#and they deserve to be a little unnerving to mortals (like all spirits do)

[midnightwind]

hey have you guys thought about the Caretaker being wherever they're needed at the drop of a hat and the implications behind that response time-

[thegamingcatmom]

Instinct (Tanya Denali x fem reader)

Right so, how do yall think single!Tanya would react if she just kinda...stumbled upon the one, completely unexpected? One would think if you got a cousin who's able to see the future then surely they would've given you a lil heads-up, so you wouldn't make an absolute fool out of yourself.

Spoiler alert: Alice did not give her a lil heads-up.

However-

Before we dive deeper I feel like it should be mentioned our girl´s been existing for a millenium, doing pretty damn good without someone constantly breathing down her neck, tyvm. It´s not like she couldn´t have someone constantly breathing down her neck, puh-leeze. Girl could have anyone she desires and we all know it. She knows it.

Besides, it´s not like she´s been entirely on her own when it comes to physical matters. There´s been flings and ONSs and perhaps she´s even tried to be exclusive with someone here and there - I wouldn´t call it "relationship" though. I can´t see Tanya Denali binding herself to just any mortal. She´d never put her family in harm´s way simply because she couldn´t keep her hands to herself-

...like someone else did.

(No, I do not consider Bella to be Edward´s mate. She is his singer, that´s different.)

As open-minded and free-spirited as the Denalis are, they´d never go against the laws of the Volturi. Tanya will make personally sure they won´t.

However, one can´t deny that this world could get quite...lonesome, especially when one has been living for as long as the sisters have. I don´t think Tanya would ever openly admit it, but she was lonely. She was yearning for something more than the occasional fling or ONS.

That´s how this whole thing with Edward started. He was a vampire, he was single, he was there. That´s all this was, imo. All of it combined seemed like the perfect match and seeing how our girl got people probably tripping over themselves to fulfill her every wish, surely this time wouldn´t be any different-

...Except, it was different. Eddy didn´t bite - that was a first. Something Tanya wasn´t used to, perhaps - hence why she was so hellbent on making things work between them. Our girl loves a good challenge.

(Human!Tanya in today´s day and age would be a total Daddy´s girl - used to getting her way and never been told "No". Yall can´t convince me otherwise.)

I´ve said it before: Tanya is a woman who will go after what she´s set her eyes on with everything she´s got. And what she´s set her eyes on wasn´t necessarily Edward himself, but rather what he represented - an end to her solitude.

Well, it didn´t work out in the end - obviously. But that craving for something more persisted. Enter-

"You", a husky voice almost breathed to your left, causing you to startle slightly before turning to take a look at the blonde wom-

...bombshell of a woman, who was currently staring at you like she´s never seen another human being in her life. Or perhaps you got something on your face.

In any case, that unblinking stare was quite unnerving.

"Uh...hey? Can I help you?" That came out a tad bit more aggressive than you intended but, in your defense, it´s been a long day.

You´ve only just had time to sit down and unwind after having packed up your whole life and shiped it here, to Alaska - your new home. Or, well, what you hoped would become your new home, in time. You´ve always struggled with adjusting to changes and this one was huge, but more than that: necessary. You wouldn´t have made it otherwise, of that you were certain.

So, here you were now - trying to enjoy some well-deserved me time in this little coffee shop you found when you were taking your first stroll through the quaint town of Fairbanks.

...Emphasis on trying, because that woman was still staring at you. She still hasn´t blinked yet. You don´t think any part of her has moved since she came to stand before you like a bearer of bad news. Honestly? You were starting to believe it. Something about this situation - about her - just felt off.

The exasperation that was steadily creeping up on you increased tenfold when some other blonde bimbo approaches, eyes laser-focused on your weird altercation, wearing a smile that showed way too much teeth-

Ugh.

'Can´t one enjoy their overpriced and incredibly stale coffee in peace? Goddammit-'

Off to a good start...

As for our proud coven leader?

Tanya had been suffering this...itch for the past couple of days. She hadn´t been able to make sense of it, hadn´t been able to figure out why she was experiencing it in the first place. All she could focus on was how utterly distracting it was, how much of a power it held over her - making her stumble through this town in search of its source. It was driving her mad.

That near magnetic pull seemed to have reached its peak today, the force of it almost bringing her down to her knees. Her eyes were wide open, but she wasn´t seeing. She pushed through the haze, body on autopilot, blindly following wherever instinct seemed to lead her. She was close - so close she could nearly taste it-

The jingling of a bell registered somewhere within her, sounding out rather dull though; nothing more than a background noise. She took in her surroundings - warm afternoon sunlight filtering through the windows, soft chatter and laughter floating through the air, the clinking of cups and the gentle hum of the espresso machine, the woman sitting on a bar chair across from her-

All of a sudden, the haze cleared and a wave of contentment washed over her. At the same time, everything around her seemed to fade until the only thing left to focus on was-

"You"

She entirely ceased to function for a hot second before remembering she was out in the open where she was supposed to human.

"Uh...hey? Can I help you?"

Right now, she couldn´t care less about what she was supposed to do.

She´s puffing up in an instant, like it´s instinct - absolutely ready to slay, to charm, to impress. She's Tanya Denali, for crying out loud. She will not be rendered useless by a human-

No matter how absolutely stunning that human is and how much she longs to be with that human from now on until the end of time because it's meant to be-

No.

Tanya Denali will not be rendered useless. She's the one who renders others useless. So that human woman, currently emitting an absolutely mouthwatering smell, had better get ready to be swept off her feet-

...Except, said human looked anything but. In fact, the woman looked quite unimpressed, just about done with stuff. Not that the vampiress minded much. She knew how wary humans could get in their presence. It happens almost unconsciously, like it´s instinct - a natural response when faced with an apex predator.

'A mere delay of what is to come. Of what is meant to be.'

Just as the coven leader prepared to flash a megawatt smile, which would surely seal the deal-

"Hey Tanyaaa! Who´s your friend?" She didn´t have to face her sister to know she was smiling like a cat that got the canary - she could hear it in her voice.

"Kate", she managed through gritted teeth. "Shouldn´t you be with Irina? Take care of those...shipments?"

'And quit being a massive pain in my a-'

"Nope", her sister replied bluntly. "It´s all taken care of. Carmen and Eleazar got back from their-"

Her sister´s eyes darted to her companion for a brief moment, much too swift to be perceived by the human eye.

"...Trip a lot earlier than expected. They were so kind to fill in for me, told me to go and check up on my dearest sister instead. Y´know, since the last few days have been quite-"

"Katrina", she whipped around to face her sister when it seemed like the spew of unnecessary information wasn´t going to stop anytime soon. Honestly-

"Don´t you have other things to do? Other places to be?" Her eyebrows raised so high it felt like they nearly met her hairline.

She loves her sister, but Kate has this irritating quality of showing herself when she really wasn´t needed nor wanted. It´s entirely on purpose, of course. Her younger sister does so love pushing buttons and testing limits, especially hers.

"...Nope."

Never before in her life had the urge to strangle her sister been this appealing. That cursed smirk-

"Oh...by the way sis-", her left eye was starting to twitch. "I´m not as well-versed as you are when it comes to canoodling with une madame, but I´m pretty sure that´s not how you do it." A pointed look was thrown over her shoulder, head nodding at the human woman still sitting-

...Who used to sit in front of her. She was right there just seconds ago!

'Nonononono-'

Her eyes frantically scanned the establishment, ears straining to detect that angelic voice, nose going crazy trying to catch a whiff of-

"WHERE IS SHE?!"

