#guess whos caught up with malevolent

[gwumig]

some jarthur doodles

[lynx-jinx]

representation wins! Mr. Scratch uses she/her pronouns and is currently an owl! how fluid!🏳️‍⚧️

[banal-lotus-eater]

sketching him is not enough i need him back

[wistsandmagic]

No Way Out (Brother I Let You Down)

Welp. I finally caved in to one of the plot bunnies @keferon 's Mecha AU keeps putting in my brain. So here, have some Swindle and Vortex ANGST.

(under the cut because it's over 2k words)

It was the middle of the night. The lights in the hangar were dimmed, the sounds of the skeleton crew that worked as night shift far away in the mechanics’ sector, not on the hangar floor. The mecha stood still in their refuel bays, waiting on the next time the Quintessons attacked, when the alarms would blare and the hangar would become a frantic cacophony of activity.

For now though, things were quiet. Still.

Lonely.

Swindle walked silently across the catwalk strung between the mecha, the smell of oil and gear lubricant seeping into his nose like an old friend's aftershave. He didn't smell that often enough nowadays. Sometimes he missed it.

Sometimes, he thought, turning at a path junction to walk down to one particular mecha's bay, one that towered over everything else in the hangar. Sometimes he just missed the people that the smell accompanied.

No one would have ever guessed that he and Vortex had been close friends. They fought like cats and dogs, always sniping at each other, yelling and picking at each other until Onslaught had to break them up before things got too physical. They'd both ended up in medbay more than once after a fight hadn't been broken up quickly enough. They were the youngest of the group, after all, and so close in age that fights seemed almost inevitable.

Swindle had thought of Vortex as the closest thing he'd ever had to a brother. When he didn't come back from that ill-fated mission...

The former pilot stopped in front of the giant mecha in the bay, the faint hint of old blood adding itself to the scents mingling in his nose. Vortex's mecha always smelled vaguely bloody, though since that young medic-turned-pilot, First Aid, had taken over, things weren't as strong. Swindle thought that might be a good thing. Maybe.

He wasn't one to really believe in ghosts, not in the way people meant. A spirit that haunted the living? Seemed improbable. Ghosts were the memories that lingered when you stared at the things the dead had left behind. The scents that once followed them suddenly wafting through the air, the feel of a missing presence, an ache that never went away. That was a 'ghost'.

But when Swindle stared at the red visor of Vortex's mech – it would always be Vortex's mech to him, no matter who piloted it or for how long – it was all too easy to imagine the other kind of ghost. All too easy to give in to the superstitions surrounding this mecha, to believe that a malevolent spirit haunted it, for all it seemed to at least like First Aid. One pilot it didn't want to kill.  

The visor stared back blankly, and Swindle caught sight of his own reflection, warped and twisted by the thick, bullet-proof plexiglass. Somehow the warped reflection felt more like it was the real him than the him that existed in his own skin, at that moment. All of the stress, the heaviness, the days of lying through his teeth and pretending he cared less than he did, that all he was in things for was the money, that the pilots that came back to base maimed and traumatized didn't matter to him as long as the program got the money needed, that his best friend who couldn't even remember that he was Swindle's best friend was laying in a hospital bed, half of his body burned and his mind in tatters didn't matter beyond his ability to bring in investors...

It was too much. It was just...too much.

"H...hey," he managed, flinching at how much his own voice cracked. Where was the smarmy car-salesman he pretended at being? The smooth operator, the con man? "...Vortex, if...if you're in there, buddy, y'mind? I just..." Tears pricked at the corners of Swindle's eyes, startling him and making him put a hand to his face. Man, he was losing it, wasn't he? "I...I just needed..."

Before he knew it, Swindle found himself slumping to the catwalk floor, his back to Vortex's mech. Knew that if the ghost stories were true, that might not be a good idea, but he'd always trusted his friend. His brother. Saw no reason to stop now. "I miss you, y'know that?" He murmured, trying to stem the flow of tears without letting his voice hitch. "The entire...the entire program's shit. I know we knew that already, but...Vee, it's got so much worse. And here I am...actively promoting the damn thing 'cause we have no other choice. " ...he hadn't called Vortex 'Vee' in years. It was usually "Tex"; that was what Vortex had preferred. Swindle was the only one that could ever get away with calling him Vee without getting punched, even so. Swindle had reserved it for special occasions, knowing he held privilege. Now seemed like as good a time as any. Vortex wasn't there any longer to half-heartedly gripe at him for the affectionate diminutive.

That didn't make it better.

Swindle leaned his head back until it thunked against the catwalk railing, letting him stare up from behind his rose-tinted glasses toward the ceiling, heedless of the tears streaming down his face. "I dunno what to do to stop it, Vee. You were always the one c-coming up with the harebrained schemes that somehow worked. You always were smarter than I am, just damn crazy. We worked so good together, like brothers, you 'n me." He laughed mirthlessly, a shaking hand coming up to cover his face as he sobbed, unable to stop himself. "...though guess I'm probably the crazy one now, h-huh. Talkin' to your mech like somehow you c-can hear me through it. Like you're gonna act like my crazy older brother again and somehow tell me this's all gonna work out in the end, and I'm not a heartless monster for doin' this, goin' along with this shit."

He didn't pay attention to the faint nudging at his side at first, figuring it was just the edge of the railing digging into his ribs. When the touch became more insistant, however, he looked down, blinking away tears. Only to stare dumbly at the very large fingertip pressed ever so gently against his side. His breath caught, and for a moment Swindle couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't move, because that was the hand of Vortex's mech, his index finger pressed almost lovingly to Swindle's side, rubbing up and down very slightly now that Swindle was actively paying attention. Almost as if it were trying to comfort him.

Dashing tears from his eyes with the back of one hand, Swindle switched his attention from the massive finger at his side to the head of the mech beside him, expecting to see First Aid curled up inside the cockpit controlling things. But no, the cockpit was empty, the faint lights inside just enough to let him see through the visor before everything flared to life, the visor turning bright and opaque as the mech's head turned slowly to look directly at Swindle.

He'd spent years pretending there was no such thing as ghosts, hating that Vortex's mech killed pilots, but refusing to believe it was anything other than glitches. To say otherwise would be having to say that something of his friend, his brother, still lingered, and Swindle couldn't help him. Now, though, he couldn't deny it. He could feel Vortex there, staring at him through the mech, through that red visor so much like Vortex's own remembered helmet. He blinked as the sound of soft static filled the air, a mechanical text-to-speech voice whispering through the speakers embedded in the mech's head. "Swindler, c'mon now. You never were one for tears, little bro."

If...if Vortex intended that to stop Swindle from crying, it had the exact opposite effect. Sure, the voice was mechanical, it sounded off, but that was still, somehow, Vortex's voice, and Swindle hadn't heard it outside of old recordings for far too long. He shakily got to his feet, one hand covering his mouth to muffle himself while the other scrabbled frantically for Vortex's finger, any and all fears about the rogue mecha deciding to crush him into paste fleeing from his mind in his desperation to have some part of Vee touching him. Only Vortex ever called him "Swindler". Only Vortex ever called him little bro.

"A...are you really in there, Vee?" Even to Swindle's own ears he sounded pathetic. Not like himself at all. It was the stress. It had to be the stress. That was the only explanation.Maybe he was crazy. Maybe watching Blurr almost die was the final straw that broke him, and now he was headed for the looney bin as soon as someone found him. Damn. But hearing Vortex's voice, even distorted by machinery, coming from his mech, broke something inside Swindle's soul, and grief came pouring out whether he wanted it to or not.

Again that soft static, again that voice. "In the figurative flesh, Swindler." Somehow it even managed to retain Vortex's characteristic croon, the way he only spoke to those he actually liked, not the bitten-off snark of those he tolerated, or the open hiss to those he actively hated. Vortex carefully raised his hand over the railing, making Swindle step back a pace, and lowered a couple of his fingers, beckoning carefully. "C'mere. Can't hug you, know you need it, but c'mere anyway." Swindle should have thought twice. Every protocol to do with Vortex – the mech, not the long-dead person – screamed about caution and wariness. But this was Vortex. The person, not the mech. Crazy, full of bloodlust, stay out of his way on the battlefield, don't make him hate you, sure, but above all else he was Swindle's mech partner, his brother, his friend closer than a brother. The one who always had his back on and off the battlefield, in ways Onslaught never could.

