#despite being small all the characters in the game are complex

[coconutcows]

Regardless of your thoughts, feelings, or opinions, Curly very much is also a victim of Jimmy’s.

Curly is a victim of Jimmy’s.

Curly being a victim of Jimmy does not however make Anya any less of a victim. They were both different types of Victims, Anya being sexually assaulted and having her sense of safety, personhood, and autonomy violated. Curly was manipulated and belittled by Jimmy pre crash several times, Jimmy also completely twisted what Curly said a few times to warp it to his own perception. They did not have a healthy friendship.

Everyone on the Tulpar was a victim of Jimmy’s by the end.

- Curly in an unhealthy and unbalanced friendship

- Daisuke a victim of Jimmy’s Manipulation

- Swansea became a murder victim

- and of course Anya was a victim of rape and misogyny

But again, other characters being victimized by Jimmy do not detract from what happened to Anya or her Victimhood

[eglerieth]

Some of y’all are not appreciating Bilbo Baggins enough. I am here to remedy that. This guy has:

• somehow managed to establish himself as a respectable, staid hobbit by the time he was fifty, despite being both a grandson of Bullroarer Took and the Shire champion of pretty much every aiming-game known to hobbitkind

• had an in-depth debate on pleasantries with a random guy passing by in the street, who turned out to be GANDALF

• collapsed in front of his own fire shaking and muttering “struck by lightning” over and over again in response to hearing about dragons and danger

• mind you, this was after he screamed loud enough to startle a roomful of Dwarves

• signed up for a dangerous quest completely outside of his league out of spite

• when told to scout out a mysterious light, saw some trolls, and instead of reporting back with the information, decided to PICK THE TROLLS POCKET

• arrived in Rivendell for the first time and said it “smelled like elves”

• upon meeting a strange creature that visibly wanted to eat him, he decided to play a riddle game with him- and guessed pretty much every one, and made up his own riddles, afraid and alone, that not only were good and full of linguistic puns, but actually stumped the other guy- AND THEN CHEATED AND WON WITH A QUESTION

• showed mercy to said strange creature who wanted to kill him, and was now standing between him and freedom

• eavesdropped on the dwarves arguing over whether to try to save him, then popped up casually smack in the middle of them just as they were debating

• somehow managed to sleep like a log at the really really high eyrie full of wild predators

• found himself in a bad situation, said eff it, and turned around and antagonized and fought off an insane amount of man eating spiders, like enough of them that fifty was a small portion, by singing at them with incredibly complex and punny insulting songs composed on the spot, while simultaneously slaying them in multitudes despite having zero combat training. Seriously, we don’t discuss enough how epic the spider scene is.

• broke a company of dwarves out of the very secure prison of the Elvenking by inventing white water rafting with barrels

• charmed his way out of being eaten by a dragon

• stole the frickin Arkenstone from the guys who employed him, one of whom was a king

• took part in an epic battle, only to be knocked out in the first ten minutes and miss the entire thing

• was named elf-friend by the guy who’s prisoners he sprung

• wrote his own autobiography, complete with all the narrative recognition of his own heroics

• spent 60 years writing said autobiography

• taught his lower class neighbor’s kid how to read

• taught his nephew Elvish- not only Sindarin, but Quenya too

• spent decades telling his cousins his own story as fairy tales, complete with character impressions accurate enough that one of them was able to fool a servant of the Enemy with a second hand impression

• used the One Ring of Power to hide from his neighbors

• planned an elaborate feast with multiple social faux pas to mess with his neighbors, complete with a purposefully bewildering speech and culminating in him vanishing into thin air in front of everyone

• left his cousins and neighbors very unsubtle passive aggressive gifts in his will

• settled into Rivendell, randomly befriended the heir to the throne of like half of Middle Earth, and apparently spent his time writing very personal poems about his hosts and reciting them to crowds of elves

• after being invited to a Council of basically every major kingdom in the continent, spent a quarter of the time reciting vague poems about his friends, a quarter of the time telling anyone who would listen about his heroic past, and half the time interrupting to ask when lunch would be

• volunteered to bring the ring to Mordor

• became one of only four or five mortals in history to live in Valinor

Seriously, Bilbo Baggins may well be the most chaotic, insane person in the entire legendarium, and that includes the likes of people like Finrod “bit a werewolf to death to save the life of guy who he just met and gave up his kingdom for” Felagund.

[mischiefmagpie]

Veilguard doesn't feel like a Dragon Age game for a multitude of reasons:

It doesn't allow you to butt heads with your companions over *anything*. It doesn't allow you to even converse with your companions outside of scripted scenes — you can't just approach them and open a dialogue wheel until they want to talk to Rook; you'll just get one-liners Rook can't respond to and passive NPC-exclusive interactions that Rook happens to overhear.

It doesn't allow you to ask about/discuss the world, culture, organizations, or its history (i.e. any previous installments, or your character's selected backstory). It never references any game outside of Inquisition, and barely references Inquisition despite being a direct sequel to it. None of your previous games decisions are imported or considered. There isn't even a proper "canon" they present, the past is just a void.

There's no small side stories, barely any ambient/passing npc talk, nor many side quests, (let alone complex or fulfilling ones just filler for large scale plot), there are companion Loyalty Quests that all converge to the main story that ends in a Suicide Mission.

Veilguard doesn't feel like a Dragon Age game, because it plays like a Mass Effect game.

[drenched-in-sunlight]

Can I just say how in love I am with the way you draw Marika? Like every art you post of her has my jaw dropping…you add such a beautiful layer of humanity to her with her dynamic expressions and poses—it’s so refreshing to see especially when so many fan arts of her needlessly sexualize her or dial her down to a one-dimensional stone-faced villain (which a villain she is—but she is still complex)

And I adore how you draw her partial nudity as something natural, meaning that you don’t draw her without a top for the sake of objectifying her,

Your art is overall so pleasant and colourful and fun to look at, and your takes of Marika’s character in your fanart is literally what made me more interested in who she is in-game.

Thank you for drawing her the way you do! (And for drawing Elden Ring fanart in general💕)

i've been letting this ask stewing in my inbox for a while because it makes me so emotional 🥲

if you look at how i drew Marika before anything in the DLC was announced, it did fall into the two categories you were talking about, because despite having a little more positive view on her than the rest of the fandom at the time, i still had no idea who she was as a person. and by that time i were more interested in Malenia, so even though i did try to envision how Marika was, it's a very distant and vague image. which is what i love about Elden Ring lore in general: we see Marika via how her children see her.

it was easy back then to conclude we'd never get her, and "mother" is a distant term that will always be overshadowed by "God", so i just went along with the general haha evil sexy girlboss thing that the fandom was doing. but then the DLC teaser dropped the another elusive (possibly firstborn) child of her, with a statue of her holding a baby in his boss room, she started to get more little quirks that's so human in my work (the small smile, the little lock of hair that curls gently) because for the first time, we see her through the eye of a son that evidently adores her, so she gets a bit more human, because someone views her with emotions that are not fear nor distance.

then the DLC drops, and it's not just through Messmer's eye (or the entirety of his being that carry so much of her love it weighs him down and twist into the most horrible curse in the end), it's through the eyes of her family that were no longer there at all. it's the jar innard enemy that huddled in a jar and clutched at a piece of raw meat, it's the Grandmother's gentle smile as she rest among a sea of flowers, it's the solitary minor erdtree that bathed the whole place in the kindness of gold, it's the Fire Knights and soldiers that clearly viewed her as Mother as much as she was God, it's Miquella throwing away his love and doubt because he didn't know how to deal with the revelation that his mother was once a fallible human just like the rest of them, it's Trina's entreaty that Godhood was just a cage that would kill him slowly, it's the final boss music with the female voice belting "Hail, Marika the Eternal" - in the place where she had to wade through a sea of flesh and blood, her family included, to ascend to Godhood. it's finally understanding that to her, Eternity is to live for all her loved ones that have fallen down.

and somehow, it all comes back to this portrait at the base game, right at the Roundtable Hold, of a woman with permanently lowered eyes.

yeah i know after the DLC i've put on such a Messmer-style protective glasses for her, it shows very clearly in my art. now she could cry, looks sad, small smile, big smile, looks silly, looks cute, looks serious, her hair is pulled up in twenty different ways, she jokes and talks to animals and goes back to be just a simple young girl rolling around in the grass, blah blah... im drawing all these with eyes wide open. and i have no intention of stopping lol.

sometimes, things that already come alive will never go back to be a cardboard cutout anymore. if ppl don't like it, block me or whatever, in my space, i'll do that makes me happy. and im very glad that other ppl could find their own happiness and solace with my work too :) thank you for such a thoughtful and kind messages!

[rainandandy]

Bigger than the whole sky

Pairings: Rain Carradine X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Contains graphic depictions of violence, including public beatings and injuries that lead to death, themes of loss and grief, and the depiction of a harsh, dystopian environment with elements of oppression and cruelty. It also includes scenes of emotional distress, as characters witness the death of a loved one. Please read with caution.

Word Count:4209

Note: Kinda just went on with this one..... it hurt to write this and I based it off of the Gale beating scene in Hunger Games Catching Fire. Hope you enjoy (cry your heart out) with this

Life on Jackson's Star was steeped in bleakness, each day unfolding under the shadow of Weyland-Yutani's relentless control. The air was thick with dust and despair, the sky a perpetual overcast of smog that blurred the line between day and night. You, along with Rain and her brother Andy, had adapted to this harsh reality with a resilience born of necessity. Navigating through the oppressive regime required a careful balance of caution and subtle rebellion, as the omnipresent surveillance drones buzzed overhead like carrion birds waiting for a misstep.

The colony itself was a sprawling network of industrial complexes and cramped living quarters, all constructed with the cold functionality of corporate efficiency. The metallic clang of machinery and the hiss of steam were the constant backdrop to your lives, reminding you that the colony's primary function was to serve the company's interests, not the welfare of its inhabitants.

Despite the ever-present danger of being singled out by the guards for any perceived infraction, you three maintained a semblance of hope. In whispered conversations as you worked the barren fields or scavenged for parts among the debris, you shared dreams of a life beyond the company's grasp. These dreams were defiant sparks in the oppressive gloom of Jackson's Star, small but bright enough to keep the darkness at bay.

That day, as you toiled in the fields of Jackson's Star, the atmosphere was unusually tense, the air heavy with more than just the usual burdens. The rich, damp scent of freshly turned earth mingled oddly with the sharp, acrid tang of industrial exertion—a stark reminder of the unnatural union of nature and machine that characterized your existence. Clouds hung low, a somber gray canopy that seemed to press down on the landscape, intensifying the oppressive feel of the day.

The guards patrolled with heightened vigilance, their movements sharp and deliberate. Their fingers rested uneasily on the handles of their batons, twitching occasionally with a nervous energy that mirrored the electric charge of the air. Every step they took sent small shivers of apprehension through the ranks of laborers, their boots leaving deep, menacing imprints in the muddy ground.

Rain, ever the embodiment of resilience and quiet rebellion, had momentarily paused her labor. Leaning heavily on her shovel, she wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her mud-streaked hand. Her chest heaved from the exertion, breaths coming in short, labored gasps that she tried to quiet, knowing all too well the dangers of displaying fatigue.

It was this moment of vulnerability, however fleeting, that drew the attention of a particularly ruthless officer. Known among the workers for his harsh discipline and cold demeanor, his eyes locked onto Rain with predatory precision. The badge on his chest seemed to gleam more fiercely under the overcast sky, a symbol of the unchecked authority he wielded. His approach was deliberate, each step measured to instill fear, his shadow falling ominously across the rows of bent backs and bowed heads.

As he drew closer, the underlying threat in his posture was unmistakable, his baton now an extension of his arm, raised not just as a tool but as a weapon of control. His presence loomed over Rain, a dark cloud in a field already devoid of sunlight, ready to burst at the slightest provocation.

The overseer's voice sliced through the humid air, a harsh interruption to the muffled cacophony of clanking tools and muted conversations of the weary workers. "Hey! No resting!" His tone was sharp, the authority in his command unwavering as his eyes fixed on Rain. With a menacing flourish, he raised his baton, the metal gleaming ominously under the harsh artificial lights of the work fields.

Rain looked up slowly, her expression unflinching, molded into a mask of steely resolve that seemed to stiffen her spine. Her hands, calloused and stained from the day's labor, clenched into fists at her sides. She met the overseer's gaze with a defiant fire burning in her eyes, her jaw set, bracing for the confrontation she knew was coming.

From just a few feet away, you witnessed the standoff, and a fierce, protective rage surged within you. The overseer’s blatant aggression, the threat looming so palpably in the air, sparked a primal defiance in your chest. Your muscles tensed, coiled springs ready to release. Without a moment’s hesitation, your feet moved of their own accord, carrying you forward.

"Leave her alone!" Your voice, loud and clear, cut through the tension like a knife. Every eye in the vicinity snapped towards you, including Rain's, which flickered briefly with something akin to worry and gratitude. The overseer turned his glare towards you, baton still raised, his expression twisting into one of surprise and then anger at your challenge.

"This doesn’t concern you," he spat, his words dripping with venom. But standing there, facing down the threat to someone you cared deeply about, you felt a steadfast resolve take root. This was your battle too, and you wouldn't back down. "She’s just catching her breath, sir," you said, your voice a calm contrast to the growing tension, trying to diffuse the situation. "We’ll get back to work right now."

The officer halted, mere inches from you, his shadow looming over you like a dark cloud. His face twisted into a sneer of outrage at your audacity to challenge him. "Double shift for you, then," he hissed venomously, his baton now lifted to emphasize his authority. The electronic hum of the baton was a clear threat as it activated, crackling with energy. "Think you can undermine me? You'll regret it."

Your heart raced as you maintained eye contact, refusing to show the fear that skittered down your spine. As the officer turned away, his message clear, you felt Rain’s hand reached out, touching your arm lightly, her expression tormented. She opened her mouth to protest, but the words seemed to catch in her throat, stifled by the oppressive atmosphere.

Seeing her distress, you turned to her, your eyes locking. It was a silent communication, filled with years of shared hardships and understanding. You shook your head slightly, a clear signal. "You’re finished for the day. Go home, I’ll manage," you murmured quietly, pushing her gently toward Andy, who stood a few steps behind, his synthetic eyes wide with a programmed concern that mirrored human fear.

"But I can help—" Rain started to argue, her voice low and urgent.

You cut her off, your tone soft but firm, "No, Rain. It’s better if you're not involved. Please, for me, just go back with Andy. Stay safe." The plea in your voice was evident, each word laced with your concern not just for your own welfare but profoundly for hers.

Rain's eyes searched yours, a storm of emotions passing through them—fear, frustration, helplessness. Finally, with a weighty exhale, Rain gave a reluctant nod. Her fingers tightened around yours, conveying a silent vow to return. "Be careful," she murmured, her words nearly whisked away by the brisk wind. She hesitated, her gaze lingering on you with a mixture of fear and resolve, before Andy gently guided her away. Even as they retreated, her eyes kept darting back to you, etching every detail into her memory, laden with palpable concern.

Rain and Andy hurried back to the sanctuary of your shared quarters, the familiarity of the space a stark contrast to the chaos of the fields. The safety of these walls, peppered with personal touches and memories of quieter times, stood as a silent testament to the life you had built together amid the harsh realities of Jackson’s Star. As the hours ticked by, Rains worry only grew.

The fleeting sense of relief vanished as the harsh chirp of the communicator shattered the tense silence. Rain's heart skipped as Tyler's voice, laden with unmistakable dread, crackled through the speaker. "Get to the square—now! They have her." The urgency in his tone sent a chill down her spine, each word heavy with a grim portent that sent them rushing into the cold, unforgiving night of Jackson's Star.

Rain and Andy raced through the oppressively dim corridors of Jackson’s Star, their boots pounding against the cold metal floor, the sound reverberating off the narrow walls, amplifying their urgency and dread. The dim lighting flickered overhead, casting ghostly shadows that danced along the walls, mimicking their frantic pace. As they emerged into the open expanse of the square, their breaths were ragged, steam rising in the chilled air, mingling with the low murmur of the gathered crowd.

The scene that unfolded before them was one of stark terror and injustice, staged in the heart of the colony under the harsh glare of floodlights. The square, usually a place of communal gathering, had transformed into a chilling tableau of authoritarian display. At its center, raised above the muttering crowd on a grim platform, stood you—your figure stark and diminished, bound tightly with rough cords that cut into your skin. The fabric of your work clothes was stained dark with blood, stark against the pale severity of your skin, lending a macabre tone to the scene.

Rain’s heart thudded painfully against her ribs, a stark contrast to the numbing coldness spreading through her veins as she caught sight of you. The captain of the patrol was there, his voice booming unnaturally loud through the speakers, reciting a list of crimes so absurd and fabricated that they would have been laughable under any other circumstance. His words sliced through the murmurs of the crowd, each one landing like a physical blow against Rain's consciousness.

"They’re going to kill her," Rain murmured, the realization slicing through her like a cold blade. Her words were barely audible, lost beneath the cacophony of the square, yet they carried the weight of an unbearable foreboding. Andy, standing steadfast by her side, reached out a hand to steady her, his own expression one of muted horror, unable to fully simulate human emotion but clearly programmed to respond with empathy.

Rain's face was ashen, the color drained as if she herself had been bled of life. Her eyes, wide and filled with a palpable terror, were fixed unblinkingly on you, witnessing the grim spectacle of the guards preparing their instruments of torture. The sight of the metallic electronic batons, glinting ominously under the artificial lights, sent a shiver of dread down her spine.

In that moment, the square felt colder than ever, the usual hum of colony life drowned out by the grave proceedings of this cruel justice. The crowd around them seemed to fade into a blur, their faces either grim or impassively curious, none daring to intervene. Rain felt a surge of helpless rage mixed with her fear, a tumultuous storm that threatened to overwhelm her senses.

The scene at the square was charged with tension and dread. The crowd that had gathered murmured and shifted on their feet, their discomfort palpable in the heavy air as the officers prepared for the beating. You stood defiantly, your back straight, jaw clenched, bracing yourself against the rough wood of the beam to which you were tied. The first blow came down hard, the sound of the baton striking you echoed through the square, a harsh clack that seemed to resonate in the chests of all who heard it.

You didn't give them the satisfaction of hearing you scream. Your teeth were gritted, each breath through them a hiss of pain and defiance. The guards, emboldened by your silence, continued with increased ferocity, each strike aimed to break your resolve.

At the edge of the crowd, Rain's face was a mask of agony. "Stop it! Just stop, please!" Her voice broke through the murmurs, shrill with fear and desperation. Her hands were balled into tight fists at her sides, her fingernails digging into her palms, drawing blood that dripped unnoticed to the ground. She made a move to break through the crowd, to run to you, but Tyler and Bjorn caught her by the arms, pulling her back.

"Rain, no! You can't—you’ll only get yourself killed!" Tyler hissed, trying to anchor her back with his strength.

Bjorn added in a low, urgent tone, "Look at me, Rain! We can't help her by getting ourselves killed. We have to think this through."

Rain struggled against their grip, her eyes never leaving you, witnessing each brutal blow. "They're killing her!" she screamed, her voice hoarse with terror. "We can’t just stand here and watch this happen!"

As the beating continued, each impact sending shockwaves of pain through your frame, the reality of your situation sank in deeply for everyone present. This wasn’t merely a punishment; it was a spectacle designed to quell any thoughts of defiance among the workers. Your suffering was meant to remind them of their place under the oppressive heel of Weyland-Yutani.

