#either way this information has been plagueing my mind

[silversodas]

Welcome Home, So Interesting Thing about The Hearts

When hearing about Welcome home I wanted to go in as blind as I could to try and see how much I could figure out on my own, before seeing to many others theories. I don’t have the energy to write a full essay at the moment, BUT I NEED TO TALK ABOUT THE HEARTS (again, I am going in blind so I might be talking about something that’s been talked about)

What hearts? The hearts on the soles of Wally’s Shoes and Barnaby’s paws. It’s mentioned in both their bios that they share that characteristic. I thought that was a specific thing to draw attention to, so I looked to see if there was symbolism for having hearts on the soles of your feet, and holy crap there is!

Apparently there is a sister saying to “wearing your heart on your sleeve” called “wear your heart on your feet”. Symbolically speaking, when we wear our heart on our feet, they’re still exposed for others to see, leaving us open to finding romance (typically). But at the same time the strategic placement gives us more agency and control as we play in the risky game of love. Which sounds reasonable, but could become too guarded of a strategy if your not careful.

Barnaby has hearts on all four paws so technically he has harts in the palms of his hands and that also has symbolism, it’s main symbolism is charity from the heart, but also

For Barnaby, it symbolizes help that’s given out of love, who Barnaby helps the most is Wally and since it’s a characteristic that they share, it gives me the impression that it’s something between them which brings me to THIS DRAWING FROM THE WEBSITE!!

This is how the heart in hand symbolism is usually depicted open palm hand outstretched to the viewer. This drawing snagged my attention, it was strangely intimate. I almost passed over it, but looked to see if there was symbolism for blue hearts..and dude..

Red Hearts symbolizes romance and romantic love, and blue hearts symbolize a platonic connection, apparently for emojis it draws attention to a unique bromance or a connection between friends that are as close as brothers.

So…for the heart that Barnaby has in his hand, that symbolizes the help he gives Wally out of love to be romantic (that’s how I am reading it) but Wally himself is painting it blue, symbolizing platonic connection. Which, to me, says that Barnaby has feelings for Wally, but Wally sees it as friendship. Mostly because Wally doesn’t get it, because Wally’s gay coding is gay coded so I don’t think it’s a “but he’s straight” issue, but I do feel like a frustration is being vented here. Which is why I find it really sad

The fictional creators of the Welcome Home website are more framing devices then characters but the fictional creators of the show Welcome Home are characters, more or less. The whole show of Welcome Home feels like it was created by a gay man who put as much of himself as he could in the show without giving himself away because it was the early 70s. I mean technically it’s really obvious, but would go unnoticed by the people he is trying to avoid.

I get the feeling that what I read from the drawing is something the creator has been through. Maybe he was the Barnaby and his labors of love were seen as friendship and maybe held out hope even though he knows he shouldn’t or maybe he was the Wally and perhaps did return feelings but was still figuring himself out and couldn’t see those feelings for what they were so he painted them as friendship hurting his friend and himself as a result

I am trying to see what the “creators” of the show were going for when creating the show as well as see Welcome Home for its super natural elements, but that’s a completely different post. I am not really even sure what Wally is or how much of his own entity he actually is or if the others are even around at all, but certain pieces of art work shows a lot of personal heart and soul from the creator (character) and it makes me want to know more about him, and see what agency he has in the narrative

[the-littlest-goblin]

Something that's stuck with me from the Arch Heart's appearance, which highlights a major underpinning of my frustration with C3, is the "Big Doors don't work" comment.

In what way exactly is the Big Door not working?

The purpose of the Divine Gate was to mitigate the gods exerting undo influence on mortal affairs, and according to everything we've seen in all 3 campaigns up to this point, this was a demonstrable success: the Calamity ended, and despite multiple potentially world-ending catastrophes cropping up since then, it has been up to mortals to deal with these threats. They've often done so with divine aid, but I fail to see how that's overreaching on the gods' part when accepting said aid is still dependent on mortal choice.*

Part of the Arch Heart's reasoning for wanting to "let go" is, as I understand it, because mortals continue to rebel against and resent the gods even from behind the Divine Gate. Which, yes they do, but like... the customer is not always right. Not every complaint needs to be catered to, especially the ones based on faulty postulates.

I get that this is not how the Arch Heart is thinking about it; my issue is not with the roleplay of individual characters, but with the narrative whole and the sheer amount of time it has spent, both in the text and extra-textual framing, sincerely entertaining the base axioms of an argument that is so poorly constructed Ludinus wouldn't make it past round one of a middle school debate club. None of the anti-god arguments have given any tangible evidence for the claim that the gods are an oppressive force or that Exandria would be better off without them that is not either:

A. Aeor, which was pre-Divine Gate and in fact the catalyst for the gods to pull back on interfering with mortal affairs, and therefore not all that pertinent to the current status quo;

or B. an event or action that, while it may be done in the name of the gods (e.g. Hearthdell) or directly encouraged by a god (e.g. Opal and the Crown) is nonetheless still contingent on mortals making choices, and therefore not a convincing argument that the gods are infringing on free will,** nor that removing them would prevent these types of situations.

An ongoing motif of C3 has been showing perspectives which challenge the prevailing narrative about the gods as established within Exandria's lore to this point. As a story enjoyer, I normally would eat up this sort of reversal—I love a metatextual play with in-universe narratives. But to do so convincingly requires more substance than a handful of characters going 'Trust me bro.' I'm going to need to see some peer-reviewed studies on Exandrian metaphysics before I take Ludinus "17 ulterior motives stacked in a wizard robe" Da'leth's word over what I've seen with my own brain over thousands of hours worth of game play.

If the message of the narrative is telling me to question the diegetic information it presents, then I am going to do just that. So far every argument that the gods do more harm than good for Exandria has been rampant citationless behavior. I find it baffling and borderline infuriating that we're approaching the denouement of this campaign and I still have yet to see evidence that the core conflict of the story, the central debate which has plagued every in-game and fandom discussion for a year now, is based on an actual problem. Like, at all.

*If you think Vax did not exercise his own agency and free will in every step of becoming Champion of the Matron, you are simply wrong.

**For real, we know there are magical means of straight-up mind control in Exandria. Like, you don't have to approve of it, but the gods engaging in standard issue verbal manipulation does not constitute a violation of free will, and it certainly doesn't make the argument that they are so immeasurably more powerful than mortals that they should not be allowed to exist.

[florencemtrash]

Flame, Shadow, Beast : Shadow

Azriel x Reader x Eris

Summary: Years after Eris frees you from his father’s prison, you’ve managed to find a new love, new friends, and build a life for yourself in Autumn. But when a certain Shadowsinger stumbles upon your home, dragging in painful memories of betrayal and longing, you’ll have to face the things you left in the past and make choices about the future you want.

Warnings: Angst (specifically a very angsty Azriel)

Flame, Shadow, Beast: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Azriel gripped his glass so tightly in his fist he wondered if it would shatter. 

Another year gone. Another year without you. Another year where the guilt ate at his stomach and heart so fiercely he wondered if he was hollow on the inside. 

Azriel! WAIT! No! Please, no! AZ! HELP ME!

“Azriel.” Cassian’s voice brought him back to reality, a reality where he sat at an empty booth looking murderous as he tried to drown out the past with his ninth drink of the night.

“Cass.” He said stiffly. His voice was as steady and clear as if he hadn’t drank at all. Cassian could never tell if it was because the alcohol didn’t affect him, or because he was incredible at faking sobriety - either was possible when it came to Az.

“This is the fourth night in a row.”

“You’re perceptive. You should take my job.” Azriel’s voice was so dead and emotionless it frightened him.

“Stop this and come home.” Cassian said, almost begging. 

Azriel grit his teeth and said nothing, downing the rest of his drink and silently gesturing to the bar for another one. When the drink came, Cassian snatched it up first. Maybe the drinks had affected him, because on any other day, Azriel could strike faster than lightning.

“Rhysand has a job for you.” He said, pulling on the small collection of words guaranteed to bring some life to his brother.

Azriel’s spine snapped straight and Cassian flinched at how quickly his brother - brooding and sarcastic as he may be - was replaced by The Shadowsinger. 

“What’s the job?”

Find Bryaxis. Those were the two words that had sent Azriel flying into the night sky and across all of Prythian, chasing after the demon that had eluded them since the end of the war against Hybern.

For over a decade they’d all held their breath when it came to the ancient creature. For over a decade they’d been plagued by more pressing matters than a beast who seemed content to remain hidden and out of mind. Still, Azriel hadn’t forgotten about him. No, he was like a loose thread on a piece of clothing - forever destined to tug and unravel at Azriel’s shortening patience and sanity. 

Nesta had felt something. Something she wasn’t sure of - Bryaxis looming over all of Prythian like a shadow before curling up into a sliver of smoke and disappearing for good. 

They’d written to Elain to see if she had seen anything through her Eye, but she’d also been experiencing blind spots in her vision. The future was always full of events, some malleable and some concrete, but it was more unclear than ever before - like someone had shattered a mirror and she was left to string the pieces back together.

Azriel shook his head, emptying his mind of thoughts of Elain. It would do him no good. Thoughts concerning Elain were painful enough now that she’d left the Night Court… they were made even worse because they always traced their way back to you. Like how rivers must always find their way back to the sea, Azriel found himself drawn back to memories of you, so bright and full of heat they blinded and burned him. Your smile, your laugh, the grim determination on your face as you stared him down during sparring matches. You’d been his anchor without him even knowing it. 

And now you were gone. And it was all his fault.

Stupid, stupid fool. He hissed at himself.

Threads of information concerning Bryaxis were sparse and limited, but Azriel chased after them all, finding himself deep within the gleaming workshops of Dawn, the silent and cherished libraries of Day, and the sea-whipped bellies of Summer Court ships before finally tracing Bryaxis to the Autumn Court.

This has to be handled delicately. It is imperative that no one discovers you. 

Azriel saw Rhysand’s familiar graceful penmanship, read the words, and immediately crushed the note in his hand, casting it into the dying fire. The paper folded and crumpled from the heat before turning to ash.

He huddled down in the mountains that crossed the line between Winter and Autumn, grateful to be free from the cutting winds. Beyond the frozen lake were rolling hills of bejeweled forest. He wouldn’t risk flying now. From here he’d travel through shadows and by foot, getting as close to the Forest House as he dared.

If his intuition was right (and it so often was), if Eris knew Bryaxis was within the borders of his court, he would keep him close. Close enough to monitor, close enough to kill if need be. But what The High Lord of Autumn would want with Bryaxis, Azriel had no idea.

With the issue of succession dealt with and Eris planted on the High Lord’s seat, there came less and less of a need to continue relations between Autumn and Night, at least between Autumn and the Court of Dreams. After the war and until a month ago, nearly all of Eris’s dealings had been with Keir and the Court of Nightmares. Rhysand wanted to change that, and that meant if Azriel wanted to search for Bryaxis in Autumn, he would have to do it in secret. Eris would sooner pluck out his eyes than let any member of the Inner Circle scour his lands voluntarily.

Azriel traveled from town to town, inching ever closer to the Forest House, which curled up beneath the earth like a sleeping giant. That was the issue with the Forest House - hardly anyone knew the size of it, and that meant Azriel could be walking above a watchguard stronghold and not realize until it was too late. 

Something stirred within him when he reached one of the Forest House border towns. Everywhere people seemed brighter, livelier than when Beron had been alive, but this place… this place was filled with an uncharacteristic casualness and joy. The marketplace bustled with activity even in the early morning. Plump fruits, freshly baked bread, and sticky treacle candies wrapped in wax paper were laid out with care on hand-built carts decorated with golden chrysanthemums and sunflowers. 

You would have loved this place.

No. This wasn’t what he’d come for. He’d come to distract himself with work and to find Bryaxis.

Azriel slipped up the trees and settled in between two arching branches, straining his ears to hear the talk that went on below. His shadows slithered out to gather information his senses couldn’t reach.

“Faula’s with child, can you imagine! After so-”

“Thirty?! Why, how could you charge so much! The High Lo-”

“Four dozen eggs, two pounds of flour, six slabs of butter, and-”

“Will Our Lady be coming?” 

