#and steal from me so they can use him for their own selfish power trips

[twistedappletree]

This isn’t danmei related but it still baffles me how angry people were at the ending of A Plague Tale: Requiem, calling the game pointless because so many people died for Hugo and I’m like???? Y’all do realize Requiem wasn’t about Hugo, right? It gives you the illusion that it is but it’s clearly about Amicia, her inner turmoil and the horrific trauma she’s been through all while trying to save her baby brother while she’s still a baby herself. It’s about her self-destructive spiral of desperation and the consequences her obsession with saving her brother has on the rest of the world. That was the point. That was the lesson. It was intentional.

Also why are y’all expecting a 16-year-old girl who basically thinks she has nothing to live for aside of her brother to think about saving the same people who are actively trying to terrorize and kill them both and prioritize these people over saving her brother lmfaooo pls be fr

[sleidog]

Questions for you!! Do any of your OCs have unique / special weapons that they always use, and if so what’s the backstory behind them? Also, is there any OC you’re especially proud of / happy with? ( — @astralarias )

yes! quite a few of them do, sometimes it's tied in to plot [Tai] other times it's tied into it being gifted or taken as a 'trophy' i'll go through the simplier ones first; Slei uses the warden's weapons [sylvari cultural tier 3] specifically a longbow and greatsword, though you'll rarely see me use them in combat since his in game self is specced to use a shortbow and axe/torch, which aren't pecific to him at all! he also can be seen with pact weapons sometimes and he has a bow gifted to him by De [bright inquisitors longbow] that he has mostly as a 'for show' weapon that he hasn't fired much Teo's weapons are all stolen or reclaimed/repurposed! in game he has the untamed hammer, but in my head it's literally just a chunk of metal that he's grown branches and vines over and turned into a weapon. that's the only weapon that he always has De's weapons are all gifts from clients, his favorite being a ritualists staff! he also has the endless ocean sword and dagger Aereus has a zodiac rifle that she LOVES but unfortunately a particularly grumpy crab grabbed the barrel and bent it during an excursion into Orr, now she hates shellfish lol Tai under the cut because it's a DOOZY

Tai's weapon/s have plot! he starts out with a simple staff, much like the common skins you see in tyria, a crystal on a stick basically! but when exploring Orr after Zhaitan's death, he comes across a dragon bone staff, it was incomplete, lacking the source of the glow in the eyes, but he thought it interesting enough to add to his growing collection of curios. during further excursions into Orr, the staff starts to rattle and shake in his hands as it it sensed something nearby. On further exploration, it found the body of a fallen dragon champion, reacting to something within it. Tai isn't shy about getting elbow deep in a corpse, and lost his sense of smell around the same time he was lich-ified, so eventually he unearths a rough gem stone that seems to be practically magnetized to the staff, it immediately wants to sit in one of the skull's eye sockets. intrigued, Tai lets it, and alter researches into the staff and it's possibly origins. he can't find anything remotely similar, and instead starts to research the presense of stones of power being formed inside immensely powerful creatures. finding nothing quite as remarkable with tyria's usual threats [besides some promising subjects from shatterer and the claw of jormag] he eventually shelves the project and intends to come back to it later. when he does, it's during the seige on Mordremoth's domain, and tai finds a second stone in the corpse of Adryn, fitting that they were the stavemaster! again, the gem magnetizes with the staff, and Tai goes on to work out what this means for him. years of research later, leads him to find that the two stones are related to the dragons that the champions came from. one stone for death, the other for mind. this results in tai having a staff that can, effectively, control weakminded undead [awakened are uneffected, unchained risen, however, are] and also the ability to steal the soul from a living or undead subject at the point of death. the souls held inside the staff can never outweight Tai's own power or the staff starts to get a will of it's own and turns on him! this ended up being his undoing when he went on a bit of selfish rampage in cantha, resulting in him abandoning his staff to the ocean and instead leaning towards the approach of a harbinger with a pistol to take out his intended target. later, my ex mortician character, Rui, comes across the staff during a fishing trip with his husband, rescognising it as Tai's old staff. Rui then makes it a personal mission to release and 'rehome' all of the spirits still trapped in the staff

[aesdi]

Ok I’m getting into it. This will be a long one boys so buckle up. @yuraimi-lee-bunny this is just for you babe

Life is Strange, at its core, is a story about Max and Chloe reconnecting after five years. Based on that, it’s no surprise that the game favors Chloe as the “canon” love interest. You can tell the developers gave Chloe the most thought and care, even more so than Max. Chloe is given a lot of depth and a lot of reasons for the player to sympathize. However, most of these fall flat and for one reason:

Chloe never changes.

Throughout the game, you can tell that some characters get development (some being the key word) and yet, Chloe is not one of them. In every chapter, Chloe is the same person she was at the start of the story. She is bitter, rude to everyone, and never takes blame for her own actions. Just look at the way she treats her mother, who clearly cares for her.

My biggest problem from this is how the game never addresses this. The only time I think it was ever addressed was in an offhand comment that never really goes anywhere. I would be fine if Chloe started this way then grew overtime, or even if the game called it out more than a single comment. But none of that happens, and then we’re supposed to sympathize with her. I can’t sympathize with someone who will never change.

All of these problems, this lack of Chloe ever getting development, makes her sacrificing herself at the end feel like it came out of left-field. Like from my knowledge, Chloe has been a selfish person this entire game. It would make more sense for Chloe to look at Acedia Bay, a town she hates full of people she hates, and go “fuck that” and live in spite! Hell, it would have been more interesting if it was Max who wanted to go back but Chloe was against it!! That would have been a fun moral conflict and a neat contrast to the (extremely pointless) trip to the other dimension with the Chloe who asked you for death.

Like imagine if you are presented with the final option and Chloe turns to you and goes “Max please do not kill me for this shithole of a town”. Chloe would have nothing left to live for in that town, her mother had basically abandoned her (Chloe’s pov) and Rachel is dead. But Max has friends here. This is Max’s life, full of people she cares about. Max cannot throw that away, but how can she kill Chloe when Chloe is begging her not to? It would make the ending choice so much harder, and make each of the endings more tragic.

But no, we have Chloe’s character acting out of character.

And then we have Warren, a character who never really gets a chance to shine.

As stated above, this is a game about Chloe and Max, but Warren is the other love interest. He’s made to be the complete opposite of Chloe, yet it’s never really delved into. There is never a big choice surrounding Warren, which just sidelines him the entire game. As I was replaying the first chapter and got to the part where they talk, I had just wished we told Warren about our powers. Or hell, even later, like the next chapter. We see Max ask him about all this time stuff, but imagine if we actually saw them together working it out. It makes no sense that Max wouldn’t tell Warren about it, it would absolutely help her chances at figuring it out.

I honestly think Warren should have been with Chloe and Max for most of the story. Not all the time, but enough that we get more interesting moral dilemmas. It would solve two problems I have with Warren’s character: the lack of development and the lack of use in the main story.

Like imagine the entire scene in the principles office but with the addition of Warren. Chloe wanting to steal the cash isn’t just a Chloe vs Max problem now, like it was before (it made the choice very easy because Max isn’t comfortable with Chloe stealing and as we’re playing Max, we obviously are against the idea as well). Now its Max’s two best friends against each other. And now imagine this kind of dilemma and put it throughout the entire game, upping the stakes each time. That’s what it would be like. Plus, Warren and Chloe interacting would be fucking hilarious. It would also make that last choice interesting, because what if Warren and Chloe grew to become close friends in the game? Warren doesn’t have many friends, and is obviously protective of the ones he does have. So while Chloe is saying to sacrifice her, Warren can’t agree that they should. He doesn’t want to loose a friend, even if it tears him apart to lose his town, his school.

Then we also get the bonus of Warren being developed past a nerdy boy with a huge crush. We have the option to learn more about him. We can learn about his home life and how he got into a seniors only school at age 16. Maybe find out some of his personal demons he never wanted Max to find out about? Maybe even more into his relationship with other characters?

Life is Strange is a good game, but lacks in character arcs. It’s a game that tells you that it loves its characters, but never shows you that it does. There are multiple characters that are misused or underused by this game, but to me Warren and Chloe are the biggest of the two.

(And then Nathan but that is not what this post is about)

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

[crispycrimebrulee]

HI! Can i request chrollo with prompt 12? Thanksssss <3

Prompt #12: "I Miss You" "Don't Lie, I Know She's With You." [Angst!] [TW: Cheating] [Also Available on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/31658609 ]

Absence Makes The Heart Grow...Fickle.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Indeed, a statement that every relationship comes to meet, a milestone, a test of faith across miles of land and oceans, for if your love can withstand distance, surely it can withstand time, turmoil, and anything else.

And yet…

You find yourself, staring out of a raindrop riddled window, the soft hush of rainfall on adding fuel to your thoughts, watching your worries become realities as a pattern emerged from his constant actions…

Or lack thereof.

Could you blame him, though? Chrollo Lucilfer, feared among thieves and civilians alike, ruthlessness without bounds when he’s set on getting what he wants, going to any distance, metaphorical or physical to obtain what he wants most. You couldn’t really fault him for his distance; his distance in miles, being thousands of miles away gallivanting with his spiders on yet another quest, continuously building his legacy. You couldn’t blame him for his emotional distance either. He was an intense man to reach, to truly reach and understand and get close to. It would take ages of hard work and commitment to get him to share even a fraction of a clue of his own troubles to you. Not to mention, he always had something on his mind, a new quest, a new artifact, a new theory from his books, a new gang to silence, debts to collect...oh was he a busy man. You couldn’t blame him for being so far away, so distant…

And yet…

In the past he’d always made time for you, always called and made sure you were safe and taken care of while he was away. You’d been his top priority, his ultimate treasure, all quests and roads lead back to you at the end of a day or the end of a month, it was always your heart he returned home to and you welcomed him time and time again, how could you not? Everything about him was captivating, you’d be a fool to not let him in and have all that you are, albeit slowly and carefully, weary of what he was capable of.

Not weary enough, it seems.

You’d let him in, opened your doors to him and allowed him to gaze at what you thought was everything he wanted. Sure, it was everything he wanted, more than that by far. But as thieves go, they take without bounds and leave the door ajar, only a little so that they may slip in and steal whatever is left whenever they please, and you can do nothing to stop them seeing as only a fool lets a thief in their home.

He’d taken valuables beyond obtainable prices.

Love, time, faith, gentle smiles and gentler words, secrets of hopes and dreams and fears, all of it. He’d taken all of it without remorse on the basis of ‘your love could never be replaced’ promising he would only and always come back to you…

And.

Yet.

You already knew his heart and his eyes had wandered, from missed calls to missed dates to missed events to ‘forgetting to tell you he’d returned home’, to hearing whispers from shop owners mentioning they’d seen him with Her, his hand resting on the slope of Her hip, his eyes resting on Her hands as She held gifts from places he’d been, places he knows you could only dream of visiting, gifts that were seldom for you. He’d already tested the waters with another, already given in to a special kind of temptation, a one sided selfish temptation. What had you meant to him? Were you only someone to play with, something to fill a gap in his desires, desire for a sense of stability? Had he only spent years with you to play house with a docile routine only to put you on the shelf when the gap had closed, a new one opening where you did not fit? Were you another object he had to have, something to join a collection of used dolls, a worn out plaything, a gemstone now frosted and without luster, something to be given away with lesser value?

Of course, you little fool. What else would he want with you?

Only souls with stars in their eyes and hope in their hearts think ruthlessness with no bounds have bounds in regards to another, and that they’ll be the special one, the one that gets spared and cherished. Do thieves cherish? Do thieves find things special beyond monetary value? What monetary value did you hold?

Not enough, not enough, not enough.

You could only think about what She’d done to coax him away, or what She hadn’t done at all. You thought about it as you would walk to the store, the park, the bank, and glimpses of Her would cross your eyes clear as day, the scent of Her perfume, the clatter of Her bracelets, the sound of Her shoes on the pavement going to wherever Chrollo was, wherever he wasn’t with you, the place he said he would always return to. And at first, it was merely suspicion, something you talked yourself out of on nights where he was home but away from you, nights where he failed to call, night where you’d caught glimpses of them out late at night as though you wouldn’t notice.

Ruthlessness without bounds.

Suspicion only lead to confirmation by others and by your own eyes, accidentally of course, when he would come home and find Her earrings in his pocket, love letters in his jacket no longer addressed to you, Her perfume lingering on his shirt and pressed to his skin, catching the notes of sandalwood and citrus as he dared to sleep beside you on nights he could not sleep beside Her.

You could blame him.

And you did.

Your caring, your desperation and sorrow and attempts to reach out to him while he was wrapped up in satin sheets with Her only added fuel to his ill willed fire. You simply stepped back, two can play at that game.

You stopped wearing the foreign gifts, stopped reading the dull love letters, stopped sending calls and messages to someone who clearly did not care to receive them or not. To lose power, leverage, the damage it does to know what the ruthlessness of an old lover can do.

Being so easily let go, like the treasures he sells, was too much for him it seemed.

So much so, that your phone rang, his name lighting up the screen. You looked at it, letting the ringing pass through you as you considered if you should leave him wondering and falling apart.

Wondering too long, the call fell, the abrupt end to the rings bringing you out of your thoughts as you went back to watching the rain fall.

No more than 5 minutes, it seemed, before the phone rang again, Chrollo seemingly desperate to reach you now, more so than he ever had.

Once, twice, three times your phone rang before you picked it up slowly, a somber hello drawn out from you.

“Y/N… I haven’t heard you in some time-”

“I know.” you cut him off, your voice soft but stern and unamused.

He was silent for a moment, the sound of rain on both ends prodding at your thoughts again.

“You’ve been well, I hope? I’ve sent some things over to you from my recent trip.”

“Mmm… I never got them.” you lied, of course, knowing the small packages remind untouched, sitting outside on your balcony getting soaked by the rain.

“I’m sure I sent them, y/n, a few things I know you’d enjoy.” he hummed as he seemed to be lacing his words with sweetness, too much for his own sake, really.

“I’ll look out for them.”

Although you knew you wouldn’t.

He sighed, a rare sign from him, the sound of him sitting down from wherever he is, making the audio crackle.

“I’ve been gone a while, y/n.”

“I know. I know more than anyone.”

“I haven’t called as much as you’d like me to, it’s my fault my love.”

“It is your fault, Chrollo.”

Silence.

“Y/n…”

“Chrollo.”

“I miss you.”

You tilted your head to the side, watching the raindrops race down the window as Chrollo lied his finest lie.

“Don’t lie, I know She’s with you.”

Although you couldn’t see him, you could sense the shift in the atmosphere, was the shift from losing his chance to reconcile? Losing his chance to explain? Or from being caught like a rat in a cage of his own making?

“Y/n there's-”

“Tell me, Chrollo...do you miss me when you run your fingers through Her hair?”

“...”

“Or when you kiss Her hand and walk Her home?”

Deathly silence from someone so brazen...

“Do you miss me when your lips brush against Her skin, do you think of me then?”

You didn’t give him a chance to answer as you ended the call, knowing the damage on both ends had been done. You wouldn’t answer his calls, late or early, for the next few days as you planned to find a new place to stay, somewhere he wouldn’t find for a little while. His gifts provided ample financial help when traded in pawn shops, allowing you to gather yourself quickly and vanish in the same fashion that he did.

Your doors were closed, now, less of a fool for a thief with no bounds.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, but it leaves the rest of you lonely.

[mhdiaries]

SDCC 2015 Kieran Valentine Diary

May 1st

When I left Monster High after Draculaura’s Sweet 1,600 birthday party, I was angry, humiliated and stinky from falling into that pit of eternal body odor. I stank so bad, Mom wouldn’t even let me in the house: I had to sleep in the guest room above the garage. Looking back, I can see it was probably the best thing that could have happened to me. Even my considerable powers to charm were no match for the power of the stench that surrounded me. My powers slowly weakened as I was deprived of what sustained them: the love I selfishly took from others. I was in a stench-induced imprisonment - rarely leaving the garage - but it allowed me time to do some serious thinking, and I realized I wasn’t being true to myself. Then one day there was a knock at my door, and I opened it to see a little old goblin woman with a cane staring up at me through thick glasses. “I’m Mrs. Goblin, but you can call me “Mrs. Goblin.” I’m a friend of your mother’s.” She said, “you need to get out of that room, and I need some help, so let’s go.” She turned and walked off, and, with nothing left to lose, I followed. It turned out that she ran an unwanted-creature shelter and couldn’t keep up with all the cleaning, feeding and daily upkeep. It also turned out that she had no sense of smell. “Lost it back in ‘72,” she told me. Mrs. G. ran me through the daily routines and gave me the tour. “You can start today,” she said as she handed me a mop and a bucket. It’s hard to believe I agreed, but I didn’t have any other options. The shelter was home to an unusual collection of exotic creatures: gremlins, flying monkeys, lap dragons, miniature manticores, and many others that had been picked up as strays or turned in by monsters who didn’t want them. Even though the work was hard, and not always pleasant, I began to look forward to it. In fact, I usually felt more energized after I finished a day than when I started. I felt my powers returning and every day I got stronger. Eventually, I mentioned it to Mrs. Goblin who snickered, “You emotional vampires never get it - stolen love is just empty calories. I’ll never sustain you for long.” She could tell I still didn’t get it. “Love that’s freely given is the most powerful source of energy in the monster universe. You’ve been coming here every day, taking care of these critters, showing them kindness, and the only thing they have to give you is their love - and believe me, they have a lot to give.” I couldn’t believe what she was telling me. I must have been standing there looking stupid because she said, “Close your mouth before the the flies get in and go clean the flying monkey cage. They’ve been throwing stuff again.” I was in a daze. Why had no one ever explained this to me? Rather than dwelling on it, I was just happy I finally knew. 

