#anyway this is to say that its not that i think that everyone cautioning about scams is correct.

[elftwink]

been learning to play ironsworn (gritty fantasy ttrpg which you can play with a gm but is mostly suited for solo or small group co-op gmless play) after having the rulebook pdf for several years (stars finally aligned to remove invisible thing blocking me from reading it idk) because i'm on another solo ttrpg kick & i don't know what took me so long to get around to this game because it genuinely is exactly what i was looking for. years ago when i was playing through solo 5e modules i should have just been playing ironsworn (believe it or not, 5e isn't very suited to solo play and is extremely clunky when you try lol).

also though i have dabbled in some other solo ttrpgs, a considerable amount of them are journaling games which is fun but imo considerably more work (usually by the time i'm a quarter of the way through the journal entry, i know how to entire scene played out and i want to move on to the next gameplay thing, so i get frustrated and bored quickly. it feels like when you solve a level in a video game but don't have the coordination to pull off the necessary move so you have to spend 20 extra minutes doing something you already figured out), so i really appreciate like not needing to write something for the game to progress (ive been taking notes for my own record since im playing solo and thus am not really out loud roleplaying the way you do in a group, but i definitely could do that instead and not take notes and the game would still function perfectly)

& ive been playing by myself but also in the past ive played a lot of ttrpgs in very small groups which has been other games but is mostly dnd and like. we also should have been playing ironsworn so that having a gm was not necessary. have definitely played games where we had to adapt the rules soooo much to do something that is just base game included in ironsworn. plus it's rules-light enough to do pretty complex moves that pose difficulties in bulkier games (ever introduced someone to dnd and they tell you they want to do a sick backflip and catch something and then attack and you have to tell them that will require several different consecutive rolls and some creative liberties with how the rules are 'supposed' to let you move? you can just Do That in ironsworn. use the strike move and describe it. done!)

the one thing is that although it's rules-light enough to theoretically play any setting or genre (some with more difficulty than others), ive found so far that like... the grittiness and sense of threat is very built into the mechanics so that would be sort of difficult to work around or change (but i think it's great from a game design perspective). what i mean is like, okay: you start with 5 max hp. there isn't really a way to raise this max hp, you just slowly gain abilities (assets) that make you less likely to have to lose the hp in the first place, or that make it easier to recover. when you encounter foes, you rank them on a scale of 1 -5, and enemies on the lowest side of this scale do one harm to you, while enemies on the highest side do five harm to you. so even though encountering an epic enemy won't always be deadly due to the assets you have, they are ALWAYS capable of taking you down to 0 hp with one good hit. so the feeling of threat is much more present compared to games where your character starts to be able to just tank and push through a failure or huge threat.

admittedly also i'm playing solo, im still learning how to balance combat, and also i built a character who has NO combat talents and iron (the close quarters fighting stat) is one of my lowest stats so i personally am under much more threat than if you built a character who knew how to fight or who could do deadly harm. but also the other thing about combat is it's extremely difficult to maintain control of the fight; you have to score a strong hit to do it on basically all moves, and there's a really limited pool of moves available when you don't have the initiative, and obviously none of them really favour you. i don't know that this makes combat genuinely more difficult, but it does make you feel like the fight is always about to spiral out of your control. every second you let it drag without decisive action feels like it brings you closer to dying. like i said, this is a feature of the game design and not a problem in any way. just thinking about it because when i was initially learning i was going to try to supplant it into a homebrew fantasy world of my own but the tone just wouldn't be right. and that it is somewhat difficult to replicate the kind of worlds that i typically play or run for dnd, which tend to lean somewhat sillier and definitely much higher fantasy

but i like to try new things and tbh especially in dnd i find that i very rarely feel that sense of threat and when i do feel it, it has nothing at all to do with the actual mechanics and reality of the combat and everything to do with how well the dm sells it to me and makes it sound and feel scary and dangerous. which is a testament to what a good gm can do for you but i do appreciate the threat feeling more built-in and also being actually real.

[spockicelli]

It's really fucked up how no one here has any reading comprehension or common sense.

[florencemtrash]

The Ballad of the Shadowsinger

Azriel x Reader Oneshot

“Because I’m waiting for my mate to call me home.” The Shadowsinger said, “Because I’m waiting to die.”

Warnings: ANGST with a happy ending, mentions of attempted SA and suicidal ideation (they're very brief, but please do read with caution)

Author's note: I finished this at 3am last night and I think it's pretty apparent... buuuuuut I'm going to post it anyway. Enjoy...

The Shadowsinger arrived one winter night, curling into existence on the border of town like cream through coffee. Jadhan was only a boy at the time - painfully human with a broken leg that had never healed properly. The Midlands were a terrible place for a child to grow up - a place where the only thing more unstable than the ground was its sense of safety.

But things changed when the Shadowsinger arrived, bringing with him gold and the brutal violence required to scare off the bandits and murders that slipped in from the nearby Lordship. And when the Lord came for the Shadowsinger’s head, it was the fae male was the one who walked away from the fight. Except it wasn’t a fight. It was a slaughter.

Jadhan was thirty-seven now with three young boys that had come in a cluster, forcing their way into the world one after another. Sasha had never been quite pleased with him for that, but her love for her sons and her husband outweighed the pain and hardship in the end. 

The boys - Mikhail, Alzhar, and Zhik - ran around the tavern, ducking beneath tables and barstools while their height still allowed it. The Shadowsinger watched them with the faintest of smiles as they clambered about, begging for more attention from his shadows. 

There was little known about the Shadowsinger this deep into the Continent, but whispers still passed through the mouths of travelers at the inn. The most common piece of gossip was that he was a Prythian outlaw - banished to the Continent after attempting to kill his Lord. Jadhan didn’t know - and he figured he would never find out. 

The Shadowsinger was so quiet that no one even knew his real name. They all called him Shadowsinger - Shadow for short. He disappeared into the woods at night and stalked into town come morning, but give a shout at any time and he would be there, flying overhead like a black stormcloud. 

“On the house, Shadow.” Jadhan said, dropping the glass onto the sticky counter. Whisky neat, two fingers - just the way he liked it. 

The Shadowsinger picked it up, swirling the amber liquid around like he hoped it would start talking to him, “You say that every night.”

“That’s because a free drink is the least I could get you.” Jadhan tipped his head towards the rickety stage where the local songbirds were setting up. The singer, Phaedra, had her eyes on Shadow, sending love and gratitude his way like a flood, “Phaedra’s been telling everyone what you did for her. You know, with the Morois boy.” 

Shadow grimaced, taking his first sip. He grimaced again. The whiskey was home-brewed and tasted like it. Everyone in town said a shot of the stuff could kill a man, but Shadow was hardly a man, and more shadow than fae.

Lev Morois had had his eyes on Phaedra for a while now. And he didn’t like to be denied anything, especially women. Normally he traveled to the Lordship for his fill, and he would have been better off going there last night. Instead he’d forced his way into Phaedra’s home… and Shadow had made sure he’d never be able to hurt a woman like that ever again. 

“How old are your boys now, Jadhan?” His voice was deep and smoky.

The trio neared closer, as if they knew they’d been summoned. The eldest, Mikhail, nearly crashed into the countertop, forgetting he had to bend down now. A tendril of black shadow shot out, muffling the blow and corralling him back out onto the open dancefloor with the rest of the children. 

Jadhan sighed and rubbed at a burned spot on the counter, “Too old, and growing faster than weeds.” 

It was a sweet pain for Azriel to see the three brothers romping around. It was almost winter and soon enough they’d be wrestling in the frosted fields, shoving snow down each other’s shirts, and hurling it at each other's heads. 

When was the last time he’d seen his brothers? Cassian had stopped by twenty-five years ago, shocked and scared to see Azriel looking so wretched. The next time Azriel’s shadows had warned him, and they’d sent Cassian away.

Rhysand was a different story… he’d never forgiven Azriel for what he’d done - and rightfully so - but that didn’t make the pain any easier to swallow. That didn’t make Azriel miss them any less.

He tossed the rest back and, to Jadhan’s surprise, he let the barkeep refill it.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Phaedra’s voice crooned over the crowd, settling over drunk men and women like a warm blanket until it was time for their sober partners to drag them home. Those who were alone either settled into the hard booths for a nap or resigned themselves to a stumble home in the dark. They’d all make it to their beds in the end - The Shadowsinger would see to that.

He dropped a gold coin onto the counter - triple what the night’s libations actually cost. It was the briefest of stumbles that had Jadhan gripping onto the male’s shoulder and forcing him back into his seat. 

Azriel wasn’t drunk. It would take an ocean of human liquor to get a fae drunk and then some. But he was starting to feel something.

“I got a pinch of ambrose from a merchant passing through.” Shadow’s eyes snapped up to Jadhan, who only raised his hands in surrender, “Hey, hey, hey, I know you don’t drink my whiskey for the taste, so I thought I'd put something in there to remind you of home. Something to loosen you up like liquor is supposed to.” 

The Shadowsinger winced at that word: Home.

“Very well.” He said.

The boys had gone home with Sasha hours ago, and without them running about with their usual compatriots, the tavern seemed dull. Now was no longer the time for dancing and riotous laughter. Now was the time for the sad drunks and those who didn’t want to go home.

But Azriel wasn’t drunk and he desperately wanted to go home.

It was the shame that kept him rooted to the stool like a stubborn weed… that and Rhysand’s promise that if he ever laid eyes on Azriel again, he’d rip the wings off his back. 

Jadhan seemed to understand that about him, leaning over the counter on sturdy arms thick as tree trunks. His leg was still lame, always had been and always would be, but that had never held him back much.

“What’re you doing here, Shadow?”

His hazel eyes flickered up. 

“What’s it been? Twenty-five years you’ve been in town now?”

“Thirty. Exactly.” 

So that was why the Shadowsinger had drank so much that night. It was to commemorate the sad, terrible anniversary of his banishment to the Midlands.

“Don't you think that's long enough? I don’t mean any offense, but don't you have anywhere else to go? Friends? Family?”

The male gritted his teeth and Jadhan had the sinking feeling he'd just poked the bear.

“I thought I was wanted here.” 

“Of course you are. Hell, we’d all be dead or piss poor if it weren’t for you.” Jadhan shook his head, “I don’t know what you’re running from - if you’re a thief, a murderer, a treasonous bastard or all of the above-” 

Shadow flinched, actually flinched, and Jadhan knew it was all of the above.

“But whatever it is,” He continued, “I think you’ve made up for it.” 

Azriel stilled, shadows continuing to swirl around the wet, empty glass in front of him.

How he wished those words were true, but only a human would think thirty years was a long time. They were nothing if not optimistic.

“No. I haven’t.” Shadow said flatly. Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, until Jadhan finally sighed and went to clear the glass.

“I had a mate.” He whispered the words so quietly, Jadhan almost didn’t hear him. 

His thick eyebrows disappeared into his receding hairline. He didn’t know much about fae customs and the ones he did know about were often violent, strange, or both… usually both. But he had a great deal of respect for mating bonds and understood they were prized above all else to fae.

“Had?” 

Shadow’s lips flattened into a thin line and Jadhan could have sworn his eyes began to brim with years. 

The Shadowsinger nodded stiffly.

“Dead?”

Shadow gritted his teeth and nodded once more, wings drooping low enough to brush against the sawdust packed floor.

Jadhan sighed so deeply he seemed to shrink into himself, and Azriel was once again struck by how quickly humans aged.

Silver streaks were already beginning to color his temples and his leg was getting stiffer and stiffer each day. It wouldn't be long until he was forced to swallow his pride and buy a cane like Sasha had been suggesting.

It seemed like just yesterday Jadhan had limped his way into the woods, calling out for the Shadowsinger with a copper coin clenched in his fist and a bargain to make. 

Kill my father, and I will do anything you ask of me. Anything at all.

There had been such determination in the little boy’s body that Azriel hadn’t hesitated to fold his small fingers back over the coin and then do what he had been told… to do what he’d always been told to do. 

“I’m sorry, Shadow.” He shook his graying hair, “I’m so sorry.” 

Azriel grimaced, fists tightening until they turned pale, “Don’t feel sorry for me. Don’t you dare.”

He frowned, “And why not?”

The Shadowsinger stilled and got quiet again, “Because it was my fault. I killed her.” 

Jadhan, for all his mortal naivete, didn’t look surprised at his answer. He only twisted his mouth to the side in thought before asking once again, "Why are you here, Shadow? Why don't you leave?"

Azriel looked at him, hazel eyes filled with despair.

He would never tell Jadhan this, but he’d always been envious of humans for one thing - they could die of old age. They could be killed easily. So easily that all it would take was one flick of Azriel's wrist and Jadhan would be no more.

Fae were not so easy to kill, and their only end was a violent one. Maybe that was why Rhys had banished him to the middle of the Continent where life was harsh but simple, and fae were nowhere to be found.

No one here was strong enough to kill him. Azriel would know - he’d spent the first five years on the Continent searching for a way to die and getting into so many bloodbaths it had lost its luster.

“Because I’m waiting for my mate to call me home.” The Shadowsinger said, “Because I’m waiting to die.” 

___

There were many reasons Azriel built his house in the woods. Firstly, he liked the privacy Secondly, when the nightmares came, there was no telling the damage he could do. 

Tonight’s dreams were especially violent and cruel to him. 

Elain appeared before him, sweet and delicate as a dove and despite knowing better, he couldn’t help but follow her into the darkness like a fly to a carnivorous flower. It wasn’t her fault - he should have known better than to drag them both into this mess. She’d been reckless, hungry for some semblance of control in this new and strange world, and he had been all too willing to play the role of the selfless knight. 

When she kissed him it felt wrong, but like every other night, he was too powerless to push away. This was how it had happened, and there was no changing that.

She whispered against his lips, “Thank you for coming for me.” 

Azriel’s stomach twisted, because two people had gone on the mission into Beron’s lair, and two people had come out. Azriel had wrapped his arms around Elain’s silky body after saving her, and left you behind.

He followed Elain further, chasing her shimmering pink skirts onto the Autumn Court battlefield where she dove into the grasses and disappeared. 

This was where it truly went wrong. 

He caught sight of you on the hill, blood blooming like roses from where the ash arrows pierced your flesh. Your wings were gone and you leaned too far backward, still feeling their phantom weight against your back. That was what it had taken to bring you down. That was what it had taken for Beron to break you.

It was like a bolt of lightning running through his body when the bond snapped into place. Your bruised eyes shot open and you fought against the chains, horror freezing your heart. 

Azriel would know, because he felt it all.

“AZ! NO!” 

Beron’s ax caught the light as it came down on your neck and this wonderful thing he’d dreamt about for over five hundred years was snatched away from him. 

Azriel shot up in bed, skin slick and suffocating under the blankets. He kicked them off his body, taking big, desperate gulps of air as his stomach and shadows settled down. 

He rubbed his chest, feeling that hollow space where the bond used to be. 

He’d had you for less than a minute… he should have had an eternity with you. You should have had an eternity with all of them. 

On the day you died, Rhys and Cassian had also lost a sister. Feyre and Nesta had lost a best friend. Cassian may have been quick to forgive him, but Rhys could never. He’d already lost one sister. Nothing could have prepared him to lose you too. 

Shadows swarmed around him and he already knew his powers had wrecked the roof once again. Moonlight streamed through the newly made hole in the ceiling, pooling around his shaking form. He imagined it was the Mother staring down at him with her unblinking eye. Disappointed. Angry. 

The mating bond had been utterly wasted on him. 

“I’m-I’m sorry, Y/n.” He gasped out, trembling. He wrapped his wings around his shaking shoulders, as if that would be enough to shield him from what he’d done. 

Once again he was that little boy trapped in the cellar. Abandoned. Unloved. Alone. But this time he deserved it.  

“Please. Please.” He begged. He begged for the madness to take him. He begged for an end to his eternal life. 

“I want to come home.” He sobbed. “Please. I want to come home.”

You stood before him at the foot of the bed - a vision that had arrived three days after coming to the Midlands and never left. You looked at him sadly, your white dress hanging still despite the breeze that flowed through the room. But you didn’t say a word. You didn’t say anything at all. 

___

Jadhan was fifty-five now. The Shadowsinger still came to the tavern every night, drank his whiskey on the house, and left once the songs were over. 

Mikhail had left at eighteen, chasing after opportunities on the edge of the Continent. Zhik had died the year before - the youngest and the weakest of the trio. Not even the Shadowsinger could fight the cold that came for him in the Winter and stole him away before Spring. 

Now it was Alzhar and Jadhan that ran the tavern. Alzhar who poured the Shadowsinger his drinks.

“On the house.” He said, sliding the glass along the countertop. Whiskey. Two fingers. Just how the Shadowsinger liked it. 