Azriel’s ears pricked up, blocking out the hushed conversation that went on around the pair of females who sat on milk crates and peeled apples under the cover of a thatched roof. The crisp sound of a knife sliding between fruit and peel followed by the thunk of a cored apple dropping into a barrel was a soft rhythm to Azriel’s ears.

“To ours?! Good gods, Rebessa, to think that she’d spend the harvest here.”

“She lives close by. It’s not as though we’re strangers to her and she’s wonderfully kind!”

“I hear she’s been invited elsewhere.”

The female gasped, her hand flying up to her mouth. “Elsewhere?”

“Elsewhere.” 

“Do you think he’ll-”

“Shhhhh. You mustn’t say anything. I’m not even supposed to know.” 

“Well how’d you find out?”

“Syndra says he’s been visiting jewelers and carpenters every week. He could be preparing a new room… or a bridal chest.”

“About time! And will he be going with her?”

“He follows wherever Our Lady goes.”

“Shame. He was unnerving, but welcome. Haven’t lost a sheep or hen in ages.” 

They continued on, whispering between their bowed heads of matching ruby-colored hair. Autumn Court members were crafty and secretive by nature, an unfortunate byproduct of existing beneath the thumbs of one brutal and cunning High Lord after another. But it would seem their tongues had loosened in the years since Eris had come into his power.

Our Lady. 

Elsewhere. 

He.

Azriel rolled the words around in his mind like a rough-cut stone in a tumbler, then set off to find the “he” who followed this Lady wherever she went.

As he slipped through the village, searching for a home that would be fit enough for a Lady of Autumn, there were two things he noticed. First, the stirring in his chest had grown stronger, like the pulling of the sea as it went out with the tide or the beating of a firefly’s wings against glass. Second, for a town of this size, even one that lay so close to the Forest House, there were only a handful of guards left to trot around atop their horses and an additional handful that patrolled the paths to the fields on foot. Whoever this Lady was, she offered them enough protection and power that Eris would willingly leave it vulnerable - at least in appearance.

Azriel’s nerves sparked with interest, his heart thrumming with the adrenaline that came with staying hidden. It was like a game of sorts. A game of how far he could go, how deep into a court could he burrow, how many secrets he could steal from tight lips without getting caught. 

When he came across the cottage beyond the borders of town, nothing but the faint trail made by footsteps and horse hooves hinting at its existence through the break in the treeline, he was unimpressed. No wave of power rushed over him. No hunting dogs or other monsters were posted at the door. The only thing that strengthened, and had continued to strengthen as he neared this place, was that fluttering tightness in his chest. 

He couldn’t tell if it was his instincts on edge or a bad omen of what was to come. 

There was a flat, empty stretch of land from the treeline to the front door. He called upon his shadows, drawing his power over himself to hide as he slinked across the grass soundlessly. His feet knew where to step, his lungs knew when to take breath, until suddenly he was at the side door. A peek in through the window confirmed his suspicions. 

There was no one here. 

He pressed his fingertips to the walls of the house, feeling the magic splinter outward like a ripple on a still lake. It was an unassuming, but powerful spell that wrapped around the house like a second skin. But Azriel was craftier than that, poking for weak spots in the magic and finding an opening in the chimney. 

He broke through the veil of magic, slipped into the darkness, and emerged on the other side inside the house. 

It was the smell that dropped him to his knees, the scent of witch hazel, rosemary oil, and oranges, clean and bright and warm all at the same time. 

It smelled like you. 

All thoughts of his mission and staying hidden at all costs were wiped from his mind. Now he searched for you.

He walked as if in a trance, finding pieces of you everywhere. He found you in the half-drunken mug of tea sweetened with honey and lavender syrup on the kitchen counter. He found you in the embroidery on the curtains - dainty flowers and vines used to patch up the holes and scratches with a personal touch. He found you in the fingerprints that stained the outer leaves of the books on the table. 

All these small things spoke a truth he hadn’t dared hope for in over a decade.

You were still alive.

He whirled around, searching the space with desperation for any further signs of you. But the house was empty and still, pieces of furniture missing like you’d been preparing to leave.

You slipped into your house, pressing a finger against your lips in warning to Bryaxis.

Stay silent. 

The monster obeyed, his neck twisting to the side at an unnatural angle as his body grew in size, shadowy flesh warping and stretching until he’d taken the form of a bear. 

Your eyes turned black. Power whispering at the edges of your mind just waiting to be called upon. You flexed your hands, calling your sword from the ether and feeling its familiar weight drop into your palm. 

There was a stranger in your home. A male from the looks of his build and height. He rummaged through the drawers by the door, deft fingers pulling out letters and keys while his other hand gripped his weapon.

You aimed the sword in the center of their back, tracing their spine with your eyes and pressing it against the space between two vertebrae, right at the root of their lungs.

“Drop the sword.” You commanded, pressing harder. The blade sliced through the layers of leather armor with ease. A wrong move, too deep a breath, and you’d slice through their spinal cord and leave them paralyzed on the floor.

Azriel’s heart hammered away in his chest and the feeling there twisted and ate away at him. Turn around. The voice commanded. Look at her.

His hold on his sword went slack, the metal singing before it clattered onto the floor. Without being asked, he unsheathed Truth-Teller, dropped it to the floor and slid the weapon back towards you, holding his breath as your boot stopped the ancient blade in its tracks with a solid thump.

You hadn’t recognized him. How could you? It was unnatural to see him in undyed leather armor and his raven black hair was tucked beneath a matching hood. The rich browns of the amour whispered of Autumn. He must have stolen it shortly after crossing the border into your court. But Truth-Teller? There was no mistaking it.

You grabbed him by the back of his jacket, spun him around, and slammed him against the wall before ripping off the hood with a snarl. The cool touch of your blade against his throat and between the slats of his ribs couldn’t stop what he knew was coming. 

The bond burst to life and burned within his chest, swooping and singing like a bird off a cliffside. It was a breath of fresh air. An answer to all his maddening questions.

“Hello Y/n.” His voice rang out in the house, deep and dark and all too familiar. 

You froze, eyes blowing wide open as you tightened your hold on the knife and sword until your knuckles turned white. 

Aside from the clothes he didn’t look any different from the last time you’d seen him. Same black hair, same hazel eyes that shone a million different colors, same beautiful, sculpted face spoiled by an uncharacteristic look of shock and awe. 

He looked the same as he did on the day he handed you over to Beron. 

You for Elain. 

You in exchange for the female he loved.

The betrayal still stung like salt rubbed into a fresh wound. 

Fury set your blood boiling and you answered its call, drawing back and slamming your fist into the side of his jaw so hard you felt something crack and split.

Azriel fell to the ground, catching himself on one hand as the other flew up to his jaw. 

Dislocated. 

He popped it back into place, wiping his mouth and seeing his hand come away red with blood. 

Azriel’s heart threatened to stop in his chest. His eyes crawled over the sight of you, hungry and desperate for every inch of proof that you stood before him. Your eyes were alight, brighter than any fire the world could set ablaze. Everything about you was wide and full of feeling as you stood above him, 

Inside his chest, the mate bond continued to purr happily, refusing to be silenced.

“Y/n.” He said again. The words fell like a prayer from his lips. “You’re alive.” 

“No thanks to you.” 

Bryaxis growled in agreement from your side, lips pulling back to expose teeth stronger than metal and smooth as porcelain. Azriel’s eyes flickered down to him in surprise before going back to you. 

“Bryaxis. You’re his master now.” A flash of pride warmed his chest. Leave it to you to take control of one of the most dangerous monsters in existence. Cassian would lose his mind when he found out.

Again, the creature growled, this time in disgust.

At the mention of the creature you’d come to consider a worthy friend you snapped out of your stupor and pointed the sword at his chest, just beneath his sternum, pressing down. Any more force and you’d break skin. Angle it upwards and push and you’d reach his heart.

“Y/n, please.” He begged. It was another shock to your system. You’d never heard him beg for anything. 

“What do you want?” The words came out hard and trembling.

“I came to find Bryaxis and bring him back to the Night Court. I… I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” 

“Obviously. And yet you’re in my house. Uninvited, might I add.” There was an edge to your voice that hadn’t been there before, a harder gleam to your eyes despite everything else remaining the same. There were some scars that did not write themselves onto skin.

“I… How did you survive?” 

Your lips tightened and turned pale, “Are you shocked? Disappointed?”

Azriel flinched. Your words may as well have been another blow to his face. The flesh around his jaw was beginning to bruise, shifting from an inflamed red to a mottled purple. 

“No!” Azriel lifted his hands up in surrender. “We searched for you. We searched for you for weeks… You have to believe me.” You searched his eyes for an answer, expecting to be met with his usual unreadable expression. But you found the exact opposite. He seemed… lost. Like he didn’t know what to do with himself. If you didn’t know better you would say the Shadowsinger looked frightened.

“I’m sorry.” he gasped, “For everything.” 

It was too late for apologies. Far too late. You told him as much.

“I know,” Azriel swallowed thickly, “I know.” He said again, quieter this time. Something within him dimmed.

“Bryaxis isn’t coming with you.” You said, breaking the silence and finally taking the pressure of your sword off his chest. Azriel moved back onto his feet as swift and strong as a river. “Now get out.” 

You turned your back to him, shrugging off the uncomfortable feelings that weighed on your shoulders. You’d be happier when he was long gone.

“You can run back to Rhys and tell him you failed.”

“Y/n-” His hand brushed against your arm, willing you to look at him again. And you did. You whirled on him in an instant, shoving him back with the hilt of your sword.

“Don’t touch me.” You growled. He flinched again like he’d been burned. 

“I’m sorry, Y/n. I-” He scrambled for words that wouldn’t come. Anything to hold on to you for a little while longer, “Why didn’t you come back to the Night Court? Why didn’t you come home?”

A stupid question to which he already knew the answer.

“That was never my home and there’s nothing left for me there.”

Azriel shook his head, hair shining like a raven’s wing in flight, “That’s not true.” 

I’m there. He sent his pleas through the bond. I’ve missed you so much. I’ve been waiting for you for years… for my whole life. 

“It is true.”

“And there’s more for you here?” Azriel asked quietly. “You live here on your own, no friends, no family.” 

“I didn’t have friends or family in the Night Court either.” You weren’t going to tell him about Eris or Halvor or the others. He didn’t have any right to that knowledge, “You proved that when you traded me away to Beron.” 

Azriel tipped his head forward, closing his eyes to the feeling of shame that weighed him down.

Azriel! WAIT! No! Please, no! AZ! HELP ME! 

“It was Rhys and I who made the decision. The others didn’t know. Don’t hate them for what we did.” 

Your laugh came out like a sharp bark, “I have a hard time believing that.” 

If the circumstances were different, he might have pulled down the neck of his shirt and shown you the thin scar on his shoulder, courtesy of Nesta stabbing him with a kitchen knife after she’d learned what he’d done. She would have gone for a second attempt if it hadn’t been for Cassian. He’d dragged her away screaming and crying. 

“It’s true. I swear it.” Azriel whispered.

You didn’t say more, didn’t give him the satisfaction of continuing the conversation. His eyes burned into you, moving across your body with a lover’s touch like you were a well and he was looking to drown.

Before you would have melted under his gaze. Before you’d wanted nothing more than to see him look at you this intently. Things had changed.

“I’ll give you an hour to leave these lands. If you’re not long gone by then, I’ll send Bryaxis after you.” 

The creature bristled with excitement, teeth bared in a terrifying smile.

“Y/n-” Azriel begged. “Please. The others-”

“I don’t care about the others.” Your voice cracked and you hated yourself for it. 

“I don’t believe you.” 

“I don’t care what you believe or don’t believe.”

“Y/n…” He knew you were serious about your threat and that time was ticking, but he needed to see you again. He needed it like flame needs oxygen. “The others didn’t know…” 

To your surprise he dropped down to one knee in front of you, eyes tilted towards the ground.

