#everything is inverted in reflection

[dreadfutures]

I was doubly inspired by this prompt from @rosella-writes for my #shadows in the sun AU for young!Ixchel & Kieran and what they get up to during DA4.

For @dadrunkwriting

Words: 2109

-:-:-

Ixchel knew mana exhaustion when she saw it, and she was honestly surprised Kieran hadn’t died from it yet. He had been a dragon, and then himself, and then he had flung not only himself across a whole canyon but taken her with him in one Fade-step the likes of which she hadn’t thought possible.

She had been surprised enough when he was capable of speech after all of that, but his impressive reserves of strength or foolishness could not last forever, she supposed. He had collapsed not long after they had made their way to the other side of the mesa. It had been up to Ixchel, then, to carry him down to where the cliffs dripped into a valley of trees, where they might be hidden from those that pursued him. She hoped.

Ixchel nestled Kieran in the roots of a tree to keep him out of the wind, on a bed of leaves to keep him from losing too much heat to the ground. While he rested, she worked.

She was no stranger to finding her way in the wilderness without supplies, though she resented the fact that she had been forced to leave them in her mad dash to help Kieran. Her bedroll, the oiled tarp, and the wrapped packages of salted fish she had brought with her now lay scattered on the red floor of the desert to the southwest. Regardless, she had no trouble making a lean-to, and setting up some snares, and digging a pit for a low-smoke fire, with nothing but her hands and the tools she could find in nature. It was a matter of principle, if nothing else, that she was annoyed.

They were near water—she had made sure of that—and she had fortunately had her canteen, flint, and a few other small trinkets in the pockets that lined her clothes. She left Kieran to quickly refill the water she had drained while crossing the desert, and when she returned, she found him just on the cusp of waking.

She was relieved, and she plunked herself down beside him, ready to offer him a sip as soon as he could sit up.

“What happened to finding shelter?” he groaned, with the expression of a child pulled out of bed too early, and she considered upturning her canteen on his lap in retaliation.

“We’ve got cover from the wind, water nearby, dry earth, and plenty of game,” Ixchel said instead. “Your mother would be grateful for such bounty.”

She reached for him as he struggled to sit up on weakened arms, and he wrapped his hand around her singular wrist for support—but then he didn’t let go.

He held her there and stared at her intently, golden eyes like a dragon’s, like his mother’s, boring into hers.

“My mother is missing, ‘Chel,” he said soberly.

Ixchel hated how the news, which should have been a punch to the gut, was just another bitter truth she could roll with. She was not shaken like she should have been, and she returned his gaze without surprise.

“Have you heard about the—” she began, but Kieran cut her off.

“The evil gods returning? My grandmother warned us all of that a decade ago,” he said.

“Alright,” Ixchel said. “Tell me what you know.”

“After Papae died, Mamae let the Well guide us to places that were safe… Places where the ancient people hid from the Evanuris.” Kieran’s voice had softened a little, gaze turning glassy and distant. “But then—the Well warned us that nowhere was safe. That the refuges we had found belonged to Fen’Harel, and so would she if we stayed. We were going to make a decision together, but she disappeared in the night without a trace. She left everything: her staff, her books…”

“Do you think Mythal took her? Fen’Harel?” Ixchel asked. “Controlling the Well?”

Kieran shook his head vehemently. “No,” he said, “because Fen’Harel came looking for her. And—” he sucked in a breath, having grown pale as if he felt ill at what he was about to say “—I know that it wasn’t Mythal, either. The part of me that she took… Fen’Harel holds it now. I could feel it in him, and I know my grandmother wouldn’t have given it to him freely, not after everything she did to take it!”

Kieran’s grip had grown exceedingly tight around her wrist—enough to make her flinch. Despite his wiry frame, delicate in ways his mother was but his father wasn’t, he carried a surprising strength in his hands. He did not seem to realize it, fixated and nearly frantic as he continued his explanation:

“I think Mamae went looking for the same thing my father did. It was his only hope, and he failed, and I think it’s her only hope, too. Our only hope.”

“A cure for the Blight?” Ixchel asked.

“No!” Kieran exclaimed, as if she had uttered the most disappointingly stupid thing he had ever heard. “An untouched place, a place where time, and magic, and war, and death, and yes the Blight, have never trespassed.”

Ixchel pursed her lips and waited for him to continue, loathe to say something else to earn his disapproval. Her silence, unfortunately, seemed to earn the same outcome, for he released her hand and fisted both of his in his hair.

“It’s the only place where she wouldn’t be in danger of being controlled,” he said insistently, “because the Evanuris have no power there—and that’s why we need to lure them to her.”

“What?” Ixchel yanked her hand back from him, a fury rising in her that did surprise her. “If she made it there, she’s safe, Kieran. What the fuck do you mean ‘lure them to her’?!”

Before she knew what she was doing, she was on her feet. “She’s your mother, Kieran! I know she talks a lot of shit about sacrifice and using people but she’s your mother!”

“Do you think I don’t feel that!” Kieran shouted back, further shocking her, but not shocking her out of her anger. “This is the only option! I know—I just know this is what she wants us to do, since she can’t do it alone—”

“Gods above and below, maybe it’s what she wants you to do,” Ixchel spat, “but you can’t ask me—”

“To bring danger to the only person who’s ever treated you like family? That’s exactly why I am asking you!”

Kieran looked up at her with tears of desperation in his eyes, and she was haunted by his words, and by the eyes that looked so much like Morrigan’s.

Tears welled in her own eyes as his words sank in. He had given voice to something she had never had the courage to admit even to herself. But on a level that was fundamentally worse, he had noticed it in the first place—the one thing she had so dearly wished to hide when they last traveled together.

Morrigan and her Warden had taken her in like family, after Corypheus’ defeat scattered all her friends in the Inquisition to the far corners of the world. Morrigan had taught her elven, and ancient elvhen, when even Solas hadn’t deigned to. Morrigan had shown her a softness that her steely exterior hid from all but precious few. Morrigan had made her feel wanted, safe, and special, like no one else had ever made her feel.

Yes. Morrigan had been the closest thing to a mother to the young Inquisitor, and it went against every fiber of her being to jeopardize that.

Even if Ixchel had turned her back on them once before.

“You have no idea—” Ixchel didn’t know where she was going. “Do you think I owe—” But that was terribly, terribly wrong, too. “Kieran, I just—I can’t.”

“No,” he said bitterly, “and neither can I. Not alone.”

Ixchel’s lashes fluttered, sending hot tears spilling down her cheeks, and she took a step back, and then another, and then another, until Kieran was just a shadow in the crook at the base of the tree and she was beginning to melt into the forest.

Despite the anger and—and fear that filled her, she found herself calling out to him on reflex: “I’ll be back.”

“Take your time,” he said, sounding defeated.

Ixchel turned her back on him, and she walked away into the woods.

Instinct guided her where her turmoil-rattled mind could not. Her stomach was aching for food, and she needed to set up the snares for small animals, and to forage for some other forms of sustenance in the interim. One by one the ropes she had fashioned left her hands, placed on game trails she sensed more than saw. She dug up roots and nibbled at them to identify which ones might be worthwhile, ignoring dirt and fibers. And when she finally felt calm enough to think again, she found herself crawling in a dense thicket of tangled berry trees.

They were similar to those she had scavenged in Ferelden as a child: red-turned-black, with many tiny beads of juice squished together into oval gems. These, however, she found to have thorns.

Her blood welled berry-red in her thumb, drawing her out of her stormy fugue and back into the moment. As she sucked at the wound and considered the lay of the land, she gave thought to Kieran’s request.

It was no fault of his that his maternal lineage was tangled in occult mystery, curses, and cursed luck. It was not his fault that his mother had become entangled with the Well of Sorrows, submitted to the slavery of the Evanuris in one way or shape or form—if anything, that blame lay on Ixchel’s shoulders. And it was not Kieran’s fault that he had been left alone in this world, robbed first of a childhood, and of friendship, and then of his father… and now, his mother, too.

He needed Ixchel, and he had reason for seeking her out. It wasn’t unkind, at least at its core.

She was all he had left.

Her heart ached at that acknowledgment. She felt entirely unworthy of his hope, but it was fact: Morrigan and Halevune had taken her in, kept her safe, educated her, and brought her on their travels, with Kieran. They had been companions, and friends, for years. She cared deeply for his parents, and for him.

Who else could Kieran say that about?

She wished he had someone better equipped to help him than the meager shadow of the Inquisitor she had become in recent years.

Ixchel sniffled as she reached for the berries again, and with greater care she began to collect them. It was difficult and tedious work to avoid the thorns and apply enough force to pluck the fruit from the branches, all with one hand. It had been mid-afternoon when she’d left, and it was getting quite dark by the time she returned, laden with the spoils of the forest.

“You returned,” he said, and her heart sank, realizing he had thought she’d left him.

…Again.

Ixchel set down the folded cloth full of berries and began to dig roots out from where she’d stuffed them down her clothes.

“I did,” she grunted.

They were quiet as she smacked dirt off of the vegetation. When she went to figure out how to light the fire, Kieran saw her intentions and cast a simple spell, bringing sparks to life in the tinder.

“Thanks,” she said, and sat back with a thump on the ground beside him again, nestled against the tree. “Look, lethallin—”

“I don’t know if she made it, lethallan,” he said quickly, squeezing his fists in his lap. “I don’t know what we’ll find there. I don’t know how we’re going to lure the old gods to the edge of the world. But I know, I just know—”

Ixchel held out her fist in front of him, and he fell silent. Realizing he had misinterpreted the motion, she opened her hand and dropped a berry into his lap.

“I’ll help you,” she promised.

Kieran gave a wet laugh. “Why?”

She shifted uncomfortably and looked down at her thorn-pricked hand. “Because I don’t have a better idea, I’m tired of turning my back on the world, and…” Her throat worked in vain to keep the tears out of her voice. “…And I’m tired of being alone.”

Kieran rolled the berry in the palm of his hand, leaning into her shoulder like he had been struggling to keep himself upright.

“Yeah,” he said down to his hands. “Me too.”

