#but no idea what I wanted to write for that fandom

[inthelittlewood]

Questions about Eyes And Ears AU

I had somebody ask for a brief interview regarding my storytelling for their university project and thought I'd lend a hand.

I thought those of you that follow the story might like the insight too, so here ya go:

When you first introduced the Listeners in Evo SMP, did you have a broader narrative or concept in mind, or were they more of an atmospheric element at that point?

The honest answer is that I didn't want to write too much about somebody else's character(s), that being Grian's Watchers. If I could write the conflict from the side of the Listeners then we could continue the narrative with a pre-designed opposing force but have them be relatively mute for the most part. Partly to build anticipation of when they might act or retaliate but it also worked for behind the scenes purposes too. If the series hadn't slowed/stopped as suddenly as it did, I definitely would have poked Grian to pick his brain about what story elements fit his original imagining of the Watchers. So it was mostly narrative reasoning but they also served a mechanical behind the scenes purpose of transporting us to a new area which was necessary due to bugs we'd encountered with world gen etc.

What inspired you to flesh out the Eyes and Ears AU more in recent years? Was that mostly a personal creative decision, or was it influenced by fan interest?

Honestly I hadn't premeditated too much their reintroduction into anything that I was working on. Sure I'd seen a little chattering here and there about the Watchers but I honestly just wanted to write an individual story beat (albeit a tropey one) of c!Martyn snapping and turning on Ren but that never came to fruition due to Scar taking us out. The plan was always to backstab Ren then say a cool line like "Red Winter is over, Red Spring has begun" or something else punny. Seeing the fevered reaction of the audience though gave me some confidence that I could try my hand at some layered or entirely post-production storytelling, so heading into Last Life I was all guns blazing.

The Eyes and Ears AU is quite open-ended — do you intentionally approach it with the idea of leaving narrative space for fan interpretation?

It really is right? Yes, it's a very mindful decision to leave it open-ended but not so much for the audience's benefit or interpretations, but to give myself creative freedom to take the story wherever I'd like to. Committing to too many power scale, multiverse or narrative shackles early can really strangle stories I've noticed (from reading comics and manga) meaning back pedalling or aggressive retcons are required to explore certain paths, which is rarely a good experience for the reader. I do enjoy their versatility and capability to be applied to any Minecraft or adjacent story too. Some might call it too broad, I call it malleable.

How do you feel about fans expanding the lore through headcanons and theories? Have any fan interpretations stood out or surprised you?

I think it's brilliant! People inundate my inbox on Tumblr seeking permission to write stories or create characters / AUs but I've literally no authority on that. I suppose it might be a different conversation if they were profiting off of those works, but 99% of people simply want to write for fun which I highly encourage!! I'll be honest that I haven't read a great deal of AUs or headcanons, my exposure to them is mostly via chat messages during lore talk streams or questions that come through regarding the Eyes And Ears AU. As a general rule I try to avoid reading too much of other people's works on the topic because I worry I'll accidentally regurgitate it in some way then stumble into plagiarism, you know? It's why I focus more on digesting stories outside the fandom whether it's manga, Sanderson books, reading old Japanese folk tales and the like. I can source inspiration from those on how to weave narrative and execute plot twists without having to glance in my front yard.

Has fan content (art, theories, animatics, etc.) ever influenced how you think about or approach the AU?

Oh for sure they have. It's literally why after every season we'll do a sit down stream and talk about the lore in detail. Figure out the puzzle and potential trip wires of plot points from the episodes and how we can neatly pack them into the pre-existing story. A lot of people wouldn't do that as they'd be precious about their work and believe their opinion is th only correct one, but I looooove soundboarding with the audience on it. I also take that mindset in game and sometimes think about the scenery of an impactful moment whenever I'm able to control / design it. I'll have little quips or quotes cooked in my mind for how I'd ideally deliver a blow or plot twist, buuuuut given the nature of the Life series you very rarely get to execute things how you'd like haha! I definitely wouldn't have done as many of the poems had their not been such a positive reaction to those. I often see individual lines or entire passages make their way into art pieces as typography or highlighted in animatics which is really gratifying. It's why I also put such an emphasis and priority on audio production in my editing. If I can craft something that feels atmospheric, driving and punctuating with music, staggering vocals or sound effects then the auditory portion is already done, they can focus solely on the visual aspect of things. I try and be as cinematic / TV like as my skillset allows for that reason.

You’ve mentioned trying not to fully canonise the AU, but still referencing it consistently — how do you balance telling your own story effectively, while trying not to involve other creators, particularly on the Life Series, when a lot of your time is spent in a group?

The easiest way to do this, is to not do it. For the most part the only storytelling done with the AU is done in post-production. I never name drop the Watchers or Listeners in world (believe me, I was as surprised as all of you when I saw that Secret Keeper statue in Secret Life!!) and in recent seasons they haven't even reared their head as an influence whatsoever. They're on holiday, they deserve it. But when they do whisper in my ear, they're motivated decisions that I would likely make as a player/character anyway because the win objective is always the thing I'm striving towards. I can just pepper angst around it to make things seem more manipulated rather than selfish ha. I think that's why the open ended nature of the Watchers has served me well because as much as they have a singular motive which is to feed on negative emotions, that can be achieved in so many ways ranging from bloodlust to deception, heartbreak to panic. It's versatile for storytelling. It can be in your face, or a slow burn.

What do the Watchers and Listeners represent to you, symbolically or narratively? Do they serve a specific function in the stories you tell?

The Watchers used to represent the audience when Grian first introduced them, but after departing EVO I've definitely breathed more of an egotistical and sinister air into them. They're very much a unique entity / faction now, they in some ways represent gluttony, selfishness and neglect in achieving their goals. The Listeners on the other hand, are a lot of the opposite traits, but I'm still wanting to explore how being the hard end of most conflicts can be dangerous. I want to explore that at some point, whether it be with infighting or failures. They shouldn't be seen as simply bad/good, they're just, different. It shouldn't be too hard navigating that nuance but I want it to reflect elements and motives that we find in our own lives.

[strawberrymilkyumyum]

i think a lot of the hate that zutara gets, and non canon ships in general nowadays, is that a lot of people put atla on such a pedestal that they don't believe there's anything that can make it better.

for years now, i've seen so many people call atla the 'perfect show' and going on and on about how it's so well made and there's nothing that even comes close. while i don't disagree that it's an amazing show, it's not perfect, and i think a lot of people are afraid to admit that. it's okay for something you like to not be perfect, no piece of media is flawless, but people cling onto this idea that atla has no flaws.

the thing is, while there are so many cool and progressive things about this show, it's still 'problematic' (i hate that word.) there are racist moments, and themes, the writing has structural flaws, and there are parts that don't age well. this doesn't mean that it's not an amazing show - because it is. it's just acknowledging that there's still work to be done.

a lot of casual or nostalgic fans don't want to see atla as anything more than that amazing kids show they watched when they were younger and now look back on fondly. and that's fine, it is a great show but holding it to the highest standard doesn't help anyone. canon doesn't define a fandom, and it literally never has. critiquing the show, creating head canons and ships, and disliking the creators doesn't make the show any less amazing than it is. liking something doesn't mean you can't think critically about it, and it's fair for other fans to do so or simply want a different ship.

no one is trying to take canon away from you. we're all in this online space because we enjoy the same show. my dislike of an aspect doesn't make the show bad, it doesn't change what it was. i think once fans (of everything rn not just atla) realize that critique isn't hate, fandom will be a much less toxic space.

[nondelphic]

Where I’ve Been and the Future of nondelphic

TLDR; I’m coming back to this blog.

I’m so nervous to post this I literally had to take a nervous shit after drafting this post just THINKING about posting it but uhhh…

Long time no see!

It’s been well over 3 months since I posted regularly on this account. I never intended to take a break, but I got overwhelmed.

I started this account in the middle of August of 2024 with a very specific niche that, if you have seen my posts before, will recognise. 

Honestly, it started mostly as a distraction from my real-life problems. I’d began writing again last spring after a long time of writing block due to anxiety, depression, and getting used to my anti-depressants. Suddenly, I went from not being able to get out of bed to being able to get out of bed just to write. It became an escape. Just like writing fanfiction used to be when I was a pre-teen.

Through that, I rediscovered how much I actually love writing and creating. And when that happened, I also started craving community. I’ve never really had writing friends (the few I had were short-lived), and I found myself missing that connection.

That’s kind of where this blog came in. It was an experiment, not something I intended to take seriously. Just a low-effort, continuous space online that wasn’t too personal but could resonate with a wide diaspora of writers. Somewhere people could see themselves in my posts.

I’ve always been in fandom or hobby spaces online in some form—grew up in a developing tech society with zero internet safety guidance, so my relationship with social media is honestly decent, all things considered. But in recent years I’d mostly been a consumer rather than a creator. And I missed that. The active partaking. The sense of community. The external validation from like-minded strangers (very Gen Z of me, I know).

And also, it gave me something to do over summer, which is the worst time of year for me. I’ve struggled with seasonal depression for years, and writing got me through the worst days of my summer uni break. But it also stirred up so many thoughts and ideas I wanted to share.

So I committed to not only starting a blog about writing, but updating it continuously, with a fixed set of posts to be posted everyday. 

Part of the experiment was personal, but another part was professional. As someone studying and working in media and social media (amongst other things), I know how algorithms work. I understand how consistency, timing, and frequency affect reach and engagement. So I also wanted to test a theory—that’s not really a theory—that if you just post a lot, at the same time, every day, you’ll see growth.

And it worked. I gained over 4,000 followers in just six months.

Numbers aren’t everything, but I won’t pretend it wasn’t validating. Especially when I’d never had a following before. People were engaging, reblogging, sending kind messages. I felt seen, and I felt like what I was making had value.

It was also fascinating to experience it from both sides, both as the creator and as the media nerd in the background mentally noting what worked, what flopped, and why.

Everything was going great.

So why did I disappear?

Well, first of all, my seasonal depression carried on to constant depression and major social anxiety during autumn and into winter. I slept all day. Didn’t go to school. Could barely leave my apartment to go grocery shopping. All I did was write and update this blog. Make sure I had enough posts queued for the coming week. 

