#cerberus-delusion

[gatorgumz]

Hello, in the year 2016 you were at Artist Alley at Anime AUSA. I had bought two copies of the prints you had of Davis Motomiya and Ken (I forgot his last name) from Digimon 02. I am wondering, I can understand if it isn't, is it possible to buy those same prints from you again or no?

Hello! I believe I still have copies of them, e-mail me at taojun17@hotmail.com and I'll get back to you on details!

[gorjee-art]

(dunno how dis work. But i try. )

🖊

I was browsing through my inbox and I found this little pen that I’ve missed! I’ll answer this one for Sebastian cause I think he’s very interesting and I don’t have a chance to talk about him all that often.

Sebastian is CERBERUS’ mortician and scene cleaner! He specializes in everything dead and gone. Even does taxidermy and headstone masonry as a hobby.

He has an unnatural obsession with death and everything surrounding it, far too engrained in the macabre that he personally has zero fear when it comes to it!

He’s been classified as the bounty hunting group’s vulture. That while Joe and Charles are being vicious coyotes ready to tear apart at their next meal ticket, he waits nearby to pick at the scraps.

Sebastian is Elysium’s omen of death, dubbed the “Crooked Man”, that if he’s nearby, the reaper lingers near. Many newcomers have learned the hard way that messing with the old man is unwise. For many showboats who had been cruel to the elder was quickly shot between the eyes, or mauled the next day.

His bravery towards death starts to make sense when he mutters utterances of “This isn’t how I go.” Or “I’ve seen how I die.” He will tell tall tales of how he has seen death with his very eye, that has told him many secrets about his life, as well as how he would die…which he is actually very pleased to know about! He will keep his death a secret until his dying breath. Many tend to think it’s him attempting to embellish his life story to seem more interesting or just plain delusion. However his pals are slowly starting to believe it’s true, for everytime he throws himself into danger it is almost eerie how he seemingly comes out of it unscathed.

Last little funfact about Sebastian is that, due to some early events causing his brain damage. He has developed Prosopagnosia, or otherwise known as face blindness! Thankfully his friends have varying body traits and voices he recognizes that he won’t confuse easily but he will have trouble with too many new people and constantly give out the wrong names.

[sephirthoughts]

The Ghost of Shinra Manor 👻

It's still spooky season till after Día de los Muertos so it's not technically late!

summary: It's been two years since the events of Dirge of Cerberus. Cloud visits his hometown, and investigates a rumor of a ghost, haunting Shinra Manor. If you're surprised by who it turns out to be, you are beyond my power to save, comrade.

tags: g-g-g-ghosts!!! sefikura, sephiroth x cloud, sane!sephiroth (sort of), post advent children, post dirge of cerberus, canon timeline, delusions, intermitten amnesia, low drama, enemies to…whatever the hell they have going on

NOTE: i was raised by outdoorsy, log cabin, roughing-it parents and there will be a lot of details about this type of living because that is what i like

warnings: references to death, PTSD, past abuse, etc. all of hojo's greatest hits, mention of animal death in the context of ethical subsistence hunting/fishing, canon-typical violence, technical nudity but i didn't describe anything so you'd have to imagine it yourself which is not on me, pervert

rating: teen and up [for now]

Part 1: Reunion

A big, black, Fenrir model motorcycle roared up the dirt road, leaving clouds of dust in its wake. Its golden-haired rider adjusted his goggles and pulled his black scarf up, over his nose and mouth. It was late spring, which was still mid-winter in the Nibel region, and as he drew nearer to the mountain, the wind grew colder and sharper, till it felt like it was full of tiny, icy needles.

He had a little hunting cabin, up there, that no one else knew about. They knew he went somewhere, it was just that he didn’t specify the location to anyone but Cid and Vincent, who had helped him fix the place up, and were sworn to secrecy.

Why didn’t he tell the others where it was? Why would he? He went there to be alone. To decompress, when the weight of people’s lives got too heavy to carry. When their voices began to cut into his skull like buzz-saws, and he felt the thread of his tolerance strained to the snapping point.

Even for a person with a normal brain and no life-altering trauma, things would have been claustrophobic, in their little house. Marlene and Denzel were underfoot every minute of the day, and their continued presence meant that when Cloud wasn’t out on long deliveries, he and Tifa had to share a bedroom. He couldn’t fall asleep, with another person in the room, though, so they didn’t use it at the same time. He was a night person, anyway. 

She tried to act like she wasn’t hurt by his refusal to share a bed with her, but she was a shit actress. He had attempted to make her feel better by explaining that he didn’t have those kinds of feelings for girls—or for anyone, really—but he could tell she didn’t really believe it. Or that she at least thought of it as something they could work on.

Everyone (except Vincent) thought that. That something was wrong with him, and that he’d get better, if they persevered in telling him so. The way he was didn't make sense to them, therefore it wasn't normal, therefore it was a problem that needed to be solved. Hooray for the neuro-typical majority.

No one ever asked Cloud what he thought. They just told him what he should think, and then made decisions for him. Most of the time, it was easier to just go along with it, especially since he didn’t want everyone to be mad at him. Them being mad at him meant they’d talk to him even more, and use louder voices. He hated that.

He should have insisted on getting his own place, a long time ago. He and Tifa had been playing house from necessity, at first, but there was nothing actually keeping them together, now, aside from habit. Habit and guilt.

Who knew when she started to think of it as a real family. As if she and Cloud were a mother and father, with a couple of kids. As absurd as that was. They were barely more than kids, themselves.

When Cid and Vincent got married, people got even more obnoxious with the hints and "jokes" about when him and Tifa were going to tie the knot. She’d act all embarrassed and explain that their relationship wasn’t like that, but she’d glance at him, with that look in her eyes, when she thought he wasn’t paying attention. 

He sighed, as he rounded a long curve in the road. He knew himself well enough to know that he’d probably wind up giving in and just marry her. Didn’t seem like a very happy ending, for either of them, but who got one of those, these days? 

It did seem like an especially shit deal for her, though. Marry the kid no one liked, from your backwater hometown, live in a shithole two-bedroom over a bar, slinging booze and taking care of two adopted kids, while your asexual husband spends most of his time away, for work. 

Asexuality was a spectrum, though, and Cloud was somewhere near the middle. It just wasn’t the heterosexual middle. He made an earnest effort, once, but he couldn’t get it up for a woman, no matter how hard he tried, and it just wound up being awful and making the girl cry.

Fucked a couple of guys back when he was a trooper, but that was rare. Not that there weren’t plenty of interested troopers and even SOLDIERs, it was just that he had never wanted any of them. What he had really wanted was Sephiroth. 

Cloud was nine years old, when he fell in love with the perfect face, that he saw on television and the recruiting posters, that were always plastered all over every vertical surface, in town. The obsession only grew stronger, as he grew older. 

He joined up as soon as they’d take him, at age fourteen. The training was miserable and grueling, but he gritted his teeth and worked his ass off, keeping his idol firmly in his sights. Whenever the opportunity came up, he applied to the SOLDIER program. For all his diligent efforts, he met with rejection after rejection.

Several years passed, that way, with disappointment weighing ever more heavily on his heart. But just when he was losing hope that he’d ever meet the object of his worship face to face, he was assigned to a mission with the silver soldier himself. Wouldn’t you know it, that mission was to check on the reactor, in his very own hometown. 

They say never to meet your heroes, but the implication is that you’ll be disappointed. Cloud was not disappointed. Sephiroth was everything he had ever imagined, and more. Ten times more beautiful, and a hundred times stronger and faster. His legendary height was one thing to know logically, and another thing entirely to experience in person. He was literally superhuman.

And yet, despite his angelic appearance and godlike strength, he wasn’t arrogant or demanding, at all. He was thoughtful and soft-spoken, and obviously cared for his subordinates. He asked their opinions, and actually listened. Encouraged them, rather than berating them. He even learned and called them by their first names. It was the most humanely Cloud had been treated by any superior, apart from Zack.

Following those two around, on that mission, Cloud fell more hopelessly in love with his silver-haired deity, than ever. He loved Sephiroth with his whole young soul. Right up to the moment he watched that famous blade pierce his mother’s heart. 

Cloud Strife died, that night, as surely as Claudia had, and whatever this thing was, that he had become, was born. This thing capable of killing gods and monsters. This thing that survived years in a mako tank, being tortured by that bastard Hojo. This thing that had absorbed Zack’s memories, and remembered everything but Zack. This thing that hated Sephiroth, with every fiber of its being. Hated him as much as Cloud had loved him.

The sun was low in the sky, behind a blanket of grey clouds, when he finally pulled up to the clearing, where his unassuming cabin was tucked away.

He swung his leg off the saddle, then he winced and clutched his chest. His heart had been aching more and more as he approached Nibelheim. Not in the metaphorical sense, because of the tragedies he’d been through there—it was actual, physical pain.

He wasn’t exactly sure when it started, though, bcause he was so used to pain, it just got shoved to the back of his mind. Which it did again, now. It wasn’t bad enough to incapacitate him, so he ignored it, and unbuckled the leather panniers, which he slung over his shoulder.  

The cabin was locked up tight, just like he left it, with all the traps and wards in place. Not surprising. No one came up this way, anymore, since the reactor shut down.

Fortunately, the cabin didn’t need the reactor, for power. He’d bought an old, Wutaian, nuclear generator, to heat the water and supply electricity, and hooked it up with Cid's help. Thing was expensive as hell, but it was quiet, reliable, and would last literally forever. 

He stepped inside and typed in a code on a wall panel. When the generator hummed to life, he switched the electric lights on, and took a look around. The place was a little dusty, since he hadn’t been there since last summer, but otherwise, everything was just how he left it. 

It was a simple, single-room cabin. Nothing fancy, except he and Cid had redone the insulation and added the electrical wiring. Water came from a dedicated well, deep enough to take advantage of the Nibel region’s unique geothermal situation, and not freeze.  

There was a bed in one corner, with a frame of roughhewn logs, and a cedar trunk at the foot, where the blankets and pillows were stored. The bathroom door and the kitchen were on the other side (just a stove, small refrigerator, a few cabinets, and a sink), and the fireplace was central. In the opposite corner to the bed, there was a steel camp table, with two folding chairs, as if he’d ever have a guest here.

He tossed his panniers on the bed and went right back out to carry in firewood. Supply was getting low. The cupboards were pretty barren, too, but he’d go into town tomorrow to stock up on canned and dry goods. Those were just a supplement to the main source of food, up here, which was hunting.

When he was a kid, hunting was a long and grueling ordeal, with uncertain payoff. Now, augmented by Sephiroth’s cells and whatever else Hojo did to him in that lab, it was as easy as a trip to the grocery store. He left and returned with a brace of rabbits, within half an hour. It was late spring, so they were already nice and fat, too. 

With the ruthless efficiency of a seasoned survival hunter, he skinned, cleaned, and washed them, and set them roasting on the iron spit, over his little hearth. He was out of anything resembling spices, but the meat was good enough roasted, with just a little salt. 

That night, as he lay in bed, that ache in his chest seemed to grow worse, and made him toss and turn restlessly. When he finally drifted off, he dreamed of being impaled on Masamune and lifted into the air. Sephiroth’s green cat-eyes, staring up at him, with that deranged smile on his beautiful face. Black feathers fell like snow all around him.

I will never be a memory…

In the morning, Cloud went into town. Despite the reactor being shut down, Nibelheim was more lively than ever. With no Shinra, there was no one to pay mortgages to, so the residents weren’t eager to leave the homes which now belonged to them, free and clear. Then the WRO came in and added infrastructure, opened a school and clinic, and paid subsidies to local shepherds and artisans and the like, so the little town was actually prospering. 

“Howdy, Mr. Strife!” the round-faced, balding man at the general goods store said cheerfully, when Cloud brought his purchases to the counter. “Been nigh on a year, since I seen ya. Stayin’ a while?”

“Little while,” Cloud answered noncommittally. “How are things, in town? Anything needs looking into, while I’m here?”

The man scratched his chin. “Nothin’ particular. Just the usual rumors, is all. Monsters in the woods. Creepy things goin’ on at the old manor. That kinda thing.”

“Let me guess. The vampire, again?”

“Nah, nah, ain’t heard nothin’ about that fella in a long time. These days, it’s a ghost.”

“Fiends, or something else?”

“Folks are sayin’ it’s the ghost of a woman, with long, white hair. Don’t do nothin’ but wander around inside the manor, wailin’ and moanin’. They say if you go over there, at night, you can hear her, but if she catches ya snoopin’ around, she sucks out your soul.”

Cloud snorted. “Sounds like the usual bullshit.”

“You ain’t kiddin’!” the man laughed. “Folks got too much time and not enough to do, these days, so they get to tellin’ tales. Y’never know what they’ll say, next. Maybe devils or goblins.”