[h4venpha]

i think i find comfort in vashwood because of their unwillingness to say outloud how they care and love for one another. like CANONLY, theres so, so much they dont say, yet their actions reflect everything.

i’m pretty sure i’ve spoke on this before but i like to think that they never say more than they need to because of the world they live in, the type of people they are, the type of upbringings theyve had. it all stems back to them not really feeling worthy of the love they are offered.

wolfwood who only thinks of himself as some fucked up modified killing machine and that he believes theres no chance someone as kind hearted as vash would see the good in him, or what little there is left of the good in him. he’s done nothing but kill, he could never redeem himself, and yet vash isn’t scared nor shuns him for it even with his pacifistic ideals.

vash who has seen the brutal truth of wolfwood’s being and still decides he loves him to the very end.

vash who doesnt believe he deserves any ounce of love or commitment because he only hurts those he gets close to. it’s happened before and itll happen again, like hes a walking time bomb and everything will blow up again and the people close to him will die no matter what he does. and wolfwood who canonly sticks beside him until the end! literally calls himself his guide.

vash who has never had true companionship in his 150 years of living, and wolfwood who follows him to the ends of gunsmoke.

just up until vol10, theyre still toeing the line of the relationship theyve created. but the exact moment vash shows up and chooses to prioritize wolfwood over going after knives (the fucking thing he’s been working towards since the big fall, over a hundred years ago) is the moment he steps past that line. its so extremely open and explicit, even wolfwood asks him ‘why are you here?”

while what he says here is true yes, it also sounds like “you cannot die, i’m here to ‘save’ you because i want to live.”

then to this when wolfwood knows and accepts he will die— the sheer HORROR on vash’s face when he realizes wolfwood wont allow him to save him.

few pages ahead, vash’s monologue starts and these old panels come up. “deep down, he had become very close to me.” basically implying that back then, during the ‘shoot’ moment, they weren’t really close. and when vash accused him: “you’re the coward here.”, “you give up all hope so easily”, it was almost surface level in a way? talking to him at surface level

but now, so many chapters later when wolfwood really does give up hope, vash, with all of his developed love through out the story realizes how differently he feels now. wolfwood made him put a fucking gun to his head (giving up hope), and vash who only scolded and accused him, vs vol10 where when wolfwood gives up hope, vash feels straight terror, that he’s really going to lose him. (also the inverted panel is just so gorgeous.)

the whole “isnt that right, wolfwood?” just proves my entire point that vash’s presence here in this fight steps over the line of vulnerability they had created. he knows how he feels, and he knows that wolfwood feels the same, even if hes speaking to him indirectly.

[starvingnarcissistmusic]

I should really make a non music blog so that people who like my music don’t get bombarded by random unrelated stuff but this is like tangentially related sort of so whatever

God I just love Mal Du Pays. I am always a sucker for “the enemy is you / the enemy is a manifestation of some part of you” trope in any media but MDP has by far gotta be one of the best applications of it I’ve ever seen.

I mean even just the design of it is brilliant. Obviously inverting a characters colors to get the evil / darker version isn’t anything new for this trope, but ISAT is unique in that you have quite literally been STARING AT MDP THE WHOLE GAME, every single time you die and every single time you loop back. Turning the non diegetic game over screen into a diegetic encounter is incredibly clever and immediately gives MDP that sense of crushing pressure that makes it so memorable.

Also literally any game where the game over music is later established as the motif of a character automatically just wins me over by default. It’s such an effective tool in immediately conveying just what MDP is, even before any of the dialogue starts. It’s the end of this journey. It’s the pain of a home you’ve never known. It’s an entire universe collapsing in on you at once. It’s the end. It’s the end. It’s the end.

And I think, it’s a little Fucked Up, that Siffrin’s sadness looks identical to him. Every other sadness we see in the game is very distinctly not human in appearance, incredibly abstract and inhuman pretty much all around the board. But Mal Du Pays? The sadness of our main character? Pretty much the same. Literally a color swap. I think that’s incredibly telling. A being born of Siffrin’s grief and pain and agony, and the form it takes is his own silhouette.

Thematically, it’s very On The Nose that Siffrin’s worst enemy is simply himself, but at the same time, it’s exactly what you expect. I remember getting to MDP for the first time, seeing Siffrin walk through the void and just… knowing what would come next. Of course it would be another him. For Siffrin, his hell is himself. This nightmarish half-life, devoid of a past and with nothing but a quickly collapsing future, his worst impulses and fears and agonies and pains personified, and all it looks like is his shadow. Of course, what else could be here, at his lowest of lows, but a reflection? Of course there would be nothing here but you. It’s always only ever been you. Mal Du Pays is a mirror. A mirror that hates you like you do, that loathes you like you loathe yourself. In the worst, most monstrous way possible, it tells you exactly what you’ve been telling yourself your whole journey. And so you believe it, let it sink its words into your skin and bury you in the misery. Because maybe then, maybe when you finally give in, it won’t hurt anymore.

(A cold comfort is still, however little it may be, a comfort.)

And then you’re saved. The King is defeated, your friends came back for you, you manage to come up for air again. But it’s not enough. It’s never enough. Everything is still coming to an end. You’re still going to be all alone. And so, you sink again.

Notice how Bigfrin doesn’t have a face in this panel? This is Siffrin at their most self destructive, most desperate, lower than lower than low. And in a way, I think that by quite literally looking like the Sadness they nearly created, they’re symbolically drawing a parallel there. Siffrin fully embraces what Mal Du Pays represented, to the point that their new form looks just like it. Even if they didn’t manifest MDP, they are just as horrible. After all, the mirror goes both ways. Mal Du Pays looks just like Siffrin, but that also means that Siffrin looks just like Mal Du Pays. And maybe, in Siffrin’s head, they’re one and the same. Maybe they’ve always been.

Oh god it’s 1 in the morning. I did not mean to make this that long lmao w h o o p s

uhhhhhh in summary tldr mdp is very good isat is also very good play isat

(also if you want more MDP content, I sort of wrote a whole song about it. So listen to that if you’d like. Im goin to bed)

[bubsmiraculousau]

These are my OT5 brainstorm pages. Elaborations on how I got to these below! I reference concept pages so if you see any pictures you don't recognize that's why. <3

First up is Cat Noir who I think is already perfect lmao. For my version though I wanted to lean closer to his PV design because I love it, like his larger triangle nose (you can't really see it at the angle in my drawing but it's there I swear!), the bigger bell, the more elaborate belt, etc.... so basically everything ... just in my style instead.

With my designs I think that whenever someone transforms into their miraculous persona it's based on what they think a hero looks like or what they think is cool. I think Adrien reads a lot of comic books and is a fan of characters like Batman (relatable for him LOL), Catwoman, and Nightwing, so his suit reflects that kind of vibe.

Extra: I decided that Ladybug and Cat Noir's masks go all the way up their foreheads because it looks nicer in my 2D style with their bangs haha.

Next up is the one and only Ladybug! Unpopular opinion but I actually like the all red suit! My hypothetical series would be a webcomic, and I feel like in action scenes the red differentiates her from Cat Noir esp at a distance, and more red style keeps their color ratios even.

I like the ladybug designs with a bunch of black sections they're very cute! Just not for my au. (I think it's just me but I find drawing the ladybug designs with inverted red dots to feel sacrilegious in a way,,, just my neurodivergent brain lol)

And I am a long ribbons truther, I love them and they can be very expressive. Also I knew I wanted Marinette to have a more vertical circular eye shape because her shape vibe is definitely a circle (Adrien's is triangle) and it reminded me of the eyes for the main girl in princess jellyfish (I've never seen it, love the style tho)

Her hair is a more bright blue to contrast her hair against her suit, and make her look more cartoonish. I imagine her idea of a superhero comes from kids shows and some magical girl anime. So her hair has a plastic shiny texture to it because when she thinks 'superhero' she thinks of kids toys. Also I just like color! The blue kinda gives comic spiderman vibes imo (the version with the light blue instead of the navy)

Queen Bee definitely changed the most throughout the design process. I really like her in-show design so I just tweaked it to be more my vibe. Adding a crown because she's a Queen.

Something that I've noticed is that Alya and Chloe actually share a lot of traits (There's even some old concept notes where I believe Alya and Chloe either switch names or roles at some point?? The miraculous concept info rabbit hole is real y'all) and I think this comes through in their final designs.

Like they both share a middle part, which bothers me for some reason, so I decided to give Chloe a little Ariana Grande side part into a ponytail.

I wanted each character to have a cool little piece on their costume, so I tried these little hip things to make her more commanding and girlboss, but currently her weapon is similar to ladybug's (but more like one of those hair ties w the little disco balls on them) and it would sit on her hip and would clash w her hip thingies, so I just decided to make her weapon the hip things instead, combining the two.

Something else that bothered me a lot was that Rena was the only one with white on her costume. Everyone has black but she's the only one with white... my brain says that this cannot be. So I tried to give Bee some fun white fuzzy bits but the texture just was too different...

And then I had the mega-brain idea to make her hair white to tie in the white from Rena. Her and Cat Noir both having blonde hair irked me as well LOL so this hit two birds with one stone. I wanted her hair to be sharper and more aggressively drill shaped because of her abrasive personality haha.

After that, is Carapace. I had an idea for him from the start because I felt like his in-show design just doesn't match his personality... I couldn't make his outfit all loose because I wanted to stick generally to the miraculous suit formula, but I feel like 'skin tight suit' just isn't his vibe. So he has a kind of hammer pants situation.

I think they capture Carapace's b-boy ninja turtle vibe while still looking like a miraculous outfit. Though I decided later that I wanted the pants to be a lighter color for contrast and the visor to be white (to tie in that Rena Rouge white).

Lastly is Miss Rena! Something that bothered me (back on the similarities to Chloe) was that they both have ponytails (yes I know I'm crazy). Even though they have very different textures I just wanted each of them to be distinct from each other. So I put her hair down and just dramatized her regular hairstyle.

Also her and Queen Bee both have black gloves to their upper arms, which, you guessed it, bothered me. So I shortened Rena's to just reach her elbow.

I wanted her to look like a magic-man, her illusion powers evoke a showmanship energy to me. I imagine her and Cat Noir are quite the dramatic theater kid-esque duo.

So, for drama I tried some flowy arm bits, which I think ended up just looking a little strange, so I'll pocket that idea for something else. Then, I tried to add her coattail from the show, but it ended up looking a little frumpy, not the drama I wanted.

I ended up making her coat more triangular in the front, to give off the vibe of a magician's vest, and changed it to solider red/orange double coattails, which I think makes her more magic-man-ish. And I think the white ends made it too busy.

So those are my hero designs! I'm still working out Hawkmoth and Mayura, esp Hawkmoth because I am not good at drawing masculine older men...

If y'all want LESS of the artistic process let a girl know lol! I know some ppl like it but this is very long,,, all my drawings will not have text this long! thx for reading if you did tho xx

[beyoncesfiancee]

what's on your secret internal moodboard for your wake/g1d/pyrrha trifecta, esp with the first two (since pyrrha gets a lot of love as it is)? what are the biggest wellsprings you're drawing from/aiming for with everyone's favorite scourgin' mary and inverted brutus?

i could smack a big kissy on your face for such an apropos question !

wake

is everything to me. obviously. what matters to me with her is contextualizing her canonical violence and wrath (like achilles' wrath... HELLO... she's a mortal woman whose wrath dares to reach the heights of the gods and which ultimately destroys her...) in light of her role as the leader of a revolution. she's literally not purposelessly angry or purposelessly violent. I already blew up someone else's inbox about this today lol but imo the books portray BOE as a whole in kind of a clueless way from the liberal exterior viewpoint, that doesn't really get into what a revolutionary movement would themselves value and hold as their norms & ethics. and in regard to that, how and why they use violence, and how and why violence is so much a part of wake's language.