I had some visible breaks on this blog which I always announced. “sorry can’t post rn i’m stressed need time to update my queue”. Which was true, and I felt proud of myself for being transparent about it.

But the more my following grew and the more people interacted with me, the more I started doubting myself. I don’t know if it was my anxiety, depression or probable ADHD being the culprit of this, or just plain old imposter syndrome, but I started dreading opening tumblr.

I love coming up with post ideas for people to go “omg are you inside my brain rn?” or “I love your blog, your posts make me feel seen,” and I’ve had nothing but positive experiences with everyone visiting this blog. Yet, with the growing eyes on this page, I just felt this impending fear that someday it will all be gone.

So I do what I’ve always had a habit of doing! I self-destructed. And left this blog with the excuse (to myself) to work on myself and come back stronger.

And I guess that sorry excuse has kinda come true, although at the time, I was lying to myself. This post is literally me announcing I’m coming back. But back when I abandoned this blog, I, with a heavy heart, was really planning on not coming back. The more the weeks, and then months stretched on without opening tumblr, a growing guilty conscience brewed inside of me.

I’d open the app, stare at the little icon, and immediately close it again. I didn’t know how to explain myself without it sounding dramatic or like I was attention-seeking. And the longer I waited, the harder it got to come back.

Because what do you even say after months of radio silence on a blog that wasn’t supposed to mean this much to you in the first place?

But the thing is it does mean something. And even when I tried to let it go, I kept thinking about it. I’d see something funny and think, “that would make a good nondelphic post.” I’d draft ideas in my nondelphic ideas google docs, fully knowing I wasn’t posting them, but unable to turn off that part of my brain that wanted to connect with other writers, other people who got it.

I ghosted my own blog. And I won’t pretend I had a huge dramatic epiphany or breakthrough that led me back here. Just the quiet realization that I missed it. And I have better routines now. And expectations. That make it impossible for me to turn into the same all-or-nothing approach to this blog I had during my darkest days. Don’t worry, I’m still deeply insecure, anxious and depressed, so my self-deprecating posts will continue as scheduled! But I’ve found other coping mechanisms that don’t rely on…….. Tumblr’s algorithms.

I don’t need to be 100% healed or consistent or perfect to post. And everyone who has sent me a message during the time I’ve been away that I’ve been too scared to reply to has assured me of exactly that. Maybe I can just… come back. A little softer. A little slower. A little more human.

I’m not sure what the future of this blog looks like exactly. I don’t have a new “post 10 times a day” strategy lined up. But I do know I want to write again. I want to talk to you again. I want to rebuild what I tore down with my silence. Not out of pressure or expectation, but because I want to.

So this is me, stepping back into it. One foot in the door. No grand promises, just a little wave from the threshold.

Hi again.

I’m coming back soon. How soon? I think it’s best to not make any promises, but I’ve committed to coming back now, so I’m still gonna promise “soon.”

Also, genuinely thank you. To everyone who reached out in my DMs or sent something to my ask box while I was gone: I read every single message. Even if I didn’t respond, I saw you. My heart felt so big reading your well wishes and worries. Like genuinely, I didn’t know this little corner of the internet could hold so much kindness. So thank you, from the bottom of my stupid overwhelmed heart.

See you soon ♡

xoxo nondelphic

Ps. I’m gonna write another post over on @rebellenotes in the near future for anyone curious about what I’ve been up to in the last few months.

[hanafubukki]

💚🌺💫Happy Four Year Anniversary💚🌺💫

Its the fourth anniversary since I started writing on my blog. May is very special to me because of this and because it also marks my anniversary with Lilia Vanrouge (5 years).

Writing is a hobby that I took up to express myself and my ideas. My blog was made as a way for me to cope with reality and a way to meet others and enjoy fandom.

I never thought I would be writing for four years, let alone meeting so many kind and wonderful people.

I wanted to say thank you to everyone for enjoying what I write. I can't put into words what every comment, tags, like, asks, etc. means to me. But know that I am always grateful for everyone and their love.

Through this blog and through writing, I have so much fun and have met such amazing people both online and offline.

I am grateful everyday that I took the chance. It makes me look foward to the future. Everyday I have fun and I have a smile on my face even during the hardest of days.

So with all my heart, thank you everyone. You have all brought a joy to my life in some way or form with every interaction. I'm very happy to have met you all and I hope we can continue to have fun together. 💚💕🌺

[tyelkoandtimo-week]

Welcome to the Tyelkormo & Maitimo Week!

Hello Silm fandom, and welcome to the first year of Tyelkormo and Maitimo Week, hosted by me, @tinwe-the-local-assassin and @sadtimo!

With the C&C and Fëanorians weeks being hosted by the amazing @curufiin and @feanorianweek , Sadtimo and I who have been RPing as Maitimo and Tyelkormo for two years and writing amazing stories involving these two brothers, realized we find their relationship extremely underrated, and they're not talked about enough.

So what better way to shine some light on them but by starting a fandom event?

This event will be kicked off from the 4th-10th of July, and we would love to have you all participate in this event to celebrate these two cute lil bros! 🥺

Now, much like any of the other events, the rules are quite simple:

Please be kind to each participant. Bullying ain't cool kiddos and will not be tolerated.

Writings, drawings, headcanons, moodboards and any other way you amazingly creative people can find to show your brilliant minds are part of this challenge. Go nuts!

Due to both @sadtimo and my own values, we will not be reblogging works containing sibling incest. Anyone is welcome to participate, and we both are thankful of you for respecting us as well.

Please be mindful of the tagging, tw needed, and don't forget to mention us in your posts.(The blog username, but we try to keep up with personal mentions too). And just to make sure it will show up, you can use the tag #tm week. We'll be checking whatever comes up on the feed.

The week is just a formality, so don't worry about submitting works after the deadline. We will be keeping up with them after the event is finished, and we will be giving shout-outs!

Prompts and themes are just there to give you ideas. You don't need to follow them if you don't want to. I personally never do because forcing myself to write/draw a certain topic can never come out like my own moments of inspirations.

Most importantly, just have fun!

Themes and prompts will be further posted on the blog, so be sure to keep up with them!

[creatingblackcharacters]

Hi! I've been making my way through your lessons, thank you so much for them!

I might've just missed it in the lessons, but do you happen to have tips about how having a character be Black might change the implication or reception of a story? (Like I'd assume that e.g. Wyll's story has a very different reception/implication than it would if he were white) Do those implications change if both Black and non-Black characters are in the same situation?

I've been reworking an old story idea I had when I was a teen, and was considering reworking one or two of the MCs to being Black. But the basic plot has the characters stuck in a lab and experimented upon, and while it's definitely more SciFi than what would've happened in our world (closest similarity I've read would be Maximum Ride, human teens getting animal attributes like fur/feathers, ears, etc), it felt like something where reception and implication might differ between Black vs white characters (especially with the animal thing, now that I see it written out like that)

The space of privilege from which you can ask this 😅 I'm not mad, just a tad incredulous. There aren't really like... Tips. All of my lessons are tips 😅 real life is the tip, because it really is everything. I don't know how I can express it to you in a simple way. The implications will only change if you write them to be so. If you treat your Black character on par with the nonblack characters experiencing the same thing, then on your end, you've done what you can. But you cannot change how readers with prior biases will treat them, no. I mention that in lesson 6 part 1.

The most on the nose example I can give you is violence, and how violence is perceived (I have a lesson on this). The next time a crime- let's say armed robbery- happens in your city, committed by a white person, I want you to check the Facebook comments underneath. Then, for the same crime but by a Black person, I want you to check the comments on the same page.

Hell, I got called slurs by a line up of butthurt Nazis on here for suggesting that what violence we consider to be and excuse as "self defense" in this country depends on how white Americans perceive it (specifically what I said is that they believe it to only apply to themselves. The Nazis certainly didn't like that. Perpetual hero, perpetual victim). It has even been studied that in American courts, the race of your victim often correlates to intensity of sentence.

You can even check it in fandoms 😅 check how people respond to two antagonists with similar backstories and/or actions, but different skin color. Oh man 🤣 they don't even have to be antagonists fr! The amount of empathy available; the "oh well there's surely a sad backstory" excuses available will change depending on who you're looking at. So if you're looking for pity for your Black characters who have made questionable decisions, it's going to depend on both 1) your writing and 2) the beliefs of your readers.

I'll ask fans here to drop their stories in tags, in case it might help you with more examples.

[insert-random-account-name]

Analyze the Princess: The Thorn

Before you start reading, I would highly recommend checking out the analysis for the Witch! It's not required to understand this, but it provides helpful context for how I view the Witch, which then ties into how I view the Thorn. That's all!

I do not have a survey of the game in front of me as I write this, but if I had to guess the fandom’s favorite Princess, I would guess the Thorn. The Thorn is one of the most explicitly romantic routes, provided you have the Smitten. While there is also the Damsel, the romance shown in that route is unhealthy and flat. The Thorn is unusual in the sense that it is, at first glance, so different from its companion Chapter 2. The Thorn has none of the cocky attitude of the Witch, looks so much more sad and vulnerable, and, instead of pulling dozens of schemes from behind her back, is defeated. When you appear to her, she tiredly asks if you came to laugh at what she’s become.

You get the Thorn by offering the blade to the Witch as a sign of trust. She takes it from you, and immediately points it towards your heart. You have a final chance to say something to her, determining what voice you get in the Thorn. No matter what you tell the Witch, she stabs you anyway, gleeful in her revenge. However, it doesn’t take long before doubt creeps into her heart. She stares at you with fear and sadness, tears creeping into her eyes, as she realizes that you let her do this. As I mentioned in the Witch’s analysis, she finds herself no longer able to hate you, now that you’re even. And what does she have without hate? Who are you to her, without hate? Who is she, without hate? This results in a Princess with serious trust issues. She is lost, without a purpose, tangled in the thorns of her lingering distrust. What game were you playing? Whatever it was, she appears to have lost. She clings to the blade, the only control she has over this situation. When she hears your footsteps on the path once again, she doesn’t know what to do. Will you be mad? Upset? Will you just stare in silence? For once, she has no idea what your reaction will be, but knowing herself, and how she behaved, you probably won’t be all that friendly, so she resigns herself to her fate.