“I hate what I did to you. I hate that I hurt you and.. And I know…” He swallowed thickly, “I know I don’t deserve any kindness or forgiveness, but at least let the others see you… Let them visit,” He added after a short pause, “In Autumn, if that’s what you want.”

“Get out, Azriel.” 

To hear you say his name broke the dam on old memories, painful and numerous. Memories of you screaming out for him to help you when Beron’s men strapped the ashwood chains around your wrists and ankles. Screams begging him to take you home. Anywhere other than Autumn. Anywhere other than under Beron’s thumb.

Azriel! WAIT! No! No, no, no, no, no. Please, no! AZ! HELP ME! 

“Please. Consider it.” Azriel murmured. You turned away from him, looking at the engraved clock on the wall. Every tick tock of its hands felt like a death knell. 

“They’ll be glad to know you’re alive and safe… more than you know.” 

You said nothing, heard nothing as he took his things and slipped out of your house. But you felt his absence like a stone in your stomach. It wasn’t until Bryaxis nudged your waist that all the anger, sadness, and longing crashed in around you. You broke down on the floor, and began to sob into Bryaxis’s side.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______

Author's note:

Yeahhhhhh, Azriel fucked up. But I feel like this would be in character for him? He gets fixated on the people in his life that he's able to 'save' (i.e., Mor and Elain) and especially because of the whole '3 sisters for 3 brothers' thing, I think he would be willing to make big sacrifices to save Elain if it came down to it... but perhaps I'm wrong. I would be curious to hear other people's opinions on it.

Anyhow, sorry for the sad and angsty chapter.

Love,

Florence B.

Taglist: @nightless @mmb-09 @thesnugglingduck @cleverzonkwombatsludge @kemillyfreitas @logankemaek @the-sweet-psycho @a-frog-with-a-laptop @flameandshadowx @applerubyy @esposadomd @imma-too-many-fandoms @bubybubsters

[myuni-moon]

#Ink Splotches

—Synopsis: Dan Heng has never liked being reminded of his past, but no matter how hard he tries, some things just stay.

—Pairing(s)/Character(s): Dan Heng x GN!Reader

—Genre: Yandere (Sensitive content ahead)

—Warning(s): Dark content, yandere, possessive, stalking, Dan Heng is a creep that likes to watch people sleep, reader's gender isn't specified but they're described with the word "pretty," reader is shorter than Dan Heng, a/b/o-ish themes (Dan Heng goes feral), mentions of hypothetical choking

—Word Count: 2.4k

—Note: Some of these I'm making up, so please discern the information here as just headcannons for Dan Heng. Most of this was written prior to any updates about Dan Heng's past, so please excuse the discrepancies. Also this is darker than some of my previous works, so proceed with caution.

Dan Heng never liked discussing his past, never did enjoy doing anything that reminded him of it either– save for a few things, of course. He liked reading. Him deciding to use the library as his quarters alone was a testament to that. If that wasn’t enough, you could always catch him reading in his spare time with the few pocketbooks he stored under his coat. It was something he used to do on slow days when he hopped from one station to another, and it stayed with him even after joining the Express. He liked the food in the Xianzhou Luofu, too. Despite the initial hesitance, he came to enjoy the multitude of flavors that coated his tongue. The cuisine may have been similar, but it was so much better than the staleness of his day-to-day in the past. 

Most of all, he liked calligraphy– though it was an activity most inhabitants of the Express didn’t exactly know he partook in. Dan Heng couldn’t quite remember how he learned it or when he even did (out of his own mind wanting to block out any memory of that time), but the hobby gave him peace of mind. There was something about the careful concentration of the brush on parchment and the orderly manner in which each stroke was placed that lulled his mind into a quiet away from the chaos of time. Perhaps that’s why he never felt all too bothered by the constant whirs of the machinery that surrounded his quarters. The constant white noise distracted his mind just enough for him to dwell on anything but the skeletons in his closet.

The low table before him was ready and set, and the door remained locked to any outsiders that could interrupt. The scroll was blank, but the brush in his hand had already collected ink. The dark liquid dripped onto a container as Dan Heng stared into the white void in contemplation. He sighed. Doing calligraphy that day was meant to calm him, something to ease him out of whatever stressed him.

The data bank whirred on and on, yet no matter how many minutes passed, his hands could conjure nothing– neither a single stroke nor flinch. If anyone were to watch him, he’d look like a statue. It was quiet. It was peaceful even if nothing even happened. However, disarray plagued his mind and soul.

It was simply a stray thought at first, something just a little more impulsive than how he usually thought of his companions. You looked tranquil, he supposed as he kept watch that night. Belobog was cold, and he could see your breath puff out of your mouth with every rise and fall of your chest. The campfire’s heat tickled and licked at your skin as it illuminated your features with a warmth that painted you in an innocence far divorced from your typical image. Even when the hardships of battle befell your little party, you always slept soundly, peacefully. Dan Heng remembered a time when he wished for that too– to sleep as if the horrors didn’t haunt him at night. The way the shadows danced across your face, the wrinkle of your nose whenever a stray snowflake found its way a little too close, or the twitch in your fingers as you searched for warmth�� he craved it if he was being honest. Maybe too much, even because every time he stayed up, he always stared at you sometime into the night. 

You looked pretty, he admitted a few nights later. Once again, he had taken the role of lookout. Again, he watched you with fascination and envy. He twirled a tassel of your jacket around his fingers, careful not to tug hard enough to awaken you. It was like a switch was flipped in his head because as he looked at you now, he could feel something in his spine tingle. An urge long buried and forgotten with the rest of himself that was slowly trying to dig itself out from the facade of indifference he put together. He tried composing himself first, isolating his mind and shoving whatever it was that tried getting out back into the deepest, darkest parts of his brain. 

It was okay after that. Dan Heng was back to normal, and everything went back to how it was before. Once you completed your mission, you all went back to The Astral Express. Himeko and Pompom welcomed you back aboard, and Mr. Yang dismissed you all to your rooms to rest before setting out on trailblazing once more. As per usual, Dan Heng only holed himself up back in his room with the piles of data he compiled during your time in Belobog to be sorted. The blue screen before him had already started to burn his eyes as he propped his elbow on the desk. His head rested on his palm. He had already read through half the files when someone knocked on the door. Instinctively, he checked the time. It was way past the time for someone else to be awake at that hour. It couldn’t be Himeko, Mr. Yang, or Pompom; he knew they went to bed earlier than the rest of the crew aboard. March was unlikely to be awake either because he had already heard her snoring a few hours ago. That only left–

“Dan Heng, are you still awake?” You.

The man gulped as he jumped to his feet, and his heart thrummed beneath his ribcage. His footsteps felt heavy, slowly making his way to the entrance. In hindsight, Dan Heng shouldn’t have even paid attention to your call. Maybe it was the fatigue and tiredness that relaxed his self-restraint, enough for his hands to get a grip on the handle; however, he was more than used to snapping himself back to reality. In a sliver of a second, he was able to catch himself. All his muscles seized up, and his breathing went ragged. 

Just what was he doing? His control over himself had slowly been slipping, and for what? There was no warning, no transition. There was no logic either in why his usual disposition had crumbled. There was nothing unusual from that first night, and it didn’t feel any more weird the days after. In fact, everything was just how it normally was for him. Sure, he loosened a few restraints and came to terms to the thoughts floating around his head - but that was rational, surely. So, why did static start to settle under his skin the longer he kept you outside? Why did his nails dig into his palms every time you laughed? Why did he feel like breaking the door down when he could just simply open it?

Nervously, Dan Heng eyed Cloud-Piercer, stowed away in a corner of the room. The orb in its clutch glowing ever so faintly in the dim brightness, its calm twinkle a stark difference to the instability swirling within his veins. With his current condition, it was dangerous. Extremely so. He wanted to tell you to go away, to have the others take him far from the rest. His unshakable calm was slowly diminishing, and his fears of losing control only made it worse. But something in him just didn’t want to.

“Dan Heng?” God, could you just stop saying his name? He could feel himself slipping.

“Dan Heng, are you there?” The handle started to rattle, his shaky hands flexing as he fought for control.

“Dan Heng, open the door, please?”

The mechanisms of the door whirred as it slid open. You stood so close, too close to what he would deem safe. Yet, the moment he saw you, everything went quiet. It wasn’t just the dead silence of space. The thoughts in his head had calmed down. The pins and needles that pricked his fingertips had vanished. It was as if nothing ever happened. Dan Heng blinked, bringing his palm up to his chest. His heartbeat was normal– stable even– as he gazed down at you. The strangeness of the whole ordeal shook him. Never in his life had he experienced the way his mind and body tumbled the moment before. He’d have to alert Himeko or Mr. Yang of the changes the next morning. 

“Is there something you need?” His demeanor returned to normal, too. 

You looked down at the ground sheepishly, shifting your balance from one foot to another. Your lips were pressed together in a thin line, leaving your cheeks to puff up. Your gaze even shifted from side to side until you looked up at him. Innocent, he noted. Your eyes reminded him of a doe’s. “Well, I couldn’t sleep. I just thought you might be awake, too.”

“I’m sorry to disturb you at this time of night, but can I stay with you?” 

He wanted to say no, to bring back the iciness on his tongue and the dismissiveness of his tone. Yet, before he could even think to say it, his mouth had already moved. “Alright.”

You smiled so sweetly, immediately slipping beside him and into his room. His arm brushed your skin as your fingers grazed his knuckles. The hairs on Dan Heng’s body all stood up. A static washed upon his ears, drowning out all other noise as if it had been stuffed full of cotton. It was a minuscule interaction, but it was electrifying. But just as his senses dampened, they would heighten. Soon, he found himself hyper-aware of the beat of your heart, the way he could count each beat with only his ears. His eyes had zeroed in on your movements, everything slowing down cinematically– which he would have found humorous if it weren’t for the fact that something animalistic started to crawl its way out of Dan Heng’s carefully maintained self-constraints.

A part of him howled, growled, and gnawed for him to shed his shell. A beast, running only on its instincts, began to awaken after being forced into hibernation. His humanity couldn’t battle against it, and it could only give way to the feral force lest Dan Heng risked losing himself completely. 

Can’t you smell them? It crooned at him. He could– fuck, he definitely could. You smelled so sweet to the point his mouth started to water with every whiff he took. Your scent was so appealing, and he wasn’t even referring to body wash or cologne; it was just you. You never smelled like that before. Maybe it was because of his true nature coming to light that he was able to, but he couldn’t help but want to be enveloped by it. 

Don’t they look so perfect, so pretty? You did. You always did even when he couldn’t bring himself to admit it. He could just imagine the cute smile you showed him seconds ago, and he couldn’t help but want to release a guttural purr at the fact that it was directed toward him and him alone. Then it hit him.

You want them all to yourself. That’s right. Dan Heng wanted you all to himself. 

After all, what was stopping him? If he really wanted to, he could just knock you out on your next adventure, abduct you right then and there, then take you to wherever he saw fit– as long as it meant keeping you with him without having any such disturbances. You’d think a more rational– dare say, human– part of him would’ve realized the morality of his thoughts, perhaps even chase them away and put himself into self-confinement until he came back to his senses. But no.

No, if anything, it only served to smooth out the rough edges of his devious plan. Starting with places to go when he finally had you in his grasp. The routes from place to place, just to avoid other trailblazers and authorities that may have picked up on his bounty. Suppose he’d use drugs or physical force to get you to be cooperative enough to go with him (as if you’d have a choice). Then when he was sure you two were finally alone, he’d put his claim on you with a bite to your pretty neck– but that didn’t sound as appealing as giving you his mark right now. All he needed to do was wrap his hands around your neck and-

A crack snapped him out of his stupor and away from the image of you in his mind. Dan Heng retracted himself back into the present. His draconic gaze settled on his workplace before clicking his tongue. He had applied too much pressure to the brush; one remnant still sits in his hand while the other half had found itself in a farther place. The paper was in no better condition. In some areas, the ink had bled through, creating large splotches of dark, foreboding circles on the page. What were supposed to be detailed strokes had become near-erratic in the time span he was stuck in his imagination. The man frowned and sighed. 

