#definitely has not flayed and eaten children ever

[lead0]

curze :D

[highladyluck]

The Dark One’s Dictionary: Special Halloween Edition

Selected definitions from "The Dark One's Dictionary", written by various Robert-Jordan-reading members of the usenet discussion group rasfw.

You know what’s spookier than the actual literal embodiment of all evil? The EVIL THAT LURKS IN THE HEART OF MAN and also the bit in The Eye of the World where our heroes almost get eaten by the Black Wind.

Fain, Padan Once a dastardly Darkfriend, now infected by the evil Mashadar of Shadar Logoth, this man would be downright dangerous if he could just figure out who he is. An evil Johnny Appleseed, sowing seeds of suspicion and corruption as he walks across the land.   

[Indigo Girls: "Closer To Fine"]               

              I'm trying to tell you something about my life                Maybe give me insight between Dark and Light                The best thing you ever done for me                Is to help me free my life from Shadar Logoth;                        Twas lonely life, Aridhol                Well darkness has a hunger that's insatiable                And lightness has a call that's hard to hear                I cast my fear around me like a blanket                I sailed my ship of hatred till I sank it, I'm trapped by Mashadar.

               Chorus:                I went to the Dark One, I went to his mountain                I looked for the children, I gazed on his fountain                There's more than one person for these actions pointing me in                        a crooked line                The less I seek my source for some definitive                The closer I am to Fain                The closer I am to Fain               

              I went to see the Tower of Aes Sedai                With a triptych of red Bonwhin and a drawing from the west                She never did bonding or use a manly Warder                She fell for my performance, she thought she could see through me                I spent four weeks prostrate to the Amyrlin, got my dagger                And I was free!               

              Chorus               

            I went by the Ways to Toman Head.                To sow dark plans in a High Lord, or possibly an Empress                I wound up using Whitecloaks like I used Darkfriends before                To scourge the Two Rivers, to flay them was the goal                I went in seeking Rand al'Thor.               

            I went to the Dark One, I went to his mountain                I looked for the children, I gazed on his fountain                We went to the Dark One, we went to his mountain                We looked for the children, we gazed on his fountain                Yeah, we're free from the Dark One, we're free from the Shadow                We're free from Aridhol and we hooked up with the Shaido                There's more than one person for these actions pointing me in                        a crooked line                The less I seek my source for some definitive                The closer I am to Fain                The closer I am to Fain                The closer I am to Fain   

"Closer to Fain", composed by Indigo Maidens, from "Songs of the Dragon"

Black Wind, The The evil wind that stalks the Ways, said to have once been a gentle, caressing breeze before being possessed by the soul of Steven King.

Machin Shin 1. The Black Wind; a wind, an evil wind; a wind so evil. Haunts the Ways, Lurks the Ways, the Ways so black, black as your soul. Eats your soul, steals your soul, your soul so sweet, scream as it feeds... (See Black Wind ) 2. A pair of identical leg guards for sok'kher.

Ways, The 1. The methods used by the Questioners to draw confessions out of suspected Darkfriends: We have Ways of making you talk, yes? -- Jaichim Carridin 2.  A gift to the Ogier from the post-breaking male Aes Sedai to which they gave refuge, which the Ogier should have looked into the mouth of, and are now afraid to.   

[William Wordsworth: "She Dwelt Among the Untrodden Ways"] 

             It lurked among the untrodden Ways                        Beyond the gates by grove,                A wind born to that darken'd maze:                        Twas not a child of love.               

            An evil by the Guiding stone,                        Half hidden from the eye.                Dark as the night, when not one light                        Is shining in the sky.               

            It blows alone, and few can know                        How many ceased to be;                But they are in Shadow, and, oh,                        The difference to me!   

Wilim son of Word son of Zworth, famed Ogier poet of Stedding Tofu.

This was a bonus edition, so you’ll get more Third Age Relics tomorrow, November 1st.

[iamalivenow]

“Well.” The man smiles. “Always nice to meet the meat.” He has a nice smile, Martin thinks, like an idiot. Mostly because he's about to be eaten alive by his date, partially because he went on a date with a cannibal and entirely because he can't remember a single Flesh statement in this immediate moment to save his life.