May 3rd

I now know that I did it - stealing love - because I thought that’s want an emotional vampire was supposed to do. But it never felt quite right. I thought if I kept doing it, it would eventually feel right. But it only made me angry and frustrated. Then when Draculaura called me - well, Toralei, really - I thought that if I could get the heart that got away, it would change me and everything would be fine. But I was just a real pain in the fang to everyone and made a fool of myself. So I’ve come to a conclusion: being myself has to be easier than not being myself, right? Back then, I hated the thought of who I really was, and that conflict made me become someone who wasn’t me. It’s time to be true to myself, but it’s scary. 

July 1st

Today was my one-year anniversary at the shelter. As I left the garage, I ran into Mom. She sniffed. “You don’t stink anymore.” It was true - the stench was gone. I gave Mom a hug and told her it must be due to what I’d learned from working for Mrs. Goblin. I thanked Mom for telling her I needed help. Mom looked at me strangely, “What are you going on about? I don’t know a Mrs. Goblin.” What? I ran to the shelter but when I got there it was boarded up and empty. How could this be? I crawled through a broken out window. A thick layer of dust covered everything and it looked like no one had been there in years. Then I noticed a piece of paper on the table where Mrs. G. used to sit and drink her tea. It was a not addressed to me:

V, 

There’s nothing more I can teach you. The rest will come when you put what you’ve learned into practice. Know that you are loved for what, and who you are.

Sincerely, 

“Mrs. Goblin”

P.S. Do the right thing or I’ll come back and make you clean out flying monkey cages again. 

July 2nd

I decided that I would try and “do the right thing” by heading back to MH to try and make up for my mistakes. I thought if I hid in the shadows and helped the couples of MH, you know be a Cupid to what was my destruction of love, I could make a difference and they would see that I was a changed monster. Well, my intentions were good, but things did not go as I had planned. I kinda, no, did, mess things up. Luckily, it all seemed to work out in the end, I guess, just not as I had hoped. I don’t think any of Draculaura and her friends will ever really trust me. And while I hope one day they can see I have changed, I know it will take time, too. I guess I can’t expect them to just forgive me right away. I will say one good thing hopefully came out of it. While attempting to hide in the shadows I bumped into a student I didn’t recognize. He said his name was Spelldon Cauldronello, he had only been at MH a couple weeks as he had been traveling with his older sister. Meeting him totally made me space and forget to send a text that was supposed to help Clawd. He asked if I went to MH and I said I was just visiting, but I would love to go to MH one day if I can. He said he’d keep me up on the groanings on around the halls if I wanted, so I gave him my number. At least the trip wasn’t a total stake. I do wish I could figure out how to make it up to Draculaura and her friends though. I know now that real friends help each other with their problems, not try to solve them for them.

July 7th

I was tempted to stay in my room today and treat myself to a monstrous blue funk, but, instead, I walked aimlessly outside until I found myself sitting on the beach watching the sun go down. That’s when I noticed something unusual partially buried in the sand. I pulled it out and die-scovered it was an ornate lantern caked with seaweed. I brushed it off... and got the shock of my unlife! The lantern began vibrating and glowing, like I had awakened something inside and it was not trying to get out. I dropped it like it was hot and fell back as smoke swirled up and out of this thing. When the smoke cleared away there was a ghoul floating above me. “I am the djinni of the lantern. What is your wish?”

July 10th

The djinni’s name is Whisp and we have something in common: the direction of our unlives changed because of Monster High. We shared our stories and struggles; neither of us has made the beast decisions, but we both want to be better monsters. We talked so much that Whisp had to remind me I had three wishes. I asked her I should wish for and she said, “I cannot tell you what to wish for, nor can I tell you what not to wish for, but I can say be scareful what you wish for.” I laughed and told her that sounded ominous. She didn’t see the humor in her statement. “Wishes are tricky things,” she replied, “They often have a mind of their own and don’t always come true in the way you expected.” I thought for a moment, and wish I could go back to Monster High and fix the things I had broken. Whisp rose into the air, her eyes glowing, and said, “As you wish.” Instantly, I was back at Draculaura’s Sweet 1600 party, only I was dressed like a repairman - tool belt and all. Headless Headmistress Bloodgood stood in front of me with her hands on her hips. “You need to repair the barrier around the pit of eternal body odor before another monster falls into it!” This wasn’t what I meant by “fixing what I had broken,” and there was no way I was getting close to that pit again. That’s when the other students saw me. A very large minotaur pointed his finger at me, “There he is again! Throw him back into the pit!” I wished myself out of MH and back in my room just in time to avoid another dunking. Two wishes down, one to go.

July 12th

Whisp has been very apologetic but she needn’t be. I wished for something so general that it could have been granted in numerous ways. What I really wanted was a chance to do something unselfish for the monsters I hurt - to give and not take. When I started working for Mrs. G., there were times I wished what someone else would do the dirty work so I could just play with the creatures. Now I know I just wished it to be easy. Whenever I was in the middle of something particularly loathsome, Mrs. G. would cackle, “Sometimes work stinks, doesn’t it?” The first few times she said it, I wanted to drop everything and go home. But I stuck it out, and, although I still have a long way to go, I’m a better monster for it. Unlife is a lot of work and I guess some problems aren’t meant to be solved by wishing them so. Speaking of wishes, I need to think of something non-ambiguous for the last one...

August 1st

I summoned Whisp today to grant my final wish. I admit I put it off because I was being selfish. I’ve never had a friend like her, and once my last wish is granted, the lantern will move on and I will probably never see her again. I considered freeing her from the lantern, but I don’t think she wants that: she loves being a djinni, appearing in new places and granting wishes. But I know she gets lonely at times, so this was my wish: “Whisp, I wish we could always be friends.” Whisp rose up, her eyes glowing: “As you wish!” I could see her smiling as she turned to smoke and returned to the lantern, which shot up and disappeared. I thought for a second that my wish wasn’t granted, but then my iCoffin lit up and I noticed a new app icon that looked like a little mirror. I tapped it and there was Whisp! Now, not matter where in the monster universe she is, we can talk to each other! “Yes, Mother, I’m talking to myself down here.”

[swimfuel]

after idk how many months im still heavily brainrotting over your "scott summers is a knight of doom" and your comparison of him w/ dave. hussie ran and tripped and fell so marvel could walk.

do you have any more classpect hcs for any other marvel characters? o5, champions, etcetc? your analysis are genuinely good

anon trust that you are not alone in this because every once in a while i remember that scott summers is a TEXTBOOK knight of doom and i immediately need to sit down

however i’m sorry to say that i don’t necessarily have any other hcs as solid as #that because scott was my #1 meow meow for months on end BUT i do have some thoughts that ill put under the cut!! disclaimer that it’s been a little while since i’ve read anything and i’m not nearly an authority on any of these characters

emma frost:

the easiest immediate grab for me is slayyyqueener emma frost as some kind of mind player (beyond the shallow association of psychic = mind)

emma interacts with the world through LAYERS upon LAYERS of fronts!!!! i think it’s really telling that, when i think about her powers, i don’t immediately think about the whole mind-reading/mind-control/whatever/etc — i think about her incredibly frequent use of psychic suggestion/projection to create illusions and fronts !!!

three outstanding but contrasting examples of this:

house of m #6 where she uses layers psychic commands to hide herself and her compatriots (a tactical use) — this was the very first example of her powers that came to mind, but she’s used very similar strategies innumerable times throughout the comics; her manipulation of others’ perceptions and expectations is a key part of her “fight style”, if that makes sense? she’s as powerful a psychic as anyone else, but she’s the only psychic i’ve seen with such emphasis on this style of psychic suggestion

some other comic (i’m thinking it’s either from late utopia era or some time in krakoa era, or maybe something else entirely but it was very lighthearted) where she’s going out on the town dressed in pjs or something with her hair and makeup undone etc etc etc but she uses psychic suggestion to make everyone around her think that they’re seeing her in full glam (personal use)

aaaand the elephant in the room…. inhumans v xmen and death of X with the whole illusion scott thing. i cant comment on this one because UMM.. as a cyclopswasrightist LOLLL I DIDN’T READ IT…. but from general osmosis i know that it generally revolved around emma using her abilities as 1. a crutch for her grief and 2. a way to keep the mutant cause alight through martyring scott and 3. a way for him to not be remembered as an m-pox victim. god can we just give it up with the inhumans i promise nobody gaf

so with that down pat… heres the hard part ? i struggle a lot with class assignment so i’m just going to run through some ideas:

thief of mind:

i think it could work! she has some of the showiness of the thief but it’s tempered by the calculations of a cerebral mind player

the thing with thieves is that their aspect-related selfishness is typically not selfishness for selfishness’ sake? … thieves do things that align with their own (typically… unique) moral code and what they see as the Right Thing To Do, with very little regard for the standards of others. that is VERY EMMA even as she goes through her reformation-era (see: wh*don’s run)

and the thief of mind classpect madlib (one who steals mind/through mind) works pretty well both considering her modus operandi and her skillset! actually wow this is really well-suited to her i actually can’t think of another class for her? so i guess it’s decided? emma frost is the THIEF OF MIND 🙏

jean gray:

okay so i haven’t read a TON of the older comics and a lot of krakoa era stuff makes me wanna vomit so i am not nearly as well versed in jean’s stuff as i am with emma but i did read some of the newer stuff with young jean

but before i begin can we please just laugh at this panel together. why does this artist look like they trace from optometrist ads

anyways she definitely suffers from the witchmaid subjugation bullshit, i think? where the maid follows a somewhat typical path of “subjugation —> realization —> agency” the witch is more continually limited by the narrative except when it demands for their particular talents and explosive power/influence over their aspect… the realized witch ultimately suffers for the advancement of the narrative

i thinkkkk… i think i’m gonna go with witch! considering the passion that defines jean and the scale of the power she wields (and is often too dead or cockblocked by the narrative to Actually Wield) as well as how she literally just cannot catch a break (it’s a bit strange to me how the mage is seen as Thee Suffering Aspect when the witch is right there but i digress)

god okay shooting into the dark here but maybe heart for her aspect? again, going past the shallow association of psychic/empathy powers = heartmind, she has the witchtrait of being surrounded by her aspect all her life — ie. identity issues and empathy

i think it’s fucking insane how neatly the dave/sollux/scott comparison lines up with the jade/aradia/jean comparison. holy fucking shit. i don’t know how intentional it was but jesus christ in heaven

god sorry i am just so sleepy i’ll come back with more thoughts later but here are some last shots in the dark

hank = a mage (for very similar reasons why edward elric is a mage: got their ass beat in the pursuit of knowledge/ways to solve their Big Problem)

kamala = a maid (?????) (if for no other reason than she reminds me So Much of my friend who is also a maid and more that i don’t feel like explaining)

amadeus = a page (light?) [pagebluster and overcompensation —> genuine development]

rogue = indya moore (not a classpect just a very very good fancast and this list feels incomplete)

[ilysmxiao]

your title is gone now, childe. | childe x reader

ok this is rlly shitty bc ive nvr written for childe before. the reason why i did was bc there was a yt vid (which the link is here) and a lot of ppl were writing ab it,, so i decided to join in on it and my friend rlly liked it lol. so im posting this here . this is super shitty tho, cus i rushed it. childe is probably occ so b warned. anyways i might start writing genshin fics, so yea. pls pls pls check the warnings bc this is triggering,, gn prns used !! i wrote this listening to i bet on losing dogs on repeat lmao summary : the love of your life remains as your enemy, even as you both grow closer and share memories you would never share with another person. although you truly loved him, he had what you didn’t. in our lives, we do what we can to achieve what we want, even if it ruins what we already had. we must pay the price if we sought to get what we wish. warnings : character death, gore/blood, knife stuff, possible manipulation?? jus overall sad shit. please dont read this if ur triggered by those things !! 

at first, it had felt like a game - a childish one, in which both had fought for the title they held so dear. a number was just so in many eyes, but in their own, it held much more meaning. to be a harbringer, you must prove your strength. to achieve such title, it wasn't considered dirty to cheat, as it all was just part of the game. as time went on, though, it all had lost it's meaning, though one continued to fight - whether that was to prove he earned his title, and did not want to lose the superiority that it granted him, or for other selfish reasonings that even his inner thoughts refused to accept. due to his own lack of true understanding of the powers others held to make himself seem all the greater, childe went into the war blindly; yet, at the same time, too aware, so much so that his concentration on his weak spots created a new one entirely that was left open. it was not paranoia that put him in this spot, but his own selfish reasons he had yet to entirely understand. a cough escaped the males lips, blood dripping down from the corner of his mouth. it was then, did he realize he underestimated his lovers strength, their willpower, and the lack of true love they held for them. even with a knife against their neck, they would not back down, and it was far too late to realize such. whether [y/n] truly loved him or not, whether they used him for the title that granted them so much power in liyue, he could not tell if what angered him was the lies he had been given or the very fact he so gradually fell straight into them. in the end, all that mattered was who won, but he was unsure if the battle he sought was one he truly wished for. although he was a merciless harbringer, one with no care for the likes of someone like [y/n], he still had a right to love. not only so, but at the end of the day, [y/n] promised him that if all else corroded around the two, they would always be there. childe refused to listen to the soft spoken echoes of the loving words [y/n] used to tell him. he refused to watch the sweet memories of the two playing with teucer, bringing back the toys [y/n] taught him how to make for the pure fact that the poor kid would not find out the truth - or when they would lay in bed together, speaking of the many stories they had experienced in their lifetimes that made them who they were now. but when all is said and done, what all of that was true? did any of it mean anything, if the ones people truly loved hurt them in a way that was unforgivable? when they took away the one thing that meant so much to them? when all is taken, what do they become; what happens then? "oh, oh, my little baby," his lovers lips cooed, their hand softly grazing the others chin. "what have you become?" a soldier that blindly ran into war, fighting against a force he could never put his finger on. the title of a harbringer was an important one, though, how important it was to another was never going to be the same as the other. childe lacked to realize such, stuck in a bubble of his own selfishness and his love for the other - he never cared to realize how much it might have meant to the other. he never sought to realize the power that being even related to one it gave them, or the trip that it would put them on. childes eyes gazed up at his lover, soon shooting away to the empty space beside them. upon looking into those blue eyes of his, one could see the color began to dull and the ambitions he once held began to fade. "i should have been more cautious of you, i would have never expected you to be the one to steal this from me." although he said it in a tone that could show the way he laughed at his own faults, [y/n] knew very well that he had officially been stripped of what power he had held. "you underestimate me, childe. did the acts of other teach you nothing? even the ones you love betray you, a war can not have two winners." a small, hoarse chuckle left his lips; a burning sensation growing in his abdomen. the blood continued to poor out of his side, in which, caught his attention - his eyes glanced at the wound at his side, then back at his lover. he knew his time was up, as the thoughts of his loved ones and the risks he had managed to pull through with scattered his mind - was it worth it, leaving his loved ones behind, his younger brother who had meant as much to him as he did to teucer, in the end? "i hope that..," [y/n] paused for a moment, a small sigh leaving their lips. "in the next life, we meet again, and that you are sure not to let your guard down." the gaze that casted upon childes body soon wavered, turning into almost a sad one, perhaps even a disappointed one - in that moment, when their gaze met each others, they both realized what this both costed them both. it was clear that [y/n] still loved him, and always have loved him, and that was the breaking point for the both of them. one refused to show it, the other was uncaring of what he had let the other see. what is left after life is what truly matters, and although you may not like how it ended, at least something stuck with you until the end. right? "i-i'd like to believe that, [y/n]," childe muttered shakily, his brows very slightly furrowing. "you truly can not trust those closest to you." although the males lover already knew what they had done, what it had costed them - the one person he had chosen to love, the last words to leave childes lips was what had made him fully understand what he had done and the pain was one he knew that he never truly would be able to get away from. "well, we will see, won't we?" there was a pause, silence soon flooding the air. childe knew his time was coming, he accepted it, and it nearly mortified him to know things had to end the way it was going to. "y-yeah, we will.," few words left childes lips, and another blade plunged into his stomach. another groan left his lips, his face coiling slightly in pain. if you were to look hard enough, you could almost see the tears that soon began to prick the males eyes. "i love you, ajax." soon, [y/n] wrapped their body against their dying lover, and childe attempted to do the same. "i-i.., love.. you, too." those were the final words that childe spoke, his body soon going limp in his lovers arms. the words he spoke still lingered, echoing in the bristling sounds of leaves swaying in the wind - nothing more, nothing less. to become a harbinger, there were no rules - you just had to prove you were worthy of such a title, no matter what it costed, no matter how you cheated the rest. life does not come with special privilege's, no one will let you surpass them willingly, you have to fool them into believing you cant, and only then will you be able to reach what you sought for.