Bjorn's grip on Rain’s arm was iron-tight, his voice a harsh whisper in her ear, cutting through the chaos with desperate urgency. "It’s a setup," he growled, his words laced with a bitter edge of realism. "They’re pinning all types of lies on her.”

Rain's face crumpled, tears carving clean paths down her dirt-streaked cheeks. She tried to move forward, to reach you, to scream out against the monstrous injustice, but her friends held her back, knowing any further action would only lead to more tragedy. "Please," she choked out, her voice strained to breaking. "They can't do this. Not to her."

The crowd around you swelled, a collective beast of spectators who watched as the guards, satisfied with their grim work, finally stepped back. Your body, so full of fight and spirit, now hung limp and defeated. The sight was a brutal blow to Rain, her knees buckling under the weight of despair. "No, no, no," she sobbed, her hands reaching out futilely as if she could somehow bridge the distance and bring you back to her.

As the guards finally ceased their brutal assault, wiping the dark smears from their metallic batons with nonchalance, one of them looked over to Tyler and the rest of your friends with a nod that bore the weight of finality. “They’re done,” Tyler muttered, his voice ringing hollow in the charged atmosphere, betraying the turmoil beneath his calm exterior. "We need to get her out of here." Kay, with her medical kit clutched tightly in her hands, was already bulldozing her way through the stunned onlookers. Her voice cut sharply through the tension, "Move!" she commanded, her tone brooking no argument. The guards, taken aback by her audacity, stepped aside, allowing her access to the platform.

Reaching you, Kay dropped to her knees, her hands moving quickly and efficiently as she checked for any sign of life. Her face was set in a mask of concentration, the lines around her mouth taut with concern. She pressed two fingers against your neck, searching for a pulse. After a tense moment, she looked up, her expression grim but relieved, "She’s alive. Just barely. Help me get her back."

Rain, who had been frozen by fear and grief, sprang into action at Kay's words. Her eyes, red-rimmed and haunted, met Kay's as she helped lift your limp body. "Be careful with her," Rain whispered, her voice trembling as she and Kay maneuvered you down from the platform.

As they carried you through the crowd, which parted silently to let them pass, Rain’s mind raced with panic and fear, each step towards their compound

Back at the small, dimly lit compound that you, Rain, and Andy called home, the air was thick with tension and the lingering scent of blood. The cramped quarters, usually filled with quiet conversation and the occasional joke, now felt suffocating under the weight of the night’s events.

As you were laid gently on the makeshift table, Rain hovered over you, her hands trembling as they brushed the hair from your bloodied face. "Please, stay with me," she whispered, her voice breaking, barely more than a desperate plea.

Navarro, who had always been calm in a crisis, took charge immediately. "Clear the table," she ordered, her voice steady. She moved quickly, removing the few items that cluttered the surface. "We need space to work."

Kay, who had been training as a medic before Weyland-Yutani’s brutal regime took hold, was already digging through her kit. "We need clean water, towels—anything we can use to stop the bleeding," she instructed, her hands shaking as she unpacked bandages and antiseptic.

Andy shuffled awkwardly by the door, his eyes flickering with distress. "I-I’ll get the w-water," he stuttered, his synthetic voice faltering as he rushed to the small sink in the corner, fumbling with the handle before managing to fill a bowl.

The first thing Kay did was assess your wounds, her expression growing more grim by the second. "This is bad," she muttered under her breath, though Rain caught the words and felt her heart clench in response.

"Just tell me what to do," Rain said, her voice thick with fear but laced with determination. "Tell me how I can help."

"Keep pressure here," Kay instructed, guiding Rain’s hands to a deep gash on your side. The wound bled sluggishly, staining Rain’s fingers a dark crimson. "Navarro, I need more gauze, and a needle and thread. We have to stop the bleeding before anything else."

As Rain pressed down, she leaned close to you, her breath warm against your ear. "You’re going to be okay," she whispered, though her voice trembled. "I’m right here, baby. We’re going to get you through this."

You stirred slightly, your eyes fluttering open just enough to focus on her. "Rain..." your voice was weak, barely more than a rasp. "I’m... sorry."

"Don’t," Rain choked out, tears welling in her eyes. "Don’t apologize. Just hold on, okay? Just hold on."

The room was silent save for the occasional clink of metal instruments and the sound of your labored breathing. The bowls of water that Andy brought over quickly turned pink, then a deep red as Kay and Navarro worked to clean your wounds. The table beneath you was soon stained with blood, the scent of iron heavy in the air.

Kay’s hands moved quickly, stitching up the worst of the gashes, her face set in concentration. "We need to get her stable," she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. "She’s lost too much blood."

Andy hovered nearby, clutching a clean towel he had found, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and helplessness. "W-will she be okay?" he asked, his voice small and hesitant.

"We’re doing everything we can," Navarro replied, her tone a blend of reassurance and reality. She exchanged a look with Kay, who only shook her head slightly.

Rain noticed the exchange, her heart sinking further. "She has to be okay," Rain whispered, her voice cracking. "She has to."

Hours passed, and the night deepened, the oppressive silence of the compound only broken by the sound of your shallow breaths and Rain’s quiet murmurs. She held your hand tightly, her thumb brushing over your knuckles in a rhythm meant to comfort both you and herself.

"I love you," she whispered, her voice trembling with the weight of the words she was afraid she’d never get to say again. "Please don’t leave me. Not like this."

You managed a weak smile, though it took all the strength you had left. "Love you... too," you whispered back, your voice barely audible. "Always."

Rain leaned down, pressing her lips to your forehead, her tears mingling with the blood and sweat that covered your skin. "Always," she echoed, her heart breaking with every passing second.

As dawn approached, your breath became more labored, the fight slipping from your body. Rain felt the shift, her entire world narrowing down to the weakening pulse beneath her fingertips. "No, no, no," she whispered frantically, her grip tightening as if she could somehow keep you anchored to life. "Please, don’t go."

You looked up at her, your eyes filled with a mixture of pain and peace. "It’s okay," you whispered, though it cost you everything to say it. "I’ll... always... be with you."

Rain’s sobs filled the room as your eyes slowly closed, your hand slipping from hers as your body went still. The silence that followed was deafening, a hollow void where your heartbeat had once been.

"She’s gone," Kay said quietly, her voice steady but carrying the unmistakable edge of sorrow. Her words cut through the room like a blade, the finality of it crashing down on Rain like a tidal wave. The compound, already dim and cold, seemed to grow even darker.

Rain didn’t respond immediately. Her body began to tremble, first just a slight shiver in her shoulders, then growing into a full, uncontrollable shaking as the reality of your loss settled in. She leaned over your still form, her tears falling in relentless streams, splashing against your skin. "No... please, no," she sobbed, her voice breaking, clutching at you as if holding you tighter could somehow pull you back from the abyss.

Andy, who had been standing nearby, approached hesitantly. His synthetic form seemed to sag under the weight of the moment, his usually bright eyes dimmed with a sorrow that was unnatural for a machine. "R-Rain," he stuttered, his voice halting and filled with a strange echo of human grief. "She... she loved you so much."

The room felt suffocating, the air thick with despair. Tyler stood off to the side, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white. He stared at the floor, unable to look at you, unable to reconcile the brutal end you had met with the strong, vibrant person he had known. His chest heaved with the effort to keep his own emotions in check, but the tear that slid down his cheek betrayed his inner turmoil.

Bjorn, always the stoic, had his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his expression unreadable. But his eyes were fixed on Rain and your body, the usual hardness in his gaze softened by a quiet, painful understanding. He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult to breathe. For all his gruff exterior, the sight of Rain breaking down over your body pierced through his defenses.

Navarro, who had been helping Kay moments earlier, stepped back, her hands shaking. The blood that had stained her fingers felt like it was burning into her skin, a reminder of how close they had all come to saving you—and how far they had failed. She pressed a hand to her mouth, stifling a sob that threatened to break free, her eyes brimming with tears.

As Rain's sobs grew louder, more desperate, the room's silence was broken only by the sound of her heartbreak. "Please, don’t leave me," she whispered through her tears, her voice small, broken. She pressed her forehead against yours, her fingers tangled in your hair as she pleaded with you, as if willing you to open your eyes, to take just one more breath.

Andy knelt beside her, his mechanical hand resting gently on her shoulder, though his touch was cold. "I’m s-sorry," he managed to say, his voice almost robotic but laden with the echoes of human grief. "She was b-brave."

Tyler finally moved, crossing the short distance between him and Rain. He placed a hand on her back, his own tears now falling freely. "She saved you, Rain," he said softly, his voice strained with the effort to keep it steady. "She saved us all."

Rain didn’t respond, her world having collapsed to just you and the unbearable loss that consumed her. She clung to you, pressing her face into your neck, her sobs muffled against your skin. "I can’t... I can’t do this without you," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Please, wake up. Please."

But the silence that followed was deafening, the finality of your death sinking into the hearts of everyone present. Kay moved around the table, gently covering your body with a blanket, her movements slow and reverent, as if any sudden action might shatter the fragile hold they all had on their emotions.

As the hours passed, the reality of the situation set in. Rain never left your side, her fingers still entwined with yours, her eyes red and swollen from crying. Andy remained close, his presence a silent vigil, his circuits whirring quietly in the background.

Bjorn and Tyler took turns keeping watch at the door, their usual banter replaced by a heavy silence. Navarro sat in a corner, her knees drawn to her chest, staring at the floor as she tried to process the loss.

Rain’s heart ached with a pain so deep it felt like it would consume her whole. But through her grief, she knew one thing with absolute certainty: you had saved her, sacrificed everything for her, and that knowledge, though it brought her no comfort, would be the anchor that kept her from completely drowning in her sorrow.

She leaned over, pressing one last kiss to your forehead, her tears mixing with the blood still staining your skin. "I’ll never forget you," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I’ll never stop loving you."

[buglism]

Any chance we can get a sfw alphabet for Vere from Touchstarved?

(I like to put characters who probably aren't familiar too with non-sexual intimacy into situations where they get to experience non-sexual intimacy lol)

SFW abcs (A-C) with Vere from touchstarved!

A/N: the ABCs for both SFW and NSFT (not featured in this work) are made by me! Please credit me if you use them! Also! I love vere, I love complex characters with gray or dark morals who have their moments of humanity so much <3 this can be read as either romantic or platonic!

Feel free to request the rest of the SFW alphabet, this was just super long as is! Lmk what you think <3

Warnings: canon typical CWs apply, vere being…vere. Possibly ooc as this is my interpretation based on the two routes I’ve played so far (need to do the last one), nongendered reader, ‘friends’ to friends to possible lovers implications, platonic intimacy with implications of possible romantic feelings, but keeping with the macabre theme of the game.

A = Affection (how do they show affection/ / prefer to receive affection?)

Give:

Vere shows his affection in blunt ways, threatening you, flirts, empty promises of truth hidden under his silken tongue. We all know and have experienced Veres light switch tendencies with MC so while threatening you initially was for fun, sick thrill of the hunt, after a while you notice a change, he hopes you don’t focus on the way he gifts you long sleeve gloves that fit unsettlingly well to your cursed black flesh (of course and very in fashion) as the sun rises on your birthday, he disappears into the small crowd starting that surrounds the alley near the wet wick before you can register what’s happening, eyes tired as you resist the urge to smile, maybe being awoken so early wasn’t so bad.

Or the way your cape, which has been frayed and torn in multiple spots, truly almost strings in a certain someone’s opinion, is suddenly replaced one day after a heavy night of drinks and laughs at the wet wick, you don’t remember losing your original cape.

Thinking through the fog and hangover you remember wearing it at the bar, chatting away with someone, and then suddenly you were being guided to your room; slightly (extremely) drunk. Your brows furrow as your covered hands rub the new cape, thick outer layer feels breathable and expensive fur lines the entire inside, a heavy thick wool coat a dark gray is soft to the touch and feels warm, the hood has a fabric mask that feels like satin and covers everything from your nose down.

As you fiddle with it, lost in thought, you find clasps; the inner fur can be removed for warmer weather. Suddenly as you swear your face grew warm you remembered the smell of..something sweet and spiced.. you shake your head, pain settles into your skull and you decide it best left for another time. You don’t question as you inspect the jacket (can never truly fully trust the damn man, with how black and white he seems to be at every turn) the way he, somehow or by choice, left his initials in pink thread on the inside of the heavy fabric, either.

Receive:

he adores gifts, but of course he does, less work and hassle for him to do and who can so no to free stuff? Banter and borderline threats as well, the way your eyes went pinprick when his teeth grazed your throat sent primal shivers down his spine, the night you met.

Sex? Of course, with not much else to do what’s a guy to do? He would probably be surprised (and depending on how close you are) slightly annoyed if you refused. He wouldn’t kill you, not now at least, but it would set him on edge, if you don’t want sex and you don’t want his money what else are you after?

But something he will never admit is quality time, pebbling and loyalty really sink their claws into his (hopefully not three times too small) heart.

The way you often join him at the bar despite his insistence he hates the alcohol, but booze is booze he says and you notice how his posture slowly sinks as the nought goes on, his ears; while still alert, no longer stand like daggers listening intently. It’s not the alcohol, at least you think, that makes him seem so … human in the wet wicks dim light, when he laughs and hiccups or nearly falls off the barstool (again.)

Or how he refuses to acknowledge the way his eyes watched your figure swim through the crowd before declining to his hand, where a bag of assorted flora and fauna was held. ‘I accidentally took too much’ you said, fighting back an awkward chuckle ‘I figured out of everyone you’d enjoy having some’ your voice lingered in his brain as his ear twitches in annoyance, trying to stuff the disgusting and .. human emotions building in his chest.

Maybe you do finally acknowledge it, in a way, one night and after way too many glasses of wine and champagne you’re one of the only one willing to walk him ‘home’. if you could call the tall spire with secrets buried under mystery and danger a home to anything.

He leans into your frame, and somehow you hold as he giggles drunkenly into your ear, eyes trained on your reaction with almost feverish intent. His lips meet your skin and for a moment you feel the familiar strike of fear down your spine, he almost looks like he’s ready to strike before he sighs deeply, something strange flutters through his eyes and he settles into your side. His hair uncharacteristically a mess and the collar softly clanked in the darkening sunlight and abandoned street, he’s lost in thought as you two walk.

Just as you made it to the bridge and further from lowtown you felt his breath on your ear as he stops walking, his hands resting on your hips, turning you to face him as he leans forward and presses his forehead into your shoulder, shocked and afraid you’re stiff in his hold before you hear faintly “if you ever betray me, I’ll fucking kill you.” and before you know it he’s walking up the bridge, seeming more sober than before, almost at his usual confidant stride.

You stand there for ages it seems, deciding however it’s better to retreat into familiar territory lest a soulless find you yet again, you walk home. A strange sense of trust and something new bubbling in your chest.

Should it be fear? Or something somehow darker?

B = Best Friend (how are they around people they are close with? How would you know?)

There’s evidence vere can become close with someone, or at least was able to, given how much he seems to know about Ais in a .. . Definitely normal way. As well as a few others. You’ll know when his advice becomes less and less harsh jabs with intent to kill with harsh realities and slowly he begins dripping ways he may be able to relate to you.

Example:

You: “kauras is driving me nuts-“ (his care and lack of seeming any leeway into becoming closer than arms length are overwhelmingly frustrating sometimes)

Vere: “. . . Have you been deaf the entire time? Or are you too stupid to comprehension any of what I’ve been telling you?”

To

You: “why are we walking in circles?” (You’d become overwhelmed inside the crowded bar, bloodhounds being loud was enough let alone how humid the damn place got)

Vere: “25 minutes.” (As smug as can be, looking for any sort of reaction out of you)

You: “what? . . “ (confused as ever, passing the wet wick for what seems like the fourth time)

Vere, slightly annoyed: “25 minutes it took for you to notice. Besides, it smelt like dog shit, figured you wouldn’t mind some fresh air away from. . That.” (That’s all, he tells himself, however truthfully Leander was annoying him with more of his ‘drinks’ and you were the only one within arms reach that wouldn’t annoy the fuck out of him.)

C = cuddles (how are they when physically affectionate? Are they at all?)

Vere when physical intimacy is involved it’s usually to get a reaction, or gain something in return. And who can blame him? He’s been property for as long as god knows. He’s learned his skill set for a reason, and in his own words ‘ I’m very good at what I do ’

That’s all, that’s all it would ever be. But again, he hopes you don’t notice his leniency for you. You push a lot of buttons, and sometimes you push them well. But in some fittingly dark way..

As a totally yk hypothetically made up situation:

you’re at the wet wick one night, at the bar talking (being annoyed by) Ais when vere arrives, instantly vere with a confident stride heads to the bar. And let’s say some time later, and several drinking games, you’re shitfaced. But, the wet wick is slightly tamer now, the crowed settling for the evening once again. You and vere sit in a booth (having moved away from the bar at vere’s request when Leander wanted him to try a new shot called ‘the guzzler’ that had pink chunks of . . Something in it.) and the silence is enjoyable, vere is mid sip of his glass when he feels you suddenly lean into his side. At the contact he stiffens for a moment, observing you as you cuddle into him for warmth. Somehow, seeming to have lost your cape.

Something in his brain struggles for a moment, here he has the perfect opening to see what’s underneath your bandages, to figure out what the fucking fuss is about.

But another part speaks a little louder he finds, despite how tight his clenched jaw is as he chugs the rest of his wine and thinks about asking for another bottle.

As you settle against him he sighs, lifts you up slightly and encourages you to lean on him. Seeing this as an ample moment for more heat to your somehow cold body you wrap your arms around his midsection, even in this state careful not to disrupt your coverings, no longer bandages, but gloves. You sigh with a giggle as he grabs something, possibly his own jacket off the back of the booth as you leave, heading back to your loggings in the wet wick.

He doesn’t say anything, neither do you, but you notice he stands closer now, and once; when a little tipsy you leaned against him, and despite realizing and trying to move he leans into the touch.

It’s a mutual agreement then, more a challenge.

How far are you both willing to let the other go?

[thankskenpenders]

IDW's Fang the Hunter miniseries! All four issues are out now! I don't have as much to say about it as I did with the Knuckles show, but I do have some thoughts.

So! This is a pretty fun miniseries. I liked it.

It's fun to see Ian get to write a four-issue arc starring the Hooligans, his precious boys, with a B-plot showing Sonic and Tails' perspective on this little adventure. As always, Ian captures the characters' voices well. In particular, I really liked Bean in this, who despite being a slapstick screwball is actually a pretty perceptive guy. He often acts as sort of a voice of reason for Fang, seeing right through his sweet talking and pointing out how badly all of their schemes go but sticking around nonetheless just for funsies. And the art (illustrated this time by Mauro Fonseca for the first issue and Thomas Rothlisberger for the rest) is as good as we've come to expect from IDW's Classic Sonic output. Overall, this is a fun little romp that captures the vibes of the Classic era very well.

...But...

Well, as I've said before with the Amy and Tails anniversary specials, I feel like we're kind of seeing diminishing returns with these Classic spinoffs. They're fun, sure, and very nice to look at, but their writing always leave me wanting more.

A big part of this is just that there's just less to work with compared to the Modern universe. The Classic cast is much smaller, and within that cast there are a bunch of characters currently going unused, some of which are currently off-limits. Aside from the appearance of the Witchcarters in Tails' special, we've pretty much just stuck with the cast of Sonic Mania and the Hooligans, as established in the first special. No Chaotix, no Battle Bird Armada, barely any Honey. (Classic Vector was able to get a tiny cameo in the Amy special only because he was so obscured that it gave the IDW team plausible deniability to say it was actually a different character if Sega complained.) It's a very small box, and Ian's recent Classic comics haven't particularly expanded the boundaries of that box. They're just excuses to play the hits for old times' sake. And that was a lot of fun the first time around, but the novelty is starting to wear off for me.

