#but i am now actually certain my bloodline is cursed

[sophiethewitch1]

just got officially diagnosed with dissociative identity disorder today. don’t really know how to process it. well, incorrect i have a new book idea and the main character has did BUT OTHER THAN THAT! i don’t know how to process it. I mean like, I thought I had multiple personality disorder when covid happened but then it just sort of... went away. Anyways turned out I was taking medication for it accidentally (for anxiety instead) which is why it lessened but like. Wow I really am a main character how exciting (jk i dont know how to deal with this).

[narcoticwriter]

Albedo Does Not Make AI Art.

@eujean

I'm sorry.

Okay, so since this pricked my brain the right way, you're getting something akin to a spontaneous essay. Firstly and foremostly, we must ask and answer these questions:

What is artificial intelligence given our own understanding of it and does Albedo apply?

According to this article, it summarizes AI as "the science and engineering of making intelligent machines, especially intelligent computer programs" (IBM). So operating by the definition of intelligence as being 'smart' or 'knowledgeable', we can say that being intelligent means being able to 'think' in some capacity.

This image above is what the artificial intelligence (AI) of our day does and there are three distinct levels of it. For the purposes of this, we'll be focusing on the 'deep learning' section as it is the most relevant.

The definition of deep learning is described as "a type of machine learning and artificial intelligence (AI) that imitates the way humans gain certain types of knowledge" (TechTarget).

So in this sense, it would be right to maintain that Albedo is artificial intelligence, but if you look a bit deeper, you wouldn't be right about that. You see, the way that deep learning works is actually a vast process as there's one thing that AI has that Albedo doesn't: access to an infinite amount of data across a digital space.

Deep learning machines are mostly used in facial recognition technology and are rarely applied anywhere else, so to make the case that Albedo is AI on our level is almost an insult.

What is an artificial human and how does Albedo view himself?

Now, as I do not care much for lore at this moment, I will simply reason through this question while making little checks here and there with certain media.

Based on what I've seen and what I know, I believe that an artificial human is something that has a human-like appearance and human-like desires as well as is constrained to certain human limits. AI, as we went over, does not have these biological limits of having limbs and human needs.

As a comparison, I would like to point you to Albedo's day-to-day life. He has a sister, a job, friends, hobbies, and skills that he picked up from being with the Knights of Favonius as well as his core desire of wanting to "find the truth of this world".

This ability to maintain this balance of life as well as his own wants is very human-like in the sense of how people live, but can arguably be seen as something akin to AI in the sense that this want is a final task given to him by Rhinedottir and he is mostly doing that.

However, I would make the argument that he is more of an artificial human (or homunculus, as he says) as he is able to set those aside for other things he likes to do, like cooking for friends or painting. He uses painting as a way to understand the world around him, but also for other things like commissions and illustrations for books. And I'm not even touching his emotions because time and time again, he has shown that he has them, though they may not make themselves known immediately.

This, in my opinion, is what makes him very much human, though he insists on himself being an 'imposter' or 'something dangerous'. As he is able to think for himself and do things without being prompted or fed the information from Rhinedottir, I do not think he is as dangerous in the sense that he will be 'ordered' to cause harm as much as his search for answers might inadvertently harm others.

Can Albedo be called human in this regard and classification? I'd say so.

Would Albedo be classified as artificial intelligence, an artificial human, or something else entirely?

I am clearly rambling at this point, but let's also remind ourselves that the definition of 'human' in Teyvat is ambiguous at most. It can be as broad or specific as you want, given the varying bloodlines, powers, curses, and the like that exist, even down to physical looks, but the truth is, it's too questionable to be reasonable.

But there is one thing we can say with confidence, and that is that a human must have a soul (thanks, Brotherhood) and this requirement is where Albedo . . . does not fall short of at all.

I did not watch the story quest and I may not do so for quite some time, but Scaramouche seems to see a gnosis as a 'soul' and therefore his humanity. He was made with the purpose of hosting one and feels lamentation at being incapable of doing so. Somewhere along his storyline, he gets a Vision, this being treated as his soul. So if he considers a Vision a soul, is it fair that Albedo's Vision can be treated the same?

I say no, actually. Albedo's desire to discover and understand was around a lot longer than that and the Vision is a physical manifestation of that desire (from what I understand, I made a post about it a while ago). In that sense, from what I speculate, this is similar to an AI's goal or purpose. But it can also be seen as human in the very same way because this goal while being on top of the list, isn't completely immovable and incapable of being shoved aside for anything else.

Another point I want to make is that he sees himself as 'flawed' in a way given his mark on his neck, but Paimon (I think) interjects with the flaw making him more 'human' instead of the perfection Subject 2 was seeking. This implies the philosophical view that humans are naturally flawed and Albedo does exhibit those traits. AI can do the same as it is learning things for the first time and running through tests, but this is honed to perfection as opposed to being human.

For you see, humans are never perfect in any sense. They make mistakes, they mess up, and they do things that harm and make things worse. We can try to learn from it, but it's never a guarantee that it will always work, thus giving to the school of thought universally known as trial and error.

Albedo heeds to this reality with his entire being, seeking the answers as well as perfection in his work, but he is also flawed in the sense that he himself isn't considered 'perfect' or 'the final product'. This flaw sets him apart from being an artificial human and artificial intelligence and puts him in another category entirely.

With this out of the way, we have to ask ourselves one more question:

What is AI art, how does it work, and does Albedo make it?

AI art is defined as "art generated with the assistance of artificial intelligence" and again tries to "mimic human intelligence or even simulate the human brain through a set of algorithms" (Artland).

This (based on everything we know already) means that the algorithms scour the Internet in order to generate these pieces of art, but here's the thing:

We do the same thing almost naturally. Do we not search for references and build upon those in order to create? Are we not inspired by others and our environments? AI art itself in this sense is almost . . . like us. But at the same time, it uses other art without permission or acknowledgment so it is not art, but sacrilege.

And Albedo does not do that.

He uses the world around him and the questions he has in order to create. He does not pluck other examples from other pieces of work and pass them off as his own, but observes the natural world and his subjects on the canvas. He is not controlled by a program or a goal, but lives his life with it in mind and goes outside of it to truly experience the world. I mean come on, he said that he likes doing it, for fuck's sake. He may have started doing it to gain an understanding, but now it's because he enjoys it.

TL;DR: Albedo can't make AI art because he's not AI, but an attempt at what it is to be human, just like the rest of us.

---

. . . this got long. But I've made my point.

[legendarybelmont]

The CV3 gang + Dracula for the meme? :>

FINALLY getting to this one, god im so sorry lmao ive been distracted by a certain funky new interest

okie dokie, first up: trevor!

favourite thing about them: uuh okay so basically everything but to pinpoint something specific: his personality? peak. hes a DISASTER. kind of an asshole prick. and i love that! its so good because get this: trevor is, in a way, the Quintessential Belmont, hes the blueprint as far as chronological goes (ignoring leon because he kind of doesnt exactly fit the dracula-stabbing mold im afraid) and he sets mad shit up, he literally befriends the series Big Good. and yet hes still a jerk. hes obviously flawed. hes the blueprint for a bloodline of noble heroes and yet hes so obviously human! hes a guy! hes kind of a bastard, prone to a stupid mistake or two, and of course even then hes still very much a Good Guy. hes loyal, has a strong moral compass, is generally friendly when hes not being a total bitch... you get it

least favourite thing about them: netflix. other than that there is nothing wrong with him. except he deserves better tbh i mean hes kind of underrated? for being the mc of the best classicvania and as i said, Quintessential Belmont, as well as kind of just seeming like the kind of character fandom would latch onto, hes not really talked about much unless its netflix!trevor. on one hand im glad he gets left alone mostly, but on the other its kind of a shame :(

favourite line: "INCINERATE!" but actually, im really fond of all his really bitchy lines to hector. "For one that served under Dracula, you seem much too weak." and "Be that as it may, I am the one who shall vanquish him, your meddling is unwelcome. Leave him to me!" (note, i love how he just Keeps Going when he talks, my man cannot end a sentence or take a pause for the life of him)

brOTP: so that i dont repeat the same thing too much, lets go with hector & trevor! i think they could be good friends :>. julia too, trevor has no qualms about hanging with witches considering he married one (but trevor & grant have my whole heart im sorry)

OTP: trevor/grant/sypha/alucard :D but if i had to pick just one, then i guess it would be trevor/sypha, since. its canon

nOTP: iiii cant really think of one? other than the complete obvious. there are some ships i dont really vibe with but nothing i dislike enough to go full on "fuck no" for.

random headcanon: a version of the events from each casino type game trevor is in did happen, because the idea that he kicked draculas teeth in that many times is really funny. angela from the pachinko or whatever is his friend who he has literally never mentioned to anyone ever because he forgor :)

unpopular opinion: i dont really know whatd be unpopular? lmao

song i associate with them: Belmont the Legend, pretty obviously, but moreso than that: Beginning! i think it fits the vibe of "silly whacky group of friends who may be kissing go on a magical adventure to knock draculas shit sideways". as for actual songs, uh, ummm. Hell's Comin' With Me by Poor Mans Poison :p

favourite picture of them: gotta be one of these

now for best boy grant

favourite thing about them: his friendship with trevor!! very cute it makes my brain explode

least favourite thing about them: konami why did you put him in the basement? give him back now

favourite line: "I can help you a lot because I am very fast." he can help me a lot because he is very fast

brOTP: grant & trevor obviously! but grant & sypha is peak too, they bond over their shared stupid idiot. maybe he could befriend hector because of all the stealing hector does?

OTP: same as ever, trevor/grant/sypha/alucard, but to pick just one itd be grant/trevor

nOTP: havent got one lmao

random headcanon: hes a good cook! he made trevor the curry that you can steal from him in curse of darkness

unpopular opinion: more interesting than sypha tbh im sorry but he is

song i associate with them: i dont really have any :( but he can share beginning?

favourite picture of them: love the sotn fake grant sprite i really do

and sypha time

favourite thing about them: i think its really cool how she serves as the template for a whole bunch of characters after her :D yoko, charlotte, juste, etc etc, lotsa magic users

least favourite thing about them: very underutilised, for someone whos basically trevors main partner as far as canon goes :( also most of her designs suck

favourite line: "I'm Sypha, the Vampire Hunter." awful translation aside, this implies she might have a reputation that trevor would know of. whats her rep goddamnit

brOTP: sypha & alucard! i think theyd be chill. netflix stay away from me

OTP: trevor/grant/sypha/alucard... and sypha/trevor, obviously

nOTP: yea ive got nothin

random headcanon: her and grant barged into julias cabin very soon after curse of darkness concluded demanding to know where trevor was, and the misunderstandings were glorious

unpopular opinion: shes kind of the least interesting to me of the cviii cast... which isnt actually saying much because shes still really interesting, but just less so than the other three. the cviii-ers have a lot of really interesting vague shit its funny

song i associate with them: none, again :(

favourite picture of them:

and now we get to mr. popular, alucard

favourite thing about them: the existence of the secret boots is peak storytelling lets be real here

least favourite thing about them: as the only person in the world who sees alucard as more of a cviii character than a sotn or sorrow character, i wish we got more content of him with his original gang. that isnt netflix. and includes grant.

favourite line: can i go with an unused line? "Farewell, Father. Believe it or not I shall miss you." if not then uhhhh "I'm interested in this."

brOTP: alucard & sypha all day but tbh. arikado & yoko has such potential. arikado & hammer also

OTP: trevor/grant/sypha/alucard, but also just alucard/trevor

nOTP: i dont care if anyone else ships it but alucard with any belmont other than trevor just does Not do it for me for some reason, also mariacard because i just dont care lmao i prefer the sibling dynamic with richter for her

random headcanon: circa 2035 he just puts his neutron bombs in his sink he doesnt care anymore

unpopular opinion: in my heart he belongs with the cviii idiot group the most

song i associate with them: The Tragic Prince! and for not bgm, I'll Know by Red Vox

favourite picture of them:

aaand finally, unexpected suggestion, draccy boy himself

favourite thing about them: hes so fucking stupid how on earth did he fumble leon belmont of all people THAT HARD

least favourite thing about them: half of his designs are peak and the other half kind of suck ass. case in point what the fuck is the crotch mouth on that one final form

favourite line: "Ah, sarcasm." bitch what the fuck are you on. im pretty sure thats just how alucard talks

brOTP: dracula & death friends till the end

OTP: uhhhhh i have no idea! maybe dracula/tomato juice

nOTP: once again i have no idea aside from the obvious

random headcanon: he had a nintendo switch in the year 1455

unpopular opinion: what the fuck is an unpopular opinion for dracula ermmm i guess that i think that his one form in cviii where hes just a mass of melted heads is really fucking cool

song i associate with them: A Toccata Into Blood Soaked Darkness!! peak dracula theme, sweeps Dance of Illusions tbh. Proof of Blood as well (i love Old Enemy but the wraith isnt really dracula to me)

favourite picture of them:

[outofangband]

I’m extremely distracted right now and the lack of a detailed timeline between Húrin’s initial capture, him being taken to Haudh-en-Nirnaeth and the time the curse was officially placed on him AND what exactly was going on in Hithlum as all these things happened makes it difficult to say for certain but I’m thinking randomly of this

“And (Morgoth) bade Húrin to look West towards Hithlum and to think of his wife and his son and his other kin. ‘For they dwell now in my realm’ said Morgoth, ‘and they are at my mercy.’ ‘You have none’ answered Húrin” (“The Words of Húrin and Morgoth”)

And then

“Morwen (Brodda) had seen once when he rode to her house on a foray but a great dread of her had seized him. He thought that he had looked into the fell eyes of (an elf) and he was filled with a mortal fear lest some evil should overtake him. And he did not ransack her house nor discover Túrin, else the life of the heir of the true lord would have been short” (The Departure of Túrin) Other post on this here

To be clear I’m not really going say anything particularly profound here I am mostly just thinking out loud about communication between Morgoth and his allies.

Morgoth knows that Húrin has a wife and son (this is clearly before Niënor is born). Whether he knows this from his spies similar to how he knew the story of Húrin and Huor’s return from Gondolin or he knows this from his ability to See or another way is not clear.

The reason I bring this up is because I’m wondering if Brodda and the other invaders had any knowledge of this from Angband or if Brodda really was just so terrified of this starving pregnant woman that he knew about the ‘heir to the true lord’ (who he apparently would have killed, so casually mentioned but just awful implications) but couldn’t bring himself to look for him

I also wonder how Morgoth would have felt about this. This is most likely before he actually curses Húrin’s family but if Túrin was killed, I don’t think that bodes very well for Morwen (and thus Niënor too). I don’t know what Húrin would be like with even less to lose or live for so early on or what his captivity would entail.

If somehow Túrin was killed but Morwen wasn’t, (I genuinely shudder to imagine what would have happened to the both of them I Brodda hadn’t been scared off. I doubt Morwen would have simply let him murder her son but she’s in a particularly nasty double bind where risking herself also risks unborn Niënor)

would Morgoth have just cursed her, especially if he knew about unborn Niënor? I’m not sure, Morgoth seems to have a preoccupation with primogeniture and bloodlines.

Again, this isn’t meant to be a detailed analysis or anything, I just have way too many thoughts. I’ll stop for now before I go on forever

Oh that reminds me at some point I want to talk about how the invader’s dehumanization of Morwen made her situation potentially more dangerous (edit: I did)

And this post here

Note: I wrote the quotes from memory because my copy of the book is in my backpack across the room for me and I’m so if there are any mistakes in the wording I apologize

[incorrectdmp]

DMP SERIES FINALE PT 2 OUT OF CONTEXT SPOILERS

well. it’s the end of an era. can’t say this is gonna be the *last* ooc spoilers because i may do one for the epilogue and i ever decide to do another full binge of the show i may go back and do all the episodes before i started doing these as a fun lookback/theme of the binge to separate it from my last but. we sure are here and at the end.

BUT FIRST, blog update:

before we start i wanna say my game plan going forward is in fact to keep up this blog. again, sorry for the lack of maintenance outside of OOC spoilers while prep for the finale happened, as you saw there was. a lot. i’m gonna say i’m gonna truly start giving this blog a fresh coat of paint and repairs IN THE NEW YEAR, because i need some time to crash and also it is in fact the holiday season.

I’ll probably be fixing the tag guide more thoroughly than last time i did, and start dedicating some actual time to finding more quotes and gaining a more fresh and up to date backlog. most of my quotes in the backlog are very much the dynamics and circumstances as they were late s3/early s4 and i wanna make sure everyone’s development shines through. i may add some new tag categories to specify whether this is during void or post-void interactions, as certain characters are not able to interact during post-void, and circumstances changing allows for certain things to be more likely to happen.

and finally for updates, i’ll put this behind a spoiler as it is episode spoils:

i will be adding a chaos van tag. if chaos van ends up being an actual project that happens i am more than willing to continue doing incorrect quotes for it, and it will probably feature a fuckton of new characters to add to this blog. i will probably have to separate tagging into two distinct groups: one for dmp and one for chaos van if this does indeed happen, but for now when i make the chaos van tag it will be stuff pertaining to the hypothetical interactions and vibes of that ending, until an actual project may be more on the horizon or a possibility.

anyWAYS on with M E M E S

Charlie dies of Typhoid

Cant believe gcmillicutty is fucking dead

LET THE DOG IN GUYS THEY WANT IN THEY SMELL PRISONER’S DILEMMA 

Sad ste D: 

Dmp is my favourite anime

THIS SURE IS SOME JRPG FINAL BOSS SHIT

Chicken goat eboy body

Alex gets a splitscreen of him talking to himself

CHILD ANGY

Ezra be like: “one of us had to be drawn from a cursed angle and it’s gonna be me”

Charlie’s reached it. Her final form. 