When you come down the stairs, the Thorn doesn’t know what to expect. Here she is, sitting in a bed of thorns, her pain and misery on display, and you look exactly the same as you always have. She warps and changes but you remain the same. Quiet, shadowy, and staring. No matter what she does to rid herself of you, you always come back, as if you were never gone in the first place, and that scares her. Not because you’ve hurt her, but because she has hurt you, and she doesn’t know how you’ll react.

There are three endings to the Thorn. My plan is to analyze them all separately, and then discuss all of them at the end.

1. Slay the Thorn.

I’ve slayed the Princess many times throughout this game. Many of those times didn’t feel particularly good, but the Thorn was by far the worst. You don’t get to just charge her with the knife. You have to sit with her, slowly gaining her trust until she reluctantly hands you the blade so you can free her. You then immediately confirm her worst fears and try to plunge it into her heart. The story then ends with the two of you struggling against each other, tangled in the thorns, neither of you caring about the blood streaking down your arms, only your revenge. A dreadful, but fitting, conclusion.

The Thorn reacts almost instinctively to your betrayal. What was she expecting, after all? The two of you are but wretched creatures, bound together for eternity. When she speaks, she sounds a lot more like the Witch, putting up her mask once she sees that redemption is no longer an option. The Thorn is defensive, and quick to hide her vulnerable side once you try to hurt her again.

2. Leave the Thorn to wither.

Leaving the Thorn doesn’t do much different from killing her. What I want to draw attention to is abandoning her without getting the blade from her first. When you reach the basement stairs, you find that the thorns have covered the exit. The Thorn also notices this, and in a spiteful bid for revenge, takes the blade and swallows it, leaving the two of you trapped forever. Again, this mimics the Witch’s self-destructive spite, showing that the Thorn hasn’t changed as much as shifted. A single push could take her towards redemption, or back to who she was before.

3. Freeing the Thorn.

Freeing the Thorn is not the outcome she expected. How could she expect kindness from the one who hurt her so much? How could she expect it from the one she hurt? But you’re patient, and wait until she’s ready to hand over the blade. And she does. Maybe it’s a bad idea, but she’s just so tired of all of the hatred and scheming and spite. You made the first move by handing her the blade. Now it’s her turn. And you free her.

When you cut through the final vines keeping her trapped, the Thorn collapses into your arms. After everything the two of you have been through, it was just that simple. Difficult, but simple. In that moment, the two of you have seen each other’s most vulnerable sides, and you embrace them. If you have the Voice of the Smitten with you, you’ll be given the option (much to the annoyance of the Narrator) to kiss the Thorn. Something important to know is that this is the only time you are given this option. No other point in the game lets you do this. 

After that scene, the two of you rush to the stairs, only to find them blocked. The Thorn then says that you won’t be held back by a bunch of pointy sticks. She’s had to face the thorns digging into her skin, pulling her apart inch by inch. They can’t hurt her anymore. They move out of the way. You step into the night sky, finally free.

The Thorn is all about healing, or twisting the knife. Both of you have hurt each other in the past, but you can change. She can change. You’re so much more than the vines that hold you in place. You’re so much more than a fool throwing your blade at someone you shouldn’t trust. The two of you can finally talk as equals, not enemies, and really listen to one another. And if the two of you trust each other enough, you can leave behind the pain and the thorns and the bleeding and search for a new beginning together. 

But sometimes the cycle can’t be broken. If you refuse to help the Thorn, she responds in kind. She’s played these games before, and if she has any say in it, you won’t ever win. The thorns close in as you both engage in your dance once more. This time, she’ll finally beat you. This time, she’ll get even. This time, she’ll show you just how much it hurts to be betrayed. 

The Thorn herself is wounded. She doesn’t really know what to think about you. You’ve both hurt each other, but you tried to make things right before she killed you. Unless it was a trick to get her to lower her guard. She doesn’t want to get hurt again, but she also doesn’t want this bloody cycle to continue, so she waits for you to move first. The Thorn knows that she has no way out without you, so she lets you talk. And if you free her, she slowly starts to heal. Blood dries on closed wounds, thorns are picked out of skin, and she can see the stars from outside of the basement. It’s never too late for redemption.

“This one yearns for connections she feels she doesn't deserve. Even when shown compassion, she hid herself away. She will make for a cautious heart.”

Want more of this? Check out my other character analyses in the Slay the Princess Character Analysis Masterpost!

[kittycatfite]

Symbiote Stobotnik AU!

All these eldritch horror!stone fanfics got me thinking. What if I wrote a fanfic where Stone is Venom and Robotnik is Eddie? (I thought about it as the other way round and I like this more, I think)

Ideas under the cut but this is going to be a multi-chapter fic and it will take me a month to write this but holy shit I think this is a Great Idea. i do hope there is overlap in these fandoms! PLS ask me questions but this AU, I need to talk about it!

It’s called Trusty Barnacle

All Stone text is in bold like venom in fanfics but it’s still Stone’s actual voice not Robotnik with a filter like Tom Hardy in the movies :P

Dr. Robotnik has a job as the guy studying aliens, they bring in this alien goop they found on a crash sight

Goop Stone gets attached to Robotnik and decides yes this pathetic man who hasn’t slept in almost a week will be my host. I lub him sm. He will be mine forever and ever. He is my precious. 

In this AU Robotnik is still S1 Rob with the neat hair and mustache but as it progresses and he gets a parasite bf he gets increasingly Eggman like

Symbiote Stone breaks his glass case, bonds with Robotnik and forces him to go home and take care of himself (Stone has no idea how to take care of a human, but neither does Robotnik but they are going to make this work! Even if that involves stealing pizza from a street cart and climbing a building) Robotnik is having the time of his life unlike Eddie who Was Going Through It in the first movie

Which causes Robotnik to lose his job

Cause he did just accidentally steal the alien goop he was supposed to be studying

Monsterfucker!Robotnik stays thriving

Stone still has to eat people’s brains/chocolate etc to be happy and healthy but Robotnik is willing. Stone gets to eat imbeciles in back alley ways as long as Robotnik doesn’t have to taste them.

They live in a little one studio apartment in LA like symbrock (not in great condition but then again Robotnik has an alien latched on to his heart like an angy cat 

Maybe fully symbioted name is Agent Stone or Dr Stone or something

The government keeps coming after them because again they think Robotnik stole the alien, not the other way around. Stone is very possessive of his human.

Maddie and Tom are Anne and Dan (Robotnik didn’t date either of them, they were just friends in college) Idk what to do about the hedgehog children

Mrs. Chen is still Mrs. Chen because I love her too much and I think she would be the only person (besides Alien Goop Stone) to love Robotnik and actually try to look after him.

Robotnik is still an orphan in this so Mrs. Chen is the one who raised him, maybe?

She still has her convenience store and is absolutely delighted that Robotnik found someone. Doesn’t matter that he's an alien parasite, he’s an absolute treat to be around. They have tea together every Thursday with Robotnik as a reluctant participant because Stone can't leave his body or he will die (he enjoys it and Stone knows cause he is in his head)

Maybe instead of the lobster scene that Eddie has, Robotnik is overly nice and friendly because Stone is in charge now and everyone is like WTF is WRONG WITH HIM. he said my dress looked nice? Is he dying? But no goop Stone just wanted to make friends with humanity because Robotnik is so awesome that he thinks everyone must be this awesome. (some of that naivety that Stone used to have back when we only had S1 Stone to go by but it's because he is an alien and not because he had no character development)

Poor Stone is severely disappointed that their all imbeciles besides Robotnik, Mrs. Chen, and maaaybe Maddie and Tom

But hey, people are still tasty, at least.

I am imagining the full transformation to be all black with the purple but with Rob’s body type (no tits for Stone I am sorry guys.

And also more light blue or red tech lines as Robotnik integrates some of his robot-y ideas to give them extra protection just to be on the safe side.

If mpreg does happen their kid is Sage and she is all red and techy like her arms and symbiotes with a cat at first like Sleeper does in the comics. 

OOH OOH Robotnik overworks himself and Stone makes himself like a onesie around Rob so he can be comfortable

Y'all I really like Stobotnik and Symbrock, can you tell? This was no way influenced by the fact that these are the two squishmallows that sit on my bed (ignore the vibrant pink blankets, my quilt broke and I had to use my old one)

[allonsysilvertongue]

Hate That It's true

Hello, hayffie fandom! sotr resurrected me and i finally found the urge to write again. so please bear with me, my writing skills are rusty.

Hate That It’s True

It was horrible.

The again, most of their fights were. The vase laid broken on his feet where she had hurled it in his direction. Haymitch clenched his fist, feeling the warm trickle of blood seeping through his fingers where the wine glass had shattered from the strength of his grip. He had nearly thrown the glass at her head but stopped himself. Better him injured than her, he figured. Enough people had been hurt in his name.

“You asked for me,” she stated, eyes cold and hard. “You asked for me.”

That was true. Haymitch looked away, refusing to face her.

She had been there during his Games – the last face he saw before the arena and the first to greet him after he woke up. She had turned up again during his Victory Tour and been by his side. Her presence was familiar and comforting.

He had been told it was temporary – that it was only for the Tour – and that she would be joining an up-and-coming new fashion label once the Victory Tour concluded.

Twelve would be appointed a new Escort for the 51st Games and Haymitch blanched at the idea of having to deal with someone like Drusilla Sickle.

“Get Effie,” he blurted, almost with a hint of desperation.

“For Escort?” Plutarch frowned.

“Yeah,” Haymitch said. “You got her for the Tour.”

“Yes – a temporary position as I’ve mentioned.”

“Fine. If she agrees, does she get to stay?” Haymitch queried. “I want Effie Trinket.”

He hated the fact that it came off as though he was begging to the Capitol and maybe he was, but Effie was one of the only remaining friends he had. In an attempt to keep them safe, he had driven away almost everyone in Twelve and he would be lying if he said he didn’t miss having Burdock around. He figured Effie, who bought into every propaganda fed her way was harmless and safe, and Snow wouldn’t touch her given how she played by the rules.

Plutarch matched his gaze. “If she agrees then I will see what I can do.”

Haymitch asked and he could see she was not prepared for the offer.