I will admit, sure, the tighter focus on a specific set of characters from the games is a big part of the appeal of these Classic comics. They're simpler. They're nostalgic. They're shining the spotlight on characters that can't be used in the main series. They're the slavishly faithful old school Sonic comics that we could never get in the '90s, because the comics we did get diverged into their own continuities with tons of new characters. I get all that.

But the thing is, the Sonic comics have always added all those new characters because you can just do so much more with them. The game cast is great! But they're corporate mascots Sega keeps on a tight leash. You can do so much with a character like Sally or Surge that you could never do with any of the game characters, and by pushing into new territory with these new characters you can also bring out interesting new sides of the game cast. Maybe Sonic himself can't have some crazy complex character arc, but you can see how he'll respond to the things going on with these other characters, and how these other characters' arcs are informed by their relationships with Sonic.

So I look at the Fang miniseries, and I'm like. This was pretty fun. But by the end, what was the point of the story? What did we learn about the Hooligans as characters that we didn't already know? Is the point just to depict an adventure where things go off the rails a little and Bean and Bark end up a little miffed, explaining why they weren't with Fang in Superstars? There's potential for an arc there about the dissolution of the group, but it really does come off more as the type of spat these three probably get into all the time before coming back together for the next job. It's neither super dramatic nor super funny, feeling more like it ends on a fairly matter-of-fact note where Fang's like "welp, time to go do the events of Sonic Superstars" at the end, not particularly plussed by anything that happened in this arc. What we're left with is four issues of the Hooligans encountering recognizable characters and visiting recognizable locations from the Classic games, with little that really feels new or fresh here.

Ironically, the most interesting story element to me here (aside from Bean's characterization) is its tie to the main comics, something previous specials couldn't do since Sega had yet to reunify the Classic and Modern timelines. The plot of this comic revolves around Fang following the myth of the "eighth Chaos Emerald," riffing on both old playground rumors and Sonic the Fighters. What they actually end up finding isn't an extra Emerald, but rather the Warp Topaz that would eventually end up in Starline's possession in the Modern era, having apparently been found by the Hard-Boiled Heavies in the cave seen in the 900th Adventure special.

That's kinda neat, and the abilities of the Warp Topaz are used in fun ways. But this isn't exactly something to write home about for people who aren't lore nerds like me. There isn't a particularly meaningful connection between Fang and Starline's arcs here due to the presence of the Warp Topaz, it's just a thing for the wiki. Again, Ian's in his connect the dots mode a little more than I'd like here.

(...So wait, if Starline didn't find the Warp Topaz himself, did he track down the cave where the Heavies found it to leave that "greatness began here" graffiti? Eh, I guess that sounds like something he'd do. He's known for nothing if not his obsessiveness.)

So, again. This was a pretty good miniseries. This all makes it sound like I hated it, but I did like it overall. I particularly liked seeing the Hooligans fight the Hard-Boiled Heavies. But it leaves me feeling less fulfilled than something like Scrapnik Island or Tangle & Whisper or Imposter Syndrome. I get that, by the very definition of the word, Classic Sonic is always going to remain trapped in amber to some extent. This isn't the version of the franchise that's supposed to grow and change. That's what Modern Sonic does. Classic Sonic will always be trapped in the early '90s. I'm not asking for them to add a dozen new characters with complex dramatic arcs to the Classic comics, since that's not what Classic Sonic is about. But I think the other Classic Sonic stories not written by Ian - i.e. the driving school story by the McElroys and the two stories about Amy by Gale Galligan - show that you can tell fresh new Classic Sonic stories that aren't just about remixing the hits from the games.

If we're going to continue getting Classic Sonic comics from Ian (and I hope we do!), then I just hope he's able to find a better balance between familiar and new ideas, like he and Evan do so consistently with their Modern Sonic output.

[thesunshinecourts]

five curiosities for the next book, after reading the sunshine court

a non-exhaustive list, but five things i'm curious to (hopefully) find out more about in TSC2, or that i have questions about still:

what happened at the trojans' fall banquet (presumably jeremy's first year)? it's a Scandal, and jeremy cannot stand to be around bryson, and annalise has never forgiven him for sticking with exy after that, despite having attended all his games in high school. given the allusions to his stepfather, and also his step-grandfather being a congressman, i can see how jeremy's sexuality might be relevant to the situation—especially if we read into lucas' stiff apology and shame at his implication about jeremy and jean as being born from more than just common decency, but rather knowledge of this being a previous sticking point in terms of jeremy's scandals—but i also keep thinking about what cat said. jeremy has—three. two brothers, one sister. the way she says it, how it sticks out to jean as an odd switch, and the fact that we've only met two siblings – it makes me wonder what happened to the third. or if that's even the right question to ask, regarding jeremy's siblings.

elodie. i'm curious if we learn anything about what happened—by and large, i kinda hope not, if only because then jean has to too, unless it turns out stuart is lying, but that's a very different kind of fallout. (i don't actively theorise he is—at some point, these kids will run out of tolerance for ghost stories coming back to life—but i think its possibility ought to be considered, at least). i think we'll get more flashes of her from jean's thoughts, though, and i anticipate lots of heartbreak lmao

lucas. assuming stuart's contact comes through, and neil's hit goes ahead, we've got lucas in the aftermath of finding out his brother is a monster, and jean saying not to call the police, and then possibly his brother being dead. if it happens any other day—if it happens in west virginia, especially—i suspect lucas might be able to look at it like another domino in the ravens machine falling down, or even that something horrible happened to him when he returned home, but if it's still in LA, after what he did to jean, after jean said no cops-------i can see how that might twist into something more suspicious. who knows! i'm curious to see what happens there. grayson is a monster, but he is still lucas' brother. aaron and kevin still have complicated grief about tilda and riko, and they were their direct, constant abusers; cass never learned until after the fact, and lucas is in a complex space between the two parts of that spectrum. if grayson dies, i think the fallout will be unavoidable for exploration

this is a small one but man, i just want to keep seeing jean's list grow. it tears something out of me every time, and stitches me back together, and i want to go through that over and over, because i want to see a jean who not only hears that his life is his and worth living, but a jean who learns to believe it too

i'm just kinda assuming we see the foxes again, because i remember nora's character list having new details about characters who didn't show up in this one, but i'm also quietly hoping for more thea. their scene made me ache, and he'd never had good defenses against thea, and kevin knew that. jean would kill him for bringing her here made my heart do the !! double-tap. i'm extremely invested in jean, thea and kevin as a unit, and it would be so incredibly wonderful to see more

[diamondwerewolf]

A Quick Chat About AZ

Which won't be quick at all.

I've talked for a little about coming to understand Lysandre, and now I'd like to talk about AZ, who is still somewhat of a mystery to me. We know of his backstory, but what I'm missing is what defines his personality. We don't speak with him enough in game to know it, so I had to do some digging around so I can form some assumptions. Most of this post will be me using Canon and Non-Canon [But still official] sources to get a grasp on what kind of man AZ is, just in case we don't get more information about him in Legends ZA.

-I want to know what he's like, because I want to make more artwork with him. ^^'-

Before I get into what I've found, I want to first talk about a character who I think is clearly defined, by his sheer simplicity. That's right,

It's Larry.

Larry, for example, has very clear likes and dislikes. He's an overworked, professional, brooding, middle aged man, who has respect for rules and simplicity. He dresses plainly, and uses relatively ordinary or normal type pokemon. He's vocal and assertive of his preferred lifestyle, to the point of stubbornness [ of which is only thwarted by his desire for his paycheck]. He also loves food and the pursuit of an extraordinary meal. Despite his introvert-like demeanor, he's shown to be friendly, deeply contemplative, and hiding a quirky, dad joke-like sense of humor.

With all of this, I can extrapolate what kind of decisions Larry would make if I were to put him in a new non-canonical situation. And, I can also define where I'd like to bend or add on to his personality in my own form of fandom play.

--

Now, back to the main topic. All of this to digest with a grain of salt. I also apologize in advance if I hop around a little between sources.

AZ, I can only assume is underutilized because of his grand age. 3,000 years old, means 3,000 years of knowledge or a direct eye witness of history. He wondered in search of his best friend, gradually witnessing the world transition from ancient to modern. Chances are, he can answer regional mysteries that gamefreak wouldn't want to touch upon. So, he's here one moment, and then gone the next after serving his key purpose in the game narrative.

Which brings me to all of the other official items I looked into and some thoughts on his intelligence. I watched his appearance in the Pokemon Generations Episode 18: The Redemption. [ no one asked but i think i prefer the japanese voice much more ] And I also was given a data bank to look through Pokemon XY game script.

AZ build the ultimate weapon. Though, if he had any assistance with it, it's unspecified. IF I RECALL CORRECTLY, in the recent XY development leaks, Sycamore, Lysandre, and AZ were all the same character, before the role was properly divided into three. Still, I'm under the impression, that AZ wasn't just a king, but a well respected researcher.

There’s research material on the bookshelf [In Lysandre Labs] “The king was proud of the technology he had used to bring Kalos prosperity, but he couldn’t help but use it in a way that had never been intended... AZ, the man who was king, disappeared.”

I think, AZ being keenly intelligent, is an easy assertion to make. He could build and operate complicated machinery, and probably still can. There are even more side notes I can make about his more complex understanding of pokemon. I don't think I have the clarity of mind to pull out even more examples, so I'll use just this one:

AZ does have a Golurk of unspecified age on his small team. I wonder...is it possible he built his Golurk himself? There are many pokadex entries stating the creation of, and ancient use of pokemon in these old cities. AZ appears to understand the infinite energy that dwells within pokemon well enough to contribute to the society he ruled over. I don't think 'artificial' pokemon construction is beyond his understanding, if he knew well enough that he could bring one back to life.

---

Moving along.

After building the weapon to revive his friend:

"...his rage still had not subsided."

I absolutely love this flashback sequence. I love how they portrayed the rawness of AZ's emotions. The unnerving look in his eye as his horrific choice forms. You get the sense that he truly did just...snap.

Which Makes Me Wonder: How tethered is AZ to his emotions? Is he like Lysandre, who appears to allow himself to freely feel his own anger and frustration, letting it drive him to obssession. Does he have a slight sense of entitlement, too? Entitled to take the world's problems and other lives in his hands. If so, did he leave that wicked part of himself behind?

AZ is royalty. He's a former -literal- king during a time of war, unlike Lysandre who's a more metaphorical king during a time of general peace. That may be an excuse for him easily taking on, beyond important, harrowing decisions. I wonder if this was the most difficult point in his reign. That aside, AZ doesn't seem to be concerned with that title living in modern day.

He doesn't demand that he should be treated like his former title. I'm going to make another assumption that he has let that go a long time ago. He struggles with being forgiven, maybe even struggles with caring about himself. He's traded his old royal regalia, a robe, golden arm cuffs, and golden neck piece, for old, worn, patchy clothes. He doesn't care about his royalty, or his clothes, and AZ never makes any mention that I can remember about his own height.

None of it appears to matter to him. Only "where is she?"

---

Speaking of.

AZ's ability to hold on to hope is...something.

When yeh know for certain sure yeh ain’t never gonna meet again... Well, yeh can give in and accept it. But if yeh think there might be a chance, and yeh wander the world for 3,000 years tortured by that flicker of hope... I tell yeh, sprout. I couldn’t have stood it.

I don't think I could have stood it either. To not give up on his Floette for 3,000 years, to muscle through that torture until finally you meet again. What would you call the kind of 'grit' that would make you endure something like this? In the XY manga, he's plagued by nightmares of his past. He described his ordeal officially in the game as 'endless suffering'. Is it a certain kind of stubbornness? A kind of unconditional love? I'm not sure... AZ, in another one of my opinions, has got to be one of the series' most strong willed characters. You can't survive 3,000 years with weak resolve. He can't die of old age, but..well...

...

Despite the horrors he's capable of, he's got a gentle quality to him. I like the contrast, between a giant and a pokemon so delicate and tiny. I'm sure the juxtaposition of AZ and his Floette is purposeful, and in itself helps inform of his character.

This is from the Pokemon Adventure XY Manga, and isn't canonical, but...look at him. I found him greeting Trevor's Flabebe so sweet. He's respectful to the children also, and doesn't belittle them in the slightest.

His smile. He calls her beautiful, and she is! He has some stony expressions, but also some very softened ones in Anime, Game, and Manga. He hasn't lost his ability to smile after all this time. Which is nice...

OOF, I've been writing this for a long while, so I'll wrap things up. I can't trust myself to write a comprehensive summary, like Larry, at this time, but I hope to have one later. Again, I'm hoping Legends ZA will provide more before I start my true 'blorbo madness'.

Here are all of my assumptions in a list AZ is:

Extraordinarily Intelligent, capable of making and operating dangerous technology. I believe he wasn't just a King, but a contributing engineer/ researcher.

Deeply emotional, allowing himself to openly cry, feel anger, and sorrow. Despite his intelligence, his emotions can cloud his judgement. THOUGH, he may have much more emotional maturity now. [ i find it interesting both he and lysandre are allowed to shed tears ]

Strong of will, or is a person of unwavering conviction.

Stern, somewhat of a languisher, but gentle.

That's all I have for now. Let me know if anyone else has thoughts!

[yesbothways]

Any decent reads floating around where the Arcane creators themselves talk about their ideas for Caitlyn's story arc? Some of these reads here on tumblr are missing most of what happened, maybe on purpose, maybe not. I thought it was pretty clear that in season 1, Caitlyn was a class traitor and also Vi's OTP. She breaks the law to continue to investigate and uncover the corruption of Silco and Marcus and to let Vi out of prison, risks her life while sustaining injuries yet endures on, brings Vi and speaks before the Council in a way (along with Jayce and some other players aligning with her) that leads to the vote for Zaun's independence. There are multiple moments where we see Vi look at her in genuine surprise, and I think it's clear that solidarity and vision is why Vi is falling in love with her. The show is primarily interested in complexity and how small characters are compared with what's happening, especially cycles of violence. So there was about zero chance that Caitlyn's story would go that one way the entire time. The way they carefully crafted the set up of Caitlyn's mom voting for Zaun's independence at the moment of being murdered by Jinx, Caitlyn talking to Jayce about trying to integrate the complexity and loss of what happened and hold on to her core ethic, her fixating on her chance to have prevented her mother's murder with a little more willingness to use force and violence with her confessing to her grieving father, "I had the shot," and repeating to Vi, "I had the shot, and you stopped me," and the way she snapped when Vi compared her to her mother's murderer all maintained the integrity of her character for me while pushing her past an extreme. Which is what this show does to characters.

And I thought how young and naive she was in season 1 despite being intensely perceptive set us up to see how without her alliance with Vi she would reasonably get played by someone brilliant and experienced like Ambessa in collusion with people like Maddie who present a facade of something she believes in. Caitlyn's power suddenly rises when she inherits her suddenly lost mother's power, and she essentially stands in the hole Marcus left as the only person who knows what's going on who isn't also a part of it. Ambessa then drastically accelerates that consolidation of power around her by getting the city leaders to collectively declare martial law and appointing her the commander. Caitlyn's character was set up to reject that foray into unchecked use of power, and the theme that it's love that causes the sort of confusion she had during that whole era gets laid out in words as a theme in the show.

They also had Vi say openly to Cait that she would do anything to bring her mother back if she could, and when Cait then got the completely unprecedented chance to bring Vi's father back, she completely flipped and tried as hard as she could to help make that happen. She nearly dies multiple times for those choices, not even going into all the details they put into the final duel with Ambessa. She even says aloud to Jinx, "In hating you, I've hated myself," and then lets Vi let Jinx completely free before the final battle. Caitlyn is a game-changing character, because of the choices she makes. And I think she makes sense as an OTP for Vi specifically. That's even with the pivot to seeing how wrong it could go instead in S2 during the time when Caitlyn starts making the choices people with power tend to make. I feel like it's a real thing that right now some people just cannot do both the lived experiences with the realities of police violence and rise of fascism in the USA and themes in a fantasy show that evoke those. And that is honestly totally fair to me. But I'm seeing folks saying that Caitlyn and Vi going down with the strike team and destroying shimmer while fighting the gangs that were fighting each other for Silco's organized crime operation was Caitlyn ruining Vi's character. Vi was literally going to go do that by herself and probably die, and the Enforcers before Caitlyn got involved were definitely not going to do any of that. They have a shared mission and vision, and that is the crazy, unprecedented thing their love forms around. I think all of the stuff that happens is extremely complex on purpose. I have never loved villains more than I did Silco and Jinx. And Viktor. My God, Viktor. Seeing Zaun thriving in a world without hextech while in our main world also seeing how Jayce responded to causing the death of one boy and how Viktor reacted to the death of Skye when they are essentially responsible for a drastic deepening of inequality and crimes against humanity was a total mind-trip. At one point, Viktor's human face split in half and another non-human face emerged... like I genuinely don't know if it is actually possible for this show to be more complex. And I do think Caitlyn and the love story between Caitlyn and Vi is as rich and complex as anything else, and it really works for me on those terms.

[amerricanartwork]

Hi! I just wondered if you've played Hollow Knight based off how much you like Rain World. I'd be interested in any thoughts you had on it. :)

Thanks for the ask! No, I have not yet played Hollow Knight, BUT my interest in the game has been piqued! However I still have to see if the gameplay itself seems up my alley, or get invested enough in the characters that I want to discover more than I've already found out (and I have spoiled quite a lot for myself) before I actually decide to buy the game.

Regardless, from what I do know it does seem like an interesting story, albeit one far more tragic than Rain World's in my opinion. The characters I've seen are also pretty cool, both in design and personality. In fact, it was some ship fanart I found a few weeks ago that got me interested in diving deeper into the game once I realized it was where the featured characters were from, especially since one of the characters I had remembered hearing about before.

Here's a little sketch of some characters I was thinking about and whom I've been meaning to draw for a bit! Hornet because she's very Shaped™, Quirrel because from what I've seen he's quite wholesome, and Tiso because he was the first character I heard about and I think he's kinda silly!

Also, some more comparing/contrasting thoughts about the game below:

Firstly, I like how the premise of Kollow Knight involves anthropomorphic insects! It's something I never realized until recently despite being aware of HK for at least a few years, but I usually tend to take interest in stories starring non-humanoid creatures, so it's a plus! I also enjoy the more gothic/Victorian-looking magical high fantasy aesthetic, though it's pretty different from Rain World, which I'd consider far more sci-fi and specbio-esque in its aesthetic.

Now to get into themes, so far Hollow Knight seems to share Rain World's theme of lost/dead civilizations, which is also a very interesting premise to me! However, HK seems to have a greater focus on interacting with the people of its dying civilization and as such you get far more definitive knowledge about what happened to cause it to collapse. The player character seems to take on more of a classic epic hero role, because from what I've heard about the lore and endings, they end up directly influencing the fate of Hallownest, even potentially destroying or defeating the force that caused its ruin. The visuals have this very dark, cool tint overall to sell that gloomy, mournful vibe, and the structures, while presumably old, are still mostly smooth, ornate, and not super deteriorated, with these castle or manor-like appearances more similar to real-life buildings or things in other high fantasy works. Then, the orchestral music I've heard alongside all of these elements really creates this impression in me that it's aesthetic and overall concept is more akin to a high fantasy epic tale, albeit a rather tragic one.

