses—"

"Calm down your garters, Sister girl. The war overseas is done. No need to start World War three up in here. There's profit to be made for all of us. Plus, I hear you only sell pussy on the side. You got a juke joint, sell fish and chicken plates, provide musical entertainment… all we do over here are tits and ass. Nobody is cutting in on your profits."

Lulabelle reared her head back.

"You think you're gonna sit up here on my turf, comfortable as if pilfering a few coins ain't cutting into my bottom line?" Lulabelle said.

"You need a drink to cool down your temper. Come on up in here," Sadie said.

She opened the screen door and stepped aside, making room.

Lulabelle hesitated. But curiosity got the better of her. She switched her heavy hips into the place, letting Sadie see what down-home ass looked like in a tight dress too. The scarf she had on her head kept her curled hair safe from dust and debris in the woods.

The interior was larger than what the outside first impression gave her. In fact, the hall behind Sadie looked long enough for more rooms than Lulabelle's little whorehouse had back on the creek. The other women gazed at her with disquieting eyes while wearing red satin robes inside the cooler front room. Velvet furniture, Persian rugs, and stylish French alabaster boudoir lamps decorated the place. It had more of a European parlor flavor than a typical country house full of ill repute and cheap goods. Glancing around at the women again, Lulabelle felt more like a Brer Rabbit surrounded by hungry trickster coyotes. She swallowed hard and broke eye contact by staring at a fireplace mantle covered with several mason jars filled with moonshine. She counted ten jars across the top. Six were full, and the other four were empty. Next to the mantle was a liquor table filled with whiskey and assorted libations with fancy glass cups.

Sadie jerked her head toward her stable, and all four women stood up and sauntered to the back of the house.

"Too early for the hard stuff," Lulabelle said, waving at the mason jars.

Sadie grinned and picked up an expensive bottle of scotch. She poured herself a glass and one for Lulabelle, too. They clinked glasses, and Lulabelle took a small sip.

"Excuse me for a moment," Sadie said.

The woman left the front room to go to the back of the house. Lula put her glass of scotch down and inspected the oil painting above the mantle. It was a picture of Sadie and her women. All four of the whores sat on a baby blue and cream tufted French sofa with old-fashioned hairdos that Lulabelle hadn't seen since her grandmother had been alive. Sadie stood behind them, leaning forward with her arms draped across the back of the sofa. The painting unnerved her, and she couldn't put her finger on what exactly bothered her about it.

One of the clear jars filled with liquid caught her eye with movement inside of it. The sixth jar in the row had a tiny funnel swirl inside of it. It stopped when Lulabelle stared directly at it. She slipped her right hand around the jar. It was warm to the touch and seemed to grow warmer against her fingertips. She took her left hand and twisted the metal lid, breaking a seal around it. Lifting the lid, Lulabelle took in a whiff of sulfur, and clearly and distinctly heard a gravelly voice whisper from inside of it.

"Erik?" she murmured.

Another tiny funnel swirled, and Lulabelle watched the shape of Erik's lips and nose materialize in the liquid.

The clicking of heels moving toward the front room frightened her, and she twisted the lid back on the jar, going against her urge to pour the liquid out. She grabbed her glass of scotch and moved over toward a velvet chair, pretending to admire the texture by stroking it with her free hand.

"Had to see about some things. Forgive me for leaving you so long. I'm expecting a friendly crowd tonight," Sadie said.

Lulabelle turned to her and kept a tight-lipped expression. Sadie's eyes slid off of Lulabelle's face and glanced over at the mantle. Her dark eyes squinted for a second as she regarded the mason jars. Sadie shook her head and clucked her tongue.

"Just had to be nosy," Sadie hissed. "Good thing is, Sister girl, there's plenty of room up there."

The four other women slinked back into the parlor and surrounded Lulabelle.

"You like seeing thangs you ain't supposed to see, huh?" Sadie said.

Lulabelle watched the skin of Sadie's face grow puffy like a bullfrog getting ready to croak a loud belch in the creek. The flesh split like it wanted to turn itself inside out, letting her see the raw red insides of a slippery horror.

Sadie's hypnotic gaze kept Lulabelle's feet from running. Frozen in place by the menacing darkening of Sadie's eye color, Lulabelle couldn't even make a sound of protest. Her vocal cords became stiff and immovable. She couldn't even wiggle her fingers or toes. Only her eyeballs still had the ability to move, and they made a slow arc toward the open front door. A car had pulled up, and she prayed it was a customer who could help her escape.

The sound of a driver's side door creaking open shattered the quiet terror oozing all around Lulabelle. The crunch of heavy feet stepping on loose gravel became music to her straining ears.

"Hello?"

The male voice was familiar.

High John.

"Shit," Sadie grumbled.

The distraction freed Lulabelle, and she fled out of the house, leaping off the porch toward High John. He grabbed her arms to halt her frazzled getaway.

"Slow down now," High John said.

"They did something to me," Lulabelle blurted out.

She pushed her face into his chest to muffle her voice.

"Erik is in there. They have him in a jar on the mantle—"

"Shh," High John said.

"She's turning inside out… that woman… Sadie… her face…"

High John gripped her arms tighter as Lulabelle glanced around the woods and noticed that the sun had gone down already. It was only nine in the morning when she left her place, but by the looks of the darkening shadows stretching a night sky across the canopy of trees, it had to be at least five in the evening. They had her in that house for hours, and she didn't even know it.

Lulabelle squeezed her eyes shut. The screen door slammed loud and High John turned his attention to Sadie.

She looked normal again.

The deception lingered around her as Lulabelle watched the woman pat her cheeks like it was hot instead of making sure her cheeks had returned to their artful disguise.

"Let's go," Lulabelle pleaded, tugging on High John's arm and dragging him toward his car.

"Can I help you, mister?" Sadie inquired.

All four of Sadie's women stepped onto the porch with her, their satin robes discarded to show off sexy lingerie that highlighted their best assets.

"No ma'am, just came to pick up Miss Lulabelle here. Promised her a ride back," High John said.

He opened the passenger door for Lulabelle, and she scrambled in and slammed it shut.

"We're gonna be late," Lulabelle said, rushing High John along.

"A fine man like you should spend some time with us. I have a quality selection of ladies to choose from," Sadie said.

"I can see that you do, but I'm a little sweet on Miss Lulabelle's place," he said.

"Hmph. Suit yourself then. When you tire of your usual, come on back around here," Sadie said.

"Will do," High John offered.

He walked to his driver's door with a bounce in his step and hopped in with a whistle on his lips. They drove away without speaking until he reached a turn that led them riding over the crossroads towards her place. High John pulled over near a shrub of red buckeye that hid them from her juke joint. He stared at her, and she remembered he wasn't what he seemed to be, either.

"How did you know I was there?" she asked.

"I followed you."

"Why?"

"I knew you would lead me to the Geechee Man. Tell me what you saw in there."

"They gotta be witches or something—"

"A hag. She's a hag. Close enough to witches, I guess, for you to understand. The others are her minions, demons she's conjured up to act like whores to lure human bodies so the hag can ride them until they're dead."

"She's got a bunch of mason jars on her fireplace mantle filled with clear sulfur water or something. I opened one of them and heard Erik's voice… saw his features through the glass like they trapped him inside of it."

"She trapped his soul in there. What you described is something they do after they've taken a body."

"When she caught on that I had messed with one jar, her face… it started changing like it was flipping itself around… inside out."

High John sat back in his seat.

"He done got himself in a mess of trouble."

"He's still alive though, right?" she asked with a wavering voice.

"Only because he ain't mortal. Them other jars are dead souls. Little mementos for the hag to enjoy as playthings. That's why so many people have been found dead at the crossroads. Somehow, they tricked Erik and stole his spirit, leaving the crossroads unguarded for months. They can't kill him outright. But they can torture him… weaken him until he fades."

"Can you save him? Steal the jar and free him? I opened it, but I didn't know what to do. I was so scared."

"She cast a spell to keep him trapped. The problem is, even if you found that jar, we don't know where his body is. He uses a corporeal form to hide his essence, which helps him control his powers in this world. Without it, he can't come back."

"What the hell kinda powers do you have, then? Eva acts like you're the devil himself. She's scared of you, so you must can do somethin'."

"Sadie will come for you tonight. She can't afford for you to run your mouth about her house. I say, run your business as usual, and let me figure out a way to guard this place and find Erik."

Worry lines creased his face.

"What?" Lulabelle said.

"We ain't got much time. He can't be away from his body too much longer. It'll degrade over time, and it's already been three months on the mortal side of the veil."

"Veil?"

"This side of the spiritual partition separating humankind and us."

"What are you? Another demon? Haint?"

High John ignored her and appeared to listen to something she couldn't hear.

"Carry me up to my place so I can fix my hair and change my clothes," Lulabelle demanded.

High John nodded and put his car back in drive. They rode along in silence to the side of the juke joint where some of the band members she hired had already parked. Lulabelle jumped out and High John followed her. He stopped at the front porch and reached for a leather string around his neck. He pulled on it until a small blue handkerchief bundle the size of half a man's fist popped up. Untying it carefully, his nimble fingers reached inside and he pulled them back out. Brick-red dust colored his digits. High John squatted and traced a symbol in the dirt before walking all around the juke joint, pouring more dust on the ground. There shouldn't have been enough to circle the juke joint, but somehow, someway, the man completed the circle and sealed it back in front of the porch again. He tucked the mojo bag under his clothes again and clapped his hands together hard. The sound echoed all around, even scaring an old hooting owl that lived in a tree behind Lulabelle's Loving Rooms, where her clientele got busy with her girls after chowing down on chicken or fish.

"This spell will only last as long as the moon stays high. Once it drops… if we don't find The Geechee's body before moonset… my protective circle fades and they can leave the juke joint. He'll be a goner for sure then. Lost forever if we don't get that jar and man back together," High John said.

He turned his head toward the woods from where they came.

"Once the hag and her demons cross over this circle and go into your place, they're stuck inside until the moon goes away. That'll give us time to sneak back to their house and get Erik."

"We?"

"Yes, we. You opened the jar and broke the seal. That means you're the only one who can get him out."

"But we have to find his body first."

"That's where Elizabeth comes in."