I'm reading the zapatista reader atm and have been for the last few months, not that i really see wake as a subcomandante marcos figure because she's not as much of a speaker/demagogue, more so that much like the indigenous resistance in chiapas the sheer cultural, linguistic, and political polyphony of any BOE organization must mean that wake is a brilliant, compelling figure that people want to follow. she's not a violent brute (one way she's often depicted in fandom too...) she's a POLITICAL LEADER who has united MULTIPLE WINGS THAT OPERATE COMPLETELY SEPARATELY to accomplish HUGE OPERATIONS THAT SEVERELY STRUCK AT THE ROOTS OF THE DEEPLY ENTRENCHED EMPIRE. like... she's 100% a compelling speaker and leader and someone you trust and want to follow into suicide missions, because you know she'll bring you success. and she had and did! you can't be stupid with how you use violence and achieve that level of success!

and the one thing you need to add to wake to make canon click with her humanity is literally just that—her internal truth and her humanity. the reason why she's doing what she's doing. because the cruelty of the empire broke her heart and she has enough life and fire overflowing in her to want to keep that from happening to anyone else. the rest all falls into place once you start writing her like that

I also see her as a figure of classical greek tragedy—she's the ultimate example of being destroyed by hubris (trusting a lyctor!!), and compared to the other two points of the triangle she's the most fragile and mortal, yet also the most explosive and larger-than-life. her life is a brief yet enormous blaze compared to g1deon's eternal stonelike misery and pyrrha's lone, flickering star. and because she pursued life so hungrily and overreached in striving with the gods for greatness (there we go with achilles again), she was always doomed to death. the domain of her lifelong hated enemy. wow someone should write some dactylic hexameter greek epic poem-style about her confrontation with her own mortality in the river and how her religious beliefs are thereby challenged and her rage is fanned enough to turn her into a revenant ^_^ ahem ahem

also i think because her main squeeze has a cock people are always making them fuck PIV style and i think that's boring tbh. i mean yes it's fun and sexy and we all love a good dicking down (well many of us) but i like having her and pyrrha fuck queer style because i think it's more reflective of her character to break boundaries, fuck with traditions, be a cunt who devours and circludes, violate the norms of cav-necro penetrative erotics, and aggressively top in pursuit of her own pleasure (in addition to which... well see the last paragraph of my pyrrha answer)

i also didn't even get into the virgin mary thing but in my BOE griddlehark fic i have kind of a marian ancestor worship cult around wake (props to @katakaluptastrophy for providing the thinking behind BOE's animist ancestor worship religion) and in my dactylic hexameter thing i have a big list of epithets by clarissa pinkola estés for the virgin mary/the madonna/the wild mother: obsidian blade... the undoer of knots... she who carries the soul across fenced frontiers... the shirt of arrows... the black madonna...

also listen to this impeccable wake playlist which I'm pretty sure is by @dve if i'm am not mistaken

g1deon

is ofc the dark horse in both the books and the resultant fandom. i've already written at length about what a disservice i feel both the books and fandom have done his character (try clicking 10 random wake/pyrrha fics and NOT finding a scornful comparison of how shitty a lover g1d is or what a douche he is generally as a tactic to differentiate him from pyrrha).

so for me what's important to him, and what defines his character, is the sacrifices he makes for john both pre- and post-rez. he's hector, he's the archangel michael, he's the archetype of warrior manhood !but! in an utterly self-abnegating way. this is one facet of the way john's necromancy takes everything positive (in the +-charged sense, not in the yay happy sense) and turns it inward, perverted, and starved.

unlike a man raised in a patriarchal warrior culture, g1deon has no pride or identity in his kills and the sacrifices he makes to accomplish them, and he has no brotherhood. the two people he truly loved were both women, and he killed them both for the sake of john's goals. and he used to have a brother, even, he and john used to be brothers, but john removed himself from that role w/ g1deon for the pursuit of power.

so any way i choose to depict g1deon will be as 1) someone with dignity and selfhood in a way that the fandom only rarely seems to think he deserves, and 2) someone with a heart who has loved and lost in the name of devotion. not that he's a soft man or that he hasn't done atrocious things in john's name. but it's just to counterbalance his book&fandom portrayal in a way i feel is more fair and interiorizing.

anyway stream swim good that's basically everything I wanted to say about him... i didn't write as much about him in this answer but we really don't get much of him in the books, SMH. I don't like to go too off-piste from canon but I want to take what's there and honor the humanity hidden within it. (I have to guess that we'll have more g1deon in alecto, right? it just wouldn't be fair otherwise, right? ... RIGHT?? T_T)

pyrrha

and you didn't say especially pyrrha but i think that my secret internal moodboard for pyrrha is important as well!!! in my 5 planned pyrrwakeon fics (3 currently pubbed), none are from pyrrha's POV, and that has a twofold purpose. 1) there are already a ton of fics from her POV, as you say, as well as a whole canon novel focused on her, and i want to explore the two under-served points of the love triangle, and 2) i actually really like her as an enigma.

e.g., something people neglect with her a bit i think is her suicidality. how else can you characterize someone who falls in love with landmines? the woman swallowed bleach for god's sake. jury's still out on whether she killed herself or g1deon killed her for their ascension (i have it as her killing herself in my g1dfic but i've been thinking and now i'm not so sure i want to go for that) but if there's one thing we know about pyrrha it's that she fucking loves doing shit that's very dangerous and a horrible idea, partially to feel alive, partially to feel dead and thereby free.

so therefore my theory on her caring for nona, and less so cam & pal, is an uncharacteristic break toward life and hope in the long long slide through samsara as a means of escaping soul death that has been her 9000-year undead existence thus far. but i find the depiction of this facet of her character to be far more compelling from the outside, such as, from wake's POV, or g1deon's.

ALSO SHE WOULD NOT WANT TO BE A MOM OR DAD AND DOES NOT GIVE A FUCK ABOUT BEING A PARENT SORREEEEEEEEE (her "why did you bring along the baby" is about her pity for a helpless creature suffering yet more needless death, not that it's specifically hers and wake's, and her care for gideon nav & nona are on a soft human level despite herself because no one else will and not demonstrative of a secret desire for parenthood STOP MAKING WOMEN CHARACTERS WANT TO BE PARENTS *panting & swallowing bile*)

anywayyyy very very very soon forthcoming to explore this final third of the triangle is my ultimate wake/pyrrha lying liars genderfic in which she, through the proxy of getting fucked by wake, wrestles with her grief over losing both her own body and losing g1deon as her lover/partner/friend. and you can bet wake just looooves being used as a proxy for someone else to work through their issues ^_^

...

in conclusion, wake/pyrrha/g1deon is a land of contrasts. let wake have political values, let g1deon be a fucking human being, and stop making pyrrha always top. thank u.

[raayllum]

Invert Life and Death Theory

Yesterday, the fandom received two season seven synopses that detail similar mysterious concepts:

The stakes have never been higher as Aaravos and Claudia are on the warpath, determined to destroy the Cosmic Order and invert life and death. With the world’s fate on the line, our heroes must be ready to sacrifice everything to save it.

As Aaravos and Claudia seek to destroy the Cosmic Order and invert life and death, our heroes must be literally ready to sacrifice anything and everything love and believe in to save the world!

I will touch on the 'sacrifice' portion likely here, and then further in another meta that was actually already sitting in my drafts about it (as we've known for a while that S7's main theme is sacrifice, even if I didn't expect it to be so blatantly spelled out in the summaries). But I digress.

Aaravos (and Claudia) want to destroy the Cosmic Order. They want to invert life and death, to turn it upside down (much like Aaravos' chest star I might imagine). Presumably this is to make the Cosmic Order mortal-mortal so that they can be permanently killed and Aaravos can have his proper revenge. He might also be working towards trying to reassemble Leola's spirit somehow.

But what is that attempted inversion going to look like? Well... It does contextualize the weird consistent emphasis his plans have had on the Moon and Sun specifically:

And we might finally know why:

Sun and Moon, Life and Death

In previous posts, I'd speculated there was more than just politics or revenge at stake in Aaravos seemingly killing Luna Tenebris and Queen Aditi 300 years ago. Of course the in-story explanation that's most obvious is that he wanted political instability, which I think is certainly true.

However, thus far there's not really a Reason in-text that it had to be those two. Why not another Earth dragon instead, or a Tidebound king? Throughout the series the elves that have gotten the most focus and worldbuilding have routinely been Moonshadow and Sunfire elves, and it didn't really have to be. And of course we could get into the weeds and say that Earth could've been associated with Life and Sun with death, etc etc. but the point stands that I think this series long focus on Moonshadow and Sunfire elves/philosophies in addition to Aditi and Luna Tenebris' deaths/disappearances makes a lot of sense if Sun = Life and Moon = Death, and these are the things that Aaravos wishes to invert upside down.

The fact that this reflective relationship between Sun and Moon possibly ties into Aaravos being in a mirror, characters having shadow selves running around in the narrative, and the emphasis on mirrored images in the dark magic dreams we see also makes sense.

Aaravos already toppled the Sun Forge and thereby Sun Primal on his way through to the Storm Spire. Going back to the Moon Nexus in S6 was a welcome callback to Through the Moon, but the Moon Nexus specifically having a portal between life and death... reminding us of that location because it's going to play a much bigger role next season (potentially like other characters, like Aanya) could be on the table. In taking Lux Aurea, Aaravos got the corrupted Sun staff after all.

Speaking of which, let's talk about

Rayla and Claudia

I don't think I have to explain why or routinely how Rayla is associated with the Moon as a Moonshadow elf. Secretive yet open, caught between love and duty, life and death, truth and lies, light and dark, Rayla embodies all this and more. Callum has also asked for her to be his Death if push comes to shove and he's possessed again, but she's also what has saved him in S6 from said threat of possession (and likely will again). This isn't to say that Aaravos needs a Moon arcanum and is going to take Rayla's (though I suppose he could), I think the likelier outcome is corrupting the Moon Nexus (and hence why you animate/rig Lujanne, Allen, and a new Phoe-Phoe design under your software at all). But it does mean I think Rayla will be a mirror to Claudia / whatever is happening with the Moon Nexus as a way to manipulate Callum, per usual.

