#cracking eggs of wisdom

[charliework16]

they’re throwing down life lessons

[hoboblaidd]

Just to tack onto that post, Solas is both earnest and manipulative in most of what he does during Inquisition. You can't really call him altruistic, because he's not.

My favorite bit of lore from Weekes is that Solas mirrors the attitude of the person he's talking to. IMO, it's not subconscious but calculated. The best way to get someone on your side (or less suspicious) is to mold yourself into what they expect you to be. If you treat Solas with humility he's humble. If you treat him with arrogance he's arrogant. Just like a lie is more believable if it's grounded in truth, someone is more trustworthy if they're like you. I think that's also why his approval is so easy to get. He rewards your curiosity and willingness to learn. He punishes stubbornness or "wrong" opinions beneath a veneer of the moral high ground. The more receptive/susceptible you are to new ideas, the more new ideas he plants in your head so you're more inclined to decide things the way he wants them to go.

This is a hallmark of all the old Dread Wolf tales. They're never about Fen'harel attacking directly. They're all about how he manipulates things in his favor, either to maneuver his cause to a stronger position (kill the other daughter) or to escape a dangerous situation (Andruil).

While he didn't explicitly give orders as he says in Trespasser, he did subtly manipulate a lot of the plot to further his own ends, while painting himself as someone who just wants to help. He led a rebellion for a long ass time, and his conversations with Sera about running such an organization are incredibly cold and calculating. His chess game with Bull perfectly demonstrates his ruthlessness in pursuit of his goal. He truly wants to make a better world, and he truly believes that the only way to build it is on the ashes of this one (some of you may die, but it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make).

Obviously, since he's Solas he's not really good at sticking to this. He does truly believe in and advocate for the things he believes are good. The stuff he says is bad (Wardens trying to get at the old gods), he genuinely believes to be bad. And for relationships, the closer he gets to someone, the less manipulative he is. The relationships he forms during Inquisition are genuine, and challenges what he feels he needs to do versus what he wants to do. He isn't calculated in a romantic relationship with a Lavellan or his friendships with people like Varric and Cole. And he does at least listen and consider viewpoints contrary to his. But as always, remember what he did to Felassan, who he knew for ages, and his mindwipe of Cole at the end of Inquisition. He might care about them and mourn "what he has to do", but he'll do it anyway. For Solas, it's all about the checkmate.

[the-kinfolk-wellin-chronicles]

You Got to Crack an Egg

New Blog Alert!

To whom it may concern: Does it make me crazy that I release music yet appear to be in no rush to do shows or videos or join the culture? Is it weird that I will provide you with the show if you request my presence? However, I must be paid for you to be in my presence. In the age of everyone selling access to their life, am I weird that I don’t gain pleasure from such things? Is it weird that…

[heliosunny]

Yandere lucky egg Welt Yang?

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Welt Yang x Reader

[Lucky Egg Dispenser]

Just a silly game, a gimmick at best. You thought.

But when you received the egg, something told you this was different. The vendor said it would hatch in three days, but by the second night, something strange happened.

As you lay in bed, a strange pull dragged you toward the egg. It was unlike anything you had felt before—like gravity itself was bending around you, sucking you in. Before you could scream, your vision blurred, and for a moment, you were inside.

A vast void stretched infinitely in all directions. Stars blinked in and out of existence. The weight of the universe crushed against you, yet at its center, a figure stood. His silhouette was imposing, his glasses reflecting an unreadable light. His voice echoed through the space.

"So you’re the chosen one."

You barely had time to comprehend before reality snapped back. You gasped, now back in your room, the egg still resting on your desk—silent, unchanged. Had that been… a dream?

By the third night, cracks raced along the shell. Light spilled from within, painting the dark room in a golden glow.

He stepped out.

As the egg cracked open and the light faded, you expected something to be fragile, small, and needing care. Instead, a person stood before you, composed, and radiating an aura of wisdom. He adjusted his glasses, his expression calm, his deep voice broke the silence.

"I must apologize. This is likely unexpected for you."

His tone was gentle, polite, so carefully measured, like he had already accepted this new reality without hesitation. He examined his surroundings before looking back at you with the weight of someone who had lived countless lifetimes.

"I am Welt Yang. And it seems I was meant to come to you."

Your mind raced with questions.

"Why are you fully grown? How did you come from an egg? What happens now?"

The next few days were surreal. Welt adapted seamlessly to your home. He moved through your space with quiet grace—reading books you had long since abandoned, and speaking only when necessary.

When you tried to ask him about his origins, he would smile.

"I have existed before, in many ways, in many places. But here, now—this is where I am meant to be."

You noticed the small things first.

He always positioned himself between you and the door, as if instinctively protective.

His gaze followed you—not in a way that felt invasive, but like he was memorizing every detail.

When you spoke, he listened too well, as if dissecting every word, every emotion behind it.

----

You weren’t sure if shopping was something Welt would enjoy, but you figured it was necessary—he had come from an egg, fully grown, with nothing but the clothes on his back.

The city was a blend of modern technology and old fantasy, towering skyscrapers laced with enchanted neon signs, trains that floated along invisible tracks, and adventurers in sleek, reinforced gear heading toward dungeons to farm points for their next upgrade.

As you walked through the bustling shopping district, Welt remained calm as always. His gaze lingered on technological displays, arcane artifacts, and the strange blend of magic-infused machinery.

"This world is fascinating" he murmured, adjusting his glasses.

You led him into a high-end boutique, a mix of modern fashion infused with enchanted materials. Welt didn’t resist, but he also didn’t seem particularly excited—his approach to shopping was practical, efficient, yet undeniably elegant.

He ran his fingers over the fabric of a long coat, analyzing the enchantments woven into it. "Durability enhancement… a fine choice."

You encouraged him to pick what he liked, but he only sighed softly. "If I must, I will choose what is necessary. But if it pleases you, then… I shall wear what you prefer."

You didn’t enter dungeons often, but you figured Welt might want something useful—perhaps a weapon, a device, or something enchanted for protection. To your surprise, he was far more interested in books. He browsed an ancient tome filled with combat theories, occasionally nodding as if confirming information he already knew.

"You have dungeons here… fascinating. Are you well-versed in combat?" he asked, glancing at you.

You shrugged. "I can manage. But I’m no expert."

"Then perhaps I should accompany you next time. I’d hate for you to get hurt."

The store was packed with enchanted trinkets, weapons, and gear for dungeon explorers. You reached out to grab something—a sleek, rune-etched device—but in your distraction, you misstepped. The uneven flooring caught your foot, and in an instant, gravity betrayed you.

But before you could even hit the ground, a soft yet firm force caught you mid-air.

A low, familiar tap echoed through the store—Welt's cane against the floor. A subtle distortion rippled around you, as if space itself had bent to his will.

You were weightless, suspended just inches above the ground before gravity gently readjusted, setting you back on your feet as if nothing had happened.

"I would suggest being more careful. But… I suppose I shall always be here to catch you."

---

One evening, you returned from a dungeon, exhausted. You barely managed to set your gear down before sinking onto the couch.

You didn’t expect him to say anything—Welt wasn’t one for unnecessary words.

Instead, he simply walked to the kitchen. The soft clink of porcelain, the quiet hum of a kettle. And then, moments later, he set down a cup of tea beside you. You blinked up at him.

"Drink"

You hesitated, then took a sip. The warmth spread through you, soothing, grounding.

And then, rather than returning to his own space, he stayed.

Not speaking, not hovering—just there, reading, sipping his own tea.

---

The marketplace was full of people—merchants shouting their wares, adventurers bargaining for supplies, enchanted displays flashing prices in shifting runes. You had been here countless times before, yet today, the crowd felt denser. You were focused on a shop window, eyeing a sleek new dungeon scanner, when the sudden shove of a passerby knocked you off balance.

A pressure settled against your lower back, keeping you upright.

"Careful" Welt's voice came, steady as always. Slowly, he withdrew his hand from you.

You turned to him, half-expecting a comment, a lecture on paying attention. But he only adjusted his glasses, nothing more.

"Didn’t expect the market to be this crowded today."

Welt hummed in agreement but didn’t step away. If anything, he shifted slightly—positioning himself between you and the chaotic stream of people passing by.

Another person brushed too close, and this time, Welt moved again, subtly steering you toward the safer edge of the walkway.

You glanced at him, a question forming on your tongue, but he spoke first.

"Shall we keep moving?" His tone was neutral, polite—as if he hadn’t just repositioned himself to guard your every step.

You nodded, falling into step beside him.

He was always paying attention. Always watching out for you.

And for the first time, you wondered—just how long had he been doing this?

----

The dungeon loomed before you—an ancient structure half-swallowed by time, its entrance pulsing with an eerie glow. You had been inside dungeons before, but never without a solid reason. This time, Welt was with you. And this time, you didn’t know what was waiting ahead.

The party of twenty adventurers stood at the entrance, murmuring strategies, double-checking equipment. A mix of veterans and newcomers, all here for the same reason—to farm, to survive. You adjusted your gear, your grip tightening around your weapon.

A hand lightly tapped your shoulder.

"Are you ready?"

You turned to him. He was dressed in sleek, reinforced attire, different from his usual formal wear but still undeniably his style.

"As ready as I’ll ever be." you replied.

His gaze lingered on you for a moment before he nodded.

The moment the dungeon gates sealed behind you, chaos erupted.

A tremor shook the ground, and before anyone could react, a force split the party apart—an unseen magic carving an impassable wall between you and the others. The stone beneath your feet shifted, rearranging the dungeon itself.

You barely had time to process what was happening before a deep, guttural growl echoed from the dark.

Your Battle: The Abyssal Maw

The chamber you had been forced into was massive, its walls lined with dripping black stone, pulsing like a living thing. In the center, a hulking creature uncurled itself from the shadows—a beast with jagged obsidian scales, eyes like molten gold, and a mouth lined with spiraling rows of fangs.

Your instincts screamed at you to move. The moment its claws lashed out, you barely dodged, feeling the wind of its attack slice past you.

"Tch—this is bad."

You had fought before. You could hold your own. But this thing was different. It moved with terrifying speed despite its massive frame, and the magic-infused air weighed you down, making every movement sluggish.

You launched a strike, a well-placed slash aimed for its exposed side—but the moment your blade connected, a pulse of energy repelled the attack, sending you skidding back.

"It’s reflecting damage?!"

No. Not reflecting. Absorbing. The wounds you had managed to land were already closing, as if the dungeon itself was sustaining it.

Then, the floor quivered beneath you—black tendrils shooting up, aiming to ensnare you.

You dodged too late.

A sharp pull yanked you downward, the abyss-like tendrils tightening around your limbs. The beast's maw opened wide, its next attack coming straight for you—

Welt’s Battle: The Chrono Tyrant

Elsewhere in the dungeon, Welt stood alone.

His battlefield was different—a massive, circular chamber lined with golden clockwork mechanisms, gears the size of buildings shifting with ominous precision. The air thrummed with magic, time itself feeling… distorted.

And standing in the center, a creature of regal terror.

Its form was humanoid but grotesquely elongated, draped in flowing robes made of shifting sands. A golden mask, cracked and ancient, covered its face, and in its skeletal hands, it held a massive staff with an hourglass embedded within.

With a mere flick of its wrist, the entire world slowed.

Welt’s body reacted before his mind fully processed it—his movements suddenly delayed, weighted. The Tyrant had activated its Temporal Field, distorting the flow of time in its favor.

Welt exhaled, adjusting his grip on his cane. "Hmph. A manipulation of time? I see… then I shall correct it."

