#bloody Doomsday | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

caligvlasaqvarivm · 11 months ago

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Is Eridan’s fake attempt for land dweller genocide just a manifestation of his guilt of orphaning all those trolls? He says he wants to kill them all so they will no longer have to deal the loss of losing their parent to some finned hipster asshole?

So Eridan's life pre-SGRUB is primarily concerned with one thing: it is his Duty as a violet-blood who is close to the Heiress to feed her lusus so that it doesn't throw a tantrum and Kill Everybody. It's a manifestation not of guilt, but of anxiety.

He describes the murder he commits in pursuit of this as "all i evver done practically," and we never see him participate in a hobby he enjoys - we learn he's a hipster because Karkat calls him one, he FLARPs to fill Gl'bgolyb's belly, and people have fought with me before, but I maintain that his "interest" in military history is also just a part of his posturing/something he reads like somebody would doomscroll, as it validates his anxiety, because he only ever talks about history twice, in the vaguest possible terms, and the first time, it's just part of him posturing at Kanaya, and the second time, he's literally just. Wrong? He's just incorrect?

CA: yeah go ahead and kiss us off but therell be blood on your hands CA: you could either play along as our auspistice and do a little mediating like you wwere fuckin hatched to CA: or wwatch she and me devvolvve into fuckin full fledged kismesisses the kind like you dont get once in ten thousand swweeps CA: you knoww thats wwhat it wwould be there wwould be rainboww rivvers runnin through star systems and all nebulizin like liquid firewworks CA: it wwill be beautiful and heartbreaking all at once CA: you should read up on your history instead of poring through that godawwfull sunny rubbish

CC: None of your plots to kill t)(e land dwellers ever work out, and every doomsday device you get your )(ands on turns out to be a piece of junk! CA: so CA: i got to keep tryin thats howw all the great military masterminds became great through upright persevverance

Like I just. Don't believe him when he says he's obsessed with military history when he doesn't seem to be able to name five specific battles, and thinks the main attribute a military leader needs to succeed is "persevverance". We know that Karkat's interest in romance is real because he brings it up more than twice and also starts infodumping about it to Vriska at one point, but Eridan only seems to mention it because he thinks he's supposed to care about it.

Which is pretty much, like, one of the biggest tensions in his character: how he feels he's supposed to act vs. how he actually feels about acting that way. He faces multiple pressures to be a certain person, which run counter to his actual feelings.

He has to be a murderer, because if he isn't one, then Gl'bgolyb will do a genocide on his entire species.

He has to be an unrepentant murderer, because they live in a horrible fascist murder-society where highbloods are supposed to kill lowbloods all the time for literally any reason.

He has to be the one getting his hands bloody because his ancestor, Dualscar, was also the Orphaner, and (especially highblood) trolls need to take up their ancestors' mantles.

He has to be rude and condescending to everybody else because that's how highbloods, and especially sea dwellers, have to act.

He cannot express compassion, sympathy, or pity, because sea dwellers and highbloods aren't supposed to act that way.

Magic has to be fake, because it's for shitty wigglers, and Eridan's not a wiggler anymore!

He has to be in a torrid pitch relationship because that was the most defining one Dualscar had, and he needs to complete Dualscar's unfinished business.

He has to be in a flushed relationship because Dualscar had an unrequited flushcrush on the empress, and he needs to complete Dualscar's unfinished business.

He has to hate the lowbloods because he's a highblood.

He has to hate the land dwellers because he's a sea dweller.

But wait! That's weird. He has to hate the land dwellers and lowbloods, but he's the one responsible for making sure they don't all die by keeping Gl'bgolyb full?

In truth, it would be all too easy to solve the land dweller problem once and for all. You'd just need to lighten up on the feeding schedule for a while. Maybe you'd be a little too busy to bother with that hassle for once? Or maybe you could happen to be off your game for a spell? It happens, even to the best sometimes. But nah. It would make her upset. More emotions. More problems. That's all you need.

And he has to be an unrepentant murderer even though he clearly feels more guilt for it than Feferi?

That should keep her happy for a while. And make a freshly orphaned troll somewhere pretty sad.

And you claim magic is fake idiot stuff for babies but you like it SOOOO much?

You also like MAGIC, even though you know it to be FAKE. Like a made up friend, the way wizards are. Made up make believe FAKEY FAKEY FAKES. It's still fun though.

So we can see that Eridan is basically being pulled two ways at all times.

On one hand, there's everything society says he needs to be: an unrepentant murderer, a military dictator, ruthless bloodthirsty sea-dwelling aristocracy, hater of all low bloods and land dwellers, Orphaner Dualscar's heir.

And on the other hand, there's the guy Eridan actually is: doesn't give a shit about the hemocaste, just wants friends and/or relationship partners, likes magic, like hipster stuff, kind of a tool, guilty and traumatized.

It doesn't help that the people he's surrounded by are the least likely to recognize his distress as distress - Feferi loooooves being a princess, Kanaya has never really voiced any strong opinions on the hemocaste because it largely doesn't concern her since she's a rare jade blood, and Vriska is doing a lot better than Eridan is at fitting the mold they were born into (not that she doesn't have problems, she's just doing better than Eridan, which is a low fucking bar). Even Karkat, because of his own hangups about being a mutant pariah, venerates the society he was born into, because he (wrongly) sees it as a means to gain validation so he can hate himself less. As a result, Eridan winds up with basically 0 support system, because pretty much every aspect of his life reinforces that the thing society says he should be is correct, and that there's something wrong with Eridan for being unable to meet that expectation.

Especially because, for at least all the "murderer" he's supposed to be, if he fails to meet that expectation, everybody dies. So it's not just that he's got a pushy lusus and a shitty society, like Vriska does, but that there's also the added weight that adhering to those expectations is literally, objectively, the correct thing to do, so long as he doesn't want literally everybody to die.

As a result, he's constantly trying to overcorrect his behavior and cognition to line up with what he thinks he's supposed to be. That's why he's constantly saying slurs even though he doesn't actually treat anybody differently for their caste. That's why he's constantly talking about murder and military history, even though he clearly doesn't enjoy doing either of those things. That's why he's always pushing this image of a big bad fascist wannabe, even though he actually wants to be a magic-slinging wizard.

The thing about genocide, for Eridan, is that he's already obsessed with genocide - the prevention of genocide. Keeping his species from being genocided is, without exaggeration, the most time-consuming pursuit in his life. BUT WAIT! He can't say, think, or believe that his actions are for the benefit of the land dwellers, because first of all, he feels kind of guilty about killing them, and second of all, because he's not allowed to express compassion to the people he's keeping safe. So between the stress, the cognitive dissonance, the anxiety, and the fact that Eridan doesn't really do a lot of introspection because he's so overwhelmed by emotion, his existing preoccupation with genocide is transmuted into something that's socially acceptable: "wanting all the land dwellers dead."

"[I]t would be all too easy." Indeed: if he ever slacks in his duties, they will all die. In fact, it's easier for him to let them die than to not. He clearly doesn't like doing all that killing, and it clearly makes him feel bad, and takes up a shitton of his time if nothing else, so it's probably occurred to him over, and over, and over, that maybe he should just... not! What if he just stopped.

Well, then everyone would die. Gl'bgolyb would raise her voice a little and it'd kill all the rust bloods, then the bronzes, the golds, the limes, the olives...