Conversely, Claudia has wielded the corrupted Sun staff — a literally corrupted light that represents dark magic to her outright in S6, and one that she uses as a literal and metaphorical crutch — since season three, only occasionally using her father's staff with Viren only using the Sun staff for the Hearts of Cinder spell. She's a sun that's already been eclipsed by Aaravos, by death, in more ways than one. Someone who's walked a continually bloodier, darker path the further the show has gone on.

If and when Claudia gives up dark magic, she'll be 'restored' as the Sun — uncorrupted, bolstered by the truth ("Careful, if you tell the truth you will lose her"), shining brightly again. In the meantime, though, if Claudia is brought home in parallel with Callum being saved from dark magic corruption in S6, I think someone else will be Claudia's 'sun'. So let's talk about it.

Trials and Tests of Love

While we might see more — I could see Karim getting a trial on a technicality in S7 — as it stands now we see three former trials in the series. The first is in S4 among the Sunfire elves with Lucia, who ruined a sacred ritual by putting out a light, and is declared not innocent but worthy of life over death. Then we see Leola, who despite being truly innocent is condemned to death by the Star/First Elves and is made into nothing more than a light star known as Leola's Last Wish. Finally, we're going to seemingly have Rayla, whose actions did lead to the death of her troupe of Moonshadow assassins in the Silvergrove.

Just like with starlight vs moonlight vs sunlight with the Celestial elves, and Astrid + star magic creatures like Sir Sparklepuff in particular....

AARAVOS: Otherwise the sun will rise, and you will not.

We see this pattern of sun, star, and moon again with the trials alongside ideas of mercy, innocence, and concepts of paying the price.

Meanwhile, in season six, both Claudia and Callum were searching for their deep truths. Their path. Callum found his in Rayla and accepted it wholeheartedly. Claudia thought she'd find hers in Viren ("I'll look at him and I'll know / I need him to show me the right path"), but found only his body and the prison he left behind. Of course, the main reason that Viren died in season six was that he wanted to save Katolis, and more than that, he wanted to save his son.

She said that this was my home, and that my brother and I needed each other.

If Claudia is an eclipsed sun, a form of life turned death, than Soren is the uncorrupted version of the sun, ready and willing to guide her back if she'll just give him the chance. And in going back to Katolis, in sparing/saving Soren, Viren did help give Claudia what she needed in order to find her true path some day, too: a life with her brother and Terry at her side.

Claudia's first real test of love in the series was whether to choose the egg — the world, her father's wishes — over the safety and wellbeing of her family — her brother. She made the right choice.

I'm here.

It'd make sense if one of her final tests of love was a similar trial — maybe even if Callum under possession/Aaravos' control hurts Soren ("Oh I've been stabbed by the stab-prince!") — and Claudia once again chooses her brother over everything, just as he chooses for and fights for her. She ultimately chooses life over death, reflecting the massive change in herself and her character arc.

Likewise, Rayla being a Moonshadow elf saved from death ("I leapt to my certain death, but you spread your wings and you saved me" / "Finnegrin was going to kill you, I didn't have a choice") from Callum means breaking his promise, yes.

However, it also frees her up from needing to be an assassin and therefore from needing to behave like she's "already dead" or that Callum is. The possession/corruption would be a fate worse than death / metaphorical to literal death and rather than delivering either, Rayla would save him in turn. Like Claudia, she chooses life over death, symbolizing the same turning point. Callum, meanwhile, could get the Moon arcanum by realizing he has dark and light inside him; this may not mean a total blank slate (idk if they'd repeat that) from corruption, but a way to permanently throw off Aaravos' control of him regardless.

Life, over death.

Life and death working in harmony under principles of justice, mercy, and compassion.

Conclusion

This is more of rambling "notes on top of all this" place than a proper conclusion, but just a summary of stuff / some speculation for later:

Aaravos needed Moon and Sun stuff specifically from Luna Tenebris and Queen Aditi and that's why he killed them

Aaravos is going to successfully make the Cosmic Council mortal, even if that means making himself mortal.

This makes him more powerful than the Council and they may have reason to ally with our main team in order to take down Aaravos and/or be destroyed themselves

Rayla as Moon and Claudia as Sun reflect both life and death, but each will likely choose life over death; for Rayla this is about a certainty, for Claudia it's more up in the air if she'll have her redemption arc yet (I could see it getting pushed further to arc 3).

I think it'd be really nice if the inversion of life and death had broad implications meant some characters got to say goodbye, like Callum and Ez having a moment with Harrow and/or Sarai

And I think that's about it! What do you think inverting life and death may mean?

[thevoidstaredback]

Tales of Conquest, Warnings of Fools:

Letters Between Brothers

Danny stared at himself in the mirror on the back of his bedroom door, a new addition to his room. Slowly, he pulled at the energy he felt within himself. It gathered behind his sternum, flowing through the lichtenberg scar like blood in veins. He could feel it pooling, ready to burst forth, but he kept a tight lid on it. As he exhaled, he allowed the cold electricity to leave his sternum, moving up and down the outside of his body with a soft crackle of shattering ice.

When he opened his eyes again, he no longer had to breathe. His hair was whiter than the purest snow, his skin so pale that it was tinted blue, his eyes orange and red. His clothes changed into the HAZMAT he’d worn in the portal. While the now ruined suit had been black on white, the one he now saw his reflection wearing was white where it had been black and black where it had been white. His body still had every scar between forms, though the lichtenberg scar glowed the same toxic green as the portal in this form.

The first week after getting this weird transformation, he’d called out sick. Sam, Tucker, and Jazz had all been concerned, but he brushed them off with a promise to explain later. In that week, he spent all hours getting himself under control. It started with the intangibility that had made him drop his pencil and fall through his bed. Then, the invisibility that jumpscared his reflection. Last was the flight he’d discovered by falling down the stairs. They were easy enough to get a hold of.

The next week was when everything started to go wrong. Honestly, he was glad and amazed it hadn’t happened sooner.

Something came through the portal.

She called herself The Lunch Lady. She had green skin, white hair tucked into a pink bandana, a matching pink dress, and a white apron. She first appeared at Casper High, violently objecting to the ‘healthier’ change of menu.

When Danny had heard about the attack, he’d felt the transformation wash over him for the first time. On instinct alone, he’d flown the two blocks between his school and the high school, engaging her in combat when he met her. She was angry, but calmed down after he won. Before he could do anything, she left.

When he got back to his own school, the transformation dropping, his friends were waiting for him. They practically dragged him by the ear until he explained what the hell was going on. When he told them, Sam ripped into him about telling them things so that they can work through it together. Tucker practically fawned over his new powers, asking all sorts of questions.

The very next day, another ghost appeared. He called himself Skulker the Hunter. He was a large ghost, standing nearly twice as large as Danny did. He had gray skin that looked to be made out of metal. His eyes and hair were the same green as the portal, and he wore black pants and a black shirt. His gloves, boots, and shoulder armor were all dark gray. He also had a black choker around his neck with a skull charm on it.

He showed up when Danny was walking around town with Sam and Tucker. The ghost had some way of tracking Danny that put him on edge. How was he being tracked and how did he stop it?

Skulker had taken Tucker’s PDA and had been very nice about not bothering Danny when he was busy, but he’d eventually started a fight. Danny, transformed into his color-inverted form, lured the ghost away to the Amity Park Zoo. He almost lost the fight, accidentally cornering himself, when a purple-back gorilla came to his aid. He had no idea how the gorilla had gotten out of its cage, but Danny wasn’t going to ask questions.

After the fight, Skulker also disappeared. Instead of going after him like he had The Lunch Lady, Danny stayed with the gorilla. It - she he noticed - was trying to communicate with him. So, after turning back into his normal self, he walked her back to where she was being kept. On the way, he started to pick up her language. It was a modified version of American Sign Language, with the added fineness of several gorilla-only words.

The zookeepers had been hysterical when they had found her missing, though they’d been so relieved when he turned the corner with her. They first checked up on the gorilla, leading Danny to discover that she and one other gorilla were the last of the purple-back gorillas.

“Why don’t you put them together, then?” he had asked.

The zookeeper he was talking to gave him a weird look. “It costs a lot to have one of them here. We can’t afford to keep them both, so the other is in a zoo in Metropolis.”

Danny’s eyebrow raised. “First of all, I’m pretty sure that’s a kind of animal cruelty.” At least, his Mother had taught him as such. “Second, the other is male, right?”

“Yeah, they both are.”

“Except they’re not.”

“What?”

“Did you not-?” he turned to the gorilla and signed to her as he spoke aloud. “What’s your name?”

The purple-back gorilla sat down and lifted her arms. She signed D-E-L-I-L-A-H before making the ASL letter P with her right hand, pushing it from her chest like the sign for white. After dropping the sign, she made a P with both hands and hit her chest.

Again, Danny signed at her as he spoke. “You have a sign name? Cool. The second one was your species’ sign, right?” She nodded and he smiled, dropping his hands and turning back to the gobsmacked zookeeper. “I’d like to reintroduce you all to Delilah.” He made her sign name before moving to make the sign she had for her species. “She’s a female purple-back gorilla.”

There was silence for a moment before the present zoo staff erupted into noise. He answered their questions, a bit overwhelmed, but mostly amused that they’d made such a mistake. It was a good day.

It was also the day when he realized that he might want to start cataloging things. So, now he sat at his desk, a day later, staring at the new notebook he’d bought. At first, his plan was to write down every ghost he met and their abilities. He also wanted to write about himself, but he didn’t want to risk his parents getting ahold of the information. Anyone knowing what he knew was a potential disaster that he didn’t want to be responsible for. But, he really needed a way to keep track of everything.

He hit his head with the palm of his hand. “It doesn’t have to be in English, dumbass!”

With new resolve, Danny opened the notebook to the first page and titled it ‘La Dame du Déjeuner’. Under the title, he drew a picture of The Lunch Lady, coloring it in. Next to the picture, he wrote down what he knew about her. On the next page, he did the same thing, titling it ‘Le Chasseur’.

He was going to do a page for himself, but thought better of it. Instead, he found an older notebook, also empty, and titled the second page in ‘Mi-vivant, Mi-mort’. He was sure that’s what he was. Just above that, though, he wrote down ‘Le Fantôme’. Just as he had the others, he drew two pictures of himself, one as Phantom - what he was calling his ‘vigilante’ persona - and one as Danny, coloring and labeling each accordingly. Under the pictures, he wrote down a list of enhancements he’d noticed that transferred between his two forms. On the back of the page, he wrote about The Accident that turned him into what he is. On the page after that, he started a list of his powers, accompanying each power with a quick summary of how it feels when he uses it.

There was a knock on his door and he slammed the notebook closed. “Danny?” It was Jazz.

“Yeah?” He called back, shoving both notebooks in the top drawer to be moved later.

“Can I come in?”

He made sure nothing incriminating was out. “Sure!”

