#he's just..; I think he's a god. a divine being that got distorted- there's something off about him. he doesn't seem like your normal perso

[yuseirra]

Analysis on Kamiki

Organized further notes on the Ame-no-Uzume and Sarutahiko myth

Happy new year! I brought something new(yet again) on this guy... as first thing of the year, wow. Something about him really bugs me I guess. But I came up with something that can explain what he is and I've been expressing a lot about that. I have to understand what the subject is before I could build something upon it and create fanwork so, please take these as a struggle to do it o<-<

From what I've concluded, he's a character that definitely cannot be understood fully without understanding Japanese mythology. It's been fun doing some research about it and since I'm not an expert and it's all self-conducted, I can be off, but I think I've done all right. I've done cross-checks and looked into multiple resources, official documents, and websites so; I did a lot; to make sense of something that doesn't seem to.

well, here goes!: If you like the character or seek a better understanding of him, I think this may help!

Doesn't it feel like something about how things unfold around Kamiki is deeply unusual?

The people who make his life difficult—or maybe it's more accurate to say those who hurt him—seem to either die or end up miserable. But it’s unclear whether this is something within Kamiki’s control or if it happens regardless of his intent. There’s no clear cause-and-effect relationship. Moreover, people around him, including the protagonist, seem to become extreme in their behavior. Even Nino didn’t seem to be in her right mind—almost as though she were possessed. She doesn't seem sane.

Kamiki himself, however, behaves relatively normally: he warns Yura to watch her step, urges Nino to turn herself in, asks Ryosuke to deliver flowers, cries to Uehara about what happened to him, and tells Aqua to go back and live a normal life. But the outcomes of these actions spiral into bizarre consequences: Yura dies, Nino tries to stab Ruby, Ryosuke harms Ai, Uehara ends up in a murder-suicide with his wife, and Aqua decides to drown Kamiki along with himself, culminating in that tragic ending.

To me, the only person who seemed relatively unaffected while staying by Kamiki's side was Ai. The two of them appeared genuinely happy together, which might explain why Kamiki struggles to let go of her. Maybe it’s because he was truly happy during that time. When Ai was with him, he believed he could overcome anything. But even their relationship took an unexpected turn when the twins were conceived, and they eventually separated.

Sarutahiko, the husband of Ame-no-Uzume (the goddess of entertainment), is described as “a god who guides everything toward goodness.” This is how a shrine dedicated to the two deities refers to him. When I read that, I felt like there was something significant about it.

If such a god operates this way, wouldn’t it stand to reason that if the god fell into corruption or was broken, they’d become the opposite—a god who guides everything toward evil?

Something about Kamiki is genuinely strange. Can his actions be interpreted as intentional? If so, when did it start? From what point?; Yet, it seems like he possesses some kind of ability to guide or lead others in a particular direction—without physically doing anything himself. This would explain why he can claim, “I didn’t do anything.”

From the songs, it seems Kamiki didn’t realize he's capable of doing this before Ai’s death. There are two songs about wanting to meet or revive the dead. In “Mephisto,” the narrator claims to have forgotten who they are, and I think this narrator is Kamiki. This isn’t Aqua, as Aqua knows exactly who he is—a reincarnated person—and struggles to live as just Aqua the boy. On the other hand, Kamiki seems to have been something else without realizing it until later.

Both “Fatal” and “Mephisto” appear to be Kamiki’s songs. They likely symbolize Kamiki’s realization that he is Sarutahiko, the god of light and guidance, and that Ai was once his partner when he was in his divine form. The lyrics suggest he’ll do whatever it takes to bring Ai back, even sacrificing his own life. This aligns with Kamiki’s lines and motivations, which differ from Aqua, who expresses a desire to live.

As for Kamiki’s claim about sending flowers, I don’t think he was lying. The events in chapter 154 were too strange, leading me to suspect from the beginning that his intention was simply to send flowers and that things spiraled out of control from there. Chapter 160 confirms this idea—the explanation aligns well with his character and prior context. When considering Kamiki, Nino, and Ryosuke’s mutual acquaintance, it makes no sense for Kamiki to ask Ryosuke to threaten Ai. He's the boyfriend of a member of her idol group, who is also a fan of Ai. Why choose someone with that sort of connection to go and attack Ai? Could he have suspected such a thing? Instead, I believe Kamiki trusted Ryosuke enough to make such a request, after having befriended him for a few years, expecting him to deliver the flowers as intended.

Kamiki’s innate nature seems to be gentle and kind, but excessively naive. He tends to believe others’ words at face value, struggles to discern good from evil, and harbors a desire to do what’s “right” or “approved by others.” However, due to the lack of proper guidance, his judgment is severely flawed. Ai seemed to recognize this and often acted as his advocate, standing up for him.

Statements like “Carry the burden of the dead” and “You are empty, so no one will ever love you” were internalized by Kamiki without question. His problem isn’t malice—it’s excessive naivety and emptiness, combined with a tendency to trust others too readily. When things go wrong, he blames himself and spirals into self-punishment.

To me, it seems that he truly blamed himself for the issues he caused when he parted ways with Ai and tortured himself over it. Afterward, due to his timid nature, it makes sense that he only tried to send flowers. That’s the most natural progression, given his personality, which is why I can’t believe that he ever intended to harm Ai.

If he really is the incarnation of the god who was the husband of Ame-no-Uzume, then he is the god of guiding paths and should be a god who leads others, right? He’s supposed to push people toward good decisions or guide them to a “better future.”

However, the environment he grew up in wasn’t good, so he probably didn’t know what the “right path” was. That’s where the confusion started. This is why Ai’s request regarding him strikes significant: if Kamiki ever lost his way, she wanted him to find it together with her and her kids. Ai had, to some extent, played the role of his guide, as there were no proper adults around Kamiki. But Ai also had a lot on her plate to handle, and she ultimately judged that it would be better to leave him to reduce his burden, so she parted ways. In the end, Kamiki—still lost and unable to recover as a god of guidance who had lost his way—spiraled after Uehara’s death and fell into despair, becoming corrupted and unable to recover. From that point on, it seems that he started to twist the fates of those around him.

I think much of this happened as a passive. His small actions seem to have caused butterfly effects, continuously leading everything in unhappy, extreme, and strange directions. People who got involved with him ended up becoming unfortunate. That's because he's the god of guidance that deals with people's futures, but is severely flawed.

He likely didn’t realize until Ai’s death what kind of power he had, but at some point afterward, he became aware and probably started using the “black star” consciously. The charisma to sway others or the ability to deceive them may be an expression of the power of Sarutahiko, the god he incarnates. It seems he shared that power with his children. The ability to influence others aligns strongly with the god’s ability to lead people’s futures. The power of love represented by the “white star” comes from Ai. The god who loves humans unconditionally is Ame-no-Uzume—Ai—and the god who loves absurdity and irrationality is Sarutahiko—Kamiki.

Tsukuyomi says the entertainment world isn’t her domain, and in Shinto, the gods of entertainment are the couple Ame-no-Uzume and Sarutahiko. The Aratate Shrine that appears in the story worships these two gods together, granting wishes. Kamiki talks about wishes several times, and that’s because he’s been fulfilling them himself. But as I said earlier, because he’s not in a good state, it’s like a monkey’s paw—people get what they wish for, but in a twisted way.

It must be true that he has paternal love. He was likely helping his children in his own way, but his self-loathing and guilt over Ai’s death kept him from stepping forward to meet them. In the end, doesn’t he go to see them? That’s probably because his goal was nearly achieved, and he planned to die soon. Before that, he might’ve wanted to grant each of the twins their wishes once. That's what he does when he meets them, he mentions wishes and bids them luck. Why else would he have gone to see them? He didn’t have to. And yet, he encouraged them. He was kind, wasn’t he? Did he try to kill Ruby? I don’t know... omg. Well, about that, he neither confirmed nor denied it. Apart from that eerie smile from hell, maybe he considered it, but in the end, he didn’t do it, right?

As for whether he used his ability to manipulate Nino to try into harming Ruby (but then, would he have calmly watched her performance?? That doesn’t make sense. If he had intended to harm Ruby in such a way, he wouldn’t have watched her performance so intently. He would’ve thought something went wrong and executed a backup plan or something. And would he have told Aqua to continue watching Ruby’s idol journey if he planned to kill her??); or if he genuinely meant it when he told Nino that they should stop and was sincerely planning to die or turn himself in, only for his powers to unintentionally cause something similar to what happened to Ai... I actually think it’s the latter. Logically, the latter aligns more with his previous statements and actions.

Seeing this situation unfold, Aqua likely concluded that no matter Kamiki’s intentions, the only way to protect “Ruby’s future” was to eliminate him quickly. That’s why Aqua made such an extreme choice.

Kamiki seems to be a kind of calamity just by being alive. He has the ability to influence the future, but it seems to push people in an unfavorable direction. In Mephisto, it felt like he wasn’t aware of this aspect of himself, but by Fatal, with all the talk of "corruption" and "stars," it seems he had become conscious of it. Comparing the two songs (Mephisto → Fatal), you can see how the emotional tone grows increasingly extreme and unhinged. Both songs express genuine sadness and longing, but the way those feelings are enveloped shifts. By Fatal, it’s as if he’s reached a point where he can’t see anything clearly anymore.

From that point—or possibly earlier—it seems like Kamiki became the kind of person who could commit countless transgressions just to see Ai again, using his abilities while minimizing his own accountability. That’s likely why Aqua calls him selfish and despicable: because his actions stem from his desire to see Ai. Kamiki himself acknowledges his sins, so this interpretation seems accurate.

But if he does possess this ability, it’s hard to tell how much of the outcomes fall within the scope of his intentions. It doesn’t seem like he wants to kill people—it feels more like an unintended consequence. For instance, the deaths of others don’t seem to be something he wished for, as he continually blames himself, saying, "It’s my fault, it’s my fault." It seems like the process goes: he wants to feel closer to Ai → he retrieves the light (star) associated with Ai → those who possess that light end up dying. This chain of events is likely why these tragedies keep happening, and why he has to pay the price for his actions.

Is he evil? If you look at the results, he certainly appears extremely so. But if we’re talking about his nature… it feels like his state deteriorated to the point where, had someone helped him regain clarity, this outcome might have been avoided. And the only person in the world who could have helped him was Ai. That’s why he continues to search for her.

If Kamiki really is a god, Ai would indeed be his one and only precious partner. They were originally meant to function together. Even if we leave that aside, it doesn’t seem like there was anyone else who treated him properly. That’s why he longs for Ai.

Looking at his interactions with Aqua, it seems that what happened between Kamiki and Aqua was the result of Kamiki interpreting Aqua’s wish and making it come true. Aqua wished to take revenge on him, and as a result, Kamiki was completely destroyed socially. But the process was so devastatingly catastrophic that even Kamiki himself was taken aback, pleading, "Don’t do this." It feels like he was betrayed by the very wish he granted.

As for Ruby, I believe Kamiki also granted her wish, but the way it manifested was horribly twisted. She doesn’t seem happy. Her beloved brother died, and yet she shines brighter than anyone by hiding the truth. Is that happiness? Perhaps. But Ruby once said she wouldn’t become like her mother. So, like Aqua’s wish, Ruby’s wish seems to have been granted in a way that was fundamentally flawed. If you look at the lyrics of Fatal, this "lack of Ai" appears to be the key flaw. Without Ai, Kamiki was fundamentally incapable of recovery. But since he believes Ai died because of him, he can’t stop.

The events of Chapter 160 should reflect the truth. When I picked up and became more invested in reading this story back in Chapter 154, I thought, "Something feels off here." Chapter 160 finally addressed that. I believe it’s accurate.

That’s why Ai thought she and her children had to help Kamiki. He didn’t end up in this state by his own will. However, Aqua, after witnessing Kamiki’s collapse and the ripple effects it had on Ruby, judged him to be beyond salvation. Aqua likely concluded, "He has to die; it’s the only way," and acted accordingly.

This might very well have been the "right" decision. Kamiki’s powers seem uncontrollable. A mad god wandering around wreaking havoc can’t be allowed to continue. Perhaps if Ai could return and reassure him—Hey, calm down, I’m alive—it could have resolved things. But by now, he’s committed so many sins that it might truly be too late.

So, if we retrace things, where could we turn back the clock to make everyone happy?

Ai and Kamiki, in my opinion, could have been a happy couple. If they had simply been left alone to live happily, this could have all been avoided.

It feels like the gods came to the human world, suffered greatly, and broke apart. One of them partially recovered, only to die, while the other went mad in the aftermath.

And this manga… if so, essentially tears apart a real-life divine couple that’s known for living happily together. Lol, maybe those gods cursed this comic for having caused them this because I can't picture an ending like this getting an overall pleasant reception...some people may like it, but I don't think the general consensus would be so; I don't like it so much either. The only way I believe it can come together somewhat is through reading over the myths with some extensive research but that's not really something that's explained within the manga itself, thus it can't really be confirmed unless the artists tell so;

Anyhow, the author seems to have a deep appreciation for mythology, in my opinion.

When I first came across Fatal, I felt that the existing narrative hinted at some connections to mythology, so I started delving into the myths surrounding the deities Amaterasu and Ame-no-Uzume that were mentioned in the story.

The narrative between Ai and Kamiki appears, at least to me, to be a modern reinterpretation of how Ame-no-Uzume and Sarutahiko came to meet. As I dug deeper, Kamiki started to align with Sarutahiko in so many ways that it felt implausible to dismiss the connection. Although there aren’t vast records or details on the myth, I managed to find translations of the relevant sections, particularly in the Nihon Shoki.

In the myth, Amaterasu sends her descendant Ninigi down to Earth, and the goddess entertainment, of the performing arts, Ame-no-Uzume, assists him. Upon surveying the land, Ame-no-Uzume spots Sarutahiko, who is shining brilliantly. She approaches him and persuades him to guide her, and Sarutahiko agrees. (Initially, he was obstructing the path because if he agreed to guide them, it meant ceding part of his territory and potentially his position as the sun deity to Amaterasu.) The two fall in love, and he eventually relents.

Doesn't this parallel how Ai thought Kamiki was "like a jewel" when she first saw him? His name is also associated with light, and he ends up guiding Ai—helping her learn acting and supporting her growth. At that time, Kamiki still had the white star, representing his role as a god of righteousness, guiding Ai away from her self-destructive tendencies.