Wait! Is he feeling bad for them? He's not supposed to be feeling bad for the low bloods! Shit, shit, shit. Say a slur and then say something about how you WANT all the low bloods dead. PHEW. OKAY. SAFE. But that means you need to kill all the lowbloods. Because you said it, so it has to be true, and also, this is the way you're supposed to be. So, fuck, well, go commission a doomsday device. Okay, done. PHEW. It probably doesn't work, but nobody can say you didn't try! Hooray, you did it! You have performed a Sea Dweller Action! Oh it's time to go kill some people again. Damnit. Killing people sucks. It makes you feel bad, and it takes up so much of your time. What if you just didn't...

And we can see this with the way his lust for genocide is described. There's no mention of why he hates the land dwellers, no mention of how he believes society will improve with them gone, or even what they're doing that's so bad in the first place. He rambles at Feferi about "keeping the bloodlines pure" at one point, but this is clearly contradicted by him stating he wouldn't kill Kanaya, because what sort of friend would he be? (And the fact that he cares about Kanaya, Vriska, and the anon-blooded Karkat, who could be literally any blood color, at all!)

So yeah, like, the thing is, he doesn't want to kill them all. He even calls himself out for knowing his latest doomsday plot was a bust from the start:

You are almost starting not to care about this stupid doomsday device which probably won't even work. She probably KNOWS you know it won't work. She has probably put all the pieces together and knows it was an elaborate ruse to be in cahoots with her again.

And so does Feferi:

And here he is outright contradicting his stated goal of killing the land dwellers because, jegus, he'd never kill his friends:

CA: but somethin thatll kill all land dwwellers wwhat else wwould i be after GA: Can You Just For A Moment Entertain The Thoughts Of One Untouched By Megalomaniacal Derangement And Tell Me Why Id Want To Assist You With That CA: wwell CA: im not goin to vvery wwell kill you am i that wwould be fuckin unconscionable CA: wwhat kind of friend wwould i be

And a reminder that one of his closest friends at this point in time is Karkat, whose blood color is currently anonymous to his friend group, meaning he could be literally any blood color and Eridan wouldn't want him dead:

CC: You know, I'm not sure w)(y we never talk about our romantic aspirations. CC: We s)(ould more often. It is kind of -EXCITING! CA: shrug CC: Probably because you fill your gossip quota wit)( your nubby )(orned bro.

But Karkat also explicitly lumps himself in with the low bloods, so Eridan can't even use the excuse that Karkat might be nobility (but sea dwellers are still suppose to hate land dwelling nobility so that still wouldn't be a defense EVEN IF it was true):

CG: CHALK IT UP AS ANOTHER INFURIATING VICTORY FOR GUTTER BLOOD OVER ARISTOCRACY.

Because Eridan does not want to genocide the land dwellers. He's just anxious.

#eridan ampora #homestuck

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wettbewerberrr · 9 days ago

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What kind of rituals/offerings do doomsday trio do for their respective gods? (In case they do)

offerings to gods in my version of dsmp are most often sacrifices, and basically every life c!techno and c!phil take are automatically considered to be a sacrifice (the point of this is that less experience is dissipated into the general cycle, and most of it goes to their respective gods)

c!dream just hates exdee, so he would never make an offering to him (actually, the only god he prayed to in his adult years was the goddess of death. and it only happened once and in prison). but the thing is - exdee just benefits from all the revival shenanigans

so basically all of them don't really make any offerings on purpose, unlike regular players, who are not burdened with service to the gods (haven't figured out other rituals yet, but there very well might be something other than sacrifices. something less bloody, you know)

#c!techno #c!philza #c!dream #dsmp #dream smp

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rafayelsbelovedbride · 5 months ago

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Dragons and scapegoats

I made a post a while ago comparing Philos/Earth/Lemuria to Omelas here. And now that Sylus has his myths too, let me continue.

Special thanks to @ourlittleuluru for giving me more reason to talk about him. I was just going to reblog it with your tags but it got too long. So here it is~

While my expectations about the myths were way off for Sylus, I think, he still fits this theme really well. Because, yes, he was the child in the basement, and he was the scapegoat, along with all the dragons.

When humans first arrived in the past days of Philos, they probably came to this place to escape the wanderer-infested Earth and find a place where they could live a peaceful life. Maybe the public was told Philos would be a nice little utopic place where people could live without fearing for their lives. But they were sold a lie. What they found when they arrived at Philos was a dying planet where dragons ruled, with a hollow core that was falling apart into pieces. It was just fragmented landmasses slowly drifting apart as described in Xavier's anecdotes.

So, wouldn't the public be outraged? Defeated. Betrayed. Drained. Drained, because they still have to fight for their lives. Betrayed, because they were scammed out of a better future. Defeated, because there is no such thing as heaven, only a different hell.

So, of course, to prevent the public from turning against them, the people who brought humanity to Philos had to find someone to blame.

A perfect scapegoat. A scapegoat that can hold a mirror to all of humanity's twisted desires and yet still be blamed for it.

Dragons, the harbinger of war and conflict. Dragons, that could bring the darkest parts of one's soul to light. Of course, they're to blame. After all, anyone would prefer to say, it was not me who had these evil, heinous thoughts, my soul was corrupted by a dragon. No need to take responsibility for my wicked nature, the dragon made me do it.

So, they declared war on dragons, promising a better future once again. They killed every single one of the dragon-kind until there was only one of them left. Now, the last dragon cannot be killed. If all dragons were dead, then there would be no scapegoat. One of them must be kept locked in the basement to remind us all he's responsible for every evil in this world. We are not just locking a little child into the basement, we are locking the evil away.

So they made a spectacle out of the last dragon's demise and sealed him into the abyss with a claymore in his chest. A violent end for a vicious dragon. A constant reminder to all humanity to keep their souls untainted by desire. Of course, a puppet without a want is the easiest to control after all.

But, now, enough time has passed. Maybe the public is growing restless and no one really cares about the child in the basement anymore. So, the moment they find a puppet with a single desire, they frame her too. And burn her dragon. Burn her sympathy for the locked child.

And that's how it begins. For MC's and Sylus's story, they're both the scapegoats. And for their story, MC is the one who broke the child free out of the basement and brought doomsday to Philos. With Sylus, we take a closer look at the story from the child's perspective rather than the savior's, who set the child free.

And, we see that even freeing the child and destroying the people responsible for his imprisonment does not guarantee a happy ending. He is still a dragon who is destined to ruin anything he loves and everything he desires.

And, maybe that was the reason why he let himself be trapped by the sacred judicator in the first place. Sylus never accepted his identity as a dragon. He hated it. He fooled himself into thinking he was just like other humans, and cut up his horns every time they grow until he was a bloody mess. Maybe, that young dragon, while soldiers were chasing him with their swords, thought that this was what he deserved. Happiness and being satisfied with what he has is just not in his nature. That day, he was defeated not by an army of humans, but by his own hatred against himself.

So, loving her, with his own soul etched in hers, meant accepting his own nature. And maybe, that was how he actually broke free out of his chains. That's when he saw himself not as a scapegoat for humanity's sins, but as a lonely dragon who deserved this love he received.

At the beginning of the story, he did not try to break free from his chains until MC found him, he did not seek revenge unless MC asked for it. But by the end, he broke free when was imprisoned and burned down every city to the ground. By the end, he seeked MC when she was about to be executed and willingly fell into their trap. Only this time he did not accept his end because he hated himself, but he accepted it to save his beloved who owns half his soul. That was a sacrifice he made in the name of love, all with selflessness, while accepting his flawed nature. And that's how he broke free of the dragon's curse at the same time he escaped his fate to become a scapegoat for the people of Philos.

And I really love the current Sylus. He still longs for human connection just like his younger self. But his desire to connect does not bring self-hatred anymore. Instead, he rides the subway, takes the twins under his wings, and goes to karaoke with MC's coworkers.