[janekfan]

Heart(ache)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26199034

“You, you, you want to say something, Martin, so just say it!”

“I won’t, not while we’re both upset.” Martin gestured tiredly, somehow keeping his temper even as Jon flickered lightning quick between all of his emotions seemingly at once. “Not when you’re like this.” Like this, was pacing the length of the sitting room, shaking top to toe, each and every muscle stretched taut as a bow string. He felt out of control, like a war was waging inside his chest and there was no space, no way out.

“I didn’t.”

He hadn’t.

Because Martin had to bodily intercept him and drag him away from the child harboring the fear he practically tasted on the recycled air in the market. But he hadn’t. He, he wouldn’t.

But he would, wouldn’t he. When his tentative control over the horror roiling just under his skin snapped. When he ate, and ate, and ate up their fears and haunted their dreams until the empty, desolate abyss inside him stopped hurting.

“I know. But it was a close thing and I’m. I’m tired, Jon.” He pinched his nose, glasses riding up on his forehead. “A child, Jon. A child.”

Logically. The part of Jon that still existed logically knew this wasn’t easy on Martin. Knew it was impossible. Knew that this hunger was taking advantage of the man he’d been before this and exacerbating all the worst parts of himself.

And he let it. Some days.

Because it was easier.

It had always been easier to be alone.

Trust Martin to keep coming back and Jon to keep letting him; craving him like a drug, the only one that could quell the ravenous voice whispering in his ear all those seductive, cloying promises of freedom and power and Knowledge of all things.

But Martin would never be able to understand how deep the dark went and how much of it was Jon himself and it was shameful that he couldn’t tell where he ended and the Eye began and Martin could never understand. Wonderful, beautiful Martin asked how he could help and Jon didn’t know because nothing helped except that which he tried so hard not to take.

God. He was tired of being a burden.

Tired of being helpless.

Tired of losing bits and pieces to that covetous pit.

And he was just so angry.

Static filled his head and he realized he was holding it in both hands, tugging at his greying hair and Martin was still talking but he didn’t understand what he was saying. Could only pick up on the displeased nature of his tone.

Martin was upset. Jon made him upset.

He couldn’t breathe.

“Jon.” And he didn’t deserve the concern in his voice.

“You were going to say something. Before. Please.” Jon couldn’t feel his hands. His arms were numb.

“Not now.” But he needed it now. He needed to know so he could fix this.

“Martin--” He was turning away. Leaving. He was leaving.

“No, Jon.” He could. Fix. He could fix this. He just needed to Know. If he Knew he could fix this. Then Martin wouldn’t leave. He wouldn’t leave if he could just fix what he broke. He just needed to Know.

“Tell me!” Despite the desperate fracture in his voice, the compulsion was like a physical blow and Jon grieved it the instant he spoke but the damage was already done. Dangerous satisfaction that didn’t belong to him flooded his mouth with salt.

Time slowed.

Jon watched (because that was all he ever did) in horror as Martin struggled against the Eye’s power, his power, before his answer erupted from his throat like a gout of acid.

“I hate that you’re like this!” Martin clapped both hands over his mouth, hurt, and confusion, and disappointment welling up in his eyes as Jon turned tail and ran into the night.

There were no shortage of places to hide in the highlands and quick as he could, Jon wedged himself, trembling fit to shake apart, under the shadows of a fallen stone wall before the hysterical sob fighting to break free wrenched itself painfully from the dead center of his chest.

And once it was set free there was no way to stop, not even when he became light headed from the lack of air, not when he knocked his head against the stones with his frantic rocking back and forth, curled up as small as he could get. He couldn’t stop crying, hyperventilating between his knees, the mocking laughter of his god echoing in the hollows of his mind.

It’s over.

Over.

I’m alone.

I’m alone.

I can’t do this alone.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

Hard, Job bit into the skin between his thumb and index finger, muffing himself with the bite and begging the pain, this new pain, this different pain, to cut through the noise taking up all his spaces, stealing away his control and he’s had so little of it lately. This time he slotted a knuckle between his teeth until he tasted blood.

Again.

Again.

Until his paralyzed lungs heaved in a great breath and dizzied him with it.

Until the panting slowed.

Again.

Until each hand was covered in healing, bruising, bleeding marks of his own making.

Until he could think again.

Until the shame blossomed in him and he cried anew, cutting the edge of his pinky on an incisor. Anything to stop feeling for just one moment. He sank in on himself, making himself somehow smaller amongst the rubble boxing him in, resting his hot, hot forehead against the chilly stone. He could feel the cold seeping in, could see his breath on each exhale and took to counting each plume until the only thing he was left with was an aching exhaustion down deep in his string-and-stick bones.

Sodding blighter.

You never stop when you should. Always pushing.

Always needing more than someone gave. Never grateful for what he was given. Selfish. Martin would realize sooner or later, that Jon needed more than he had any right.

And now.

Martin, sweet, kind, beautiful Martin, would let him down gently. Explain that he hadn’t known how much of himself Jon would try and take. That he hadn’t known the depths of his greed and couldn’t allow Jon to use him up. He would be sorry.

And then he would leave.

And the idea that Jon found a certain comfort in the familiar order of these things, knew what to expect, was sickest of all.

Tears slipped down his cheeks, dripped off his chin, and Jon didn’t know whether the furious shuddering was from the temperature or the residual shock of his panic attack. As he continued to calm, the Eye flickered and danced along to the thrum of the insect song all around him, identifying each species, genus, family, order, latin name, who discovered each one and when; the list was infinite. Jon let it have its fun, blinking slowly, wondering absently who’s dreams he’d lurk through if he just fell asleep right here.

He was contemplating that very thing when he heard Martin’s voice calling out and Jon knew if he stayed still he wouldn’t be found and considered doing just that, not knowing how he could ever face him again after what he’d done. The beam of a torch swept over the wall and Jon heard quiet cursing as Martin tripped and almost lost his footing.

He would hurt himself stumbling around out here in the dark looking for Jon so scrubbing his face free of any tears, he stood on unsteady legs, limping forward filled to bursting with regret and shame.

“Martin.”

“Oh, Christ, Jon.” He whirled, hand clutched over a pounding heart no doubt and watched him scan him up and down, expression forcibly neutral and more tears rolled down his cheeks. Wordlessly, Martin bundled him up in his coat and warmth engulfed him as he was led back to the cabin by the hand settled against the small of his back.

He was sat in a chair in the tiny kitchen and Martin made no motion to take his coat so he hunched himself up inside it to watch him putter around preparing tea. Jon knew better than to interrupt. Could tell he was angry by the clipped movements, his stiff shoulders. He swallowed, pushing down the panic. Martin had every right to be mad. To yell at him. To hurt him if he needed to. It wasn’t fair to manipulate him with more tears.

He would be patient. He would wait. Because Martin needed him to wait and he didn’t wait last time.

Jumping when the mug was set in front of him, Jon waited until Martin settled across from him, watching his body language, noticing how he wouldn’t meet his eyes. Noticed how he relaxed after the first sip.

“I’m--”

“Drink your tea, please, Jon.” Terse, but not unkind. Until now, Jon had kept his hands hidden in the long sleeves. The bites were healing. Quickly. They weren’t gone. And Martin would see if he reached for the porcelain in front of him.

Would he be mad?

“Breathe, Jon.” How? When he’d ruined the only thing good he had and that knowing was crushing him like he’d been crushed in the Buried. “You’re freezing, love.” Jon’s eyes went wide in surprise, welled up. Spilled over. “Drink your tea.” Softly, like he was coaxing a cornered animal. Ashamed, he looked down at the surface of the worn table speckled with his tears, and reached out his hands, closing his eyes at the sharp intake of breath. He couldn’t look. Too afraid of what he’d see and I don’t need to Know, thank you very much, please, stop.

The first swallow began to thaw him from the inside, out, and it was made just how he liked it and suddenly he was crying so hard he could barely finish, gasping like a fish out of water for just a whisper of air, sore from the effort. He was strung out, a wreck, scarcely keeping it together, not keeping it together. And suddenly he was being pressed against Martin’s chest, one hand gently holding his head in place, the other running up and down his back as he fought himself for permission to breathe.

This wasn’t fair. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He hurt Martin.

And again, he made it all about him.

It was always about him.

“Let’s get these washed up, okay?”

Savlon and plasters applied, Martin settled them both on the couch, tugging Jon against him and pulling a blanket over the both of them.

“I’m so, so, s’s’sorry.” Martin sighed heavily, carding fingers through Jon’s hair when he tensed up at the sound.

“I know.”

“H’how can I--?”

“I’m sorry, too. I was so scared for that child.”

“I kn’know.” Jon pushed away so he could look at Martin. “I’ll do better. I won’t. I won’t go into the village.” Just please, please don't leave me here alone. Martin pressed a kiss against his forehead.

“You’re doing your best.” While falling so, so short.

“Do you.” Jon licked dry lips. “You hate--”

“I don’t hate you, darling.” Jon buried his face in Martin’s jumper. “I hate seeing you struggling because I can’t help you.”

“You do help.” Muffled by the soft yarn. “You’re the only thing that does help and I. I.”

“Made a mistake. And you hurt me. But, Jon? It doesn’t mean I’m leaving.” The relief was heady, overwhelming. “Next time, because there will be one, that’s just how this all works. Next time you need to listen when I tell you I need some time.” Jon nodded. “Good. Well, that’s a start then.”

“That’s it?”

“For now.” Martin hugged him tightly. Jon tentatively returned it. “We’re tired--don’t argue with me. And we have time to figure this out together, love.”

And Jon breathed.

[hotpinkrathian]

Train Wreck Part 1/2

(Kyalin)

I know 2- parters aren't popular but I gotta conserve space. Its a sad one.

Lin placed a hand on Kya's lap, offering a light smile.

"I'm going to go to the food car, do you want anything?" She asked. Kya shook her head, she had been feeling terrible the entire ride. Evidently it took trains to make Kya feel any type of motion sickness. Lin nodded and stood up, making sure her girlfriend was okay before she left to go get the food. The trip to Zaofu had gone pretty well, and Su had a great reaction to the news of their relationship. Her and Kya had spent an entire just waltzing the city, the waterbender was so enticed by its design she spent the night asking Su all about it. Lin smiled at the memory, usually her sister was intolerable, but with Kya around she found it a little less-so. She opened the car door, and sighed when she saw the line. She was debating whether or not she was really hungry enough to wait in line when the car lurched. She stabled herself, confused gazes and murmurs echoes around her. Her senses went off and she knew something was wrong.

"Get down!" She shouted, a second before the car lurched again, this time falling to its side. Women screamed and Lin reached out to hold onto a seat, expanding her cables to help others who were almost sent flying. She landed against the wall of the car, when a large sound broke out, sending her into a spiraling panick. An explosion? It sounded like it had come from the conductor. Which was only a car away from her seat, where Kya most definitely was. "Kya!" She shouted, trying to stand up on the slick steel wall and window. Her foot broke through the glass, saved from injury by only her armor. She looked behind her, where civilians were crying, either in pain, or for a loved one who was.

"Everyone stay calm!" She called to them. "Hold onto something. I'm going ahead to check it out, tend to the wounded if you can. Do not make any sudden movements," she directed. She was certain some of these people wouldn't know who she was, but her badge was unmistakable, it declared her as a person of ranking, of stature. She caught the eye of a younger man in the crowd, seemingly a Zaofu guard, silently telling him to stay here and watch over the people. She took a wary step, with a sigh, and walked forward, slowly, when the car lurched again.

"Oof!" Kya landed against the opposite wall with a thud. She tried to prop herself up, but her arm was met with only pain.

"Shit." She cursed. Her eyelids batted as she looked around. Glass had shattered around her, and seats close to the front were torn. She ran a hand over her face, recoiling when it came back covered in blood. The taste of it in her mouth became too strong and she spat it out, along with some vomit.

"Lin?" She asked, as loud as she could. Her mouth hurt, opening it had sent her whole cheek into pain. She managed to stumble to her feet, looking around. Behind her, people coughed, laying 8n the ground, their groans of pain making her uneasy. Infront of her sent a shiver down her spine. The front of the train car was blown apart, and the people on the floor were no longer moaning, their cries could be silenced by only one thing. She wiped tears from her eyes, her hand during a dark red.

"Stay there," she called to a woman behind her. "I'm coming." Before she could make another step, an explosion went off and she was sent flying to the back of the train car.

"Kya!" Lin screeched as another explosion went off. Her ears were filled with screams of terror, drowning out any possibility of a reply. She took one last glance at the people behind her, her instinct told her to stay, it was too dangerous. They needed her here. But the selfish part of her, the part of her that Kya had touched, the part of her that called louder told her to go. So she did. She bent aside the steal, leaping ontop of the tipped over car. She was greeted by black smoke, and the heat of flames. She took a moment to listen, for the sound of a plane, a train, anything, but there was nothing. They were in the middle of nowhere. No one would be coming for quite some time. She began to make her way forward, careful not to step to heavily or she may disrupt the car further. She counted as she passed, and the closer she got to 0, the more destruction she saw. She heard wails beneath her, and thought she should stop, but there was nothing she could do. She hadn't noticed how her hands had began to quake, as she grew closer and closer to the truth. Ashes fell into her hair, from what, she didn't ask.

"Kya." It came out as nothing more than a whimper. She was standing on their train car now, or what was left of it. The front half was gouged open, engulfed by flames, the crisp steel stained a dark black. Lin peered inside, reeling away to throw up when she a man impaled on the steel, his corpse propped up as if he were praying. She took a deep breath, and left into the car, recoiling with a gasp as she hit the floor. It was hot, much to hot. It heated up the metal of her boots, singeing the bottoms of her feet. She fell to floor, burning her palms, scampering to the end of the car in a desperate attempt to escape it. She pulled herself to a torn seat, tears pooled st the corner of her eyes as she stared at her burnt hands. They bled onto the floor, adding to the piles of blood that were already there.

"Kya." It came out as a cry. She didn't want to believe it, she had to be here. She crawled over the seat, screaming at the burnt remains of someone who had been caught directly in the blast. She leaned over again, puking up what was left of breakfast on the floor. The smell of smoke drowned out the scent of burnt flesh rather well, but not when she was in this close quarters. She looked away, closing her eyes, taking a breath. She was the chief of police, she was trained for this. Then she saw it, the white tendril of hair laying on the floor at the back of the car. She had run her fingers through that hair many times, she knew who it belonged to. She used her cables, wincing as her burnt hands gripped them to pull herself forward, no longer caring about the security of the car. She landed on a seat next to the hair, she closed her eyes, preparing herself. She didn't know what was on the other side. All she knew that whatever it was would determine whether or not she died in this car today. She looked over. Kya's eyes were closed, her face was coated in blood, she had a gash from the edge of her lip up to her right ear, making her look as though she had a demented, torturous smile.

"Kya," Lin rasped. Nothing. "Kya." She rasped again. Lin coughed, smoke filling her lungs. She had to get out of here, there's no telling how much toxic gas was in this car. She looked to Kya's feet, she could bend a hole there, and pull the water bender out.

"Hold on," she said, as she mustered the last of her strength and manipulated the metal.

"Lin, you're home early."

"Yeah well, you know."

"I do not know, perhaps you'd like to enlighten me?" Kya said, a grin tugging at her lips as she put her hands to the edge of lins jacket, using it as a grip to pull her into a kiss.

"I mean, you know, I have you to come home to now."

"So I'm yours incentive?" Kya smirked as she pulled off Lin's coat, hanging it next to the door.

"Precisely." Kya scoffed, giving Lin a playful side eyed as she turned back to the kitchen.

"Supper is almost ready. I was going to get Po's but I found this recipe and I just had to-" she stopped as the room went dark.

"What the?" She said as she turned around. Her eyes widened as Lin was standing by the kitchen table, illuminated by a sole candle behind herm

"Lin?" She asked, a hitch in her breath.

"Kya, I have never felt this way about anyone before,"

"Lin," she gasped, suddenly aware of what was happening.

"You make me want to relax, I can't stop thinking about you, and everything you mean to me. I love you Kya, so, so much." Lin reached behind her back, pulling out a small velvet box. She opened it, revealing a bright silver betrothal necklace. It was engraved with the symbols of earth and air, an arrow, symbolizing her family, and a small flying boar, symbolizing Lin's.

"Oh my raava..." kya whispered. Her hand reached out to Lin's arm, as she got closer to it.

"Lin... I-" she stammered, unable to communicate through her powerful smile.

"Is that a yes?" Lin asked, a hopeful gleam in her eye. Kya pushed herself forward, pulling Lin into a short passionate kiss. Lin almost dropped the box in surprise.

"One thousand times yes!" Kya responded through her own tears. Lin kissed her again, and Kya sunk into her touch.

"Do you want to put it on?"