“Thanks, Alzhar.” He raised the glass in the air before tossing it back in one shot, grimacing. Either he was getting older, or the whiskey had gotten worse. 

Snow flurried past the windows, more rain than anything else. 

“Happy Solstice day.” The Shadowsinger said with the faintest of smiles. 

“Happy Solstice day.” 

It was no grand holiday in the Midlands, and it certainly could never hold a candle to the festivities that were going on in Velaris, but still, Azriel would take whatever comfort he could get. 

Phaedra had quietly retired from singing, opting to strum along with her guitar in the background. But her daughter led the band now, a vibrant star in the midst of these quiet lands with a smoky voice that was only rivaled by her mother. 

“Happy Solstice day, everyone!” The tavern-goers cheered and a new generation of children shrieked from their spots closest to the stage. “Now I know it’s not looking too great outside, but we all know what dear old, Phaedra says.” 

“Are you calling me old, Miss Devra?” Phaedra hollered, red painted lips turned down in a frown. 

“I’m calling you a dear, Mama. You’re still as young as a rosebud in April.”

“That’s right!” Alzhar whooped. Phaedra winked and blew her future son-in-law a kiss.

Devra’s smile was positively radiant, “Alright, alright well whatever. She says daisies look brightest when they’re down in the shits, but that’s not really the most appetizing turn of phrase now is it?” 

Everyone erupted in a mixture of laughter and cheer.

“Come on now, Dev.” Alzhar called out, “You’ve kept us waiting long enough. Sing!”

She rolled her eyes playfully, “Well since you asked so kindly,” She cleared her throat and began to croon,

“When my mama first warned me you’ve got trouble on your tail, I told her foxes are quick runners and my heart ain’t just for sale. I won’t be wooed by sweet flowers or sugar tea on ice, I just want someone who’ll love me and who’ll never think twice. I’ve-”

The tavern door burst open, letting in a howling blast of night-chilled air tinged with rain and frost. Everyone cringed back except Shadow, clutching at their thick coats and gasping at the sight of the being that came in from the darkness.

The female was anything but cold with her shining, warm eyes and radiant skin. She glowed like she'd been brushed with an otherworldly glimmer. She was sunlight shooting through crystal. 

Dev stopped singing immediately, her hands slipping from the worn out strings with a strangled thrum.

The Shadowsinger stumbled, actually stumbled, to his feet, and the world seemed to fall silent.

Shadows shot out towards her, curling around her legs and licking the hem of her midnight blue coat. She was the moonlit darkness given form, delicate and fierce at the same time. 

“Azriel.” She breathed out, finally giving a name to the nameless fae. “Azriel.” She repeated, still in disbelief.

The Shadowsinger - Azriel - walked forward without a sound, his scarred hands shaking at his sides.

She looked ready to throw her arms around him. Whether it was to embrace him or strangle him was yet to be seen.

Before she could make a move or say anything further, he dropped to his knees, head bowed and trembling. He swallowed thickly, keeping his eyes trained on the floor between her feet like he was scared to even look at her straight on.

If he had been looking at her, he would have seen the horrified shock that parted her lips and widened her eyes.

He pulled out that sleek obsidian blade he carried with him everywhere. The knife seemed to hum, the silent sound reverberating through the room and causing the air above it to warp.

Everyone knew that that knife was as much a part of him as his wings. But he held it out to her now like an offering, wings stretching open so that everyone could see the orange glow of the fire through the thin membrane, and the tendons that flowed through them like rivers.

Alzhar looked to his father in confusion. Was this some fae custom he wasn't aware of? Should they all be bowing to her? Perhaps she was their queen.

But his father only let out a slow breath, shoulders sinking down.

The Shadowsinger was the picture of reverent misery, and he would let her take whatever she wanted for her revenge.

His wings.

His life.

Anything...

Because I’m waiting for my mate to call me home.

That was what the Shadowsinger had revealed to him years ago, and Jadhan had never forgotten it. 

Because I’m waiting to die.

Her beautiful face crumpled, then turned resolute. She ignored the blade, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and hauling him up to his feet. Azriel’s eyes blew open in surprise.

“You bastard. You absolute bastard.” She said, her silky voice shaking, “I’ve been looking for you for years.” 

“Y/n,” Azriel whispered reverently, “I-” 

She slammed her lips against his, swallowing whatever desperate apology had been about to escape his mouth.

The Shadowsinger froze, then slowly melted into her touch, wrapping his arms around her waist so tightly it was a miracle her ribs didn’t snap. Shadows swirled around the pair in a perfect mixture of light and dark - like moonlight bleeding through winter clouds. 

No one in the tavern could stand to look away. They were absolutely transfixed. Some great power was moving in the world and they could feel it. Magic or not, it demanded to be felt.

When the two fae finally pulled away from each other, gasping for breath, something in the earth seemed to crack open and shake the ground, releasing pressure that had been building for hundreds and hundreds of years. 

Tears slipped out of her eyes, salty and not entirely unwelcome. 

“Oh, Az.” She whispered, cradling his face with one hand and clutching her chest with the other. The Shadowsinger was weeping now, curling into her like a vine seeking sunlight, “How could I have forgotten this?”

He buried his face in her neck, breathing in the scent of elderflower and mountain pine like a man starved. His shadows grew around him, thick and powerful. And before anyone could even let out a strangled gasp, they disappeared with a whisper of smoke and shadow.

You reappeared in darkness, holding Azriel’s shaking body against you like an anchor to a ship. 

“I’m here, Az. I’m here.” You gently shushed him, tangling your fingers through his hair.

You scanned the room finding nothing but a rickety bed and a dresser in the corner by way of furniture, and a small pile of firewood against the wall.

Moonlight streamed in through the roof and you held out a hand, latching onto the rays and weaving them together so tightly they filled the room with a silver glow. 

“Az.” You whispered, all your attention turned back on him, on your mate. "Az." You gently shook him, pressing fervent kisses to his temple until he finally lifted his eyes.

Azriel looked exhausted, purple bruises shading the hollows beneath his gorgeous eyes. 

“How-” Azriel gasped, “How is this-” 

“Bryaxis brought my body to the Cauldron.” You finished, equally out of breath, “It took him years to put me back together but… he did it. He did it, Az.” 

Azriel closed his eyes, sinking to his knees. This time you let him fall. And you fell with him, climbing into his lap so he could bury his face in your wind-swept hair. 

Home.

You smelled like home to him.

“Promise me." He begged, "Promise me you’re real, Y/n. Please, promise me. I’ll-I'll do anything." He could feel you on the other end of the bond, your heart pulsing and alive. But… he didn’t know if he'd be able to survive if he woke in the morning to find that this was all some terribly perfect dream.

“I’m here, Az. I’m here.” You replied thickly, “I’m here and I’m whole.” You tugged off your coat, throwing it somewhere behind you, and pulled down the neck of your sweater. A thick line of scar tissue wrapped around your throat, one of the many physical reminders of the horrors Beron had put you through. 

Azriel stilled, one hand daring to trace the pale flesh with a feather-light touch. “I… I did this.” 

“No...No.” You whispered, brushing away the moisture that had collected on his cheeks, “You didn’t do this, Az.”

“I left you behind.” His voice broke. “I took Elain and I left you behind. Y/n, I’m so sorry. Please, I’m so sorry.” 

You flinched and closed your eyes. It was one of your worst memories to date - the sight of Azriel’s broken face as the first ash arrow caught you in the back and brought you to the ground. The second was what had done you in, piercing through the membrane of your wings and digging into the ground, pinning you there.

Azriel had only gripped Elain’s golden form closer to his body. He could only fly one of you out, and in that moment he had made his choice and leapt into the sky. 

Azriel felt your emotion through the bond and desperation flooded his system once again. 

He couldn’t lose you. Not again. Not like this. Not when he had so much to make up for. 

“I know what I did, Y/n. I know it was unforgivable, but I swear to you I will do anything you ask. Whatever it takes. If you’ll just give me a chance, I- ”

“Shhhhhhh.” You shook your head, pressing your finger to his lips and silencing him. “I forgive you, Az.” You said, cupping his face.

He immediately leaned into your touch, craving the feeling of your soft skin against his.

“I don’t-I don't want to think about that anymore. Trust me, I’ve spent the last half a century agonizing over it.” You said, smiling without humor.

His hands rubbed up and down your back, tracing the ruined remnants of your wings and silently begging you to explain.

You hesitated, collecting your words and speaking them carefully, “I would have come sooner but… I was so scared and confused about everything. My body didn’t feel like mine anymore without my wings with-'' Your hand flew up to your throat on instinct. 

Azriel gently pulled your fingers away, kissing the pads of your fingertips all the way to your palm, and then your wrist. His lips brushed against the pulsing vein as soft as a feather. It was such a small point of contact, but it grounded you to reality.

 “I couldn’t remember anything. It was like… like I was starting from scratch. Building my life from the ground up.”

Azriel repeated the gesture with your other hand, soft lips skimming over your skin until you shivered, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” He whispered softly, “I should have been there.” 

“You didn’t know.”

“I should have known.” 

You looked at him for a long time, drinking in the sight of him and refamiliarizing yourself with his face. He did the same with you.

He looked tired and thinner than you remembered, the elegant planes of his face now harsh and sharp. But buried beneath all those years of loneliness, he was still there - your Azriel. The male who never did anything in half-measures. The male who couldn’t help but make some of the most impulsive decisions you’d ever seen in your life, and also some of the most careful. 

Gods, you’d missed him.

You'd missed talking to him and laughing with him. You'd missed the simple joy of being in his presence and the way that the world seemed to fall with hush whenever he entered a room.

“I came for you as soon as I remembered.” You brushed a strand of inky black hair from his forehead, and then flicked him. Hard. “But you just had to go and disappear on the Continent without a trace.” 

That wasn’t completely true. He’d left bloody, brutal footprints for a while, but those had dried up too quickly. 

The smile Azriel gave was weak and dull, but it was a start, “I’m sorry I kept you waiting, Y/n.” 

“That’s alright." You murmured against his lips before kissing him, "You can make it up to me.” 

Azriel’s heart leapt in his chest, and the bond responded in kind, singing louder than a choir of a thousand songbirds. Even after all this time, even after everything, the Shadowsinger hoped. 

“Y/n-” That light began to dim, hateful voices whispering in his ear that he was unworthy of you, that he would destroy this chance at happiness just as swiftly as he’d done the first time, that he would ruin it all, “I don’t deserve-”

“Stop it, Az.” Your words were soft but commanding, “I don’t care about what you think you deserve or don’t deserve. I want you. I want my best friend back. I want you back.” You wiped the tears from your cheeks, “I want you back in Velaris, and if it turns out I’m still pissed at you for everything, we’ll figure it out, ok?” 

You took a shaky breath and Azriel looked up at you in awe. He gathered you in his arms and captured your lips in a softer, more gentle kiss. A kiss that said, I’m tired. I’m so so tired and for the first time in my life I’m going to force the voices that tell me terrible things to be silent.

And it worked for a spell, but Azriel was pulling away again, looking guilty. 

“Rhys-”

“I’ve already handled Rhys.” 

His brow arched up every so slightly. Your guilty eyes flitted to the side.

You loved Rhys like a brother, and you fought with him like siblings do. That was why the last thing you'd done before leaving Velaris was force him to lift the banishment... and then you'd punched him in the face.

“I wasn’t exactly happy with him when I found out he banished you to the Continent. And to the Midlands too. I’ve heard it’s terribly boring here.” 

Azriel smiled, and this time it was a genuine one full of love and relief, “Everywhere is terribly boring without you. And terribly painful.” 

“That’s a very good answer.” You replied, feeling that a great weight had been lifted off your chest.

He held you in a gentle caress, tracing your brow bone and the curve of your lips and committing the feeling of you to memory.

This was real. This was real. This was real.

You both folded in on each other like paper houses laid to rest, until you were tangled up on the floor. There was a perfectly functional bed not even four feet away, but even that seemed like too much effort after everything that had happened. 

Azriel wrapped his wings protectively around you, settling down with his head against your chest so he could hear your heartbeat. You hummed in tired contentment, peppering his forehead with kisses as your eyelids began to droop. 

“I want to go home, Azriel,” You murmured, “I want to go home with you.” 

Home. 

Azriel swallowed thickly, “We’ll leave tomorrow first thing in the morning. I promise.” 

You opened a bleary eye, examining your mate quietly, “Do you not want to say goodbye?” 

Azriel kissed your chest, right over your heart. Thirty years ago he would have said yes. He would have taken time to get his affairs in order and to make sure Jadhan and his sons, Phaedra and Devra, and the rest were taken care of. But things had changed, and he knew that no matter what, they would be alright. They would live and travel and fall in love. If they were lucky, they’d experience the joy of dying in their sleep surrounded by loved ones at the end of a long and eventful road. 

“No. No, I don’t think so.” 

You pressed one final kiss to his forehead, absorbing him in the warmth of your arms. Azriel sighed, hanging onto the golden thread in his chest that wrapped around his soul and bound him to you. 

“They’ll be ok, my love.” You murmured.

And so will we. You whispered the promise down the bond, soft and gentle. 

He closed his eyes, pressing the words I love you into your skin.

“I know.” He whispered to the night sky once your breathing had evened out, “I know.” 

That night at the tavern felt like a dream - the kind that left you groggy and awestruck when you initially awoke, and then slipped away like water cupped in a child’s hands. 

Everything seemed louder than before, even though the townspeople walked about in a contemplative daze. It was the forest. That’s what it was. It hummed more brightly. The blanket of power that had rested over the treetops for decades had lifted overnight. 

No one spoke of the events aloud - they were too aware of the enormity of what they’d witnessed - but they all knew the truth.

The Shadowsinger had finally been called home. 

___

“Quick!” Alzhar’s eldest son, Samu, called out to the twins. They hobbled over as quickly as their stout legs could carry them. 

“Samu,” Niran whined, “I’m tired.”

“Papa said to be back by dark.” Rhaan reminded them all. The only trademark that separated him from his twin brother was the flash of blond through his ruddy brown hair. White-tailed deer they called him.

“I want dinner.” 

“Me too.” 

Samu looked over the hills where the sun was sliding down the sky like rain on a window.

“But we haven’t found the house yet!” He protested.

“We’ve been searching for days.”

“Yeah, we’ve been searching for days.” Niran parroted.

“Of course we have!” He threw his hands up in the air, “Did you really think the Shadowhouse would be easy to find?” He clicked his tongue in disappointment, shaking his head, “Go back if you’re so scared. I’ll look for it myself.” 

Niran and Rhaan looked at each other, identical frowns pulling at their lips. They wanted to prove their worth, but they were still younger than Samu, and their hunger mattered more.

“We’re telling Mama you didn’t listen.”

“I want your dessert.”

“Wait, no. I want it. Can we share?”

“I’m not sharing!”

Samu smiled triumphantly and stomped further into the woods, leaving the twins to their usual bickering.

The little boy sprinted back home hours later, a gleeful kick in his step. The sky was already turned pitch black, but the Mother had sprinkled out the stars like salt to guide him home.

Devra stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips, swollen belly blocking out the roaring firelight like an eclipse. 

“Where have you been?” She gasped out, grabbing Samu’s head and holding him close to her stomach. Samu loved when she did this, convinced that his newest sibling would talk to him first. 

Niran and Rhaan wanted another brother to tussle with, but Samu was hoping for a sister. She could tussle with them too, he was sure.

He ignored her question, grabbing her hand and hauling her back inside, “Papa! BaBa! I found it! I found the Shadowhouse.” 

Niran and Rhaan popped out from their bedroom, clambering after their older brother as he dragged their mother along.

Jadhan and Alzhar looked up with relief. Jadhan’s hair had turned white as snow in his old age and hints of gray were beginning to sprout from Alzhar’s temples.

“Papa!”

“Samu, what have we told you about staying out past-”

“The Shadowsinger left something for you and Baba.”

“What?!” Jadhan sat up straighter, grimacing at the painful twist of his leg. He motioned his grandson closer, helping him climb onto the bed.

The little boy dropped the blue-velvet bag into his outstretched hands, leaning back on his heels with rapt attention. Samu, being the boy that he was, hadn’t opened it on the whole journey over and was now buzzing to learn what secrets it held within.

Jadhan was immediately startled by the weight of the parcel. 

“Open it!”

“Wait! I want to see!” 

“Help me up!” 

Alzhar and Devra relented, picking up the twins and leaning close. Their own curiosity was itching to be satisfied.

Jadhan opened the bag and tipped it over spilling dozens of gold coins onto the quilt. Devra gasped, her hands flying up to her mouth. Alzhar didn’t bother hiding his shock, his mouth agape. 

It was more money than they’d ever seen in their lives, Jadhan didn’t concern himself with it - he hadn’t had to worry about money in a long while. Instead, he picked up the slip of paper that had also fallen out, carefully unfolding it with trembling, wrinkled fingers.