The little coffee shop went dead silent then, all eyes turned to her, looking at her like she´s completely lost it. Even her sister shot her a look that was free of mirth and mischief for once.

She had to get out of here.

She turned on her heel, blonde curls bouncing as she marched out of the shop, Kate not far behind. It took a mere few seconds until both of them were standing on the sidewalk in front of the facility, but it´s been the longest few seconds of her life.

The urge to break character, to drop this wretched human facade - if only for a moment - so she could-

"Tan...what´s going on?" Eyes roamed up and down her body, taking in her frenzied state. "What just happened in there?"

A hand slowly reached for her, hesitating for the briefest of moments before it came to rest on her shoulder. As if Kate didn´t wish to accidently spook her, as though her sister were dealing with a wild animal.

Honestly? She didn't quite understand, herself. Now that this woman was no longer in her vicinity, that god-awful itch returned. Only this time, it was made so much worse by that mouthwatering smell which seemed to linger in every facet of her being. It made her feel light-headed; she had great difficulty stringing together a coherent thought.

For the first time in over a millennium, she felt drunk.

It was addicting-

"...Tan? Tany-hey! Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Hands grabbed her before she could storm off again. She wasn´t sure where to, exactly. She moved on autopilot, led by a force greater than anything she´s faced in life.

"Will you please tell me what's going on? What's the matter? Is it that woman from before?" That got her listening. "Are you...are you mad at me or something?"

'Oh...'

...What?

Kate must´ve taken her confused silence as an affirmation. "Come on sis, don´t be like that. I´m sorry, okay? I´m sorry for thwarting your plans of getting into that woman´s pants. But Tan...there´s more where she came from. You´re gonna have your hands full in no time, I´m sure-"

The rational part of her recognized her sister was trying to cheer her up by being her usual impish self. Had she not been as preoccupied as she was in this moment, she might´ve even appreciated it.

However, the primal part of her that seemed to continuously gain the upper hand as time went on did not appreciate it. On the contrary - it roared and snapped its teeth at the implication she would make do with any other ever again-

"-emember? You were so furious at me because she´s had you in a limbo for weeks. I know you have a thing for prudes, but I still think I did you a favor. Some of them just aren´t worth the trouble, if you ask me. Why suffer blue balls when you can have any other-"

As Kate continued her dive into past affairs, she could feel something inside of her snapping.

"She´s NOT just any woman, Kate! So don´t you dare talk about her like she´s merely a way to pass time!" Her sister had the decency to look mildly guilty, at least. More than that though, she looked just as confused as Tanya felt.

"...Okay?" There was that look again. Like she´s lost it. She couldn´t blame her. None of them had ever experienced it...until now.

She ran a hand through her curls in exasperation. "Kate, I...I think...I-"

Gods, what was this woman doing to her?

Hands reached for her again, cradling her upper arms like she was made of porcelain. "Tanya...calm, it´s okay." Kate soothed. "I´d ask you to take a deep breath for me, but that´d kinda be in vain, don´t you think?"

Trust her sister to make light of just about any situation. It´s a trait she both curses and cherishes.

"Honestly though...what´s going on? You´re starting to scare me, sis."

Well-

'That makes two of us.'

Yes, this new development did scare her - immensely so. But at the same time, she´s never felt so overcome with purpose and meaning; like everything makes sense now.

In all of her undead existence, she´s never felt so alive.

She couldn´t explain it, even if she tried - one has to experience it to understand. If she had to put a name to it, however-

"Kate..." Her sister took note of her ever-growing smile with a mix of uncertainty and anticipation. Had it still been necessary for her to take a breath, she would have refused to release it in that moment. Tanya was sure of it.

"I think...I think I´ve found my mate."

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

A/N: Well, that kinda escalated. I´m glad it did though, lel.

[morningsound15]

The Wedding: A Sombre Affair

Relationships: Dani Clayton/Jamie, Theodora “Theo” Crain & Jamie

Rating: G

Word Count: 2,753. Complete.

just a little Haunting of Hill House/Bly Manor crossover because it wouldn’t leave my brain! enjoy the drabble

.

Jamie takes a long sip of her whiskey. She hopes it will calm her shaking hands, but they shake all the time, now. Whether she’s sober or not. Age or arthritis or exhaustion catching up with her. It’s hard to say which. All she knows is her joints are stiff and her hands shake.

She rests her head on the cool wood of the mantle, taking a moment to breathe in the silence. The story always takes a lot out of her. She’s perfected its telling over the past few decades, carefully working the cadence of her voice, getting the pacing just-so, drawing out the people in her memories until they’re actual characters, realized and lovely and full of life. She tries to be kind to them, in her retelling. She tries to think of them sympathetically, as all people deserve to be thought of, but she knows that some of her embellishments are too liberal to be fully believable.

Even so, all good ghost stories need some embellishment.

She’s just not sure which parts are real and which are embellishment anymore.

It’s hard to even know how many of her memories are truly hers. Bly Manor feels a hundred lifetimes ago, and with every passing year it feels further and further still. Slipping out of her grasp like the sands of time through her fingertips. It’s a feature of the mysterious house that the memories caught within are destined to wither and fade — to wash away smooth, like rough stone at the bottom of a lake. That’s part of why she tells the story as often as she does. She needs to preserve the memory of Bly and the ghosts within.

That’s all ghosts are, really. Just memories the living refuse to let go of.

It’s a small comfort that Miles and Flora don’t remember much of their childhood at Bly Manor. Children aren’t meant to live through terrible things. The ghosts have long left them behind, and unburdened they have become lovely young people, vibrant and full of life. Flora is married now, and she made a truly beautiful bride. Jamie spins the ring on her finger, thinking of her own marriage-that-wasn’t. It’s not a melancholy memory, not anymore. She once was overcome with sadness and grief over her own loss, the future that was stolen from her, the forever happiness she could once taste on the tip of her tongue, but that feeling has long since faded. She is an old woman now, too old to be overcome with such sadness.

Still, weddings are something of a sombre affair.

“Your story was wonderful,” a voice says behind her, and Jamie straightens, subtly wiping at the moisture in the corner of her eyes.

She turns to see a young woman behind her. She looks strangely familiar, though Jamie is certain they’ve never met. Her hair hangs in loose waves, the dark blue of her dress contrasting with her pale skin. Her face is angular and her eyes are a cutting pale green, so light they’re almost blue.

It’s her eyes that are so shocking. They knock the breath out of her. Jamie stares at the woman for a long moment, unable to speak. Dani’s eyes had been almost exactly the same colour (when they had been her eyes alone, when they had been hers and not Hers).

The woman must see the hesitance on her face. She holds a hand out. She’s wearing a pair of long evening gloves, silk. They go all the way past her elbows. A curious look, for a wedding that isn’t black-tie.

Jamie’s always had a preternatural ability to tell when a woman is gay. She knew Dani was interested in her the moment their eyes met. It had been a dangerous feeling, electric and sharp up through her spine. She ignored it for as long as she could, but Dani was a magnetic presence; not easily ignored.

“Theodora,” the woman says when Jamie takes her hand. “My friends call me Theo.”

Jamie knows as soon as she shakes this woman’s hand that she’s a lesbian. Call it intuition, call it perception. Either way, it relaxes her. She’s long grown tired of explaining her bachelordom to well-meaning young straight women who see her refusal to re-marry as petrifying as a death-sentence. As if to be unloved for a moment is to be wholly miserable. As if there is nothing more terrifying than being an old woman with no partner to hold her at night.