He stepped into Vortex's hand without hesitation, trembling hands coming down to help hold himself steady as Vortex's fingers and thumb gripped him in a hold too gentle to come from a mech's default pilotless programming. He saw the visor open, and before he knew it he was deposited gently inside, warm air that smelled vaguely of vanilla – had First Aid hung an air freshener somewhere? – already wafting through the cockpit.

The speakers crackled to life. "Find a seat, little bro." Cabling hissed out of hidden apertures, operating oddly like hands and arms as they found Swindle, pulled him in closer to the emergency jumpseat off to the side of the pilot's seat, designed for maintenance and a place to stretch if trapped in the cockpit for too long, pulling it out from the wall and ushering Swindle to sit. Like Vortex knew Swindle couldn't bring himself to sit in the pilot's seat of a mech that didn't belong to him, that still belonged to Vortex, even if First Aid was 'sharing' it now.

"Vee..." "Hush." The voice was rough, kindness having always been oddly difficult for Vortex to manage, always making him sound like he was angry at himself for daring to show any kind of humanity. That was the case now, of course. Death hadn't changed some things. A lot of things. Still, Vortex's cabling wrapped gently around Swindle once he sat, draping over his shoulders and snaking across his lap like one of Vortex's annoying full-body hugs that had always been so good simply because of their rarity, even if he had to be drunk to give them. The thought made Swindle want to tear up all over again, grief and stress radiating off of him even as he reached out to brush over one of the cables, feeling unseen eyes watching him as he did his best to gather himself, unable to feel any fear for the faint malevolent presence that surrounded him, because he knew that malevolence wasn't directed at him. It never had been."I...you didn't come back," Swindle whispered, swallowing to try and keep his voice steady. "You died, Vee, and everything else went to hell after. It's only gotten worse now, and I...I didn't...I didn't even know you were still in here. You died."

"Yeah, I died. But. Still here, little bro. Got me a good pilot now that I like, finally, but I'm still here." Vortex's voice softened a little, in ways that would make almost anyone who knew him before his death stare at him like he'd lost even more of his marbles. Nobody ever really got to see this side of him other than the one pilot in their group who was younger than him; Swindle had been the only one to deserve the softness he was capable of, and even then only in secret. "Can't get rid of me that easily. I still got your back, y'know?" The cables wrapped around Swindle tightened slightly, reiterating Vortex's point and enclosing him in just that little bit of security. A hug from his dead friend, who was not entirely dead, and always closer to being more than even a brother would have been.

"Okay Swindler. Let's talk, you'n me. Let's come up with a plan. I'm here, little bro." "Always will be."

[championofthefade]

Warning!! This post may contain spoilers for those who haven't played Veilguard yet! This turned out a lot longer than I thought, but I'm discussing the theory that Rook is a spirit.

I know that there are issues with the writing and any theory is not created to make those issues get swept under the rug. This theory is meant to be fun, and I would like to talk about it.

I'm thinking about the "Rook is a spirit" theory I saw on twitter/x. This theory often rotates in my head often, and I think that it's so interesting.

Like, listen. I understand that narratively it would be complicated to insert into what we know is Dragon Age Veilguard. Someone brought up the fact that it would be a strange thing because wouldn't Emmrich know that Rook is a spirit the way that he knows Lucanis has Spite?

But the theory that cadhalash paints for us is the fact that Varric was for Rook what the Rook is for the companions.

"Help them with their personal problems and talk to them about their feelings, but never ask Rook how they're doing. Or if they need anything. In codex memos we learn the companions have potlucks and book clubs but Rook is not invited. We learn at the end that Varric wasn't really there... What if Rook wasn't either? There's tons of chat about this idea now with other examples of Rook being compared to a spirit in the game. Very interesting and fun!" -cadhalash

There could be the very huge chance that Emmrich would recognize Rook as a spirit, but what about a spirit made flesh?

Think about Cole's banter with Blackwall, for example:

Blackwall: How does a spirit become flesh anyway?

Cole: I don't know. How does a Warden become Grey?

It may seem like a reach, but to me, it makes sense. Cole chose to become human because that was the shape that would help, which he says in a banter with Varric.

Varric: So, Kid, why human?

Cole: It was the shape that would help.

Varric: Huh. Most people don't pick a shape. I guess I was hoping for something deeper with that question.

Cole: It had to be him. But harmless. The him he wanted that wouldn't hurt.

Varric: Well that's... deeper. I think.

You may be thinking, "Hey, Atlas. That might be a little reaching, don't you think?"

Well, yes. Applauding the people that caught onto Solas in the Dragon Age Fandom years and years ago now because you all were on the nose about him being a worm (spirit). But considering what we know from Dragon Age as a whole, it could be possible that Rook is too a spirit of a different kind.

We know that Emmrich can sense Spite. We know that Emmrich can talk directly to Spite. But what if Rook was more like Cole? Would Emmrich's ability to speak to spirits or sense them so close apply?

I would say, that depends on the type of Spirit that Rook would be, right? This has a lot of wiggle room for what you think your Rook would be as a spirit?

From the Wiki:

Spirits lack imagination and creativity; everything they make is based off something made by mortals. Whether benevolent or malevolent, most spirits cannot help but mine a Fade visitor's mind for their thoughts and memories. They then mimic the pieces of life they see by shaping the Fade into various realms that cater to the unconscious desires of the living, providing experiences to the sleeping that become their "dreams."

And the Spirits listed:

Command, Compassion (Cole), Courage, Curiosity (Manfred), Duty, Faith (Wynne), Honor, Hope, Justice(Anders), Learning, Love, Perseverance, Purpose, Valor, Wisdom (Solas).

(We know from Veilguard that Spite is referred to as a spirit of Determination/ mentioned in a data mine, Passion.)

For the sake of the theory, let's say that Emmrich would get an inkling. A prickling feeling even that he knows that there's a spirit near by and would chalk it up to being Manfred because he would know that, right? But then there's Spite. How big of an energy read does Emmrich get from Lucanis to immediately go, 'Yeah, you've got a tag along and I'm sorry it wasn't a willing possession'.

So, how would it get unnoticed by Emmrich, the resident Fade Expert?

Well... Reading further down said wiki page, we find this:

As Rhys puts it in a dialogue with Cole, "being important makes you real". (Asundered reference, I believe?)

Being important makes you real. Rook becomes the 'leader' when Varric gets hurt at the beginning of the game. For the entirety of the game, as Rook, you have to build a team to fight ancient elvhen gods. Rook has to be what Varric was, pulling people that Solas didn't know into trying to save the world from going to shit.

Rook was given a purpose. To save the world.

Regardless of how Rook is perceived, they are in charge. They are in a position that they didn't want, probably was expecting to go home after dealing with this Dread Wolf that they were recruited to stop, and now... They're given a role that would make them important. And as before being important makes you real.

Could Rook be something akin to Cole rather something like Spite or other spirits that we know in Veilguard?

Here's another thing: Solas.

Yes, we are talking about the egg. I'll try to keep this as coherent as possible. We know that Solas didn't want to come from the Fade to be a human (another discussion for another time). We learn that Solas was a spirit of Wisdom, whose Wisdom was twisted into a weapon and forced to do things that stripped Solas of what he wanted to keep for himself. To remain as Wisdom.

This makes it interesting if we add to the fact that Rook could choose to outsmart Solas. Because at that pivotal moment, Solas was Pride. On his pride, it was always the sword he would fall on.

Say what you will about the trick ending, but this is something that shouldn't be glossed over. Being outsmarted by Rook, Solas says, "I am a fool... Who has met his match."

Met his match. This also might be another case of reaching, but it's interesting phrasing from someone who tells clever half-truths and never quite lies. Being tricked by Rook out of pure wits alone. Something that he thought he succeeded in.

What does this have to do with spirits?

Solas, who was brought out of the Fade to take a body to join the elves in a fight against the Titans. Solas, who crafted the lyrium dagger to sunder the Titans from their dreams in hopes of stopping the war. Solas, who created the blight from the Titans' severed dreams. Solas, who started a rebellion against the ancient elvhen gods who abused their power.

Rook, who was brought onto a job to stop the Dread Wolf. Rook, who disrupted the ritual in hopes of stopping Solas. Rook, who started a double blight from freeing these ancient elvhen gods. Rook, who has to build a team to stop these ancient elven gods.

I would say, in spirit, Rook is a mirror of Solas. I'm not saying Rook is wise like Solas or anything like that. But there is something about Rook being Solas' mirror that could fold into Rook being a Spirit of Reflection.