Meanwhile, Rain World seem to have the player take more of an anthropologist role, observing and trying to piece together the story of vast remnants of its dead civilization, which seem alien and impossibly complex because so much of the history they're from has been lost to time. One of the core themes is being very small compared to these long abandoned structures, to really sell the idea that this history is so much older and more intricate than you'll ever know. The colors of Rain World are often warmer, which can be associated with old things, and the structures are far more weathered and broken down, with the only living survivors of the people who made them being the iterators, whom we only get to hear directly from two of. Combined with the focus on simulating an ecosystem, the more directly religious ideas within, the themes of natural cycles and an entire civilization evolving, changing, and ultimately disappearing over deep time, and the overall alien, sci-fi industrial designs of the architexture and strange creature designs that look like things out of "Of Rust and Humus" or some other alien speculative biology worldbuilding project make RW fit well in with that genre of fiction in my opinion.

Sorry if I seem like I kinda took a sudden shift there, but I wanted to talk about this contrast in artistic aesthetics and story genres for a moment because the "lasting impression" an art piece creates something I've recently concluded is pretty important overall in works of art, at least for mine!

But anyway, I hope these thoughts were satisfying for now! Thanks again for the ask!

[nthspecialll]

Going to ramble a little bit here and I’m curious to hear your thoughts. Bill is one of my favourite characters in rdr2, which is a statement people often validly criticise because of Bill’s racism, aggression, general bigotry, and of course the monster he grows into in rdr1. But to me Bill is such a heartbreaking character because I truly believe he could have been so easily swayed down a better path if someone had have just tried to help him.

Bill was a very insecure and repressed man and throughout the entirety of the second game he is constantly seeking appraisal from the gang, you see it in the random camp interaction where he makes a show of bringing fish to Pearson, desperate for any kind of acknowledgment for his hard work and he only gets a small thank you from Pearson and Arthur in return. You see it in the sentiment that Bill repeats a few times when talking about his jealousy of Arthur, how he feels like he’s not allowed to make the same mistakes Arthur would be given a slap on the wrist for. You see it when he asks Kieran to have drink with him and then becomes upset and defensive when his genuine vulnerable attempt at connection is rejected.

A lot of people can’t see past Bill’s racism, which is fair, but I also see it as another really tragic and realistic part of his character. In his racist interactions with Charles, Lenny and Javier I think he’s acting out for attention because he doesn’t know any other way to get it and I don’t believe he actually holds real hatred for any of them because of their race, I think Bill deeply loves and respects them as his brothers despite his mistreatment of them. I see this as different to someone like Micah who is just genuinely hateful in his black little heart. Bill was taken into the army as a young man and spoon fed racist rhetoric by the people he respected and looked up to, his superiors, his brothers in arms. They’d share boogeyman stories about how bloodthirsty the natives were and fill his impressionable mind hatred, and then he had all those racist horror stories reaffirmed when they’d send him out to watch the men he considered brothers be slaughtered in battle by said boogeymen. I think it’s clear Bill has PTSD from his army days which warps the way he sees the world around him, I think Dutch (despite the can of worms that is his own racism) says it best when he says “I don’t doubt you saw things Bill but your tiny little mind was too small to comprehend what you saw. What you saw was people who lost everything to savagery.” I believe that Dutch especially, considering the idol he is to Bill, had the opportunity to educate him and help him be a kinder man and yet he chose not to despite his Evelyn Miller fuelled white-saviour-complex. Bill’s trauma obviously doesn’t excuse any of his actions, but I think it is evidence that he had the capacity to learn and be helped if someone had just believed in his intelligence enough to try.

Also lastly a big part of Bill’s insecurity can be attributed to his repressed sexuality, people talk about it a lot so I won’t say much but the part of it that hurts me the most is that Bill lost EVERYTHING for being gay. When he was discharged from the army he lost his job, his home, his food, his friends and his dignity. He was left homeless on the streets, turning to alcohol and becoming the man his father was, and robbing people just to get by. Dutch saved him and became his messiah, he gave him purpose again and then intentionally left him uneducated and pining for his approval to use him as a tool the same way the army did. Taking advantage of all the good parts of Bill Williamson and leaving them to rot and fester under the filth.

What are your thoughts on how Bill was treated and what could have changed for him had he been treated differently? RIP Bill Williamson I could have taken better care of you <3

Well you touched on a lot of subjects that I have already touched on in my other Bill posts, so I guess I won't need to go into background details LMFAO.

Bill was treated like a fool by everyone for every small mistake he has every made no matter how small it is, because most are small, and he is also blamed for things that aren't really his fault, like Sean's death. He is pretty much that one person you use as the butt of a joke, and a lot of characters don't really give him a fair chance.

John actually seems to be his best friend though, they are both kind of labeled as lazy, they are both drunks and they both know it is a problem. The issue is that John is given a lot more freedoms than Bill is and that leads to him becoming very jealous very easily, John to some extent seems to notice it but it doesn't seem to bother him.

Bill really seems to like Lenny, taking him out to drink and out to rob and calling him his son, however Lenny doesn't really seem to be that enthusiastic. It seems that Lenny goes with Bill when Bill asks, but he doesn't seem to be the one to take initiative to do something with him.

Now Hosea, he is absolutely not giving Bill a fair chance, he is going after him constantly and literally setting Bill up for failure. Hosea really seems to be using his senority against Bill and being a dick to him. Micah does the same, except he seems to hide it a little better because he feels they are on the same side.

Dutch is treating Bill like he is a child and a fool, even thoguh everything Bill does it to please Dutch.

As for what could have changed, I think a lot, like a lot. Steve said that if just someone had told Bill "hey we appriciate you" he would have sided with Arthur, and that is a massive thing because it means betraying Dutch whom he is otherwise so loyal to. So I think you can change pretty much anything about Bill if you just treat him nicely, it might take some time and a few reminders, but yeah his racism, his sour comments, his drinking could likely be changed if just effort was put into it, if someone encouraged him and stood by him.

[ilikekidsshows]

I know you’re more of an “Adrien centered” criticism/defense blog but I am curious about your opinion on this.

What is your opinion on the “Chloe deserves/doesn’t deserve redemption” situation or the “Chloe wasn’t meant to be redeemed and there for what happened to her is fair game” stance?

---

My thoughts on the Chloé situation are kinda complex. Back when the show only had three seasons, I did think Chloé’s character trajectory made sense. Sure, she’d saved people when she was acting as Queen Bee, but she still treated her classmates the same. In fact, she started treating Sabrina worse than before because she considered being anything other than Queen Bee hanging out with Ladybug was slumming it. For me, it really was a 50/50 on whether or not Chloé would be redeemed or fall into actual villainy.

Because, here’s how I saw it: I didn’t think Chloé was an actual villain-villain in seasons 1-3. She was Marinette’s school nemesis and a decidedly defanged one. Marinette was scared of her exactly once, in Origins, a flashback episode meant to showcase how much more confident being Ladybug has made Marinette that she views Chloé as small potatoes. The season 3 finale could have been the culmination of an arc where Marinette accidentally causes Chloé to become a villain and ally herself with Hawk Moth in the future.

And it would have been caused by Marinette, even if unintentionally. It would have shown how good intentions can have unforeseen consequences, especially when you don’t know what you’re helping someone with or what they want before you do so. Marinette doesn’t really understand what she’s trying to help people with whenever she does try to be helpful, because she assumes what they want and need instead of asking and listening (like in Reflekdoll, the latter part of Ikari Gozen and Quilt Trip). Many heroes create their own villains this way, and Marinette could have done so as well since she was the one to strengthen Chloé’s bond with the person who taught her to be an entitled bully and then she dragged her feet on whether or not she could use the Bee Miraculous.

The season 3 finale shows Chloé brought to a new low. The following New York Special gives us a glimpse of a Chloé who is withdrawn, like she’s reconsidering her life. This could have led to Chloé deciding that she would have revenge on Ladybug for leading her on and then dumping her (as a teammate). But, it could have also have led to Chloé realizing that, while Ladybug wasn’t her friend, Sabrina was, and she pushed the latter away in pursuit of being the Bee Miraculous holder. Chloé could have gained new insight that would have led her to start working on how she treats those closest to her, finally starting to treat her schoolmates with decency and, maybe, with time, kindness.

Then season 4 came along and all that foreshadowed introspection was dumped out the window in favor of having Chloé do cartoonishly stupid school antagonist character things. In season 4, where this kind of hijinks are so incredibly low-stakes that it’s both laughable to see, and laughable to realize the writers think this is good television.

I think the writers realized this too, because then comes season 5 with the retcon that, actually, Chloé is an evil mastermind who is so heinous that she orchestrated a traumatic event that led to Marintette’s character flaws and therefore Marinette should be forgiven for her flaws and Chloé blamed for them. Never mind the damage this episode does to Kim’s character, turning him from an oblivious to jock to a total creep, it also tries to convince us that Chloé is this big threat despite that it happened at least a year ago in-universe and that she had never done anything even close to this bad since. It just makes no sense when contrasting with the early seasons, where Marinette treats Kim as just one classmate among many and Chloé as a low-threat nuisance.

The problem was that they decided that they didn’t want Marinette to hold any responsibility for anything she does anymore. This is why they wrote the episode ‘Derision’, to absolve Marinette of all responsibility in her stalking of Adrien, even though them making it a serious trauma response instead of a cartoon-logic joke means that now she absolutely should take responsibility for her behavior and get therapy. Because they wanted to give Marinette a retroactive justification, the episode just doesn’t mesh with the rest of the show. But, like, the writing in Miraculous seasons 4-5 is so bad it’s of course never just about a single episode, it’s all about how the Miraculous writers don’t know how to build up arcs that then come to a logical conclusion, which is why all their story arcs’ endings fall flat and leave viewers thinking “where’s the rest of it?” when they’re not considered one of the worst finales for a show.

Basically, making Chloé a villain could have worked, but it would have required her getting built up into such a status. The Chloé of seasons 1-3 isn’t a monster, she’s a brat. But the writers didn’t want to do that work despite wanting that story, thinking some repetitive episodes of Chloé being a brat some more will accomplish the same thing. So, Chloé just keeps performing petty bullying until the writers think the viewers forgot that she’s like this because of her mother, who Marinette reunited her with, all the while pretending the woman who calls her by the wrong name to her face on purpose has done nothing wrong as a parent other than “leave”, before she randomly turns on Miss Bustier and starts working with Hawk Moth for supposedly no reason in Collusion.

And, like, the thing that really grinds my gears is that it worked. So many people forgot that Chloé’s bullying was modeled to her by her mother, who Marinette reunited her with. Marinette repeatedly tries to fix abused kids’ relationships to their parents with no regard for how that could harm them in the long run (Adrien, Chloé and Kagami). It’s a pattern, but the show thinks Marinette’s missteps shouldn’t be pointed out because she “had good intentions” when her intentions in the instances of The Bubbler, Style Queen and Ikari Gozen were nothing more than: “Well, my parents are great, so these kids are obviously safe with the parents I just saw make them miserable!” The accusing finger for Chloé’s behavior should be pointed at Audrey. Marinette being “triumphant” over Chloé because Chloé is now stuck with the abuser who made her is already iffy without the added grossness of Marinette being the one who reunited them in the first place.

[canvas-the-florist]

The Imitation Game

Ship(s): Analogical

Warnings: Major Character Death and Undeath, body horror, blood and injury, unreliable narrator, misunderstandings, and morally ambiguous Emile Picani

Summary: This is a Big Bang fic hosted by @tss-storytime. After the consequences of someone else’s actions, Logan finds himself moving into a new apartment to lie low. Despite knowing nothing about what happened, or what’s supposed to happen next, Logan complies. That is, until he begins to make new friends and new discoveries about who he is. And who he was supposed to be. Meanwhile Virgil is convinced that Patton's new neighbor is absolutely a murderer. And will do anything to prove it. If you like this fic, I'm going to be posting the rest of the story on ao3. Here's the link.

Art was done by @tastic-in-its-finest and you can find it here!

Word Count: (for this chapter) 3k

Chapter One - Lungs

The first feeling, or experience rather, Logan has is unbridled anguish. He doesn’t remember much of it. His body gives him a sharp spike of electricity when he moves his neck, clearly as a result of what occurred. The shaking of their palms when they were made to look someone in the eyes. A fear he couldn’t place the origin of. Logan’s body felt wrong to exist in. It felt wrong to be there at all. His body feels as if it was dismantled and reattached slightly differently. Functional, but not the same. Logan had begun adjusting to the changes far quicker than his muscle memory could. It hurt to stand too long, a pain coming from his spine would trail its way to his legs, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it. Logan was reminded of this fact when one of their knees locked, and he forced himself to fall to the side so he could catch himself. His entire weight supported by one leg and his hands on the edges of the kitchen counter. Logan slowly led himself to sit on his couch, easing himself into a lying position. He took a slow, deep breath.

Breathing is a difficult sensation to get used to. It’s supposed to be constant, quiet, and easy. And yet it’s so integral to survival. Especially for a being with lungs. You have to breathe in oxygen, and out carbon dioxide. A consistent transfer of elements with your body holding the key to change. If you hold your breath, the carbon dioxide holds a heavy space in your lungs, poisoning the rest of your organs. If you breathe too quickly, risk tiring yourself out, and accomplishing nothing by speeding up the endless repetition. Both can lead to fainting or passing out. What a fickle way to live, to survive. 

So imagine Logan’s surprise that everyone around him could do this without thinking. This was normal. And he was not. Now was their chance to be just like the others, with working lungs, a working body, and a working heart. It wasn’t pleasant to feel constant changes within himself in a manner he couldn’t control. Nothing could truly be perfectly measured or predicted or controlled. Logan pressed his left thumb pad against his right index finger, cradling the right hand softly, and felt the small ridges of fingerprints conflict with their paths next to each other. This was one of the new sensations they didn’t mind. He did this while reminding himself to breathe, concerned that his judgment would lapse and he would simply die too early on in his existence. Logan thought about feeling, and if he had enough time to get used to the stimulus he didn’t used to have access to. A sudden flash of pain went past his neck, causing him to suddenly tilt his head to the left. He exhaled loudly, with a shudder, to keep his composure. Logan didn’t know a lot about social conventions but screaming every time he felt an ounce of discomfort definitely did not fit that criteria. However, he was new to the apartment complex, so perhaps that was actually acceptable and he would have to discover that later. 

Logan wanted to get this all under control within the next ten minutes, though he wasn’t accurately able to tell how long he had been laying down when the static that seemed to follow him blocked his vision. Breathing was still difficult. Still present. A reminder that they were failing their objective already. That this wasn’t going to plan. He was going to die on day one. Despite the severity of everything Logan felt (he FELT things now), he wasn’t allowed to give up. That was explicitly against the rules. 

With the overpowered conviction of doing what he was told, Logan laid on the couch silently. A pain in his lungs, a throbbing in his head. Well, technically the pain was coming from his nerves sending signals to his… brain. Logan frowned, almost pulled from the sensation of his lungs being crushed by a hydraulic press by the reminder. His brain. Logan still didn’t fully understand how he worked, even if he knew the components that made him up. They desperately wanted to. Just to know. Logan enjoyed learning. He didn’t know a lot about himself, but he knew that. Logan wanted to learn.

He pressed the palms of his hands against his closed eyes, somehow that specific type of pressure alleviated the pain. There was a knock on his door after a few minutes. It was his first day living in this apartment. Logan was told to expect greetings from neighbors, in some regard. But this felt overwhelming still. 

Logan ignored them.

The next day was filled with duller pain, but still ever present. His neck creaked loudly as he tilted his head from side to side. Logan had to leave the apartment today. This was something he always knew he had to do, but didn’t know if he wanted to. Well, he did know. He absolutely wanted to stay hidden away from the world for the rest of time. But… Logan turned on his phone, to reread the message he had gotten. Emile wanted to see him, and they were going to meet up at a café. His text was… long and hard to parse through. Even though Logan had trouble discerning tone a majority of the time, they got the sense that Emile was more excited about this than Logan would be able to be. After looking at themself in the mirror for entirely too long, washing the dried blood from his neck, and getting dressed, he left the apartment. Logan struggled locking the door, having to try about six times, and just hoped that no one would notice long enough for him to appear normal. 

He was on the second floor, defined by a walled off balcony wrapping around the exterior of the building to connect each apartment to a shared space. Logan was about to reach the stairs down when a man walked into him. Or perhaps it was his fault, it was hard to tell really. Logan stepped back, almost affronted by the contact. The person was tall, with thin and long box braids wrapped in a bun. He had rectangle glasses with rounded edges and a smile on his face. It made Logan instantly uncomfortable looking anywhere near his eyes, so they looked away.

“Howdy!” … What? The man continued. “Sorry for bumping into you, that’s my bad. You’re the one who just moved in right? What’s your name?”

This was possibly worse than everything Logan had ever experienced. He wasn’t entirely sure how high (metaphorically) that bar was, but it was probably significant. Logan didn’t respond for a few awkwardly silent seconds. They coughed, preparing his throat to speak. “I’m… I did just move in, yes. My name is Logan. Logan Clay.” Was he doing this right? How were you supposed to tell? The man was still looking at him like he expected something. Logan went through all they remembered from practicing. Oh! Right… “What’s your name?”

“The name’s Patton Nasir, neighbor!” He reached out his hand, looking… concerned(?) when Logan instinctively flinched away. Patton quickly retracted his hand before Logan even said anything about it, placing it gracefully on his hip. “Well, it’s nice to finally meet you, Logan! I live just next door. 214. So if you need help with anything, I’m always there for you.”

Was this genuine? Was there a way to tell? Logan just nodded. “Thank you, Patton. I’ll be sure to contact you if such a situation arises. I have to go now.”

Patton laughed. Logan just stared slightly to the left of his face, almost simulating true eye contact with his neighbor. “Of course, I didn’t mean to keep you, buddy. I hope you have a good day!”

He waved and walked past Logan, who just stood there as the conversation left the air, reminding themself to breathe. His neck still hurt, as if his splenius capitis would burn whenever he moved his head. Logan shook his head, despite knowing the action only exacerbated the pain. Logan finally got to continue walking to meet Emile, walking down the concrete stairs with a sense of urgency. He made sure to look at the directions on his phone so he wouldn’t get lost. Perhaps he looked at them a little too frequently. It took just about ten minutes and forty three seconds to reach the café. A local establishment with a patio that contained three tables. Two of those three had striped umbrellas over them. 

Emile was sitting at the table holding a disposable cup with a lid, presumably filled with coffee. It was as much of a relief as a great anxiety to finally see him. Logan walked up to the table with a sense of urgency that wasn’t shared with their companion. Emile smiled easily, his scrunched nose lightly displacing his glasses. 

“Hello, Logan! Do you how do?” He greeted.

If this were any other individual, Logan would be concerned at the nonsensical manner he held himself with. But this was Dr. Emile Picani, the only person he truly knew. The only person who knew… Logan. Himself. Logan nodded. “I’m doing adequate, Emile. Should I… order something too?”

“Not if you don’t want to.” Emile responded simply. “Did you have breakfast yet?”

Logan froze. He did a mental check of his body. His neck screaming (metaphorically), his hands still shaking, his stomach… People were supposed to eat regularly. He knew that. Logan was told that, and they knew that they had to do that too. Fuck. “I have not had breakfast yet.”

Somehow, Emile could read his tone, even when Logan himself could not. He frowned. “Logan… have you eaten anything since you left the hospital yesterday?”

“I drank water.” He supplied, as if that was a perfect substitute.

Emile stood up, the metal chair screeched loudly, and suddenly Logan had to resist the urge to drag his nails through the skin of his ears. “Let’s get you some coffee.”