For all the drinks “on the house” and for your son, Mikhail, who traveled to the edges of the Continent and made it possible for my mate to find me and bring me home.

Scrawled on the lower edge of the paper were more words, cramped and small like they’d been jotted down as an after-thought. 

Also, your whiskey is absolutely disgusting. Never let anyone else drink it.

Everyone stilled, watching Jadhan carefully. 

Without warning, the old man tipped his head back and roared with laughter.

Samu leaned back in surprise. His grandfather was a naturally solemn man, and he'd never heard him laugh so loudly and so fiercely.

Alzhar reached for the slip of paper, skimming the words quickly.

"No!" He cried out in disbelief, "Stop! This can't be. Devra, look-"

One by one the adults fell into fits of roaring laughter, collapsing onto Jadhan's bed or onto the floor. Even the boys cheered - confused but happy to be part of whatever story had just finished unfolding.

Jadhan was seventy-one years old when he died, and he died laughing, surrounded by his family at the end of a long road.

Down the street in the tavern, the band was still playing the same old songs, although they were being performed by yet another generation of songbirds. But, there was one new addition to the repertoire.

A song penned by Phaedra and aptly named The Ballad of the Shadowsinger years before her quiet passing. 

It was always the last song of the night. Always. And it ended like this: 

Come Solstice day

Come wind or rain

Now calls the heather

The Midlands will have no reason to dismay

For the Shadowsinger has been called home again

___________

Another author's note:

I feel like I threw in so many new human characters so I made a family tree. Ha!

Also, please enjoy the small essay I wrote last night after writing this oneshot...

From last night:

Listen, some red flags are just pale orange scraps of fabric when you’re an immortal non-human being who’s been alive for hundreds of years. Don’t come for me. I’m so tired. It’s 3am. I should sleep. 

Ok, note from Florence B at 3:16am because I am making CONNECTIONS. Not all of this was intentional, but maybe it was? Maybe I’m just stringing connections after the fact.  Maybe I’m a genius. Probably not, but still. I’m so tired, guys. Why am I doing this right now? I should be sleeping but I can’t sleep so I’m going to do this instead.

Buckle down folks for the essay I am about to write: 

I have my qualms about the ACOTAR books, as I’m sure most people do. Don’t get me wrong, they’re wonderful reads and it’s the series that got me back into reading after college, but they’re not perfect by any means.

One thing I think that gets brushed under the rug (especially given how ALL the batboys fall for girls who are literally in their late teens/mid-twenties - it’s a major red flag but we forgive because it’s fiction) is how DIFFERENTLY fae experience time. LIke, these fuckers live hundreds, if not THOUSANDS of years. The only way they die is if they get killed, like purposely poisoned or stabbed or whatever have you. I tried to write this/touch upon this when Azriel describes how he’s jealous of Jadhan for his humanity and how no matter what, Azriel is stuck potentially living an ETERNITY with the reality of what he’s done. It’s why for me - personally - all the stuff about the mate bond driving males mad or the choice that Rhysand and Feyre make to bind their lives to one another kind of makes sense. Like, if I was faced with an eternal life sentence in a world that was as brutal and cruel as the ACOTAR universe is, HECK YEAH I MIGHT BIND MY LIFE TO SOMETHING/SOMEONE I CARED ABOUT! I’M NOT DOING THIS SHIT ALONE! You’ve gotta retire from the game at SOME point. 

I know I probably made things really confusing by introducing a whole host of human characters spanning several generations (re: the family tree up above), but as I previously mentioned, I thought it was important to do this to contextualize/compare the lifespan of a fae to a normal human. While Jadhan is growing up, getting a job, getting married, having kids, Azriel is still struggling with his banishment to the Midlands and his own sense of self-worth. The line about Jadhan approaching Azriel and offering him money to kill his abusive father who broke his leg was thrown in there later on around the 1am mark. And I didn’t think of it much - I just wanted a reason for Azriel to know Jadhan personally throughout his life from childhood to old age. BUT! Now that I think I’m thinking about it more, it makes sense that Azriel would be able to accept Y/n’s forgiveness so quickly. He sees a lot of himself in young Jadhan and by helping him escape his abusive father(albeit by violent means) and watching him grow up into a strong man and a good father, Azriel’s helping heal his own inner child. 

The kids! Oh my goodness I love the kids so much. Once I threw the first kid into the story I thought - fuck it, we’re going to make the parallelism painfully obvious with Azriel seeing himself, Rhys, and Cassian mirrored in Mikhail, Alzhar, and Zhik. Then of course I had to bring things around full circle and give Alzhar three boys and a girl on the way (yes, Devra is pregnant with a girl and Samu is going to shower her with all the love that Rhys gave his own sister). 

Finally, I’m going to address any comments about Y/n forgiving Azriel too quickly. 1) I feel like it is a universally acknowledged/unacknowledged truth that no one hates Azriel as much as he hates himself. And no punishment could ever be worse than the self-loathing he feels for himself (NOTE: people, if a partner/romantic love interest/friend/crush/whatever EVER says this kind of stuff to you, drop them like a two-ton boulder. That’s a major red flag, but once again this is a fictional man/fae so we can let it slide). 2) Once again, these fae are literally HUNDREDS OF YEARS OLD. I can only speak for myself when I say this, but I feel like if I had known and loved someone for that long, I would be willing to forgive a lot and trust that time might be able to heal deeper wounds than humans are used to. Time is precious to us humans, we can’t always afford to wait and hope for things to get better on their own, but fae can. 

Are those all my thoughts? I think those are all my thoughts. It’s 3:47am now. Oh jeez. To future me: I’m so sorry if you have to read this and it’s bad and you have a coffee-fueled headache all day because I fucked things up for us. 

[moonstruckme]

Hi lovely, i hope youre having a good day.

Could i request a poly!maruaders (maybe +lily or bff lily) where reader is either muggleborn or a half-blood and does every day tasks normally (ie. redecorating, dying hair, climbimg to get something up high, looking for something theyve lost, painstakingly repairing something, trying to navigate in the dark). Maybe reader has convinced lily and Remus to help her spring clean and redecorate and they both just automatically go about it a muggle way. And when Sirius and James come to find them later theyre so confused because for them thats always been done with magic.

I have sent a very similar request to someome else before (think its been 2+ months) but i dont think they posted for it. Just in case they do i wanted to let you know. Also no pressure.

Regardless, i love you 🩶

Hi angel! I decided to do this with platonic (or, if you like, pre-relationship) marauders+Lily, and I know you said spring cleaning but my roomie and I just decorated for Halloween and I’ve got that on the brain so I’ve taken more than one liberty haha but I hope you like it <33 Love you too!!

platonic!marauders (+Lily) x reader ♡ 1.1k words

“Do you think this would look alright here?” you ask, stretching your arm as high as you can to pin the middle of the leafy garland to the wall. 

Lily hums contemplatively. “I don’t think that’s quite the middle. A bit to the left?”

You reach leftwards, tottering on your stepping stool, and Remus steadies you with his hands at your waist before you can fall. 

“Here, I’ve got it,” he offers, encouraging you to step down and taking your place. He makes the reach look easy (it’s hardly a reach for him, you suppose), taping the garland in place. “How’s that?” he asks, and you step back beside Lily, assessing. 

“It looks great,” you decide. “Thanks!” 

“‘Course, love.” He grins at you as he steps down, going back to dusting off your mantle. You’re immensely grateful for your friends’ help, the quiet between you companionable as you each work on your tasks, your Rumours record playing softly in the corner. You’d been a bit down about cleaning and decorating your first apartment all by yourself, and Lily had all but invited herself over, offering to keep you company. This morning, she’d shown up with Remus and a bucket full of cleaning supplies, and neither of them would hear your protests about not wanting them to labor for you. Remus had become immediately obsessed with all the dusty surfaces you’ve yet to clean since moving in a week ago, and Lily claims she’s going to make cookies after she’s finished cleaning the oven, so your apartment will smell cozy and homey. 

You’re not sure how you managed to snag such fantastic friends, but just as you’re about to tell them so for the upteenth time since they’ve arrived, your door creaks open. 

“You can’t just leave the front door unlocked,” James says, aghast. “You’re a young girl living on your own, shortcake. Exercise some caution.” 

Sirius breezes by James with a small box in his hands, and you accept the one-armed hug he offers you with faint confusion. Your friends are welcome anytime, but you hadn’t been expecting anyone other than Lily today and you worry the apartment is far from guest-ready. “I usually lock it,” you defend yourself. “It’s just that we’ve been in and out all morning. Anyway, who’s going to murder me with everyone here?” 

“Well, they won’t now that I’m here,” James allows, pecking you on the cheek amicably. “But if you were thinking Lily and Moony could defend you all by themselves, then I’m even more worried about you.” He receives matching exasperated glares from your friends, but ignores them, surveying the apartment. “This is a nice place you’ve got here.” 

“Thanks.” You beam, proud of your little apartment. It had been a bit run-down when you’d first moved in, but the morning’s efforts have really brightened the space. “Did you come by to see it? I’m not sure it’s quite ready for a tour yet, unless you’re alright with dust.”

“A lot,” Remus says wearily, “of dust.” 

“We thought we’d bring you a housewarming gift,” Sirius says, opening the lid of the box to reveal a cake. In cursive frosting, it reads Congratulations, graduate!, but someone’s struck through graduate and scrawled, in messy writing underneath, homeowner. 

You laugh. “Thanks, that’s so sweet! Um, you guys know I’m renting this place, right?”

“We know,” Sirius agrees. “But apparently they only do custom writing if you order, like, way in advance, and we didn’t have enough room to put congratulations on your first big girl apartment ourselves.” 

Remus snorts, but immediately begins sneezing after inhaling some dust from the mantle, and Lily comes over to admire the cake. “I think it’s lovely as it is,” she says, and you hastily agree. You love it, and you love them all the more for it, your sweetheart friends. “Still, Remus and I have been here all morning, so I think our housewarming gift is a bit better.” 

James laughs disbelievingly. “What’s your gift?”

“Cleaning and decorating,” Remus says, having recovered from his fit. “Bit more of a time commitment than a cake.” His voice takes on a slight haughtiness, and Lily smirks. 

“What, all day?” Sirius shakes his head. “That takes ten seconds.” 

“Not the muggle way,” Lily says. 

Sirius’ eyebrows shoot up, and James’ gaze sweeps over the room more intentionally, lingering on the unswept floor, the decorations still in their boxes. “Why in Merlin’s name would you do it the muggle way?” he sounds vaguely horrified. “We could charm this done right now.” 

Sirius nods, sliding his wand from his sleeve as if he intends to do just that, but you clamp a hand around his wrist. “That takes all the fun out of it!” 

“Dollface,” Sirius says slowly, looking at you like you’ve lost it, “how is laboring all morning to accomplish what could be done with a simple spell fun?”

You wave your hands about, gesturing vaguely to the room at large. “I don’t know, it’s about the simple things. You listen to music, and do things the slow way, and you get to choose where your stuff goes instead of letting the spell choose for you.” 

“And,” Lily adds, “it’s satisfying to know that you did it yourself. Like these cookies, which are going to be way better than if I charmed them to bake themselves.” She pauses, glancing at the cake. “By the way, you’re going to have a ton of sweets on your hands, Y/N.” 

“Oh, I was under no impression I’d be eating all this by myself,” you say, somewhat appalled. “Won’t you guys stay and help me with them? I can get us takeaway.” 

Sirius and James help with more than that. Neither of them will touch a broom (frankly, they have trouble wrapping their heads around the idea that some are used for more than flying), but they help you arrange your fake pumpkins on the newly dusted mantle, and bicker over whether they should charm your candles to float like in the great hall or leave them on the coffee table. 

By the time you make good on your offer of ordering takeaway, almost every crevice of your apartment has been cleaned, and it’s smelling like cookies and looking seasonally festive. Remus nips to the store to get a couple bottles of wine for you all, and you and James end up sitting on the floor to eat while Lily declares she’s taking you shopping for more chairs tomorrow. The cake is fantastic, but the company is better, and of all the things you’d wanted to decorate your first apartment with, you think you like filling it with your friends best. 

[guplia]

Hello anon! First of all, thanks for the ask! (asks? idk I received three anon asks at almost the same time, it would be weird if they didn't all come from the same person lol)

fic recommendations? read mine /hj Sure! Just note that while I've enjoyed a lot of wips, I'm only gonna recommend completed fics rn.

Okay! Here's all I can remember rn:

"Clouds" by youngmoInactive (fanfiction.net):

Original summary:

"Even though he's a hero, he's still a human. CONTAINS CHARACTER DEATH. A nice look into Kai's perspective as he watches a close friend slowly lose a fight for his life."

Okay all I've gotta say on this one is that IT MADE ME CRY. OVER AND OVER AGAIN. Obviously I can't speak for everyone who read this fic but I think this will hurt Lloyd lovers. I have re-read it so many times to the point where I have half the fic memorised word-by-word. This is a must-read.

(if you're on the phone it's better to add "m." To the start of the URL)

"a day in the life of a fatherless child" by holographicknife (Archive of Our Own):

Original summary:

"lloyd has a panic attack *confetti* title suggested by my friend lol loosely based on a crack rp between friend and i   Warning for: mentions of suicidal thoughts and medication, explicit descriptions of a panic attack, including tight chest, difficulty breathing, nausea, and headaches. Proceed with caution."

This is a Kai And Lloyd fic, and I love Kai And Lloyd fics! Specifically ones where they address Lloyd's trauma from Morro and where Kai comforts him. So if anyone's into this sort of stuff I'd recommend it!

"A Courageous Escape" by Lilac_Lily234 (Archive of Our Own):

Original summary:

"In the midst of possession Morro hatred flows freely as he seeks to make Lloyd suffer for taking what he believes as his rightful title, but his cruelty know no bounds; Lloyd however refuses to give up but knows that time is running out, and in his desperation will find either salvation, or death.  - I don't own Ninjago, this is an au"

Ahem... once again, Lloyd goes through pain. A season 5 canon-divergent AU, from which my favourite part was... you guessed it! Lloyd having a panic attack and being comforted! But it's still a cool story besides too, season 5 being one of the best seasons imo.

While this fic is finished, the AU is not but I think this one has a good ending on its own.

"Out for revenge" by lloyd_slander (Archive of Our Own):

Original summary:

"Harumi’s plan to resurrect Lord Garmadon failed, during her time in Kryptarium prison she heard about Morro, the master of wind, and guy who had managed to make Lloyd’s life a living hell. Wanting revenge, she doesn’t stop from anything, not even from getting Morro back from the dead. Or The duo we always wanted, but never got. Lloyd is in for a hard time. Head the tags, guys!"

Okay. This one is rated Mature for drug usage and blood (there was nothing sexual though)

So it's a Morro traumatising Lloyd fic again, but this time he's with Harumi! So it's double trouble for Lloyd! (things go VERY BAD for him >:3)

Honestly I can't say much except read the fic, the summary's right there lol.

"Revealed" by Nation_Ustria (Archive of Our Own):

Original summary:

"Lloyd Garmadon is used to being hated. That's just how his life works—if someone knows that he's the son of the warlord who attacks Ninjago City on a weekly basis, they hate his guts. That's why he's made sure that his team—the only people he's ever been happy with—don't know who he is behind the mask, with the small price attached that he doesn't know their identities, either. It's not like they know each other's, anyways, so it's not a big deal. But then they find out. The fact that Lloyd's elemental power makes him an empath doesn't help, either. Basically the premise of the movie pre-reveal with show elements and personalities, and Lloyd's Green Power is him being able to sense and be influenced by the emotions of those around him."

Okay so here's a fic without Morro! (that's cause it's in the movie-verse) Another type of fanfic I like reading is where Lloyd in tlnm keeps his identity secret from the other ninja and it ends up getting revealed (like this one.).

I've seen this fic being recommended more than once and it's one of the fics with the most kudos in the entire fandom on AO3! So 2000 others agree with me on how awesome this fic is!!!

"What Doesn't Kill You Makes You Stronger" by @crystaleclipse10 (CrystalEclipse on Archive of Our Own)

Original summary:

"Lloyd batted Red's hand away. “’m fine.” His head pounded, but at least it was quiet and dark. His hair tickled his nose. “What happened?” “We…didn’t get out in time,” Red whispered. “The missile exploded. We got everyone else out, though.” Lloyd relaxed and slumped forward as pure relief washed over him. They’d done it. They’d beaten Garmadon’s game. They’d freed the civilians and survived. Didn’t feel great, though. ~OR~ Lloyd and Kai get trapped under a building when it collapses, both injured. Angst and bonding ensue."

So it's another tlnm au fic! And this one has Kai And Lloyd bonding specific so I like it!!!