The Tyrant struck first, golden chains of pure energy snapping toward him. Welt tapped his cane against the ground, and gravity warped.

The chains veered off course, thrown aside by an invisible force—but not entirely. A second chain materialized mid-air, twisting against the very rules of space and catching Welt's coat.

Time bent.

A vision flashed before him—a glimpse into a possible future. A strike to his left. A trap forming beneath his feet. The slowing of his pulse.

He adjusted.

His footwork shifted, moving not just in reaction, but in expectation. His power countered the Tyrant’s own—where it sought to manipulate time, Welt adjusted space.

The battle was not one of brute force.

It was a war of who could rewrite reality first.

As you struggled against the Abyssal Maw, as Welt confronted the Chrono Tyrant, one thought echoed between you both.

"Where are you?"

Because if you had already fallen—

Then neither of them had any reason to hold back.

Welt did not rush.

Even as the Chrono Tyrant screeched in defiance, the golden hourglass embedded in its staff fracturing, even as the dungeon trembled beneath his calculated strikes—he remained measured.

The moment he had seen through its abilities, the battle had already ended. With one final tap of his cane against the air, the very gravity of the chamber shifted.

The Tyrant lurched, its elongated form crushed under its own weight, ancient mechanisms groaning as time itself unraveled. Gears halted, sand reversed, and in one final, distorted wail—it shattered.

He had no time to linger.

His cane tapped against nothingness, and as if the air itself had become solid ground, he walked.

Not forward—up.

The laws of physics bent to his command as he ascended through the dungeon’s fractured space, his coat billowing in the unnatural wind. The dungeon itself was warping, sections of its structure breaking apart from his influence.

And then, he saw you. You were still struggling.

The Abyssal Maw was relentless, its black tendrils tightening, its body regenerating faster than you could wound it. Your breaths were labored, your body aching from the sheer force of resisting its pull.

It was only then that you felt it.

Your head snapped upward, and there, standing above you, as if gravity itself had ceased to matter, was Welt.

His cane tapped once against the empty space beneath his feet.

"KNEEL."

The very air shuddered as an unseen force crashed downward.

The Abyssal Maw collapsed. Its massive body slammed into the ground, the weight of existence itself crushing it into the dungeon floor.

And you, despite your resistance, were forced down as well. Your knees hit the stone, your breath stolen by the sheer magnitude of the gravitational pull.

Everything was on their knees before him.

The Abyssal Maw let out a strangled, guttural roar, but it could no longer move. The force holding it was absolute.

Welt descended then, slow, deliberate, his polished shoes touching the dungeon floor with elegance befitting a king. His shadow loomed over the beast as he approached, and then—one final tap of his cane.

The weight increased.

The beast’s body cracked.

Its form imploded into itself, crushed under its own mass until nothing remained but a whisper of the abyss.

"Are you hurt?"

What had once been a party of twenty was now reduced to a handful of survivors. The rest—gone. Some torn apart by unseen forces, others crushed beneath collapsing structures.

The dungeon had never been this brutal before.

You and Welt stood among the wreckage, taking in the eerie stillness that followed the battle. It wasn’t victory—it was survival, and barely at that.

Then—a new presence.

You turned.

At the far end of the ruined battlefield, half-shrouded in shadows, stood her. A girl. Purple hair cascading like silk, eyes gleaming with an unnatural glow. No expression. No hostility. Just… watching.

Yet—the sheer pressure of her presence sent a chill down your spine.

You gripped your weapon instinctively.

Welt, however, stiffened in a way you had never seen before.

And then—a flood of something.

Memories. Not yours. His.

You saw it in the way his hand trembled against his cane, his usually composed expression shifting into something unreadable.

A whisper of a name—long buried, long forgotten.

But this was not the time.

"Retreat," Welt ordered, voice steady despite everything. "Now."

You ran.

And for the first time in your life, you saw Welt Yang retreat—not out of weakness, but out of understanding.

Because whatever she was—

Even he wasn’t certain he could win.

Welt led the retreat with calculated precision. Not a single wasted motion, not a glance back—just forward. His grip on his cane was tighter than usual, his breaths controlled but heavier.

The survivors—those few who remained—followed, their footsteps unsteady, half-limping, half-running through the shifting corridors of the dungeon. The walls trembled, reality distorting in ways it shouldn’t.

Behind you, there was no pursuit.

No sound.

But the presence of her remained, like something watching from beyond a veil.

Welt felt it more than anyone.

Memories that did not belong to the present flooded him. Visions of battles fought in another time, another place. The cold sensation of déjà vu, of knowing something yet not remembering why.

"Welt!" Your voice snapped him back.

The exit was so close. The dungeon’s magic was shifting—trying to keep you in. Welt’s mind worked fast. He saw the exit crumbling before it even happened, understood the physics of collapse before the first stone fell.

"Keep moving!" He ordered.

A single tap of his cane against the air. The dungeon’s gravity twisted, shifting against itself. For a brief moment, space folded—a shortcut carved into reality. The survivors didn’t hesitate. They dived through the opening, one by one, escaping just before the structure sealed again.

You followed, but just as you passed the threshold, you turned—Welt was still inside.

The weight of memories, the presence of her, the strain of controlling the very dungeon itself—it slowed him, just for a second.

And in that second, the dungeon walls collapsed toward him.

"WELT!"

Another tap. A shift in space.

And then—he was beside you. The dungeon sealed shut behind him.

You barely had time to breathe before the survivors started counting their numbers, checking wounds, assessing what was lost.

Welt, however, was silent.

"Welt?" You asked, cautious.

For a moment, he did not respond.

Then—he exhaled. "It seems we have more to investigate."

----

Welt had always carried a calm vibe, so steady that it makes you depend on him. Even in the face of overwhelming odds, he remained unshaken.

But now, he was burning up. His body, usually so composed, lay fevered beneath the dim glow of your room.

You had done everything you could. Cooling cloths, potions, even magic-infused remedies. Nothing worked.

The nightmares never stopped.

Then—the system board appeared.

It flickered into existence before your eyes, its interface an unnatural light against the darkened room. A choice.

[Welt Yang is unresponsive. External interference detected. Do you wish to enter his consciousness?]

Your fingers hesitated.

Then—you pressed [Yes].

The world blurred.

And then, you fell.

Inside Welt’s Dream

You landed on solid ground—yet it felt… wrong. Like the weight of existence was shifting beneath your feet.

The sky above was fractured, shards of light and shadow twisting unnaturally. The air carried a heavy, suffocating stillness.

And ahead—Welt.

But he wasn’t himself.

He stood at the center of the dreamscape, frozen. His form was both him and not him, flickering between past and present. His eyes—haunted.

And then—a whisper.

"You should not be here."

Not from Welt.

From the dream itself.

A shadow shifted at the edges of your vision. Something watching. Something waiting.

But you had no time to hesitate.

You stepped forward. Toward him. Toward whatever had him trapped in this nightmare.

You approached carefully, the unstable ground beneath you shifting with every step. Welt remained frozen, caught in a battle you couldn’t see—a war within his own mind.

But then—a red-haired girl appeared.

She stood not far from Welt, her expression unreadable. As if she had expected you.

"You came for him."

Her voice was soft, almost gentle. Not a threat, not an enemy—something else entirely.

The dreamscape shuddered. Reality here was breaking.

Welt let out a sharp breath—a flicker of consciousness, a struggle to return.

You didn’t hesitate. You stepped between them.

"Let him go."

The girl tilted her head.

"You think I am keeping him here?"

The dream pulsed. Your heartbeat quickened.

You could fight. You could force her out. But something told you she wasn’t here to destroy.

She was a presence of the past.

"He doesn’t belong here anymore."

For a moment, she just watched you. Then, she smiled.

"Perhaps he doesn’t."

The dream began to crumble. The world around you brightened, the suffocating weight lifting.

And as she faded, dissolving into the cracks of memory, her final words echoed—

"Take care of him."

A final whisper. A final glance at Welt.

Then—she was gone.

The moment she disappeared, Welt gasped, collapsing forward.

You caught him.

The dream shattered—

And the two of you woke up.

You stretched as you got up, ready to cook something—your body needed food after everything that had happened. But just as you turned toward the kitchen, you felt a gentle pull on your sleeve.

He wasn’t looking directly at you, his gaze fixed somewhere past you, his grip light yet unwilling to let go.

"Stay."

You hesitated.

But then—your stomach betrayed you. A low, unmistakable growl broke the silence.

Welt finally let go. "Go on, then," he murmured. "Take care of yourself first."

Even as he let you go, you could feel his gaze follow you until you disappeared into the kitchen.

As you sat down with your freshly made meal, you let out a satisfied sigh. Finally, food. You scooped up a spoonful, about to take your first bite—

And then, in a blink, it was gone.

You stared at your now-empty spoon in confusion before following its trajectory—right to Welt, who had the audacity to be calmly chewing after swiping your food.

"Welt!" you exclaimed.

He barely looked fazed. With a small, deliberate motion, he tapped his cane against the floor and adjusted his glasses.

"To think of it," he mused, completely ignoring your glare, "I shouldn’t waste food, should I?"

Oh. Oh, he did not just say that.

"That was my food!" you huffed, scooting away protectively with your plate. "You literally said you weren’t hungry!"

Welt simply tilted his head slightly, watching you with a faint, unreadable smile. He looked way too satisfied with himself.

"Thank you for the food." he said.

You narrowed your eyes.

"Fine. Next time, I’ll just have someone else cook for me."

The moment you said that, you felt it.

Welt didn’t outwardly react, but something changed in the air. His fingers tightened slightly against his cane, his shoulders going just a bit too still.

"Someone else?"

You shrugged, missing the way his gaze darkened ever so slightly. "Yeah, maybe a friend or—"

The sharp clink of a spoon being set down cut you off.

You turned to see Welt calmly placing the stolen utensil beside your plate. His expression was still polite, still composed—but something in his eyes told you that he was absolutely not amused.

"I see." He leaned back slightly, "Perhaps I should make sure you have no need for… others."

Before you could question that slightly ominous statement, you sighed instead, choosing to ignore the weird tension he just created.

Looking at him now—this grumpy, elegant, thief of food—you couldn’t help but think about everything you had been through together. The dungeon, the sickness, the nightmares… and somehow, here you were.

You softened a little.

"From now on," you said, nudging his shoulder lightly, "I’ll be in your care."

The tension that had wrapped around Welt instantly unraveled.

For a moment, he just stared at you. Then, his entire demeanor shifted.

Gone was the faint edge in his voice, the almost possessive glint in his eye. Instead, something gentler took its place.

He sighed, a small, nearly invisible smile tugging at his lips.

"Very well," he murmured, voice softer now. "From now on, I’ll be in your care as well."

[greenfiend]

Why I’m confident that El was willed into existence…

In a show that frequently references superheroes, alter egos, clones, “subs”titutes, and swapping places…

Is it truly that far fetched to believe that our main “hero” is actually the boy who likes to hide in disguise all along?

In other words, let me explain the evidence that Will created El and what it means for the ending of the show.

I’ll begin by saying that even back when I was a GA watching the show, I sensed that there has always been a supernatural connection between the two of them.

Think about it. Will vanishes, El first appears then El vanishes and Will re-appears. They “swap places”. Will is “good at hiding” and thus El takes over as the lead.

El is a masculine girl (at least power-wise), while Will is a feminine boy. They are connected but yet within the show they aren’t that close? Sure they’re “siblings” now but the writers made a choice not to focus on building up their relationship/bond. In fact, we see them continuously being separated from each other. This conveys a subtle message to the audience:

They cannot co-exist.