“Well, if it keeps kids away from the manor, the ghost stories are probably for the better. It’s a dangerous place,” Cloud said, taking his full grocery bags. “I’ll be heading over there, tonight, to clear out any monsters that may have got in, over the winter. I’ll be sure to look out for the ghost.”

“Haha, you do that! Have a good one, Mr. Strife!”

Despite his reticence and flat indifference to overtures of friendship, Cloud was rather popular with Nibelheim’s current residents, because whenever he was in town, he’d deal with any local wildlife problems. Even if no one had anything pressing, he always checked Shinra Manor, since the ruins attracted a lot of monsters, and if they started establishing nests, they could pose a real threat to the townsfolk. 

He spent the rest of the day chopping and stacking firewood, fishing using a thundaga materia and a net (which was technically cheating, but he was fishing for food, not sport), and scouting around for signs of dens, near the town. When the sun got low, he strapped on his sword and began the short, two-mile hike to Shinra Manor.

When he emerged from the woods, on the bumpy, neglected dirt road, it was already dark. The hulking ruin of the house loomed like the desiccated corpse of some titanic beast, off in the darkness, behind the bent and rusted iron fence. Cloud kicked the creaking gates open and strode in.

The property was overgrown with brambles and sedge grass, and ugly, grey vines, with huge thorns covered much of the half-collapsed structure. The front doors had long fallen off the hinges, so the entrance was just a yawning, black hole, like the mouth of a tomb. 

Cloud faltered and clutched his chest, as he approached the house, but not for any fear of the supernatural. He’d killed too many supernatural creatures to care about even the biggest and vilest ones. Besides, he knew firsthand that the scariest thing in Shinra Manor had been a living human being, named Hojo. 

It was just that the pain in the area of his heart had gotten steadily worse, on the walk here, and now it was throbbing insistently, aching so badly it was getting hard to ignore it.

What the hell could it be? He’d chopped wood and done other physical labor all day, without noticing it. Why was it getting worse, now, after a relatively light walk? 

He was thinking about this, in mild annoyance, when he heard a noise inside the house. In the blink of an eye, his sword flashed out and he shifted into combat mode, all senses on alert. 

As he stepped inside, the stench of dry-rot hit him in the face, like a wool blanket. He paused and surveyed the area. It was pretty dark, in here, but he had excellent night-vision, so it was more like dim twilight, to him. 

The noise was coming from the upper level, somewhere. A rasping sound, like dry corn husks scraping the walls. Every once in a while, there was a burst of creepy cackling. His lip curled. He knew exactly what that was. 

The main stairwell had collapsed, so he leapt lightly up to the landing on the next level, and stalked down the hall. Around the corner, the doors to all the rooms (which were miraculously intact), were closed tight. The scraping sound was coming from…pretty much all of them. How did those things manage to get into the rooms and shut the doors behind them?

“Dumbshits,” he grumbled, and kicked the first door open. 

Sure enough, a bunch of floating fiends, with markings like stupid jack-o-lantern faces on their balloon-like air-sacs, were bobbing around the room cackling at each other. When the door exploded inward, they shrieked and rushed at Cloud. With a casual swing of his sword, he obliterated all of them at once. 

Their dying howls riled up the ones in the other rooms. Apparently they couldn’t figure out how to get out, though, so they just rasped and thudded around, cackling like idiots. Cloud kicked the next door down and blasted those ones, too. 

He repeated this process, for each room, making his way down the hall, till he reached the room with the secret passage, to the basement levels. There was no noise from this one. He tried the knob. It clicked easily, and the door swung open, with a hollow creak. 

No fiends in here, but the passage to the basement was open. He’d better go down there and clear out anything else, that might be lurking. Monsters loved dark, dank places like that.

Slapping his sword back onto the magnetic holder, he hopped down the black hole, and landed on a stone floor, three full stories below. 

The impact of his boots was still echoing in the stone-walled chamber, when he heard it. A low, eerie moan, that seemed to come from somewhere far off. At the same time, that pain split through his chest like a crack of thunder, making him grab his heart and gasp for breath. 

The moan stretched out into a wail, rising in pitch and wavering, before it dwindled again. The sound sent chills racing up his spine. Things like ghosts and monsters held no terror for him, but this was different. He wouldn’t even call it fear. It was more like…a rush of numinous awe.  

He threw a firaga burst, to light a couple of the torches on the wall, and surveyed the crypt. Vincent’s coffin was gone. The others had been tossed about and smashed to bits. Bones littered the floor.

Step by step, he descended deeper into the basement. Toward that old library. Toward that horrible place, where he was stuck with needles and probes, cut open and sewn back together, had his eyes blinded with chemicals and his lungs filled with burning mako, till his throat was too scorched and raw, to even beg for death.

His stomach churned and cold sweat was beading on his forehead, but he kept going, compelled by that ghastly moaning and the splitting pain in his chest.

He passed through the library, still scattered all over with heaps of old books, smelling heavily of their musty scent. The door was open, on the other side. The moaning had turned into a low whimpering, punctuated with choking sobs. It didn’t sound like a woman’s voice, though.

Drawing his sword again, and clenching his teeth against the agonizing ache in his heart, he stepped into the next chamber, all his hyper-tuned senses on high alert. There were collapsed pillars and scorch marks, and slashes made by huge claws in the stone walls, from their fight with Vincent, in his beast form. 

Along the far wall, were several heavy, steel doors, with locking bars on the outside. The one the noise was coming from was ajar. It wasn’t the lab he’d been confined in. It was on the opposite end of the long chamber—the one with those strange vats, labeled Project-S, which Vincent had taken umbrage to them entering, back then. 

Cloud pushed the door the rest of the way open and scanned the room. In the inky, underground darkness, even his night-vision was pushed to the limits, and he could only see very dimly, but it was enough to spot the source of the noise. 

It was a naked, ash-white, human figure, curled up in the corner of the room, trembling and whimpering. Its pallid body seemed insubstantial, almost transparent at the edges, like it was fading out of reality. That was probably just an illusion, brought on by the heavy darkness.

He used a materia to summon a little ball of light, and as the white glow filled the room, the figure gave a hoarse cry and curled up tighter.

Cloud squinted at it. This must be the ghost, people claimed was haunting the place, but why would they say it was a woman? Its back was to him and its head was down, wrapped up protectively in its arms, but he could see that it was a man, from the broadness and muscularity of the shoulders.

“N—no, please,” the ghost stammered, in a weak half-whisper. “Please, don’t hurt me. I’ll be good. I won’t…I won’t ask about her anymore, I promise. Please.”

“Hey. What’s wrong with you?” Cloud said. 

His own voice startled him, sounding solid and very loud, compared to the feeble murmurs of the ghost, which were muted and distorted, as if Cloud was hearing them through water.

“No, g—go away! Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me!” the thing wailed, as Cloud stepped closer. 

“Will you shut up and listen to me?” Cloud said, keeping the sword trained on the huddled figure. 

The ghost’s piteous pleas cut off abruptly, but it kept trembling and cowering. 

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” Cloud soothed. “Calm down, ok? What are you doing here? Did you get lost?”

Hesitantly, the figure lifted its head. 

Cloud’s heart stopped.

Time seemed to stop.

Long, silver hair hung over the ghastly-white face, and cascaded to the floor, pooling around its bare feet, like water. From between the moon-colored strands, pale-blue eyes peered up at him, with slit, catlike pupils. 

“Who…who are you?”

next chap

ao3

[mrcompass]

Where does Damian come from?

"Damien was not included on the HD Academy's recruitment list. In fact, he is the only one with absolutely no personal history, participation in tournaments, or any other data to be found. Everything about him is cloaked in mystery." Hikaru in Episode 94 - Spirits last battle.

As Hikaru perfectly points out, Damian's origins are a mystery. However, this lack of a clear backstory only draws more attention to his character. While Damian's origins may not directly impact the kind of blader he truly is, they can certainly add depth to his character. Based solely on the anime, there is no definitive answer regarding his background, so this analysis will explore popular and lesser-known theories. Keep in mind, this is not a judgment but my personal analysis of possible backstories and what they could mean for the character.

A descendant of Hades?

One possibility is that Damian is related to Pluto or is a descendant of King Hades. This theory is based on the close ties between Damian and Ziggurat (a top member of the Hades Cult) and the physical and behavioral similarities between Pluto and Damian. Both characters have similar fringes, and Damian initially had dark blue hair. Blue and purple are close on the color spectrum, and Damian’s hairstyle is somewhat reminiscent of King Hades and Rago, particularly with the spikes at the back of his head. Some may also argue that the dark purple aura Damian gained in episode 100 is evidence of him possessing dark powers similar to Pluto.

However, this theory can be easily debunked. The physical similarities between Pluto and Damian are, in my opinion, subjective. We also saw a dark aura leaving Toby after he broke free of the arrangement. Moreover, many characters in the series share similar hairstyles but are not related, such as Yu, Zeo, and Chris. However, these characters share a narrative similarity: all three were hurt or betrayed by someone they considered friends—Yu by Ryuga, Zeo by Masamune, and Chris by his friends. Damian and Pluto share narrative similarities too. Both are sadistic and arrogant, with a warped view of the world, influenced by distinct individuals: Hades and Ziggurat. Hades' prophecy, which Pluto holds as "absolute," and Ziggurat's "chosen one" narrative, respectively contribute to Pluto's belief in the world’s inevitable destruction, and Damian's inability to comprehend the true essence of Beyblade. Damian, already alienated by Ziggurat's influence, wouldn’t need to be subjected to Hades’s; this is more in line with Pluto and Rago’s traits. Pushing this theory might be an attempt to make Damian "special," but he is already "special" due to his compatibility with the arrangement system. Damian doesn’t need nepotism; being a relative of Pluto would only serve to validate his delusions. Furthermore, since he only appeared in Metal Masters his connection to Hades would be irrelevant. Finally, Damian is a manga character, unlike Pluto, who is exclusive to the anime. It wouldn’t be surprising if the animators took inspiration from Damian’s design when creating Pluto. After all, they have similar Beys (as I pointed out in my analysis of Hell Kerbecs), and Cerberus is Hades's dog.

An artificial being?

The second theory I want to discuss is one I saw online and was reminded of by @lady-lazagna. This is the possibility that Damian was artificially created by Hades Inc. Although this might seem unreasonable, science fiction is not uncommon in MFB or the Beyblade franchise as a whole. For example, Doji had his consciousness transferred into a robot. In Beyblade: V-Force, Zeo Zagart is actually a cyborg. Zeo shares some similarities with Damian; they could almost be considered counterparts. Both are the final opponents of the main protagonist during the World Championship, both possess a gold Cerberus-based Bey, both obey a doctor, and both have to collect something from the opposing teams (in Zeo’s case, the Bladebreakers’ Bit-Beast, and Damian’s battle allows Ziggurat to collect data). In the manga, the American team consists only of Zeo Abyss and Damian Hart. Since MFB Zeo got the name from the original series Zeo, one might assume that his partner got a similar story to the latter. Moreover Damian was trained by Hades Inc., a company specializing in selling weapons led by Faust. What is certain is that Damian, as a blader, was "created" (a term used by Faust) by Hades Inc. In the anime, the absence of any information about Damian, his inability to understand fun, and his surprise when he got dirty suggest that he had an unusual upbringing or that he isn’t human. What could invalidate this theory is that Dr. Ziggurat is a neurologist and a specialist in energy, which doesn’t necessarily indicate he could create an artificial human. Also, if he could, he would probably sell the process. Damian was called out for being a fake blader, a blader made in a laboratory because that is what he is. His power comes from a machine and his bey was created throught data. Even his personna as the "chosen one" is somethin crafted by Ziggurat. In a way Damian "the blader" is artifical.

Ziggurat's relative?