Additionally, in the myth, Ame-no-Uzume serves Sarutahiko a meal to thank him for guiding her (and Amaterasu's grandson). Doesn't this echo the moment when Ai treated Kamiki to a meal as thanks for teaching her acting?

Their relationship grows so deep that Amaterasu’s grandson essentially acts as a matchmaker, and Ame-no-Uzume takes Sarutahiko’s name, leaving the heavens to settle with him on Earth.

Ame-no-Uzume is a celestial deity, while Sarutahiko is an earthly one. Here’s where I started to sense the underlying theme: they belong to different realms. If Ai is a star and Kamiki is a jewel, then even if they are both deities, their origins differ. When they separate, they can't meet again because their realms don’t overlap. Ai ascended to the heavens, and Kamiki, unable to become a star himself, began searching for her out of longing.

In the myth, Ame-no-Uzume and Sarutahiko seem to have connected almost instantly—there are even implications that their bond was formed through physical intimacy right from the start. (This is hinted at in the myth, apparently.) They say they didn’t have an official marriage ceremony, but people generally regard them as married. I found this curious—why not simply state that they were officially wed? And even this mirrors how Ai and Kamiki almost got married but didn’t? Their stories overlap significantly in so many ways, almost too much to be a coincidence.

The descendants of Ame-no-Uzume and Sarutahiko are known for their exceptional dancing skills, a dance for the gods, the Kagura. Doesn’t that remind you of Ruby?

So, as I pieced these parallels together, I was like, “Oh, wow!” And then chapter 162 happened, and I was completely thrown off, thinking, “What is going on with this plot?” Interestingly, Sarutahiko is also associated with misogi—a purification ritual involving water. I remember speculating at some point that Kamiki should just be pushed into water, that he seems really cursed, and later, I found out that there’s a legend about Sarutahiko drowning. That’s when I thought, “This has to be it. This must be the reason the story is unfolding this way.”

If Kamiki truly represents this deity, then he must be a god of virtue who became corrupted. Originally, Sarutahiko is a god who guides people toward the right path, which means he must have been incredibly benevolent by nature.

But Sarutahiko also has a dual nature! He’s said to be the model for the tengu, a Japanese mythical creature known for being either extremely malevolent or extraordinarily kind. This duality makes everything click perfectly!

Honestly, it’s all incredibly fascinating. This part of the story was really fun to piece together.

Ame-no-Uzume and Sarutahiko seemed to have an incredibly harmonious relationship. People even created masks of these two gods to use in festivals, and they would visit shrines dedicated to them to receive blessings for marriage or to hold wedding ceremonies. They also pray for good fortune in love there. Since the two gods are connected to the entertainment industry (though Sarutahiko’s original domain wasn’t entertainment—it seems like he helps out because it’s his wife’s work), they take care of entertainers. As mentioned earlier, they also have the ability to grant wishes together. It seems that this ability only manifests when the two are together.

Also, wasn’t it mentioned that Kamiki’s soul was noble? Sarutahiko is a god with a noble soul. Like many gods associated with light, he is described as just and virtuous. So, is it really entirely his fault that he ended up in such a state? If Ai were still alive, I feel like he never would’ve fallen so far. And if it turns out that he wasn’t even trying to kill Ai—something I genuinely believe—wouldn’t it make the story much clearer if they explicitly addressed that?

If the story is indeed borrowing from mythology, then there should be a message or some thematic consistency, but it feels incomplete or ambiguous, which is frustrating.

I started researching because certain aspects of Kamiki’s characterization felt off to me, and that led me down this path. If this was intentional on the creators’ part, then it’s quite impressive. But why aren’t they clarifying it? Most readers aren’t going to put in this much effort to analyze the story. So, is this not something they considered important? Or am I just overthinking? Still, without interpreting the story this way, I think there are logical gaps that can’t be explained otherwise. That’s why I can’t tie this story together in my mind—it just doesn’t sit right with me.

At the very least, by the end of the story, we need to understand what it’s trying to say. Without that clarity, it’s hard to feel satisfied. Right now, it feels seriously vague, and many people don’t understand it. If that’s the case, it means the story isn’t fully functioning as a narrative.

I don’t think Kamiki being portrayed as an outright villain would make for a good story. The work has already painted his character in shades of ambiguity. If they frame his actions as being motivated by anger over being rejected by Ai, and if that led him to harm her, it wouldn’t be a very meaningful story, in my opinion. Moreover, the flow of the narrative already feels strange. It’s not that I can’t accept that people are capable of such actions, but something about this character doesn’t feel like he would act that way. I had someone address, “Even if Kamiki hurt Ai, why can’t you still support their relationship?” Well, sure, that might be possible, but…hey, the thing is, I don’t think that was actually the case here. It’s not because I want to justify their relationship that I'm denying what's obvious—from what I make out from having read the story, I don’t even think he harmed her in the first place, which is why it feels off, and made me look deeper into it. If I believed he had hurt her, I wouldn’t support it. I'm not saying people can't do it, I wouldn't have been so passionate about them, that's all.

Until chapter 154, I had never once drawn that couple—I was just observing. I never expected to get so deeply into this or to end up saying so much about it… sometimes I feel like I shouldn’t have picked up this story—it’s led me down such a challenging path, goodness!! In the end, it’s still unclear, right? Why is that? Why would that be so? Why did they have Kamiki say at the end, “I only intended to send flowers”? I genuinely believe that’s true. That's what I made out of his character even before that was actually addressed in the story! I KNEW it had to happen because that's how he would have acted, according to how he's been depicted!! Based on his personality as depicted in the story, he doesn’t seem like the type to hire someone like Ryosuke to intimidate Ai or harm her. That’s just not how the character was written. There’s no need to portray him that way! So why did they? When you apply the mythology, everything fits together so well, which is why I kept looking into it. But the creators have left it vague and unresolved, making it really frustrating.

I think I'll be able to send them off properly.. have a closure myself after I complete the story I've been writing for these two characters! As much as I like both characters, they've been making me feel so anxious because it was so hard to make a judgment due to the ambiguity. But even though I’ve been filled with anxiety, the reason I kept drawing those two characters was that, in my own way, I had some basis and intuition for doing so.

That is all~ see you all with another comic strip soon, happy new year! :)

[ahmedmootaz]

Personally, I quite dislike the Dante = X/Ayin theory, in part because of how what (admittedly little) we've seen of their past self acts completely different from him and also because it would make the world seem a lot smaller, yknow?

But I would very much like to see him again, this time talking through the light in a similar way to Carmen. He's a man who spent so much of his time devoting himself to some else's dream, what would he think of what it's become, of what *she's* become during all this time?

With the knowledge gained through his time as X, as well as his insights towards his own self from the other A's as well as his guilt from his actions, I feel as if he's more poised towards becoming a guiding light to others, an alternative from Carmen's overwhelming acceptance of one's current self. Especially as Dante has shown a lack of self esteem and prioritises others over themselves, I think it would do them some good to have a conversation or two with Ayin. With some of their abilities seemingly having a connection with the light (like how they can tell monsters, distortions and abnormalities apart as well as being able to hear the voices of distortions) I do think it's a possibility in the future of Limbus' story - though farther from where we are now.

In the Divine Comedia, there is a part wherein Dante becomes aligned with God's love, and given how A and C are basically God in the light, I believe that at one point or another wherein their goals may align, fighting together for or against something or other.

Sorry for rambling, but to summarise: I feel as if Ayin as a character is one better suited to act as a guiding hand in Limbus rather than going through it all as another blank slate. His current status as one in the light allows for him to act as more of a mentor, which I believe suits him better.

Dear Anonymous,

Yeah, I agree that bringing Ayin back through the same 'twist' of LC would be a tad lame, which is why I do think it would be a much, much better way to say that he's in the Light, but at the same time, part of me wonders if his character can be done justice like that.

I mean, we knew enough about Carmen to realise that she's definitely changed from her pre-Light self, but I simply don't feel we've gotten enough of Ayin on screen, and given how Carmen gets a lot more spotlight than he ever does and yet so far in Limbus her presence, while tangible for sure, is quite muted...Eh, I dunno. It could be the Ayin fan within me clamouring for him to get something more than the 15 minutes of screen time the PMverse gives him so far.

Although part of me does think he'd interact with Dante one way or another...maybe with him being the 'funny voice only the main character can hear' trope to some extent. After all, we know Carmen's voice in the Light is a lot more...eldritch, in a way, referring to her victims and Abnormalities as 'children' and pushing people to Distort...it would be funny if Ayin was just very normal, snarky, and wholly unsupportive in comparison.

-"And there it goes. Your chance to get a Golden Bough. You lost it to a circus of madmen and a woman old enough to be your granny."

="Listen man I'm trying here okay?!"

-"Yeah, guess what, I also tried in life and it didn't stop people from trying to tear me a new one. Man up and take the scorn like you're meant to."

="I got some Golden Boughs before you showed up and started talking in my head, you know?!"

-"Yes, and now I'm wondering if those were flukes."

="Why are you like this?"

-"Do you want an alphabetical list or a numerical one?"

Hehe, thank you for sharing your thoughts, Anon! Until next time, be well, take care, and see ya'!

[raxistaicho]

Red Lady turns blue!

Saw a goofy take the other day by our old friend, Strikes:

How could you, Edelgard! :( We trusted yooooooooooou...

Luckily, they're all in picture format, so there's no real argument to debunk here, just a bunch of attempted gotchas.

"EdeIgard would have stopped Nemesis! She would have hated him!"

Honestly I'm not sure if I've ever heard that one spoken like that? It's not usually something that comes up unless one of her detractors is trying to argue she's like him, thinks he's a hero, or would join him.

Anyways,

Uhm? How dare Edelgard get confused when Nemesis is described in a way she hasn't ever heard before?

The funny thing is I use this exact quote as a debunk of the common claim that Edelgard got her history of Fodlan from the Agarthans, because if that theory is true, holy shit is Thales ever careless, revealing the truth to her like this.

Rhea: (Conceals the truth of what happened between her and Nemesis.)

Edelcrits: How dare Bad Red Lady incorrectly describe what happened between Rhea and Nemesis!

This isn't even her praising Nemesis, it's just her pointing out how both Byleth and Nemesis wielded the Sword of the Creator and stand against the Nabateans, the ones who would distort history, which Rhea and Seteth both worked to do.

"EdeIgard didn't want to kill Rhea! She just wanted her to surrender, Rhea forced her hand!"

Watch, this is gonna be "Edelgard says mean things!" while totally ignoring Edelgard's actions.

Edelgard thinks - and she's proven right - that Rhea would never surrender and accept a peaceful resolution to their conflict.

And here we get to mean things. Edelgard's dramatic.

How dare Edelgard be glad that she won and can now begin the long work of reforming Fodlan.

How dare Edelgard acknowledge that she must fight her enemies in battle.

"EdeIgard isn't racist! She just hates Rhea for what she's done!"

Oh this one's totally gonna be mean things.

Humanity, as in, not gods.

Racism is when you want to end a false religion and return freedom to the people.

So here's a funny thing: the localization botched the meaning of this line (shocker).

Here, she's not speaking from her own perspective, she's describing the conflict between Nemesis and Seiros:

(Source)

Also the bit about "masquerading as a human" was a creation of the localization. Thank you, treehouse.

(and featuring our guest star, Hubert!)

Oh Hubert, not you too :(

Who's next, Dorothea? Is she gonna admit to having been in a church choir and not the opera at all!? How deep does it goooooo

Fuck I don't even know where this is from :I

(Does some digging)

Okay so Treehouse kinda screwed up some of the verbage here. It's not so much that they made it inaccurate as they made it unclear - and Strikes is cutting out context, go fucking figure.

So Hubert's accusing the Church of Seiros of hypocrisy, of saying one thing and doing another. In the original JP, Byleth can reply,

Sometimes you must tell others to do what you yourself can’t do

Or,

You’re right

To the first, Hubert replies,

That is true, Professor. However, that is a principle for humans.

And to the second,

Yes, although humans must sometimes preach things they cannot do…

He then follows with,

It is not a principle for inhuman beings, with lifespans much longer than that of humans. That’s why we chose to fight based on human principles.

From this, he's saying the Nabateans have no excuse for committing the same foibles that humans do because they're immortal beings who should know and do better. This is in keeping with the start of that bit, where he says,

If it is between love and hate, then I would choose the latter. The goddess failed to properly govern this world. That is why it is necessary for Lady Edelgard to become the supreme leader of Fódlan.

Or, to summarize it, his whole argument is, "The gods have failed to be godly, so humanity must take responsibility in their stead."

Which is completely true. Rhea, despite her attachment to the divine, is prone to the same failures as the humans she lives over and should know better than, being a millennia old. She's untrusting, obsessed with reclaiming the past, stubborn, inflexible, and prone to excessive negative reactions to any sign of pushback.

(Source)

I'm glad Strikes brought that up, that was legitimately interesting!

"EdeIgard started her war for the people!"

Oh no, she's not gonna reveal that she did everything for Bellerophon, is she?

This is nearly five years after she began the war, and after the Church of Seiros and the Kingdom have made it plain that a peaceful ending is not in the cards, but okay.

It's like they think we don't understand she intends to bring all of Fodlan under her banner. Yeah, she is, for the sake of reforming all Fodlan and not just the Empire.

"EdeIgard tries to spare everyone she faces!"

Watch we're gonna see Judith! We're gonna see Judith, guys! Strikes loves bringing up Judith!

Mean things again. This one's even worse given Edelgard also expresses a desire not to kill Rhea and tries to offer her a surrender.

Eeeeeyyyyyy, it's Judith!

We've been over this one. Judith didn't surrender, she was trying to retreat.

"Won't somebody please think of the generals :("

"The grunts can fuck off though"

Edelgard knows what Faerghus's culture is like, and she knows peace is impossible while Dimitri lives and wants to keep fighting her. Dimitri might be naive enough to think he can just make peace with Edelgard at the end of AM, but she's a little more worldly than him.

"CF is about fighting fate!"

This has kinda already gotten long enough, but it's just a set of points where Edelgard talks about her "fate". Again, Edelgard's dramatic. She also chose this path for herself.

So, in conclusion, you're off the hook this time, Edelgard (and Hubert), but I'll be keeping an eye on you. Don't you betray us now, not after four years :(

[miquellah]

fhdg sending this because I have been rotating it around in my mind and you seem like maybe someone who might enjoy to Also think about it. OBVIOUSLY Mohg was always a Blood Cult guy. He got divine wisdom and such from the formless mother and found his calling. We don't really get any clear vision for what the differences in his dynasty are pre- and post-miquella but my personal take is that I think a lot of his stuff would've been Escalated by Miquella's charm (and in some fashion even just distorting his bond to the formless mother).