They both take up the same role within the show. Let me explain…

Let’s start with similarities between Will and El

Both are around the same age

Both are quiet

Both have a mother who is loving yet distant and both mothers are implied to have mental health issues and are heavily paralleled.

Both have a complicated and ab*sive relationship with their father/“papa”

Both are associated with powers

Both have been victims of bullies

Both have trauma and struggled with their emotions

Both are associated with repressed memories

Both are romantic love interests for Mike

Both are heavily connected with the supernatural

etc etc…

Let’s talk symbolism…

I’ve mentioned this many times before but the writers have subtly used the explosion of “Little Boy” the atomic bomb as a metaphor for Will’s disappearance.

“Little Boy” is Will Byers himself. The real “Little Boy” bomb caused a nuclear fission reaction. Fission means to “split in two”. We also have the Phineas Gage metaphor that conveys splitting of the brain.

On top of this, in the flashback of El opening the gate for the first time, we see the Demogorgon feasting on an egg. When El sees this, we see cracks appear and the gate opens. The egg cracks. This is further implied with this line:

If the hair is a nest, the egg is the head. The head “split”/cracked open. Like an egg, the head hatched… which implies a birth!

Notice how they chose an “owl” out of all birds? Owls are associated with wisdom, and the Greek Goddess Athena. How was Athena born, you ask?

Zeus had a “splitting” headache and then Athena was born from his head.

”Splitting” is also a term within Dissociative Identity Disorder when a new alter/personality emerges. Alters are often seen as “superheroes” as they often protect the host/the system from experiencing trauma. They take over, and “swap places” with the host/other alters. There are common alters roles within a DID system, and one of them is called “The Gatekeeper”.

“The Gatekeeper” controls access to the gate, and to the memories (sound familiar?)…

To add to the “splitting” analogy, we have multiple references to El being “half” and not “whole”. Notice how she’s “twice” as happy with Will present, after being “half”way happy? Two halves = a whole.

Another planet/different species

We have many references to the UD being another planet. If the UD is another planet, all those who inhabit said planet are a “different species” or rather, aliens.

As we all know, El is heavily inspired by “E.T.”, a famous alien character. When she comes to “Earth”/the right side up, she is, essentially, an alien. She doesn’t fit in because this is not her world.

El was even paralleled to D’Art who, as we know, was a “new species” that literally came from Will’s head!

D'Art is a "new species" and El and Max are a "different species" aka "material girls". This implies that they all were created.

They aren't from Earth but instead they're from "another planet". We are given a hint to this in the shot above on the left. A globe (Earth) near another round sphere (Will's head...)

Relevant Media References Within the Show

Within the show, we have many references to other media- specifically media that contains a character with an alter-ego.

Superman is the simplest one to explain, so I’ll start with that. As we know, Mike said El was “Superman”, and that he was “Lois Lane”, prior to Will expressing his love for Mike using El’s name. The writers chose to reference Superman for a reason and it’s not just because El has powers or that Mike is gay. We are supposed to connect the dots and conclude that:

Will is Superman’s alter-ego: Clark Kent. The seemingly nerdy ordinary guy who loves Lois Lane but who is (secretly) Superman.

(Read the line from Lois above, it is incredibly relevant to Will and El)

Another commonly referenced movie within ST is The Neverending Story.

(Atreyu looks into the mirror and sees Bastian…)

The similarities between Bastian (bullied bowl cut boy) and Will are fairly obvious, as well as the similarities between Atreyu (the hero) and El. Well, it turns out that Atreyu was actually Bastian the whole time.

X-Men has also been referenced within the show.

Will asks Dustin for "X-Man 134" in the very first episode. This comic is significant because it was the first appearance of "Dark Phoenix".

In the book the Dark Phoenix is accidentally unleashed by the Mastermind who is tinkering around in Jean's brain trying to unlock the full potential of her powers. x

I argue that the "Mastermind" is actually Will himself who unleashed El into the world. He cast "fireball" unleashing El, the phoenix.

That's not the only X-Men clue however...

In the original Montauk script, it was X-Men 269 that Will asked Dustin for.

@threemanoperation made an excellent post about that here.

There are clear references to gateways and "splitting" which are incredibly relevant to this theory.

Karen's Novels

In this scene, Karen is reading a book called “Tender is the Storm”. In that book, there’s a surprise twist at the end:

These two "twins" that the main character is torn over end up being the same person.

Now keep in mind, the previous novel Karen reads also has clear relevance/foreshadowing. Credit below goes to @/kaypeace21, her post is here.

Sound familiar?

Hawkins Lab/Tunnels

Tunnels are something that we see a lot of... especially in Will's drawings in ST2. He draws tunnels from his mind... it's his mind map.

So... El came from Hawkins Lab, and escaped through these tunnels.

Hawkins Lab...

There's lots of subtle clues that "Hawkins" is metaphorically Will. Let me explain...

"Hawkins" is still healing from the gate being opened = "Will" is still healing from the gate being opened.

"But some of him is here, too. In me. It's like... it's like he's reaching into Hawkins [me] more and more." - Will

"Hawkins" isn't the same without Will because "Hawkins" *is* Will!

So El came from "Hawkins" lab = El came from "Will's" lab.

A laboratory is a place where things are created.

The mind is a "prison" as Papa states. Then we have Hopper and Henry comparing Hawkins Lab to a "prison"/El being a “prisoner”.

El is a prisoner of the mind…

Thus we can conclude: Hawkins Lab is Will's mind, and that is where El came from.

She was a prisoner of his unpleasant and traumatized mind who managed to escape into the real world.

El's Memories

The biggest question is... if El came from Will's mind, how does she have her own memories?

The answer to this is fairly simple:

El has Will's memories...

A major clue of this is in ST2. In a flashback, we see Hopper teach El Morse Code. Later on within the same season, we see that Will knows Morse Code...

Now I know this sounds like a stretch for some, but the major reason why is because we know so little of Will's past explicitly.

We have never seen Will and his father Lonnie directly interact. But through many many clues we can infer that Lonnie had a profoundly negative effect on Will. Not only was he obviously homophobic and a deadbeat father... but many clues point to him being so much worse. I talk about much more in this post.

"Papa" may not be real, but rather a manifestation/altered version of Will's father.

In one of the comics, we see a clear parallel here between El and Papa and Will and Lonnie. The father shutting out the child and ignoring their cries.

Perhaps the biggest clue of El having Will's memories, however, comes from 4x02.

Lets break this down:

In ST1, Jonathan tells us that his father forced him to kill a rabbit on his birthday and it was traumatic for him.

In ST2, March 22 is established as Will's birthday and we are told by Owens that "The anniversary of an event can bring back traumatic memories."

In ST4, we are told that "our brains protect us from trauma" by repressing memories.

In ST4, Will's birthday (the anniversary) is forgotten (repressed memories).

In ST4, on March 22, El has flashbacks to a massacre... and the song "Wipe Out" plays. "Wipe Out" can mean two things: to kill (a rabbit?) and to eliminate something completely (memories).

So... with all of that knowledge... wouldn't you say that it's interesting that El has traumatic memories on Will's birthday?

I think it's fair to conclude that:

Will experienced something very traumatic related to his father on his birthday (March 22), and he has repressed the memories. El, as the "Gatekeeper Alter"/superhero protecting Will/the system, has access to Will's memories.

Gatekeepers control access to specific memories or protected alters and can, in some cases, prevent unwanted switching. These alters aid in preventing traumatic memories from escaping from the alters who control them, thus throwing up amnesiac walls to protect the whole system. x

Which is why in the NINA plot line, it was all about El retrieving back memories... Will's memories. Or rather, altered versions of his memories.

Just to re-affirm the point that Will does not have his own memories... we were gifted with this subtle clue.

"Larry" is a nickname for Lawrence/Laurence. Lonnie is also a nickname for Lawrence/Laurence. So basically:

Will doesn't remember Lonnie. Or rather, he only vaguely remembers Lonnie.

El has Will's memories of Lonnie, and we see them through her flashbacks with "Papa".

This is exactly why we never see Lonnie or rather rarely have any direct mentions of him within the show. He is a deeply repressed memory.

I could go on about this because there are tons more hidden clues but this post will get FAR too long.

Why did Will create Eleven?

Wherever you go, the number 11 seems to find you - this is an angel number. x (credit to @thestrangestthing89 for pointing this out).

To answer this question very simply: Will created El as a replacement for himself. She was his "guardian angel" to protect him from his trauma, but also to erase him.

We really do not discuss this enough, but Will has crippling self-esteem issues! That's why he's so selfless and that's why he always tries to hide. He doesn't believe he's worthy of... anything.

El is a strong, brave, and socially acceptable version of himself. She has superpowers and she can be with Mike, because she's a girl. It'd be acceptable.

But over time we see that El could never replace Will, nor does she want to! El replacing Will causes everyone to be miserable. Will, Mike, his family, and El herself.

How it may be explained within the show

So, DID itself was not a term that existed within the 1980s, it was called "Multiple Personality Disorder". My guess, however, is that they will not use any specific medical term. They will, instead, use a DnD term:

"Changeling" x

According to folklore, a changeling was a substitute left by a supernatural being when kidnapping a human being. x

After Will vanished, El, a supernatural being, appeared in the same place. This whole time El was a "changeling"/substitute for Will.

El's Ending

El's ending has been a hot topic as of recently, for a good reason. People are scared she'll be killed off and express their discontentment with that. Will she be killed off?

Not exactly. Let me explain.

El is E.T., an alien who ends up returning back to their own world. The same thing will happen to El. As I explained, El came from Will's mind, and she will return to Will's mind! This will be her own choice, because she's not adapting to the real world. It's been a constant loop for her, and she's not happy. She hasn't felt like she belonged.

She's tired of being forced into roles that aren't her own.

El and Will will "combine" via fusion. This is where the "Little Boy" metaphor for Will returns. El came into the world via "fission" (splitting) and will return via "fusion" (combining back into Will).

The important thing to note here is that she will not "die".

As Henry states, she will live on in the mind. Most likely, a much more pleasant version of the UD. My guess is her ending will be similar to Frodo's at the end of Lord of the Rings.

(Notice how she disappears into Will? That's obviously intentional visual foreshadowing).

I have even more to say on this but this post has been long enough!

What are your thoughts?

[winchestersisterimaginessss]

Request: Hiiiii could I pls pls pls request something when the Winchesters younger sis gets her wisdom teeth removed and is super loopy and basically dean starts teasing her and she gets really annoyed and starts crying and dean feels really bad so he just gets her whatever she wants for the rest of the day

Request: heyyoooo. i love ur writing!! can you do a wisdom teeth one where she’s loopy and Dean takes care of her

A/N: hi thank you both!!! I hope this is what you were both looking for! If not, just send in another request I don’t mind! Requests are always open!! :))

Dean Winchester x Sister!Reader

Y/N Winchester, the youngest of the three siblings, was sprawled out on the couch. Her face was slightly swollen—her cheeks puffy and her expression one of mild confusion, interspersed with sudden, exaggerated grins. She had just had her wisdom teeth removed less than an hour ago. The procedure went smoothly, but she was still loopy from the anesthesia.

Dean was perched on the arm of the couch, a shit-eating grin on his face as he stared down at his baby sister. The first few minutes of her waking up had been nothing short of hilarious. He'd never heard her babble quite like this, and he’d been more than happy to egg her on.

“I’m telling you, Dean,” she slurred, her eyes half-lidded, blinking slowly. “They’re... they’re like, superheroes, right?” Her voice was slow, like she was drifting in and out of consciousness.

