#and it's led to my dreams being more fragmented.

[dreamsausage]

This dream kept shifting between different storylines. I don't remember all of them very well, but I got the gist of them.

Science club in a leading laboratory where the staff shuffle the items in the lockers. Researcher made a science experiment involving sweets and water with the previous group of smaller children, but an older child in the next group backed into it and knocked it over by accident. They continued the club activities anyway, learning about sound and vibration.

Guy who created clones of himself to commit theft, only caught by one crease on their faces. they try to kill the woman leading the investigation, but she pulls them both into a mirror and leads him to a river that they can stand on (due to the reflective surface). He catches her and tries to choke her to death, but the others in the laboratory make it to the real river, find them with the mirror, and pull the woman out — they smash the mirror, killing the man and leaving only his hands in the real world.

Tall tired green/pink beast with a light blue pet dog and a best friend who is a dark blue and purple shape-shifting serval. The beast has periods of delirium that can last for weeks, and the serval keeps him company and tells him stories and memories to help him through it. This one was when the beast and the serval took the dog on a walk through grassy dunes near the ocean in early spring, bought ice cream (the serval got honey and chocolate, the beast got peanut butter), and then walked back into town down a mechanical lift and past the laboratory, and went home.

[naboman]

Ma Chérie Synopsis: There's something about the memories I ramble that makes my heart ache. Ma chérie, are you missing me? pairing: Chrollo Lucilfer + Fem!Reader. Genres: Angst, memories of the past, drabbles.

There is some beauty in the act of "losing what is essentially important", something tragic, worthy of being portrayed on a movie screen and transposed into soft, nostalgic melodies, films he would watch and music he would allow himself to enjoy. Although Chrollo found it a captivating subject, he never liked to imagine losing what was important to him. He had never had anything, his life had never had any purpose or meaning to adhere to. Always so much less than the others, always an inconvenience, that is, until the Troupe was formed. So why would he want to lose the only things that make him who he is?

Well, he lost someone important, someone whose existential value could never be measured in words. Someone who was… Everything.

Sweet memories are the only thing he has left, memories of a sugary tone, accompanied by a bad scenario and inhuman situations, but he had her. So none of that mattered.

No matter how many times he faced death, whether from hunger or illness after so long inhaling the infectious air of the dump, he knew that he would never receive a "goodbye", but a warm squeeze of the hands.

Her hands were not soft, on the contrary, they were calloused and rough, like sandpaper, her touch was rough, but he would never refuse, because it was affectionate. Affection he would never deny, not hers. This led him to wonder at the time, if he hadn't been in such a despicable situation, what would the real texture of her hands have been? Oh Lord, he would give the world to her if he could.

He regrets questioning it so much, regrets being so ungrateful, because soon, the thing that once stroked his face and rubbed his fingers with affection, the warmth of a sincere caress, was gone. As quickly as it came. The precious priceless thing talked about in movies and songs had been forcibly taken from him.

It was unfair. And to Chrollo's displeasure, there was no one to blame. He knew that she was sick and fragile, he knew the risks of exposing her to danger, to the petty crimes she committed for the sake of survival, he knew that he had something to lose if he decided to risk her health in order to have something to eat for one more day. He was already familiar with contempt, but the pain of loss was as acute as the pain of hunger. Even if he had eaten an entire can of canned peaches, the sharp pain that vibrated in his core would not go away.

He was cold, so cold that his bones ached. And unfortunately, she wasn't there to rub his cold hands.

In the cold early hours, he found himself filtering the information, digesting the facts and staring at them. He'd seen people die before, he'd seen the worst of humanity in such a short space of time that it didn't even make him frown, because disgust had already seeped into his daily life. He just wanted to know why it didn't let him rest when he lay on the moldy mattresses.

It was driving him crazy, and he must have been 14? Or 15? Going mad at 15 wasn't the best strategy someone like him could have.

Like Prometheus, Chrollo was having his wounds reopened on a daily basis, from the moment he went to sleep until the hour of sun began to show its first signs in the Meteor City.

So, in order to obscure these memories, for the sake of his newly formed troupe of thieves, he decided to infuse them into the back of his mind, for as long as it took, until the memories became nothing more than a small fragment, of something that Chrollo Lucilfer believes to be nothing more than a bad dream.

An unreal delusion.

The night in York seemed turbulent, hectic and with a touch of danger in the air, not the frightening kind, but the kind that gets your blood pumping, makes a delicious adrenaline rush through your veins, as if even the most ordinary of girls could experience a mind-blowing adventure. But Chrollo's blood wasn't pumping wildly, and he certainly wasn't a girl looking for an exciting, euphoric adventure. He was quite sober, in fact.

Chrollo put his hands in the pockets of his coat, it was a bit different from the long coat he wore, this one was brown and rather ordinary, but still a good coat. He stabilized his posture, there was something in his thoughts that trapped him in the subconscious of ideas, a trance of nostalgia, something he didn't like, but found difficult to disengage from at this point.

He should just stick to the original plan and rent a small cubicle to hide out in with the rest of the troupe, he thought as he eyed the hotel's battered sign, a clear blur between the words in large cursive letters, the coloring was faded and yellowish, but if he had to guess, he would guess that it was something like 'Hotel of Sleeping Beauties!' with several exclamations in a row.

He entered the hotel without any expectations, he didn't need to be smart to understand that the outside was just a glimpse of the inside. His pre-judgments weren't wrong, it wasn't a good dump, but it would do for now. The corners of the walls were moldy and the air was rather damp, and he could feel it when the dust unceremoniously entered his nostrils.

A receptionist, maybe 22 years old at the most, stood on the other side of the counter, he had a bunch of cigarette butts in an ashtray, and one more between his lips, the slow passage to death on the lips of a young man, who stared at him with nothing but boredom. The kind of employee who doesn't receive commissions and neglects his clientele. But to be fair, Chrollo had to admit that his uniform was rather pompous for such a shabby place; red with silver details on his hat.

"[Name], we have a gentleman waiting at reception to be attended to… I suggest you hasten your steps," he said rather loudly into the intercom, almost like a threat, followed by an exhausted sigh.

Chrollo approached the counter with an unreadable expression, and could tell that neither of them would make any further moves unless necessary.

"I'm sorry for the delay, Eddy"

Chrollo raised his eyes to look at the newcomer and, for a moment, he thought he had gone back in time.

His face, his voice, his rigid mannerisms. The perfectly sculpted creature, identical even down to the smallest details of his face. It was perfect. So perfectly the same that it was frightening. Just like the sight of a zombie preserved only to haunt he.

"We still have a few rooms available, sir, I think you'll want to take a look." She sounded professional, neutral and infused, as if Chrollo were just another face among the many she must have seen that evening. Just someone else to serve. A stranger.

Her tone was unapproachable; on the contrary, it was distant, disguised by a cordial kindness.

"Sir?" The woman in question approached with her eyes flashing in curiosity, an essential customer care.

"Forgive me, I'm getting distracted," Chrollo approached, making her step back.

She was so close, so close that he feared he would be blown away with the dust if he tried to touch her.

"It's okay, don't worry," [Name] nodded in agreement, as resigned as a doll kept in the darkest corner of the closet, but still smiling with disdain. That smile that didn't reach her eyes to express anything, only carved to be etched into her flesh and her manners. His gracious appreciation was a sham. "Shall we go ahead? I'll show you the way."

"I appreciate that" Chrollo just nodded, unable to formulate a flattering response, following her as she took the bunch of keys out of one of her pockets.

You should be dead.

You should be dead…

That's what was going through his mind as he stared into her doll-like eyes.

Inspiration from the tale Ma chérie . Thank you for read <3

[vampireimiko]

Neuvillette and gn! reader, they became a couple but by chance of fate they broke up, reader after a long time returned to Fontaine and saw Neuvillette again, and even though they both tried to hide it, they both still felt something for the other OEJTOEJTJIS.

Echoes of Memories

warnings, NONE !!

note, ill def be up to make a part two to this if people want it😭 BUT OMGNNGNGNG this is my first time writing something semi deep and actually the longest i've written something so 🤑

"Y/N?" The sound of your name sliced through the cocoon of your thoughts, abruptly pulling you back to the bustling reality of the café. With a reflexive start, your eyes lifted from your table to meet the gaze of none other than Neuvillette. A gasp involuntarily escaped your lips, and you felt your words stumble into fragments, caught off guard by the unexpected encounter. The sight of Neuvillette sent a flurry of emotions coursing through you, ones you had carefully tucked away in the recesses of your heart.

In all honesty, the last person you anticipated encountering upon your return to Fontaine was Neuvillette. Your intention had been to enter and exit the city swiftly, without unwrapping the layers of the past that lay dormant within its cobblestone streets and pristine waters. The mere thought of facing Neuvillette again was a surge of conflicting desires — the longing to reconnect, coupled with the determination to keep your distance.

It had been exactly 3 years and 7 months since you'd stepped a foot inside of Fontaine. 3 years and 7 months that you hadn't seen Neuvillette. You and Neuvillette were broken up, reason being, you wanted to focus more on your education and Neuvillette, being the Chief Justice, he couldn't leave Fontaine. You both decided a breakup would be best, instead of having to travel through the Desert or Liyue to continuously visit back.

It ended on good terms, but you couldn't deny the hurt that came with it. Every once in a while, you'd reminiscence about the relationship you had with Neuvillette and what you two could've been to this day, had you not gone to pursue your studies.

Neuvillette had always been the pillar of justice and order in Fontaine, and you admired his dedication to his role. The two of you had dreamed of a future together, balancing your aspirations with his responsibilities. But life had taken you on a different path, one that led you away from Fontaine's enchanting waters and into the world of akademiya.

Returning to Fontaine now, a swirl of emotions engulfed you. The city's charm felt both familiar and foreign, just as Neuvillette himself might. What had changed during your absence? How had time sculpted the lines of his face and the contours of his heart? The thought of seeing him again ignited a blend of excitement and anxiety within you.

As you navigated through the streets, memories came alive around every corner—where you first met, the park where you shared secrets, and the café where you both reveled in each other's company. The weight of your decision to prioritize your education remained, but so did the undeniable connection you had with Neuvillette.

Truth is, you hoped you ran into Neuvillette but at the same time, you didn't. But back to the present now, that wish and semi- nightmare came true.

"I- Hello Neuvillette," you managed to utter, your voice carrying a mixture of sheepishness and a nervous yet giddy smile that tugged at the corners of your lips. Your fingers instinctively found solace in the back of your neck, as if the touch could somehow alleviate the rapid heartbeat that had taken residence there.

Neuvillette's presence before you was both unchanged and subtly transformed. The years had lent an air of maturity to his already commanding stature. His tall figure still held that aura of authority you remembered, but now there was a new layer to him, a depth that seemed to have emerged from the trials and responsibilities he'd shouldered. The way he stood, his posture both confident and welcoming, suggested that time hadn't eroded the essence of his character.

For a moment, the café and its bustling patrons faded into the periphery. It was as if the world had narrowed down to the two of you, existing within a suspended breath, a heartbeat's pause between the fragments of the past and the possibilities of the present.

"I didn't expect to see you here," Neuvillette replied, his voice a warm current that mingled with the ambient sounds of the café. A smile played at the corners of his lips, a hint of nostalgia dancing in his eyes. "Fontaine seems to have a way of bringing back memories, doesn't it?"

The familiarity in his words, the resonance of shared experiences, eased the tension that had clenched your shoulders. The weight of unspoken conversations and unfinished narratives seemed to hang in the air between you, waiting to be acknowledged.

You found yourself nodding, the nervous energy gradually giving way to a sense of connection that bridged the years. "Yes, it certainly does. It's... It's been a while."

A subtle yet understanding smile curved Neuvillette's lips. "Indeed, it has." He paused, his gaze holding yours. "I hope these years have treated you well."