[enchantednightingales]

RJC’s review of: A Number

I’d like to start by apologising for the continued use of the almost-pun “A Number” but in my defence... Caryl Churchill started it.

There are A Number of things one can look forward to in Polly Findlay’s production of “A Number” at The Bridge theatre and just three of them are Colin Morgan. Fangirls can delight that Colin’s stealth stage door exit skills have FINALLY been put to their stunning first use on stage. Colin plays three different characters with about six to eight costume changes in the space of an hour. He disappears and reappears completely anew and it is magnificently seamless.

When I first read the play I had A Number of concerns. Maybe I’m an old fashioned kind of gal but I prefer sentences to begin AND end. I’m greedy like that. I found the play far too difficult a read and I was somewhat apprehensive about the production. Fortunately, I see the text benefits from performance as Roger Allam and Colin Morgan breathe something reminiscent of natural into those lines. I tip my imaginary hat to them as well, remembering that stuff must be tricky, the majority of these lines don’t follow a natural structure and tripping on the lines would weaken the effect. 

I am not completely sold on this effect to be honest. It cries device to me and distances this tale from pertinence.  “She was one of those people, when they say there has been a person under a train” is a good example. WHO EVER says that? Ever? Nobody. I’m a great lover of words but apparently I don’t like them in this particular order. I never was one for the abstract. Be prepared for a little abstract.

Colin’s nasal and fumbling B2 makes a lot more sense in person than I could have ever anticipated when reading. A Number is obviously not quite my cup of tea shall we say but it is becoming an increasingly tolerable piece thanks to the efforts of this production. It’s an intriguing story. A failed father seeks a fresh start, sends his son into care but not before cloning him, as “tribute”. Written just as cloning became a legitimate thing it’s pushing at big relevant buttons but for my money it’s a paper thin approach. It’s definitely a conversation piece though, a trigger of questions, forcing you to think and figure the thing out. If you can be bothered to meet it half way and you kinda have to.

A Number is another “sins of the fathers” type narrative in which Salter, the father, cannot break the cycle of his own ineptitude and selfishness. A price his sons inevitably will have to pay. I won’t give that price away but it makes for a sad little story. Some emphasis on little. When it could have been bigger (that’s what she said). 

A Number hits a number of notes in its short duration. It’s kinda funny, it’s even kinda cute (maybe that’s just Colin), it’s kinda sad, kinda creepy, kinda cruel and ultimately super dark.

Roger Allam and Colin Morgan pull out of the bag a rather lovely and truly unforgettable chemistry as father and sons. I’m not quite used to seeing Allam as the “little man”. His appearance is entirely ordinary and as a character he’s far from powerful or noble. For a man usually possessed of scene stealing charisma, Allam fearlessly relished in the grim and pitiful. He’s squirming from the beginning to the end. Trying to contain the anger of his first son, trying to contain the disappointment of his second son and in the final act, trying to salvage some scrap of meaning or importance from one beautifully blasé last (of 19) hopes. Allam’s physicality when B1 is on stage is intriguing to watch as he screams fear and seeks distance. His tone when B2 is on stage almost convinces you of wholesomeness and genuine love. Salter is quite an understated journey but enjoy as Allam hits every single note of it in true masterclass fashion.

One could marvel for A Number of hours about how amazing the stage is for this production. The first night, when the room completely changed angle, my eyes widened like a kid in a Colin Morgan-themed Candy store! WOW. It messed with my mind so much that I was second guessing everything. What they can do nowadays is awesome. I still don’t quite get how it all works and where exactly Colin escapes to in-between but... that’s the magic of theatre for you. 

I’m also a big fan of the 90s kinda feel. The stack tables, the CD tower, the TV stand, the landline phone! It’s soooooo 90s I keep expecting to hear Hanson’s MMM Bop playing upstairs or something. I feel like I’m a teenager again, at my friends’ house and it’s all kicking off between her hot older brother and his step-dad again. Flashbacks.... 

My only criticism with the whole set change thing is the decision to blast some crazy sounds at you for their duration. It’s like watching a crappy horror movie with jump scares that don’t lead anywhere. It’s not particularly satisfying and ones patience for it tends to wear thin. Especially when everyone around you likes to gasp and yelp every time it happens. Personally, not sure why nobody just took my advice of playing Bjork’s “Army of Me” in-between the set changes. I’ve only got an entire playlist of suggestions but whatever. You know better. I suppose it might wake the odd theatre sleeper.

Can I talk about Colin Morgan now? 

I feel like A Number is a bit of a showcase of everything Colin can do (and do better than anyone else). He’s got the skills for comedy, for brutality, for tears and not to mention his signature LIMITLESS energy. As his self-elected number one fangirl I will quite happily sit there and bask in the pride as he totally nails this whole thing.

Colin’s three characters are all quite different. One might easier refer to them as Benjamin, Leo and... well... Michael. B2 is adorable in his almost whiney tone and sounds possibly too much like Yasmin in “Worldship Humility” accent (for my liking). I keep expecting him to start calling people goat fucking somethings but so far he’s not done it. His twitchy, stiff awkwardness is reminiscent of Benjamin but that’s about it.

B1 isn’t exactly Leo-like, he’s far too efficient for that, he just STRANGELY ENOUGH looks A LOT like him. The hoodie and denim don’t help. He’s got that similar breaking point type edge to him. B1 sounds as serious as he is and for the first time ever, Colin is somewhat unsettling, I don’t blame Roger for keeping his distance. He’s a tad nasty and Colin goes there. Customarily though Colin helps us to “see it human” with a tear or two. As poor B1 just sits there stewing in his own anger, hatred and confusion, lost to a father and lost to himself. It’s a sad tale and Colin sure won’t let you miss the point.

B1 is part of my favourite exchange which involves Salter demonstrating his worst colours when he justifies his actions by claiming B1 was something to be crushed. Representative of the lacking thought and care that can go into the creation of life that is ultimately one of mankind’s most devastating flaws. B2 speaks of being cloned from a speck and says “you threw the rest of me away”. Colin slays me with that line. I am dead now. He killed me. Here I must afford A Number with the compliment that it is effectively unsettling and unpleasant, which is, what I think it was going for. I hope.

Can I talk about Michael now? 

He’s so adorable. Can I just point out SPOILER that Michael is Irish! Even Irish clones are better! Unlike in All My Sons, Colin catches a break and can conclude this show on a happier note, he’s a happy man attune to and accepting of similarities to the likes of apes and lettuces. He’s a purple shirt of sex wearing Maths teacher twenty years away from Netflix and Chill with his pointy eared wife (possibly called Rebecca in my head) and he’s at ease with life, fatherhood and clone-being. I love Michael. When he’s on stage “you can’t help feeling wonderful”.

Dean (Gloria) has a cheerful contender for my heart. Who saw that coming?

After that ridiculous wait we all had to endure while Colin was being all lazy and stuff we finally get some Colin vs Bad Dad on stage again!

PS. Did I mention that Michael is lovely? 

[green-eyed-whumpster]

My OC Universe: Rowan 56

Chapter 56 Summary: Jordan finds her inspiration and manages to write a much longer chapter!! Yay! Rowan and William suffer through their first night as prisoners and are visited the next morning by their captors. (Taggalicious: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi, @much-ado-about-whumping, @abitefullofeverything, @whump-me-all-night-long and @sky-or-something-idfk)

Trigger Warnings: Verbal abuse, physical abuse, threatening death, reference to abortion (Ooh, what a strange warning! I wonder what the context is??? [sorry I’m in a weird mood today] )

It wasn’t surprising that William was gagged. It was surprising it didn’t happen sooner. But it wasn’t surprising that it happened.

He screamed like a banshee as they shoved the rag in his mouth. He tried to kick at them, but one stood on his legs as the other forced his head back and tied a cloth around his head, trapping the lump in his mouth. “Will he not choke?” Rowan asked as they released him, and they turned to look at him, almost as though they had forgotten that he was there. “Not if he stays quiet.” One answered, and they left, not bothering to lock the door behind them, Rowan and the King weren’t going anywhere.

At least with William silenced, Rowan could try and sleep. Gods knew he had tried to sleep in far worse places. Here he was dry, and as long as there were no surprise visits from malicious soldiers, he would be safe. Every once in a while, there would be a lurch, or a scramble of William fighting against the chains, but it never ended up going anywhere, and there would be an infuriated grunt, and then another period of silence.

Rowan was actually surprised to realise that he had fallen asleep, after being woken by the sound of footsteps and a scraping of metal along the stone. His eyes darted about the room, blinking in a hurried effort to clear them before the attacker grew closer, and accidentally locked them with William’s. He was disturbed to find them red and bleary, so even in their current scowl Rowan could tell he had been crying. It’s not his fault. He’s clueless. This is probably the first time he’s ever been under threat. The first time he wasn’t in power. He isn’t as used to it as I am. “It will be all right,” He whispered, nodding softly to the man. He was rewarded for his effort with a muffled hiss and the man lunging towards him, stopped by the rattle of chains. “I know I’ve called you a savage, but you really are coming into the role.” Rowan turned as Marie entered, followed by a smirking Alexander, and finally, Cordelia. “Take the gag off him.” She smirked. “I want to hear him scream.” “I’ll do it.” Cordelia said sternly, keeping her head angled deliberately away from Rowan. He desperately tried to catch her eye as she walked forward and pulled the cloth around William’s mouth down, forcing her thumb into his mouth to prevent him trying to bite down on her as she pulled out the wad of rags. 

He settled his mouth for a moment before spitting at Cordelia. Rowan could see her shoulders slump slightly as if she were rolling her eyes and without hesitating she backhanded William, stepping back to Marie as the man gasped in shock, turning his enraged glare to her. “How-how dare you strike me?” He roared, restrained hands fighting even harder. “I am the King!” Rowan could see the tears of shame welling in his eyes as his cheeks reddened and felt a deep sense of discomfort. “Oh, haven’t you heard?” Marie asked in mock-innocence. “The King went out hunting yesterday and went missing, soon after his consort and their personal bodyguard disappeared. The soldiers are out, scouring the lands for wherever our beloved monarch is, and presumably, where his murderers are hiding.” Rowan’s face fell as he realised the implication and was reminded of what happened to Oliver. “But-but I’m right here! What about Oliver? What happened to him?” He exclaimed, tears of his own springing to his eyes. “Hmm, it’s very rare that you speak out of turn.” Marie sighed and glanced at Cordelia, giving her a silent order. “Such a pathetic creature,” She said finally, voice unwavering. “The only two people he interacts with are his guard and his master. I don’t blame him for asking.” Marie looked at Rowan and sighed softly. “What absolute bullshit!” William roared. “My soldiers will not let some little cock-tease steal the throne from me!” Alexander stepped forward without hesitation and struck the man himself, the heavy crack echoing in the cell as cartilage shattered under the blow. William was so preoccupied for a moment with the pain and the fresh blood racing down his face that Marie could focus on the consort for a moment longer. “He’s behaved so well, I don’t feel it’s really necessary to have him kept quiet,” Her voice was far softer than Rowan could have believed, and he looked at her hopefully. “But I can’t have his master thinking it’s all right to shoot his mouth off excessively.” Cordelia nodded in resignation and stepped towards Rowan, he saw the regret in her eyes as she tipped his head back and slapped him, too. His cheek only stung for a moment, a dull throb numbing his nerves as she stepped back. “But…” He paused as the movement immediately reminded him of the punishment he had been given for speaking last time. But there wasn’t another instant blow, so he continued. 

“But because I’ve been behaving, wouldn’t it make sense that I be allowed what he isn’t? So, maybe, he’ll stop causing quite so much trouble.” He waited for another look to be shared between the women and for his former friend to strike him again. So, he was startled when suddenly laughter reverberated from the walls, coming from Marie. “Oh, you’re such a clever little rat, aren’t you?” She grinned, catching his eye no matter how hard he tried to look away. “I’d admire your survival instincts if they didn’t disgust me so,” He flushed deeply under her words, feeling William’s glare on him. “If you think for one second that I’ll allow you to treat that whore any better than me –“ 

Cordelia appeared to be fed up with William and so before he could even finish his threat she had struck him again. The exasperated look on her face resembling one a parent might have when their child was misbehaving. This only entertained Marie even more. “Ha, ha! Well, I suppose, since you do make a good point, you can ask…three questions.” Rowan glanced at her uncomfortably and swallowed, nervous now that he had been granted some semblance of freedom. “I-wh-why are you doing this? What’s going on?” He stuttered, and she smirked merrily. She quite enjoyed being in a position of power. Especially over her disgusting husband and his timid little lover. “I’ll only count that as one question since they are both incredibly similar.” She granted and he bowed his head nervously. “Th-thank you.” “It’s a coup. We’re kicking the old King off the throne before he ruins the country any more than he already has. I organised a group of soldiers and servants that I could trust and arranged for his hunting trip to be sabotaged. He was smuggled back to the castle, into the dungeon and guarded by men on my side.” It sounded so wonderfully simple when she explained it like that. As though she were discussing a party or the arrangement of some renovations. “I swear I will wring your neck the moment I get out of these chains!” William snarled, and she turned an amused look to him. “Then I suppose you won’t be released from the chains any time soon.” “Why now?” Rowan asked, hoping to interrupt any more attempts at arguing. William seemed just as curious as Rowan was so at least he stayed relatively quiet as Marie spoke. “Now was the best time.” Marie answered sombrely as she rested a hand over her stomach, and Rowan’s eyes flicked to Alexander as he stepped closer to his mother. He looked…unhappy. Turning his gaze to Cordelia, Rowan realised her face had softened, also. “You’re pregnant?” He asked, on a whim, remembering how her hand rested there when she cornered him, and he turned her down. As if she were protecting something. Rowan had learnt when he was young that potential mothers usually guarded their stomachs at any threat of danger. Marie scoffed gently and shook her head in defeat. “I don’t believe I give you enough credit, consort,” She sighed, purposefully moving her hand away from her bodice. “I’m honestly quite surprised at how resourceful you are. If only you were on my side.” William’s jaw fell open and he stared, dumbfounded, at Marie. Temporarily silenced. “I can have children?” He asked after a moment. The only words not raised and dripping with contempt that he had spoken while imprisoned. “Well, you can’t kill me, now! Who will be the child’s father?” Marie snorted and shook her head again, this time with disdain. “You think I would let your poisoned bloodline continue?” She asked, scowling at the prisoner. “I don’t want any reminder of you to exist once I’ve taken power! This creature will be chosen as the rightful heir and Alexander will be swept aside! So, what? We can have another failure of a leader with your family’s ancestry flowing through their veins? Never. The child will be gone before it even draws breath.” The way she spoke indicated that she was just as upset with the idea as William was. “You can’t do that!” He yelled. “You can’t kill my child! My blood! You, selfish bitch! You only think about your son and nothing more –“ “This child would have been mine, too!” She interrupted angrily. “It brings me no joy to murder the creature, but I will not have any supporters of you rip apart everything I have worked for!” “How do you know it isn’t Jonathan’s?” Rowan asked before thinking. “Because,” She said, sniffing gently. “Jonathan is sterile.” “I-I was under the impression that William was, too,” He continued softly, flinching as Marie laughed. “William still has his balls.” She stated bluntly. “Jonathan, when he first became my lover, also became a eunuch. My previous husband was far more thorough than William.” That’s a pretty strong reason. “William’s supposed sterility is through pure genetic weakness. Somehow, he seems to have combated that.” William groaned and rolled his eyes. “To think I wasted my seed on your pathetic hole!” He snarled at Rowan who sighed softly. “It doesn’t matter.” Marie shrugged. “Any potential heirs of yours will be gone by next week.” Rowan swallowed the urge to comfort her. He doubted she would want his sympathy. “What’s your last question?” Marie asked, startling Rowan, he thought she would have counted the one about Jonathan. “He’s had three.” Alexander said, clearly thinking the same thing. “I’m not counting it,” Marie replied, smoothing her dress. “It clearly wasn’t something important in his mind.” Rowan dipped his head slightly and swallowed. “Um-thank you,” He muttered and glanced across to where William was sitting. “What-what are you going to do with us?” He finally asked, hazarding a look up. “I thought that might have been it,” She muttered and sighed. “We can’t kill you, yet. My power isn’t solidified yet, and should someone find your bodies everything has been for nothing. So, for the foreseeable future you’re going to be kept down here.” She said before looking at Cordelia. “Until we come across a convenient time and method for disposing with you.”

[caelum-in-the-avatarverse]

Written for Kataang Week 2020. Prompt - Heritage/Responsibilities.

The morning after escaping the pirates, Katara studies the waterbending scroll, and Aang considers loss.

~~~

My Kataang Week entries are turning out to be a sort of Fluff-Angst-Fluff-Angst sandwich. Don't worry, tomorrow's fluff again!

Title shamelessly taken from Things We Lost In The Fire, which is a great song for anything victimized-by-the-Fire-Nation related. Is that song old enough that filching lyrics from it for titles could be considered Fandom Retro by now? I never got to go at it the first time around so I don't care either way lol.

Warnings for talk of genocide.

Enjoy!