Charlie is finally free of redesigns

Wow i love Hopes and Dreams from the hit indie game Undertale (2015) by Toby Fox

Time to bullshit a cosmic horror story with the POWER OF FRIENDSHIP BABEY

ITS CHARLIE’S TURN TO BREAK THE FOURTH WALL

This is the only time charlie’s won in her entire life

GEEEEEEET DUNKED ON

FUCK the black stars, all my homies hate the black stars

“The black stars aint shit” -stephen

Black stars smoothie

Cant believe charlie just adopted ezra from her rat NFT bro brother

Thorin, an 8 year old child, be like: “yeah ill keep my memories of dying dozens of times because i wanna watch scary movies”

Ezra be like: “can i have anime wings pls”

Longinus selfie stick

One final “you have ten minutes”, just to fill everyone with primal fear

GET IN THE BACK STE

EZRA BE DAMMED IF HE HAS TO BE IN THE BACK FOR ANOTHER GROUP SHOT

Percy is 100% not aware he was not in frame

Stephen has the mii music playing in his head at this moment

One doc smile, as a treat

Stephen is a smart man, but every minute he spends with the awakened they rub off on him and he loses another brain cell

CG be like: fuck this shit i’m out

VALEZRA MIXTAPE IS FIRE

The crane/reid bloodline now spans MULTIPLE UNIVERSES

The pen is mightier than the sword but nothing is mightier than these hands

Valezra be like:

On god? On god. (you cant see it but im crying)

EZRA BE GETTIN THAT PRINCESS PEACH

King jock jock

CHOCOLATE THUNDER AND CARAMEL CHAOS

ITALIAN MUSIC FOR EZRA REPRISE

The crane/reid family: known for FIGHTING GODS

And then doc’s heart grew three sizes that day

I cant believe sprite’s gonna have to be brought to pravum

Artorius ponders the orb:

Artorius “penis hands” lynch (no i cannot BEGIN to explain the context of this)

Ezra Crane: Prince of Bel Air

Bring technology into pravum, but not enough to kickstart capitalism

Hailey gets infinite god power: asks for a ham sandwich

BYE HOES

T MOBILE NEVER DIES

Hailey giving yugo gambling info like

SO LONG CAPTAIN LASAGNA o7 

Damn you hailey making me think my phone is winning

Yugo playing the long con, waiting 7 years to plan that phone call

Its better than being a colour

Coffee and prunes

Ive never cried more over mac and cheese and hot dogs

HONORARY DETECTIVE HERNANDEZ

Wow smh juniper CANT just live in the void?

Dorkus Fucking Dies.png

Yknow what, fuck you *unkills dorkus*

Fish soul got SNATCHED

TREE BROTHERS

Theres no choice, doc told you to. You have to now

SOUTHERN MOM RETURNS

Dorkus slides in on heelies like

Ranch (not farm)

Percy, like the rest of us, gets to suffer drawing charlie’s redesign

“TIME IS A HUMAN CONSTRUCT ANYWAYS BYEEEEE”

MORE KISS

Grace garden’s priorities: taking the chair with her

The world’s worst heirloom: cutaux 

PAT. THE. HEAD.

Great we got a new handshake meme format

KISS PT WHATEVER WE’RE ON

HES HOME YOUR HONOUR. I WILL CRY. 

Doc told charlie to go to horny jail 

YA TRAUMA IS GONE WITH THE POWER OF GOD

Aaaaaaaallll according to plaaaaan

CG slipped on his ass and was like “yeah i meant to do that”

Get In The Van.

The second worst van in the multiverse

Me since the episode where the van was introduced:

One more stupid ste and stupid percy for the road (literally ig)

Special thanks to our dear friends kevin mcleaod and john bartman

YES CG WE ARE CRYING WHY DO YOU ASK?

And finally:

When i ascended i took dreamland with me

[mon-qi]

OC Storytime!  Krokus Edition

alright, alright, so @kittykittyhunter and @xivuuarath​ (and for good measure I’m tagging @vanoodle​ too because I know you like him) asked me to talk about one of my characters after all and tag them in the post so I am picking my latest abomination creation Krokus and going bananas after the readmore.

So, let me ramble about this chaotic delicate flower here:

SO, Krokus!

I made him last may/june for our tiny TTRPG / DnD group of three. As you can possibly tell, he’s a Tiefling! If you can not tell because you have no idea what a Tiefling is: that’s basically a human given ~demonic~ traits via their ~cursed bloodline~. That’s why they look like hilariously cliché christian devil pastiches, but it doesn’t necessarily make them, you know, bad, it’s just really good fodder for edgy backstories / career paths because people tend to distrust people who... look like THAT.

Anyway, I’m gonna stop right here to say that Krokus has neither fire-resistance (and by that, I mean both actual fire and spicy food, he has the palate of the whitest person) nor a particularly gloomy backstory or career path but both are... eventful I guess?

He was adopted at an early age by a retired adventurer of sorts who just kept picking up weirdo kids and raising them in relative peace, so there’s not much baggage there, what really messed with him though was a certain event that led to him developing his magic, which is aptly called ‘Wild Magic’. What this means is basically that unlike other spellcasters who get their magic from some sort of powerful extraplanar entity like a deity/devil/fey/etc etc. as clerics or warlocks would do, or from their bond to nature and surroundings like druids would, or even from their studies of the arcane, like wizards would... he’s a Sorcerer, which means his powers come from within himself. He doesn’t even have to do anything for it! And that’s part of his problem - he was basically exposed to/infected with... SOMETHING that awakened some chaotic magical energy in him that now really wants to get out, often at the most inopportune times (mostly when he uses his own magic - it’s like the stronger the spell he uses, the more likely it is to trigger a surge of wild magic right after, which can do basically... anything. From making a single daisy grow on his head to turning into a sheep to randomly healing someone to bringing forth a powerful and feared fireball explosion). Blessed with chaos, yay!?

That happened a few years ago when he was a teenager, and since then the wild magic has only grown stronger. While he really would’ve liked to just stay with his adoptive father and help him raise other outcast kids like he has before, he decided it’d be best to not ignore the potentially dangerous wild magic but try and get it under control, somehow. Also, he’s a naturally curious type and when he got the chance to stay with an acquaintance in a big city with lots of opportunities to study magic, he went there, working mainly as a translator for mainly magic-related texts and tomes and trying to study wild magic phenomena in his free time.

That’s where our adventure picked up - he was talked into an expedition that he only joined because of the hope of finding an artifact that could control his wild magic (spoiler: that was a lie. Or rather, didn’t work out). On the way he met his current traveling companions have a lot in common with one another, but contrast quite a lot with him! Feloki is a half-orc devoted to the goddess of life and agriculture and Yinven is a an earth-elemental druid who can and will shapeshift into animals for combat, connoissance or just for kicks. Both are very attuned to their surroundings, good fighters if necessary and healers in general, pretty relaxed overall and open to new experiences, while Krokus is... well, a skinny, weak beanpole who’d REALLY rather not fight because if he does, things quickly escalate. Our group has a saying about our biggest enemies so far that’s like “first they laugh, then they explode” because that’s what happens more often than not... :,) Krokus’ weapon of choice is basically just talking to people and creatures - he almost managed to instigate a goblin rebellion with enchanted grapes as bribes and talk down a dragon and convince it to move elsewhere, tricked some cultists and talked a retired pirate into escorting us to some cold-ass possibly dangerous islands. For his -honeymoon-, no less. He may not look like you typically imagine a 20 Charisma character (but CHA is a highly misunderstood stat and doesn’t = seductive powers but just. Force of will and he has A LOT of that. Also he’s good with jokes and can probably do some passable puppy eyes) but he knows how to talk. On the other hand, when pushed he can do some pretty scary things - his journeys and battles led him to defeat a lot of enemies (which he honestly struggles with, even if none of them were human/-oids) and his magical power only grew from that, ALONG with his wild magic surges... after accidentally summoning his first fireball which could’ve killed our whole party, he learned to control them - but sometimes they still just spill out. He can conjure small illusions, a magical ethereal hand, shoot fire, shape water, teleport with some thundercracks or just chuck random chaotic energy around. Oh, and read minds. Another thing he is pretty apprehensive about and doesn’t know what to do with. Along with his awesome but scary powers growing in magnitude and frequency, he also gained a bit more control over it via... luck. He doesn’t know why but all the randomness seems to be balanced with a ridiculous amount of luck - sometimes in battle, sometimes in daily life. On the other hand, when he made a very generous donation to the goddess of luck, she rewarded him with a good luck charm that just shattered when he relied on it. I guess he really has to learn to trust in whatever he comes up with himself!

Fortunately, his teammates are just relaxed/optimistic enough to just roll with whatever weird crap happens around him. I guess they’re a... grounding influence, haha.

So, uh, yeah, I guess I mostly talked about what’s happened to him so far so let’s count down some weird shit he has experienced or caused:

stunned some ruffians shadowing him and Feloki in a dark alley by loudly and cheerfully greeting them

basically, enthusiastically greeting just about anyone is the first thing he does

asking whoever he’s talking to whether they’re happy working for their boss is the second thing he does lmao

likes to bribe Goblins by offering “magic cherries” (basically enchanted grapes)

casually snatching a wizard’s staff from him while he wasn’t looking. It’s his now.

if fighting humanoids, you’ll bet he’ll not hurt them unless absolutely necessary but just. tie them up, tuck them in, wish them a good night and leave out a scented candle for them while they go about their business scouting out whatever dungeon.

speaking of which, he’s good at tying all sorts of ribbons, ropes, braids etc. While the party was resting once, he spent his part of the night watch absent-mindedly brushing and braiding our half-orc’s luscious hair. It’s calming to him and keeps him focused when he can’t afford to get absorbed in a book.

after parleying with a dragon didn’t work out, in the following battle against it he just... launched both himself AND the whole dragon’s hoard like 15 meters into the air and then started GLOWING like a tiny sun fjdklsa

“calmed” (= scare/confuse) an owlbear by trying to tickle it with a mage hand spell

first politely corrected a slip of the tongue by the BBEG, enraging him into retreating for a moment, and when the guy popped up again to surprise us and threw out ANOTHER one liner, Krokus just. experienced another wild fireball surge and just. kamikaze’d into the guy and pulverized him. RIP, nobody expected that

speaking of wild magic fireballs: that happened THREE TIMES. The chances of that are, technically 1% but Krokus somehow made that a 15%...

randomly grew a third eye during one battle/surge

to the party: “watch out for charm spells, especially today (it was Valentine’s)” himself, later AT the party: /promptly gets charmed and robbed

also at the Valentine party: wins FOUR games of chance in a row, right away, nearly dies from too spicy food

hates the cold, yet is named after a flower that blooms when there’s still snow outside

So yeah. He’s fun to play and I’m curious to see what else he will experience in the future!

[avatarvyakara]

Strands of Webbing

A Spiderverse Fanfic

Prompts 229-240

“‘Tis the Season”

First | Previous | Next

229. Two-Timing

Peter celebrates Hanukkah. It's something he's expected for ages. MJ was the one who celebrated Christmas. Doing both was something they actually enjoyed. Compromise.

The Peter in this world—the perfect Peter—was Catholic. He celebrated Christmas with MJ and Aunt May. No need for compromise, just shared memories. And now Peter is dead, and Aunt May and MJ celebrate alone.

But not…well, not alone.

Because Peter will go and visit them. He will spend the morning with his MJ and Young May, and then in the afternoon he will visit Aunt May and Miles will pop around and the other MJ will likely be around with Young Ben. MJ, his MJ, proper MJ, knows this, and as soon as they find a way to stop the glitching she wants to come too. (But not yet. Peter still glitches. Gwen still glitches. Ham still glitches. He's allowed one last piece of protection for the woman he loves.)

Other MJ always asks him to pass the bread. Aunt May and Miles, who know the story, always pretend not laugh when she does. And they always record it, like Peter records Christmas at home, to share between the families.

It's a strange, jarring dynamic. It's more awkward for him than it is for them, trespassing on the life of the perfect Peter, sitting where he sat. They get a memory of what once was. He gets a guilty reminder that he shouldn’t have this—not this him, anyway.

But he misses Aunt May, and she misses Peter (which Peter, that's the issue, that's always the issue, but they'll never bring it up), and he'll never say no to Miles.

Compromise.

230. Bonus

"Aw, c'mon, Miguel!" urges Peter.

"Sorry, Porquito," says Miguel nonchalantly. "I don't sing."

"Makes sense," says Peni, equally nonchalant.

"Mm? Something to say, kid?"

"Not much. Just that I'm not baiting you."

"You're...not."

"Nope. Because if you really didn't want to sing you'd be explaining it gently to Ham, or you'd go home and Lyla would tell us off for asking. So it's just that you want to be persuaded. Which I'm not doing. Emphatically."

"Right. Which I wouldn't listen to anyway."

"Exactly."

Miguel's rendition of 'Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring' actually moves Aunt May to tears.

231. Abundance

Noir, Pauker, Parquagh, they're all from older times when food is scarcer. The sheer amount of available food that people consume in modern New York every day is a marvel already, but around the holidays? It's insane. It's an impossible luxury.

Which, because they are all working heroes, they take far too much advantage of.

(And because Miguel and Peni and Mayday’s Dad are all fairly well-off by Spider standards, they make sure their companions are well-fed. And as Pauker is literally the only person brave enough to try Ham’s Aunt May’s “world-famous casserole” and Noir actually likes Mercury-fried seaweed and Parquagh has seven siblings and two of their friends comprise ninety percent of the cluster’s tech support, there’s usually plenty of leftovers which accidentally seem to travel home with them without their asking or sometimes even knowing.)

232. Marley

Very well. We shall do this one last time, and that is all.

My name is Ebenezer Parker. I was bitten by a cursed spider from an ancient Hopi idol, and for seven years I have been the one and only Scion Spider. (Yes, I am aware. But Grandmother Spider, who is an aspect of God Himself and who wove the universe in Her webs, has deemed me her grandson and I shall not fail her.) I am certain you know the rest. I...went back to my moneylending business, basically did nothing with my powers for a long while aside from go on midnight runs across the San Francisco rooftops, learned the responsibility that real power commands, refused to use that power as a loophole not to have that responsibility, was visited by a spectre or three—

“You are all...alike to me?”

“Ohhhh no. No, no, nooo. We’re literally Scrooge here?”

“You’re Scrooge. I have a completely different bloodline, thank you very much.”

“Shut up, O’Hara.”

“Prithee, who might this Scrooge be?”

“Right, Shakespeare. Dickens is a while away yet for you, Parquagh. Basically the guy’s a jerk who gets scared into doing the right thing when he gets visited by ghosts of the past, present, and future.”

“Ah. So Time herself appears before him and bids him reconsider.”

“As we are apparently here to do ourselves. For whatever shocking reason.”

“Right. So. Benny, me ol’ piece of coal—”

“Why do you suddenly have a horrible Cockney accent, Parker? We’re in San Francisco.”

“Shut up, it’s for authenticity. Here’s what you gotta know...”

—and was basically shanghaied into becoming a vigilante. Odd, but, well...surprisingly fun.

233. Chick

Hida looks a lot like Peni’s mother, but she can’t be the same person at all. For one thing, she’s all of a year older than Peni. For another, she’s far younger in, well, spirit. More clueless at first, yes, but also more eager. Less tolerant of Peni’s favourite music (“She said it was like a thunderstorm having a heart attack—...you don’t need to laugh that hard, Gray”), but also less likely to judge Peni for her actions as SP//dr (“Plus she actually likes Takara. That seals the deal. Takara’s been calling her okaa-kun when she thinks I’m not looking. Yes you have. Aw, don’t worry, I’m not mad, it’s cute”). And so it’s kind of natural that Peni learns a bit more about her background. For the sake of having something to talk about.

(It’s not replacement. She’s Hida, not her mother. It’s not like the awkward looks Mabel still gets sometimes from the Peters. If anything, Hida seems to think of her as a big sister, sort of. And Jorōgumo has finally started settling down and isn't eating people anymore.)

What Peni is getting at is, she is sorely tempted to mess with continuity and introduce the Gregorian calendar about twenty-six years early in Japan so she can actually get something for Christmas Day for Hida instead of having to wait until some time in January for the Lunar New Year.

(“Um...do you celebrate it, Peni?”

“Well, no. But still.”)

234. Wraith

It was that wreath. That’s when it happened. She went to put a wreath on Peter’s grave, about two years into the Spidering business. A few days after coming home from another dimension. She didn’t need to, but...maybe she could finally let him rest. She’d talked to Peter Parker again, dimensions aside. That was all she wanted.