Dean couldn't contain the grin creeping up his face. “Who are superheroes, kid?”

“The... doctors, Dean! They, like... saved me from the evil teeth!” She giggled, squinting at him as if her words were profound.

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. “The evil teeth? You sure it wasn’t just the anesthesia making you this crazy?”

“No!” she protested, her voice rising. “They were, like, attacking me... trying to get my brain! And I was like, ‘Not today, evil teeth!’”

Dean laughed harder, leaning closer to her. “I gotta admit, I didn’t realize you were such a warrior, Y/N. Evil teeth, huh?”

She squinted at him, now seriously contemplating his words. “You’re... you’re making fun of me,” she muttered. It wasn’t angry—just confused.

“I’m not making fun of you, I’m just loving your interpretation of the situation,” Dean teased, resting his hand on her puffy cheek. “No more evil teeth, now you’re toothless!”

Y/N’s lips pulled into a pout, her eyes welling up and tears spilling over. “But I’m not toothless, Dean... I still have teeth. Just... not the evil ones.” Her voice quivered a little, the giggle gone, replaced by a soft vulnerability. “I’m not... I’m not a baby. I don’t want to be toothless.”

Dean’s smile faltered, his teasing gone in an instant. He leaned in closer, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. “Hey, hey, you’re not toothless, okay? You’ve still got your teeth. The good ones anyway.” His voice was low, soothing, as he wiped away the tear that had escaped down her cheek.

“Yeah De, I still have teeth.” Her voice cracked, the weight of her words hanging in the air. “Just the evil ones are gone.”

Dean’s heart softened at the sight of her distress. He pulled her into a hug, rubbing her back gently. “It’s okay, you’re right. You’ve still got your smile, you’ve still got your teeth—just the good kind now, the kind that don’t try to take over your brain.” He pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes, his expression sincere.

She sniffled, nodding slightly, still feeling a little unsure, but the warmth in Dean’s voice was enough to calm her racing thoughts.

“But they took... some of them. And now I can’t chew anything...”

Dean’s grin faltered for a split second, his heart stuttering when she said the last part. He gently placed his hand on her shoulder. “It’s just for a little bit, kid. You’ll be back to chewing burgers and pie in no time. You’ll see.”

She looked up at him with teary eyes, her hands clutching at the sides of her clothes. “But I can’t... I can’t eat what I want, Dean. It’s so sad. Why can’t I have... apple pie?”

Dean blinked, the teasing smile on his face slowly fading into something more tender. “Y/N... you’re gonna be fine, alright? We can get you anything you want.”

Her lip quivered as she sniffled, trying to fight back the tears. “I’m all swollen and my teeth hurt.”

Dean’s heart clenched. He never wanted to see her like this—vulnerable and fragile.

He leaned in, brushing her hair back gently from her forehead, his voice low and sincere. “Y/N, listen to me, you’re gonna feel better soon. I promise. How about this: let’s get you something to eat. Whatever you want. And we’ll just hang out for the rest of the day. You can tell me more about the evil teeth, or we can watch something funny. Whatever you need, kid.”

Y/N looked up at him with big, teary eyes. “Promise?”

“I promise,” Dean said, his voice firm and comforting.

Y/N gave a tiny, watery smile and nodded. “Okay... okay. I want... I want ice cream,” she murmured, her voice small and pitiful. “And... maybe two scoops.”

Dean chuckled softly, standing up and ruffling her hair. “Two scoops? Well, if that’s what it takes to make you feel better, you got it.”

He went into the kitchen, pulling out the ice cream and a bowl as Y/N’s soft, sad voice followed him from the couch. “And maybe... maybe Mean Girls?” Her voice was so small, almost like a secret, and Dean’s heart swelled.

“Of course, kiddo,” he called back, grabbing the remote. “We’ll watch the whole damn thing. As you wish.”

He returned with the ice cream, piled high, and handed it to her carefully. She took it in both hands, still looking a little unsure but visibly comforted. He sat down beside her, putting the remote in her lap.

"Thanks, De," she said quietly, her voice hoarse but filled with gratitude.

“Anytime, kid. You know I got you.”

The room was still, save for the occasional clink of the spoon hitting the bowl, and the muffled sound of the movie playing softly in the background. Y/N leaned her head on Dean’s shoulder, her swollen cheeks pressed against him, and for a moment, the weight of everything fell away.

Dean watched her carefully, his heart a little lighter. He’d do whatever it took to make sure she always felt safe, loved, and never alone—especially when she felt vulnerable, like this. No matter what.

[candyswirls]

The Unbound Flame

Tu'Shan laughed as the final seal was removed, and the inner forge began to open. Engraved upon it, in traditional Nocturnian, read: The Unbound Flame: Pyre.

"Another artifact found," he sighed. "We are closer to the return of our Primarch."

"VULKAN LIVES!!" Cheered the surviving companies of battle-brothers.

The thick golden ichor of the xenos of this planet coated each astartes and the ground surrounding them. In the light of the forge, they appeared to glow with the emperor's glory.

The forge bloomed out like petals. The flames and heat still going from when they were first lit near ten millennia ago.

A large oblong shape of metal was in the middle of the flames. Placed carefully amongst the ashes.

Tu'Shan reached out and took it out of the forge. Despite the constant high flames, the artifact was solid. He needed two arms to carry it.

He looked it over, trying to determine what it was. The outside was smooth and it was heavy. But definitely not solid all the way through.

He thought about shaking it but an immense feeling of dread followed that thought.

"Let us return to the ships!" He announced.

Even as the metal cooled in the open air, the artifact emanated warmth. The Unbound Flame: Pyre. What secrets did this artifact of their primarch hold?

***

Upon the ship, many discussed what it could be. Perhaps it was some type of battery? A heat source given its name? A beacon for their primarch or to find the rest of the relics?

Scans were done upon it. It indeed was hollow inside with a large mass. They were reviewing what it could be when a crack echoed around the strategium.

Forgemaster Vulkan He'Stan dashed to the artifact. A long jagged line ran across the top of it. Should it have been kept in the heat?

"It's breaking!" He called out.

Several others rushed to get supplies and tools to prevent it from doing so. He'Stan was about to lift it. There was another crack with another jagged line appearing. The artifact wobbled.

"Somethings in there," one battle-brother said aloud.

The artifact continued to wobble as what lay within tried to get out.

"Like a salamander egg..." another spoke.

Silence filled the room as each astartes held their breath in anticipation at the Unbound Flame. The egg.

A chunk of shell fell off, exposing the molten innards. Then it practically split open. Molten fluids spilled onto the ground, sizzling against the floor.

A soft cry came from within in.

Tu'Shan was the first to move forward. He peered inside and nearly gasped. He gently reached in.

"There, there," he said softly.

Out from the artifact he pulled out a large and squirming mass. It cried at the exposure to cold air. No teeth, squishy face, wispy hairs atop it's head, soft red eyes seen through tears.

A familiar sight when visiting their families back home and seeing new progeny.

The large infant kept crying and squirming. Bits of magma dripping off of him, still.

"By the Primarch," Ajax breathed.

He quickly removed his cape and offered it to He'Stan. Several others removed any piece of fabric and passed it forward. The closest Salamanders cleaned the infant and wrapped him in the cape, remembering the way the new mothers of their families taught them to.

Apothecaries surged forward to aid and check his vitals.

Once swaddled, the babe grew calmer and the rest of the Salamanders moved in. A massive encircling. Arms upon shoulders, all vying to get a view.

Tu'Shan held the baby up for all to see.

"Behold," he announced calmly. "The Unbound Flame: Pyre. Artifact of our Primarch. The son of Vulkan."

"Vulkan lives," the astartes said quietly, not wanting to startle him.

"We must return home to Nocturne," Tu'Shan decided. "We require the wisdom of those who took care of us."

"What do we call him?" Inquired one.

He'Stan answered without hesitation, "Pyre."

[claudiafrankie]

Pick a Card: Let me Describe You/What You're Going Through

DISCLAIMER: TAROT IS NOT AN EVIDENCE-BASED PRACTICE. YOU ARE IN CHARGE OF MAKING YOUR OWN DECISIONS.

Pile 1: The Birds

This pile feels strongly ancestral. I don't know if you connect with your ancestors but they sure as shit want to connect with you lol. I think something in your life is in the process of unfolding and you are doing a really good job of staying objective about it. Not meddling with the outcome, just letting what will be, be. There seems to be a lot of chatter and external opinions flying around you, and your ancestors are like "for the birds" lmao.

For awhile now you have been in a stage of agitation, like when the piece of sand gets caught in an oyster and is transformed into a pearl. I think there's people around you that can sense that this is going on within you, but they might not have the tools to articulate this or approach you in a loving/sincere way about it, with the concern for your well-being/desire to help at the forefront of their intentions.

You could be isolating a lot because you feel this energy. You have become masterful at creating a haze/fog around yourself to conceal and protect yourself. It's like your in the kitchen cooking for company and your guests are breathing down your neck like "When's it going to be ready?? What are you making in there??? Can I see can I see can I see????" Lol I don't think these people have ill intentions they just don't know how to support you right now. I think you might have to take a more direct approach if you want them to lay off, though. I don't see them easing up/giving you your space, so if you want/need that it might be time to say that up front. You are pretty good at evading prying eyes, but you may have to play mama bear for yourself if you need more space than what you're getting.

I think you've been getting a lot of downloads and messages about your path and your healing process. You need to know that to integrate these messages you have to find better ways to rest. Not just literally like sleeping or napping, but things you can do to relax your mind and especially your body. You're kind of in a gestation process. Dealing with that on top of the stress of everyday living (and these birds who can't seem to mind their own business lol) calls for a more serious prioritization of slowing down.

I feel like I need to tell you that meditation doesn't have to be sitting still and breathing. Beach-combing can be meditative, coloring in a coloring book can be meditative, baking brownies can be meditative. I think it would really help you to pick an activity that is simple and slow and just really do it. Feel the pebbles/sand crunch/squeak under your feet, feel the coarse calcium shells, smell the crayons and watch their colors flood a blank page, listen to the egg shells crack on the counter.

I get that you might be dealing with some feelings of fear and/or dread. You aren't really sure what you're transforming into, and what will be left standing in your life once the process is complete. You're not a bad person for changing and leaving things or people behind. I think you are the type to cling to guilt over past relationships and really beat yourself up over mistakes. You are allowed to make mistakes. Once you start giving yourself that grace I think this gestation period will be a lot more bearable. It will still be uncomfortable, but you'll have a greater level of tolerance for discomfort and a stronger skill set for accommodating yourself.

I think you might be called to help guide others who are going through a similar process as well. I think this is not the first time you have moved through a period like this. You have the ability to notice when someone is struggling with changes in their own life and psyche, and the wisdom to be a source of comfort and guidance for them. I think you have encountered unsolicited advice and know how unhelpful and frustrating it can be to be on the receiving end of that, you know how to hold space for people in uncomfortable transition periods and not assert your own opinions/perspectives onto them of what they "should" be doing or what you think would be "good" for them. More than anything you understand how invaluable it is to have someone witness what you're going through and reflect it back to you without judgement. To really see you, and be with you.

Take care pile 1.

Pile 2: The Tower

Woah. This pile feels old old. There is a profoundly detached energy coming through for you guys, very cerebral and heady. It's not cold, but there is a sort of ruthless... neutrality. You see everyone as being on the same level, playing on the same field, fighting for the same things. Just maybe with some different outfits or weapons. This perspective informs your behavior heavily, and I feel like this might be misread by those around you as a disregard for authority, a sense of entitlement, of superiority. When in actuality, you're simply carrying yourself as exactly what you are: a sovereign being with power over your own life. You know that no one gets to tell you who you are, ever.