Which he might want to figure out how to do, and soon. For all of the good Beholding does for him, to him really, he's a little bitter he doesn't work for a power that can defend itself at all.

Well, Elias can defend himself, but something tells him making the nice man, Jon, his name was Jon, cry wouldn't make the day better. Actually, Martin's pretty sure that if Jon had anything to cry about, hearing it would make him gag. “Do you do this sort of thing often?” Martin asked, at the bar where they met a few hours ago. “Barely at all.” Jon had said. “Not really into your sort.” “My sort?” Archivists, he meant. It clicks for Martin now, now that Jon drags a flaying knife over a piece of leather slowly. “You're not gay?” “Not what I mean,” Jon told him and ordered Martin a drink Martin didn't really want. Yeah, obviously that's not what he meant. Jon plies him with drinks, and Martin just goes along with it, because Jon is out of his league and he hasn't touched someone or even talked to someone that wasn't associated with the Institute in years. They stumble- no- Martin stumbles back to his apartment, Jon walks with a steady hand on the back of Martin's neck with a pleasant smile. Elias is going to send someone, right? Daisy maybe? Some other secret sniper agent, or whatever it was that she did, to save him from getting eaten, right? Right? The rope on his wrists hurts, chafing and rubbing the skin raw. He could try yelling, but he doubts it's going to do him a lot of good. Think, Martin, think about what hurts the Flesh. Something has to hurt the Flesh. Stop staring that Jon's long fingers and think, for five seconds. He feels sluggish from the alcohol. He tugs on his ropes, and it goes all of nowhere. Tim was right, his bloody mother was right, he should have been working out for ages. “Do you-” Martin swallows around nothing and Jon stops sharping the knife, head twisting too smoothly to be human. “Do you kidnap a lot of men?” “We're in your home.” He says dully. “I restrained you.” “Right.” “No.” It takes Martin a second to realize what he's answering too. “Oh.” “Don't get illusions of grandeur,” Jon tells him, and again, Martin is left with listening to the knife scrape. “I've shown restraint. A lot of restraint.” Jon lifts the knife up and presses it against his finger. Martin watches it sink into the skin there and for nothing to come out. “W-When was the last time you ate?” He whispers. “What year is it?” Jon clearly isn't joking, so Martin tells him, and Jon's eyes close. “Six. Six years ago.” “Ah.” “Very restrained.” “Very,” Martin says. “Not to- not to diminish your ah- your achievements. But if you do, the Eye will-” “The only people scared of the Eye are idiots. Idiots and children.” “Elias has killed people before.” “So have I.” Martin believes him.  “I imagine the process won't take too long, even if you're larger than I am.” “Right, very restrained.” He nods, and Jon nods with him. “I'm glad you're so understanding. I get migraines when people yell. Very annoying.” There's something about the tiny smile that graces Jon's features that turns Martin's stomach. He was watching his mouth earlier too, in the bar, and now he gets it, dim lighting aside. His mouth is overflowing with teeth- more then the normal row, more than even sharks seem to have. Teeth as far back as Martin can see. “Are you going to kill me-” Jon huffs a laugh. “I mean, eventually, your heart will give out, either shock or blood loss. But I'm planning on getting into as much of this.” Jon pats his leg, squeezes down on the muscle and fat there. Martin winces. “As I can while you're still kicking.” “So it's going to hurt-” He swallows again. “Meat always tastes better when it's scared. At least to me. It gets your muscles tense. Makes the meat bitter.” Makes Martin bitter, he means. “Where are you going to start?” “Mm. I'm blinded with opportunity.” He lifts the knife to his lips, just a little curved, curved enough to catch on his lower lip and show Martin more of the maw and all of the hidden white inside of it. All the way back to his throat. “Maybe start here.” Jon drags a finger along Martin's torso, a Y-section, he realizes. “Oh.” His touch is feather light and makes Martin blush. If there was ever a worse time then now for that, Martin couldn't even begin to fathom it. “Break the skin, crack the ribs open to accommodate, stuff my face with lungs. Or maybe pick something fattier- turn the meat on its side and get at it's back. Or thighs. Thighs are always nice.” “I'm right here.” “Of course you are.” He gets on top of him, straddles him, and for a few microseconds, Martin lets himself imagine a normal human named Jon who was still out of his league straddle his lap and kiss him. Grind down on his hips. Touch his face lovingly. The cold metal of the knife snaps him back to reality. “Just do it.” He mumbles, trying to defiant and probably failing. Definitely failing. He's awake for more of it then he thought he would be. Jon ends up deciding on emptying his chest cavity first. He whispers a prayer under his breath. Martin watches through tear-filled eyes as Jon cracks one of his ribs and sucks the marrow out of it. At least he looks like he's enjoying it. When he's done with the bone, he presses his fingers where he held it to his lips, and Martin watches as the bone curls like burning paper until it's something like a flower- or a parody of one. Curled petals and a thin stem made out of his rib. Jon tucks it behind Martin's ear. It feels warm. Wet.