“Come on, Effie, you love the glamour and the glitz. Listen,” he said, “could be a great opportunity for your sister to have someone already working in the games. Probably need some connections once she graduates.”

She didn’t give an answer straightaway but on the last night of the Victory Tour in the Capitol, she found him in his bedroom gripped in the middle of a violent nightmare, drenched in sweat, muttering about “gumdrops” and “cistern”.

“Haymitch,” she shook his shoulders. “Wake up. Please, you’re scaring me. Haymitch!”

He jolted awake, breathing heavily and stared at her. Haymitch raised his hand to touch her cheek and then her hair, almost tenderly.

“Maysilee?”

“Wh – “ She touched his hand that was twirling a strand of her hair. “No, it’s just me. Effie.”

An unreadable expression crossed his face. “I – For a moment I thought you were Maysilee. Same hair colour – sorry,” he mumbled. He had no idea what came over him but in the soft glow of night light, he admitted, “She’s like a … was like a sister I never had. We didn’t split up, you know. It wasn’t how they showed it. She… She wanted to check on the potatoes and the Gamemakers targeted – fuck,” he took a deep breath. “You should have seen her with Drusilla on the train. They never got along,” he smiled wistfully. “Wished we had you – you would have treated us like we’re … people.”

Haymitch didn’t see her again until he was at the train station the next morning and even then, he nearly walked past her. She was dressed in a swirl of colour, as usual, but this time, she had on a wig – bright pink with splashes of blue. It was ridiculous.

“Now you’ll never mistake me for Maysilee,” she said cheerfully. “She’s special to you so let’s honour her memory that way. Besides,” she added when she saw him opening his mouth to get a word in, “if I’m going to be Twelve’s escort, I should have a new look.”

A movement to his right jolted him back to the present. An Avox had entered the room and was standing silently, waiting for them to leave so she could clean the shards on the floor.

It was their tenth year in the Games together. Ten long years of losing tributes and drifting further away from each other. Their relationship which had started out civil, almost friendly, had been eroded and strained by despair and misery, and in Effie’s case, desperation.

She was desperate to save him but each year he drank more, he pushed her farther. His insults grew more corrosive and hurtful.

She thought if they could save at least one tribute he would be better. He had snorted, called her delusional and asked if her sleeping around with sponsors had been worth it, and that was how Haymitch had narrowly avoided having his head cracked open by a flying vase.

“Having regrets, are we?” he sneered in her direction. “Can’t quit now, sweetheart.”

“Says who?” she challenged, narrowing her eyes at him. “If I want to, I can get employment elsewhere.”

He snorted and plopped down on the sofa. “Go to bed, sweetheart. Another year, another loss. I’ll see you next year.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw her taking a step forward, moving closer to him. He ignored her and poured himself a drink, a clear sign that the conversation was over. He wasn’t worried about her leaving and getting a job elsewhere. He knew she can’t.

Snow would never let her leave - her job was to keep the unruly District Twelve victor in line. And he had to behave, Snow had implied to him that Proserpina Trinket with her love for oysters could suddenly... disappear. Haymitch knew Effie love her sister more than anyone, and even if he found Effie annoying lately, he wouldn’t wish the pain of losing a sibling on her. He knew the pain. Let him alone live with it.

He hated the fact that he had trapped Effie in this life, in these Games, but he hated it even more that Snow had something else to dangle in front of him.

Hope you like it! let me know :)

[neetily]

Hiatus

Going on hiatus for the time being!

Why? I've fell out of love for fandom, and in particular SDV. For the past six months, I've been trying to hold on for dear life LOL... But the death of a special interest came strong last night, and I wept with joy at the thought of no longer writing for it. I think that's a good sign, and whilst I still grapple with the idea of no longer doing what I've been doing for the last six years, all change is scary to begin with. I need a break.

When? Will I be back? I don't know. I don't want to make promises I might not keep. I'm notorious for making impulsive decisions, but I've thought about this one for a very long time. It's just that the clarity came to me last night and I'd rather act fast as opposed to letting it fester. I don't enjoy this community any more. It's not a fun place to be.

As such, I'll be going inactive on this blog for the time being. No pressure in regards to sticking around, of course! I will still be writing on my secret blog, because I still love writing. It's just the SDV fandom I no longer want to take part in.

If you are a friend, you can reach out for access to my other blog. I might hand it out. If I don't reply, please don't take it personally.

In the meantime, you can download any of my fics for your own personal enjoyment. You can always do this.

Thank you for having me, I had a lot of fun! Speak to you later maybe :D!

[aritsukemo]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five of your other fave writers. Spread the self-love!

OKAY I FINALLYYYY HAVE THE TIME TO RESPOND TO STUFF SO FIRST WILL OFC BE MY FAVORITE OLDER COUSIN- 🤭 ( Also feel free to tag my in anything!! Just be warned, it may take me a while to respond... )

Paradise | KImetsu No Yaiba

"𝘈𝘩 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘦... 𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙖 𝙛𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙟𝙤𝙠𝙚." All she wanted was to forget. Forget what happened, forget her mistakes, and live a simple life with the family who found her in the the snow one night. 𝘼𝙡𝙡 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙚.. But instead she got a sword, a demon slayer uniform, was forced to relive her trauma and now has an adoptive demon sister who for some reason doesn't want to eat humans. F̶u̶c̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶d̶a̶m̶n̶i̶t̶ How wonderful.

Notes: I've said this a million and one times over, but this fic had been eating away at my brain tissue for a little over five years. It was the reason that pushed me into this world of poetry and I will forever hold this close to my chest and deem it my favorite fic series to ever write...though it's nowhere near done lmao-

The Oddities of Human Nature | Genshin Impact - Kabukimono

Humans are, by far, the strangest, most pitiful beings to ever exist.

Notes: This fic was never supposed to be written as it had lost to my old wip "Utterly Devoted To You" but my impatient self started on it while waiting on the poll results to come in and ended up finishing it a little while after finishing the poll winner. It's a depressing read I'll admit, but it's a fic I'm very proud of. Not only was it my first ever fic to breach 10k, but it's themes and the story I managed to unveil to my readers is to die for!

Kitten Love | Danganronpa ( Trigger Happy Havoc ) - Mondo Owada

A wounded stray and two love-drunken idiots who're hopelessly in love with one another.. That's it.

Notes: This fic was a surprise. I usually take forever or never finish fic request, but I had so much fun in the process of writing this! I got to take a different approach to my writing and overall I just had a fun time writing two people so obviously in love with each other. That said, this fluffy piece had quickly latched to me and I adore the feelings I get reading it back!

Birth of New Beginnings, Death to Old Comforts | Honkai Star Rail - Sunday

Sunday is approached with a second chance at life. Unbeknownst to him that what was sacrificed to obtain it was scarier than any death penalty.

Notes: This was my first time writing Sunday, but I'm happy it came out the way I did. Again, I managed to take a slightly different approach to how I usually write and I grew to be proud of this little fic. Not only that but the bts of it and the chats during ebg full of bliss and laughs for me and this fic will always remind me of that.

Invisible Scars | Miscellaneous - Multiple Fandoms

In which the night before leaves you traumatized and causes your emotionally constipated/emotionally reserved friend to seek you out.

Notes: This fic was a spur of the moment write. I remember scrolling through @creativepromptsforyou's blog looking for ideas and saw a prompt that I just couldn't help sinking my teeth into! This was simply a result of a sudden motivation that overcame me late at night but it makes me smile nevertheless!

Tagging: @castorizz, @pinkxpantha, @nursedflowers, @wystiix, @mikashisus ( no pressure, please lmk if you would not like to be tagged in future tag games I participate in ^^ )

fic authors self rec! when you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five of your other fave writers. spread the self-love!

thank you for tagging me @suguwu sorry this took me a sec to get to!! i have been cooking it up in my mind though !! hehe

Threefold | Honkai Star Rail — Mydei

When the husband you’ve never met returns from the war you’ve never understood, he comes bearing a strange and inexplicable gift — a prince in chains who he refuses to kill.

notes: this is my most recent project ergo i am the happiest with it atm HAHA i think my prose is at its strongest here!! honestly the idea for the plot really came to me in a vision…the image of mydeimos as the reluctant prisoner appeared so clearly to me that i had no choice but to build entire world to make it a reality!! (although in terms of world building i have done the bare minimum i feel LMAO very fast and loose fs) even though i haven’t met him in-game yet hehe he’s just very handsome yk haunts my waking hours and whatnot

Seabird | Blue Lock — Sae Itoshi

Thanks to a chance encounter on the beach, you spend your vacation trying to apologize to the famous soccer player you inadvertently offended. Unfortunately, Sae Itoshi has other plans.

notes: i feel like i would be remiss if i didn’t mention seabird!! this one was so much fun to write if only because reader and sae had the funniest dynamic i think i’ve ever written. they are so hater4hater and all of their conversations (plus the little brother’s snarky asides) had me giggling as i came up with them. i think in terms of prose it’s definitely a lot more functional compared to like threefold but that kind of lends it that silliness and charm?? so i still love it HAHA

Hierophant | Honkai Star Rail — Sunday

Sunday is your mirror, as you are his — or, how meeting him spells your doom, just like losing you spells his.

notes: did i know anything about sunday when i wrote this?? debatable (it was a birthday gift). forget about robin LMAOO this is definitely THE most ooc oak siblings you will ever see but i enjoyed it making it regardless!! it’s a 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝓭𝓪𝔂 fic more than anything and very speculative/open to interpretation in its entirety which is what i was hoping to get across hehe like i have my ideas for what i think happened but truly it’s not clear at all and it was fun withholding everything LFKDJD if that makes sense…coming up with the differences between halovians and humans as well as writing sunday’s slow deterioration and eventual breakdown was very fun for me!! i also loved switching between past tense and present tense for the different povs hehe it was a fun exercise writing-wise as well!!

The Instrument | Blue Lock — Michael Kaiser

Michael Kaiser is like a rose, and you are the songbird he cannot bear to lose.

notes: yes my opp michael kaiser is making an appearance here because unfortunately i actually do really love this piece LMAO i am not as much a fan of the part two because i only wrote it upon popular demand (i prefer leaving things open-ended) but part one i do by and large enjoy!! this was my first time ever writing in the present tense and i loveddd it HAHA it really unlocks a different style and vibe of writing for me so although i don’t always use it i def do like pulling it out every now and again which i wouldn’t have learned i can do without the instrument!!