Maybe, he feels at peace now. I hope he does.

He's reunited with the owner of his soul. And even if everyone blames him for what's wrong in this world, he has no desire to let them have their way. He will escape the space-time prison and chase MC to the ends of the worlds.

So, he will get the ending he actually deserves this time with his beloved by his side.

#love and deepspace #lads #sylus #sylus headcanons #lads sylus #sylus lads #love and deepspace sylus #sylus love and deepspace #lnds sylus #this sounds like a cheesy self love story but it kinda fits him i think

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j-k-writes · 4 months ago

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Doomsday - 2

Summary - Luke and Brink are dead, and (Y/N) is trying his best to come to terms with the situation. But the young adult has never been known for leaving well enough alone.

Warnings - General Gen V warnings, heavy drug use, canon character death(s), grief and mourning, unhealthy coping mechanisms, mentioned child abuse, unhealthy relationships, panic attacks, seizures, blood and violence

His bloody clothes were taken from him as soon as the police arrived on the scene, and it was only then that he realized he was wearing one of Luke’s old hoodies. He asked if he would get it back and the officer just looked at him wordlessly before shaking his head.

(Y/N) took a seat on the curb and sat there as the police took statements until the sun went down. A shock blanket was thrown over his shoulders, but he doesn’t remember by who. The bright flashing red and blue lights blinded him as the sky darkened around them, and every so often, the power washers would get too close and spray him.

Jordan, (Y/N), Andre, and Marie were the only people allowed to stay within the taped-off crime scene, but (Y/N) could see and hear the clamor of too-curious students trying to push past the guards to see what was left of their precious Golden Boy.

Of Luke.

Of (Y/N)'s best friend.

None of the people trying to get a good look with their flashlights and phone cameras understood what had happened today. They might think they were grieving this loss alongside him, but none of them would ever truly understand what had just been taken from him.

His father and his best friend.

His father because of his best friend.

He’d met Brink because of Luke, and now he’s lost him because of Luke too.

(Y/N) jumped to his feet as someone pushed past the guards, but quickly paused his motions at the realization that it was just Cate.

Right.

Luke meant something to her too.

He watched silently as Cate took in the scene around her and collapsed into a fit of sobs, not unlike (Y/N) had done earlier that day when the gravity of what he’d just witnessed caught up with him. (Y/N) just stared at the girl, unable to offer her any comfort. Andre looked to his frozen figure before walking over to Cate and wrapping his arms around her.

No one had done that to him. Not Andre, not Jordan. There were no comforting hugs and quiet words for the boy who’d just lost it all. But Cate got comfort. Because she loved Luke.

He loves Luke. Loved Luke. He loved Luke for longer and in more ways than she ever would. She was just louder about it. Why did that make her love, her grief, any more important than his?

(Y/N) watched as Andre drew the sobbing girl in tighter, and at the sight he turned on his heel and walked away. Ignoring all the protests of the people around him.

(Y/N) was high when the new top ten ratings were announced.

He’d been high for forty-eight straight hours.

Classes were canceled in the wake of Brink’s death, but not Luke’s. The media had cast Luke as the villain and Brink as the brave martyr, though from what (Y/N) knew of his adoptive father and best friend, he couldn’t quite bring himself to buy into that narrative.

He had about a hundred missed messages from Andre and Jordan. None from Cate. Shetty had emailed him, which made him laugh, but he just moved the email to his trash and went back to blowing through his stash.

He spent the better part of his forty-eight hours ignoring those trying to reach out to him and scrolling through old photos of him and Luke.

The oldest picture of them he had was of his adoption day.

It was a small affair, Brink hadn’t wanted any party at all but Luke’s parents insisted. So Brink dressed (Y/N) up in a suit too fancy for a ten-year-old and off to the Riordan’s they went.

The photo itself is much warmer than the actual adoption itself had been. (Y/N) had shrunk in on himself as soon as they entered the courtroom. It was the same courtroom that his parents had given their rights up in not two months before, but this time (Y/N) wasn’t taking the stand to swear on a book he’d had quoted to him in fits of rage throughout his childhood. Instead, he was watching with a smile on his face as papers were signed and pictures were taken, ready to start his life anew.

He’d come to realize years later just how naive he’d been.

The picture is of him, Luke, and Brink. The boys were standing on either side of him with twin smiles of joy painted across their faces. Brink was smiling, too, an actual genuine smile. It was a rarity for such a serious man, and it made (Y/N) ache as he looked at it.

He didn’t look at the picture again.

Instead, he buried his nose in white powder and ate his daily calories in pills. He smiled to himself as the room spun, and he laid back on his bed. The colors of the posters on his wall blended together as his vision blurred, and the sounds of the people outside in the halls and the streets of campus blended together into a peaceful, quiet hum.

His peace was interrupted by a chime on his phone.

(Y/N) groaned as he rolled over, expecting another message to ignore or an email to delete. He raised an eyebrow at the notification and tapped on it half-heartedly.

“Huh.”

Andre was number one which was no shock to the boy.

It was his own ranking that threw him off.

Number two.

Well shit.

(Y/N) had never moved up beyond number five, too combat avoidant and argument-indulgent for the trustees to consider stable. It had always driven Brink mad when he brought (Y/N)’s name up to the board time and time again, only for it to be shot down. It’d only pissed him off more when (Y/N) was unperturbed by his status and continued his behavior.

If only Brink could see him now.

Number two and all it cost was his father and his best friend.

He tossed his phone back on his bed, falling back against the mattress with a huff. He closed his eyes hoping to let sleep overtake him but between his racing thoughts and the stimulants in his system sleep refused to come.

Groaning and rubbing his face he sat up. He grabbed a hoodie off the floor giving it a quick sniff before shrugging it on. He stepped out into the hallway, ignoring all the stares from his fellow students.

He hadn’t been able to bring himself to visit the memorial set up for his adopted father right outside the building he’d taught in, and as he approached it, he remembered why. He paused before he could get close enough to even see the picture they’d picked. (Y/N) watched as students he’d never even seen enter the crime-fighting building cried around the memorial, some into their cell phones and some to their friends.

His first thought was of a sick twisted amusement at the thought that they all probably got off on the fact that they now had an interesting story to go home with. Something to really shock the family with over Thanksgiving dinner.

His amusement quickly turned into anger. This was his father’s memorial, and they were standing here crying to their followers like they knew him. But they didn’t. How could they?

They didn’t spend hours with the personal tutors he paid for waiting for him to come home so that they could see the smile of satisfaction on his face when the tutor told him that they were the most advanced pupil they’d ever taught. Brink never clapped them on the shoulder and told them, ‘Good job, son’, because they weren’t his son (Y/N) was.

He was never a very good son, and now he’d never be a son again. He had tried his best, but his own issues had always caught up with him in the end. Brink wanted him to be on the same level as Luke, but (Y/N) was never much of a fighter, much to the man’s disappointment. (Y/N) could never call Brink ‘Dad’ because the last person he’d called beat him so bloody even his abilities couldn’t get rid of the scars along his back. (Y/N) had always felt bad calling Brink by his name, but Brink had never seemed to mind; he was as much his teacher as his father, and you don’t call your teachers ‘Dad’.

His relationship with Brink wasn’t perfect, but it was a relationship nonetheless. A relationship that these people didn’t have.

(Y/N) turned on his heel to walk away, unsure of why he’d even attempted to visit the damned thing when he felt a hand grab his shoulder.