[gwiiyeoweo]

Reggie freaks out. Noctis brings out the ‘mother’ in Tidemother.

Pairing: Noctis & Leviathan, Noctis & Regis Rating: G

Accordo was nothing like Lucis.

The Crown City of Insomnia had her bright lights and towering buildings, monumental things that pierced the skies and scraped the inner Wall, Regis’ magic barely able to cover the entirety of their city. During the day, the sun gleamed harshly across her pillars of steel and glass, heated the concrete and asphalt until they threatened to blister. At night, the loud thrum of life never faltered, and the marching steps of commuters and businessmen only walked to a different tune. The lights switched on, the obnoxious neons and LEDs lighting billboards or storefronts and shady nightclubs, and the streets were filled with white headlights and the purr of engines. She was a carefully constructed system, all sharp edges and manufactured borders, and boasted the culmination of technology and ancient magics.

Altissia, however, was a stark but lovely contrast. While Insomnia was surrounded by steel and earth, Altissia bathed herself in sparkling waters and soft stone and perfumed air. There was history in every marred brick, a living piece of art whose splendor shone in her architecture and people. Life bustled here, but not in the same way as Insomnia whose citizens were much like drones in a hive; they were like schools of fish, some lazily flitting about or scurrying this way and that in vibrant spurts of energy.

Regis loved his kingdom and his city, and he was a king proud of all that he's protected and helped nurture. But he couldn't deny the breathtaking sights and the savory scents of Altissia. It had been years since he last set foot in this nation, when he had been but a young man set out on a diplomatic mission to build relations between Lucis and Accordo. Now, with the threat of Niflheim pulled back into its den — for however long that would be — he held high hopes he could finish what he had once failed to do.

Regis, accompanied by Cor and Clarus and a handful of council members, walked down the ornate brickwork as they followed Lady Claustra's advisor through the city. With one hand raised and held tightly, he occasionally looked away from the beautiful artwork and sculptures that filled the plazas and stole a few glances at Noctis, who had decided he'd rather walk atop the narrow stone fencework that kept its tourists from falling into the waters. No one had the heart to remind the prince of his manners, not when this was his first time overseas ever since Tenebrae; and children, even royalty, deserved to behave as children. So Regis kept his grip firm but gentle, helping keep his boy steady as he nimbly put one foot in front of the other on what could have been a balance beam.

Noctis listened with rapt attention to the cries of gulls and the crash of waves all intermingled with the bustling noise of tourists and street music; and when his eyes gleamed with such innocent excitement, even hardened councilman Ferriam caved and bought a pretty little berry tart from a street vendor for the young prince. Noctis devoured it in record time.

Beyond their retinue, where several people stood and watched in shared whispers and pointing fingers, there were those who recognized their faces, the Lucian black suits, and the Draconian emblems emblazoned into their regalia. Some only watched in quiet awe or hushed murmurs, others were more bold — paparazzi, most definitely — and clicked on their cameras with wild abandon, the telltale sound of clicks and shutters going a mile a minute. Regis noticed the look shared between Clarus and Cor, the silent language of their subtle gestures and hidden expressions. No doubt news of their arrival would reach Niflheim and ultimately stir up some trouble.