Polar | Blue Lock — Nagi-Centric Genfic

This time, when Seishiro Nagi’s talent at soccer is discovered, it’s by a boy named Oliver Aiku — which goes about as well as you’d expect it to.

notes: this one is definitely a crazy one to put on here given that this is a genfic and i am a reader insert author but. i LOVE polar LMAOAOAO it was born of a silly conversation i had with one of my friends (jei if you’re seeing this hi) but it ended up being over 20k words of nagi character study in an au where he’s found by oliver instead of reo!! i love writing it hehe i think this is the proof nagi is my fav because like writing a genfic from a character’s pov is smth i’ve never done before and probs never will do again. but it was a blast at the time!!

no-pressure tagging: @luvether @loverducky @mewnbuns @kazucee @veraties (if any of you were tagged already i am sorry 🥹 i tried switching up who i tag too so i hope you all are okay with it please lmk if not so ik for next time 💖)

[cozylittleartblog]

Columbo and the Knight (1984)

put me in the universe where Columbo ran through the 1980s and had a crossover episode with Knight Rider. I think they deserved it, and I am not just saying that because they're my two favorite Old Shows. @telebeast wrote a little fanfic blurb about it and I HAD to visualize it into a comic (which is also the longest comic I have finished thus far at five pages...), so writing credit goes to them.

Autism W!

[nevertheless-moving]

So You Just Killed Palpatine

In Which, Much To Obi-Wan Kenobi's Surprise, While Dealing With The Consequences of One's Own Action's Can Be A Lot, It Isn't Always Entirely A Bad Thing

originally inspired by this and this from anon and husborth Part One, Part Two, Part Three ... Part Fo ... uh ... there's memes somewhere... Anyway Here's Part Five:

Obi-Wan blinked awake, head cloudy and body heavy, as if under unusually high gravity. But no, there was the all-too-recognizable ceiling of the temple healing halls, its mosaic ceiling drifting in lazy, clockwise circles.

What did I do this time? Wait, there was something I had to tell the rest of the Jedi...something important...

Oh dear, he was on the good painkillers, wasn't he?

“Obi-Wan?” someone familiar asked, voice and force presence ringing with a startling jab of hope.

“Bant?” he tried to reply, only to be met with burning pain in his throat. The only thing he managed to get out was an unintelligible coughing fit which pulled sharply at his gut.

“Take it easy!” she urged, moving into his blurry line of sight. “You’ve had extensive abdominal surgery, and your throat was — was crushed rather severely — it’s going to take more time for the grafts to heal.”

Obi-Wan nodded, chastened, before cautiously starting the process of pushing himself up in bed, Bant hovering nervously all the while. The effort made his muscles ache and the room spin faster, but things settled down once he was sitting up.

He looked around, sagging in relief at a small oily handprint on one of the otherwise sterile visitor chairs. Anakin had been here recently, and was in good enough health to be tinkering. Good, that was good. That was important.

He suddenly realized half his vision was obscured and sluggishly raised a hand to his face, only to find heavy cloth.

“I’m sorry, we weren’t able to save your eye,” Bant said softly. “Once you’re a little more healed we can discuss artificial or bioengineered replacement options.”

She plucked a cup off a counter overcrowded with a dizzying array of flowers. “Here, drink some of this if you’re feeling up to it, it’ll make talking a little easier.”

Obi-Wan accepted the drink, only to feel it slide out of numb hands. Bant gently closed her hands around his, helping to guide the drink to his lips. He grimaced at the taste.

“Bacta infused water,” she apologized. “You’re going to be drinking bacta infused liquids for some time, I’m afraid.”

A wave of exhaustion swept over him and Bant set the cup down as Obi-Wan sagged.

“Anakin?” he managed to rasp out.

“Anakin’s fine, he’s completely safe,” Bant said with a comforting squeeze of his shoulder. “He’ll be annoyed to know he missed you waking up, he very much wanted to be there.”

Obi-Wan was going to say something else, but sleep dragged him under first.

//

Obi-Wan opened his eyes — his eye — to the sight of Quinlan Vos scowling over a datapad. The dark spot on the left side of his vision was more noticeable than before. What the kriff did I do to myself?

He shifted, irritated at how lethargically his body responded. The pad fell to the ground with a clatter as Quinlan lurched towards the bed.

“Obi-Wan! Hold on, let me — you’re supposed to have the water before you try to talk.”

Quinlan helped hold up a cup and straw so Obi-Wan could take several short sips of the unpleasantly viscous and vaguely pineapple flavored water.

“How are you feeling?” Quinlan asked, hovering with uncharacteristic anxiousness.

Obi-Wan paused to think. “Weak,” he replied in a hoarse whisper. “How long have I been...”

Guilt flashed over Vos’s face. “You were in and out of Bacta tanks and surgery for a full two weeks. And then another week in an induced coma. And then another week in a self-healing trance. You had...a lot of internal injuries. I’m so sorry Obi-Wan—this is all my fault.”

Obi-Wan stared at Quinlan blankly for a moment. His face helped the memories to start trickling in.

"Yes..." he said slowly. "Yes — you knocked on my door... you said... Vos... please just... just tell me if I hallucinated anything — did I try to assassinate the Chancellor of the Republic?"

"I'd say you succeeded," Quinlan replied, half-smiling, half-grimacing.

"Did I — did we think he was a pedophile, only—”

He had to pause, throat burning as he fought a coughing fit. He swallowed more disgustingly flavored water before finishing the thought.

“—only to discover that he was in fact not sexually grooming Anakin, but was doing a number of other terrible things? And did he... did he — did he electrocute me...”

Obi-Wan’s voice trailed off and he took several more sips, throat filled with an uncomfortable fizzing sensation.

Quinlan nodded, wincing. “I mean parts of that you know better than me but yeah, that matches with what I understand.”

“Hm.” Obi-Wan finished the cup, mulling it over.

Quinlan Vos muttered something under his breath that Obi-Wan couldn't quite make out, but the word "dramatic" almost definitely featured.

Grey crept in around the corners of his vision, then black.

//

When he opened his eyes — his eye, he'd have to get used to that — next, he was greeted by a convenient and increasingly familiar cup at his bedside, as well as Master Windu. Obi-Wan quickly reached for the water, clutching it in both hands and taking a long drink.

Spurred on by the sight of the Master of the Order, he also reached for the urgent thought from earlier, wanting to get it out before he slipped back under —

“Chancellor Palpatine’s a Sith Lord!!”

The corners of Mace’s eyes crinkled. “Yes, Knight Kenobi," he said. "We’re aware of that now. You’ve proved it to be the case quite publicly. And ended the threat with remarkable... thoroughness.”

Obi-Wan head fell back. “A Sith Lord... the Chancellor!” he said in amazement. He was relieved to find his throat only barely twinging at his outburst.

“It truly stretches the imagination,” Mace agreed tolerantly.

“You’re telling me!” Obi-Wan took another long drink, head spinning.

Master Windu smoothed a crease from his robe before saying, with extreme delicacy, “I don't wish to pressure you into speaking before you've healed... but I admit, we’ve all been wondering how exactly you knew.”

"He force choked me and electrocuted me with Sith Lightning. Lighting! I thought that was a myth!” He drained the cup, hands shaking slightly.

“Yes,” Mace said quietly. “The healers were amazed you survived so long... let alone had the strength to fight back with such strength. We’re all extremely grateful to the Force for keeping you alive long enough for us to reach you.”

Obi-Wan made a mental note to feel grateful later, but his mental space was a bit of a mess at the moment, and he wasn't entirely certain he had filed it away correctly.

Master Windu sighed. “We would have been there sooner but I’m afraid none of us had any idea that you were going to confront a Sith.” A twinge of reproach crept into Windu's voice, but Obi-Wan set it aside along with the gratitude, to be examined at some later date. Ideally when his head felt less full of bantha wool.

“I had no idea,” Obi-Wan said numbly.

“Well you figured it out before the Council at least,” Mace replied, not without humor.

He couldn't help but snort. “Yes, because he shot lightning at me. I mean the force choking happened first but... lightning. Lightning!”

Lines formed between Master Windu's brows as he looked down at him. “As much as it pains me, I understand the risk assessment in not telling the High Council about a Sith Chancellor of the Republic, and goading a public fight was probably the best political move possible. But why start the confrontation so privately? It seemed rather — apologies, we can debrief on that when you're rested. I presume you were trying to get a confession about the droid and clone armies?”

Obi-Wan stared at Mace Windu wide-eyed.

“The what.”

The lines on Master Windu’s face deepened. “The... Kamonian clone army — the clones of Jango Fett...”

Obi-Wan’s eyes got wider. “Jango Fett—you mean Galidrean Jango Fett? The Jedi Killer? Palpatine made a clone army of him?”

Mace was silent for a long while, staring at Obi-Wan as though he were a particularly concerning puzzle. Obi-Wan chewed on the straw, mind wandering to whether or not it would be appropriate to ask Master Windu for a refill. As unpleasant as the flavor was, the fizzing did make his throat feel better.

“Knight Kenobi...” Mace finally said, speaking very slowly. “Do you remember why Chancellor Palpatine attacked you? The soul healers were quite certain the Sith Lord didn’t breach your inner shields but I think you might be suffering from some memory loss...”

His left eye itched; he resisted the urge to reach for it. Obi-Wan sank further into the cushions behind him, trying to think. Were there gaps in his memory? No, as usual, it all seemed a fairly clear path from Quinlan Vos knocking on his door to Obi-Wan ending up unconscious in the healing halls.

“Why Palpatine starting attacking?" he mused. "I suppose he wasn't going to just dance around forever — force, when he dodged my blaster shot, I simply could not understand how — it all happened so fast, but the next thing I knew I was pinned against the wall by a Dark —”

“Stop,” Master Windu ordered, raising his hand. He took a deep breath, radiating calm into the force.

“Do you remember what Palpatine said immediately before you shot him?” he asked patiently.

Obi-Wan shifted, feeling a pang of awkwardness as he muttered the answer guiltily under his breath.

“I’m sorry, Knight Kenobi, I didn’t quite catch that.”