(They misunderstand her. They think that being single means she is unloved. She isn’t. She’s been loved wholly and completely, all-consuming and never-ending, since she was a young woman. She’s never doubted it for a moment.)

(Sometimes she feels arms wrap around her in her sleep. In her dreams she is warm and loved. She feels the presence of another human being in her bed, feels warm breath on the back of her neck. It’s always gone by the time she wakes up, but she chases that feeling, longs for it every time she closes her eyes.)

(She looks for her in the mirror, in the bath, in the silver chrome of napkin dispensers, the dark emptiness of a dormant television, in her makeup compact. No one else ever looks back, no one but her own face.)

“Nice to meet you, Theo.”

She finds young queer women particularly interesting. Sometimes, though not often, she allows herself to think of what her life might have been like, had she and Dani been born a few decades later, had they come of age in a world more prone to acceptance and open-mindedness than the stifling environment they lived in. She doesn’t think about it often — it’s a sad thought, not worth dwelling upon. Besides, she wouldn’t trade their time together for anything. It was perfect, exactly as it was, exactly when it was. It’s not worth thinking of might-have-beens.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Theo says, looking a little uncomfortable. She stares at Jamie intently, as if studying her. As if looking for something hidden in her face. She wonders if she looks as familiar to Theo as Theo does to her. She wonders if that means anything, or if it’s just another occurrence in a life of strange occurrences. A remarkable coincidence of mutual and impossible recognition.

“Are you with the bride’s family?” Jamie doesn’t recognize her, but then again she’s not particularly close to the Wingraves anymore. Not enough to keep track of their extended friends and family.

But Theo shakes her head. “The groom. Old family friends. My sister is getting married next year. John’s going to be in the wedding party.”

“Ah.” The silence between them is awkward. Jamie doesn’t know what to say, nor how to politely excuse herself. “Lovely service, wasn’t it?”

Theo nods. “Very sweet. Short.”

“Yes, short is usually better, as these things go.”

Jamie looks down at her empty whiskey glass and longs for a top off. The reception isn’t even halfway done, and she’s already fulfilled her role as ‘Elder Relative Storyteller’ for the evening. She has nothing left to do but linger until it’s appropriate for her to slip off on her own.

She much prefers being alone these days. Other people are challenging for her, difficult to trust. They find her difficult to understand. Best to be avoided altogether.

“Can I help you with something?” Jamie asks when Theo still doesn’t speak. “You look like you have something on your mind.”

“Can I ask…?” Theo clears her throat, clearly uncomfortable. “It’s about your story. The gardener.”

Jamie swallows the wavering smile and keeps her expression neutral. “Of course. What did you want to know?”

“Why did she stay with the au pair? She knew their love was doomed, but she stayed with her all those years. Why?”

Jamie’s smile is tiny, but she can’t help its presence. Thinking of Dani always makes her smile. Even when it’s tinged with sadness. “The gardener knew that she wouldn’t be able to have the au pair with her forever. But love and possession are opposites. Loving her was never about having her.”

“But the au pair’s spirit never returned. She left the gardener alone. She could have taken her in the lake; they could have been together forever. Isn’t that… isn’t that what they both would have wanted?”

“To truly love another person is to accept the work of loving them is worth the pain of losing them,” she says, repeating Owen’s words from a night ago. It is a lovely summation of her own life, though it’s painful to hear. “Dead is not gone.”

Theo takes a shaky breath. She closes her eyes.

Theo has a haunted look to her. Jamie wonders if she has ghosts of her own, hiding somewhere just out of sight. Occasionally she meets others like her; people with histories long-buried, with ghosts lingering in the closet. People who have lost too much too young, who have death sticking to their souls like an unescapable shadow.

She wonders if that’s why Theo sought her out. Those who have been touched by spirits have a certain sadness to them. Prolonged contact with the dead has that effect.

“It really was a lovely story,” Theo says again. Her eyes are wide, kinder now. They shine with something. Jamie wouldn’t call it tears. Maybe ‘melancholy’.

“Just an old wives’ tale,” Jamie dismisses. “Something to set the mood. Weddings have a way of making a person think of her own mortality. And it’s an old house. Old houses deserve ghost stories.”

“Is that all it is? A ghost story?”

Jamie’s lips twitch. “I always thought so. Flora disagrees.”

“Flora?”

She shakes herself. She keeps forgetting. “The bride,” she explains. “When she was a girl we called her Flora. The nickname lingers, though she doesn’t respond to it anymore.”

“She didn’t like your ghost story?”

“She didn’t think it was a ghost story at all. She said it was a love story.”

“Same thing, really,” Theo whispers, and Jamie sucks in a quiet breath.

“Yes. I suppose so.”

Theo continues to stare at her, and it’s getting a little unnerving. She regards Jamie with a gaze that is unblinking and fixed. She traces the lines in Jamie’s face, the grey of her hair, the veins on the backs of her hands. It would be uncomfortable, or maybe erotic, except there is nothing like desire in the woman’s gaze; nothing that says she’s interested in what she’s seeing. More like she’s troubled by it. Or disappointed.

“You still have something on your mind, Theo,” Jamie says kindly. People, like ghosts, have a tendency to linger as long as their business is unfinished. She doubts she’ll have a moment of peace tonight until Theo decides that her curiosity has been tempered. “And I’m beginning to doubt it has anything to do with my ghost story.”

“Sorry. I don’t mean to stare. You… look like someone I used to know. And I thought…” She looks down at her own hands, encased in black silk. She pulls at the fingers of her right hand glove, one by one freeing the digits from their confinement.

Jamie watches her carefully. Theo flexes her fingers and holds her hand out again.

Jamie doesn’t know what makes her want to take the woman’s hand. She knows with a settling finality that she’s going to; there are some things that are destined, even tiny moments such as this. And she’s long believed in destiny.

She still hesitates for a moment. She’s not sure what’s going to happen when their skin meets, but the way Theo looks at her makes her think it’s not something she wants to find out. That only makes her more curious.

It’s been a long time since she sought out physical contact. It had been too difficult after Dani. No one else ever touched her the way Dani had, and no one ever could. She used to wonder what she would have done if she’d been able to touch Dani one more time. She hadn’t been able to swim low enough. The Lake was too deep, or Dani hadn’t wanted her to. She’s not sure if those are different things. She’d reached out, longed for Dani to take her in her arms once more and hold tight and never let her go. She’d wondered if Dani’s skin would have been warm or cool to the touch, and which would have been worse — knowing she’d only just missed saving her, or knowing that she’d been taken long ago, and there was nothing in her power that could have saved her from the Lady of the Lake.

Theo doesn’t prod her. Jamie takes her hand of her own volition.

She’s not sure what she expected. Something electric. Some shifting of the world, a re-focusing of spiritual energy maybe. Maybe an apparition appearing behind her eyes, a chill down her spine. The presence of something or someone long-dormant, exploding into being.

The touch is unremarkable. Theo’s hands are soft and warm. Her gloves have kept her skin baby smooth. She holds Jamie’s hand more softly than when they shook earlier, and Jamie looks at where their hands touch, her older sun-damaged skin standing in stark contrast to the perfect youth in front of her.

Something settles in her stomach. It’s not a feeling she can describe, but it settles and when she looks at her hands again they’ve stopped trembling.

Curious.

“The gardener really loved her,” Theo says quietly, her hand still soft in Jamie’s. And Jamie nods, unable to speak.

“The au pair… she loved the gardener, too. That’s why she left her. By leaving she knew she was leaving her true love, too. But… she had to.” Jamie blinks. “If she stayed she was risking them both. And Dani would never risk that. She couldn’t risk you.”