The door opened and Jazz stepped into the room, closing the door behind herself and leaning against the mirror. She looked him up and down, moved her appraising gaze around every inch of his room, and then locked eyes with him. “Y’know, not a lot of things surprise me. The way you’ve been acting lately is one of the things that has managed it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you’ve been acting differently for almost three weeks now. You’re doing a damn good job of acting like nothing is different, but you can’t fool me, little brother. I’ve known you for as long as you’ve been here, I’ve been studying psychology since just before then. What’s going on?”

Danny shook his head. “I can’t tell you.”

“Can’t or won’t?” She sighed when he didn’t answer after a few minutes. “Look, Danny, I- You used to tell me everything. Why are you holding back now?”

He didn’t look up from the floor. Jazz had every right to know what was going on. Tucker and Sam knew. Hell, he was even going to tell Damian! Why shouldn’t Jazz know? But, the thought of her getting hurt- it was too much for him. He didn’t want her to get hurt because of this.

Jazz sighed again, running a hand over her hair. “You know you can trust me, right?”

“Yes.” he nodded.

“Then tell me. Please.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

She groaned in frustration. “Not telling me is going to do more damage than telling me. I can keep your secrets, DD, I always have.”

She was right, of course. For as long as he’d known her, Jazz had kept every piece of information to herself unless he said otherwise. She still didn’t know about what he came from or what he was born to do. She didn’t know what his father and brother and their family did at night. She didn’t even know he’d been in the lab when the portal turned on! Jazz had every right to know what was going on, but he couldn’t find the words. “I’m sorry.”

Jazz pushed off the door, turning away and opening it. “Come and find me when you’re ready to talk.” Then, she walked out and closed the door behind her.

Danny slumped, hitting his forehead on his desk. He could hear Jazz go into her own room shutting the door behind herself before flopping onto her bed. He stopped listening then, manually forcing his now enhanced hearing to focus anywhere else but his sister’s room.

He found himself listening to the faint sounds from the basement lab. Unlike if they had been on the second or main floors, his parent’s voices were like whispers to him through the material of the lab and the house, though he could still make out every word.

“-apart molecule by molecule!” his dad was saying.

“Calm down, honey,” mom stated kindly. He could practically see her putting a hand on Jack’s arm. “We’ll catch the ghost boy eventually.”

Ghost boy..? Were they talking about him?

Jack sighed. “I know, but it’s the only one we’ve seen!” There was a noise of something falling. “Did you get the cameras in place?”

“Yep!” Maddie had a smile in her voice, “We now have round the clock recording on the portal. Now, we’ll know exactly what comes through and when.”

“Perfect!” Dad cheered, “I’ve just finished the Fenton Thermos. As soon as we see any ghosts, we can suck them right up and bring them back to be studied.”

Shit. That wasn’t good. His parents having a way to capture him and other ghosts was not a good thing. Though, if he could get his hands on one of those, it’d be useful for making sure his opponents didn’t get away to start trouble after every fight.

He still didn’t know where La Dame Du Déjeuner or Le Chasseur had gone off to, though he had the feeling they had gone back through the portal. He couldn’t be sure, though.

Danny forced his hearing away from the lab. He really didn’t want to listen to his parents talk about how they were going to ‘study’ ghosts. Especially since a lot of what they were saying was against the Geneva Convention.

Instead, he focused on the picture he had started working on. He’d been trying to get his left hand back to what it was handwriting wise, but it was proving to be a lot more difficult than he originally anticipated. The nerves in his hand and arm were fried, so he had little to no feeling, and what feeling he did have was only in extreme circumstances like extreme hot or cold. Moving them felt like learning how to walk, but somehow worse. His brain was sending signals to the muscles to move, and they did, and he could see them moving, but it did nothing because he couldn’t feel what he was touching.

Enhanced strength was one of the powers that decided to bleed over into his living form. This wasn’t a problem until he had to use his left arm or hand. Because he couldn’t feel anything, he didn’t know how strong he was gripping things until it either shattered/bent in his hand or they slipped through his fingers. It was hard to get control of and people were starting to notice.

Going to physical therapy would be a good thing, but he didn’t have the money for that. He could ask his parents, but he didn’t want them to know anything about this. Asking Mr. Jeremy was out of the question, so was asking Jazz or Mr. and Mrs. Foley. So, he was doing things on his own.

The lack of progress was infuriating, though. He was used to fast results in everything! Even the things that he was bad at, he improved very quickly. Grandfather and Mother had praised him for learning so fast. The rate at which he was going was disappointing to even himself.

He wanted to wield his knives again and work his way back into wielding his katana, but he couldn’t even write his name, let alone safely hold a blade! He mourned at the thought of the possibility of never being able to use his blades because he’d gotten so hurt.

His sight was the second thing he was most frustrated about. He hated not being able to see clearly. Sure, his right eye still held perfect vision, but now he had a huge blindspot - don’t laugh - on his left side that he had to overcompensate for.

His balance was the third thing that was off. It’d been quicker progress to learn to rebalance himself, but he kept stumbling over his own feet. The flight that bleed over from his dead form was his only saving grace. The combat style he’d been taught relied on mobility, balance, speed, and stealth. Right now, he was down on all of those.

The enhancements that bleed between his living and dead forms had been all that was saving him from breaking down completely. The enhanced hearing helped out with his balance, but it was still mostly focused on his right side. Everything through his left ear sounded like it was underwater and twelve layers of wood.

The enhanced sight was met with much the same results, though everything he saw with his left eye was about half less blurry. He was looking into glasses for his living form, but he didn’t yet know how he’d excuse them.

Again, though, the enhanced strength was more of a problem than not.

Danny slammed his head against the table before standing up and leaving his room. He wasn’t going to tell Jazz everything, but he needed help. He was struggling and, admittedly, exactly one more failure from a mental breakdown.

He knocked on her door a bit louder than he meant to and waited for her to allow him in. When she did, he made sure he was extra careful with his new strength as he opened the door and closed it behind himself. There was no sound after the soft click of the door closing.

“Well?” she prompted.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t want to tell you because you’d get hurt or you would’ve blamed yourself and I really didn’t want-”

“Whoa, slow down, Danny!” she sat up, “Take a deep breath and try again.”

He did as she said, sitting on the floor in front of her. “I was in the lab when the portal turned on.” She didn’t react, so he continued. “Sam and Tucker wanted to see it, and Sam wanted a picture, so, against my better judgment, I took them down to see it. Sam wanted me in the portal for the picture, so I went in, but I tripped and I-I hit the, um, the button on the inside and it turned on.” He fell quiet.

Jazz moved slowly to join him on the floor. She sat next to him and pulled him into a hug. “Oh, Danny, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s, uh, it’s okay. It was my fault anyway. And don’t say it wasn’t! Mr. Jeremy gave me the whole spiel at the hospital and I really don’t wanna hear it again.”

“The hospital?!” she shrieked.

He cringed. “Yeah, um, a lot of electricity decided to use me as a shortcut. It hurt, like, a lot. The doctor said that the hearing and sight loss in my left ear and eye are permanent. She also said that I’d have chronic pain in my left hand and arm for the rest of my life, as well as nerve damage. It’s unlikely I’ll ever regain the feeling.”

Jazz had been quiet through his whole report, dragging it out for a few minutes after as she filed the information away in her head. He could practically hear the cogs turning. She inhaled deeply. “How did you pay for the hospital visit?”

“Mr. Jeremy- Sam’s dad. She told them I was hurt and that I couldn’t pay, so her dad took me to the hospital. He even got me the stuff that the doctor recommended. Minus pain meds, but that’s because he’s not my guardian.”

She nodded. “I’ll have to thank him later. What do you want me to do?”

She was good about that, making sure he wanted her to do something instead of just assuming. It was nice. “I need help with the physio. I can’t feel how much strength I’m using, so I keep breaking or dropping things. Also, my balance is shot, so hearing aids and glasses should be a bit of a priority.”

“Got it,” she said, “I don’t know how much of that I can do right now, but I can promise glasses as a start. Is that okay?”

He nodded. “Yeah, that’s good. Thank you.”

“No problem, brat. Though, next time, don’t try to hide something this serious from me, okay? I can and want to help you, but I can only do so much if you don’t tell me. Understand?”

“Understood, General.”

“Shut up, loser.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

*

Three weeks of crazy adventures later found Danny home alone when the doorbell rings. Jazz was at the library and his parents had gone ghost hunting, though there were no ghosts out to hunt. He’d already found all of the ones who’d been wreaking havoc, and the peaceful ones - mostly animals and blobs - all knew to hide from the brightly colored HAZMAT suits.

Danny went to answer the door, the compression sleeve on his left arm and a brand new pair of glasses on his face. When he opened the door, he was greeted by three men in white suits and black sunglasses, a fourth was waiting by the white van that had been parked in the driveway. “Can I help you?” he asked.

“This the Fenton place?” the guy in the front - Agent T4, his nametag read - asked. His voice alone sounded privileged and Danny instantly hated him.

He leaned out of the door a bit, obviously looking up at the massive sign that said FENTONWORKS in big letters. “Yeah,” He put his foot in the way of the door so that it couldn’t open more than he allowed it to.

Agent T4 nodded. “We need to talk to the Doctors. Are they here?”

Danny made a small show of looking at the driveway. They didn’t have a garage, so there was nowhere else for a car to be parked. “No.”

“When will they be back?” The man was obviously getting irritated with him. It was fun. Why did they have such a short tempered guy doing the talking?

“I dunno.” he shrugged. “Sometime before tomorrow, probably.”

“Don’t get smart with me, kid.” the man in white growled.

Danny wasn’t phased. “I don’t know when they’ll be home. Could be a few minutes, could be a few hours. Can I take a message?”

The man snarled. “No, you can not! When will the Doctors be home?”

Now Danny was getting irritated, though he hid it way better than these guys did. “They’re not home.” he over enunciated each word with an exaggerated mouth movement, “Come back later, or leave a message with me.” He crossed his arms. “Can your toddler brain understand that, or do I need to dumb it down for you?”

“Why you-”

Danny leaned back, “Assaulting a minor? I could call the cops on you and have you taken in for aggravated assault.” He reached for the phone in his pocket. “Actually, I might just call them anyway and you all can be arrested for trespassing.”

“Okay, okay,” Agent T2 held up his hands in surrender, T3 grabbing T4 by the back of his shirt. “We get the picture; we’ll leave now.”

Danny raised his eyebrow. Did they? Did they really understand what was happening?

“Sorry to bother you.” T2 pulled a business card from his pocket and handed it to Danny. “Will you have your parents give us a call when they get home?”

He took the card. “I’ll tell them, but I can’t promise anything.”

“That’s all I ask.”

He didn’t bid the men goodbye before closing the door in their faces. He did, though, watch from the window to make sure they’d leave. When they’d turned the corner, he reopened the door and stepped out. He’d needed to get up and get the mail anyway.