"How do you know about her?"

High John winked at Lulabelle.

"I have my ways. Take me to her."

"I can't see her. I just get a feeling—"

"Take me to where you feel her the most," he said.

Lulabelle glanced at the juke joint.

"Eva said not to let you inside," she said.

"What would she rather have? Me helping you, or that hag stealing Erik's soul and ruining your business with all the body snatchin' she's been doin'?"

Lulabelle huffed and headed up the steps.

"C'mon, man."

High John followed her into the juke joint where the Midnight Ramblers were already set up on the small stage.

"Lula, gal, where ya been?" Gertie Mae said.

The lead singer of the Ramblers fussed her way over to Lulabelle.

"Honey Boy said you went to check out your competition, but when he went lookin' for ya, he couldn't find you," Gertie Mae said.

Gertie Mae looked at the scarf covering Lulabelle's hair.

"You not even dressed and ready yet. What's going on, girl?"

"Got busy with some business stuff. I'ma go get ready. Y'all get that music jumping and let these folks know that the party is starting!" Lulabelle said, flicking her right hand in the air.

She hustled High John away from Gertie Mae's prying eyes and took him to the back of the joint, where her usual seat was to watch the place in progress. Glancing around the area, Lulabelle threw out her hands.

"This is where I usually—"

She turned toward High John, catching him conversating with thin air. Lulabelle watched him talk in a hushed tone, pull out his mojo bag again, reach into it, and blow red brick dust in front of a chair. She glimpsed a ghostly figure, a woman with wavy long hair, and blinked back a tear or two as a bit of dust fell into her eyes.

"You should go get yourself gussied up, Lula. I freed Elizabeth to go find Erik's body," High John said.

He looked around the place as some customers high-stepped it inside just as the band struck up a hot, nasty jig that got folks hopping around before they even had their first drink. Honey Boy rushed over to her, and Lulabelle waved him away.

"I'm fine. Get these people liquored up and I'll get dressed," she said.

Gertie Mae eyed High John up and down one last time and yelled into her microphone.

"You gon' let that one hang his drawers low for ya?" Gertie Mae cackled.

High John howled with laughter, making everyone in the juke laugh with him. Lulabelle rolled her eyes and strode out of the juke joint through the hall that led to the Loving House creek bridge. Crossing it, she bypassed her girls, who flitted around in loose silk and lacy things. Making her way to a side room that she used for herself, Lulabelle poured water into a basin, stripped down, and rinsed off dust and the smell of the deep woods. It took her some time to get all the duckbill clips out of her hair. She combed, then fluffed out her tight curls, smoothing them into the perfect style. Make-up didn't take long to put on. Her plump lips smacked at her reflection in the mirror. Touching her stomach, she felt and heard the rumble of hunger, realizing she hadn't eaten a thing since breakfast. There was no time to focus on eating. She had to keep her wits about her. High John sent her former best friend, a ghost, to search for the rest of her supernatural lover's self. How could a hag trick the Crossroads Man? Erik was clever, powerful, and able to sniff out an inhuman creature from miles around. Ain't no way some slinky demon walked up on him and fooled him that easy.

Lulabelle took a moment and stretched out on her bed, calming herself. Too much was going on and all she wanted was for her man to come swaggering into her place again, showing her them shiny gold teeth, and lifting her onto that Daddy dick. She was tired of dead bodies showing up on her side of town instead of where the white folks were. A damn witch was making her life a mess. A knock on her bedroom door startled her agitated reverie.

"Who is it?" Lulabelle shouted.

The new girl, Altovise, stuck her head through the crack in the door. She had replaced one of Lulabelle's pregnant girls a few months back, right before Erik disappeared. Her short black bob of heavily greased curls made the room smell like bergamot.

"This man out here wants you, Lula," Altovise said.

High John pushed Altovise aside and stepped in, locking the door behind him. Lulabelle sat up, but he was next to her, sitting on the bed before she could feign decorum.

"Filling up fast out there. Good profitable business," High John said.

His fleshy lips said the words as his eyes raked down to her breasts that sat heavy and propped up with her good full-figure bra. Her cleavage spilled over the low cut of her dress. He reached over and dragged warm fingers up and down her arm.

"You look real nice, Lula. I cleaned up myself in that kitchen. Miss Eva let me use some hot water to bathe with and I changed my suit for you."

"No need to look good for me," she said.

He smirked. Without his hat, she could see his eyes clearly. Soft green ones with little flecks of pale jade toward the center. His cologne was spicy, like the kind the soldiers wore when they got paid and wanted to show off. The scent of nutmeg, anise and lemon tickled her nostrils with the odor of his breath reminding her of warm maple syrup. His wide nose complemented his full lips which had a playful twitching to them every time he said her name. Lulabelle tried to brush past him.

"I better get out there—"

High John gripped her by her arm tight and held her in place on the bed next to his hip.

"There needs to be a little discussion about payment," he said.

"Payment?"

She yanked her arm out of his hand.

"You said you were looking for him because he does business with you. A monetary transaction ain't got nothing to do with me, buddy," Lulabelle snapped.

"Who said anything about money, sweetheart?"

A lecherous pulling down of his lips made Lulabelle grit her teeth and huff under her breath.

"You want to fuck one of my girls?" she said.

"I wanna fuck you."

"This some bullshit, man. Why are men so typical?"

"I ain't no regular man."

"You act like one."

"You don't gotta pay me now. Let's just say you owe me, and I can collect later."

Lulabelle sucked her teeth.

"I'm just playin' girl. That Geechee said you don't enjoy being teased," High John said, slapping her kneecap.

He stood up and gave her a serious look.

"The moment they step in here, we have to play it cool and sneak away quietly. Hags only have power over their own dominion when they are in it. We get them preoccupied first, and then we can rescue Erik's spirit. The last thing we want is for them to harm anyone here," he said.

The old owl hooted outside, and High Joh turned his head in that direction. "I feel them coming," he said.

He clasped her hand, and they left the Loving House, crossing over the creek bridge and back into the juke joint. They pushed past excited dancers and the wall-to-wall patrons packed in her place. The Midnight Ramblers had Lulabelle's spot stacked like sardines in a can. Hot, funky, and full of spunk, Gertie Mae sang her ass off, and the crowd ate it up.

Outside on the porch, Lulabelle and High John spotted Sadie and her demon whores strolling out of the woods in stylish dresses and heels. Their movement seemed too fluid. Like they were floating instead of walking, but Lulabelle clearly saw their feet on the ground. Sadie shook her lean hips as she listened to the raucous sounds spilling out from the door.

"Ooh, sounds good in there, Lulabelle," Sadie said.

The hag eyed High John and gave him a wide smile.

"Thought you were expecting a crowd at your place," Lulabelle said.

"Later. We just wanted to come by and get some fried fish and listen to music. A little fun for my ladies before they have to work tonight," Sadie said.

One of the lighter-skinned whores snickered and held a finger under her nose like Sadie had said a funny joke. High John pulled out a toothpick and jabbed it between his teeth, making room for some new patrons to come inside. Lulabelle kept her cool.

"Come on in and see what good business looks like," Lulabelle said, mustering up a brave face.

Her heart pattered so fast in her chest watching Sadie and the others step across the protected threshold. She glanced at the moon that showed a glimpse of itself rising over the woods across from her juke joint. Opening the screen door, Lulabelle nodded her head toward the inside.

"Welcome," she said, grinning hard because Erik's life depended on it.

The women swept past smelling like strong perfume and trouble. She trailed behind them with High John just as Gertie Mae and the band whipped up another frenzy with a song talking about where to get the best sugar in town and everybody knew she was about to get filthy once she hiked up her dress and showed off gartered stockings.

Sadie and her demon girls wasted no time joining in with the dancing. They grabbed men away from other women and began grinding their breasts and asses against hips, groins, and hardening dicks. One bawdy demon, pretending to be a delicate-looking Black rose with succulent lips and feline eyes, took off her dress and slinked around a patron in her black bra and panties. She strutted her stuff, whipping up the thick crowd into another frenzy. Some men even had the nerve to throw money at her. Hoochie Coochie dancing began all around as if the crowd became infected with the seductively charged atmosphere. One demon girl jumped on the stage and thrust her narrow hips at the guitar player, nearly upstaging Gertie Mae who only fueled the fire by using her handkerchief that she used to wipe away a sweaty brow to fan the dancing whore on to more steamy shenanigans. Patrons sitting at the small tables stomped their feet and pounded the tables, making their liquor glasses and cold beer bottles jump with the brazen action.

Gertie Mae kicked up her heels and caterwauled into the microphone.

"I treats him kind but he don't do me right!

We fights and quarrel most every damn night

I can't have no man's got such low-down ways

Cause the blue gum man ain't the style now'days

I brought him from the north and I'm sendin' him back

Else I'll use his head for a carpet tack!"*

Lulabelle gazed at the crowd who had no clue about the wickedness among them. There was nothing she could do to prevent them from mingling with evil. Gertie Mae howled into the microphone a new tune that always brought the house down.

"Oh, the white girl rides in a Cadillac

The yella gal rides the same

Black gal rides in a dusty Ford

But she gets there just the same!"

High John slipped his hand around Lulabelle's and pulled her toward the kitchen. They slipped out of the juke joint through the backdoor and ran to his car. He drove fast out of the parking area, heading for the deep woods where Erik was held captive.

Lulabelle's heart lodged in her throat when they arrived at Sadie's whorehouse.

"Let's hurry," High John said.

Leaping out of the car, Lulabelle followed him to the porch. He checked around the grounds for something, holding his hand back for her to stay put. He dashed over to a stump on the side of the house and pulled out his mojo bag again. Quickly moving his fingers over the stump, Lulabelle listened to the house creak like it was about to collapse on itself. High John glanced at the house, then moved over to her.

"It's safe now. I had to put my protective root over it so the house won't snitch on us being here. Sadie may have some tricksters planted inside, but they won't notice us now," he said.

They cautiously climbed the steps, and High John opened the screen door. He juggled the front doorknob, and it opened whispery quiet as if it expected them.

"Hold on," he said.

He pulled a matchbox from his coat pocket and struck it, allowing them enough light for Lulabelle to get to a lamp and turn it on.