Mohg had his whole plans clearly before Miquella showed up, but then the charm made him go "well clearly now Miquella is a key factor for this" and suddenly Mohg is trying SO SO HARD to raise Miquella to divinity, pouring cursed blood into the cocoon endlessly in hopes that eventually it'll Take.

Personally I'm very interested in what Mohg's plans woulda been like pre-Miquella. Since either he woulda needed someone else or he coulda potentially been angling for a system without the God/Lord dynamic at all.

Yes yes! All of this us more or less all of my same thinking. I was always under the impression that TFM was the one who first prompted mohg into utilizing miquella, but i can’t exactly recall if that was ever something said outright or just originally implied… regardless, that swerve of miquella’s charm being the guiding aspect instead still fits

I wonder if miquella’s charm inherently has you line up with his own goals in mind, or if it just alters you enough entirely to be endeared to him in some way or another? Because mohg always 100% seemed assured things would be gone his way, and the idea of a dynasty still lines up with something he’d surely want from the start. But MIQUELLA was apparently keen on following through with his plan at the gate, sooo…

We also don’t have much actually known of what the bloodfiend’s goals were, either, at least far as i know. But it’s possible TFM doesn’t even have any world-ruling goals of her own, or at least not where they were concerned— a more traditional, continuous god-worship, or existing more or less like an organism. She craves wounds, she gets wounds. That’s it!

Anyway lmao this is definitely all more of what i mean about “you really can just do what you want”. There’s so many open factors, so little actually concretely known, the True parts of the story are your oyster!!! At least especially where mohg and miquella are concerned

[ganymedesclock]

Others write about Hollow Knight, you've got a way of making things make sense. Thank you for explaining about arena control with THK and Radi. Today's question: how many dream realms do you think exist? Radi is always called old Light, not Dream. In your read, does "expanse of dream,' 'one realm' 'the green children walked from dream' indicate that there are more than two dream realms out there? Also, WTF is up with that giant mushroom in the fungal core?

As best as I can tell from the lore, the feeling I get is less that there's a finite and discrete number of "realms" as much as that Radiance is a god of dreams, in the way that someone might be a god of war but not personally and singularly causing every single war.

The Seer mentions that Essence is fragments of dream, which she also calls old memories. This also ties in with what we understand of the ghosts- they appear to be echoes or memories of specific people. If Radiance had an actual ownership of dreams/cognition, then she'd have no reason to mind control anybody; she wouldn't be the antagonist, she'd be the setting. A more solid evidence of this is that since the White Palace is itself a very sealed dream, it seems to suggest PK fully expected to be able to hide from Radiance in a dream realm.

(That, or he didn’t care if she caught up to him at this point, but she clearly didn’t get in; the only possible ‘intruding’ element in the White Palace is void from the kingsmoulds)

I think the domain of Dream seems to be a godly context, and Radiance having immense power there is in part because she seems to be an immensely powerful god- one aligned more strongly with her divinity than she is with any sort of mortal or quasi-mortal reality. We can know what PK is- he’s the modified adult form of some kind of giant wasteland-dwelling sandworm dragon. While he’s also a god, he has some kind of context. People can talk about the “ancient caste” and speak of wyrms categorically.

We can’t really know what Radiance is. She is barely spoken of, and when she is, only as herself, the Old Light. The Hunter’s Journal entry for her even describes her in extremely minimalist and absolute terms, and has the Hunter himself musing that he may never be able to understand the force that causes the plague.

Was Radiance ordinary once- or as close to ordinary as PK was, and presumably WL, that sprouted out of this “god-rich” land as Godseeker puts it? Or is she just that much stranger than everything around her? She’s immersed in the domain of dream, of memories and belief. The fact that a whole tier of kickstarter backers isn’t just slid into the game, but recorded in the Shrine of Believers inside a pocket dream realm of its own gives some fascinating metatextual implications. Not that I think Radiance has a direct connection to the “real world” besides being a character in a game- but that the pattern repeated is something about belief and communication and the way things can become distorted as they echo through this space.

To answer your question, I think that dream is the medium through which virtually all of the gods that we encounter and many powerful beings work their power; it’s very omnipresent. Grimm has a special relationship with it, but basically there seem to be emanating/light gods, that generate some kind of dream, and consuming/dark gods that draw extant/ambient dream to themselves, and then both parties are gods because they can then use those dreams to shape reality.

If Radiance’s relationship with dream is unique, it seems to be a layered topic in that she has some amount of an innate special relationship with it, but also, that she is a tyrant of it- that she wants to take all of it for herself and wither any other dream that encroaches on ‘her’ territory.

[saphirered]

Hey! You asked for individual character requests, so how about Vex x Reader (I thought I’d give you a break from EXU as well), where the reader has a massive crush on Vex, but is unfortunately really scared of Trinket? And maybe something about Vex helping them to relax and bond? Thanks regardless! I love your writing x

Thanks for requesting! This was definitely a fun one to write so I hope you enjoy! 😘

-

You may or may not like Vex. Okay, maybe a but more than just like, closer to a major crush but how could you not? Vex’s intelligent, quick-witted, drop dead gorgeous and don’t even get started on the woman’s charm or you might just swoon. Gods above, you’ve fallen for the half-elf hard. The worst part; you know she likes you too. She’s stated so several times, flirting with you more than anyone else and not just to get something from you. She’s not shy about it and takes every opportunity she can get to make you blush. It’s great, or would be great were it not for your very reasonable fear for big hulking bears and Vex just happens to call one such bear her closest of buddies if not closer to a fur baby.

You’re not sure what to do. Trinket, you know, is nothing short of lovely but you cannot get over your fears no matter how much you may like Vex. You’ve kept your distance and retreated within your shell every time the big grizzly is around. Bears are scary. Sharp claws and teeth, super strong. They can climb, swim and run. They’re great trackers too so there’s really no getting away from them.

“Darling, do you have a moment?” You’re seated at the table scribbling away on some paperwork you needed to take care of. Someone has to assure there’s any food and drink left after Grog has one of his solo exclusive parties again. They’re not really parties and only consist of him inviting Scanlan and Vax for a night of binging food and ale until the sun comes up but you’re always out of groceries right after.

Vex peaks around the corner leaning on the doorpost arms crossed. You put down your pen and nod. Vex nods her own head to the hallways behind her and you get the message getting up and following her to wherever she’s leading you. There’s a determination in her step but she tries to cover everything else which leaves you worried just a bit. What’s she up to?

“Vex, where are we going?” You fall in line next to her as you begin to ascend the stairs.

“Don’t worry, darling. I’ve found the perfect sight I think you might enjoy and simply wouldn’t want you to miss out before the weather changes. I’d like to discuss some things with you too so, two birds one stone?” Okay that does sound like a reasonable explanation. Maybe almost a little too reasonable now you think of it. You continue walking until you’re stopped in front of a door, Vex opens it and allows you to step in.

Immediately you see the late afternoon sun shine through the clouds, casting rays of golden light upon the landscape contrasting with the darkened grey of the rain ahead. It’s an absolutely beautiful sight. You enter the room walking up to the window as Vex steps in and closes the door behind her. You hear a grumble and a soft but forceful ‘shh’ behind you.

“Just my stomach. I’m afraid I haven’t had lunch yet. Would you like to enjoy some with me?” You turn around at the offer, seeing the table to the side set with lunch for two and a huge plate of fresh fish. A brown grizzly tries to nibble on the tail of one fish in an attempt to pull it off the plates without his momma noticing and is quickly scolded.

“Trinket! What did I say! Stay hidden!” Vex scolds the bear as you squeal making a break for the door but Vex is quicker and grabs you by the arms stroking your shoulders in a calming motion as Trinket growls in shame, for disappointing Vex and being tempted by the delicious fish.

“Let me go, Vex.” You almost beg and Vex offers you a sad smile.

“I’m afraid I can’t just yet. I wanted to ease you into this but as we’re a bit short on time, we’ll have to take this route. Now calm down, just breathe, in and out. That’s it.” You do as she says, Vex guiding you and preventing a mental breakdown of being face to face with your fear in an enclosed space. Her presence makes it a little better knowing she at least is able to control Trinket to an extend and you know he won’t attack you outright but doesn’t get rid of the fear.

“Now, are you alright to sit down or am I going to have to tie you up to prevent you from running? I’m not opposed to the latter but I think we’d both prefer better circumstances.” Vex jokes, or half jokes. You know her well enough for that. You nod and she guides you over to the table, sitting you down on one chair while taking the other next to you, rubbing circles in your back to keep some nerves at bay as trinket makes himself comfortable, laying down, eyes closed but occasionally peaking, pretending to be asleep, much akin to a young child having been told to go to bed.

“Shall we eat?” Vex gestures to the set table and you have to admit the food does look divine, maybe minus the plate of fish though. You look between her and Trinket. You can do this. You’ve been in the same space as Trinket plenty of times before. Granted, those times the spaces were much bigger and there were several people between you and the bear at all times.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I could do with some food.” Your voice shakes but Vex smiles anyway. Small steps are better than none at all. She half expected you to have made a break for the window. She took all the precautions and ‘fear-proofed’ the room just in case. Awkwardly you’re eating and if Vex has learned one thing from animals is they don’t eat when they really mistrust the company, so people can’t be much different right? Vex attempts small talk asking you about your day and such and while you replied you always keep an eye on Trinket not so successfully pretending to be a sleep even mustering a fake snore.

Halfway through Vex keeps staring at you absentmindedly playing with her food leaning her chin upon her enclosed fist. She’s got plenty of ideas running through her head but all are circumstantial. Maybe she’ll go for a hail Mary.

“Darling, do you trust me?” The question makes you look at her confused. Have you done anything to show that you don’t? You don’t think so.

“Of course I do. You’ve saved my life more than I can count. I trust you more than anyone.” You admit a bit wary of where this is going but it’s Vex and what you said is true.

“Could you close your eyes for me?” You look between her and Trinket biting your lip. You do trust Vex but within your own head a battle between that love and trust for her and your fear for the big fuzzy animal rages on. What are you supposed to do?

Vex sees your struggle and gets up from her seat. She gracefully walks around the table making sure your eyes stay focussed on her and kneels down in front of you. Taking both of your hands in hers she squeezes them softly and gives you a gentle comforting smile.

“I want you to know your trust is not misplaced so I’ll give you this.” Vex takes the necklace from her neck and puts it around yours.

“Now I want this back when we leave this room but for now you’re in control of it. Will you close your eyes for me?” She asks once more. Her expression says enough to let you know if you don’t want this you don’t have to and literally anything but closing your eyes will show her you’re not ready yet and that would be okay. There’s no shame in taking small steps or finding a different approach. She’d come to terms with that too but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t relieved and happy when you nodded and closed your eyes.

Darkness. That’s all you see, and the occasional movement of light outside bleeding through distorting that darkness from time to time. You’re hyper focused on your other senses and you’re unsure wether that be because of closing one sense off or because you’re practically shaking with fear awaiting for that fight or flight reaction to kick in. You smell the sweet fruit from your plate, the gentle kick of the fermented grape juice, and of course the slight saltiness of fresh fish. You hear a grumbled moan and the sound of paws-no sharp nails hitting the fine stone floor step by step almost drowned out by the soft whispers of encouragement of Vex.

Trinket, as quietly and carefully as he can makes his way over to you. Vex shushes him a couple of times and the bear loyalty obeys the commands, laying down at your side. Vex takes one of your hands and you jump a little when she does so she turns to rubbing circles in the back of it as she guides your hand away from your lap towards Trinket.

“You’re doing great.” Vex can feel the gentle shake of your hand but you don’t resist so very slowly she guides you towards Trinket until your fingers touch his fur. You breathe in sharply holding your breath upon contact and freeze up, waiting for something to happen, be that a sharp claw slashing out at you, teeth munching down on you, a roar in your face but none of these come. Even Trinket awaits in suspense for your responses, his bear senses giving him enough insight in your discomfort.

Once you’ve gotten a moment to adjust Vex takes her hand off yours watching both you and Trinket. You don’t dare open your eyes yet but in the back of your mind you hear words of encouragement. You’re doing great. You got this and before you know it your fingers glide, all be it a little rigid and awkwardly, through Trinket’s fur.

“Perfect, darling. You’re doing absolutely wonderful.” You nod afraid to speak and break the spell you definitely must be under with this newfound courage.

Vex couldn’t be more proud of you. When you walked in here she wasn’t even sure she could have you be in the same room as Trinket for more than ten minutes and now you’re petting the bear. She watches as you slowly peak through one eye and when you deem the coast clear open the other too watching in amazement.

“He’s so soft…” You breathe barely audible and Vex laughs. Trinket grumbles at the compliment making you pull away your hand and jump a little but when no repercussion comes you put it back and continue petting the bear, who begins purring softly almost akin to an oversized cat. You can still feel your heartbeat in your throat but this is going relatively okay until you begin seeing spots and you start feeling dizzy. Vex notices and pulls your hand away from Trinket offering you your glass.

“Maybe that’s enough for now? We’ll take it easy.” You nod and feel the nerves subside as Trinket returns to his comfy spot by the window. It may be best not to push your luck and drive yourself into a panic attack.

“Don’t worry, darling. Before you know it we’ll have you riding into battle on Trinket’s back. Won’t you like that Trinket?” She shouts over her shoulder to the bear who replies in a happy moan. Vex pours you another glass of wine after she watches the colour drain from your face. Let’s stick to small steps. But for now, the first ones have been taken. Besides, she can’t deny you’ll look absolutely marvellous riding into battle on her favourite Trinket.

[nanayoungishere]

Play It Cool (Part Six)

You woke up to find the love of your life’s face inches away from you.

His arm wrapped around your waist, his legs entangled with yours. His breathing mixing with your breaths, brushing across your face, your eyelids. His fingers intertwined with yours. You could feel the warmth of his skin.

You didn’t punch him in the face this time, but it was a near thing.

Instead, you just stared into his sleeping, peaceful face and tried to keep your shit together.

Calm the fuck down, Y/N. You’re just sleeping in the same bed, it’s not like you had sex --

Wait.

DID you have sex?

You froze.

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck --

DID YOU HAVE SEX?!

Because -- because if you did --

Then --

Then --

Then you must’ve forgotten it because you can’t fucking remember a thing.

You can’t remember!