Accordo had been a target for years, barely able to keep neutral and fend off Niflheim’s political advancements, especially with the power play and snapshots of military strength Aldercapt and his men liked to remind the world of. But hopefully, with the very odd but very appreciated winterstorm that battered and froze over the nation, Lucis could take advantage of the weather phenomenon and make alliances where she could, and hopefully, end the tensions that threatened them all.

Regis knew he should think of the repercussions of the paparazzi — though his council had already planned for the worst and worked out contingency plans — but Noctis’ wide smile and glimmering eyes were a potent distraction. And infectious. He could feel a warm smile creeping up on his own face. Maybe, he blithely hoped, the reporters and journalists would get a decent candid shot, so he could clip it out of the newsprint and save it in his scrapbook.

It's the third day of their diplomatic visit when Regis about tore his hair out, one second away from breaking all protocol and proper decorum.

Everything had been smooth sailing. Claustra had kept her sharp wits and no-nonsense tone as expected, but she had been very open to his proposed terms and possible alliance. Their talks had only hit minor roadblocks, conditions that could easily be tailored to suit both nations’ needs, marked with little to few resistances on either sides. Clarus and Cor had actually learned to relax a little, as they were somehow delegated to be Noctis’ fishing partners when the boy dragged both of them by the hands to a pier. Last month, Noctis had figured out how to stuff more things into his Armiger, namely a rod and tackle box when he had become so engrossed in the hobby. (Regis had wiped a proud tear from his eye, and wondered what shenanigans his son would inevitably come up with.)

His darling boy had even eaten vegetables. Altissia's culinary greatness had managed to get Noctis to eat peas and broccoli, and Regis was still debating whether or not to abuse his authority as king to swipe whoever the chef had been and slap a visa on them. He could bring them back to Insomnia as Noctis’ personal chef, and Claustra wouldn't be too upset if he did, or so he hoped.

But that idea was tossed to the side, and a prince's personal chef would be pointless with no prince to cook for. Since Noctis was missing.

A handful of Crownsguard and battle-sharpened warriors and still the Prince somehow slipped out of sight. Were he not a patient and understanding king, Regis would be counting how many heads he needed to roll.

It had been Cor who rushed to his side and delivered the news first, right when the meeting called for a recess. Noctis had been strolling about the piers with a few guards — or so it was supposed to be — and when his keepers had turned their eyes for a split moment, poof. No royal heir to be seen, yet no sign of a struggle or silent kidnapping.

It took every remembrance of childhood lessons on grace and poise to keep Regis from gunning down the hallway, but his power walk and stark expression kept everyone out of his way. He only paused when Clarus placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, pinning him to his spot, and Regis reeled his head around to glare him down with a tempest and an inferno in his eyes.

“Clarus, I expect a good reason for you to —”

“Altar. Someone reported a child with Noctis’ description at the altar.” Clarus pressed two fingers to the small receiver in his ear, his lips set in a tight grim line.

‘Bahamut help me,’ Regis silently cursed but wasting no time. The Altar of the Tidemother was not only a sacred place of history, its original monuments and the altar itself dating back centuries, but a place of terrifying power. Leviathan was known to take on many forms, from a lithe woman with a sea creature's tail to a towering monstrosity that matched Titan's might. And while her visage changed throughout the history books, her temper did not. Despite Accordo's worship and homage to her, the Astral was known for her ferocity and rage, the tsunamis and ocean storms and gaping maw that could swallow entire islands. She didn't share Shiva's fondness for humans and only tolerated them, at least until her promised time of the Feeding.

And since she had no trouble eating whole cities, she would have no reservations with snapping her cruel teeth around a small boy — royalty or not.

But Regis? He had no qualms with throwing down with the god, even if it meant throwing a lasso around her scaly neck and riding her like a seahorse jockey.