“Hey. I know it’s a bit past time, but...well, Chinese New Year is coming up, and I thought you might wanna decorate a bit.”

And something must have happened there, because just a few minutes after she laid it down she heard...something. Something she didn’t quite know how to quantify. Like it came from all around her and from inside at the same time. Like it occupied a similar place to her Spider-Sense.

Nonononono—ah-aah-aaaaaaaah-CHOO!

And then, with a voice that was familiar enough to break her heart and fix it again in one go:

Sorry, sorry...but seriously, we’ve been friends since, what, first grade? And you still don’t remember that I’m allergic to pine? Dude. ...Gwen, you’re staring. Why are you staring? You’re freaking me out, Gwen, I don’t get freaked out by a lot anymore but this is doing it. Gwen? Gwenny-Gee? Gwendoly—

“Don’t call me Gwendolyne,” she snapped, and then realized precisely what she’d said and what she’d heard. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god—Peter Parker, if you’ve been alive all this time I am gonna kill you!”

...yeah, about that. Oh, damn, oh no, no, please don’t start crying, otherwise I’m gonna cry and you know how weird it is to cry without a body? You keep expecting tears and all you get is a kind of shudder somewhere around where your pancreas used to be. Look, I—

“I’m so sorry, Peter, I didn’t—”

She didn’t feel his arms. But she did feel his voice. Gentle and soft, not like it was in those last days but more like it was for most of her life.

I know. ...also it was kind of my fault, so, you know, sorry about that too.

“D-damn right it was.”

You’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead, you know.

“Shut up.” But she was smiling again.

Oh, look at that, finally she gets evidence of spectral presences after death, and what’s the big phrase of the day? ‘Shut up’. I shouldn’t have to take this lying down—

“Dammit, Peter, how many of these have you been saving up?”

That’s for me to know and for you to find out. The voice sounded desperately pleased, but still mildly surprised. But...Gwen, you can hear me. You can hear me. What happened to you that you can hear me?

“Well, it’s kind of a long story.”

It’s a Chinese New Year miracle is what it is. Spill, Stacy.

And with a laugh, she settled down on his gravestone to tell the tale.

(Ooh, kink—

“Shut up, Parker, you want the story or not?”

Shutting up now.)

235. Heathen

“I’m Jewish, Noir is Jewish, Mayday and her dad are Jewish (obviously), Pavitr and Roshni are Hindu, Hida is Shinto, Miguel is...Miguel, I thought you were Catholic?”

“Nah. Gave it up when I left the house. Atheist.”

“But you...still celebrate Christmas.”

“Gabriel celebrates. I just get dragged along.”

“...right. Miguel’s an atheist. Peredur is, I dunno, pagan or something. Peni is...what religion were you again?”

“Huífùjiāo. But I can celebrate it if I want to, I just don’t have to.”

“...okay, there’s that. And I have no idea what Ham is.”

"What do I have to do, wear a yarmlke?"

“Right, so that’s eleven orders for Chinese food.”

“Two vegetarian, please!”

“One with extra pork!”

“Behave, Porquito.”

“...fine, extra chicken.”

236. Merry

One of the nice things about being Spider-Man, Miles reflects, is that he gets to be a lot cheekier than he would ever dream of being. Once he finds the confidence.

“Mind if I just...wrap this up?” Good thing he remembers how Peter did it.

“You know, I’d feel less humiliated if you weren’t wearing that hat,” moans Doc Ock, arms bound at her sides and hanging upside down.

Spider-Man adjusts the Santa hat at a rakish angle on his head. “I think it’s cool. You're under citizen's arrest, by the way. Mind if I just make a call?”

“Looks like I’m not going anywhere.”

“Uh, hello, Officer. Got a webbed-up Doc Ock at the corner of Fifth and Main. Yeah, bagel run gone bad. Who’d’a guessed, right? Yeah. Cool. You have yourself a good holiday season, yeah?”

“Why do you always put on that weird voice when you talk to the police? You sound like my high school mentee with a bad cold.”

“Please shut up?” explains Spider-Man.

237. Epiphyte

Something is off about the Boxing Day party in Miles’ world.

“Hey, Goggles? Why is everyone spaced out across the room like this?”

Goggles scratches the back of his neck, trying to edge away without looking like he’s edging away. “You celebrate Christmas?”

“Generally.”

“And you know about mistletoe.”

Cindy stares at him with one raised eyebrow. “Just a little bit.”

“Porker has the mistletoe.”

“...ah.”

“And webs. And is hangin’ around looking for strangers to rope together. This is basically coronation.”

“...basically what?”

Goggles sighs. “Training for fighting. You know, learning how to put up your dukes?”

“Ohhhh.” She laughs. Goggles turns a slightly darker shade of grey. “Yeah, makes sense.” Then she pauses, remembering their conversation a few months ago right when she doesn't need it. (Eidetic memory—sometimes it’s a curse.) “So.”

“Uh.”

“Yeah. I should probably not...”

“I mean...”

She blinks. His intonation is a bit strange. A little nervous. “Peter?”

Warm grey eyes don’t quite meet brown.

"Well, you know—"

There’s a yelp across the room from, of all people, Miles and Gwen, who are now caught in webs up on the ceiling.

“Well, lookie here, I caught a couple a’ lovebirds!” crows Ham.

Peni, standing near Peter, is filming using her phone. She’s grinning. (So is Peter B., who was standing quite close to where Miles and Gwen were standing.)

Surprisingly, they stop struggling shortly afterwards. But they don’t move to kiss.

Instead, Miles’ eyes glow.

There’s a sudden blast of what seems to be electricity, which produces a brief cartoon skeleton of a pig and a mild explosion which ends in two free Spiders.

"OOOooOOooOOhh…I smell bacon…"

The room erupts into laughter.

Miles offers a hand to Gwen, who accepts it and pulls herself up. They walk across the ceiling—

"Nothing to see here, people! Party's still swinging!"

"You're insufferable."

"No I'm not."

—and swing out the door.

"...how long has Miles been able to do that?" asks Cindy.

“Almost ever since I knew him.”

“That’s cheating,” complains Peter B., covered in bits of web.

"Tell me about it," mutters Peni. Then she grins again. "Still, I won the bet."

"You developing fortune-telling skills, kid?" grumbles Peter, fishing in his pocket for what looks like a candy bar.

She smiles, and pockets it. "I might be. Nice save, right Cindy?"

Cindy blushes. "I—don't actually know what—"

"Hey," complains a still-smoking Ham, "where'd my mistletoe go?"

238. Rudolph

“If you think I’m missing this, Peni Parker, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“Addy...I don’t know. I mean, yes, you got bitten, but...I’ve never met another Addy Brock out there. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Addy tosses her head back and offers her friend an easy grin. “Then I won’t get hurt. Simple as that. Trust me, Peni. I know when to pull back now.”

Peni sighs. “Fine. But be careful, right? Follow my lead.”

The red SP//dr enters the hole in space just before the black Ven#m does, and leads the way.

And on the other side—

“Hey!” calls Miles happily, coming over to meet them. “Glad you could make it!”

“...hi,” says Addy, blushing quite pinkly all of a sudden.

Peni rolls her eyes. “Excuse my friend. Addy, this is Miles Morales, Spider-Man. Miles, my best friend and coworker Addy Brock and her Spider Weying, alias Ven#m.”

“...how are you pronouncing that?” asks Ham. “Hey, I thought me and Mister Egg Cream over there were your best friends.”

Gray looks like he’s trying not to grin. Peni can feel a blush coming on herself. “I’ve got four best friends. Addy’s the only one you guys haven’t met yet.”

“Well, welcome to the team,” says Miles easily. “And Happy Hanukkah!”

(“Should I talk him you’re a Zuhariyya Muslim?”

“Nah, it’s okay.”)

239. Confusion

"It's an action movie. With a body count of something like forty."

“It takes place in winter,” argues Gwen.

“Lots of movies take place in winter!” Porker retorts.

“It did have a Christmas song in it,” Miles points out.

“For about thirty seconds! If that!”

“It’s got a heartwarming message about family!”

“The main character dies twenty minutes in!” protests Peter B.

"So who says that guy's the main character?" says Gwen, smirking. "Maybe it's those three students of his, ever think of that?"

"Pfff—come on, you think mister 'strap my guns across my chest with an open trench coat' isn't gonna have a thousand cops on him within about two seconds?"

Peni plops herself down next to Peter on the armchair with a bag of liquorice and nestles against him. “Did we choose a movie yet?”

"They're arguing about whether Hard Death IV is a Christmas movie.”

"…is it?"

"No idea, the last film I saw was A Night at the Opera and you couldn't get further from Christmas if you tried. Could I have some liquorice?"

240. New

Miles wakes up on Christmas morning excited and fresh. He makes sure to give his parents a hug, and they all exchange gifts (what with the new job, crazy as it is, Miles is finally able to buy them something too and isn't that a nice feeling). There's a board game or two. ("I cannot believe that an officer of the law would cheat—" "Now, hang on, that's well within the rules—" "Anyone mind if I add another house to Boardwalk? No? Fair enough." "Rio, honey, you are mean." "And you just landed on Boardwalk, mi amor. Pay up.") They try not to think about Uncle Aaron, at least for most of the day.

Gwen wakes up feeling calm and relaxed. She and Dad talk through their breakfast, and then head out to church. (She doesn't believe, not really, but he does. Besides, then they visit Mom and Peter, the latter of whom actually passes on a message from her mother which she manages to relay to Dad without sounding completely crazy and which nearly has her crying.) After that, the day's free.

Peter wakes up feeling…oddly hopeful. There's a blanket of snow across New York, the soft texture of the drifts as white here as anywhere else in the multiverse. He doesn't visit many people—just goes swinging—it's not his holiday. But it's nice and peaceful out in New York today. The Monkey King, an old Black man named Joe Hogan, is out too, the deep, rich Blue that surrounds him as he jumps along the streets mixing nicely with the warm Red that Peter exudes more and more of since jumping between worlds. They nod, one professional to another, and go their separate ways. (Joe's on his way to visit his grandkids.)

Peni wakes up feeling…okay, slightly exhausted, she only got about two hours' sleep, but happy nonetheless. It isn’t her holiday, but she still does her meditation like she would on a festival day, and joins Aunt May and Uncle Ben (whose holiday it is, both being loosely part of the Arabian Reformationist Church) in the small shelter they built in their living room, decorated with rings of lights, to exchange tokens. They smile at each other, and at her. It’s a good day, with them.

Peter wakes up nice and early, and insists on bringing Aunt May some breakfast in bed. She may be Jewish, just like him, but he can take care of his aunt on this day.

That’s their morning. By the afternoon, things have usually gotten...complicated.

But in the evening, without fail, they’ve got people to talk to.

[maibi]

Dying

Dabi x reader

Warnings: kinda an open ending, sick!reader (pancreas problems), a little bit of cursing, sad topics T_T Might contain a certain spoiler about Dabi’s past.

Summary: based on the story ‘I want to eat your pancreas’ but with my own twists here and there. You were sick and Dabi was able to manage you just fine. He was not the caring type, but maybe he changed a little because of you. Teenager! Dabi and teenager! Reader. (Honestly I really recommend you read the light novel of I want to eat your pancreas, cuz holy shit that thing made me feel so many emotions at once)

“It’s your fault for finding my diary, I didn’t tell you to pick it up”, you said as you were happily walking behind Touya while he clearly told you to stop following him. “I mean who does that? Opening the diary of a stranger? You must have been pretty curious, hm.”

“I opened it because I had to find to owner, no more to the story. And why are you still following me? It’s been three weeks since that incident, get over it”, Touya said annoyed.

“Because, my dear Dabi”, you said as you quickened your steps so that you were in front of him, walking backwards with your face pointing his way. “You were the one that found my diary AND you’re the only one who doesn’t give a shit that I’m dying.”

“First of all, I told you not to call me Dabi anymore and second of all, why are you happy that I don’t care about your death? Aren’t you like, supposed to be sad about that?”

“Ah dear Dabi”, you said again, to work on his nerves, ”you do not understand the brain of a dying person.”

Ever since you found out he had a nickname for his online games, you decided to call him by that name whenever you tried to annoy him. He told you not to use it, but if he really hated it that much, he could have put effort onto stopping you. But he didn’t.

“I thought you had pancreas problems, not brain damage”, he said. You weren’t sure if he was being serious or not, but you being you, you didn’t really care about that stuff. You just spoke your mind.

“I mean, my brain does hurt ever since I met you, but my pancreas is really the one with issues”, you said.

Your first encounter with Touya was in school. Though both of you never really said anything to each other you did see each other quite often. Your real encounter, the one that made both of you talk to each other, was the one in the hospital. You had left your diary on a seat and Touya had picked it up. Because he wanted to know who it belonged to, he had read a part of your story. A story that was only meant for you to read and for other’s to see after your death. A kind of gift you wanted to leave behind for your loved ones.

Ever since then you just kind of stuck to him, not caring what others might think. You had a bubbly personality anyways, people would just assume it was you being nice again. You realized that he didn’t treat you any different ever since he got to know your truth that you had been hiding, the fact you were slowly dying because of your pancreas. And because of that realization you just knew he would be the perfect person to be around with. He didn’t really liked your company all the time and he wasn’t ashamed to tell you, but he never shut you out meaning he probably didn’t mind your presence that much.

“Funny. You know what would be more fun, if you actually left me alone”, he said as he grabbed you by the shoulders and lightly pushed you aside. He quickened his steps and tried to get rid of you. But you were a dedicated person and you would get what you wanted.

“Do you have plans for Saturday?”, you boldly asked.

“Besides reading, no”, he casually answered as you kept walking behind him. You had noticed that he had started walking faster, so you also spend up .

You took a small sprint so that you were walking in front of him again. You stopped walking and turned around. When you did that he stopped in track, looking confused at you. You raised both eyebrows and laughed. He hadn’t caught on and it was pretty funny to see that. “That means you’re free to hang with me, am I correct?”

You knew he couldn’t lie for his life, and that he couldn’t make up an excuse to not spend a day with you. His face scrunched when he realized he had fallen in your trap. You started laughing loudly. “I’ll meet you at the station at 1 p.m. Be on time, you wouldn’t want to make a girl wait now do you?”

He shook his head while closing his eyes. You could tell he wasn’t the happiest about it, because in the end you had stolen his free day. He was the type of person to not be that active. He didn’t like doing stuff, or going out. He liked to spend his days inside with a book or by playing games. Even while playing his games he wasn’t interested in teaming up with others so he always played solo. You laughed at him for it, but he called it independence.

He let out a sigh as he walked past you. “Don’t forget! You refused to give me your number so I won’t be able to remind you through text!”

He stopped walking and took his bag off of his shoulder. He opened his bag, but you weren’t able to see what he was doing. He zipped his bag closed and threw it over his shoulder. He walked in your direction as you tilted your head to the side, looking questionable. When he was in front of you he stuck a sticky note on your forehead. Without saying another word he turned around and left.

You took the sticky note and read what was on there. It was his number. You knew he wouldn’t forget about the so called date, but he still gave you his number meaning he probably enjoyed your presence. “Dabi Boy so cute!” You screamed to annoy him one last time.

“Don’t call me that!”, he screamed in monotone, not even looking back.

You laughed to yourself as you looked at his phone number. you started jumping around while screaming a little bit, making some people turn their faces in your direction. But you didn’t care, you were happy and the world could know this.

You excitedly saved his number on your phone and directly texted him.

“Sick girl texting, bet this is Dabi Boy!”

“I will end your bloodline if you call me Dabi Boy again.”

“So harsh Touya! That makes me sad.”

You didn’t get a response, but you weren’t really expecting one. He was the type of person to only text back when he really felt the need to, but in this situation it wasn’t really necessary.

You were excited when Saturday arrived. You had texted Touya in the morning telling him you’d wait for him. But you being the problematic teenager that you were, came late on purpose. You could feel it, he would call you out for being late because you had told him to not make you wait.

You happily hopped your way towards Touya, who was sitting on a bench with a book in his hand. You plopped next to him and grabbed his arm to get his attention. “So. What’s the planning?”, you asked.

“First of all, you are 20 minutes late and second of all you are the one that set the date so I was expecting you to make the planning”, he said while trying to pull hiss arm away.

“Aha! The answer I expected, but my dear Dabi, that’s not the way to my heart. Try again next time. As for now, I did make a planning so you’ll have to following me”, you happily said.

Of course this wasn’t a date to you guys. He knew this and so did you, that’s why he didn’t feel the need to answer on your remark. it’s not like he wasn’t your type or that he wasn’t interesting at all, it was just that you couldn’t really attach yourself to someone when death was so near to you. Though it was hard, to not feel anything at all.

You allowed yourselves to enjoy today. From walking in the park to eating at an all you can eat restaurant and filling yourselves until you couldn’t even walk anymore. You did everything to enjoy your day and looking at the fact that Touya wasn’t complaining you were sure he was having at least a little bit fun.

“Hmm, what about love interest? What is your type? Or what kind of girls do you fall for, if your interests are limited to girls”, you smugly said.

“Never thought about it”, he just casually said as the both of you walked on the beach with your shoes in your hands.

“Boring”, you sang. “Is there really no girl in class that you think is cute? Come on there has to be at least one person.