However, his eyes brightened when they flit to the very center of the page. Amidst all the chaos and rage that had been thrown into the work, your name remained neat in the expanse of Dan Heng’s mental deterioration. Fitting, he supposed. 

Without another word, he cleaned up. He didn’t need March barging in and finding the evidence of his deep affection for you. He disposed of the calligraphy brush (begrudgingly. It meant he’d have to go back to the Luofu to attain another). 

Straightening himself out, he left his room towards the parlor. Pom-pom, as always, came to greet him. The small bunny skipped over to him, tilting its head as it inspected him. The conductor of the Astral Express pointed to his robe.

“You’re not usually this untidy, Dan Heng.”

Dan Heng looked at the area the bunny referenced. On his green robe, typically free of any stain, was a noticeably-sized black dot. It must’ve been from his haphazard movement earlier. If he didn’t exercise any self-control, he might’ve let out a laugh under his breath.

“It is nothing,” he waved a hand dismissively. Truthfully, it felt almost entertaining to see the naivety of the conductor to the obscenity happening within its very own train. He thought it was poetic– comical, almost– how it looked as if it had been a subtle sign of the corruption happening to Dan Heng. Or maybe, he’d always been this way, waiting for that sick part of him to finally run rampant. Dan Heng side-stepped and proceeded on his way as if everything had been fine. His lips curled into a smirk the moment Pom-pom could no longer see his face. 

“Just an ink splotch.”

[abbyromanoff]

omg i have one!! can u do like a soft one where wanda is like crushing hard on r but r completely oblivious bc she’s never been w someone romantically? and then wanda has that moment where she just confesses and it’s all dramatic like in the movies???? <33

LAST MOMENTS

PAIRINGS: Wanda Maximoff x reader

WORD COUNT: 1,670

WARNINGS: angst, heartbreak, depression, mentions of suicide, coma’s, confessions, happy ending, think that’s all :)

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN!!

It was a cold night in the middle of Winter, your clock reading 12:46 AM, when you got the news. You never usually got calls, especially not at this time, so you were instantly plagued with worry.

Turns out you were right to fear as the woman on the phone who informed you of her role as a doctor at a nearby hospital was the one informing you of the tragic events. Your best friend Wanda had gotten involved in drunk driving and drove her car into a tree. The engine was burning and all she wanted to do was plummet into the warmth that she found to be death.

But a small part of her was still begging for life, a true life that held more meaning than just survival. You were the only promising thing left in her life, but she knew that was more likely to disappear with her growing feelings for you. She didn’t mean for it to happen, it’s not like she wanted it to either, but you were just different.

You weren’t like any ex or fling she had, you were her person and you had been for years now. She wasn’t going to risk losing you by expressing the deep love and passion she held for you, her best friend.

You rushed to the hospital, not bothering to change into something other than your pajamas, even if you felt goosebumps covering your skin. It was cold, freezing, but your mind couldn’t process that. All you knew was that you felt sick, you needed to make sure she was okay. If she wasn’t, you didn’t know how you’d live with yourself.

“Wanda Maximoff, what room is she?” The receptionist took in your disheveled features and quickly granted you the knowledge of her room number, only to then inform you that you weren’t allowed to see her just yet. You wanted to cry, to yell, but nothing came out. Her calls for your attention went deaf to your ears as you slowly took a seat, resting your head in your hands and nearly ripping your hair follicles out.

Minutes felt like hours, and hours felt like days before you were granted permission to see her. She was still asleep as you begged her silently to awaken, but there was no response. And that continued for days.

Every day you’d leave for work, visit the hospital, and return home to get dressed and shower. You lacked every important aspect of your life, sleep, eating, but most importantly, Wanda. You didn’t care how long you went before you’d pass out or die of pure hunger, you couldn’t do a thing without her. She was your reason to keep going, what else was left if she wasn’t?

Then it became months, four to be exact. Your other friends would urge you to get some rest when noticing your eye bags and the lack of concentration you held at work. But you denied it, assuring them that you were fine and had to go, little did they know you were once again returning to your spot on the hospital chair beside Wanda’s bed.

The doctors were starting to lose hope and so were you, no matter how much you tried to convince yourself that she would be okay. This wasn’t normal for this type of injury, the medical workers estimated that the longest she’d be in this coma was two weeks, and she was way passed that date. But you still refused to leave her side in hopes that it wasn’t all for nothing.

“Ms. Y/L/N, I know this must be hard for you to hear-”

“Hard? Really? That’s it? My best fucking friend has been stuck in that bed unresponsive for months and you’ve done nothing about it!” You yelled in the woman’s face, taking out every ounce of anger you held. It wasn’t necessarily her fault, but it was not like she was doing much to help her, not that there was anything she could do.

“I’m going to need you to calm down, Ma’am.” She calmly asserted, only frustrating you further

“How the fuck do you expect me to calm down when you’re telling me you want to kill her?” You were unreasonable at this point, but love did such cruelty to a person.

“That’s not what we’re saying, Miss. All I’m trying to tell you is that if she does not wake up we’ll have no choice but to pull the plug.” She spoke as if it meant nothing, like the life of one of the best people you knew had no meaning to her.

“She’ll wake up, I know it.” The nurse sighed and nodded with a tight-lipped smile before leaving the room, letting you be alone with the redhead.

“Please, Wanda, please wake up, I need you. I don’t think I can live without you.” You held her hand tightly, hoping for some sort of movement but receiving none. It haunted you through your nightmares and daydreams, there was no escape to the harsh reality. But you weren’t giving up on her, not yet.

Another month passed as your hope continued to fade along with your body. You were barely alive, every day your exhaustion and pity for yourself grew. You didn’t know how you were able to keep your job or your apartment that you never went to. Your boss had recognized your issues and gave you multiple weeks off at different points which you were beyond grateful for. You haven’t slept in your own bed since that night, it was either the one at Wanda’s flat or the uncomfortable seat they gave you here.

You were coming home from work, taking a quick shower, and grabbing a granola bar before quickly driving back to your newfound home. The lady at the desk knew you by name, that’s what happened when you came here daily. It was sad really, how you gave up your entire life because of the tragedy. But you knew you’d choose to ruin yourself for her over and over if you had the choice.

But this time was different, you still held your head low as you waltzed into the room, it was too hard to even look at her state. But when you heard a whisper of your name, your head shot up, and everything held in your hands dropped as you spotted her, she was awake.

“Wanda…” You ran over to her at record speeds, wrapping your arms around her tightly as you cried into her shoulder. You were so scared this was yet another dream that you couldn’t decipher as a nightmare or just another loss of hope.

“You’re awake.” You stated the obvious, the staff leaving the room to let you two be. You were almost jealous that they got to witness the moment she woke up.

“I was asking everyone where you were, I was so scared that you finally left.” The news shattered you and the way she spoke with such uncertainty only worsened it. You pulled back, grasping both of her tear-stained cheeks in your hands and rubbing softly with your thumb, She leaned into the feeling, a small smile quirking at her lips from the act.

“I could never give up on you, Wands, never.” She told you everything, how she was able to hear every word you spoke to her while she was asleep, and how it pained her to know how much trouble she caused you. Looking at your face, you looked horrible. You were still beautiful in her eyes, you always would be, but you looked so unhealthy, so different. She didn’t even know who was staring back at her.

You used to be a ball of joy wherever you went, radiating with happiness that could make anyone smile. But now? Now you looked as if you had been tortured for years, yet you were the torturer.

“I’m sorry-”

“No, no, don’t apologize, alright? You’re gonna be okay.” You quickly cut her off, trying your best to muster out a smile for her sake.

“But are you?” The question caught you off guard. Not once had someone asked if you were truly okay during this period of your life, most already knew the answer. Hell, you hadn’t even bothered to ask yourself that, you were too focused on if she would be okay. You were too worried about her to worry about you, something only pure love could cause. It was crazy how something that was described to be so magical could leave you barely standing.

“I have you, why wouldn’t I be?” She wiped the tears that had forced their way out of you. You tried holding back, but there was no stopping it now.

“Fuck, I’m- I’m sorry.” You challenged yourself to look away and hide, but she eased you back in her direction. There was no shame with her, there never was and that’s what you loved most about her.

“It’s my fault you’ve become so…different.” She acknowledged, blinking away the blur that started to appear in her eyes.

“No, it’s mine. You made a stupid decision but my reaction isn’t your fault.” She nodded, trying to move herself on the bed so you could sit with her. She just wanted to rest, and you would finally be able to do so knowing she would still be there when you woke up.

“I love you, Y/N.” She had repeated the phrase many times, but the both of you could feel the difference this time. There was more sincerity, more meaning to it. It wasn’t what you’d tell your family or closest friends,

“I love you more.” You uttered, staring at her lips as she did the same. You felt your lips brush against her soft ones and sucked a deep breath in, your eyes fluttering shut as you sank into the feeling. When you both pulled away after the difficulty to breathe increased, there were smiles planted on both of your faces.

“Not possible.”

[brucewaynehater101]

Recently my mind has been plagued with ideas about things Tim could be other than human and what would both fit him and make an interesting story. I believe I might have found something that suits him rather well.

Tim has always been a strange child, always silent and always watching. Learning everything he can about everyone he has to interact with so that he can best make sure every interaction goes in his favor. He learned his manipulation from his Mother after all. She was the very best at it so he will be the very best too. She nor his "father" have watched over him since he was very small, after all they are creatures that do not raise their own young. Her returning to see him every few months, teaching him how to hide what he is and how to defend himself, *and* making sure he has food and shelter is far, far more than most of his species could ever even dream of. Janet is their version of Best Mom In The Universe, even if she's horrifyingly neglectful by Human Standards.

As for how Jack treats Tim, he doesn't. After all, once they were married and she had everything, she didn't need him anymore. Jack died before Tim was even conceived and the current Jack is nothing more than a husk, a living puppet that his mother walks around with as a shield to keep herself safe from prying eyes and questions. Perfect for keeping her cover as Just A Human. She has taught Tim how to do this same thing using small animals from the garden (and making sure he eats them after. He's still a growing boy who needs to eat after all) si that one day he can have a few living puppets of his own.

Tim does not tell anyone he isn't human, as per his mother's instructions. After all, he shares quite a few traits with a type of creature that humans *hate* and actively go out of their way to kill. Well, most do.

As he grows and ages as Robin, he never let's anything slip, he can't afford to let them know. He knows that Bruce doesn't trust magic in Gothem (or at least, Tim thinks that's the truth) and even if he did, the others have shown a distaste for the creature that he shares so much with. Especially Alfred and Dick, the later of which he has verbally claimed to *hate*. Given, one of them was in his hair when he yelled this but it still stung quite deeply and Alfred works hard to make sure that not a single trace of them can be found anywhere in the manor, even scolding Tim once for letting so much proof of their existence pile up in the corners of his room. But Tim doesn't blame him either, Alfred's job is to keep the house clean after all.

Eventually he must come clean though and what a way it is. Bruce has been working a case with Constantine about people going missing in Gothem. Turns out, everyone who has was some kind of magical creature and the people doing it are likely poachers. The others have been informed of the case so that they can report anything they know or anyone they know who could be a target. Tim doesn't say anything, instead keeping a closer eye on those he does know. He would never, ever sell out another creature. He would rather die.

A week later, an attempted raid on the poachers goes wrong and ends up with Jason, Tim, Bruce, and Damian all captured by the poachers. Tim is the last to wake up and when he does, the poachers are discussing what kind of undead Jason is, scanning the tied up vigilante with a device that simply says again, "subject, magical. Type, undead. Futher information, unknown."

At this point Tim realizes he's the only one not tied up. He's also the only one in a cage. He tries to pretend to be asleep but the one watching him says, "look who's awake. You know, we had bets on how many of you Bats were part of the magical community. Seems like I won the bet since only you and Red Hood over there are. Don't bother trying to lie your way out, our scanner can see through your Glamor spell, no matter how powerful it is. And this?" They hold up a small remote control with about a dozen buttons on it, "this does a wonderful little thing where it makes a specific pitch at a specific volume that causes Magical Creatures to drop their Glamor Spells or Shifts. Luckily it's nothing more than mildly annoying to humans."