A swirl of emotions churned within you. Gratitude for the experiences you'd gained, curiosity about the path he'd walked, and the undeniable longing to rediscover the threads that had once woven your hearts together.

"They have," you replied softly, the words carrying the weight of unspoken stories.

Now, after this encounter you decided to stay in Fontaine for just a bit longer. You swore it wasn't just because of some tall long haired fella. As the days past you could feel the feelings you suppressed for Neuvillette grow stronger and stronger, him the same.

As the days slipped by, Fontaine enveloped you in its embrace, offering a blend of familiarity and novelty. The streets you walked were imbued with memories, and every corner seemed to whisper the secrets of your shared past. The city had changed, and yet it hadn't, much like Neuvillette himself. But what had shifted the most was the landscape of your own heart.

With every fleeting smile, every accidental brush of hands, the feelings that had long been suppressed surged forth like a tide that refused to be restrained. And it wasn't just you; there was a tangible change in Neuvillette's demeanor as well. The way he looked at you, the moments of silence that carried entire conversations, spoke of a bond that had been preserved, untouched by the years that had passed.

It was in the lingering gazes that lasted a heartbeat too long, in the way his voice softened when he spoke your name, and in the laughter that held the resonance of shared experiences. The magnetism between you two was undeniable, a force that seemed to defy time and logic. The more you tried to convince yourself that this was merely a chance reconnection, the more the gravity of your emotions pulled you in.

One evening, as the city's lights began to shimmer and twinkle like stars fallen to earth, you found yourselves standing by the city's edge, the gentle lull of water nearby creating a symphony of its own. Neuvillette's gaze held a vulnerability that matched the shadows cast by the fading sun. He turned to you, his eyes searching yours as if seeking answers to questions he couldn't voice.

"Y/N," he began, his voice, which was usually calm and confident, carrying a mixture of hesitation and longing. "Do you ever wonder... what if?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with the weight of unspoken emotions. You looked at him, your heart and mind colliding in a tempest of feelings. The echoes of what might have been reverberated through your thoughts, intertwining with the present that seemed equally uncertain and full of potential.

Your response, a mirror to his vulnerability, was a whisper that held within it the uncharted territories of the heart. You put your head on his shoulder. "Every day."

𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞; 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐢'𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 🤓☝🏾𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐑𝐀𝐇𝐇𝐇𝐇𝐘𝐇𝐇 𝐍𝐄𝐔𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄 !! 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬, 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐬𝐦 (𝐢𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐟𝐮𝐥) 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 🫶🏾

𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Persephone's Devotee (Hello, Mr. Monster AU, I)

Master List

Summary: In the age of Spiritualists and magicians, wyrds winds in different ways to link Dream of the Endless and Aisling Hunt. AU of Hello, Mr. Monster beginning in the 1920s. (Alternatively titled 'We All Hate Roderick Burgess')

Warnings: Implied child abuse/neglect, child left to travel solo, manipulating children for profit (non-sexual trafficking)

A/N: Your bird just got diagnosed with a life changing chronic condition (in addition to being put back on depression meds). We'll see how this post does. Have four chapters planned. The last scene is based on personal experiences with heat exhaustion/borderline heat stroke.

Dream’s tools brought many things to Fawney Rig. Wealth and prestige. Admiration, gifts, and influence. Nearly everything the magus wanted and only a fraction of what he thought he deserved. Roderick’s dreams of power and riches drew another tool to his hand, or perhaps Destiny drew the magus to her. The girl who saw strange things in the dark and found answers to strange riddles in her cards. But her wyrd would always draw her to old house and its shrouded dungeon, in any world or time. All because of what the Burgesses kept there.

In the eight years since the fateful evening he summoned and caught one of the Endless, Roderick had become a man much desired. He found himself with an invitation to Lord and Lady Werthrope’s party, a guest of honor at a soiree at their country estate. They promised a night of occult mysteries and foreign prizes. Bits of people and places from across the empire and beyond. Mummies from Egypt and fragments of Greek antiquities to gasp and shriek over with glasses of champagne and brandy.

Roderick carried himself as Lord Werthrope’s equal, and at least for that night, surrounded by ancient mysteries of all kinds, he was seen as such. He was an expert, a guide, someone to hold in reverence rather than an oddity to gawk over. He told them with his bearing, his dignity, and the ruby he wore on a golden chain around his neck. His wishes became dreams and so became real. He stood like a stronger god beside the broken figure of Apollo and scoffed at the mistranslations of texts he’d only ever read secondhand.

Beside the wonders kept under guard at home, what were these paltry things? He could have any of them he desired, and he’d already claimed better.

His sense of superiority carried him through the party’s early hours, moving from acrobats in elaborate costumes, to fire eaters, to ghost stories and flights of fancy spun by swindlers far below his consideration. He had an answer or alternative for everything. And then he met the girl.

She sat at a bare table with no long cloth to hide rolling ankles, clever fishing lines, or knocking accomplices. Only a candle and a deck of cards separated her from the guests, and she’d drawn quite a queue. Her feet didn’t even reach the floor, swinging idly between the legs of the chair as she read the cards of a distraught-looking dandy.

Taking his arm, Lady Werthrope said, “This one you really must see, Magus. She’s made quite the splash in New York and London.”

The Magus offered a tolerant smile. “And what is the trick? Does she blow out the candle? Bend spoons?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that.” The lady practically vibrated, eager to impress as she led them to the table, scattering the line. “She sees things, and she reads fortunes like no one I’ve ever seen, and I’ve had more than a few pet psychics in my time. This one’s a bit of a sad story.”

The magus clenched his jaw until the muscle in his cheek twitched. He could make whatever sob story the girl shilled much worse. Of all the frauds and liars who feigned knowledge of the occult, Roderick Burgess hated mediums and ghost whisperers the most. The tantalizing promise of connection with Randal – always waved in his face, always ultimately denied – it clawed open the rotting wound in his heart, and he let the poison drip back on any fools who tried his patience.

Let this one try to pull the wool over his eyes, and he’d unmask her in front of this glittering audience. She’d be a penniless sad story when he was through.

“Those people,” the lady said, nodding to a couple flanking the child, “are just the adoptive parents. Saw her family murdered, poor thing. They say that’s what cracked her open to the other world.”

“Do they indeed.” He kept his smile, showing his teeth as his grip flexed over the cane in his free hand. “Then I look forward to her performance.”

The Magus and the lady sat across from the faux family, and the girl looked at them. The people who weren’t her parents did not manage her well, Burgess couldn’t help noting. They’d painted her up with rogue and kohl that made her look even more like a child playing grownup games, and the feather in her headband hung limp and lifeless. She barely managed to grimace through a smile, and she spoke with all the enthusiasm of a student reporting on Ovid to the class.

“What are you asking?” A child’s voice really shouldn’t be so dull. Now that he was nearer, the Magus couldn’t help wondering if she was even younger than he’d first assumed. Not even ten, he thought, and already so exhausted.

It wasn’t what he’d expected. He kept his guard, but curiosity stirred beneath. She was no great performer.

Lady Werthrope leaned forward, eager to take the first reading as the girl shuffled her cards. They were nearly too big for her to manage, but in this at least she clearly had much practice. Her handling of the tarot was the most natural element of her demeanor he’d yet to see.

The lady talked about her dog Moxy, a cocker spaniel much loved and terribly spoiled. It was getting on in years, and, well, ought she prepare for anything dreadful? Only, her friend had just lost her terrier, and she couldn’t chase it from her thoughts…

The cards appeared on the table. One by one. The Six of Cups. The Two of Swords. And, lastly, the Nine of Swords reversed.

“Moxy is well-loved.” The child pointed to the first card. “That’s the foundation. But she’s getting older, and she may go blind eventually. She’s accepted it, though, and you will, too.” She smiled a little, hesitantly, like a pet used to getting kicked when she barked at company. The Magus noted how her gaze flicked to her pseudo-father.

Lady Werthrope clucked and reached over to squeeze the child’s hand. “You’re very honest. And very sweet. Now, won’t you show the Magus what you can do?”

Obediently, she gathered the cards and folded the deck, shuffling them with the fresh energy of her next customer. “What do you want to know?”

Roderick considered. It was a little below him to ask anything specific of a child spiritualist, and he still meant to test her. Hate stirred the old thorn in his heart, and although she didn’t speak with ghosts to earn her bread, he didn’t need to justify himself.

“I’ll leave the question to you.” He squinted in a way that may seem affectionate, but it was only sharp, a predator focusing on little fawn to see how quickly it might run. “What do you see?”

She flinched, lifting her eyes from the cards to meet his in a fleeting, startled glance. Like he’d come near to guessing something she didn’t say out loud. But then she bent over the deck, back to her work as the woman behind her set a hand on her shoulder.

“Be good, Aisling,” the adoptive mother said. “Show the Magus your skills. Don’t embarrass us.”

The child rolled her lip between her teeth, sorting the task quickly. One card. Two cards. Three cards. Tap, tap, tap on the bare table. The Magician’s face glowed in the candle light, and Roderick blinked. A good tarot reader must have good luck in order to draw the appropriate cards – or a marked deck. But he’d watched those little hands like a hawk, and he’d seen nothing. It wasn’t definitive proof by any means, but Roderick Burgess knew himself to be cleverer than a child.

Pointing to the first card, the Magician, the girl said, “You’re the Magus. The Magician is your creation of yourself.” The second card was the Nine of Cups. “Your cups all overflow, and you enjoy the plenty you already have.” And then there was the Ace of Pentacles. Roderick wondered for a moment if she’d laid the cards out of the intended order, but she simply said, “There is new wealth coming. You’ve just found something that will bring you more good fortune. The benefits will grow in the months and years to come.”

“You’re very sure of yourself.” He looked for cracks, and there were many. Fatigue clouded her eyes and weighted the end of every sentence. Not a sign of a lie, though. She couldn’t even pretend to be happy for the audience.

He turned the interaction over in his mind through the rest of the night, wearing away the questions and presumptions like the rough edges of a stone, and by the later hours, he thought he might hold a jewel.

The adoptive parents made themselves easy to find. They hadn’t left the table. Neither had the girl. The lord and lady hired them to entertain, and they stayed at their posts. They’d gathered refreshments, but no cup or plate sat on the table, and he wondered if they had any idea children needed things like water after a long night of speaking with strangers.

Really. The scheme was too transparent. The only lies hid in any manner of affection the parents pretended for the child they claimed.

The Magus marched up to the table, rapping the top with his cane to seize the drowsy girl’s attention. She blinked, started licking her dry lips, caught herself, and pinched her mouth closed with her teeth.

“Aisling, wasn’t it?” He nodded to her, encouraging her to echo the motion. “I would like a word with you. No cards. No reading. Just a conversation. Alone.”

The father stepped forward, ready to defend his meal ticket. “Sir, I’m afraid we can’t just –”

“The girl and I will sit here, at this table,” he tapped it again to make his point, “and you will both stand over there.” The cane swung to point towards the bar, which was well within sight but well out of earshot.

When the man moved to protest again, Roderick pulled out his wallet, and the father’s mouth snapped shut. A few pounds bought the adults’ willing compliance, and they went off in search of drinks with barely a backwards glance. Roderick settled into the seat he claimed earlier, watching the girl squirm. Her hands fluttered restlessly between her lap and the table, clearly used to the cards, uneasy without the form and ritual of a reading to guide the conversation.

That was well enough. Roderick had his own plans.

He signaled one of the roving staff, and as the waiter approached, he ordered, “A lemonade for the young lady.”

With a bow, the server hurried off, and the Magus smiled, lips closed, tilting his head as his legs crossed under the table. He was not a client. He was an adult who noticed, who might be moved to care, and in the few hours of their acquaintance, he was already offering more than anyone else.