“He said, ah, ‘you’re a Jedi’ and ‘you can’t kill an unarmed man.’”

Mace Windu stared at Obi-Wan.

There was a long pause while Obi-Wan fidgeted with the straw. He was starting to feel that perhaps his thoughts were even less clear than he had assumed them to be, and he was not handling this conversation particularly well.

Windu took another deep breath, radiating slightly less calm then before.

“Knight Kenobi. Why did you shoot the Chancellor of the Republic?”

“...I was trying to kill him,” Obi-Wan said, looking down.

“Why?”

Obi-Wan mumbled.

“Kenobi, speak clearly.”

“Well—ah—it actually turns out that I had misunderstood...I mean it had certainly seemed like...but he wasn’t actually...doing exactly what I thought...”

Windu stared at the recumbent Knight, who flushed.

It occurred to Obi-Wan for the first time, that, considering his plan of running away and becoming a bounty hunter was no longer possible nor, perhaps necessary, he could have misrepresented some of the timeline of events vis a vis sith slaying. Or better yet, pretended to have memory loss.

In his defense, the whole experience had been extremely unnerving! For all that weeks had clearly elapsed for everyone else, Obi-Wan was still processing Chancellor Palpatine shooting lightning out of his fingers.

A wave of exhaustion flooded over him, and he sank into it with relief, recognizing now the sickly sweet painkillers pulsing through his blood, clouding his thoughts and pulling him under.

//

Unfortunately, Mace Windu was still there when he woke up. Kriff.

He opened his mouth to try and backtrack, but Windu raised his hand, cutting off any poorly thought out explanations.

Master Windu took a deep breath, radiating very little calm by this point.

“Let me get this clear. Nod if yes, shake your head if no, did you go into the Chancellor’s office with the intent to assassinate the Chancellor of the Republic?”

Obi-Wan nodded.

“Did you know he was a Sith before you went into his office?”

Obi-Wan shook his head.

“Did you suspect he was a Sith?" Mace asked, slightly desperate.

Obi-Wan shook his head, cringing in apology.

“Before you went into the Chancellor’s office, were you aware that he was working with the Kaminoians to commission a clone army?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, biting back questions.

“Did you know he was working with the trade federation to commission a droid army?”

Another no.

“Did you suspect anything about these armies? Anything about a larger plot to destabilize the Republic? Destroy the Jedi? Become Emperor?”

Obi-Wan shook his head at each question, eyes widening with shock.

Mace Windu was radiating absolutely no calm at this point.

“Knight Kenobi...” he asked with a pained expression. “Did you... attempt to assassinate the Chancellor of the republic for personal reasons born out of some sort of misunderstanding? Only to inadvertently save the Republic?”

“I mean once I found out that he was a Sith... I of course changed tactics... and personal is a bit... but... that... Well. More or less sums the situation up, yes.”

Mace WIndu stared at Obi-Wan Kenobi, who wasn’t sure if he should keep talking or not. He didn't entirely trust his ability to explain things well at the moment, and ultimately decided to err on the side of silence.

Obi-Wan vaguely wished he could slip into sleep, but was fairly sure that it would be rude and possibly obvious to do twice in one conversation. His throat itched and he considered once again asking for more water, ultimately deciding against it.

Minutes passed, Master Windu staring blankly at the wall above Obi-Wan’s shoulders, while Obi-Wan's mind started to wander.

Who on earth had been paying to feed a clone army? How was Quinlan doing at getting Anakin to brush his teeth? Am I going to prison? Ohh that’s why the force was so insistent on killing Palpatine. Maybe that would help explain things to Master Windu? Though 'the force told me to' is  generally not considered a good excuse, in of itself, for acts of violence...though this is a rather unique situation...

Eventually Master Plo walked in, letting out a pleased noise.

“There he is! The Hero of the Republic!”

Mace Windu closed his eyes.

“Is that what they’re calling me?” Obi-Wan asked weakly, when it became clear Master Windu wasn’t ready to address everything wrong with that.

“Oh! Your drink is empty! Mace, Vokara was very clear with her instructions!” Master Plo scolded.

Mace Windu didn’t reply.

Plo-Koon snatched the cup, filling it up from a pitcher across the room and talking boisterously. “Well, the public is throwing around a lot of titles, but since you already had Sith Slayer...”

“Oh dear,” Obi-Wan said faintly, accepting the terrible water and drinking it for lack of anything better to do.

Plo-Koon patted him on the shoulder reassuringly. “I’m afraid to tell you it’s going to be very difficult for you to dodge commendations for your actions. Now that you’re awake you’re going to be faced with quite a backlog of requests for ceremonies and interviews—”

Obi-Wan choked. “Ceremonies?” he repeated in a higher pitch. He snuck a look at Master Windu. His eyes were closed, though he didn't appear to be meditating.

That probably wasn't a good sign.

"Yes, ceremonies," Plo-Koon said with far too much relish. "Turns out there are quite a lot of old traditions on the books regarding —"

Master Healer Vokara Che entered the room at brisk pace. “I thought I heard voices — I will remind you that before he is the ‘Sith Slayer Returned’ or ‘The True Chosen One’ or any such nonsense he is first and foremost my patient.”

She gave a sharp look to both Council Members. Plo-Koon nodded contritely while Master Windu continued to not say or do anything.

“The — no, no Anakin’s the chosen one —" Obi-Wan sputtered. "Anakin’s the reason — people aren’t actually calling me that, right?” he asked, drugs doing an admirable job at suppressing the panic he was fairly sure he was going to feel later. The device in Master Che's hand beeped faintly in answer.

“That and more, young Kenobi,” another familiar voice suddenly added, below his field of vision. “To collect your honors, expect to survive, you did not, mmn?”

“Master Yoda! No, I—I really didn’t expect... any honors... at most I was hoping that people would understand...” Obi-Wan protested weakly, shooting Windu a beseeching look which yet again failed to garner a response.

Che rolled her eyes, flipping a lek behind her somewhat sarcastically as she attached a glowing device to his chest. "Of course you didn't."

He barely refrained from wincing as several needles bit into him.

“Perhaps we would have had a better chance of understanding had you left us any of your evidence,” Master Koon chided gently.

“Put together the pieces we did, in our time,” Yoda added, hopping up on the nightstand to affectionately poke his shoulder.

Obi-Wan leaned back, feeling increasingly light-headed.

“Your vitals look good, all things considered,” Master Che said, sounding smug. “You should be back to getting into trouble in a year or so.”

Obi-Wan jerked his head in her direction, aghast. “A year?!”

“Busy, you will be, if work you wish. A seat, open there is for you. Comfortable chair, good company, important duties.”

Master Windu’s eyes squeezed further closed.

“What?” Obi-Wan asked, bewildered.

The healer scowled. “You were bleeding heavily into more or less all your major organs, including your brain. Really, it would be faster for me to list organs that weren't damaged. The fact that you recovered at all is only because Master Gallia conducted ill-advised on-scene amateur healing—"

"Is she alright?" Obi-Wan asked.

"—ill-advised, but successfully non-self-detrimental amateur healing, and I’m a miracle worker, and, credit where credit is due, you’re a stubborn bastard; not to mention your padawan has far too much energy to throw around — you really should consider enrolling him some healer’s courses—”

“Is he alright?” Obi-Wan asked, more urgently.

“He’s fine,” Master Plo reassured him with a gentle hand on the shoulder. “Everyone is fine except for you. He just tired himself out a few times, but Knight Vos has been keeping a close eye on him, and Anakin understands that the best thing at this point is to let you heal under your own power."

“Can I see him?” he asked. His voice was growing hoarse despite the dutifully refilled cup.

Vokara’s face softened. “Of course. He’ll be stopping by after class, in another hour or so. He’s been very punctual.”

“Master Windu? Alright are you? Silent, you have been.” Mace flinched upon being prodded with a stick. He opened his eyes, pinning Knight Kenobi with a steely gaze. Obi-Wan shrunk back, but Windu just sighed.

“You...” he trailed off. He stood up slowly, as if the movement pained him.

"I —" he said authoritatively, quieting the room. "—am taking a sabbatical. Call me when—” Windu gestured vaguely. “—you all sort out this mess.”

He walked out.

A long moment passed. “What did you tell him?” Master Plo finally asked in a hushed whisper.

"Ah..." Obi-Wan paused, limbs heavy with fatigue. "Well — you see— " He closed his eyes, feeling slightly cowardly as he did so.

//

When he opened them again, the light hadn't shifted nearly as much as other inbetweens, and his bandages hadn't been changed. Master Plo was still there, speaking quietly with Yoda.

Shit.

"Not too long that time," Vokara said, pleased. "I've lowered the dose on some of your medications, it should make it easier to stay awake."

"Oh. Good," Obi-Wan replied.

"Young Kenobi." Plo-Koon moved closer. "I dislike pressuring you in your current state, but... Master Windu appears to have left the temple. We were wondering..."

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, then closed it again, considering. His mind was, at last, starting to catch up with mouth. “He asked me... some questions. About how I came to suspect Palpatine," Obi-Wan said carefully. "It would appear I may have forgotten some details. About the evidence...Master Windu was — distressed regarding what I did and did not recall."

Vokara nodded. "Memory loss is completely understandable with the type of injuries you recieved."

"Alright, it is, if remember everything, you cannot," Yoda added kindly. "Our own investigations, ongoing are."

"So if I, ah, can't quite remember everything that led up to our fight," Obi-Wan asked, feeling guilty, but force, that blank look in Master Windu's eyes. "I mean I definitely remember the force willing me to decisively seek his end — really it was unusually loud about it," he added hastily. "If that helps."

Yoda nodded slowly. "This reason, understand we do. But, present to the public, perhaps not a good idea would be."

"Yes," Obi-Wan said. "I think — I'm not certain but I believe Quinlan Vos may have helped me collect some evidence..."

"Said as much, he did. Wait to confer with you, he wanted."

Obi-Wan sagged backwards with relief. "Yes. Yes! We had security concerns... Palpatine was so highly placed..." he trailed off.

"Considering Sifo-Dyas's and Count Dooku's entanglement in all this I can hardly blame you for hesitating to reach out to the council," Plo-Koon said, exhaustion audible even through his vocoder.