A button is pressed before anyone can ask questions and the remove makes a loud, buzzing sound. It's not painful for the trio who are tied up, but Tim? Tim is shaking and writhing and *screaming* with both hands pressed over his ears. He is rolling back and forth across the ground as he screams for the person to stop, just *stop*. Bruce is almost free when he freezes upon realizing something. There aren't two tear tracks on his sons face. There's a lot. A pair of eyes have opened on his cheek bones and above his eyebrows and a smaller pair between them. Tim has gotten much paler and his canines have turned long and sharp like his nails. Tim rolls onto his stomach and curls up as best he can, screaming as there is a cracking sound. A long spindly, spider like leg shoots out of his side and slams into the floor, curling up in pain like the rest of Tim's limbs.

When the device is finally turned off, Tim is laying on his side, wheezing in pain and his legs are gone. In their place is the body of a giant spider which has sharp points at the tips of its legs instead of the regular spider feet. Tim has 8 eyes and is totally limp as he tries to recover. The Poacher simply laughs, "A Jorōgumo, a real master of puppets you are. But weak without them. God, your kind is so rare, you'll fetch us the price of at least 4 normal monsters. Add in you're a famous vigilante and we could break a few million dollars off *just* you."

Tim glares weakly at them and hisses softly. He knows the numbers are true. It's the secondary reason he never told anyone. He knew he would either get squished or sold off. How he just needs to figure out how to escape from Gothem before Bruce can confront him on this. He doesn't want to explain.

Aww... was he collecting little spiders and getting upset when his family kept expressing their hatred/distaste for them? Did he have to hear them talk about how creepy their eyes are, their weird abundance of legs, and how disgusting their overall being is before he excused himself to stare in a mirror and compare the similarities?

Does he dare to meet their eyes after the reveal, or does he fear finding the look of revulsion?

Also, would he find comfort in knitting, crochet, and weaving? Is his house full of hand-made blankets?

Anyways, enjoyed what you have and would definitely read more

[zaebeecee]

Helluva Boss Full Moon Episode Analysis 🌕 ✨

My very long and detailed personal analysis of the scene we were all waiting for below the cut. Spoilers, obviously, so don’t click if you don’t wanna see that. Also, this is just my own opinion, it’s cool if you don’t agree.

Also, I took all these screenshots on my phone because it’s all I have, so I apologize for the constant presence of the “hey you wanna change apps now or something” bar at the bottom of the screen.

tl;dr: Both Stolas and Blitzø are at fault here, and that’s the point of the episode.

So, I’m gonna start right after Stolas requests his book back and informs Blitzø that he needs it permanently.

Blitzø argues that he needs the book for his job. And that’s true, Moxxie already spelled that out earlier in the episode. But we have seen Blitzø trying to persuade Stolas before, and this is not how he does it. Whenever he persuades Stolas for something that is based in purely selfish reasons, he leans on his sexuality and on Stolas’ desire, not on straight up begging. All day, he has been plagued by Loona’s words that Stolas has been getting bored of him, and the fact that the first thing Stolas does is request his grimoire back is proof that she was right.

But Blitzø, being Blitzø, can’t just say that he’s scared Stolas has gotten bored of him, so he goes back to the thing Stolas already knows: he needs the book for his job.

Stolas, of course, was anticipating this. That’s why he has the Asmodean crystal prepared and within reach to give to Blitzø in exchange, probably to assuage his fears about the future of his company. He genuinely cares about Blitzø’s passions, and because of that, he is genuinely invested in his work and wants to do whatever he can to help him. Additionally, not only will the crystal end the transactional nature of their relationship, it will free Blitzø—and his employees—of the burden of being held accountable for law breaking.

Blitzø, on the other hand, wasn’t expecting anything like this. He has known from day one that if Stolas ever takes his book back, that’s the end of I.M.P. For Stolas to then turn around and tell him that he got a crystal for him (and advocated to Asmodeus on Blitzø’s behalf, no less) is something he probably never imagined would happen, much less anticipated.

For Stolas, a member of demonic royalty and of a privileged class of demon, this isn’t that big of a gesture. It’s big, of course—Stolas isn’t stupid, he knows how difficult it is for a non-Lust demon to acquire one of these crystals and is aware that his connections are the reason he was able to do this at all—but to him, it’s something of a no-brainer.

Stolas could not imagine a reality where he denied Blitzø anything, at least not right now. So, in his desire to end the transaction, it’s only natural to him that he would find another way for Blitzø to do his job, one where he doesn’t have to rely on anyone but himself. And in a rational situation, Stolas would be entirely right.

But this isn’t a rational situation. Blitzø doesn’t hear that he’s not beholden to anyone anymore, what he hears is that his excuse to see Stolas and pretend that it isn’t emotional has been taken away from him. That’s why he says they can just keep doing things the old way: he’s so emotionally constipated that if he loses the book, he either has to confront his feelings for Stolas or never see him again. And it might not matter anyway, because if Blitzø believes that Stolas only wants sex and has grown bored of him, this is simply a very expensive way to say “I don’t need you anymore”.

I think Stolas placing the stone on Blitzø’s bracer is a very important detail for the way things go in both of their minds, and it is very different:

For Stolas, he has proven to Blitzø that he is serious in his offer, and that this crystal belongs to him. He knows Blitzø is suspicious and untrusting, and by fastening it to him in a way that means Stolas himself cannot take it back, it shows Blitzø that Stolas truly means what he’s saying. It’s a display of selfless sincerity, and of trust, because if Blitzø took off that moment, there would be nothing Stolas could really do about it.

However, for Blitzø, Stolas has just taken away his autonomy and made the decision for him. Before he even had a chance to parse his thoughts on what’s happening, Stolas places the crystal on him, even though the only answer he has given is a fairly explicit “but I don’t want this”.

When Stolas tells Blitzø that he doesn’t have to stay, but that Stolas wants him to, he is showing an emotionally vulnerable side of himself that he only ever lets Octavia see. He is bearing his soul to Blitzø, because he wants to make it perfectly clear what he wants. And it’s so very important to emphasize that Stolas is very clear and direct in what he wants, because he doesn’t want to accidentally give Blitzø the wrong impression. He’s put a lot of thought into this, primarily because he’s been obsessing over what he was going to say ever since he went to ask Asmodeus for the crystal in the first place.

However, it’s also important to remember that Stolas is the one who prepared himself for this conversation. Of course he has a beautiful speech prepared and has reasoned out his arguments and knows exactly what he plans to do.

Blitzø is not prepared for this, however. Blitzø, who has convinced himself that a prince could never actually want an imp (especially one like him), who has spent all day telling himself that he isn’t feeling emotional over this and running all over town to acquire as much as possible because he’s afraid Stolas is getting bored, is completely blindsided by the sudden deluge of real emotion that’s pouring out of Stolas. Blitzø is already exceedingly bad with words, and because of his self-hate, he leans on the idea that it’s a kinky roleplay because that’s so much easier for him to believe.

Stolas, of course, has no reason to know any of this. To his eye, he just presented his heart to Blitzø on a platter, and Blitzø immediately turned flippant and dismissive, an obvious rejection of what he just metaphorically gutted himself over. To him, Blitzø has just affirmed that he doesn’t take this seriously, isn’t anywhere near as invested in it as Stolas is himself, and doesn’t actually want him.

To Stolas, this is the end of the conversation. He ended the transaction, he asked Blitzø for a real relationship, and Blitzø said no. With nothing else to discuss, Stolas leaves the room, probably assuming Blitzø will leave the way he came in. I would imagine that, after living with Stella for so long, the best way to deal with an awkward situation has always been to remove himself from that situation entirely. For him, this is a kindness, because otherwise the room is about to get very uncomfortable.

To Blitzø, this is a dismissal that Stolas would give to a servant or someone else he deems as lesser. He even asks if Stolas was serious in a disbelieving manner, because the idea of everything Stolas said being genuine is too alien for him. When he runs after Stolas, he clearly still doesn’t even know what he’s going to say, because things are moving too fast for him to process.

Stolas is, in my opinion, completely justified in his feelings. He’s hurt, because he’s cared so much for Blitzø for so long, and he tells him as much because Stolas is still trying to be fully upfront and honest. He believes he received Blitzø’s answer, as well as confirmation that everything has always been about sex.

I think it’s this, in particular, that sets Blitzø off. The transactional relationship was Stolas’s idea. Stolas spent every moment they were together, especially early S1, doing nothing but hitting on Blitzø. He even tells Stolas, in his mind, that he knows he only wants sex after the disaster at Ozzie’s, which was also the last time they talked in person. Blitzø is hearing his own words being used against him, realizing how much it hurts, and lashing out because anger is how he responds to strong emotion. (This is a bad thing, by the way. I’m not condoning it, just making an observation.)

Because he’s lashing out, Blitzø proceeds to verbally dump on Stolas, but he says something very important: he tells Stolas he needs a minute to think.

Blitzø was, again, blindsided by this conversation. He was then put on the spot and made to give an answer immediately, and when he wasn’t able to provide an in-depth, soul-searching, thoroughly considered answer off the cuff, he lost any opportunity to even attempt to recover the situation. And in my opinion, this is the most unfair thing Stolas does this entire scene. He seems to have completely forgotten that Blitzø isn’t prepared, and expects him to be as ready for this as he is himself.

When Blitzø tears into Stolas about his station, and about how the rich treat people like him, it’s clearly something he’s been wanting to say for quite some time. But he’s emotional, he’s not thinking straight, and he says things far harsher than he means to (which I’ll expound on in a moment). One of Blitzø’s flaws is saying things without thinking them through, and it definitely fucks him over right here.

Blitzø has no way of knowing that what he just said to Stolas is almost identical to what Striker said when he kidnapped and almost killed Stolas. But it is: both of them directly state that Stolas uses people beneath him because he can. Just like Blitzø didn’t hear Stolas’s sincerity, Stolas isn’t hearing Blitzø’s turmoil. Instead, he hears that the man he loves has the same opinion of him as someone who tried to kill him multiple times. That has to be a heartbreaking feeling, especially since Stolas seems to have been actively working to not be like his fellow royals, and it hurts him that Blitzø doesn’t see that.

Blitzø doesn’t just feel bad when he sees Stolas crying. When he hears Stolas’s words, he realizes what it was that he just said and that he didn’t mean it. He even tries to apologize; when he reaches out, he’s halfway through “I’m sorry” once he realizes he’s been teleported outside. And Blitzø never apologizes, not so directly, which means he knows that he hurt Stolas and he knows that Stolas didn’t deserve it.

I also think so much of his frustration stems from the fact that he wasn’t given an opportunity to explain himself. It was explaining that started healing his relationship with Fizzarolli, after all, and not having the same chance here was clearly fucking him up.

Here’s my takeaway from this episode: this argument needed to happen if their relationship was going to evolve in a healthy way. Both of them had put too much baggage into what they currently had, and the only way to fix that was to dump it out on the proverbial table the way they did. And, because they needed to dump their baggage, it makes sense that it ended with both of them wounded.

Both of them need time to work things out, be alone with their thoughts, and try to get over their own bullshit.

Blitzø needs to learn how to let himself open up to emotion, even just a little bit, and how to express himself without sarcasm, anger, or tears.

Stolas needs to learn how to actually listen to others (which we know is a problem from the time he took Via to Loo Loo Land after being told point blank she didn’t want to go).

Both of them did things wrong. And both of them did things right: Stolas was so honest and straightforward, and Blitzø immediately realized a place he had fucked up and tried to fix it immediately. And I think this argument needed to be both of their fault, ultimately, because something on this scale would be almost impossible to come back from otherwise.

Painful, but necessary. And it’ll just mean their making up will be that much more satisfying.

[alexanderlightweight]

Hey lumine! I hope all is well and that you're getting over the post-plague funk- I know being sick is the absolute worst.

If you happen to be taking prompts today (and totally cool if not!) I would love to see if you're interested in tangling with a continuation of either the bitter trap of truth or the craft of adoration.