This is just something that comes to mind. Rooks helps Taash discover their identity, helps Emmrich deal with his fear of mortality, helps Neve protect Dock Town, helps Bellara with Cyrian, helps Harding with the Titans, helps Davrin with the griffons, and helps Lucanis with Spite. (Generalized, all choice dependent.) These are reflections of the companions. These are reflections of the people that Rook had brought together to save the world.

It could easily be written off because we're not entirely sure how many spirits there are, but I digress.

Of course, that too would beg the question of how it would apply to all Rooks from all backgrounds?

Let's take a look at the ones that make me think.

Shadow Dragon Rook

The foundling Rook was adopted into a military family and joined the Shadow Dragons to fight from the shadows for change in Minrathous.

We learn in a dialogue with Tarquin that a Shadow Dragon Rook was found on a battlefield by the Mercar family.

Now with this little bit of dialogue, it makes me (personally) think back to what Solas says about him walking the Fade and seeing ancient battlefields where spirits reenact wars from the other side of the Veil. There could have been spirits that were there during this battle where SD Rook was found. (It also kinda reminds me of Loki being found by Odin and raised in Asgard. Don't come for me, I've only watched the movies.)

For the sake of theory, say that a spirit that would have looked over a SD Rook before they were found by the Mercars. Thinking about it, it reminds me of how Cole (the mage) was watched over by Compassion and then Compassion took a shape that would help.

A spirit (in Spite's case) can be drawn to a person, yes? As Determination, we know that Spite was drawn to Lucanis' determination to live or something of the like. (I will live to spite you, essentially.)

Mourn Watch Rook

Discovered by undead inside a Grand Necropolis tomb as an infant, Rook was raised by Mourn Watch necromancers, eventually joining the order.

Relating back to the Muttering Undead that is in a coffin on the path from Emmrich's recruitment:

Stumbling… The steps. Skeletons saw… Oh no choice. Had to be brave… Had to be brave… Too late to cry… Save the (girl, boy, baby) with the grave.

This is a little more open ended. We know nothing about Ingellvar beyond that. We don't know where they came from, only that they were found inside a tomb. It makes me scratch my head.

We know that it's a custom in Nevarra that a spirit could reanimate a skeleton, essentially, and bring some part of their consciousness from back across the Veil. We see that Manfred, when you choose to bring him back, is brought back from across the Veil and returns with magic.

Sure, it's not the same thing as building a body out of Titan's blood, but the idea that the spirits that became the Evanuris are the best of the physical and the Fade offers up to the idea that they were going to have magic anyway when they crossed the Veil. Only lyrium gave them more power than I think that they knew what to do with.

I make this point from the perspective that Mourn Watchers are typically necromancers. They are almost always close to places where the Veil is thin enough for a spirit to come across and possessing a body in a sense.

When it comes to the Muttering Undead, I don't know who that could have been or what they were doing in the Necropolis. But it's clear that they were determined to save Mourn Watch Rook, and they were the one that put Rook in the tomb.

This one makes me scratch my head because it's so broad and vague. For the theory that Rook is a spirit, this is the origin/background/faction that lends itself to the idea because in Nevarra they revere and respect their dead with the ability to raise the corpses to continue contributing to the Grand Necropolis. But we're talking about a wee baby Rook growing up in the Necropolis. Could it be possible that the saving of Rook is more spirit in a tomb?

The last things I would like to touch on.

Dialogue with Harding (her romance I believe?) :

Harding: I've seen spirits leave the Fade and become real people. (COLE!!!)

Rook: You think I could be a spirit in disguise?

Harding: It isn't malicous. They're just drawn to strong emotion. And then...one day, real people.

Rook: I think I'm really me, and I'm really here.

This is why I mentioned Cole earlier.

And the absence of Rook in the Veilguard mural is brought up in the theory as well. Rook's absence on the mural strikes me as odd. Because yes, the companions would be a main focus in the stories that would follow them. But what about Rook, the person who brought these vastly different people together and saved the world? Not there. Were they ever there?

Much to think about.

[ak319]

Lovesick Village Boy x Fem civil servant reader

Part II

➺Part I

It's been two days since your arrival at Al-Razeh. Maha, your PA, poured tea into your cup and hers, and you both sat down, enjoying the evening and relaxing on your estate's lawn.

"The weather is nice today, Ma'am," Maha said, taking in the cool breeze.

"Indeed," you replied, savoring the calm. After a moment, you turned to her. "By the way, you’ve lived here all your life, right?"

"Yes, ma'am," she answered, glancing at you curiously.

"So... any folklore tied to this village? Since, you know, villages are known to be famous for such things." You smiled, lighting the mood with a bit of humor. “Often having their own stories.”

Maha chuckled softly at your inquiry and drew her chair a bit closer to yours. “Well, not exactly folklore, but there is this family. Personally, neither my family nor I are closely acquainted with them, but…” She took a sip of her tea, her words now capturing all your attention.

"They are the Jafaris--Kadir Jafari’s family, they own general stores here, two of them. He has three sons. The oldest two are married and have children, but their youngest… he’s always been something of an enigma around here.”

Your curiosity piqued, you snorted softly. “An enigma?”

“Yes, ma’am, an enigma,” Maha’s voice took on a tone of anxious seriousness. “He’s known for his extraordinary beauty. I have not seen him myself though. So, up until he was about sixteen, everything seemed fine. But then, he suddenly vanished from his friends’ lives and stopped attending school. Despite the family’s best efforts to conceal the issue, it eventually came to light that he was... possessed. The situation was dire, his agonizing screams were reportedly heard throughout the quiet streets. This was happening around the time of his second brother’s wedding. Guests at the house, including those from the neighboring families, overheard the commotion. The disturbances along with conflicts within the family caused tensions to rise, and at one point, it nearly led to the engagement being called off. Fortunately, the wedding went ahead, but Habib was absent, cited as being ill by his family.”

You listened with growing intrigue, though a pang of sympathy tugged at your heart. Such occurrences were tragically real, and often, people not only suffered but sometimes perished.

"Let me guess," you said, shifting your gaze to Maha, "you mentioned he was--no, is--beautiful?"

"Yes, that’s correct."

"Then black magic? Possibly from relatives?" You inquired, noting the surprised look in Maha’s eyes.

"Y-yes," she stammered. "I mean, that's what most of the people think. The cleric himself when consulted by some of the village elders, particularly Kadir’s friends, didn't reveal anything except that it was indeed something paranormal."

"That's often the case with such situations," you remarked. "Clerics typically avoid naming names if it's a matter of black magic. If you discover the culprit on your own, that's one thing, but directly asking the clerics usually only gets you vague responses. Or maybe the family didn't want the details out."

Black magic presented a confusing challenge when it came to legal matters. The laws were clear, if someone was caught practicing black magic, they faced severe penalties. Yet, the shadowy nature of these practices often meant that many perpetrators remained hidden. Clerics, bound by their own reasons, often withheld crucial information about those involved. In villages like Al-Razeh, such issues could be predictably common. To you, black magic was not merely a mystical concern but a serious crime. The victims deserved justice, and those who perpetuated such malevolence needed to be held accountable.

“Ma’am, how do you know so much about these things?” Maha’s childlike curiosity brought a smile to your face.

“Nothing special,” you replied, “just a hobby. So, how is the boy now?”

"Oh! I missed a part," Maha said, her voice dropping to a more serious tone. "People, like you mentioned, initially suspected the relatives because that's common in cases of black magic. But his brothers were also under suspicion. They always seemed to harbor resentment towards Habib. After all, he’s the most beautiful of them, so it wouldn't be surprising if they were involved. Men too get jealous over these matters."

With a pitiful sigh, you set your cup on the table and leaned back. "It breaks one’s heart to hear such stories--family turning against family. This... magic stuff is no joke. Deep-rooted jealousy can lead to such tragic outcomes, tearing apart lives and families."

"Indeed," Maha agreed solemnly. "But it could just have been a normal possession and not caused by magic cuz like I said, he is said to be very beautiful. He's reportedly doing better now, but he hasn’t left the house since then. It might be the cleric’s advice, or perhaps it's his parents' protectiveness or... his brothers' doing. Some people speculate that he might have died."

“What? Died? But didn’t the cleric solve his problem?” you asked, puzzled.

“Yes, he did. It’s just a rumor--he can’t be dead. You can't hide something like that for so long. People who are the family's relatives and friends, have seen him inside the house. So, he’s definitely there.” Maha chuckled, shaking her head at the absurdity of such rumors.