Jamie’s knees buckle underneath her. She drops Theo’s hand as if burned and takes a few stumbling steps back. Her glass slips from her trembling fingertips and it shatters against the floor.

Theo recoils, quickly slipping her hand back into her glove. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, casting her eyes about wildly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… I’m sorry.”

“Who are you?” Jamie whispers. She knows this woman’s face. She’s seen it before, somewhere long-ago… in her dream, or in the shivering surface of a warm bath, or at the bottom of a frigid, misty lake…

“Aunt Jamie!” Miles catches her elbow, steadying her. Jamie blinks, his face swimming in front of her eyes for a few moments before it sharpens. “Are you alright?” He looks towards a nearby waiter. “Come clean this glass up!” he snaps. “Someone could get hurt.”

He leads her gingerly to a nearby couch, despite her protestations. “I’m fine,” she promises. “Just a bit too much to drink. This old house is drafty. I’m fine, I promise.” Still, he doesn’t leave her side until she’s had some water and bread, until her heart rate has slowed and the band resumes playing.

The strange woman in the gloves has long-since vanished, and though Jamie looks for her for the rest of the night, she never sees her again.

.

.

She falls asleep in her room later, and it is a fitful sleep. She curls up on an armchair, uncomfortable and cold, but she prefers to sleep this way. The discomfort prevents her from sinking into a too-deep sleep. It means she is perpetually unrested, but she’s gotten used to the exhaustion. The alternative — that she will sleep through the night, sleep through a visitor, any attempted contact… it’s not something she is willing to risk.

It’s a fitful sleep, full of fitful dreams. Smoky haze and icy water. Dani is there, or maybe she isn’t, and a woman she knows but cannot see, a woman with wavy brown hair and long slender fingers who reaches for her, reaching out out out—

A warmth settles over her, so slowly she doesn’t even notice it. Her dream grows restful again, her breathing steadies. She sleeps as if on the softest bed, wrapped in the warmest blanket. Her mind is empty of all worries. She sees Dani closer now, sharper. Her smile and her smell, her eyes brilliantly blue and all hers, all her.

Jamie smiles in her sleep. The hand on her shoulder tightens. The calm settles over the hotel room, just a woman and her memories, a woman and her ghost.

[currentlyreadingmanga]

Toilet-bound Hanako-kun: Chapter 10 - The Young Exorcist (Part 2)

Previously: we had a mostly Kou centric episode! We learned more about his family, in particular about his kinda scary brother Teru. Kou made it his mission to find evidence that proves that Hanako is not a bad supernatural, which lead to some very cute bonding moments between the two boys. Kou decided that he wouldn’t exorcise Hanako because he considered him a good guy, but Hanako doesn’t take this change of heart well since he clearly doesn’t think that killing someone can be justified in any way. He goes overboard, though, and threatens Kou with his knife and it’s at that precise moment that Teru arrives and zaps Hanako with his own exorcist weapon and I was left with very high levels of stress

Now onto the next chapter!

Okay I really like this cover page, because it while it can be seen as the two exorcist keeping the aparition at bay, since they’re the ones that can (and have to) do it, you can also see other nice details. There’s also the contrast between both of their expressions while holding Hanako back: how calm and collected Teru looks while Kou looks uncomfortable. And how Kou’s weapon not only is keeping Hanako in check, but is also holding Teru’s sword back so that it doesn’t touch Hanako. 

Anyway, yes, it’s a very good drawing that conveys this arc very well.

Okay so Kou is remember all those times he would sneak out to watch his brother fighting against supernaturals and how cool he looked while doing so. Teru always greeted his brother with a kind smile and Kou had assumed that that was the expression he wore into battle but

Yeah, can’t say I’m surprised, those are the main expressions we have seen on his face when it comes to Hanako and apparitions. Still, Kou’s face is honestly heartbreaking, he must feel so helpless

I feel like I need to reiterate: his calm smile in moments like this kinda scares me, Like, I get it, I understand why he’s acting this way (he found Hanako pointing a knife at his baby brother, what’s he gonna do? let him go just like that? no, that would be stupid) but still, it’s slightly unnerving

But in spite of what his brother says, Kou stands his ground defending Hanako but Tery reaches for his bead bracelet and oh. it’s a capture weapon. fantastic, this just keeps getting better and better

Hmm, idk if I’m reaching, but it kinda feels like Teru is babying his brother a little too much. I don’t know their full family situation, and while yes, Kou is clearly inexperienced in dealing with supernaturals, I feel like Teru shouldn’t dismissed what he had to say so fast although, again, the knife pointed towards Kou really doesn’t help the situation 

Hanako calls out to Haku-Joudai but holy fuck Teru really is much more powerful than Kou since he can create a lightning cage so he can’t summon his tsueshiro.

This is real bad. Things really aren’t looking good for my ghost child here

That’s interesting. Does that mean that Teru is just THAT much more powerful that his spiritual energy can control the lightning like that even if his weapon is mainly used for attacking? Also, does that mean that Kou’s weapon is better for controlling said lightning? 

It looks like Hanako is gonna tried to defend himself with his knife but Teru just tells him that “no matter how you try to cover it up, in the end, you can never hide what you truly are” with his scary face TM. And Hanoko looked angry before but after that he looks honestly shocked

It’s really something how he can looked so small and terrified while holding that knife. It conveys a very hopeless feeling, idk maybe I’m reaching

Oh wow 

Now this is some beautiful and haunting imagery.

I mentioned during my last recap that while there’s a real underlying danger that we can see in Hanako, but again, he doesn’t seem like a genuinly bad or vengeful person. So this description is suspicious to me. It could be true, but after everything we’ve seen so far, it could very well be a case of rumors twisting the original story of him murdering someone and blowing it our of proportion

 Okay so they start fighting and I’m too scared to scroll down because so far Teru has clearly proven that he’s not someone you want to mess with ahhhh

ヽ(ﾟДﾟ;)ﾉ!!

━Σ(ﾟДﾟ|||)━    OH MY GOD NO NOPE NO

Σ(ﾟ口ﾟ;)// Σ(ﾟ口ﾟ;)// Σ(ﾟ口ﾟ;)//  IT JUST KEEPS GETTING WORSE NOOO BABY that looks so painful ahhhhhhh

I don’t want to keep scrolling but hnnnnng I must know if my child will be okay (and I know that he most likely will be but still jfc this is so painful to look at)

Kou explains how Teru usually fights against supernatural and ngl it’s kinda horrifying and yes, it looks like it’s best to stay out of range but Hanako is trapped there with no way out

And ahhhhh now Kou is second guessing himself, thinking maybe his brother was right and that Hanako should be exorcised but nooo baby you should listen to your instincts if they tell you something is not quite right here

Ohhhh. Okay, so we’re dealing with a layer of self-confidence issues too. I didn’t consider it, since it just seemed like he admired his brother a whole lot, but it isn’t just that. And it makes sense, since from what we saw last chapter, Teru seems to be some kind of prodigy, and it’s not rare that Kou started to compare himself to him (not only thinking that he wants to be like him, but also seeing what he’s lacking since Teru seems to be so “perfect”). So yeah, to him, his brother “knows what’s best”, because that’s the way it’s always been

Teru says that Hanako has been near the shore for a long time and that it’s time for him to face his punishment, but Hanako seems to have something to say about that and

oh. oH no.  he’s crying oh nO he looks so sad oh god ಥ_ಥ

So to Hanako, being exorcised wouldn’t be a fair way to pay for his crimes. He’s telling Teru that if he expels him right now, then nothing would be gained from it since he would just be released from the mortal plane without actually doing something to atone. And “atone” is a fitting way to put it, since from what we’ve seen, he doesn’t want (or expects) to be forgiven, he just wants to do things right, to find a way to repent for what he has done. It’s is also in line with what he told Kou before, about how he cannot let himself be exorcised yet because he has a task he has to acomplish.