“I don’t really pay attention to people I don’t want to engage with. But if I really have to give you an answer, I do think you look cute”, he said without a pause in his sentence.

You felt your face heat up and even if he got at least a little bit embarrassed, he didn’t show it at all. You acted like it didn’t effect you and casually shook it off. “I mean of course you think I’m cute, I look amazing”, you said as you walked in front of him while cupping your face with your hands while you stared at him.

It wasn’t really the best idea to be walking backwards with your instability. Before you knew it you were stumbling over your own feet, but before you could hit the ground Touya had you in his arms to stop you from falling.

You blinked twice, and again, and again. He did exactly the same, shocked about his fast reflexes. He pulled you up, but removed his hands from around your waist the moment you were stable on your both feet. He started walking without another word and cleared his throat.

“Thank you”, you muttered.

There was a long silence while the both of you walked. The sun was setting and you just silently followed behind him. He didn’t slow down for you and you didn’t speed up for him. You followed the steps he left in the sand and noticed how much bigger his feet were. A small laugh escaped your mouth and he confusingly turned around.

“What are you laughing about”, he said. If a random person had told you that same sentence in that tone you would have taken it offensive, but because it was Touya talking you didn’t take it serious.

“Your big toe really is… big”, you said.

He looked at you with a concerned look on his face and that made you laugh even more.

“I mean, that’s why it’s called the big toe?”, he annoyingly said. “You really search for the smallest details to make fun of me don’t you?”

“Well it’s easy to annoy you and your reactions are always priceless. Plus you’re never really offended when I call you out for stuff, that makes it all the more enjoyable. To put it shortly, you’re just able to keep up with my bullshit.”

“God, why must I have been the chosen one. She is crazy”, he said while looking up.

You were quite shocked to see this reaction. He wasn’t the type to say things like this in a sarcastic way. He wasn’t even a person that used sarcasm. So when he said that he kinda just caught you off guard. “He has chosen the words of sarcasm”, you said as if it was a miracle. “You make me prouder with every passing day.”

He looked you dead in the eye, but failed to keep a straight face. You could tell he showed a lot of emotions to you today. You finally understood how his raising eyebrows and slightly widening eyes meant he was excited about something, or how his face tilted up a bit when he had won an argument with you. You were proud to say that you were the reason behind all those expressions and you were happy to have experienced them with him.

You knew deep down that you actually liked him, but telling him would cause a problem. Besides the fact that it could ruin the friendship you had, it could also ruin the fact that he did not care about your death. It was a treasure you held. He was the only one that wouldn’t get sad when your death was mentioned and he was the only one that didn’t judge you for living this way. You didn’t want to loose that. But yet in a way it felt like he didn’t care at all. It felt like your death would mean absolutely nothing to him

He didn’t say anything on that, because he felt the same. He never knew he needed this. He never knew that opening up would lead to him feelings things that not even his books could give him. He was just clueless to those feelings. Calling you cute, was nothing out of the ordinary for him, because for him it was just a fact that could be know, and a not a secret that should be held.

“Oh, let’s watch the sunset there”, you pointed at a place on a rock that was hidden away from the public. He looked at you once before looking at that place. you started walking that way when you received a not of approval from him. “I bet it’ll look amazing”, you excitedly said. “It’s not everyday I get to watch the sunset with you.”

He didn’t budge on your flirting attempt, but looking at his slight rosy cheeks told you you had succeeded in whatever it was that you were trying to get out of him.

The both of you sat on the rock with your face pointed to the view. It was beautiful and it was a good way to end the day. Reflecting on your day with him was something that made you smile. You were able to get the best out of him. The person that did not like taking pictures, allowed you to take selfies with him. The person that was so called emotionless had rosy cheeks when you failed at a flirting attempt. You had seen him smile and laugh. You seen the confusion on his face whenever he didn’t understand something and it was heartwarming in your opinion, because he felt comfortable enough to show you all these emotions.

But here was something you had noticed. Something you had been thinking about, but never brought up. He didn’t talk about you dying for even a little bit. Whenever you brought up the subject, he tried to shake it off. You were confused, but didn’t question it. You were keeping a lot to yourself too so he probably had his reasons.

You tried to lay down on your back as you looked at the dark blue sky, stars almost visible, but just not yet. “Have you ever had your first kiss?”, you asked.

“Nope”, he replied.

“Pathetic”, you said.

“Did you?”, he asked without looking at you.

“Well I wouldn’t call you pathetic if I hadn’t kissed before”, you shrugged,”so yeah I’ve had my first kiss.”

He didn’t respond to that. “Why do you never talk about me dying”, you said.

He saw him tense up, but he didn’t respond. perhaps he didn’t feel the need to answer this, but you didn’t like it. of course it was good that he wasn’t feeling bad about it, but the least he could do was worry.

“I mean, it’s okey to talk about it from time to time, I don’t really mind. I just hoped that you cared at least a little bit. I know I told you that I didn’t like it when people got sad when they saw me, but I feel comfortable around you so I want you to at least care about me and my condition”, you said, in a soft voice.

You had never spoken this silently or with this many sad emotions. You had felt him turn around, but you didn’t look up. He was squatted down in front of you and he tilted your head up with his fingers. His actions shocked you, but he didn’t seem budged by it.

“I do care about you and I do get sad when I think about your future. But because of that I don’t talk about you dying. Because I don’t want you to be reminded of that while you are with me. I want you to only remember good memories when you are with me. So I rather didn’t want to open that conversation. But if you really thought I didn’t car, you are wrong. I care too much”, he said.

He just looked at you with soft eyes and you didn’t know what to respond. Instead of responding, you did something you hadn’t expected. Something that even left you in shock.

You kissed him. And strangely, he kissed you back as if knowing that this was about to happen.

When the both of you pulled away, you had tears falling down your cheeks. “What if I told you I was actually afraid of dying? What would you say?”

His hands were still resting on your cheeks. “I will stay right here with you until the end. I have no intention of leaving.”

[paintedwarpony]

I’d love to know your thoughts on Luthic worship!

ABSOLUTELY. I would be glad to share! This is something that I started to explore as a player myself (but sadly the DM I had at the time seemed to actively discourage creativity) but then picked back up and continued to explore and expand on as a DM myself when one of my own players wanted to work up more orc-ish heritage culture for his own half-orc.

So typically the god that most orcs and half-orcs are associated with is Gruumsh the One Eye, the Ruiner, who in most instances aint a good dude. Specifically in my campaign, running in Matt Mercer's world Wildemount, Gruumsh is a Betrayer God and known to be a savage and brutal warmongerer and pillager, the orc and half-orc army under his command is cursed with equal savagery and brutality.

So two of the many brilliant things that Matt Mercer's world allows for are:

1. Races/Species historically considered monstrous or evil are given the opportunity canonically to be free of that villainous heritage

2. While there is a Prime Pantheon he built in and has made PLENTY of room for Quasi and Lesser Deities.

 

Alot of orcs and half-orcs in Wildemount turn to Kord the Storm Lord as their chosen deity, using his expectations of challenge and strength and sportsmanship as an outlet for the energy and rage thats left behind when breaking from the cursed influence of Gruumsh but I wanted more, "less aggressive" options.

So while exploring a bit about Gruumsh in older editions of D&D and orcs in the Monster Manual I came across little bits and blurbs about his "wife" Luthic. Of course in the info from the Forgotten Realms and older references she didn't have all the best traits but there was surprisingly ALOT of potential to really use Luthic as a benevolent goddess compared to the Ruiner.

Luthic is the orc goddess of home, hearth, family, fertility, wisdom, medicine and caves (and a few other less ideal things but we cherry pick because we can). Her totem is the orc rune for "home" and her animal is the cave bear/bear. She's referred to as "Cave Mother" which is the common deity name I and my player chose to refer to her by (akin to the Wildmother or the Moonweaver). She most associated with the Life and Nature domains. And while Luthic isn't particularly depicted as being soft or kind, her focus is always shifted to being protective of home and hearth, of family and to the health, prosperity and propagation of the family to carry on strong bloodlines.

Those were the biggest themes I decided to run with when it came to those that follow Luthic is their loyalty and protectiveness of their home and family clan, that orcish clans and families that follow Luthic are far more likely to produce Clerics and Paladins than more war-like classes, almost all Luthic followers have knowledge or home training in medicine and fall back of remedies readily.

Arguably Luthic is the reason half-orcs exist at all. One of the “commands” of Luthic is to go, propagate and bring strong young into the world regardless of heritage. A true goddess of fertility, Luthic doesn’t care about the parentage of children as long as they are strong and healthy. Feeding off that I made it a trait of Luthic Orcs to be far more tolerant and accepting of other Races and Species and especially accepting of individuals that are mixed races (wither orc is one of them or not). They are also far more relaxed and willing to seek partners and mates of any gender in other races and species. This makes for A LOT of diversity and mixing of culture as well as racial traits and physical attributes in Luthic Orc clans and families. In my personal campaign this is part of the reason why Luthic Orc clans thrive so well in Xhorhas and under Dynasty rule, where there is a similar mindset concerning mixed race family units and children. (The Kryn and Dynasty canonically embrace and view mixed race pairings and children as blessings and displays of genuine love). So a lot of Luthic Orc clans are made up of half-orcs of a variety of heritages and origins. The strength and bonds built within Luthic Orc clans start very early but they don’t prevent members from scattering to find their own families and places in the world but there is always a desire to eventually return, either for a visit or to knit two family groups into one. All in all this aspect of followers of Luthic make them exceptionally protective of children, their own and any they cross.

While many a villager or adventurer find themselves pleasantly surprised (or outright lucky) to find that some of the best midwives, surgeons, and healers have the surprising origins of being connected to Luthic Orcs or a Luthic Orc clan by some means, worshippers of the Cave Mother are not soft pushovers. A part of Luthic’s mythos and origins was that she was a general and great warrior of Gruumsh’s armies. While they are not the ravagers of the Ruiner’s followers nor the more aggressive tribes that follow the Storm Lord, Luthic devout orcs and half-orcs will without hesitation lay down their lives to defend their families, clans and homes. Often this protective instinct is so strong it extends to the community and/or country an individual orc or half-orc may be from and Luthic Orcs are often exceptionally fierce and revered soldiers and guardians.  

Within the campaign a few of the symbols and signs of worship of Luthic that had come up are holy symbols and totems in the form of bear claws or teeth, either left whole or carved with runes or turned into beads and charms used in any form of jewelry or ornamentation. The use of a bear pelt to accentuate or ornament clothing or armor, use of orcish runes (particularly ones meaning “cave”, “bear”, “home” and “family/clan”) are often embroidered, engraved or embossed on clothing, weaponry or armor as subtle ways to display loyalty to the Cave Mother. Simple shrines are made and often adorned with home and hand made carvings or crafts made of bone, clay, wood, stone, anything natural in the shape of a bear or a female/feminine figure representing Luthic herself. Her most holy day is the Winter Solstice and followers of Luthic gather up their families and closest friends and clan members for a long day and night of feasting around comfortable, roaring fires where familial and communal bonds are strengthened and prayers offered up for a healthy and hearty year to come and that any babes born are whole and hale (as in the more “primal” communities of orcs the winter is often considered the “mating season” as war bands and ravagers hole up in caves to ride out the worst of the winter weather).

Keeping actual bears is not common practice as bears are notoriously terrible pets and difficult to fully train and tame, though some Luthic worshippers that find themselves wandering the world as an adventurer do occasionally challenge themselves with raising a bear cub. Though any bear dens found in non-nomadic Luthic Orc territory are considered protected and to be left alone unless the animal proves to be a danger to the clan or community in some way.  

NOW that all being said I am only just starting my research into Maori culture and traditions and how I can weave it into Orcish and half-orc culture. The Maori have an extremely rich and deep culture and it has so many unique traditions and aspects. A major part of the Maori culture I intend to borrow from is the use of traditional arts. They include whakairo (carving), raranga (weaving), kapa haka (group performance), whaikōrero (oratory), and tā moko (tattoo). The patterns and characters represented record the beliefs and genealogies (whakapapa) of Māori. Tattoo especially will play in a lot into Luthic worshippers especially for clans in certain regions of (my homebrewed parts and cultures) of Wildemount that will display more diverse and influenced cultural traditions. BUT because I haven’t done all the research I want on that subject yet I will at this point refrain from commenting much further on the use of Maori cultural influence because its really important to me to get it right.

I went off on a bit of a ramble but hopefully this was informative! I’ve had a lot of fun developing this stuff for my campaign, characters and players and am glad to share it!

[ignitification]

No face behind the Mask?

* A little rant about AFO and why I think that this individual is a sick trash ass that needs to be punched into oblivion.

AFO is probably the root and cause of the plot which is now unfolding in the BNHA world. He is after all, the creator of One for All, and the one who ‘saved’ Shimura Tenko, shaping him into Shigaraki.

There is a whole another rant I want to make onto how not only AFO might be related to Shigaraki (-> he is the older brother of the first holder of OfA, so is it really a coincidence that the power has ended it in the hands of Nana Shimura, who is coincidentally also Shigaraki’s Grandmother?) and my theory that somehow Deku’s bloodline is, after all, somehow cursed or just strong enough to skip a generation because of all the power his ancestors accumulated [if AFO is revealed to be Deku’s ancestor, I will definitely be on my merry way].

However, there are some clues here and there which tell us that as powerful and atrocious AFO may have been in the past (even more than now), he is not only a big mastermind but he is obsessed by certain ideas and values and he has warped them so much that behind that mask of villain, of AfO, there is nothing left of human in him. That he is unredeemable and that the loss (or lack) of his facial features [potato face] might be an externalisation not only of the experimentation and the salvaging that the Doc has done on him, but as well of the blurred line between his human part (older brother who wanted, even with the abuse and the abominable things he has done, to ‘save’ his little brother) and the part that defines him as AfO. Because, we have to consider that as a person, AfO existed before identifying himself as such. 

To explain myself a bit better, I’ll make the example of All Might, who is blatant in his duality: he after all, lived a double life as Yagi Toshinori, a normal quiet private life as a quirkless person and then he strained himself to become the Symbol of Peace, All Might, detaching himself from the person he was before and somehow emboding the Ideal he wanted to represent. There is a clear difference between Yagi Toshinori and All Might, and if All Might had left behind the identity of Toshinori (as AfO did, abandoning his identity as a Shigaraki), he might have turned out a bit worse than he did when he met Deku (and here comes another rant about the hero complex, but that’s a whole another story). What All Might wears, is nothing other than a metaphorical mask that puts a division of his private life as an individual (Yagi) and his hero life as Symbol of Peace. But under All Might's mask, there is a face, there is a person (who is Yagi Toshinor) and that one is the personality he can revert to, when he stops being All Might. AfO, exactly because there is no face, no person, behind the Mask - wears and lives as AfO and cannot detach himself anymore from his identity of the villains' mastermind and somehow fixes him as an obsessed freak who has issues letting go (funny, isn't it?).

What is worse in this scenario, however, is that AfO throughout identifies with his quirk. The grand words of All for One are not only prophetic, but carry as well a burden and a condemnation. AfO is a selfish creature, that lives for himself only. He thinks that the world is his stage and that somehow everything is owned to him. The world is for him to shape at his own pleasure because everything (All) is made for him (for One). And this reflects plainly in the way he addresses stealing Radgoll’s quirk back in Kamino, where he nonchalantly digresses on how he cannot resist on stealing such a useful quirk when he finds one.

However, this whole story brings us to the prime example of failure, or partial failure, of AfO, who is represented by Shigaraki himself. 

As AfO is not a man anymore, and does not feel anything unless it is related to the quirk, he becomes his figure and shadow that has no limits and bounds when it comes to darkness: a lost figure in his own ideals and principles (maybe dreams) that have nothing to appeal to but his villain side, because there is nothing left. After all, his grudge with All Might is more tied to OfA then the figure of All Might himself, as it represents the only thing he possibly cannot have (and AM is the culmination of things AfO cannot have).

Coming back to Shigaraki: this might sound strange, but I think that Shigaraki Tomura and Shimura Tenko, the same way as All Might and Yagi Toshinori, both live inside of the villain. Let me explain: Shigaraki has been saved by AfO when he was a child because no one else extended him a hand, but at the same time, while AfO was shaping Shigaraki into being a puppet to control at his will without actually doing the job, Shigaraki held on the memories (still closed off in his mind) about what happened to his family. This is made abundantly clear with the hands that Shigaraki carries around all the time. They are a grounding item for him to have, as to remind himself that he is not alone and that Shimura Tenko existed once upon a time. The culmination of his identity (which AfO desperately wants to negate) is after the whole disaster of last arc, Shigaraki still picks up the untouched hand of his father, the one person who failed to ‘acknowledge’ him and puts it on his face. 

The position of the Father’s hand on the face is not casual, far from it. Like AfO, the lack of visible facial features shapes these two characters as not only similar, but as well redounding. However, while AfO lack of details is more of an externalisation of the lack of his personality as no other than AfO, Shigaraki’s condition is more to express that behind Shigaraki’s mask hides a kid who has wilted and that scratches continuously: Shimura Tenko. 