Obi-Wan choked on his spit; the following coughing fit was soon rewarded with a fresh bacta drink from Vokara.

Dooku?? Sifo-Dyas??

"Perhaps after I speak with him I'll be able to better assist with the current investigations," he offered hoarsely after recovering.

"Of course," Plo-Koon said gently. "Again, we apologize for interrogating you so early into your recovery but you really can't imagine the public and political scrutiny we've all been under —" He hesitated. "Master Windu was joking about taking a sabbatical right now, was he not?" he asked, sounding strained. "I know he's been under a lot of pressure, but surely you having memory issues couldn't—"

He was thankfully interrupted by the sound of small feet moving rapidly and a gangly body launching itself at highspeeds through the doorway.

Vokara just managed to snag the back of Anakin's robes before he crashed into Obi-Wan's medbed.

"Padawan Skywalker," she said, voice tight. "I believe I have mentioned the numerous injuries your master is recovering from and the need for —"

"Care in my movements," he said sheepishly. "Apologies, master, thank you."

"Anakin," Obi-Wan said, something in his chest relaxing at the sight of his dangling student.

"Obi-Wan." His padawan's eyes immediately started filling with tears.

Obi-Wan reached out instinctively. "Oh, Anakin."

"Give you a moment, we will," Yoda said, hobbling out, as Vokara sighed, then gently placed his pupil on the floor.

"Of course," Plo-Koon agreed. "Take all the time you need." He hurried to catch up with Yoda. Obi-Wan heard him begin to say, "Mace can't actually be leaving us to deal with this clusterfu—'' Then the door closed, and Anakin was weeping at his bedside.

"Shh," Obi-Wan said, tugging his padawan up, ignoring the protestations of his abdomen. "There, there, it will be alright."

Anakin crawled up, movements ginger and uncertain around Obi-Wan's numerous injuries. Together, they somehow managed to shift Obi-Wan enough for Anakin to fit beside him. His padawan shook with suppressed sobs, and parts of him were almost certainly hanging awkwardly off the edge of the bed.

Obi-Wan ran one hand through Anakin's hair, the other hand gently resting where he could reach without twisting too much, probably an elbow, though the boy was pointy enough these days that he couldn't be sure. If Obi-Wan was also shaking, well. There was reason enough.

"Sheev," Anakin finally said, oozing misery and an overwhelming tangle of other unpleasant emotions into the force.

"...I know he was your friend—" Obi-Wan said, after what was hopefully not too long a pause. This was another conversation that probably wouldn't be helped by painkillers.

"But he wasn't, really." Anakin curled up, even more miserable. "I know. I should let go."

The side of Obi-Wan's head throbbed. On second thought, painkillers were the way to go here. "That's not what I meant," he said. "He was a friend to you. He's gone now. Because of me, your master. And... I'm sure you've found out a lot while I've been asleep. I can't imagine a single padawan learner who wouldn't be struggling with their emotions right now. I'm struggling."

"I'm angry," Anakin said into his side. "Master, I'm so full of anger."

"You think I wasn't?" Obi-Wan asked dryly.

Anakin hiccuped a sob. "I'm angry at everyone."

"It's alright, Anakin," Obi-Wan soothed. "You'll work through it in time. I'll be here to help, whenever you want. Even when I'm the one you're angry with."

Anakin sobbed another minute, force presence roiling, before finally pulling himself in with a deep breath, and wiping his nose on the sheets. "You looked so cool when you were angry," he mumbled into Obi-Wan's side.

"Oh force," Obi-Wan groaned. "Of course there was holofootage. Of course you watched."

"Are you... still angry?" Anakin asked.

Fuck.

Obi-Wan tried to think of the right answer for a padawan learner. His head throbbed again.

"Honestly? Right now I'm mostly just tired. I feel like I was run over by a pack of bantha. It's never a good idea to try and deal with large emotional gnarls while you're this exhausted, remember that my young padawan."

"You've been asleep for years," Anakin whined. "How are you still tired?"

"Years?" he asked, amused.

"At least three," Anakin huffed, curling up against him.

Obi-Wan stroked his hair in peaceful silence for a moment.

"...Did you really smash in his skull with a metal chair to protect me?"

"I would do a lot of things to protect you," he confessed. "I'm sorry Anakin — I should have talked with you when I grew concerned with his behavior. I felt at the time I had to act swiftly, but I worry I only caused you more pain."

"It was a really cool fight."

"...Thank you, padawan."

"Can you teach me how to choke people with my ankles like that?" he sniffled.

Obi-Wan groaned internally. "Of course, as a Jedi, violence—" 

"Violence is our last resort," Anakin interrupted. "Right, yeah —but if it is needed—"

"—Such as when someone," Obi-Wan said over him. "After careful consideration, is found to be both politically insulated and positioned to commit great further harm—"

"Actually, I think you, the person who killed my trusted friend, lecturing me on why he was ultra especially irredeemably evil is traumatizing, even more traumatizing than all those holo compilations of you —"

"Oh force above, of course there's — oh. Oh no — please don't tell me—"

"The latest Jizz music," Anakin said, far too gleeful.

Obi-Wan groaned. Unfortunately, the extra movement in his chest triggered an admittedly ghastly sounding coughing fit and Anakin immediately lost the small edge of grace he had managed to cultivate during their back and forth.

"Master?" he asked urgently. "Master — hold on — I'll go get—"

"I'm fine," Obi-Wan rasped. "Any more of that —"

Anakin was already scrambling to fetch the pitcher.

Such a good boy, he thought affectionately, watching him pour and carry over a glass with the same care others might have when handling molten gold.

Obi-Wan drank with a reciprocal amount of delicacy, knowing his padawan was watching falcon-eyed for any wasted drops.

"Perhaps we should finish this conversation a little later," Obi-Wan said, once his airways calmed down.

Coughing should not be this exhausting.

"Of course," Anakin said, subdued, but he crawled back into bed readily enough when Obi-Wan patted it.

“Really, though —” Obi-Wan started to say, feeling it was duty to try and wrap up the lesson, but he was fortunately cut off before he was forced to figure out exactly what that lesson was.

“It’s alright,” Anakin chimed comfortingly. “We have time to talk about it, master. Can’t you tell?”

“Hm?” Obi-Wan replied, fighting the droop of his eyelids. 

“The force clears,” Anakin said, voice sonorous. “The dark retreats.”

“Oh.” Obi-Wan’s eyes started falling closed. “That’s nice.”

“So we have time. To figure out the rest.”

 “Very nice,” Obi-Wan murmured.

His padawan curled against him, force presence like ocean waves rocking him to sleep.

“The force says it’s going to be alright,” Anakin whispered, wonderingly. “It’s going to be alright.”

Obi-Wan smiled, then once again slipped back to sleep.

[themadwomanherself]

You're replies have made my day! I love any post or replies focusing on Michikatsu and Yoriichi because of just how tragic their brotherhood is and how much I don't want it to be tragic.

Such post also help me a lot cause I only joined the Demon Slayer fandom some months back and haven't read the entire manga yet, so these deep dives not only help me understand the characters more, but also helps put my own chaotic thoughts into something understandable.

Either way, I couldn't resist writing that idea of mine. Not my best, but I am satisfied.

-

For centuries, Kokushibo had done all that he could to prevent his fated death; he had turned his blood vile, chained his soul to a devil, and poisoned his tongue with forbidden fruit. He had thrown aside his humanity, his family, and all the obligations that had weighed upon his soul, all for a chance to see the dawn of his 25th year. To taste an ounce of freedom from the shackles that had kept him prisoner since his first breathe.

Yet, for all he had done, all the sacrifices, all the sins, still he faded to dust. Still he left nothing behind. His descendants blood on his hands, his breathing technique a curse made forgotten, his body nothing but ash. Only the clothes of his youth and that shorn flute the only remnant, the only sign, that he once lived.

Erased from history, from time itself. But not Yoriichi. Not him. Never him.

For all the work he had done to erase his brother's legacy from this Earth, still his roots remained. They budded. They grew. And from that sapling of hope, of a love he had never known, did the end of the era of demons come about. Centuries after his demise, his shadow haunts him. His distant light mocking him, never shinning on this lonely, begging moon.

As Amaterasu-sama turns her back on her brother-husband, so too did Yoriichi. For what was the moon without the sun? Nothing.

But the sun never needed the moon, never needed another to shine upon it so that others may see it. For it needed no one but its own inner strength and light to be seen.

Kokushibo had come to understand this a century after his brother's death, had come to understand that Yoriichi never saw him for who he was. Only the idealized image of his youth, a boy who died the day their mother's pyre burned, only leaving a husk to be shaped into an undesired heir.

But the countless nights he wandered their old estate, burned by the fires of Tokugawa's ambition, and retraced the steps they had once walked together as boys, left a hope in Kokushibo's dead heart. A small yearning to be wrong. A yearning that was crushed the second it bloomed from that severed flute, protected by the one thing that could not let Yoriichi be forgotten.

A yearning that refused to die, just like him and his rotten soul.

His end had come; by the will and strength of those that carried the torch of those he had willingly betrayed. The successors of steadfast Komajiro and his dearest friend Sōsuke. The descendant of one of his most precious joys; Shouya, his beloved son.

They brought him to his knees, till nothing but his will to live remained, a will undone by the sight of his monstrous self. The rot within exposed, ripped from the ground and exposed to the unforgiving sun. The face of the man he so craved to be, the judgement that tainted his love for his twin, was no longer there. Nothing but the monster he had become remained, for there was no one to judge him but himself. No twin to push his self-hate onto, no twin to cushion the blow of his own inferiority. Nothing but the raw truth of what he was and what he had become, of who he had truly hated for all these centuries.

In the end, he could never become like Yoriichi. All he ever did was destroy what he could not have, for the truth was even worse.

Perhaps… perhaps his question could finally be answered.

Why was I even born?

But what greeted him was not the familiar blazing presence of his twin. Instead, a demur figure knelt among the endless abyss, a figure he achingly knew, who haunted him centuries after her death.

"Mother?"

His words a whisper into nothingness, but the woman heard them as equally as she heard his death plea and the flute that sang mournfully in his heart.