This kind of self-image and worldview, to many, is radical. Your presence forces people to confront themselves. They see you move through obstacles, pick yourself up, let things bounce right off you, and keep trying. They see your unwavering sense of self, a steady fire burning in a hearth. They are confronted with the reality that they have not cultivated this in themselves, or at least have not attained the level of mastery they perceive in you.

This can go two ways: some look to you as a source of inspiration. Some as competition. This pile is used to people competing with them for no good reason. You may have had people pretend to be friends with you, get close to you, try and siphon off of the glow and warmth of your inner world. You see the pain in people and you easily forgive, you are understanding of the myriad of reasons why people struggle to accept themselves. But you have also learned that, at the end of the day, we either decide to do something about this pain or we don't. And you can't make anyone do anything. There's that radical neutrality. You have faith that everyone is where they are meant to be, and will end up where they are meant to go.

Two of the tarot cards I pulled for you guys were Justice and the Ace of Swords. You guys are both a channel for the truth and the truth itself. The smallest things you do signal to others how you see the world, how you understand your place in it. I forget where I heard this, but there is an idea of "how you do one thing is how you do everything." That's you guys. Your beliefs permeate into everything you do.

I think for a lot of you, your karma could be playing out in the workplace. I think you are supposed to model for people what it means to really do the work, literally and figuratively. You are meticulous and shrewd. I might even say brilliant. You have a sharp mind and the drive to back it up. I get the sense that if you wanted to you could really fuck with people, but you don't. And I think this is for two reasons: I think you have a genuine appreciation and love for people and humanity, and I think you also have a deep understanding of the laws of karma. You understand the seriousness and precariousness of it all. You do not hold this lightly.

Maybe things feel stagnant at work, like they aren't moving, like your efforts go unnoticed or worse, are disregarded. Keep going. Keep trying. Not for anyone but yourself. Because you owe it to yourself to cultivate something that is all yours. Brick by brick, I think you have the potential to build yourself into a seriously successful person. But I don't think you'll be one of those people who has windfalls of luck - unexpected promotions or raises. And if these things do come to you, I see that these speedy promotions will be ultimately reversed. You are here to show people what it means to do it yourself, do it right. And doing it right takes time. But I don't think you need me to tell you that. ;)

Take it easy pile 2.

Pile 3: The Heart

You guys are tired and fed the fuck up is who you are lmao. I think the amount of pressure and frustration you have been encountering in your relationships has been building and building and building. As I'm writing this the time is 5:55, and two of your tarot cards are the five of pentacles and the five of swords. Things are changing for you guys, and it probably feels like, "Finally."

I think you're moving through a period where you have felt powerless when it comes to your relationships. There is a lot of build up of resentment for the people around you. I think you have been trying to stay optimistic, and maybe pushing down the part of you that's like "actually no......... we're not going to be treated like that"

I think there is or was a group of people that made you feel excluded. Your mistakes were magnified and your wins were ignored. You have been made to feel like it's your fault that they don't accept you, framing the dynamics as though you are the one who has to earn their approval. There is a really fucked up weaponizing of abandonment/belonging here. Like the behavior of these people is underhanded and covert, nothing really big happens that you can point to and say "That's what I'm talking about!!! Y'all are giant assholes!" It's all under the surface but it is detectable in so many of your interactions. They have been trying to get you to crack, to contort yourself to meet their expectations, to sacrifice your autonomy and self respect to fit in, just like they have.

I think there is some danger here on your part of swinging to an extreme. With the level of anger and frustration depicted in your cards, I wouldn't be surprised if you are fighting back tooth and nail your impulse to smack a bitch. I would like to tell you that, while honestly this would likely be a valid response in your situation, please do not engage in these types of behavior. Once to retaliate or respond to how you are being treated, it will be twisted. Even though you are the one who has been poked, prodded, and laughed at, if you respond to this - you will be made out to be the bad guy. And I know that that is crazy-making, but it's unfortunately how the world works. Don't give them the satisfaction. Take all that pent up energy and channel it into something for you, don't waste it on these people. They don't deserve it. Let it fuel your work ethic, start a new creative project, learn a new skill, start a side hustle, whip yourself into killer shape. Start your winter arc early, if you will. Let them watch you climb to the top, and then smile at them.

I think yeah you're just in a time of realizing how much of yourself you have set aside to please other people, and how detrimental this is to you and your relationships. You might have been feeling socially "stuck" for a long time. Past hurts have calcified and become like part of your skeletal structure. You've been in so much pain. I'm not sure if you've been keeping what you've been going through to yourself but if you have, it seems like some kind of outlet would be good. Even if you don't have anyone in your life that you feel safe opening up to, or if you can't afford therapy, use your body, journal, scream in a pillow, rage cry, dance it out to bad bitch anthems. This is like heavy and sharp and hot energy and it's just sitting in your solar plexus. You could be lashing out at people who don't deserve it and pushing away potential friends because there's just so much of this pain that you are struggling to express it and move through it. This is human and normal and there is nothing wrong with you!!!!

Best of luck pile 3

[hustlemeanokay]

I've read a few things on here so far and I can honestly say that some people totally missed the mark on the whole Mythal & Solas thing.

And since this apparently turned into a Solas v. Mythal v. Lavellan v. Spirits in general ted talk... it's below the cut for that and spoilers.

So, okay. Just... okay. Not sure how else to put this but... there are different kinds of love. And... just because ol' boy here fell in romantic love with someone ten years ago... does not mean that will supersede or overthrow this all encompassing relationship he's had with Mythal for hundreds and hundreds of years. The whole discord over this gives me big... new girlfriend takes issue with boyfriend having any relationship outside of them vibes.

If we're skipping down the Solavellan lane... Solas absolutely loves the Inquisitor. Now, let's take a step back and really think about that one for a moment. Romantic love. Here is a being that is timeless. That has walked Thedas for thousands of years and before that? Was just there. That has no beginning. And he has changed so much... and has fallen in love. With a mortal. With someone he knows he is going to lose - one way or another. He will lose her. He perceives time so incredibly differently than Lavellan. Ten years to him? A blink, if that.

Now, full disclosure - do I think there should have been at least a mural/fresco dedicated to a romanced Lavellan in the Lighthouse? Yes. Absolutely. Like maybe in his weird hidden office. Did they have one planned? Maybe, no idea. I think there should have been one. Because we already know he thinks of his relationship with her as a regret, one he treasures. But a regret regardless. Because he went into that knowing it will hurt. Knowing that it will hurt them both and he did it anyway. He let himself live in a dream, if only for a moment. [Oh and another disclosure - I am not a big Solas x Lavellan fan. I was the one sitting here going "crack the egg!" the whole time building up to Veilguard. So, there's that.] But - thinking about their relationship and how incredibly remarkable it is. Is it unfair to Lavellan? Oh, completely.

But when we're talking about Mythal? Let's see, how best to put this. In order of power; starting at the top: Mythal -> Solas -> Lavellan. Solas was never on equal footing with Mythal. She released him from her service. This was not a loving, two sided relationship. Mythal straight up took advantage of Solas, she manipulated him, and she used him. And because Solas is, at his core, still very much a spirit - he retained that - he's got no concept of grey. It's all black or white with spirits. It is or it isn't. But because he retained that - he never understood what she was doing. Never entertained the idea that she came to him with the sole purpose of using his wisdom as another tool in the fight. "I need your wisdom" she said but immediately disregards it when he offers it up. No, she needed his power. Solas himself is incredibly powerful - his power is just different than the other gods. (And yes, he's a god as they understand the term. He can rail against it all day long but it won't change that fact.) If we are going to look at him like a god - he's a creation / dream god. But not a trickster god. He's a clever one. He's not bound by the same morals as mortals because he doesn't think like one. Just like the 'love' he has for Mythal is not the same because love as mortals understand it is not in his scope of understanding until he meets Lavellan. Then - then he learns what love is. But, while love is the strongest mortal emotion - it is not the strongest emotion for a spirit unless that spirit is a spirit of love.

You have to think of Solas like a spinning top. Like the other gods - he was left unchecked. Only difference is, he's not inherently violent. But he is proud. Because, as we've already learned, wisdom can so easily be twisted to pride. He can be an insufferable know-it-all when dealing with Rook and there's a reason for this. He thinks he knows better. Because that's who he is, that's what he is. But he's already been proven wrong before, so many times. And each time he fails, every time he gets it wrong, he's twisted more towards pride instead of learning from his mistake. Because spirits don't learn.

We've seen it happen before. Justice. If you played Awakening - you would have thought that Justice was like... getting it, right, he was getting the whole mortal thing. But then you see him in DA2 and you're like "wow, yeah... no, he didn't get it". Because mortality comes with it a plethora of grey layers and spirits don't understand that. Spite. He doesn't understand patience, he doesn't understand that people don't just snap back from trauma. He doesn't get it. Spirits don't understand. They only understand their core trait. Spite gets spite. Justice gets justice. Wisdom gets wisdom. End of list. Anything past that? They're spinning tops, grasping at understanding that too often slips through their fingers. And mortals pay the price because mortals are foolish enough to think they can matter in the same way to them.

But Lavellan? She does matter. She 'changes everything'. And Solas doesn't know what to do with that. Because he can't let it change everything. Because he's still in service to Mythal. Running on a directive that is centuries old. A directive that he came to under severe distress. Enemies that were enemies from the start of his physical creation (the Evanuris) and then they kill Mythal. Death is something we know Spirits do not understand. (Spite not understanding where Manfred has gone.) And Solas spirals. So when he meets Mythal again? Sees that not only did she survive in part but that she's been out there? Just leaving him to do what? Flail and flounder? To fight this bloody war that has twisted him into something he was never supposed to be? Well... she's not really Mythal, is she? She's Flemeth. And Flemeth is just a mortal, holding onto power that was never hers. Yes, it's a regret but it's not enough to stop him. Because everything has to go back to the way it was. Back when things made sense! Because Solas doesn't know what to do otherwise. So he does all of this. All while knowing that Lavellan is out there. Knowing that the highest cost of all of it won't be the world but it will be her. So, he stays away from her.

I mean, think about that for a minute. Here's Mythal. Mythal. And he cuts her down. He feels bad, sure but like... doesn't stop him. It could even be argued that one of the reasons she had to go was because she would try to stop him. (But there's no basis for this just rando thought) and yet... here's Lavellan. A mortal. Just a woman. No one, really. A Dalish elf who's missing a damn arm. He has the opportunity to kill her. To just take the anchor's power and kill her. We all know he's done worse to those he's known much longer (-cough-Felassan-cough-). But he doesn't. He can't. He makes sure she'll survive that meeting with him. And then proceeds to stalk her dreams for the next decade. For no real reason other than to just... be with her, in some way. (Yes, it's creepy.)

But the point is - all of these people out there going on about how Lavellan couldn't talk him down but oh, here comes Mythal and she could blah blah blah. And it's like - you're totally missing the mark. Mythal didn't talk him down at all. She literally freed him. Not metaphysically. No, like... she - as the owner - freed him. Suddenly, he was no longer bound. Literally. He was no longer bound by the promise he'd made. He was no longer bound by duty. He could do what he wanted. What he wanted. And what he wanted was to save the world and stop hurting the woman he loved. He wanted to go away and become better for her. He didn't want her hurting more by going with him. Because he knew how fucked up he was. How messed up he was. But there she was, showing him again, that she was far stronger than anyone he'd ever met. Because she wasn't going to let him be alone anymore. Everyone, everyone - spirit or mortal that he had met throughout his incredibly long life has let him be alone. But not her. And there he is - a fucking god, an ageless being... who's seen more, done more, than any person alive... being brought to tears by this woman.