~~~

Katara tucked the waterbending scroll away in one of the saddlebags and didn’t touch it again for the rest of the day. Aang had Appa fly as fast and as far as he could, heading northeast, away from the sea and further inland where hopefully neither the Fire Prince nor the pirates would be able to follow them. In the evening they camped beside a small river that was too shallow for a boat to navigate, feeling secure in their escape.

The next morning, Aang woke to find Katara carefully shifting her weight through the stances of the single whip, a stream of water floating beside her hands. The riverbank was a carpet of brown stones and pebbles that crunched under her feet with every movement, and the moon above her was a waning gibbous, hanging over the hills in the gray morning sky.

“Good morning,” Aang said, floating to Katara’s side. He approached carefully - yesterday her water whips had been all over the place, and she was still learning.

“Morning,” she said, her eyes darting to the waterbending scroll she’d left open on a log. It wasn’t a very good angle for glancing at. Aang picked it up and helpfully held it up. “Thanks.” She shifted into the next stance, the water following.

Aang watched her make the next few moves before asking, “How does it feel?”

“Like I have no idea what I’m doing,” she admitted, fumbling as she tried to figure out how to move her arms from one position to the next. The result wasn’t very graceful.

“That’s normal when you’re learning,” Aang said, cheerful. “You’ve just got to build up the muscle memory. Once you’re used to the movements, they’ll come easily.” He watched her nearly trip over her own feet, and said, “It’s okay, Katara.”

“It’s not okay,” she blurted, and the water spasmed in mid-air.

Aang’s smile faltered.

“It’s just - I should already know this,” she said, looking at her water. “But I don’t. These moves are - they don’t look super advanced, and I’m still having problems with them. It feels like I’m missing things. Warm-up stretches, katas, beginner exercises - but I don’t know this stuff.”

Aang gave her a sympathetic look. “Katara, it’s not your fault no one was around to teach you.”

“I know it’s not,” she said. “It’s the Fire Nation’s.”

Katara and Sokka didn’t talk much about the specifics of what had happened to the Southern Water Tribe in the last hundred years. Aang remembered the place as it used to be - dozens of distinct tribes with their own territories and cultures that tended to move with the seasons. They’d also had some permanent villages, trading posts, and one large town clustered around a main harbor where all the tribes could gather and the rest of the world would dock and do business. Generally speaking though, the Southern Water Tribes had always been rather nomadic.

But the tiny village Aang had seen wasn’t the summertime hunting camp of nomads, only meant to house a few dozen people between hunts. It’d been the last refuge of a society stretched too thin.

“Aang,” Katara said softly, “when I got angry, and...selfish...over the scroll…”

“It’s okay, Katara,” Aang said. “You’ve already apologized.”

“Right, but - that’s not what I’m getting at.” She fiddled with the water between her arms. “I was upset because everything came so easily to you, but I’m the last Waterbender of the Southern Water Tribe and I just...couldn’t get it. I couldn’t get my element to work with me. And I have to learn this, I’ve wanted to learn this my entire life. Not just for me, but for my family, my tribe…”

She trailed off. Aang gave her an encouraging look. “You know,” he said, “for someone who never had a teacher, or even seen waterbending that wasn’t yours in action...you did manage to figure out a lot on your own. Learning bending moves isn’t even easy when you have a teacher - but you did it without one!”

She smiled weakly. “Thanks.” She idly moved her hands away from each other and back in, stretching out the water between them.

“It’s a shame I didn’t learn waterbending before I got frozen in that iceberg,” Aang mused. “Then I could teach you!”

Katara shrugged. “It’s okay,” she said. “I can manage.” She stretched the water out again and peered at the scroll in Aang’s hands, which he held up obligingly. “I just...kind of wish this was a Southern Tribe scroll, instead of a Northern one.”

Aang blinked. “Uh...why?”

“They took our Waterbenders away,” Katara said. “All of them. That part of our culture, our way of life...it’s gone.”

“We’ll find you a teacher, Katara.”

“We will,” she agreed. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad we got this scroll. And I’m going to work really, really hard to catch up on everything I’ve missed when we find a teacher. But...Gran Gran told me once that Southern style waterbending is different from Northern style. She couldn’t explain how, but she knew Waterbenders so it must be true, and...there’s no one who could teach me the Southern way. It’s...gone.” She gestured at the scroll. “This, and everything we’ll learn from a teacher - it’ll all be Northern-style waterbending.”

“...Oh,” Aang said softly, and he suddenly had to sit down on the log, the scroll going limp in his hands.

“Aang?”

“We had four Air Temples,” he said. He had to get the thought out quick, before it overwhelmed him. There were so many things about his people’s deaths that he was still coming to terms with - either because he didn’t want to think about it, or because he hadn’t had the realization yet. This was one of those realizations. “North, South, East, and West. We were all the same people, and we moved around a lot, but they were all...different.”

The nuns at the Western Air Temple had perfected the trick of walking upside down on the ceiling and had always laughed at anyone who tried and failed to mimic them. The Northern Air Temple had been home to many sky bison polo champions who’d known all sorts of athletic tricks. The Eastern Air Temple had been renowned for weaving the softest clothing and blankets from bison fur. The Southern Air Temple had grown a hybrid of apple that could turn such a dark purple it was almost black.

Aang didn’t know how to do any of that stuff. He was an airbending master, but he didn’t know everything. And now he never would.

You couldn’t fit the entirety of a culture into a single person.

He was distantly aware of water splashing to the ground, and then Katara was sitting beside him, blue eyes wide with shared grief. She pulled him in for a hug, clutching him tightly, one lost culture to another. “I’m so sorry, Aang.”