"There, on the mantle," Lulabelle said, pointing to the mason jars.

"Grab the one that has him," High John said.

Lulabelle eyed the jars and honed in on the one she remembered touching. She lifted it, spun around, and showed it to High John.

"Open it!" he said.

She twisted the lid and held out the jar to him.

"What do I do now?" she yelped, wide-eyed and scared.

High John took the jar from her hand and drank down the contents like he'd been parched for one hundred years.

"Da fuck you doin' man?!"

Lulabelle snatched the jar away from him, but the man swallowed down Erik and licked his tongue around his meaty lips.

"You tricked me!" Lulabelle shrieked.

"Calm down, Lula!" High John snapped.

Lulabelle wrestled the jar away from him and busted him upside the head with it. Blood gushed from the split in his temple, and she dashed toward the front door. High John grabbed her arm and swung her back into his chest. Smothering her lips with his large mouth.

She thrashed within his firm hold on her and jerked her face away from his, breaking his hold on her lips.

"Lula, baby! It's me!"

Lulabelle stopped moving and gazed deep into High John's eyes. The voice coming out of his mouth was Erik's. She swooned and his grip on her tightened and he pulled her in close.

High John kissed her, but the moist lips, the feel of them was all Erik. She cradled his face.

"What's going on?" Lulabelle said.

Erik nuzzled her cheek.

"You saved me, baby."

He dragged her out of the house and down the steps.

"Over there!" Lulabelle said, pointing to High John's Packard.

He helped Lulabelle get into the passenger side and he ran to the other door. High John left the keys in the ignition. Her man, using High John's body, held the steering wheel with trembling hands.

"Erik? Is it really you?"

Tears welled up in Lulabelle's eyes. High John turned to her and caressed her face. He pressed his dewy lips against hers and she squeezed her eyelids shut, praying that it wasn't a cruel trick. The taste, the feel, and the urgency of the kiss were all Erik. His deep wet kiss fed her a tongue that reminded her of why she adored him. This was her man. The Crossroads Man. The opener of the way to the old African Gods and pathways to other worlds. Back where he belonged. With her.

He released her and she jumped in her seat as the eyes staring back at her belonged to some other beautiful man. High John. She whimpered next to him and High John hugged her, his muscular arms and scent so different from Erik's but feeling like him just the same. Her lips hungered to kiss him again and tongue him down to his socks, but she couldn't get over that he was housed in a different man.

"What is happening?" she said.

"High John is letting me use him as a vessel to carry me until I can find my body."

"You sent… I mean… he sent Elizabeth to look for it. Do you remember where you were last?"

"Near the crossroads."

"How were they able to get you?"

Her head swam with the incongruence of hearing Erik's voice come out from a stranger's lips.

"Don't cry, baby."

She rested her head on his chest, listening to the heartbeat whispering love in her ear. Three months felt like three years while he was gone.

"They used a piece of your hair to cast a spell pretending to be you. One of them made an offering at the crossroads for me and clouded my eyes," Erik said.

"Your affections for her helped them fool you," High John said, interrupting Erik.

The switch-up made Lulabelle's head spin. A two-for-one sat next to her, and she reeled from the dizziness it produced in her.

"They must've come into the juke and got close to her… stole some hair or maybe fluids from something she drank out of and conjured a vision that clouded your eyes, Geechee," High John said.

"I can't stay in him long," Erik said.

The green eyes piercing into her made Lulabelle fret.

"I missed you, woman," Erik said.

He pulled Lulabelle onto his lap, and she felt his body react to hers. The skin beneath her fingers thrummed with anticipation as the heat from him seeped into her. She closed her eyes so she could imagine being with Erik, but the frisky hands on her ass made her gasp and stare at High John's handsome face.

Strong hands lifted her up and down onto a covered, bulging erection that felt like a steel rod underneath her panties. Determined fingers tore her underwear off and she lifted her hips so that High John… Erik… could unfasten his pants and released his dick.

"Wait," Lulabelle said.

She wanted to wait until he was in his own body, but Erik's heavy breathing told her otherwise. Plus, High John was a fine specimen of a man with just as much sex appeal as the Geechee man.

"I need you right now… please…" Erik begged.

He snaked that thick tongue in her ear and licked her down to her breasts, pushing them together. His palms squeezed and lifted the lush mounds until he could kiss them fully across the tops.

"Ride me, Lula, let me feel you again."

High John's body made Lulabelle ache with desire and long-felt longing. Their lips collided again, and he renewed their vows of pleasure that had been stolen for three months.

"We have to go, find your body—"

He smothered her lips and dominated the arch in her back, bending her until her shoulders rested against the steering wheel. His hands pulled down the front of her dress and slipped around her lower back to release the hooks on her bra.

Big tits spilled all over his chest, and the groan out of his throat thrilled her. She was with two men at the same time in one body, and the heat of them made her feel damp between the legs and wanton.

"Lula," he moaned.

He lifted her again, and she slid down on his erection, holding her breath and clutching his shoulders. It felt like cheating, but it wasn't. Not really.

"Fuck," High John groaned.

Her wide ass rested on his balls, and they both sat still, getting used to the sensation of the connection. Lulabelle's head fell back and High John stuffed a big nipple in his mouth, sucking on her breast with a ravenous tugging that shot down to her clit and made her clench her slick walls all around the girth that stretched her beyond belief. She threw her arms around his neck and bounced on his dick with an off-kilter rhythm, as if the Crossroads Man was still figuring out how to work the strange form he was in.

"So wet… tight..." he huffed, pumping himself into her.

She soaked his lap with the pent-up arousal she kept between her thighs waiting for him to return. It wasn't the reunion she imagined, but she took it hard and fast. Loud gushy sounds rang in her ears, listening to the splashy sounds in her pussy and the heavy slapping of her ass cheeks on his muscular thighs. High John played with her breasts again, and she sensed an internal struggle by watching his eyes blaze into hers. The conjure man wanted a taste, and she knew for sure the entity she fucked now was not Erik. It couldn't be. The feeling was different. The hands on her breasts and the tongue on her ripe nipples were foreign to her skin.

Lulabelle hollered in his ear as he pounded her pussy, slapping her ass as he took what he wanted from her. She let him, indulging in the forbidden touch of High John.

"We have to leave… now…" High John's voice returned, and Lulabelle pretended like she didn't hear him, wanting to feel that heavy dick carve unfamiliar territory in her pliant pussy.

"Fuck me, Daddy," she grunted, slamming her ass down on his balls, wanting him to feel all the harlotry she planned on giving him.

She kissed him, licking and biting on his big lips to make him open his mouth so she could rest her tongue in the maple-scented wetness.

"Oh, my damn!" High John screeched, losing full control of the situation.

His hand fumbled with the driver's side door and a gust of humid early fall air gusted around them. He moved out of the car with Lulabelle still stuffed with his dick. His pants fell around his shoes as he corrected his balance. She wouldn't let go of him, sucking on his neck and whimpering for more thrusting of that big meat. Tears dampened her eyes as she begged for more pumping.

"Give me some more, Daddy," she pleaded, purposely not saying anyone's name.

The squelching of her pussy told her Erik was back in the driver's seat. He spun them around and plopped her on the hood, drilling her folds like there was no tomorrow. Watching her titties bounce as he hunched and hollered her name gave Lulabelle joy. She scraped her nails on his nape and cooed his name into his big lips.

"I'm finna cum," he yelled.

"It's your pussy!" she encouraged.

She didn't know if it was Erik or High John. Didn't matter no way. Her pussy was plowed to smithereens and ready to receive.

"You like how it feels?" she purred.

Erik grabbed her throat and pushed her down on the hood.

"Fuck me harder… harder… lemme feel all that big dick!" she demanded.

His eyes burned holes into her skull, but the face looking at her was High John. The conjure man's lips slammed on top of hers and kissed her breath away.

She felt the hot spurts of semen against her walls. It warmed up her insides as his dick pulsed with a prolonged orgasm.

"Lula!" he groaned, flicking his fingers across her clit.

"Cum in this tight pussy!"

Her walls throbbed all around his dick from the bottom of her pussy. She lifted in time to see her opening grip and release with a rhythmic throbbing that made her whimper for God. The damp curls of her pubic hairs were beautiful against his wild bush of dark moist pubic curls. He grabbed her breasts again to hold them once more as he shot one last coating of cum all over her walls.

Hot, sweaty, and spent from the exertion, High John pulled his fat dick out of her pussy. His ejaculate pooled out on the hood. She squeezed as much of it out as possible, and he groaned at the amount spilling all over the car. Wiping his face, he reached for his pants like a drunk man trying to dress.

"Got no time for this shit… gotta find this niggas's body," High John grumbled.

Lulabelle slide down the hood and fixed her dress. With no panties on, the air tickled her naked vulva. She fastened up her bra again and caught her breath. High John regarded her with his own lust, not Erik's. He was in control again.

"Gotta find Elizabeth and see if she found his body," he said.

"Where should we look for her?"

"The crossroads," High John said. "Get in the car."

She crawled back in, and he slipped in beside her. He started the car and drove carefully out of the woods.

The crossroads were empty, only moonlight high above, and the distant sound of The Midnight Ramblers at her juke joint met them there. High John stomped around and peered in every direction before stepping to the center that joined all the directions together. He kicked around some dirt and rested his hands on his hips.

"He loves you," High John said.

Lulabelle stared at him with a curious expression.

"That's the only way they got him. If he didn't love you, then the root they put together to bind him wouldn't have worked. Love is a powerful spell, Lula. An incantation that holds hearts together takes two to manifest the conjuring," High John said.

He looked at her with soft, knowing eyes.

"They probably would've fooled me too," he said, winking at her.

He gazed all around him.

"I figure… they moved into these parts and wanted to grab people roaming around late at night. Drunk. Confused. Not paying attention to the signs. Someone who regularly fed Erik might've missed a night making an offering to him. It weakened the veil and made him come look-see when bodies were found here. Can't nobody resist a pretty girl pretending to be lost. Not even a drunk man. Even a woman looking for her wayward husband would stop to help another woman in trouble. They get caught, and the hag rides their body for… draining them of energy and the will to live. Geechee came to see what was going on and a demon pretending to be you seduced him with a binding spell. Stuffed his essence in a jar for Sadie to keep. Buried him somewhere…"

His eyes glanced behind her.