And Kou is thinking back to all the ways in which Hanako has been helpful and the times when he protected both him and Yashiro. And he makes a fair point, he (and us readers too) has no way of knowing if Hanako is telling the true, he could be lying. But still, Hanako’s actions are out there on the table, and Kou needs to make his decision based on what he believes is the right thing to do.

( ⚆ _ ⚆ )

Σ(ﾟДﾟ；≡；ﾟдﾟ) !!!!! FUCKING HELL WHAT OH GO D

KOU YOU’RE A PRECIOUS ANGEL THAT DESERVES THE WORLD BLESS YOU

Hanako and Teru look so shocked but Kou isn’t backing down, no sir, he’s here on a mission and he’s not gonna let his new friend/tolerated acquaintance be exorcised. Also holy fuck he body slammed his brother into the ground wow he’s really not playing around and

This is good. He needs to let this out or it’s gonna eat him up. And yeah, it seems like I was right on the money with the too much babying before. Kou makes some very valid points here: yes, he’s not his brother, he’s nowhere near Teru’s level of experience and he should have been more catious when dealing with Hanako, but he has also seen things his brother hasn’t. He’s seen how Hanako behaves around him and Yashiro, and how he tries to protect all the students in the school, so he’s not gonna be blinded by the “all supernaturals are bad” speech because he knows it’s not true.

He admits that he needs to get stronger and he’s confident that he wiil, And then he will decide if Hanako needs to be exorcised or not, that’s a responsability he’s willing to take. I’m really proud of him, for sticking to what he believes it’s right, even against his brother’s wishes.

And thankfully, Teru relents and decides to let Kou handle things on the forefront because he doesn’t want his baby brother to hate him. They’ve reach a solid middle ground, the only thing Teru asks is for Kou to remember what he’s said all that and to be conscious that this is Hanako’s last chance if anything happens. Next time he won’t be so kind.

Now Kou and Hanako are left alone, and Kou tells Hanako to behave properly since he doesn’t trust him fully yet and that at the moment he starts acting suspicious, he’ll exorcise him

...................okay, no, I call bullshit on that. There’s no way Hanako had time to apply the eyedrops during his fight with Teru. Even if he had them handy for something, there’s no way. He has to be doing it to lighten the heavy atmosphere because he’s a little shit like that.

Ohhhhhhhhh okay we’re cutting to back to Yashiro in the library. Hopefully this will be more lighthearted, I feel like the previous confrontation was too much for my heart

She’s researching the seven mysteries but it seems like she’s not having much luck since everything she finds is about the girl Hanako-san.

OH

Hello there, suspicious green haired girl that’s shown to spread the rumors in the anime and that was with that suspicous guy that sent a spirit orb to spy on my babies. How nice of you to appear...........I’m sure only good things will come out of this

Oh, looks like there’s a preview of scenes from the next volume of the manga

.......It certainly looks like we have quite the ride ahead of us, doesn’t it. Also!! That white haired guy from the anime intro is finally here! Since he was right next to Yako in the intro, I’m guessing he must be one of the mysteries we’ll deal with, possible number five since Aoi mentions it right there.

Awwwww they have a little sister! She looks so cute! It looks like Teru isn’t a morning person and judging from the apron Kou is wearing, it looks like he takes care of the cooking? or some kind of housework? I wonder if this means that their parents are out of the picture

[bluboothalassophile]

New Orleans

There were few cities in the world the JL was not welcomed, in fact the list was down to three official cities, the three cities with the highest concentration of their kind. 

Gotham was not even a city that made the list, Gotham though ruled by Bats was not supernatural and did welcome the Justice League and it’s members when the Bats did. 

No, the three official cities of which the Justice League did not dare to venture into; whether by command of a mystic in the League or simple instinct that most mortals had to stay away from the supernatural, were Edinburgh, Grisborne, and New Orleans. Edinburgh, Scotland, home to some of the most intense, wild magic on the planet with supernaturals naturally ageless and older than some of the gods which had come and gone in society. Gisborne, New Zealand, which was ancient magic, and an untapped well of magical power; the wild energy had attracted many supernatuals, and was a beacon of power. And his personal favorite, New Orleans, of the United States, where the blood ran like a river over it’s elegant cobble streets and the party never died.

The three largest; natural; reserves of Magic on this planet and the mortal realm. At least as far as he knew.

Now, if one thought of Magic as an element, then it would be noted that some places had larger reserves of it than other; this was not for other supernatural or magical beings to measure their own power with. These reserves of untapped Magic were wild animals, wild weather, wild elements, things which couldn’t be fully controlled. But there were some who could tap into the magic, who could harness a fraction of it, direct it, focus it, and use it. It was usually already highly gifted people who could do this, it was just another aspect of their natural Magic. So, if one thought of places with reserves, and a select few with enough power to tap into these reserves, it made for unstoppable supernaturals.

Also, those three reserves were famed for enhancing the supernaturals; of different species even, who couldn’t normally tap into the magical aspects of the supernatural.

It made for those three cities to also be the highest concentration of peacefully coexisting supernaturals known on earth. It was in those three cities that a supernatural could go, be themselves without magic or hiding their nature. New York City might be famed for having all the freaks, but New Orleans had all the supernaturals.

Well over eighty-five percent of the population in New Orleans was a supernatural of some breed, the fifteen percent or less of natives who were humans were in on the supernatural aspects. But the key there was being a local, outsiders were shunned from the natural community, it was frowned upon to even bring aliens, or Justice League members here. The good times halted right at the idea of outsiders coming to impose their will on the gem of the Mississippi. Between the Port of South Louisiana, the Mississippi, the surrounding bayou, and tourist industry, New Orleans was a busy city, and to outsiders looking in, it was a wonderful place to party; with more celebrations than anyone knew what to do with. Every day was a party in New Orleans.

It covered the darker aspects of the city, the darker natures of the supernaturals whom resided there without the outsiders knowing.

See, to outsiders, all the violence and death looked gang related or even natural disaster related. But every supernatural knew the truth. Their safe haven was a dangerous place to be.

Ruled by the Five Original Vampires; not to be mistaken for an Alpha Vampires, these were the first Vampires made by magic, their sire lines were intricate, and cursed. Unlike the Alpha Vampire’s sire lines though, Originals had control, something many of their sires possessed and exercised. Werewolves roamed the bayou in packs, bringing to life some of the more dangerous legends of the bayous. The most powerful Natural Born Witches also resided in New Orleans; he talking of Witches who made Zatanna Zatara look like a little school girl toying with mere basic Magic; these Witches were the most powerful and dangerous in the world, famed for their craft, and respected for their power. The Magic there was so convoluted with different types, different bloodlines, that it was hard to tell the end and beginning of the Nine Covens and what they could do; each was so powerful, and so similar to the other while being distinct in reputation. New Orleans was also the weakest point between the Vale and the Living, which opened them to lots of spirits and with labyrinths of crypts littering the city, there was no shortage of spirit wandering amongst the living. Then there was the bayou itself which had manifested itself a will and conscious, known as the Green, with a defender called Swamp Thing. There was also the largest school of supernaturals just outside the city limits on an old family plantation and a haunted island famed for it’s resurrection abilities; Moonscar Island. All owned by a mortal, who though not residing in New Orleans anymore, officially, was officially recognized as the head of a New Orleans human family representative and respected as such by all supernaturals.