Shigaraki, in his iconic words where he pledges that he will not forgive anyone tell us another story: that he is not ready to let go of all the feelings that tie him to his past and past identity and that even if he supposedly breaks free of all limits and bounds, feelings and reality, he still is the same person as he was before and he wants to remain himself, instead of abandoning himself to AfO’s will. Further proof for this claim, is the fact that for a moment Shigaraki goes [potato face], but he fights instead for his body because that is who he is. And he does not regain control because he is stronger than AfO, far from that - but because he has something that AfO cannot begin to understand and just blatantly ignores: Shigaraki has an identity outside him being a villain that wants to destroy all - and that same will, I guess, is what makes him an absolutely perfect candidate to test out AfO’s limits.

My point here, is that AfO has nothing going on for him, apart from his villainous intents and his wanting everything for himself (a new body included). He thinks that whatever is happening is one big game that is made from him for him, and that he is the only one who matters (while everyone else is sacrificabile, simply for the reason that they are not as valuable as him). 

I hope that everything I wrote makes a little bit of sense and that somehow I made clear that AfO is like a circle: begins and ends with himself.

[brandyovereager]

The Phoenix Effect - pt. 8

THAT’S RIGHT I FINALLY WROTE IT. YOU THOUGHT I WOULDN’T, BUT I DIIIIIDDD.

I’m not entirely in love with how this turned out, but oh well. I finished it.

On ao3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22195906/chapters/61475764

Summary: Evalin and Rhoe settle into the caravan and Rowan asks Evalin what she needed to warn Aelin about.

As expected, Rhoe and Evalin were well tended to by the members of royal caravan.

Rowan observed the couple while various pages brought them refreshments and made a place for them to sit in the carriage—it was intended for any royals traveling in the caravan but Aedion and Rowan both preferred to walk alongside the others. The reborn royals were far more accustomed to the niceties of royal life than Rowan was, and that fact was quite obvious just from watching them interact with the caravan members.

While Rowan would often pause in discomfort whenever a page brought him water or offered to carry his pack, Rhoe and Evalin accepted any help with grace and a smile. As a result, it seemed the caravan members already liked the reborn couple more than their Fae king. Rowan noted his reborn in-laws seemed to like the caravan members more than him as well.

Rhoe had not warmed to the Fae male after he explained his position earlier. Despite knowing Rowan was no longer pledged to Maeve and had dedicated himself entirely to Aelin, the man still didn’t seem to trust him. Rowan supposed the man could be a bit concerned about his daughter’s attachment to a strange and dangerous Fae male, but Rhoe Galathynius would learn soon enough that Aelin was a grown woman who could make that sort of choice for herself—and likely wouldn’t appreciate anyone thinking otherwise.

He should also know that if Rowan ever crossed her—as impossible as that was—Aelin was more than capable of handing him his ass.

Aedion had followed Rhoe and Evalin to the carriage—obviously happy to have his family back—but did not enter with them. He would sometimes approach the carriage door to speak with them, but mostly stayed outside directing the pages tending to his aunt and uncle.

Sam had been awfully quiet since they found Rhoe and Evalin—he never spoke much to begin with, but he was being especially quiet at the moment. One of the pages had mentioned to the couple that there was another reborn in their caravan, but Sam had not reciprocated their interest in speaking to him. Rowan supposed it might be confusing for him to see Evalin, just as it had been for him to see Aedion. He couldn’t be certain what the boy had put together yet in his head—maybe he assumed all people from Terrasen looked similar—but he had to be doing some thinking as they walked.

With every day that passed on their journey, Rowan questioned more and more his decision to hide Celaena’s true identity from Sam. It was a conversation Aelin deserved to have with the assassin herself, but Sam also deserved to know the truth and not be kept in the dark about all that was happening. With the arrival of Rhoe and Evalin, more questions about Aelin’s life were bound to come up. All three reborns wanted answers, and Rowan wasn’t sure how much longer he could avoid their questions.

This would be the last time he went somewhere without his mate. Never again. He wouldn’t have this problem if they weren't separated.

The decision of what to tell Rhoe and Evalin seemed to be out of his hands, though, as they only really spoke to Aedion and the occasional page. When they settled down to make camp for the night, the couple and their nephew sat close together chatting amicably with the other caravan members, while the Fae and assassin made themselves comfortable a fair distance away. Rowan was curious to see how Aelin reacted to her parents’ cold treatment of her mate.

Whether the in-laws loved him or not wasn’t his main concern, however. What Rowan really wanted to know was what horrible thing Evalin needed to warn Aelin about. If Evalin Ashryver herself thought something was amiss, then they were likely in for it. Deciding that whatever they had to tell Aelin they could tell to him, Rowan made his way towards the reborn royals.

Aedion was the first to notice him approach, acknowledging the other male with a nod. Evalin was next, staring at Rowan with the eyes of a detailed examiner. There was no judgement in her evaluation of him, just the desire to learn a new entity. Evalin was not openly welcoming to Rowan, but she didn’t seem to harbor the same assumptions her husband did. She was waiting, observing him to make her own conclusions. Maybe it was her significant resemblance to his beloved Aelin, but Rowan decided he liked Evalin—if nothing else, he certainly respected her.

When Rhoe finally recognized Rowan’s presence, he tensed slightly. It was nothing major, but it was no longer the relaxed posture of a man laughing with his family—even though Rowan was his family as well. He was not overtly displeased with the male, but Rhoe wasn’t comfortable around him the way he was with Aedion.

It was then Rowan recalled that Aelin’s power was the result of two strong bloodlines mixing, and neither of her parents held such magic. Rhoe Galathynius was helpless against any Fae—even more so a warrior Fae such as himself. For the first time, it occurred to Rowan that Rhoe might actually be afraid of him.

How would he react upon seeing Aelin—his own daughter—had grown into a powerful Fae herself? Rowan recalled the stories Aelin had told him about her childhood, the internalized fear she had of her own magic back when he first trained her. Her parents hadn’t known how to handle her power back then, how would they feel seeing her now?

No matter what they thought, Rowan would not let anything make his Queen doubt herself ever again. His extraordinary mate had battled debilitating fear of her own power, and came out resilient. She was strong enough to not let herself be afraid ever again, but damn him if he didn’t come out seething at anyone who dared suggest otherwise.

Rowan opted not to sit, instead standing at his full height in front of Rhoe. A petty part of him—perhaps the affectionately named ‘territorial Fae bastard’—was quite smug knowing how much of a striking figure he posed. The Fae turned to face Evalin, and his voice might have been a bit gruffer—but his eyes softer as they gazed into Ashryver turquoise—as he spoke.

“You said you had to warn my Queen of something, what is it?”

“Us—being alive—and the others you call ‘reborns’, this should not be.” An obvious statement courtesy of Evalin Ashryver.

“No, it shouldn’t. It goes against the natural order. Why is this cause to warn Aelin, though?” It had been an alarming situation when it first started, but now that governments had a system in place there was no need for warning.

“Because powerful magic is the only thing that could have done this. Something as significant as life and death cannot be changed easily, and such a disruption indicates dark magic.” Her conclusion puzzled the male.

“Why would resurrection indicate dark magic? Life is a blessing, not a curse.” The rebirth of dead loved ones didn’t seem like the beginnings of an evil plan.

“Life is a blessing only in its intended order. It is a blessing because it is so precious. The life I was gifted is over, and I yielded my time to others, to children who will walk this land and live out their gift. While I may wish I had more time here, this land is no longer mine, and I am not meant to take it back.” While that may be how Evalin saw things, Rowan wondered if that might be something for each person to decide themselves. Philosophical musings aside, the powerful magic was the real issue here.

“You think there is a threat out there, someone we need to find and defeat?” So soon after their victory against Maeve and Erawan, Rowan really hoped there wasn’t another villain out there to fight. He was tired. Was it too much to ask that he just spend the rest of his immortal life in peace with his mate?

“The magic used may have been dark magic, but I do not think the wielder has ill intentions. After all, giving life to the dead seems like a miracle. I believe someone has come into possession of great power they do not understand, and that is dangerous in a different way.” Yes, it was. Power is difficult to control when the user is outmatched, and dark power should not be let loose.

Evalin’s words meant more than a fight against evil magic, though. It meant that the entire reborn phenomenon would be reversed. Evalin wished to send back the reborns.

“You mean to undo all this, then? We are to take all the reborns away from families who just welcomed them back? That includes you as well. Are you prepared to make your daughter mourn you once again?” Rowan wasn’t sure he could put Aelin through that again. She would have him and the rest of her court to lean on this time, but no one should lose their parents twice. It was cruel, and the Fae grit his teeth at the fact that Evalin actually wanted this.

“As I said before, this is no blessing. Someone attempted to spare the world grief, but they only gifted us more to suffer.”

@rowaelinforeverworld​

@flowersinvegas​

@aelin-queen-of-terrasen​

@camixd93​

@lord-douglas-the-third​

@montse121296​

@dank-queen7​

@slytheringalathynius​

@rhyswhitethorn​

@jesstargaryenqueen​

@trilogiesrule

[dolphin-enthusiast]

Hey bro, I hope you're doing well🥺💖 if your hcs are open, could you do hcs with bucci gang and a s/o getting catcalled/street harassed (only if this is not a trigger for you obviously)? I am upset 🙂🙂🙂...ANYWAy I love you sOoo much Morgane

This is extremely late my apologies but dw I don’t mind writing for sensitive topics such as this one!!! Behavior like this absolutely enrages me and you have all the rights to be upset because it’s fuckin vile. It goes without saying but tw harassment yadda yadda.

Bruno:

- He’s usually freakishly good at masking his true feelings and overall keeping his calm under pressure, but if he were to actually witness you getting catcalled he’s going to go lowkey sicko mode. His motherly/protective instincts kick in and he’s instantly death glaring the person who dared wrong you like that right on his weary watch. Honestly he’d feel like throwing a fit even if it didn’t happen before his very eyes. No, he’d be EVEN more enraged if you’d just come home one day and tell him that since he wasn’t there to intervene.

- At this point he doesn’t even have to do much, all that it takes is for Bruno to shoot said person a quick murderous glare then tell them to beat it and they’ll instantly fuck off not even 2 seconds later. After they are out of scene, he flips back to his usual calm and polite self (the d u a l i t y of man) as he proceeds to check up on you by asking if that asshole’s words managed to get to you. Hell, this man is going to be comforting you for hours and wouldn’t let go of you unless you were absolutely certain you were feeling at least just a little better.

- No matter your response, Bruno is going to pull you into his arms and firmly let you know that he’ll never let anyone hurt you. As long as he lives and he’s by your side he’s going to fight whoever dares to bother you, you have his absolute word for it. Normally he’d at first try solving the issue through diplomatic means but there’s just something about catcalling that utterly enrages him and makes him lose control for a few seconds, let alone if it’s his partner we’re talking about. Tl;dr: dont fucking make the mistake of wronging his s/o, he’ll fucking end you.

Giorno:

- Just like Bruno, but 3 times more menacing if that’s even possible. If Bruno managed to hold himself back just a bit and didn’t let his anger COMPLETELY consume him in that moment, our dear aries right here is quite the opposite. Sure it’s not like he’s going to throw said person into a death loop of despair (although that’s the first thing that would cross his mind), but in that second Gio wouldn’t really be able to mask his emotions like he usually does.

- If it happened before his eyes, that person is as good as dead. He merely steps in between you two, hooks an arm around your waist and “kindly” asks said person to repeat themselves since he’s not sure whether he heard them correctly or not the first time. At this point the person in question would already be getting lowkey uneasy since Gio’s aura and overall presence would be goddamn menacing, and so they’d be beating it in due time after he throws them a cold glare and tells them to never speak to you in this way ever again.

- Akin to Bruno, he’d revert back to his usual calm self right after that asshole leaves then ever so gently he’d check up on you and tell you that you should ignore their dirty, meaningless words and that he’ll be there to protect you always. That day Gio would try his best at keeping you preoccupied and cheering you up since he wouldn’t want you to think of this experience again. He’d put on an unbothered mask for you but deep down he’d still be fuming at the thought of another person just...insulting someone like that. Not only a random someone, but HIS beloved.

Abbacchio:

- Straight up shoves his fist in front of their face, I ain’t even joking. The second he hears them whistling and saying some dumb dirty shit he’s instantly walking over to them whilst seeing fucking red and asking if they have a problem with HIS partner. As said person would desperately try explaining themselves, Abbacchio would merely scowl then threaten to beat the fuck out of them if they don’t fuck outta here in the next 3 seconds.

- He’d be highkey scary threatening that person like that but would then try calming himself down in order to be able to actually think rationally again and check up on you. By the time he’d walk over you and grab your shoulders whilst asking if you’re alright, poor Abba would still be breathing heavily, his cheeks tinted red from the previous intense anger episode. He’d immediately escort you away from the place where the harassment happened as he’d keep reassuring you that you’re safe now with him here.

- That day Abba would keep replaying that episode inside his head over and over because he simply cannot understand how someone could just speak to a stranger in such a horrible way, and the thought of you getting insulted like that is enough to send him into a fit of anger, let alone if you were actually touched by said person. He’s absolutely ready to square up for you 25/8 and, although he’s not the best with words, he’s going to make sure that you’re feeling better and would keep cuddling and comforting you for as long as you need in an attempt to make you forget about the incident.

Mista:

- Makes a damn scene and rightfully so. He’s already a very touchy guy even in public, so the fact that the person in question clearly saw the both of you together and STILL decided to hit on you absolutely enrages him. Hell, even if you were alone what do they think gives them the right to talk to someone else like that??? Mista cannot wrap his head around it and at this point he doesn’t even try to anymore, he’s full on f u m i n g. He already took on some fuckers that were harassing a poor woman in the past and will gladly do it again for his partner.

- Whether he was there when it happened or not, you bet your ass that Mista is going to go on a rant and insult that person’s entire bloodline, mostly using italian curse words of course. He’d hate himself for not being there to properly protect you if it happened when you were alone, but if we’re talking about him actually WITNESSING that scene then it’s game fucking o v e r. Mista would just go like “O I” then waltz towards that rude ass with his fist clenched and brows tightly knitted together in sheer anger. He’d be screaming his ass off at that person telling them to never get near you again, calling them out on their bs right in front of everyone else on the damn street.

- He wouldn’t be afraid to legit fight them whilst everyone was watching either so you’d most likely have to drag his ass away from there or else he’d end up fucking killing them or something. Mista would need some time to come down from his rage episode but when he does he’s going to be apologizing over and over for his outburst, quite literally crushing you into his arms afterwards and trying not to fucking cry whilst telling you how much he loves you and how he’s going to beat up anyone else that tries wronging you like that again. Expect him to be EVEN more clingy than usual for the next few hours as well since he can get v e r y protective over you.

Fugo:

- As expected, probably the one that erupts the worst. If you thought Mista and Abbacchio threw a scene honey you ain’t seen s h i t. The second he hears that person call out to you in an insulting way he’s violently whipping his head around towards them, his jaw clenched and hands trembling with anger. In that second said person knows they F U C K E D U P because Fugo starts screaming his ass off and calling them all sorts of colorful insults.

- Just like in Mista’s case you’d have to hold him down or else he can and WILL kill them. Fugo has absolutely 0 patience and regard for people that do this also because of personal reasons, so it would almost be ptsd inducing for the poor man. Not only would he be utterly enraged with such behavior directed at a total stranger (who also happened to be his beloved mind you), but it would also remind him of some past experiences he wished he could forget. 

- Afterwards Fugo will be unusually clingy and significantly more open with his feelings, telling you over and over how he’ll stop at nothing to protect you and constantly expressing his love for you through gentle touches and soft words. He’s normally extremely shy when it comes to showing affection, but after this he’d feel an overwhelming need to be there for you and comfort you through your distress, swearing that he’ll protect you no matter what and that you shouldn’t care for such heinous comments coming from an uneducated rude ass.

Narancia:

- At first is flabbergasted and tries to process what that person just said. Did he hear that right?? Are they really serious?? Did they really just dare to mess with Y O U???? That’s it, Narancia is angrily stomping towards the scene, throwing an arm around your shoulders whilst straight up bullying your harasser for their disgusting behavior. Now if said person tries mocking him that would be their last mistake because Narancia can and WILL throw goddamn fists regardless of who’s watching.

- He’ll tell off anyone that bothered you then smother you in hugs and spoil you with anything you wanted in an attempt to cheer you up. He’s also a surprisingly good listener so you can pretty much pour your heart out at him for he will sit through it all then proceed to comfort and hug you plenty. He may be smol but Narancia has no fear of fighting for his close ones, so he’ll let you know that whenever someone else starts bs you should immediately call him.

- He doesn’t like dwelling in the negative feelings and will instruct you on doing the same. Basically, he’ll try getting your mind off of things to the best of his abilities and is going to constantly be encouraging and reassuring you. Narancia is pretty much a walking serotonin machine who will be your emotional support human as well as your “bodyguard” because he really likes to pride himself in protecting and keeping you safe.

[iwrestlenow]

Many More To Die, Chapter 12

TITLE: Many More To Die (Chapter 12)

FANDOM: Sanders Sides (Necromancer AU)

SUMMARY: While the assassin makes another attempt on Roman's life, the necromancers find help from an unexpected source--and an all too brief reunion between Logan and Roman has some disturbing results.