A glowing ball of yellow light bounced above a thicket of kudzu.

"There she is," High John said.

He ran toward the light, and Lulabelle followed him. The kudzu was thick and High John yanked on it at the spot where they saw the light. She helped him, and they found a decaying lump of plant matter and unsettled dirt. Dragging their hands through it, Lulabelle squealed when they discovered Erik's body stuffed in a hole. She brushed the soil off of his suit and wept as she helped High John pull him out and lay him flat on his back.

"Erik," she said, stroking his moldy and mottled face.

The stench of decay was sickly sweet, and she covered her nose and mouth once they took in the full reeking of the decomposing form. High John stuck his fingers in Erik's mouth and scooped out more dirt. He wiped his nose too, and Lulabelle looked up to check the placement of the moon. It was still high in the night sky.

High John widened Erik's lips and covered his mouth with his own, vomiting the liquid he swallowed from the jar down into his throat. The retching sounds almost made Lulabelle puke, and she turned her head, pinching her nose from the powerful odor of sulfur. She looked over at Erik again when High John sat back and wiped his lips. They waited.

Nothing happened.

"Are we too late? Is his body too far gone?" Lulabelle asked.

High John looked worried, and he stood up and paced among the kudzu. An hour passed. The sounds of the woods at night gave Lulabelle the creeps, but she felt safe with High John. When another hour passed, she couldn't hold her tears back.

"Come on, man. Get your ass back here!" High John shouted.

He slammed a fist on Erik's chest. Despite that, nothing happened.

"We were too late," Lulabelle whined, wiping her eyes.

"Nah, his body is still good enough to restore."

"Then what's wrong with him? Use your mojo bag, cast a spell on him or somethin'!"

"Calm down, woman," Erik said.

Lulabelle placed her hands on his chest and watched him blink the dirt out of his eyes.

"It takes time to get acquainted with the body again. Always wanna rush people," Erik teased.

He sat up and dirt dropped from his skin all over and his face filled with his beautiful ruddy brown coloring again. She helped him stand, and he brushed off his clothes and shoes. He held out a hand for High John and they clasped palms and bumped shoulders.

"Came right on time," Erik said.

"Lulabelle was a big help. She found you before I did," High John said.

She stood between them feeling sheepish and a little embarrassed thinking about what had transpired between the three of them earlier.

"I got 'em trapped at Lula's juke right now. We best hurry back before the barrier I put around the place wears off. I got no choice but to take the hag down there. Couldn't do it until I found you, though.

"Understood," Erik said.

They trotted back to High John's car, piled in, and rushed over to the juke. The noise from inside seemed louder, and the dancing and partying going on shook the foundation.

"Go in through the back," High John said.

They snuck around the side and entered the rear with stealth. No one paid attention to them except for Eva, who fried up the last orders of fish and chicken for the night. Her eyes grew wide at Erik being with them, and Lulabelle held up a finger to her lips, warning her not to say anything. Erik went to the kitchen sink and rinsed his mouth out and washed his face. Lulabelle poured him some whiskey, and he took the glass and gulped down the contents. He leaned over and kissed her lips. She closed her eyes and accepted the warm, smooth feel of his mouth over hers. High John handed Erik his hat that he hung up in the kitchen.

"Keep that down so they won't recognize you in the crowd," High John said.

Erik pulled it down low, and they listened to the hard partying.

"This place is on fire," Eva said, monitoring High John. "These people are eating and drinking up everything!"

Lulabelle could see the dollar bills Eva was adding up with her eyes, thinking about all the money they were making.

"People are so busy in the juke, they barely going to the Loving House," Eva said.

"Go on out there and stay in the back. Lula, let Sadie see you so she'll think you've been here, but stay away from her," High John said.

The conjure man stared at one of Eva's cupboards, then waved his hand at Lulabelle.

"Go on, get out there," High John ordered.

Lulabelle grabbed Erik's hand, and they squeezed through bodies. She shook one hip and waved her hand at customers as if she'd been making the rounds as usual. Sadie sat perched at the front table near the band, and her girls were still half naked and urging debauchery everywhere. The people obliged with lusty kissing on the dance floor, and fingers groping and grabbing partners in their seats.

Lulabelle called out a loud, "Hey girl!" to Gertie Mae, who had sweated out her pin curls and make-up. Streaks of pancake foundation dripped down her drenched face as she sang a bluesy, slow drag. Her eyes connected with Sadie, who smoked a cigarette with a long cigarette holder, blowing smoke circles at the piano player. Lulabelle pretended to roll her eyes and moved through the patrons to the back. Erik kept his head dipped low as they scurried and hid behind the standing audience.

For the first time in months, Lulabelle could relax with Erik pressed into her back. He threw an arm around her chest and felt on her breast openly. No one cared. Their gazes were stuck on Gertie Mae and listening to her moaning lyrics. She leaned her head against his chest.

"I thought you left me and found someone else," she said.

She didn't have to speak louder than the music because his keen hearing could pick up the softest whisper from her lips. He rested his back against the wall, and she clung to his arm.

"I'ma go wash up back at the Loving House. Change clothes," he said.

She gripped him tighter.

"Don't worry, I'm here. You're here. Can't trick me with my real woman," he said.

He kissed her forehead and pushed through the throngs toward the hall. She circled the juke and collected money from Honey Boy who looked dizzy from all the business.

"These men are finally heading to the back," Honey Boy said. "Thought them hoes from the woods would leave soon, but they are hunkering down for the night. That Sadie ain't left that table yet. She don't dance or nothin', just watches her women and smokes."

"She ask about me at all?"

"Nah. She likes her moonshine and people gawking at her hoes."

"I bet," Lulabelle said, stuffing the money down her bra.

The juke was sweltering, with so many people bumping up against each other. Erik met up with her in the back wearing a fresh suit that she kept pressed and ready for him in her room. He held her close. His touch was electrifying on her skin. They swayed to the slow drag and before she knew it, he had her dress hiked up her waist in the back while he unzipped his clean pants. Her lips made an "O" as he took her right there in the crowd, their eyes transfixed on nothing but The Midnight Ramblers. Erik gripped her shoulders and thrust in and out slowly. His balls slapped against her clit and her body jerked to his pacing.

"You enjoyed fucking High John a little too much," he growled in her ear.

Her eyes watered from the stretching his dick gave her walls, and he was not kind about letting her catch her breath as he stroked faster in her pussy. He slammed a hand over her mouth to keep her from moaning too loud. The cacophony of music, call and response shouting at Gertie Mae, and Erik's hot, heavy dick beating down her wet slit with no mercy had Lulabelle mewling and crying softly with too much stimulation. His dick was thick enough to make her clit tug down on its own without his fingers stimulating it. He wouldn't let up, digging his heels into the floor and thrusting into her until she was almost on her tippy-toes. Her pants were loud in her own ears against his hand, and she creamed on his dick with a sudden loss of control. His erection swelled and his grunt of satisfaction pushed a flood of cum into her that weakened her knees. He held her up and whispered in her ear.

"When this is over, I gotta punish that pussy. You know that, right?"

She whimpered, and he spanked her ass, covering her cheeks back up with her dress.

"I ain't like how you acted in that car and out of it. Didn't even say my name like you usually do. You liked fucking his body," he said.

"I was fucking you," she said.

The gleam in his eye and the smirk on his lips told her he thought she was lying. He gave her a fat smooch on her cheek and slid his tongue in her ear and around the shell.

"Were you?" he whispered.

Lulabelle rounded her shoulders and avoided eye contact. High John stepped out of the kitchen and she shivered, thinking about him sucking on her titties while she bounced on his fat dick. All three of them kept watch over Sadie and her whores.

"Night Lula!"

Lulabelle held a hand to her chest, trying to calm the tightness there and the shortness of breath as she watched the last of her patrons leave her juke. She waved at the man who called out to her, the piano player, and kept her eyes on two of Sadie's demon whores who were topless and lounging on chairs near the stage.

Sadie herself sat at the piano, tickling the ivory, keeping her sultry eyes on Lulabelle. Honey Boy took the last of the cash she collected and headed out to the Loving House to check on the girls and rest. Eva slung a coat over her shoulders and lifted a covered plate of chicken from the bar counter and bid Lulabelle goodnight as her husband waited to scoop her up at the front door. She left a bag on the counter, waving for Lulabelle to ignore it as she walked out with her man. The last stragglers headed out and finally, they were alone with the hag and her ladies. Erik slinked away from the wall and took off High John's hat. Sadie squinted and stood up once she realized it was Erik. The hag snapped her fingers and her women jumped up and stalked across the dance floor toward the entrance. Lulabelle glanced at High John and he checked for the moonlight through the window. He grinned.

Sadie and her women came back in, the barrier blocking their exit from the premises. Erik pulled Lulabelle behind him and she stayed near the wall.

"Ain't nobody here now. Might as well show yourselves," High John said.

He pulled out his mojo bag and sat it openly on his chest. Erik moved next to him and flexed his fingers before pulling out his switchblade. Sadie checked the juke to make sure no one else was around.

"Why not?" she said.

Sadie's face puffed out like a bullfrog again, and she stripped out of her dress and underwear, revealing a gorgeous body that split and twisted, turning itself inside out until her skin fell to the floor in a wet splat at her feet. Without her skin, she was a walking, red, glistening wound. She grinned, and everything inside her mouth was black. Lulabelle couldn't see a tongue or teeth anymore. The whores behind her shed their phony skin and dropped to all fours, snarling and gnashing vicious teeth looking like hell hounds skinned raw, the lean muscles in their bodies a wet scarlet nightmare as their claws clacked across the wood floor.

Lulabelle couldn't turn her head away from the horror in her juke and a chill dragged along her spine as she sincerely wondered what High John and her Geechee man looked like under their skin.

"No tit for tat boys? We get undressed and y'all stay pretending? That's not fair at all," Sadie said with her midnight black mouth.

Her eyes were still seductive and sinister. She turned toward Lulabelle, and Erik stepped forward.

"I would love to ride you gal, then put your shiny little soul in a glass jar," Sadie said.

"Don't look at her, Lula. Turn your head, baby," Erik said.