"What about the cleric? He still here?"

"Oh no, he was from some other place. Kadir called him here for his son's treatment." You hummed and took in the information. Then a subtle smirk graced your lips.

“It could have been a lover, too,” you suggested casually.

“What?”

You petted Milo, your cat, who had jumped onto your lap. “It might have been a lover who cursed him, someone who wanted him. One of the leading cause for black magic."

“He was 16.”

You laughed, “So? She could have been 16 too. Who knows? Anyway, did you put the reports in my study?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Okay, I’ll go freshen up.” You stood up, leaving Maha to enjoy her tea on the lawn. Your thoughts shifted away from the village story, focusing instead on the duties that lay ahead.

═════ ◈ ═════

Odai stepped into the small shop, removing his glasses as his gaze briefly settled on the figure behind the counter. What caught his attention were the eyes--unmistakably unique, as if they held a quiet depth. But the rest of the man’s face was hidden beneath a cloth, adding an air of mystery.

"Um, two packs of cigarettes." Odai glanced back at the car parked outside across the road. Through the tinted windows, he could see his reflection.

"I can't."

Odai’s head snapped back in surprise. Is he hearing things?

"Two packs of cigarettes, brother," he repeated, a bit more firmly this time.

But the man behind the counter shook his head again, those evasive eyes refusing to reveal more. What was going on?

"What?--what do you mean? It’s just a pack of cigarettes. Why are you saying no?"

"I-I can't sell them... I don't want to."

"Why? That’s your job! Why even own a shop then? Is this how you treat your customers?" Odai's frustration grew.

"No... I just don’t sell cigarettes... They’re harmful."

Was this man serious? Was he actually joking?

"Look, boy. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I need them, so I’m gonna ask one last time before I leave. Hand over the cigarettes."

But all he got in return was another silent shake of the head. That was it.

"Fine, keep running your business like this bud and you’re bound for success," Odai muttered, "And maybe don’t stock cigarettes in your shop if you’re not planning to sell them!"

He stormed back to the car, slamming the driver’s door shut accidentally. The noise made you glance up from your file.

"What’s wrong? Did you get them?" you asked, noticing his disgruntled expression.

"I’m so-rry, ma’am… um… the boy in the shop… he refused to sell. God, I can’t believe it--like, what even was that? But there's another store nearby so , we will go there." Odai stammered, frustration clear in his voice. Before he could shift into gear, you stopped him with a curious question.

"Wait, he refused to sell cigarettes?"

"Yes." Odai nodded, still baffled.

"That’s interesting. And did he say why?"

"They’re harmful." Odai’s ears flushed as he heard you chuckle softly. He wasn’t sure if you were annoyed or just amused by the whole thing.

"Now this is intriguing. Someone refusing to run their business properly... now that’s a case worth looking into." Still chuckling, you slipped out of the car before Odai could respond, but he quickly followed, his curiosity piqued.

Like him, you took in the scene before heading to the small counter tucked in the corner. There, the figure sat quietly, standing the moment you approached, his demeanor almost shy under your gaze.

"You’re the one who refuses to sell cigarettes because they’re harmful?" you asked, your voice curious yet firm.

He nodded. His eyes, though not meeting yours directly, seemed to speak in a language of their own--soft but full of meaning.

"Do you know who I am?" You wondered if the uniform might catch his attention.

A brief silence followed before his voice, barely above a whisper, reached you. "No.."

"I am the new DC."

"T-he DC?"

"That's right."

"I still… won’t sell." Odai huffed behind you, clearly irritated, but you hardly noticed. Your eyes softened, lighting up with quiet amusement at the childlike defiance. "Why? This is not how you run a shop, boy."

"I don’t want you....our… new DC to be harmed. I won’t let a pack… kill an honest officer."

For a moment, time seemed to still. Never in your life did you imagine hearing something so simple, yet so profound. His words, spoken with such gentleness, struck something deep inside you. Just who was this man? You could sense Odai’s stunned silence behind you, just as surprised by the unexpected warmth in those gentle words.

After clearing your throat, you finally asked, "What’s your name?"

"H-Habib, miss."

This… this is Habib? The Habib that Maha had told you about?

"They’re the Jafaris--Kadir Jafari’s family. They own general stores around here, two of them."

And here you were, standing in one of them. But how was he… here?

From behind a curtain serving as a door to an adjoined room, a man in his late fifties appeared, his presence steady and familiar. He moved to stand beside Habib.

'That must be Kadir, his father.'

"Oh! I’m sorry, I was just praying in the other room. How may I help you?" Kadir asked politely, his tone warm. Meanwhile, Habib stood quietly to the side, his gaze fixed downward, trying to shrink into the background, as if seeking shelter behind his father’s presence.

"Well, our DC wanted some cigarettes, and this boy refused to sell them," Odai interjected with a trace of frustration in his voice.

"Oh--I’m so sorry. Ma’am, please, forgive him. He’s new to this… and, well, he refuses to sell them to anyone," Kadir said with a chuckle that barely masked his embarrassment, as he reached for the cigarettes.

"No, it’s alright. Really, I don’t want them. And… you’ve raised a kind soul, sir," you said, your gaze briefly shifting to Habib, who still stood quietly, his presence almost ethereal. Maha was right. If those eyes alone held such depth and softness, then his face… You couldn’t help but feel a quiet curiosity bloom within you, wondering what beauty lay beneath the mask. Yet, it wasn’t a thought born of desire--no it was reverent. There was a satisfaction in knowing that Habib remained untouched by the eyes of envy or malice.

"I--thank you, ma’am. But, please, if you still want--"

"It’s fine." You smiled, your voice gentle. "I’ll just take those chips instead. Thank you."

Before leaving, your eyes found Habib’s one last time. For a brief second, he looked back, those soulful eyes meeting yours with a vulnerability that touched something deep inside you. And then, just like that, the moment passed. Something stirred in your chest as you made your way back to the car.

His demeanor, though shy and reserved, had an innate warmth that contrasted starkly with the pain you suspected he might have endured. Habib's eyes, so expressive despite their attempt to hide behind the mask of modesty, spoke volumes. How could anyone ever think to harm such a gentle, innocent soul? His kindness made him so pure, yet so brave in his quiet way. Your heart ached at the thought of someone cruel, someone arrogant, standing where you were now. If they had received the same refusal, what might they have done to him and his father?

Part III

(AN: I cried writing this due to the unspoken romance which is more to come and I just wanna give the biggest hug to Habib so bad 😭)

[g0g0at]

Malevolent part 46

I’ve got thoughts and theories about Malevolent part 46, but it’s my bed time so I’ll save those for tomorrow.

Until then, have my live reaction. Spoilers of course

Creepy start (Arthur trauma in droves)

If an episode starts with Faroe, it’s gonna be rough

Tree things

Spooky spooky

John being caring as is his way recently

Sounds like he was dreaming

Nawwww is Arthur his ligh- oh nvm LILLY MENTION!!

Arthur is half asleep for all of this hehe

Love Lilly? Interesting

Oh we’re going real far back now guess I gotta do a s4 relisten

OMG HOW FAR WE’VE COME IS PLAYING

“Her coming had driven out the world”

I thought he was gonna talk about Arthur ngl

“You gave my friend so much”

SCARY CHILD

THEY WERE HAVING A SWEET MOMENT

Arthur you have been talking about the air and sensing things a lot

Ruh roh beings in the woods

Working together properly nice

“My eyes” not our? Mm language shift

Willow a whisp

A pretty scene

Where is yorick rn? Keep his mouth shut it seems

FUCKING KID LAUGHING

Uh oh he’s being pulled in

He sounds so hopeful

I’m worried

John like “uh what huh??”

Oooh this is interesting

Reminds me of the Nøkken kinda

Don’t follow the light don’t follow the light DON’T

Oh that REALLY REMINDS ME OF NØKKEN

YOU SURE ABOUT THAT ARTHUR YOU SURE

The spooky houses??? ARE YOU SURE??!!

Oiya they are FUCKED

Cult shit?

Cult shit.

Black stone DUN DUN DUN

The sound design is very nice this episode (I say that every episode)

NOT A FUCKING KID

DON’T DO THAT TO HIM

STOP

STOP

ARTHUR

bro got fucking robbed by WILLOW O WHISP!!