Let's not forget the breathless way he says "vhenan" when he sees her, when he's in her physical presence for the first time in, presumably, years. The way he seems to deflate. Because she can't be there, not her. But there she is. And that makes it worse. That twists the knife again. That makes him, as a fucking spirit, lean harder towards pride.

I mean, who could look at the interaction he has with Mythal and think that that is love? The man damn near kneels as soon as he sees her. And not in a good way. He turns into this vulnerable, shaken, obviously hurt being in her presence. And Mythal just spits out a generic apology and then releases him. That's the care she had for him. From a beautiful spirit of wisdom to this. This is what she has done to him. Who the hell is going to compare the two? And then the way he is almost brought to his knees not out of sorrow or anything but out of relief- the weight of everything suddenly off of him. I mean, come on.

It's like, I don't know who needs to hear this but women can be abusers too. And Mythal was one hundred percent the offending party here. Look at Solas' interactions with Rook. How he speaks to them, how he acts with them, how confident he is (how much of an asshole he is, honestly) and then look at how Solas is with romanced Lavellan in Inquisition. Carefree, almost. Light. A little silly. Mister Soft eyes over there. Gentle. And remorseful at the end but still soft. And then look at him with Mythal. Dude damn near crumbles. That is not a loving relationship. That is not okay.

And yeah - this kind of went all over the place but the point of it is this...

You can't think of Solas the same as you would a mortal person. Because he isn't. And you can't think of Mythal as a mortal person. Because she isn't. One far more removed than the other but the fact remains - Solas is still very bound when he denies Lavellan when she pleads for him to stop (again). Once unbound, Solas is free to do what he's wanted to do all along. Be the hero. Save the people, all people, all life. He's been trying to since the very beginning but has been restricted by his creation into the mortal realm. Were Mythal and him a couple? No. I'm not sure it even occurred to Solas that that was even a possibility until Lavellan. I don't think romantic emotional and physical connections intertwined into one relationship even occurred to Solas until Lavellan. Do I think he's had partners before? Possibly, dude's hella old. But personally, I think that if he did (and that's questionable) it was probably more about curiosity than true relationships. Because he comes from a world of power structure and ever shifting dynamics above and below him but never with him. Mythal and the rest are above him. Felassan and the others were below him. And he's rigid when it comes to taking advantage of others (insert his comment about not being with the Inquisitor under false pretenses, which I call bullshit on but that's just my opinion).

And I better stop because I could just keep rambling and rambling about this.

[written-with-blue-ink]

Cuddles with alhaitham? I want to be in his arms desperately please and thank you

Thank you for the ask! Not necessarily cuddles but happy wholesome fluff is coming up <3 also, I got a lot of requests and I am going in order from oldest to newest, sorry for the wait y'all. Wish the Furina wanters to be Furina Havers!

At the Dendro Archon's Decree, Alhaitham X Reader

Being the (Acting) Grand Scribe meant long days and multiple pots of coffee just to get work done. How he wondered how much Aazar and so many previous Grand Sages fucked up just due to not listening to the “Lesser Lord”. 

The average day had him leave long before you woke up and come home when you had finished your dinner, curled in the corner with a book. Sure, the few moments he got to spend with you were precious, but you both knew you wanted more time together. Just seemed like it wasn’t in the cards right now.

That’s why when the doors of the elevator opened, he was not expecting the God of Wisdom sitting at his desk, scribbling down notes and her vizier, no kagemusha was the term he used for himself, sitting off to the side with a scowl and crossed arms. “Lord Kusanali,” Alhaitham slowly stated, eyes glancing at the both of them, “I wasn’t aware we had a meeting today.”

Her green eyes fluttered up, her flower-shaped pupils meeting his, and seemed to shine with amusement. “Alhaitham! You’re here,” she smiled, pulling herself up so she was standing on the chair, “you can go home now. Bye!”

The white-haired man narrowed his eyes and cocked a brow as he stepped to the center of the room. “While I don’t mind going home,” he spoke bluntly, “is there a reason for my sudden dismissal?”

“Yeah, you work too much,” the hat-wearing boy said in the corner, a smirk on his face that always seemed to rub Alhaitham slightly the wrong way.

“Exactly,” Nahida smiled, pointing at the boy with indigo hair. “Not in a bad way but you have taken on so much work that was originally split evenly amongst several heads. While we are looking for replacements you have taken on that work but you deserve a break, Grand Sage Alhaitham.”

“Acting Grand Sage,” he corrected but he couldn’t help but feel some of the tension leave his shoulders. “But thank you, Lord Kusanali. I’ll be going now.”

Swiftly turning around and walking back to the elevator, he couldn’t help but smile as Nahida shouted, “Have fun! Tell (Y/N) I said hi!”

Walking out the doors of the Academia’s Library, the edge of the sun started peaking over the horizon. The warmth on his skin seemed to add some speed to his step as he briskly walked home.

---

Waking up in the morning, the smell of fresh bread hit your nose and the light shining through the windows sturred your senses. The thin bronze cat batted at the pillow next to you, her spots seeming darker in the shadow she gave off. “Mornin, Asal… How are you, baby girl?”

She purred as you scratched behind her ear, flopping on her side as you scratched her tummy with a smile. After a minute or two, the smell from outside your bedroom seemed to grow stronger and Asal flipped herself back onto her feet and bounded out the cracked door. You giggle as you hop to your feet, running out the door after her.

Wandering through the hall, you turn the corner just in time to watch Asal crawl up the green fabric before wrapping herself around the neck of a familiar face, his eyes concentrating on the stove as he cooked some eggs. She licked the side of his face, causing him to turn to the left, eyes meeting yours as you both smiled. “What are you doing here, handsome? Shouldn’t you be doing Grand Sage things?”

“Lord Kusanali sent me home and said I needed to spend more time with you,” he said, eyes on you instead of the dish in front of him as he slid the eggs onto a plate. “But you wouldn’t have any idea about that, would you?”

Strutting forward, he places an arm around your waist. “Why, I have no idea what you could be insinuating,” you smirk, placing a kiss on his lips as he pulls you closer to his chest.

Asal crawled down from the man’s neck into your arms, purring as you held her close. Alhaitham rolled his eyes, leading you to a table covered in slices of bread, cheeses, honey, and other spreads. Pulling a chair out for you, he spoke, “Then how did the Dendro Archon know you and I were dating? I don’t necessarily talk about my private life at work.”

“Well,” you coo, placing a hand on his, “I may or may not have run into her while I was bringing you lunch a few weeks ago. Then she would occasionally stop by in my dreams and we would talk… You aren’t mad, are you?”

His eyes melted at the question. Leaning over the chair, his arms wrapped around your shoulders and he placed a kiss in your hair, “How could I ever be upset at you?”

[starrailstories]

Hey! Could you write something about Blade having a keeper of time/ timekeeper s/o? ♥

first ask!!! let's hecking goooooooo

i wanted to write headcanons but then one thing led to another and it's a short story that i hope you enjoy

Blade x gn!Timekeeper!S/O — Seen in the shards

warnings: mentions of blade's depression and suicidal thoughts (canon-compliant), possibly ooc but i really really hope i wrote him well

Blade is destruction incarnate, the mara and rage and grief taking over him sporadically, like bile rising to the throat. He is an effective tool of the Hunters (ironic, isn't it? an abomination like him hardly can Hunt), and many would think that this is all he is, a bounty and a sin and a loosely held leash.

You know him differently, though. You know him in the moments of repose in-between the storm that he brings along, and in those moments, he feels like a large shard of time away from where he'd fit. It's always shards with him, glimpses of past mistakes, and battles, and memories, but mostly sorrow. You think of the ways time cracks as you struggle to keep it whole, revealing the uncomfortable truths you dare not mention to the IPC or the Intelligentsia Guild. It's kind of similar, like if you try just enough, you'll see the complete picture once again.

And he doesn't get you at first, because collecting broken shards and piecing them back is not what Blade does. Blade is all about burning bridges, throwing himself into battle headfirst, Blade does - not - get it when you show concern or worry, when you offer to share a meal, when you tend to a wound of his, when you try and protect him in battle, because he isn't supposed to be together, only apart, shatter and shatter and shatter in hopes that one day, he'll just lie there broken and dead and gone.

You care and that hurts, for some reason, hurts in a way that doesn't sate his urge to be hurt.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

"I almost pity you, Bladie. But envy you all the same," Kafka drops one day as they're sat in a boujee cafe on a planet that will experience a Stellaron catastrophe in about three system hours. She raises her cup of tea to her lips almost immediately, but he catches a hint of a smile.

"Pity, I understand, but I do not welcome it. However, what of the envy?"

Kafka set down her cup gently, in a manner that she would always do, and her smile faded.

"Soon, you would know the meaning of fear. You knew it once, but in a different lifetime. Now, you will know it again, and it will hurt in different ways. It's fascinating."

She spoke with a certainty, as if reciting a script. Possibly that was the case, and that was more sad than anything. Given a power to make anyone listen, but stuck saying words someone else wrote.

"So it will happen?"

"As much as anything said by Destiny's Slave will. There's a seed for fear in that, too. You will resent your wish and your fate, but it still will happen, even if you don't want it to happen anymore."

Right. Blade looks away, because he doesn't usually decipher the grand scheme of things. He was promised a death and a settling of the score, and he is content with that, content in the way a sword is content to rest in its sheath. Kafka reaches across the table to touch his forehead as if to impart a wisdom.

She'd point a gun to his head and he'd be just as apathetic.

"Listen. I am telling you this for your sake, after all."

There's no command behind the word, and Blade regrets this, because thinking he dislikes most of all.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

Fear is a foreign concept, but the more you reach out to him with your care, the more he starts to grasp it. He knows of your strength, he knows of your capabilities, he sees you constantly fixing time itself, reaching into the molten metal with hands exposed and heart bare, to stitch all together before the past pours into the present and the future into the past and a sea of fake stars replaces the cosmos you traverse (you told him once of a world inside an egg one time, where the sky is fake and the up is down and why does he remember these trivial things again).

But he also knows of his own strength, and how all that he touches goes awry, and that is scary — to see you reach out when he knows full well how your care might destroy you, how he might destroy you.

"You shouldn't be picking up the shards. They'd cut you," he says one time after another crack is restored and the anomaly of the Fragmentum shifts into a stable state. His sword drags on the ground, leaving a distinctly red trace. You know he isn't speaking about the timeline.

"Those are big words coming from someone carrying a sword made of shards," you smile like you always do and it hurts. Because it hurts to be cared for and treated like a person and where were you those centuries ago when dying still felt memorable and there was something besides the anger?

He wishes he fell into a timeline anomaly back then because that would mean even for a moment, being caught by you, and that is a scary thought.

"Blade?" he's zoning out. Bad. He is supposed to keep himself in check, because most people are capable of dying and he is a remarkably well-working death machine.

"I will say this more clearly: if you keep reaching out to me, you will die."

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

You don't stop because... actually why. Blade still doesn't get it. Blade doesn't speak up anymore, a sword in its sheath, but he thinks sometimes. Thinking is still a horrible pastime activity. But he does wonder about what it would have felt like to have met you earlier, when there was some feeling left in him.

He wonders if you bandaging a wound of his would make him feel safe. He wonders if the snacks you buy on the planets you visit would make him feel sated. He wonders if after a long day, sleeping next to each other would make him feel truly content.