She did as he said so she wouldn't be hypnotized again. He lunged for the hell hounds, distracting Sadie. The demons attacked Erik, but he cut them with his razor, deflecting their snapping teeth as much as he could. The hag jumped on his back, whipping her head back and forth as she gripped his chin, yanking it back.

High John sprang into action, snatching the hag's skin off the floor and running with it to the counter. He stretched it open on the bloody wet side and dumped the contents of the bag Eva had left behind all over it.

Sadie shrieked when she noticed his actions and jumped off of Erik. He continued fighting and cutting the hell hounds that gave off the smell of burning flesh. High John stepped away from the counter and allowed Sadie to pick up her skin. She shook it and cursed High John, throwing her outer covering back on. It sizzled and burned her flesh, and she clawed at her skin, enraged and frightened.

The hell hounds flopped around the floor like they were having convulsions, and black acidic foam bubbled out of their mouths, filling the room with the stench of burning rot. Sadie clawed at her once beautiful face.

"You motherfucker!" she screamed at High John.

Erik ran to the conjure man and High John poured the contents of the mojo bag into the Geechee's hand. Erik balled his hand into a fist, blew through a small hole he made on the side of it, then slammed his hands together. There came a loud clap of sound that reverberated like thunder and Lulabelle could never be sure if she saw what she saw, but The Crossroads Man, her beloved Erik, stole the moon from the sky, reached right through the juke window behind the stage, and plucked it with his fingers, replacing it with the sweet sugary colors dawn.

Sadie shrieked again and fled out of the juke, breaking through the screen door and tumbling down the steps with a roar pouring out of her wicked mouth. Lulabelle ran to the entrance and watched the hag head for the woods, but it was too late. Sunlight pierced holes through her body and she sparked up like a human torch, her flesh scorched into black ash that floated to the morning sky. One last horrid screech sounded from her lips before she vanished in front of Lulabelle's eyes.

"My God today," Lulabelle whispered with wide eyes.

She turned back into her juke and the hell hounds had vanished too, leaving no trace behind. High John wiped his hands.

"Eva's salt trick don't work on me, but Miss Sadie sho did go out like a whiny bitch!" High John said.

Erik laughed at him, and both men slapped hands and shook their heads.

"Hags always have a bad habit of leaving their skin out in the wrong places tryna be tough all the time," Erik said.

Lulabelle could only stare at them, mouth agape, and her thoughts jumbled with all the terrifying sights she'd seen in nearly twenty-four hours. She tossed a weary hand up at them both.

"I'm going to bed. This shit… this was too much," Lulabelle complained.

"Oh, you ain't about to do no sleepin'," Erik said.

Lulabelle stopped and put a hand on her hip.

"Whatchu mean?"

"Told you already. I'm 'bout to be knee deep in that pussy. Go on back there and get naked. You gotta make up for the disrespect," Erik said.

High John snatched his hat from the floor where Sadie had knocked it off of Erik's head. He placed it back on his own head.

"Guess I'll just mosey along then. Come see me Geechee when you done with her. I'll be waiting over at the crossroads. We got work to do," High John said.

"You ever gon' give that conjure man his body back?" Erik said.

"Maybe. Maybe not. I kinda like it. What you think, Lula?" High John said.

"Don't be askin' her 'bout nothin', man. Take that shit back. I don't want her looking at that face again."

"Scared of some competition, I see."

"Whatever, man. Take that nigga his shit back so he can do his work."

High John sucked his teeth at Erik and winked at Lulabelle.

"Sure y'all don't need me to watch?"

Erik raised a fist. Lulabelle grinned.

"Tell the truth, Lulabelle, was all that hollerin' you was doin' for me or him?" High John asked.

"Goodbye High John. Close the door behind you," Lulabelle said.

Erik stuck out his tongue at High John.

"So ungrateful. I'll be waitin' on your ass," High John said.

High John looked into the corner of the juke and tipped his hat to nothing she could see.

"Thank you for your help, Elizabeth. You are a true friend to these two," High John said.

"Tell her thank you for me, please," Lulabelle said.

"She heard you," High John said.

He strolled out of the front door and politely closed it for Lulabelle.

Erik spanked her ass.

"I'ma start with those big thighs first. Then I'll lick and kiss that juicy pussy with my sweet jewel at the top…"

Erik nuzzled his face against hers. She turned and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Is it true that you love me?" she asked.

He kissed her softly and rubbed her shoulders.

"Yes."

"That's what got you in trouble," she said.

"One time. Won't ever happen again."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"What will happen to those jars they left in that house?"

"Nothing. I'll pour them out and release their souls to heaven at the crossroads."

"Will you ever show me what you truly look like?"

"No. Your human eyes couldn't handle it."

"So I'll never see you?"

"Not until you're an old woman and you pass on. Then I'll guide you to the other side of the veil."

He kissed her again, and she admired all the gold in his teeth.

"You'll stay with me until I die?"

"Or until you get sick of me."

She shook her head and pressed her face against his neck, smelling his skin and feeling his warmth.

"I won't ever get sick of you."

He spanked her backside, and she yelped.

"Lulabelle, Lulabelle… time for us to go to the Loving House," he teased.

She threaded her fingers with his and thought of all the things she wanted to ask him about turning night into day and loving her so much that a hag could trick his ass into a jar. He tugged on her hand and she walked beside him across the rickety creek bridge. He slipped a hand under her dress and fingered her folds, slipping two digits inside of her as she walked slowly for him, letting him watch her big ass jiggle while he worked her pussy.

When they reached her soft, lumpy bed, she forgot about the moon, the sun, and the shiny mason jars. All she saw were stars in her eyes as she raised her big legs high to the sky, letting the Crossroads Man make love to her again, and again, and again….

Part 1 "Ice Cold Jax" HERE.

A.N.:

Aaron Pierre is my new face claim for John the Conqueror. I had someone else originally, but it's fun to switch up. Basically Killmonger and Terry Richmond tag teaming in this. This sequel was also written as a birthday read for @soufcakmistress in 2022.

[drenched-in-sunlight]

Hello, first of all... Your art is a blessing from Marika ! I love your interpretation and your theory about elden ring lore.

So I have an ask, cause you are a reference for me about elden ring and I need to talk about the shadow ( like Maliketh, I'm French so I hope the name will be the same). We know Marika has one and Ranni too (Blaid) and if I'm not wrong Malenia and Miquella are empyrean too. So who are their shadows? Or it's not working like that?

I would love to have your tough about this subject if it's interest you 🥰

have a nice day, you are amazing !

thank you for your kind words! 🥹🥹

tbh the Shadows is still kinda a ??????? area to me. i do believe they are given to all Empyreans, but i have no idea where is the Empyrean's twins Shadows tbh. i was hoping the DLC would reveal them, but then it plays out the way it does...

i am curious because Miq and Mal's situation is very different from Ranni. Ranni wants to rid herself of the Two Fingers' influence entirely, so Iji feels it's necessary to imprison Blaidd so his assassin sleeper agent won't be activate and turn him against Ranni. the same way Marika seems very distant towards Maliketh during the time leading up to her betrayal of the Two Fingers (shattering the ring).

but Miq's goal has always been to become a God first, other things will be cleaned up later. while he denounced his bloodline, he never denounced the Two Fingers' guidance. even Ymir was talking in circle about how Miq didn't realize it's the Fingers that were relaying false messages this whole time. so i don't think it's a case of the twin distancing themselves from their own Shadows or locking them up somewhere.

imo From is saving those Shadows for future installments of the franchise (Gwyn's firstborn aka Nameless King didn't appear at all until the third game lol), same with other mysteries. Hell, i like to think even Marika's story isn't finished yet. But we'll see how it goes haha.

[faewrenbird]

Homicipher Theory

Mr. Silvair: The Unethical Doctor

Please enjoy another Homicipher theory from yours truly -Wren

Disclaimer as always, these theories are for fun, evidence could be coincidental, interpretations might be liberal, and at least some of it is speckled headcanons for spice.

But you never know. There’s always the chance that a theory is right. Or, at least, a fun brain exercise.

Homicipher Spoilers/Mr. Silvair Route Spoilers

One of the first ghosts we meet in the Ghost Apartments is Mr. Silvair (aka Silver Hair). Depending on our choices—whether to carry Mr. Chopped or leave him on the ground—we’ll get two very different sides of Mr. Silvair. If we arrive at his door with Mr. Chopped in tow, Mr. Chopped advocates for us, letting him know that we’re good, which makes us just barely dodge becoming his next experiment. If we show up without Mr. Chopped, our journey ends prematurely with Mr. Silvair immediately capturing and researching us.

We can tell that he’s a doctor or scientist. We know that he’s most often found in his research room or with Mr. Chopped.  We know that he’s mysterious.

So, who is Mr. Silvair? What was he in life?

At one point, a hospital stood on these haunted grounds, likely in the early 1900’s. It seems safe to assume that Mr. Silvair came from this time period. He certainly has the look of a doctor or researcher, and the surgical table and tools for experiments.

It’s a standard trope, yes, but he fits the bill of the mad scientist. Once a respectable doctor, his research began to get…questionable. He blurred the lines of what was ethical and took advantage of his notoriety and superiority.

If I’m right about the hospital’s timeline, then it would have been standing during the Spanish Influenza epidemic of 1918-1920, which also hit Tokyo, Japan. This was one of the deadliest pandemics in history, affecting a third of the global population, 500 million people, with a death count that could’ve been as high as 100 million people.

At the time, antibiotics were scarce, living conditions were bad, and there were no antiviral medications at all. Hospitals overflowed with patients, and the best that nurses and doctors could do was to provide painkillers and other traditional remedies like bloodletting and herbs.

Could Mr. Silvair have been a doctor during the pandemic? Could his desperation to cure the flu have led him to drastic experimentation on patients? Possibly.

However, I think a more compelling theory is that the hospital and Mr. Silvair were primarily treating leprosy patients. In the late 1800’s, Japan was regarded as the world’s leading leprosy nation. Because of this, the early to mid 1900’s were very focused on trying to rid the country of leprosy.