“So, you see things?”

Her eyes snapped from him to the people who managed her. Then back again, and down to her lap.

“I’m not supposed to upset people.” She picked at the fringe on the garish frock she wore – entirely unsuited to her age and clearly uncomfortable. “It upsets Mr. and Mrs. Foster when I see things. Or when I talk about them.”

The Magus nodded, unsurprised. He wondered if the people who adopted her even realized her talents were genuine when they snatched her up. They had too many connections and too much showmanship to be anything other than experienced con artists. This little Aisling must be very sensitive, and the truly sensitive didn’t see strictly good, kind, or encouraging things. How she must terrify the fools.

The server returned with a cut crystal glass rattling with ice. The girl thanked the server, then thanked her benefactor, and wrapped her hands around the condensation-slicked sides. She sipped carefully, and Roderick could see the tension ease from her posture as she drank. Desperate as she was, she didn’t gulp, and with clear regret, she set the drink on the table still two-thirds full. But she kept her hands on the glass, lest some waiter assume she was finished and spirit it away.

“I won’t be upset, and I’d like to believe you.” Angling his head down to peer at her meaningfully, employing a look he’d once used when his son misbehaved, he asked, “What have you seen tonight that would upset people?”

The girl looked around, shifting so her chair creaked. This time, it wasn’t her adoptive parents she feared. Any ears may be a threat. When she leaned in, the Magus copied her, silently assuring her the secret would be safe with him.

“There’s a guest who’s not a guest, and he isn’t a man, either.”

The Magus hummed. “Say I believe you. Could you prove it?”

Seduced into the invitation of an adult confidant, and revived by the lemonade, she rushed to answer. She wanted to prove herself. She wanted to be believed and heard. The Magus was listening, and he was beginning to believe as well.

“The man paid the footman with holly leaves,” she hissed in a loud whisper. “The footman folded them like bank notes, and the spines stabbed his palms, but he didn’t notice. Look for the one with blood on his gloves.”

“And the man who isn’t a man?”

Shrinking back, the girl shook her head until the headband went crooked. Her hand pressed over her heart, rubbing hard circles as her face creased.

“He’d know I saw him,” she said. “I don’t let them know I see them anymore.”

Now there was a tale and no mistake. A child with enough power to annoy things beyond the veil – one that survived an encounter – was rare indeed.

“What happened?” He lent his tone a shade of concern. Facts, he found, traveled swiftest to a sympathetic ear, and he needed to know everything. Curiosity was growing into practical fervor as the first dreams of a plan grew into place. “Are you ill?”

She crumbled just a little bit more, folding into herself to protect the place she rubbed from some invisible threat. “Sometimes I see things that don’t want to be seen. One of them – hurt me. There’s no scar, but it hurt me, and now it aches.”

The Magus donned a solemn expression, though he felt a thrill at the prospect sitting before him. The little girl had unusual skills, and though she wasn’t handled well by the adults governing her, they must still turn a pretty penny showing her in salons and private homes. He’d confirm what she’d said, of course, validate her little proof, but she was either a better liar than he’d ever met or she was childishly honest. He knew where he’d put his money.

Where he might very well invest it, actually.

He didn’t say goodbye, only nodding as he rose and went in search of the servant with bloody gloves.

Of course, he found him. When he demanded to see what the footman had in his pockets, the boy paled, stammering excuses, only to pull out a handful of forest detritus. As the young man fell into a whirl of confusion and disappointment, the Magus truly smiled. The first real smile since Lady Werthrope brought him to the child’s table.

He must have a proper conversation with the girl’s current guardians.

Aisling clung to her bag, drowning in the heat as the train pulled away from the Wych Cross platform. Men and women fanned themselves with hats and newspapers, desperate for a breeze in the dead summer stillness. Ladies shed their gloves. Men loosened their ties. Propriety mattered less when the air was trying to suffocate them, a crushing, inescapable oven scalding the usually damp countryside.

A miserable day to travel.

Sweat dripped down her back, soaking the neck of her dress, gluing her hair to her skin. But she didn’t have a free hand to stir a breeze. Her bag was too heavy, full of everything she would need in her new home, or at least everything the Fosters thought they couldn’t sell for a profit. Mrs. Foster took her to the train station and dropped her at the door.

“Here’s your ticket. You’re heading to Wych Cross, and then to Fawney Rig. Don’t forget, and don’t miss your train,” she’d said. Then she climbed back into the cab beside Mr. Foster and disappeared into the flow of London traffic.

They’d sold her on to someone else, and now they were free of her.

She peered around the station, but it was really just a platform. In London, there were helpful adults in uniforms and suits who pointed out the right train and the right stairs to reach it. Nothing here told her how to find Fawney Rig, though, and the only adult in a uniform seemed to be the man in the ticket booth.

She’d find her way. She wasn’t a baby after all. She was eight. And she could read very well, and no one was coming to help her, so she better figure it out.

She stood in line for the ticket man’s attention. Surely, he could give her directions. The Magus was rich, and a little famous, she thought, so his neighbors must know where he lived. If the man in the booth didn’t know, she’d keep asking until she found someone who did. While she waited her turn, she set down her suitcase and sat on it, taking deep breaths that tasted like salt. It could be worse. What if it rained instead? Well. Actually. Rain sounded very nice.

Soon enough, she took her place in front of the booth, and the man frowned under his mustache like she’d arrived with a bill or a letter from someone nasty. She smiled prettily, the way the Fosters told her to, and tried to make herself look like less of a problem as she clutched her case again.

“Excuse me,” she said, “but do you know the way to Fawney Rig?”

He physically recoiled, and his frown hooked deeper with glowering doubt as he scanned her. “Fawney Rig? That devil worshiper’s house? Why do you want to know?”

“I’ve been sent to live there, sir. I’m expected, but I don’t think they’ve sent anyone for me.” Manners made things easier with adults. Good manners and clear words – the fewer the better.

But the man wasn’t swayed. He looked thunderous. Like she’d broken something valuable and ought to pay for it with a lashing.

“Do you have money for a cab?”

The Fosters didn’t own her anymore, and they’d given her nothing but cards, and costumes, and a hairbrush. All the cash stayed warm and safe in their pockets.

“No, sir.”

“Then walk down the main road. Go east from the village, and keep going until there are no more houses you can see from the street. There’ll be a path on the left with a big iron gate. Follow that and you’ll find your devil worshipers.” He waved her off like he’d slap her if not for the glass. “Next!”

Manners got her what she needed, at least. “Thank you.”

The other adults all moved aside as she trundled through with her case. It made it easier to avoid clipping ankles and shins with her luggage, but she wondered if they hated her the way the ticket man hated her – because of Fawney Rig – or if she simply smelled after the long, stuffy ride in third class. Not that adults needed an excuse to dislike her. The nice ones called her uncanny and gifted. The mean ones called her a witch, and a bastard devil-spawn, and other names a mother should wash out of their mouths with soap.

She wasn’t sure which ones were telling the truth.

She knew the way forward, though. To Fawney Rig. That was good, even if the other adults didn’t think so. The Magus may not be a nice person, she hadn’t known him long enough for the usual adult lies to wear thin enough to see through, but he was smarter than the Fosters, and he’d given her a lemonade, so maybe she wouldn’t be as hungry or thirsty under his guardianship. She’d still have to work. Adults only wanted her if they thought she could give them something. But everything was more bearable with a good dinner and cold drinks.

She hoped he’d give her another cold drink, even water with some ice, when she reached his home. The train ride left her terribly thirsty.

Leaving the shaded platform, she bowed away from the sun’s violent touch and started on her journey. The village only kept a cobbled road in the center of town. It led up to the train station, linking it to a clutch of shops and offices. A parish church sat a little way back from the road, separated from the secular world by a field of tidy tombstones in heat-bleached grass. People noticed her. They looked. They whispered to each other. But no one waved or offered a hand. Gossip didn’t move fast enough to beat her here from the train, and she wondered how people could tell she was odd. Society had so many rules beyond manners, but no one would tell her what they were, and she never guessed right.

By the time the cobblestones ended, she was struggling to hold onto her suitcase. The handle kept trying to slip from her fingers, even when she held it with both hands, and she had to work harder and harder to keep it out of the dirt. If she knew anything about the world, it was that good children didn’t drag their luggage, and bad things happened to those that did. She’d travelled enough to learn, and she wanted to make a good impression on her new keeper and his household.

The road outside of town went a very, very long way. The ticket seller’s instructions made each step sound the same length: go through town, pass the houses, go down the long drive past the gates. Her imagination had lied to her, though. Every time she thought she’d passed the last house, there came another. Each handed her down the chain of cottage gardens and small homes full of families who pretended not to see. They all knew she’d done something, like she had a brand on her forehead, and she wasn’t allowed to stop. She didn’t try to.

Everything looked sickly yellow in the midday glare. Dust hung in the air, stirred by passing cars, lingering without a breath of wind to dispel the choking clouds. Everything looked flat and dead, so much so she almost missed the gate. Another leg of her trek done. Still too far to go, and the private road leading to the Magus’ home was longer than it had any right to be.

She didn’t feel well. The trees gave her a little protection, but her stomach and lungs felt hard, strained, the way her arms ached with carrying her suitcase. Only they were parts that shouldn’t feel that way, and she thought maybe she should sit down.

But she was almost there.

Even if she walked slowly, and her feet didn’t land quite where she told them to.

She just wouldn’t think about those things. Complaining was just making excuses, and she was expected.

The house appeared out of nowhere, or she was too dizzy to see it through the leaves before the last turn in the drive. It loomed, a very final-looking destination, and her suitcase escaped her grasp. The case was slippery, and her fingers didn’t curl the way they should. She bent to pick it up, and when she straightened, the whole world spun.

She stood very still until it stopped, and she found herself shivering as she approached the front door. Very strange. Was she afraid? No. That didn’t sound right. She felt terrible, too terrible to worry, and none of it made sense.

But she’d nearly made it. She had made it. Almost.

Knocking summoned a young man, and the door creaked open as he glanced down with a quizzical expression. “Hello? Can I help you?”

She tried holding her suitcase with just one hand, but it slipped away again, barely missing her foot. Maybe a handshake was a bad idea. The stranger hadn’t held his hand out for a shake, after all. She was just confused. He might not want to touch her. And she must look a picture after her walk.

She should’ve done something differently. If she were smarter, or taller, or…

“I’m Aisling Hunt, sir. The Magus sent for me.”

“Oh.” The young man’s eyes popped wider, and she wondered if he was younger than she thought at first. Stepping back, he pulled open the door to usher her inside. “I’m sorry. I’d heard someone was coming, but I’d thought you’d be… well, older. And I’m just Alex.”

“Nice to meet you, Alex. I’m Aisling.”

He nodded and plucked her bag from where she’d dropped it. “Yes. You said. Are you feeling alright?”

She didn’t know. And grownups didn’t really like it when she was unwell anyway. Before she could come up with a suitable lie that would get her what she needed without stepping on any toes, a familiar face appeared at the end of the hall.

“Ah! You made it.” Out of formal dress, the Magus still brimmed with authority. Aisling had met many adults who wore costumes and pretended to be something they weren’t, but the Magus seemed like he’d somehow stitched his chosen persona into his skin. “Welcome to Fawney Rig.”

She wobbled. “Thank you, sir.”

“Magus,” he corrected.

“Thank you, Magus, sir.”

At last, what he was seeing overshadowed his enthusiasm, and the old man frowned. “Did you walk here? From the station?”

“Yes, Magus.”

“The Fosters didn’t even give you money for a fucking cab?”

“Just the train ticket, sir. Magus.”

She blinked, and the whole room turned blue, like peering at the world through stained glass. It looked so pretty she didn’t realize the Magus was asking her another question until his hand settled on her shoulder.

His voice came from far away. “Can you hear me?”