When he heard Noctis’ scream, Regis nearly catapulted himself into the waters.

There, within the tidepool was the Hydraean herself, an immense serpentine creature that made midgardsormrs look like groveling worms. Every twitch of her muscle sent waves across the waters, threatening to drown the surrounding paths and stonework, to sweep Regis and his guards off their feet and pull them into her tides. Thick, swirling tendrils of sea rose into the air, some spiraling into each other in a criss-cross puzzle of ringlets, others taking a transparent form and mimicking the great god herself. Physics bent to her will, gravity failing to keep what should not be dancing across the sea salt air. What should not be his son trapped in a vortex of rushing waters.

Regis’ heart leaped to his throat, and he heard Clarus and Cor curse beside him. Taking no chances and letting no precious time waste, he sweeped his arm to the side to summon forth his sword — because yes, he was going to flay Leviathan like a fish fillet or die trying —

“Hi, dad!”

Regis choked , and it wasn't on the errant sea water that splashed across his face. His magic sputtered, along with the fear and terror that had gripped his limbs and mind. (So perhaps flinging oneself at a raging god was not the smartest idea, especially when one is king and still has a nation to guide, but he panicked.)

Noctis, high above the waters and cradled within a swirling Leviathan mimic, waved both his arms in wide arcs above his head. His smile was as blinding as the sun that reflected off the watery vortexes and the Hydraean's pearlescent scales. The watery serpent, however, as if miffed by the shift of attention, took the boy by the scruff and tossed him higher into the air.

Noctis screamed again, much like the scream that had nearly paralyzed Regis. Much like the scream of a child's laughter and glee, the father later realized.

Leviathan herself rose up from the tidepool, catching the falling boy atop her head. But her scales were smooth and slick with sea, and Noctis coasted down her back at a blood rushing speed as she guided him toward one of her lower fins. A quick flick sent him flying into the air once more, rewarding her with another excited whoop from Noctis.

Leviathan, apparently, made for the ultimate waterpark. The thought was almost as jarring as the knowledge that she wasn't going to eat Noctis after all, that she seemed perfectly content at sporting herself as a gargantuan water slide.

Regis could count on one hand how many times he's been left speechless and daft, but he'll take adding another finger and a soaked boy than have his son eaten alive.

Though as much as he wanted to believe Leviathan meant no harm, he wasn't relieved until Noctis slipped down a solid slide of water and landed back on firm ground, taking a few stuttering steps to find his balance again. With no grand announcement, Leviathan sank beneath her waters once more, withdrawing her powers back and leaving nothing but some light flooding in her departure.

Noctis shook the sea from his hair and limbs before looking up at his father with bright blue eyes and a mischievously angelic smile.

Regis bent down, ready to scoop his son into his arms, but a booming voice had him and everyone else cringing and withdrawing into themselves. Noctis, the dear boy, looked entirely unaffected and swiveled around to step closer to the water's edge.

Breaching the surface, a pale hand gripped the stone at Noctis’ feet.

Regis, with bated breath, could only look on as a tall woman hoisted herself over the edge, dark hair sticking to her bare skin and a shimmering black tail resting in the waters. She smiled warmly at Noctis, who's standing height barely reached her shoulders, and lovingly patted down his wayward hair, wicking the ocean and moisture from his locks and clothes. When her hands reached his sides, she teased her fingers into his ribs and frowned, narrowing her golden eyes before flicking her gaze to Regis.

Her sudden sharp gaze was unnerving to say the least, but when she spoke, it was in that same ancient language and resounding tone, and Regis knew this woman was unmistakably Leviathan, despite never having seen her in physical form before now. She seemed a bit cross at him, judging by her furrowed brows and judgmental stare, but he couldn't figure out why. Not without an Oracle or Messenger to play translator.

“Hey! I'm not a stick!” the boy whined.

Noctis pouted, puffing his cheeks out at Leviathan. She turned to him, gaze turned soft once more, and petted his head. When she murmured again in her archaic tongue, he grumbled some breaths and looked down at his feet, her soft ministrations doing little to settle his ire. “I eat! Lots. Like, um, chicken and sandwiches, if there's no tomatoes or lettuce. I like chili too, as long as it doesn't have beans. Beans are gross.”