The third theory, and one of the most popular, is that Damian could be Ziggurat's son or relative. This could explain why Damian was not on the recruitment list and why Ziggurat selected that child in particular (because Damian was in his reach). They share a similar hairstyle and personality traits: both are extremely arrogant (Damian has a god complex, and Ziggurat thinks he is superior to Einstein), they have little to no empathy, they are manipulative, and they like to experiment with their inventions or abilities on others. If Damian had to pick up those traits, it would be after living some time with Ziggurat, and he happens to have a privileged relationship with the Doctor. Furthermore, Ziggurat being Damian's parent or caretaker would add more to their respective parallel with Ryo and Gingka Hagane. As a matter of fact, Ryo is everything Ziggurat isn't: kind, sometimes lacking the seriousness expected from his position, yet having respect and understanding of beyblade. The way he raised Gingka certainly echoes Ziggurat's treatment of Damian. It is more present in the manga, but Ryo was essentially Gingka's mentor by teaching him everything he knew about beyblade and his view on the sport. The Doctor actually did the same with Damian, as he is the one who gave him what seems to be his first bey. The last two actually share the same opinion on the arrangement; for example, in episode 100, Ziggurat genuinely believed that Damian became invincible thanks to his special arrangement. In a way, Ziggurat transmitted his view of an artificial beyblade, in which the blader makes no effort to train or connect with their bey since everything is conceived for them by HD Academy. This is the opposite of what Gingka had to endure: since Ryo faked his death, his son had to retrieve L-Drago alone, living on the streets for months, while also becoming stronger and familiarizing himself with his bey. Ryo later set more obstacles by destroying Gingka's bey-pointer as Phoenix. In the finale of Fusion, he let him find the key to defeat Ryuga on his own. As you can see, Ryo wanted and made sure Gingka became more independent. This is a stark contrast to Damian, who was given everything on a silver platter just because he could handle the arrangement. In a way, we can see this as two father figures providing diametrically opposed education to their protégés. And let's not talk about the moral implications. If Ziggurat was Damian's caretaker, him manipulating and experimenting on the child he was supposed to protect would certainly illustrate how far he is willing to go to accomplish his plan. In my opinion, it wouldn't be out of character since he took advantage of Toby, who was hospitalized with a life-threatening disease. However, it might seem strange for Ziggurat to have a child, given his disdain for children. I think that if he ever wanted a child, it would be in the same way people buy a pair of shoes. Everything for him is a product that can be bought or acquired in one way or another. There is also the question of the last name, since Damian's is Hart. Still, Ziggurat could have adopted him or changed his last name to cover his tracks in case someone investigated him. The way he treats people and uses his bey are appropriate indicators of his mindset. If this is true, it would make Damian a more tragic character because he was inadvertently close to a man using children as test subjects, effectively treating them no better than tools. And when you look at Ziggurat, it’s not hard to imagine that he wouldn't provide a healthy and happy childhood to a child. This would explain why Damian doesn't know what fun means, for example.

Yet this theory isn't without its flaws. The first is that, once again, just because two characters look alike doesn't mean they are related. It's not uncommon in anime and manga for a character to be revealed to have a prestigious lineage (it is actually the case for the legendary blader of the solar system). Taking into account that adults are barely present, it's not surprising that fans would want to give characters a parent when the opportunity presents itself. In addition, Ziggurat is an anime-only character, so it's not impossible that the animators intentionally made him look a little similar to Damian. After all, Damian holds the bey of hell, and Ziggurat is the leader of Hades Inc., in addition to having similarities with the Christian devil. Regarding the personality part, it could mainly be due to the arrangement, since even Zeo became nasty because of it, and let’s not forget that Toby gained a brand-new personality, even forgetting his name. It is also worth mentioning that the members of the Hades cult, particularly Doji and Ziggurat, are corrupt people who corrupt others. In Metal Fusion, this was illustrated with Yu, who had a close relationship with Doji, almost like his right-hand man—they even shared an evil laugh together. If you couple that with the arrangement, which is known to alter personalities, then Damian's behavior can be explained.

Just a random kid?

A final theory I wish to discuss is that Damian was a normal kid who was recruited by Ziggurat through his contact with structures such as schools, hospitals, or even orphanages. Hikaru mentions that Ziggurat had worked with those kinds of structures before creating Hades Inc. and then left them behind. A good businessman knows how to preserve his network, so it is very possible that he kept contact with those institutions. This seems logical, but why would Ziggurat have recruited Damian from there and not use someone from HD Academy?

One possible answer is that he ran out of test subjects, forcing him to search elsewhere. Ryo and Hikaru explained that the arrangement caused bladers to get hurt because they couldn't handle the sudden power. As a result, only those who could handle it were selected for Team Starbreaker. However, only two members—Jack and Zeo—were on the recruitment list. Jack, for example, was ranked 2038. This means there were at least 2036 bladers who served as test subjects, some of them strong, but the majority weak and unknown. The point is that Ziggurat had enough profiles to understand who could be compatible with the arrangement system, which could explain why he chose Damian in particular. This might also explain why he shifted his interest from Zeo to Toby while seemingly not knowing if Toby could withstand the power of the arrangement. One proof of that is when he told Zeo that his sudden surge of power during his fight with Masamune helped improve the system. He also asked for Ryuga's help to enhance it. This means that Ziggurat clearly knew how his creation worked, and after so many failures, he could very well identify a successful test subject.

A second reason could be that Ziggurat secretly tested the arrangement on children to verify that it was operational, and Damian turned out to be a match. This random match with the arrangement is the core of Damian's philosophy and why he calls himself "the chosen one." As a result, this theory aligns more with the canon of the show.

A third reason for why Damian was specifically chosen could be that Ziggurat wanted to see what would happen if the arrangement was used on someone who had never played beyblade before. This seems to be Damian's case, considering his reaction when the Doctor gave him his first bey. Moreover, in the flashback when Damian met Dr. Ziggurat, he wore a sweater and shirt, which are not uncommon as a uniform. This suggests he could have just come from a school.

One thing that intrigued me in this flashback is the way Ziggurat looked at Damian—almost fondly (left). This is quite unusual for the cold-hearted doctor and could hint at some connection. Yet, just before the final match, when he visited Toby, he looked at him the same way (right), and in the following episode, he was already planning to experiment on him. This would mean he sees Damian as an exceptional test subject, nothing more, nothing less.

The lack of any personal history for Damian supports this theory. If Damian were simply an ordinary child chosen for his compatibility with the arrangement, it makes sense that the series doesn’t provide an elaborate backstory. This theory also highlights Ziggurat’s manipulative nature. He could have easily taken a child from a school or similar environment, molding him into a blader devoid of personal history to suit his purposes. This reflects Ziggurat's tendency to treat people as mere tools to achieve his goals.

In summary, Damian's mysterious origins offer fertile ground for fan theories, each providing unique perspectives on his character. Whether Damian is a relative of Pluto or King Hades, a creation of Hades Inc., Ziggurat’s son, or simply an ordinary child, is not necessarily the most important aspect. What remains clear is that Damian's character, regardless of his origins, is deeply shaped by Ziggurat and Hades Inc. Damian is a compelling antagonist, not because of any inherited legacy, but partly due to Ziggurat’s influence, which twisted his potential and what little identity he might have had to serve a larger agenda.

[ephemeraev]

生き甲斐 excerpt from the love i once knew

i am nothing without my love for you.

&.&.

if i never loved you, you would never see me as someone that’s useful as well—you’d never look at me the same. shame on you for taking advantage of my feelings and ruining my life.

i had a glimpse of the simple truth.

it was gut-wrenching, it angered the kindest edge of my sword as it learned about the conviction of the only knife you chose to carve the aesthetics of my coffin—through my own thoughts, you had me killed in the place where i pile my repressed desire and hatred.

it was my mistake to slander the law of secrecy—i illegally stole a glance at how your brows frowned; how the skin on your forehead folded into creases; and how your mouth slightly opened yet it could not utter any syllable—when i asked about what do you know about me.

you’d number the things i am of use to you—like how i can easily maim the serpent that has been owning your endless nights; how i cut off the vines that’s holding you back. you’d list your luck, but never my truth.

never my political standing and philosophies of life nor the haste of my own cerberus. never the crater of my anger that’s only a few milliseconds away from marking the beginning of a holocaust to my delusions.

how cruel it is if i'd cast a visual impression of a foreign book with no hardcovers and a letter of acknowledgement, even though the rolling dice mandated me to act the role of a diary for you.

would you see me as stranger if i knew how your eyes would squint from laughing too much?

ephemeraev | would you?

[wolfertinger]

another ask post spam. answering in one post to keep important info up front.

i havent seen him publicly claim this. but i have seen a lot of radqueers feel comfortable interacting with and identifying in his art. one such user was highlighted but i have no way of proving salem even know they exist.

however i would make a point of publicly denouncing any pedophiles and zoophiles that reblogged me, because thats dangerous. if you allow one nazi into your bar you now have a nazi bar. i do find it weird how when ever people accidentally misgender or are weird about his trans characters he immediately publicly lashes them but these people somehow "arent noticed".

his partner wis has been claiming so on "x"/twitter on his behalf after he Deleted Fucking Everything when people recognized who he was on twitter. he indeed does claim he had "racial delusions" which is a really interesting way of shifting the blame from actually being racist. you can even see here he immediately softens the blow, of saying he was being racist by immediately claiming to also be harassed. while not making the mental fucking correlation people will harass racist people for being racists. nope he is always the victim in every scenario and he never instigates any of the treatment towards him, ever.

and yes he did really try to come back to twitter, only to run at the first drop of critisism.

this is also the most major concern in my eyes because this is the exact behavior he exhibited on puppychan. he genuinely became obsessed with attention and praise and in my eyes hes doing it again. especially with how often he makes posts that hit every buzzword you can think of. i think you can, and should be proud of your racial identity your sexuality your gender and your disability, but theres a point where it very clearly becomes more about saying the right things, rather than doing them.

im not and never did say he never draws fat people but theres a noticeable difference between the body types he consistently draws (that gets him the most attention) and what he draws once or twice for attention than drops. im just saying he constantly mentions wanting to make characters with disabilities cellulite stretch marks, so on, but never actually develops these characters beyond 1-2 personality traits and horny posts. bc thats all he cares about. those are good examples but one of those characters belongs to a different person entirely. the cerberus's weight also seems to fluctuate, and once again i dont see any characters that are fat beyond whats "cute" "sexy" """acceptable""" chubby.

hi wis!

[aliciadurhamillustration]

Antrum: The Deadliest Film Ever Made Analysis

Antrum: The Deadliest Film Ever Made is a fascinating film about belief and how far a delusion might take you when presented in the right circumstances. The film begins by posing a question: Will the following “lost media” have a negative effect on you physiologically simply by viewing it?

The found media is about a young woman, Oralee, and her kid brother, Nathan, digging a hole to Hell. In the beginning, it is unclear whether both children believe what they are doing is real, or if Oralee is indulging in Nathan’s imagination. Most stories about a journey to Hell or the Underworld involve the characters literally descending underground. Orally comes up with a clever solution, claiming that the forest they are in is the place where the Devil landed when he fell from Heaven, and the hole they dig (only about five feet deep) represents a spiritual transition into five layers of Hell. This ensures that the children never have to leave their campsite in the forest and maintains a level of skepticism for the viewer.

Upon entering the forest, the children pass under an archway naturally formed from a bent tree. This represents the first “gate.” It is perhaps a coincidence that the tree looks like an entryway, but the number of coincidences throughout the story will build up providing evidence that the Hell they enter is real. It’s also no ordinary forest, it’s a suicide forest. Thus blurring the divide between the dead and the living.

They begin with a ritual to protect themselves from whatever they might encounter before they descend. It involves symbols from various religions, and the prayer that they chant is clearly made up and comes from none of the religions they are appealing to. This is an important detail because it maintains the illusion that what they are doing is make-believe, and yet it still seems to have an effect. It especially has an effect on young Nathan who chants the prayer as faithfully as that of any real-world religion.

After about a foot of digging, Nathan announces that they are in the first level. Oralee points to a squirrel, a very real creature, and claims that the squirrel is a demon in disguise. The squirrel in question is a stop-motion puppet. This is jarring to the viewer because everything else in the film lies in the realm of realism. It makes us wonder if the squirrel appears as “off” to the children as it does to the viewer. It is the first instance in which we wonder if their journey is not so make-believe after all.

Upon entering the second layer, Nathan begins seeing black figures behind the trees. The boy has been having nightmares, and it is a well-known phenomenon that people with sleep deprivation will experience hallucinations, particularly shadowy figures from the corner of the eye. Are these figures a result of Nathan's paranoia induced sleep deprivation, or are they demons?

In the third layer, there is a scene where Nathan spots a man and a woman on a canoe at night. The man is canoeing and the woman sits hunched over and naked. This scene can be interpreted two different ways. The man is a kidnapper and the woman is his victim; Or, is the man actually the ferryman, and the woman is a soul being ferried across the river Styx? It conjures up a parallel between sexual and religious experiences. Is this scene symbolic or literal? Perhaps the scene is both.

In the fourth layer they encounter Cerberus. Surely we will know if this is all real upon seeing a three headed dog; but inconveniently, the viewer is only shown a dragging chain. They also wander upon two men, which freaks Oralee out so much, she insists they end their journey short. She grabs her brother and a few things from their campsite, and flees. After some time, Oralee is perplexed to find that they have ended up at their own campsite again. Did she simply get turned around in her panic; or is Hell keeping them in that forest, and they are only able to leave by the same path they came in?

In the fifth layer the children face their final trial. They are kidnapped by the two men. The men are clearly demons. They are filthy, sexually perverse, and violent. One even sports antlers on his head that resemble horns. What's more, is they don’t speak the same language as the children. This further alienates the children from the world they came from, making them feel like they are in an entirely new world.