“(Y/N), wait.” He stopped in his tracks, turning to face Jordan. Jordan paused at the sight of him, and (Y/N) was suddenly embarrassed by his disheveled appearance. “I just- um- how are you, man?”

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow, “How am I?”

“Yeah,” Jordan nodded, “No one has heard from you, and I know this is a tough time for everyone-”

“A tough time for everyone?” (Y/N) interrupted, almost laughing. He pulled his arm from Jordan’s hold.

Jordan furrowed their eyebrows, “Yeah? We all loved Luke, and I loved Brink just as much as you.”

“Brink was my father, not yours, Li.” (Y/N) spat. “Do not try and sympathize with me.”

(Y/N) turned and walked away. When he got back to his room, he yanked open his desk drawer and rummaged around for the sleeping pills Brink had given him a few months ago for when the dreams got bad. He took five and crashed onto his bed, sleep finally falling over him.

Shetty let him have a week off before she basically demanded he get his act together and go back to class. He had hoped that he’d get at least a month off but with the amount of extra classes he was taking to graduate a year early, it was no shock that Shetty was cutting his wallowing time off early. So, while he didn’t get his act together, he did go back to class.

Jordan avoided his gaze as he walked by, and the action made a small part of (Y/N) smile. He took his usual seat in the back of the class, and ignored all the pitying looks he got from students he hadn’t bothered to learn the names of even though he’d definitely been in class with them for two years.

“Professor Brinkerhoff died the same way he taught.” Shetty spoke from the front of the class, “A hero. He molded the Lamplighter School of Crime Fighting into the shining exemplar it is today. Nobody could possibly replace him so- I will.”

(Y/N) stifled a giggle.

“Or at least I’ll try.” Whether Shetty caught his reaction was unclear. “We will cover everything Brink would cover but we’ll also get into the intersection of superpowers and mental health, which was my dissertation.”

Inwardly (Y/N) groaned, praying Shetty wasn’t as keen on using her own students as examples as Brink had been. She’d have a field day with (Y/N) and his childhood if that were the case. His thoughts were quickly interrupted as Marie entered the class, and Shetty paused her rant turning to smile at the girl.

“Oh. Marie.”

“Sorry I’m late.”

“I’m Dean Shetty. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Please take a seat.” Marie turned to look at the students who were all gaping like fish at her, (Y/N) included. They made eye contact, and Marie’s gaze fell to the empty seat next to the boy. (Y/N) watched as she decided against the action and took a seat in the front row. “We’re letting Ms. Moreau audit the junior-year classes. What you and Andre did, well, it’s obvious you belong here.”

The class passed by in a blur. (Y/N) took full advantage of his seat in the back of the class and put his head down five minutes into Shetty’s lecture. By the time Shetty reached the end of the hour, (Y/N) had managed to take a ten-minute power nap, pull at the fraying end of his left sleeve, and take zero notes.

Shetty pulled him aside as the rest of his classmates filed out of the room, and (Y/N) mentally prepared himself for the incoming lecture.

“(Y/N).” Shetty said, smiling at him. “How are you?”

(Y/N) blinked at the question. “How am I?”

“Yes.”

“My best friend is being villainized by every news site in the country,” (Y/N) said, unable to keep his rising anger out of his voice. “And my father was murdered, by the very same best friend. How do you think I’m doing, Shetty?”

“Call me Indira, (Y/N).” Shetty said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “And I know this is a tough time, I feel for you, truly I do. Whatever you need, just ask.”

She didn’t wait for (Y/N) to answer before continuing.

“Now, I want to discuss the project that Brink had you working on before his passing.” Shetty said, “I understand you had it almost finished when Brink and I last spoke.”

“Uh,” (Y/N) nodded. “Yeah, it’s finished now. I was on my way to give it to him when-”

When Luke killed him.

Shetty nodded solemnly, pity clear in her eyes as she looked at the boy in front of her. “Of course. If it’s not too much to ask, would you mind dropping it off to me as soon as you find the time.”

“Sure.”

“Wonderful.” Shetty smiled. She looked like she wanted to pull the young adult in for a hug, but decided against it and patted his shoulder instead. She turned her back on (Y/N), and while she didn’t dismiss him verbally (Y/N) could tell she was finished with their conversation.

He didn’t bother saying goodbye as he left the room.

Meet us at Luke’s room.

(Y/N) tried to ignore the message, truly he did.

After his last class, he returned to his room, took his pants off, and crawled into bed. But as he sat there in the dark, his unfinished school work staring at him from across the room, and the voices of Luke and Brink in his head that had started to talk to him now that he’d laid off some of the more hardcore drugs, he realized he wasn’t doing himself any favors by not seeing what Andre wanted.

He tugged a pair of sweats on, walking up the steps of his building to where Luke’s room is- was- and found Cate and Andre waiting for him by Luke’s door. He opened his mouth the comment on Cate’s appearance but the words were quickly halted by the state of Luke’s door.

The word murderer was crudely written across it in spray paint the color of blood.

When Luke died (Y/N) had been covered in his blood. It had soaked into clothes that he never got back and the water ran red for what seemed like forever when he’d showered that night. Did Brink bleed when Luke killed him? He’d been burnt to a crisp when (Y/N) went to go identify the body, but did Luke beat him up a bit first? How angry was he at Brink? Why hadn’t (Y/N) noticed? Why didn’t he stop him? Why di-

“(Y/N).” Andre’s touch upon his shoulder snapped him out of his thoughts, and (Y/N) blinked. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” (Y/N) said, coming back to himself in small increments. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Andre was giving him a look (Y/N) had become all too familiar with in the past week. He brushed his hand off his shoulder, pushing past Andre and opening the door to Luke’s room.

“Where is all Luke’s stuff?” Was the first thing out of Cate’s mouth as the door opened. (Y/N) stepped into the now-empty room, taking a good look at the shelves that had been stripped of their memories.

“They cleared it out.”

Luke used to have a picture of their high school graduation on his desk. (Y/N) had gotten a record amount of honors cords and looked a bit silly with the rainbow of string around his neck, but Luke had been proud of him. So had Brink, although he had made it clear that it was what was expected of him.

“Who?”

He’d hung up a pride flag on the wall of his childhood home when (Y/N) came out to him in the tenth grade. He was scared shitless of what Luke would say, even more so than he had been coming out to Brink, but Luke had just smiled and wrapped him in a tight hug. The flag came with Luke every time he moved. It was gone now.

“Fuck if I know.”

They were always stealing each other’s clothes, a habit carried over from the years (Y/N) had spent at his birth parents' house without proper items of clothing. Their friends had always joked that they should just share a closet with how often the other was returning or borrowing a shirt or a pair of pants. Half of (Y/N)'s wardrobe was gone now.

“They wouldn’t even let me get my shit.” (Y/N) said, spinning in a circle to get a proper look at the bare room. “All our photos, my clothes, all of it’s gone.”

“Smells like bleach in here.” Andre commented, wrinkling his nose.

“Why would they do that?” Cate asked. “What the fuck is going on?”

The smell of bleach was making (Y/N)'s stomach turn, and his breath was coming in short gasps as he took in the soulless room. “I can’t be here.”

He rushed out of the room, followed by Andre and Cate. He turned the corner, taking the steps two at a time as Andre and Cate called for him. He threw the door open when he reached the ground floor, bracing himself on the brick wall as he gasped for breath.

“(Y/N).” Andre said, approaching him as one might approach a skittish animal. “(Y/N), it’s alright.”

“All of his stuff-” (Y/N) said, hyperventilating. “They took all of it, Andre.”

“I know.” Andre took a step closer.