Now he could spend a few hours talking over the other supernatuals who populated New Orleans, but he didn’t think it was necessary as he ordered a drink and thought it over.

New Orleans, Edinburgh, Gisborne were all neutral territory for supernatural, it was unnerving, and it was interesting. Normally, outside these cities, supernatural species were at war with one another or flying solo to evade the detection of Hunters. But here, interspecies relationships, and different clans, and different supernaturals all intermixed; respective of their perspective families or species, but here they were free, free to live.

Which was all that mattered to him, even if he were nothing more than a bastard; at least he was a bastard among people who understood what it was to be a supernatural and not the pricks of the yoga pants club of rejects.  Here though, here a bloke could come, get a drink in peace, and not have a self-righteous superhero breathing down his neck for something they had no concept of.

It was a botched job, not even Fate or Zatanna could’ve pulled it off; and they were two of the most powerful practicing magic users in the League. But by no means the most powerful he had met. That title went to his protégée, and the young woman who he would be meeting in fifteen minutes.

The most powerful mortal witch he had ever met, was Davina Mikaelson, née Claire. Not even Zatanna Zatara in all her impressive power display could hold a real candle to the witch who had married an Original. However, Davina Mikaelson was currently outclassed by their soul broke protégée who didn’t have an inkling to the true power she possessed. Not that it mattered, this was New Orleans, one of three of the largest naturally occurring Magic reserves on Earth, and he was here for a minute to recuperate from the debacle the League had dragged him into and then blamed him for ‘botching’. Not that it could’ve been prevented or truly saved, the Angel of Death was already there, nothing could’ve stopped or helped those people, the best he could do was end their misery. Something the Justice League didn’t accept as a reality.

But the reality was that people deserved to die with dignity and not to be the pawns for some perverted, sadistic demon compelling them to die in horrific ways for said demon’s amusement. It was only because the League was involved that he hadn’t taken Rachel, Rachel’s mere presence seemed to bring about a break in the supernaturals outside of New Orleans.

There was a movement to his left, which had him glancing over at who had come to pester him now.

“Oh bloody hell,” he sneered at the sight. “Sod off, I’m off the bloody clock and go be a tosser to someone else in the mood for you self righteous act, Zee. I am busy,” he snapped accepting the drink from the tender, Camilla. Cami smiled at him, Zee glared at Cami. “Oh, careful love, in your banishment of the kingdom, Cami here’s become the queen, you might want to go somewhere else.”

“I’m not banished from New Orleans, John,” Zatanna said daintily.

“No, the locals just hate your guts,” Constantine shrugged turning to gesture at the crowd around him, many of witches and supernaturals were glaring at Zatanna.

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [1234]

Lavellan is an ocean, she is a wave, she is foam and bitter spray. She is tumult and she is the lull. She is a squall and a rolling typhoon, she is the crash of water and the crack of glacial floe returning to its origins. Lavellan is many things in one shape, attempting to understand other things that are also many things but remain in one shape. It is difficult. It is, mostly, annoying and not worth the effort. The effort of trying to be accommodating when it is in her nature to consume is rarely rewarded with anything at all.

She rests her chin in the cup of her palms and she watches the little creatures of flesh waving their tiny little sticks of iron and wood, in the tiny little courtyard of this tiny little castle. In this shape that she has chosen to take — with great reluctance, and only because out of all the shapes available this one is the most convenient to her current direction — these mortal creatures thing it strange for her to refer to them as small. In their view she is the one that is small.

How easy they forget, despite this shape’s purposeful other-ness. Her attempt at passing as mortal isn’t very sincere, after all. Lavellan has allowed for this shape to have many holes in its assembly, its conjuration. There are many gaps for the truth of what she is to slip through, constantly, spitefully.

The Iron Bull is not among them. At this very moment in time, Lavellan can feel him. She feels him in the little dark room of stone that he’s claimed as his. She can feel the heat of his body rising, the salt and liquid of him pulsing through the rest of him. Lavellan can taste the salt of his body as it sticks and hardens to his skin, as the water runs its course and evaporates from the heat of his heart. The poison was mean, but expected. She doesn’t know why anyone is surprised about it. Or concerned. He’ll live. There’s too much iron, too much stone, in him for something like this to fell him.

“You were there, weren’t you?”

The Inquisitor has been standing next to Lavellan for a while now. She had thought that they would simply stand here in silence together. They do that sometimes. It’s a little arrangement they have. Lavellan’s form is unnerving. For all that most forget that this shape is just a container and that the truth of her is something vaster than they have the capability to handle, it is still treated with some measure of trepidation. Not the right amount that she rightfully deserves and what their little minds should be truly associating with her. But it’s enough that most tend to stay away from her when they can help it. And frankly, the Inquisitor could use the peace and quiet. So sometimes the Inquisitor stands close, but not too close. Just close enough that they could be seen has having a stilted conversation of some sort and so anyone looking to pester the other woman will reconsider for another time.

“Why are your kind so fond of asking questions to which they already know the answer?”

“So the answer can be spoken. Once spoken, something cannot be taken back. For better or worse, truth or fiction. You were there.”

“I was there,” Lavellan confirms.

“That ship went down too fast. Even if it was heavy. Even if it was on fire, sinking under its own weight in explosives and men,” the Inquisitor says. “Even with the winds, the turbulence the Storm Coast is known for — even accounting for all of that. It sunk too fast.”

“I have no love for the Qun,” Lavellan says. “Nor do I particularly care for any human kingdom — any mortal one, really. Dwarf. Elf. Qunari. Human. Hm. Even spirit. It matters little to me. The ocean is the ocean. We cannot be conquered. We cannot be divided as you attempt to do on your quaint maps. Your concepts of war and conquest are strange to me.”

She pauses.

“All I know is what I want, what I like. What I reject, what I hate.” Lavellan smiles. Teeth. Gums. Lip. Hunger. “I hate what was done to me. I hate it when I am crossed. I carry a grudge. I carry many things. I’m very good at it. But I won’t fight a war for it. It makes no sense to me.”

“Then what we do here must be very strange to you. The Inquisition is a war against a great many things at once.”

“Someone struck you, so you’re striking back. I understand that enough,” Lavellan shrugs. “The reasons behind it — irrelevant to me. I don’t have to understand them. The point is — Qun, North, South, Orlais, Fereldan, Tevinter, Antiva — all of that, nonsense to me. Strange names for strange divisions. At the end of the day you’re all just bodies. Blood. Bone. Guts. Bile. Different colors of water. At the end of the day, I don’t care.”

“I sense a contradiction coming.”

“But it changes when the strike is against what I’ve decided is mine,” Lavellan says. She can feel the pulse of poison in the Iron Bull’s body. She can feel it, like she can feel the tide — far, far away, but still there. She feels it like she feels the moon, the clouds, the distant rain, the dead snow. She feels it. She wants to reach out and seize it but it would kill him.

The Iron Bull can survive some measly poisons. He cannot survive Lavellan’s hands.

“You lot can have your wars. It doesn’t matter. But you cannot fight the ocean, you cannot fight me. You will run out of bodies long before I run out of space to put them. My attention has been caught. And once caught, it won’t go anywhere.” Lavellan barks out a laugh. “Strange, isn’t it? Once I killed my captors I didn’t care much one way or another about anything. I was doing as I pleased. Mostly against Tevinter. I’m sure the Qun was satisfied enough by that trouble. But now the Qun has my attention. How quick the tide is to change, hm? How quick to drown the ship carried by its wave.”