As I was reading this when it was still being updated I was very excited every time a new chapter would come out and my heart hurt for Lloyd each time! It IS worth the read! Just note that while tis fic is completed, the au is not.

"Officer Smith, Do You Copy?" by @hijabiwriter (same username on Archive of Our Own):

Original summary:

"Everyone has their reasons for becoming a police officer. Maybe they were forced. Maybe the profession stood out to them. Maybe they had some experience that prompted the idea of becoming a police officer. But that's only a few reasons. There are others, too. Like for instance, one of these officers is out for revenge."

This fic is entered around Nya, who's a police officer alongside Jay, Cole and Lloyd (for some reason Zane is not in this au/fic). Anyways her dark secrets are explored in every other chapter alongside the progressing story, and of course, an explanation is given to everything in the end.

On a personal note this is the fic where I left my first comment on my Ao3 account lol (the historic moment is on chapter 13!!!)

"Too Late to Say Goodbye" by @greenamethyst16 (same username on Archive of Our Own)

Original summary:

"Kai gets stabbed and Lloyd helps him... :D"

I think length-wise this is the shortest fic on the list but that doesn't make it bad!!! Basically Lloyd downplays his injuries and there are consequences... :D

"All the ways I say "I love you"" by @ninja-knox-ur-sox-off (Leonardo_Charles_BlueWood_21 on Archive of Our Own)

Original summary:

"Cole loves his team. They're his family and he does everything in his power to keep them safe and steady. He does his best to let them know he cares about them in every way but one.  Or  Seven times Cole couldn't quite say "I love you," and the one time he could."

Note: This story can only be read if you're logged in on AO3.

I like this fic because it encouraged me to remind my own irl friends how much they mean to me. In this story Cole believes that he's "the rock" of the team, and hence he doesn't show his emotions much. He's never told even one of them that he loves them and thinks that they deserve better than him. So stuff happens after that :D

Okay, I've read a lot more than this but this is all I'm gonna write about now cause I'm tired and I think this post has became too long. But if you wanna read more just check out the profiles of the writers! I haven't read everything myself but most of them have other good Ninjago fics to read!

If I've tagged you or mentioned your fic and you want it removed just let me know! I have no problem with removing it! :D

[invis-o-william]

Day 2: Wish

All Amity Parkers knew that “wish” was practically a forbidden word. Years of interactions with Desiree had all but guaranteed that. Younger children weren’t even taught the word anymore out of an abundance of caution, after all nobody wanted a repeat of the “Toddler Wish-mageddon” that had occurred just a year prior. The firemen had been cleaning chocolate syrup out of the streets for weeks afterwards. This left the naive and unassuming newcomers as targets for Desire’s power, many of whom didn’t quite believe the city moniker of “The Most Haunted Place on Earth” yet. One of those newcomers was Thomas Kincade, and one way or another he too would learn the consequences of the word “wish”.

. . .

Thomas had barely lived in Amity Park a week before his coworkers started messing with him. He had just been sitting down in the breakroom for lunch when Craig from accounting had sidled up in the next chair.

“Oh hey Tom,you’re new to town, right?” he asked while grabbing a bowl from his bag.

Thomas hummed an affirmative while digging through the box chock full of leftover lo mein that his wife had left him that morning. “Yeah, just moved from Springfield like a week and a half ago, why? Also, it's Thomas.”

Craig pointed a fork his way, “Well you should probably invest in a lunch bag or something. That box is a prime target for the Box Ghost you know. He’s usually pretty harmless, but he’ll definitely steal that thing in a heartbeat if he sees you with it man.” He accentuated his point by tapping on said box with his fork.

Thomas sighed. Although he’d only lived in the city for under two weeks, he’d already seen more than enough of the “ghost tourist trap” schtick. “You can give the “ghost” thing a rest Craig, I think I’ll be fine.” he said with a roll of his eyes.

Craig shrugged, “Alright Tommy, don’t say I didn’t warn you. You transplants never quite believe it at first anyway.”

“It’s Thomas.” Thomas said pointedly. Craig made a noncommittal noise before digging into his meal.

. . .

The next day it happened again. Thomas was working at his computer when his deskmate Maria leaned over the divider.

“Hey Tim, did you see the news this morning?” she asked excitedly.

Slightly irritated, Thomas looked up. “No, I didn’t. And it’s Thomas.”

Maria didn’t seem to hear him as she waved her hands around, “They got some footage of the fight between Phantom and that big metal ghost last night on the corner of Park Place and Amity Row! It looked so intense, and the big ghost is so cool looking!” She practically squealed the last words.

Thomas groaned and let his head fall back. “Look, I get it, you guys are pulling my leg, ‘ha-ha lets haze the newbie’ kind of stuff, but its getting old.”

Huffing, Maria crossed her arms. “How long have you been here now? Two weeks? You can’t tell me that you haven’t seen one of the ghosts yet! Hell, blob ghosts are so common I’m surprised one hasn’t popped into your yard yet” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Just hope you don’t encounter any big ones, you definitely don’t want to run into the Fenton’s with their tank-on-wheels.”

With a sigh and a shake of his head Thomas turned back to his work as Maria shrugged and did the same.

. . .

Thomas was getting fed up. Everyone kept talking about ghosts. “Phantom’s been seen here” and “The whisps have been really active lately” and all that crap. How long was everyone going to pull this? Not to mention that nobody wanted to call him anything but nicknames. Why was calling him Thomas so hard for them???

The last straw was his boss stopping by his desk an hour before quitting time.

“Hey Timbo, everyone on the floor is going to head over to the Mitty Boulevard Bistro after work for dinner, company’s treat. Want to join?” he said, leaning an arm on the desk divider.

Thomas’ eye twitched. “Yeah, sure that’s fine. And please. It’s Thomas.”

His boss smiled, “Great! Originally we were going to head over to the Mexican place on Park Place, but they’re closed for cleanup from that ghost fight last night.”

“Yeah! You can thank Phantom for that, honestly the Bistro is sooo good. I like Mexican food and all, but you gotta try the Bistro’s fries Tim!” Maria said, perking up from her seat.

Thomas had had it. “Ghosts this, ghosts that! I’m so sick of this! Just give it a rest already! And my name. Is. THOMAS. Not Tim, not Tommy, just Thomas!” he cried as he picked up his coat and lunch box. “If this is how all of you are going to treat me, then count me out of the dinner. Honestly I wish you guys would just cut it out already!”

Everyone in the office went deadly silent and stared at Thomas with wide eyes.

“Thomas,” began Maria, “you shouldn’t say that word. I’m sorry that we were teasing you so much about your name, but you really shouldn’t say that word.”

Thomas scoffed, “What word?”

Everyone looked around nervously, “The “w” word,” his boss said, “there’s a ghost who grants them, usually in the worst ways possible.”

Thomas threw his hands up in the air. “What, wish? Now you’re telling me that there’s a wish-granting ghost? If there was, I'd wish she’d make you all see sense right now because ghosts aren’t real!”

The office was deadly still and many held their breath. There was always a chance Desiree wasn’t around, but some still expected her to appear and grant the wish.

Instead the Box Ghost popped in out of nowhere, grabbed Thomas’ lunch box, shouted “BEWARE!”, and vanished.

Thomas could say he knew better now to pack his lunch in a bag.

[hannahssimblr]

After art class on Wednesday morning I purposefully take longer than everybody else does to pack away my pencils and gather up the sheets of paper I was working from, slotting them meticulously inside the hard cover of my sketchbook so that the corners won’t get crushed inside the disorganised chaos of my school bag. Evan waits by the door tentatively waiting for me in case I might want to have lunch with him again, but I wave him away, I’ll talk to him after school, and when he’s gone it’s just me and the teacher, the last ones in the room. 

Miss O’Reilly is busy organising papers on her desk. She is separating the watercolour sheets from the cartridge and stacking them into neat little piles for the paper shelf, and doesn't seem to realise I am there until I address her. 

“Miss?” 

She glances up, “Yes?” 

My fingers fidget with the zipper of my bag, pulling it open then closed again. The sound it makes is probably annoying but I can’t seem to stop myself. “Do you mind if I talk to you for a minute?”

“Of course, what is it?” 

I approach her desk with caution as I enter this unfamiliar territory, reaching out to a teacher, risking vulnerability, but Miss O’Reilly doesn’t seem to think it weird that I want to speak with her. She simply leans against the front of her desk with an open expression, smiling warmly at me as if I am not the student who routinely ignores what she is saying in class, talks over her and interrupts her lessons by throwing bits of eraser into Philip Delaney’s mad ginger frizz. 

“I’ve been thinking about college, miss.”

“Well that’s good!”

“Yeah, um, I think I want to… like, do… art?” I exhale in a rush. I don’t fully understand why I am so nervous to speak, especially when, so far, she’s being nice. She doesn’t even look like she’s going to laugh, like she’s thinking about doing it soon, or even like she's holding it in so that she can do it later in the staff room with the other teachers. Still I keep my guard up, waiting for her features to twist into a sneer.

“I think that’s a fantastic idea,” Miss O’Reilly beams, and her eyes flick to that drawing I did of Michelle a couple of months ago and which she pinned up on the wall for everyone to see. She’s using it as an example to other students of the right things to do, the right way to capture a perfect likeness, and I should be flattered, but its presence embarrasses me. It is a symbol of my earnest effort, hard work, in which I am not known for, and I wish she would take it down and hide it. I don’t want others to know that I have tried. 

“Do you?”

“Yes! And I'm glad that you've said that, honestly. You’re one of the students in my classes who shows a lot of promise, and who I think could really do well in art school, and I know it’s not often a popular choice with parents, but I think there’s a lot of value in an art degree if you’re passionate about it,” She moves around to the front of her desk and begins rummaging in a drawer. “Here,” She produces a form and hands it to me, “These are the portfolio requirements for some colleges. It seems like a lot, but normally students take a year to do a portfolio course in a local college before applying to university.”

A year out? To just work on my portfolio? The thought of delaying my exit from Dublin for an extra twelve months makes me queasy, but my eyes flit over the paper in my hands anyway. It’s all about figure studies and expression, colour work, painting, charcoal, pencil…

“I don’t want to go to college in Dublin,” I manage, handing it back to her. “I want to move away. And I want to do my portfolio soon, so that I can do that as soon as I can.”

She eyes me curiously, “Alright… Well, there are heaps of options for international study...”

“Yeah, I think that’s what I want.” 

“Do you study French?” 

“No, German,” German, which I chose in first year because I am lazy and it seemed easy at first. The words were just like eccentric cousins of English ones that could all be squished together into hilariously long streams of letters that my friends and I would laugh about. Schwarzwälderkirschtorte. I’ll never forget that one, nor will I Krankenwagen, Backpfeifengesicht, Schadenfreude. All of us lazy boys who didn’t want to make the effort with French took German, whose words actually sounded the way they were written. I admire directness in people, so I expect it in languages too. French is underhanded, insincere. Why speak one that makes you work so hard? It’s absurd. 

“Well,” Miss O’Reilly goes back to her drawer for more shuffling, “Have you considered studying in Germany? Or the UK? There are lots of great universities abroad.”

“I never thought very far ahead,” I admit, “I just know I don’t want to study here.”

“Okay, well, at least that narrows it down some. Have a look at some of these in your free time,” She slots a small stack of forms into my hand, to which I stare dumbly at. The barrage of information is a visual assault with all of these bullet points and new abbreviated words, application fees this, UCAS that… 

I must look stricken as I feel, because Miss O’Reilly softens, “or you could come back to me when I have a few moments free and we can go through it all together. I know it’s a lot to take in, and usually we don’t go so much into depth with fifth years. This kind of thing is for next year, and usually we try not to overwhelm kids with too many decisions too soon.”

“I know, I just think I’d like a head start. Especially if there’s all these, um, requirements.”

“Well, as I said, a portfolio preparation course at a local college-”

“I don’t want to do that.”

She blinks, “Right.”

“I really just want to go somewhere new, miss. I’m willing to work hard at every chance I get to do it, I’ll make art all summer, I’ll have the best portfolio ever-”

She laughs, “I’m sure you will! I don’t doubt you at all, Jude, you’re a wonderful artist and I’m willing to help you with your work whenever there’s time to.”

“Well I don’t do Irish,” I say, “I’m exempt, so I have a free class every day where I usually just try and do my homework…”

“Well come to my class then, even when I’m teaching other years, you can sit down at the back of my lessons and just do your own thing, get working on those figure studies, the paintings, whatever. As long as you don’t cause trouble…” she eyes me warily, “It’s not a problem.”

“Really?” I don’t mean to sound so overwhelmingly grateful to her, as though I’m on the brink of falling to my knees and worshipping her, but truly, I am in slight disbelief at her offer. Most of my interactions with the teachers in this school have been of them snapping fingers in my face, rolling their eyes, calling me out of class so that they can berate me loudly in the hallway while my gleeful classmates crowd around listening at the glass panel in the doorway. It’s almost hard to believe that I have found one who is intent on being supportive.

“Yeah,” she says, and she’s distracted by the crowd of third years piling into the room behind me. “Come by any time between classes, I’m happy to help.”

“Thanks, miss.”

“No problem at all,” she turns to the hoard, “hello everyone! Art history today!” and they let out a collective groan as I slip out into the hallway. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[doubledyke]

Eddy's feelings towards his friends are complicated. Although theres no doubt he loves them, could you describes them in details? With your own words?

yeah so im not sure that 12 year old eddy knows what love is. "love" is weird and complicated, and i'm not gonna pretend like i'm an expert on complex emotions. but it doesn't seem like "i love you" is a phrase that's thrown around very often in his household. his mom is probably the best example of someone (non-ed) who might actively show some form of love for him, and honestly that's mainly bc i headcanon her (somewhat groundlessly) as being generally very sweet and well-meaning. at the very least i believe that she cares about eddy - enough to clean his room for him, hire a babysitter out of an abundance of caution, and to care about having a good school photo of him, etc.

dads in general are notoriously averse to expressing emotions, and i get the vibe from eddy's behavior that his dad is no different. in fact he's probably even worse than your-run-of-the-mill aloof patriarch. his toxic masculinity prevents him from accepting or offering much in the way of affection. im sure he loves eddy in his own weird way, but that "love" is definitely conditional.

now, eddy's interaction with bro when they meet up at the end of bps is pretty notable because its the most affectionate eddy's ever been with anyone in the entire series up to that point. he hugs him, nuzzles up to him and calls him his hero, etc. it's really weird to watch. if you asked bro if he "loves" eddy he'd probably say "sure" and evidently he's protective of eddy against outside forces.... then turns around and commits horrific abuse against him himself. it's no wonder eddy essentially has stockholm syndrome lmao. the cycle of abuse is confusing and distressing for anyone, but especially for a kid.

anyway, all that to say that eddy's feelings for bro come as close to "love" as they can for a kid who really gets shit on from just about every direction. and though i don't see bro as someone who'd say "i love you" either, his behavior in the eye of the storm probably makes eddy think he at least cares about him. he grew up with bro, presumably knows his patterns and probably thinks that being related to someone automatically equals loving them. "blood is thicker than water" as they say.

eddy's shown to be very distrusting of others, including the other eds, which to me explains why he has the vibe of keeping even them at arm's length sometimes. and why he's uncomfortable being vulnerable around them. he's no doubt more comfortable around them than he is any of the other kids, but he never completely drops the Big Act™ around them. until he gets the shit kicked out of him in front of everyone and has no choice but to do so.

when people are nice to eddy, he thinks he's being primed for a walloping (cycle of abuse), or at the very least a prank. it's hard for him to believe that people could like him and want to be around him without bro's influence.

eddy obviously cares about ed and edd but his idea of what that looks like is extremely warped and to the average person doesn't remotely resemble love. given the context of what we know about eddy's fucked up existence though, ed and eddy are clearly very important people to him and he shows it as best as he can with the tools he's been given by the people responsible for raising him.

some of my favorite moments are when he very reluctantly gives in to edd's or ed's wishes. little ed blue and thick as an ed come to mind, but there are other examples. he's also pretty generous with the fanciful fame and fortune he believes to be in his future. he usually includes his friends in these fantasies, telling them to hire secretaries (one of my favorite eddy lines) and whatnot. there's also the time he tried really hard to break ed out of his basement when he was grounded, and of course he let edd sleep in his bed, spoon fed him warm milk and even read him a bed time story.

and other times he's a shitty friend. i don't need to list all the less than loving things he's done to his pals cuz that'd take all day.

he'll get there though. maybe? personally i don't ever see him being someone who's overly mushy, it's just too weird. but if you catch him at the right moment he's probably very sweet and maybe even vulnerable on occasion. but mostly i see him showing his affection for people in non-verbal ways. which is pretty much what he does in the show, so there ya go.