The final layer is the center of Hell, and so the children must pass through the fire of Satan, represented by an oven shaped in the figure of Baphomet. Nathan passes through triumphant, but Oralee is now questioning her entire reality. She is finally convinced that Nathan’s delusion is real. Nathan, covered in soot, mow looks like the very demons they have been so afraid of. She has been extremely loving towards her brother up to this point, but will her fear take over and end up getting Nathan killed?

This is an example of how far delusions can go. They can turn a skeptic into a believer. They can turn innocent children into murderers. Can they even convince a healthy person that they are about to die?

The film poses this question to the viewer once again along with an anecdote: There is an Australian Aboriginal tribe called the Arrente who execute their condemned by sending the executioner to point a bone at them. This is called bone pointing, and it is all that is needed for the condemned to be “cursed” and eventually die.

This anecdote ties the whole film together. We recall moments where Nathan looks directly at the camera. Something actors rarely do, if never. We recall the gun at the very end, pointing at the camera, and of course, the face of Astaroth.

Although one would have to have lived in the Arrente tribe their entire life in order for the psychosomatic self-willed death to work, even to an avid horror fan, the implications are unsettling. It makes me wonder how someone who truly believes in demons would respond after watching Antrum: The Deadliest Film Ever Made.       -AD

[kyndaris]

Hot Airing over Antiquity

Despite our chances of soaring over the Cappadocia region in hot-air balloons being dashed by the poor weather, we still had one last opportunity in Pamukkale. It might not have caverns and deep gullies, but it was still impressive to hover over the ‘Cotton Castle’ in all its limestone glory. And also take in the ancient city of Hierapolis via air.

Nothing screams adventure more than looking upon an ancient amphitheatre from above. Or, you know, running the risk of dropping your phone and losing all evidence of your overseas trip. But, I hear you, dear reader, say, it’s all about the experience, right?

Wrong! Here in the internet age, if there are no pictures, it’s doubtful it even happened. And even WITH photographic proof, editing software makes it easy to question EVERYTHING. Coupled with the fact that I hate taking pictures of myself? Why, it could be easily claimed that I stole all my photos from Google.

I didn’t, of course (what kind of travel blogger would do that), but it’s something easy that detractors can claim. Not that I have any detractors. My little corner on the internet is rarely frequented and when it is, it’s mostly by people I already know in real life. Which is exactly how I like it!

Regardless, the trip up in the air was quite smooth. We were up in the air and I didn’t even feel a thing. Best of all, we didn’t crash land. Nor did we become a ball of flame that hurtled to the ground in a fiery explosion. I might not have liked being bombarded by fossil fuel natural gas every time the pilot fired up...well, the fire...but I am thankful for getting an opportunity to take to the skies and look down at all the unworthy ants crawling down beneath me.

Delusions of grandeur, thy name is Kyndaris!

Once we landed, we packed hurriedly into the minivan and headed straight back to our hotel. And it was here that I bid a silent farewell to my Malaysian ballooning companions. I might not have gotten any of their names but I did overhear most of their conversations as they called family and friends while riding up in the balloon. And while I was very tempted to make my known in at least half of their calls, I resisted the urge.

So kind of me! So magnanimous!

All right. I think that’s enough self-aggrandising from me. Back to detailing my actual exploits while on holiday.

After returning to hotel, I went back to the room that I shared with Popo and readied to luggage to bring down to the coach. Then it as off to actually explore Hierapolis by foot. Or, more technically, as a chauffeur for Popo and her friend as I drove around on a modified moped.

The name, Hierapolis, is Greek in nature and according to the information board that I took at the site, means ‘Sacred City.’ It was presumably founded by one of the successors of Alexander the Great. In 188BC, it was passed into the hands of the Kings of Pergamon before becoming one of the wealthiest cities during Roman times. At the sight, there was plenty to see including a ruined temple of Apollo and a statue dedicated to Pluto, or Hades. I only recognised him because of the three-headed guardian to the Underworld, Cerberus, that stood at his side.

The city also featured many iconic Roman buildings including baths, gymnasium and theatre. I certainly knew that my 17-18 year old self would have been leaping for joy if I’d visited then, giving my interest in Ancient History and, in particular, the Flavian period of the Emperors.

Young children might be able to tell me in excruciating detail about their favourite dinosaurs. I will respond with my own rant upon my supposed subject of expertise - the Julio-Claudian emperors and the Flavian dynasty, which followed after Nero and the Year of Four Emperors.

History aside, it ought to be known that despite being the Sacred City of antiquity, Hierapolis was abandoned following an earthquake in about 616 AD that left only a few crumbling buildings in its aftermath. Despite this, there are signs of Seljuk presence in the ruins. Which would indicate that people had still frequented the site up until 400 years after the devastating quake.

But because of that, the city was almost pastoral in appearance with swaths of green covering the ruins. What made Hierapolis so special for us, though, was the ‘Cotton Castle’ that the city was built atop on. Layered all in white, the city was favoured with warm thermal waters that bubbled to the surface and which were rich in minerals. Over the years, it had covered the cliff tops in a layer of white limestone. And even in this modern age, those thermal waters continue to gurgle, which Popo got to enjoy by dipping her toes in.

There was also a swimming pool with sunken columns at the city that visitors could pay to enter.

Talk about taking advantage of what mother nature has given you! I however, simply enjoyed admiring the scenes of Europeans floating in the warm waters before inspecting the adjacent museum where displays of old pottery and statues could be seen. There were even carved reliefs depicting the coronation of Septimius Severus, a Roman Emperor, by the Goddess Nike and one that saw Dionysus, the Greek God of Wine and Debaurchery, partying hard with nymphs, centaurs, satyrs, the cherubic Eros and Pan.

After drinking in our fill of the city, we had a quick lunch in what felt like a communal cafeteria that stunk of oil before heading back on the road. This time we were headed westward to the Aegean Sea! Kusadasi, here we come!

[chuunibyou-showdown]

we know which chuuni is the most chuuni but which chuuni is the most annoying.?

Anghel isn't necessarily the most chuuni, he's simply the one who won by the chuunis' own arbitrary standards. But anyways here's my own top 3:

The bnha boy who lost in the first round

This is half me being a bnha hater and half genuine. I've never watched bnha but going by his wiki page and what few screenshots I saw of him he would be annoying via bragging about his intellect (that he does not have if his stats are anything to go by). This is way worse than evil eye chuuni delusions because it isn't even amusing. He doesn't even seem to have a gap moe non-chuuni mode. He would appear out of the blackboard or something to jumpscare me and laugh maniacally and it would be a whole annoying ordeal.

2. Setsuna

He's endearing, but even though he has a standard case. There's something about him that makes me feel he would be extra annoying. If I implied he didn't have powers once he would cerberus rental me and I would have to deal with the cerberus. He would then discover that I don't like being licked by dogs and pull his "licked by dogs who ate gross stuff" schtick. I could just yank him off said dog and then have my revenge but it would still be a pain and I would never be safe around dogs again.

3. Megumin

This is half "she would genuinely be annoying" and half "The way the konosuba cast are written kind of weirds me out" way. I'm not elaboratingb because I would likely get people in my askbox talking about how I "Just don't get it".

I feel like I could either humiliate the rest of the chuunis to get them to leave me alone if need be, or would find them endearing enough to handle. (This approach is not reccommended for IRL Chuunis. It is simply too easy to switch off a fictional chuuni's personality via mentioning their fear of heights or by bringing up the time they got #owned by a shopping cart something)

[localmurders]

friendship 

[sephirthoughts]

The Ghost of Shinra Manor

Chapter 4 of this

summary: It's been two years-ish since the events of Dirge of Cerberus. Cloud visits his hometown, and investigates a rumor of a ghost, haunting Shinra Manor. If you're surprised by who it turns out to be, you are beyond my power to save, comrade.

tags: g-g-g-ghosts!!! sefikura, sephiroth x cloud, sane!sephiroth (sort of), post advent children, post dirge of cerberus, canon timeline, delusions, intermitten amnesia, low drama, enemies to…whatever the hell they have going on

warnings: references to death, PTSD, child abuse, etc. all of hojo's greatest hits, canon-typical violence

rating: teen and up [BE ADVISED: THIS RATING WILL CHANGE]

Part 4: Resolve

Cloud didn’t check his phone till they were back at the cabin, by which time he’d accumulated a number of alerts.

MISSED CALLS(4): Tifa

MISSED CALL: Barrett

New Messages(5)

He decided to deal with them in order of priority, and opened the messages app first.

Strife: hey what do you know about ghosts

Chadley: Hello, Cloud. It’s good to hear from you. Ghosts aren’t really my area of expertise, unless you’re referring to occurrences of unusual fauna, which are often erroneously reported as ghost sightings. May I ask what this is in regard to?

Strife: like how to identify one and how to get rid of it

Chadley: Hm. There are a number of so-called spirit mediums and exorcists, who claim to be able to detect and communicate with spirits, but since there isn’t an established scientific discipline, I’m afraid the field is fraught with charlatans.

Strife: so there’s no one who knows anything?

Chadley: Don’t lose hope, my friend. It just so happens that an acquaintance of mine is what I would call the world’s foremost lay-expert in spectral phenomena. If there’s anyone who could answer whatever questions you have, it would be him.

Strife: lay-expert?

Chadley: That means he’s highly knowledgeable, but it isn’t his day job.  

Strife: what’s his actual job

Chadley: He works as the concierge for the Haunted Hotel, at the Gold Saucer.

Strife: tell me you’re not talking about that upside-down lunatic bellhop

Chadley: Oh, are you acquainted?

Strife: forget it. i meant someone sane

Chadley: Don’t let his sense of whimsy deter you. That’s his professional persona. He’s actually a very astute and level-headed person. I assure you, there’s no one more knowledgeable in the field.

Strife: really?

Chadley: Indeed. Shall I put you in touch?

Strife: yeah ok

Chadley: Excellent. I’ll give him your contact information. Good luck!

Strife: thanks

Tifa: hey you, just checking in to see how you’re doing. how’s the job going?

Tifa: btw denzy managed to fix that old bike they found. he even rode it around today

Tifa: marley took these pics of him aren’t they cute? .img .img .img

Tifa: good news! i just got off the phone with barrett and he’s going to be in town friday. we’re thinking of having a big bbq dinner for everyone at the bar. you’ll be back by then right?

Strife: won’t be back by friday. something came up i have to deal with

Several minutes passed.

Tifa: i guess there’s nothing you can do when a rush job comes up. when do you think you’ll be back?

Strife: can’t say. could be a while

Tifa: oh i see

Tifa: ok well try not to stay gone too long ok? the kids miss you

Cloud was attempting to formulate a human-sounding reply, when his phone lit up with a new notification.

UNKNOWN: greetings cloud! my name is benjamin hopkins. my friend chadley said you’d like my help with some ghost related information. feel free to give me a call any time, and I’d be happy to assist you however I can.

He stared at his phone screen. A bellhop. Named Benjamin Hopkins. What the fuck ever. Of course that weirdo in the mummy bandages would have a weirdo name.

Sephiroth’s high-school AU version was still wearing the Gold Saucer t-shirt, with the addition of a pair of Cloud’s black jeans, which fit him far too well for Cloud’s liking. At the moment, he was sitting at the camp table, staring into space, because Cloud didn’t have any chores for him to do except wash dishes, and he’d done that already.

“Sephiroth,” Cloud said, giving him a start.

Big, blue-green eyes looked up at him, full of hope and trust. “Yes, sir?”

“If you want something to do, why don’t you go out and chop some firewood, before we’re ass-deep in snow. From the look of things, we’re gonna need it.”

Sephiroth jumped up eagerly. “Yes, sir. How much should I get?”

“Just whatever you can cut while I’m on the phone,” Cloud said carelessly. “The axe is hanging up over there. Shed is behind the cabin. I’ll come check on you, when I’m done with my call.”

“Yes, sir. You can count on me.”

“Sephiroth.”

“Mn?”

“Jacket.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And knock off that sir shit. Call me Cloud.”

“Yes, s—Cloud.”

With a sheepish grin, the boy pulled on the old down jacket Cloud had given him, grabbed the axe, and strode out into the snow, full of determination. Cloud stared at the closed door for a full thirty seconds, after he’d gone, and had to physically shake himself out of the reverie.

Seeing Sephiroth this way was wreaking havoc on his emotional state. The child version had been easy. Similar but unfamiliar. Cloud was able to dissociate him from the mental index he had for Sephiroth, and just see a little boy. The adult version was even easier. He was fully familiar and fit neatly into Cloud’s ‘mortal enemy, hated with the fire of a thousand suns’ index.

The teenaged version was more complicated. This was the Sephiroth who had been his idol and hero, when he was the bullied and ostracized poor kid in this tiny shit town. His reason for never giving up, when things seemed hopeless.

This was the Sephiroth he’d fallen in love with, in the innocent and wholehearted sincerity of childhood. The Sephiroth that a part of him, no matter how forcefully denied and deeply buried, still loved.