At this, Leviathan gave him a suffering  look, even tutting at him, before she reached her hand into the waters and pulled out a small trinket. She unclasped her hand and held it to him, allowing his widened eyes to soak in the sight, before dangling the fishing lure in front of Noctis, waving the sparkling obsidian as bait before his eyes.

He reached both hands for it as she snatched it just out of his reach. The god waved her other finger at him, and shook her head, whispering another string of sounds.

“What! Nooo, please, I hate beans.” Noctis lamented, stomping one foot against the stone.

But while she would move the tides and torrents, she would not move for this, it appeared. If there was one thing Regus had to commend her for, it was for withstanding Noctis’ infamous puppy dog eyes. She raised the Leviathan lure higher.

Noctis squeaked, hopping up and down as his fingers barely brushed against the smooth weight of his distant prize. It didn’t take long for him to surrender. “Okay, okay. Fine, I'll try eating more veggies,” he groaned and with an added, “Promise.”

Leviathan laughed, her echoes like the silent cold depths of her seas yet like the thundering crash of her torrents, an odd juxtaposition that seemed to phase in and out of itself. She dropped the lure in the boy’s cupped hands, watching as he turned the shining thing in his hands and marveled at the design.

Before she slipped back into her waters, Leviathan turned her eyes to Regis, a predator’s deadly focus bearing down hard upon the king.

And this, Regis knew, and he didn't need a translator to convey the message. Not with the razor sharp teeth she displayed in her lethal smile, a promise and a threat set at each serrated edge. It was the exact same look he silently exchanged with Clarus, Cor, and Titus when they took it upon themselves to treat Noctis, to bribe for the child's favor in their attempts of nabbing ‘#1 Uncle’ for the month.

“Dad! Look what Leviathan gave me! It looks just like her.” Noctis ran up to Regis, proudly showing off the rare lure. Leviathan took the momentary distraction to swim off.

Regis, taking several deep breaths and willing his nerves to calm, took both of Noctis’ hands in his. He didn’t so much at glance at the gift, and instead focused his eyes on his son, to ground himself through sight and touch. To make sure he wasn’t having a stroke or some hallucination. “I…” — his mouth dry, he cleared his throat and tried again — “Well.” Ah, hell. ”Yes, it certainly does, son.”

Noctis bobbed up and down on his heels, closing his hands around the lure and treating it as precious cargo. “I want to go fishing! Pleaseeee. ”

Regis really should have expected that. And the begging puppy eyes.

But being merely grateful that his son wasn't drowning in the belly of a sea god, he couldn't find himself to be upset. There was, perhaps, a pinch of fear still left, though he would have to later analyze just what that fear was directed at or stemmed from.

“Of course, Noctis. I do believe I'll even have time later this afternoon to join you.” Regis glanced to the waters, expecting Leviathan to emerge again and surprise them all the more. “But could you tell me what she said to us earlier?”

To commune with the gods fell on the shoulders of Oracles and Messengers. Yet for whatever reason, his son seemed to understand the Astrals just fine — another idea to digest at a later time, perhaps over a bottle of whiskey with Cor.

Noctis huffed, obviously offended at his own answer, and poked at his little ribs. “She said I need to eat more.”

[valisi-clark]

Qveertrash on AO3: “ Where did you get the idea of a sin-eater AU? The idea of sin-eaters is very interesting. They're like creatures that children get scared of. “ 

I’m answering this here under a cut because, of course, it’s a long ass story. The character limit on AO3 wouldn’t allow it. 

Thank you everyone who has supported The Sin-eater with your comments and questions and kudos and reads! 

It’s surprising to me, but my dad actually gave me the idea for the Sin-eater AU. About five years ago (way before I was even knew about Tumblr), I asked him what was one of the scariest/creepiest things he had ever seen as a kid. 