[silverskye13]

(sorry if this got sent twice, internet is very spotty at the moment) Rotating RnS Helsknight in my mind. I keep debating what dnd paladin oath he'd swear. Glory is fitting but also seems TOO obvious. I almost want to say Devotion just for the irony/contrast of it, and since he genuinely wants to make Hels better, and it would make RnS Wels lose his entire mind if he found out

Oooo I have a soft spot for this, because in my Curse of Strahd campaign right now, my paladin Ashborne is just beginning-of-RnS Helsknight. I couldn't think of a good character so I just built Helsknight as a fire genasi, except instead of Tanguish he has a shadow god sitting on his shoulder telling him to kill people, and instead of a crippling fear of death its a crippling fear of never being used to his full potential by his god.

........ Anyway.

DnD Paladin Helsknight rambles under the cut!

In my opinion, I kind of have to agree that Helsknight best matches Oath of Devotion. The oaths especially line up almost perfectly with his knightly tenets:

Courage. Never fear to act, though caution is wise. [May you meet every obstacle with courage, for just as all that emits light must endure burning, all the courageous must make a brother of their fears.]

Honesty. Don't lie or cheat. Let your word be your promise. [May your word be binding as chains.]

Compassion. Aid others, protect the weak, and punish those who threaten them. Show mercy to your foes, but temper it with wisdom. [Any sword raised to the innocent or unarmed in cruelty is blackened by its shame.]

Honor. Treat others with fairness, and let your honorable deeds be an example to them. Do as much good as possible while causing the least amount of harm. [May you respect the honor of your fellow helsmet, that none may know you cruel or slave to vice.]

Duty. Be responsible for your actions and their consequences, protect those entrusted to your care, and obey those who have just authority over you. [May you persevere to the end of any enterprise begun, for the folly is theirs that, through unfinished business, never gain wisdom from deeds done.]

There's also stuff that hasn't been breeched in the plot yet that are... Eerily similar to plot points I have planned. Holy Weapon, for example, I think in the Colosseum Helsknight uses a flamed sword, which is functionally the same as enchanting your weapon with holy damage for the coolness factor [Channel Divinity: Sacred Weapon]. And if you outright asked Hels if he was inspiring, he would probably say no. But anyone within 10ft of him probably wouldn't be charmed against him by someone persuasive like the Demon [7th level Aura of Devotion]. Given how handily I think Helsknight fights Welsknight, and how I think he negates Wels's... For the sake of DnDing I'm going to say fey energy and persuasiveness, Purity of Spirit is a good match.

[Don't have a lot to say about the Lvl20 Holy Nimbus, because tbh that's one of the weakest level 20 paladin boons I think there is. Flat 10 radiant damage every round for enemies within 30ft of you is handy, but the saving throws only have advantage if the spellcasters are fiends and undead, and there are many, many big angry critters in DnD that are neither of those two monster types.]

I do think a Helsknight with access to the spell Flamestrike would be absolutely terrifying though lol.

On a more vibes level, when I started the story, I thought Helsknight was a lot closer to Oath of Conquest, with how he treated Welsknight specifically [which is, incidentally, why my CoS paladin Ashborne is Oath of Conquest]. The tenets don't match Helsknight's too terribly well [they're mostly to the effect of "kill all your enemies so dead that everyone is too terrified to stand against you."] However the Channel Divinities of Conquering Presence [everyone you can see is terrified of you now] and Guided Strike [I'm so pissed at you specifically that I will kill you supernaturally easily] align well with angry chapters 1-8 Helsknight. And one could argue every time he's angry, Tanguish is cowering under the Aura of Conquest [anything scared of you is now too scared to move and takes psychic damage.] And I think in text Helsknight does Scornful Rebuke on the regular [anytime something hits you, they are psychically punished for their audacity up to your Charisma modifier.]

[Level 20 Invincible Conquerer basically turns you into a barbarian paladin, which is badass. Helsknight can't do that, but that's so so cool.]

For the spells, Armor of Agythis as Helsknight's thorns armor is compelling to me, and Command, Hold Person and Fear are just things Helsknight can do to people when he's angry enough [also Compelled Dual, but all paladins get that].

If anything, I feel like Helsknight started RnS as Oath of Conquest, and then when he became friends with Tanguish, switched immediately to Oath of Devotion.

[Meanwhile if I had to make Tanguish a paladin, I think he would be Oath of Redemption, but I'll save that rant for some other time.]

[ethers-moth]

Autistic people with the same special interests (the two of you) are about to have a field day.

So. Repo! The genetic opera. The magnus archives. The Archival Repo!. The Repo! Archives.

Anyway

Shiloh is developing corruption

- bug collector

- not a full blown avatar but is kind of in the Jonathan Sims position to be influenced by a LOT of them

- feeds on Nathan’s anxiety (she thinks it’s her illness, but it’s more likely just dread that he’s a failure of a parent. He is.) (I love him why is he like that)

- 17 has her say “I always longed for true affection, but you compared me to a corpse”, so when she leaves at the end of the movie that signifies her evolution into an avatar (or rejection of it?) bc she is left with nothing but her bugs. We don’t really know

Nathan is either Slaughter or Hunt

- I definitely am more inclined for hunt for Nathan

- the hunting at the beginning and later when he and Shiloh are on the phone he definitely could do it a lot faster and less dramatically

- he definitely enjoys it is my point

- “thankless job” is also a prime example of his feelings on this job and or its moral implications

- obviously he’s unstable too and that influences jt but he kind of reminds me of Daisy Tonner where he’s over the ethical issue mostly

Luigi is definitely slaughter

- there’s not a really a need for question man is violent and angry I feel like there’s no question he shanks and yells and gets half naked for fun.

- his treatment of the gentern bringing coffee is a great example, he had no reason to freak out other than. Being like that. And also bc he can

- that’s about it actually he feeds on subordinates fear of his unforgiving temper it’s pretty CUT and dry

Pavi is. Hmmm. Flesh??

- I’m stuck on this one, however I think flesh fits best

- his face stealing reminds me of specific serial killer behaviors (usually due to parental issues) that involve using others body parts, usually skin (Ed Gein with his skin suit of his mother I think??) though I think his environment is part of why the face thing is a little less wrong in canon. Idk he’s a fucking FREAK okay

- also we never see his actual face so I feel an argument that it’s tied with dysmorphia isn’t unreasonable

- Pavi feeds off of adoration (even if it’s fake) from the Genterns as well as the fear of having your face skinned

- seriously what is wrong with him

- with the Genterns his boisting of “ask a gentern who they prefer” and overtly unacceptable sexual behavior (“my brother and sister should fuck”) feel like someone who wants validation and attention even if it’s not positive attention

Amber is Flesh too

- I think for a different reason from Pavi, she doesn’t have “inferiority” Dysmorphia that I think he has

- instead, I think Ambers behaviors are “superiority” dysmorphia (both terms I made up)

- in Ambers case she’s changing her appearance to cope with a shifting sense of self and strive for perfection caused by her notoriety and never being told no

- Amber feeds off of being desired and seen and is one of the most famous people in the known canon universe, but her blatant jealousy of Mag really depicts her motivation for perfection

- she also feeds herself to graverobber for drugs (deleted song ‘try my new parts’) I don’t care how good their surgical techniques are nobody is healing their hole that fast without hurting themselves somehow

- basically if Pavi is MAG 90 Amber is MAGP 2

Graverobber is End or Buried

- the end is for obvious reasons with corpse robbing and his lack of fear or caution around death @brainvomitintheparkinglot ‘s idea

- for buried, he’s literally a crack dealer

- he basically feeds the entire cities drug supply (trapping them in addiction that is hard to escape)

- the web usually deals with addiction but I don’t think he has manipulative or controlling motivation, he just works the system against other people

(Rottis corporation supplying everyone is the web, graverobber is a chunk of dust caught in it)

- as shown with Amber, he wont supply without money either, hypothetically pushing his clients into further debt (esp if they have geneco loans) AND addiction

- graverobber feeds off of the metaphorical suffocating nature of debt and addiction as mentioned, and well as literal suffocation

- following the drug thread, I will be treating zydrate like Heroin, in the idea it can be a powder or liquid (even though we only see it as a liquid in canon)

- like most painkilling drugs it can be assumed zydrate can induce vomit and therefore asphyxiation OR in the case of a powder that is inhaled, generally that isn’t optimal for breathing

- also graverobber is probably covered in corpse dust and like. Anthrax

Rotti is web (again, thank you @brainvomitintheparkinglot)

- his company owns the entire city (corporatocrocy)

- he literally controls everyone, his money controls his fucked up kids, and the entire system is his

- the rift with Shiloh and Nathan was organized by Rotti, and I feel like Ambers problem with Mag is somehow his fault too

- as far as I know, Mags blindness is never canonically explained, Rotti could easily be responsible like he was with Marni

- Rotti feeds off the obvious, control over everyone. He also is disappointed his kids found ways around his authority, and yet they’re STILL in his web (addicts and also fucked in the head bc of the circumstances he raised them in)

Mag is. The eye

- yeah. This one is the most direct

- I have a headcanon that she can see through cameras (how she found Shiloh) and how she seems to know all about what is happening in Shilohs life

- mag is both a victim and an avatar of the eye, she sees everything going on around her with the people she loves, but all eyes are always on her, trapping her where she is.

- literally had to do a Melanie king except she didn’t escape, the web and the eye often work in opposition in TMA while also being quite similar, she and Rotti much the same.

- “take these eyes I’d rather be blind” is an inadvertent argument with Rottis control of the web, he kills her for it

Lastly, Marni is either End or Desolation

- she’s not actually present in the film

- End is bc she died and yet is still so so important to the plot

-desolation is bc her actions are kind of why everyone in the story has issues

I could make a whole separate post on Rottis fucked up crack zydrate addicted kids

[helloescapist]

hi there

girl how are u doing? i'm missing your writings 😭😭 however, i hope u are doing great and not overworking yourself during this time off

anyway, i have a request and i hope u can make time to do some hc about the hashiras and how they deal with gossip. i mean, if they do like spreading them or just hear and add some more information or like start to spread misinformation without the intent. i just think it would be really funny and interesting to hear your thoughs about this topic

that's all xoxo

Hello anon!

I have greatly missed being here, and interacting with everyone. I am happy to say that I am back! I hope you are doing well, and I have to say that I am especially grateful for this ask. Leaving my classroom at the end of my course was heavy, and I really miss those kiddos, but this was such a fun ask! It was a wonderful distraction <3 Thank you!

The Hashiras Workplace Gossip

Word Count: 6700

Setting: hashiras x gn!reader [platonic, but could be romantic if you squint.]

Content Warning(s): mentions of gossip, suggestive tones, calls of chastity, rumors, he said she said, topics may be triggering for some readers. please read with caution.

Summary: just a few headcanons about how each of the Hashiras approach work place gossip, and rumors.

The Water Hashira

Gossip is not something that Tomioka is particularly fond of.

The swordsman views such idle chatter as a waste of time that serves no real purpose. It is a mere distraction from work tasks, drawing mizunoto astray with its every posed word, distracting kakushi’s duties, and results in oversight.

There has been a time or two in which he pretended to remain unresponsive and even more in which the cackling hens did not realize he had risen when retrieved from the battlefield, battered and bloodied, the drawing of his consciousness and the slips of whispered words in hushed giggles. Kakushis that spoke brazenly of relationship statuses, of advancing ranks by tasteless tactics, undermining abilities in favor of some grandiose promiscuous gestures that signified short skirts and revealing uniforms. Shameful accusations of limitless wealth for higher ranks squandered from the lower tiers, doubts of capabilities drawn due to age and flighty tendencies, and depictions of monsters born from scars.

No, he has lost count at the amount of times the rumors passed between kakushi despite his obvious state of awareness. Last known recorded number was 31.

This is not to say that Giyu has not attempted to lay such banters to rest. Many times he has tried, and rather than success of imparting enlightenment to the naysayers, it would appear that he merely added rapeseed oil to the fire.

Tomioka’s reassurance that Shinazugawa’s scars were merits of his bravery became morbid despite the self-assurance of his stride away, convinced his righteous lecture had landed.

It had not.

Passed from mizunoto to kakushi, and back again, it was only a matter of time before the night sky of his eyes met that lavender bathed in rage. The writhe of his scar wrinkled and furrowed as his brow, wreathed venom, and poised lethality at the claims that had met his ears.

The Water Hashira had misread the dip of the mizunotos’ chin that met their color bones, the crease between their eyebrows, and the exchange of glances. Oblivious that the state of his “scolded” subordinates had only reached the natural conclusion… the Water Hashira lived in fear of the Wind Scourge.

Kocho expressed that Tomioka deserved it—his face has such an effect on people. Pity.

Tomioka has high standards, and he holds himself in high regards. He is not the type to seek out gossip, and to an extent places himself above such drivel.

He’s lying.

Let’s be clear, Tomioka does not actively seek out gossip, and he certainly isn’t the sort to take part willy nilly. He does not crave the drama and meets a majority of the social aspects of drama with severe tension. I swear he has digestion issues.  Yet, despite his unwillingness to participate, there are moments in which he is just as a likely victim as others.

I mean, he’s always a victim of topic, but anyways…

Small tidbits here and there are likely to pique his interest, and he truthfully may not even be aware that such secondhand information is gossip. The small mention that Tanjiro has become smitten with the Butterfly Estate tsuguko will have him pondering how he may be of assistance to his subordinate. He can’t, but such endeavors come naturally to him. He is loyal, and despite his inability to properly socialize, he really does want to help.

And so,

Tomioka has entered the world of gossiping.

He is wandering amongst the mizunoto, inquiring of interests. Pocking around amongst the kakushi who often frequent the Butterfly Estate, picking up details of interest, favored snacks, and preferences. All for the sake of providing assistance to Tanjiro in a letter, he would never say this to his face.  

Blissfully unaware of the inner turmoil his curiosities have elicited amongst the Demon Slayer Corps. The majority of members horrified that a superior officer has taken an interest in his clear protégé’s lover, the even fewer pleased to see a bit of warmth crack his icy surface—not realizing this is not the look of a man in love, but rather a proud older brother.

Sir is genuinely confused as to why the young trio of butterfly estate attendants are in tears upon the sight of him, urgently waving him away, or the horror that afflicts Aoi’s features as she demands to know if he is in fact, stupid. The rampage of flipped sterilized medical supplies, and the casualties of kakushi who found themselves in the way, as the small woman pillages all in her path.

Only Aoi can save him from being strung up by his toes and left to freeze beneath the winter moon. 

Truthfully, the Water Hashira’s ability to either elicit rage amongst his peers, or go unnoticed is an ability to be reckoned with, and yet, he very rarely utilizes such underhanded tactics to his advantage. Like distracting from the allowance of a new member of the corps to keep a pet demon sister. Though if your name has been gathered into the gossip seis pool, Tomioka will do his best to clear his name. Completely unaware that he is about to make matters worse.

His stickler tendencies can often be suffocating, and when he does utilize common workplace gossip to distract from something major, the target is more than often easily distracted. For all of his open disdain for gossip, he has a fairly soft spot for his partner, and can turn a blind eye for a bit of venting.

Let me be clear, VENTING.

Bits of frustration slipped through your teeth as you racked your fingertips through your nails, determined to find a solution, but first to sponge the memory from your thoughts. For the most part, venting leaves him… a little displaced. Does he help, or would intruding with suggestions just… make things worse? Do you wish for him to only listen, or even tune you out so that you can take a deep breath of air, and rejuvenate from the occurrence. Everything in him wants to help, but in most cases, venting is… really intended to clear the slate so that you can start a fresh. And so, he’ll bite the inside of his cheek, allow his brow to meet as the worried pause steals his breath away; the cup warm against his fingers as he prepares your own.

Just, don’t stay in this place.

Or cute, joyful gossip. Such as the gleeful way you squeal, your cup of tea warmed to your fingertips as you share soft details of him, having just returned from a mission in which you aided the Love Hashira and the Snake Hashira. Unable to contain the kick of your feet as you recant the tender scene in which Obanai offers his hand to Kanroji beneath the moonlight, holding only the softest gaze. He had absolutely no clue that the two were intertwined, or even interested in one another, but hearing your delight at their progress. the small melancholy that fits at his chest as he listens.

The Insect Hashira

The dribble of fools.

Kocho isn’t dimwitted. She understands that the idle banter is a mere means of escape from the day-to-day horrors experienced by the Slayer Corps. It’s a means of normalcy passed from grocer to mother, spread throughout villages. She can remember briefly how her mother giggled at small snippets of daily life in her childhood. At the time, it was a slight annoyance. An obstacle at best, designated to bring her mother entertainment, and derive the young Kocho of running amuck. Far too much time spent at the grocer.