He hadn’t gotten his hopes up, checking for a letter from Damian mostly out of habit, so when the third letter in the pile had his name on it, he allowed himself to grin. Damian had written back!

He wasted no time in dropping the rest of the mail on the kitchen table and rushing to his room. The second he sat in his chair, he ripped the envelope open. The paper inside made him frown and drop the paper. It was the bill for the P.O. box.

With a heavy sigh, he collapsed onto his bed, face first. Damn it.

Translation 1 - French: The Lunch Lady

Translation 2 - French: The Hunter

Translation 3 - French: Half Living, Half Dead … The Phantom

Part 7 Part 9

[babacontainsmultitudes]

Great teen talk overall, but honestly I was particularly interested in what Matt had to say about where Lincoln is at right now (and that we might get a better glimpse into this next episode? Which has me both nervous and excited but I'm trying not to think about it *too* much cause I'm already super nervous about how things are gonna pan out for the twins next episode).

It all tracks- Lincoln's increasingly nihilistic view of the world impeding on his ability to feel much of anything but nevertheless caring about how *his friends* are feeling and what they want. Being too deep in a dissociative state to process his own grief (and everything else) but caring that *Normal* is sad and doing what he can to help him.

I think Lincoln is a funny and incredibly fascinating character because if you look at his words, honestly no one can deliver a blow like Lincoln- a trademark of his brutal honesty, and in most stark contrast to Normal's "toxic positivity", neither being inherently better or worse than the other just inverted, and reflective of different values (something something cheerkicks is doomed by the narrative they should kiss etc. etc. not what the post is about). Conversely, if you look at Lincoln's actions (and Lincoln is, at his heart, an action-oriented character), truly nobody is putting their ass on the line for the people around them quite like Linc is. I've stated on several occasions that I believe Lincoln is the most selfless of the teens, and I stand by this, but this is a virtue as much as it as a flaw. It's heroic, to put yourself in a line of fire to save your friend's dad, or impale your leg on a candy cane twice to get an anchor, or hug your friend to show them you care even if it literally winds up killing you- but it also reflects self-preservation instincts that somehow manage to be even weaker than those of the guy who tried to throw himself out of a building thinking that a parachute would save him (god I love Taylor).

Lincoln cares immensely about his friends (despite his growing numbness to the world around him), but dangerously little about himself and what becomes of his own life. As a less dire example, "Apollo Four Teens" acts as a great demonstration of how Lincoln will stretch himself thin for everyone around him until there's nothing left, but forgets in the process to stop and register his own emotions and tend to his own needs. Combine this with Lincoln's perpetual "keep calm and roll with the punches" attitude towards the nonstop bullshit the teens have gone through over the course of the season, including an extensive list of unresolved issues related to Grant (which by now I've outlined fairly thoroughly), and you have a serious recipe for disaster. Characters like Normal and Scary are, relatively speaking, pretty obvious and emotive with respect to their pain, even when they are trying not to be. This is good, since it makes it easier for other characters to recognize that they need help in the first place and try to look out for them (they may not always know how to do so correctly, but the intent is there). Lincoln, in contrast, shuts down and becomes less emotive in response to his own pain (in a manner that is somewhat similar to Darryl, more similar to Glenn, and of course most similar to Grant, but ultimately different from all of them), silently building his walls up higher and higher but being no safer for it. It is partially for this reason that other characters very rarely think to check in on Linc and see how he's doing (Taylor to his credit tried after the titanic episode, but that got interrupted, and Grant does also try but- much like his own dad with him- fails to meet his son halfway in being honest and vulnerable and hence fails to make any progress), leaving him to mostly suffer in silence perhaps without even truly realizing it himself.

I guess the gist of what I'm saying is, Lincoln is in deep water, all of this has been a long time coming, and if nobody does anything about it soon... (Metaphorically-speaking of course-) that boy is going to drown.

[cat-autism-wizard]

in life everything changes, it has endless possibilities but death is certain. when death approaches, its the end. death is the one certainty mankind cannot change.

danny woke up from another nightmare about the portal. he remembered the pain again. he remembered how he felt and how he couldnt feel. how he wanted to scream for his sister but nothing came out, how he wanted cry but he couldnt. how scared he was, how much he wanted to live, how much he didnt want to die.

danny fenton cheated death and paid for it with every second of his existence.

his parents, self-proclaimed ghost hunters, made a portal to engage with the ghost in another realm. their goal was to find the ghost realm and study them molecule by molecule. but the portal didnt work.

danny took an interest in the portal back then. it was an insane theory but it was plausible unlike all of his parents' theories. this one felt different. this one could actually work and danny wanted take look where they might have made a mistake.

danny looked through the portal, it was weird. it really shouldve work! nothing seemed out of place nor did anything seemed to be broken. as he turned to leave it, his foot got stuck with the wires making him fall. he tried to hold anything, instead he accidentally pushed a button.

it opened the portal.

while he was still in it.

he felt the electricity going through every cell he had over and over again. he felt his death, he felt alive. he lived through death hundreds of time then he felt nothing. he wasnt alive anymore, not fully. but he wasnt dead either.

he lied right outside of the portal, still not understanding what happened to him, whether he was still alive or dead.

he had to stand up. he had to get out. he shouldnt tell his parents that he was in the lab, he would be in trouble. he forced himself to stand up and walk. he felt weak. but he had to get to his room. then he could lie and say he was sick or something. not sure if hes parents were gonna notice now that they had a portal to study.

danny went to his room. he wanted to lie down to his bed but his head was throbbing. maybe he didnt had to lie becuase he felt sick. he entered his bathroom. he froze when he saw something.. someone? else in the mirror reflection instead of himself. it looked like him but felt.. off? its feature looked like him but it had white hair and green eyes glowing like some toxic waste. can electrocution cause hallucinations? becuase danny was sure he did not look like that before getting electrocuted.

he came closer to the mirror. he noticed the hazmat suit he was swearing now was inverted colours. he looked down at himself. that cant happen right? hazmat suits cant change colours, right?

danny felt himself panic. he didnt know what happened but something felt wrong with him. he couldnt see himself in the mirror anymore. he once again looked down at himself, he felt like he could see himself but couldnt. he was invisible. how was he invisible? how was that even possible?

he took a step back. this could not be happening. this shouldnt be even possible. how was this happening?

this wasnt actually happening. yeah. he must be hallucinating. he got electrocuted and now he was hallucinating. all he had to do was to sleep through this and tomorrow everything was gonna make sense again. danny absentmindedly tried to close his door bathroom's door after leaving but he missed the handle. he tried again but he missed it again. he looked at the door and tried to hold the handle. he didnt miss it, his hand went through the handle.

he must have lost his mind. he must have. there is no way he could turn invisible and intangible like a, like a ghost.

like a ghost?

danny only understood what happened to him.

he died.

he died in that portal.

he felt faint. he still had a physical form though. he cant be dead. he cant be a ghost. can he?

he wanted to be alive. he didnt want to be dead. he was only fourteen. he was just a child. he had a whole life in front of him.

then something shifted. he didnt know what happened. he looked at himself in the mirror again.

he looked.. normal.

black hair, baby blue eyes.

he was himself again.

and he felt exhausted.

danny couldnt understand what happen but that time all he wanted to was to sleep.

[lightning-and-sparks]

There is this funny symbolic design choice that is done with only Jack Rose’s altered design in Treasure that I’m not sure we talk about enough.

If you have no idea where I’m going with this, take a look at his normal design compared to Treasure. The most jarring difference aside from the color changes is that everything is mirrored on him. This makes sense since mirrors as a motif are essential to his character and the reflection pool is literally mirroring his image, however…

(I had to invert the normal one bc the concept doesn’t match the map ugh idk)

If you’re a sci-fi nerd like I am, you know some of the concept of the mirror. To sum it up, back in the 60’s run of Star Trek there was an episode called “Mirror, Mirror” where each character had an evil alternate of themselves in a different dimension. If the character was evil or bad in the original universe their alter was good. This trope has been evolved and used since then and remains relevant.

It’s not as visible in the other characters’ different forms because they actually get changed and it’s not just a possibility. I’m not sure why only Jack’s design is a nod to this but I’d assume since it’d be boring five times. If you think his design looks boring compared to the others (I do) I think it’s supposed to be subtle because he has to change the least to become Jack swan.

Idk just something to think about.

[littledeathh]

CW: blood, drug use, rimming, double penetration, impregnation, m/m anal sex, m/f/m threesome, wedding night, mention of non-con, fem tarnished

The sky burned red as he took the first step. The long cloth of a Sanguine Noble draped around the podium, caressing the pale feet peeking underneath. A small smile curled his lips. A genuine one. Unmasked, Varré stood before the Luminary, his mark glowing particularly brightly, as if on the verge of bleeding again. Varré's hand gently rubbed yours, and you could feel every inch of the skin that has been hidden from you. The poke of the budding black horns on his finger, and their neverending bleed. His thorny horns locked into yours, catching like the stalks of roses, and as painful to pull apart. The omen blood coursed through you, ensuring your rejection by the Erdtree. If one of you were to die, it would be permanent. There would be no Varré again. All you had was now.

You felt calm, focusing on the small sound of bells in the distance. You smelled incense, drowned out by the deep red, honeyed wine you shared, downing it in one mouthful. You clapsed his hand and gazed into the abyss of his eyes, so content, so drunk with love. You held out your hand, and Varré slid a small ring on your finger, black ivory topped with a crimson stone. In that moment, you knew peace.

The spiced wine was starting to take effect now. The heavy fog of incense pooled on the floor. As you watched it intently, you felt your grip on reality loosen. And Varré's smile deepened and darkened. Strands of his hair danced underneath his black hood. You could see his every pore. The threads of his hair, swimming. You could feel everything.

You looked up, expecting hours had passed. But the sky only burned clearer. His hand pulled you down to his face.

"Lambkin."

You recognised him. Your husband, Varré. You stood still, as if the weight of your head dragged you into the ground. You closed your eyes, waiting for the feeling to pass, but your heart continued pumping.

He repeated his call and chuckled. Your lashes fluttered left and right as you watched cloth peel away. Every touch carried the weight of a mountain, and all the emptier when it left. Your nipples tickled, chest pulsing sweetly.

You pursed your lips with small twitches, filled with a desire you'd never known before. Bewitched by music and the scent, you... Varré leaned into your kiss, and you felt ready to die.

The stone sucked you in and he laid you down, bare against the engravings on the floor. Your vision flashed to the soft kisses, the small pools of warmth against your neck and chest, freezing with wetness at their departure. Your eyelids fluttered. Your husband stood between your legs, folding and prying them apart. The open air cooled the region, and you felt no shame. A gentle kiss laid on your lips by your beautiful husband, cupping his hands around your own at your breast.