Who was Logan to disobey? Emile ordered for him, and assured him of what he had gotten. Black coffee and a simple sandwich. They sat back down together. Logan drank the bitter drink, but mostly because it was expected of them. Despite the casual setting, the public atmosphere, this was a meeting. Logan knew that. Emile was acting like this because Logan didn’t know how to act yet. He appreciated it immensely. Logan started eating the sandwich, with dry bread and bland ingredients. 

“I’m glad you liked it. You… You used to order this same thing every morning.” Emile looked down, with a smile, but Logan didn’t think he was actually happy. “Anyways! Have you made any new friends yet or unpacked yet?”

Logan swallowed his food, setting his sandwich back down. He felt all the different components of his neck conflict with one another, reminding him of the constant searing pain that had incapacitated him the day before. A pain that wasn’t supposed to be there. “No, I haven’t. I thought… I was supposed to keep a low profile?”

It came out like a question, because he felt as though Emile’s questions contradicted the prior instructions he had given. Keep a low profile. Keep the secrets. Stay hidden. Were they intended to balance those objectives with a social life? Interior design? Logan reminded himself to breathe at a consistent pace. That was a lot of rules to uphold all at once, but he could do it. Emile expected them to, and they wouldn’t want to let him down. Not after all he had done for them. Emile just looked confused, similar to how Logan… felt. Hm.

“Logan, I don’t want to keep you from making new connections!” Emile exclaimed, his voice filled with a worry Logan didn’t understand. “Besides, an empty apartment and a lone hermit is… a little more suspicious than, say, hiding in plain sight like Constantine from Muppets Most Wanted.”

He gave back a blank stare. 

“Yeah… I don’t think you’ve ever seen that movie, even before everything.” Emile admitted. “I just mean: it’s going to be better for everyone if you settle down a little bit more, and nurture new friendships with your neighbors. You need to establish friendships and trust or… Or none of this is going to work. Or at least try! If nothing works out, you’ll still be meeting with me here every week! We can figure stuff out.”

It was reassuring, knowing that he wasn’t alone. Logan didn’t really know much about what to do or what he should be like. But Emile did. He really needed the guidance. “Thank you, Emile. I appreciate that. I will… ‘settle down’, when I am able.”

His friend smiled at him, with a type of pride Logan didn’t feel. He was mostly scared of what was going to happen to him. Emile smiled at him like everything was already going perfectly. It wasn’t exactly lying, but it was optimistic. Even though it was confirmation that the two were in this together, Logan still felt uncomfortable.

Emile left first, having the obligations of a job. He was working part time at a lab while he worked on his psychology degree. Logan… had a job. It was more freelance. They didn’t start until the next day. Logan collected the leftover dishes and trash, walking back inside to put them where they belonged. The plates went on a stack of other dishes also used that day, while the trash went into the nearest trash receptacle. He looked around, as if someone was there to tell him he did a good job. The only person there was a barista with sunglasses on scrolling on vaer phone with minimal interest. Vaey looked up at Logan, raising an eyebrow. Logan felt uncomfortable instantly and decided to leave. 

They spent the rest of the day organizing their new living space. The boxes didn’t contain a whole lot. Emile told him that he would have to go shopping on his own to accommodate anything that was missing. Logan suspected that Emile got him a job for that exact reason. So they could be more self-sufficient. Ironic, that Logan wouldn’t be able to do any of this without him. Logan thought this over while figuring out where to put their skillets and pans. He eventually took a break to eat, something he was determined not to forget again. Logan hadn’t cooked much before so settled for an oatmeal mix that Emile had packed him. They were not a big fan of the flavor. They ate it anyway. Logan had finished washing the two dishes he had used when someone had knocked on the door. His headache, well all of his aches really, were still bothering him profusely. But he was supposed to make connections right? 

Patton was holding a ziploc bag when Logan opened the door. The man was smiling, as if it was his default expression. He held it out to them. “I meant to give these to you yesterday, but… I’m giving them to you now! They’re chocolate chip cookies so I can take them back if you’re gluten free or allergic to chocolate or-”

He was just as nervous as Logan was. It didn’t seem to click until that moment. Logan took the back from his hands and looked up at Patton. “Thank you, for welcoming me to the neighborhood. You seem like a kind person, Patton.”

They didn’t really intend to cut off whatever Patton was talking about, but he didn’t particularly seem to mind. “Of course, thank you for the compliment! We’re going to start a whole chain of ‘thank you’s if we keep this up. I can’t wait to get to know you.”

Patton left after that, but what he had said ringed in Logan’s ears. 

I can’t wait to get to know you.

He repeated this as he got dressed for bed. He repeated it as he brushed his teeth. As he stared into the mirror for too long. As they put their glasses on the box they were using as a nightstand. Logan couldn’t wait to know himself too. They reminded themself to breathe, and continued to do so until it became even again. I can’t wait to get to know you. What a polite, kind thing to say to a stranger. 

Logan took a long deep breath in as he dug his fingers into the back of his neck. He gagged, feeling himself breathe heavier and faster. The skin between his spine and skull shifted to make room for the change. They searched around the blood and nerves, until latching to a specific cord. It resisted his grasp as Logan repressed the urge to flail. Clawing, clawing, clawing. He pulled the cord out slowly, feeling it rake against his organic matter. It collected blood as the end finally surfaced. Logan took a heavy breath, letting himself collapse forwards. A second was needed to catch his breath, to calm themself down. He wiped the blood off the cap protecting the end, before taking it off. Logan then plugged the cord into the glowing box underneath his bed. They felt the jolt of electricity enter their body as the cord began glowing a soft orange that mirrored the box.

Laying on their side, facing away from the box, was the only comfortable way to sleep. Not that they imagined they would do much of that. Despite trying, Logan didn’t feel fully human. Because he wasn’t, not really. Not like Emile, not like Patton. But he did wonder. Would this ever stop hurting? Would he ever stop hurting? Being a human was constantly being in pain. At least, that’s what it seemed like. Logan attempted to halt their thinking as they ignored the heat emanating from their neck, and the frantic breaths drawn for their lungs.

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Taglist: @amateurmasksmith @phoenixtfc @snowynb @hydrastefishere @part-time-zombie @blueberryraccon

[anna-the-undertaker]

Shadows of Divinity

Here is chapter four Summary: Summoned unexpectedly to the Devildom, Nephilia—an imposing figure with an ethereal grace—finds herself navigating a world of demons, secrets, and hidden truths. Towering above those around her, Nephilia’s presence commands attention, but it’s the sense of something more, something ancient, that truly unsettles those she encounters. With no knowledge of her own mysterious origins, Nephilia must uncover the secrets of her family's lineage while contending with the intrigue and suspicion that follow her every step. As the Brothers, the Royals, and the angels attempt to unravel the enigma that is Nephilia, they are drawn into a web of forgotten history and divine legacy that could reshape the very fabric of the Devildom. Note: I know that Mammons' stance towards Nephilia is different than how it is in game towards MC, but I did that for a reason. From my own observations of his character, he would be quick to become attached and/or protective of anyone who would willingly defend him or show him even the smallest amount of kindness.

Chapter Three

Chapter Four: The Morning After

The morning of the Devildom filtered through the grand windows of the House of Lamentation, casting long shadows across the walls of the dining room. The air was filled with the quiet clinking of silverware and the soft murmur of conversation as the brothers gathered for breakfast. However, the usual routine was broken by an undercurrent of amusement, a mischievous energy that crackled in the air.

Asmodeus leaned back in his chair, a playful smirk dancing on his lips as he tried—and failed—to stifle his laughter. “I mean, really, how can you not laugh after what happened?” he said, his voice tinged with a sing-song mockery. “We’re talking about Mammon here, and yet a human was able to play him like a fiddle!”

Satan, who had been quietly sipping his tea, glanced up and shook his head slightly, a warning in his gaze. “Keep your voice down, Asmo. If Mammon hears you, he’ll get upset, and we won’t hear the end of it.”

Asmo waved a hand dismissively, not at all concerned. “Oh, please. Mammon isn’t even up yet. He’s not exactly a morning demon, after all.” He let out a light, almost musical laugh. “But come on, it’s too funny! Our dear Avatar of Greed, swindled by a human.”

Satan couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped him, despite himself. But Asmo, ever perceptive, caught it and turned his amused gaze on him. “Oh, so you think it’s funny too, huh, Satan?”

Before Satan could respond, a calm yet firm voice interrupted their conversation.

“I didn’t play him.”

Both demons turned to see Nephilia standing in the doorway, her presence commanding and resolute. The room seemed to still as she walked in, her gaze level and unwavering as she approached the table. There was no anger in her tone, only a quiet strength that made it clear she wasn’t here to be dismissed.

Nephilia’s eyes met Asmo’s, her expression serene but unyielding. “It was a mutual decision,” she continued, her voice measured. “Mammon and I agreed to the pact because it would make it easier for him to fulfill his duties as my guardian. I never forced or tricked him into anything. The idea was mentioned, and he made his choice. He could have easily said no.”

Asmodeus blinked, his playful smirk faltering slightly as he realized she was serious. Before he could respond, Nephilia’s gaze sharpened, and she fixed him with a look that cut through the room like a blade.

“And Asmo,” she added, her tone calm but edged with subtle reproach, “even though it sounds like you’re praising me for my so-called cunning, I can see the ridicule in your eyes. For all your complexities, you’re quite easy to read.”

The smile faded from Asmo’s face, replaced by a hint of surprise. He wasn’t used to being called out so directly, especially by someone so new to their world. He opened his mouth to retort but found himself hesitating, unsure of how to respond to her unflinching honesty.

Satan watched the exchange with a raised eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He had to admit, Nephilia’s ability to hold her ground against Asmo was impressive. The Avatar of Lust was rarely ever on the receiving end of such a pointed confrontation, and seeing him momentarily at a loss for words was a sight to behold.

Asmo, recovering quickly, forced a light laugh. “Oh, darling, you’re so serious! I was only teasing. But I do apologize if I came off as anything but complimentary.” He flashed her one of his trademark charming smiles, though there was a flicker of something more cautious in his eyes now. “No hard feelings?”

Nephilia’s expression softened slightly, but she remained steadfast. “None. Just remember that words carry weight, even if they’re meant in jest.”

As Nephilia took her seat at the table, Levi, who had been quietly observing the exchange, couldn’t resist chiming in with a self-satisfied grin. “All I know is that I finally got Mammon to cough up what he owed me. Honestly, I couldn’t have asked for a better outcome—this was an epic win for Leviathan!”

Nephilia turned her calm yet discerning gaze toward Levi, raising an eyebrow. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Levi. Don’t forget you were the one who came to me for help in the first place.”

Levi’s grin faltered, but before he could respond, Nephilia continued, her tone firm but gentle. “And for the record, the pact had nothing to do with Mammon returning your money. In the future, you might want to consider that gentleness, understanding, and respect are often all it takes to get what you want from others.”

Satan, intrigued, leaned forward slightly. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

Nephilia met his gaze, her expression contemplative. “All I had to do was ask Mammon to return what he owed, and he did. I simply explained to him that if you want something, in this case his credit card, you often have to give something in return. By offering something first, you open yourself up to the opportunity to gain more later.”

Asmodeus, who had been listening with growing skepticism, let out a disbelieving laugh. “You expect me to believe that Mammon just handed over the money because you asked nicely? That’s not how he operates, darling. I’d bet anything you used the pact to make him do it.”

Nephilia sighed, her gaze softening as she looked at Asmo. “I didn’t use the pact, Asmo. I haven’t known Mammon for long, but I’ve already noticed how you all treat him. With people like him, forcing them to act or stripping them of their choices only makes them more resistant. If you want him to cooperate willingly, you have to show a little patience.”

Satan nodded thoughtfully, processing her insight, while Asmo’s expression faltered.

Nephilia continued, her voice measured and assured. “Yes, part of it is on Mammon for not putting in the effort to change. But understanding is the first step in helping him choose to do so. It’s not about making him do something—it’s about giving him the space and respect to decide for himself. The way you all treat him doesn’t encourage him to do better; if anything, you’re pushing him deeper into his sin.”

Just as the conversation began to settle, the door to the dining room swung open, and Mammon entered the room. His usual swagger was on full display, but there was a subtle tension in the air as he walked in. The brothers turned to look at him, their earlier conversation still fresh in their minds. Nephilia’s gaze, however, lingered a bit longer on him, her instincts telling her something had shifted.

Mammon’s eyes flickered briefly toward her, just for a moment, before he quickly averted his gaze. That fleeting glance was all Nephilia needed to know—he had heard everything she said. His expression remained neutral, and his behavior gave no indication that he cared about the conversation that had taken place in his absence. But Nephilia noticed the difference, subtle though it was. The usual defensive edge in his posture was absent, replaced by something almost imperceptible—a slight relaxation in his shoulders, a softness in his gaze that hadn’t been there before.

Mammon moved to his usual seat, grumbling about how early it was and how he couldn’t get a moment’s peace even in his own home. His voice held the familiar irritation, but it lacked the sharpness that usually accompanied his words. He spoke and acted as he always did when interacting with his brothers, tossing out his usual complaints and jabs, but she saw past the surface.

There was a subtle change in the way he carried himself, as though a weight he’d been knowingly bearing had been lifted, if only slightly. He seemed more at ease, more comfortable in his skin than she had seen him before. It wasn’t a dramatic shift, but it was enough for her to notice.

As Mammon continued to bicker with his brothers, Nephilia couldn’t help but feel a sense of quiet satisfaction. She had hoped her words would make a difference, even if only a small one. And though Mammon might never admit it, not even to himself, she knew he had heard her. More importantly, he had understood her. For now, that was enough.

The conversation had almost lulled into a comfortable silence when Asmo, ever the provocateur, leaned back in his chair with a sly smile. “You know,” he began, his voice carrying a teasing lilt, “with how things are going, the rest of us might just find ourselves in a pact with Nephilia as well if we’re not careful.” He turned his gaze toward Nephilia, his eyes glinting with mischief. “So, tell me, darling, if you had your choice, which one of us would you pick next?”

Nephilia met his gaze calmly, feigning deep thought for a moment as she tapped a finger against her chin. Her expression was unreadable, but there was a subtle hint of amusement in her eyes. “Hmm… Since you brought it up, why not you, Asmo?” she replied with a slight smirk. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were hinting that you wanted a pact with me.”

Asmo chuckled, the sound light and musical, as he leaned forward with a playful glint in his eyes. “Well, I’m not surprised you’d want me all to yourself. After all, humans can’t help themselves when confronted with someone as beautiful and alluring as me, can they?” He winked, basking in his own charm. “But just because I understand the doesn’t mean you actually have a chance with me. I’m not the least bit interested in forming a pact.”

He punctuated his statement with a soft, almost pitying laugh, before adding, “You won’t be able to tame the rest of us as easily as you did with poor Mammon. In fact, it’s rather offensive that you think we’re as simple-minded as that poor excuse for a demon—”

SMACK!

The sound echoed through the dining room, cutting Asmo off mid-sentence. Mammon, having risen from his seat without a word, delivered a sharp smack to the back of Asmo’s head.

Asmodeus yelped in surprise, his hand flying to the spot where he’d been struck. “Ow! What the hell, Mammon? You actually hit my beautiful head? I can’t believe it! Not even Lucifer has ever done that!”

Mammon scowled, standing over him with a look of irritation. “Yeah, well, you deserved it! That’s what ya get for callin’ me a poor excuse for a demon!”

Asmo rubbed the back of his head, pouting dramatically. “You’re always so violent with me, Mammon. I don’t get it. Why must you always resort to physicality?”

“Because you’re always runnin’ ya mouth!” Mammon shot back, crossing his arms. “And I oughta hit the rest of ya for always makin’ fun of me!”

The other brothers watched the scene unfold with varying degrees of amusement, though none of them intervened. Nephilia, unable to suppress a chuckle, leaned forward slightly, her eyes sparkling with mirth. “Asmo, I think it’s cute that you believe just because you’re the embodiment of Lust that I’m even remotely interested in you,” she said, her voice laced with teasing sarcasm. “But you’re not my type.”

Asmo’s eyes widened in surprise, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to formulate a response. It was rare for him to be left speechless, but Nephilia’s cool and direct dismissal had done just that. He stared at her, blinking rapidly, as if trying to process the fact that someone had just turned him down.

The others chuckled at the exchange, even Satan couldn’t help the small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Meanwhile, Mammon’s expression softened ever so slightly, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he glanced at Nephilia with glee.

Asmo, still flustered, finally managed to sputter, “W-well, I suppose not everyone has good taste…”

Nephilia simply shrugged, unbothered. “To each their own.”

Mammon snorted, clearly enjoying Asmo’s rare moment of discomfort. “Guess not everyone’s fallin’ for that pretty face of yours, huh, Asmo?”

Asmo huffed, crossing his arms in a huff. “You’re all so mean to me…”

As the breakfast chatter continued, the atmosphere shifted once more when the door creaked open, and Lucifer entered the room. His presence was always commanding, and today was no different. For once, he had decided to join them for breakfast, a rare occurrence that immediately quieted the room. His gaze swept over the table, lingering on Nephilia with a curious gleam in his eyes.

"I've heard about what happened yesterday," Lucifer began, his tone measured but carrying an edge of amusement. "That you managed to outfox a certain dimwit of a demon and forge a pact with him."

Mammon's head snapped up, eyes wide with indignation. "Hey, who're you callin' a dimwit?!"

Lucifer didn't so much as glance at his younger brother, completely ignoring Mammon's outburst as he continued, his focus solely on Nephilia. "Your opponent may have been... less than sharp," he said, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. "But even so, you've only just arrived here. It's quite an accomplishment to manage a feat like that in such a short time."

He offered her a nod of approval. "Congratulations, Nephilia. I believe Lord Diavolo will be pleased as well. We continue to expect big things from you."

Nephilia met Lucifer's gaze steadily, refusing to be swayed by the praise. There was no smugness in her expression, only a calm and quiet certainty. "With all due respect, Lucifer, it seems everyone has assumed that Mammon had no say in the matter, that I somehow ensnared him. But the truth is, he could have said no if he wished to. He made his choice freely, and it’s time you all start recognizing that."

The room fell silent, the tension thick in the air as Nephilia's words hung there, unchallenged. Mammon, who had been ready to bristle at any further insults, suddenly found himself staring at her in wide-eyed astonishment. No one ever talked to Lucifer like that, not even the other brothers—and certainly not a human. Yet here was Nephilia, calmly admonishing the eldest brother as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Lucifer’s sharp gaze flickered with a mix of surprise and something more unreadable. But before he could respond, Mammon’s cheeks flushed a deep crimson. "All right, that’s enough!" he blurted out, his voice louder than intended. He reached for Nephilia’s arm, grabbing her with a gentle but insistent grip. "C’mon, Neph, it’s time to get goin’."

Without waiting for a reply, Mammon practically dragged her out of the dining room, his face still tinged with a blush as he led her away. The brothers watched in stunned silence as the pair left, each of them processing what had just happened.

Once they were out of earshot, Mammon finally let go of her arm, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "You, uh… you didn’t have to do that, ya know," he mumbled, not quite meeting her eyes. "But… thanks. For stickin’ up for me, I guess."

Nephilia smiled down at him softly, her voice gentle. "You’re welcome, Mammon. But I meant what I said—everyone deserves to have their choices respected. Even you."