He clenched his teeth and swallowed the ache in his throat. If some fragment of himself was still idiotic and delusional enough to harbor anything approaching love for Sephiroth, that was just one more reason to quickly figure out how to end him, once and for all. The sooner the man was gone for good, the better. With fresh resolve, he pulled out his phone and dialed the bellhop’s number.

“Benjamin Hopkins, how can I help you?” said the man’s (not quite as deranged as Cloud remembered) voice.

Cloud sighed audibly. “Is that your real fucking name?”

“No, it’s not,” he retorted. “If you must know, my real name is Subject N-2, and thanks for bringing up that very painful memory. Would you like to talk about ghosts, now?”

“Uh. Sorry,” Cloud muttered. “Is this a good time?”

“Good as any. I’m at work, but it’s a pretty slow day, to tell you the truth, so I’m just hanging around.”

Cloud stifled another sigh. “Did you say that because you’re literally hanging upside-down right now?”

“Eh? Have we met before?”

“Couple years ago. My friends and I were looking for rooms at the hotel. One of them may have been a bit…aggressive.”

“Oh…oh! Are you the little blonde who came in with the giant, the vampire, the cowboy aviator, and a robot cat?”

“I’m impressed you remember us.”

“Ah, ha ha. Mr. Strife, how many times do you think I’ve had an arm-mounted minigun shoved in my face, at my place of employment? Just, ballpark estimate.”

Cloud swallowed. “Is it…one time?”

“Ding ding ding! Correct! Just the one time. So yes, I remember you. A man doesn’t tend to forget that kind of character-defining life and death experience.”

“Sorry about that guy. He has anger issues and trust issues and impulse control issues, and also he’s scared of spooky stuff, so he was acting tough to hide it,” Cloud explained, blithely throwing Barrett under the bus. “But, now that I think of it, I remember you seeming pretty chill about the gun. You didn’t even flinch.”

“Ok, you got me,” the bellhop tittered. “I was exaggerating about the character-defining life and death experience stuff. I’ve been through way worse than that.”

“You have?”

“Yes, yes, it’s all part of my tragic backstory. However! It was highly inappropriate of your friend to threaten a member of the hotel staff with a firearm. Imagine if a normal employee had been the one at the counter, instead. They’d have trauma! I’m sorry to be strict, but for the safety and mental health of the staff and guests, I’m afraid Mr. Barrett Wallace is not welcome on Haunted Hotel premises, until further notice. I hope he takes the opportunity to reflect carefully on his actions.”

“Fair enough. I doubt he’d go back there if you dragged him, anyway.”

“Good. Now that’s settled, let’s talk about your ghost problem. What seems to be the trouble?”

“That’s part of the problem,” Cloud said, feeling a little stupid saying any of this out loud. “I’m not even sure it’s a ghost.”

“Ah, say no more. I happen to have my ‘Got Ghosts?’ checklist handy. Why don’t we go through that, first. More often than not, the phenomena people misidentify as evidence of hauntings are perfectly mundane, explainable things.”

“Um. Ok.”

“Do you have any of the following: shadows or other unexplained movement in your peripheral vision?”

“No.”

“Sensation of falling, while seated or lying down?”

“No.”

“Cold spots in the house?”

“This is Nibelheim. The whole house is a cold spot.”

“I’ll go ahead and check no for that one. Voices laughing, or speaking in whispers/low tones?”

“No.”

“Thinking you hear someone call your name, when alone in the house or with others who deny having done so?”

“No.”

“Scratching or tapping on walls or under floors?”

“No.”

“Sound of footsteps, from empty rooms?”

“No.”

“Lights flickering, or inexplicably being turned off?”

“No.”

“Waking up to the certainty that there is a terrifying presence in the room with you, but unable to move or call for help?”

“No.”

“Pets behaving strangely, and/or interacting with something that is not there?”

“No pets.”

“Objects moved to strange locations, cabinets found open, doors opening or shutting on their own, et cetera?”

“Nope.”

There was a pause. “I’m a little confused, Mr. Strife. If none of these things are occurring, what leads you to believe you might have a ghost?”

“I found a dead person—”

“You found a body??”

“No. Let me finish my sentence, will you? I found a person who I know to be dead, except he’s not acting dead, and he was hanging around in an abandoned basement, naked and crying.”

“He was…that’s uh…wow. A lot to unpack. You’re sure he wasn’t just abducted, and presumed dead? Because, to be honest, that’s kind of what it sounds like.”

“I’m sure. I killed him, myself.”

The bellhop choked audibly. “I—I see. And, uh…the person you found in this basement, who resembles the person you killed—”

“Not resembles. It is him. He answers to his name and knew where he was. But he doesn’t remember me. He seems to be having some kind of weird amnesia, where he’s only getting parts of his memory back.”

“And, um. Not to belabor a point,” the bellhop said gingerly, “but, what makes you think he’s a ghost? I mean, apart from the fact that you claim to have killed him and are definitely one-hundred percent certain that he did actually die.”

“He’s pale. Like, corpse pale. His body is ice-cold. All of it gets kind of transparent, sometimes, but mostly his hands and feet. He has trouble touching things, without his fingers going right through them. And sometimes, when he talks, he fades in and out, like a radio.”

The sound of a pencil scratching, from the other end of the line said enough, so Cloud continued.

“Normal lighting hurts his eyes, so I have to use a gas lantern or just the fireplace. He doesn’t seem to see very well, or maybe he’s just seeing things that aren’t real. Less than two hours ago, I watched him walk straight through a solid wall of stone that he insisted wasn’t there. Also, when I found him yesterday, he was an adult. When I woke up this morning, he was a little kid. Now he’s a teenager.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Mr. Strife—”

“Cloud.”

“Cloud. If you would go this far, just to play some kind of mean-spirited prank—”

“Do I seem like the type of person who plays pranks, Benjamin?”

“Not really,” he conceded. “If anything, you seem to be the 'broody edgelord who takes himself way too seriously' type.”

“That’s not…inaccurate. So, can you help me, or not?”

Benjamin let out a long breath. “Hoo, boy. Let me be honest with you, I thought I was prepared, but none of my usual checklists cover anything like this. That said, your guy actually sounds a lot like a ghost. There are inconsistencies, but if what you’re telling me is the truth, I can’t think of any other explanation. Um. Let me look something up, real quick.”

“Sure, take your time.”

There was another lengthy pause in which Benjamin muttered to himself and Cloud heard pages turning.

“Alright, found it. So, the Cetra believed that the spirits of human beings could be temporarily unable to enter the lifestream, for a number of different reasons. A spirit can’t inhabit its dead body, though, so they show up as disembodied entities, mostly resembling intangible wisps of light. These are what people would commonly call ghosts.”

“But mine’s not an intangible wisp, or whatever,” Cloud pointed out. “He’s actually pretty solid. I even carried him a few times.”

“Right. Hence the inconsistency. The only stories of ghosts being able to take physical bodies and walk around interacting with living people, are from ancient oral traditions, and those were supposedly the spirits of demigods.”

“Ok, back up. Forget about the body thing, for now. What are the reasons someone could be unable to enter the lifestream?”

“Strong resentment, unfinished business, promises to keep—any kind of attachment so strong that it keeps them hanging on, past their time.”

“So, if it was that, what would we do about it?”

“Supposedly, the attachment has to be resolved, then the spirit can be freed and enter the lifestream. For humans. For the demigods…that’s a different story. They were considered to be corrupt beings, so they were rejected permanently. Pretty sad, if you ask me.”

“Corrupt how?”

“Well, demigods are the offspring of humans and gods, which is a big ontological no-no. Gods can’t die, and can’t enter the lifestream, but that’s a whole other thing. The children of an eternal god and a mortal human, therefore, are stuck between worlds. Their bodies can die, but their spirits can’t ascend to godhood, and they can’t join the lifestream either, so they just linger. Some of them go mad and turn into malicious entities, that spread plague and disaster and war, and some just gradually lose themselves, fading but never disappearing. Like Zeno’s paradox, but with existence, instead of infinitely shrinking distances.”

“Shit. That is pretty sad.”

“Yeah, man. Have you studied any mythology? Like, ninety percent of it is a huge bummer.”

“There’s another thing. I attacked him with a sword, when I first saw him. He wasn’t hurt at all, but the attacks backlashed on me, really badly. I’m still recovering from the internal injuries. What could cause that?”

“Huh,” Benjamin said thoughtfully. “A sword attack certainly shouldn’t be able to harm a ghost, but how does it backlash?”

“It wasn’t the blade I hit him with. It was a directed energy spell, using the blade as a catalyst.”

“You used a mana-based attack on the alleged ghost, and it backlashed on you? Holy shit.”

“What?”

“Well, in my experience—I mean, my experience researching ghost-related phenomena, obviously—untethered human souls are extremely fragile. An energy spell should have scattered it, if not destroyed it completely. I’ve never heard of one defending itself, let alone being able to harm a living person.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. So, to be on the safe side, maybe don’t do that anymore. In the meantime, are there any other extremely significant details that you haven’t bothered to bring up, yet? Because, I’d really like to just hear it all at once, if that’s ok.”

“Just a few things. He has these memory flashbacks, he gets caught in. He can bring me into them, but he doesn’t know how. It’s happened a few times. Also, when we were sleeping, last night, I dreamed a bunch of random pieces of his memories.”

“You believe he’s a ghost, and you went to sleep, in the same room with him?”

“I just said sleeping. Why do you assume we were in the same room?”

“Were you?”

“Yes. What does it matter?”

“I’m impressed, is all. You’re a different breed than most huma—ahem—most people, aren’t you.”

“He was a lot scarier alive. That’s why I want to figure out how to kill him permanently, as soon as possible.”

“Without killing yourself along with him, you mean.”

“Sure.”

“O…kay. Anything else you haven’t mentioned?”

Cloud opened his mouth to tell Benjamin about the pain in his chest, that had been growing since he approached Nibelheim, and how it had gotten unbearable when Sephiroth started to fade, earlier, but for some reason, he became extremely reluctant to talk about it. “Uh. No, that’s all.”

“Alrighty,” Benjamin said cheerfully. “I’m gonna have to do a little research and get back to you, because, um. Ha ha. I’ve never heard of anything like this situation, in my life.”

“Right. Well, thanks for doing this. I appreciate it.”

“Anything for a friend of Chadley. Hey, just out of curiosity, where’s your ghost, now? You didn’t talk about all of this in front of him, right?”

“No, I sent him out to chop firewood, so we could talk.”

“You sent him to chop firewood. And he just…obeyed you?”

“Yeah. He’s been cooperative, the whole time.”

“Wow. Are you sure you don’t want to keep him? Joking, joking. Oop, got some customers. It was nice talking to you! Bye!”

“See ya,” Cloud replied, but the man had already hung up.

What a strange person. Which, upon mature consideration, was rather unsurprising, for an upside-down bellhop at the Haunted Hotel, who dressed like a mummy for work, and studied ghosts in his free time. Despite all that, Cloud felt inclined to trust him. There was something familiar and reliable, in his aura. Like they’d already known each other.

Cloud’s hyper-tuned hearing didn’t detect any chopping, outside the cabin, so he went out to see how Sephiroth was faring. Fat snowflakes were falling heavily, and the world was still and silent, the way it only gets, when everything is muffled under several inches of snow.

Sephiroth was nowhere in sight, so Cloud went around to the back and stopped short. The woodshed door was wide open, and what appeared to be smoke was billowing out into the cold air.

“Fuck—Sephiroth!” he exclaimed, dashing for the shed.

The boy popped his head out. “Cloud? What’s wrong?”

“What’s going on?” Cloud asked, confused. “What is all this…steam?”

“I filled the shed all the way up, and now I’m using a desiccation spell, to dry the wood out, so it’ll burn better and it won’t rot,” Sephiroth explained brightly.

Cloud peered into the shed, and saw the neatly and tightly stacked wood, already split and free of twigs and foliage. Sure enough, there was a thin layer of yellowish light on all of it, and it was cheerfully releasing steam, like a huge stack of fresh baked buns.

“What about the wood that was already in here?”

“I moved it all to the woodpile, at the front of the cabin.” Misunderstanding Cloud’s expression, Sephiroth’s face fell, “I—I’m sorry, I know you didn’t tell me to do that, but I thought—”

“No, it’s ok,” Cloud interrupted. “I was just surprised that you worked so fast. You did everything right. Good job.”

The beautiful boy lit up like a firework, at that little bit of praise, nearly annihilating Cloud on the spot.

His cheeks and nose were touched with pink, from all the exercise in the cold, which only made him look even sweeter and more innocent, as he beamed up at him. If only he could’ve stayed this way. If only he hadn’t been tortured and horribly abused, until he became the very monster he’d always feared he was.