This led to some horrendous laws and practices. People affected by leprosy were segregated and placed in sanatoriums, where their treatment was most often awful. Not only were they treated as criminals in some cases, but also forced into sterilization and abortions, as a eugenics effort to completely eradicate leprosy in the country.

Why do I think leprosy was the culprit? Well, Mr. Wheelchair. His skin is patchy and covered in some discolored rash, he’s missing an eye, he has no feeling in his legs. Leprosy can cause all of these things if left untreated. It can cause paralysis, blindness, and of course lesions covering the skin and organs. I believe Mr. Wheelchair is (or was) a leprosy patient.

And, if Mr. Silvair was treating leprosy patients, there’s much more room to suppose he was using experimental and unethical means of treatment. Perhaps…cutting people open to study the lesions on their organs, for example. Or maybe doing skin grafts to try to see how the leprosy would spread (could Mr. Stitch have been a patient of the friendly doctor?)

Our imaginations can run wild. I do think it makes more sense than the flu, because Mr. Silvair obviously performs internal “surgeries,” disassembling and attempting to reassemble people from the viscera. That’s another reason I believe that Mr. Stitch was a patient of his. We see clear evidence that Mr. Silvair can remove body parts and graft them onto a different body. His route confirms this when we see the result of Mr. Chopped.

I believe Mr. Silvair and Ms. Nurse worked on leprosy patients sometime in the 1920’s-1930’s. I believe that Mr. Wheelchair was one of the leper patients. Mr. Stitch may also have been a patient, though he could potentially have been altered after death as well. 

So, what happened to the good doctor? How did he die?

I theorized before that he and Mr. Wheelchair are visitor ghosts. Meaning that they wandered into the Ghost Apartments alive rather than dying and getting their souls trapped there. If this is true, then they merely got unlucky on some rainy day.

One fun possibility is the idea that Mr. Silvair had been intentionally trying to get into the spirit realm. Presumably, legends of people disappearing on rainy days would have existed at this time as well. And, as an overworked doctor, he would’ve practically lived at the hospital and been surrounded by dying people constantly. Plenty of exposure to the dead.

Could he have glimpsed into the spirit realm? Perhaps while trying to find a way to utilize the mysterious ghost physics to find a leprosy cure? Could Mr. Stitch be a Frankenstein monster of both living human and ghost parts from these experiments? Did Mr. Silvair fly too close to the sun and end up among the dead? Did he wander in the apartments too deep and not find his way out?

There’s something to be said to that idea. Mr. Silvair tells us at one point that he learned the ghost language from someone else. It begs the question of where the ghost language came from? Was it developed by the spirits of humans? By yokai? If someone dies and becomes a resident ghost, do they automatically know the language? Did Mr. Silvair learn the language after death, or during visits to the spirit realm while he was alive?

There is one possibility that I like more, though it necessitates that my theory about resident and visitor ghosts is wrong. It really is just speculation and a fun idea, but…

What if Mr. Wheelchair was one of Mr. Silvair’s living test subjects who underwent unethical treatment?

Imagine a man dying from leprosy, separated from his family and friends and then forced to live in this hospital. His condition is bad. He can no longer feel his legs, his skin is visibly covered in legions, and he’s going blind in one eye.

To make matters worse, his doctor seems cruel. Countless tests, poking, prodding, cuts and burns, and no progress to show for it. When he begins to lose his vision, his doctor decides to take his eye for research, without consent, without anything but aspirin for pain relief.

Furious, hopeless, with nothing to live for anyway, he strikes the doctor with a surgical knife. He gouges out both of his eyes in vengeance. In the scuffle, maybe they kill each other. Maybe that’s how both Mr. Silvair and Mr. Wheelchair end up in the Ghost Apartments, and why Mr. Silvair wears a blindfold.

There’s nothing to substantiate this idea, it’s just fun to consider possible connections between the ghosts of this other world. I also like to think that Mr. Hood is the one who taught Mr. Silvair how to speak the language, but that’s just pure headcanon.

So, what next? We have the concept of Mr. Silvair as an unethical doctor who specialized in leprosy treatment during his life. What about after death? What’s his deal?

We have some things confirmed for us. He knows how to decapitate and preserve a head, stitch a head onto a body, he researches things that interest him, he creates unholy abominations, and he himself is an unholy abomination. We know that he is the one who removed Mr. Chopped’s body, though we’re never told why. We know that Mr. Silvair has no qualms about destroying a failed experiment, little emotional attachments, and the capacity to murder someone over and over again in the pursuit of healing them.

He’s neither morally good, nor morally evil. Though he’s capable of committing what we would consider atrocities, he doesn’t do it with intent to harm. He only wants to research, to understand. And there’s some kindness in his heart despite his cold nature and hollow smile. We know this because he agreed with Mr. Chopped’s request for a body, even though he was well aware that most of these types of experiments fail. He had no logical reason to grant Mr. Chopped’s request, yet did it anyway. Presumably because, somewhere in his calculating heart, he considered him a friend. 

He also has it in him to apologize to us for his experimentation after we expose his true form. Again, there’s no logical reason for this. It’s just the polite thing to do. So, he is not a heartless and unfeeling person. He has a hard time understanding the emotions of others, but clearly does care about them (our autistic king, maybe?)

The last point to touch on is his true identity. Aside from learning that Mr. Chopped wanted to get a body for us because we were jerks to him earlier, Mr. Silvair’s true body reveal is the biggest plot twist of his route. Upon seeing a blood-stained, empty room, Mr. Silvair admits to us that we were kept there. He tells us that we changed, we became violent and unintelligent, so he battered us. He essentially killed us, then waited for our bodies to heal, tested whether we regained intelligence, then killed us again. Over and over until we finally returned to ourselves.

If we choose to be angry at this revelation, we get the opportunity to lash out at him and the prompt to kill. Choose this option and it seems like we murder him. But as we run away, we look at the glass window of the door behind us and see a horrifying sight. A giant blob of flesh, there to apologize.

If we’re kind to him, Mr. Silvair will reveal that he has changed between forms previously. He tells us that this is his motivation for his area of research. He wants to understand physical change within the spirit realm.

I believe this lends credence to my theory that he is a visitor ghost, meaning that he began as we did. He is the same as us. His body can change, be destroyed, regenerate, morph into something hideous and bounce back into something normal. This may be what makes him so interested in us. We are like him.

And it's a contrast from Mr. Chopped who, as a Resident ghost, could not be reassembled, thus why Mr. Silvair had to burn his body after we eviscerated it.

A doctor who never found the cure for his patients in life, and still can't in death. Pretty tragic, isn't it? But we can choose to stay by his side and keep finding him new rooms to settle into, over and over, forever.

And the fact that we can become an eternally recycling test subject is an added bonus. What better girlfriend than one who accepts you as you are, helps you look for a new apartment, and then lets you chop her up on a regular basis?

[popodoki]

Catwin ficlet, inspired by, you guessed it, the Catwin Discord x

Very fluffy, sappy with a dash of humour aka I wrote close to 2k just to build a lil joke.

a Drunk kitty is a sappy kitty

The Cat King is drunk. 

Good and properly plastered. Utterly doused. Just sloshed with the drink, of which he hasn’t had many, but the few glasses he has knocked back had an alcohol level high enough that even one would make a dedicated wine mom sway. He’s on, what is it? His third? Been nursing it for some time now, would’ve been drinking it faster now that he’s further along, but Edwin has a firm hand around his glass, regulating how often he gets to sip from it. 

Oh. Edwin. Edwin. 

Handsome, stunning Edwin, pressed against his side like a warm blanket. Shaking his head with a gentle but bright laugh, that leaves the Cat King marooned, his breath stolen from him, heart thudding fast and light. He’s staring, he knows he is, but he can’t stop himself. Edwin is impossible to look away from. 

The other catches him, meets his eye with an inquisitive look of his own. The Cat King’s smile deepens, caught, he doesn’t shy. Edwin smiles back, lips curling back from his teeth, a wide smile, reserved for when he’s relaxed or, privately, for him, and reaches a hand up to brush stray hairs away from his face, out of his eye. His fingers a warm spot, a point of bright contact. The Cat King hums, flutters his eyes, relaxing his face even more, despite himself. 

“There you go,” Edwin says, touch lingering, and to the side, Charles coughs loudly. Any possible tension Edwin had so sweetly massaged away returns, the Cat King’s brow furrows deep in a mix between a pout and a frown. 

“Sorry, it’s just--” Charles, brazenly unapologetic, motions to the pair, let’s the little scene speak for itself. The Cat King realizes, a touch belatedly, just how lovey-dovey he and Edwin must look. Edwin is halfway across his lap, or maybe it’s the inverse? It’s hard to tell, their bodies overlapped and intertwined, squeezed into their shared booth. The Cat King’s head rests heavy on Edwin’s shoulder, and his drink still sits in front of him, but in Edwin’s hand. He’s wrapped tightly around Edwin’s arm, clutching like some smitten lover, which, well, which he is. Their legs are tucked under the table, out of his line of sight, and thus a mystery as to which foot belongs to whom, in their loving tangle. He wiggles a foot experimentally, but he’s too weightless to determine where it might be. 

Pathetic. Purge inducing sappiness, way too heavy on the PDA. The Cat King can’t muster even the thought of a fuck to spare. He might have mumbled that last part, let it slip. Charles snorts across from them, raises a conspiratory finger, jabs it expressively in the air as he downs his drink, mouth occupied but sentiment communicated.  

The Cat King makes a move for his drink. It doesn’t budge. He cracks an eye open, blown-out pupils struggling to focus only on Edwin, working hard to ignore the other silhouette leaning in to cross his line of sight, and mutters a wordless grievance when he sees Edwin’s hand keeping his glass fixed in place. 

“s’My drink,” The Cat King starts, without any bite. 

“Slow down, dear,” Edwin counters smoothly. The soft lull of his voice is a blessing, a balm, to the headache edging in, either from the alcohol or the frustration seeping in from not kissing Edwin right here, right now, he can’t tell.  

“You’re not even drinking it,” he argues, mostly for the sake of it. 

“We’re sharing,” Edwin says, then lifts it to take a sip. The Cat King stares at Edwin’s mouth even after he's put the glass down, at the inquisitive quirk of Edwin’s brow he supplies, “ ’s like you kissed me. Indirectly,” he adds.  