For the first one, I ADORE the way Cat and Ragnor in your last piece were observing Alec so casually giving priceless nephilim intelligence to them while so clearly displaying his trust in Magnus alskjfda;lsdfjasdfadsf. so good and happy and all my favorite things with Alec happily surrendering to Magnus and being his BAMF-y self while doing so and even the utter delight of outside POV!

For the second, if that AU floats your fancy higher, my brain is just utterly stuck on that line where Magnus asks Alec to come to him at dawn because he wants his people to see Alec coming to his call, coming to heel if you will. I would be drowning in glee (to continue the watery metaphors) to see how your wonderful imagination would envision that scene occurring and what Magnus (and Magnus' people!) would think of Alec acquiescing to Magnus' request.

Hope you feel better!

the prompts themselves are compliments and incredible sweet s thank you Laws!

I realize it was a different day that this was sent but I dont remember which day and tbh, today is a good day! Mostly over the cold and my leg is finally aching less enough to think.

no outsider pov in this one, but a bit more of cat and ragnor and the magnificent team immortal because i love them and they need to be more heavily involved in this fic for a variety of reasons.

need to take @saryn-prime to a health appointment and then i'll be back to settle in and write more.

i ened up really feeling the bitter trap of truth today and its been on my mind for days and my fingers have been aching to write it. hope you enjoy and are doing well!

<3 lumine

-

It’s past noon when Magnus’ wards flare and he leaves Alexander where he is, splayed out across the bed and face burrowed into a pillow. It’s been enough time that Catarina and Ragnor’s visit can only mean one thing.

Magnus will finally have his answer.

If he was wise to trust Alexander or if his boy has so easily betrayed him.

Alexander won’t face punishment from the warlocks.

Even if he’s played them, it’s one of his own people who have died and Magnus already knows that the Clave won’t punish him for it. If anything, they’ll reward him for ensuring that

But Magnus’ heart will still ache at being tricked.

Neither of his dear companions are in his apothecary, instead they are practically relaxed. Well, as relaxed as they can be when exhaustion haunts their visage. Catarina is splayed out on the sofa and Ragnor has nearly melted into his favorite armchair, pipe puffing peacefully away as Catarina summons three drinks.

“A toast!” She offers and her soft smile nearly breaks Magnus.

She wouldn’t be smiling or toasting if she brought ill news.

“It worked?” He asks, even thought he knows it has to have. But years of agonizing betrayal make him ask, he has to know.

“It’s as if she were never ill.” Catarina confirms and her eyes gleam with mocking humor. “I’ve never seen someone so mortified and furious to be saved.”

“It should also be noted that she’s of a much lower rank than your shadowhunter.” Ragnor gives a quiet sigh and blows out a ring of smoke. “I rather doubt she even knew what the poison would do beyond killing her and striking a blow to the downworld. She seemed utterly shocked that we managed to find an antidote.”

“Did you tell them how we managed?”

“And risk them finding even more obscure poisons?” Cat laughs and shakes her head. “No, let them think I somehow found an antidote. If they knew the treasure trove of willing information your boy is, well…”

She trails off with an apologetic shrug and Magnus just nods. Cat’s not wrong. If anything, she’s being generous with how delicate she’s being. It also means that Magnus is going to have to be very careful with who he shares information about Alec with.

The Council would no doubt want to interrogate him for all the answers he would be able to give, but Magnus would rather play the long game. Alexander is unique, in more ways than one and while he doubts that his hunter would dare lie before the Elders, he also doesn’t want more attention drawn to him.

Not before Magnus is completely sure.

Magnus’ heart has been wounded too many times for this one action to convince him, but it has done what he hoped.

Catarina and Ragnor are both now willing to give Alexander a chance, a real chance and that is worth more to Magnus than anything else.

— Alec is beginning to think that he’s never going to wake up with Magnus wrapped around him, or wrapped around Magnus. Every time he thinks he’s going to be able to enjoy sunlight and warm, bare skin and golden eyes, something comes up.

Alec is almost ready to just haul Magnus back to bed, but he doesn’t think they’re quite there yet.

It’s with careful consideration that he bites his lip hard enough to bleed. Instantly, the nearly scalding feeling of Magnus’ blood working through his veins lights up. He enjoy it for a few seconds as it heals the damage and then its gone… and no Magnus appears after it.

Alec follows the tug of his bond with Magnus, teeth playing with his lip — which burns in admonishment — and finds himself holding back a soft chuckle. Magnus’ friend Ragnor — someone who Alec knows is a highly revered potion master — is asleep in an armchair. He’s blowing smoke rings as he snores and Magnus and Catarina — who Alec knows is an incredibly talented and powerful healer — are splayed out together on the couch.

Magnus appears to be trying to give her a foot massage, but she’s asleep and his eyes are slipping shut, head nodding forward.

Alec huffs another silent breath of laughter and — with all the skill that he was once taught in order to be a better killer — collects several of Magnus’ extravagant throws.

Because Alec is nothing if not petty, he very carefully lays the cabbage green monstrosity of a tartan throw on Ragnor. Careful not to get close enough that the warlock wakes and thinks it an attack and then settles the large umber blanket over Catarina and Magnus both.

While he’s careful not to touch either of Magnus’ friends, he can’t help but settle a pillow under Magnus head and smooths the hair falling into his eyes away.

It’s a gentle, whisper of a kiss that he presses to Magnus’ hair and then he grabs the book he’d left on the table the night before.

As he settles on the floor next to Magnus, resting his head on Magnus’ leg and being careful to stay out of range of Catarina — he doesn’t know her after all — a glimpse of movement catches his attention.

Ragnor’s eyes meet his and Alec just nods, simple and acknowledging and then he opens the book he grabbed and settles in. If Magnus didn’t want him around his friends when they’re vulnerable then the magic of the loft wouldn’t have let him in.

The blankets probably aren’t necessary, but Alec is Magnus’ husband now. And while Alec is still figuring out his new position in life he does know how to take care of people. Mostly his soldiers and his siblings but still, if he softens his touch a bit, he’s sure he’ll manage just find at taking care of Magnus and his friends.

If this — being allowed in the same room as three vulnerable warlocks — is another sign that Magnus is trusting him, well then Alec is going to take full advantage of it.

While also not giving Magnus any reason to doubt him.

[papastarion]

Papastarion Headcanons

Because I have been plagued by visions of Astarion with a dhampiric horde of children for the past few weeks, and now I must inflict it on others. (These are based in my own personal canon for the postgame, so Thea = Tav.)

He’s initially terrified of the idea of having a child, but he plays it cool, because of course he would. Dhampirs are uncommon, and he worries about losing the love of his life if something happens. Having someone else to lose now, too, doesn’t make it any easier to turn his mind back to rational thinking.

Once the idea settles, gods help everyone. He’s proud as a peacock, and cautiously optimistic about this new part of his future. It helps that he’s known how badly Thea has wanted a family for almost as long as he’s known her. He just never thought he would be able to give it to her, and he can’t quite put into words how grateful he is that she didn’t have to give it up for him, after all.

It also helps that they’ve been functional coparents to their adopted daughter (my friend’s Tav) since they met the girl post-nautiloid. As far as he and Thea are concerned, she’s just as much theirs as this one is.

She’s not their only adopted child, either. While Thea is pregnant with their first biological child, they also end up adopting a newborn Mephistopheles tiefling they name Mina. She’s the biological daughter of Thea’s ex-husband, in fact. When Thea finds out said ex plans on doing away with his newborn child to hide the fact that his family has made deals with devils, she and Astarion jump in to take the girl.

Dalyria is also a major help. Research on dhampirs is limited, so not only does she get to add to the woefully limited information with her own observations, but she also gets to be there for her brother and Thea, who she’s become good friends with. As a druid, Thea likes to discuss medical herbology with Dalyria while Dalyria likes to teach her more complex medical skills. Dalyria is also the one who delivers all of their children. Thea and Astarion don’t trust anyone else like they trust her when the time comes.

If Astarion thought Thea was the most beautiful person in the world before, then there’s no word for what he thinks of her over the course of her pregnancy, and after.

The first time he holds their firstborn, a boy they name Nero, he’s smitten. As far as Astarion is concerned, he’s perfect. He never wants to let him go. It takes him a while to reconcile the fact that he could have had any part in making someone so innocent.

He loves taking catnaps with his kids, especially while they’re still really small. They’re so warm and the feeling of them tucked against his chest, completely trusting of him, never gets old.

He was never one to give much thought to children before Thea. He never really considered having his own, especially not after Cazador. But he’s the type to think his kids are perfect and everyone one else’s should be like them. Very proud dad.

He’s very protective, too. Nothing could stand between him and protecting his family. He’d tear down Faerûn if it would keep them safe. However, he doesn’t keep them out of all trouble. He can be quite the partner in crime when it comes to pranks.

I refuse to believe they don’t find a way for him to walk in the sun again. He loves traveling as a family. They definitely have their place they call home, but there’s too much world to stay in one place, and he wants their children to see it all, too.

Dhampir teething is a nightmare. They’re already miserable about the whole ordeal, but it gets worse once their fangs start to come in, too. He tries to make sure if they’re going to bite, they’re biting him, not Thea or one of their siblings.

He tells the best bedtime stories, hands down. It’s because his voice is so animated.

He and Thea have a total of seven children to their name - their two adopted daughters and five biological children. He’s never less awestruck about how his life has turned out, not by Thea or by their children. The irony of the total coming out to seven is not lost on him.

[changbinsboobs]

Hey, love your readings ! They have been so fun to read and so informative!! I was wondering if you could do one on what all of the dorm pairing think of each other? (e.g. what does chan think of IN and vice versa etc.)

I feel like living with somebody 1 on 1 can really change your opinion of someone lol (speaking from personal experience)

Anyway, thank you so much for your readings. I have really been enjoying them 💙

Thank you, u warm my heart💗🥰

I find the topic very interesting myself :) Enjoy💗

*For entertainment purposes only!

Skz dorm pairings' opinion on each other

Chan - Ace of Cups

Thinks of in that he's lovely and is a very giving and nurturing person. He thinks he's even cuter "up close".

I.N - 6 of Pentacles

Thinks of chan a bit of a "father figure" now that they are more close and personal. Not in a literal sense but rather chan's very...mhhh, provider-like. He thinks he has such qualities now even more than before.

Lee Know + Han - 3 of Swords, 7 of Swords

For those two sadly i got really bad cards, i think they might've recently had a fight or something. Lee know feels heartbroken and hurt by something han has done or the way han is. And Han on the other side feels plagued by guilt! I think he's unsure of something and his confusion is causing chaos around him, since decision made from an unstable state place - reap unstable outcomes. I think he feels really bad and wants to fix things and do better but he doesn't know how. Especially since he's trying to escape the pressure of those awful things he's feeling.

Changbin - 4 of Cups

I think he's kinda unsure how he feels about hyunjin after moving in with him. I think he has seen sides of him he hasn't seen that up close before and is now seeing him from a different light, thats causing him to evaluate his opinion on him. And also maybe his actions and behavior towards him in the future.

Hyunjin - Strength

Mh im not seeing so much of what hyunjin THINKS of changbin but rather how he feels. And im seeing he feels that Changbin is infuriating. Im pucking up on an agressive "tantrum" and idk who thats comming from. Theres a few possibilities.

1. Hyunjin wants to burst out and scream at changbin

2. Hyunjin gets so infuriated by changbin that he has burst out a few times and let his nerves take the best of him.

3. Changbin has burst out a few times whenever he gets stressed and gave hyunjin a tantrum over "nothing".

4. Or Changbin has been annoyed a few times either from stress or by hyunjin and hyunjin took that personally and got infuriated/triggered cuz he thought changbins having a tantrum at him over nothing, even if he didn't actually have a tantrum, but hyunjin just felt attacked.

All if those are possibilities and i hope maybe in a future reading we'll find out which one's the actual case.

Felix - The Sun

He thinks only good of seungmin and is enjoying his time and co-life with him very much!