SHIPS: Logince (Logan/Roman), Moceit (Patton/Janus) and Dukexiety (Remus/Virgil)

WARNINGS: None really, not this time.

Told you this one would come faster. XD It's bigger than most, because the next one is gonna be a whopper--and also, the next installment will be the last! But fear not: I'm already planning a sequel.

...and tbh, I can't stop writing these adorable jerks so you'll get lots more stories outta me. :P

NOTES: This is based on the gorgeous piece of art by @gretacticdraws that can be found here. I ended up writing a ficlet for it, and then my brain got swallowed up. Breathe at me wrong, and I’ll write more…hell, who am I kidding? I’ll write more anyway because this? Is self indulgent drivel. XD

Also located at AO3 over here.

1022, A.A.

“Pass the glue?”

Logan blinked, slowly looking up from his jacket to gradually focus on Roman's face. Watching him rise from something that had swallowed his whole attention was hopelessly adorable—a thing he could never tell Logan to his face, but could never hide the smile that crept across his face when he watched Logan surface like a pearl diver.

He saw the moment Logan's face shifted, the moment he finally returned to reality. Scanning the craft supplies scattered on the riverbank around them, he located the glue pot and passed it to Roman with a curious frown.

“What are you gluing?” he asked.

Roman held up the white mask he'd selected to go with his costume for the final night of the Festival that Logan had invited him to.

“Feathers! I want to be one of those things you showed me in the graveyard—the creatures etched on the one tombstone?”

“Angels.” Logan reminded him. “You know their wings go on their back, not their face.”

Roman rolled his eyes. “I know that, Starlight. I can't exactly get a pair of wings for my costume on such short notice, though, so I...Logan?”

Roman set his mask down, scooting closer to the other boy with a cold lick of concern in his belly. Logan was staring at him with an intensity that made him want to squirm, and his face had gone completely ashen.

“What's wrong?” Roman asked, reaching for his hand. “Logan, are you all right?”

Logan blinked, drawing a trembling breath before briskly shaking his head as if to clear it.

“I—yes, I am fine. I just...” He trailed off, and that look was on Roman again.

“Why did you call me Starlight?”

Roman couldn't stop himself from frowning, confused. Gesturing to the jacket in Logan's lap, he shrugged.

“The beads you're sewing onto it—it looks like the night sky. It's—it's just a nickname, like Specs. I won't use it anymore if it bothers you.”

“No,” Logan insisted, “it is perfectly acceptable, it's just...it surprised me, that's all. Starlight is actually the name I use for the Festival. As I told you, we forsake our identities at the celebration, so we all use different names. Mine is—is Starlight.”

Roman watched Logan blink, and would have accused Logan of lying except that Logan never lied. He took things too literally, he was just...not the kind of person who did it. Not with Roman, at least. So if he said he was fine...

So why did he look like his whole world had been shaken?

“...Muse.” Roman spoke before he could think about it.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Muse.” he repeated, feeling confident about the decision. “That'll be my name for the evening. Muse.”

Logan just stared at him for a long moment before huffing, shaking his head as he scooted across the grass until he was leaning against Roman's side, shoulder pressed to Roman's arm.

“You're not required to do it. You're not part of the tribe.” Logan pointed out.

“It's your tribe, though—and I don't want to be disrespectful.” Roman insisted, reaching for the bag of feathers Logan had brought for their costume work. “Besides, I...I like it. I understand it. It's all to make the dead feel less alone, isn't it? I want to help.”

Roman focused very hard on picking the feathers he wanted to glue to his mask...and tried not to pay attention to the way Logan's head tipped to rest against his shoulder and just stayed that way for a very long time.

**********

1033, A.A.

“So that's how you did it—this is a problem.”

Roman blinked, shaking his head. He hadn't lost consciousness, he was certain of it.

...well, relatively certain.

Glancing around, Roman realized he was in his father's bedchamber, held fast by a palace guard on either side. He tried to tug free, but they held him fast, staring straight ahead with glassy, unfocused eyes and blank expressions.

“Don't bother—I've been rotating soldiers through dungeon detail for years. Nearly all of them are mine now.”

Roman's chest seized with cold, cloying horror and disbelief. He could feel warmth in the hands that held him, see their chests rising and falling with breath...

He turned to the man standing before him—salt and pepper hair and overly tanned features, with piercing blue eyes Roman was starting to realize he should have known on sight.

Colonel Mori—if only he'd remembered before this moment...

“The same curse you used on my father, I take it?” he asked, proud of how level his voice came out, clear and firm.

“Something like that.” Mori replied, idly tossing a familiar ring into the air, catching it, and repeating the action with casual thoughtlessness. “It's always been a specialty of mine—generational curses. You only have to curse a single man, and an entire bloodline or brotherhood will fall...would, at least,

if not for you and that idiot progeny of mine.”

Roman wasn't aware that he'd lunged until he had one guard's arm around his throat to hold him back. He'd actually slipped free, and found it hard to breathe until he consciously stopped trying to wrestle free of his captors.

“Logan is not an idiot.” he snarled. “He's stronger than all of us—he's the best man I have ever known.”

And just like that, he was aware of all the memories that infernal talisman had been holding back—the stolen moments, the beauty of learning new things about Logan's people...the purity of that young love that had been stolen from him.

He thought of Logan now, that lean and handsome face hardened by ten years of imprisonment...and how it opened up to him the night before, how Logan tucked against him in his sleep and clung to every touch like it would be taken away from him, just as he had when they first met...

Mori's hands were suddenly on him, gripping his chin and yanking his hair until Roman was staring directly into his eyes.

“Logan Crofter is a good man—and that is his downfall.” Mori spat as his eyes began to glow with an unholy orange light. “Good men have too many rules and too many weaknesses.”

Roman tried to shake his head, but couldn't fend off the impossible grip of the necromancer before him, the light of his gaze causing a slow, dull throb through his skull.

“Decent men have rules to keep them decent. Evil men like you have rules so they can revel in breaking them.” Roman replied flatly. “Good men don't need rules. They simply choose and act.”

The pain in his head grew, forcing Roman to close his eyes—but the light was still there, behind his lids and in his brain, turning the dull throb into a burn.

“So I'm looking forward, Colonel, to watching you face a good man with no rules—and nothing to lose.”

Mori's laughter was grating in his ears as Roman slowly began to lose the ability to think coherently.

“He has one thing, Your Highness...he has you. And I'm going to make sure he comes to find you so I can get what I want: the soul of another Lazari.”

There was some shuffling, a voice—and Roman's blood ran cold as he hung helpless in the grip of a guard and lost his hold on reality.

“Remy Somnum! Bring me Lord Janus. It's high time I added his life to my collection.”

“Yes, Master.”

********** 1023, A.A.

“You're certain this is where it is?”

Roman nodded as he finally opened the padlock on the door of the long abandoned storeroom, deeep in the bowels of the palace dungeons. “The locator spell Remus gave me works. He knows more about magic than half the court mages, even if he can't use it.”

“Picking locks as well.” Logan observed with a raised eyebrow.

Glancing over his shoulder at Logan, Roman just grinned at his expression.

“Remus didn't teach me that.” he declared, pushing the door open and ushering Logan in ahead of him. “If I'm going to be king one day, I shan't rely on anyone else to rescue me—what if I have to break free of some prison or shackles?”

Logan stepped into the room ahead of him, but immediately stopped and turned to face him, looking at Roman with blue eyes that glittered with something Roman couldn't name, something that made it hard to breathe.

It happened so fast he almost couldn't process it—Logan's hands in his tunic, the sudden feel of warmth crowding his front...

The soft, firm, smacking press of a kiss to his mouth that made his heart, and the rest of the world, stop.

For long moments, they just stared at each other, Logan seemingly reeling as much as Logan was.

“I...I am—I'm—apologies.” Logan stammered, trying to busy himself with straightening his tie instead of holding onto Roman's tunic. “I did not mean...that is to say—I just—your intellectual moments, they just—you're so—and I--”

Roman snatched up Logan's hand, pressing his lips to the back of it. He could feel Logan trembling, and Roman felt his heart tremble in sync with it.

“Me, too, Starlight.”

For a second they just stood there, Logan's hand in his, and Roman's heart...

He had never, not once in his short fourteen years of life, ever felt so tranquil or so powerful, and definitely not both at the same time.

Roman forced himself to be the strong one, releasing Logan's hand so he could shut the door and finally take proper stock of the room.

There was barely any light through the bars on the small window in the door, but Logan moved forward with purpose, locating a torch and lighting it with some spell Roman didn't recognize—one that ignited a dazzling blue-white flame that was far clearer and brighter than the golden flicker of normal torchlight.

The layer of dust covering everything in the room was so thick Roman could feel the urge to cough bubbling in his throat just from breathing the air. The walls were lined with bookshelves, and could have made it easy to mistake the space for a library save for the fact that there were very few books on any of those shelves.

“It's like some kind of storeroom.” Logan observed. “That, or...perhaps a trophy room?”

“I told you,” Roman reminded him, “this palace is full of hidden nooks and crevices—places to hide, or to hide something you don't want anyone else to find. I hardly ever notice this door, but the locator spell sure did.”

“So...who does this belong to?” Logan wondered aloud, venturing over to one of the shelving units that had a few books scattered throughout. “And if these are trophies, what are they trophies of?”

Roman wondered the same thing, so intensely it took him a moment to realize Logan was no longer by his side. Shaking himself, Roman crossed the room carefully, painfully aware of the layer of dust his feet were disturbing as he came to stand beside Logan in front of the shelf. His eyes scanned over the objects and books displayed there until...

“Here!” he suddenly blurted, reaching up to pluck a book off the shelf. “This binding matches the Tomes in the palace library.”

Passing the small, leatherbound volume to Logan, he watched as Logan ran his fingers over the cover with a strangely thoughtful look, head cocked just slightly before he opened the volume.

“Is that it?” he asked hopefully. “The geneaology?”

Logan stared at the first page, shaking his head. “No...I mean, it is one of the Tomes, the one you likely said would have the magical bloodlines of the royal family, but—Roman, this was hidden for a reason. It's one of the Forbidden Tomes.”

“What?! Weren't those lost before the fall of the Animator?”

“Affirmative...this one, however, is quite new. Old still, mind you, but maybe two hundred years old at the most.” Logan looked up at Roman, eyes wide.

“I think this volume is a reconstruction.”

That rattled around in Roman's head, untethered and incomprehensible. “Who would be old enough to be able to rewrite one of the Forbidden Tomes? And how do you know how old this book is?”

Logan just stared at it...then flipped a couple of pages before going weirdly still.

“I can...it's an incorrect description, but I can hear it. The Tomes are written in mystical dialects, languages laden with power. My power.”

He lifted his head, meeting Roman's gaze head on with an intensity that stole Roman's breath.

“The mystical dialect this book was composed in is Mairome—the language of necromancy.”

Roman couldn't get his voice to work for a long moment as Logan turned back to the Tome and began reading, eyes flicking back and forth at a speed that was vaguely dizzying, trying to consume every nuance of the page, drinking it all in.

“What...what does it say?” he finally managed to ask aloud.

Logan didn't answer for a long moment. He shut the book gently, his gaze cast downwards.

“It says,” Logan finally answered, “that King Thomas Roman I is the name of the Animator.”

“...that can't be true. That...that means...”

“It means that the king did not slay the Animator—it means your ancestor assassinated the king. It means the Necromata have a legitimate claim to the throne.”

Roman ran his hands over his face, dizzy with the onslaught of information. “Who knew this that they had to take this book from the palace library and hide it here?”

“I think I know that, too.” Logan croaked, handing the book to Roman. “Start here—you should be able to read it.”

Roman accepted the book and peered at the page. Most of the text was a blurry mess of gently glowing lines and strange symbols, but some of the words were written in clear, plain English in various parts of the page.

When he was done, he passed the book back to Logan, reeling.

“Mori...I know that name.” Roman realized. “What are these?”

“They are the True Names of the monarchy.” Logan replied. “I know the name as well—it is the name of the man who tried to kill me when we first met.”

“...you never told me that.”

“I did not know his place among the palace guard—if he was someone close to you, I feared for your safety if he knew you were aware of his crimes.”

“Corporal Mori...he's a member of the dungeon guard.” Roman murmured. “My brother and I used to sneak into the dungeons to play at adventuring when we were little—he was a new private back then, and cruel to both of us. But...Logan?”

“Yes?”

“The name in there, below Thomas Roman I. Is that the Animator's son?”

Logan swallowed thickly. “It is.”

“But...but his True Name is Crofter...that's your last name.”

“Affirmative. At least...it was. Just as Mori's name was once Thomas Roman Sanders.”

Roman couldn't speak around the sudden tightness in his throat. Instead, Logan spoke for him.

“The Animator...he's not your ancestor, Roman—he's mine.”

Then the door of the storage room opened, slamming against the pile of detritus behind it.

Roman froze. Logan, however, snatched the book and rose.

“I'll lead him away—get back to your rooms at once, and look after Virgil.”

“Logan--”

He was cut off by another abrupt kiss, this one on the cheek.

“We'll get out of this, one way or another. I swear it on the Spider's Thread.”

Then Logan was gone, diving between the legs of the figure in the doorway to lead him away from Roman's location.

********** 1033, A.A.

“Paddock.”

Patton looked up from where he was crouched beside Logan's prone, writhing body. Logan's eyes had rolled back into his head and he was muttering incoherently while he twitched and twisted with an agony Patton could only guess at.

The voice that had spoken aloud belonged to a prison mage he recognized. The man was tall, dark, and tanned. He was handsome, mostly—he always wore dark glasses that hid his eyes, so it was difficult to be sure.

“What're you doing here, Somnum?” Remus asked sharply. He was awfully fast, next to Virgil one minute and the next standing beside Janus in front of Logan's prone form so Patton could only see Master Somnum through the space between their shoulders.

“Remy—the name's Remy, you fuckin' killjoys.” the mage sighed. “Will you just move already? Patton can vouch for me.”

“I can?” He asked uncertainly. Patton's nostrils flared on reflex, trying to scent the air—and immediately felt his magic rise, all animal instinct and threat.

The smell of death, old and ripe, was on the air. Not the smell of corpses or long settled dust, but death, fresh damp grave dirt and sticky in his lungs like worms crawling.

But...

Patton turned to Virgil, crouched beside him, and put a hand on his shoulder. Virgil just looked at him, then at Remus and Remy, and nodded before focusing on his brother again.

Patton stood and came to stand next to Remus. He could feel more than hear the subsonic hiss building in the back of Janus's throat nearby, and found his gaze to reassure him before he faced the prison mage.

“He knows my True Name.” Patton admitted. “Janus can confirm it...but how?”

Remy didn't answer right away. He just stared at Patton, making him feel squirmy stomach and trembly. Breathing felt...not hard, but strange, and he wasn't sure if he liked it--

Reaching up, Remy removed his dark glasses.

“'Cause mine's Graymalkin.” he replied softly.

“What does that mean?” Virgil snapped testily. “Quoting Macbeth at each other won't--”

Patton didn't hear the rest. As far as he knew, Black Dogs and Heralds couldn't fly, but he couldn't feel the floor under his feet anymore...

...oh. Oh, he couldn't feel any of his legs anymore. The world was spinning, too—kind of like playing Statue Maker as a boy, grabbing his friends' hands and spinning, spinning, spinning before he had to stop and strike a pose--

“Patton.”

Patton blinked, and suddenly drew a deep, shuddering breath into his lungs before he started coughing. He—oh, he hadn't been breathing. That wasn't remotely good, willikers!

As he tried to get his breathing normalized, Patton found he was on the floor, being cradled in Janus's arms. His forehead was tucked against the scaled side of his neck, a lovely contrast of cool scales over warm skin and so much softer than anyone would think scales could be. As Patton calmed, he drifted, and gently rubbed his forehead against those scales, sighing at the soothing texture of their satiny surface brushing his skin, the edges gently catching in ways that sent pleasant little buzzes of sensation  from his forehead to skitter over his scalp.

Finally, he lifted his head—and found Remy kneeling in front of them, staring at Patton.

His eyes were pure onyx, from sclera to pupil—solid black orbs in his head, barely glinting in the light of the room. They were the eyes of a hijacked body, a resurrection gone wrong. The owner of the body was gone, and another soul had taken its place.

A soul Patton was fairly certain he knew.

“Patton?” Janus's voice, a question.

Slowly, Patton nodded.

Remy sagged visibly in relief. “You remember...Paddy, I'm a Reaper. I can help Logan. Will you let me?”

Feeling more like himself, Patton nodded again. Without thinking, he twisted and tipped his head up to kiss Janus's cheek before he got shakily to his feet.

“Virgil, Remy's gonna help.” he announced, still watching Remy with a secret fear that this would be a dream and that he'd vanish.

“Fuck you. I don't--”

“He's my brother. Please, Virge.”

There was silence for several moments, but then Remy was moving off some indication from Virgil, and Patton twisted to watch Remy drop to his knees at Logan's side. He touched his forehead, taking his hand and watching him closely.