Yes, she wanted to say. Yes, Magus, I walked, and I found Fawney Rig all on my own, and I’m not useless, please don’t throw me away yet.

But everything looked cool, and blue, and lovely. She was floating in it. Floating and so awfully heavy at the same time. The color slipped in with her breath, eroding her control until it slipped from her grasp like the suitcase had.

The world went dark, and she didn’t see, hear, or say anything more.

And deep below, in the belly of the house, Dream of the Endless waited in his cage, as senseless to the world above as she.

[wyked-ao3]

Hellooooooooooo my dear ,

I'd like to know what are the inspirations for TPKODR.

I know that is a big project and something that you had in mind for several years.

What was for you the first idea, input, the origin of it?

If there is one, or multiple ones

Thank you!!

so I suppose I'll go more in depth this time...

The pirate's cursed god series (TPCG) started at least to me as a fantasy world which is why the fae might be just a little more developed lore wise than the pirates...at times.

TPKODR was the missing link of how to start it all—so I was not tossing people into the deep end of the lore.

My fascination with mythology and pirates is probably what inspired most of it that didn't come to me in nightmares and or odd dreams caused by fevers...

The spirit fae and the gods were the first to be created in a way...then came alo g the earth and fire fae...air and water were the last to be made really culturally wise.

What exactly was the first idea...of the series well it's been scrapped as it didn't work so well with everything else going on and that was the tree people being a more active participant of the story. Yeah I couldn't figure out how to blend the lore and that smoothly without throwing a it's magic with no explanation so it was the first part to be erased as I wrote the first book.. eventually y'all will get to meet a few but they don't like to wander to far from the places they live.

Braith, Jade, Adoh, Solace and Kieran (some were recently named) were my first OC's to come to me a bit over seven years ago...but some of the lore was created well before that lol.

the shadow realm was the next part crafted along with the swords.. and then the crafting of my own twist on the Davy Jones lore.

A lot of the lore was crafted when I was in a mythology phase (I haven't left that one btw) but sometimes it will have symbolism that has to do with trees or fae or herbology....

I hope that answered your ask and here is a bonus answer

What inspired me to write my original story versus just letting the story remain in my head to be tweaked to death when I was bored or trying to go to sleep.....well that would be the friends I made while writing fanfiction... You @gioiaalbanoart as well as @lillybaaaka and @the-golden-comet along with several others who will be acknowledged in the dedication... Y'all inspired me to give it a try— especially when y'all were actually interested in the few plot points I mentioned ....y'all were kind and supportive even when it was some subpar fanfiction that I was writing and each of you have taught me something different that has helped pave the way. 🫂

So In a way the fanfiction writing led to this ... It taught me a lot even if I'm still pretty far from good especially with run on and fragmented sentences and I still probably overuse dialogue tags (I have acknowledged that's a weak point for me)

But we each have our own journey and process to writing and I think all author's are learning something new as the go.

A special thanks to my beta readers for pointing out things I was blind too mainly due to knowing everything that happens or what I meant by a line...🫂

Honestly I never really intended to write it out...but alas here we are and to save people some sanity I broke it up into the main storyline being 4 books versus it being one book about 2000pages long 0_o (my brain hurts at the thought of editing that)

Tagging the tag list Incase they were curious

@thatuselesshuman @gioiaalbanoart @lychhiker-writes @thecomfywriter @evilwriter37

@saebasanart @the-golden-comet @mauannacreates @kind-lion @alinacapellabooks

@kuebiko-writing @kaeru483 @theink-stainedfolk @unstableunicornsofasgard @mysticstarlightduck

@demon-sneeze @fromthenortheast @smellyrottentrees @honeybewrites @the-letterbox-archives

@illarian-rambling @paeliae-occasionally @leahpardo-pa-potato

[theoihalioistuff]

Natural 'Love Remedies' in the lanscapes of ancient greek myths. Part I: The White Rock

Sorry for the long post in advance, there are too many references and too much scholarly discussion to make a short snappy post. I abridged as much as I could :)

The White Rock is first mentioned in passing in the Odyssey, as part of the westward journey that the shades of the suitors undertake as they're led to to the underworld:

And they passed by the streams of Okeanos and the White Rock [Λευκάδα πέτρην] and past the Gates of the Sun and the District of Dreams. (Od. 24. 11-12)

This passage has at first glance little thematic relevance to the rest of the attestations to come (if you're interested in theories see further reading below), but I'd be remiss not to mention this first source for a "White Rock". The rest or these sources refer specifically to the White Rock of the island of Leukas (the Leukadian Rock), which was said to have the property of relieving the lovesick from their passion. According to Menander (in Fragment 258 quoted in Stabo's Geography):

It contains the temple of Apollo Leucatas, and also the 'Leap', which was believed to put an end to the longings of love. As Menander says, "Where Sappho is said to have been the first, when through frantic longing she was chasing the haughty Phaon, to fling herself with a leap from the far-seen rock, calling upon thee in prayer, O lord and master". Now although Menander says that Sappho was the first to take the leap, those who are better versed than he in antiquities say that it was Cephalus, the son of Deïoneus, who was in love with Pterelas. (Strab. 10.2.9)

Strabo is presumably quoting Menander's lost play The Leukadia. Unrelated to love but still interesting, Strabo continues:

It was an ancestral custom among the Leucadians, every year at the sacrifice performed in honor of Apollo, for some criminal to be flung from this rocky look-out for the sake of averting evil, wings and birds of all kinds being fastened to him, since by their fluttering they could lighten the leap, and also for a number of men, stationed all round below the rock in small fishing-boats, to take the victim in, and, when he had been taken on board* (alternatively: resuscitated), to do all in their power to get him safely outside their borders. (Strab. 10.2.9 continued) ~~ This might be seen as somewhat paralleling Pausanias 10.32.6 for those who are curious.

According to Wilamowitz 1913 (again see further reading below), Menander chose for his play a setting that was known for its exotic cult practice involving a white rock, and conflated it in the quoted passage with a literary theme likewise involving a white rock. There are two surviving attestations of this theme, in which falling off the white rock is apparently a metaphor for fainting (due to lust and wine respectively):

One more time taking off in the air, down from the White Rock into the dark waves do I dive, intoxicated with lust. (Anacreon PMG 370)

I would be crazy not to give all the herds of the Cyclopes in return for drinking one cup [of that wine] and throw myself from the White Rock into the brine, once I am intoxicated, with eyebrows relaxed. Whoever is not happy when he drinks is crazy. (Euripides Cyclops 163-168)

Sappho's legendary (and unfortunately fatal) leap off the Leucadian Rock to relieve herself of her love for the handsome Phaon (a figure that deserves a post of their own) is found also in Ovid's Heroines:

Here, when, weeping, I laid down my weary limbs, a Naiad stood before my eyes. She stood there and said: ‘Since you burn with the fires of injustice, Ambracia’s the land to be sought by you. Apollo on the heights watches the open sea: summoning the people of Actium and Leucadia. Here Deucalion, fired by love of Pyrrha, cast himself down and struck the sea without harming his body. Without delay love turned and fled from his slowly sinking breast: Deucalion was eased of his passion. The place obeys that law. Seek out the Leucadian height right away, and don’t be afraid to leap from the rock! (Ov. Her. 15. 165–220)

Finally, according to the mythographer Ptolemy Chennos (know for his bizarre stories) as quoted by Photius in his Library:

Those who leapt off the cliff are said to have freed themselves from erotic desire. And this is the story that lies behind it: it is said that, after the death of Adonis, Aphrodite wandered about in search of him until she found him in the city of Argos in Cyprus in the sanctuary of Apollo Erithios. She carried him away [for a funeral], having told Apollo about her love for Adonis. Apollo took her to the Leucadic Rock and ordered her to jump off the cliff. As she leapt, she freed herself of her love. They say that when she inquired about the reason, Apollo replied that as a seer he knew that whenever Zeus felt desire for Hera, he would come to the rock, sit there and free himself from the desire. Many other men and women who suffered from lovesickness got rid of it when they jumped off that cliff. (Photius Bibliotheca. 152-153. Bekker)

What follows is a long list of people who are said to have jumped off said cliff, some surviving while others not (in any case, quite darkly, all were relieved of their passions). Notably Sappho, the most celebrated leaper, is not mentioned.

The fact that Zeus is mentioned as only sitting on the rock and not hurling himself from it is interesting. Nagy 1990 (see below) notes the similarities between the Leucadic Rock and the "proverbially white" Thoríkios pétros ‘Leap Rock’ of Attic Kolonos (Sophocles Oedipus at Colonus). He also notes the double etymology of "Thoríkios" as derivable from the noun thorós ‘semen’ (e.g. Herodotus 2.93.1) as well as of the verb thrṓiskō ‘leap’ (which can also have the side-meaning ‘mount, fecundate’ e.g. Aeschylus Eumenides 600), and connects it with one of the myths that is said to have taken place on this mountain:

Others say that, in the vicinity of the rocks at Athenian Kolonos, he [Poseidon], falling asleep, had an emission of semen, and a horse Skúphios came out, who is also called Skīrōnítēs. (Scholia to Lycophron 766)

Poseidon Petraîos [= of the rocks] has a cult among the Thessalians … because he, having fallen asleep at some rock, had an emission of semen; and the earth, receiving the semen, produced the first horse, whom they called Skúphios. (Scholia tο Pindar Pythian 4.246)

According to Bednarek 2019 (see below), in view of Ptolemy’s humorous intentions in his collection of weird narratives, the story becomes a sort of "sophomoric riddle": What cure does Zeus have to administer "repeatedly" (εὶ ἐρῶν … ἐκαθέζετο καὶ ἀνεπαύετο), while sitting down, presumably alone and in secrecy, that clearly only provides a temporary relief, and provides an aitiological name for the White Rock, to free himself from his desire?

All this long-winded post just to make a fucking joke about Zeus having a wank. Worth it.

~~ Cape Lefkatas

Secondary Sources and Futher Reading (these are only the ones I mentioned in this post, apparently there's a lot to say on the subject):

Greek Mythology and Poetics, Gregory Nagy 1990. Ch. 9. Phaethon, Sappho’s Phaon, and the White Rock of Leukas: “Reading” the Symbols of Greek Lyric. https://chs.harvard.edu/chapter/chapter-9-phaethon-sapphos-phaon-and-the-white-rock-of-leukas-reading-the-symbols-of-greek-lyric-pp-223-262/

Levaniouk, Olga. 2011. Eve of the Festival: Making Myth in Odyssey 19. Hellenic Studies Series 46. Washington, DC: Center for Hellenic Studies https://chs.harvard.edu/chapter/17-penelope-and-the-penelops/

Bednarek, Bartłomiej. “Zeus on the Leucadic Rock. White magic of an obscene passage in Ptolemy Chennos.” Acta Classica 62 (2019): 219–27. https://www.jstor.org/stable/26945053.

Sappho und Simonides, Untersuchungen über griechische Lyriker by Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, 1913

[madameevil]

HUGE VEILGUARD "Regrets of The Dread Wolf" QUEST COMPLETE SPOILERS

Things learned & my thoughts/interpretations

1. The first elves were spirits given physical form by stealing/using lyrium (Titan blood).

- Explains why Elven magic is different.

- Explains references to spirit or demons in prominent elf names.

- Explains how Mythal body hopped her way through the ages.

2. The Titan's took their blood being stolen (rightfully so) as a threat and war broke out between the Elves and Titans. Solas crafted the first lyrium dagger at Mythal's request to sever the Titan's from their emotions and dreams (like making them tranquil??). However in doing so the Titans became crazed or maddened. This act created the first blight as the maddened Titan's blood infected others.