As they made their way through the shadowed halls of RAD, Mammon seemed to have slipped into an easy rhythm with Nephilia. The initial tension that had existed between them had melted away, replaced by a natural camaraderie. Mammon no longer appeared intimidated by her height or presence; instead, he treated her like he would any of his friends, with a casual familiarity that made their conversations flow effortlessly. Since the events at breakfast and the previous night, Mammon had stopped calling her “human” and had started calling her by the nickname “Neph.” It made her smile every time she heard it, a subtle sign of the growing bond between them.

It was surprisingly easy to talk to the second-born. His laid-back demeanor and easygoing nature were comforting, allowing her to relax in his presence. For once, she felt somewhat normal—just two people walking to class, ignoring the curious stares and hushed whispers from the other demons they passed.

Mammon, as usual, had spiraled into another one of his rants about his elder brother. His hands waved animatedly in the air as he vented his frustrations. “Seriously, what’s with that guy? He can’t go a single minute without bringin’ up Diavolo! It’s always ‘Diavolo this, Diavolo that!’” He threw his hands up in exasperation, his voice rising in mock imitation of Lucifer. “‘Oh, Diavolo says this,’ ‘Diavolo wants that.’ Ugh, it’s like he’s got some sorta Diavolo obsession! I swear, if Diavolo told him to go jump off a cliff to his death, he’d probably do it without even thinkin’ twice!”

Mammon’s voice dripped with disbelief as he added, “Knowin’ him, he probably would, too. Geez…”

Nephilia chuckled, the sound light and genuine. “Lucifer really gets under your skin, huh?”

Mammon huffed, crossing his arms over his chest as they turned a corner, heading toward their classes. “Yeah, you could say that. He’s always actin’ like he’s so high and mighty, like he knows better than the rest of us. But it ain’t just that—it’s like he’s always tryin’ to control every little thing! He treats us like we’re in diapers or somethin’. I mean, I get that he’s the oldest and all, but come on!”

Nephilia nodded thoughtfully, sensing the deeper layers of Mammon’s frustration. “It must be exhausting, always having to live up to his expectations.”

Mammon glanced at her, his usual bravado softening slightly. “Yeah… it is. But it’s more than that. It’s like no matter what I do, it’s never good enough for him. And the worst part is, even if I screw up, he’s the one who gets all bent outta shape about it. I can handle my own problems, but he acts like it’s his job to fix everything, ya know?”

Nephilia could hear the underlying resentment in his voice, the years of feeling overshadowed by his older brother. “Maybe that’s just his way of showing he cares,” she suggested gently. “Even if it’s misguided.”

Mammon scoffed, but there was a hint of something else in his expression—maybe a glimmer of acknowledgment. “Yeah, well, he’s got a real funny way of showin’ it. And what about me, huh? When do I get to do things my way? When do I get to prove I’m more than just the ‘Avatar of Greed’ or ‘Lucifer’s problem child’?”

“You’re more than that, Mammon,” Nephilia said, her voice firm with conviction. “And it’s not just about proving it to him. You’ve got nothing to prove to anyone—just be yourself.”

Mammon looked up at her for a long moment, as if weighing her words. Then he flashed her a grin, one that was a little less cocky and a little more genuine. “Ya know, Neph, you’re all right. For a human, that is.”

Nephilia rolled her eyes playfully. “Thanks, I think?”

He laughed, the sound echoing down the corridor. “Nah, I mean it. You’re different, in a good way. I guess I’m lucky I got stuck babysittin’ ya.”

“Lucky, huh? I’ll remember you said that,” Nephilia teased, causing him to laugh even more.

Nephilia’s chest still rumbled with laughter as she parted ways with Mammon, her mind replaying the ridiculous story he had just told her about Leviathan’s obsession with an idol. As she entered her classroom, her amusement quickly faded when she came face to face with Diavolo himself, standing tall and regal as he conversed with Barbatos. The prince’s presence was always commanding, but today, the air seemed charged with even more intensity.

Lucifer was also there, standing with his usual poise, his sharp gaze surveying the room as if he were assessing every detail. As Nephilia approached, she couldn’t help but overhear their conversation.

Barbatos, ever composed, was the first to speak, his voice tinged with mild exasperation. “It’s fascinating, isn’t it, Lord Diavolo? When we make an important announcement, the demons hardly seem to care. Yet, when it comes to gossip, they devour every word. Just when I thought the uproar about the new exchange student had subsided, they are now in a frenzy over this rumor about her pact with Mammon.”

Diavolo’s laugh was warm and genuine, a stark contrast to the tension in the room. “I think it’s a good thing, Barbatos. The more they talk, the more eyes will be on her. It will make it difficult for any demon to target her soul unnoticed.”

Lucifer nodded in agreement, his expression thoughtful. “Indeed. And despite my reservations, it seems Mammon is actually doing his job well. He’s quite taken with her already.”

Diavolo’s gaze shifted to the doorway, his eyes lighting up when he noticed Nephilia standing there. He greeted her with a broad smile, his tone welcoming. “Ah, Nephilia! Good morning. Congratulations on successfully forging your first pact.”

Nephilia returned his smile, though it was more reserved. She had no desire to explain the situation again, especially given the misunderstanding surrounding it. However, Lucifer spoke up before she could even open her mouth. “To be clear,” he said smoothly, “Nephilia didn’t force Mammon into the pact. He agreed to it of his own accord.”

Barbatos inclined his head slightly. “I see. Well, this certainly stands as proof that you chose well by bringing Nephilia here, Lord Diavolo.”

The butler then turned his attention to Lucifer, his eyes glinting with subtle amusement. “As for your brother, Lucifer, in the human world, there is a saying: a truly wise man does not flaunt his talents. Instead, he keeps them secret.”

Lucifer let out a weary sigh, his eyes narrowing slightly. “An incompetent fool, however, doesn’t actually have any talents to flaunt.”

Before Barbatos could respond, Nephilia interjected, her voice calm but firm. “Even an incompetent fool can still learn, if given the chance to prove himself.”

The room fell into a brief silence as her words hung in the air. Diavolo’s eyes widened slightly in surprise before they crinkled with genuine delight. Lucifer raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by her boldness once again. Barbatos, ever stoic, observed her with a newfound respect, though a hint of curiosity flickered behind his eyes.

Diavolo was the first to break the silence, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’ve also heard it said that the most thick-headed child is always the cutest.”

Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly exasperated. “...Stop it, Diavolo. It’s troublesome enough having him as my younger brother. But my child? Him? I don’t even want to think about it.”

As the laughter from Diavolo's teasing faded, another voice cut through the air, smooth and warm, like honeyed wine. "I couldn’t help but notice, Lucifer, that you didn’t deny the ‘cute’ part."

Nephilia turned toward the source of the voice, curious to see who had joined the conversation. Standing at the entrance of the room was a man whose presence was nothing short of radiant. His dark, curly hair framed a face that was both gentle and striking, with eyes that gleamed with a calm, almost ethereal light. He carried himself with an air of quiet confidence, his posture relaxed yet poised. The serene smile on his lips exuded a warmth that instantly put her at ease.

There was something undeniably captivating about him, a presence that was both comforting and reassuring. Unlike the demonic energy that seemed to hum in the air around the others, this newcomer’s aura was pure, soothing, and filled with an underlying strength that spoke of unwavering conviction. He seemed to bring a sense of peace into the room, as though his very being could calm even the most tumultuous storm.

Nephilia’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, taking in his immaculate appearance. The flowing white and gold robes he wore were elegant, almost regal, and they contrasted beautifully with the midnight tones of the Devildom’s architecture. His demeanor was effortlessly graceful, a stark contrast to the sharpness that often accompanied Lucifer or the flamboyance of Asmo. Here stood someone who was as gentle as he was formidable—an angel, she realized.

The angel smiled slightly, eyes glinting with playful mischief. "Might I offer my own opinion?" he began, his voice smooth and serene. "Out of you seven brothers, Lucifer, you’re without a doubt the most troublesome."

Lucifer turned his head slowly to regard him, an eyebrow arching with thinly veiled irritation. "Is that meant to be a compliment, Simeon?" he asked, his tone cool and slightly dangerous.

Before Simeon could reply, a new voice cut through the air, high-pitched and indignant. "Of course not! Duh! That was a put-down! An insult! He’s taunting you!"

Nephilia blinked, momentarily confused as she glanced around the room for the source of the voice. When she saw no one at the normal eye level, her gaze dropped, and her eyes finally landed on a small figure standing near Simeon. The contrast was almost startling.

The voice belonged to a young boy, probably no older than eleven or twelve, with golden hair that shimmered like sunlight and wide, innocent blue eyes that were filled with a mixture of defiance and frustration. He was dressed in a white robe similar to Simeon’s, but the look was far less regal and more akin to that of an apprentice. His cherubic face and small stature made him seem almost out of place among the taller, more imposing figures in the room.

Nephilia’s first thought was that he looked utterly harmless—innocent, even. But the fire in his eyes, the way he glared up at Lucifer with such fierce determination, told her that this little one had plenty of spirit. There was something undeniably endearing about him, and it was clear that he wasn’t afraid to speak his mind, despite his size.

Lucifer, however, looked less than impressed. With a scoff, he remarked dryly, "Ah, I see you’ve brought your chihuahua along with you, Simeon."

The boy’s face flushed red with anger, his small hands balling into fists at his sides. "I am NOT a chihuahua! How many times do I have to tell you that, demon?!"

Lucifer chuckled, the sound low and mocking. "Well, what do you expect? I am a demon, after all. Now then, stop yipping at me. C'mere boy... shake! Who's a good boy?"

The boy’s face turned an even deeper shade of red, his cheeks puffing up as he stamped his foot in frustration. "Quit it! Don’t make fun of me! And don’t tell me to shake! I am not a dog!"

Nephilia couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up from her chest, escaping before she could even think to hold it back. The image that popped into her head was far too vivid and amusing—a tiny, energetic puppy hopping around, barking fiercely as it tried to intimidate a much larger, unbothered dog. The absurdity of the comparison struck her so suddenly that she couldn’t help but giggle.

All eyes turned toward her, but she was too caught up in the mental image to care. "I’m sorry," she managed between laughs, "I just… couldn’t help it. The image was just… too much."

As Nephilia’s laugh echoed through the room, Luke’s reaction was almost immediate. He turned sharply to face her, his blue eyes widening in surprise and confusion. For a moment, he seemed frozen in place, his small fists still clenched from his outburst at Lucifer. But as his gaze traveled up—way up—toward Nephilia’s towering form, his expression shifted from surprise to something bordering on awe, mixed with a hint of wariness.

Luke had been bracing himself for mockery, expecting the same kind of teasing he usually endured from demons like Lucifer. But the laughter that had escaped Nephilia wasn’t cruel or mocking. It was genuine, light-hearted, and almost… warm. The stark contrast between what he expected and what he received left him momentarily speechless.

As his eyes finally met hers, Luke felt a strange mix of emotions. On one hand, he was still indignant—he had been trying to defend Simeon, after all! But on the other, there was something about Nephilia’s presence that made him feel oddly comforted. Despite her imposing height and the undeniable power she seemed to exude, there was a kindness in her gaze that put him at ease, even if he wouldn’t admit it out loud.

For a brief moment, Luke felt almost intimidated by her size—after all, she was taller than any human he had ever seen, and even taller than many of the demons he knew. But as he studied her, he realized that she wasn’t looking down at him with judgment or disdain. Instead, there was something almost maternal in the way she regarded him, like she found his fiery spirit endearing rather than annoying.

Still, Luke wasn’t one to back down, especially not in front of someone new. Puffing out his chest slightly, he tried to regain some of his earlier bravado, though the effect was somewhat diminished by the way he had to crane his neck to look up at her. “It’s not funny,” he muttered, though his voice lacked the conviction it had before. There was a hint of embarrassment in his tone, his earlier fire dimmed by the unexpected gentleness of her reaction.

Nephilia, noticing the shift in his demeanor, smiled down at him, her eyes soft with understanding. “I didn’t mean to laugh at you. I just couldn’t help it—your reaction was too cute. Plus, compared to me, you really are the size of a chihuahua.”

Luke’s face turned an even deeper shade of red at the word “cute,” but this time, it wasn’t just from anger. There was a flicker of something else—shyness, perhaps—though he quickly masked it with a huff. “I-I’m not cute and I'm not a chihuahua! I’m a mighty angel, you know! And I was just… defending Simeon!”

Nephilia’s smile widened, her amusement tempered by genuine affection. “Of course you are, and you did a great job. You’re very brave.”

The compliment caught Luke off guard, and for a moment, he didn’t know how to respond. He looked up at her, searching her face for any sign of sarcasm or teasing, but found none. She was serious, and that realization made his heart swell with pride. He quickly straightened up, trying to appear as dignified as possible. “W-well… thank you. I guess."

Diavolo's smile widened even further, his eyes gleaming with warmth and amusement as he watched the interaction between Nephilia and Luke. He stepped forward, his presence commanding attention without effort. "It seems we've yet to make formal introductions," he said, his deep voice resonating through the room. "Nephilia, allow me to introduce you properly."

He gestured toward the small angel standing by Simeon’s side. "This is Luke, a young angel in training. He’s still learning the ways of the Celestial Realm, but he’s quite dedicated and passionate about what he does."

Luke puffed out his chest a little more, trying to stand as tall as he could, though it was clear he was still slightly overwhelmed by Nephilia’s presence. "I… I may be small, but I’m going to be a great angel one day! Just you wait!"

Nephilia smiled warmly at him, nodding in encouragement. “I’m sure you will, Luke. It’s nice to meet you.”

Diavolo then turned to the taller, serene figure beside Luke. "And this," he continued, "is Simeon, a respected angel from the Celestial Realm. We’re honored to have him with us here in the Devildom."

Simeon's reaction was subtle but telling. His calm and collected demeanor faltered ever so slightly as his gaze traveled up to meet her eyes. For a brief moment, his expression held a trace of surprise, as if he hadn’t quite expected her to be as towering and imposing in person as she appeared. The way his eyes widened, just a fraction, spoke volumes. It was clear that Nephilia’s height and presence were far more commanding than he had anticipated.

Simeon quickly recovered, his serene smile returning, though Nephilia could sense curiosity in his gaze. He inclined his head slightly in a gesture of acknowledgment, his eyes lingering on her face as if he were trying to discern something deeper about her. There was no fear or intimidation in his expression—only curiosity and a quiet admiration that seemed to stem from recognizing something profound within her. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. You are... quite remarkable."

As his gaze lingered, Nephilia couldn’t help but wonder what it was about her that had caught his attention so thoroughly. She had encountered many reactions to her appearance over the years—shock, awe, discomfort—but Simeon’s reaction was far more nuanced. It was as if he saw through her towering frame to the core of who she was, and what he found there resonated with him in a way she hadn’t expected, and left them both puzzled.

Nephilia returned the gesture, still somewhat taken aback by how strikingly different Simeon’s presence was compared to the demons she had met thus far. “The pleasure is mine, Simeon. I appreciate the warm welcome.”

Diavolo’s gaze returned to Nephilia, his expression one of pride as he introduced her to the angels. “And, Simeon, Luke, this is Nephilia, our newest exchange student from the human world. She’s already proven herself to be quite remarkable—both in presence and in spirit.”

Simeon’s eyes glinted with interest as he studied Nephilia more closely. “Indeed,” he said softly. “I've heard the rumors and can already see that you’re someone who stands out, not just in stature, but in character as well. It’s clear that you’re going to leave quite an impression here.”

Luke, still looking up at Nephilia with wide eyes, nodded fervently. “Yeah! You’re really tall… I mean, you’re really impressive! I-I mean… it’s nice to meet you!”

Nephilia chuckled at Luke’s flustered attempt to be polite, her gaze softening as she looked between the two angels. “Thank you both. I’m looking forward to learning more about this place and everyone in it.”

Diavolo’s eyes twinkled with warmth and amusement as he regarded Nephilia. "I’m glad to see everything is going well here," he said, his voice filled with a sincerity that made her feel as though she was the only one in the room. The prince then stepped closer, his gaze lingering on her with an unmistakable curiosity that seemed to dance just beneath the surface. Gently, he reached out and took her hand in his, lifting it with a grace that only someone of his stature could manage.

Nephilia’s heart gave a small, unexpected flutter as Diavolo leaned down, placing a brief yet deliberate kiss on her knuckles. The gesture was old-fashioned, almost courtly, and it caught her off guard. There was a subtle weight to the touch of his lips against her skin, a lingering warmth that made her pulse quicken. When he straightened, his eyes met hers, and for a fleeting moment, she saw something beyond mere curiosity in his gaze—something that made her wonder if there was more behind his princely charm.

"Until we meet again, Nephilia," Diavolo said with a smile. With that, he turned and made his way toward the exit, leaving her with a sense of intrigue she hadn’t expected to feel.

Lucifer moved to follow Diavolo, his steps measured and deliberate. However, just before reaching the door, he paused and turned back to Nephilia. His expression was calm, but his eyes held a trace of something that could almost be concern. "Nephilia," he began, his voice carrying the weight of responsibility, "I trust you’ll look after Mammon while you’re here."

Nephilia blinked, surprised by the request. She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, Barbatos, who had been standing just behind Diavolo, let out a soft chuckle. "As I recall, Lord Mammon was supposed to be the one looking after Nephilia, was he not?"

Lucifer’s lips twitched upward in a faint smile. "Yes, that’s how I remember it as well," he replied smoothly. "Your point?"

Barbatos shook his head, amusement coloring his gaze as he exchanged a knowing look with Lucifer. "No point at all, just an observation," the butler responded, his tone light and teasing.

With that, the two of them turned and strode away, their retreating figures marked by the elegance and confidence befitting their positions. Simeon, who had remained quietly observant throughout the exchange, followed a step behind them. As he reached the door, he turned his head briefly, catching Nephilia’s eye. With a gentle smile, he waved over his shoulder, a gesture that conveyed both farewell and reassurance. Then, with a final glance, he too disappeared through the doorway, leaving the room to grow still once more.

Now alone with Luke, Nephilia found herself reflecting on the interaction. Diavolo’s kiss on her knuckles, Lucifer’s subtle yet pointed request, Barbatos’s amused interjection—there was a complexity to these demons and angels that she hadn’t fully grasped until now. And yet, amidst it all, there was something else she couldn’t quite shake: the lingering sensation of Diavolo’s touch, the weight of his gaze. It was as though he had planted a seed of curiosity within her, one that would grow as their paths inevitably crossed again.

Luke, sensing the shift in atmosphere, looked up at her with wide, expectant eyes. "So, um… what happens now?" he asked, his youthful energy returning as the tension of the moment faded.

Nephilia smiled down at him, her mind still buzzing with the events of the morning. "I suppose we see where the day takes us," she replied, though her thoughts remained with the departing figures—particularly the one who had left an impression far stronger than she’d anticipated.

As they walked down the dimly lit hallway, the sound of their footsteps echoed softly off the ancient stone walls. The conversation that began between them was one that Nephilia would not be privy to, but it carried a weight that none of them could ignore. Simeon, usually so serene and composed, appeared lost in thought, his brows furrowed slightly as he reflected on what he had sensed from Nephilia earlier.

Noticing the angel's unusual silence, Barbatos turned his head slightly, his sharp eyes catching the subtle shift in Simeon's demeanor. "Is something on your mind, Simeon?" Barbatos asked, his voice calm but laced with curiosity.

Simeon hesitated for a moment, as if weighing his words carefully. Finally, he spoke, his tone thoughtful. "Yes, actually. I’ve been wondering… Nephilia—is she truly human?"

At this, the group paused, exchanging glances that spoke of mutual recognition. Diavolo was the first to respond, a hint of solemnity in his usually warm expression. "So you’ve noticed it as well, Simeon."