You smacked yourself in the face --

though lightly and without moving much because you really, really didn’t want to wake him because he looked so fucking cute when he was asleep and you didn’t want to miss it ever ever ever EVER

-- but the memories wouldn’t come back to you. You just remembered being tired and Honey carrying you and s-setting you on the bed and --

And --

Did you seriously forget?! How could you forget something like that?!?

You could feel your heart jackhammering in your chest. Your face growing hot, your body trembling.

fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck how could you forget something so important so amazing so wonderful fuck it must’ve felt good fuck he must’ve looked good fuck maybe you can ask him again but wouldn’t that be weird fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

It took you an embarrassingly long amount of time before you realized both you and Honey were fully clothed.

Aaaaand you were blushing again. Great. As if you hadn’t spent the whole day doing that already.

Honestly, you were happy he was asleep. If he saw you being a total fucking dumbass again, you’d have to throw yourself into traffic to escape the shame of it all.

You wrestled yourself from your embarrassment and shame to stare at his face some more.

God he was so perfect. You had never seen something so perfect in your life. How could he stand being so perfect all the time?

Slowly, hesitatingly, you touched his face. Traced his smooth lips, his flawless skin, his beautiful eyelashes.

It felt like you were touching something divine, sacred. Something you had no right to touch but were selfishly doing so anyway. It felt illegal, being with him, because --

Well. Come on.

Just look at you. You were a blushing mess of a person. Barely able to string two sentences together.

He snuggled into your hand, causing you to squeak.

So adorable.

It was like he was part cat or something. Which was great, because cats were now your favorite animal, right after snakes.

Like, he purred before. Actually purred. You felt the vibrations on your palm, could hear the sound through the semi-noisy diner. It happened; it was real.

Was that something he did on purpose? Was it an instinctive thing? Both?

I love it either way.

You loved him so much. Did you mention that? Because you did.

You wouldn’t know what to do without him, now that he’s entered your life. The thought of never seeing him again was --

Terrifying. Actually terrifying.

You wouldn’t know what to do if he left. Or worse, if he left you for someone else.

Because why wouldn't he? a terrible voice in your head said. You were a mess. You’ve been freaking out all day today. You punched him in the face for trying to wake you up.

Would it be so surprising if he left you? If he found someone else?

The thought of it made your body go cold. Every fluffy, warm feeling in your gut turned to ice.

The thought of someone else being with him --

of someone else laying with him, of someone else laughing with him, of someone else snuggling with him, of someone else loving him, of someone else getting those adoring looks, touching that pretty face, seeing it day after day after day while you just looked on

You were on top of him before you could think about it. Straddling his waist, hands on either side of his head. Staring down at him, at the way he whimpered and grasped for warmth.

You cradled his face in one hand, a part of your heart melting at how relaxed he got from your touch.

But the rest of your heart was filled with a bubbling, hot emotion. One you felt all too often when you dealt with annoying customers, or heard another one of Lucy’s excuses.

But hotter, more intense, more all consuming. It filled your mind until you could feel yourself shaking from it, feel your face distorting from it.

The rage and hatred took hold of you, and it was only by focusing on his face that you could keep yourself grounded.

You couldn’t let him go.

Ever.

Not even if he wanted to.

Because the idea of a world without him --

A world without him in your arms --

Wasn’t a world worth living in.

So you needed to keep him by your side. By any means necessary.

You saw something flicker out of the corner of your eye. You glanced up and found that your movements disturbed something, causing it to fall from the headboard.

Rope.

Your eyes zeroed in on it. And an idea came to mind.

Do it.

You reached down. Felt the roughness against your fingers.

There was so much rope. A part of you wondered why he had so much, but you could barely think about it. Not when Honey slept on, completely unaware. Defenseless and unable to escape.

The perfect opportunity.

Do it.

He didn’t have any roommates. His neighbors barely talked. They wouldn’t notice.

You sat up, the rope clutched in your hands.

Do it.

You could support him, you know you could. You supported yourself and Lucy for months. And with such a small apartment, the rent couldn’t possibly be that much.

You were more than happy to take extra shifts. To drop out of college if you had to.

Do it.

But his job -- would they notice? Would they care if he suddenly didn’t show up?

No.

Jobs didn’t care about their employees. You doubted that any job could see him for the perfect, beautiful being he truly was. They probably thought of him as just another worker, someone they could use without a thought.

There were bags underneath his eyes. You didn’t notice before -- how could you not notice?! -- but they looked old. Like he went nights and nights without sleep. Like he had been worked to near death.

You clenched your jaw. You’d be doing him a favor, taking him away from all that stress and pressure.

Do it.

He never mentioned family. Or friends. Maybe he didn’t have any?

Or maybe he didn’t get along with them. Maybe they were on bad terms. Maybe they all betrayed him and that was why he asked you out. Because he was lonely. Because he wanted to be with someone. Because he wanted someone to care about him.

But you cared. You cared so fucking much that it was driving you crazy, that it was making you consider --

Do it.

Maybe no one would miss him. Maybe no one would notice. Maybe… you could have him all to yourself.

Do it.

You pulled the rope taunt. It felt tough, hard to break. And the headboard, it looked metallic underneath the paint.

And Honey, he was so skinny. He looked so light, so fragile. You doubted he could break free, no matter how much he struggled.

Do it.

You pulled the blankets down and touched his wrists. Felt how boney they were, how weak.

Did he even eat today? You didn’t give him a chance to, since you fucking passed out. How hungry was he?

You would have to fix him something later. After you made sure he could never leave you.

Ever.

Do it.

Slowly, carefully, you pulled them over his head. Kept a careful eye on his face to see if he was waking up. You brought the rope over and --

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

You jolted, smacking your wrist against the headboard with a metallic thunk.

Sonofa--

Your eyes watered as you held in a curse. Cradling your wrist to your chest and --

You felt him move, just slightly, underneath you. You blinked, your eyes snapped to his face, panic choking your throat.

His eyes were wide open. Staring at you.

FUUUUUUUUUUUUU--

(Previous)

(Next)

[adhduck]

Oh Well, I Guess We’re Gonna Pretend

AO3

(Major spoilers for rqg 207)

Wilde is at a party with all his loved ones, and everything in his life is finally falling into place.

He’s also unconscious on the floor of the world’s last safehouse, and something is coming for him.

--

“Come on, Oscar, dance with us.”

Wilde blinks, realizes Hamid is standing in front of him with his hand outstretched; probably a symbolic gesture, considering he’d be hard-pressed to pull someone double his height.

Smiling, Wilde sets his half-empty champagne flute on the table. “Of course. Care to join, Zolf?”

Zolf, who’s slouching in the next seat with his long, worn coat tucked around him in a fabulous display of I am not a party person, scoffs fondly. “Absolutely not. ‘Sides, it’s yer party, Wilde, not mine.”

“It’s our party,” Wilde says with mock offense, putting a hand on his chest. ���Didn’t you hear my toast?”

“Half of it, maybe.”

Wilde rolls his eyes, but relents and squeezes Zolf’s shoulder; presses down a smile when Zolf catches his hand for a second and pats it. “I’ll get you to have fun one day, Zolf, mark my words.” He’s rewarded with a gruff little mumble, and then Hamid tugs on his coattail to pull him away.

[Cel is still reeling from the shock of electricity when they see it. It’s large, with a body that could be humanoid if not for the oversized head, how its body seems not to take up space but distort it. If not for the six-foot swords it has instead of arms.

Instinct kicking in, Cel pulls two bombs from their pockets and throws them in rapid succession. Even with their hands trembling a little – they always do, the first few moments of combat – Cel know each one is perfectly weighted and near perfectly aimed.

The creature doesn’t even flinch.

It only takes a moment to process what that means – limited bombs, a 5% chance of hitting at best, almost a third of their own health taken in one hit – before Cel abandons the idea of attacking and reaches instead for Hamid. He’s desperately light, clothes singed and hissing; as Cel pulls him to their chest, he curls instinctively into the touch.

“Hang on, little buddy,” they whisper, trying fiercely to sound sure. “You just keep dreaming for now; I’ll keep you safe.”

They just need to get him through the door.]

There are a few people dancing, but the clear stars are Azu and Kiko—partly due to Azu’s shimmering, lightly glowing pink gown, but mostly because of the dance itself. It’s a bright, lively partner dance Wilde hasn’t seen before, where they pull in and out of each other’s embrace with twirls and dips and lots of laughter. It looks equally exhausting and exhilarating.

Azu notices him mid-spin and brightens immediately, waving him over. “Kiko, you mind if I show Wilde the ropes?”

Kiko grins and gracefully steps back, half-bowing in the process. “Yeah, sure. Long as I can watch.”

So Azu works Wilde through the steps, out of sync with the music at first to get them right, then faster as he gains confidence, and soon they, too, are spinning and laughing. “You,” Wilde says when they pause to catch their breath, adjusting the frill around his neck, “are an excellent dance partner, Azu.”

Azu preens a little. “Oh, thank you! Though I doubt I’ve got much competition, knowing Zolf.”

Chuckling, Wilde glances at the man in question to find him looking back, chin in hand and a fond smile tugging at his mouth—for a moment, at least, before he darts his eyes away with flushing cheeks. Wilde’s heart sings.

[Azu looks sharply between her friends – half of them unconscious, all of them wounded – and the advancing creature. It seems completely unconcerned by the weapons being pulled as it wades into the fray, dodging a heavy swing from Zolf without even acknowledging him. The swords protruding from its shoulders are almost as long as she is tall.

We can’t win this, Azu realizes. Not while it’s this strong. Pressing a hand to her chest, where her pendant rests safely beneath the armor, she calls to her goddess with words of love and protection and rage. The divine energy builds in her chest, bringing the dull glow of her armor to a bright shine; she throws her hand outwards, flinging the energy with it in all directions, and there—at last, the creature hesitates. It stops as suddenly as if caught in a rockslide, making a noise halfway between a groan of pain and the grinding of stuck gears, and Azu starts to feel hopeful.

Then, it raises its blade.]

Azu catches the movement and smiles conspiratorially. “You know, there are gardens out back that are much quieter than in here.”

”Ah, but you forget,” Wilde replies, putting on his best performer voice. “That just guarantees Sasha will be there, hidden amongst the foliage, waiting to strike.”

Giggling a little, Azu says, “The worst you’ll get from her is some rumors about you and Zolf that are actually true.”

Wilde gasps in (mostly) faux horror. “Don’t even say that.”

Azu laughs for real now, a full and surprised thing, and pushes his shoulder lightly. “Go spend time with him, the party will survive without you a while.” Wilde pouts a little at that, and she tips her head toward Hamid; he’s dancing with complete abandon a few feet away, wings half-unfurled and arms raised high in the air as he spins. Already, a few people have been pulled into his orbit, letting their awkward shuffling loosen into something more inelegant, more natural. “We’ve got it covered. Now go, before you start having deadlines again.”

“To be fair, we have an entire holiday between now and then,” Wilde argues—a bit superfluously, considering he’s already moving away.

Zolf greets Wilde’s approach by sitting up in his chair, eyebrows furrowed and hands raised defensively. “If you try to get me to dance, Wilde, I swear to gods—”

“Already learned my lesson with that one, darling.” Zolf’s ears go a little pink, and Wilde is powerless against the urge to lean into it. “Of course, there are plenty of dances we haven’t tried together—”

“Oh, sod off,” Zolf says, kicking Wilde lightly in the shin; his ears are red, though, so he’s already lost the fight.

[Augusta makes no noise as she’s stabbed through the heart; dead before the pain had a chance to wake her. It’s a mercy, perhaps, but one Cel refuses to let happen to anyone else.

The creature shifts, pulling back its bloodied weapon with Hamid as the clear target, and Cel lunges towards the door, clutching Hamid fiercely against them—and is stopped cold as the creature pierces right through Hamid’s chest.

Like Augusta, Hamid doesn’t cry out when he’s stabbed. He doesn’t move, either; not even when the blade is yanked back out with just force it nearly tugs him from Cel’s arms. Panting, they gather him back against their chest, whatever miniscule safety that might entail, and feel for a pulse. It’s there, thank gods, but only just. He might only have seconds left, and there’s nothing they can do.

At the corner of Hamid’s mouth, Cel can see a smile – the kind he might give during the opening toast of a party, now just the shadow of some wonderful dream – and they do not cry, because what fucking good would that do?]

Just to seal the deal, Wilde drops to his knees in front of Zolf’s chair, bringing them almost eye to eye, and flashes his shiniest grin as he teases, “Don’t worry, I know you love it.” He allows a few seconds for Zolf to huff and pointedly not answer, feeling his chest radiate with warmth, then adds, “Anyway, want to get out of here?”

Zolf’s eyebrows raise, then quickly furrow. “What’re you- that was an awful transition line, ya know. Unless you’re tryna seduce me or somethin’, in which case, why.”

“I’m always trying to seduce you, Zolf, it just never works,” Wilde replies easily. “That’s why I enjoy it so much. And anyway, that’s not what I was asking about. There’s apparently a garden out back, and I thought you might want to take a walk with me.”

“Ain’t you got allergies?”

“It’ll be quiet out there. Poetic.”

Zolf considers for a second, looking Wilde over with a slowly forming smile he’s definitely not conscious of, and for a moment there’s nothing else Wilde wants more than this: kneeling in front of the man he loves, basking in his quiet attention, knowing there’s exciting work ahead and time enough to rest before it comes.

[Zolf spins around, ready to level another attack – he hasn’t hit the thing yet, but maybe if he aims a little lower, forces it to turn for him instead – when he sees the blade sliding out of Hamid’s chest. No. Absolutely not. Without checking it’s clear, he rushes forward, dropping the glaive to his side and redirecting that power into the tips of his fingers. He licks his thumb, presses it firmly to Hamid’s forehead, and, with a low note of please humming in the back of his chest, mutters words of hope and determination into the staticky air.

The wound heals almost immediately, closing like a budding flower in reverse to leave a raised, slightly jagged line of scar tissue; the only proof of how close Hamid was to death. His wings flutter, trying to unfurl in the confines of Cel’s arms, and for a moment, he stirs. Zolf and Cel both breathe out in relief, but by the time he opens his eyes, the poison overcomes him again, and he curls back into Cel’s chest with a contented sound, asleep and completely unaware of the danger around him.

Not exactly what I had in mind, Zolf thinks, but there’s no sharpness to it. The poison in the air was strong enough to knock out people twice Hamid’s size, so he can’t imagine how strong it must be on him. And besides: this might not be a fight where all of them – any of them – get out alive. Can he really blame Hamid for wanting to dream instead?]