- Explains dwarves disconnect from the fade/dreams

- Explains disappearance of The Titans

- Explains red lyrium

3. After their victory, some Evanuris began to use the blight for their own benefit. While not directly stated, I almost wonder if in doing so this led to their corruption. Possibly some metaphor about the influence of outsiders corrupting a culture. Unsure. Needs more thoughts. It seems like their hunger for power grew after this. Solas warns Mythal. Mythal talks to the Evanuris and is killed. Solas rebels fully and after much fighting, Solas performs a ritual using the lives of the Evanuris themselves (blood magic??) to trap them within their own palace alongside the blight their previous war unleashed. We also know something went wrong. The Veil wasn't supposed to cut off everything just serve as a prison.

- Explains what the golden city was ( Ancient Elven palace turned prison)

- Explains why it was blackened (Trapped in with the blight. When the Magister's broke through they created a small pinhole for the blight to escape as well as some pieces of other influences.)

This is really interesting because it directly contradicts how the Andrastian faith sees it. It's an example of how the faith interpreted something utilizing their own biases and erased or masked another culture's history at the same time. (Honestly fucked up but this happens A WHOLE LOT IRL as well)

4. Mythal's essence that was body hopping in Flemeth was absorbed by Solas (power wise) the fragment remaining did seek shelter in Morrigan. There is another piece out in the Crossroads from when she was struck down originally that's been trapped.

I don't know how it will fully play out but this answers a lot of questions that have been plaguing the game series. While not perfect, I do enjoy all of this lore finally connecting what we've been slowly uncovering for years.

Let me know if I clearly missed something or you interpreted something differently!

[8bitsupervillain]

Higurashi When They Cry Hou Ch. 8 Matsuribayashi pt. 66

I guess we’ll see if this is the second part of my prolonged essay about how I feel characters get done dirty in the finale.

But the thing about the idea that she’s ruining the work of Hifumi Takano is the fact that that is blatantly untrue. There was a letter, note, journal entry in Minagoroshi where Hifumi basically begs Takano to make something of herself, to attain godhood by her own hands. To achieve some level of influence or fame because of the fact that he failed so completely in his own life.

I have to say, I like it when the console art has unique screens like this. Sure it’s not a great event, the abuse of Miyoko Tanashi, but I think it conveys her fraying mental state really effectively.

I do believe that this confirms it, Miyo Takano is indeed on the higher end of the Hinamizawa Syndrome. It doesn’t say it outright, but if you’ll recall one of the symptoms of the syndrome is a sense of persecution. I would like to point to the above and ask what is that if not confirmation and an example of Takano’s own persecution complex?

I don’t wish to appear wishy-washy but you could certainly use Hinamizawa Syndrome as a justification for why Takano seems to be acting so wildly out of sorts. In a way it’s the only explanation that makes sense, there are even parallels to Rena’s extreme symptoms from when her parents divorced. Ever since she received the news that the government was shutting down the Irie Institute Takano has acted more and more frantic about her dreams falling to pieces.

This dialogue towards the end of the screenshots make me wonder what exactly is communicating with Takano. Initially I presumed it was an entity similar to Hanyuu, some other cosmic being that is in opposition to Hanyuu and Rika’s struggles. There were vague implications earlier in the chapter, and towards to the end of Minagoroshi that there was something that was opposing them. There is one person who it could be, and that’s the Rika from the Fragments, the one who identifies themselves as Frederica Bernkastel. I have some theories as to why I think that its her, but I won’t get into them for now. The primary reason I think that it’s her is because of the fact that in the flashbacks an otherworldly voice saved Takano from dying when she made her escape from the orphanage. Then she led her to the phone booth that allowed her to call Hifumi and set all of this in motion. The only other option is that there is another of Hanyuu’s “demonic” kin that has survived and is secretly aiding Takano in her plans against Hanyuu. But the series has to this point never alluded to the idea of any of these other demons being alive so take it with a grain of salt, and also don’t look at the box art for Higurashi Hou +.

You gotta commit yourself Takano, can’t do things by halves.

It’s just the worst being stuck in a room with no fans or anything during the hot summer months. I get headaches from the heat so it’s sheer agony being stuck in a slightly above room temperature room, head pounding while time just seems to crawl. I can only imagine it’s worse doing exercises of any sort in a room with no means to cool off, or ventilation.

It struck me just now that for everything that’s about to happen in the story it all is going to be happening within a relatively small amount of time. Altogether, maybe about twelve hours. That’s something that’s always a bit difficult for me to reconcile with, the sense of time in a given narrative work. For all of its faults 24 had the decency to let you know pretty precisely when, and how long an event is in the narrative.

[meowcats734]

[Soulmage] Alchemy is possible; but instead of turning lead into gold, you can only turn gold into lead.

Soulmage

The only sapient Demon of Empathy in the Redlands closed their eyes and thought of death. Ever since they'd merged with their siblings, Odin had found the near-constant sleet of new empathy-charged soul fragments rather distracting, and so they'd learned to tune out the noise. Now, however, they needed to perform their daily ritual of sorting through their soul for anything of value, and burning off the rest. It was a hallucinogenic, disorienting, hours-long task, but it was necessary nonetheless.

Odin did not sleep, but today, they dreamed.

"Caw," I said, ruffling my feathers, and Astrenn giggled as I tried to cheer her up. The flowers shifted in the breeze.

The snow cave was unbearably hot, my skin feverish despite the crust of ice, and I huddled into my fellow soldier's body. I could tell from the tension in his gritted jaw that he was burning up too, his body gone haywire as he died in the frost.

I winked at Kino as I stabbed the crude puppet of Cienne, then held its impaled body over the fire. He guffawed, and I slapped his shoulder in companionship as we planned the death of a hated man.

Odin furrowed their brow. Ah, that would be the outcome of Iola's battle with Cienne. Despite the sponsorship of the Outside, it seemed as though being outnumbered four to one had evened the odds between Iola and Cienne. Odin quested deeper into the memory fragment, pushing at its boundaries; reluctantly, the shard complied, cracking from the strain as Odin rewound it to its beginning.

"Catch," Kino said, tossing me a bundle of cloth. My head snapped up, trailing droplets of flesh, as I snatched it from the air and unfolded it, scowling.

"This had better be good, Kino," I growled. "I just spent two days in the Plane of Elemental Antimagic, and I am pissed. If this is another one of your inane..." I trailed off as I saw what he'd made.

An effigy of the only man to best me.

My face split in a wide humber as I turned towards Kino. "Oh, Kino, you shouldn't have! You know me too well. This is just what I needed to have some real fun. You sly rascal, c'mere." I extended my arms and gave Kino a wide-open hug. After a moment, I withdrew, turning my dorceless eyes towards the unsuspecting doll.

"Gotcha," I whispered with a squelch, and in the corner, Kino mimicked the panicked scream of a stuck-up poacher getting what he deserved.

Odin peeled back from the memory, grimacing. They would have to pore over that memory later in detail—if nothing else, to determine what it was like to feel those eldritch emotions—but for now, they had more important things to deal with. Iola was dead, and slain by their actions; perhaps in times of peace, Odin would have spent the decades necessary to find that core of a good person that they believed all people had within them, but for now, there were other matters to attend to.

Other souls to save.

It took another twelve hours for Odin to sort through the last few weeks of memories, but once they had carefully funneled the useful ones into safe sections of their soul, they compacted the rest into their metabolic core, where they would be burned to sustain Odin's existence over the next month or so.

When they opened their eyes, they found a stack of neatly-aligned papers waiting for them. Ah, that would be the research division's daily report. Odin sifted through it—marginal progress on all fronts, as they'd expected. The breakthrough in creating attunements had led to a flurry of new discoveries, but research progressed slowly, and a day's worth of verified findings was still small enough to fit comfortably in a hand-sized pamphlet. The properties of the Plane of Elemental Falsehood were still being tested; nobody could identify what the strange substance that wood turned into was, but it appeared that gold became lead and snow became cotton under the strange transformation that was the power of insecurity. 

More mundane results also featured in the research pamphlet. A mixture of various acids appeared to have the bizarre ability to corrode gold in realspace; the chemistry department was still uncertain if it could be reproduced in soulspace, but with the infinity of possibilities that had sprung from their discovery that attunements could be combined, it seemed likely that they would find a reaction pathway eventually.

Odin found it endlessly amusing that Cienne had independently reached that discovery himself, only a few days after Odin's dedicated research team had found it. If they hadn't been forced by the pressures of wartime to burn that bridge, they might have considered pushing harder to recruit Cienne—but they'd done the poor boy enough harm. Better to let him live his life, free of the horrors of war.

Then again, Odin supposed that they shouldn't have been surprised at Cienne's pace of innovation. The boy was a student of the Silent Academy, after all—and despite all their flaws, they were an institute of higher education. Odin's primary objective in freeing the students of the Silent Academy was moral in nature, but they had to admit that formally-educated researchers with standardized methodologies had drastically sped up the pace at which the Order of Valhalla could develop new spells and technologies.

Which had... worrying implications for how much further ahead of them the Silent Peaks' level of advancement truly was. Had their experiments with Eldritch emotions truly come from Outside? Or... worse, had they discovered them independently?

Perhaps today would bring answers. Odin finished reading the summary of today's progress, committing it to memory, and sighed. It was time for the part of the day they dreaded most.

It was time for today's Three Truths.

Odin stood from their desk, pushing in the chair as an afterthought, and exited their office, stepping into the main atrium. They weren't stupid enough to keep their Truthteller in their main base of operations, but the research team assigned here had gotten large enough that some construction was warranted. At the very least, Odin mused, the past five decades had seen some favorable amenities crop up. Odin had no need to eat—their body was maintained solely by the synchronization between their soul and realspace—but they appreciated how the research staff had somewhere to sit and eat while they took breaks. 

There was no secret entrance, no elaborate maze, no over-the-top security guarding the Truthteller. The only defenses Odin employed were a warding scheme to prevent scrying and the undying loyalty of their staff; they had even made sure that every moment spent with the Truthteller was as charged with empathy as possible, so that no memories of what laid within would leak even in death. Each one of the researchers here had once been lost, wayward children; each one, Odin had saved and raised as if they were their own. If Odin had strayed so far from the path of empathy that their own loved ones could be tempted into being traitors, then Odin deserved to be betrayed. That was all the insurance they needed.

Even before opening the door politely marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY, Odin knew what they would see. It had been the work of a century and a half to assemble the Truthteller, although much of that was spent puzzling out the hints the Outsiders wove into the fabric of the cosmos.

Of all things, it was the memory of a shaman that had tipped Odin off to the irregularity in the stars. Odin supposed that it made sense—the Redlander communities that had lived here two centuries ago put great cultural emphasis on starwatching—but they were still frustrated with themself for not noticing the patterns in how the stars flickered earlier. It had taken another four years of concerted thought to discover the simplest pattern of the lot, and the first hint that greater forces were at play.

Because the stars encoded messages.

The easiest one to figure out had been how Persei spelled out the first twenty prime numbers, over and over and over again. Odin still looked up at the night sky every now and then to check on it. Ahmael and Tanryn, may the arrogant old man who named the stars after himself rest in peace, worked together to establish three-dimensional coordinates. Van's enigmatic light extended those coordinates from realspace to thoughtspace. Hampern, Lorn, and Quie used those coordinates to describe emotional planes. From emotions, it was trivial to reach materials; from coordinates, it was as easy as breathing to make shapes.

Odin was no great scientific genius, but they were an immortal presented with a mystery they could not crack. Twenty years of curious chipping later, they determined what the stars were saying.

They were a blueprint. And they were telling Odin—and anyone else who listened—to make a machine.

Odin opened the door to the basement and beheld the Truthteller.

Nobody had the slightest idea how it worked. From realspace, it looked like a massive metal dish, connected to a complex tangle of levers and wires. In thoughtspace, it spanned twenty-seven different emotional planes, each containing various offshoots of the Truthteller's machinery. Most worryingly, in soulspace, it was undeniably alive.