From her mother’s hem to the clutch of the tweezers between her fingers, the white of her knuckles revealing her impending rage. Her vein throbbed against her forehead as the pinches of her lips elicited pain at the clutch of her jaw. Kocho’s smile is deceptive to the untrained eye, a false sense of amusement at the celebratory of a mythical relationship coined by mizunotos desperately clutching at invisible fine lines.

Only Aoi can detect the flicker of her bottom eye lid in time to remove sharp objects from the medic’s reach.

Shinobu has been more than forth coming of her opinion of Tomioka in what world would she ever---- Gossip is nothing more than idle idiocy that blossoms from a lack of intellectual pursuits.

Truthfull, the Insect Hashira is far more than aware of the significant emotional impact that gossiping can project on the wellbeing of others, and is begrudgingly accepting of its existence as a means to ensure the continued care of the Demon Slayer Corps.

But she’s still bitter that anyone would dare into the relationship status between the Water Hashira and herself. The even rarer accusation that her affections has begun to cultivate fondness for Shinazugawa. The accusation alone to bare enough dishonor against her sister. Her blood boils to know these dimrods would dare to drag her family name through the mill for entertainment.

It would be more accurate to say that it is not so much that Kocho condones the utilization of rumors for socialization, but rather, she refuses to acknowledge the passage of whispers in the Butterfly Estate. Only turning her sharp gaze at those who utter her, or her sister’s name. For the most part, she allows it to pass. Refuses to muck herself with hearsay when there are far more productive duties to attend to. Those that would bear far more merit than determining Kanroji’s breast measurements. Clearly 32D.

Yet, there are rare… opportunities that present themselves from time to time.

Small little pieces of information gathered amongst the medical ward that align with observations she has accounted for in the past few weeks. Details that cannot help but become interlocked with little intentions on her part. Shinobu’s brain works fairly quickly, and she cannot help but notice the links between certain Kamado and the way his eyes float to her little sister.

Then, there are far more delicious attributes she picks up from time to time, and Twhile Shinobu is by no means once to actually share what information she has picked up along the way, that does not mean that the less intelligent specimens *cough Inosuke cough* are aware. As sharp as the grin that drips with her lethality, and knowing gaze. Heightened senses of pray all too aware that they have been caught in a predator’s clutch.

She has been known from time to time threaten to allow her tongue to slip details to Aoi that has Inosuke running for the mountains like a truffle pig after rare medicinal herbs.

Kocho is especially delighted by the state of duress upon his return. His boar mask shaking from side to side, unaware of the state of him as grass catches from cloth and fur, to the ends of his luscious hair. Clueless at the scratches that mare his flesh, or the likeliness he has obtained internal bleeding from plummeting from cliffs to return, frightened at the sight of her whispered against Aoi’s ear. The indignified squeal that erupts as steam furrows from his nostrils.

Oblivious that she had merely asked Aoi to clean the herbs he had retrieved.

His adverted eyes, and veins at his cheek as he dodges the trainee for the remainder of his stay in the medic ward as satisfying as any ginger sukodani.

The Flame Hashira

His gaze was as steadfast as the blade at his hip, a symbol of duty and honor. Loyal to his master, and the calling of the code, dedication etched in blood, sweat, and sacrifice. Solemn, composed and practiced at the bend of his back, the willingness to press his forehead to the ground beneath the master’s feet. Determination to duty, called upon by the flame, and etched in smoldering temperatures the epiphany of a Pillar.

 A samurai’s honor.

One would never suspect Kyojuro of passing fancies of the flesh, of the tongue, or even the ones of entertainment.

But they would all be so, so wrong.

Let’s be clear, Rengoku is after all, a man of dedication. Of devout faith to his cause, to the slaying of demons, and stoic to his own nature. This is the same man who hindered his own auditory capabilities to ensure the completion of his liege’s command--- but this is the same man who cannot help but greet everyone that he meets.

The Flame Pillar’s generosity knows no bounds, and his smile is far more forthcoming. He is not the type to shy away from casual conversation, often delights in sharing little tidbits with grocers, and is even more pleased to savor what advice they may pass on.

Because of this, Rengoku is far more in the know than the majority of the Hashira. Unlike a few of them Tomioka and Obanaij, the kakushi who tend to his needs are far more willing to engage in conversations. All too eager to bask in the warmth of the sun, and in reality, speaking with Rengoku is akin to releaxing beneath the rays on a bed of spring grass.

Thus, when the Flame breather happens upon two kakushis busied with chores, whispering amongst themselves, the small snippet of a sorted love affair amongst Hashiras spoken far louder than intended how else would he have ever heard them. Rengoku cannot help but drop to his knees, wedged between the two of them. An eager puppy to join in the kinship of work place discussion, even doing his best to fold the laundry as he makes his inquiry. The muddled state of folded linens pressed between his calloused battle fingers, and the warm smile as he regards them.

Who can blame them for sputtering it out.

Both of which are left with a searing, overwhelming pit of regret as his fingers meet the cloth at their heads. Reassuring as his warm voice echoes across the gardens, expressing with his fullest intentions, that he will see this matter properly attended to, and thanks them for sharing with him.  Both far too guilty, knowing that the Flame Hashira has absolutely no concept of differentiating hearsay from facts.

Only furthered as they hear his external monolgued, expressed he had no clue that the little Kocho sister had an affection for the Water Hashira, he must assist him immediately. No, wait, he knows nothing of women. He must consult Uzui, and then speak with Tomioka.

They will soon learn from the head of the Rengoku caretakers that such gossip must not reach the Flame Hashira’s ears, their little flame must be protected at all cost. Though, they had suspected upon his departure they had made a very, very poor decision.

To be clear, it’s not so much that I doubt Rengoku’s intelligence and his ability to eventually determine rumors from evidence. In time like a dog with a bone, Kyojuro will have realized that he has been duped. More often than not, the hard way Kocho’s grin seems to press him in a haunting fashion.

Rather, it’s that I feel like the Flame Pillar was brought up in a fairly traditional family dynamic, and gossip is not something that would have been common place amongst his parents. More so, both of his parents appear to have rather stern dispositions when it comes to their moral compases, and I just cannot imagine them being the sort to discuss the latest topics passed along the Ubuyashiki Main House.

Because of this, I imagine that this is a fairly new skill set that he is working on.

Know that Tengen has not provided as much assistance as he should in such matter. Partner in crime, I know it.

As a man on a mission, the Flame Pillar has unintentionally allowed rumors to start as mere sparks, small kindles that would be abandoned in time, and lost to the night air, a new life. Kindled, and spread across ashes, and nurtured as the woodchips that feed the tale. Rengoku is the sort, to spread gossip in all of the best intentions.

Such as his willingness to provide assistance to the Water Hashira in his blossoming youth, to the abundance of pride he expresses in his tsuguko only providing circumstantial evidence to the manner in which Kanroji has climbed the Slayer hierarchy. Never once intending to insinuate deeper meaning than the words uttered between his grin, and the beam of his praise.

He is truly, by nature, a social firefly.

When the news of an elicit rumor passes his ears, threaded together from details from one kakushi to another, or admittedly, the shamed loyal ones within his service aware that their master is the source… there is no more a devout remorse than Kyojuro.

The heavens will know of his tarnished honors, of his remorse, and self inflicted servitude to those he has unintentionally wronged.

The Sound Hashira

There are few things that entertain the former shinobi. He has lived many lives, and shed far more skins than a single man has ought to, and as such, run of the mill workplace gossip is not at the top of his concerns.

Information elicited in scandalous ways, extracted, and exploited whether the rumor bares merits, or not.

It reeks of shinobi business.

A life he has long since shed, and abandoned with little remorse to leave in his wake.

There are far more entertaining activities Uzui can pass his time with, maneuvering through the redlight district, dancing across waterfalls, encompassed in the throws of passion with his wives—there is very little that the dull conversation passed between mizunoto and kakushi can do to garnish his attention.

As such, he is very rarely entertained, let alone an active participant in gossip for the most part. It’s something he just finds bland, and boring. NOW, to be the center of the gossip shines and peaks beneath the sun. to leave a trail of rumors in your wake, and to be the topic passed amongst the subordinates.

That’s the sort of flashy business, the Sound Pillar can get into.

These little glimpse of a third person point of view are what provides him with delight. A moment beneath the sun, and small amusements. Regardless of how drastic they may be, or down right shameless, Uzui will do little more than to laugh at the concept of bloodied battles left in his wake, or to hear that he has apparently seduced a princess from her jewels. Although, the idea sounds tempting, Hina would never forgive him.

However, do not be fooled. His lack of involvement is not born of moral merit, nor is it pressed by duties or other attributes. We have seen first hand that Uzui is quite the connoisseur and far more than capable of retrieving what information suits his needs. Rather, it’s more the incentive. Other people’s lives are far more boring than his own. They are dull and lack any sort of luster, unlike the brilliance of his own existence, and as such, he is more than not—bored to tears by the concept of what is scandalous in the lives of subordinates.

A scantily clothed woman as a means to climb a hierarchy later is nothing to snub your nose at. Rather, it’s to be commended if such approaches were in Kanroji’s arsenal.

In part, it is likely his own existence that has made such rumors lack luster. His former life has given him more than enough insight into how such things can take on a life, but even more so, his intellect, it takes very little time to pick fact from fiction. Truthfully, he almost pities those who would fall for such little tidbits.

Almost.

Uzui cannot help himself when the Flame Hashira visits him in these times, engrossed in the duty to assist star crossed lovers. The sincerity, sparkliy and delighted to assist those nearest and dearest to him. Tengen cannot resist himself regardless of Mako’s warning. It is the similar delight Suma approaches him after a trip to the grocer, brimming with joy to share that the grocer has landed himself a lover. He is committed.

A willing victim of circumstance and delighted to greet an old companion. It is far too easy for the Sound God to be spirited away in such conversations. He delights in fun, and discussions over drinks, and dinner are likely to allow his tongue to slip far more than they should.

It is only when he is face to face with Kocho’s wrath, and Rnegoku’s self-castration, that Uzui is aware--- it was entirely within his capabilities to stop this.

But, that would not have been as much fun.

The Love Hashira

Like her master before her, there are small tidbits that the Love Hashira cannot help become intrigued with. For one thing, little small things such as the rumors of a little boar in love with a medic is certain to send her reeling to Obanai’s side. Kicking and squealing as she does.

Her heart is a flutter, and her hopes are high, if there is anything she can do to support Inosuke, she will find a way!

These small little snippets of love in the air, and passion a foot is sure to draw her interest, and she cannot help but watch spring fever hit the mizunotos. At times, her own intentions can get the best of her, and she allows herself to read a little more into rumors than she should permit.

It’s nothing that is malicious—the Love Hashir has simply lived up to her title and seizes every opportunity she can to assist the seeds of connection amongst the intrigued.

However, she is far more emotionally aware than her teacher. Where Rengoku has the tendencies to miss over social cues, Kanroji is far more in tuned with those around her and is quick on the uptake. While her heart pounds at the opportunity to assist in love affairs—she is also aware that not everyone is ready for that step and will never push where it is not desired.

Rather, she will simply offer her love and support on the sidelines and pray to all the gods that the relationship will work out. She is rooting for them. And keeping tabs.

Aside from will they, won’t they relationships that are running amongst the Slayer Corps, Mitsuri meets the majority of rumors with ill ease.

There is obvious discomfort that spread across her face as her knuckle meets her rouge lips. Delicate eyes that are reminiscent of the first bud of spring fall to their eyelashes as she ponders the gossips amongst the halls of her estate.

Conflicted at the matter at hand. As the Hashira of the estate, she cannot simply condone the ill placement of idle chatter.

While the Insect Pillar may be able to identify the social connectivity that workplace gossip may bring, Kanroji can only see the wounds that can be afflicted on the unwilling spoken participants. Details of private’s life spread over dinner topics, passed between the rustle of sheets, or the lining of linens upon drying racks.

Delicate threads, pulled at one by one as they gently unravel. Stranded from one another, until a single thread remains untouched. Unbound.

Alone.

The Love Hashira is no stranger to the under belly of gossip. The small chatter spoken amongst housewife to mother, to housemaids, and shared with gardeners, and is painfully aware of what repercussions such implications may cause. Such as the loss of a proposal.

No, she cannot turn a blind eye to such words whispered in her presence, and Mitsuri is not the sort to join in especially if there is harm that can come of such thoughtless words.

No, she will banter back and forth with her internal monologue. Do her best to sort out emotions, from tact. Mitsuri will commit herself to the concept of strategy, depict herself with the clearest of intent, and as soon as she is confronted with the idle chatter once more.

It’s out the window.

The Love Hashira is somewhere between embarrassment, upset, and tears that follow her outburst as she begins to scold, and reprimand. All at the expense of a wounded party.

The outburst was one for the books, and Kanroji is hiding her head in shame.

She meant what she said, she does, but oh… what she had practiced versus what came out… is the difference between grace and word vomit.

She will hide for weeks to come.

The closest that the Love Pillar will ever orbit gossip, is likely to be in the form of tears as she expunges the day’s events, the horrors in which she burst out in a fur of vomit without being able to cap the explosion. Her sobs will fall between the shed of tears as she clutches your kimono. Horrified to allow you to see this part of her, but left with little choice but to pour her heart out to you.

Kanroji is likely to be a victim of a venting session from time to time, but this is as far as she will dip her toes into the rumor mill.

The Stone Hashira

Gossip is not a common place amongst Himejima’s childhood. The torn of incense, the sanction of rites, candles, and the gentle guidance of man’s will. Brought up in a monastery, the Stone Pillar is without attachment to such concepts. Drawn from the necessities, and Buddha’s guidance, such behaviors are not befitting of his upbringing.

Though truthfully, such concepts had never truly drawn his attention. Even when he was a boy amongst the visitors of the temple, wishing to better themselves in their lives, and light. He had recognized the early whispers. Small slips of the wandering eyes of mothers that held their children close, pressed one side by side. Intent upon requesting talismans for their young, interest caught at his presence a ward of the temple.

A source of curiosity, rumors pressed between fingertips, and hummed at the taste of tender gossip.

Age has worn him, drawn his concepts of such social topics, and idle chatter. Strained his relationships, the soft giggles of kakushis tender and soft. A mundane life, and delicate. There are parts of him, that hears small slips of a forgotten life.

Scorn pressed at the twists of the passage between mizunoto and kakushi.

The Stone Pillar can only force a smile to his wide lips, allow the sorrow to settle to the pit of his stomach, dredge in the depths of his soul. Tug at mirrors of forgotten sentences, and hummed to his being. Inescapable, and unavoidable.

Only touched upon in moments such as these, with only the rueful smile Gyomei can press to his features as he swallows the knot that forms in his throat. There is no ill will in the hearts of those that surround him. No intentions lurking beneath the surface, and yet, there is a knowing to his being.

A deeper understanding of the threads that his environment desperately clutches. Connection to the earth, and to those around him. Desperate to sink roots into their circumstance. Warned by the concept of ties to this earthly realm. A concept often robbed amongst their average day to day, buried beneath the depths of the façade of peace.

It’s desperation to feel normal, to feel a part of the world. Touched to those around them, clutched to shreds of normalcy that is greatly underappreciated by the citizens in their care.

Himejima is wise, far more Intune with those around him, and the pull of the wind, the song of birds, and the hum of the soil beneath his zori. It is because of this, he is self-aware. Conscious that the distinct pulls of the whispers of a past best left forgotten is not what is intended to be called back. Rather, it is his own ability to self-reflect, that makes him aware that this is none other than his old wounds bearing their fangs, not the reflection of those around him.  

It is with this, Himejima can only smile.

Listen to the soft voices around him. To the lives that try to I’ve amongst the peak of clouds, to dare to reach for normalcy.

But, they are never conversations that the Stone Pillar will take place in. There has been one or two old  members of the corps who have pressed such conversations, dared to engage the Hashira in conversation. Though, they never made traction.

Though there is merits for others in the social banters, to Himejima, such conversations are superficial at best, and for the axe wielder, he desires more. Soil beneath his nails, warm by sunlight, and to touch the soul of another. To hear their laughter, to know their dreams.

Just because he does not speak, does not mean that he cannot hear things.

The Mist Hashira

One would think that as the youngest member of the coprs, Muichiro would be the most likely to succumb to the lure of the rumor mill. His lack of social interactions outside of his familial bonds, and emergence into the world, makes him a likely candidate, but not as likely as Rengoku.

Though his interactions are as unintentional of that of the Flame Hashira.

As a wanderer, Muichiro is flighty. Curious, and easily distracted by the winds of change. He is a drift amongst the Corp members, and often guided by his wanderlust. His presence is spotty more often than not, and while he is bound by his sense of duty, the swordsman is not prone to remaining in a conversation long enough to truly absorb the discussion.

For the most part, he doesn’t care to.