He told me that one of the things that scared him the most, when he was a kid, was an episode of “Night Gallery”. “Night Gallery” is the series that Rod Serling started hosting and writing after “The Twilight Zone” ended. It’s not quite as good as “The Twilight Zone” in my opinion. But there’s one episode called “The Sins of the Fathers”. 

My dad said the “The Sins of the Fathers” episode was one of the scariest things he can remember. I’ve watched it, and I agree. You can probably find the episode online for free now. Here’s a short summary of the episode: 

In times before electricity and running water, when people died, they called for the sin-eater. The sin-eater was shunned, basically exiled, and he didn’t have any social interaction with regular people. He’s unclean. But people still need him to rid the corpses of their loved ones from sin. 

The sin-eater marries a woman (how?), and he has a son. One night, a villager comes to their home and requests the sin-eater. The sin-eater’s wife says that she’ll send him. When the villager leaves, the woman goes to her young adult son and tells him that his father has died, and he has to eat for his father. But they don’t have enough money for food for the ritual. 

The woman tells her son to go to the house of the villager, steal the food, come back, and eat for his father. 

Naturally, this kid is freaked-the-fuck-out. It’s gross for one thing. Eating food near or directly off of a corpse? He does it anyway. He’s the next sin-eater. It’s his birthright. 

He goes to the house, steals the food, goes home, and eats for his father. The catch is that he’s not only eating his father’s sins. He’s eating all of the sin’s that his father ever consumed. All of the sins of the generations before him and whoever they consumed. While he’s eating, he’s also screaming. It’s unnerving and disgusting to watch. You don’t know why he’s screaming, but you can only imagine how that food tastes, what he’s seeing in front of his unfocused eyes, what he’s feeling inside of his guts every time he swallows. It’s terrifying. 

It’s also an amazing idea, and I fucking love that episode! It scares the shit out of me!

And sin-eating has been recorded as a real thing that people did. Not only in Europe, but also in Meso-America.

Here’s a quote from the short Wikipedia article about sin-eaters. This quote comes from a book called Funeral Customs, published in 1926: 

“Professor Evans of the Presbyterian College, Carmarthen, actually saw a sin-eater about the year 1825, who was then living near Llanwenog, Cardiganshire. Abhorred by the superstitious villagers as a thing unclean, the sin-eater cut himself off from all social intercourse with his fellow creatures by reason of the life he had chosen; he lived as a rule in a remote place by himself, and those who chanced to meet him avoided him as they would a leper.”

When I found these things out, I was absolutely fascinated. How is this custom so old (Meso-America), so recent (about 200 years), but I had to watch a fictional story to learn about it? Why didn’t I learn about it in Mythology and Folklore? I’ve read a lot of articles about sin-eating, but the Wikipedia page for it is so short? Have people purposely not recorded information about these people because they were so disgusted? Also, this quote says that the sin-eater chose this life? Is that something someone can actually choose? Is sin-eating the reason that we eat food after a funeral?! How does this affect my modern-day culture?!

I have so many questions about this custom and the people who lived through it. But sin-eating is still being used as a fictional character device because it’s so good! 

There are two types of sin-eaters: the kind that physically removes sin through the consumption of food and the kind that physically removes sin through some other means. 

John Coffey in The Green Mile by Stephen King is a sin-eater. I’ve read an article about that. 

When John Coffey removes the infection Paul Edgecomb, he’s technically removing the sin that accumulates in a human’s body as a flawed creature. There are sources that express the idea that sin becomes a physical ailment, sin leads to death through the accumulation of physical ailments in the body (religious texts, The Picture of Dorian Gray,  these two come to mind first). However, Stephen King steps it up a notch in The Green Mile by showing us the excrement process. When John Coffey releases that plague of black... insects? from his mouth, he’s excreting the sin that he’s eaten from someone. Therefore, he’s not storing it, and it won’t physically affect him over a period of time. Does that mean if he didn’t release it that the sin would physically affect him? Probably. Stephen King avoided that degeneration process by adding the release process. 

I’ve known for a while that I wanted to use sin-eaters in fiction, but I wasn’t exactly sure how to do it. 