“All right, Wilde,” Zolf says at last. “Let’s go for a walk.”

The gardens aren’t particularly large, but they use the space well—bright flowers lining the walkway, bushes and trees bunched together to create the illusion of depth and privacy. Beneath the largest tree, there’s a clear spot where the light filters through like sparkles and the roots breach the soil in just the right way to make a sort of alcove.

It’s exactly the sort of place Wilde would’ve yearned to write poetry in as a teenager, so of course he tugs Zolf over to sit down.

“Thought this was a walk,” Zolf says, eyebrows raised, but makes no argument when Wilde lays down with his head in Zolf’s  lap. His fingers quickly find their way into Wilde’s hair, untangling it little by little, and Wilde can’t stop himself from pushing into the touch with a little hum. Thankfully, Zolf just chuckles, scratching lightly at Wilde’s scalp for a moment before continuing.

There’s silence for a few moments, and Wilde idly searches for a pun he can use to fill it; it’s difficult to focus, though, when Zolf is gathering his hair into sections for a braid, those careful fingers brushing occasionally against his temple, his neck, his jaw.

Finally, what Wilde settles for is: “I hope we’re actually allowed out here. I’d hate to go home early because Grizzop took a swing at me again.”

Zolf snorts. “Don’t tempt me. I’ve always wished I had seen that in person.”

“Some partner you are,” Wilde grumbles, trying not to melt when Zolf tucks a few shorter strands of hair behind his ear. “S’posed to defend me, not join the enemy.”

[Zolf does a rapid once-over of Cel to make sure they’re not injured as well. They’re panting and wide-eyed and definitely only not in shock because there’s not time for it, but seem physically all right, which is about as much as he can hope for right now.

He glances to the door of the lab, where Ada and Skraak also seem to be managing okay—and, importantly, where there’s clean air and a door between them and the monster. Grabbing Cel’s arm, Zolf injects as much authority in his voice as he can and orders, “Get in there, close the door, be safe.”

Without waiting for a reply, he sets his glaive on fire and turns back to the fight. They might not all make it out of here – always a risk, in this line of work – but he’ll still do his damndest to make sure at least some of them do.]

There’s no response, save for a suppressed smile and the continuous back-and-forth motion of Zolf’s steady hands. Wilde basks in it for a moment, getting to lay quietly in the grass without even his allergies interrupting them. It brings to mind when he was a child, rolling down muddy hills with his sister and seeing how long the world tiled after they reached the bottom, dazed and laughing.

“She would have loved this party,” he says, brushing a hand through the barely damp grass at his hip. “Isola, I mean.”

“You could’ve brought her, you know,” Zolf replies. “I could’ve- I dunno, watched her, or somethin’. Not like I was doing much anyway.”

Wilde laughs. “She would be terrified of you.”

[Moving has already proven dangerous, so Cel shifts Hamid in their arms and throws him through the door; once he’s safely inside, they swallow their alchemical allocation and pull a previously untouched potion from their jacket. Dragon’s breath—the one they’d been so excited to get after seeing a glimpse of Hamid’s power; the one they’d chattered back and forth about days or maybe months ago, excited to see when Cel might try it out.

“Not leaving you,” Cel says firmly to Zolf’s back, and chugs the potion. Lightning crackles in their body once again, except this time, it feels powerful instead of painful. This time, Cel is going to be helpful instead of helpless. Whatever it takes.]

Zolf snorts. “Oh, so that’s why I haven’t met her yet.”

“Yes, I’m just absolutely terrified you’ll smite her with all your holy rage,” Wilde deadpans, twisting obediently when Zolf taps the side of his head. “Or gods forbid, convert her to hope.”

“Oi,” Zolf says, tugging lightly on Wilde’s hair. “That hope has saved your arse twenty times by now.”

[Azu catches sight of Hamid breathing and nearly crumples with relief. He’s not dead, she didn’t kill him, she might not have to lose someone else—but there’s not time for that, not yet. They have to destroy this thing first, before it hurts anyone else.

She swings her axe as hard as she can, a scream building in her throat as it moans through the air, and – miraculously – it connects. There’s a satisfying thunk, a sharp note of pain; but as she goes to hit it again, it seems not just to dodge, but actively unform and reform around her axe. Learning. Adapting.

In the second it takes for Azu to regain her footing, the monster sinks one of its blades into Sumutnyerl’s chest. The air seems to freeze for a moment, but the strike is lower than it intended, in the stomach rather than the heart, so maybe it isn’t fatal, but Azu doesn’t know. She just doesn’t know.]

Humming noncommittally, Wilde turns his head to look at Zolf, and when he sees the concentration in Zolf’s summer sky eyes, he’s pierced all over again with the force of how much he loves this man—and how much he, in return, is loved. Gods, Zolf is smiling the way he only ever does for a Campbell, and he’s braiding Wilde’s hair as if it’s the most important work his hands have been tasked with, and he looks so utterly, brilliantly happy that Wilde can hardly stand it.

“You alive in there?” Zolf says, tapping him lightly on the cheek.

[There is only one person left unharmed, the horror of the situation made almost a farce by Wilde’s oversized neck ruff and glittering cape. Almost, but not quite, because when the creature turns – body shifting in and out of focus, sword-like arms dripping with the blood of every other being in this corridor – it turns for him.]

Wilde smiles, catching Zolf’s hand before he can pull away. “Yeah,” he murmurs, stupidly fond with it, and rests his lips against Zolf’s knuckles. Zolf’s breath hitches, staring with undisguised awe and quickly reddening cheeks, and Wilde can’t even look at him, he’s so happy. He ducks his head, pushing it against their joined hands; feels Zolf’s warm callouses all the way into his bones. “Thanks to you.”

[There is only one person left.]

“Wilde,” Zolf breathes; a prayer, a promise. Lips press clumsily to his hair, brush his temple as they soak in each other’s presence. “You saved me, too, ya know. So- so many times. I need you, yeah? And I- it- gods, I’m horrible at this, but I just, you’re

[Zolf sees it, this time, when Wilde dies. Sees the sword pierce his chest – right in the heart, a perfect shot – and yank back out with almost careless indifference before the creature turns and does the same thing to Sumutnyerl.

Even dead, Wilde manages to look artistic. His ridiculous cape is flung out beneath him, one arm draped above his head, the barest trace of a smile at the corner of his mouth. He’d been this way after the crash, too, impaled almost a foot off the ground with his limbs dangling and chin flung up to the sky; the perfect semblance of a martyr being raised into heaven. Had he been unconscious then, too? Zolf thinks. Or did he feel the spike go all the way through his chest before he succumbed from the pain?

Doesn’t matter. Zolf had time to mourn when he saved Wilde then; he doesn’t have time now.

Skraak and Ada both attack, but Zolf doesn’t know if the hits land, refuses to process anything that isn’t Wilde and the mere seconds left before he’s gone for good. He throws himself forward, landing hard on his knees beside Wilde’s head, and starts to pray. The magic builds like strong drink in his throat, and he clumsily wipes the blood from Wilde’s mouth as the spell reaches its peak—and is nearly knocked over as the monster deals a crushing blow to his temple.

His vision goes briefly white, blood already dripping down his cheek and jaw, and the magic begins to fizzle away, but he refuses, he refuses. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Zolf presses a hand firmly to the desecration of Wilde’s chest, cradles his cheek with the other. He’s still warm with hope, and Zolf channels that into his prayer, pressing their foreheads together in a way that might’ve been painful, had Wilde been awake to feel it.

Please, he begs the power inside him; begs anyone who’ll listen. Please. Let this be enough to bring him back to me.

The magic bubbles inside Zolf once more, sparkling and bright and warm, and there’s no way to know, really, if it’s enough. It doesn’t matter, of course, because he doesn’t need to know. Because when he presses his mouth to Wilde’s, stroking his cheek and breathing every last ounce of that vital energy into his body, Zolf has hope.

And there, where Zolf’s fingers curl tenderly against Wilde’s neck, new and weak but steady all the same—a pulse.]

 The first thing Wilde registers is breath on his face, warmth in his throat—then pain, all over his body but especially in his chest, gods, what happened? He opens his eyes, hoping to regain his bearings; Zolf is there, face mere inches away from his own, which is a nice start.

Realizing he’s awake, Zolf pulls away, fingertips brushing against Wilde’s cheek as he goes. His other hand is pressed firmly to Wilde’s chest, and there’s blood running freely from a wound at his temple. He looks about to cry.

If Wilde didn’t feel unmoored before, he certainly does now. “Zolf- wh- what-”

In lieu of an answer, Zolf pulls Wilde to his feet. There are flashes of movement to the side, none of which Wilde is capable of processing yet; Zolf grabs his arm, which is easier. He looks resolved, in that urgent way he used to get just before leaving on solo missions; Wilde has just enough time to be scared about that before Zolf pulls him close and says, “Get the others out and be safe.”

Wilde opens his mouth in question, but Zolf’s already shoving him away. He stumbles backwards a few steps, more out of shock than actual force, before losing his balance and landing hard on his elbows just inside the lab. His neck snaps back a little, making his vision swim, but he blinks hard to clear it and now, now, he sees it all. The creature. The dead. The ones left standing.

For just a moment, Wilde catches sight of Zolf’s face before he turns away. His eyes nearly glow, lips parted around gritted teeth, and there is rage in his features like Wilde has never seen before. Then he raises his burning glaive, this idiotic man that Wilde loves so unbearably much, and growls, “Right. It’s yer turn now.”

[oddnub-eye]

The Ceiling of Power

Sakurako had felt scared many times since discovering the supernatural world. She’d even felt true, genuine, honest to god fear. But this…this was something entirely different. She remembered reading about the works of H.P. Lovecraft, how the root of the terror in his works was faced with something so monumentally powerful, so unbeatable, so overwhelming, that it made your presence in the universe feel pointless.

Right now, Sakurako decided that you didn’t need to dream up eldritch gods beyond mortal comprehension to make someone feel that fear.

The Heat Vampire, Count Helion, was something beyond Sakurako’s imagination. With every step he took closer to her, it got harder and harder to see, the heat distorting and warping light itself. Her skin practically begged to be allowed to blister, filling with uncomfortable warmth and letting uncried howls of pain echo in her head. Of course, the vampire wouldn’t allow her to blister. He wouldn’t allow her to die or overheat or be injured. He was here to capture her after all. 

She could faintly hear Tsukitaro groaning in pain nearby. Tsukitaro, a real-honest to goodness demigod, hadn’t been able to do anything in the face of Helion. He’d charged the vampire, swinging his sword at the inhuman speed that stunned Sakurako everytime she saw it…

And Helion had countered his attempts effortlessly. A blast of inky, black fire, sent the demigod flying back, crashing into the concrete. Two more blasts of fire had followed, sending the boy flying farther and farther back, landing harder and harder each time.

“As much as I’d love to make you my dinner, I already promised Kiara’s fledgeling I’d leave you to him. So I tried not to bang you up too much. Don’t wanna make Kyo feel like I made it too easy for him.” Those were Helion’s words after effortlessly defeating Tsukitaro. This vampire - this monster - had near-effortlessly trounced a being with divinity in their very viens. What chance did a mere sorcerer like Sakurako have?

She tried, of course. She threw her shikigami at Helion again and again, from different angles, different tactics, desperately filling it with more and more magical energy. And each time she had to recall it before it could land even a scratch on him.

And now, she had nothing. She sank to her knees and bowed her head, not daring to look defeat in the face. The heat was unbearable as it was, she didn’t need the humiliation making it worse.

“So, you decided to do things the easy way, huh?” Helion asked, standing over her, “I gotta commend you tho, not many people have the balls to actually try and fight me like you did. Most humans just run or beg. And that shikigami was impressive. I can see why the mistress wants a chance to meetcha.”

Sakurako didn’t answer.

Helion sighed, “Listen, I get that this is kinda the worst from your perspective, but don’t shoot the messenger, okay? Maybe try thinking of it as an honor. The strongest vampire in the world wants to meet you personally! Most of the viscounts haven’t even seen her in the flesh.”

Sakurako bit back any words she had.

There was one last dejected sigh from Helion, “Man I hate doing this kinda dirty work, it's always so awkward. At least when I’m hunting for myself I can end things a bit more honorably-”

Whatever gripe Helion would have said next was cut off. Sakurako looked up, seeing a wave of golden fire crashing towards her and Helion. Before Sakurako could move, the wave engulfed her, and all she could do was close her eyes and embrace the -

…She wasn’t dead?

Sakurako opened her eyes to a view of solid gold. Well, not quite solid, but enough that she couldn’t see past the flames. And she felt…warm.

Not the blistering heat she felt earlier. A much cooler, more comfortable warmth. The satisfying comforting feeling you get on a warm summer afternoon or a nice bath. She began to feel…invigorated, as if her magic energy was returning. 

Unfortunately, the blissful feeling passed as the flames receded, but thankfully Helion’s heat didn’t return.

“Man, you sure did quite a number on these rookies ‘demigod hunter’. Even if the dude’s a demigod don’t you think this is a bit below your weight class?” A voice called out, drawing Sakurako’s attention.

The owner of the voice was a young man, perhaps a year or two older than she was. He had dark skin and warm brown eyes - warm enough to almost be orange in color. It reminded Sakurako of fireplaces in all honesty. Dark hair was streaked with red, and a gentle smirk stretched across his face. He dressed simply enough; a souvenir t-shirt from an airport and jeans - both faded and worn - with short boots and a jacket tied around his waist. 

But in spite of that charming appearance, Sakurako couldn’t escape the feeling of power emanating from the man. Instantly, she knew that if he had wanted it, that golden fire would have reduced her to ash as soon as it did heal her. Sakurako knew this feeling. This omnipresent power that filled the air with his presence. She’d thought she’d gotten used to it after so much time with Tsukitaro, but Sakurako knew at once just how wrong she was.

This man was undeniably a demigod. And one in a much, much different league when compared to Tsukitaro.

Helion, for his part, seemed mostly unharmed, but an excited grin spread across his face.

“You’re Arjun, aren’t ya? Son of Agni, right.”

“Yep!” Arjun laughed, taking out a slip of paper from his pocket, “Want a business card?”

“Sure, I’ll take one.” Helion laughed right back, “It’d be a shame to dishonor you before I hunt you.”

“Ah come on, man,” Arjun whined, still smiling, “It's the perfect season to go tour Mount Fuji, can’t we go do that instead.”