There are rare discussions that will warrant his attention, and for the most part, they are centered around those closest to him, such as Tanjiro.

The iridescent of blues that flutter and saturate into the black of night, touched upon the flutter of a butterfly’s wings that catches amongst the sunlight. Dreamy, and curious as he wanders after it. Only pulled from its lull at the mention of his comrade.

Similar to a moth to flame, the peak of his ear caught upon the familiar name, Muichiro’s attention has been pulled and tugged, snug as he draws to the end of the side. As though a siren has whispered its sweet tune, he is unable to deny its call.

He is a wrecking ball.

Forcibly interceptive between the conversation, blatant and abrasive as he announces his interception. Unpacified by the kakushi’s clear reeling. Horrified to have drawn his attention. Terrified they have been cursed by a spirit. As he roars his obscenities, called to the honor of his commrades.

Muichiro has little remorse, and gossip often brings up the worst in him.

While he often struggles with remembering certain subordinates most of them, gossipers and chatters have landed a special place on his list alongside a round of snide remarks that accompany their appearance within his sights.

The smallest slip of rumors amongst pressed lips caught by the Mist Hashira, is met with a bitter response, and has likely landed you on his bad side for years to come. Little will right this wrong.

Young, and brand new to the world, Muichiro is not the type to fold to those around him, and clings to his idealisms. Gossips are not welcome in his company, and in truth, he finds the majority of it to be a huge waste of time. He desires to connect with those around him on a deeper route, much like the Stone Hashira. Perhaps to sooth the wounds of his heart, but…. Not all gossip is bad gossip..

The open praise of growth amongst the subordinates, the pride in which some declare their pride in their comrades is likely to elicit the opposite response… Muichiro loves the opportunity to sing praises of those who have earned it. Rare, far and few between, he glows at the opportunity to glisten. He practically comes giddy and offers one of the sweetest smiles as his words flow with affection. Happy to share cute little fun facts, down to the snot bubble that the older Kamado develops when he is especially exhausted.

Growing with each word.

Tanjiro. You know I’m talking about Tanjiro.

Ironically, it is in these moments of unelicited boasting that draws the touch of placed rumors. His glowing affections, unabashedly provided to the one recruit, and Kamado alone. Muichiro has single handedly fueled the fires.

Not that he cares.

I promise Ginko has written more rumors than the entirety of the main household kakushi alone. Little prim feathers has an agenda, and it’s putting her boy at the number one. At. All. Costs.

Obanai Iguro

Gossip has little concept to Iguro.

It is so low on his radar, that he cannot even constitute it as a waste of time. Truthfully, I think only small parts of it even catch his attention from time to time.

Equipped with luminescent star-crossed eyes, mixed matched eyes that contain galaxes, and depths unexplored. The cut of his eyes is sharp, and threatening, and it is without surprise that… Kaburamaru has more of an understanding of what’s going on.

I cannot make this up.

I can imagine the little moonlight touching serpent enjoying teatime with Kanroji and Rengoku, delighting in a treat or two as they catch up over their absence.  The occasional mizunoto greeting Kaburamaru, often venting completely unaware of the depths of his comprehension. Or understanding why he flares when they complain about Obanai.

That being said, the Snake Pillar is not particularly interested in the social ongoings in the Demon Slayer Corps. The congregations of bodies pressed amoangst one another, desperate to depart useless information, he can understand why it is Kaburamaru may seek out the chatter amongst the winter, but for himself, it reeks of… contact.

The close courters, the touch of elbows against one another. The eagerness of maids to press into him, to touch his hair. Whispered appreciation of it’s luster, the wander of his eyes. Shamelessly seizing the opportunity to snuggle up to him.

No, absolutely nothing they are discussing is worth that.

For the Serpent Hashira, the only time he will meet gossip is when he slips between the corridors. Praying to remain undetected across the lavish décor, pressed against furniture. Doing the best to navigate narrow spaces, as the words of slander slip from pressed lips, a mock show of dusting a vase that only further elicits the swordsman’s rage. Master Ubuyashiki deserves respect, and… did they mention Kanroji?

Let’s be clear, Iguro has protective tendencies, as any snake with a possession worth safeguarding.  Only those who have earned his recognition, his attention will warrant his protection. Regardless of where they may be, and what way the threat has been imposed. Physical, or otherwise.

Obanai has been known to snicker at the rumors that flow over Tomioka.

However, insults warded against Shinazugawa’s scars, or the question of Kanroji’s chastity are sure to illicit wrath, and none have been able to escape his punishments without scars.

I promise he has strung up a mizunoto or two for daring to insinuate that Mitsuri would dare entertain the idea of a relationship with the Kamado boy.

Obanai is intelligent, and in some aspects, he is likely to be able to seize the utilization of weaponizing information from time to time, but truthfully, he does not have the patience for such sorted behaviors.

Or rather, it’s that such topics that bristle him, such as the hinting that Kanroji has begun a relationship, or that the new recruits have witnessed Kanroji in the baths during their stay at the Swordsmith Village has him seething.

Quick tempered, and vengeful, he has not the time, nor the means to reel his emotions back long enough for a well thought out plan of revenge. His only objective is to devour everyone hole. Whether the rumors have merits, or if the target of such gossip is even aware.

The Snake Pillar has no forgiveness to offer.

Truly, the least likely to engage in gossip in my opinion. He’d really only listen to Kanroji’s vents/word vomits, or perhaps Shinazugawa imparting information from time to time.

The Wind Hashira

The Wind Pillar holds himself to his duties, has subjectifies himself to the life that he lives, and relents his wellbeing for the sake of others. The moment that he realized his marechi blood spelt death for those around him, Shinazugawa released what little hold he had on a normal life.

Like threads slipped through his fingers, Sanemi did not refute their loss, and refused to morn his place amongst the common folk. Rather, he accepted his duties without complaint, assured himself that to live this life in service was to ensure that his little brother would never know the pains of the night.

With such dedication, the Wind Pillar has quickly become a pillar amongst the Slayer Corps, and though often the topic of rumors that press amongst new recruits, his scars have stories that have taken lives of their own.

Yet, rare is the time in which he will intercept such conversations. Rather, he has submitted to such claims. Allowed gossip to run amuck, dedicated himself to his training, to securing lives. What he has will be proved in battle, in servitude, and protecting those around him.

What offers them, even the briefest release from their realities, Sanemi is willing to turn a blind eye to what he may say.

Perhaps because he too, misses normalcy amongst the sun.

Yet, there are rare slips in which the rumors can guide his temper. Flare his wrath, and break his façade of silence. Such as the times in which the mizunotos whispers sympathies for that Water Hashira bastard. Warmed, honey words bewitched by his pathetic sniveling, and convinced that it was none other than the Wind Pillar who bullied sympathies from the little shit’s mouth.

The mere notion that Shinazugawa had gone out of his way to threatened, not to even see the Water Pillar was enough to elicit his rage, and often times, sent him reeling. Storming through estate after estate until he had found the swordsman. Allowing his rage to guide the interaction with little remorse or thought.

For all his moral compass, like Rengoku, there is a crack in direction.

A small swivel of the compass, distracted by an attractive magnet. A small sip of conversation, the sweet whisper of curiosities, and hummed warmth. Such as the shy mumblings of a maid amongst the Main Household.

Pressed her fingers to her cheeks as an older retainer probs for details. Shamelessly engaging the conversion in the light of day, an inquiry of attraction for a particular gun wielder amongst the units.

Oh yes, small tidbits of loved ones is sure to peek the Wind Pillar’s interest. Though negative slips will react in elicited rage, Shinazugawa is fiercely protective of those who he deems worthy, and even so of those he is less than concerned for. Unwilling to allow those in his estate to act as perpetrators of others happiness.

Sweet little slips such as these, are impossible for him to ignore.

I mean, he’ll try.  He will convince himself he is above such matters, scoff openly at the shameless topic in the daylight. Despite finding the way his ears naturally turn to hear more, chastise himself once more, before uttering bitter curses as he resigns himself to the task at hand. Information gathering.

The wind breather needs details. Needs to know more about this maid, about her inquiries, about how it is she has come to know his little brother, and what it is that has drawn her interest. Metts when she shares that it was that he helped her with her fallen zori. Someone in love with his little brother can’t be all bad right.

While I cannot say Shinazugawa will intentionally take an active place in gossiping, I can see himself involving himself more than he should. Such as in the case of his little brother’s love life.

especially when the life that he dreamed of for Genya is just within reach.

[lestappenwdc]

"something ive been thinking about today for sure" and then you leave us in SUSPENSE

Hahah I usually don't put my thoughts here as soon as they appear cos I don't want to make any statements in the heat of the moment since I know people on tumblr tend to grasp onto everything they read and take it as facts. BUT nevertheless here are my thoughts on Max pushing Charles off every time they start on the front row. This is gonna be a mess.

(I do not know how to write a short response)

I like everyone else was slightly surprised that Charles was so easy to forgive Max after he apologized in Vegas. I genuinely thought this time he would at least.. discuss it in a more heated manner (I'm thinking max and checo in Austria after the sprint). I wasn't sure about the state of their relationship after and I know it would not be austria 2019 but I did not expect charles to brush it off the way he did.

Thinking about it now after the race is over I kinda understand why he did brush it off. It did not affect his race that much, he was able to retake the lead, he was gunning for a win anyway, Max got the penalty, it was all fine. The safety car was the bigger issue so of course he's gonna focus on that instead of put his already new and fragile relationship with max in jeopardy over this.

That being said, I do not condone Max acting like this every time. It says something that when the race started before t1 even happened I was expecting Charles to be pushed. I think Max was genuinely scared in Austin but when Charles brushed that one off he is now more relaxed in trying riskier moves with Charles. And the thing is, Charles doesn't care now. He's car is shit, he rarely has a chance to win when Max does this so it's easy for Charles to say "it's okay this Max and Race Max are different, I want to maintain this friendship so I will forgive" now that he's p7 and essentially not fighting for anything in the championship.

But would Charles feel the same way if they were fighting for a championship? I don't think so. And it worries me because by that point they will be closer as friends probably and Max will try riskier moves and all of them will be brushed off by Charles but at one point I think it is bound to snap. And I'm scared that the more it goes on and the more times it happens its gonna be more serious on Charles' side. As in he's gonna be more hurt by it but also the strain in the relationship would be bigger.

I may be wrong and I may be reading them completely wrong. They may surprise me again and have a clean championship battle with no drama and there is nothing I would love more than that. And so far all I've been doing is praying for a championship battle and not thinking what that Entails but now that this has happened multiple times and now that Max has the impression that he can do what he wants on track as long as he says sorry and bats his eyelashes after, I think Max is not suddenly gonna start clean racing. He's gonna play even more dirty if they're fighting for a championship. I'm not saying Charles won't, I'm saying they both will but seeing this I do not think anymore that it's gonna be a clean battle. I'm still gonna enjoy and pray for it but with a hint of caution bc like I said what im seeing now (as cute as it is from a shipper perspective) worries me a little.

Hope this manages to paint a picture of my thoughts a little. Cos they're mostly just jumbled together pieces of "what if this happens what if that happens". But this is the general direction I'm going in. What if Max continues doing this when the stakes are higher and what if Charles doesn't take it as well as he is now when he is actually fighting for something? That's a lot of what ifs 😂 but yeah..

[blackbatcass]

im so happy u turned ur anons back on they rlly thought they were baiting you, huh?

anyways! im sooo excited for the cass rebirth fic skdfewkd but in the meantime i DO wanna get into some arrowfam. ollie, roy, mia and connor just interest me so muchh but i havent read muc except for fics and even though i was supposed to follow my super specific reading order i wanna take a break from nw and the batfam and read something else.

like you said ga can be very healing!

anyways do you have a read list for me that includes all of them? thankss!

p.s nightwing vs green arrow was a question dc posted on their insta and the answers really surprised me! any insight on this?

LOVE YAAA

hey! <3333 tyyy i hope it lives up to expectation. LITERALLY reading ollie is so healing its good for the soul.

so this is like a comprehensive list of ollie comics, and this is a guide to everyone in the arrowfam. they’re super helpful if you want a broad overview

for my own personal recs, i think it's nice to start with green arrow: year one or green arrow stranded, to get a feel for his origin & time on the island. the hard traveling heroes (green lantern/green arrow) stories are also essential reading in that they basically established the modern version of ollie's personality and they're soo much fun, just beware of snowbirds lol.

from there green arrow vol 2 (1988) is the big one! pretty much Thee green arrow run, especially if you want to get to know ollie better. it's a lot of solid street-level ga stories in seattle, dinah's there, eddie fyers is there, and connor's introduced towards the end! if you're specifically interested in connor #102-137 was his original green arrow run. though word of caution that anything written after mike grell is a bit questionable.

if you're more interested in the 'arrowfamily' as a whole then you're looking for green arrow vol 3 (2001). it's 75 issues and a lot of fun. this is where ollie comes back to life, mia is introduced, ollie legalizes gay marriage, etc. it's pretty much just ollie hanging out with connor and mia and having some more street-level star city shenanigans, and i am very fond of it. that being said when judd winick takes over there is some questionable shit (you might want to just skip the arc with joanna pierce) but overall it's a fun time. roy shows up occasionally, dinah comes and goes. it's probably the best run to read if you want to get to know the arrowfam as a whole.

do not read green arrow/black canary unless you're desperate. it's bad. it's hilariously bad. do not trust anyone who tells you it's good. it is pretty harmless so if you just want to skim through for mia funny moments go ahead but...yeah it's trash.

post-new 52 there is not a lot unfortunately. a lot of it's garbage. the jeff lemire run is probably the most salvageable? and the rebirth one (volume 6) isn't as nauseating so that's also an option. but obviously you can read & enjoy whatever you want, maybe new52 ollie is your favorite ollie. i would say to read through some of this if you're interested in emiko but i can't really recommend it per se.

and that brings us to the current ga ongoing! you've probably heard us bitch about it a lot on here, but tbh it's been less bad & more mediocre. mediocre comics are just really frustrating to read through in real time. i might give it a try though, it has some nice moments even though it's not great, and williamson is leaving the title next month! chris condon is set to take over and has said the first arc is about street-level crime in star city, influenced by grell and o'neill. so i am VERY excited, it has the possibility to be peak. i think condon's run (issue 18) could be a great place to hop on!

so those are my green arrow recs! if you're more interested in roy, he usually features more in titans titles than ga titles so i have a separate list in my comic recs tag for him.

i couldn't find the ig post you were talking about? i have no clue how a fight between dick and ollie would go if that's the question. power scaling is not my forte by any means. i'm not sure how ollie's archery and dick's hand to hand fighting would match up. so i don't have a lot of insight on that sorry!

[bamfjinxy]

Writing prompts for Elejah (Elena and Elijah) #2 (Reblog)

Ok, So my original post somehow melted into the ether so I redid the post, sorry for the inconvenience.

Pt1

9: Elena meeting Klaus after her parent's death

She can remember Stefan vaguely saving her, she doesn't fully know its him til a little later

Reading through her parents journal and finding out what she is

Also finds out the location of Mikael

Thinking her brother would be better off without her, post a nondescript anonymous ad for Klaus and also gives two vague locations one for a doppelganger the other the location of a weak restrained Mikael.

Elena having Survior's guilt so most of her actions to her are justified in giving herself up with the mixing of being a doppelganger so she really feels like she is cursed to everyone around her.

Elena riding a bike outside of msytic falls when she meets Klaus, he checked the mausoleum first (he left Mikael there)

Klaus mistaking her for Katherine/Katerina and Elena responds though that's not her name, he can call her that since it's not like she's a person anyway.

He just looks at her and decides to move into town to keep an eye on her.

They start hanging out often, with Elena helping him decorate his home for his family members.

He actually likes this doppelganger and wants her to survive so gives her a supernatural 101 lessons.

Elena starts to get over her Survior's guilt and one day tells Klaus, who has told her to call him Nik, that she'll still do the ritual even though she isn't in as bad as of place as she was.

He feels warmed by this and makes a mental note to contact his witches to find a way to save her.

The school year starts and Elena is put off by Stefan, she does text Kaus often. Elena recognizes Stefan as well but keeps it to herself.

She calls a family meeting at the end of the day and invites Bonnie and Caroline.