“Motherfucker knows the only real way to kill a Lazari, and he's using the king to do it.” Remy muttered. “Let's see...nerd's Claim is holding, that's good, but his mind won't hold up under the Baccanal...lemme see, gurl...”

Remy shut his eyes, bowing his head. As he did, Patton suddenly felt a gust of warm air touching the back of his neck, making him flinch and whip his head around.

“Easy, Sin-ammon Roll.”

Prince Remus was there, his hand a buzzing gnat in Patton's awareness as it sat on his shoulder. He was watching Patton with a look he couldn't read—his features were like Janus's, well schooled into calm lines, but his eyes were clouded with some very turbulent emotion.

“Is the prison mage really your brother?”

Patton opened his mouth to answer, but no sound was coming out. The words were all there, but they were sort of...clogging in his throat, too many coming too fast, all fighting to escape at the same time. Fortunately, Janus's arms were suddenly there again, wrapped around his waist, cradling Patton back against his chest, warm warm warm and comforting in their familiarity.

“Patton was four years old when his brother died.” Janus stepped in. “Remington Morell was not quite fourteen—essentially executed in the street. Patton told me when they were children...their mother loved the Scottish play. Quoted it all the time--'I come, Graymalkin' when Remy called for her, 'Paddock calls' when Patton would cry.”

“...but the kid died.”

“Yes, but...it's the black eyes. They indicate the presence of a Raptor.”

“Like the dinosaur?” Remus asked.

“Like a body thief—a soul that hijacks a coprse during a botched resurrection.” Janus sighed, rolling his eyes as Patton twisted his head to look up at him.

“Ohhhh, I mean—wow.”

“Lucky for me, children age in Shadow.” Remy's voice piped up. Refocusing on Logan, Patton realized his best friend wasn't writhing and muttering anymore, just...laying there, asleep. Seemingly, anyway.

“What'd you do?” he asked, gently removing himself from the circle of Janus's arms to move towards Remy as he stood.

“Guided Logan to the Loom of Memory.” he replied. “It'll protect him for a while, and let him communicate with Roman if I'm right about how those two are bound—Mori's got the king under the Baccanal.”

“Cursing him with madness?” Patton breathed, his stomach churning with horror as he covered his mouth with both hands. “That's forbidden, Remoo.”

“Yeah, well, the Animator ain't known for playing by the rules, gurl.” Remy replied with a shrug. “So burning away a man's mind, one layer at a time until he's a drooling vegetable? Totally on the table.”

Patton felt something loosen in his chest as he grinned up at the other man. “You really are Remy, aren't you?”

Remy opened his mouth, brow furrowed with confusion—then understanding filled his features and he grinned, laughing. “Ah, geez—Remoo. You started calling me that when you were two 'cause you couldn't say Remington.”

“It's the only thing I remember really well.” Patton admitted, rushing forward to fling his arms around Remy with a choked laugh that quickly melted to tears.

“Mom and Pop kept your Vigil every Festival—but I never stopped.” he giggled wetly. “Every day—I had an altar in my room...”

“I know.” Remy soothed, holding onto Patton tight and reaching up to tousle his curls in a manner that Patton didn't recognize, but still felt weirdly familiar. “I heard you. Why do you think I snuck back when I realized you were in trouble?”

Patton pressed his face into Remy's shoulder. The smell of the mage's trade clung to him, acid and alcohol and herbs, but under that was something that set of primal echoes in Patton's head of family home safe loved, loamy earth and fresh rain.

Remy held on tight, just for a few seconds, but when he pulled back Patton felt steadier than he had in a very long time.

“We need to get the Lazari outta here.” Remy instructed. “It's a long story, but I was sent here to drag Lord Scaly off for execution. Plans changed, now I'm takin' you all somewhere safe.”

“Where's that?” Virgil asked, flinching when Remus swooped in to gather Logan up into his arms before Virgil could.

“Long story, tell you when we get there. Everyone move.”

********** When Logan opened his eyes, he was home.

It was a very familiar part of his home, however—none other than his childhood bed, wrapped in a familiar pair of arms.

Lifting his head, he had to fight not to lose his composure when he saw Roman's face. His head was nestled into Logan's pillow, features slack with repose...

Then tense, a low noise of distress rumbling in his chest, vibrating against Logan and shooting straight to his marrow.

Reaching out, Logan dug his fingers in beneath Roman's ribs. Fortunately it worked: immediately, Roman woke up with a squeal that was wholly undignified, and melted immediately into giggling he promptly cut off.

“Roman, it's okay...shhhh, you are safe. It's Logan, I'm here.”

Roman stared at him with a blank, unfocused look that scared Logan—actual fear he could not deny any longer, cold and cloying and sticking to the inside of his chest. Those green eyes were glassy and unseeing...they did not know him.

Very deliberately, Logan reached for Roman's hand, meshing their fingers together. He held them up in Roman's eyeline.

“Hold on...do not let go.”

That struck a chord, bringing some focus back to Roman's eyes. After a moment that stretched into eternity, Logan felt Roman's fingers tighten around his. Roman stared at their joined hands, mouth working soundlessly...

“I...never have.” Roman finally replied. “I never will.”

Logan's throat closed up, his eyes burning.

“Swear it on the Spider's Thread?” He hated how small his voice sounded, how desperate.

Recognition finally sparked in Roman's eyes.

“...Starlight.”

Logan lost control then, flinging himself into Roman's arms. Roman let himself be bowled over onto his back, let Logan stretch out atop his body, press his face into the curve of Roman's neck, and just held on tight as Logan wept for the first time in ten years. Deep, heaving, wretched sobs that Roman soothed him through, a hand running over his back, Roman's deep and beautiful voice murmuring soothing nonsense directly into his ear.

Time passed. The slow, steady rhythm of Roman's fingers gradually smoothed the jagged edges until he could reach out and touch them without getting cut open again.

“Did you know?” Logan finally asked, lifting his head to meet Roman's gaze.

Roman stared back up at him, uncomprehending as his fingers drifted up to caress Logan's cheek. Logan found himself unable to resist leaning into the tender touch.

“Did I know what?”

“That day by the river—before the Festival. Did you know that you changed my True Name.”

“...not until we found the Tome. I...suspected something happened, but wasn't sure until we read about your grandfather.”

“What about later? When you came to me in my cell and gave me my new Name?”

“I...I'm not sure. I know I wasn't supposed to remember what you were to me, but...”

But he had. Reaching up to catch the hand Roman still had pressed to his cheek, Logan felt like he understood. Not really, but...but that was the point.

Roman never should have remembered enough to care about Logan, yet he'd come to find him, and helped him in his moment of need.

“I think,” Logan began hesitantly, “that it is as Grandpap often says. The stuff of Shadow—the things we are not allowed to know.”

Roman frowned pensively. His brow furrowed with it, and Logan let himself surrender to the temptation of bowing his head and kissing that line away.

“Miracles.” Roman murmured. “Shadow brought to the light.”

Logan made a sound of affirmation, nose brushing along Roman's hairline.

“Or an outsider brought to the Loom of Memory.”

Roman shifted under him, seeking out Logan's gaze with wide, curious green eyes.

“Is that where we are?” he asked, awestruck.

Logan nodded, running his fingers through Roman's hair.

“It is...and time moves differently here.” he explained, mouth hovering over Roman's.

Time Logan was going to take...because if Logan was Lazari, that meant he had power. If he was descended from the Animator, the First and most powerful, he had more power still. If he was bound, soul to soul, to the ruler of all the Kingdoms, Logan had power beyond magic.

He had all the power, maybe more, of his ancestor. Power enough to corrupt.

So he allowed it to corrupt him. He let himself be ruthlessly selfish.

He was not going to allow Roman to be taken from him again.

Never again.

********** He expected to feel a warm, strong pair of arms around him when he rose from a deep and restful slumber...but instead, his groggy mind was rattled by voices.

“So you've just been...what? Fooling him into thinking you were zombified? That's hot, don't get me wrong, but I don't see how he'd buy it.”

“Gurl, greedy men are dumber than a bag of hair—ain't that right, Emi?”

“Eh—yes, sweetheart. Basically, anyway. It takes a great deal of focus and power to control as many dead as Mori currently is.”

“That's why our people don't normally do it—raising a corpse is way different from resurrecting someone to life. Grandpap told Logan off for even suggesting the raising of more than two corpses at the same time. It's doable, but I think five is the limit before you risk madness under the weight of all those deaths.”

“So these are really zombies? Not people he resurrected? Gosh, that's just...scary.”

“Easy, baby brother—none of 'em are coming the fuck near you. That's why I got a heart-healer on my side...they don't tell people that they study necromancy on the side, y'know.”

“Remy, please. We don't...er...well, we don't study all of necromancy. Just necromatic theory—its relation to the mind. The function of the Cleansing, body theft, the psychological toll of magic...that's sort of how Remy and I met. I'm a bit of a bookworm...”

“Shhhh, he's waking up!”

Finally opening his eyes, he moved to sit up, reaching, fumbling until strong fingers caught his.

“It's okay, Loganberry—you're fine.”

“Logan—where is he?”

That was the moment he froze, his question coming out...strange. Deep, but not deep enough, well enunciated but too stiff.

“Logan?”

That was his voice...but it wasn't his voice saying Logan's name.

“...something's wrong.”

He looked around in confusion. Something was wrong with his eyes, the world fuzzy and haloed in blurs of color. He could recognize Remus only from the color of his tunic and the sound of his voice.

“Remus? What's happening?”

“Hold on—Virgil, his glasses.”

He didn't wear glasses, what the--

Then a pair was being set on his face, and the world suddenly came into painful focus. He was laying on a low couch in one of the palace offices. Remy and the heart-healer, Emile Picani, stood off to one side. Virgil and Remus knelt by his side now, with Janus and Patton wrapped around each other by the window.

Trembling, he lifted his hands in front of his face.

Pale. Slim. Long, lean fingers that had run through his hair so greedily, touched him so tenderly, blunt nails scoring skin in the depths of his mind...

“...Roman?”

Lowering Logan's hands—now his hands—Roman looked into his twin brother's eyes, into the face that he shared with him.

Or had at the start of the day.

“Please tell me that my brother did not just swap bodies with the fucking king?” Virgil squeaked, looking visibly ill as he swallowed thickly.

Roman, wearing Logan's skin, nodded slowly.

“I think he did,” Roman replied, “and in doing so...he just gave Mori exactly what he wanted.”

[copias-thrall]

What if papa iii gets curious why copia has the same eye thing as his bloodline? That, is kinda a request? Idk it’s a thought.

The Emeritus bloodline. It goes back generations, some say to the Olde One himself—though that’s just a rumor. There had been the generation when they thought the heir lost—until a young Sister of Sin had met him at a party and activated his powers. (Although that story too is mostly exaggeration and embellishment from the man himself.)

One thing’s for certain, however—the Mark of the line is always one dark eye, one white. Nihil earned his after Sister Imperator had performed some rite to awaken the demon in him (not—as Nihil tells it—because she punched him in the face and it was awesome), and his sons had been born with Lucifer’s favor in place.

So when The Cardinal rocks up into the Clergy, Papa Emeritus III is aghast and flabbered to meet the man’s gaze only to find his own mismatched eyes meeting in a mirror mismatch. Copia doesn’t seem to feel anything is out of place—at least, not with the eyes … he does make a low, nervous rat noise when all Papa III does is stare at him, mouth agape.

When Papa storms into Sister Imperator’s office later demanding, “What the fanculo?!” she just smiles up at him in that imperious way of hers.

“It’s a gift from our Dark Lord. You didn’t think your bloodline was the only ones unblessed with his favor, did you? Oh … you did, didn’t you?”

It sends a chill down his spine, and he backs out of her office even as he’s cursing her in his head. It isn’t until he’s back in his quarters that he realizes she didn’t actually answer his question. Obviously it’s a mark of Satan—what he wants to know is how.

He embarks on a quest to figure out just how this is possible. He sends one of his Ghouls to the restricted area of the Abbey library for research, as he endeavors to ingratiate himself to The Cardinal so he can mine him for information. And it’s … kind of … fun? Copia is all wide eyes and stammering responses, even when all Papa does is sit next to him in the mess hall.

“Ah, Cardi … pasta again? Here, have some of my kale.”

“I-I, um. T-thank you, your Dark Excellency.”

Papa III waits, head resting on his hand, and he watches Copia force himself to chew and swallow the leafy greens.

“Mmm,” Copia manages to choke out.

Fun.

A week goes by. 

Then another.

His Ghoul can find nothing other than the obvious in the ancient tomes: that those who bear His Mark are Favored by Him. There’s nothing on how or why, and only the recent history of his bloodline has any kind of record that includes names and circas.

Copia—while fucking adorable—never even comes close to letting any intimate detail slip. He’s all “my last Abbey” this and “this interesting translation” that and “I hear it’s ravioli night.” So Papa decides to bring out the big guns.

He passes The Cardinal in the hall, falling into line with his stride.

“We have a guys night, yes, Cardi?”

Copia jumps half out of skin.

“Uh w-what? Your Dark Excellency?”

“Guys. Night. We have a slumber party, no? I can tell you all my secrets. Mostly: moisturize.”

Copia frowns at him, and Papa III smacks his eyebrow furrow.

“And no frowning! Ai! No wonder you have parentesi.”

Papa III orders all the usuals for one of his liaisons … then remembers this is not a liaison and has the oysters taken away. He’s halfway through blowing out the candles when he reconsiders that having some candles might add some spooky ambiance, so he leaves the rest be. He’s in his favorite silk robe—which again: not a liaison—so he changes into his monogrammed silk pajamas.

Copia shows up at his door in the fugliest set of flannel pajamas—black and dotted with cartoon rats and cheese—and a bottle of port.

“Ah, Cardi! Entra.”

The Cardinal looks around Papa III’s chambers, hesitates.

“Am I early, Papa?”

“Early?”

“Sí. I appear to be the first arrival.”

Papa techts and waves his comment away.

“I already know their secrets. This is just for you and me, eh? A—hmm—icebreaker.”

Before The Cardinal can back out, Papa closes the door behind him and ushers him further into his quarters with a guiding hand on the small of his back. He leads Copia to the cushions, which are arranged on the floor around a tray of goodies.

“Sit, dear Cardi. Have a bit of cheese. Some prosciutto.”

As The Cardinal awkwardly arranges himself cross legged on the floor, Papa III pours them both a shot’s worth of grappa into his crystal tumblers. He hands Copia a glass—who accepts it with a soft grazie—and then lowers himself on the cushions to lounge on his side.

“Okie dokie. Now we play a little truth or truth. No answer, you drink. Now, per favore,” Papa III says as he makes a sweeping after you gesture.

Copia takes a sip of the grappa, humming in approval, before speaking.

“Uh. Papa—who is your favorite of all your harem?”

“Boring. It is whoever is in my bed at the time. When you make love it must be with your everything! Can I give my everything to a second favorite? No! My turn! Fuck, marry, kill: my older brother, our dear Imperator, and the Ghoul known as Special. Go!”

“I, uh…”

Copia makes a pained face, then downs his grappa. Papa chuckles even as he’s reaching for the bottle to refill Copia’s glass.

“Already, Cardi? Pace yourself.”

It becomes Papa III’s mission to ask Copia the most uncomfortable questions to get him to opt out, while he answers every single one. Soon enough, Copia is pie-eyed and slurring. He knocks the nibbles tray over with a whoopsie, before proceeding to shovel the fallen cheese and cured meat into his mouth saying These cheeses can be mine. Papa feels a little bad, but not enough to stop pressing for answers.

“Ah, a man after mine own heart. No waste!” He pats The Cardinal on his meaty thigh. “So much in common you and I, Cardi.”

Copia looks up at him, prosciutto dangling out of his mouth.

“You have rats?”

“I—no, Cardi.”

“I love mes ratsties, Papa. Oh! I should cheese them.”

Copia reaches out a drunk-numb hand to fumble at the cheeses, and then proceeds to stuff them in his chest pocket.

“Shh—don’t tell them.”

“Ok, Copia.”

As The Cardinal mumbles to himself about his rats, Papa decides to make him an espresso from his fancy machine. By the time he’s got a tiny cup for them both ready, Copia is half asleep on the cushions, cheese particles stuck in his mustache. It’s a little bit of a struggle—sleepy, drunk Copia is fussy—but Papa III manages to get him to sit up and drink the caffeine.

“Ah. Grazie, Papa.”

“Non è niente, caro Cardinale. Not when we are so similar.”

“Similar?”

“Sí. We are both men envied by the many. And we bear the gift.”

Copia tried to focus his eyes on him.

“A gift?”

“Sí,” says Papa. He reaches out and smooths a fingertip over Copia’s eyebrow before tapping at his white eye. “Was it dear?”

Copia squints. “Was what dear?”

“The price for the gift.”

Copia frowns. “Itssa secret.”

Papa III pouts and crosses his arms in a hurt affectation.

“Secrets, secrets, secrets. All night I have bared my soul to you. And yet you give niente in return. Perhaps I have misjudged you, no? You are only here to take.”

The Cardinal makes a wounded noise, and—again—Papa feels a little guilty at his game.

“No, Papa—no. It—I can’t.”

Papa turns away from The Cardinal.

“Perhaps you should be going.”