Dangerous thoughts, yet strangely warm, like candlelight.

You plop on the bed of a dingy hotel room you two are staying at. Blade cares little about the quality of the establishment, but he does care about security, and keeping on the down low is of the essence. He stores his sword next to his side of the bed, to draw if a fight occurs.

He doesn't sleep anyway, simply lies in a dreamless haze, so nothing would catch him off-guard.

"Room's tiny. Bed's hard as a rock, too," you make small talk, untying the laces of your boots.

"Mhm," Blade hums. He thinks that there were free rooms in the hotel. With two beds in each, no less. He doesn't bring this up because it's safer to stay close together and that's the only reason.

"And it's cold."

"Mhm," he hums again. He doesn't feel much in terms of warmth or coldness.

You lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling as he checks for emergency exit pathways and makes notes of useful items.

"Sometimes I wish there were no anomalies or Stellarons out there. Then we wouldn't have large bounties on our heads and we'd be able to afford all the good hotels."

"We wouldn't have met then. And this room is sufficient."

Blade says sufficient, but for the last while, he found sufficient lacking. He wanted good things, despite being undeserving, and it hurt, too, because he knew all too well what happened to the good things in his life.

He lies down next to you, six inches, seven hundred years and a universe apart.

"Would we? I'd still have found you, I feel like."

It feels weird to hear this. He remembers how you once got hurt because you tried to block a hit meant for him. It was a long time ago, before that could hurt. It wasn't anything serious, but now, guilt eats at him each time he notices the faint scar on your shoulder. He drifts his gaze left, and there it is, a reminder.

And he also sees that you're cold.

What comes next is a whim and Blade never acts on whims. But he turns on the bed and drags you into an embrace.

"You wouldn't have liked what you've found."

Because then he'd be a mara-struck abomination, immortal mess of ginkgo leaves and dripping bile and the same names roared so much that no one would hear what he says. He still is like that, just somewhat grounded.

"You always decide for me. But isn't it up to me to weigh my choices, Blade?"

No, he wants to say, it's not. He's been mortal and stupid before, and that was his mistake. For that, he must pay a price. He doesn't want you to be hurt that way because you, unlike him, don't deserve this.

But he says none of it, as you raise your hand and touch his cheek and it's warm and it hurts—

His voice breaks, in both anger and fear, "I don't want you fixing me. I know you want to pick up the shards and glue them together. But you will regret that wish."

He isn't Yingxing and he won't be Yingxing ever again. What was him died on the Xianzhou Luofu, and it died again and again and again until what was left couldn't recall the deaths any longer. Then, a mess of shards, an empty husk, he was Blade, and he couldn't ever go back.

You smile gently at him.

"I know. If you ever decide to piece the shards together, it should be your choice and not mine, and I have no deal interfering with that. But still, I want to see all of you, Blade. Broken or not."

It's scary because admitting that he wants you to see him too would mean accepting that it won't change a thing. The script is merciless and uncaring. Even if he allows himself to love you, he is already destined to die as part of the performance. It's scary because it changes everything. It's scary because it changes nothing.

He shifts on the bed, so that you're face to face.

"May I kiss you?"

You close the distance first, as you always do, and he, for the first time in seven hundred years, feels seen.

[intotheelliwoods]

yeah I have no explanation for this one haha, other than I think I just realized that I accidentally created the most unthreatening and pathetic future Leo out there, no thoughts in his brain other than parental therapeutic wisdom, cant crack eggs, got his arm stuck in his shell, just saying

[seeker-ophelia]

Hallelujah

(There are no Veilguard spoilers in this content, it was all created in early September, I’m only posting it now).

So I found this old Bioware article from 2014…

Its about what the writers listened to when they wrote their characters.

I was immediately struck by Weekes’ (writer of Bull, Cole, & Solas) comment that he wrote whole swaths of Solas dialogue listening to K.D. Langs cover of Hallelujah.

Because when I was playing Origins, way back in 2009, as soon as I heard the words “The Chant of Andraste” I thought of Hallelujah.

No better parallel could exist for me. Hallelujah, if you listen to the lyrics, is not really church related, yet it got absorbed into the church as a hymn. Its fucking sad, and yet we’re praising god or some shit?

Kinda like how I feel The Chantry has changed their religion, their original purpose, Andraste and the Maker and all that, into something horrible (subjugation/lobotomization of mages, feeding templars crack, you know, nOrMal StUfF).

I love the parallels there. And I love that Weekes used this sad-ass fucking dirge for our sad-ass fucking egg, especially considering what KD Lang said about it:

Canadian singer k.d. lang said in an interview shortly after Cohen's death that she considered the song to be about "the struggle between having human desire and searching for spiritual wisdom. It's being caught between those two places."       (Be still, my heart.)

And I thought about how Legends Shouldn’t Be Given The Weight of History, and how The Chantry’s purpose has been twisted, and how Hallelujah’s purpose has been twisted, and at the time, I was completing The Temple of the Emerald Knights in DA:I. I was thinking about how the Elvhen temple is littered with statues of Andraste and Mythal (dragon), how there’s a Knight, Andale (which is so obviously Andraste, prob Flemythal reincarnate of some sort).

The blending and melding and mushing of cultures and religions as time drags on, how originally good or pure purposes are changed or shifted, or corrupted.

And I thought of Andraste again.

I have been unhealthily obsessed with this artist named Aly, who is a Bard in Thedas and sings at The Dread Halla Tavern (you can find them on spotify here);  

(for clarification, this human is not me, I am not a singer, she is very good, you should go listen to all her songs-after you read this).

Anyways, I got to thinking…

What would Andraste’s Hallelujah sound like?

I had to write it.

Its sad and beautiful and tells the story of a woman flighting against forces she has no hope of defeating (But we still have to try).

[Andraste’s Lament]

And I got immediately transported to a smoky, dimly lit tavern in Southern Thedas. Aly has just sung Andraste’s Lament, and is approached by Neria, a lone Dalish Elf who clutches a scrap of paper tightly in her hand.

Aly listens to this elf tell her a story of a sad song her mother used to sing her when she was young, before she got killed by bandits. And could she sing this song for her, please, she even has a few coppers.

And Aly sits down, scans the paper, and realizes it’s a different version of Andraste’s Hallelujah.

Written in small looping script at the top, in Common, is Dirge of the Dread Wolf.

And she sings it softly to Neria, a strange story of mothers and gods and tricksters and wolves, and Neria’s eyes well.

[Dirge of the Dread Wolf]

She ends the song, the last beautiful Hallelujah trembling through the thickness of the tavern air.

Neria sniffs once, and then begins a new story. Aly listens to this Elf speak of a crumbling Dalish temple deep in the middle of nowhere, where she found a piece of paper beside a four legged statue that has since eroded to expressionless guardianship, of words crossed out and changed and smudged.

Then she shakily hands Aly a different piece of paper.

This velumm is significantly older than the first, thicker, almost crumbling around the edges.

And its Hallelujah again, but its spelled wrong, and some strange name with too many n’s in it is written at the top.

And Neria asks Aly if she can sing this.

But it’s written in Elvhen, and Aly shakes her head, she doesn’t think she can stumble through all the strange Dalish a’s and ash’s and am’s (there's so many damn vowels in Dalish…).

But, Aly halts the elfs falling face, she is more than willing to sing this in Common, if Neria will stay to act as translator.

So the two bend their heads close over the bar, and Aly pulls out her small precious notebook where she writes down the lyrics to her own tunes, and they quickly make work of the Elvhen words, Aly humming and hawing as she changes some words to better match the pattern of the song.

And soon they have a brand-new Hallelujah, and Aly asks Neria to pronounce the name at the top.

Ghil-an’nain, Neria says, and make sure you spell the hallelujah right.

H, a, l, l, a, l, i, e, u, y, a.

What does that mean in Dalish? Aly asks the elf.

And Neria shrugs. Halla is like a halla, she assumes. But this word lieu, she doesn’t know.

Aly assumes in the context of this song it must mean birth, but Neria shakes her head. Shena is the verb for born.

Well, what about victory? But Neria shakes her head again. Ena’sal’in is the word for victory, or triumph.

Aly blows out a breath. She’s a lyricist. What would make this poetic.

What about truth?

The elf thinks, and a small smile grows on her lips.

She can’t think of a Dalish word for truth.

Ghilan’nain’s Truth of the Halla?

Aly’s beautiful soprano soon fills the room, and her eyes widen when a soft Alto joins her, singing along in the original Elvhen.

[Ghilan’nain’s Truth of the Halla]   

A haunting melody, completely changed by the understanding of the root of halla lieu’ya, not a praise to The Maker, or the curse of a trickster, but the story of a young god, beaten and battered and blinded, and her creations, and her destruction of them.

[Ghilan’nan’es Halla’lieu’ya]

The tavern erupts when they finish, and poor Neria blushes furiously as her back is slapped, and her hair is tousled, by the patrons of the establishment.

Aly and her new friend make their way to the bar, where foaming tankards await them.

They cheers, and as they tip the beer back, a city elf approaches them, dressed like a Dalish, but he has no vallaslin. He pushes his cowl down to reveal a bald head and shocking purple eyes. His voice is quiet, with a deep, romantic lilt.

“Where did you find that song?”

…

Please be gentle with any constructive criticism on my voice, I am absolutely NOT a singer, I know I don’t have a superstar voice but I’m also not tone deaf, so just… don’t be shitty to me, internet. Listen to the lyrics, not the delivery.

If anyone’s actually interested, I'll message you the lyrics. I also did record all four songs (Andraste, Dread Wolf, Ghilly (English), and Ghilly (Elvhen),) but can only put one video per post. Maybe I'll link them later if people are interested.

*It did not even occur to me until after writing Andraste’s Hallalujah that someone might have had this idea already. I did a little googling afterwards, and someone has put solas’ dialogue to the tune of Hallalujah, but no ones “re-written” it yet in this context (that I could find). My query to you is, why would Solas speak in Leonard Cohen's hallelujah/iambic pentameter if he had never heard it before?

---

Obviously, this can never be turned into a real song, because Sony owns the rights to the OG Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah. But the romanticism of this song, changing through the ages, was too good to pass up. I hope you enjoy it, sincerely, and if you are a better singer than I, by all means, use my lyrics and record it, and please send me the link so that I can listen to it!  

Thanks to Weekes, Leonard Cohen, & The Dread Halla Tavern for inspiring this.

Bare your blade, and raise it high.

[strawberryscandy]

Curiosity Saved Me

This Fanfic is a slow burn about a teenage Frisk that fell down instead of Frisk as a child. She heard about the legends of the town and wanted to see it for herself. She finds love, family and hope in the strangest of places.

Introduction

It all started with the first child, Chara. A child with a hopeful mind and love for the monsters. You see, Chara ran away from something on the surface. Though they never spoke about it, it was obvious it hurt them. Deeply. And the Dreemurs could tell, they would wake up screaming. Have moments where they just stared off into a corner of a room. But the Dreemurs still loved them, cared for them deeply. Especially Asriel, Charas adoptive brother.

Asriel and Chara played together, laughed together and were true siblings. Then one day, it all turned rotten. Chara went to the butter cup field and took a big handful, shoving the flowers down their throat. Leading to their death. This was developed by their own wriggling hate for humanity. They thought if they were to eat the flowers and give the soul to Asriel he could go to the surface and MURDER more children and take the souls to free the other monsters.