Simeon nodded, his gaze distant as he continued. "When I sensed her soul earlier, I couldn’t help but feel that something was… different. It wasn’t like the souls of other humans, not even like Solomon’s. There was an echo, something ancient, something almost… divine." His voice softened on the last word, as if even uttering it required careful consideration.

Diavolo’s expression grew more contemplative. "She is human, as far as we can tell," he said slowly, his voice measured. "But you’re right—there is something within her that we haven’t been able to identify. Whatever it is, it’s something that even Nephilia herself doesn’t seem to be aware of."

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed slightly as he processed this information. "That echo… it’s grown stronger since she acquired the pact with Mammon," he observed. His tone was analytical, as if he were piecing together a puzzle with missing pieces. "It’s as though the connection with him has amplified whatever it is she carries."

Barbatos, ever the observant one, added his thoughts in his usual calm manner. "It’s possible that whatever is within her is responding to the power she’s been exposed to. The Devildom’s influence, combined with the pact, may be awakening something that was dormant before."

A brief silence followed as the implications of this realization settled over them. Finally, Barbatos spoke again, this time offering a solution. "If you wish, I can look into it further. I could examine the past, or perhaps even the future, to uncover what this echo might be."

But Diavolo shook his head, raising a hand to gently decline the offer. "No, Barbatos. For now, we should leave it be. Delving into the past or peering into the future could have unforeseen consequences. We don’t know what we might find—or what we might set in motion."

Lucifer, always the strategist, nodded in agreement. "It’s better to observe and gather more information as things unfold naturally. Rushing into this could do more harm than good."

Simeon’s expression remained pensive, but he accepted the decision with a quiet nod. "I understand. Still, it’s something we should keep an eye on. If Nephilia carries even a sliver of divine power within her, it could be of great significance."

Diavolo’s gaze grew distant, sad almost, as if he were already thinking several steps ahead. "Indeed. We must proceed with caution, but we should also be prepared for whatever may come. For now, we’ll let Nephilia continue her journey without interference. Whatever she carries, it’s a part of her story, and it will reveal itself in due time."

With that, the conversation ended, and they resumed their walk down the corridor. But the weight of what they had discussed lingered in the air, a quiet tension that hinted at the unknown possibilities ahead.

Nephilia tossed and turned in her bed, her mind racing with a thousand thoughts. It had been like this for several nights now—sleep seemed to evade her, no matter how hard she tried to relax. Tonight was no different. The events of the day played on repeat in her head, her mind lingering on the enigmatic conversations and the unspoken tensions she had sensed among the demons and angels. But it was Luke’s parting words from earlier that echoed most strongly: "Never trust demons."

His warning had been clear, yet it conflicted with the experiences she had been having. Despite the volatile personalities and the constant undercurrent of danger, she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to the brothers than their titles and sins. But trust? That was a different matter entirely.

Just as she began to sink deeper into her thoughts, a voice suddenly broke through the silence, faint and distant, but unmistakably pleading. “Help… please… help me…”

Nephilia sat up in bed, her heart pounding as she scanned the dark room. The voice was soft, almost ethereal, and yet it carried a sense of urgency that made her skin prickle. She hesitated for a moment, uncertainty gnawing at her, but the voice called out again, and something within her compelled her to move.

Barefoot and dressed in her nightgown, Nephilia slipped out of bed and into the dimly lit hallway. The house was quiet, its usual eerie stillness only amplifying the unease building within her. She followed the voice, her footsteps light against the creaking floorboards, as it guided her through the winding corridors of the House of Lamentation. The voice grew clearer with each step, leading her toward the stairs that ascended to the attic.

The closer she got, the stronger the pull became, almost as if she were being drawn by an invisible force. When she reached the base of the stairs, she paused, her hand hovering over the banister. The voice was just above her now, pleading for help once more. But as she prepared to climb, a firm hand suddenly gripped her wrist, stopping her in her tracks.

“Nephilia,” a familiar voice intoned, sharp and commanding.

She turned to find Lucifer standing behind her, his expression stern and unreadable. The shadows from the dim lights danced across his features, highlighting the seriousness in his gaze.

“What are you doing here?” Lucifer’s tone was laced with authority, leaving no room for defiance. “The attic is not a place for humans. It’s dangerous.”

For a moment, Nephilia felt as though she had been snapped out of a trance. She blinked, disoriented, as if only now realizing where she was. The voice that had seemed so clear moments before was now silent, leaving her with an unsettling sense of confusion.

“I… I couldn’t sleep,” she answered truthfully, struggling to shake off the remnants of whatever had compelled her to come here. “I thought I’d take a walk to clear my head, and I ended up here.”

Lucifer’s gaze softened slightly, though his eyes remained sharp, assessing her carefully. “You should be more careful,” he said after a moment. “There are things in this house that are not meant for you to see. This attic is one of them.”

Nephilia nodded, not daring to mention the voice she had heard. Something told her that now was not the time to bring it up, and she wasn’t sure how Lucifer would react if she did. It was as if her instincts were screaming at her to hold back, to wait.

Lucifer released her wrist, but his presence remained imposing. He sighed softly, a rare sign of weariness from the usually composed demon. “Come,” he said, his tone gentler now. “I’ll walk you back to your room, and I’ll prepare a cup of tea to help you sleep. But heed my warning, Nephilia—never go near the attic again.”

Nephilia allowed him to guide her away from the stairs, the sense of unease still lingering in the pit of her stomach. As they made their way back to her room, she couldn’t help but glance back at the darkened staircase, a chill running down her spine. The voice that had led her there was gone, but its presence still haunted her thoughts.

As Lucifer escorted her to her door, she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something—someone—hidden away in that attic. Something that the eldest didn’t want her, or anyone, to find. But for now, she would have to push those thoughts aside. She could feel Lucifer’s gaze on her, watchful and protective, but also guarded. There were secrets in this house—secrets she wasn’t sure she was ready to uncover.

But whatever lay hidden in the attic, she knew one thing for certain: she wouldn’t rest until she found out what it was.

[lairofdragonagelore]

Flemeth / Mythal (part 1)

Flemeth is an enigmatic character along the series that seems to be related to the whole plot of Dragon Age since DAO. In the present post I will try to collect all the relevant information about her and about what she says, since she is one of the characters that I think we can rely more when it comes to digging the "truth" behind the DA lore.

The current post has the following sections:

Flemeth in DAO

Story of Conobar and Osen

Flemeth in DA2

Flemeth in DAI

Mythal as an Elvhenan Goddess

Mythal as a Changed Goddess

Flemeth and Mythal

Mythal and the Well of Sorrows

Flemeth and the Music

Flemeth, Mythal, and Motherhood

Artwork of Flemeth

Flemeth in the books (or comics)

Conclusions

Flemeth in DAO

When we meet Flemeth for the first time, we know she saved the Warden and Alistair from the massacre of Ostagar. She turned into a creature (later we will know it was a dragon), grabbed each of them in her talons, and returned to her shack where Morrigan nursed them back to health.

When you interact with her, she speaks about her position related to some topics:

Belief: she considers the wisest attitude is to doubt in what to believe. This makes a lot of sense when you see DA series overall: we know that history changed over time due to the inaccuracy that information acquires over generations due to oral transmission or political interests that modify historical records such in the case of the dwarves [more details about this in the post The Chantry and the Mythology of the Chant of Light].

She knows all about the Grey Warden business: She knows about the treaties, and the magic that seals those. Since Morrigan knows about the ancient magic that allowed her to protect Urthemiel’s soul by the end of the game, and this was always the original plan of Flemeth, we can assume this knowledge and the mechanics with which Grey Warden deal with the Blight were all well-known by Flemeth too. This makes sense too if we think that a contemporaneous of Flemeth, Solas, also knows a lot of details about how the Blight works and how the Grey Wardens deal with it [for example, read the section Blight and Grey Wardens in Solas sharing Lore: Part 1 - Part 2]. We can assume that part of the Grey Warden’s knowledge may have come from Arlathan, according some small pieces of information that we have from Seekers: Tarohne, the Fell Grimoire, and Xebenkeck].

Mythal [inside Flemeth] knows how to keep the Darkspawn away: This detail is never focused on in her conversations, so it's easy to miss. Flemeth can keep the darkspawn far away from her shack despite being in the zone where the main outbreak happened. This is not minor at all. Later, in the comic The Missing, we learn that Solas has been hiding in places that have enormous populations of Darkspwan and he has never been bothered by them. Since he has absorbed Flemeth's powers at this point of the story, we can suspect that this ability to keep the darkspawn away is something related to Mythal herself.

It’s clear that Flemeth, who has been a figure who has pushed the History of Thedas in a certain direction, had a clear interest in the Warden. Later, we discover her original plan was to keep Urthemiel’s soul [but this depends on the player’s choices after all, and the "canon" Bioware world state is one where Urthemiel’s soul has been destroyed, since the warden dies]. However, it’s hard to ponder the truth in her words. On one side, we know that Mythal was a creature of compassion and love, the embodiment of motherhood. So giving Morrigan to this mission may have truly been a bit worrisome for her. On the other hand, we know she has been rising Morrigan to become, most likely, the next host of Mythal [“the inheritor in the new age”], so she may value her more for this role. Maybe it’s both, because Flemeth/Myhtal are both complex creatures, human and elvhenan, and dragon [this concept was always repeated by Solas in DAI: Mythal is more than just one aspect, she is complex]. What we can see in the overall story is that, certainly, Flemeth saved Ferelden when she saved the Warden: without the Warden, the Blight would have expanded too fast over Ferelden [which had no wardens to fight it back] and when the Wardens of Orlais could have been aware of this situation, the spread may have been too hard to repel. We see this in the DLC "The Darkspawn Chronicles".

These lines are hard to determine if they hide a bit of the story of Mythal or the human Flemeth. Men killed for her, and this “determined all what followed”. If we keep in mind the many speculations I crafted in Songs and elements that sing and whisper in DA Lore, one has the impression that the Evanuris wanted a power that Mythal had. They may have tried to extract it from her, killing her in the process. Maybe even corrupting her, as I suggested in Speculations about the Vinyl Art, which is also supported by the story The Horror of Hormak. All the issue of the creation of the Veil and the Blight seems to be related to this original assassination, as Solas told us.

But Flemeth's line may also be related to the story of Conobar and Osen, which I will talk about later in this post. Flemeth became one with Mythal after these events, after "men killed for Flemeth".

She claims that names are useless. And we can see this in her case; in the end we don’t really know her real, human name. We know that some historians in Thedas claim that Flemeth never existed as a girl in Highever, while she has a name among the elves [Asha'bellanar, woman of many years], another among the Chasind [Flemeth], and another when it comes to Mythal. This dismiss about the names can also come from Mythal herself: let’s remember that Elvhen seemed to change their names according to their purpose, following a rule similar to the ones that spirits have. Abelas told us he had a different name before serving Mythal, another when he did, and Abelas when she died. Solas wishes for him to find a new name, aka, a new purpose [read Temple of Mythal, Part 5], so the Elvhenan have a different concept of how names work. If Mythal cares little about her name, could that mean she lost purpose after her assassination?

Unlike Solas, Flemeth seems to recognise the use of the Grey Wardens, but it’s hard to know if these words are just said to convince the Warden she is in favour of them or it’s truly what she believes.

She certainly claims that “men’s hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature”, a line that links many others from her monologue in DAI. It also implies the events of Mythal’s assassination: we don’t know how the event transpired, but due to Abelas’ words [Arbor Wilds: Temple of Mythal  - Part 5 ] we know that she was betrayed and killed by those who attacked her Temple. Solas claims it was the Evanuris [Somewhere[DLC Trespasser]: Elven Ruins]. And we also know that Solas has a resentful conversation with the Inquisitor who drank from the Well of Sorrows and supports the idea of sharing the power with “friends”. Solas will disagree, saying that sometimes it’s better to let a single person keep all the power, to prevent the group abusing of it [read the section Evanuris and Worshipping in Solas shares Lore, Part 2]. This conversation, even though it is not explicit, seems to be related to the assassination of Mythal and the desire for the Evanuris to have the power she grabbed, maybe, during the strike of one of the Titans and may have shared with them [read “The Death of a Titan” for details].

A curious line that Flemeth says is that Cailan does not see that the “evil behind the Blight is the true threat”. This may be Flemeth claiming that the Archdemon is the one responsible of the incoming Blight, or [if we compare this with Avernus’ words [read Soldier’s Peak]], it’s the entity trapped in the Black City, the true origin of the Song that blighted creatures hear [I wrote about this speculation in Speculations about the Vinyl Art].

In the DLC, Morrigan starts to speak like Flemeth, and basically says that change is what will make Thedas free. We can assume that a lot of Morrigan’s ways of seeing the world are Flemeth’s teaching. In DAI, Flemeth questions Morrigan’s intent to protect the old knowledge, and she claims that Morrigan is interested in that because she taught her to do it. We can assume, then, that the way Morrigan sees the world is also the way Flemeth’s sees it, although a lot more obscured, since Morrigan has not Mythal’s knowledge.

Conobar and Osen Story

There are two stories about Flemeth that, despite we never know which one is the true one, we can conclude something clear that DA series always repeats to us: stories hide some degree of truth, but most of them have changed across ages, sometimes due to political interests, sometimes as a consequence of co-opting or assimilating different cultures in a region. Stories are unreliable sources of information, and even institutions that record the information to avoid this degradation of the truth, like the Shaperate, are not perfect and they are victims of distortion [more due to conflict of interests than progressive decay of the information caused by oral transmission].

So, this is the first story in DA series that sets our mind to the main topic that DA series is about: every source of information is unreliable to a certain degree; We can’t trust the Shaperate, for the reasons claimed above, we can’t trust Dalish lore either, because it has been changed due to the fragile nature of oral tradition and their slavery, we can’t even trust Tevinter records, because they may have been manipulated to a certain degree to keep the cult of the dragons or they simply had a terrible understanding of other cultures [but I have my doubts, since we never had access to the main library of Miranthous, which archives are only available for magisters and the Archon, which means a lot of hidden truths may be recorded there, but not spread in order to keep the Empire in control]

But returning to the story of Flemeth. The first narrator we have of this legend is the codex Flemeth. This narration has the following characteristics:

Flemeth was born in Highever, was known as a mage, and married to Bann Conobar

She fell in love with a poet called Osen, and both ran away to find shelter in Chasind tribes [in the Wilds].

Conobar sets a trap: he claims to be dying, asking for Flemeth to see him for the last time.

Conobar kills Osen and kidnaps Flemeth, imprisoning her in a castle.

Flemeth summons a spirit of Vengenace and ends up possessed by it. She kills Conobar and flees to the Kocari Wilds.

As the Witch of the Wild, she kidnaps Chasind men to sire her daughters.

This way Flemeth leads a Chasind army to strike the Alamarri tribes.

A Hero called Cormac defeats Flemeth and burns her with her daughters.

Leliana’s version contains the following characteristics, pretty similar to the Codex's:

Flemeth was beautiful, and got the attention of the Lord of Highever: Conobar.

She married Conobar.

Conobar discovered that Flemeth was a mage, and kept it in secret, fearing she would be taken from him.

With his blessing, Flemeth practised magic in secret.

When Osen appears, both of them fall in love. They run away from the lands of Conobar and find shelter in Chasind tribes.

Then, the news of Conobar dying, and wanting to see Flemeth for the last time, convinced her to return to Highever.

When the couple entered the city, Osen was slain in front of Flemeth and she was prisoned a the castle, in order to wait Conobar’s judgement.

Asking for revenge, Flemeth summoned a demon to kill Conobar, but the spell went awry and the demon possessed her. As an abomination, she killed all the people inside the castle, including Conobar.

Then Flemeth flew to the Kocari Wild and sired daughters with the help of Chasind men.

Morrigan’s version, which is what Flemeth told her, contains the following events:

During the time when this land was not even called Ferelden, Flemeth was beautiful and married with the poor poet Osen, and Lord Conobar had been interested in her from afar.

Conobar offered Osen wealth and power in exchange of Flemeth, to which both, Osen and Flemeth, accepted.

However, Conobar did not have this wealth, so he killed Osen in a field apart, in secret.

Then, Flemeth used the spirits to learn about Osen’s fate and swore revenge.

Flemeth used the spirits to kill Conobar and then fled to the Kocari Wilds

Conobar’s allies chased her, so she found a demon in the Wilds that gave her the power to survive.

Morrigan says that Flemeth never rose Chasind armies to invade the lowlanders, and neither she fought Cormac.

According to Morrigan, Cormac led a brutal civil war against his own people, and later he justified it as a means to remove evil. Flemeth was attached to this legend much later [this shows all what I’ve been telling in this blog about how stories evolve along the time and satisfy certain political or social needs, details in The Chantry and the Mythology of the Chant of Light].

In DAI, the Inquisitor summarises Flemeth’s tale as:

Flemeth left her husband for a lover,

Her husband tricked her, killed her lover, and imprisoned her

Then a spirit came to grant her revenge: Mythal

Flemeth agrees that this was her tale, which is closer to the standard tale than to the story she shared with Morrigan. But we also know Flemeth: she can care less about what anyone thinks about her life.

What we can conclude is that Flemeth asked for revenge and Mythal granted it in that moment. We can also assume she told Morrigan a different story, to teach her about not trusting men, about how dangerous mages are for them, and how power is all what matters. Teachings that will prevent Morrigan [once she inherited the fragment that Flemeth wanted to] from falling and making the same mistakes that, maybe, cost Mythal's life.

Flemeth in DA2

In case we never fought Flemeth in DAO, DA2 starts by giving us the information about her nature: she is a dragon, or at least, she can polymorph into one. It’s hinted that this part of the game happened at the same time of DAO, after Flemeth rescued the warden, but before her potential fight against them. We can have a conversation with her about this dragon nature, and it’s never clear if she is one or can turn into one. Again, Flemeth and her philosophy of “believe what you want”. Of course, we, as players, can suspect this is the true [or at least one of the both] nature of Mythal thanks to her Dragon mosaic and statues in her Temple.

She meets Hawke family when Lothering is being attacked by hordes of Darkspawn.

She has her line of “It’s fate or chance” here, and it seems it’s in this moment when she foresaw the utility of Hawke as someone who can carry her piece. “It’s fate or chance” to survive once more the assassination that may suffer, again, at the hands of someone she gave some care [care with interests but still yet, she repeats a similar story to Mythal's once more]. Apparently, this is the “music she has to dance” as long as it plays. As usual, it’s hard to find clear meaning in Flemeth’s cryptic words.

She again reinforces the idea that names matter little. She seems to dismiss the legend that claims she steals children and considers herself closer to an apostate.

When she claims that she has an appointment, we know she refers to the second meeting she will have with the Warden. A potential chance of being assassinated again. This comment seems to me that she can foresee the future, or at least, glimpses of potential futures. She knows she has a big chance of dying at the Warden's hands, and therefore she gets interested in Hawke as a carrier of her fragment.

As I wrote in Marethari Talas, Flemeth remembers well who made a pact with her across the ages, and makes uses of them.

When we kill Wesley, Flemeth speaks “Without an end there can be no peace. It gets no easier. ” The implications of this line may or may not have a relevance with the speculation I did in Speculations about the Vinyl Art. If this speculation ends up being reasonable, maybe this line is also related to her fate: she needs to end her own corrupted shape in order to find peace. There must be a radical destruction to build upon the ruins. This concept is repeated over and over in all the lore of DA series, applying the idea of removing civilisations, for example in Par Vollen, or system, such as the Circle of Magi.

When we reach Marethari, we have some hints that she and Flemeth had a deal time ago. I spoke about this in Marethari Talas.