WAIT YORICK GOT KIDNAPPED

I feel like some of those things were actually kinda useful

YEAH FUCK HER

Ohhh idk about we dunno who she is

I like how John and Arthur are their own mystery to themselves

You guys are going in circles in here GET MOVING!!

GET MOVING

This episode does feel very fairy tale esc

Very the beasts lantern

WILLOW TREEEEEEE

Guys this is obviously a trap

YOU CANNOT

“We will” YOU ALREADY AREN’T

oooh this episode is really interesting

Guys focus. Guys keep it together

It’s interesting seeing a child as a threat it’s a very unique twist on fairy tale narratives

JOHN JOHN FOCUS

This epsiode is trippy

It’s interesting to see them BOTH enthralled by something

NO NO NO NO NO

AW FUCK

Why is he breathing like that

Nuh uh this is bad

Huh?

What has he got there?

I’m worried

A deer?

GUYS YOU DON’T FUCK WITH DEERS

OH FUCK THIS IS CWD ESC

Arthur’s parental instincts shining through at all times

Uh oh you guys

Arthur sounds so scared

DON’T FOLLOW HIM

There you go, FOCUS

Come on come on you can do it

This episode is SO TRIPPY

It’s hard to tell when they’re being hypnotised and when they’re being earnest

FAIRY CIRCLE DON’T TOUCH THAT

NØKKEN NØKKEN NØKKEN

GRAVES??

EXACTLY WHAT YOU SAID WOULD HAPPEN GUYSSSSSS

DON’T DRINK FROM IT

DON’T DON’T

RIVER OF THE DEAD RIVER OF THE DEAD

Alarm bells are ringing

YEAH THAT WAS A REGULAR STREAM THIS IS NOT

Don’t drink good good

You’re getting caught up in technicalities

Another one of Arthur feeling something in the air WHAT is up with that

Like that one mass organism forest

I feel something BIG is gonna happen

Infinite night? Interesting

Pocket dimension forest?

Wandering woods part 2

DON’T BITE OFF ANOTHER FINGER THAT’S ALL I HAVE TO SAY

FAIRY RING

DON’T STEP ON IT YOU DIPSHIT

STOP SNIFFING THEM

Everytime I think they’re in the clear he goes on another trippy tangent

William mention but at what cost

Oh this is making me so nervous

They sound so happy but god it sounds like they’re high

Maybe they are

HE’S DANCING?!!!

NØKKEN NØKKEN

Oh my god my brain is just screaming “WRONG WRONG WRONG WRONG WRONG”

NØKKEN NØKKEN NØKKEN

What what what what

Oh my god my stomach is dropping

What is happening what is happening

WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT

NO NO NO NO NO NO NO

Oh I hate this so much so much so much

What is happening I hate this so much so much so much

WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT

NØKKEN NØKKEN

OH MY GOD THE SOUND DESIGN

WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK

Someone with his voice? Oohohohoohoho

This is fantastic

Oh this is is OTGW

New Harlan voice making me jump up and down

The audio balancing is fantastic

Any doubts I had about where s5 were going have been dashed this is phenomenal

You’re gonna get munched

“They come and bury only the scraps of the lambs they lead”

Cleansing fire… day of wrath

So the village was a cult…

They voice sends chills up my spine

How it’s slowly moving away from being Arthur to something else

Horig?

Omg tree entity my fave

Horig can cut him off from John?

Oooh the sound ooooh

Arthur what are you offering

Arthur why are you doing this

Arthur

Arthur you’re talking about children here, you know that right? Arthur??

Oh WHAT

AN APOSTLE

Oh this took a TURN

JOHN SLEPT!

Silver lining to that fuckery

Back to the stream?

John being comforting :DD

Nawww John got to sleep

Arthur you gotta be transparent with him that’s part of the deal

Why does he need to get to the stream so bad?

Oh he wanted to get out of it

Oh it really is like the mass organism forest omg

Ah ok it was a ploy. Well done Arthur

Arthur… are you suggesting mass murder?

Enacting justice… how very Day of Wrath of you

I TOLD YOU IT WAS DEAD BODY WATER YOU FUCK WADS

Eww don’t vomit in my ear

Horig’s followers are daba-doo-dead

Great epsiode! Deeply unsettling, can’t wait to see the ramifications of this

[cookinguptales]

Finally caught up with Malevolent, and while I do still believe that John's attempts on Oscar's life had more to do with whatever his deal with Kayne was than pure jealousy over Arthur, I think it's so funny that Arthur believes that John loves him with such a childish and possessive desire that he's willing to kill anyone else who might get close to him and is just like...

welp, I guess I'll indulge that.

I mean, I know from his perspective he's like "well, John is my responsibility and I love him and if I don't keep others away from me right now, John will kill them and I couldn't stand that" but from my perspective it sounds an awful lot like "you'll kill anyone I start to love as much as I love you? fair enough!"

I do really think, though, that John understands how much it hurt Arthur to give up Oscar and he wouldn't have made him do it for as petty a reason as Arthur believes. I think John was very much telling him the truth when he said that all that matters to him is Arthur and getting to the Fallen Star. I just think that the latter is probably in some strange service to the former.

Like I do think there's definitely some selfishness in his deal with Kayne, but I got the impression that whatever he chose to do, it was at least partially for Arthur's sake. I could be wrong, of course, but that was the vibe I felt.

...though, to be fair, I do think that John does feel deeply insecure about Arthur's relationship with Oscar. He does dislike sharing Arthur's trust with a human who might be able to give him more than he can; I just don't think that was his primary reason for trying to kill him. Also, I really don't think we're seeing the end of Oscar, who seems to believe that Arthur is his life's true purpose handed down to him by God himself. Oscar asking about John just makes me think that's not nearly as over with as John seems to think. So John may still very much have a rival for Arthur's affections, and one whom he's now given a reason to hate him very much!

[olderthannetfic]

if you're gonna complain about a creator make sure your receipts are good for it, I guess? here are a few facts about Harlan Guthrie, creator of Malevolent:

more than 2 years ago he was asked on tumblr if all of the ship art he was reblogging was meant to imply anything about canon and he replied that he'd stop so as to not confuse anyone

less than a year ago he was interviewed on Hello From the Hallowoods (a queer podcast) and basically said "that ship is good for fanfic and fanart, but the canon I'm writing is for the developing friendship of a man who was raised to be stoic who ruined everything good in his life and a manipulative, murderous (male) monster learning how to be better people through helping each other deal with their emotions and flawed behaviors, because I was raised with toxic ideals about manhood so this is what I want to explore"

sometime before september '22 he wrote and performed "Big Bear", a love song from the (cowboy, male, supporting) character he plays to the (cowboy, male, main) character in the podcast WOE.BEGONE he's in a canonical relationship with (which is wonderfully depicted), which was put in the season 7 finale (season 13 starts next week, they are still together but it's about to get even more delicious angst due to [SPOILERS])

no idea if he ever heard of the term fujoshi since that's not a term I've ever seen or heard used in any fandom for the creators sphere he's in or (queer) (indie) podcasts fandoms at all, not even from fans who are also in anime/manga fandoms. but he is aware enough of the phenomenon "fans who like to ship men non-canonically because the canon friendship is compelling" to make a single joke about it in a non-canon meta-humor christmas special; subjective how it comes across, apparently, but if you take it from me he was laughing with his fans, and also somewhat at himself.

I recommend Malevolent to horror podcasts fans, particularly to those who read Lovecraft; WOE.BEGONE to time-travel action/psychological-thriller fans who also love queer cowboys and themes of power (and its abuse) and agency (or lack thereof); Hello From the Hallowoods is recommended to fans of the other 2 so I'm gonna start that once my current listening is caught up, I'm told to prepare for forest cryptids and good storytelling.

--

[kichous]

✧･ﾟ:*   to all the earthly remains

summary. in the settled dust, all that remains is the boy with the pink hair. series. history lesson. part one . part two . part three . part four . part five you’re here ! pairings. itadori yuji x reader. ryomen sukuna x reader. warnings. none.  word count. 1591.

You’ve been wandering the wreckage of Shibuya for days. It looks like the set of a post-apocalyptic movie, like you’ve stumbled onto the remake of War of the Worlds. But all of it’s real.

Even now, you’re still reeling at how quickly everything went south. Less than a week ago, your biggest concern was making sure you actually had coverage for your Halloween night shift. Begging and pleading with your manager hadn’t worked, as everyone else also wanted the night off to party. Your saving grace had been a recently dumped coworker, who was free and miserable enough to actually want to work. At the time, you’d felt guilty for taking advantage of her sadness. Now, a different guilt weighs upon you. She lived in Ikebukuro. If she hadn’t taken your shift, she wouldn’t have gotten caught—as did your other coworkers, your friends, and yourself—in Sukuna’s Malevolent Shrine.