“You can go and let me complete my mission. Then maybe I’ll come meet you at Fuji and we can settle things there.”

“No can do buddy.” Arjun shook his head, “Can’t go see something as beautiful as Fuji with something like abandoning someone in need on my conscience.”

“Well then,” Helion’s grin was manic now, all thoughts of Sakurako and Tsukitaro lost, “Then we’ll just have to settle things my way.”

“If that’s how the cookie crumbles.”

Sakurako slowly backed away, inching her way over towards Tsukitaro. She realized she was wrong about Helion. He wasn’t a lovecraftian terror beyond her imagination. He was powerful, but still a vampire nonetheless. He was a knowable, perceivable. 

And that’s why she knew he was light years ahead of every being able to take on.

“Sakurako,” Tsukitaro pulled himself to his feet, “We need to get a move on. I’m sure our fire-type friend over here can take the mirror match.”

Even beaten, that fool still spoke in gaming jargon.

Sakurako nodded, but even as Tsukitaro dragged her away, she turned to look back, seeing the clashes of black and gold flame, the two figures dancing in the firelight.

The young sorcerer realized something important that day. In the supernatural world, there were no unbeatable, unknowable monsters as H.P. Lovecraft envisioned. But the level of power someone - demigod, vampire, sorcerer, whatever - could reach was far beyond anything Sakurako conceived. A level of power whose ceiling felt monstrously out of Sakurako’s reach. On that day, Sakurako got her first true glimpse into the level of power she’d need to be among the apex of the supernatural world…and just how far she was from it.

[magicmanias]

The Wanderer

Episode 2 of Polaris

[per - uh - jee] (n). Astronomy. the point in the orbit of a heavenly body at which it is nearest to the earth

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Summary: A fugitive out of time + interdimensional space travel + a love story. Always on the run, and while Loki might be able to escape the TVA, he always gravitates towards you. Not even bending the fabric of space and time itself can cut his heartstrings.

Occurs after the events of Endgame. Replaces Loki mini-series timeline.

Warnings: You know it’s gonna be angst. You just know. Come on now.

Word Count: 3.0k

A/N: Sorry this took so long! I have exams coming up, so I’ve been having to study for those a lot. Once exams are over at the end of May, you know I’ll be writing like a maniac. Also, the word count will definitely increase as the chapters go along. It's been a bit short, but right now, we're just building traction! And yes… You will come across a part that is vague and opens up more questions about the reader who I have named Goddess Divine.

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“Thank you.” Loki rubs his wrists as the chains fall to the ground. “Where did you learn to do that?”

“You—My husband taught me,” you said. Loki nodded but offered nothing in response. “We need to leave here. I know a way.”

“Hey, hold on.” Loki reached out to grab her wrist, but lowered his hand once he got her attention instead. “We don’t have the Tesseract.”

“There are other ways to leave this planet.”

Loki scoffed. “I don’t think you understand how powerful that thing is.”

You turned fully to face him, craning your neck to meet his eyes. “I know more than you. Trust me. It’s better if you forget about it.”

The children are constantly at the forefront of your thoughts even as you searched for an escape in the caverns under Asgard. Memories of posies in hand and your old, favorite pink dress drew all your attention from the damp halls illuminated by enchanted flame. This place… this time that you’re in was all-too-well ingrained in the core of everything you remembered of your home.

Your calves started to strain and it took you some time until you realized that you’ve been trying to sync your steps with Loki’s, an unconscious effort you would always put in walking alongside your husband. The difference was that his doppleganger didn’t take care to shorten his strides to allow for you to keep up.

“We’ve fallen into a past timeline of yours.” Loki glanced at you over his shoulder. “Those children were you and… your husband.”

“Yes.” You give up on trying to keep up and let him take the lead. “I remember why we were up there. Today was the Perigee.”

Loki was curious. He’d never heard of such a thing. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

You made a confused look on your face, but then immediately understood. “I suppose you don’t observe that in your world.”

“No, I can’t say that we do. Is it a celestial celebration? We only commemorate the coming of the seasons.”

At the end of the hall, you finally arrived at the center of the caverns, a chamber of nine interconnected murals telling the story of creation. You and Loki used to play under these paintings, waiting until Thor would find you at last.

“The Perigee is not of Asgard. It exists on Midgard, the mortal planet, when the moon is at its closest point in orbit to the earth. It happens so often there, but we hold the festival when Asgard, too, is at its closest point with Midgard.”

“That seems a bit arbitrary,” he commented, now gazing at the murals of his father above him. Odin was painted in a beautiful light as he constructed the world. Ymir simply seemed to disappear from the artwork, but the muralist failed to convey that Odin slew the giant and used his body to form the cosmos.

“There is a story behind it, like all great Norse holidays have. It tells the story of Gaea and Máni. A tale of forbidden love. Lofn loves to tell the story for all the children at each festival. She claims that without her, they would never have ended up together,” you laughed, “I remember pulling Loki from his books so we could make it on time.” You giggled at the memory.

“Máni? I haven’t ever heard of him retiring from pulling the moon. And Gaea has been sleeping for eons.”

“Our history is different, perhaps. I do not exist in your Asgard, yes?” You continued to walk, choosing the fourth passage from the left that led to the waterfall beneath the palace.

“No. No, I’m afraid not.” Loki paused in thought as he contemplated your assumption. Surely you must have existed somewhere in his world. “So what was so forbidden of their love?”

“Where I come from, Gaea was truly the first realm to exist, made of the blood and dust from a time even beyond her. In an empty universe, she was lonely, though she was a goddess of life itself. So she collected more dust in the reaches of space and breathed life into Máni. He was born, bright like the stars and light in his heart. He was grateful for life, and in return, he gave her his love… and her children. The mortals. But when they came close to embrace one another, he came too close and scorched the earth, burning her children. Gaea mourned, crying until Midgard flooded with her tears. From the water, the plants regrew and the animals emerged, but still, she missed her children. Máni couldn’t bear to see his love so saddened, so he sacrificed almost all of his power to breathe new life in the mortals. He grew dim and small, no longer so mighty without Gaea’s magic. Now in a realm of eternal darkness, Sol had finally caught up to Máni. She was born with the duty to bring light to the mortals, but Odin also tasked her with the job to separate Gaea and Máni when they became too close. Every day, she shines her light on the earth, but when she goes to rest, Máni returns to see Gaea before Sol wakes up once again to warn Máni. Yet sometimes, Máni can’t help but to come a little bit closer to Gaea—the rising tides his only warning. We call it the Perigee.”

“And what of Lofn? How did she contribute her skills in this forbidden love?”

“Oh yes. Lofn told us that she was the only being to give her consent to their love. The rest of Aesir vehemently rejected the bond. She used to try and match all the children up in the village and she would host all the play weddings. We must have been married by her hundreds of times. She could never resist the idea of the God of Mischief with a maiden Vanir.”

The sound of water crashing down into the abyss grew louder and louder as natural light started to creep into the passage.

“What is your role?”

“My role?”

“Yes, what do you do? What do you reign over?”

“Oh, I’m really no one. I don’t even think the Midgardians are aware of me. My role is quite insignificant compared to the likes of your brother or even the infamous trickster.”

“What is your role, Goddess?” he pushed once more.

“Seidr,” you shrugged, racing your finger along the stone wall.

“I would hardly call that insignificant. The power of prophecy is a force to be reckoned with.”

“I was born with a divine title, but I can’t even perform a healing spell,” you admitted.

“Your husband never taught you?” Loki smirked, the tease hanging loose from his lips.

You frowned. “No, he couldn’t.”

A rumble of footsteps approached and neither you nor Loki hesitated to make a final run towards the end of the tunnel. As you started to gain some speed, you suddenly froze, completely still as a hazy orange light encased you. Loki’s hand glowed green, battling against the force that trapped you, but just as quickly as he tried to free you, he was captured.

The TVA launched you through the exact same process as the first time. Long lines, an infinite number of signatures on documents you didn’t understand, and a maze of doorways. You didn’t see Loki again for a long time. It felt like days, but in a place as distorted as this, you couldn’t keep track of the hours.

Another agent guided you into a holding cell. It looked strange—more like an inn room more than a jail. There was a bed, a tiny washroom, and a square box that showed what looked like a play for children. The characters chattered silently while their simple dialogue was scrawled in the glass. The door opened.

“It appears we’re roommates this time.” Loki strolled into the room and the agent closed the door behind him, the lock clicking in place.

The box flashed and the program changed to the man you had just become acquainted with before your escape. “Well that was fun, wasn’t it? Unfortunately, we will have to keep you here since you didn’t seem to enjoy the more open kind of hospitality we offered you last time. Just until everything is processed. You know how bureaucracy is. I’ll see you in a few.” Mobius winks and the moving picture contraption clicks off with a warm hum.

“Tell me about myself.” You looked up from the book provided by your captors. Loki leaned back in the desk chair with his legs on the table. He fiddled with a glass cup, tossing it in the air and catching it.

You dropped the book in your lap, still open. “I’m sorry?”

“Well you were married to an alternate version of me. He’s lived more life than me. Surely you must have something to tell me that would be of use.” He shrugged, not bothering to drag any more of his attention away from the glass.

You were sure you looked surprised as he followed his answer with, “Am I so different from him? Come on now, he must have been at least half as charming.”

“Oh… He was charming.” You closed the book and placed it on the table next to the bed. The edge of the sheet rubbed between your fingers while you considered what to tell him. “He was my best friend in childhood.”

“Tell me about the children. The younger versions of yourselves on that day. What were you doing?” Loki placed the cup on the desk and crossed one leg over the other.

It was so easy to answer. In all the years, you never forgot that particular celebration. “It was my idea to climb the hill. To pick flowers before we watched the Perigee. Lofn had paired us up for her little wedding ceremony to host in front of the children and I wanted a bouquet… for the morning gift. I didn’t know what they were at the time, but I figured it could be anything.”

“Aren’t morning gifts usually given to the bride? And… in the morning?”

You tossed your head back in calm, tired laughter. “Yes, but that wouldn’t have stopped me anyway. I think I gave them to you after we said ‘I do.’ We were… eight at the time.”

“Goddess Divine…” He kissed her hands. The red skyline fades into purple as the water at the dock darkens below. “Never doubt my love for you. Will you miss me?” said he.

“As much as there are stars in the sky.”

“Always the poet’s tongue,” said he.

“Well, I had some inspiration,” said she.

He looks wearily past the Goddess, but smiles warmly once more. “I’m afraid our time has come to an end, Goddess. I love you.”

“No resurrections this time...” No. It was supposed to happen like this. Thanos. He wasn’t supposed to be here. It’s happening all over again.

“LOKI—”

Warm water tickled your cheeks and then you were enveloped in a pool of water. Your husband’s arms wrapped around your waist as the water climbed the walls of the tub. No, this wasn’t him… It wasn’t him. It wouldn’t ever be him. “Goddess…”

“Let me go! Let me go… I want to go.” You grasp desperately at the edge of the tub, wringing yourself from Loki’s grasp. You fell onto the tile floor of the washroom, your wet clothes heavy on your back.

“Wait, just—” Loki cuts himself short when you stumble into the bathroom doorway and pull the knob to the bedroom.

“Shit—Loki…”

“You need—”

“Don’t tell me what I need! You don’t kn—know.” Your body felt weak. The walls felt like they were closing in on you. No matter how hard you tried, it seemed like you could never get enough air.

“I know being alive is certainly better than suffocating in space.”

“Is it!? I can’t even grieve for him! Be-Be… Be—cause I… Becau—se I ke-keep…” You choked, breaking out into a violent sob. Your legs buckle underneath you, but you managed to catch the ground under your hand. Tears stained the fabric covering your lap as you struggled to breathe in between your bawling, forcing you to hiccup only further fueling your frustration. “Why am I here?”

Loki knelt down and watched as you pulled your knees up to your chest and buried your head in the space between. “Heartbreak is… a sorrow that I am all too familiar with. The feeling of your chest burning and freezing and being crushed all at once. But I didn’t give you a moment to simply… catch your breath after I, admittedly, forced you to escape with me. And I will never understand what it’s like to have to look at the face of your husband every minute of every day, but I do know this…” Loki let out a steady breath. “I will never leave you behind. Ever. Until I am able to fix this mess that I have brought upon you.” Loki lowered himself onto his knees. “That is my vow to you, goddess.”

He placed a hand over yours. It was a small gesture, leaving you wanting more. You tugged on his hand, manually tucking his arm underneath yours. He leaned into your motion, sitting on the floor behind you and pulling you close between his legs. Your eyes pierced him like venom, toxic but more addictive than the sweetest wine. A Goddess Divine.

Loki grew older in recent years, but his eyes had never changed. A sea of chaos and calm. He was there, your husband. Right in front of you, holding you.

“I always liked your eyes,” you murmured. You dragged your finger across the top of his cheek, tracing a line under his eye.

And I, yours.

You slid your finger up and cupped his face in your palm. Your husband. “I love you.”

Your lips swept gently along his; hesitant, yet your hand dragged through his hair, pulling him closer. Loki held still, but made no move to stop you. Your breaths grew harder as you grew more persistent. Even though you knew you would never be able to utter a word about this after, the need for him overcame you. In the sickest of ways, he was your only chance at truly saying goodbye to your husband.

Never doubt my love for you.

Your lips were soft. As irrational as the better part of him knew it was, he couldn’t help but think this felt almost habitual. He knew he should have pushed you away or reminded you of who he was. But when your fingers glided through his hair, Loki lost all sense of what was proper. He leaned into your touch, letting you relax in his lap as you continued to kiss him… eyes clenched shut. Loki wished he could look at your eyes and pretend he was the man you were pretending he was.

“Thank you.”

The agents dragged Loki to a door labeled “INTERROGATION ROOM #603521.”

An agent walked into the room, reviewing several documents attached to a clipboard.. “Do you know why you’re here, Mr. Laufeyson?” She didn’t bother to look up from the papers as she sat down in the seat on the other side of the table.

“Where is she?”

“I’m afraid your questions will have to be saved for the end of this, Mr. Laufeyson. Please comply.”

Loki lifted his head lazily, shifting his legs wide in the metal chair. A grin curled at his lips. He didn’t know how they were going to escape this hell. Running from an infinitely powerful force existing beyond time. It would never end… Was he ready to drag you through eternal hell with him?

Yes.

He would rot in hell for all he cared, but the TVA was no more than a joke—a circus of clowns playing their parts… and he would find you.