Marethari tells us that Flemeth’s word is valuable, reason why I always keep her words as the ones closest to the truth in the DA series, despite being so cryptic and sometimes, pretty useless due to it. Even in the way Marethari speaks about promises, one can suspect that Flemeth and Mythal are also keeping a promise. Hence, we can infer indirectly, that Mythal and Flemeth are creatures that value promises and words heavily.

It’s also interesting where Flemeth is raised once more: this is a cementery dedicated to Dalish uthenera [and I clarify Dalish one because it seems to be the “wrongly understood” Uthenera, that has nothing to do with the Elvhenan Uthenera, which has been seen in more details in the book The Masked Empire]. In here, we find souls bound to this place to defend it, called shadow warriors which shape resembles Elvhenan: bald elves. Now, this is what the Dalish say about this place. But let’s never forget that the time of Arlathan has been kept in their lore in a very unreliable state, so it’s hard to know if this is truly the case in here. After all, this cemetery has the Strange Idol in it, which is never clear which function had in the ancient Dalish culture. To refresh a bit all the mysteries about this idol, read The Strange Idol.

We reach an altar where Merril sings a part of the song Uthenera, as Flemeth raises from the amulet. The verses that Merril sings are:

emma ir abelas souver'inan isala hamin vhenan him dor'felas in uthenera na revas elder your time is come now I am filled with sorrow weary eyes need resting heart has become grey and slow in waking sleep is freedom

The first thing I notice, that Flemeth repeats with the elven Inquisitor, is her respect and kindness to the Dalish. She calls them “the People”, which is such a curious contrast with Solas, who doesn’t call them “his people”. “So young and bright” is another description she always gives to them, which encourages again my suspicion that the Dalish are not elvhenan turned into mortal ones [since Solas and Abelas and his people seem to retain their ageless nature as well as their baldness] but a product that came after. A transformation? Certainly something related to slavery, shape, and the Vallaslin that we have been hinted in several materials such as The Horror of Hormak [General] and The Horror of Hormak [Personal Speculation], as well as visually in some mosaics such as in the “Lifting of the Vallaslin" in Fen’Harel’s mountain ruins.

Flemeth asks if Merril knows who she is beyond the title of Asha'bellanar, and when Merril claims that she knows little, then Flemeth tells her not to bend the knee. It seems that she prefers those gestures when they come from people who know her as Mythal [she claims that these are “manners” in DAI when an inquisitor bows before her seeing her as Mythal]. This may seem to coincide with what Abelas has told us: Mythal followers are not slaves, but servants on their own volition. In these small details we can see that Mythal was not an Evanuris that asked worshipping unless it was with free will. Same as it happens with the Well of Sorrows, which I covered in the post Temple of Myhtal - Part 5.

Maybe this is minor, but Flemeth appears in the exact line of “in Uthenera we find freedom”, with a shot that seems to imply that Flemeth has everything but freedom or peace, bound to a cycle of assassination at the hands of people's personal interests. This also may be a hint about how Uthenera is something entirely different to what Dalish, and by extension the player, think to believe. I will try to write an Uthenera post eventually.

The amulet had a small piece of her in case the inevitable occur.

“if I know Morrigan, it already has [occurred the inevitable]”, she claims. This line makes me hint that this Flemeth is not truly aware of what happened in her “death” against the warden. This whole situation also seems to imply that Flemeth always dies, even when your Warden makes a deal with her and tricks Morrigan. In which case, there will be 2 Flemeth at the same time in a world state where you don’t kill Flemeth [intended or a small mistake from Bioware devs? I assume the latter]. In case Flemeth died, could it be that this small piece of her keeps the exact same memory that it had at the moment of the creation of this magical amulet? She doesn't know what happened during that last meeting with the Warden?

But we can be sure that Flemeth knows Morrigan well enough to the point to see her future confusion with the possession issue. This makes us understand Flemeth as Mythal who has been raising her as the next inheritor, teaching her to be tough and resilient, and mainly, surviving at any cost. Reasons why Flemeth raised Morrigan so roughly. However, in DAI, it seems that she also tested Morrigan’s sense of motherhood in that scene where she pretends she will keep Kieran to fulfil their destiny [check The Final Piece: Part 2]. This again emphasises that Mythal is not only a goddess of Motherhood and care, but also of Revenge with a terrible, furious side, as Solas said in Arbor Wilds: Altar of Mythal.

From all the companions’ comments when meeting Flemeth, the most interesting ones come from Fenris and Anders.

Fenris has a broad experience in seeing fucked-up creatures made out from blood magic due to his Tevinter background. He claims he can’t perceive Flemeth as an abomination, a spirit, nor a powerful mage. Because she is…. A dragon? A Forgotten One? It’s true Fenris is not the most reliable character we can have to perceive the truth, but maybe this is a hint about Mythal’s true nature.

Anders also gets confused, which is curious, because he is already possessed and has the unique perception of a spirit as well as a mage. It seems that Anders can see the magic in mages [as it has happened if your Hawke is a mage and you pretend not to be one in front of him, he will claim he can see magic power around the player]. So it seems he sees Flemeth’s power around her too, but it’s confusing for him; it’s not of a mage nor an abomination, therefore it may be because Mythal has “dragon magic”? Forgotten Magic? Hard to speculate. But we can be sure that Mythal’s powers are unique, never seen in the average world of Thedas mages. These comments may hint us that Mythal has a unique nature, whether a dragon one or a Forgotten One. Or maybe both, because there are speculations where I suspect the Forgotten Ones are, in fact, special, powerful, ancient dragons [read the series of comics for understanding this].

When she explains her own nature she says these valuable words:

“I’m a fly in the ointment. I am a whisper in the shadows. I am also and old, old woman. More than that you need not know” “Must I be in only one place? Bodies are such limiting things. I am but a fragment cast adrift from the whole. A bit of flotsam to cling to in the storm”.

I like to highlight the tone of these words. She claims to be a "fly in the ointment", someone who bothers the bigger plans or success of someone else. She is something that has happened, that the ones that assassinated her did not expect. Also, beside the expression, why would she use such a comparison for herself? Flies are disgusting creatures, carrion-like. Why the grandiose Mythal would claim herself as a fly? So much has she diminished? Or this is also related to some self-hate to the potential corruption version that may be caged in the Black City as I speculated in the post Speculations about the Vinyl Art? Maybe I am reading too much in an average expression. In DAI, she also uses a similar Metaphor to describe herself: “I’m but a shadow, lingering in the sun”. Once more, it is an image of a diminished creature.

She also reinforces the idea that Mythal can take different bodies, and be in different places at the same time. She describes herself as a "fragment cast adrift", which is an expression that also gives an idea of being lost. A "flotsam to cling to in the storm", which is another metaphor with a more ominous concept that, once again, seem to coincide with the speculations I talked about in Speculations about the Vinyl Art. Flemeth is, in summary, a piece of a bigger thing, a bit lost and wandering in Thedas, a shadow that dies slowly under the sun, but also a flotsam to cling to in a chaotic storm. All images of someone broken, diminished, tarnished, agonising, that still tries to survive.

When we ask about her plans, she remains as cryptic as usual: "Destiny awaits us both", which is a line repeated later with Kieran in The Fade - Flemeth:Part 2: "He [Kieran] has a destiny to accomplish". She claims in that opportunity that creatures like Kieran and her [who contain fragments of ancient entities] have a fate or a destiny, that doesn't care about what they want or what kind of humans they are.

Flemeth's words also speak about a radical, inevitable change of the configuration of the world: "We stand upon the precipice of change. The world fears the inevitable plummet into th abyss." As I talked many times along the blog, Abyss and Void seem to be synonyms, and both also refer to the depth of Thedas, deeper than the Deep Roads, and may be related to the Titans. That the world fears the plummet into the abyss, sounds a lot similar to the image that Exaltations 1, in Chant of Light - Part 2, where we can read the prophecy of the world's fate: enormous entities will awake, the world will crumble into the abyss as these entities arise. And this is inevitable. In general I won't consider anything from the Chantry reliable at all, but in this aspect I consider the design choice: these fragments were written by the devs to imply an incoming prophecy of an event that we may see soon.

Not by chance, the cinematic shows in this part the high place where they are, in a mountain. I think there is a potential foreshadowing here about the awakening of the Titans that somehow is related to keep caging the Black City, or containing the evil in it. I also implied in many posts that the Titans may be under a forced Uthenera, and all these elements may be interrelated in a more complicated fashion.

Flemeth speaks about giving Hawke an advice that still it's not entirely clear: a leap to the precipice of change, which translated into DAI it may refer to the leap, or fall, that Hawke and the Inquisitor made in Adamant fortress when they fell into the Fade. In there, they float to prevent death. But all this quest didn't really feel like a "radical change" in the plot. We only recover the Inquisitor's memories that put some perspective to who is Corypheus and the power of the orb, nothing more. It's not like Corypheus is new in that plot, we met him for the first time in the DLC of DA2, after all. So, what does this advice truly mean?

For some reason, I always read this as an advice from Flemeth to keep Hawke in the Fade, because Alistair, or Stout, would be more important later in the fight against the "big evil" behind the Blight. But still, this is mere speculation.

In a more hopeful reading, maybe Hawke was the only one able to survive the Fade, although the last chapter of "Hard in Hightown: Chapter ???" found in the DAI Fade clearly shows that Hawke died, content of fulfilling his destiny with that.

At the end of the encounter, Flemeth gives Hawke her sympathy, which may imply she knows that Hawke will have a complicated future; specially related to their mother, and since Mythal is/was the embodiment of motherhood, this may strike her a bit deeper.

Another small detail is that we are informed that Flemeth regrets a lot to the point she was poisoned. Should we take this literally? Should we understand that she, as Myhtal, even may have changed her name because regrets, and could have picked one that personified another attribute like regret or rage? Or this reget comes from Flemeth, her human shape, and Morrigan's raising? Impossible to say.

Flemeth in DAI

Inquisition has a lot of content and scenes where we can extract bits of information about Mythal, her divinity dominion, and Flemeth. To keep things a bit more organised, I try to gather the scenes more or less according a general topic.

Mythal as an Elvhena Goddess

If we perform the ritual to summon Mythal in her Altar, there are 2 different lines available to do so. In both cases, it starts the same:

"We few who travel far, call to me, and I will come. Without mercy, without fear" "Without mercy? That sounds rather ominous" "Indeed"

However, if the inquisitor drank from the Well, and we have Solas in the party, we have an extra line for the invocation:

Inquisitor: "We few who travel far, call to me, and I will come. Without mercy, without fear" Solas: "Cry havoc in the moonlight, let the fire of vengeance burn, the cause is clear"

Solas' addition shows Mythal as a revenge embodiment in here. I think this is a key piece in the lore: In this scene, we learn something extremely important and which is never again reinforced: this place is not in the Temple of Mythal, because the Temple of Mythal was a place of Justice, while this altar has another objective; only if you bring Solas you learn that this is where you come to ask for revenge. Because Mythal represents Justice [Mythal in Evanuris], but also revenge, a concept that so far, we had always aligned to Elgar'nan, and it was here where I started to suspect that maybe, Mythal and Elgar'nan are two sides of the same entity. However, we also have to remember that due to Elgar'nan's destructive fury, Mythal took his place to pass judgement over the People, according to the codex The Judgment of Mythal, which I analysed in Ancient Elven codices, Temple of Mythal. Even though this is the first time we are informed strictly that Mythal could be called for revenge, it is not new for us that Mythal has a terrible side: since DAO and in DA2 [with Merril] we learnt that you don't want to infuriate Mythal because she may be just and the embodiment of motherhood, but she is also terrible with her enemies and those who don't keep their promises.

Morrigan: "You know who I am. From high priest to high priest, I am the last to drink of sorrows. Come to us Mythal. Whatever you are, whatever remains. I invoke your name and your power."

This line is only said by Morrigan, who adds a peculiar unique set of words: From high priest to high priest. It's hard to speculate why she would say that. Is she more prepared to drink from the Well because she was trained, unconsciously, to become a priest by Flemeth? Or this is a mistake from the devs? Is she talking about the entities trapped in the Well of Sorrow, who were all priests of Mythal who left their "wills" in the Well? Or she is talking about Mythal herself, considering her as a priest of another higher entity? For me is hard to decide.

When the Inquisitor drinks from the Well, they don't speak the line "from higih priest to high priest", it's merely "You know who I am, the last to drink from your Well of Sorrows. Come to us Mythal. Whatever you are, whatever remains. I invoke your name and your power."

This detail hardly is useful for any decent speculation. We can only assume that Morrigan is more prepared to handle the power of the Well simply because she is a mage who learnt the ancient magic of "what once was".

When the inquisitor bends their knee before Flemeth, or thanks her for coming, knowing she is Mythal, Flemeth claims that these are manners, and unlike with Merril, she accepts the reverence. Once again this seems to encourage what Abelas explained to us: Mythal doesn't have slaves but servants willingly to worship her. You are not her slave, and you have to earn the right to server her. If you don't want to, she would not force you. This concept of "manners" will be repeated in the book The Stolen Throne, where we see Flemeth appreciating Maric's manners when he bends his knee to her [read section below] respecting her power and wisdom.

If the Inquisitor is disrespectful, Flemeth acts similar to Merril's case

"That's Mythal?" "You invoke that name so easily. I wonder if you know what it means."

This shows to me that she gives a lot the benefit of the doubt, and understands deeply the ignorance of mortal creatures. She has other needs than being worshipped, even though she appreciates it.

When Morrigan is controlled by Flemeth to stop the Inquisitor:

Morrigan: If she did not have this hold over me... Flemeth: Then you would do something even more foolish. In this place, my power is greater than yours. Do not tempt me further.

This is a curious information: in the Fade, or at least, in this part of the Fade, Flemeth's power is greater. This could be because the evanuris-elvhenan nature of Mythal, as creatures of the Fade, but it could also be due to her dragon nature. If we remember the comic Until We Sleep, we find that dragons and their blood had a particular power in the Fade, they are basically Somniari or Dreamers, able to control the Fade and make it into reality. Curiously, in this comic, Titus—who has yellow eyes like Flemeth, Morrigan, and Yavanna—is related to dragon blood rituals that gave him strong powers. In the comic is implied that these powers come from the Old Gods, or Dragon Gods, which again reinforces the assumption that maybe the Forgotten Ones were dragons originally worshipped by the Elvhenan until they claimed divinity as their own and did not need them anymore [further exploration of this concept in Attempt to rebuild Ancient Elvhenan History].

Mythal as a Changed Goddess

When we learn that we need to summon Mythal, an elven inquisitor will reinforce a concept that has been repeated all over Flemeth's lines:

Elven Inquisitor: "My people believe that Mythal was trapped beyond the Fade long ago. Even if she is not, she has never shown any evidence of being alive, never responded to our prayers."

This shows that despite Mythal is who was once, she also changed deeply, hence she stopped being powerful or being present for The People, even though we always see Flemeth being kind with Merril, or an Elven Inquisitor. There is a dear sentiment for them, but distant.

Inquisitor: I presume you know what we're up against Flemeth: better than you can possible imagine

This part of the dialogue is when the Inquisitor asks her for help about Corypheus. It's hard to know what Flemeth is exactly referring to: Is she talking about magisters? The blight, the red lyrium, or most likely, a mage pretending to ascend to godhood? This last option makes more sense, since Solas told us about Mythal stopping Falon'Din from his uncontrollable desire of being worshipped in mass. So, we can assume that there is a soft confirmation about what Solas told us about Mythal: she fought against people who abused their power to increase their worshipping or tried to acquire godhood. Further details, read Temple of Mythal, What pride had Wrought: Part 2.

When the Inquisitor is non-elven, and claims that Flemeth should tell the truth to the world, she goes:

Inquisitor: If Mythal is within you, why not reveal yourself? Flemeth: And to whom should I reveal myself? I: To the elves? To everyone? F: [Laughs] I knew the hearts of men even before Myhtal came to me. It's why she came to me. They do not want the truth, and I... I am but a shadow, lingering in the sun. I: Why did Mythal come to you? F: For a reckoning that will shake the very heavens.

Morrigan: And you follow her whims? Do you even know what she truly is? Flemeth: You seek to preserve the powers that were, but to what end? It is because I taught you, girl, because things happened that were never meant to happen. She was betrayed as I was betrayed - as the world was betrayed! Mythal clawed and crawled her way through the ages to me, and I will see her avenged! Alas, so long as the music plays, we dance.

We have here, again, the Revenge vibes that Mythal seems to support and encourage in Flemeth. We are told, cryptically once more, that Flemeth had always had a desire to preserve ancient powers or entities. It's maybe not so clear to understand if the preservation of Urthemiel in DAO was Mythal's desire or Flemeth's. But we can be sure that Flemeth wanted to preserve Mythal in herself, as she wanted Morrigan to preserve Urthemiel in Kieran's body. Flemeth has always been interested in preserving ancient entities, specially dragon-like: another example is Yavanna, a daughter she raised specifically to take care of a temple where many ancient dragons hibernate [for details, read The Silent Grove].

"She was betrayed as I was betrayed - as the world was betrayed! " This line, so iconic, and in combination with all the proofs gathered in these posts, makes us suspect that the Betrayal of Mythal is her assassination [at the hands of those that attacked her Temple, according to Abelas' words]. The Betrayal of Flemeth is also unknown, but we know it is related to one of a mixture of the several versions of her story with Conobar and Osen. And the betrayal of the world could be the creation of the Blight that required brutal measures to be contained: hence the creation of the Veil and the destruction of the Elvhenan empire with it: a betrayal to the world that these elvhenan knew so far. With this I mean that I'm not sure what "world" Flemeth refers here: the Thedas we know, or the ancient world with no Veil?

It's also in this part where we have this iconic line about the music, which encourages the theory that the original source of the Blight's song is a corrupted entity trapped and/or fused with the Evanuris in the Black City [details in the post Speculations about the Vinyl Art].

We also suspect by the bold lines ["because things happened that were never meant to happen"], in combination with Solas' words about how difficult is to kill an Evanuris, that something truly terrible happened to Mythal to get killed. We know she was betrayed [ icon we saw in her Fade where a big statue we assume it's Dirthamen's exhibits a sword on his back, as a perfect symbol of betrayal: The Fade – Flemeth: Part 2], and something happened to her that not only changed her, as she claimed above, but also made terrible things happen; things that were not meant to happen.

Elven Inquisitor: Mythal was the goddess of justice. I've seen the statues. She... Flemeth: Was one of the People. Yes, indeed. So young and vibrant. You do the People proud and have come far. I: If Mythal is part of you why haven't you helped us? We’ve called to you, prayed to you. F: What was could not be changed. I: What about now? You know so much…. F: You know not what you ask, child.

As we can see, when the Inquisitor is Elven, Flemeth is kinder, and repeats similar behaviour we saw with Merril: she calls them young and vibrant, and respects them as "The People", when we know that Abelas, Felassan, and Solas, ancient elvhenan of that time, dismiss Dalish as non-elvhenan or even consider them Children. This always looked very curious to me, since apparently all of them are followers of Mythal in a way or another, yet they do not respect the Dalish as Flemeth does.

In this cryptic piece of dialogue we also realise that Mythal changed in a way that it shouldn't have happened. Maybe it could be reading too much in between lines but Flemeth claims that asking for Mythal's help is something terrible, something beyond possibility, because "they don't know what they are asking". Something so terrible happened to Mythal that changed her in a way that made her impossible for her to help The People. This again, seems to encourage the hypothesis we worked on in Speculations about the Vinyl Art.