“Those were his memories, my memories. And they just erased it!” (Y/N) threw his fist out, hitting the brick wall with a sharp crack. He groaned as the fingers in his hand broke and reset within seconds, Cate gasped at the gruesome sight. “It’s like he never existed. But he did, and I remember him. I remember all of it, Andre.”

Andre placed a hand on (Y/N)'s shoulder, squeezing it gently. “They can’t make you forget him.”

“I won’t.”

“I know.” Andre said, rubbing soothing circles into the boy’s shoulder. “I know you won’t.”

“You know what I just realized,” Cate said later after (Y/N) had calmed down and Andre had coerced them both into a walk around campus. “Luke’s desk drawer was full of dildos. They’re all gone too.”

(Y/N) snorted, unable to help the soft giggles that escaped him at the thought of the face of whoever had opened that drawer. His thoughts strayed a bit to what Luke used those dildos for, but he shoved that thought far into the back of his mind before he could dwell too long on it.

“Some security guard is not gonna shit straight for a week,” Andre said, before he stopped dead in his tracks.

“What?” Cate asked, and Andre nodded his head toward the campus security cameras. (Y/N) looked up, immediately seeing what had made Andre pause.

“Security camera’s melted.” Andre said.

“Did you do that?”

“No.” Andre frowned. “Something hot did.”

(Y/N) hummeed in agreement, before Andre’s posture straightened and he made a beeline for the camera.

“Your dad has it.”

(Y/N) took off after Andre, Cate expressed her confusion in the boy’s action before ultimately following after them.

“It was the last thing that Luke said to me.” Andre called back to them as he continued to run.

“You never told us the last thing Luke said to you.” Cate turned to (Y/N) as she spoke as if expecting his agreement with her statement. But the memory of Luke’s whisper against his ear before he died was replaying in (Y/N)'s head and he didn’t respond.

“Didn’t make sense I thought he was fucking crazy.” Andre continued, coming to a stop in front of the campus statue of his father. “But I think he hid something in here.”

Andre climbed up onto the pedestal of the statue, crouching down and focusing. He grunted as he extended his hand and the metal began to pull itself apart. After a few creaks and groans from the statue Andre had successfully made a hole big enough to fit his hand in.

“That is really Freudian.” Cate commented, causing (Y/N) to roll his eyes.

“Really?” Cate just shrugged.

Andre pulled his hand out from where he was searching the statue, revealing a black phone (Y/N) had never seen before. He passed it to (Y/N), who examined it carefully. The battery was dead so (Y/N) couldn’t open it to see its contents, but the exterior looked enough like an average phone for him to feel confident in shrugging his shoulders and handing it back to Andre.

“We should charge it and see what’s on it.”

The walk back to Andre’s dorm was silent. Cate tried at first to fill the silence with questions about what Luke could possibly have gained from hiding the phone if they were going off the assumption that the phone was indeed what Luke had been referring to. But (Y/N) and Andre were too focused on their own thoughts to reply to her.

Andre plugged the phone in and after a few seconds on the charger it powered on. It wasn’t password protected, and a video of Luke was still open when Andre unlocked it. Andre looked around the room for approval, and when both (Y/N) and Cate gave him a nod he pressed play.

“Okay.” Luke on the screen said, pacing around what looked to be his dorm room. “If you’re watching this I guess things got fucked. Okay, I know this sounds crazy, but they have my brother.”

(Y/N) tensed, unnoticed by Cate and Andre whose sole focus was on the screen in front of them.

“He’s not dead. He’s underneath the school. They call it the Woods. It’s like this fucked-up hospital or something. They did messed-up things to him and to me.” Luke paused. “And- uh- and to (Y/N).”

(Y/N)'s breath hitched at Luke’s mention of him, his breath quickening.

“And Brink-” Luke paused again, looking pained as he spoke. “Brink is a part of this. I’m going to go in there right now. I’m going to make him give me my brother back.”

Oh Luke.

“If you’re seeing this I guess things got pretty fucked. I’m sorry. Help Sam and (Y/N) if you can, please. I love you, Andre. Tell Cate I love her, too.” Luke was looking directly at the camera as he spoke. “And if (Y/N)'s watching this- I- I’m sorry I love you.”

Cate and Andre began speaking to each other in rushed panicked tones when the video ended, but (Y/N)'s ears were ringing and he couldn’t breathe deep enough so he didn’t catch what they were saying until Cate said-

“Schizophrenia runs in families.”

“Luke was not schizophrenic.” (Y/N) snapped, unable to prevent the venom that laced his words.

“Then how would you explain this?” Cate said, returning his tone. Her eyes were measuring him carefully. “Do you know what he’s talking about? I mean he mentioned you.”

“No.” (Y/N) shook his head, whole body shaking.“I don’t- I don’t know what he’s talking about.”

“I mean he was partying with us the night before and he seemed happy.” Cate turned back to Andre, leaving (Y/N) out of their conversation. “Why wouldn’t he tell us? Why wouldn’t he tell (Y/N)?”

The two began to argue, speaking over each other, and (Y/N) got up from his seat. On shaking legs he darted out of the room, desperate for fresh air and possibly a line. When the two young adults didn’t immediately come after him he began to make the walk back to his room.

He passed the crimefighting building on his walk, and paused.

He shouldn’t.

He could. There was no doubt about that.

But he shouldn’t.

He did.

He walked through the crimefighting building on edge, jumping at every slight sound. He took a deep breath as he approached Brink’s old office, pushing the door open and cringing as it creaked. Brink’s office had remained untouched, which only furthered his anger about the state of Luke’s cleaned-out dorm.

He took a seat at Brink’s desk, a chair he had sat in countless times throughout his childhood. Brink had always liked bringing him to campus to show him off to his colleagues and his students.

“This kid is half your age and yet his intelligence is on levels you can only hope to one day reach.” He used to say to them, smiling proudly as (Y/N) preened under the attention. That was before (Y/N) began to waste his potential when Brink was actually proud to call him his son.

‘I wonder what you think of my intelligence now, Brink.’ (Y/N) thought as he unlocked the computer, sifting through hundreds of folders until he came across the one he was looking for. As he opened the folder the door opened, causing him to freeze.

It was just Andre.

(Y/N) breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the boy, and Andre began to laugh

“What are you doing here? (Y/N) hissed at the boy, as glad as he was that it was only Andre catching him breaking into his dead father’s computer he still did not want him around.

“Same thing as you.” Andre said, coming around the desk to lean over (Y/N)'s shoulder and watch what he was doing. “Is that it?”

“Yeah.” (Y/N) said, scrolling through the countless photos and documents until he came across a familiar face. “Fuck.”

Sam.

A video of Sam, very much alive, dated just a few days ago.

“What?”

“That’s Sam.” (Y/N) reached for his phone, taking a picture of the screen. He would’ve preferred transferring the documents over to his phone, but he wanted to get out of the room as quickly as he could.

“No way, that’s the guy who-”

Andre never finished his sentence, as the sound of voices caused them both to freeze. (Y/N) cursed, closing out of the folder and slamming the computer shut. He grabbed Andre and dragged them both under the desk.

The door to the room opened, and footsteps surrounded them.

“Don’t bother with that shit.” A voice said. “Just files and the computer. Grab the hard drive from the security office and meet me downstairs.”

(Y/N) and Andre watched each other with wide panicked eyes as the guards took what they needed from the room in silence. (Y/N) could only hear what they were doing, he held his breath as the footsteps got closer and removed the computer from the desk. Eventually, they retreated and the door slammed shut.

Andre scrambled out from under the desk, followed closely behind by a confused (Y/N).