Half a century ago, when the final gear had been slotted into place, the machine had immediately reconfigured itself, offering a series of puzzles in binary that eventually culminated in the Truthteller comprehending their language. Upon the final binary puzzle's solution, the Truthteller spoke for the very first time.

"CONGRATULATIONS. YOU ARE THE FIFTH. KNOWLEDGE WILL BE REWARDED. YOU HAVE THREE ATTEMPTS PER DAY."

The experimentation that had followed was hasty, and Odin was still not certain that they understood all of the Truthteller's rules. But they understood enough.

The researchers in the room gave Odin polite, tense nods. Dathenn raised her eyebrow as Odin entered.

"Here for the Three Truths?" she asked. Rhetorically, of course. There was nothing else to be here for.

In response, Odin simply nodded.

"Don't expect anything big," Dathenn warned. 

"You always live up to my expectations," Odin said. "And my expectations are always grand."

Dathenn gave Odin a warm smile before turning to the Truthteller. She pulled a lever, and the machine made a polite cough in response.

"Truthteller," Dathenn said. "Are you ready?"

"OF COURSE."

"Very well. The first of the truths we have to offer is this." Dathenn consulted her notes. "Gold can be dissolved in a mixture of gastric acid, and acid of saltpeter."

The Truthteller hummed in response. "THIS TRUTH... IS KNOWN TO US."

Dathenn nodded to herself. "Thank you, Truthteller." It was unknowable whether or not the Truthteller had a concept of politeness, but it had become something of a superstition in the decades since its construction. Nobody wanted to be the one to anger the unfathomable machine, after all. "The second of the truths we have to offer is this. Gold can be transmuted to lead through the application of Elemental Falsehood."

"THIS TRUTH... IS KNOWN TO US," the machine repeated.

Dathenn began to speak, but Odin held up a finger.

"Truthteller," Odin said, "I would like to offer you a third truth."

The researchers in the room shared confused glances, but nobody spoke up. 

"SPEAK," the Truthteller said.

"You have been assisting the Silent Peaks, as fair recompense for their developments in magic and science," Odin began.

"THIS TRUTH... IS KNOWN TO—"

"But," Odin interrupted, "the Silent Peaks are a political and ideological enemy of ours, whom we are at war with. Your assistance of them has impeded our ability to gain scientific and magical knowledge, which is at odds with your stated goals," Odin calmly stated.

Silence fell in the chamber of the Truthteller.

"THIS TRUTH... IS NOT KNOWN TO US," the Truthteller finally admitted.

"Then as recompense for my knowledge, I would like to claim a reward."

"...PROCEED."

"You have recently granted the Silent Peaks the ability to convert ordinary witches into eldritch beings of extreme power," Odin said. "I wish to know how to turn them back."

The Truthteller hummed to itself, considering the request.

Then it spoke.

"IT IS KNOWN THAT SOULS ARE INDESTRUCTIBLE. IT IS ALSO KNOWN THAT MEMORIES ARE CONSUMED TO SUSTAIN THE EXISTENCE OF SOULSPACE ENTITIES. HOW, THEN, IS THE PARADOX RESOLVED?"

Odin glanced at Dathenn, who was already studiously taking notes, then back at the Truthteller. "This truth is not known to us," Odin diplomatically said.

"THEN ANSWER ME THIS. I HAVE ASSESSED YOUR KNOWLEDGE OF REALSPACE AND THOUGHTSPACE, AND FOUND IT SUFFICIENT FOR YOU TO COMPREHEND THIS EXERCISE. SO INFORM ME. WHAT DO YOU KNOW OF SOULSPACE?"

And Odin smiled, for at last they were given a question to which they knew the answer.

A.N.

Soulmage is a serial written in response to writing prompts. Stick around for more episodes, or join my Discord to chat about it!

This prompt was written by my Patreons! To get episodes ahead of time, or if you want to write me a prompt, check my Patreon out here.

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[curiousechoo]

It took me to notice I haven’t uploaded Echō’s allspark almanac yet, as well as share more info on her. So I might as well rn! Feel free to give questions or anything else! ^^

rrra (credits for tea with the into: she’s a big help :>)

I’m planning to make more along with another character I’m developing on, but for now have my blurbo! I can’t wait to work more with her in the future!

Small description:

Echō was originally an ai intelligence made by a robotic scientist who was once her work partner. However, due to certain recent events, less mentioned as the 'incident,' she was compelled to abandon her former life and explore the world outside. She found companionship in Kris, a human, and Dot, a demon, who they both generously imparted knowledge about life and teach her about the outside world.

One day, while Echō was taking an evening stroll, she suddenly stumbled upon an allspark fragment. Her insatiable curiosity led her to study it closely. Unexpectedly, the allspark merged with her, triggering a profound transformation into what she is now, an authentic Audobot.

Echō's Audobot form is equipped with formidable arm-mounted cannons and possesses the unique capability of roller-skating on her feet. While she is still getting used to her form and being.. taller than humans, she has been proactive in forging connections with other Audobots on Earth, as well as discover Cybertron. This has allowed her to delve into learning more about cybertronians, including insights into the enigmatic Cybertronians, their language, and various aspects of their way of life.

Notably, Echō has found two particularly amicable companions, Jetfire and Jetstorm, who share her enthusiasm and interest. Their similar appearances and keen curiosity have drawn them closer to Echō as not just friends, but also like a pair of siblings.

Echō's current aspiration is to secure a position within the elite guard. As she embarks on this endeavor, she begins to face.. challenges… that will (eventually) test her newfound identity and abilities.

Her abilities:

While Echō has her armed cannons and rollerskate features, her most exceptional ability is the control of electricity. Currently, she rarely uses this power, unless if she activates her cannon. but when it comes to using all her energy, she exhibits a level of power that no one, human or bot, has witnessed before.

Her proficiency in controlling electricity traces back to her past life and an event referred to as the 'incident’ (which I’ll explain for another part) that made her receive this power. In her current state, she struggles to harness this power unless she is overwhelmed by intense emotions.

Other info dumps:

- Echō is a big Hastune Miku stan. She absolutely adores her, and especially listens to her songs on a daily basis as she finds her taste to be in her best interest, and also her being the reason for her to keep going. Echō herself wants to become a singer just like her, that is her passion being outside of chasing her dream as an Elite Guard.

- She is aromatic, which means she finds little or no attraction when it comes to love. While she is a robot, she’s not familiar with romance or relationships since she’s still learning about herself and her emotions along the way, and also being in guidance by her friends and other bots. In the meantime, she’s learning how to love. She does in fact has a partner, Nightracer (one ofTea’s lovely ocs), he’s a charmer to its finest and Echō quite enjoys being with him in general, such as they both find similarities in music and enjoy singing and dancing. Someone that can relate to Echō makes her really happy!

And now with a few art stuff to finish it off ee ✨

[theblueskyofthedawn]

Prompt: "Beauty and the Beast".

Unnamed didn't know how often he returned to that riverbank.

Something about the water itself soothed him, put him at ease, like a forgotten lullaby, a lover’s touch.

Returning day after day, he looked at his reflection until one more piece of his fragmented mind settled into its proper place.

///

Dan Heng, fresh out of Shackling Prison, wide-eyed and confused, stumbled upon him on pure accident.

Well, it would be better to say that he stumbled onto this planet on pure accident, because the course General charted for him in advance led to a far more established planet, a bustling IPC port – or so he read, anyway.

But a chance encounter with a stray asteroid had him crash-landing on this far, forgotten planet instead, so that was that.

Locals were friendly enough to teach him some basic survival skills – you wouldn’t need to cook in prison, would you – but once they saw his prowess with his spear, in exchange they asked for a favor of him.

There was a flower, growing deep in the forest by the riverbank, that was beautiful beyond belief. And before, old people said, some brave souls would’ve gathered them already, as it was believed to be the best gift to the apple of your eye, be it a beloved one or a child of your flesh. But some time ago a wild beast made their den nearby, scaring away all living beings, humans and animals alike.

And he, unmoored in unfamiliar surroundings, agreed.

///

A bloodied flower returned to the village. He did not.

///

“You dared to come,” a savage grin slashed across the wild man’s face, “so you will stay”.

///

Living in the wild suddenly suited Dan Heng, Cloud-Piercer that clashed with the wild man’s sword just as easily turning to complement it instead. His soul longed to travel, to run away further, but something in his companion stayed his hand. He learned so much just staying by his side – his hands could make so many small, but helpful things, and when those hands bled, his dreams brought to the forefront how to soothe the pain, make it better, his dormant power not feeling dangerous for once.

And the more days went by, the less he could imagine his life without him.

///

Many, many moons later, water brought clarity to them once more.

“It’s you,” the one once named Yingxing rasped. Memories old and new swirled, confusing and yet so clear, in his mind’s eye. “You found me again”.

“…I suppose I did,” Dan Heng’s smile was crooked and sad, waiting for the light’s of his immortal, ever-changing life decision. He wasn’t the one who committed the sin – and yet even then he knew that only the secondary consequences were regretted. “What would you do with me?”

…he didn’t want to heed her word.

“Stay by your side until the end of times, my Moon”.

[jymwahuwu]

Respectfully I wanted to care about the Cloud Quintet, I really did, but they felt more like good acquaintances than friends.

Assuming this is from the perspective of Jing Yuan (who was still very young compared to the others and a bit naive) then it falls under the unreliable narrator trope, because when I was relatively young I just assumed that the people my mom would occasionally hang out with were her friends and vice versa. Even if that was the case then it should have been made a little bit more clear.

Anyway, this particular plot was not good, interesting perhaps but even then not spectacular which most likely turned away a lot of players because this was the second "world" we're in and the plot isn't making sense then what is going to be the rest of the game?

Like it's hard to care about them, Jing Yuan is one I genuinely feel bad for since these guys essentially fucked up his perception of bonds which in turn made him more reserved because this man has no friends (to the extent of my knowledge). Jingliu really got stripped down to the 'I can fix her' as the other anon put it, like she has so much potential and they waste it.

I remember Inazuma, I genuinely hated the entire thing like sure it had its moments but that doesn't excuse the overall bad plot. It was like pulling teeth to bring myself to finish Inazuma when the last arc happens. Anyway I hope in the future someone looks over this person's writing and catches the major inconsistencies.

You are right.

It was painful for me to read the story of Blade's character, the eerie and anxious description, being killed thousands of times. I once guessed that Jingliu might have suffered from Mara, which is why such a tragedy happened, but when she regained consciousness, she felt resentful and sad, and wanted to bury Aeon of Abundance at all costs.

But… after the truth is revealed, NO? When a close friend makes a mistake, even if you want to take revenge, there should be moments of unbearability and hesitation, right? Give me some descriptions of emotional struggles. No. It's like telling me they're unfamiliar to begin with. I…I don't see the feeling of friendship in them? Jingliu and Bai Heng actually have a better relationship, while Yingxing is closer to Dan Feng. And Jing Yuan… was very young at that time and was like a child in this team. A team of friends, actually 2+2+1.

Moreover, the story of High Cloud Quintet has been hidden in several versions. The truth turned out to be that resurrecting their close friends led to an accident and eventually we were separated and hunted each other? Is this…is it necessary to hide it for so long?

I want to read about the impermanence and sadness of fate that push us into this. We were once intimate and the dreams we had together no longer exist, but fragments still remain in our hearts.

Ah, every time I search for comments saying that this is a beautiful and magnificent, sad mission, I just want to close my eyes.

(This image shows a display of close friendship).

[onomatopagu-et-cie]

Again some other personal notes on D. Gray-Man (Link, part. 1)

First impressions after re-reading DGM Some theories and observations

And here's the part 2: Notes on Link, part 2!