And he did just that he took the soul and escaped the underground. But since he was a child he couldn't bring himself to do it. And the humans still attacked him. Asriel crawled back to the underground and died in his fathers arm. The death of both of his beloved children fueled King Dreemurs own hate and dangerous plan. Dooming the future children that accidentally end up in the underground.

CHAPTER ONE

Frisk was a curious teenager and loved adventure. She lost both of her parents tragically in a car wreck but that didn't stop her from moving forward, shedding light wherever she went. Her foster parents loved her, they took great pride taking care of the teen until a suited family came to adopt her. But Frisk knew that it'd be a long time for that, most people want to adopt babies so they can raise them as their own. Which frisk didn't mind that, in her eyes babies were still a priority. She was lucky enough to find such loving foster parents but not everyone is as lucky.

It was one morning day, Frisk had woken up groggy. As she sat up, she wiped the crust from her eyes and swung her feet over the bed. Her toes touching the soft pink rug. She felt extra exhausted this morning, last night she stayed up until early in the morning researching about the legend on the mountain. Frisks plan for today was the hike up the mountain and see if the legends were true.

She reached out like a limp noodle and grabbed her robe. Wrapping it around her torso before standing up, moving her hands to her back she stretched out her body and heard.. CRACK! Frisk let out a loud sigh and relief went down her legs. Shuffling her feet across the hardwood floor, she stepped into her white slippers.

Then she smelt it, her foster mom was cooking up breakfast. And a loud grumble escaped her stomach causing her to groan and rub it. “Food…” She mumbled out like a zombie looking for brains.

Reaching out she opened her bedroom door and made her way down the hallway until she entered the dining room. Her eyes laid onto a nice platter of food. Toast, Bacon, Eggs, Fruit and pancakes. “Oh yeah that's the stuff..” She spoke before taking a seat in front of her foster dad.

“Well good morning sleeping zombie.” The Foster dad slyly spoke, with a little chuckle in his tone. Frisk really liked her foster dad, he was funny and always had the wisdom around him. She showed a tired smile, “Goodmorning..” She whispered out.

“So what are your big plans today?? I heard you up last night, and that usually means you have an adventure in miiiind..” Her foster dad spoke again, he watched Frisk grab some Bacon and pancakes before dowsing it in syrup.

“I was researching the legends on the mountain, I plan to go up there and see what all the fuss is about.” Frisk said before taking a big bite into the pancake.

“The mountain? Oh you mean about the monsters? Yeah, my parents used to scare me with that. I think it was to stop the kids from going up there and getting lost.” He stated, almost like he was having a flashback to a distant memory of his parents. “But if you go there you have to be very careful. That mountain has a lot of unexplored caves. So it can be dangerous.”

Before they knew it Frisk was already finished with her food. She stood up and wiped her mouth clean. “Yeahh yeahh, I will be, I promise. I've never gotten lost before!” She stated triumphantly. Striking a pose of a muscle man. Only causing her foster dad to laugh at her behavior and shake his head.

Frisk made her way back to her room, she rushed getting ready. She was now wide awake and excited to make her way up the mountain. The foster parents could hear the banging and things being tossed around before Frisk rushed out her bedroom door and down the hallway. Slipping on her shoes and shouting out into the house, “I'm off now!! Thanks for the breakfast!” She shouted before running out and into her backyard. Up to the tree line and vanishing into the forest.

While traveling up the mountain, she noticed the forest became denser and the trails became tangled. At a point on the mountain she had to pick up and stick and use it to get around all the rocks, veins and roots all around her. At a certain point she had been walking for hours, and saw nothing. “Awe mannn…” She sighed out, rubbing her forehead and stood there stumped. “I really wanted to see at least something!” She shouted out, with her arms above her head. Frisk looked down and defeat and let her arms dangle beside her.

It was getting dark now, Frisk knew her parents would start to worry so she decided she would come back tomorrow and try the other side of the mountain. Turning around she started to make her way down the mountain. But it was strange.

Everywhere she turned, nothing looked the same. Frisk could swear she was going back the same way she came. Deeper down she went, the more lost she felt. And then she stumbled into an opening. Right in the middle was a gaping hole, and she remembered what her foster dad said. “The mountain has a lot of unexplored caves,So it can be dangerous .”

But Frisk was curious, something about this opening was drawing her to it. Making her way to the opening she looked down into it. The sun was setting over the tree lines. It was dark and she couldn't see that far into it.

Something seems to wrap around her foot. She looked down and saw a vein, “wha-” Was all frisk could get out before she felt something shove her back and sending her down into the cave. She could feel herself falling and the panic made her black out mid fall.

Then she woke up. Frisk sat up and rubbed her face, her hair had so many twigs and leaves in it. And her clothes were all dirty from the hike and fall. Looking down she saw these beautiful yellow flowers all around her in a circle. “This must of cushioned my fall..” She mumbled out before standing up. Wiping off her shorts and shirt. Frisk looked around and saw in the distance a lit up hallway.

Taking a step out of the flower patch she weakly made her way towards the hallway, gripping onto the side of the wall to help her stand. While the lights guided her down the hallway, there were many tunnels.

After a while her knees buckled again, causing her to fall down. She was tired, beaten up from the fall and most of all thirsty and hungry. Then she fell down onto her side, passing out in the process.

Waning in and out of concussions, she heard a woman's voice. It was soft and warm, like a blanket on a cold day. “Oh my child… What happened to you??” But Frisk could not return a voice to the kind gesture. Her eyesight was blurry, and it felt like she just kept falling asleep.

Frisk could feel herself being picked up, and she reached over and felt cloth and fur. She opened her eyes a little and saw white and purple plumped together. Before passing out again. Frisk was being carried to who knows where, inside a cave that she had no idea where it was. But still she felt safe in this person's arms.

Later that.. what she assumed was morning? She woke up to the smell of apple pie and water sitting on the bed stand beside her. Setting up, she looked around the room. It looked like she was in a house, more importantly a children's room. There were two beds, she was in the lime green one and the other bed was dark green. ‘Was I rescued?’ She thought to herself.

Reaching over she grabbed the plate of apple pie and scarfed it down. Along with the water. Frisk felt restored, like she could hope out of the bed perfectly fine.

Getting up from the bed, the girl made her way to the bedroom door and opened it. There was a smell of apple pie all throughout the house. And also smelt like flowers.

Down the hallway Frisk went as she looked curiously at decorations displayed. It reminded her of someone's grandmother's home. Then she made her way down the stairs, in the room in front of her she could hear someone sipping tea and swiping through pages of a book.

Stepping inside the room she looked over and saw. A goat? A woman? She stood there in shock as Frisk's eyes laid upon this goat woman. “Woah.” Was all Frisk got out as the goat woman herself jumped as if Frisk startled her. “Oh my child! You gave me a fright!!” She said, holding her chest. Frisk looked like a deer in headlights, this goat woman in front of her just spoke. And it sounded like the voice that saved her in the cave. So she is still in the cave. And that means. The legends were true.

Frisk face lit up, she had so many questions. She wanted to know so much, but before she could get a word out the woman spoke. “My name is Tori.. What is your name child.” Frisk almost forgot her manners. “My name is Frisk.. Where are we??”

Tori smiled before standing up, the woman was VERY tall. “We are in my house, down in the cave tunnels..”

Frisk nodded in response to her. Then Tori spoke again, “I only have one rule here, you can explore the tunnels and learn about my fellow monsters here. But you can not go down stairs.”

This confused Frisk, the adventure side of her wanted to come out. ‘What's downstairs??’ Was all she could think as she watched Tori head into the kitchen.

Then she had the feeling again, like she felt at the entrance of the cave. Before she knew it her footsteps just started to move, making her towards the down stairs. Looming over the stairs, they took a step. Then another, then another. The bottom of the stairs was dark, like an echo of the past. When they got to the bottom, they saw a door and used all her might to shove it open. Forcing her way into another deeper hallway. It looked like ruins, these beautifully detailed beams that were semi collapsed were holding up the hall.

Each foot step Frisk took echoed down the hallway. Then she heard another's footsteps, it was Tori. Tori quickly grabbed Frisk's hands to pull her back to the house. “Come child! I told you not to come down here.” Tori spoke with worry and sadness.

While Tori was guiding her back Frisk pulled her hand back and quietly started to walk back. Like she was hypnotized with curiosity. Tori quickly walked in front of Frisk and held her hands out. “Child you can stay here with me, you don't want to go there!” Tori spoke out with sorrow.

This hurts Frisk's heart a little, Tori seemed lonely and sad. But also fearful. Still, Frisk continued to march on without a word.“I'll have to force you then!!” Tori shouted while getting into a fighting stance. Suddenly blue floating flames light up the tunnel. Frisk looked surprised and stepped back as the flames came at her.

Dodging each attack, but not fighting back. “Please! You don't have to do this Tori! Just let me go!”

Tori looked like her fighting spirit was slowly faltering as her attacks persisted. And Frisk noticed this, the attacks stopped being aimed at her. The flames could have hit her but just went around her.

“Please! Tori, don't do this! We can talk about it!”

Then it stopped, Tori looked at Frisk with defeat and sadness as soft tears went down her cheek. As she walked up and embraced Frisk. “It's okay, I'll be safe I promise.” Frisk whispered into the hug. Tory let go and stood up. “Then this is goodbye…”

Tori moved away from Frisk and walked past her, disappearing into the tunnel. Looking up Frisk saw a large door, with writing at the top. Though she couldn't understand it looked like an ancient language. Moving forward, she reached out pressing her palms onto the much colder concrete door. Then pushing. She pushed hard, it was heavy like it hadn't been opened for quite a while.

And she fell inside it was white, cold and she saw.. Snow?? Falling from the cave top. “How is it snowing inside??” She spoke softly, tucking her hands under her armpits to keep herself from getting frostbite.

Then she started to make her way through the snowy forest. Not knowing what would come next.

Chapter 2

[pit-thrice]

Little Owlthena plot stuff:

• So first of all, all the other Olympians are already born and so Hermes and Dionysus are older than Athena here.

• It all starts when Zeus gets his birthing headache™ and here I follow the version of the myth where Zeus goes to Hephaestus to get his son to crack his head open like an egg.

• I think the myth also said that Hephaestus hesitated because what if it's just a test???

• Hephaestus here hesitates too but when Zeus yells at him to just do it, he goes "Yeah, alright.", gets his hammer, and WHAM.

• A Little Owl (read as both the species of Little Owl and an owl of small size) pops out of the Zeus' forehead and they're like "wgat."

• Anyways, they end up getting the rest of the Olympians and so the little owl was named Athena.

• So yeah, Athena came in this form because she was still in the process of getting herself a true god form. (A humanoid form will come with it afterwards)

• And soon they'll find that raising a fluffy ball of wisdom and war was NOT going to be easy.

• Bonus: Ares is Little Owlthena's main caretaker because of dad vibes, they're both war gods, and one of Ares' animal forms is an Eagle Owl as I heard.

(I just really like Ares leave me alone)

• Athena meets Odysseus as they are BOTH still babies so you know what that means! death.

[greenfiend]

The Egg Cracked and Hatched...

When El sees the Demogorgon, its attempting to feast on an egg. After she touches it, she screams and...

We see cracks. The egg hatched!!! What happens when an egg hatches? Birth.

Notice The Dark Crystal poster in the back? Well...

Then we have...

(Credit to @bobokahn for this brilliant find).

So umm... yeah. A new species was created when that egg cracked.

If the hair is the nest, the head is the egg. (El's head isn't the egg though...)

Owl symbolizes wisdom, and the Greek Goddess Athena.

How was Athena born? She was born from Zeus's head.

Like an egg, the head cracked, creating a new species.