“Andre where the fuck are you going?” (Y/N) whispered as Andre began to follow the guards through the halls.

“Following them.” (Y/N) rolled his eyes at the boy's answer.

“Andre, get back here.” (Y/N) grabbed his arm, halting him. “We’re not fucking heroes.”

“I am going to follow them, either come with me or go home.” Andre said, prying himself from (Y/N)'s grip, and continuing on his journey.

(Y/N) cursed under his breath, but followed the boy anyway. Their trail eventually led them down into the basement of the crimefighting building, just as Luke said it would. Andre froze in front of him, and (Y/N) paused. He peered around Andre, watching as a janitor was shot dead by the guards at the bottom of the steps.

Andre gasped, and a guard’s head snapped toward their direction. (Y/N)'s hand shot out the grab Andre’s shoulder, pulling him back toward him.

“The hell was that?”

“Hey.” A guard snapped at the other. “Greg’ll clean up later. Let’s go.”

They left, and Andre immediately took off down the steps. He looked over the dead janitor's body, and then toward where the guards would have presumably left. Except there was no door left for Andre and (Y/N) to see.

“Oh, shit.” Andre said, and (Y/N) nodded.

“Hey!” Someone called out behind them, and Andre immediately jumped into position. Throwing his hand out, it did no good as the guard pulled out a device and a painful sound began to pierce (Y/N)'s ears. He doubled over in pain and the guard laughed.

“Did you know supes have a wider range of hearing than us?” The guard turned the sound up higher, causing (Y/N) to stifle a scream at the pain in his ears. “Like dogs.”

It felt as if knives were slamming themselves into (Y/N)'s eardrums, and he could feel the blood that had started to drip from his ears onto his fingers. His knees gave out from the pain and hit the concrete floor with a thud. (Y/N) couldn’t feel the pain radiating in now bruised knees over the pain in his ears. The feeling of his eardrums beginning to heal themselves only to rupture again began to drive him slowly mad until it all of a sudden stopped.

The sudden change in pain made him dizzy, and he collapsed onto his back. He looked up at his saviour, too tired to laugh at the sight of Cate stumbling down the steps toward them.

“Guys, we need to go.” Cate said, all but collapsing into Andre’s arms.

“Your eyes.” Andre said, his voice just a tad too loud due to the damage to his ears. “You’ve been pushing too much.”

“I’m fine. I’m totally-” Cate fell unconscious, prompting (Y/N) to push himself up from his spot on the floor and dart over to where Andre was holding a now convulsing Cate.

“Oh shit, Cate!” Andre said, trying to shake the girl conscious.

“Get her to my dorm.” (Y/N) said, helping Andre pick the shaking girl up. “I can’t heal her here.”

With blood still trickling from both their ears, Andre and (Y/N) began to drag Cate up the steps.

#x male reader #x reader #x y/n #gen v #gen v x you #gen v x male reader #gen v x reader #jordan li #jordan li x you #jordan li x male reader #jordan li x reader #marie moreau x male reader #marie moreau x reader #gen v prime #gen v amazon #marie moreau #andre anderson #cate dunlap #series: doomsday

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vinjaryou · 2 months ago

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As I said earlier, I feel like Tifa relates to Fenrir for the Odin-themed anniversary event currently running in Ever Crisis. I have heard say that she could be a representation of Freya; I've also heard "lol, she's just a slutty cat-girl," to which I ask "why do you hate strong women?"

Tifa is Fenrir for this, as she is ultimately the one Odin would fear most - Fenrir is the one who kills Odin during Ragnarök, after all.

Fenrir is one of Loki's children, and one the gods raised themselves in order to keep him under control lest he wreak havoc around the Nine Realms... but he ended up growing far too large and powerful for them and he was eventually chained up. Relating this back to Tifa, her father raised her as a single parent when her mother passed, with the young girl growing up faster than Brian would've cared for, ultimately running off to try and find her mother in Mt. Nibel. Once she awoke from the fall, Brian tried to keep her close to home, and the boys in town wanted to protect her (despite her being capable enough already of defending herself), up until she met Zangan, training under him and ending up one of his best and strongest students.

Ultimately breaking the chains was when Tifa willingly guided the ill-fated Nibleheim SOLDIERs and grunts through the mountains and to the mako reactor nestled within Mt. Nibel. Biting the hand off Tÿr* could be symbolized (in a sense) of her taking Sephiroth's discarded Masamune to confront him once she found Brian's body - only to be cut down by Sephiroth and mortally wounded.

Fenrir's chains were then bound to stone, a sword placed between the wolf's jaws, where he was fated to stay until the oncoming of Ragnarök.

Tifa was brought to Midgar to be tended to after Nibelheim burned down, and then was bound to the infirmary via her unpaid debts, forced to work them off while knowing the ones who destroyed her hometown still reigned free over her. It was only when she met Jessie, then Barret, Marlene, and Marle, that she gained the strength to break free of her bounds, find her new path,and ultimately be set on the road to Midgar's own Ragnarök in a sense - Sephiroth, the destruction of Shinra, and Meteor as a whole.

Rufus attempted to have her killed to make her an "example" to anyone who stood in his way; she broke free, ran to meet up with the rest of AVALANCHE, and ends up knocking Scarlett off the Sister Ray before leaping to her freedom once more, continuing the fight.

And then we have Doomsday ~24 hours remaining~ - aka, Ragnarök. Meteor is closing in. During the Supernova attack, we watch as Sephiroth destroys the solar system.

In Ragnarök, Loki's children, among others, begin their attack against Odin and the gods. The moon and sun are swallowed up, the stars vanish from the sky (aka Supernova), the earth shakes, and Fenrir's binds are broken.

AVALANCHE is fighting back.

Fenrir goes right for Odin, swallowing him whole and killing him.

Tifa and AVALANCHE kill Safer Sephiroth, while Cloud finishes him off in the final, internal attack.

If we continue on with it, Fenrir is then killed by Odin's son Vidar - one could see this interpreted as the collision of Meteor into the Lifestream sending Tifa plummeting to certain death... until Cloud saves her.

Tifa is given the Gauntlet/Claw of the Worthy, an embodiment of bloody wolf's claws. Granted, her outfit is rather scant in terms of actual armor - part of this is due to the fact that Ever Crisis is a gacha, Tifa prints money, and she is considered a sex symbol. But to discount it as nothing more than a "lol slutty cat outfit" is to discount her strength of character, and the utter fear Odin would have of her to separate her from the others.

Alone? She is strong, but she is also unsure, as shown when she was initially thrown off by the fiends before the bridge to Mt. Nibel. She fought them off, found strength in the memory of her fallen friends (Biggs, Wedge, and Jessie), and went to a place she knew would bring her safety - the mako spring of Mt. Nibel...

...where she is about to meet the others (in Norse mythology, her "siblings" Hel and Jörmungandr, aka Vincent and Sephiroth), and ultimately take down Odin for their own Ragnarök, so that they can all return to their friends and reality.