Aang thought of the traditional choreographed sky dances his people would perform at festivals, all careful drops and fancy spins and steps he’d never thought to learn because he’d always thought there’d be time later, and choked out, “Me too.”

~~~

Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are always appreciated. <3

I always feel for Katara in The Waterbending Scroll. The girl has a very powerful gift that is an extremely important part of her, but she doesn't know how to use it and she's desperate enough to figure it out that she steals from some very dangerous people. And she gets upstaged by a younger kid who's never consciously waterbended before, after a lifetime of dealing with the fact that she is her tribe's only connection to this lost piece of themselves, and being belittled for her efforts to learn it. She was pretty mean, but I can see where the frustration was coming from.

And I always feel for Aang literally all the time because good god that boy truly did lose everything. There are so many Air Nomad things that will never be brought back, or at the very least will never be the same. Food, art, music, stories, knowledge...so much a twelve-year-old wouldn't know. :(

Black apples are a thing! Black Diamond apples are only grown in Nyingchi, Tibet, where the high UV light and cooler night temperatures turn the apple skins a very dark purple, nearly black. The apples are a variety of huaniu apple, which is a hybrid made from ten OTHER varieties of apples. They're extremely rare and are only found in high-end Chinese grocery stores, usually in gift baskets. There are also black apples grown in the US, the Arkansas Black, but they aren't as dark as the Black Diamonds. They also need to spend a few months in storage before they're ready to eat, so all the time and work needed before you can sell them means lots of farmers don't bother with them.

[mhdiaries]

Diary of Kieran Valentine

You’ll steal my heart if you read my diary.

May 1st

When I left Monster High after Draculaura’s Sweet 1,600 birthday party, I was angry, humiliated and stinky from falling into that pit of eternal body odor. I stank so bad, Mom wouldn’t even let me in the house: I had to sleep in the guest room above the garage. Looking back, I can see it was probably the best thing that could have happened to me. Even my considerable powers to charm were no match for the power of the stench that surrounded me. My powers slowly weakened as I was deprived of what sustained them: the love I selfishly took from others. I was in a stench-induced imprisonment - rarely leaving the garage - but it allowed me time to do some serious thinking, and I realized I wasn’t being true to myself. Then one day there was a knock at my door, and I opened it to see a little old goblin woman with a cane staring up at me through thick glasses. “I’m Mrs. Goblin, but you can call me “Mrs. Goblin.” I’m a friend of your mother’s.” She said, “you need to get out of that room, and I need some help, so let’s go.” She turned and walked off, and, with nothing left to lose, I followed. It turned out that she ran an unwanted-creature shelter and couldn’t keep up with all the cleaning, feeding and daily upkeep. It also turned out that she had no sense of smell. “Lost it back in ‘72,” she told me. Mrs. G. ran me through the daily routines and gave me the tour. “You can start today,” she said as she handed me a mop and a bucket. It’s hard to believe I agreed, but I didn’t have any other options. The shelter was home to an unusual collection of exotic creatures: gremlins, flying monkeys, lap dragons, miniature manticores, and many others that had been picked up as strays or turned in by monsters who didn’t want them. Even though the work was hard, and not always pleasant, I began to look forward to it. In fact, I usually felt more energized after I finished a day than when I started. I felt my powers returning and every day I got stronger. Eventually, I mentioned it to Mrs. Goblin who snickered, “You emotional vampires never get it - stolen love is just empty calories. I’ll never sustain you for long.” She could tell I still didn’t get it. “Love that’s freely given is the most powerful source of energy in the monster universe. You’ve been coming here every day, taking care of these critters, showing them kindness, and the only thing they have to give you is their love - and believe me, they have a lot to give.” I couldn’t believe what she was telling me. I must have been standing there looking stupid because she said, “Close your mouth before the the flies get in and go clean the flying monkey cage. They’ve been throwing stuff again.” I was in a daze. Why had no one ever explained this to me? Rather than dwelling on it, I was just happy I finally knew.

May 3rd

I now know that I did it - stealing love - because I thought that’s want an emotional vampire was supposed to do. But it never felt quite right. I thought if I kept doing it, it would eventually feel right. But it only made me angry and frustrated. Then when Draculaura called me - well, Toralei, really - I thought that if I could get the heart that got away, it would change me and everything would be fine. But I was just a real pain in the fang to everyone and made a fool of myself. So I’ve come to a conclusion: being myself has to be easier than not being myself, right? Back then, I hated the thought of who I really was, and that conflict made me become someone who wasn’t me. It’s time to be true to myself, but it’s scary.

July 1st

Today was my one-year anniversary at the shelter. As I left the garage, I ran into Mom. She sniffed. “You don’t stink anymore.” It was true - the stench was gone. I gave Mom a hug and told her it must be due to what I’d learned from working for Mrs. Goblin. I thanked Mom for telling her I needed help. Mom looked at me strangely, “What are you going on about? I don’t know a Mrs. Goblin.” What? I ran to the shelter but when I got there it was boarded up and empty. How could this be? I crawled through a broken out window. A thick layer of dust covered everything and it looked like no one had been there in years. Then I noticed a piece of paper on the table where Mrs. G. used to sit and drink her tea. It was a not addressed to me:

V,

There’s nothing more I can teach you. The rest will come when you put what you’ve learned into practice. Know that you are loved for what, and who you are.

Sincerely,

“Mrs. Goblin”

P.S. Do the right thing or I’ll come back and make you clean out flying monkey cages again.

July 2nd

I decided that I would try and “do the right thing” by heading back to MH to try and make up for my mistakes. I thought if I hid in the shadows and helped the couples of MH, you know be a Cupid to what was my destruction of love, I could make a difference and they would see that I was a changed monster. Well, my intentions were good, but things did not go as I had planned. I kinda, no, did, mess things up. Luckily, it all seemed to work out in the end, I guess, just not as I had hoped. I don’t think any of Draculaura and her friends will ever really trust me. And while I hope one day they can see I have changed, I know it will take time, too. I guess I can’t expect them to just forgive me right away. I will say one good thing hopefully came out of it. While attempting to hide in the shadows I bumped into a student I didn’t recognize. He said his name was Spelldon Cauldronello, he had only been at MH a couple weeks as he had been traveling with his older sister. Meeting him totally made me space and forget to send a text that was supposed to help Clawd. He asked if I went to MH and I said I was just visiting, but I would love to go to MH one day if I can. He said he’d keep me up on the groanings on around the halls if I wanted, so I gave him my number. At least the trip wasn’t a total stake. I do wish I could figure out how to make it up to Draculaura and her friends though. I know now that real friends help each other with their problems, not try to solve them for them.

July 7th

I was tempted to stay in my room today and treat myself to a monstrous blue funk, but, instead, I walked aimlessly outside until I found myself sitting on the beach watching the sun go down. That’s when I noticed something unusual partially buried in the sand. I pulled it out and die-scovered it was an ornate lantern caked with seaweed. I brushed it off... and got the shock of my unlife! The lantern began vibrating and glowing, like I had awakened something inside and it was not trying to get out. I dropped it like it was hot and fell back as smoke swirled up and out of this thing. When the smoke cleared away there was a ghoul floating above me. “I am the djinni of the lantern. What is your wish?”

July 10th

The djinni’s name is Whisp and we have something in common: the direction of our unlives changed because of Monster High. We shared our stories and struggles; neither of us has made the beast decisions, but we both want to be better monsters. We talked so much that Whisp had to remind me I had three wishes. I asked her I should wish for and she said, “I cannot tell you what to wish for, nor can I tell you what not to wish for, but I can say be scareful what you wish for.” I laughed and told her that sounded ominous. She didn’t see the humor in her statement. “Wishes are tricky things,” she replied, “They often have a mind of their own and don’t always come true in the way you expected.” I thought for a moment, and wish I could go back to Monster High and fix the things I had broken. Whisp rose into the air, her eyes glowing, and said, “As you wish.” Instantly, I was back at Draculaura’s Sweet 1600 party, only I was dressed like a repairman - tool belt and all. Headless Headmistress Bloodgood stood in front of me with her hands on her hips. “You need to repair the barrier around the pit of eternal body odor before another monster falls into it!” This wasn’t what I meant by “fixing what I had broken,” and there was no way I was getting close to that pit again. That’s when the other students saw me. A very large minotaur pointed his finger at me, “There he is again! Throw him back into the pit!” I wished myself out of MH and back in my room just in time to avoid another dunking. Two wishes down, one to go.

July 12th

Whisp has been very apologetic but she needn’t be. I wished for something so general that it could have been granted in numerous ways. What I really wanted was a chance to do something unselfish for the monsters I hurt - to give and not take. When I started working for Mrs. G., there were times I wished what someone else would do the dirty work so I could just play with the creatures. Now I know I just wished it to be easy. Whenever I was in the middle of something particularly loathsome, Mrs. G. would cackle, “Sometimes work stinks, doesn’t it?” The first few times she said it, I wanted to drop everything and go home. But I stuck it out, and, although I still have a long way to go, I’m a better monster for it. Unlife is a lot of work and I guess some problems aren’t meant to be solved by wishing them so. Speaking of wishes, I need to think of something non-ambiguous for the last one...

August 1st

I summoned Whisp today to grant my final wish. I admit I put it off because I was being selfish. I’ve never had a friend like her, and once my last wish is granted, the lantern will move on and I will probably never see her again. I considered freeing her from the lantern, but I don’t think she wants that: she loves being a djinni, appearing in new places and granting wishes. But I know she gets lonely at times, so this was my wish: “Whisp, I wish we could always be friends.” Whisp rose up, her eyes glowing: “As you wish!” I could see her smiling as she turned to smoke and returned to the lantern, which shot up and disappeared. I thought for a second that my wish wasn’t granted, but then my iCoffin lit up and I noticed a new app icon that looked like a little mirror. I tapped it and there was Whisp! Now, not matter where in the monster universe she is, we can talk to each other! “Yes, Mother, I’m talking to myself down here.”

[peshcel]

Riddle Me This: A Tom Riddle Character Study

[Also posted on Reddit, if you want to comment/share your thoughts!] 

Riddle Me This: A Tom Riddle Character Study

*Warnings: some profanity, spoilers, and puns.

‘Twas but a regular Saturday eve when a question of utmost importance grabbed hold of me: ‘Voldemort, why such a You-Know-What?’

You see, while Voldemort appears to be a very classic villain, Tom has proven to be an enigma wrapped in a Riddle (hehe). So, equipped with what I remembered from my BSc in Social Psychology, I also called upon my therapist friend with an MSc in Forensic Psychology to explore what would drive someone like Tom Riddle to become Lord Voldemort.

In this gone-awry Reddit comment, I will drag you along for a deep dive into how our little Dark Lord grew up and discuss concepts like power, control, sense of self, and terror management – all up to the point where Tom Marvolo Riddle introduces his clever anagram ‘Immortal Love Rodd’ ‘I am Lord Voldemort.’

Join me on this character study journey of about 5,500 words (15-30 min) where I try to figure out how Voldemort came to be.

Oh, and be sure to share your thoughts at the end of the ride!

 Baby Lord Voldemort: A Pensive Pensieve Trip

“Voldemort is my past, present, and future.”

 Long before we found out Snake-face Voldemort had barely a soul left, we thought he was the purest form of evil out there. He had done despicable things before his supposed death and had now resurfaced as a gross face on the back of someone’s head, hell-bent on killing this little kid. As we gradually learned, Voldemort was once Tom Riddle: a charming, brilliant, orphaned Wizard with the potential to go on and do great things. But, we also learned many little tidbits about the circumstances before his birth, about how he grew up and how he portrayed himself at Hogwarts, which has given us just enough to come up with our own theories about his personality and how he was shaped.

So, before we continue, let me quickly arm you with some abnormal psych. terminology. Both Riddle and Voldemort really match the three personality traits of (malignant) narcissism, Machiavellianism, and psychopathy, aptly known as ‘The Dark Triad’. 

Plucked straight from the Wiki, summarized for your convenience:

Narcissism

is characterized by grandiosity, pride, egotism, and a lack of empathy. 

Malignant narcissism

is when narcissism is combined with antisocial behaviors; the evil side of narcissism. (I stumbled upon

A Study in Evil: Voldemort, the Malignant Narcissist

after writing all of this, but I highly recommend giving it a read if you want a deep dive.)

Machiavellianism

is characterized by manipulation and exploitation of others, an absence of morality, unemotional callousness, and a higher level of self-interest.

Psychopathy

is characterized by continuous antisocial behavior, impulsivity, selfishness, callous and unemotional traits (CU), and remorselessness. (Better distinguished as ‘primary psychopathy’.)

*Sidenote: the term ‘sociopath’ is quite often used in pop culture, sometimes even interchangeably with ‘psychopath’. The actual diagnostic term is ‘antisocial personality disorder’, as described by the DSM-5. However, there is a difference between sociopathy and psychopathy, a whole slew of them actually. Important to note is that a ‘sociopath’ refers to a person with antisocial tendencies that are ascribed to social or environmental factors, whereas psychopathic traits are thought to be more innate, i.e. genetic causes (x).

We are given facts in the book that suggest psychopathic, antisocial, and (malignant) narcissistic traits are evident in Tom Riddle from early childhood. Using all that information, I want to take you on a ride to see how all these tidbits together shaped Tom Riddle and how that would lead him to become Lord Voldemort (not to be confused with ‘going Full Voldemort’).

  The Interplay of Nature and Nurture, and Magic

Psychopathy is believed to be a complex interworking of mostly nature but also nurture, let’s unpack this in regards to Riddle.

Tom Riddle is born to a Pure-blood mother, Merope Gaunt, and a Muggle father, Tom Riddle Sr. When we are first introduced to the Gaunts, Salazar Slytherin’s last descendants, we meet a violent father and son, and a daughter who takes the brunt of it. We are told that the entire Gaunt line has a history of inbreeding and that they are known to produce individuals with violent and unstable personalities. They live in dire conditions but are incredibly proud people and sneer at the mere existence of Muggles. Merope grows up poor and abused, traumatized, ridiculed for her lack of magic that seems to be more the result of the abuse than the cause for it. Not far from their shack in Little Hangleton lives Tom Riddle Sr.: rich, handsome, somewhat of a prat, and the object of Merope’s affections. Being no great beauty and with little to offer, she “hoodwinks” Tom Riddle Sr. and escapes her dreadful life with her family. Merope is soon with child after their marriage and decides to release Tom Riddle Sr. of whatever spell he’s under, but he leaves her immediately.

Let’s consider the circumstances surrounding the conception of Tom Riddle. J.K. Rowling said that Voldemort could not understand love as he was conceived in a ‘loveless union’. However, she also stated that had Merope decided to live and raise Tom, his life would’ve turned out differently by knowing ‘love’. We could understand the tidbits shared by J.K. to mean that a child born into a loveless union would perhaps grow up in a loveless household, would have no good examples of what love is and would not know or be shown love. While Dumbledore hints that he suspects Merope used a Love Potion to “hoodwink” Tom Riddle Sr., we only know that magic was used. I always understood said ‘loveless union’ to be a magical violation – violation in every sense of the word – and that Tom’s incapability to love was due to magic that tried to correct a balance, i.e. the Laws of Magic™ were violated. Now, I’m no Magical Theorist, but this could mean that actual Magic™ is at play in addition to a genetic predisposition to explain Tom’s psychopathic traits.

Apart from these genetic and magical factors, we could also consider the environmental factors that influenced the biological development of Tom. Merope was left destitute and depressed when Riddle Sr. abandoned her while pregnant. In the dead of winter, with a lot of stressors and suppressed magic, she gave birth to Tom at the orphanage and then died. While we don’t know how her pregnancy developed, this being all guesswork, the prenatal stressors and perhaps a complicated birth due to her suppressed magic could have influenced Tom’s brain development. Brain development or deviating brain structures are linked to psychopathy (x). Simply said, the parts of the brain responsible for empathy and guilt or fear and anxiety don’t work the same for psychopaths, e.g. they don’t experience fear or other affects the way others might. In a psychopathic child, for example, this could mean that they would be hard to socialize because they don’t fear punishment even though they might know that it is a consequence of their behavior. It’s also what makes them great liars (psychopaths can ace a lie detector test like no other). It can also mean being more prone to boredom and seeking thrills as a result (low arousal theory). We could even view all of this in light of ‘Magic™ development’ instead of the Muggle term ‘brain development’.

In addition to taking into account these hereditary, biological and prenatal factors, we'd be remiss not to look at the effect of nurture. Now, we don’t actually know that much about Tom’s early childhood except for what we learn during Dumbledore’s visit to Wool’s Orphanage in 1938. We find out that Tom steals from people, has no qualms about hurting animals, scares and bullies other children, and is a consummate liar ‒ all while having/showing no remorse. Mrs. Cole, the matron of the orphanage, refers to Tom as being a funny boy and odd, that he was a “funny baby, too” and “hardly ever cried”. It is conceivable that the caretakers gave him less attention in response to his lack of showing his needs through crying and that he was picked up and held less often. It could also be a chicken-or-egg situation: perhaps he didn’t cry because he learned his cries would not be responded to, etc. Even if we leave magic out of the equation as to why they would find him ‘funny’, it is likely that he showed general ‘abnormal’ responses and behaviors not appropriate for his developmental stage that were unsettling to others. It is easy to assume that this would lead to people distancing themselves from him and alienating him further. Regardless of cause-effect, there are clear signs here that Tom grows up maladjusted and that his attachment style falls somewhere along the dismissive-avoidant. I think we can assume that the lack of developing a relationship with at least one primary caregiver would really put a damper on having any semblance of a ‘normal’ social and emotional development.

There seems to be a clear interplay here of genetic, biological (magical) and environmental factors as the perfect foundation for dysfunctional personality traits to really come to fruition.

  Power & Control: A Narcissistic Trip 

 “There is no good and evil. There is only power, and those too weak to seek it.”

 Strap in as we first take a little detour for a quick exploration of narcissism. As previously stated, we clearly see signs of malignant narcissism in young Tom, characterized by grandiosity, pride, egotism, and a lack of empathy, combined with antisocial behaviors. What is particularly applicable in Tom’s case is Kohut’s theory of narcissism. 

The Little Narcissist

 In psychoanalytic theory, primary narcissism in children is part of their development.

It is normal for children to develop self-love and object-love, as Kohut puts it. Entertaining notions of greatness, magical thinking, feeling omnipotent and omniscient and believing to have a certain immunity to the consequences of their actions is all part of this development. It is quite innocent, but it can become pathological. According to Kohut, children are normally gently disillusioned of these grand notions, in a nontraumatic manner, by maturing and becoming part of society. Pathological narcissism, however, develops when the child basically has defective narcissistic structures of the self by having this process disrupted.

This defective structure fits Tom Riddle to a T. In addition, Kohut’s theory of object-love really applies here as well. According to Kohut, either a child has a ‘mother’ to confirm their grandiosity, or they seek an adult to create an ‘idealized parent image’. This means they will seek an adult, someone powerful they can look up to, so they can bask in their reflected glory. For Tom, having neither someone to confirm his grandiosity nor someone to look up to means he creates his own powerful parent. We notice this when Tom explicitly asks Dumbledore about his father being a Wizard, since his mother obviously could not have been; she wouldn’t have died if she was. One can imagine his (narcissistic) rage when this image was shattered later on. His five-year search for the Chamber of Secrets to confirm he’s the Heir of Slytherin is a direct result of Tom’s continued search for a sense of self.

  The Narcissist’s Plight: Need for Control

 One of our main human motivational processes is the desire for control. Actually, it is perceived control that really helps our general sense of well-being. This need exists and is deeply embedded in all of us. However, when people are tried and tested, feel threatened or powerless, a lack of agency can kickstart all kinds of coping mechanisms to maintain the sense of self. So, simply put: the less perceived control you have, the greater the need. 

 When we speak of power, we speak of control. If there is anyone who is desperate for control it’s the narcissist. The narcissist is believed to have such low self-esteem and fragile ego that it will, subconsciously, protect itself from being injured at all costs. Controlling your circumstances and those around you is a means of guarding and protecting the ego. Anything less just won’t do. A threat to that control, that power, is a perceived threat to the sense of self.

Power is a concept that really tickles Riddle/Voldemort’s Niffler as we pretty much learn from the get-go. Consider again, for a moment, where and how Tom grew up. His ability to control came from his magic. Seeing as how Tom grew up in an orphanage, not a penny to his name and very few resources, I think that Tom learned early on that everything could so easily be taken away from him ‒ by someone bigger, older, someone who had more power. While Tom could ‘control’ his circumstances to some degree with his magic, he was still a child. He seemed to have an innate understanding of his powerlessness, i.e. lack of control. Perhaps less helpless than other children, but still a child dependent on others. Not only that, but he was dependent on people he deemed lesser than him, less intelligent, less special. Something a narcissist like Tom would deeply resent. The thing here is that viewing others as beneath you or believing oneself to be superior to others is an ego defense to deal with insecurity, shame, rejection, etc. Tom develops this ego defense but also gets confirmation of his grandiosity through having magical power that actually does set him apart.