Edwin’s brows hike higher, his face tilting in surprise. “Do you want the real thing?” Like he’s reading the Cat King’s damn mind. He’s perfect. The Cat King wants nothing more to soak up Edwin’s presence, drink it deep and let it settle in his veins like a second pulse. How hasn’t he married Edwin yet? 

He's staring at Edwin’s mouth again. “Not really thirsty. Not anymore.” 

“I wasn’t talking about the drink,” Edwin says. His voice is so low, soft, pitched down just for him to hear. Just for the Cat King, only for him. 

Charles scoffs, noisily, next to them. The Cat King, who had been doing wonderfully at ignoring him, finally deigns him with a look, makes it as bitter and smarting as possible. Charles only grins impossibly wide. 

“It’s like I’m not even here,” he observes faux-wistfully. “Like being mad is an afterthought or something.” 

“He gets like this sometimes,” Edwin says, sounding incredibly fond. “He’s having a good time, in both our company. I think he just acts mad sometimes because he thinks he should be.” Edwin adds with a soft laugh. Well. It’s not far off from the truth, really. The Cat King’s got an image to uphold. 

“Think you know me so well,” he grunts. Crosses his arms. He’s acting up now, because, because… He forgets. Just feels right.  

“Well, my dear King, I think I do,” Edwin leans in close, nose brushing his. Edwin’s eyes are shining, and beautiful, they’re all he sees. He could stay here forever, he thinks. 

Right across from your love’s best friend, who is definitely still taking the piss at you, is perhaps the least romantic time to propose, but if he doesn’t say something now, he might never. Sober Thomas will hold things in till it kills him. The Cat King as he is now, weightless and inebriated, has no such reservations. 

The Cat King surges forward, seals their lips together in a brief but assured kiss. He pulls back enough to lock eyes, finding only welcoming adoration coloured by some surprise, and lets this steel him. 

“Edwin, marry me.” 

For a moment, there’s nothing. Then, suddenly, Edwin laughs, full bodied, leaning away from him to hunch over the table. The Cat King’s too shocked to feel the bite of rejection; Edwin is many things, but in matters of the heart, he’s dreadfully dedicated and serious. Rejection, were it ever a possibility, would be given firmly, respectfully, gravely. Not… this. 

Edwin is laughing so hard his whole body seems to shake with the force of it, and he looks like he’s struggling to catch his breath. He’s beautiful, so breathtaking, gorgeous and free that the Cat King forgets to be angry, simply stares. Charles is slapping Edwin’s back, the part he can reach, grinning, but confused. 

“What, what, what did he say?” Charles demands, now using both hands to shake some sense back into Edwin. Reminded, the Cat King snaps his gaze back up to glower at Charles. “C’mon, mate, he looks like he’s gonna blow me up with his mind, what did he say to you?” 

“H-He-” Edwin sucks air in sharply, interrupted by a fit of giggles, but then leans back over to the Cat King to grip him for support. “He-he proposed to me-” then he’s swept away in another wheezing bout of laughter. 

“Pr- like. A marriage proposal?” Charles glances over to the Cat King, registers his grave expression, and then launches himself back against the booth to howl with cackles. The Cat King himself sits straighter in his seat, ignores him, focus fully directed to Edwin who has slumped back over the table to clutch Charles’s arm. 

“Edwin, that's aces, like that means he-” Charles manages, but Edwin is waving a hand, smiling like his face is about to split in two. 

“No, you don’t- Charles, Charles,” he grasps the collar of Charles’ jacket wildly, free hand held up to quiet him, “Charles, listen, this isn’t even the first time,” “No!” “Yes,” “Oh stop-” But they’re laughing again, and the Cat King feels uncertainty starting to creep in, under the heavy fog of his alcohol induced haze. He can’t help the slight slump of his shoulders, or how thick his throat feels. 

“’s’not that funny,” he huffs. Edwin sits up suddenly, expression so soft and appraising, and oh, there’s the cold seep of rejection, snaking in like venom. 

“Oh, my king,” Edwin croons, then gathers the Cat King’s face in his hands, to lean in and kiss him deep. The Cat King sputters briefly, but kisses back, distracted enough that he again forgets what he was so hurt over. Edwin pulls away, but only enough to pepper his cheeks, chin, forehead with kisses. “Oh sweetheart, you already have me. I’m already yours, your consort, your prince.” He’s kissed again, reverent. “We’ve been married for years, love.” Edwin whispers against his lips. His thumb is stroking the Cat King’s cheek adoringly. He frowns, but then- Oh. Right. Edwin is his consort. His prince. They’re married. 

“Oh,” he says dumbly. 

“Indeed,” Edwin is grinning, wild but loving. The Cat King’s mouth twitches, unable to hide his smile. “Which means we need to go home now.” A hand travels down his arm, squeezes warm fingers around his own, clumsy ones.  

“What?” Charles whines.  

Edwin, still holding his hand, glances to Charles. “He only starts proposing again if he’s really, really drunk.” 

“On three glasses?” 

“Four, he had one before we came out,” Edwin corrects. The Cat King doesn’t even remember that. “It’s been a while. Got a little carried away, he was nervous to see you again.” 

“Me?” Charles glances to the Cat King, who just frowns. He was? 

“Don’t tell him I told you.” Edwin whispers loudly, conspiratory. The Cat King frowns a little deeper. He had been, maybe, and nervous wouldn't be the word of choice, to describe the feeling of seeing someone who’s been a solid fixture of his lover’s life for so long, that he’s maybe grown to be a welcome part of your own, but Edwin didn't need to mention it to Charles. 

“Thank you for having us, Charles, it’s always good to see you,” Edwin continues, letting Thomas go long enough to sweep his best friend in a tight hug. Oh, they’re standing now. Since when were they standing? He sways, listing to the side, but he’s caught by a pair of hands. He frowns, glances back and up to see the calculating gaze of Crystal Palace. 

“You,” he starts, surprised. “What are you doing here?” 

 “I live here, Whiskers. You’re in my house.” 

“Our house.” Charles cuts in sharply. Crystal smiles, warm and loving. Oh, Thomas is so drunk. 

“We’ll see you in the morning,” Edwin says, and the Cat King finds himself back in his husband’s arms. He loses sight of the other couple, too busy staring at Edwin, his consort, his prince, as he’s led out of the house and to their own home. 

The walk is short, the silence is companionable, the fresh air is doing wonders for his head in more ways than one, he still leans against Edwin as he leads them through the big doors. 

“You said yes? You really said yes?” They’ve somehow crossed all the way to the bedroom in the blink of an eye. Maybe two blinks, three? He feels the bed against his back, his world tilted sideways, and Edwin leant into his vision. He could stare at his prince forever. 

Edwin smiles, and it’s a light source all on its own. “Ask me again in the morning.” Edwin says, and the Cat King falls asleep. 

[lunchboxe]

Tokyo Debunker EP. 15 spoilers, for the third time.

IVE BEEN MISLEAD.

THE WHOLE TIME.

THEY CONVINCED ME. FOR SO LONG. THAT HAKU WAS THE SUSPICIOUS ONE. Obv he's still extremely suspicious but.

I KEPT FORGETTING ABOUT SUBARU. HE'S ALSO SO SUSPICIOUS.

So. Three suspicious thingamajigs. Maybe four.

One. Violent abuse? Gonna need some elaboration on that. The tree thing? Weird. His insistence on distancing himself from Lyca? Weird.

Two. Hakuuuuuu. Haku. In general, really. So much about Haku. I mean I had assumed he was in either Frostheim or Vagastrom before since he and Tohma had been in the same house before. Obv Frostheim, so that didn't surprise me.

He's so. ???? Like???? Yk what I mean? Haku is so. How to say. Clearly up to something yet charming enough to make it seem unimportant? Hell, not just make it seem unimportant, make it seem like a good thing.

He is suspicious as HELL, he's been pushing Zenji to get famous instead of doing what he enjoys, he's actually been pretty odd about Zenji in general, Rui was oddly cooperative in getting Mao to follow Haku, before saying "some coincidence." After they left. Also he absolutely used his Stigma- whatever that may be- on those two girls, why else would he push for taking a nap?

Speaking of naps- Three, what's up with Subaru? In the beginning of the episode, I mean. I don't think it's mentioned much at all after that.

Four, the wind still wasn't explained. End of the episode and nothing. I think. Maybe I glossed over it, but I don't think so.

Five. I guess there were more than four. Five, I had assumed Jiro was in a coma since the clash bc of some attack or smth, did he, like, try to off himself? Zenji said he didn't want to "miss another SOS" which means either Jiro's chronic illness had been showing signs long before he was in a coma, or the coma was caused by himself.

Anyway, if MC had a year back in September (EP.1) and it's January now (EP.15) that would mean we probably have another 8 months in-game aka (3 eps per in-game month) (3 months IRL per month in game) two years IRL until endgame!

I'm sure there's more mysteries I've forgotten about over the course of playing this episode, but either way, yk.

[allastoredeer]

I just had a hilarious thought I needed to share. After thinking about it, of all the Sins we've met so far, I'd be willing to bet that Alastor would hate Beelzebub the most! For multiple reasons!

First, she's a canid demon, already enough of a reason for Alastor to dislike her.

Second, Alastor has been described by Viv as a food snob, he doesn't like greasy processed food or sweets. And Bee is all about junk food! She sings a whole song about it! She and Alastor would surely bump heads in the kitchen.

Third, Alastor is all about hiding his emotions and being a mystery. A rather difficult task to accomplish when there's someone who can smell/taste emotions around! Alastor wouldn't be able to hide his true feelings about things from Bee! What's worse, Bee has little to no filter. So not only could she sniff out his true emotions, she could just as easily blab about what he's feeling to everyone! Which Alastor certainly wouldn't appreciate.

Forth, of all the Sins we've been introduced to so far, Bee seems the one least willing to take any shit. When Alastor and Lucifer started butting heads, the result was a musical dick measuring contest. When Millie bashed Fizz over the head with a guitar, all Ozzie did was kick her and Moxxie out of his club. When Blitzø roasted Mammon in front of a crowd of his fans, all Mam did was insult him and tell him to shut up.