At first, I imagined Erwin as a prince of a nation and Levi as the sin-eater? That crumbled so fast. Erwin’s characterization is difficult to fit into a monarchy because he’s so independent and compassionate. In strict monarchies, a prince may not even know how to dress himself. In the first plot that I thought about, the king (Erwin’s father) dies, and they call one of the royal sin-eaters. Erwin’s never seen one before. Levi shows up because the Ackermans are royal sin-eaters. But why would Erwin even be allowed to look at him? Because he’s curious?  Royal Guard Mike might agree to let Erwin look, but he’s definitely not going to agree to let Erwin build any sort of relationship with a sin-eater! That bullshit about royalty sneaking out to go see their lovers? Not a thing. A royal human is objectified. If something happens to King Erwin, the country would be in trouble, could be attacked before a new monarch is put into place. Erwin is an investment. And if he’s dependent on servants, how is he going to know how to sneak out with help? 

So I flipped it around. Make Levi royal. Make Erwin the sin-eater. Erwin fits into the sin-eater role better, but Levi doesn’t fit royalty, not unless he’s a militaristic king. The plot was complicated before I even started. So I backed off. 

I thought of the current plot a few months ago? And I sent the first chapter to @erwinsalive . She seemed to love it! And it made me happy to know that the world was so interesting to other people. She asked for more details, and I told her some of it. She made this face: ;-; 

That encouraged me to keep writing! I like that face! 

So then, I had to build the world. There were a few choices: How am I going to contain the sin-eaters? Solitary or together? I can put them behind a wall. Putting Erwin behind a wall always leads to something interesting. How are people going to recognize sin-eaters? Gloves with handcuffs built into them? But then when they escape, the gloves would be off. They aren’t going to keep people cuffed while they’re within the wall. I could separate the handcuffs, but eww... how are they going to keep their gloves clean? And it would be too easy to find a tool to remove them. That’s not enough conflict. It has to be more personal than gloves. Piercing? That could work. Levi’s knife work could come in handy if the metal is welded shut. Branding or tattooing? That’s the most traditional way to permanently mark government property, but.... then they would have to flay some of Erwin’s skin. Eww and oww. So let’s go piercing. Around the mouth area for the symbolism. Lips or tongue? Tongue. Then, if he pretends to be mute, he can hide in plain sight for a while. And also tongues... they’re great. A tongue bar with pieces that are gauged higher on either end. Then, you either have to cut the bar or cut the tongue. Done! 

Setting: Levi owns a tea shop with his Mom (dreams do come true), Fatal Sporadic Insomnia kills Kuchel (because those Ackermans don’t sleep well due to nighttime royal guard duty, and everyone knows it), Levi has to buy a sin-eater. The sin-eater is Erwin. Erwin feels guilty for even being himself. His emotionally tortured state fits into this skin. 

What about the sin-eater culture? Is Erwin’s going to have to eat his dad’s.... ugh! No, I can’t do that. It’s too sad. It’s too traumatic. I’ll never get him to rebel if I do that. I grossed myself out again.

How is sin-eating going to affect Erwin physically? In The Picture of Dorian Gray, the picture took all of Dorian Gray’s sins (a type of inanimate sin-eater), and the portrait was hideous by the end of the book. Will sin-eaters be affected? Will Erwin die young because he’s full of the sins of humanity? ..... I can’t do that. It hurt too much in canon. I’m not going to do that. He’s beautiful and healthy.

Therefore, sin-eaters aren’t real. They are a collection of unfortunate descendants of humans (immigrants) who were scammed by the government. “Eat sins for our people, and we’ll take care of you.” Over one hundred years later: “You’re fucking disgusting, and you are easily replaced and less than human. You will remain quarantined. The food we give you is now overpriced. We’ve just increased your taxes again.” 

And when I tell the story from Erwin’s point of view, you’ll see what sparked the fire of rebellion. I’m excited to write it. 

Thank you again for the wonderful question! I love talking about the writing process. I hope you find this, qveertrash! Thank you for your support!