*Also, a little fun fact - the one Tÿr ultimately falls to during the events of Ragnarök? Hel's hound, Garm~

#don't mind me #final fantasy vii #ever crisis #tifa lockhart #norse mythology #as before please do not take this as gospel it's just my thoughts on it all #also because i am tired of people shitting on Tifa and the outfits she gets at times on EC

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chameleon3 · 3 months ago

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andrew joseph white i love you you will never not be my favorite author so i wanted to share some of his work :)

firstly, ajw writes primarily about queer autistic trans boys in different scenarios which i LOVEEEE

he’s released 3 novels, titles are

hell followed with us

the spirit bears its teeth

compound fracture

and my favorites go in that order exactly 😭

i highly recommend you check out his work because the way he writes and his storytelling is truly amazing

quick synopsis of each (by me)

hell followed with us: a dystopian/fantasy mix about benji, a 16-year-old tboy who flees from his religious cult, whose mission is to destroy the human race. he is taken in by the local LGBT center, who actively fight the cult. but benji has a dark secret he has to hide from his new friends… ��

features: trans and queer main character, autistic side character, many queer and trans side characters, body horror and gore, doomsday cults, religious trauma 😛

the spirit bears its teeth: a fantasy/historical fiction novel set in the late 1800s featuring silas, an autistic tboy who aspires to be a surgeon. but he is one of the few people who has violet-colored eyes, meaning he has the ability to communicate with spirits. after a failed attempt to escape the life he lives in, he is sent to a sanitarium and diagnosed with “veil sickness”. but strange things are happening at Braxton’s Sanitarium and Finishing School… 🤨

features: trans boy, trans girl, autistic characters, fully nonverbal autistic character, historical references (specifically james barry), gore & surgery, supernatural elements (spirits)

compound fracture: set in 2017, miles abernathy is a 16-year-old trans teen whose family carries a generations-old feud with the davies family, traveling back to a coal mine revolution generations ago. while miles tries to gather convicting evidence on the current davies generation, he is horribly attacked by the youngest davies and his friends. while recovering, he accidentally kills one of his attackers. now miles has to deal with hiding the murder, dealing with family matters AND the davieses, and finishing off the rest of his attackers… all while being visited by a strange bloody ghost 👻

features: trans boy, queer and nonbinary characters, autistic characters, questioning sexuality/gender, coming out to parents, painkiller addictions

TW!!!! almost all books contain at least some mention of SA, ableism, and transphobia, as well as hell followed with us containing religious trauma and compound fracture containing drug addiction

ok that’s it here are the covers

#andrew joseph white #hell followed with us #the spirit bares its teeth #compound fracture #ya novels #books #chameleon dives way too deep

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scuttlingcrab · 11 months ago

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Can you pls do a Durge x Raphael after their first kill at the camp? Would LOVE to see what you do with him in that situation. ;)

Thank you for this, Anon! I’ve gotten a few Durge prompts that I hope to fulfil this month, as I’m finally making my way through playing The Dark Urge for the first time! (This run is Durge resisting the Urge, haha) Hopefully by the time they release the new endings in September, I’ll go fully evil. One thing though.. I am OBSESSING over Minthara… so I’m hoping to start writing some fics focused on her real soon because MAMA MIA!

Summary: After Raphael witnesses Tav committing a gruesome murder, he begins plotting how he could use their vulnerability, and lack of memory, to his advantage.

Notes: Warnings for violence.

Link to my other work in the Devil's Archive.

In the Dark of the Night

(Image via red-dead-sakharine)

Raphael spent another night at Tav's camp, lurking from the comfort of the treeline as he watched them eagerly, playing with his fingers in anticipation for what he hoped would be a bloody spectacle. He failed to keep count of how many nights he stood there, spying on them since their first encounter at the Druid Grove.

Far too many at this point, embarrassing even for a Devil’s standards.

He obviously had other imperative things to be getting on with, he would never be able to succeed in uniting the Hells by simply dawdling about and waiting for things to fall in his lap. Though much to his chagrin, being present at that wretched mortal camp slid to the top of his priority list. Even more than his infernal duties and all the discarded contracts that piled up the longer Raphael bid his time. He could practically feel the mounting pressures digging into his shoulders, his knees buckling from the weight of it all.

Then there was the Crown of Karsus, always that damned Crown with Raphael. Since the fall of Netheril, he had been swept away by the promises of glory, of dethroning Asmodeus and occupying his seat of power in Nessus.

The wounds of that fiasco, of letting his father get the best of him, never fully healed. The mistakes played repeatedly in his memory. Over and over. As a lesson and as a punishment.

Raphael cursed all three of the Chosen for wasting the relic’s true potential on an Elder Brain, thinking that alone would aid their plights for total domination. The crime of the millennia. Those damned imbeciles! By the Gods, Raphael laughed, cried, and raged at the notion when he first heard Gortash had succeeded in breaking into Mephistopheles' vault, stealing the one and only artefact he had ever desired.

It would all spectacularly blow up in their faces soon enough. The Crown’s earth shattering waves, its raw power, could be felt even in his House of Hope as the strength intensified, the doomsday clock proceeding with its countdown. Raphael would be there, watching their work crumble at their fingertips, witnessing firsthand the Chosen's faces warping in horror at their doomed fates.

Despite everything, unseen forces still managed to push Raphael in the direction of those foolish mortals again and again, and towards one individual in particular. The Devil had watched each companion closely, but his obsession grew with Tav. No magic or potion could dislodge them from his waking thoughts in the days after the Nautiloid crash, or rid them from invading his dreams.

In truth, the other companions were dull, uninspiring, and Raphael quickly discarded them like a worthless piece of garbage. Of course, he could use their souls, he would never say no to that, but he had no interest in going out of his way to secure a deal when Tav offered him so much more.

At their first meeting, Raphael instantly recognised the rotting strength of Bhaal oozing from Tav, his nose twisting in repulsion from the memories the smell elicited. Yet something was different about them, unlike the other Bhaalspawn he had come in contact with. He couldn’t quite place it at first until he focused on their visage. Their skin was pale and their eyes bloodshot, flashing nervously around the room, as if they heard voices scratching against their skull.

When was the last time Tav killed, truly? Made a glorious sacrifice in the name of Bhaal? He had never seen someone suffer such a withdrawal or resist Bhaal’s murderous temptations. They could only go on for so long until something snapped, satisfying their urge, and quieting their God.

Something big was brewing and Raphael wasn’t going to miss a moment.

Raphael peeked his head through some bushes as he gave the camp another once over, his eyes darting to Tav near the campfire. They still remained lying on their bedroll, sleeping soundlessly.

Without notice, Raphael’s skin prickled and he stiffened, holding on to the nearest tree trunk as his chest spasmed. His upper body continued to be yanked forwards in an abrupt, and rather rude, summons.

“Korrilla…” Raphael hissed.

He clenched his jaw in anticipation, loud drumming filling his ears as he flickered in between the forest at the campsite and his House of Hope. The two locations could not have been more different, the contrast assaulting his senses. Images of Korrilla filled his vision as he was pulled further from the mortal plane. She stood in his central chamber, arms crossed and impatiently tapping her feet.

“You are late for a meeting, Master.” Korrilla warned, her voice rattling through his head.

“I am busy.” Raphael growled, practically tearing the final syllable apart in his mouth.

“I can keep them waiting for only so long before they will start asking questions… I do not want to hear your complaints when they retreat back into their Iron Tower.” Korrilla raised an eyebrow as a final plea.

Raphael paused as the pair engaged in a staring contest.

“Very well. Tell Dispater I will be with him shortly. I am willing to forfeit a few more souls to appease him, that should be an effective enough apology for the Archdevil. I will join you once I am finished with this prospective client.”

With that, Raphael viciously snapped his fingers, cutting off any further communication with the Warlock.

Raphael groaned, removing his hand from the tree. The wood was scorched, leaving a deep charred imprint where he had grasped it. His fingertips still sizzled and he blew on them, hoping to cool himself down. Let the Lord of Dis wait. This was far more pressing. He rubbed his temples, blinking away the rest of the discomfort from the summons, the world around him finally stilling.