The moment his heart began to soften, a surge of black bitterness rose up in Cloud’s throat to choke him. How could Sephiroth ever have been like this? He was always beautiful, but he couldn’t have been innocent and sweet, even at this age. He was already a cold-blooded killer, after all. It must be a deception, to manipulate him.

“You look sad,” Sephiroth said. “Is everything alright?”

“You’re turning pink.”

“Am I?” Sephiroth reached up to touch his cheeks, self-consciously.

“Yeah. But why?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re dead,” Cloud said flatly. “You don’t have blood. So how would your cheeks flush from being cold?”

The boy’s eyes suddenly went hazy and unfocused. “I’m…I’m dead.”

Sure enough, the flush of color drained from his face, leaving his skin waxen white; so translucent, that his veins were visible in his cheeks, as faint, bluish lines. His whole person seemed to wither, and become greyer and duller.

Cloud immediately regretted listening to that bitter part of himself, and lashing out at the boy. Whatever evil Sephiroth had done, this child hadn’t done it, yet.

“Seph…I’m sorry,” he said, gingerly patting the boy’s shoulder. “I shouldn’t have talked to you that way.”

Sephiroth’s skin instantly began to brighten, again, and that dead, grey cast fell away. But now his eyes were dewy and pink-rimmed. “Wh—why did you call me that?”

“What?”

“You called me Seph.”

“Isn’t that how people usually shorten your name?”

“I don’t know.” Two big, round tears rolled down his rosy cheeks. “No one ever has.”

Cloud was utterly at a loss, so he just patted the boy’s shoulder again. “Come on, don’t cry. Let’s go inside. You’re covered in snow.”

They hung up their coats on the hooks by the door, and kicked the snow off their boots, which they set by the fire, to dry. While Sephiroth put more wood on, Cloud was assessing the food supply, in case this storm lasted a while. He wasn’t too worried, though. He’d stocked up well on canned and dry goods, had plenty of fish in the freezer, and could always hunt.

It was no problem for him to traverse the route into town in extreme weather, but that wouldn’t do a lot of good if the town was too snowed in to function. If worse came to worst, he’d go over and clear the main roads. That was work that would be long and arduous for an entire crew of regular people, but with his strength and fire spells, wasn’t even difficult. He’d done it before.

While Sephiroth was bathing, Cloud toasted up some simple, grilled cheese sandwiches, on the skillet, which he cut into triangles. Then he got out a saucepan and began to heat up some milk.

The heavy snow put him in mind of winters with his mother, in their little house, and the rare luxury that was hot cocoa. He didn’t have peppermint sticks or marshmallows, so he sprinkled a little cinnamon on top.

He was just pouring it into the mugs, when Sephiroth came out, in those old sweatpants and another of Cloud’s t-shirts. He’d pulled his damp, chin-length hair back into a mini-ponytail at the base of his skull, which looked ridiculously cute.

“Dinner,” Cloud said.

Sephiroth sat dutifully at the camp table. “What’s this brown stuff?” he asked, wrinkling his nose at the mug Cloud set in front of him.

“Cinnamon.”

“And we drink it?”

“If you want. You don’t have to.”

Sephiroth reached for the mug, which his solid-looking fingers picked up with no trouble. Putting it to his lips, he took a cautious little sip. He froze for a beat. Then his eyes went round and starry and he sucked down every last drop of the warm, creamy cocoa, smacking his lips and ‘mm-ing’ delightedly between slurps.

Cloud nearly spit his own cocoa out, laughing, at the tragic face he made, when he realized his mug was empty. “You like it, huh?”

Sephiroth nodded vigorously. “Mn! I love it! I want to drink cinnamon all the time!”

“It’s called hot cocoa,” Cloud corrected. “Cinnamon is just the stuff sprinkled on top.”

“Hot cocoa,” Sephiroth repeated. “What is it made of?”

“My mom made it with chopped up chocolate and sugar, but I just use the tinned mix. There’s more in the saucepan, if you want.”

Sephiroth’s expression became grave. “Your mother taught you to make this?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re sharing it with me?”

“Looks that way.”

“Thank you,” Sephiroth said, dipping his head, as Cloud poured more cocoa into his mug. “I feel very honored.”

“It’s just hot cocoa. I’m sure everyone’s moms made it for them.”

“My mother…would have made this for me?”

“Probably.”

Sephiroth fell silent, looking reverent and reflective, as he slowly sipped the cocoa, this time, carefully savoring every mouthful, seemingly lost in his own little world. He didn’t touch the grilled cheese, but Cloud hadn’t expected him to. He was surprised enough that the boy was able to drink the cocoa. He ate both grilled cheese sandwiches, himself, without remarking on it, then went to take his shower.

When he came out again, Sephiroth had washed the dishes and tidied up the kitchen. Cloud had never thought of Sephiroth as someone who would be able or willing to undertake such mundane tasks. He’d only seen the lofty and beautiful hero, standing at the vanguard, sword in hand, sweeping away enemies like chaff on the wind.

This ghost, however, was turning out to be quite the cheerful little domestic helper, willing to do whatever task was at hand, and very good at everything he put is hand to. He’d even piled more wood onto the fire, swept the floor, and tied up the garbage in a neat little bundle, by the door, to be carried away.

Cloud lay down in his bed, but seeing the teenaged boy curled up on the rug, by the fire, wrapped in his one blanket, was too much for his conscience.

“Seph,” he said. “It’s too cold to sleep on the floor. We can share the bed.”

The boy looked up timidly. “Are…are you sure?”

“Yeah, come on. If you get sick, it’ll just be more trouble for me.”

Thus reassured, Sephiroth hurried over in his blanket and threw it over the top of the others, then shimmied in under the covers.

“Oh,” he breathed. “Your bed is so soft!”

Cloud squinted. “Is it?”

“It’s the softest bed I’ve ever been in! It’s amazing!”

“It’s just a futon on a wood frame.”

“What’s a futon?”

“It’s um…a Wutaian mattress.”

For what seemed like a very long time, Cloud lay stiffly on his back, staring up at firelight dancing on the ceiling, and carefully avoiding touching the boy, who was writhing and wriggling about, like he had fleas. At long last, he seemed to get comfortable and settle down. But just as Cloud was closing his eyes to drift off—

“Cloud?”

“Hm.”

“Why does your hair stick up like that, but mine hangs down?”

“Dunno. This is just the way it is.”

“Can I…can I touch it?”

Cloud eyed him dubiously. “Can you touch it? I mean…I don’t know why you want to, but I guess so.”

Sephiroth reached out and delicately prodded the blonde spikes. “It feels just like my hair. I thought it would be more like goat hair.”

“What? Why goat hair?” Cloud scowled.

Sephiroth grinned and kept petting his head, absently scooting closer, till their knees touched.

Cloud’s stomach fluttered nervously, in spite of himself. Yes, he was an adult now, but this was his first love, after all. In his mind, he was suddenly eleven years old again, gazing at a Shinra recruitment poster he’d kept secreted away in his bedroom, daydreaming about what it would feel like to kiss those perfect lips.

“Ok, time to sleep,” he said abruptly, turning onto his side, with his back to Sephiroth.

“Goodnight, Cloud,” Sephiroth whispered, after a few minutes had passed.

“Goodnight, Seph. Now, no more talking.”

THE AUTHOR HAS SOMETHING TO SAY credit to @soundcrusher for the bellhop's name and backstory, which they let me borrow for this fic 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

ao3

[lea-andres]

Not really, not in terms of a major kryptonite or a phobia like Sonic and some of his friends have.

Team Cerberus are not all that particularly powerful to begin with and they're usually more support characters, not the heroes tackling villains like Eggman head on. They can't use chaos emeralds, they don't have powers minus Brutus's super strength (which is so normal in the world of Sonic anyway it's almost not worth mentioning), there's really no big power that calls for a big weakness to balance it out.

They definitely have FLAWS, they're all crazy little cyclones of chaos in their own ways with major delusions of what passes as normalcy (Normal is subjective, of course, but ancient curses, zombies, and whatever Carlisle is up to at any point in time probably shouldn't ever be in anyone's definition.) But I'm not sure they have what could clearly be labeled as a weakness.

...You know what? That might be it. Their numbness to the supernatural and the bizarre is something of a social weakness. It takes a specific flavor of person to deal with them from the get go, and if they get attached to you, you're just gonna become afflicted with the same numbness to the supernatural and the bizarre from repeated exposure. Most steer clear because of their infamy.

#4: Does your OC have any particular weaknesses?

[sparots]

Be interesting if that is true, On Sin being the third one under Zepar's control. As in that everything that is happening isn't him, per say. Like Seren is still somehow pulling the strings.

I feel like I have given Sinbad fans a perfect reason to say it wasn’t Sinbad all along XD

I really like thinking about it that way. What if Sinbad’s reasons to do this all was under influence of Serendine? While Kassim’s rukh never influenced Alibaba, Seren and Sinbad might have been in a different kind of relationship. From what I’ve seen from Serendine so far a part of the current Sinbad’s ideology is kind of the same as hers. I really hope Ohtaka can explain about this entire Sinbad/Seren rukh fusion thing, because it either could have a lot of deeper meaning or it’s a plain way to have Sinbad get Zepar...

[darlingshane]

In Other Words, Until I Die

Frank Castle x F!Reader

Rating: T // Warnings: Angst, Language. // Word Count: 4,843

Summary – @gabymiller​ asked – can I request a frank castle fic where he’s married with a baby girl and they see on the news that he is dead but with the help of Curtis his wife finds out he’s Pete and they have a angsty fluffy reunion ❤️

A/N: This came out more angsty than I expected but I hope you like it anyway. There’s still some fluff and many bittersweet moments. // A/N 2:  Lisa is Frank and Reader’s baby, with all my respect to Maria and the Castle family. A/N 3: The title comes from  the song Baby, I'm yours, by Barbara Lewis. It's mentioned a couple times if you wanna listen beforehand.

- You can also read at AO3.

Frank came back for good.

That's what he believed. That's what he needed. To be home and become the husband and the father he always wanted to be, but the universe cared little for what Frank Castle wanted. It had other plans for him and wasn't going to let him settle that easily just cause he had a change of heart.

No, it wouldn't be that simple. Not after what happened during his last deployment. Not after Cerberus.

His bliss at home – with you and getting reacquainted with Lisa, who had just turned one, – was quickly cut short only three weeks after settling back in your lives.

What pulled him out of that delusion was when one day, while you were at work; he took Lisa to the park and on his way back he found an envelope in the mail slot with no stamp or address on it. Just his name and CD that contained a very damning video of his last mission in Kandahar.

A couple of days later, he disappeared before you woke up.

He took that piece of evidence as a threat and in order to figure out who was behind that, he had to be as far away from you as possible. It was the only way to keep you safe cause he knew that that mission was different, and while he hoped it had ended with that bullet, it didn't. It followed him back home, and he couldn't have that. He wasn't going to be the reason to put you and the baby in danger.

He wrote you a letter, though, that felt like a joke where he vaguely explained that he had to go away to figure things out and that he didn't know if he would ever come back. He said that you and Lisa were better off without him, that he'd never be what you wanted him to be.

You couldn't understand how he could have sunk that low to bury your relationship in such a crude manner like it was nothing. And despite being mad as hell, deep down you were certain that those words weren't true. If he was trying to make you angry, he knew how to. But he couldn't possibly believe that you were stupid enough to buy that.

You've been together long enough to read between the lines, and if he thought you were going to give up that easily, he was wrong.

Something was off, and you needed to know the truth, and the best way to do that was to visit some of his closest friends.

None of them knew shit, or so they said. Except for Curtis, if the others had lied, Curt didn't. He couldn't. He was an honest man and told you straight up that Frank had to leave to keep both of you safe, that there were people after him who weren't going to hesitate about hurting you to get to him. He also reassured that Frank didn't love anything more in the world than you and Lisa, that he was completely torn apart the last time he saw him.

But that wasn't very reassuring at all. It was bullshit. You loved Frank, but it didn't make sense to you what he could've done so wrong that prompted an escape number instead of going to the police or coming up with something else.

 A lot happened in the next few weeks since he left. To say it turned your life upside down was an understatement.

First, you were stunned by the bombarding news and headlines pointing your husband as the perpetrator of a series of murders, including his former CO, Ray Schoonover.

Quickly after that, you were brought in for questioning twice, once by the NYPD, and a second one by Homeland Security, claiming that he was part of two bombings along with a man named Lewis Wilson.

They got warrants and all kinds of bullshit to search the house. To their disbelief, they didn't find anything that could point them in Frank's direction.

It was then that you understood the coldness of his words in that letter he wrote. He wanted everyone to believe that he had abandoned you, so they'd leave you alone. He anticipated that happening, and they still went at you either way, but not as viciously as they'd have if they believed you knew what he was up to.