A sharp black hook trapped your shoulder, travelling through your hair. You floated and melted away, just as the strands fanned on the floor. A deep kiss enveloped you. Love like you'd never known before. Varré's flesh melded to yours, as a reflection of your own. His exhales hovered on your forehead, his lips inverted, and his tongue a wet muscle, so thick and fleshy, tensing at uneven intervals, the rough of his taste buds. And the vulnerable, thin and veiny underside. You eyed the blue strings with minute precision, and every throb giving them life. The blood you could have bitten out.

He moaned wantonly, roaming his hands around your hips. He was just as lost as you. Your wedding night. Your marriage bed. Every breath sucked in the incense and exhaled ecstasy. The soft of his underside matched that of the prodding moisture, wide enough to spread your outer folds, warmth wider still. A doubled voice breathed hoarsely, fleshy length rubbing up against your clit, slime gliding along your stomach and reaching up your frail ribs. Varré's hands gripped painfully at the plumpness of your chest, kneading your breasts until they spilled beneath his palms. A long, massive, fleshy tongue trailed up your bosom, clothing you with its coating. The shine glistened on you beautifully.

"Varré..." You whispered, aching for your husband's love.

Several pumps along a large length. A long shadow cast over you, wetness dribbling down your breast, as Varré slowly took down the length, licking at the lively tip and trailing down the horns at the base, curled beautifully as to adorn the manhood. A celebration of life, in waiting for death. Varré's lean waist and plump hips hovered in your line of sight, the most seductive woman you'd ever seen. Your beloved husband. He cupped and rubbed his face against his Luminary's testes, begging to suck out their Dynast's seed. The long strips of cloth fluttered above him as he sucked upon the meatus, too large to ever fit entirely. Varré spat upon your pussy, bending over to please you, and prepare you for the fucking to come. Long fingers folded like a cage around his pale buttock, well travelled, by the number of scars. You pressed your pussy to his face, eager to serve your whore husband. You flinched as the sharp hook dipped in, holding your breath as if he were penetrated by a dagger, yet Varré only arched in deeper, no hesitation in his hips. Your vision blurred as you watched him, taking the massive length into him, stomach bulging above you, as you watched his childish smile, so happy to see him like this. He quickly returned to your cunt, slobbering it at each push, tonguing your hole hungrily. The mere sight made your toes curl. You lifted yourself up and snaked your tongue along his length, pumping it in your hands and licking into his asshole as his Lord stretched inside of him. He screamed a moan and balled his fists as his Lord emptied himself inside of him, slashing cuts along his back that made him shudder in pain, great enough to pause his orgasm, the blood trickling to the valley of your breasts. He shuddered in agony, containing his pending orgasm, as his Lord slipped out of him, forcing out the cum he'd deposited onto your face, which you mindlessly smeared along your torso, clutching his face to suffocate him, if your orgasm needed to, and shamelessly throbbed against his lips, lapping up the trails of blood.

Now filled with need, you pushed him away, weakened, like a ragdoll, onto his back, riding his hips in search of his own orgasm, bouncing roughly up and down and pressing into his wound, nearly raping him, as that horned length pushed to your lips, providing as much of a challenge. He wailed and moaned as you tightened, sucking away at the remnants of Varré's asshole with your lips. So full of love, you curled your toes and pushed your husband to orgasm, kneading away at his balls, hard enough to impregnate you, ensuring the future of the Dynasty, your mouth now full of your new Lord's cum. A pleasure so immense you could never recover, grinding into his cock brainlessly, painfully extracting his love. All of it. His blood and cum.

[atamascolily]

We all have our blind spots. Literally. There's a spot in our eyes where the optic nerve passes through the optic disc with no light-detecting cells in it, and we cannot see anything that happens there. For better or worse, our brains get around this by filling in the gap so we mostly don't notice--but it's always there.

There are other kinds of blind spots. In celestial mechanics, for instance, we cannot see anything on the opposite side of the sun from us if it moves at the same speed and occupies roughly the same orbit as the earth. As a result, people have speculated for centuries about the existence of a "Counter-Earth" in this blind spot, and it's become a popular trope in science fiction and conspiracy theories--an "opposite" land where everything is different or inverted from Earth.

Blind spots can also be psychological--the things we fail to notice or acknowledge about ourselves, for instance. In depth psychology, these unconscious parts of us are known as "the shadow," which we often project onto others in an effort to distance ourselves even further from them. Perhaps the shadow's nature is best encapsulated in the catch-phrase of The Shadow, a proto-superhero from the late 1930s American radio series of the same name: "Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows! mocking laughter"

From the framing of Walpurgis no Kaiten's key visual, it's very clear that, if nothing else, the doppelganger is Homura's metaphorical shadow--her opposite, counterpart, and dark reflection. Furthermore, because of the way this series consistently treats its metaphors (i.e., by making them real), it's not a stretch to say she is likely Homura's literal shadow as well. Conveniently enough, Madoka Magica not only has a name for a magical girl's shadow (a witch) but Homura's in particular (Homulilly); from there, the plot practically writes itself.

This is why I think Homura, for all her power, will not initially notice or detect her doppelganger's intrusion or its growing influence in her world. How can she? It's her blind spot.

[silversongsuggestion]

I woke up one morning and everything changed. The color of the sky inverted. Gravity suddenly ripped me back to earth, bent my wings in two, and cracked my elbows on the asphalt.

I woke up.

God, it's like fiberglass in my eyes.

God, it's like cardboard cuts under the nails.

God, i fucking get it.

I wish I didn't get it.

Sometimes, people think they love you and maybe they even believe it. But I get it now. You can love someone and not even like them. How wretched. How messy. Maybe we are made in God's image, after all.

I mean, how could he like himself after everything he's done? How could he not love himself when faced with the reflection in the eyes of his Son?

I'm dusting off my tongue. Polishing the rust off my collarbones. I'm figuring out where the mirror ends and the flesh begins and the value in these veins.

How could I keep spilling it for you?

How could you let me?

I woke up, and I learned how to see ghosts in the people I want to love. I am exorcising those hauntings. Fuck, it hurts. It's going to hurt. I don't think it ever stops hurting. But there's space for that hurt in the skin and in the glass and in my bones and in the past and I will hold.

I woke up one mourning, and i promised to forgive myself. The sky changed color. Or maybe I finally saw it.

[call-sign-shark]

A Slice Of Us || Modern!Peaky Blinders

Notes: Something for my lovely @raincoffeeandfandoms' 3k and her food theme. This blurb has also a tiny reference to @shelbydelrey’s vampire roommate idea. Also, it has been a while since I wanted to introduce Modern!Heaven so it was the perfect occasion. Congratulations again Flor 🖤

Words: 560.

Arthur knew her.

He did not know from where nor when, but the moment their eyes met, crystal iris drowning in his steel-blue ones, he had been convinced of it. When he opened the door at midnight and found himself face to face with the most otherworldly beautiful young woman he had ever seen Arthur’s words choked in his throat. Slightly embarrassed by how late it was, the angel handed him the renting advertisement she had printed and offered him a beaming smile that showcased four pearly white and sharp fangs. Such an odd complexion was soon to be forgotten for the gangster found himself enthralled by the way her plump and glossy lips reflected the corridor’s light as if her flesh had been engraved with diamond dust.

That was how he, a troubled veteran and an assassin, became roommates with her, an aerial performer who spent years in a mental hospital for unknown reasons. It didn’t take long for Arthur to fall in love. And to fall hard. Since she had entered his life, there were things that instantly soothed his urge to take drugs or his overwhelming violence. Like watching her stretch in the living room, her face rosy and pouting because of the pinching sensation in her hamstrings. When she let out small whimpers and long sighs, he would just obliterate everything else. Often she even asked him for help: “Arthur, can you please push my foot so that it touches my head?” "Can you keep my legs open for my splits?" Or “Can you seize my hips while I invert for my Aisha trick?” And he obeyed, craving some skin-to-skin contact with her. He had lost count of how many times they ended up laughing because she had slipped from the pole and they fell together on the living room’s wooden floor. For sure, she brought joy into his life. Peace into his mind. And soon, warmth into his bed. Her presence beside him was not only required, but it was also a necessary need for him to function properly.

Their life together was filled with little rituals and demonstrations of affection such as taking baths and showers together or establishing movie nights — even if, most of the time, they stopped paying attention to it at some point to sink into each other.

But her favorite one was when she exhausted herself at the pole studio late at night and he brought pizza from her favorite local restaurant. Arthur sat on the floor and watched his angel gracefully spinning on the pole, dressed in revealing exotic dancing gear and Pleaser platform boots. And when her training was over, she sat with him, snuggled in his loving arms, and shared the pizza together.

“Arthur. Do you want the last slice?” She asked, her French accent melting on her tongue. The way she pronounced his name made his legs weak — and it changed so much from the English way that he sometimes didn’t realize she called him.

“Ye can take it angel,” He grinned, his gravel voice cooing. Pressing a kiss on her temple, his mouth trailed down her porcelain skin until it reached her ear, “But I crave s’mthing sweet so I’ll take a slice of you for dessert, hm.”

She laughed and each time she did, he found gold in her voice and heaven in her eyes.

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

[mairitess]

form ba-7180, notarized // to be known, ch. 1

summary: Nya realizes her and Jordana have more in common than one might think.

a/n: idk this is just how I imagine what their relationship could be like ;-; i wish it were longer and paced slower but i'm not good at that! + also on ao3 and no longer just a one-shot! ch. 2 here on ao3

words: 1.7k

tags: angst, jaya mentioned, jordana characterization if it were up to me, and now it is up to me, nya pov, dr s2 spoilers, no beta bc idc

warnings: n/a

preview:

Nya would give anything – and gave up everything – to have her name remembered. She imagined Jordana was willing to do the same, evidently far more, for the same respect.

She imagined her face plastered over billboards across all the realms, grinning over a world wholly enlightened by her genius. She’d construct a high-rise to arch above Imperium to collect her novel works. Jordana would work her way down the floors each day, greeting her associates and meeting tours of aspiring young minds. And she’d remember each of their names – she swore she would.

Jordana was called every name under the sun but her own. She was bright and capable, cruel and jealous. So in the spirit of destiny and changing your fate, Jordana took control. She was spiteful. Who could blame her? For each project Jordana developed, Sora did one better. Unforgettable, brilliant, perfect Sora. Jordana became another body in the room, rifling through papers and screwing nuts and bolts, a nameless worker bee when Sora was there.

When Sora left, Jordana practically threw a party. Even if all she was getting was everything Sora left, Jordana crossed her fingers despite being a girl of science and hoped it would all soon become her own. No more Sora. Just Jordana, finally left to her own devices. Yet Sora kept haunting her, easily destroying the one thing Jordana crafted with pride for Imperium.