A thought led to another, then another and then questions brought no answers and more questions… So here I am again, writing kilometers of notes hahaha!

I wrote A LOT so I tried regrouping some notes thematically, this post will be Link-centric along with another one!

Note: I’m sorry for the awkward lengthy english and name localizations!!

Have a nice week!

(SPOILERS UP TO CH247!!!!)

▶ Link, Mana & Cross

MANA AND LINK I’ll quote what I wrote in the previous post.

« Funny how Link and Mana can be associated in the manga: -> ch137, « Orphan and Clown », introduces Link to Allen when he’s still trying to figure out why the Ark’s partition uses the signs Mana taught him and is questioned by Link about it. It is later revealed in the manga Link was an orphan before joining the Crow. -> in ch183, Allen inadvertently voices his memories of Mana to Link. -> in ch212, « Searching for A.W.: Calling You », as Allen loses consciousness, fighting Neah’s awakening, he calls out to Link but instead is greeted by a vision of a young Mana, calling out to Neah. This chapter also introduces the importance of Allen’s name to save him from Neah’s dreams. The original version for ‘Calling You’ is ‘’君を呼ぶ ‘ (kimi wo yobu). ‘Kimi’ is the pronoun both Mana and Link use in the manga ; past!Allen also seemed to use it with Neah. Johnny and Kanda both use omae for Allen. EDIT: Allen also uses ‘kimi’ so the chapter’s title works both ways (in French, the title was translated as « Écoute ma voix » which is « Listen to my voice », I like the way the calling works interchangeably!)! -> in ch213, Link faces a mirror shirtless like Mana does later in volume 25.

-> in ch220, « Searching for A.W.: He Closes His Eyes Tighter in a Vortex », Neah recalls the Earl he’s Mana but remains in denial and Link admits being conflicted over Allen and Neah. »

I also missed this when I was looking at this beautiful illustration of Mana and Red in Lost Fragment of Snow:

CROSS AND LINK The original title for ch234 (« Observer »), in which we learn more on Cross’s protection and monitoring of Mana, is 監視者 (‘kanshisha’). Link is introduced by Luberrier as Allen’s observer in volume 14 when he’s being investigated, and ‘kanshi’ is also used.

His role of an observer is reaffirmed by Luberrier in ch220. He also uses ‘kanshisha’, but gives a whole new meaning to this observation: Link is meant to protect the Fourteenth from everyone because he's the key to end this war. This strongly parallels Cross’s part of the promise to Neah: when Neah died, he was to protect Mana, observing him to that end so that Neah would return to Mana’s side one day. The verb ‘守る’ (mamoru, to protect) is used in both cases.

Their observing behavior was ridiculed in the same manner by Kanda and Red (my handwriting is terrible i’m sorry):

Link and Cross both have a morally ambiguous role they had no choice but to accept (in the CharaGray! fanbook, Hoshino said Cross got involved with Neah "unwillingly") but despite it all, Allen still cares for them:

*in the bottom right panel it would be more « Perhaps that’s how it should be [Allen merging with Apocryphos to get rid of Neah] but [Apocryphos] destroyed what was dear to me. »

When Allen leaves the Order and thinks in anguish of what he’s about to lose, Cross and Link are grouped in the same panel.

When Allen learnt Cross and Link’s ‘death’ (and the two of them are revealed alive chapters later), a similar framing is used, focusing on his blank expression and his eyes especially, highlighted in the shadow:

Just as Link’s profile is separated from the Central Administration from volume 25, I didn’t notice Cross’s is too in the same volume:

This could be explained by the fact both characters are shown conflicted over the path they’ve taken and still root for Allen in volume 25.

Their character designs (with the rosary and all the equipments and straps on their legs, hidden by their robe/coat) share similar aspects:

(Also bonus point, Timcampy is shown caring about them a lot and both are owners of out of ordinary golems)

▶ Future developments for Link

Apocryphos got from Kanda’s memories that Link was still alive… ? Hope he won’t escape the Noah and ambush Johnny, Allen and Link at the mansion (especially since the Saying Farewell to A.W. Arc has been going on for 21 chapters)!

Allen was able to remember, with a long delay, Johnny calling his name when it was Neah that was dreaming about Mana and Katerina and awakened: will he somehow catch fragments of Neah’s meeting with Link?

Will he find out about Cross and Luberrier’s secret agreement and Atuuda this way? He knows Atuuda heals with the life force since Zuu used it on him once, but he doesn't know 1) Zuu gave Link Atuuda & 2) it irremediably is fatal to the user's life. Kanda is hiding from Allen and Johnny that he’s becoming a Fallen One (not to burden them further, as he hid the fact that Link was alive until now), so it’s not that unlikely that Link also hides the toll Atuuda is taking on his life.

Why would Luberrier be hell-bent on needing Link, and nobody else, to ‘save’ (read: use lol) Neah?

Ever since Luberrier met Cross in secret after the Level 4 attack, he did everything to isolate Allen from the Order:

1) Around the same time, he pushed the 3rd generation project in secret for it to be conveniently blown away by the Noah, resulting in Allen also conveniently being confined for rebellion. This leaves him even more alone to fight against the Fourteenth’s memory, which falls right into his plan.

2) He made Allen’s identity as the Fourteenth’s host public to the exorcists, HQ executives and the Central, to officially ‘antagonize’ him. By leaving his exorcist title intact, this clears him from any suspicion of the real plan he carries on behind the scenes.

3) He reorganized the scientists sections and transferred a lot of Central scientists to the HQ to supposedly gain more control. I guess that’s how Reever and others were not granted permission to examine Allen’s state ever since the attack on the North-American branch.

Not to mention the story Cross told Allen was incomplete or even false (eg. Neah and Mana being biological brothers while he knew about the truth): he never told Allen the extent of Neah’s powers and role, that Luberrier, on the other hand, is aware of. I guess it was more to give the Order an official story without going into the real details: he must have reserved the truth to Luberrier.

And in volume 22, Luberrier asks Zuu to save Link because he seems indispensable to his plan.

How special is Link in Luberrier’s pov?

1) His infallible devotion to him: he is aware of it and exploits it, ch213 shows it fairly enough.

2) He would lay down his life for the sake of his mission/Luberrier without questioning it (eg. he was determined to use Apocryphos’ arm to pierce through his chest if it meant leaving a clue to identify the culprit). This could come from the extreme training to become a Crow and how he became Luberrier's 'personal Crow'.

3) His skills: based on Allen’s memories, Neah remembers he’s one of the most powerful of the Crows elite (eg. he’s strong enough to immobilize the Earl, face a Noah alone and hold his own against Level 4) even though he doesn’t have an Innocence

4) His mission to keep watch over Allen ; we don’t really know if he’s aware that Link wants Allen to overcome his fate as the host

« With Malcolm’s plans I thought I saw a ray of light for humanity’s dark future. The light of victory. But (…) I made you the Fourteenth’s— » This suggests that Link was vital for Luberrier’s plan to work: its success was made possible at the cost of Link’s involvement in it. In the original version, Zuu uses the adverb まんまと (manmato), ‘successfully, completely, thoroughly, nicely, fairly, artfully’ (‘I’ve successfully made you the Fourteenth’s—‘).

And the only thing we know he has done to Link was to leave him Atuuda: entrusting Atuuda to Link made him special enough to the Fourteenth somehow, other than simply aiding him. And this suggests that Zuu was himself aware of what was required to qualify as this special role at least.

Luberrier swiftly cut him off before he could finish his sentence, so in addition to the fatal burden of Atuuda, there must be something even crueler in line for him in how he and Atuuda could work with Neah.

Becoming the final host for Neah would be logical: Allen synchronizing with an Innocence, which was something neither Cross nor Neah expected (and they never wanted it), is an obstacle to Neah. When Apocryphos attacked, only Luberrier was aware that he was targeting Allen at that time and seemed to be pretty much aware of his nature. So of course « saving Neah » could mean securing him, his memory, in somebody else.

And if Luberrier knew Link’s conflict, I can totally picture him using that to his advantage eg. persuading Link to become the new host because 1) it’s Luberrier’s order and it’s helping him and 2) Allen would be free. (Could the Phantom Thief G arc possessed!Link vs. Allen and Kanda be a silly little foreshadowing for what’s to come?? haha)

He must’ve had at least an inkling, especially if he’s known to obey every single order without batting an eye:

1)

(I expect this moment to be paralleled later in the manga, since trust and devotion is one of Link’s main themes, it’d be interesting!)

2)

3)

Before learning anything from Jerry, Luberrier was probably unaware that Link asked for a meal that Allen would finally eat and brought it to him.

▶ The rosary and Atuuda

I find it interesting that Luberrier’s rosary overlaps the scar left on Link’s torso after Atuuda was passed on to him. The scar is also cross-shaped.

While Luberrier loathes ‘God’/the Innocence, he deeply believes in Neah’s powers: he could bring an end to this war and Luberrier is determined to make it happen, no matter the atrocities.

It is strongly motivated by his desire to regain agency over his fate, controlled all this time by 'greater' entities: Innocence, God, the Pope, the Earl, Noah, as his confrontation with Hevlaska and the Destruction of the Black Order imply.

Interestingly, in ch221, Link is genuflecting on his right knee in front of Allen/Neah:

Genuflection on the right knee is strongly associated to God, signifying worship (eg. before the Blessed Sacrament as you pass a tabernacle), while genuflection on the left knee used to be to honor political authorities, kings, emperors.

He trusts Link with this crucial mission and reiterates Link’s devotion to him.

Putting on Link his own rosary, what you usually can say prayers with, he entrusts his ‘faith’ and set of beliefs to him. He places in words and act his trust in Link, sealed with the rosary.

It’s also a display of the power he holds over him: when Luberrier says Neah is now isolated (meaning it’s now time to help him), the reader’s eye path is also directed at the rosary he’s just given to Link.

The screentones highlight like a halo the rosary handled by Luberrier: he ardently wishes to have Neah’s power that he covets literally as ‘his’, and in doing so, the fate of the world in the palm of his hand, claiming it is for the sake of humanity.

(If it wasn’t already a projection of his own hidden desire for power since he seemed to keep close tabs on the subject without even Cross knowing in volume 14, this was at least a foreshadowing of Luberrier’s future plan!)

And just like Allen before regrouping with Johnny and Kanda, Link is completely alone: he’s lost his official position as a Crow as he’s been publically declared dead. Now more than ever, Luberrier stands as his sole figure of authority and devotion.

The rosary falls over the scar Link got from his fight against Apocryphos. It would’ve been fatal if he wasn’t given Atuuda at that time: if cross shapes can be associated to salvation, it’s a poisoned gift here that eats away at his life, defining his new special role he has no choice but to accept.

His soul, body and life are all sacrificed to Luberrier and by extension to Neah, Luberrier's personal ‘God’:

(If anyone has the answer, I wonder if there’s a tradition for members of the church to gift their rosary to another member, I’m really curious!)

Also in this panel in ch213 Kanda uses ご主人様 (goshujinsama) for Luberrier:

In French it was translated as « husband »: you can use ご主人様 as ‘husband’ if you talk about sb else’s husband and in polite situations. (I did a double take when I first read the French version haha)

Kanda is far from being polite here so this could be read with biting sarcasm, since he specifically calls him out on his obsessive devotion (that even Apocryphos picks on after damn). The ambivalence of this word was probably a very deliberate choice haha

[nataliebeybladeposting]

Why I like Chris from Beyblade Metal Fury?

So where do I start here? To give you some context Chris is a mysterious blader for hire who carried out a wide variety of assignments for anyone who would pay for his skills as a blader. He started out with the same type of dream as anyone else; he wanted to have a shot to compete at the Beyblade World Tournaments. He wanted to compete in the World Tournament with his team, however what ended up as result is that his power that he had with Phantom Orion ended up outshining his friends power. He won the tournament but his two friends that he was planning to go to the tournament with could not keep up with the power he had. 