“I’m going to burn this place to the ground.”

“Never teleport me again. This is worse than the Bifrost.” You placed a clenched hand to your forehead and winced. The pounding in your head was ceaseless, though you were too cold to be completely tortured by it. The TVA was left in shambles, subjected to Loki’s wrath after he found you freezing in the depths of space. He hadn’t said a word to you since he discovered you, nearly lifeless. The ice burned your skin and your vision was useless for the time being. You could hear the crackles of flame and stone beneath your feet. “Where are we?”

“I don’t know, but we need to heal these burns before they scar.” Loki carefully lifted your hand, examining your wounds. “Are you in pain?”

“I can’t feel anything. Just cold.” You inched your feet closer to the heat of the fire. It wasn’t as painful as you had expected it to be. Dying in space wasn’t such a bad way to go… You only wished Loki had anything else less painful.

He hummed in response. The burns begin to warm. A peculiar feeling tickles your skin and makes its way down your torso.

“Seidr?”

“My mother taught me. I can teach you.”

“What?” Loki placed more wood on the fire. Perhaps Thor’s boyish interests were good for something…

“You need to learn how to use your powers. A seidr goddess is no goddess without seidr.”

“I told you. I don’t have it. I’ve tried. You’ve tried.” Loki didn’t answer, but footsteps fell away from you.

Loki watched the asteroids floating in the foggy atmosphere. Odin once told him stories of how he acquired all his wisdom. Life itself is knowledge, he would say. War, politics, distant planets. They all have something to offer, but there is a place where wisdom flows like water in the roots of the Tree of Life. “The Allfather once traveled to the roots of Yggdrasil to attain knowledge and guide his reign. Perhaps we can go there.”

[hello-im-not-a-possum]

20. Sin

One of the greatest sins is blasphemy and one of the greatest forms of blasphemy is declaring yourself a god in front of your former god. What makes it worse is that Allison and the Ink Demon know for a fact he’s not bluffing, at least, not anymore. (Set in FIFE, the end of the cat and mouse game between Allison and Sammy.)

“I still think you should’ve stayed, Inky.” Allison stated as the cold air bellowed on her face. “If there’s anyone Sammy hates more than Tom... it’s you.”

“That’s WHY I need to come!” The Ink Demon protested from within the large inkwell underneath her arm, completely unaware that the wingless angel was rolling her eyes. “I need to apologize to him! I never got the chance back at the motel, I was too focused on the questions I had for him whenever he was with us, and… and if he didn’t do it already, he might not even survive this. ...Let alone make it back home…”

The strong smells of bleach, citrus, and smoke wafted through the area, only growing stronger the deeper they descended into the ex-prophet’s final destination.

“If he did the ritual already and didn’t survive it, then what would be the point of you coming here?” She dropped the inkwell containing the demon as he grew so heated it burned her skin as soon as the question left her lips. It proceeded to roll a bit and prop itself upright in front of her. “He’ll never forgive you as a corpse, ...but I don’t think he’ll forgive you if we find him alive either.”

“If he’s dead, I’ll still apologize to him, but I’ll also add that I’m sorry for never telling him that while I had the chance.”

As much as she wanted to argue with Inkwell, knowing that the Demon would only aggravate the musician more and turn this already delicate and stressful situation into another “Molotovs at the Motel” incident... 

...The Ink Demon’s presence was the only thing keeping her from passing out from all the blessed bleach dripping down from the ceiling and pooling on the floors.

“Let’s just keep moving,” she sighed. “We have to be close to him by now...”

“At the forking path, take a right turn by the runny and mostly erased ink message that used to say ‘You don’t NEED a prophet when every prophecy you tell is self-fulfilling’. Well %&#@ me with a crucifix...”

“What’s wrong?”

“I still feel him, but he’s getting fainter and fainter as we speak! And I hear the Ink machine running, but it’s not pumping out ink!” The Inkwell flopped down on it’s side and rolled down the halls at an intense speed. “Don’t just stand there, run like #&!!, woman!”

“Sammy, why are you even doing this?” Allison muttered under her breath as she sped down the dripping halls after the Ink Demon.

While the holy liquid intended to erase ink had managed to nibble away at the soles of her boots, and at the sturdy glass of his inkwell, the pair’s race through the musician’s maze rewarded them with a faint song in the distance.

“Don’t weep for me my sheep, as I descend the abyss so deep…”

“Sammy!”

The pair shouted in unison as they chased after it.

“No matter how low... I’ve been cast below the sea, I’ll rise back up, as a Lent Lily...”

Allison scooped up the Ink demon’s inkwell as the bleach spread out more and more, shallowly covering the floor.

“As dreams are burned to ashes, and hope is left to die, I will keep on going onward, I will look up to the skies.”

The smells of bleach and citrus were growing so strong that it made Allison nauseous, her eyes were watering and she felt like she was in a room that was full of thick, unbreathable smoke.

“As sweet citrus boils black and bitter, as the mighty willows wither… There’s no fear that I have no more, I’ve seen it all before.”

The Prophet’s faint voice was getting louder and louder the more they ran.

“Even if I answer, the calling of the earth… I will not sleep for long as I sing the song of rebirth.”

The bleach level began to rise a bit more, but she saw the Ink machine through a doorway.

“So sing your happy songs, and whistle your happy tunes, if you wait for my arrival, I will be there very soon...”

The pair had finally arrived to the ritual site; a gigantic, rounded room with enough bleach on the floor for it to go up to their ankles, a relatively small transmutation circle was painted in the very center of it, the damaged looking ink machine was suspended by chains with it’s nozzle pointed at the circle. But no one besides them was in the small coliseum.

“Sammy?” She looked around the hollow stadium and called out again. “Sammy, where are you?”

She scanned the room once more trying to see if anything moved, and was greeted by a groan from above her head.

Allison jumped back from the splash zone of the wheezing Ink machine, which began pumping out…

...Allison couldn’t tell what the fuck it was pumping out, but she could tell that in spite of its ink-like color, it was not ink, at least, not THE ink she was used to.

A large glob of the stuff oozed out the nozzle and plopped into the ritual circle.

Its texture was chunkier and it smelled absolutely awful. It was mostly coppery, but it also had a sickly strong floral scent and she wouldn’t be surprised if it also had a hint of the bleach smell.

“He… He’s gone!” The Ink Demon’s inkwell shook in her grip. “I can’t feel him at all anymore! HE’S GONE!”

“He can’t be…” She shook her head in disbelief as she examined the pile in the transmutation circle further. “There HAS to be at least something… You heard him too! He’s in here somewhere! There at least has to be either a body or clothes...”

The candles in the circle began to light on their own as the pile began to shift and stir. Allison backed away from it, tightened her grip on Inky’s Inkwell, and slowly drew her sword as she heard music began to play. It wasn’t the intense, fast paced and distorted music she heard almost every other time she and Sammy faced off, this song was different, it was soft and gentle, played with a music box and a banjo, something akin to a lullaby, but the instruments were broken and untuned.

“I still can’t sense him, but I have a gut feeling he’s in that circle...”

“O'r diwedd..!” A bleached white ram’s skull uncovered itself from the pile, it shook itself off and coughed out a huge glob of ‘normal’ thick ink. Lifeless eye sockets peered deeply into Allison’s eyes. “Mae fy siwrnai hir wedi cyrraedd ei diwedd.”

A demon, no. A God, no, not even that, some… thing that was not supposed to exist rose up and out of the pile in the circle, while she could fully comprehend what it was and what it looked like, she felt like she wasn’t supposed to.

Many, many arms, legs, wings, eyes, and mouths emerged out of the dripping, mangled body. The arms looked somewhat human, but none of them looked right; too many joints, not enough joints, too many fingers, not enough fingers, some of them looked ‘healthy’, others looked like they’d be at home on rotting corpses, but all of them were far too long and had too many eyes and mouths. The legs on the other hand looked perfectly normal, but they were sheep legs, not human legs. It made her feel sick just looking at it, it vaguely reminded her of the Ink demon before it redesigned itself into a proper cartoon; an otherworldly being with as much raw power as it had frailty and a body that was warped and unnatural, especially to itself.

She fought the twin urges to bow before it and to put it out of its pitiable existence.

“Sammy…” She backed further away from the being. “What have you done to yourself?!”

“Only what was meant to be done.” The creature spoke calmly and coolly with the voice it had as the prophet, in spite of its body language, it didn’t sound like it was in pain. “What He was too cowardly to do with his own divinity... I will take it upon myself to do it with my own.”

Without warning, it struck the ceiling, dozens of disfigured hands ripping, crushing, and tearing the Ink machine into tiny, useless scraps that the mouths were chewing away at.

“One god down...” If the skull on the beast could express itself, she could tell that it would be grinning, its hands then struck at the Inkwell, prompting her to dodge.

“Two to go.”

[silence-burns]

Please Hate Me //part 36

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Based on: “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine​ Who would have thought that babysitting a god could be so much fun?

Genre: slow-burn, enemies to lovers

The passage of time was a difficult thing to judge by the moonless and sunless sky. There were no clocks in your quarters either, which only made the matter more confusing. 

The adrenaline was still running high in your veins when you focused on finding any traps or hidden passages in the rooms Loki and you had been sent to. Everything felt new and strange, and you still couldn't quite wrap your mind around the fact that you'd successfully left the Earth. 

You wondered if you were the first human to ever walk the Edge.

"Is it night already?" you finally voiced your confusion to Loki, looking over the opposite wall. 

There was not much to inspect in the living room, since it barely contained any furniture. The walls there, for all you could tell, had nothing suspicious about them, except for the remarkable carvings made directly into the stone. They mostly consisted of nature and beings similar to the High Prince you'd already met. The poses seemed mostly symbolic, but it was difficult to guess the meaning behind them without any knowledge of the Edge's culture or history. 

There were some other carvings, too, but you couldn't look at them for too long. There was a strange discomfort when you tried to focus on the details of figures that seemed to have too many eyes or limbs or were shaped in ways flesh should not be able to bend. There was a depth to some of them that made you carefully brush your hand over them to make sure they were actually flat. The only thing you felt then was the chilly cold of the stone under your skin, and nothing close to the drowning depth of the outlines on its surface that seemed to drag you into the void. It was a similar feeling to the dizziness you tried to fight around the Prince. 

"It's the closest thing to night the Edge has," Loki said. He extended his hand over the chimney in the bedroom, using his magic to detect any irregularities. The Edge was not a place that would welcome foreign magic, and it made using it difficult. He felt himself growing tired every time he used it.

"How do you know?" 

"By the light. Violet means night, then it changes to blue around morning, and then shifts into orange near afternoon. As far as I'm concerned, there is no noon or the concept of hours as we know it, but the day lasts for roughly 24 hours, so for my own personal use, I divide it that way."

"But what casts that light?" 

You groaned as you pushed a heavy table out of the way to inspect the floor. You had watched too many movies on Earth to make the mistake of not checking each and every tile. 

"Nothing. The Edge simply… makes it." 

Loki winced, putting his arm down. The chimney seemed to be normal. He had lost track of time too, but a few hours must've passed since your arrival. It was a comforting thought to know the place you were supposed to spend the next few days was a rather safe one, but Loki couldn't shake off the feeling they might've missed something. 

He walked over to the corner you almost finished inspecting. 

"What do you mean?" you asked, glad to have a conversation to fill in the strange silence in the rooms. Even through the large windows, there was no sound of birds, insects or any other living creature on the other side of it. 

Loki leaned on the wall. 

"The Edge is… not entirely made out of matter, as most worlds are supposed to be. Atoms, I think they’re called on Earth. Magic makes up around half of the Edge, and only leaves so much for the matter. It's a unique trait, not seen anywhere else in the known universe. It's a fascinating thing, and there are a lot of theories circulating around about its origins, but that would take too much to properly dive into. To put it simply, the Edge is one of the places where intent shapes reality. Some natural laws that we take for granted might not apply to this place at all. Like the lack of sun or the moon, for example. Or the breaches."

That was certainly an interesting concept to think about in the middle of almost-a-night. 

"Every answer I get only creates more questions," you admitted, finally leaving the floor. The passage of time might have been difficult to measure, but your body was slowly catching up to all the hours it lived through since waking up in the morning on Earth. 

"I've had centuries to study every scrap of information Asgard's libraries held about this place," Loki shrugged apologetically. "I wouldn't outright call it an obsession, but my interest in the Edge was great enough to accompany me during a lot of sleepless nights."

"Don't say it like I'd ever shame you about it. It's good that at least one of us knows vaguely what's going on. I won't be able to catch up on all that, but I have to know more if we actually plan to investigate this murder. I don't think we can treat this case as a typical one."

Loki winced again, crossing his arms. He sat down on the huge bed. "I have no idea what's going on. It took Asgard so long to finally install an ambassador here, and now he's murdered along with a lord? It makes no sense unless someone was fond of yet another war." 

"Would it be so strange? Wars are waged all the time." 

You fell onto the soft mattress next to him with a delighted sigh. The covers were divinely cold under your cheek as you rolled on top of them. 

A small smile played on Loki's lips as he watched you. "That's true, but the Edge has no means of winning it. There is no army here, no one to even draft in one." 

That made you freeze mid-roll. "The Edge is empty?" 

"No, but-" 

"You know what? You look like you're about to give a lengthy explanation, and I can't focus right now because of this bed, so how about I take a quick shower and you tell me about it all during it?" 

"Do you want me to join you?" he asked with mischief in his eyes that made your knees a little more shaky than usual. 

"Maybe later, you naughty god. We'll have all the time we want once you tell me, precisely, how deep of shit we are in right now." 

Your hand patted Loki's arm briefly before you made it towards the large bathing chamber. You left the doors creaked open, so he sat next to them, with his back to the wall. The murmur of running water filled his ears, but he didn't turn. 

A single greenish wil-o'-the-wisp played between his fingers as he recalled the tales he'd read as a kid. 

"The Edge is not an empty place, but it is far from having a society. It's mostly made up of individuals of various races and origins, that have nothing in common except that they live in the various parts of the Edge. The only exceptions are the 'lords' I've already mentioned. They look as the High Prince or the Queen, and dwell around the places of power, like this palace. The names might be confusing, because they certainly are not a ruling party. There is no ruler of the Edge, the lords simply have… a duty to fulfill."

"Which is?" you asked over the sounds of the splashing water. 

"To die." 

The water stopped. "I don't think I heard you right." 

"Their duty is to die, and in doing so, restore the magic-matter balance that is so fragile in this place," Loki explained with his heart heavy. 