It was heartbreaking seeing your husband dissected by the so-called experts and people who once knew him, trying to put the pieces together of this person they claimed was a psychopath.

You wanted to believe Frank was innocent, but the evidence kept piling up against him.

At the end of the day, you missed him dearly and there wasn't a side or another, it was only his and yours and Lisa’s. And you were certain that behind all the secrecy, there was a good reason for his actions. You wished he had told you. Maybe he thought you were useless to him, or it was as dangerous as he said it was for you to be privy to all that, but being in the dark was just as bad. You'd have done anything for him if he had asked.

It was exhausting, you could barely keep it together. Most nights you didn’t sleep. And if it wasn't for your commitment to Lisa, you definitely would've lost your mind a long time ago. Taking care of her and making sure she was happy and healthy was the only thing that kept you going. She had the most beautiful face and smile, and you marveled at how much her eyes looked like Frank's every time she opened them in the morning, and you could even see it at night before she closed them.

Every evening before bedtime, you'd hold her up in your arms, showing her the picture of daddy in his dress blues sitting on the mantle, cause you wanted her to remember him as the good man you knew. As that same guy you met five years ago who stood in line for ten minutes every day just so he could talk to you for one while he ordered his coffee; until one day he was brave enough to ask you out.

“Don't believe anything you hear, okay? Daddy loves you,” you whispered in her little ear, staring at Frank's portrait, as if she could understand anything that was going on.

“Dada,” that night she stuck out her arm and pressed her tiny finger against his nose over the glass.

“You like dada's nose? It's kinda funny, isn't it?”

She stared at you and repeated dada.

“Don't tell him I say that,” you smiled tiredly and glanced at the still portrait of Frank one more time, holding back tears, blindly hoping he’d come back some day.

In an old building near the river, Frank was watching the whole thing through the cameras he had David install in the house, so he could keep an eye on you. The pace of his heart picked up, capturing his baby girl calling him dada behind a screen, and as much as he wanted to run back home and hold the both of you, it was nearly impossible. You were being watched, not just by him, and there wasn't a safe way for him to contact you without arousing suspicion.

He could see how tired you were and how much you had endured. You were strong, he had no doubt, but he hated seeing you suffering, and if he could go back in time and change the course of his actions, so he could be there with you, he abso-fucking-lutely would.

Once Lisa was asleep, and you turned in for the night, he laid back on the uncomfortable cot. He closed his eyes, as all those beautiful memories he built up with you flashed behind them. From the moment he saw you behind the counter at the café till the last: your first date, your first kiss, a couple of arguments in between, all the times he made love to you, countless times speaking on the phone, your wedding, the day his baby girl was born…

If you had Lisa, he only had his treasured memories wrapped in an old song that started playing in his head that you first danced to on the second time you went out with him. That same song was later the one that played at your wedding. It’s called– Baby, I'm yours.

Frank could hear the melody clearly and still feel the weight and touch of your hands when they linked around his neck on the dance floor when he invited you to dance. He couldn’t do the twist, but he could definitely swing with you to a couple of slower songs like that one.

It was at the fundraiser at a VA center in Brooklyn, where everyone was dressed like it was the 60s. He would have never agreed to go to a themed party like that, no, but it was for a good cause, and it also gave him the opportunity to ask you out on a second date. So, he bought the tickets, found himself a classic, nice suit like Don Draper wore in Mad Men, and traded his tactical boots for oxfords. Admittedly, he didn't consider himself as handsome as Don, but you made him feel that way. He wasn't a cheater either, so, all things considered, he could take pride in that, but he was too humble to recognize his own good qualities and wasn’t going to start any time soon.

For all the times he called himself old-fashioned, that day he looked the part too. He showed up with a bouquet of flowers and tucked his elbow out, so you could link your arm with his as you walked up to his truck. It was adorable how bashfully he looked at you and the way his lips curved up when you kissed him at the end of the night.

He wished for more moments like those. His life couldn't end like this without getting to hold you and Lisa again. Could it?

That unbearable need pushed him to keep going, to settle his score, clear his name, just so he could return to you and make new memories.

But again, his plans were destroyed once more the night on the pier when he found who was working with Schoonover…

All his dreams of getting back to you blew up in that explosion. The puzzle was more complex than he initially thought, so he ultimately had to let you go for good and let the world, including you, believe that Frank Castle had died in that boat.

In his wake, he kept working in the shadows with his partner while watching you helplessly bury a burned body that wasn’t his. He had David hack and falsify all the appropriate DNA and dental records, so nobody would glance at it twice, and it worked.

The world finally left you alone after his death and when they stopped watching– he stopped too because you deserve to grieve and live in peace; and because every time he saw you on the screen it was like being run over by five cars in a row.

He'd still get an update or photo of Lisa from Curtis, who tried to convince him many times to let you know that he was alive, but he wouldn't budge. He still believed you were safer not knowing.

Curt hated lying to you and after the funeral you only saw him a couple of times, briefly. First, you didn't want to face people at all for a while, and second, you stayed focused on Lisa and your job, and that didn't give you much time to do anything else.

Frank grew a beard, got a new identity for the time being, and kept his dead down. He lived like a ghost for ten months, hitting wall after wall of bullshit that kept him from finding out who was the real asshole behind Cerberus. That was the last piece he needed.

Being dead was easy, kind of. He didn't have to worry anymore, cause nobody knew what he was up to. And becoming Pete Castiglione gave him the freedom to come and go as he pleased, even during daylight, he’d just slip a cap on and call it a day.

What kept him up at night was abandoning the two of you. His whole damn word that he missed so much, it physically hurt. You were so close, barely a handful of miles away, that he could just be there in less than an hour if he wanted to. And that was it, he always wanted, alas the fear of putting you in peril was greater.

He’d stare at the picture of the two of you every night. Traced your features with his finger before succumbing to reading instead to keep his mind occupied. He had never read as much as he did during those months.

One day, he was getting a couple of books at this bookstore, cause he had already gone through Curt's and David’s entire bookshelves, and he needed new material.

In there, he was taken aback at finding you with Lisa on your lap over the kid's section. It seemed like some mommy and me kind of class, with mostly moms and a couple of dads, surrounded by babies and toddlers listening to a young girl and boy taking turns reading from a Dr. Seuss book.

Lisa had grown so much since he last saw her, obviously. And he couldn't turn his gaze away, memorizing every detail of his baby girl from her hair held in two buns atop of her head, to her outfit of a flashy purple shirt with a dinosaur, jeans, and sneakers. He was stunned by the way she freely gestured, expressing herself like he hadn’t seen before, laughing at the kids’ funny voices, and being nothing but inquisitive at her surroundings. She wouldn’t just stay seated on your lap and would stand several times up on her short legs, spin around, and go over to the front row with the other kids whenever she pleased.

His eyes welled up, realizing how much he'd missed. She could walk now, and he wasn't there to see that happen. She was about to turn two and wouldn’t be there to witness that either out of his own stupidity.

He tried making himself invisible, peering behind a bookshelf, so he could see you smiling and quietly sharing just a few words with one of the moms on your side.

His heart stopped when he saw Lisa’s little hand waving at him in one of her spins like she had recognized him, but she was just probably playing around. She couldn’t have. Could she? It’d be astonishing if she could.

When he looked at himself in the mirror, he could barely see Frank any more behind all that hair. Maybe it was the eyes that gave him away, or the nose, probably. He figured you kept showing her pictures of him and telling stories no matter how painful it was; and he was right, you did.

His lips turned into a smile, and she smiled back widely, showing all her baby teeth before returning to mommy’s side.

When the class was over, he quickly slipped his ball cap back on and strode away towards the exit because if he didn’t, he might’ve ended up doing something he regretted.

“Bye-bye, dada,” you heard Lisa say to your surprise as you were putting her jacket on.

Your brow turned into a frown, glancing over your shoulder to see if she had seen someone that looked like Frank in the bookstore. That was the only explanation for it, you had never seen her say that other than when you put her to bed that she wished his picture good night.

She was too little to understand what death was, so you saved that conversation for later, all she knew that even if she didn’t see daddy again, he’d always be with her. Maybe that was a little confusing too for an almost two-year-old.

“You wanna see dada?”

She nodded, and it broke your heart a little more, if it was possible, after everything you’ve been through.

You handed invitations to a few moms for Lisa's birthday party that you planned for next week and chatted with them for a bit before heading home.

As you were finally starting to feel more like your old self, those few days left to her second birthday quickly changed that again. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but you could tell someone was watching you, and it started to creep you out that Lisa kept babbling with her little vocabulary that she saw Frank more than once. The first was at the bookstore, you thought it'd end there, but there was another time at the grocery store, and a third time at the park.

It was like his ghost was haunting you. After all this time, only Frank would dare to show up right when you were pulling yourself out of the suffocating pit of sadness.

On the day of Lisa’s birthday, you found a package addressed to you on the porch, but it was a present for her. Since there was no return address you opened it first, just for safety, unsticking carefully one side of the wrapping paper to find a box that had a stuffed green dinosaur inside, a cute card wishing her Happy Birthday, and a book titled ‘One Batch, Two Batch’ with a big bear and a baby bear holding a cookie on the cover. You knew she’d love that, so you put it back together as it came and hid it for later, wondering who could have sent that.

“I feel like I’m going crazy,” you told Curt after the party, fidgeting with Frank’s wedding band that was hanging on a chain around your neck.

He stuck around to catch up and helped you clean up, cause you hadn’t seen him in a few months.

You had put Lisa to sleep already, which wasn’t hard after all the excitement of the day. She enjoyed every single second and went to sleep with that stuffed dino cradled to her chest from the mysterious sender.

“Yeah? What happened?”

“I don’t know, I just… she keeps talking about Frank and I feel like he’s watching over us or something.”

You saw Curt swallow as he towel-dried the dishes.

“I am crazy, am I?” you said when he didn’t give you a reply.

“No, no… I was just thinking. That doesn’t sound crazy at all. You miss him, and so does she because you still tell her about him.”

“You think I should stop?”

“No, that’s not what I meant. I’m just saying it is normal to miss him. He's a great part of your life.”

“Yeah, but I’ve always missed him. This is different. It feels like I'm back to the beginning when he left, and I knew he was out there, but I couldn’t see him, you know?”

Curt simply nodded.

He couldn't keep up with the lie anymore and hated seeing you hurt because of Castle, which he was sure now he had been lurking around for what you’ve just had said. He wished Frank would've listened to him earlier. You needed to know the truth, but it couldn't come from him.

It was a few days later that you left Lisa with the babysitter in the afternoon and drove to St. John's after getting a text from Curtis saying that he needed to talk to you alone, that it was important.

The sky was already dark, since days were shorter then. As you pulled up at the end of the street you saw a few people coming out of the church, some gathering on the pavement to have a smoke and a few words before parting ways.

Curt was waiting for you outside when you got to the doors, a couple of guys were saying goodbye to him as you walked up the stairs.

“I need you to keep an open mind,” he started, treading carefully and motioning in the direction of the staircase that led to a basement.

“Okay.”

You didn’t know what to expect to be honest, but all the secrecy made you a little nervous. You started biting the inside of your cheek and tucked your hands in your jacket’s pockets, following him in silence down the stairs and across a long hallway until he came to a halt before reaching the end.

He glanced at you, tilting his head to the side, pointing to the room where his meetings were held.

“I need you to take a deep breath and go in. There’s someone who wants to talk to you.”

“What? Who?” Your brow narrowed.

“Trust me. You gotta see for yourself.”

There was no breath to take but an exasperated sigh that left your nose before taking a couple of steps forwards. When you crossed that little threshold into this room you found a tall man, all dressed in black, leaning against the big, yellow tiled wall, with his head hanging down.

You looked back, over your shoulder, for a moment and Curt was already gone or out of sight, and for lack of words facing this stranger, you cleared your throat loudly in order to claim his attention.

What came next was probably the last thing that you thought of finding here. You’ve never been hit by a bullet, but at that moment – as the mysterious man slowly lifted his head, you captured Frank's features behind disheveled curls and a bushy beard – it felt just like one went straight through your heart.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, and it sounded like gravel coming out of his mouth that made the skin at the back of your neck rise at the texture of his familiar voice.

The utter shock that took all over your body didn’t let you move or speak up. You wanted to scream, but you could only stare, noticing your face quickly heating up, and it took you a moment to realize you were already crying.

Your heart pounded anxiously in your chest, begging you to take a breath.

“I know it’s a lot to take in, but I’m here,” he spoke again.

It felt like a cheap trick your mind was playing on you because that person in front of you couldn't be Frank Castle. It was absolutely impossible. You buried his body, almost in disgrace, after all the things they said he had done.

You blinked once, and twice more, as he moved closer, slowly presenting himself more and more as the man that once you recognized as your husband.