When Loona started mouthing off to Beelzebub however, Bee went full beast-mode and was ready to throw down! Now, if Alastor (shit-talker extraordinaire with a nasty habit of biting off more than he can chew) were to try and pull the same shit with Bee that he pulled with Lucifer, she absolutely would not hesitate teaching him the definition of "fuck around and find out".

And finally, to add a dash of radioapple into the mix (bc ofc😏🤭) you just know that Beelzebub, aka Miss "Satan's like a brother to me, but I could totally still hit that", would be at least a little flirty towards all her fellow Sins. Including Lucifer. Imagine Bee's visiting Lucifer at the hotel, maybe for a Deadly Sin reunion or maybe she's just visiting by herself. And the whole time she's there, she's just being so affectionate towards Lucifer, picking him up and spinning him around, holding his face in her hands, nuzzling him cheek to cheek or nose to nose, giving him quick pecks on the cheek or forehead, running her hands through his hair, calling him cute nicknames and telling him how adorable he is. Just giving him so much verbal and physical affection that toes the line between flirty and platonic. And Lucifer, knowing that that's just how Bee is, thinks nothing of it. He just laughs it off, no big deal.

Meanwhile, Alastor is off to the side witnessing all this and is just seething.

Imagine she's doing it on purpose too! Like Alastor has already made an ass of himself and she's getting back at him by flirting with his "totally not" crush!

Without a doubt, Alastor would absolutely despise Bee!

Hm, I don't know if Bee's was necessarily about junk-food. Like, yes, she references a lot of junk-food, but I think it really was just a song about indulgence as a whole using sweets as a metaphor. I mean, food--especially junk food--is usually the first thing that comes to mind when someone thinks of gluttony. What I got from her song was just giving in to your desires, going all out, no inhibition.

Although, she does favor cotton-candy as the food she hands out, and Alastor definitely wouldn't eat that XD I love that he's a food snob and a rotten deer carcass counts as a high quality dish to him.

I would LOVE for Bee and Al to meet so she could pick up on his emotions, particularly his negative emotions regarding his deal. I want her to look at his smiling face, his care-free attitude, but sense massive amounts of stress from him. Just a big ball of negative emotions, especially surrounding the deal he's trapped in and how cornered and helpless he feels.

I don't think she would say something in front of everyone. (Making this radioapple ;] ) Like Bee did with Blitz, I think she would go to Lucifer about it, maybe because she knows him the most. She wouldn't go into too much detail, because that's Alastor's business, but she mention that she's sensing a lot of negative emotions from him and to check on him because he is definitely not doing well (I love how caring and sincere Bee is, shes one of my favorite Sins).

And I think if Alastor knows that Bee can sense emotions like that, he would try to avoid her at all costs.

But also, I know you said Bee doesn't put up with shit, but I think Bee would see Alastor's shit-talking as a challenge, also like she did with Blitz, and knowing Alastor, I know he would step up to that challenge (if its a drinking contest--not with Beezle-juice because that's WAY to potent for Sinners), he'll lose, but considering Alastor "drinks like a sailor" he lasts longer than she expects).

I don't know if Alastor would despise her, but I think he'd be intimidated by her ability to pick up on peoples real emotions, and considering how guarded he is about himself, I can see him doing everything in his power to avoid meeting her face to face.

[localcanadiancreature62]

Oh no i gave the shapes angst lolll. Behold,the Shape Human Swap au aka the An Eye for a Hand au. Lore under cut. Also this au is partially inspired by @starmilkman's In Your Shoes au with Bill's personality and Ford's appearance. Have some silly doodles and design refs.

Description: The Pines are all Euclidean shape demons while Bill and Steve are humans.

Ford Caesar - Ford is a square demon who's complex revolves around being a "freak" rather than being a "monster". His trigger words are "you're a freak/you're broken" rather than "you're a monster". He's a square on purpose,because the word "square" is another word for a boring,nerdy person which perfectly describes canon Ford. He wants to cause the Freakpocalypse,a dream world where no one is ridiculed or doubted for being weird. Ford tortures people but only to break them and thus make them broken like him. One notable example is when some poor soul made the mistake of calling him weird,he ended up breaking that person's spine. Ford's abnormality is his strange mind rather than his eye. His mind gave him visions of other worlds,omniscient knowledge,and various other abilities. Ford often has thoughts of the third dimension,so much to the point that his parents had brain surgery performed on him to make them go away. But they didn't go away,in fact they got worse over time. Filbrick and Caryn often told Ford that he had a strange imagination and that he was crazy for claiming that he saw the third dimension within his thoughts. But he WASN'T crazy and he felt misunderstood for no one ever knowing how he felt about his third dimension thoughts. Not even his brother Stan understood him. Ford's genius and ego is a pretty big deal to him,so to see Bill take his own smarts for granted greatly pissed him off which is why they didn't have a good impression of the other. He poses as a wise and knowledgeable master towards Bill and his pawns rather than a muse,which is why Bill calls him "Master" instead of "Muse". Ford acts as unstable as he does because he has fully accepted being "broken" and thus he acts like how a broken man should. The Freakpocalypse is living proof of the fact that Ford accepting that he's broken and that he will never be normal. Shape Ford is evil neurodivergent coded ngl with the abnormal mind thing and the fact that he wants other people to suffer with disabilities like he did,he's the result of an autistic/adhd person snapping (the autism allegory was NOT intentional. it just happened. i just realized that midway into making his backstory pfft).

Billiam "Bill" Cypress - He's more insane and chaotic than canon Ford,as he often injects a bajillion things into anomalies for fun or vivisects them once he gets ahold of them. Bill is a genius but since he's still a mischievous and chaotic lil shit,he doesn't really take his gift seriously. It's a miracle that Scalene and Euclid favor him over Steve despite his behavior. Bill's abnormality is his closed eye since birth,he only has one eye because of this which is why Steve often calls him "Cyclops" to mirror Stan calling Ford "Sixer" in canon. Bill is Will and Tad's Great Uncle Bill who came from the portal,he's also the Author of the Journals which has a closed eye on it.

Tad Cypress and William "Will" Cypress - Tad is a wild but friendly goth boy who's into scary,macabre stuff while Will is a perfectionistic and irritable preppy jerk who loves the rules (to mirror their canon personalities of being a law obsessed control freak and king of horror respectively). Tad is the mystery solver while Will is the sidekick as Tad is into the weird stuff since he's also a nerd along with his gothic disposition as Will hates getting dirty/wounded or doing any unpredictable dirty work. Tad wants to grow up faster because he wants his gothic interests to be taken seriously rather than just be seen as a "phase" while Will wants to enjoy childhood a bit more so that he can have fun in his perfect and predictable life (Will: Growing up is unpredictable. What if i end up like those rowdy punk leather jacket wearing delinquents? What if i grow horrible facial hair?. What if?- *starts hyperventilating*). Also it's pretty funny how Tad is the mystery solver yet he acts like canon Mabel while Will is the sidekick yet he acts like canon Dipper. And yes they still sound EXACTLY the same as canon,with Will having the Adrian graye voice while Tad has the regular human Tad strange voice.

Bill and Ford didn't have a good first impression on one another despite still going through with the deal otherwise. Because Bill immediately tried to vivisect Ford soon after they made the deal while Ford got pissed over Bill never taking his own genius seriously. So yeahhhh meet ugly lolll.

However despite their horrible meet ugly,they still managed to form a great partnership/friendship/relationship with one another. Ford found comfort in knowing someone that FINALLY understands him while Bill is just glad to have a friend that isn't Steve.

Steve Cypress - He's Tad and Will's Grunkle Steve and the guy who keeps selling weird magic stuff to people at the Mystery Shack (the magic stuff is a parallel to og Steve's interdimensional stuff selling). He's known as Mr. Mystery and he often goes around the Shack advertising his strange knick knacks. He is pretty cheery and fun in comparison to his insane older twin Bill but even the nicest people have their secrets.. (Steve is not what he seems~).

Names - Ford Caesar,Billiam "Bill" Cypress,Steve Cypress,Stan Caesar,Mabel Caesar,Dipper Caesar,William "Will" Cypress,and Tad Cypress. Also Octavius Ballman and Amaris Shapiro (8 ball and Amorphous shape but as bratty children instead of humanoid monsters).

The main difference between canon Bill and shape Ford is that Ford never killed his family. He along with Stan and the twins were the remaining survivors in the Euclidean Massacre (let's say that Filbrick Caryn Shermie and the twins' parents aren't.. there anymore :]). Stan and Ford are very close since they've only had each other throughout the years,although Ford doesn't actually treat Stan as his brother and he's more like a favorite lackey to him. The twins are ALSO lackeys to Ford,as the kids and his brother are part of the Henchmaniacs. The Henchmaniacs swap with the rest of the zodiac wheel members.

Wendy = Pyronica. Soos = Kryptos. 8 Ball = Gideon. Amorphous Shape = Pacifica. Hectorgon = Robbie. The Oracle/Jheselbraum the Unswerving = Fidds. The Oracle and Bill are friends in this au,hilariously enough considering that Jhesel canonically hates his ass to the point of her quitting as a Henchmaniac. Fidds is the Wise Hermit,the sagely but slightly insane former Henchmaniac/former lackey of Ford with no eyes (no eyes instead of seven eyes) who ends up helping Bill get the metal plate in his head by surgically putting it inside of him.

The Oracle has 5 birthmarks around her eyes in order to mirror her seven eyes in canon.

Bill and Steve have the same middle name,this is how i managed to make the whole identity theft thing work. Billiam "Bill" Stephen Cypress and Milan Stephen "Steve" Cypress. They're both called Steve,but Billiam prefers "Bill" more in order to be differentiated from his weird brother. They're also called the Steve twins. Also also,Bill and Steve have the same hair style and nose,plus Steve often covers his eye with an eyepatch in order to mimic his brother's closed eye abnormality aka pass off his covered eye as his twin's permanently closed eye by telling people that his other eye is permanently closed and gross which is why he often covers it.

Ford yells "STEPHEEEEN" in the death scene,since Steve often prefers to be called Stephen as a full name as he's been pretending to be his brother who's also called Stephen for years.

The Shape Pines' surname is Caesar as in Caesar Cipher,in order to mirror canon Bill's surname.