Seungmin - 5 of Cups, King of Swords

I think he's not that happy with the living situation. Maybe not necessarily because of Felix, but rather he just wants a different living situation overall. I think he would much rather prefer living by himself and i believe he was hoping for an opportunity like that but either the team decided regardless, or the company decided for him - one way or the other, he feels like he lost an opportunity for a nice living situation and has to put up with the current conditions wether he likes it or not. I don't think he pays felix any mind as he's focus on the matter is elsewhere.

[rooolt]

In-Depth Rant About Possible Scamster Relationship Timelines Because They Plague Me

okay so! Scamster relationship timeline has been something I’ve tried to puzzle out since episode 23 dropped because the everything about it was so absurdly captivating and Anthony just dropped it and gave us nothing. So originally (and I think I’ve talked abt this before) I had perceived the timeline thusly:

we know for a fact they are together in the flashback in Alright which based on Anthony’s description of the teens most likely takes place a couple of years after s1 bc the kiddads are all still teens. I think 3 years is a reasonable estimate bc if you see the oldest kiddad in s1 as being max 14, that would leave them at 17. I’d say minimum two years and maximum five. Now, there is no way of knowing how long the two of them have been together by the time this flashback is occurring. I think it may be reasonable to assume that it’s relatively new as we know Morgan was still with Jodie in the finale and presumably had to experience some amount of time being together with him to want to leave him. Additionally, the way they talk to each other gives very much “honeymoon phase” energy, not that that’s concrete evidence, but still. Now with the information we were operating under for a large portion of s2, (probably up until episode 45ish if I remember correctly) scam and Jodie were Hermie’s parents, and scam left Jodie pretty immediately after Hermie was born. Working under that assumption, and the long held assumption that Hermie was 15, this would place them as having been in a relationship for about five to seven years (s2 takes place 25 years after season one, meaning Hermie (if he was actually 15) would’ve been born 10 years after season one and if they had been dating starting anywhere from three to five years after season one, there’s the math) WHICH IS A BIG NUMBER. And for a while that was crazy to me, that plagued me right I thought about that all the time.

AND THEN

AND THEN Anthony Burch dropped a piece of information that SHATTERED MY WORLDVIEW. Hermie the unworthy is not a person (or demon scam creature) he’s just a scam and he’s AT MOST like three years old. WHAT DOES THIS MEAN FOR THE SCAMSTER TIMELINE!!! Here’s the thing. There is nothing Anthony Burch can say that will fully retcon Hermie in my mind as not Jodie’s son. It comes up so much, Jodie sees him that way, literally claims he was “scammed out of a son”, Hermie and Taylor are referred to as related multiple times, there’s nothing you can do to retcon that. Therefore, despite being a creation of scam, Hermie is still technically Jodie’s son. What do I mean by that? Personally, I like to think that whilst creating Hermie, scam knew that it takes two parents to make a child and thus pulled “dna” (I assume it’s like magic bc neither of them are human) from both himself and Jodie, either because that was the last long running relationship he was in, or because it was the funniest option. This, I think, leaves us with two possible options for the scamster timeline.

Original scamster timeline is correct/they broke up sometime earlier, but then three years pre-canon scam likely decided it would be fun to make a kid but didn’t want to deal with baby stuff so he pulled stuff from himself and Jodie to make like a 12 year old and then when he got bored of it not only did he implant fake memories into both hermie and his adoptive parents, but also within Jodie, making him believe that they had a son together 12 years ago but scam ran away with him, breaking up with Jodie in the process

scam and Jodie had actually been together for almost 20 years straight and Jodie was aware of, and maybe even excited about, the kid scam was making, but then scam just immediately whisked him away, implanting him within a mortal family. The reason I say they stayed together instead of breaking up and getting back together is the way jodie talks abt it, it seems as though he was blindsided by scam leaving him. This is obviously the less likely (ha!) option, but I think definitely still a possibility

n e ways, I’ve most definitely considered this in far more depth than either Anthony Burch or Jimmy Wong have, but there is something deeply wrong with me and they plague me.et me know if you have further thoughts or evidence suggesting a more canonical scamster timeline.

[not-poignant]

How do you 'find the plot' as it were in a story? You've mentioned a few times hat you tend to start out with stories that are only a few chapters long, but then spiral outwards from there. I feel like I have the opposite problem - I come up with character concepts, worlds, etc. but everything fizzles out after a few chapters. It's not that I'm not passionate about the worlds or the characters I build, I just... feel like they have nowhere to go. Any tips/tricks/advice for when this happens?

Hi anon!

So everyone does these things a bit differently. What I do might not work for you! So keep that in mind if I describe something that makes you feel demotivated or uninspired, it probably means it just isn't the right technique for you!

Now to break things down:

Even if I'm only starting out with a few chapters, I usually know where I'm heading. Which is almost always - when it's not straight up PWP - a romance.

Romances by default need to have a HEA (Happily Ever After) or HFN (Happy For Now / Hopeful For Now). That HEA/HFN must feature the two main romantic leads (unless you're writing OT3 or whatever). It's not 'happy but one of them died.' It's 'happy but both of them are end-game.' No matter how long my story is, that is always the end-game, and that never changes.

So you already know where you're going. No matter what. The story is internalised, the rules are firm. You break that rule, it's not a romance anymore. It's something else with a romantic storyline in it.

Generally speaking anon, if you target certain genres or character arcs, you will always know exactly where you're headed - it's your Polestar, your True North - even if you don't know exactly what it looks like yet because you haven't been there before, you know that everything in that story either has to work to get your characters closer to that end-point, or it works against that end-point in a way that will have to be overcome.

And then from there, that is where all my stories gain their shape, even if I don't plot anything. Because even though I write a lot of different genres, the romance is always at the heart of it for me. Or more accurately, it's always the compass point. Even when the romance isn't that important. Eran and Mosk's romance absolutely took a back seat in The Ice Plague, but their happiness was still the end point. I always knew where I was heading.

In amongst your worldbuilding and character building anon, I would say you need to do more concrete work on understanding the genres, and then applying one or more to your own work. I feel like you've put everything in your backpack except for the compass, and then get surprised when you lose your way.

It doesn't matter how good your map is, if you don't have a compass to read it with.

Think of the map as your worldbuilding and character building, then think of the genres and the tropes as your compass.

Go hunting for the compass alongside the map, otherwise you just end up with a map that's unworkable no matter what direction you turn it in. It looks like it has all the information you need, but it actually doesn't, because a map on its own isn't enough. (Even Google Maps uses a compass salkjfads).

When you lose your way, it can help to think of your favourite examples of the genre/s you're writing, and how motivating those endings or conflict points were in the story. It can help to revisit the genre/s themselves. For example if you're writing upbeat action/adventure, you want relatively fast pacing and some explosive moments. If you're writing grimdark, you're going to have to kill off some of your (and everyone else's) faves.

Learn about genre/s, about trope/s, the deeper you go, the more of a story scaffold you'll have as the skeleton beneath all the flesh you put on the story. Without that backbone, without that compass, it will all fall apart.

I am fortunate in the sense that I've been studying story structures what feels like all my life. From the very basic story structures of Grimm's and HCA's fairy tales, to literally studying it at university in scriptwriting and film and creative writing. So my compass is within me, and I don't have to research it in the same way anymore.

But I loved every moment of building my compass, and I hope you enjoy building yours too, anon. Since you already enjoy the worldbuilding and the characterisation, it's the last thing you need in your backpack to keep a story going and know where you're headed. Because your genre is always pretty clear, for the most part, and when the genre isn't, the tropes will be.

[3rdvoice]

Maybe I start mirroring the Letter Column here??

Hi Evan, I have been reading your work for years–I came in right at the end of Rice Boy and read Order of Tales and Vattu every MWF from beginning to end. And then I got a new phone and didn’t reinstall my feed reader and was dismayed/delighted to find I’d gone for nine dang months and didn’t even know 3rd Voice existed! I’m just now catching up, really enjoying the comic, and appreciating the space you’re creating around it. To my question/pondering: the way the information gets parceled out to readers is both one of the most compelling and frustrating things to me about narrative. I see with 3rd Voice you are leaning heavily on show-don’t-tell, rather than the ponderous info dumps that plague a lot of science fiction and fantasy. The trade-off for making a better story and more believable characters is that there’s a lot we don’t know as readers. Some of what we don’t know is known by the characters (such as what "new person" means in their social context), some is not known by them (such as the existential knowledge that Navichet is seeking), and some is a mix (like Spondule and Navichet’s backgrounds that they don’t disclose to one another—or us). For you as a storyteller, how important is the revelation of knowledge in the creation of the story? Do you see 3rd Voice relying a lot on the revelation of knowledge as a way of wrapping up the story arc(s), or is there just a lot of stuff that the reader is never going to know and you’re OK with that? I don’t have strong feelings either way; just seeing you work with this in a bit of a different way and I’m curious about your thoughts. Thank you, Emily * October 2, 2023

Firstly thank you for the comment on the “space I’m creating around” 3V; I am not exactly sure what you mean but maybe I do and maybe would like to know exactly what you mean.

This parceling-of-information has become an absolutely central part of how I look at invented-world fiction; I started nailing down certain principles (all extending basically from show-don’t-tell) years ago and am trying to still work with them as smart as possible. Vattu is built with the same approach in mind! A solution in that comic to the problem of avoiding Explaining is to keep things fairly simple, iconic, self-explanatory. 3V can foreground these questions of “what the world is” a little more comfortably I think because of Spondule & Navichet’s relationship to it, and because of it being a kind of Broken place with bigger questions therefore automatically implied.

I guess mostly I want to emphasize that the details of the setting and how everything fits together isn’t necessarily what the Story is About, and the disorientation built into this sort of storytelling is something that I’m aware of and that I think is Fun. So I mean a lot of the bigger stuff has been Figured Out / is being Figured Out on my end, BUuuuut there is a reason that I am telling the story from the point of view of two marginal idiots. This I guess connects to what I was saying in a previous lettercol about “Spondule writing” and “Navichet writing” in my process for this thing…

To your specific questions, “revelation of knowledge” is as important as the knowledge itself-- this is a central principle to me at this point. Storytelling to me is entirely a structure of knowledge-revealing. And there will be unanswered questions forever but I’m not sure how many exactly and that’s life I guess lol. thank u so much for thoughtful thoughts!! I can’t believe you have been reading this stuff since rice boy days!!!

[true-blue-sonic]

Do we know if Silver is left or right handed?

This is a question that has been plaguing my mind for literally years now, haha. Time to find an actual answer! I'll dive into various evidences, from artworks, Sonic Channel, and the mainline games wherein he is featured most prominent (Sonic '06, Rivals 1 and 2, Generations, and Forces).

Artwork from games and Sonic Channel

For proof around which hand is Silver's dominant one in this section, I'm looking at hands he's doing actual actions with in the still image. So, just balling a fist or holding a hand out is not enough: he needs to do something with either. That gives me the following:

Right-handed proof:

Silver throws the ball and the wood, holds the knife, and telekinetically lifts the presents with his right hand. We do see him use his left hand in a way that implies he's stabilising the presents or lifting up the plate, though, and he holds out a gift as well with it. However, perhaps most importantly, he's got his list and a pen in his right hand in the picture where he's dressed up as a post deliverer. Though you can do things like eat with your non-dominant hand as well (that is why I did not include the picture of him holding the candy apple from Sonic Channel in this analysis), writing is something many people need to actively train their non-dominant hand for.

Left-handed proof:

Both of these examples have him actively use his PK with one hand, which (as we see in '06) is necessary to move things. Specifically, he's holding out his left hand in a "stop" motion in the second picture; in the Sonic Channel story, Sonic gets swooped right off his feet by Silver's powers, thus stopped in his motions. I therefore figure that is controlled most by his left hand.

Drawbacks of this method: this utilises artwork from multiple media, some of which might not be canon to the games (e.g. the Mario and Sonic series). Also, there are various actions you can do with both your hands with only little more stability in your dominant one, like eating and holding up something and stuff. We also do not know how Silver's PK works entirely, but more on that at the end.

Screenshots from the games:

Sonic 06:

Right-handed proof:

Silver freezes Sonic and the newly-born Iblis with his right hand, and he grasps the Chaos Emeralds with his right hand (almost) all times. Also in the gameplay itself, he uses his right hand for his powers and to press it on the PK marks on the ground and such.