He was barely standing two feet away when you finally let a shaky breath fall between your lips that was held beneath that huge knot in your throat. And when his mouth opened again to say he was sorry, you used both hands to push him back with all the force you could muster, which wasn't much to be honest.

Frank merely swayed, and you pushed him again, harder, and he let you, and a third one.

“Let it out, sweetheart.”

On the fourth push, you started sobbing uncontrollably, and his arms finally surrounded you, holding you tight against his chest.

“Shh, shh. It's okay.”

“I hate you,” you repeated thickly a few times, falling apart against his hoodie, balling the fabric in your hands.

“I know, I know… I'm sorry.”

You felt his lips pressed on your head and a hand soothing up and down your back. He kept you like that until your heart settled at a normal pace and there weren't more tears to shed, at least for now.

With a little hesitation, you pulled your head back to take a good look at him again, calmer this time.

Locking eyes with him, you brought your hands up and framed his face, rubbing your thumbs on the bags of his eyes that were tear-soaked just as yours.

“You coming home?” Of all the questions you could have asked, that was the only one that mattered to you.

“I can't. It's not safe,” his gaze fell low.

“Will it ever be?”

“I don't know.”

“You're an asshole, you know that?” He nodded in your hands, and you released his face, turning your back on him in frustration, “you lied to me and left me alone to deal with all this. I've mourned you… and for what? You should've stayed dead.”

You didn't mean that, but emotions got the best out of you at that moment.

“Please, Frank. I miss you,” you begged right after, letting out a sob.

“I wish I could, baby. I wanna tell you everything and go home with you and Lisa, but there are still people out there that would hurt you if they knew I was alive.”

“Then, tell me what to do, I'll help you. Whatever you need,” you wiped your face and shifted on your boots again to face him.

“You can't. One of us has to take care of her, and I'm already dead.”

“You let her see you, didn't you?”

“I just…” his lips twitched nervously, “I saw her at the bookstore, and she smiled at me and waved. And I had to see that again. I tried to stay away, but she's just…”

“She's perfect and misses you too,” you finished his sentence, fitting your hands on either side of his neck, capturing the warmth of his skin. “Come by the house later at night, even if it's just for a little bit, just to hold her for a while.”

“I wanna. I really do, but if anyone catches a whiff that I'm around…”

“Nobody will. I promise,” you whispered and brought your fingers up to move his curls away from his forehead, “look at you… you look so different, I could barely recognize you.”

“Dunno know how she did.”

“She’s smart for a two-year-old,” you laughed softly, petting his beard next.

“She got that from you.”

“I don’t know about that,” you sighted as Frank got hold of one of your hands and brought your palm up to his lips.

A tap on the door frame interrupted the moment, and you glanced over your shoulder to see Curt looking apologetic for having to cut your time short.

“Everything good with you two? I need to close up.”

You both nodded.

“Thanks Curt.”

He was a saint. Whatever he did to convince Frank to show up here to see you, it mustn't have been easy.

Frank rode with you and explained everything on the way back home, every single detail without overstating or sugarcoating anything, and you listened quietly without judgment. You always knew he had his reasons, and now they were all out in the open, and you didn’t know how to process all that in that short time frame. You couldn't get behind all of it and wished he had found another way, but you couldn't resent him either.

“Do you still love me after all that?” he asked once you were in the garage.

“Frank,” you stated his name as if it wasn't obvious already that you'd never stop no matter what. “Until the end of time.”

It was a cheesy line from that song you both loved so much.

“Until the stars fall from the sky?”

“Until I die,” you leaned closer and pressed your lips chastely against his, and couldn't help but smile at the prickling of his facial hair.

Then, he cupped your face so tender as his forehead touched yours, staying there a moment in silence, gathering some much-needed courage to face your baby girl.

You went into the house first and when the sitter was gone he came in through the back door.

Lisa was soundly asleep, sucking on her pacifier, in her toddler bed that was converted from her former crib. That same crib Frank built three days before she was born because he got home just in time to see that happen. Then, she spent about three months sleeping in a bassinet next to your bed afterwards anyway. There was no rush, you told him, but he spent a day just putting all that together cause he needed something to do.

You switched the night light on that turned the room into soft blues and yellows, and projected stars and moons across the ceiling as Frank took a seat in the rocking chair.

You carefully picked up Lisa and laid her on her tummy across Frank's chest. She stirred up a little but stayed comfortably curled in daddy's embrace without fussing too much, even tucked her arm underneath his beard.

Your heart swelled watching them both, and you propped yourself on the arm of the chair, tucking your legs over his lap and hugging his neck.

[sundayswiththeilluminati]

I LOVE your meta on how essek was the perfect asset and want to ask the follow-up question in your tags: how do you think it went down? The agreement between Essek and the Assembly? And I think the fandom was convinced Essek would be disposed of after the peace talks — how do you see his future if there was no intervention by the Mighty Nein in 97?

ruvi-muffin asked:

What are your specific thoughts abt how ludinus recruited essek??👀👀 oh Person who knows a surprising amount of spy stuff 🙏🙏🙏👀👀👀

Anonymous asked:

PLEASE share your specific thoughts about how Essek was recruited, I'm so intrigued!

Anonymous asked:

Hello yes i am very interested in these very specific thoughts about how Essek got recruited? All these things about how actual intelligence works/uses their assets/how that ties to Essek and the M9 is really interesting :D

Thank you all so much for asking me the specific question I wanted someone to ask. I had to write and rewrite this post a half-dozen times because I kept going off on tangents about other Cold War spy stories so trust me there’s plenty more where this came from.

For reference, my original post on what made Essek an ideal recruitment target and why the M9 were the ideal counter to it.

First off, this is all based on real-world intelligence ops and is only as relevant to the campaign as Matt Mercer cares to make it. Having said that *slams notebook on table* BUCKLE UP, KIDDOS.

There are two ways Essek may have been recruited: he approached the Assembly or the Assembly approached him. I think the Assembly approached him. Not to be too hard on the guy, but Essek said it himself: he’s kind of a coward. I can’t see him mustering up the nerve to take that first step. Plus his espionage seems to have focused specifically on the beacons rather than dunamancy as a whole; that sounds like the Assembly to me. The beacons specifically offer the prospect of immortality and the Cerberus mages are arrogant enough to assume they can figure out dunamancy themselves if they have a beacon in hand. There’s no way the Assembly haven’t been trying to beg, borrow, or steal those beacons for centuries. Essek may not have even been their first try - just the first that worked. 

Chronologically, Essek would have popped up on either the Assembly or the Augen Trust’s radar quite early as I assume they keep tabs on all powerful Dynasty mages. As they followed his career, the Assembly would have ID’d Essek as a perfect target for recruitment as a spy, and then further for ego-based recruitment. Recruitment for espionage is a slow process - even slower in a fantasy world where some races reasonably expect to live 500+ years. Many intelligence agencies will do a sort of light meet-and-greet just to start a file on various people who might years later be of interest. The Assembly would have cultivated Essek as an intelligence asset with the same degree of time and care - and using some of the same methods - that Trent used to turn the Blumenthal trio into assassins. 

If they followed a modern playbook, they would have made contact with Essek anywhere from 2 to 10 years before the theft - nothing underhanded. A Cerberus mage approaches him at a negotiation or conference and strikes up a conversation. Then it’s increasing “chance” encounters to get Essek familiar with the handler, play the “we’re both mages, really we’re on the same side” angle to earn enough sympathy & trust to start talking regularly. Once the channel’s open, the handler and asset meet and/or talk routinely while the handler assesses the target’s motives, weaknesses, and the possibility that they’re a double agent. 

Espionage proper then starts with small favors, acts Essek can rationalize as victimless or even helpful to the Dynasty. In this stage the handler is getting the asset comfortable with engaging in espionage. They reward the asset for what feels like minimal moral trespass. For Essek that would have been praising his research, encouraging avenues of investigation they knew the Dynasty had shut down. Having meetings with Ludinus plays right into the ego trip - the Head of the Assembly himself is taking the time to meet with him! The Assembly gets how important this work is! That keeps Essek isolated from Dynasty members who might convince him to take a step back and builds loyalty to the Assembly over the Dynasty.

Once an asset settles in, espionage becomes easier. Routines get established. Moral hurdles have been overcome. Now the asks get bigger and the rewards get sparser. The handler will suggest larger acts just to get the asset thinking about them, since the more they consider “just hypothetically” how to pull it off, the more likely it is they’ll do it. This is where the idea of stealing the beacons would get introduced (though of course it’s been the goal all along.) I’ll bet the Assembly hinted at all the study that could be done if they could just get to the beacons in person, constantly bemoaning the lack of access. By now Essek sees the Assembly as colleagues in arcane pursuits, kindred minds, unlike the boring, stuffy old mages of the Dynasty. Of course he could outwit the Dynasty’s security and get the beacons to the Assembly - he’s a prodigy, a genius, everyone says so. And it’s not like he was stealing all of them. The consecuted would be fine. Everyone would be fine.

None of this is intended to absolve Essek of personal responsibility. But it provides a context for his actions, and for why he might regret them so much even though he apparently did them willingly. Asset handlers are very, very good at drawing someone willing to commit minor transgressions into far greater crimes. Look at how Trent shaped Caleb, Astrid, and Eadwulf. He didn’t order them to execute their own parents on day one. He spent years coaxing, tempting, and coercing them into darker and darker crimes, letting them rationalize their own actions at each step, preying on the same vulnerabilities as Essek: isolation (separating the three from other students, telling them their work was secret), ambition (the promise of great arcane power, of shaping the Empire’s destiny), and ego (”we were going to keep the empire safe,” telling them they were gifted, they were chosen).

So how do IRL spies rationalize their actions? Those who spy for reasons of conscience or ideology have done the rationalizing ahead of time, but everyone else has to get there somehow. Some who spy for revenge tell themselves it’s what their superiors deserve, while others tell themselves everyone’s doing it. Some just need a lie to get started (most commonly about who they’re spying for), while others have to keep up the charade all along. Let’s look at a few cases similar to Essek’s that demonstrate just how slippery the slope can be.

Aldrich Ames, a long-term CIA officer slash double agent for the KGB, got suckered in by thinking he could control the situation and wasn’t really hurting anyone. Ames had chronic financial trouble related to excessive drinking & his wife’s lavish lifestyle and in 1985 came up with a plan: he would essentially con the KGB by selling them a minor amount of classified info that he deemed “virtually worthless.” In April he set up the exchange and the KGB paid him $50,000, enough to satisfy his immediate debts. But after actually doing it Ames said he felt he’d now crossed a line he couldn’t step back from, and continued to sell information to the Soviets. By the time he was caught he had, by his own admission, compromised “virtually all Soviet agents of the CIA.”

While some assets just need a lie to get started, others require a delicate dance of self-delusion. Col. George Trofimoff was an Army officer who ran the center where would-be Soviet defectors were assessed & questioned. Trofimoff, a Russian émigré at a young age, was chronically in debt. In 1969 he renewed his acquaintance with his stepbrother back in Russia, now a bishop in the Russian Orthodox Church, and began to pass secrets in return for money - but he and his stepbrother never framed the transactions as such. Trofimoff described their meetings as, “very informal. ... First, it was just a conversation between the two of us. He would ask my opinion on this and that--then, he would maybe ask me, 'Well, what does your unit think about it?' Or, 'What does the American government think about it?’” His compensation was similarly informal: “I said I needed money. ... And he says, 'I tell you what, I'll loan it to you.' So he gave me, I think, 5,000 marks and then, it wasn't enough, because I needed more. ... Then he says, 'Well, you know, I'll tell you what. You don't owe me any money. And if you need some more, I can give you some more. Don't worry about it. You're going to have to have a few things, this and that.' And this is how it started.” Trofimoff could pretend to himself that he wasn’t really spying - just having a chat with his stepbrother - and wasn’t really getting paid for it - just borrowing a little money.

This got longer than I intended it to be and there’s still plenty to talk about, so I’ll save the rest for a second post. Next time: what happens long-term to espionage assets? And what happens if an asset regrets their actions and/or attempts to cut off contact with their handlers?

(This accidentally turned into a series on Essek & IRL espionage: Parts 1, 2, 3, 4)

[quinn-of-aebradore]

Losing my mind, working theory off the bat is that the founders of the Imperium were connected to Dreamers who happened to be members of the original, Age of Arcanum, Cerberus Assembly and named their nation after who I presume they saw as powerful, successful, all the qualities they sought themselves. The same group that Ludinus later named the current era’s Assembly after. A grand, cosmic coincidence.

But one that would certainly feed into Ludinus’s delusions of grandeur once he knew, no?

Hi, sorry, just saw Matt's tweet and

KERBEROS Imperiums??? CERBERUS Assembly???? IT'S THE SAME WORD SPELLED TWO DIFFERENT WAYS FROM THE GREEK

That's yet another connection to the Age of Arcanum and Ludinus. WHAT IS HAPPENING?????