Akeno raised her bowed head and looked upon her son with eyes only a mother could have when gazing upon their monstrous, hideous son. Her smile still as gentle as they were in his half-forgotten youth, but no longer was she weighed by the illness that claimed her life.

Kokushibo looked towards his mother in surprise, unsure of what to say, his mouth moving on its own, but no words leaving his lips. He could only watch as his mother looked to him with a love he had forgotten, a surge of life pushing her to stand, only to fall to the ground as Kokushibo's heart plummeted at the sight.

But Akeno was not deterred. She regained her composure, settled herself down once again, and looked back to him with her warm smile, her loving eyes, her motherly presence.

Nothing was said between them as the silence stretched on; Akeno still smiling at her son and Kokushibo remaining unsteady. Centuries had passed since her death, centuries of so many vile acts committed by his hand, yet why did his mother not reject him?

Why… why did she still look at him with love?

A sadness passed through his mother's eyes, seemingly catching his thoughts. Soon, Akeno raised her hands, opening her arms as though to accept a hug, her smile turning even more gentle as a pressure began to build on each of Kokushibo's six eyes and within his chest. But there was still a question that lingered, a yearning that refused to part.

Kokushibo looked around, trying to find sight of that blazing haori, but found nothing but endless nothingness. A trickling thought began to root itself as the former Upper Moon One frantically searched. Over and over again, his actions became more frantic and desperate, dread pooling in his gut as his heart raced faster than it ever had before, the severed flute within whistling frantically as Kokushibo turned desperate and hysterical, his breathing distressed as he looked to his mother, eyes pleading.

Please let me be wrong.

But when he caught sight of his mother again, she was no longer smiling. No longer did she extend her arms out to him, only knelt there in resignation as she looked to her son mournfully.

I'm sorry.

A roar exploded behind him.

Before he could even react, a chain of melting iron wrapped itself around his calf and dragged him into the blazing inferno. The suddenness of it all saw a surge of fear in Kokushibo, digging his claws into the nothingness he stood within, desperately fighting against his fate. Looking towards his mother, he begged to know. Begged to see the one thing he yearned for most before the fire that would cleanse him of karma devoured him.

Akeno could only bow her head and silently weep, unable to give him the comfort she was unable to give in life. Unable to give him the closure he desperately craved.

"Mother?"

She could not look her son in the eye, could not see his world shatter as he was dragged into hell.

The tug of the chain and her silence only made Kokushibo feel more dread. He could only beg, "Mother?"

It was only thing he could say as fire ate at his flesh, burned through his bones. Tears fell from all six eyes, then five, then four, then three. His vision shrank as Michikatsu choked on his grief, "Mother?!"

She looked to him and only pointed towards the sky.

High above, where the fires of the hells could not reach, a brilliant light shined onto them. A brilliant star in an endless abyss. A sun as unreachable as-

Michikatsu felt his heart squeeze as he silently sobbed at such a sight, his breaking nails digging in further as he took another hand to reach out, begging for the one person he wanted most, the pain in his heart too much to bear. But it only made the chain pull harder, dragging him towards the endless pits of suffering that awaited him, the distant screams of his fellow demons as piercing as firing a gun.

Clawing at the abyss, Michikatsu stalled his descent, but did not halt it, claw marks dragging as another chain wrapped itself around his neck. The fires that roared beneath him gnawed at what flesh remained, but he didn't care. He wanted-

He just wanted-!

I… I just wanted to be like you…

Though Akeno could no longer see her son, she still felt his suffering. His pain. His anguish. She could still hear his struggles, his cries, how his bones snap and his flesh sizzles. She could do nothing but weep as her son was dragged into the hells, silently pleading for the person he loved beyond else.

But Yoriichi was not there.

(But she would. No matter how long, she would remain and wait. For no one else would.)

And Michikatsu understood, then, that he was right…

It did little to dampen the pain, the hurt.

That was his final thoughts as his arms were severed from his being, burnt through till nothing connected them to him. The final thought as he fell into the burning gates, his head pulled downwards towards the deepest realm, where only fire and near eternal suffering awaited him.

The final thought as he raised the stump of his arm towards the distant sun above. Forever unreachable. Eternally 93 miles away.

-

Ok. I’ve recently had a thought that is super depressing (for me) and I need to share. Don’t care how improbably this is, I’m just a sucker for depressing ideas.

So, we know demons can sometimes meet those important to them before going to hell. And though we never officially see what Kokushibo experiences before going to hell, we all want him to meet Yoriichi for a final reconciliation.

But what if Koku meets no one?

What if Yoriichi already moved on?

We see in the fandom that Yoriichi is portrayed as someone who deeply loves his brother, given he kept the flute long after Michi became a demon. But he also didn’t hesitate to kill him, even though his love prevented him from doing the final blow.

We often think he would stay behind to wait for his brother, wishing to be with him, but…

What if, after he died, he just… accepted his brother’s decision and moved on? What if Kokushibo is the only one obsessing over the other, and thinks Yoriichi will greet him in death but finds no one?

Everyone has moved on. His mother, his father, his wife and kids and even his twin. No one waits for him before he goes to hell and all the future lives he is reborn into, he is alone.

They’ve moved on. Only he’s trapped obsessing over the past. And when they have long left the cycle of suffering and reached nirvana, only Michi remains clinging to his grief and jealousy and desires.

His desire to remember. His desire to repent. His desire for forgiveness and his desire for their love. To see his twin again and make up for all the wrongs he’s done to him.

Yet, he never sees any of them again, in any life. And as he obsesses over this, the guilt and his desires clawing at his heart, he finds himself the last man yet to escape the cycle of suffering. The last soul to remain in the hells.

Cause to reach nirvana, you have to relinquish all your attachments and desires; including relinquish clinging to people.

In the end, he knows he was the only one thinking of the other. His parents moved on. Yoriichi moved on. But not him. And he can’t.

Just… I find this idea to be so heartbreaking, but it might just be me.

[davonati]

They make love out there in the field, before David has to leave for good. It’s fast and messy, with both of their emotions running so high. Yonatan comes with the taste of David’s tears on his tongue.

He stays lying on his back in the grass until the sound of crunching footsteps finally fades away, and only realizes later that, in their utter desperation for each other, he’d forgotten to take any of the usual precautions. But by then, it’s far too late.

***

Four months later, he goes to see David at Horesh. Even in the dim light of the hideout, David looks at him oddly.

“Something’s different about you,” he muses, and Yonatan has to stop himself from reflexively clutching his belly. He’s not showing yet, not really, but he can feel the life growing inside him.

He expects David to approach him then, to explore the planes of his body as he’s done countless times before. He readies himself to tell David the truth, to finally feel the weight of this secret lift off his shoulders. But David comes no closer. He eyes him for another moment and then turns away, pulling out a large map of the Judean territories as he updates Yonatan on his group’s movements over the last few months.

It’s better this way, Yonatan decides. David has enough to worry about at the moment without concerning himself with Yonatan’s health, and there’s no guarantee that the baby will make it to term anyways: it’s not as if Yonatan is willing – or able – to confine himself to bedrest for nine months. When David returns to Giveah, Yonatan can reevaluate the situation. Most likely Yonatan will never need to reveal his mistake; best case scenario, David will have an heir to secure his lineage as he ascends to the throne.

***

Years later, as Yonatan lies bleeding out under the stars, his last thought is to wish he’d gotten the chance to tell David about their son.

[meanderingstream]

Eliot at peace with being Damned

One of the things that makes Eliot hard to write for in-character (but also such an interesting character to explore) is that he believes he is damned to Hell and he is at peace with that. He has a lot of guilt, oceans of guilt, but it's not so much the tortured, anguished catholic guilt à la Nate or like, Daredevil. 

He has done monstrous, unforgivable things. But, on his own, he came to a realization of what he had done, and pulled away from that world. On his own, he left the worst person he ever worked for, and stopped using guns, and stopped killing. On his own, he switched from wetwork to retrievals. This all occurs before we ever meet him, so while there are many hints and inferences, the specifics of how that happened, how he came to those decisions, are left up to the audience’s imagination. 

Eliot wants to make the world a better place, and he works everyday with the team to help people, and he genuinely enjoys helping people and the work he does on the job. But he does not believe that he can be redeemed. (Not my own personal belief about him, but it is what he thinks). When he dies, he will go to Hell for his sins, and there is nothing that can possibly be done to change that. He doesn't need to angst over it, because it’s just a fact. It is what it is. There is no point agonizing over whether his soul can be saved, because he knows it cannot. This is both a keystone of his character, and also something he doesn't spend a lot of time thinking about day-to-day, because it’s a settled matter. 

And as much as we love Eliot the character, he has a point that lives are not tradable for equivalent exchange. If he killed a specific family 25 years ago, that was snuffing out the light and potential and future of those particular parents and children. The surviving extended family lost those particular relatives. Saving a family now does not balance that ledger, because each person is a unique life and not interchangeable for another. While I may have different beliefs about Hell and redemption than Eliot, I still want to acknowledge that he has a point. That changing now doesn't necessarily help the people he hurt in the past, and unlike Harry, he can’t work down a list of making amends, because almost all of his victims are dead. There is no atonement to the dead. 

Eliot’s redemption is in seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, and helping others get to it. Particularly the team, and particularly the pair he’s going to protect until his dying day. He will stay down there in the dark forever (he believes), but getting the others out is his redemption. 

I do not believe that Eliot will actually go to Hell when he dies, but his belief that he is damned is fundamental to who he is as a character, and he is going to believe that for the rest of his life. It can be really challenging to balance that when writing his POV, particularly when delving into events that dredge this stuff up for him (which we writers love to do because it’s so delicious). Eliot doesn’t exactly have a low self-esteem. He knows he has many skills and is exceptional at them (cooking, fighting, grifting, guitar, sports, etc). He pretty much knows his teammates love him, and care about him, and want him to stay alive for them, and spend the rest of his life with them. He has professional pride, and he will argue when he wants something. He is certainly not a doormat. However, he also believes he is fundamentally and irrevocably a bad person. Balancing between him not being too self-deprecating in normal situations / about his usefulness to the team, with his inherent belief in his own moral depravity can be a thin blade to walk without falling to one side or another. But it is also one of the biggest aspects of his psyche that makes him such a fascinating and complex character to explore.