There’s a long pause—and Papa III thinks maybe he pushed too hard—but eventually he hears Copia sigh.

“I am not in the knowing, Papa. My eyes have always been thus. The sister in charge of the orphan wing always said my madre made the deal—and she disappeared with no trace before I became a man.”

Papa turns back around.

“An … orphan?”

“Sí.”

Papa tsks. “How hard for you, dear Cardi. Let’s to bed, no?”

It’s no mean feat getting the stumbling-drunk Cardinal onto the futon, but Papa III manages it with a modicum of whining (Copia’s) and a minimum of stubbed toes (also Copia’s). He rolls The Cardinal into a fluffy burrito, and even sets out some water and ibuprofen for him.

The Cardinal who wakes up—hungover as fuck—is not the same loosey-goosey man from the night before. If at all possible, he’s even shier, and he apologizes multiple times for anything “untoward” he may have done or said the night before. He apparently was totally blackout drunk.

Papa III does feel bad—Copia is an alarming shade of green, and the easy camaraderie they developed is gone—but it means that Copia doesn’t remember that he spilled his secret. Papa doesn’t stop courting Copia’s friendship—although he dials the aggression down a notch—but he does turn his focus elsewhere.

Whether or not Sister Imperator realizes the scrutiny she’s now under is anyone’s guess—the woman could give Mona Lisa a run for her money.

[cherishedkids]

a letter to kamado tanjiro || tanjiro x reader

anime: kimetsu no yaiba warning/s: angst, sad, a bit of spoilers, mentions of death and bloodshed words: 1,679 pairing/s: tanjiro kamado x reader summary: A traveller and his sister once stopped by your tea shop years ago. The memories you shared with him stayed with you even after he had to leave. This is the last and only letter you leave him.

A/N: i’m actually thinking of continuing this in tanjiro’s perspective.... but idk! i hope this letter format is understandable huhu

To my dearest traveller,

I do not mean for you to worry, but I feel that my death may be imminent. So even if you receive this letter, I doubt you have enough time to rush to the small countryside of Fujinomiya to save me. Before I leave this world, however, I still wanted to talk to you one last time, even though I know it has been years since.

If you are wondering, yes, I still am living in that shabby tea shop you visited… so many years ago. I believe it was when we were still living in the Taisho era, before the Showa era. Back when times were peaceful and we did not have to endure this… pointless war of egos. I truly hope you and your sister have stayed safe all this time. When you visited me, she was very young and cute. I hope that hasn’t changed since then.

Mt. Fuji looms before me, as the sun is slowly rising and climbing over it. The stillness of the air reminds me of my fate, and I hope you still remember me. I still do. You have left such a huge impact on me, that I almost cursed you. The stars in the night sky that are visible here remind me so much of you. When I go to burn wood for warmth during winter, I see the burning passion in your eyes staring back at me. Even when I go to hang my wet yukata, the cloth billowing in the air reminds me of your checkered haori. Everywhere I go, I could attribute to you. You just had left a mark on everything. I just wish I could see your smile one last time.

You stayed here for a few days. You told me it reminded you so much of the small village you used to visit when you still lived in the mountains, before you left to show your little sister the world. I could see the pain in your eyes when you said that, and from the scars that littered your arms, I knew how much you had to go through to be happy with her. 

Nezuko, if memory serves right, loved the hot spring behind my shop. It was her first time to bathe in one, and you asked me if I could accompany her. I did, and we had a grand time. I remember just how much I looked forward to spending more time in your company. Just the smile that you gave me was enough to satisfy me.

Through the days, more and more customers visited my little shop. I had to attend to them, of course, and the both of you did your best to help me. Even though it did lead to spilled hot tea and my dango mochi looking unformed, you still tried to help. Until now, I still do not know why my eye caught the both of you. Why did I ask you to stay for the week? And why did you ever accept? Because of this, I have been longing for you all these years. I cannot help but blame myself.

Perhaps it was because of the blade you were carrying. There were only a few samurai that were still roaming around, and I had always been curious since I was young. I think it was because you both had caused such a commotion when you arrived. Outside my tea shop, a fight was going on with a drunkard and a homeless man. But you butted in to stop it, saying that it was wrong. I exited the shop and saw the both of you, standing in the sun. When you came in, I was just so inspired that I gave you free tea and dango, which you kindly accepted.

Maybe the reason I will soon be leaving this mortal world is because of my morbid curiosity--the longing to know everything. I will try not to say much about the people who will be coming for me. I do not want any bloodshed to happen even after I die. It is my only wish and gift to the world. In their place, I will die. That way, there is less death. It is better this way.

As more days passed, you confided in me about a war that you partook in. It was different from the wars now, you explained. It was bloodier, and the trail ran longer back in the past, and blood had already dried out. For four hellish years, you had to live through it, and everyday was a struggle for you. Numerous times, you had faced death, and there were days you thought you were going to die. 

I can still remember the hurt in your eyes as you relived the countless deaths of your allies. Just the both of you surviving was a miracle, you said. When I looked at Nezuko, I wondered how such innocent eyes were able to witness death in the eyes and still held bravery to continue on.

But the warm smile you gave me when you said that you and numerous of your allies had defeated the supposed demon was enough to reassure me. When you were alone in your makeshift room that was actually a storage area, I saw you holding up a black uniform. I was passing by, and I read the words ‘destroy’ on it. Was that the uniform you had to wear while you were fighting the war? I ask, as if you’d ever actually reply. Forget that.

In exchange for the stories you told me about your life, I told you about the legends and the history of my family. I don’t know if you still remember, but I told you about my grandfather all those years ago. He was also a samurai, like you. Our bloodline was also wrought with clashing blades and untimely deaths, and I soon came to learn. Love and hate intertwine, and I realised it wasn’t just looks that parents pass on, but also conflicts and feuds. But it is too late to change that now.

That night… Do you remember? I’d hate to bring back memories that meant nothing to you, but this one did to me. Under the prying eye of the moon, and below the dirt palace of Mt. Fuji, you pressed your lips to mine. I wished a second lasted longer. I remember each and every touch. Your hand held mine dearly, and your body was hot as you took me in your arms. It had to end though, but I really thought you were going to stay. I tried pretending for the longest time that I was just dreaming. I did my best, you have to believe me. But it was all for naught. Your memory kept coming back to me, in the most mundane things. This dream turned to a nightmare. A reminder of the best thing I ever had, slipping away from my grasp.

It was a big world, and it still is, but you were on your own journey. The next day, you had to leave to show your sister the rest of Japan. To give her all the things you weren’t able to give to your other siblings. Was I a fool to listen to your hollow words that you were to return as soon as you travelled the country? Or do I just have enough faith in you to keep your word? But I already know I ended up being a fool.

I heard from the others about a counselor in Edo that looked like you. Watanabe Hitoka told me of this certain man’s striking red eyes and slicked black hair with burgundy tips. The scar on his forehead reminded him so much of the traveller that had visited here an era ago. Then I knew, I was a fool. Kamado was his last name, Watanabe recounted. I just hope that I left an impact on you, the same way you left sorrow on my soul when I heard this. Even so, you were able to make me happy, even if it only lasted a couple of days, and even if the pain still stayed and stung me for years to come.

My tea shop is the only familiar thing in my street. The buildings have been through everything, and as time goes by, so do the inhabitants. The young people that used to eat and drink here already have their own family, some have died, and some have been born. I think I am the only one refusing to yield to time. So much so that it has caught up to me, in the form of my ancestor’s debts.

Travellers like you have also stopped by here numerous times. Their tales and legends could never hold a candle to yours, but the ones about war never cease to surprise me. Just how harsh was the battlefield? Were you also caught up in the political hell that is Edo at the moment? I hope not. I’d hate to see you be eaten up by greed and power. I know your sweet soul would never yield, but what did I know? A few weeks together and I knew who you were? Impossible. The men disappear, but the cherry blossoms continue to grow and bloom. These were the only constants in my life. Tea, dango, cherry blossoms. 

I still hope that you returned. Maybe I would not be so miserable, but family came first, I understand that. I confess, I still am holding out a bit of yearning that you’d show up and save me from the hot water I suddenly find myself in. But that only happens in tales, stories like you told me. And I didn’t live in one.

I hope to see you soon, Kamado Tanjiro. Even if it is just in my dreams. But if we end up seeing each other in the afterlife, I hope that I still have to wait a long time before that.

Yours forever,

______ ____

[incarnateirony]

Without maybe putting too fine a point on it, based on your observation of the way the show is headed, do you think we're moving to an ending that separates all of TFW from each other? I know the diverging of Sam and Dean's paths is a big part of their journeys, but do you think that applies to Cas (and even Jack), too? I think of all of them, I'm least clear on what the rest of Cas's journey looks like from here (beyond the Empty-that's pretty clear).

If you watch nothing else of my videos, I suggest taking the time to watch Galactic Grudge and Destiny’s Reflection. It takes about 20 minutes total, requires headphones and 1080P and yes, I understand people with audio processing hurdles or language barriers might struggle a bit but long term it maps out a path that would take several hundred pages or more to map out in text.

That disclaimer out of the way as to why I’ve arrived at this destination:

Yes.

Not entirely, nor permanently. Death is nothing to fear. Once they stop fearing death, and especially once they break the system so people aren’t auto-sorted into cages of passivity without their People and Families -- once All of the Heavens function on grand scale like, say, Ash’s bar did -- once humanity has reclaimed the throne/garden. What IS there to fear? That’s the real question.

With the video TLDR spec minded, my hot take:

Whether before or after Cas gets yeeted to the Empty (probably after), he’s due to mirror Rowena’s unbirthing of hell for a long, long list of reasons. Which sure, is her final death. But it wasn’t her end, was it?

But it’s Castiel most definitely arranging a home in which the Winchesters can have peace.

While I see Sam being the one to throw open all the doors of heaven as Chuck did hell and lead a giant MOL resistance through it to TAKE back the throne (another reason I think Cas won’t be until after the Empty, because taking heaven back is  one thing but actually stabilizing it in all the omens of what happens if God disappears or w/e is another -- we’re talking 15.20 here) (also a note, berens wrote 12.22 as a two parter alongside Dabb for 23, and Dabb also wrote Inside Man where the Bobbies revolt), Cas is probably the one going to end up with that throne. Very loosely.

Because they can’t just throw it to their kid and put the weight of the world on his shoulders, it doesn’t break anything. And Rowena has gone from Cas foil to Cas mirror over the years, and even as far as, say, The Things We Left Behind -- much less later Funeralia when she actually MEANT IT, or anything else to follow -- it’s about regret over a child that our stupid battles pretty much condemned. Sam and Dean also have a foot in this story pond but it most centrally belongs to Cas.

So while Cas chases the path of the goddess (Mary, Rowena, Amara), and Sam subverts the allfather he was tied to this season (John, Chuck and yes, even histories of Dean himself), where is Dean? Well one, Dean’s always been tied to someone fans aren’t asking enough questions about right now: Death. Who is very, very prominent this year, and I think everyone has to go rewatch Two Minutes To Midnight right now, too. Focus on more than the pizza or even “one day I’ll reap god, too”. Just focus on it all. Hell, focus on the inversion of Death finding them inconsequential to them being important. Focus on it all.

Dean has emotionally lensed parts of Chuck’s pillar this season, but that’s not really HIS, that’s what Sam was directly tied to. Dealing with daddy issues has always been a Dean thing, and part of his residual anger and hurt are what drove him and Cas apart this year, so the Chuckmara mirroring he kinda filled that emotional slot, sure. But his mytharc positioning, I’m gonna need everybody to think about that.

Dabb has spent like, 2 years teaching people that it’s fine to let go in a mature way and process your grief. Both Sam and Jack got passed a philosopher’s stone in order from Dean to Cas to (cursed aeonchild), once in 15.09 and once in 15.13. The magenta light of death is on both Dean and Cas, but largely avoids Sam, and Jack after his rebirth, while they stand over the christchild in place of Joseph and Mary.

Be it Swan Song “I can’t keep treating you like a kid anymore; you’re a grown--well, overgrown--man”, to modern “But now... you are a grown man, and I am incredibly proud of you”; it’s recognition of the child as a man. Be it Dean’s 12.22 “I saw you. Back there. You’re ready for this.” -- be it John’s “What next?” while moving on. Be it “go, mom, be happy.” be it even when she died, and they thought of bringing her back, “I saw your mother’s heaven. And she is. Happy. She’s... with John. And there’s no hurt, there’s no pain, guilt. Just joy.”

Sam’s place is on earth. His chance to have a home. A family. Dean... Dean has a family. And sure, Sam does as part of that family. But to even be a head of a home. To HAVE a wife. And a son. To finish leaving behind his legacy. Dean... has his I’m sorry.

So let’s play a game, presuming relinquishing the angel’s hold on heaven is done. Saving Cas from the empty is done. But Cas is sitting on that heaven throne while they all look different ways on what to do. Sure, Jack could revive Sam and Dean and bring them back to earth even if Cas is stuck glued to heaven like Rowena is hell. But if Dean’s done his duty AND is proud of his brother beyond duty, if the monsters are all but taken care of short of some stragglers Sam’s legacy system with Eileen can clean up. And ultimately... someone still needs to raise Jack, yes-- what does that give us?

I saw you. You’re ready for this. Now, you’re a grown-- overgrown-- man. I can’t treat you like a kid anymore.

It’s okay, dadmom. You fought for me, raised me, loved me. That’s enough. Go. Be happy. I’ve got him.

So back to “Dabb’s Dark Side of the Moon, Ash bar, megascale”, well. I’m gonna say. They’re gonna need a good hand on deck for that dream to let people find their people, to find their heaven, hell, to decide if they haven’t found their people yet and go back and try again.

It’s not goodbye, it’s I’ll See You Later. Because there’s still parts of earth they can make better. Every day they can make it better. And once Sam has his life, full, he can and would rejoin them all, in heaven. Be that wayfarer bars or toes in the sand, a world where people, families--they’re just as real there as they are on earth, able to make their perfect worlds. Dean and yes, Cas, can go and make that world even ahead of Sam-- with John, and Mary, and whatever old friends they choose to see again. And Sam, and Jack -- and Eileen -- can live on earth. Because for years Dean has wanted Sam to have a life. And die old of something normal and have a kids and grandkids. Trial and Error (Dabb), anyone.

The issue is letting go without it either being suicidal ideation of destructive sacrifice. And I think that’s the framework we’re going to be delivered.

Could I be wrong, sure I guess, I’m human. But as of right now, that’s what I see.

Cas has always wanted to bring his People home. But who have his People become? While yes, being seated in that chair gives chance to make things right with a few remaining angels he would no doubt give a chance, humans reclaiming the garden and planet from the divine they surrendered it to (Hammer of the Gods, Dabb, if you read between the lines on the Billions of pagan gods), or reversing various sealings (Clip Show, Dabb, if you pay attention to how and why EACH WORLD WAS MADE TO BEGIN WITH and how many Falls there have been and WHY THE TABLETS EXIST TO BEGIN WITH), whatever. It wouldn’t really be about establishing authority--and in the end, I’m fairly certain the Castiel seated in that throne would be irrevocably human. Because it’s the human soul that’s immortal. Be it using his grace to establish a spell and reversing elements like in Sacrifice, or tied into the angel blood and human heart theme that’s screaming at us this year-- that’s pretty much where I see Cas ending up. 

So Dean and Cas separate off to heaven in one way, Sam and Jack another, but still fated to come back together. Sam will have Eileen waiting for him. And Jack to raise.

Because the point is that they were here at all and you got to know them. And when they’re gone, it WILL hurt. But that hurt will be a reminder of how much you love them. But learning to let go -- it’s a part of growing up.

I’ve seen you. You’re ready for this. I can’t keep treating you like a kid anymore. You’re a grown, overgrown, man, and I am incredibly proud of you.

Go, be happy.

“See you on the other side.”

If people can’t watch my vids and pull anything out of it, my second note is to go do a Dabberens rewatch. Pull up Dabb and Berens eps on superwiki, make yourself a chain. I WILL note most of 6 and 7 has been seemingly obsoleted by Dabb, which should surprise none of us with all the ball punches at season 7 he does, so if you wanna save yourself a few hours, feel free to bypass. Season 10 also seems to have been addressed in season 14, and everything after that is the onset of Dabb era, so once you get to season 11 (where Carver and Dabb were sharing) and/or 12 (where Dabb took over entirely), just do a straight run. I also won’t blame you for bypassing Bloodlines. 

But if you do truncate 6/7, and a few eps, I suggest replacing them with the finale of each season (4-14, 6 and 7 pretty much already addressed last year), because Dabb still heavily employs those whether they were his own or not. Before Carver came back Dabb was sitting in the upcoming showrunner slot even during Gamble era. Dude has been primed and paying attention for a long fucking time. Absolutely 0% of people should have been surprised at Dabb inheriting the show when he did. And he’s been telegraphing his ideas for this show for years. Notice how many eps I cited above have Dabb’s pen all over it.

It’s where my headspace already was but damn if it doesn’t put Dabb and Dabberens’ direction in scale.

So for all my talk of philosopher’s stone and Death and all of that, if you can’t bring yourself to wade through all 20 minutes of Grudge-Reflection, I ask you to at least think on symbolism here

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