After a while his friends decided to part away believing that he was too strong for them. When his friends decided to leave him, he felt like his chance of going to the World Tournament was stolen from him and was unable to shine as a blader. This led to him becoming very cynical and led to him being introverted as well. He would then go on to become a blader for hire, and do high stakes assignments for other different employers in any conditions that were asked of him. He then ends up showing up in the Beyster Island Tournament where he would eliminate different opponents in a short period of time. He would then face Toby and Zeo and beat them. He would then have his battle with Masamune and in the middle of the heated confrontation where it appears he might lose. He proclaims “That he could no longer survive in this world”, and then he awakens to the Star Fragment, and becomes a Legendary Blader of the Four Seasons, more specifically the Winter constellation.

Now to answer the question as to why I like his character? His backstory is very relatable for people. I have a running theory in my head that when it comes down to trying to build a new team or working as a blader for hire. After the debacle where his first set of friends left him and not wanting to suffer the same pain again as when his friends abandoned him. He decided that the only way he could shine in the Beyblade world was as blader for hire. Over the years after being rejected for being too strong by his former friends he would become introverted and would only use his skills for those who would actually value them. Even if it meant having to fight in tournaments for a trophy that would probably never get to touch. Otherwise he felt like he would have been silently pushed out of it for good. 

I also believe he had to take on higher than normal stakes as a blader due to the fact that he was on a path where losing would not be tolerated. I also like that his character is very introverted and tries to avoid talking to people, which is something I relate to. I feel like there are plenty of instances where people want to go tournaments to showcase their skills and are robbed of the opportunity to do so. These individuals have to resort to other means to showcase their skills and in some cases they miss out on celebrating their successes with their friends. I also feel like his story is like a foil to Gingka’s, where it's a reflection of what if Gingka did not go on the journey he did, where he was able to make friends. Also another thing that I feel gets overlooked when it comes to his story is the fact that in depth his story is pretty tragic. 

Another reason why I like his character is the fact that I can relate to his story of isolation and independence. It is clear that from what we know he had to improve his skills on his own and was not able to go on the normal journey characters like Gingka, Kyoya, and the others got to have. He had to win every battle in order to survive in the world. It was not until Gingka defeated him that he realized that it is possible to get back up and try again.

[koukaaa-descent]

thinking

There is this story I’ve told you before, about Death. You know the words as well as I do.

Once upon a time, there was a monster. It devoured so much that there was a mere fragment of the universe left in its wake. Even then, it remained hungry.

(It is fed as to keep it at bay. It is fed lives and souls to drag the universe’s death out for a moment longer.)

Yes. There was a monster within the center of a planet. It is named Gordion. It is named Death.

It had no heart.

(The monster is defeated?)

I’ve told you before. Surely, you remember the story?

It begins with an ending, I suppose. The beginning of a long end, dragged out by mindless drones originally created in the hopes that their work would keep it at bay. All things made are made with a form of hope, I suppose. It is why you or I continue to exist. Hope. That strange, inexplicable thing, shining through the deepest darkness.

(I always thought the end to this story was sad. There is no happy ending.)

There’s not. I guess that the only ‘happy��� thing about it would be its meaning for the future. The one that wished Death out of existence did so uncaring of the fate of others, fueled by a hatred so deep that I do not dare attempt to quantify it. It led to sacrifice. I cannot bear to imagine the will it took to die as they had.

(The story has always made me sad. Hatred brought his friend to its death. I’ve heard versions of the story that state that it was the first and only thing he had ever regretted.)

It was.

(It was?)

Yes.

Let me tell you the rest of the story. The parts I never spoke of. Bare in mind that I embellish some things for the sake of the story. Regardless, it remains true.

Once, there was a creature in the bushes. Another creature found it, and took it in his arms. “Where have you been?” He says, “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

(I don’t see how this connects to the story, ****.)

You’ll see.

“My heart,” he says. I cannot emphasize the meaning with words alone. I apologize for that. He spends days nurturing the beast, unknowing as his heart softens and melts. The heat behind his ribcage is no longer a foreign thing.

(You’re describing love.)

Yes. Now, be quiet. I have a story to tell you.

The beast grows so quickly that he does not know what to do with it. The pride he feels one day for its first steps is overshadowed the next by its first soft whistle. One day, he finds that it looms over him without even trying. Time should not be this fast, he thinks. And he thinks about the terminal, the logs, the dreams caught in binary webs. He thinks of vast grays and roiling seas, listening to the music of a golden planet long dead.

Thus there is a purpose to his existence. A purpose that devours him.

(What?)

Shh.

His beast grows more than he could’ve imagined. Warmth swallows the cold and banishes it into the ether. There is a star on the horizon and he still does not recognize love.

There is a star on the horizon. There is a reason that shooting stars are said to grant wishes.

(… Oh. I think I understand, now.)

It is a short life they have lived together. He wanders for a short eternity—hardly a week—and discovers the story and pieces it together. A war, centuries ago. A golden planet, dreamt up and swallowed by an awful thing named Death. War-machines, marching an endless waltz, stuck protecting what need not be protected. Mindless, weeping memories of people, terrified of being seen in their grotesque forms. An endless masquerade forever caught in a loop—death, rebirth, death once more.

(You really have a way with words. I kind of wish you didn’t.)

Thank you.

So; the ending. His beast must carry the star. He cannot handle it himself. The beast withers, frays, dissolves into ribbons of ash, yet holds onto the light as faithfully as any loyal thing would. I cannot imagine the agony, nor can I begin to perceive the grief that he felt as he was swathed in the ash of his oldest, dearest friend. I cannot imagine it. I truly cannot.

(… it must have been deeply, inexpressibly painful.)

… it was.

He held the star in his hands, covered in the ash of his beast. He spoke a demand unto the star itself, with hatred I cannot fathom.

Bleach the world of its stain. Devour it, swallow it, rip it apart. As long as Death is dead.

There was nothing noble about it. There was nobody left to save, and nobody left to protect. Hellfire devoured his still-living corpse as he stood before Death itself, cradling a wish.

(A wish?)

A wish.

He raised the wish to his lips, fingers mere bones by this point. He bit into the star. It burnt him alive.

(… and then?)

There is nothing afterward. A wish is a powerful thing, you know.

(Oh. Oh, I see. This version of the story is arguably more tragic.)

It is, yes. It’s a truth, I suppose.

(I’m glad you told me.)

I’m glad, too.

[apupp3tw0-strings]

Puppets and Dolls

Date: October 17th, 2131

The most jarring thing about that whole adventure had to be Dorothy.

I... I can't pin what exactly it was but... she felt like Spamton or Jevil. Her speech fragmented and hard to understand. The talk of revenge, or of the "Truth". The odd cadences in her voice, the glint in her button eyes. ... The shadowy crystal she gave me. She also felt like how I felt in the moment. Trapped. Alone. Angry. So so SO angry... I- I can't imagine what could have happened to her. And based on what I can gather about what happened to Jevil and Spamton, I not sure I want to know.

I... Let me start from the beginning though. As I (and by that I mean a mysterious soul entity) was walking through the Feathered Forest with Broadway after the party got split up after the 2nd mini boss, we came across a something. In the room after the 3rd mini boss, a collection of Ssnekmers tied together into a Ssneking, there was a hidden path down through some of the bushes and trees. It led down a twisting hall before leading to a locked gate and a puzzle. The puzzle read something like...

"In land far away, lies a Castle o Cards. The answer you seek, lies suit order esrever" Beside the sign, there's a card suit puzzle like might've been found in the old classroom Dark World."

"Rather impossible if you've never seen it, which most in this land haven't! Oh ho ho!!"

(Looking back on it now, Magico likely wrote that, huh?) Anyways, I didn't know how to solve the puzzle since well, I'd never been to Card Castle, and I'll never be able to since Kris closed that Dark World years ago. It was the first one they journeyed to that they told me about. Even still, the Askers controlling the Soul did know. And they were able to get the door open.

On the other side of the gate was a chest, and inside the chest was a key. A rusty key with a button head. The RustedKey. After putting it in our KEY ITEMS, we left the room and I forgot about it until later. All the way until we reached the Chapel.

After more Magico encounters, receiving an existential crisis inducing egg (which I still have???) from a man I swear I've seen in my dreams before, and finally catching up with CK and Remie again, we eventually reached the Choral Chapel, where we'd have to fight the High Priestess, the ruler of this Dark World who both wanted to stop us from closing the fountain, but also wished to harness the potential of one of us for something. Before we fought her though, the Askers seemed to have other plans.

Using the elevator on the top floor, the one by Magico’s Shop, we were able to drop down into some sort of basement. A floor even deeper down than the dungeon. It was quiet. Echoing only with our footsteps and lit only with a few torches. How did the Askers even know to come here?

At the end of a long corrider, there was a large, rusty cell door. Lot less elegant than the ones we saw in the dungeon previously. I could just barely see someone inside as the faint light shone through the gaps in the bars. A raggedy looking doll Darkner, chained up with her head down. She was muttering to herself.

"Aha ha ha ha...//Thoust fools,//YOU'RE ALL BEING//truly are the Fool!" She spoke in a fragmented voice, as though it was stitched together from other bits of dialog she'd heard.

"??? ARE THEY TALKING TO US?" CK asked as he tried to peer in front of me. I couldn't say anything or move at all. Only stare. Stare at this poor Darkner, trapped and isolated as her head shot up and she stared back.

"!!//Who's goes there?//REVEAL YOUR//secret identities!?"

"Oh um, well I'm Remie, this is Chicago and CK-" Remie introduced us before CK cut them off.

"THERE A REASON YOU'RE IN THERE?"

"The Choir//The rest of the choir//made up of//You IDIOTS.//I was simply//You're telling the truth?//and they ran//me//out of//the KINGDOM OF-//FOOLS!//blinded by darkness//HOW CAN YOU REFUSE,//Can you see the//The light only you can see." The truth. Darkness. Light. Freedom. Gyeh heh. Where have before? This is when I knew something was up. I could feel my body start to tense as CK continued talking.

"WHY WOULD THEY LOCK YOU UP FOR TELLING THE TRUTH?"

"FOOLS!//All of you are filled with//the side... OF IGNORANCE!!!//Then they will//finally pay off//What's the price.//I WILL USE THAT SPECIAL ATTACK//fix all of them//Manipulating people to make them//FREEDOM."

"SO UH... DO YOU NEED US TO LET YOU OUT?"

This is when Remie whispered something that was a pretty good point. "(Is it a good idea for us to let her out, ribatti, ribatti? She seems a bit unstable...)"

She was unstable, but so were/are Jevil and Spamton. Should they have remained trapped too? N-no! Its like Papa said. Criminalizing the mentally unwell doesn't help them and does nothing but satiate the majority and make it acceptable to demonize the unfortunate! E-even if Dorothy deserved to be in here, she's clearly been completely isolated, which doesn't help her a bit besides help her go more insane! It's no wonder she's mad!

"ARE YOU AFRAID//to see the world as//Moment of truth." Dorothy asked "Are you gonna be//closed the blinds...//You're just like//Studying with THEM??//if you can just free me//I'll show you what REAL//When the LIGHT is//I Will Free You//if you can help me..."

After that we were given a choice.

See the light ❤️ Do not see

At first the Askers chose not to see, but that only made Dorothy upset before we were presented the option again.

"❤️See the light"

"THE KEY//Delicious Platters Has The Key//Hidden in the depths//Alt+Tab away from//lost sight of what was important.//the court magician//a snake-charming song//YOU TRAITOR...!//someone who knows.//Don't they know"

After that we pulled out the Rusted Key from the Key Items and used it to unlock the door before stepping inside.

To be Continued...