As “evil” as Jordana had become, Nya couldn’t help but feel, frankly, bad for the girl, the more she learned about her. Nya loved Sora so much, seeing so much similarity between them. But where Nya saw Sora like a little sister outgunning what she did at her age, Nya saw Jordana like an inverted reflection of her younger self. All three of them were so ambitious, so smart, so resilient. But what Nya felt unfortunately was shared just between her and Jordana was in what stood in their way. Sora, in all her early skill, was embraced and centered in Imperium’s ever-advancing development, even if it was in ways she hated and left. Jordana, even if she could keep up with Sora, would never compare.

When Kai and his friends first became ninjas, Nya went to unabashed depths to prove she was just as good, if not better. Her first proof of her excellence, though, was not attributed to her name – she was Kai’s sister. Then she was Samurai X. Then Jay’s girlfriend.

What’s in a name? For Nya, everything. Everything that mattered. She could conquer the world, defeat every Ninjago villain singlehandedly, and still get underestimated and go largely uncredited if merely referred to as Kai’s sister, or Samurai X, or Jay’s girlfriend, or the Water Ninja. That’s not to say Nya wasn’t incredibly proud to be those things – though she was most proud to be Samurai X, as she’d built the mech and its reputation with her own blood and sweat. But when the Fire Ninja was seen running through the streets, little kids would wait for him to finish whatever he was doing, then pull him aside: “Kai! You’re my favorite ninja!” The Ice Ninja would be out getting groceries, and fans would high-five him with the same corny saying: “Zane, you’re the coolest!” Everyone easily called out to the other ninjas by name. Not Nya. Rarely Nya. Maybe never, Nya.

The closest she’d ever gotten to profuse and total recognition and gratitude, she had to entirely give up her body and form. Why did it take losing her for the world to realize how much she mattered?

But Jordana… Every time Nya watched back fight footage between Sora and Jordana, she’d hear Sora say, “Who are you again?” Jordana would scream in frustration, her fighting reinvigorated. Nya understood Sora wasn’t saying that to egg on her foe, that Sora truly could not remember. But that seemed far worse than if it were part of encounter banter.

Nya would give anything – and gave up everything – to have her name remembered. She imagined Jordana was willing to do the same, evidently far more, for the same respect. How much worse it seemed to be forgotten rather than dismissed, to be fighting your own erasure to the point where you realize no one would remember you for your good works. Of course Jordana saw it fit that, if you wanted to truly be known, the only option would be to turn sides.

So Nya made it a point not just to remember Jordana’s name, but to remind her teammates of Jordana’s name, too. She saw it as an act of respect, even if Jordana wouldn’t ever know. Besides, underestimating your opponent was practically a cardinal sin in Wu’s teachings. Part of ensuring her team, her mentees, wouldn’t underestimate Jordana counted on them remembering her, and respecting what she was capable of. Maybe if Nya had felt more outcast by her brother and his friends, she would have had a far more similar path to Jordana’s thus far.

------

The ninja had found their way to one of the islands between Imperium and the Wyldness, chasing a lead in their hunt for Lord Ras, Jordana, Nokt, and Cinder. Though their stealth mission didn’t go as quietly as Lloyd had hoped – Lord Ras and Cinder ran off in opposite directions, splitting the team apart. Lloyd and Arin sprinted after Lord Ras; while Wyldfyre, Zane, and Cole went after Cinder. They’d seen Nokt for a moment, but he’d quickly disappeared, leaving Sora and Nya with Jordana.

“This will be fun,” Jordana laughed, adjusting her grip on her sword, keeping a steady eye on Sora. “Let’s kill the powers, shall we? Make it fair. I don’t want to make it too easy.”

Sora glared. “Easy for whom?” She retorted, only for Jordana to roll her eyes. “You’ll find out,” Jordana said. With that, she lunged at Sora, the tip of her blade easily missing Sora’s cheek as she dodged. “Maybe,” Sora snorted. “Or maybe not.” Sora spun the katana in her hand for show before slicing towards Jordana, catching the other girl’s sleeve with the sword’s edge. Nya watched on carefully as she surveyed their immediate surrounding area, making sure Nokt wasn’t still hidden somewhere among the foliage.

“You might have beaten me in class combat before, Sora, but I won’t let you do it again,” Jordana snarled, blocking Sora’s blows. “Again?” Sora asked, confusion spreading across her face. Her guard weakened slightly.

Jordana’s eyes suddenly glowed a bright red, as she brought her dao down briefly. “You know my name,” she said, low. “You know.” Sora shrugged, concerned. “Sorry. Really, I don’t.”

“Just remember me!” Jordana shouted brazenly, angling the hilt of her blade down toward Sora as she leapt at her. For a moment, Sora stood frozen, caught off by Jordana’s choice of words in combat, and was struck painfully to the head with a dense clunk. Sora cried out and Nya ran for her, blocking Jordana’s second swing as Sora managed to twist away, holding her head in her hands.

Then it was the famed mentor and her mentee’s nemesis, and Nya felt the weight of her wisdom acquired with age. It was the first time the two had truly faced off, and as sour as Jordana’s expression was, Nya didn’t want to fight.

“Please, Jordana,” Nya tried, deflecting each of Jordana’s bladed attempts at her chest. As practiced as Jordana may have been, Nya was far stronger and more comfortable with her golden spear. “You won’t win this. You can’t.”

Jordana was quiet, focused on finding a weak spot in Nya’s guard she could catch. So Nya kept talking.

“I know what it’s like.” “No, you don’t–” “I do, I swear. You are strong in your own right, Jordana, whether Sora is next to you or not. You don’t have to prove anything.” “Yes, I do! Nobody cares if you can do the job. They only care if you can do the job well,” she spat out. “That’s not true!” Nya pleaded. “It’s not true because it’s not about the job.”

Jordana’s swings slowed, and Nya took the opportunity. “You’re not what you do, Jordana. Who you are isn’t based on what you do.”

Both their swords lowered. Sora had managed to crawl over to a nearby tree and lean against its trunk, catching her breath, but her eyes were closed.

“Then… Then who am I?” Jordana whispered, her voice breaking. “Who am I if I have nothing to give to Imperium?”

Nya reached for the girl, instinct to comfort. She didn’t know what to say. Whatever propaganda Imperium citizens were receiving, its messaging was more ingrained than perhaps fixable in a night. Nya’s gaze drifted over to Sora, and her extended hand to Jordana came to a slow stop.

Why… Why didn’t she hit you with her blade?

“Oh, Jordana,” a familiar voice echoed all around Nya, and she felt her chest clench. “It’s not that deep. Truly. Besides,” he laughed, “you’ve done more than enough.”

Nya’s back felt like it was on fire as she was shot along the spine with a stun gun. She fell to the ground, all her limbs locked in place. “You follow through, Jordana. That’s all the Administration could ask for.” Nya was scared to look as the figure hoisted her up from behind, pulling her hands into handcuffs. “I’ll take her from here.”

His hands were warm despite the metal clinking against her wrists. She wanted to hold his hand.

“Sorry. Administrator’s orders,” he huffed, coming to her side to walk her towards the portal he’d come through. In Nya’s periphery, Sora was still breathing, but looked like she was passed out against the tree. Nya nearly yelled at her when she finally got a good look at the man dragging her.

“… Jay? Jay, it’s me –” “I know who you are. Jordana, let’s go.”

His grip was rough as Nya was pulled away, so much about him familiar yet everything wrong.

Jay’s voice was growing distant and fuzzy, but she heard him say, “Nice control there, Jordana. I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to handle it, but you did well. Good job.” He sounded as kind and proud as ever. It was almost soothing.

Sora forced herself awake again for a brief moment and tried to scream as she watched Nya disappear, but nothing came out, and her head was too heavy, and she had just enough sense to hit the emergency signal on her suit.

[khr-guilded-cage]

Skull de Mort, just a civilian in the dark world of the Mafia, feels the weight of his position more than anyone realizes. He’s surrounded by some of the most dangerous mortals in the Underworld, all of them hardened by lives filled with violence. To them, he’s just another civilian trapped in their deadly world—someone to be underestimated, someone who doesn’t belong. But Percy Jackson knows better.

He sees the Arcobaleno for what they are—ruthless, dangerous, and impossibly flawed—and yet he feels tethered to them. They remind him of the Olympians in all the worst ways: their arrogance, their power plays, their cruelty. But unlike the gods, the Arcobaleno are mortal, fragile in a way that shakes him to his core. They bleed, they break, they can die—and that terrifies him.

He wonders if Hestia ever felt this way, loving a family so broken, so unworthy, yet still choosing to stay. He’s tried to distance himself, to remind himself that he doesn’t belong, that he doesn’t deserve to feel this way after failing Annabeth. But every time Reborn smirks, Lal snaps at him, or Fon offers green tea, he feels himself softening. They’re everything he should hate, everything he swore to leave behind—and yet, he can’t help but care.

A civilian out of place within criminals

A demigod between mortals

He feels old in their presence, far older than he should. The youngest and the oldest of the Arcobaleno. The weight of his past, his godly blood as a demigod, his 'civilian' status makes him feel like an outsider, watching from a distance. But at the same time, he feels young, the youngest among them, desperate for their approval, their trust, even their scorn—anything to prove he’s still alive, still worth something. The confusion tears at him, but he’s too tired to fight it anymore.

He was born from the sea—wild, powerful, untamed, a child of Poseidon who should command storms and guide ships through treacherous waters.

He is a Cloud, inverted he might be, Skull de Mort, the Cloud Arcoaleno, the World's Greatest Stuntman - Percy Jackson, Son of Poseidon and Sally Jackson, The Hero of the Prophecy, The Savior of Olympus, Defeater of Kronos - was protective, possesive and territorial as any other Cloud in Mafia. The Arcobaleno - terrible, cruel and unwilling as they are - were his.

Skull often finds himself thinking about his favorite divine aunt Hestia. She’s, much like him, cares for those who don’t always quit deserve it. In her quiet devotion to her terrible family, despite their flaws and conflicts, he sees a reflection of his own feelings. Like her, he’s drawn to those who are broken, offering them protection and care without asking for anything in return. Percy Jackson once judged Hestia a little for loving her far too cruel siblings. Skull de Mort admires her ability to love unconditionally, to give without expecting, and wonders if, deep down, he too can find peace in loving those who, may never truly be able to love him back.

And maybe that’s all he can ask for—a family, even if it’s a family of the damned.

Skull doesn’t know if they see him the way he sees them. He doesn’t expect them to, either. But when he looks at them, he sees a family he doesn’t deserve, a second chance he didn’t ask for but can’t let go of. And for all their flaws, all their cruelty, he loves them—not despite it, but because of it. Because they’re as broken as he is. And maybe that’s enough.