Left-handed proof

Silver why did you grasp that Emerald with your left hand right after I wrote you always grabbed them with your RIGHT HAND SILVER-

Sonic Rivals 1 and 2:

These games are a bit difficult to get information out of, but Silver seems to use both hands for almost all things: e.g. when balancing on a beam he stretches out both hands for stabilisation, when launching himself off an obstacle he pushes himself with both hands, he uses both to push obstacles as well, he stretches them both out when activating his Psychic Control (and it seems he flings both hands forward afterwards, but it is difficult to see in all the glowing cyan sparkles and stuff), etc. He does however use only his left hand to hang onto a handle that hangs onto a thin rail:

However, I would not argue that that is something obligatory for your dominant hand, so these games do not really provide evidence towards either hand being his dominant one, I would say.

Sonic Generations:

Right-handed proof:

He grasps his head with his right hand and shakes it when he gets up from scraping over the asphalt for a hundred meters; I've never truly seen that before but aw <3 My own instinct here is that I use my dominant hand, at least!

When he makes the battering ram with the cars, he uses his right hand to "call" them up from the ground below and "push" them forward. When sending down the first object of the three he tries to crush Sonic with, he uses his right hand for it, and then both hand for the other two items.

Left-handed proof:

Silver lifts the car with his left hand, and to fling it he flings his left hand down. For the Psychic Knife, he balls his left hand and sends his left hand out to shoot it at Sonic.

Sonic Forces:

Also here not that much conclusive: he utilises his left and right hands alike for gestures (e.g. balling his fist), and when Sonic comes to his rescue before the first fight with Infinite, he uses his right hand to push himself up. He does seem to use his right hand more than his left, though, for example in the ending scene: he gestures with right extensively there.

In the final battle, he "initiates" with his right hand and turns his body right to get into position, but uses both hands to freeze the illusions in their tracks.

Final conclusions:

Based on the above information, I figure that Silver is right-handed when it comes to utilising his actual hand (e.g. for writing, cutting, and grabbing items physically), however he is ambidextrous when it comes to his powers. Though artwork and games consistently show him using his right hand for manipulation of objects with his actual hand, I would say there is appropriate proof even within the same game (e.g. Generations) wherein he uses either his left or right hand or both simultaneously for his psychic powers. This is also the case in '06: at times he uses both hands to lift things up, or send them flying. He does not seem to struggle with making things psychokinetically happen with either hand, and he appears to have an equal level of control over the objects in his psychic hold no matter which hand he uses to manipulate them.

Overall drawbacks of this research: My initial general mindset when gathering this evidence was that I assumed Silver utilises his PK with his dominant hand, the same way we would write or cut things in the real world. However, as far as I know this is never explicitly stated. It also does not match what I found in the end, namely that both hands seem to have an equal level of control within his psychokinesis. I also did not watch extensive playthroughs and such for this, so it is very well possible I missed things. Lastly, I think we need to keep in mind that this is probably not something Sega is actively keeping an eye on and enforcing, meaning there could be inconsistencies between games and other media.

If you've got more evidence or things that I missed, let me know!

Tl;dr: evidence from the games and artwork seem to suggest that Silver is right-handed when it comes to actions and gestures around his actual right hand, and ambidextrous when it comes to psychokinetically manipulating objects.

[twistedappletree]

Hiiii apple is it okay to ask for a bit of the sect leader fic? It’s so exciting to see the babies grown up lolol i can’t wait to read 🩵🩵

As the lovely person who gave me the fic idea, you absolutely can Koi-Koi 😘

I think you’ll like this part. It takes place 6 months after Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi officially become sect leaders and Lan Sizhui leaves to travel and cultivate with Wen Ning.

However, Lan Sizhui never contacts either of them after promising to keep in touch and the only information they’ve received about his wellbeing has been from Hanguang-Jun, who simply says, “He’s fine” every time they ask.

So Jin Ling pesters Lan Jingyi to play Inquiry because he’s afraid something bad has happened to Lan Sizhui.

•

“Can’t you just trust Hanguang-Jun?”

“I need to know for myself.”

Lan Jingyi sighed and sat cross legged on the ground, setting his guqin over his lap. The quiet sounds of the forest and the chill of the night air made him feel lonely, despite Jin Ling nervously pacing back and forth beside him. “You do realize you’re basically asking me to contact my best friend as if he’s dead, right?”

Jin Ling stopped pacing and frowned. “I don’t like it any better than you do which is why I’d rather rule out the possibility.”

“Hanguang-Jun wouldn’t lie,” Lan Jingyi countered.

“And he also has no way of knowing where Sizhui is every minute of every day.” Jin Ling hugged himself as a cold breeze rushed past him, his mind wandering to the memory of Lan Sizhui disappearing into the horizon when his boat left the docks of Jinlintai. “A lot can happen in a minute.”

“Fine,” said Lan Jingyi, “But I’m doing all the talking whether it’s Sizhui or not. Last thing we need is you scaring off spirits with your attitude.”

Jin Ling rolled his eyes and plopped down next to him, keeping his arms crossed and his nose upturned. “Whatever. Let’s just get it over with already.”

Lan Jingyi took a deep breath before plucking the notes of Inquiry on his guqin. Though his spiritual energy was nowhere near as strong as Hanguang-Jun’s, his guqin language had come quite a long way in his short six months as a sect leader.

As the world around them ignited in glowing hues of teal and ghostly blue, Jin Ling stared intensely at the guqin’s strings, almost willing them to stay silent. He knew the best response would be no response at all, so he genuinely hoped nothing would come of this night.

“Okay,” Lan Jingyi said. “Time to start aski—“

The guqin’s strings hummed involuntarily, the notes sounding both determined and desperate. Tendrils of spiritual energy reached out like waiting arms to Jin Ling who stumbled back in shock. The tendrils soon retreated back to the guqin, not strong enough to pursue him.

“What—why is it doing that?” Jin Ling’s eyes darted around, looking equally perplexed and mortified.

More notes rang from the guqin and Lan Jingyi furrowed his brow at Jin Ling. “Don’t be scared,” he translated. “They’re talking directly to you.” He’d never encountered such an intensely talkative spirit before. Whoever it was seemed insistent on speaking to Jin Ling.

“Could… could it be…” Jin Ling frowned, wondering if they’d made contact with one of his late family members instead.

Lan Jingyi seized a quiet moment between the spirit’s contact to ask quick, basic questions: are you male or female? Male. How old are you? Twenty. Are you a relative? No. Are you a friend? Yes. Where are you? Too far. I can’t reach you.

When Lan Jingyi translated the last question’s answer, Jin Ling’s mind was invaded by a flashback of his recurring dream—Lan Sizhui bleeding from his qiqiao, eyes plagued with horror while saying, I can’t reach you over and over.

Jin Ling almost fell over scrambling towards the guqin. “Sizhui?!”

Lan Jingyi protectively held his arms over his guqin’s strings the second he saw Jin Ling reaching for them. “Are you insane?! Don’t touch them in the middle of Inquiry, you’ll mess it up!”

A weak but willful tendril of spiritual energy gently snaked its way around Jin Ling’s hand and through his fingers before disappearing into the night air. Soon, all of the spiritual energy around them absorbed into the earth and the guqin fell silent.

Jin Ling’s face hovered above the guqin’s strings, lips trembling and eyes wide, glazed with oncoming tears. “Bring him back,” he whispered hoarsely. He narrowed his eyes and lunged at Lan Jingyi, aggressively grabbing him by his robe’s lapels. “Bring him back!”

Lan Jingyi grimaced and clutched Jin Ling’s wrists, ripping his hands away from him. “Will you calm down?! We don’t even know if that was him!”

“It was!” Jin Ling finally broke into tears. “It was him, Jingyi, I know it was! You need… you need to bring him back. Play Inquiry again and bring him back!”

“I can’t! If it was him, he’s the one who broke communication! Spiritual energy can only last so long, do so much. If I try to bring him back now, he’ll be too weak to communicate—“

“Then what’s the point?!” Jin Ling drove his fist into the ground with enough force to make a small crater in the dirt. His hair fell into his face and his entire body quaked with a mess of complicated emotions.

Lan Jingyi frowned and sat up straight, slowly covering his guqin in its cloth. “Look… I know it’s frustrating but we can’t force this. We need to give ourselves—we need to give him a break. We can try again tomorrow, okay?”

Jin Ling stayed silent for a moment longer. He wiped his face with his sleeve then pushed himself to his feet, too exhausted by his outburst to argue. “Fine.”

Lan Jingyi watched him turn and walk away without another word, leaving him alone in the woods with his guqin and a few remnants of spiritual energy flickering on the ground. He looked down at his guqin and furrowed his brows. “You’re not dead,” he whispered. “I know you aren’t. So don’t mess around next time.”

Lan Jingyi tucked his guqin under his arm as he rose to his feet and took one last glance at the fading energy peppering the earth’s soil. “You left me too, remember?”

•

Lan Sizhui opened his mouth to call his name but he had no voice to call him with. Lan Jingyi was nothing but a silhouette in a thick haze that turned and disappeared, leaving Lan Sizhui surrounded by a never ending, impenetrable fog.

Finally, the last of his energy depleted and broke him out of his dreamlike state. Lan Sizhui was pummeled back into reality, lying on the cold damp floor of a cave surrounded by a magical cage. He was too weak to sit up but he knew he’d be free soon. He just had to hold on a bit longer.

“I’m sorry.”

[lulu2992]

thank you for your posts! they've been super helpful in understanding far cry 5 lore better. if you don't mind, i have a lore question; i've seen people claiming that the faith seed in the game killed her predecessor (in the cult, not joseph's wife), and other people claiming that joseph and/or john killed her. do you know if there's anything in fc5 that says or implies who killed the former faith?

You’re welcome! I’m glad you enjoy my posts :)

People who claim that Faith killed her predecessor have probably played the Far Cry 6 Collapse DLC. In that game, she explains she pushed the previous Faith off the statue of Joseph and that’s how she took her place in the cult. It was her test, the “leap of faith” she talks about in Far Cry 5, but according to the DLC, she didn’t actually jump.

Technically, she isn’t really the one telling this story because everything Joseph experiences in Collapse is a creation of the Voice and/or his tortured mind. Still, even though he’s upset when “Faith” says what she did, it’s more in a “don’t remind me of my mistakes” way than in a “stop telling lies” way, I think, so it seems it’s supposed to be true and not Joseph/the Voice distorting the facts.

The problem is that this was never mentioned in Far Cry 5 and that the DLC has a different writing team. It’s still official, and to some people that’s enough to make it canon, but to me it’s not, and I’ve noted too many inconsistencies to consider it a reliable source of information. It was also Collapse that “revealed” Joseph’s wife was the first, original Faith Seed, but this was never mentioned anywhere before, either; she didn’t have a name in Far Cry 5.

So it’s not really wrong to say Faith killed her predecessor because it’s the story officially told in Collapse, but it’s not what Far Cry 5 said, so I don’t consider this canon (it’s just my opinion, though). Maybe the DLC’s writers felt they had to explain how she survived jumping off the statue because they thought it would have killed her (even though we know the leap of faith isn’t always lethal)...

In Far Cry 5, there unfortunately is almost no information about what happened to the other Faiths. We just know there were at least two, Lana and Selena, and that, according to the author of the “Grieving Note”, Lana died and her body was disposed of at the Horned Serpent Cave. It seems it was then Selena who replaced her and that she was the predecessor of the current Faith, Rachel, but her whereabouts are unknown.

The note “A Confession” implies the Faith who wrote it was afraid of Joseph’s reaction if he found out that her devotion to the Project was “plagued by doubt”, so that suggests he might be at least partly responsible for her presumed demise. That said, no one clearly explains anything and the previous Faiths are barely mentioned, so we can only speculate about what exactly became of them. The Father says Rachel “was not the first”, and he must know the truth about her predecessors, but we don’t.

As for John being the murderer of the former Faith(s), I guess it’s not completely improbable since we can imagine anything, but there’s zero evidence he was directly involved in whatever happened.