As far as you can tell, you’re the only survivor. Whether that’s up to muscle memory, constantly cycling reverse cursed energy to heal yourself from the cuts and slices, or whether he deliberately chose not to hit you in that massive radius is anyone’s guess.

It would’ve been nice if one of your sorcerer friends had given you a heads up. Both Nobara and Fushiguro had your number. Yuji, of course, did as well. If even one of them had said, “Hey, something bad’s gonna happen in Shibuya on Halloween,” then you would’ve dragged your friends to Ginza or Roppongi with the excuse of watching the parade. Instead, the six of you stayed in the area, and now you’re the only one left. You watched them get diced into pieces.

But it’s hardly fair to blame sorcerers who, ultimately, were high schoolers just like you. Knowing what you did about jujutsu society, they were probably out there fighting and bleeding while you and your friends hid. That Inumaki boy you’d seen was another casualty, and he hadn’t been much older.

In truth, you have no idea where you’re going.

The last couple of days, you’d sort of been ambling around aimlessly. You scourged for food and replaced your shredded costume with something that could actually withstand the cold. But other than survival, you really hadn’t any future plans. You should go home. Make sure your family knows you’re okay. Make sure that they’re okay.

You come across the cursed spirit first.

He’d been squatting as he kept watch, shooting up at your approach into a ready stance. He claps his hands together, all ten fingers pointed at you. “Don’t come any closer!” he barks.

“I mean you no harm!” you call back after raising your hands in surrender. In this body, you have no innate technique, but you remember how to fight from your past lives. Once upon a time, you’d held the record for the most consecutive black flashes at three strikes. Someone’s probably beaten you by now, but a hit’s a hit. You pool cursed energy into your fists. “I’m just passing through.”

“Then you better keep moving,” the cursed spirit growls, the line drawn across the bridge of his nose distorted by the ferocity of his glare. “It’s not safe here.”

“Choso, what are you doing?”

A familiar head of pink hair steps into view, and you go weak in the knees. You whisper Yuji’s name, a sound so soft it’s carried off by the wind. Before you know it, you’re sprinting for him. The cursed spirit shouts in alarm, and you only just manage to bat away his attack before you launch yourself into Yuji’s arms.

He catches you, warm and solid. “No way…,” he mutters. His voice cracks when he says your name, and his eyes are disbelieving as he pulls back to get a good look at you. Yuji’s face falls, to your alarm, when he confirms it’s you, and his warm, comforting hands morph into claws around your biceps. “If she was here when Sukuna attacked, then she’s… whatever you are, you better not be—be wearing her skin or something like that. I’ll—”

“No one told you?” you blurt, shaking free of his aggressive grip. “Not Fushiguro-kun or Nobara?” At the mention of the latter’s name, Yuji flinches and your breath catches in your throat. Casualties. Right. “I’m—I’m a sorcerer too. Sort of.”

The word sounds wrong on this body’s tongue. You were a normal girl up until a few months ago, ignorant of the world of curses and jujutsu. If you had never crossed paths with Yuji, you would never have known. And it’s never really come up between you two. You just figured his friends would have informed him of something this major. But then again, maybe they had expected you to explain. You should have, but you’d only seen each other a couple of times since his apparent return from the dead. He hadn’t exactly told you about that, either, so you were even.

He believes you a little too easily. “‘Sort of’ doesn’t exactly inspire confidence,” Yuji hisses. “It’s dangerous here, especially around me. You’ve got to get somewhere safe.”

“No.” The word pushes past your lips without permission, but you don’t find yourself disagreeing with the sentiment. “Something… something drew me here. At first I thought I’d just picked a direction and started walking, but now I get it. There was a beacon calling out to me, and it led me to you. I’m where I’m supposed to be.”

You hadn’t been actively tracking his residuals, searching for Yuji (or his hitchhiker) in particular, but… well, in a world like this, is it so wrong to believe in something like fate? Of all the boys in the world, you’d found Ryomen Sukuna’s vessel. He even looked like Sukuna a little, back when he was Yuji’s age. Some things never change, it seems. Lady Otagi’s heart used to beat a little faster when she saw him, too.

And of course, in these times of forced, traumatic solitude, you thought of revenge. You’re a fifteen year-old, hardly the most mature person you know, and the face of the man who murdered your best friends and countless others was burned into your retinas. Except that wasn’t really true, was it? The image you conjured up was from the memory of a Heian noblewoman a thousand years ago. What Sukuna actually looks like today is Itadori Yuji. And with that alteration, vengeance dies in your throat, replaced by pity. You want to free Yuji about as much as you want to punch Sukuna in his stupid, handsome face.

Yuji, who is also quite handsome and equally stupid, takes a completely different meaning from your words. “People around me get hurt or drop dead,” he protests. “And, really, we barely know each other. We haven’t even been on a single date, besides that time I dragged you along to meet my friends and this girl I knew in junior high—”

“What,” interjects the cursed spirit Yuji called Choso.

Heat floods your cheeks as you lift a hand to stop him. “I like you a lot, Yuji, but God, I did not mean it that way.” This is mortifying. You can hardly look him in the eye. “One, I can take care of myself, so I won’t let you or anyone else hurt me. And two, before you give me this whole spiel about not being you that you’re afraid of, he won’t hurt me either. Or else he already would’ve, when I was smack dab in the middle of his Domain Expansion.”

Yuji’s chin drops to his sternum when you press your palm flat against the center of his chest. When he looks back up at you, there’s a deep, intense pain in his eyes. Nobody your age should ever have to bear it. He squeezes your fingers when you move your hand to weave through his. It almost hurts, but it’s the most human contact you’ve had in ages. You have a feeling it grounds him as much as it does you. “But…”

“Please. This is—it’s my fault too. Or the me from a thousand years ago, anyway.” Yuji makes a noise of puzzlement, and you stroke the back of his hand with your thumb. Chuckling sadly, you sigh. “It’s… kind of a long story. But I know Sukuna pretty well. I don’t think it would be too conceited of me to say I’m part of the reason he is the way he is. So it’s my fault. Give me—give me the chance to make this right.”

He doesn’t fully get it, but he doesn’t stay hung up on the confusion. Making it right is something he wants for himself, too, it seems. He was always so bright and sunny, yet now his shoulders slump with the weight of the world. Sukuna did this to him. The monster wouldn’t stop ruining everything he touched until he was gone. You know what you have to do.

It wasn’t by chance that Lady Otagi’s soul dwelled on this earth for a millennium. She had been waiting for something. Waiting for you, and waiting for him, to end this once and for all.

You take Yuji into your arms, squeezing him tight against you. You feel his nose press into your crown, and you shut your eyes, inhaling his scent. It’s hardly pleasant, ash and rubble and sweat, but you feel safe nevertheless.

“Yuji?” asks Choso uncertainly. “Little brother?”

Yuji lifts his head from yours, not breaking his hold on you. “She’s coming with us.”

And that’s that.

[darklordazalin]

Azalin Reviews: Darklord Saidra d'Honaire

Domain: Dementlieu Domain Formation: Not specified (707 BC old sources) Power level:💀💀💀 ⚫⚫ Sources: Van Ricthen’s Guide to Ravenloft (5e)

I wrote of the original Darklord of Dementliue, Dominic d'Honaire last week. In the good doctor’s latest guide, the Domain of Dementlieu has maintained it’s love of decadence masking the truth with virtually every citizen maintaining the lie that they are more than they appear to be. Saidra D’Honaire, the new Darklord, being the grand duchess of delusion.

Saidra grew up on a small farm with her father who claimed he was exiled from his rightful place as a Duke by his younger brother. Saidra threw herself fully into this fancy. She bullied other children into entertaining her, declaring it her right because of her ���superior” birth. These children must have been of a timid nature to put of with that nonsense.

Saidra’s father remarried a successful merchant who already had two daughters of her own. This new found family scorned Saidra and her fantasies and treated her like a servant despite the family’s wealth. Saidra’s father must have been absent or dense or both as he did nothing about this.