He peeked through the bushes again and gasped, his heart dropping to his stomach. Tav was no longer sleeping, but stood tall. They were speaking to a bright-eyed Tiefling named Alfira, who had only just joined the camp. The other companions around the campfire, Shadowheart, Astarion, and Karlach, remained lost in their dreams, undisturbed by whatever conversation the pair were having.

Raphael’s scalp tingled as goosebumps ran down his spine and across his arms. And he had nearly missed it! He held his breath, remaining frozen in place, on the off chance Tav might hear his quickening heartbeat.

Alfira smiled at Tav, looking at them with adoration and warmth, seeming to have an overall pleasant exchange. As she talked, Tav reached for the dagger at their belt, slowly unsheathing it. They aimed it at the Tiefling’s throat, unmoving as their knuckles grew whiter from squeezing the hilt. Alfira jumped back, arms out wide in shock. She laughed nervously, eyes dancing between the dagger and Tav.

The poor thing...

Raphael barely saw it, the movement was smooth, swift, and clean; faster than lightning, but the damage was done before Alfira could even register what happened. Within seconds, her eyes grew in terror, nearly bulging from her head as a cut appeared across her throat. She held onto the wound as blood began to gush through her fingers, quickly soaking her dress. She opened her mouth, attempting to call out for help, for anyone, but she never had a chance to utter another word. Alfira collapsed, falling onto her back. Tav lunged at her, as if caught in a trance. Their stabs were deep and personal, and seemingly never-ending. They somehow found a new spot to dig their dagger in again and again long after Alfira expired.

Blood rushed to Raphael’s head, his ears pounding like war drums as Tav began gutting the Tiefling. They proceeded to use the gore spilling from Alfira to paint the markings of Bhaal around the corpse.

So the deed was done. It all happened in a matter of minutes, but to Raphael it felt like hours had passed as he observed from the shadows. He couldn’t pull his eyes away from the scene, they sparkled with curiosity and acclaim for the sheer skill of the murder. And for the possibilities that awaited him.

With the dagger back in its sheath, Tav stood as still as a statue, their arms outstretched, basking in the kill.

Raphael took a deep breath, running his hands through his hair. The second act was about to begin.

He would need to compose himself before making a grand entrance, otherwise it would scare Tav away. His usual flair for theatrics might not suit their tastes on this occasion; he needed to ease their nerves, guide them back from the spell they were under and use that to his advantage.

Snap!

Raphael teleported behind Tav, sitting casually on one of the massive boulders next to the campfire.

“You are quite the artist.” Raphael began, crossing his arms in front of him. “I should applaud you, but I’d risk waking the others.”

Tav twirled around, drawing their dagger at his sudden appearance. Recognition flickered in Tav’s eyes and the weapon staggered for a split second as they nearly lowered it, but they quickly changed their mind. They took a step towards Raphael, the dagger aimed at his heart.

Raphael raised his hands as an act of surrender, he wouldn't dare trigger another murderous episode so soon. Though, he let that thought remain… wondering if they would go so far as to massacre their entire camp?

“I must admit, I was rather taken by your commitment and overall execution. The nature of your work always piqued my interests. Although I don’t think I could ever stomach something such as…” Raphael tilted his head towards the corpse. “Truly, it was an honour getting to see a master perform such barbarity in the flesh.”

Raphael rose from the boulder, giving his deepest bow as a sign of respect.

Tav turned around, only just realising the body behind them. They backed away from it, dropping the dagger as their hands trembled.

“I… huh? No. No! W-what is going on? What is the meaning of this? Is this one of your cruel jokes, Devil?”

“A joke? Hah!” Raphael promptly covered his mouth as the laughter escaped his lips. He looked around the camp cautiously, waiting for at least one of the companions to stir, but they all remained asleep.

He resumed, in a quieter, hushed tone.

“No, no, my murderous friend, there is no blood on my hands. See?” Raphael twirled his digits, taking a moment to admire his nails amid the glowing campfire. “Look carefully, the evidence is all around you.”

Tav’s head dropped to their hands, their eyes deepening with dread as they took in all the blood. They desperately tried to wipe away the evidence on their trousers, their nightshirt… but it remained stuck to their skin. They fell to their knees, grabbing their head and pulling at their hair.

“Oh Gods… NO! I-I don’t know… no…I… it makes no sense, I was only…”

Shadowheart stirred in the sleeping bag next to Tav. Warily, Raphael raised his index finger to his lips.

“Hush now, else you’ll rouse the entire camp. I don’t imagine you’d find that very helpful.”

“This is all a nightmare. Yes. A nightmare. This whole thing, it’s not real. No. Nothing is real. You’re not real. I’ll wake up and everything will be back to normal. That’s it. You’re OK. You’re OK…”

Tav folded into a ball, holding on to their knees as they rocked back and forth, muttering nonsense. Raphael titled his head, his face a mask of serenity but his eyes burned, radiating with excitement.

“Do you have no memory of… ?” Raphael pointed towards the corpse.

Tav shook their head, staring coldly at Alfira’s body.

“I… I don’t remember anything. Nothing. Not from tonight or before that fucking crash. I barely know who I am. It’s like I never existed.”

Tav’s face curled with distaste at the situation, their eyes glazing over in resignation. Countless opportunities flooded towards Raphael like a dam bursting, nearly knocking him over. Oh, the things he could do with this newfound knowledge, how he could shape and mould Tav as he saw fit. How utterly delicious.

All he had to do was snap his fingers and their memory would be restored… It was that easy. But the truth would destroy them. They weren’t ready to learn what they were, what they were capable of. They’d self-destruct, surely. Dooming all his future plans, the thousands of years he spent planning, scheming. No, it was not a gamble he was willing to take. Not yet.

“Perhaps I can be of service then?”

Tav slowly looked up at Raphael, their eyes concentrating on him.

“You’re unfortunately too late.”

“My, we give up easily. The body. Allow me to dispose of it for you.”

Tav opened their mouth, their forehead scrunching.

“I don–”

Raphael raised his hand dramatically above him, cutting their words short as he prepared his thumb and middle finger.

Snap!

Alfira’s body disappeared in a flurry of sparks. Tav jumped back, suppressing a scream at the sudden fiery display.

“I’ll give you this one for free. And mind you, this is entirely an altruistic act. I don’t ever want to hear you or any other mortal say a Devil can’t be sympathetic again.”

“Why…?”

Tav’s eyes filled with tears as they looked away from Raphael, shaking their head in confusion. In denial. The Devil kneeled down, placing a comforting hand on their shoulder, squeezing it lightly. He allowed his fingers to soak up the warmth from Tav, leaving his hand to rest on their body for perhaps a second too long.

“Merely a taste of what’s to come, of what I can offer you in the days ahead. The next one will come at a price however, which we can negotiate in due time.”

“And my memory…?” Tav sniffed, their eyes locking with Raphael’s.

"It will return. You might not want to know who you really are, in the end. But when you’re ready, I will find you. I’ll be watching.”

Raphael stood up, patting away the dirt from his knees.

“Oh, I’d wash the blood off your hands if I were you. And maybe get rid of that little shrine to Bhaal while you’re at it. Your companions will be asking questions in the morning and you don’t want to cause any more suspicion.”

Snap!

A flaming portal appeared behind Raphael, leading straight to his Chamber of Egress.

He made one final flourishing bow to Tav, before turning away from them and walking through the gateway.

"Oh, the fun we’ll have." Raphael whispered, humming a tune as he disappeared. "Together, we’ll paint the town red."

#bg3 raphael #raphael the cambion #baldurs gate 3 raphael #raphael bg3 #raphael baldur's gate 3 #the dark urge #raphael x durge #bg3

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