[les-bi-katamari]

SESSION 13 (4/1/18)

Brianne checks in on Ghorza to ask about her hunger, which Ghorza deflects, looking conflicted. Ghorza carries the spy down to the dungeons, along with Megs; the rest of the party goes after Ivandra to check on her and Silenne.

[The others arrive at Silenne’s chambers, where Ivandra is cradling her in her arms. Silenne is clearly very battered, with horrible rope marks. Brianne comes forward to heal her, and uses Goodberry, since it also provides nourishment. Silenne wakes fitfully, and Ivandra comforts her, lifting her onto the bed with the questionable assistance of 6-Str Brianne. Cadence also provides healing, and Apphia gives her the Cloak of Comforting. Apphia leads Ivandra out for a talk, and Cadence and Brianne bond, with Brianne overcoming her furryphobia.]

[Imp: “OHHHH! Was that why you asked Ghorza about hunger?” Gwen: “Maaaaybe? Yeah, I picked out that spell because of Ghorza’s hunger.” Imp: “Awwwwwwwww! That’s so gay!”]

[In the Solarium, Apphia confronts Ivandra - about wanting to kill the spy, about her ‘playing for the other side.’ Ivandra finally confesses, “I-I made a terrible mistake, when I was younger.” “What mistake?” Ivandra breaks down crying. “There are no words for the unspeakable. I… made a deal, with a devil. She and I have been acquainted for some time - I met Glasya some time after mother died. I didn’t know what she was, then, but she had kind words when no one else had kindness to spare. I was enamored with the kindness and care she showed me. For years, she encouraged my studies, and filled my mind with possibilities I never could have entertained without her. At first, all I had to do was listen. And she was my closest friend. I grew to resent that no-one else recognized what she recognized in me, and she encouraged this. She offered to help me reclaim my birthright, fulfill my ambition - at a price. At the time, she was the only one to put any value to my soul.” “Y-you SOLD yourself? To Glasya?” “Yes. At cost. Because I placed very little faith in that. There is no way of softening this. Of cleaning it. This is a flaw that cannot be polished away. I’m so sorry for holding so fast to you for as long as I have. You have always deserved better than a devil’s whore.”]

[“I asked her to turn it back, after the accidents, the mysterious illnesses, as I put the pattern together. But she told me she was bound to the deal as I was, and that my disliking it could not change that. I know this does not absolve me.” “Did you know more about this? THIS? Did you lie to me about this?” “N-no! No, Apphia, I swear! Last time I spoke to you, I told you my intentions were good. They have not always been - but I was not lying to you that day. Glasya may have bought me, but I am still my own woman, I can- she asks for more every day. When I deny her, it is not enough to wrest my soul back, but- My path is not predestined in life. Only after it. After meeting you-” “Don’t.” “I’m sorry. Of course.” “What does she want?” “What all of her kind want. Power. She wants to usurp her father. She wants divinity.” “I thought I had already seen the worst thing I would see today… I don’t know what to say to you.” “I don’t know if anything can be said. This is all I am. I don’t know if you can even still call me friend. But… I am sworn to see this through. I will do everything I can to aid you, to help put this right.” “That’s a true devil’s choice, then.” “Whatever you need. I am at your service.” Apphia leaves her, nothing more to say.]

Meanwhile, Ghorza has asked Megs to go fetch Nemeth, so she can be there for the interrogation. [Megs run into Apphia as they’re both heading back to the Forge and tries to comfort her, only to be met with stony silence. Apphia arrives at the Forge, nodding hello to Ghorza’s moms - who share a look of concern - and heads straight to Ghorza’s room. The Isvaniran soldiers are still there playing cards - Nemeth has taken alllll their money. She’s the cat who got the cream; they look like they’re regretting not being got by the demon. Megs leads Nemeth back to the castle.]

Back at the castle, Ghorza has decided to wash the prisoner’s face rather than throw a bucket of water at her, because it’s MORE unnerving. After some failed attempts at intimidation, Ghorza suddenly sees the spy recoil in terror of her, seeming to look through her - above her? The others in the room are eyeing her strangely as well, but the spy begins to talk.

“We’ve got people out at Tarjanir, getting things set up, a ritual site. I don’t know what’s out there, I wasn’t a part of that. He’s bringing up everyone from down south to get this locked down.”

“Cyric is hated by all other gods. He has no allies; there’s no god he hasn’t betrayed in some way. But the lower powers, fiends, some demon princes. Devils were starting to get their claws where they shouldn’t. Cyric figures he’ll throw in with the side of the Blood War that he stands to gain from, keep the devils back.”

Silenne was replaced because she’s a big player. Ivandra was seen as threat because of ties to Hell - a devil has her ‘wrapped around her finger’.

Ghorza starts ranting about how Galaias will turn on Cyric and try to devour him, dooming the whole mortal plane. The spy tries to protest that Cyric is powerful.

“I was in the gutters when Oswin found me, nothing but pain and sorrow to my name. But he is powerful, Cyric is powerful.” Nemeth is outraged, and pushes in front to say “You think he’s your friend?! You think he sees anything in you? He found a PAWN in that gutter. You know what he told me?” She recounts how Reaver killed her parents, and took her, telling her she could be a good person and die with her parents, or come with him and become a terrible thing.

Nemeth runs off; we finish the interrogation (no new info on Ardazhan). Ghorza advises the shell-shocked spy to throw herself on the mercy of the court, and pointedly ignores Galaias’s voice in her head telling her “MERCY IS FOR THE WEAK! FINISH HER NOW!”

Megs heads off to try to find Nemeth. Ghorza steels herself to go report to Ivandra. There she lays out the good news from Aldessein, and the other results of the interrogation, before addressing the elephant in the room. She tells Ivandra that she remains her loyal servant, and trusts her with the work against Galaias and Cyric. They have a heart-to-heart about being chosen by fiends; Ivandra professes her faith that Ghorza will not fall, and Ghorza says she firmly believes that Ivandra can be free as well.

Everyone eventually meets back up at the Forge, and debriefs a bit about the news on Cyric and the ritual and Tarjanir and Ardazhan. Ghorza pulls Brianne aside to tell her that the hunger is not overwhelming, but is still there - and she offers her a Goodberry, which very much helps to soothe Ghorza; she lifts up Brianne in a tight hug. Meanwhile, Apphia sits up slowly from the bedroll she’s been wrapped in.

A: “...Reaver wants the lens.” G: “Yeah… I still don’t see how the plane of dreams fits in to his Blood War deal.” A: “The lens is attuned to the Plane of Dreams. What if it could be attuned to a different plane?” G, paling: “The Abyss? You think he’s gonna open a portal to the Abyss?” A: “He certainly might be able to.”

We talk a bit more about plans going forward.

KNOWN THREATS -Reaver and the cult of Cyric --ritual at Tarjanir -Galaias's hordes --Ardazhan --the whole fucking forest -Isvaniran cultists of Galaias? -Isvanir in general -memory-stealing monsters -the devils [ooc: UNKNOWN THREATS -Vengeful spirit of Brandt -Penguins -Evil trees -Flying boats -Feudalism and class society]

Eventually we decide: since everyone is SUPER stressed, we’re taking the next day (day 6 of the campaign) off for downtime. Then, we send the raven to Reaper to tell him to meet us in Vassarein in 24 hours if he wants an ass-kicking. Then, we’ll go to Rothanvar to check out the library and hopefully get more info. After that, maybe Ardazhan?

End of session.