 Rejection is another big theme in the life of a narcissist; one that Tom was very familiar with. He was unwanted and fully made aware of it: his mother ‘left’ him by dying, his father never came for him, he was not chosen for adoption, and there were many other children vying for attention. Attention that Tom did not receive but perhaps believed he was owed. Originating from a sense of entitlement, someone like Tom would come to view any sort of rejection as a slight (for he is smarter, better, etc.). While Tom might not have even wanted such attention or even had a particular need to belong – considering he didn’t view anyone as a peer/equal – the fact that it was not automatically given to him was probably construed as insulting. 

  Control Through Controlling Others

 Mrs. Cole told Dumbledore that Tom scared the other children and that it was hard to catch him at any bullying or other malicious acts. With the ability to control his magic at such a young age, along with being highly intelligent, he was quick to figure out how to use this to his advantage. He could fly under the radar when needed, manipulate those in power, and use his skills to control others through fear ‒ ultimately to protect himself and what little he had, but also relishing how he could lord his power over others, establishing his superiority and showing them all how special he was. I believe that Tom honed the art of manipulation at a young age as he couldn’t fathom other ways of tying people to him, of forming relationships ‒ unless there was fear or a sense of owing. His magic gave him the additional tools to control those that didn’t have it.

Then, a defining moment: Tom meets Dumbledore.  Using the same control tactics he has probably used with everyone around, Tom tries to command Dumble to do/say certain things. If you squint, you could even say that Tom was able to put a magical compulsion in his commands. Dumbledore, being who he is, is unmoved and even gently puts Tom in his place, which in Tom’s eyes would be considered a slight.

When Tom learns there is a word for his abilities, he is very eager to show off and be acknowledged for it by someone he could potentially identify with, someone who can show him the path to more knowledge, more power, someone ‘worthy’. For the first time, he encounters someone he wants to impress; he does this by boasting about his abilities. How telling it is that our Little Lord says that he “can make bad things happen to people who annoy me,” – not “mean to me” as the movie had us believe.

Here, Tom seems to have accidentally truly revealed himself – perhaps for the first time, definitely the last time. Out of childlike excitement and eagerness, he has shown his hand, which he immediately regrets when it is not followed by recognition and/or approval from Dumbledore. Dumbledore, quickly catching on to the power dynamics, asks Tom to address him as ‘sir’ or ‘professor’ and immediately establishes his authority. Tom accepts it begrudgingly, “expression hardened”, as he needs Dumbledore to tell him more. Upon Tom’s demand, Dumbledore’s power is then quickly, and casually, displayed when he uses the Flame-Freezing charm on Tom’s wardrobe. If I’m being honest, I always found Dumbledore’s ‘casual’ display of power to be very loaded and quite problematic, ‘destroying’ something of Tom’s where he had stashed his very few possessions. Yet, Tom quickly goes from outrage to “expression greedy” when he realizes Dumbledore was just showing his power and using it to impress, i.e. instill fear (Tom immediately asks Dumbledore where he can get “one of them [wands]”). 

When Dumbledore uses his ‘power’ to then confront Tom with his stealing and bullying, Tom reluctantly concedes that he cannot manipulate Dumbledore and doesn’t deny his actions, knowing that ‘being truthful’ is how he can appease and steer Dumbledore. He even accepts the humiliation of having to return the stolen items and apologize to others.

Honestly, the whole interaction between them is so significant, so amazing and so telling of Tom’s typical interpersonal dynamics and relationships. It’s no wonder he starts to despise and avoid Dumbledore. Tom had made himself the master of his little universe, believing that no other has his special type of power. Not only did Tom lose his cool during the conversation, he showed weakness by being vulnerable. As Tom learns when he joins the Wizarding World, Dumbledore is even more powerful than he thought and holds strong political power to boot. Someone like Dumbledore, for example, is not just threatening because of his power but because he can see behind Tom’s mask. 

  Control in the Wizarding World

 The interaction with Dumbledore seems to set the tone for Tom’s understanding of ‘power’ in the Wizarding World. It is something he further internalizes when he arrives at Hogwarts and gets sorted into Slytherin, a House of mainly Pure-bloods. I wholeheartedly believe that this little Snake immediately understood the blood status dynamics at school and the hierarchy within Slytherin House; things beyond his control. It is not a stretch to believe that the Slytherins, in particular, bullied him, ostracised him—rejected him—for his lack of Wizarding name, lack of status and money, and tried to show and put him in his place, thus fueling his rage. So at the age of 11, Tom had the mental acuity to realize he needed other tactics to become influential, to wield his power. 

Seeing power and status being inherently awarded to Pure-bloods, the very ones who reject him, his own search for a claim to power/his superiority starts off with an obsessive in-depth exploration of his heritage. It is natural to assume that, along with this quest, Tom educated himself on social politics and how to improve himself. He was able to show humility and regard for others, be inhibited and not boastful. We learn from Dumbledore that Tom at Hogwarts showed signs of covert narcissism: no outward signs of arrogance or aggression, seemed polite, quiet, and thirsty for knowledge. He had already learned how to control certain impulses, ingratiate himself, how to hide in plain sight. He just continued to perfect it; he became above reproach by being the perfect student in the eyes of the adults, while fooling his fellow students and building his own following (feeding his ego along the way). He played into Slytherin politics and managed to establish himself as something to behold and to be frightened of, especially when he learned of being a descendent of Salazar Slytherin – a legit claim to power. He now had proof of something he had always believed: I am above them. 

  Loss of Control and Terror Management

 Throughout his time at Hogwarts, Tom managed to perfect his control over others. Despite all his received praise and accolades, his ego remained fragile. I think the fact that he could not escape his blood status, his class – made especially salient when he had to return to the orphanage during the summer – really fueled his obsession to confirm he’s the Heir, i.e. to strengthen his sense of self. 

 Apart from the orphanage, Tom spends the rest of his formative years at Hogwarts, where he is, at most, considered a Half-blood if not a Muggle-born – i.e. lesser than. His fragile ego and sense of self is constantly challenged if not outright attacked. What’s even more confronting is that he also still has to return to the orphanage during summer break in the years 1938-1945 until he is of age. A place where he cannot use his magic; where he cannot sow the merits of his efforts at Hogwarts; a place where he has little to no control. He has to go back to being an orphan, in an orphanage, among Muggles. This having to return to Hogwarts is even more interesting to note when you consider there is both a Muggle war (WW2) and a Wizarding war (Grindelwald) happening.

 That’s why we should also place all of this in the context of when this all took place. Tom experiences both WW2 and the Grindelwald days while he’s a teenager and still at Hogwarts. While he was safe at Hogwarts during most of the year and the winter holidays, he still had to return during the summer. Let me quickly add here that Grindelwald never attacked Britain, but Muggle London was dealing with (the threat of) bombings during those years, with heavy losses in terms of homes, businesses, and lives. Tom just about avoided The Blitz (Sep 7, 1940 – May 11, 1941) and the evacuation of children of Sep 1, 1939 (although, how he managed that, don’t ask). It’s safe to say that times were incredibly tough and unsafe in those days. 

 So on that note, let me introduce you to Terror Management Theory (TMT). It basically means that when faced with ‘terror’, i.e. one’s own mortality, the anxiety that goes with it can make people do some really effed up things. People will start chasing ways to boost their self-esteem, their self-worth, and for ways to confirm that their life has meaning and that they certainly are not insignificant or disposable. That they matter. Mind you, this all takes place without people even realizing that this is driving them. This theory rears its head when we speak of racism as well. In trying to elevate their sense of self, people can attach great importance to the group they identify with. They will then seek out ways to confirm their group is superior to others (well, well, well). 

This theory seems to also fit Tom’s strange, half-assed Heir of Slytherin shenanigans. Same as what happened in the interaction with Dumbledore, Tom’s glee at finding out he’s indeed special makes him impulsive and greedy, disregarding the consequences and acting out of his ‘careful’ character. He has new power within his grasp, new thrills to seek and uncover. In his excitement, he is reckless and gets Myrtle Warren killed. While the rest of his attacks seem very planned and controlled, perhaps to impress his new Knights but most likely to see how far he could push boundaries, it also shows that he either doesn't think or doesn’t care about potential consequences. He is arrogant and unfearing. He could never get caught. Tom only starts caring when his actions become disadvantageous to himself; Hogwarts would close if the attacks continued, meaning he would lose all that he had skilfully and carefully cultivated.

In short, the need for control can drive one to go to really terrible lengths. Straight up tomfoolery, if you will. And if anyone went to great lengths, it was Tom Riddle’s becoming of Lord Voldemort.

  Becoming Lord Voldemort:  The Narcissistic Psychopathic Wizard’s Guide to Ultimate Power

“What I was, even I do not know … I, who have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality. You know my goal – to conquer death.”

 Before we found out the little tidbits about Tom Riddle, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s motives seemed straightforward: Pure-bloods must reign supreme. Knowing what we know now, it would be too simplistic to state that Lord Voldemort was purely driven by hatred for an imagined inferior Other. Namely because at the core of hatred lies fear. A need for control and the deep-seated fear of losing said control would be something Tom would and could never admit to. It would mean acknowledging that something (i.e. fear) had control over him, in effect a weakness.

He is a Half-blood orphan with nothing to his name, a nobody. He has a smidgen of hope when he discovers he is a descendent of Salazar through the Gaunts, but any notion of tangible rewards associated with that is shattered when he finds the Gaunts fallen from grace into obscurity. There is fear of forever being a nobody, unremarkable; entering the world with nothing and leaving the world with nothing ‒ all the while knowing that he is obviously destined for greatness (hello narcissist, my old friend). 

He derived his new sense of self from being a descendant of the great Salazar Slytherin, who ‘rightfully’ detested those of lesser blood. As is typical for the malignant narcissist, Tom really has a ‘transparent’ defense mechanism to protect his fragile ego: projection. His hatred of his own lack of pure blood leads him to distance himself from it, denying whatever undermines his belief of being something special and extraordinary or not being worthy of the name. Distancing himself from that what makes him common and unworthy, he literally takes on a new name and kills off the Riddles. By going to extreme lengths, he can distance himself and 'eradicate' that what he despises most about himself. He is not like those 'filthy' Muggles: the ones he was forced to be dependent on, those lesser beings that deprived him of what he was owed; the ones that left his mother for dead, etc.

His 'great' blood is obviously the reason for his 'greatness', his destiny. Not only was this thought fed by the Pure-bloods around him, but it is the rhetoric that gives him a supply of Pure-bloods fanning at his feet. A thrill in of itself to see the privileged worship him. 

Riddle's actions seem to have always been very self-serving. He never preached what Grindelwald did; it was never for the ‘greater good’. It is quite evident in the vagueness of Voldemort’s politics regarding purity. It was simply a means to an end; just a way to see how far he could go in amassing power. The ‘mission & vision’ he proposed was probably one of the few things that Pure-bloods could get behind and would go to great lengths to achieve/protect. For Tom, it was a way of opening doors. Not only financially and socially, but also in terms of access to knowledge hoarded and guarded by Pure-bloods. Becoming and remaining uncontested in every sense of the word would mean being in control. No longer dependent on what others are willing to ‘grant’ him. No one would ever be able to challenge Him, take anything from Him, ever again: the ultimate power.  

Control of the Uncontrollable

So let’s turn our attention back to power: what would be ultimate power for a Wizard? Something a Wizard has never done and somewhere a Wizard has never gone before: beyond the veils of Death; surpassing mortal constructs ‒ and defeating something as terribly common as 'death'. I think this seed, this fear, was planted in Tom’s mind from a very young age. We see it when he asks Dumbledore whether his father was a wizard, for his mother couldn’t have been “or she wouldn’t have died”. Aptly enough, this fear of death or anxiety induced by the thought of one's one mortality stems from low self-esteem, which a narcissist has in abundance.

It’s also interesting to go back to a psychopath’s psychophysiology. Psychopaths are believed to have low arousal compared to others and are prone to boredom. They could go to lengths to find a ‘thrill’. Discovering the limits, pushing boundaries and going beyond that would be completely on-brand for a Wizard with psychopathic tendencies. Maybe I’ve read too many fanfictions, but a common thought seems to be that the Dark Arts are highly addictive, so someone like Tom would keep pushing it and pushing it, until he could go where no one has gone before. Thus begins his slow decline a la: ‘A Horcrux, you say? Hold my butterbeer, imma make 7.’ 

It’s intriguing that he went for dependence on external objects to safeguard his continued survival. Objects that he either entrusted his most loyal followers with or hid in locations that had meaning to only him. He even had a magical living creature be the container. As we saw over the course of the series, it really wasn’t all that foolproof. But that’s the arrogance of Tom Riddle; he believed that while not many Wizards would even go down the path of creating a Horcrux, none would even conceive creating seven. What’s more, how would anyone even have the smarts to figure out his pattern, his way of thinking – preposterous. If only he had known about the Hallows sooner. Alas.

Granted, there were other ways of circumventing mortality. But ‘cheating’ death by becoming a vampire, for example, would mean being a slave to one's own bloodlust and limitations, dependent on others still to sustain you, i.e. no control, still killable. Another obvious avenue would be using the Philosopher’s Stone as Flamel did, but it would not be anything new. Stealing it or copying it would mean nothing to him. He would be ‘immortal’ but weak and feeble, dependent on a stone, also still killable. So it seems that it’s not necessarily immortality in and of itself, but controlling how and when you die. 

Conclusion: Spiraling out of Control

To summarize the why, Tom Riddle was a narcissistic psychopath with a high IQ, immense magical ability, a chip on his shoulder and something to prove ‒ and a need to be acknowledged for it. The potent mix of nature, magic, and nurture seemed to have really worked their, ehm, magic (sorry). Tom’s ‘abnormal’ behaviors in his childhood were strong predicting factors for the potential to entertain notions of one day being a Dark Lord. However, the odds seem like they were already in that favor before he was even born when we consider his genetic makeup along with the circumstances surrounding his conception and his birth. The Muggle environment he grew up in and the Magical world he was then introduced appear to be the ‘umami’ flavoring for the mix to inevitably lead him down his self-destructive path. 

Tom’s actions and behaviors all seem to boil down to an excessive need for control and the deep-seated fear of losing it. Growing up with Muggles, he used all his talents to exert his control over those weaker, sans Magique. In his peak Riddle days, Tom was quick to figure out he could control people by using his glib charm, his looks, and his extreme intelligence to manipulate everything to his liking. He was able to trick people into ‘wanting’ to give him the things he desires, making people believe that he’s ‘giving’ them something in return. With his psychopathy and narcissism fully taking the wheel, it seems that he no longer cared – or saw the need – to pretend to cater to the wishes of others. Fear became his main tool in the peak Voldemort days; the only thing he deigned to ‘give’ others was allowing them to stay alive, avoid punishment, or allowing them to unleash their darkest fantasies. In chasing evermore control, power, he ends up spiraling. His actions shift from sly, cunning, covert manipulative behaviors to more impulsive, erratic and desperate behaviors, all stemming from a loss of control, of his carefully cultivated power. His mask, literally and figuratively, disappears.

It’s impossible to look past the incredible symbolism and irony of the Horcruxes. In his belief that eliminating and eradicating his weaknesses would make him untouchable, that very pursuit ended up being his undoing. With the killing off of the last vestiges of ‘normality’, he seemed to be completely driven by his impulses (or his Id, as Freud would say). If we add ‘death terror’ to this, it would explain why it went as far as Going Full Voldemort and becoming a mass murderer blindly obsessed with a prophecy that merely hinted at his potential defeat. 

Rowling said that Voldemort's boggart would be his own corpse, and I think that makes sense ‒ for Voldemort, that is. His corpse would signify the fact that he could die and thus be defeated, the ultimate loss in the ultimate battle for ultimate power (say ‘ultimate’ one more time!). I think Tom Riddle's boggart would've been a poor man's grave; not only did he die (ugh, lame), but he died with nothing to show for it. 

With all that being said, being a psychopath does not evil make. However, Tom Riddle’s dire need for a sense of self, immersion in the Dark Arts, and the mutilation of his soul are what really made him turn into an unmitigated You-Know-What. The destruction of his soul left a shell of a man driven by dark base emotions: Full Voldemort.

The end.

[mysaldate]

DouKoto fairy AU

Original idea by @dumplingsworship

Title: Flowery dreams Fandom: Kimetsu no Yaiba/Demon Slayer Pairing: Douma/Kotoha Characters: Douma, Kotoha Hashibira, Muzan Kibutsuji, random temple servant, mentions of Nakime Rating: G Word count: 3543

“So...” Douma looks the servant up and down once more before returning his glance to the glass in the man’s hands. “You found this outside in the gardens?”

“Yes, Gracious Founder.” The man speaks with his head bowed, obviously puzzled. Quite possibly even more than the demon himself. Awkwardly, he holds the glass out to him and Douma accepts with the same uncertainness in his movements.

“Thank you. You’re dismissed.”

The servant leaves and Douma is left alone with the strange little thing in the glass. Now that he looks at it closely, it almost looks like a human girl, only she is tiny – so very tiny – and appears to have colorful semi-transparent wings that are wrapped all around the petite body like a blanket. She’s asleep for now but that’s probably to be expected since the sun has only just peeked above the horizon a little while ago.

The demon sets the glass on the floor and waits as he sees the girl starting to stir in her sleep. He aura is different from that of a demon but nor is she human, obviously. But he hasn’t really heard of any other creatures in this world. Then again, if demons exist, who’s to say tiny little... things like this one can’t be real either?

The small wings flutter open and his pocket-sized prisoner stretches out her teensy arms with a yawn. He can now see that she’s clad in what looks like a white flower petal dress. Her ebony black hair turns into a wonderful blue shade towards the end and it reminds him of the picture of the sea he’s once seen in a book when he was a little child. It cascades down her back between the butterfly-like wings and ends just a bit short of her skirt, pooling around her slim ankles.

Finally, she opens her eyes, shiny green lanterns of a morning forest. Her look meets Douma’s rainbow-colored orbs and she comes to a halt with her movements. It takes her a moment to comprehend where she is and who’s watching her so intently.

Once it does click, however, she lets out a yelp and skips to the other side of the glass, bumping her back against the invisible barrier. It makes the demon chuckle ever so lightly as he sits back, holding up his hands in a defensive gesture.

“There there, little one.” He offers her a bright grin. “I’m not gonna hurt you, calm down.”

It doesn’t seem like she trusts him for the time being, not much at least, but she stops pressing herself against the blockade so tightly. It’s almost a miracle she hasn’t accidentally tripped over her own hair with how long it is but he supposes she’s used to it. She probably knows how and where to step.

Connecting her hands at her front, she lowers her head a little and looks up at him through her rich eyelashes. If her eyes were any dimmer, he doubts he’d see them at all.

“Please, let me go.” She pleads in a voice just as tiny as he would expect from a creature as petite as her. And he has to admit he’s almost smitten to do her bidding. Alas, he only shakes his head with yet another cheerful grin.

“Sorry miss! Can’t do. You snuck into my garden without permission. For all I know, you might as well be a thief or an evil sprite.” Of course, that’s ridiculous. She’s much too small to carry anything away and much too pretty to be anything related to evil gremlins supposedly lurking the earth to bring bad luck upon humans. Not to mention he isn’t even human in the first place.

A panicked look flashes through her eyes and he would probably feel sorry for her, were he anyone else. She stumbles over her words and for a moment, he can’t exactly make out anything of what she’s mumbling but when she looks at him again, he can tell she’s somewhere between determined to prove him wrong and fearful of what he might do if she fails. His years of reading in people really do come in handy at the weirdest times.

“I’m a fairy!” She exclaims, motioning towards her wings. “Or would a sprite have wings like this? An evil sprite? And I didn’t steal anything, I promise! I’m sorry for coming to your garden without asking first but I really didn’t have any ill intentions! I just...”

“Hmm?” Douma raises a brow when she stops so abruptly but she simply avoids his look. “You just?”

“I just thought the flowers looked lovely...” Her answer comes in so quiet he barely hears it but it draws a short laugh from him. What a cute little thing, what an innocent being.

He reaches out and plays with the glass for a little, not tilting it enough for her to slip out from under it. That would be a shame now that he’s got himself such an amusing companion. Even if he’s still a bit doubtful about her claim of being a fairy. Weren’t those things at least human-sized?

“I’ll forward your compliments to the servants taking care of them.” He shuffles a little closer, reveling in how the self-proclaimed fairy squeezes herself once more against the glass wall of her make-shift prison. “Now, what to do with you though? I don’t really have a reason to let you go, do I?”

“You... I will fulfill a wish for you if you let me go!” Gathering up all the courage in her tiny body, she steps up closer to him again, pressing her hands on the glass separating them. It almost looks like she might tear up at any moment and he’s not really too keen on the idea.