Things that happen in season 1 still happen with an exception of Elena dating Stefan. Jeremy not doing drugs since he also starts to hang out with Klaus (an: up to the writer how much changes)

Lexi is saved by Klaus (Elena told him and Stefan was his friend)

When Bonnie finds out she has magic Klaus gives her his mother's grimoire but puts a word of caution. (Bonnie does her witch juju on Damon after finding out he tried to compel both Caroline and Elena)

Klaus definitely kills Noah (vampire lackey of anna that began stalking Elena)

Barolena is a tightknit group (Bonnie, Caroline, Elena)

Klaus does leave mystic falls a bit (Business stuff due to ritual)

Elena has Bonnie be her date to the Mystic falls pageant cause choosing a guy to go with would be overrated

Caroline still does become a vampire via Katherine (she does not mistake her for Elena)

Klaus comes back when Elena is kidnapped (allows the Salvortores to save her)

Klaus also teaches Caroline the how-tos of being a vampire (he secretly pissed Katherine killed her)

When Kidnapped via Rose and Trevor, she just sighs and asks for her phone but is denied, decides to torment them a bit by humming whos afraid of the big bad wolf in a slow creepy way (she might've picked up some of Klaus traits)

Elijah shows up and Elena just full on says 'well fuck being my own person, because all I can be is a cursed being' cue worried Elijah (Survior's guilt starts to take hold once again)

Rose and Trevor being so confused,because Elena was just tormenting them not even till a full moments ago

Trevor still dies but not due to Elena so she has no guilt for him. Elena offhandedly mentions the moonstone being with Katherine so she can get her invetivable death over with.

Elijah doesn't even know what to do with this doppelganger who just breaks his facade.

Stefan and Damon finally show up, and Elijah staked, Elena sighs and takes her phone sending a message to Klaus

Jeremy and Elena stay with Klaus after the kidnapping, they wanted to stay with him and let Jenma have the house to herself for once

Rose does inform the MF gang about Klaus with Elena there, and she just laughs recording the convo for Klaus for later.

Elena does go to Richmond with Rose, cause she wants to meet Slater only to find him dead and then does do the doppelganger is alive thing.

When the two lackeys of Klaus show up, she threatens to have Damon's heart ripped out, if he trys to break her arm.

Timeskip to Jenma and the historical journals where Elena meets Elijah fully then sighs. 'Aunt Jenma, I thought I told you to be careful who to invite into the house' (yes Jenma being fully aware of everything going on)

Jenma just waves her hand at Elena 'I would be dead if he wanted to get you, plus needed help with the boxes'

Elena goes to Jeremy's room to get to help her with boxes, Elijah observes her and Jeremy while they both bring the boxes to his car. (There is no boundary on the house cause Bonnie is not a magic dispenser and hates the Salvatores)

Jeremy asking when Stefan is going to be out of the tomb and Elena answers 'I don't know, When Nik wants him out I guess, I mean Katherine did try to drain you dry which Stefan was almost too late for'

Jeremy laughing 'So how long are you going to torment Katherine til you let her know about Nik?'

Elena blinking at him 'when the Salvatores do something stupid like trying to take out an original'

Elena does still make a deal with Elijah to help keep her friends safe from outside sources but does say he needs to talk to Klaus.

Klaus knows his brother is in town due to Elena and Jeremy. (An: I think they are all in the same group chat w/ Bonnie and Caroline)

Klaus saves Caroline from the werewolves, Kills Brady and imprisons Jules for ritual. Tells Tyler, the Salvatores and Dr.martin that Elena is going to die in the ritual because she wants to. (Klaus gives his number to Dr.martain to give to Elijah)

Dr.Martain tells what happened to Elijah and gives the phone number to him

Sleepover happens at Klaus' due to him not wanting to leave Caroline but recognizes she need the other two in the trio

Elena goes to the Historical Tea Party and converses with Elijah, Jeremy also being there takes a picture When Elena smiles and laughs, sending it to the group chat.

Damon tries to get her to leave when she is alone, 'so she can stop with the death wish talking to Elijah' and Elena spits out 'then your brother should have left me in the car with my parents, and he should stop trying to control her admittedly cursed existence. She chose to talk to Elijah because it was her choice. Like it's her choice to participate in ritual. Otherwise she wouldn't have contacted Klaus'

Elijah overhears the argument and when Elena leaves after talking to Damon, threatens Damon afterwards. (Elijah maybe a little pissed at Damon for ruining Elena's good mood)

Elena stays with Klaus again, and Elijah contacts Klaus. during this Elena finally explodes 'Nik I'm borrowing your weapons!'

'Not that I'm not pleased with this side of you, but I dare to ask why?' Klaus on the phone with his brother

'I'm going to commit patricide!! Fucking bastard trying to get in between Jenma and Alaric, hypocrisy is so fucking strong its suffocating, like thanks for finally giving a damn about your biological daughter who has already agreed to die way before Katherine showed up!'

Klaus kinda hugs Elena she calms her down a bit 'Better?'

'Still want to commit patricide, does yours work?' Elena jokes and Klaus laughs and then goes back to talk to Elijah which Elena listens to the convo.

'You could tell him that Mikael is imprisoned and you didn't drown your family at sea. Family is technically pack so you putting up this facade is frankly stupid, both of you are being dramatic'

Elijah admits to Klaus he has a potion to keep Elena from dying. He thought Katerina deserved a human life, but had no real feelings for her.

Elena goes to dinner party and even chuckles at Elijah's threat knowing he wouldn't harm Jenma. When Elijah gets daggered she sneaks in and grabs dagger and then Elijah. She totally puts him in her room and even gets him an old suit of her dads plus blood bags.

She falls asleep waiting for Elijah to get up, which does a seconds later. He makes note of her care when he sees the suit and bloodbags

Ritual happens, potion works, (Damon still tried to stop it thwarted by Elijah)

Klaus leaves with Stefan for wolves (he gives them a choice), Elijah does stay behind, and Elena spends time with him.

10: Soulmate Au- Where you dream of your soulmates death, so you can prevent it.

Elena dreams of Elijah, and let's him be daggered/daggers him to protect him from dying at lakehouse till she has to undagger him due to klaus

Dreams of how he perma dies just after the ritual. She sees his family with him then her friends.

Elena let's Bonnie, Jeremy and Caroline know her theory of sirelines just after the dream

Elena will have a tendency to go to extreme measures of trying to keep the original family safe.

Elena daggering Rebekah for her protection against the salvabores

She will interrupt Klaus' dinner with the salvatores by just walking in. (She somehow develops a small friendship with Klaus after the whole Mikael dies and Stefan trying to kill her)

Elena just straight up insults the two brothers in lots of crude language due to her being stressed and tired.

Klaus laughing at Elena's insults and Elijah being a bit bewildered at the whole scenerio (Elena just had enough of the two tbh)

Elena notices Elijah and sighs "Great, now I have two awake brothers to protect whoopeefuckingdoo"

Stefan and Damon exploding in surprise at that, which Elena nonchalantly states 'again for being vampires you small pint brains can't even think of the consequences of your actions have on other people, just get staked already'

Klaus informs Elijah of the happenings with Elena and the Salvatores (especially the almost driving her off the bridge)

Elijah tenses at this and looks over to Elena with concern

Elena just sits down in the corner of the room tiredly in which she just sort of falls asleep

She is startled awake by the crashing noises, and the feeling of air, she blinks and realizes someone is holding her and looks up to see Elijah.

Elena looks away from him to see the rest of the mikaelsons awake, and groans, setting her head on Elijah's chest 'too tired to deal to care'

Elijah looking down at her 'how look very tired already, not sleeping well?'

Elena just mutters 'understatement of the damn century, not fun experiencing your family's death over and over' she promptly passes out

Elena just eventually saves them all, due to her burning the bridge and sign cause it has caused her pain, or just faking out her blood to Esther and helping Bonnie get the witch bitch permanently unlinked to the Bennetts

Klaus is a sneaky wolf knowing full well what's happening and why then teases both Elijah and Elena about it.

11: SongFic Au- Elena's thought pertaining to Elijah

Self Control - DallasK (An: I have a whole Spotify Playlist, over 300 songs, trying to put it all in a YouTube playlist) Spofity playlist

12: Hatter/Alice (Alice 2009 Syfy version) AU

13: Elena Amnesia Au

Happens maybe a week after the deal with Elijah

Is caused by head trauma due to either Damon or Stefan

Elena learns about spn thru either gilbert journals or Jeremy which both decide to tell Jemma

Bonnie, Caroline and Tyler (surprisingly) all visit her and stay with her.

Elijah does come around and learns of her amnesia, the group just ask him questions.

This leads to several hangouts and lessons, Tyler then admits that if a part of him was locked away he would probably obesse over being whole and murdering someone in distress.

Elena brings up the weird fact of her dying via ritual even though she technically has magical blood properties that could just break the curse.

Bonnie and her get into a intellectual convo, which Jeremy and Caroline bring up some points.

Jemma coming in and actually points out a small point of Elena almost being kidnapped for said blood when they were younger.

Elena actually remembers that and what happened to Bonnie's mom, they make a note to check her parents journals.

This bring several questions to Elijah's mind.

Due to Elijah being near the group most of the time, he doesn't get daggered and Tyler doesn't get manipulated by Jules (he may be an asshole but the red flags of that whole situation was off)

When Klaus comes around via Alaric suit, he stumbles into a messy living room of teenagers and two adults.

Jeremy drew a picture of Mikeal via help of Elena and Bonnie magical help for clearer memory. Caroline excited hands over a journal with an address of a crypt

Klaus is just confused and asks what's happening (Alaric also hasn't been around due to John being dickish)

Bonnie explains if trying to break a weird clause of ritual which lead to finding info some old ass hunter trying to kidnap Elena as a kid.

Tyler explains that being a hybrid would be cool, but Elijah has told them of sirebonds so wouldn't know if hybrids would fall into that.

Elena just states that whoever made this stupid curse is a bitch to try and use innocent lives for the sacrifices that won't even make hybrids if said source is dead.

Elijah just shakes his head "they've been at this for a days while dear Elena is recovering from head trauma"

Jemma just shrugs working on her college stuff "we got a wolf, vamp and the moonstone, plus the location of said vamp."

Basically whole crew is a bit of badass working together without salvtores fucking up everything

14: Seer! Elena Au

Starts happening after she almost drowned

Gets multiple timelines and trys to choose the best one for everyone

Brotp Slater and Elena since see saw him in a timeline.

Helps her out with a lot of info.

Elena goes to grams and basically straight up told her to teach Bonnie, which leads to both girls hanging out more and also not using which as a magic dispenser.

Want witchy business? Pay the fee, don't like hearing the consequences? Too fucking bad.

Slater and the two girls definitely protect Caroline from Damon. Vicki also gets help.

Elena lets her family know what's going on.

Visions for Elena get super intense so will need someone to ground her Jeremy, Bonnie, and Caroline help (via Elijah later on) -the writer can decide the course-

15: Underground Singer Au! (Update: 12/25/23)

Elena starts going to underground venues just a little after her parents death

She becomes a little infamous in the underground circles, attracting attention to even the vampires that visit.

She does an alias to protect herself, she also learns about the supernatural early.

She meets Lexi and Lee first, learning about her doppelganger status.

Vampires that knew Katherine see her, and know Elena isn't her

due to the fact that Elena does couple songs where is is basically screaming and Katherine would never.

Elena unknowingly get protecters from this, so basically no one blabs to Elijah or Klaus about her.

Though Elijah does find out one of his associates have been watching this new singer, but not who. (Note: have a whole Playlist)

And when Elena does get kidnapped by Trevor and Rose, they are trying to figure out why she looks so familiar, besides Katherine

Elena is completely calm, and lets them know they royally fucked up by kidnapping her, especially on show day.

Elijah is here for this, and blinks at this seemingly unafraid doppelganger.

When everything calms after a day Elena fdoesn't stay home, and sneaks out going to the underground.

Elijah watching over her after the kidnapping, and follows her, and sees a ton of vampires, and realizing none of them sold her out.

Elijah is also very memorized by her singing and eventually confronts her and then escorts her home safely.

[bi-hop]

spider-byte headcanons

while this blends her singular intro comic, elements of the movie, and my own thoughts, this shouldn't really have any spoilers. still, if you haven't watched across the spiderverse, read with caution

anyway Earth-22191 in my personal content is basically The Matrix. Hear me out.

Essentially, if you crossed over into Earth-22191, every person you would encounter is either a person hooked up to what I am tentatively calling the World Computer or a simulation so perfectly constructed that it is impossible to tell the difference. Unlike the Matrix however, everyone knows this and it is distressing. You ever heard of philosophical zombies? It's a whole thing, but for these people, an uncertain number of people around them - even their own parents - used to seem like behavioral zombies to them:

Endless paranoia ensued about this and being a cog in a giant machine for centuries, so scientists worked hard to find a solution. They settled on virtual reality. More specifically, they settled on an extra layer of virtual reality. The aim was to continually give people access to various forms of virtual reality that were fantastical and abstract so paranoia would die down and socialization would flourish. Once this was successful, society was reconfigured to incorporate this technology as much as possible. It allowed this world of expendable tech parts to escape into worlds that soothed their minds.

Enter Margo Kess, a... let's say fifth generation teen post the advent of this VR tech. To us, her attachment to her headset would be seen as unhealthy. She uses it as much as the current legal limit allows, only stopping when absolutely necessary (sleeping, bathing, walking to class). But, in her world, her avoidance is normal. Why have that boring family discussion in your dining room when you can all meet up on a simulated beach and have it in paradise?

Earth-22191's reality is one where socialization and education mostly occur by necessity in cyberspace. Unfortunately, so does crime.

Flesh crimes, as they're called, are on a steep decline. This is mainly because they bore people. Stabbing someone in PERSON? Ew. Who does that? It's so gauche. Hacking into your worst enemy's locked server and carefully drowning them with mods you managed to find and downloaded? Now that's fun and compelling. It's a new age of catfishing, thievery, and murder. As the one and only Spider-Byte, Margo tries her best to address complex crimes of passion and fraud. She's a vigilante, so she doesn't exactly work with the Cybercrimes Division. Instead, it's more like a game where the best of you can adapt on the fly, split yourself in two, and code like no one else has ever seen.

Other random details:

The Databank is a structure located inexplicably both in the true reality, the not true reality, and the modified false reality. It displays ever changing text and code. Some worship it as a god and spend years trying to translate its ‘wisdom’. Pilgrimages occur

Miguel worked with Margo to be able to project her digital self across dimensional lines, not really out of the goodness of his heart, but because she would be a liability otherwise

the Databank is strange. No matter what filter you put over it in the modified reality it never changes. It’s tall. Sleek. Shiny. Almost slimy. All black and jutting out of any landscape without a clear reason

its lights pulse like a heart

Margo HAS friends, we see them in her comic debut. But she’s not very good at socializing in person. This spider rescue team delights her only because she gets to do that! Except… her body is in another dimension-

all non-humans you can think of (mutants, Inhumans, etc) are called Bugs. This isn’t that bad of a term. It’s just because they display code deviations that weren’t intended by God, in the eyes of Databank worshippers anyway. Margo's a Bug

her Green Goblin is Normie Osborn trying endlessly to impress his grandfather and failing, it's kinda sad. said grandfather is now preparing to be the first person to enter this VR space full time… hm

that's all for now

[dandyshucks]

i feel like i should say something, some kind of apology or smth, idk ^^;;

i would looove to say that i won't display symptoms ever again or that i'll "do better" to keep it under control but honest to god i am doing my absolute best already, and the only way i could do better w my current state is to get medicated but that's not an option rn (this small town only has one psychiatrist and he's ... not good at what he does. sigh). i will of course continue to try very hard and keep working on things the way that i can and look for new ways of tackling the brain scaries and coping with it!

my main way i've been dealing w trying not to display symptoms publicly is just to err on the side of extreme caution and try not to post anything here that isn't strictly "i love this fictional character teehee", but sometimes i feel stifled by that rule and want to connect w ppl on more than just "yayy my bouyfriend". like i want to be Me but ,, i think Me is probably just,,, not all that great ^^;;;; so i'm thinking maybe it'd be best if i just take a step back again and go on a mostly-hiatus for a while until i get the welfare and disability stuff sorted out (but that could take. several months. so idk 😭😭) bc its been rly having a bad effect on my mental health and stability, ack !!

i also feel like i need to tell everyone that they do not Need to interact w me or respond to anything i say ever, that you should only do so if u Want to, not because u feel Obligated to, but that implies that i would ever have the power over someone to be able to "make" them feel like they have to do smth and that in itself is an egotistical thought which is "bad". so. gestures vaguely at this paragraph. i just have to sit and hope that nobody feels like they Must interact w me in any way, but i do not know how to express it without sounding dismissive or ungrateful or presumptuous or egotistical. when i say "i appreciate this!" it's just that - i appreciate it, but i do not expect it, so please don't feel pressured ever!

anyways, i appreciate the patience and kindness ppl show me (though i do not expect it dsfjkl) and i will continue trying to keep the unwell brain stuff under wraps as much as i'm able to (and i absolutely understand if ppl cannot deal w that and leave! i won't be offended!). i haven't actually said sorry in this but do know i feel badly about it and i'm trying to figure out how to fix this so it doesnt happen more, i just dont know if a "sorry" is really any use here fdsjkl