When a nearby Duke died and when she asked if it was her father’s wicked brother, her father finally told her the truth. He was the Duke’s servant and fled after he was caught trying to steal from him. Saidra was unable to face reality and prayed over her mother’s grave for guidance. What she got was a grandmother type appearing seemingly out of nowhere who granted her jewels and attire so she could attend the masquerade ball for the new Duke’s coronation.

It is never wise to accept magical gifts from unknown individuals. I think all of us Darklords can agree that they rarely give such things for free and typically have a malevolent purpose. Though, from the start, Saidra did not hold much to logic and realism, so it is no surprise that she accepted these gifts without question.

At the ball the glamour that surrounded her captured the Duke’s attentions and Saidra’s original plan of murdering him to claim what was hers was quickly replaced with the idea of marrying him. I’m curious to hear how she planned on murdering him in front of an entire ballroom of people and claiming his title without complaint seeing as she only brought a single blade with her…

None of these vague plans mattered in the end, because at midnight a plague overtook the guests and killed them all. As some do upon their inevitable deaths (trust me, I’ve seen it enough to know), the Duke confessed that the true Duke had no legitimate children and he was actually the son of a common servant who fled the household after an attempted theft. Realizing that this man she had contemplated marrying moments ago was not an actual Duke and was her brother, disgusted Saidra so she killed him with her blade before the plague did.

I would guess that this plague was part of Saidra’s untold deal with the “grandmotherly” figure who granted her “wish” earlier that evening. The plague claimed Saidra as well and when she awoke she was an undead wraith bound to the Domain of Dementlieu.

She is now the Duchess she always dreamed of being, but in her undead condition, cannot enjoy many of the decadence and delicacies that title grants her. To blend in with mortal society, she must wear a mask, which resulted in her hosting a masquerade ball once every 7 days. There she delights in unmasking those she deems unworthy or trying to disguise themselves as being above their alloted station all the while fearing her own exposure.

When not holding her little, pointless parties, Saidra stalks the streets as a wraith cloaked in a crimson shadow. Her people refer to this form of hers as the Red Death.

Saidra is a regular wraith in an elaborate mask who can occasionally cast one power spell (Disintegration) at pretenders. A woman forever clinging to a fantasy when the life on a farm is just as noble if not more so in many cases. The fact that she kills her subjects regularly at her parties without consequence (yet anyway), indicates she has sufficient control over her people. Still, a brave group of individuals could easily confront and expose her and I would wager that none of her subjects would interfere.

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

it’s wild that people on tumblr have apparently forgot that misogyny hurts men too like i've seen people start using misandry again for what ten years ago would be recognised as toxic masculinity and misogyny in turn harming men. like tbh though I’ve also seen a lot of that with other bigotry. I’ve seen people refuse to consider how ableism hurts neurotypical and able bodied people, or how transphobia effects gender nonconforming cis people, or how homophobia hurts straight allo people, and that’s stuff that used to be talked about more.

i'd guess it’s bc people have gotten more aware that centring the issue around a group that’s harmed because they refuse to participate in the system instead of the targets of said system is subconsciously perpetuating that system. and like yeah men are not the main victims of the patriarchy, fucking obviously. but also like… it’s not like the privilege men get is like. special treatment. it’s the opposite- women get treated specifically worse than men, the patriarchy does not exist to build men up, solely to put women down. and that does, on a societal level, help men. they are safer and have more opportunities by default. but that’s not because they’re protected- it’s because women are targeted. they’re not receiving more than they should have, they’re receiving what every human being should have by default.

and a system that denigrates women doesn’t care if it gets men caught in the crossfire. because it’s not about protecting all men, it’s about power. the patriarchy, heteronormativity, all that? it’s not something natural and innate, it’s a system of oppression set up to justify keeping certain groups downtrodden. misogyny doesn’t exist because of anything specific to women they didn’t do anything to cause it. it’s something designed to marginalise and oppress a group, but it’s not designed to actually uplift men, outside of giving them an easy target to blame and see themselves as superior to. because that also keeps them complacent and complicit. bigotry is a political weapon. and it’s one that doesn’t care about friendly fire.

and like! the fact people are unaware of this is concerning! bc now we've got people out here who legitimately think that the reason toxic masculinity exists is bc of misandry, instead of it stemming from the same place as misogyny and in fact an important facet of it. we're making bigotry like an innate unmutable thing that’s directed with surgical precision, but it’s not. it’s not natural, it’s not biological, and it’s not efficient. and thinking that way only plays into the propaganda that bigotry is inevitable and natural when it is a societal construct we made up and that there’s power and benefits in bigotry, when it is designed to tear down the marginalised, and any uplifting of the privileged is a distant second. it’s not some malevolent impossible force, and nor is it something satisfying or enriching.

[melanieathene]

Suptober 2023 Day 7 - Black Cat

You might think life as a witch's familiar is an easy one. A roof over my head, a place to sleep and a belly full of food in exchange for helping focus their power. Oh, and maybe the sacrifice of a claw clipping. Or a tuft of hair. Or a few drops of blood. Even a pulled whisker or two – ouch! That one hurts.

But it's not all lazing in the sunlight and yowling at the moon. There's a lot less to purr about than you might think. And what's a feline to do if hunters come after your witch and slay her? Well, it's back to the streets with you then – and if being a black cat labels you as being bad luck, well, that's too bad for you.

Not that my witch-bitch didn't deserve to die. She was evil personified. She hurt a lot of people – innocent people – and she cast a lot of malevolent spells. So it was inevitable that hunters would eventually find and end her.

But not before she had time to cast one final spell...

A curse. A love curse at that. Honestly, was that the best she could do? I can think of a dozen better options, but I guessed she panicked.

I will spare you a list of the ingredients that went into the spell. They make me queasy, and I'm not the picky type. Suffice to say, it was a noxious brew. The tall hunter who came up behind my mistress (and killed her), avoided being enchanted. But the other two – the pretty one (according to her) and the angel – caught the worst of it right in the (excuse the expression) puss.

There was a moment, a brief moment, when I thought the spell wasn't going to work. But then they started making goo-goo eyes at each other. Handsome's hands reached out to grab the angel and pull him in close. I found it hard to tell if they were kissing or trying to devour each other.

The tall hunter figured it out before I did. He muttered something that sounded like, “finally!” followed by, “I'll just wait outside.”

He ran from the room as if Satan himself was on his heels. I sat and watched the increasingly enthusiastic lovers for a while, but their x-rated antics soon became more than I could bear. I joined the tall hunter outside, where he leaned against a sleek beauty as black as my fur.

“Hello, kitty,” he said as I sauntered over, and he squatted down to pet me. I allowed it. A good decision. His clever fingers found all the places I most like being stroked.

Moans and the sound of furniture crashing to the floor echoed from within the cottage.

“How long do you think they'll be?”

I purred in reply as he hit a particularly sensitive spot.

I wish I could have told him the spell typically only lasts an hour. Unless the victims happen to be secretly in love. The effects never totally go away in that case.

But I'm a cat and I can't talk. And I had new accommodations to locate. Something different this time, hopefully. A nice little family. A warm place by the fire. A bowl of milk now and then...

No more damned witches for me!

[tinycoded360]

JoJo's big adventure Chapter 8

 Kirk nodded at Sulu and Chekov, who took positions beside the door. With a united push, the hatch groaned open. Fortunately, they had found two more victims, giving them these leads to this location. And after Joanna had identified the perp in custody, all they needed was just a little more evidence and, hopefully, a clue on how to reverse the shrinking process. The culprit refused to talk, claiming he had nothing to do with it. Checkov had made sure Joanna had made it back to the enterprise and to the waiting hands of her father. She was most relieved to see the other kids her size. She was useful in calming them down and letting them know they were in good hands. Literally. 

"Phasers on stun," Kirk ordered, descending first into the inky abyss. "We may not be alone."

They crept forward, eyes flitting nervously over strange devices that hung from the ceiling or protruded from the walls. Each instrument was an enigma, its functions obscured by the alien technology and the kidnapper's malevolent intent. Kirk turned his head as Spock and Dr. Mccoy entered next. Mccoy finally had settled the tiny kids down, including his daughter. His medical staff was keeping an eye on them.

"Spock, any thoughts on what these devices could be used for?" Kirk asked, casting a sidelong glance at his first officer.

"Insufficient data, Captain," Spock replied, his voice betraying none of the apprehension that had settled in the guts of his human companions. "However, it would be logical to assume they relate to the criminal's methodology in shrinking his victims."