[fablemaidens-blog]

Carmine Duplex: The Infamous Tale of Treachery and Betrayal

Ohhhhhhh LIZZ! Lizz lizz lizz lizz lizzzzzzz

She heard her wife’s monotonous hymn ringing in her ears. Every day at 3 PM, she heard it. She heard it right when she was expecting it. Even when it didn’t happen.

It was when her wife—partner, per say, for issues of consent—would come home from her daily biddings. What were they? the traitorous nymph asks. Oh, foolish nymph! How you’ll come to understand the day of the wife… eventually. I will answer you now, anyway. Eventually is the present. Isn’t it always? Since it always can be the present. The eventually will eventually become the present, at some point in time. So why not just call it the present now? If it’s GOING to be the present. It’s like a pre-present. Except maybe it sometimes mistakenly defines itself as the present; sometimes the Eventually gets a little too ambitious. If a knight were to be a young girl and call himself a big woman. It’s like, 13 going on 30, except it’s all in your head and deals with your schematic perceptions.

Anyway, that Eventually became lucky, because it was destined to become the present far sooner than other Eventuallys. So, where does this cheerful reverberation, this repeated greeting, this complicated, habitual hello—where does it all stem from? Why must she say hello? Where on earth is she coming from? THE MISTRESS! THE MAIDEN! WHERE DOES SHE GO DURING THE DAY? WHAT DOES SHE DO? WHO DOES SHE SPEAK TO? WHY MUSN’T SHE STAY HOME WITH HER LOVE?

She works. She works every day. She works in the factory. She makes pills.

Sounds a little backwards to you, right? Doesn’t make too much sense? FALSE! Do not question the validity of my story. Leave if you must continue to disrespect. me

She had to beg for the job. There was nowhere else to put her. Assembly line. She’s the only one on it. She takes the hard clay and intricately melds it into a rounded rectangular prism. Impossible, you say? Incorrect! She was born with this skill; it was her destiny. As a young one, the local warlock, Qoup, prophesized she would be this way, that she would bring it back. And she did. She showed them. It was incredible. She put forth no effort, yet created these rounded prisms with the most pristine accuracy. No one could stop her, except for the test of time. We'll touch on that later.

She visits home at 3 PM for exactly 30 minutes to please she who she is bound to. Her master provides her with the food and services that she cannot receive.

Though, her master lives in ignorance; she does not know that her supposed lover is deceiving her, using her for her amenities, caring nothing for their CHILD, Carmine Duplex. A rambunctious thirteen year old—just the other day, she came home with a flower from the backyard! She handed it straight to mommy before going back to her closet! Without a word! Mommy loves her so.

And in the end, I don’t even live with her. I couldn’t even convince her to. The wife. My love. Void of her comfort, her presence, I had to get something to fill what I had lost. But I had nothing. I am a woman of very little. Not many wish to quarrel with what that is I. But those who do—they do by force.

They are fabricated by the inner workings of my mind. They cannot leave. They are trapped, ensnared in its madness. They are all under my control. Total and complete domination. They Eventually develop from my initial imaginations into conscious, active characters. After that… Act as they may, they can never leave. The partner. Carmine. The factory bosses. The prism receivers. Qoup. They will never know another setting except that which I set for them. The musty streets of New York City, lined with expensive juice shops on every corner. They are the only shops. They cannot afford them. They remain here, sustaining their autonomy in this sick, sick world, because I provide them with sustenance.

Every time I eat something, I transport it through my larynx directly to my eyes and the item is compressed like a juicer. The calories seethe gloriously into my brain vessels, a soggy-cereal mess of nutrients provided to my characters. Neurons attach to their minuscule bodies like leeches to facilitate maximum absorption. When it is completed, the neurons finish shriveled like a waterlogged phage and fall off, limp, motionless on the brain floor. They are eventually absorbed into my now misshaped cerebellum.

I sacrifice brain cells for their survival. I sacrifice myself.

I treat them well. They receive what they deserve. I created them. They created me. I feed them. And they feed me. With experiences, hopes, doubts, events. One could never ask for more. One could never ask for more…

~~~

Everyday the struggle persists. I try to keep my head above water, drowning in the monotony, the slow unnerving hum of the age-old, but seemingly modern, interpretation of the Industrial Revolution from which I was born and unleashed unto this planet. Unleashed from a world beyond this realm, this plane of existence, this plane so plain I yearn for the worlds I knew in lives past which now are frozen, dormant in the sphere of our mortal perception of time. I was unleashed to be The Creator. The Wife need not know more...at this time. Ah, The Wife. How her constant pestering gnaws away at my immortal spirit. She watches on, perched atop the refrigerator, hawk-like and unsettling as I enter her private domicile through the kitchen window--she would have expected entry from the front door but I refuse to give her the satisfaction of knowing my next moves. Her gaze attempts to penetrate my false human exterior, but skin-deep is the most she can muster against my superhuman defenses. My skin morphs, steel-like, as her scanning capabilities are marred, no longer does she regard me as The Appetizer. She swoops down, and embraces me. "Welcome, my leige." Her words of affection do nothing for me. I take no risk in revealing my true sentiments, "Always happy to oblige, my comrade." In this chamber, we are compeers. She kneels, kisses my hand, and moves to prepare sustenance from within the refrigerator she once roosted upon, a lighthouse keeper of her own appointment. I do not see her evil grimace, focused instead on my true mission. A purple light emanates from the room over, The Wife cannot see it, her senses not as keen as mine, and I move to where my true interests lie--Carmine.

Moving through the bedroom, the bed catches my attention...I have not slept in eons and wonder what the sensation would be like. Such thoughts pervert me from my mission, though, and so I march on.

13 and unaffected by the chaos of the age. She slumbers beneath a combination of polyester, wool, cotton, and the occasional fedora that my leaders transport from my home planet via holographic Skype. I do not ask for them, I only receive them. We do not ask for that which is bestowed upon us. A flower rests atop a leather Birkenstock sandal. I confiscate the contagion and pray Carmine does not notice it's absence.

Upon my entry, she stirs. Hungrily, she stares. Three blinks. It is time. I remove two pills from the cigar case kept within my breast pocket, one red, one blue. She whines, low and desperate. I oblige.

"One pill makes you larger, and one pill makes you small And the ones that mother gives you, don't do anything at all" That which I give her is the milk of the Mother. The true Mother, not the false prophet The Wife claims to be to this girl. Our Carmine. Red for vitality, blue for longevity. Carmine must survive. Carmine must surpass us all. It is her destiny...but we'll touch on that at a later time. The pills I provide the young lass of the closet domain are special--only I know the craft, taught to me by an ancient warlock and mastered upon his death. Rounded rectangular prisms which pump manufactured life throughout the veins, the cartilage, the neurological workings of Carmine. They are my mission and she is my mission and I must ramble on through the monotony of the earthly day until my mission is complete.

My mission is interrupted by the shrieking of the banshee woman within the kitchen--The Wife has burned herself, I assume.  Upon re-entry I watch her eyes perform erratic REM cycle motions, unseeing and unfixed upon any singular object. The devices of The Revolution whir and whizz, despite remaining unplugged to conserve energy in an effort to save this dying rock the humans call home. The Wife begins to float, her Adidas clad feet no longer stable upon the linoleum floor. Her mouth opens wide, stretching past the limits of a normal human's jaw. A beam of light emerges from the back of her throat and penetrates my mind. A distant and detached voice, the voice of The Wife, echoes within my brain, not the expected cochlea. Overlord Wernicke would be proud.

"Dinner is served."

~~~