He taps on the glass a little, just enough to send her tumbling back on her butt. Though it’s more because he’s surprised her than him using too much power. Still, it makes for a comical show. “I don’t know, you don’t seem like you can fulfill any wish I might have.”

“But... I can...” Sitting on the floor, dumbstruck and untrusted, the fairy’s eyes well up with tears that soon slip down her pale cheeks and drip on her pearly white skirt. The demon recoils slightly, giving her some space but she doesn’t show any signs of stopping the sobs or the shivers of her shoulders. “I will make any wish come true... I promise... Let me go... Please...”

What a situation... If anyone were to come in right at that moment, Douma could probably never explain. Still, he doesn’t really want to give in so easily. He glances around the room. All the windows and doors are closed. He can’t let the sunlight in after all. There shouldn’t really be a way for her to escape.

She doesn’t even notice at first when he lifts the glass up, face buried in her hands as more and more droplets of her sadness slip through her fingers. Only once he nudges her gently with his finger does she look up again, noticing the sudden freedom. He expects her to take off and search for a way out immediately but to his great surprise, she stays put, letting his careful touch travel through her hair.

The silence stretches through the room as the last of her hiccups die down as well, their eyes connected for the longest while since she woke up. Then, just as quickly as it came, it passes again as she avoids his look, turning her glance down to her tightly clenched fists in her lap.

“So... what do you want?” She asks finally. “I don’t care if it’s something selfish. Like money or health or love or... I don’t care, just make a wish.” She’s probably flustered by his pats. At least that’s what it seems like to him. Her hair is a little messy now and he’s the only one to blame but somehow, it brings a smile to his face rather than making him feel guilty.

He taps his chin as if he were deep in thoughts but eventually just clasps his hands with a gleeful smile. “Sorry! I can’t think of anything right now! But I know of someone who will surely have a wish for you! It’s alright if it’s for someone else, right?”

The tiny girl looks up at him a little confused. She’s probably not sure if it’s possible either but before she can voice any concerns, Douma picks her up by her waist, just carefully enough not to squish her, and drops her on the palm of his hand. “It’s fine, I’ll just make a wish that their wish comes true! That works, right?”

It still takes her a while to think about it and he’s almost sure he will just have to keep her trapped under the glass again until she agrees but then the fairy gives him a firm nod. “Yes. That works!”

“Good!” Douma cheers, aiming to place her on his shoulder but she flies up from his hand and hovers in the air near his face instead. Well, that works too. “Let’s go meet that person then!”

He swings open the door to the Infinity Fortress and a gush of chill air welcomes them in his favorite room. Lotus flowers bloom all over the pond with a porch coming right out of the water, spacious room is filled with the sweet scent of the blossoms and fresh, clean water. The fairy hesitates for a moment before following behind him finally, taking in the full beauty of the chamber. He hears a soft gasp escape her and even faster than he can fully percept, she dashes over to the nearest flower peeking its opened head from the water.

“Hey biwa girl!” Douma calls in a greeting, causing the fairy to still her movements and give him a puzzled look. He has to remind himself his little friend has no idea where they are or how the place works. It’s pretty adorable, at least in his opinion. “Can you open the door to wherever Muzan is at the moment? I have something that will surely interest him!”

Silence is his only answer but he knows better than to rush the resident demon of the place. She could very well just shut him out and block him from visiting for a while if he’s too annoying. It wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened. While he waits for any kind of response, he sits down at the edge of the porch and watches the fairy skip from bloom to bloom.

It’s like she’s dancing and he has to admire the lightness of her movements. It’s maybe to be expected due to her size but it still feels as if she’s just floating along, not even touching the gentle petals, not disrupting the water surface in the slightest. She must really like flowers. It makes her earlier statement about the reason for her visit all the more believable.

“So then, miss fairy!” He calls out to her when she gets a little too far. And just as he'd expect, she’s quick to hurry back closer. “Do I just call you like that or do you have a name? I’m Douma by the way.”

It seems she’s finally starting to relax around him as she sits down in the flower she’s standing on and glances up at him, returning the smile he offers her, though shyer and smaller. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Douma. I’m Kotoha.”

“Just Douma is fine enough, you know?” It’s not like he’s gonna call her lady Kotoha just because he knows her name now so it feels only fair that she would just use his name as well. “Do you really like flowers this much?”

“How much?” She cocks her head to the side, clearly confused by his choice of words. “Is there something wrong with me enjoying the flowers here..?”

She has to be a little stupid at least if she means that seriously. Douma doesn’t really feel like explaining what he meant either though so he just shakes his head with another carefree smirk. “Don’t worry about it, Kotoha! It just surprised me, that’s all.”

The strum of biwa suddenly fills the place, casing the unexpecting fairy to nearly jump up in fright. It’s amusing to the demon but for the sake of the whole wish-granting thing, he muffles his chuckle and instead gives the poor thing an apologetic look. “Sorry about that, I should’ve warned you. But it means we can now go see the friend whose wish I want you to fulfill!”

She doesn’t say anything but from the look she gives him, Douma can easily tell what’s going on inside her head. She wants to be done with it quickly, though not because it feels annoying to her. If anything, he would say she’s anxious. And that’s not even knowing who is she coming to meet. She either has a really good intuition or she’s just shy regardless of the standing of her company. Either way works just fine for him.

Kotoha finally flies out of the blossom she’s settled down in before and approaches him again as he gets up. The door on the other side of the room cracks open just enough so he can see a lean boy sitting in an antique-looking armchair and reading a book. But based on the air surrounding him, it’s clear the biwa girl isn’t mistaken about their target.

Douma walks into the room confidently, a proud grin playing on his lips. He knows he doesn’t have to say anything since Muzan can already hear his thoughts but for the sake of his little friend and so as not to confuse her even further, he still speaks up, his usual cheer just as polished as ever.

“Good morning! I’ve got some good news!”

Muzan peers at him over the book, clearly not very happy about seeing him. It’s been so long since the last meeting Douma almost feels hurt by the obvious displeasure on his superior’s face. Almost.

“Look what I’ve got!” He snatches Kotoha from the air before she can escape him and holds her out towards Muzan with a tinge of pride in his chest.

To say that Muzan looks disinterested would be an understatement but Douma can’t quite recall any stronger word to use at the moment. He can feel Kotoha squirming around in his hold so he loosens up a bit so she can relax some more.

“You disturb me because you started collecting dolls?”

He’s not sure what he was expecting but he didn’t really think Muzan’s opinion of him was that low. Still, his smile remains unchanged even though his complaint was very well heard. Just not commented, probably since it promises something better.

“Not a doll! This is a fairy who can make a wish come true! But I couldn’t think of anything to ask so I thought you might have some idea!”

There’s a red flash and the next thing he knows, his head is repairing itself from a particularly nasty punch. Kotoha doesn’t seem to have comprehended what just happened but she shrieks as she looks back at him. Finally, new hair washes over his scalp and he can grin properly without risking popping the joints in his jaw out again.

Muzan, on the other hand, seems to be far from a good mood.

“You couldn’t think of anything.” He repeats and though his voice stays even, Douma can tell he’s fuming. Well, Kotoha can probably tell too. The demon lord has never been good at hiding his emotions after all. Douma has to avoid a book flung at him for that thought. “You couldn’t think of a single thing to ask when you have the chance to have anything at all!”

“Well, it was a little sudden and it’s not like I’m hungry or hurt or anything. There isn’t a single thing I could want.” Douma just gives a light shrug, watching the boy stomp closer and yank him down by the fabric of his turtleneck.

“You’re not supposed to want anything for yourself!” Oh, now it clicks in his head. And as if to confirm his thoughts, Muzan goes on. “Your first priority should be looking for the blue spider lily and ridding the world of demon slayers! Yet, you can only think of your stomach, as always!”

Knowing full well he can’t argue with that, Douma just gives a sheepish smile, hoping to be let go soon. Before long, Muzan is facing his tiny fairy and the little thing looks about ready to break down. Poor Kotoha, but it’s her fault for agreeing without knowing what kind of person he was.

“Can you kill the demon slayers?” Muzan’s frown is colder than Douma’s ice at that moment and he’s almost worried his teensy treasure will freeze in his hands but she only shakes her head.

That’s a bit of a surprise so Douma decides to speak up. Maybe he can get back on Muzan’s somewhat good side if he tries hard enough? Of course, it’s most likely pointless with that sort of attitude. “Didn’t you say you would fulfill any wish?”

“I... I did but... I can’t just kill someone!” She’s tearing up now again and Douma quickly relaxes his hold a bit further to make sure it’s not from pain because of his hold. She doesn’t stop. So it’s probably for some other reason. Oh well, he did what he could.

“Then what about the blue spider lily?” Figuring there would be no talking to her if she’s crying, Douma decides to focus on the other thing his boss wants. Just as he expected, her sobbing calms down soon enough and she looks up at him with swollen eyes before, finally, giving a nod.

“That’s fine, that... that shouldn’t be a problem.”

He releases her and lets her float on her own over to the desk situated under the window in the room. It faces west so the sun isn’t directly visible yet but it has to be a pain in the evenings for sure. She flutters over, placing her hands on the wood and for a moment, she goes still, focusing hard. Though he stays quiet, Muzan’s doubts are practically audible at that point.

But Douma is hopeful. She’s such a cute little thing and she doesn’t seem like a liar. Maybe she will be able to help, at least a little bit. Her tiny hands light up as blue as the ends of her hair and it doesn’t take long for a small sprout to appear, coming right out of the wood. It’s not very big and he has no idea whether it is even the correct plant but she all but collapses next to it with a proud smile.

He comes over to scoop her up in his hands with a grin and pats her hair again. “Is that it?”

“It is.” She answers him weakly. It seems she got all exhausted from such a spell. 

Muzan paces over impatiently, checking the weak sprout with a glare. It’s not usable by any means but if it survives for long enough to bloom out, it might be of some good. Still, the boy doesn’t seem too pleased.

“Well, if that’s all you can do!” Douma chirps happily, letting the fairy settle down in his hands. She’s kind of cute like this, exhausted and sleepy. She nuzzles against the palm of his hand, wrapping herself up in her delicate wings. It’s not long before she falls right back asleep. It makes Douma chuckle but he doesn’t try waking her up. She’s deserved her rest after all.

“Will you stick around for much longer?” Muzan’s voice is more than heavily laced with irritation and Douma doesn’t particularly wish to push his luck any further. With his usual trademark grin, he says his goodbyes and leaves through the exit provided by the biwa girl. He doesn’t much bother to think about how will Muzan get the plant out of his desk or what will he do if he needs to move before it can fully bloom. For the time being, he’s satisfied to have seen his little fairy at work.

He sets her down on one of his cushions as soon as they reach home and sends one of the temple maidens to pick him a few fresh flowers from the garden. Another one is sent for a large glass tank, he’s sure he’s seen it somewhere before. And before his tiny companion can wake up, he makes sure her new home is decorated nicely enough with soft pieces of fabric and beautiful flower heads laid out all around.

He sets her down carefully and covers the tank with a wooden plank so she wouldn’t escape. At least he has something to do now. Watching the little thing sleep, he just smiles to himself. There may not be a paradise for his followers. There may not be any for fairies like her either. But at least he can be a step closer to one for himself.

[twilightknight17]

Forgetting to buy more SP patches before taking on the final boss was probably a mistake.

Forgetting to sell the items I can’t take into NG+ for cash that I can take into NG+ was probably a mistake.

Forgetting to get Arsene out of Lockdown so that I can record his awesome new stats for NG+ was probably a mistake.

In my defense, I was really excited. I wonder if the game will let me make a side trip while I’m out...buying flowers. Because that is what it has come to.

Buying flowers.

Shinya is a terrible brat and wasn’t in Akihabara at ALL until the day before the deadline. Thanks, Shinya. There goes my max confidants. Blugh. At least I got some other things done. Got the award for the maid cafe, so I don’t have to go back except once to open the Twins field trip. I still suck at batting even with third eye. But I am a champ at fishing, it only took me like five trips to the fishing pond to catch the Guardian! I could have done it in less if I’d figured out how to manage my bait properly sooner.

Smile, Akira, we’re awesome! ...still not even halfway to enough fish points for the award, though. :/

I am also awesome at the crane game in Akihabara, and by that I mean I am persistent and have enough yen that it doesn’t matter how many tries it takes.

Ryuji truly knows the way to my heart. <3 I missed two episodes of Featherman; one I forgot to check the TV, and the other I was laughing so hard at the title that I forgot to write it down. But I know where they are, so it’s something else for NG+. ^_^

So I romanced Sumire, and I’m...slightly off-put. Only slightly. Not because of her, but once again, because of the writing. Sumire is cute, but the game is singling her out as “special” again.

She is the only one who confesses to you, and you explicitly have the option to turn her down, rather than the implications of a confession that you can shoot down indirectly (Haru’s, Makoto’s, Futaba’s), or the absolute fucking galaxy-brain leap of logic that is Ann’s dialogue choices. X’D

If you ignore that, though, they’re stupidly cute. Akira’s a little shit, as usual. Sumire asks you to “look at her”, based on her whole confidant thing of realizing that having someone you care about watching you makes you want to do better.

And so Akira looks.

And looks closer.

Dorks. XDDD

They’re sweet. Not my favorite romance route; that still goes to Haru. I think in the end I still prefer Akira adding another member to his army of younger siblings. He’s gotta be better than Yu. XDDD

So I got Kasumi’s rank 10 and literally the next day was February 2nd, and I spent the afternoon getting her third-tier persona. So I didn’t even get to see...Vanadis? in battle. Vanadis matches a little too well to Arsene for my tastes, and Ella is pretty, but I’m not sure how I feel about it looking kind of bride-ish when Maruki’s running around in a wedding tux.

.

Anyway...what do we do the night before the meeting that will decide everything?

We make curry and we pretend everything isn’t about to go to hell.

.

So, Maruki. Let’s chat.

Does no one die in your world? Or move away? What if someone’s dream is to move abroad, and someone else’s dream is for that person to stay with them forever? If what we saw in your Palace is any indication, both of them would be tortured into accepting new dreams where they wouldn’t hurt each other. Dreams that you deemed acceptable. And that’s why you’re wrong.

So you’re giving up your happiness to make sure everyone else is happy? Why can’t you just use your powers to make her remember you, without the trauma? Are you not all-powerful?

Or are you running away from the person that reminds you how helpless you used to be? You’re not moving on, you’re dwelling, and using it as an excuse to be terrible. For all of your kindness, you know Akira is a threat. And benevolent or not, you’re being manipulative. You’re using Goro against him. You’re hoping that he makes the decision you didn’t, and chooses the person he cares about over the reality he wants.

Every time he says something like this, I feel exactly the way he says he didn’t want me to. Newsflash, asshole, that’s exactly what it seems like. If we break your reality, you’re heavily implying he won’t be here afterwards. And you’re gambling that it will be too much pain for Akira to bear, because you know how important they are to each other.

Goro, meanwhile, is both perfectly determined and perfectly stupid.

“Don’t tell me you think dangling my life before us is going to have any impact on our decision.”

Goro. Honey. Do you really think he cares so little that he wouldn’t hesitate for just a moment?

Akira practically throws the calling card at Maruki before he leaves, which I think sums up his feelings pretty well.

I appreciate that Morgana understands that this is something between them.

Goro doesn’t want to be controlled or manipulated ever again. Which... I get it. He’s never had a chance to have full control of his own life. But that doesn’t mean Akira isn’t going to be upset by the idea of him dying. Again.

Two out of three dialogue options are basically “hang on one fucking second,  your life matters to me.”

“Don’t oversimplify this.”

“Oh, but it IS simple. Do you think I’d be happy with this? Being shown mercy now of all times? I don’t want to be pitied-- this isn’t something I’m debating with you! Your indecisiveness is essentially a betrayal of my wishes.”

It’s not pity, you stubborn, idiot boy. ...and I hate that you see it as a betrayal.

Maruki is...very confident. And very kind. And part of the reason he upsets me is because he isn’t wrong, in many cases. But he uses that to justify imposing his will on everyone.

And being kind doesn’t mean that you are free from sin. You can be kind and still be manipulative. And selfish. In the end, that’s what separates him and Akira. Akira, despite all of his hesitation, refuses to be selfish. Even when he has every right to be. He will not hurt someone else to prevent himself from being hurt.

He will not hurt Goro by refusing to fight Maruki, even if it will rip his own heart to pieces.

Oh, I like you. At first glance, the silhouette was very similar to one of Mordred’s original pieces of concept art, though, and I was ready to Yell before I looked closer. XD

And so, at 11:30pm, having completely forgotten the several things I needed to have done before the meeting with Maruki, we head in to steal the Treasure.

This man needs to stop. How dare he know how much I love Cool Stairs?

I find it very concerning that the core of Eden is a writhing mess of tentacles. The metaphorical worm in the apple? X’D We were so close to getting Nyarlathotep, but Azathoth is suitably intimidating. And I appreciate that he’s using the same concepts as the Thieves: his will to rebel against what he sees as an unfair reality, and removing his mask to summon his distorted persona. Thanks for validating all of my headcanon meta about Adachi and Palaces all in one go.

But...

I can’t do this. What the fuck are you wearing?

At least Azathoth is cool.

Somehow I managed to bring exactly the right team to get consistent four-person baton passes for the whole first round. That one was about half an hour.

...the second round was an hour and fifteen minutes because holy shit this thing was a tank and had entirely too many arms and really needed to stop healing.

The torch is very pretty, at least.

And then before we can completely book it out of there, he steals the torch back and literally forces his second awakening so he can keep going. And at that point...what is he even hoping to accomplish? What is he going to do? Are you really willing to kill us to maintain this illusion?

The answer is apparently yes because it was a surprisingly poetic battle as each teammate in turn got a chance to fling themselves in the way and stop it from crushing Joker to death with it’s big giant hand.

And THEN he goes even further and validates some canon meta and me all at once by fusing with his own persona in a continuing last-ditch effort to... I really think he’s trying to kill us. I think he’s that far gone. Or at least his persona is. Because after the fusion, it’s specifically called “Adam Kadmon”, not Maruki. The persona is in control. It’s canon that if you try to summon something stronger than you, it can overtake and possess you. I know Maruki seemed to willingly give up control, but it’s also possible that forcing his second awakening like that left him with a persona that was entirely too strong for him.

(Nevermind that him being that strong in the first place is kind of ridiculous. That’s a discussion for after the final credits. I’m just hyped that someone fusing with their persona was a thing that actually happened!)

He’s so big. Where’s Satanael so I can fuse with him and we can have a megazord fight in Collapsing Ideal Tokyo? XD

The kids up the Holy Shit Quotient by a mile by catching the giant fist all together so that Joker can deal the final blow.

And what a final blow it is.

I really like this, because I don’t know if it was deliberate, but I read it as a callback to Daybreakers. Which came out before the game, iirc, so the first real piece of content. It’s just on a bigger, grander scale.

Everything comes full-circle in the end.

I really like the Mona helicopter. XD I just wish it was a little bigger, because poor Goro squished into the bottom. And poor Akira not managing to make it into the helicopter.

And this asshole WILL NOT STAY DOWN.

What is the point of punching it out on top of the collapsing Palace? Are you trying to kill us both? Do you just want to keep going until neither of us can stand? Dude.

And of course Akira won’t let him die. I think the upsetting thing about this, though, is really that you don’t get the chance to say a proper goodbye to Goro. Or anyone, really, but mostly Goro. The Palace crumbles, Akira wakes up in jail, the Thieves wake up the next morning after fighting all night, and Goro is...gone.

At least the Thieves seem properly sad this time. Even if it’s only for one scene.

Lavenza calls it “ironic” that “your wish for other’s happiness prevailed over your own.” I just call it unfair. Once again, hasn’t he done enough? At least he was only technically in jail for nine days from his perspective, but that must have been a whiplash of an adjustment.

Out of jail, Sojiro acknowledges he was Terrible at the beginning of the year, it’s 2:30am, time to do Valentines and then go to bed before the final walkaround.

And then Valentines passes. I spent it with Sumire. They’re cute.

And then it was February 15th and all the rest of the girls gave me chocolate?? It was just a constant ambush of being given chocolate all day?

And then it was March 3rd, and the Thieves are all splitting up and moving away? Are we sure this isn’t Scramble’s timeline? I get it, narratively, they’re taking the opportunities to move forward that Maruki’s reality would have denied them, but it still hurts.

And then it was March 13th and I still can’t save and now it’s 3am and apparently we get to play out White Day and Sojiro is giving me advice for the perfect date because captain idiot here forgot to plan anything and what heckin’ restaurant is getting this flustered that just mentioning Sojiro’s name is enough to get a table when they’re fully booked and---

Now it’s the 14th and I have to go buy flowers for my dinner date and I have finally been given control and saved and I am free.

Now next time I play I have to see if I can go sell my leftover items, because I’ve got a couple-hundred-thousand yen worth, and also rescue Arsene from prison. X’D

More thoughts on Maruki and everything after I see the ending, most likely.