The narrow corridor opened into a room that struck them all with a chilling silence. Rows upon rows of shelves lined the walls, each home to a collection of still and lifelike figures. Perfect action figures. There were figures from all walks of life. From Vulcans to Klingons. They would say they were the most life-like dolls they’ve ever seen if they didn't know better. But they knew better.

"Jim," Mccoy choked out, his voice a roughened whisper, "look at this."

Kirk approached the nearest shelf, running a hand over the small figures. Their glassy eyes stared back, unseeing, frozen mid-motion as if caught in the act of living when the kidnapper snatched it away. It was preserved in some sort of resin. Kirk picked up one, an Andorian female. It was the strangest thing; it felt soft to the touch but without the warmth of life.  The limbs are easily manipulated. But they didn’t flop around like a dead body would. Making Kirk wonder if the kidnapper did some sort of modification to make them posable. Like added wire or some sort of taxidermy technique. Kirk gently set the figure down and left the small figure alone; he felt gross for messing with a corpse.

The most disturbing thing of all is that this kidnapper……no serial killer, had no set preference. There were figures of all ages, genders, and species. Kirk felt sick and angry as he spied a smaller figure than the rest. It was a human boy, from the size compared to the other figures, and the baby was fat still on his cheeks. Kick would guess the boy was no older than six. Kirk felt his anger boil; he wanted to punch the one responsible.

"Each one... a victim," Spock observed, his calm demeanor starkly contrasting to the horror that gripped McCoy's heart.

"Tiny people," McCoy said, his voice cracking. He reached out tentatively as if to touch one of the miniature figures before retracting his hand quickly. "He turned them into... into playthings." Mccoy felt like he could throw up, this would have been Joanna fate, if she hadn’t gotten away and found him.

"Jim," McCoy said, his voice thick with emotion, "we have to find and put this monster away for good. We can't let there be any more victims like these."

Kirk's jaw tightened, and he nodded sharply, the set of his shoulders broadcasting both his anger at the injustice and his resolve. "We will, Bones. I swear it."

Ever the pragmatist, Spock had already moved on to the task at hand, examining the devices scattered throughout the room. "Captain, Doctor, I believe these instruments are part of the process used to... shrink the individuals."

"Advanced knowledge used for barbaric purposes," Kirk muttered, moving to join Spock. He picked up a stack of papers, scanning their contents for anything that might lead them to the kidnapper.

"Anything?" McCoy asked, peering over Kirk's shoulder.

"Log entries," Kirk replied, flipping through the pages. "It's a record of abductions. Dates, species, locations..." His brow furrowed. "But no names, no motive."

"Purely functional," Spock observed, his eyes not leaving the device he was inspecting. "But this could be enough to tie him to the abductions and murders. This evidence will be enough."

“This is good! We have the evidence, and we can figure out how this technology works.” Kirk patted Mccoy on the back. “We’ll get Joanna back to normal in no time and will put this monster away for good.” 

[palaceofimperium]

ARCH & SEAMUS #2

“So it has begun?”  Seamus was leaned up against the doorframe to Arch’s lab, a brow raised, with his arms crossed over his chest, causing the shoulders of his finely tailored suit coat to pucker slightly.

Arch looked up from the potion he was in the process of gathering the ingredients for to pin the demon with a stare that would have caused lesser males to wither.  “You’ve heard, I take it?  Do we have a leak in the Palace?”  A dark brown brow of his own rose, letting more light play off of his light blue eyes.  Eyes that remained trained on the stately silver haired demon as he pushed off of the wood frame to saunter into the room more fully.

“Not unless you consider Arioch a leak, dear friend.  He knows I consider those within dear to me, and thought that reinforcements might be needed in the coming days should Damien decide to mount an offensive to get his daughter and her fiance’ back.” A smirk formed on Seamus’ lips as he watched Arch’s eyes roll.

As much as the demon of revenge and the mage played at not liking one another much, Seamus knew the truth that they were friends behind the scenes.  Sometimes subterfuge was required to keep the enemy guessing.  Since Arch believed that they had enemies within the Palace, that meant hiding the truth from all but those he considered closest to him.  He considered himself honored to be amongst those the mage considered a good friend, and therefore knew reality.

“No.  I do appreciate him advising you of the situation.  I assume you have also heard about the visitor who arrived last eve?” Arch now stood erect and turned to make the two of them tea.  “It was the most exciting of days.  I am hoping we have some calm for a stretch, but I fear that is not within the plans of the fates and destiny, old friend.”

“I have heard.  A most unusual circumstance, indeed.”  Seamus replied as he rested one hip against the heavy wooden workbench Arch had previously been working at.  “I have also been advised that the newest immortal in Imperium’s companion is to be avoided, lest I set him aflame.”  He grinned, slightly malevolently.

Arch chuckled, “I’m surprised that Abriella hasn’t gagged him and hog tied him in a closet after his behavior. She often surprises me with the amount of restraint that she possesses.  He is just lucky that he faced her and not Cruz regarding the whole matter I believe.”  Pouring the water over the leaves he had macerated, and leaving them to steep, he turned to face his friend and his expression went from slightly amused to more serious.  “This is where the darkness becomes stronger.  The shadows will become long and the pain within the palace more acute.  I wish I could change it, Seamus, but all I can do is stand back and watch. My frustration is growing, but at least working with Olly and the new human, Amaya, will keep me distracted.”  

“I also heard rumor that the Prince that Ms. Gail had spoken of having been found.” It seemed that things never did slow down in the Palace. Sometimes he wondered how Abriella kept her sanity, but then again she was the Horseman of Death.  Was she truly sane?  There were questions.

Now Arch was surprised.  This was news to him, but then in the last 24 hours both he and Olly had been rather focused on Amaya.  If other things had been transpiring in the Palace or elsewhere, they would not have caught his attention unless someone brought them to him specifically.  “I was unaware of that, but something told me he might show up when she disappeared from Earth.  He appeared in her dreams, after all, and dream walkers cannot enter the dreams of those in Imperium. I wonder how Abriella will handle that.  If he is truly a Prince of another realm, this could get very interesting.  ” 

“Abriella is meeting with him now topside.  I have a feeling they will be returning for the tests to begin shortly.”  Seamus knew that this fulfilled more of what Arch had foreseen, and it seemed to trouble his friend as much as it did him.  The darkening of his friend’s countenance said as much.

“You know what comes next.  What will happen, and what it then leads to.  I cannot stop it, Seamus.  I cannot even warn those it is going to happen to.  I am powerless to intervene lest the Fates take action against me.”  The weight of it all seemed to make the tall mage slump some. He could do nothing but mitigate as much of the damage as he could and protect those who were not involved in what was coming….and what was coming was dark….

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[bekoobove]

FNAF Ruin Theory: The ending was a trick...but not by who you think! (Spoilers)

I am sick and tired of this Gregory slander. The poor kid just did what he had to, no matter the cost...of course, I'm referring to his actions in the base game. I don't have to justify anything he did in the DLC, particularly any elevator-related shenanigans, because that wasn't Gregory. That's obviously been a popular theory, with most people guessing the Mimic interrupted Gregory's communication and crashed the elevator. But that's not true either. The truth is, Gregory never contacted us at all, and the Mimic was not the second Gregory. Who was it, then?

It was the one other individual in the basement with us.

It was the one individual who's been trying to kill us all game.

It was the one individual who would do anything to keep the Mimic trapped.

The M.X.E.S. system. Shut down, cut off from all its usual methods- guarding the nodes, deploying animatronics- it faked a communication from Gregory. It's spent so long in the Pizzaplex systems, it would have more than enough footage of Gregory to cobble together a fake communication if it needed to. With the Mimic freed from its concrete prison, it needed to crash its only way out- the elevator. That's why it led Cassie to it, rather than just allowing the Mimic to kill her. It may not have been able to raise the elevator on its own, but perhaps it had just enough power over the Pizzaplex systems to cause a malfunction?

Technically, this could apply to Gregory. He might use the same logic my M.X.E.S. does in this theory- using Cassie to crash the elevator. However, there's one key detail- Gregory's timing is far too convenient. He contacts us soon as M.X.E.S. is sealed away, and the Mimic is freed. And really, what are the odds his signal could reach so far underground, especially so clearly?

The best part about this is what it sets up. The classic story of FNAF is the malevolent animatronic versus the courageous security guard doing everything to contain them. Cassie, the real Gregory (once he inevitably arrives to save her), and their animatronic allies are caught in the middle of the battle between the Mimic and M.X.E.S., pawns in their game...