The greenish light moved along his fingers, jumping from one to another like a living creature. Even such a simple spell was distorted by the powers raging under the calm surface of the edge of the universe. 

"There are three lords chosen for that purpose - the King, the Queen, and their child. Those are titles, for their names no longer matter once they're chosen. They are the strongest of lords at the time, which makes their connection to the core of the Edge extraordinarily strong. Which is why, when they fade one after another, all the magic and the matter they've been, feeds that core and brings back the balance. Right now, the King is gone, the Queen is fading, and when she's dead, most of the breaches you've seen from the window will be fixed. For the time being, of course. Until another one is needed."

"Does it… have to be them?"

There was uneasiness in your voice that Loki couldn't blame you for. He remembered his own shock when he had discovered the truth all the centuries ago. 

"No," he said. "But because they are the strongest, their connection is the greatest. Many more weaker beings would have to die in order to replace just one. But don't be sad, love. The lords think of it as a great honor and are grateful for restoring the balance to this shattered place. It is not a world, after all. It's just a state of things on the verge of the universe."

"That's… sad." 

"It is." 

Loki put out the little light. It felt off in the violet radiance. 

The water splashed as you washed off the events of the two worlds, so different from each other. Without the words to fill in the silence, Loki had to forcefully steer his mind from conjuring images fitting to what he'd been hearing. 

Loki cleared his throat. With nothing to focus on, his gaze involuntarily kept falling onto the crack you left the door with. It was only there in order to hear him talk, he knew that. 

It was not for lurking. Definitely not. 

Right? 

Overanalyzing every moment of the conversation previous to that, Loki didn't even notice when the sounds changed. He was only brought back to reality by the soft steps and a thrilling sight of two barely covered legs passing right next to him. 

"What?" you shrugged, noticing the look on his face. "I forgot my clothes." 

The pastel blue robe rode further up your thighs as you crouched next to Loki's bag, searching in its depths. You didn't seem to be in a rush. 

"And people say I'm the villain," he shook his head with a smirk he couldn't stop. 

"I've got absolutely no idea what you're talking about." 

"I'm sure you don't," Loki eyed the glistening skin, not yet dried completely. The aroma of whatever oils you'd used teased him every time he breathed your scent in. 

He noticed you staring at him with a smile that told him all he needed to know. 

"I'm going to repay you one day," he promised, standing up from the floor. "Slowly, and meticulously." 

"I hope so. But for today, I think you need to prepare for that lovely murder." 

Loki cursed, walking into the bathroom and closing the doors firmly behind his back. He cursed again under the shower cold enough to rattle even his teeth.

[brasskier]

@badthingshappenbingo​ trope #4!

Trope: Concussion

Summary: Jaskier feels like a detective, albeit a clumsy, scrambled-eggs-for-brains kinda detective. He has two mysteries on his plate at the moment - why is Geralt in a bad mood, and why won't his brain cooperate? (Hint: perhaps it has something to do with hitting his head that morning.)

Read on my ao3 or below the cut:

Jaskier probably should've told Geralt when he slipped and smashed his head into a rock on the riverbank coming back up from his morning bath, or should've at least known it was bad when bright worms of light started squiggling in his peripheral and words suddenly got a lot harder to string together. And maybe he would've, if he wasn't so intent on figuring out why Geralt was in such a piss-poor mood that morning. He felt like a detective - albeit a clumsy, scrambled-eggs-for-brains kinda detective - stringing together clues and occasionally nudging the witcher along with leading questions, at least when he could get his brain, lips, and tongue to all cooperate. 

Unfortunately, Jaskier was doing about as well at solving the mystery of Geralt the extra-grumpy witcher as he was figuring out what was going on in his own skull. It'd happened once when he was a boy, falling out of a twisty, too-tall tree. His father, may he rest in peace, didn't notice until Jaskier, uncharacteristically silent, stared vacantly past him— until that point he'd been more preoccupied scolding him for ruining yet another fine pair of trousers. (His parents paid good money for those things, but he was pretty sure maybe they should've learned by that point and stopped dressing him up in finery before releasing him into the world.) 

Speaking of, he could use a new pair of pants. Maybe once they made it to the next town he could find a seamstress, maybe even invest in a nice new doublet as well. Geralt always pretended he found such purchases frivolous and vain, all huffy and monosyllabic, but Jaskier knew full well it put him in a good mood to have something to tease Jaskier for.

Good mood. Right. He was supposed to be figuring out why he was in a decidedly not good mood. He was supposed to… well, he really didn't know past that. His thoughts flitted about his head like a chicken desperate to escape its coop, and this thought made him giggle to himself, picturing his squishy brain with a beak and feathers squawking about.

"Jaskier?" He glanced up at the witcher that had reclaimed his attention, finding it distinctly difficult to track his movements as he bobbed along on his horse. "Did you listen to a thing I said?" Well, that was a silly question, Jaskier thought, because in order for him to listen, Geralt would've had to have said something. His mind trapped like a stuck cog on how to put this minor incongruence into words, and the witcher glared at him in the space of his tenuous silence. 

"How could I?" He asked finally, head tilted to parallel the uncertainty etched in his tone.

"With your ears," Geralt deadpanned, and Jaskier grimaced under the frustration of his misunderstanding.

"No, that's not— I meant— you didn't—" he attempted to elaborate, but once again found his brain, flighty as a hummingbird, refused to put thoughts to language. Geralt slowed Roach to a halt, and only then did Jaskier realize he'd at some point stopped walking. He wasn't too sure when that happened, but he was sure he had to start again, because Geralt was already in a bad mood and the uneasy threat of abandonment always loomed thick. 

This, in hindsight, might've been a mistake. The trees spun, ground tilting ominously like a ship caught in a storm, and Jaskier staggered with the rhythm of it. This, finally, mercifully, seemed to tip off Geralt and his fancy-schmancy witcher senses that something wasn't right. 

"Jaskier?" He called, and he still sounded decidedly disgruntled. This wasn't good; Jaskier was supposed to be getting him in a better mood, not making things worse. He'd even been quiet for a change (moreso due to his tongue's uncooperativeness than any conscious choice on his part, not that Geralt needed to know this detail). 

The witcher swung a leg off the saddle, dismounted with the grace of a cat. (Which was funny; wasn't Geralt supposed to be a wolf? Didn't Geralt's brother know a cat witcher? Maybe cat witchers were even more graceful, like ballerinas; Geralt would never do ballet.) This thought would've also made Jaskier giggle, but he was hesitant to unclamp his jaw at the moment, fearful that more than words might spill past it.

"Jaskier?" It was more urgent this time, which Jaskier vaguely recognized was not good, but couldn't quite recall why. When he managed to force his eyes to focus for a split second, Geralt was in front of him, before the forest swelled again and swallowed him with it. He pressed a hand over his eyes, in the vain hope blindness might put an end to the spinning; he had no such luck, and found himself drifting even in the darkness. 

"Mmm?" He hummed, which was usually Geralt's line, but he was determined to keep up the tight-lipped defiance of his own body. He felt a hand scrape his forehead, shifting his carefully mussed hair, and then move down to cup his chin between two fingers. It was a gruff, economic movement; Jaskier, in his self-imposed darkness, pretended it was tender.

"What's wrong with you?" Even Geralt's voice seemed to be swimming, tilting forward and back with each strangely distorted syllable. What isn't, Jaskier wanted to joke in return, snicker a little at Geralt's frustration. But he couldn't, at least not without giving into opening his mouth, and besides, Geralt was already in a bad mood. Instead, he shrugged, a turn of phrase about tables that turned flitting through his thoughts, and he surely felt like he was on a turning table, not that any tables Jaskier had ever seen were exactly known for turning. 

"Is it your throat?" It was a reasonable line of thought for Geralt to stroll down, to be fair, considering the whole thing with the djinn. Gods, how he wished he had a djinn right now, less-than-stellar experience aside. If he had one, there'd be none of that bloody Valdo Marx bullshit; no, instead the forest wouldn't spin anymore, his brain and tongue would cooperate, and Geralt would be in a good mood. 

Jaskier really was doing a shit job of uplifting Geralt's spirits, wasn't he? At the very least, he'd managed to tease out the source of his foul temper; at present, it was Jaskier himself. He risked a peek out into the world again, found concerned amber eyes tucked under a tight scowl tilting like a leaf in the wind, and promptly squeezed them shut again. Oh, yeah. Geralt had asked him a question— what was it? Ah, it was gone now, too late. He shook his head, hoping he was actually answering. This was a mistake, because it sent stars erupting in the darkness and an unbidden groan worming its way past his lips. 

"What, Jaskier?" Geralt sounded even more exasperated, if such a thing were possible, and Jaskier flung a hand up to press over his mouth, as if that might help whatsoever; it didn't. 

"No— fuck, I'm—" In one clumsy motion he managed to tear himself back and away from Geralt, jerk to the side, and stumble over his own two feet and onto his knees just in time to escape vomiting on Geralt's boots. That was good; vomit on his boots would've really pissed him off. The weathered hand that had earlier cupped his chin (Jaskier could still feel the ghost of it on his skin) came to sit heavy between his shoulder blades. This touch not even Jaskier could make feel gentle.

"Okay," Geralt hummed, somewhere to his side. "Alright, okay." Was this Geralt's attempt at being soothing? How Jaskier wished he could tell him he appreciated it; maybe later, when his stomach wasn't still bucking uncooperatively like a spooked horse. This was funny, too; Roach in his stomach, kicking and snorting, but Jaskier was beginning to get tired of silly tangents.

Come to think of it, Jaskier was just tired, his limbs suddenly heavy, pounding in his skull coming into sharp focus. The hand migrated up to his collar, no doubt to tug him back upright, but he wrenched free and let himself drop to the dirt before Geralt had the chance. A nap sounded absolutely divine at the moment, and he was beginning to think he couldn't care less whether the witcher stuck around to wait it out or not. (This last detail was, patently, an absolute lie, and Jaskier knew it full well even as the thought first pattered into his consciousnesses.)

Geralt rolled him over, flipped him on his side, and this was both a small mercy (he hadn't been abandoned) and a horrendous blight (the sun glaring directly into his eyes, even as he pressed a clumsy hand to cover them again.) Another callused hand swiped across his forehead, his cheek, made its way down his neck and pried back his doublet. Jaskier wasn't sure what Geralt was looking for, and he also didn't particularly think he'd find it, whatever it was. 

"There's no fever," Geralt announced, as if this were some grand discovery, a breakthrough in medical sciences. "Something you ate?" Ah, so now Geralt was playing detective, and Jaskier had all but given up on his case; another reversal of roles. Well, maybe at the very least Jaskier could give him better clues, or at least try.

"Head," he groaned, rolling back onto his side, cool dirt not unpleasant against his skin. This time, no hands tugged at him, but instead Geralt gave a soft hum, barely distinguishable from the ringing in his ears. "Hurts," he tacked on because, while it might've been implied, with Geralt it never hurt to be explicit. 

"Now we're getting somewhere." That thrice-damned hand returned again, worked its way through his hair, dragging along every bump and curve until he scuffed against a half-healed scab and a sharp pain ricocheted through Jaskier's skull. He recoiled, writhing for a moment before curling even tighter into himself. "When did you hit your head?" That was a good question, because Jaskier wasn't all too sure anymore if he even had.

"Dunno," he mumbled. Now if only Geralt could put a pause to the interrogation so he might be afforded the small mercy of dying in peace. “River?”

"Helpful." Footsteps, echoing through the dirt and drilling through his head with each heavy footfall, further and further and further away until he could only feel, not hear, them. This was fine. Not the end he felt truly befit a heroic bard of his renown, but humble enough to satisfy him nonetheless. Just him and the trees as he returned to the earth from whence he was borne. 

Then those blasted footsteps returned, those hands hoisted him, and he was face-first on the scratchy wool of his bedroll. He nuzzled against it, like a cat (he really needed to ask Geralt for the name of that cat witcher his brother knew). 

"You have a concussion." A light flickered to life somewhere in his brain at this revelation. One of his grand mysteries, finally come to its disappointingly anticlimactic conclusion. He still didn't know why Geralt had been in such a piss-poor mood, but he decided that was a puzzle for another time, letting his breath even out with impending sleep.

"Jaskier, I need to know you understand me, okay?" As soft as his words were, Jaskier couldn't help but find it incredibly rude of him to interrupt his much-needed and well-deserved rest. If he kept pushing it, Jaskier thought, perhaps Geralt would be having to solve the mystery of why he was grumpy.

"Mmm, okay." This earned him another pat on the shoulder, as gentle a touch as anything Jaskier could ever hope for. 

"I'll need to wake you periodically to make sure you don't lose what little wit you have," Geralt informed him, "but you can rest now." He felt like a sinking ship, overcome with warmth. Loose-limbed and giddy, he jutted out a clumsy hand and flailed blindly until it flopped against Geralt's arm, and he latched on. "Just tell me next time you hit your head."

"Thank you," he managed to get out on the tail end of a breath, slurred with exhaustion, disappointed when the witcher carefully extracted his wrist from his grip. A blanket settled on top of him, and he fumbled to tug it closer. 

"Just sleep." Needing no convincing, Jaskier did as he was told. And in his dreams, Geralt was in a good mood, and he could still feel the ghost of his hand on that patch of skin on his chin. 

[littleeyesofpallas]

BLEACH - Name Games(?)

I was asked about zanpakutou stuff.  I don’t know that many have names and kanji choices that super jump out at me at a glance, but the ones that do come to mind all seem to have references to Buddhist icons that I’m sure don’t come across in English very well.  I tangentially touched on that when talking about Mayuri while doing my rambling series of posts about shinigami names, so I figure that'd be my entry point.

I don’t know that this will amount to a lot of posts, but if I had to pick one to start with the obvious choice would have to be Urahara Kisuke’s zanpakutou, Benihime.  It has a lot of wordplay involved that doesn’t come across in English all too obviously, plus a little religious reference tacked onto the very end.  I remember this being kind of a well circulated bit of trivia back in the 2000s but I don’t know that it’s persisted after all this time, so hopefully this isn’t too obvious to people.

The name itself, Benihime[紅姫] is written pretty straight forwardly as 紅: ”Crimson”/”Deep Red” and 姫:”Princess.“  The release call okiro[起きろ] generally gets translated as “Awaken” which is accurate, but “Get up” works as well, but technically it can also mean “Stay awake,” but that’s really more a semantic issue for English, in Japanese the phrase is used identically in either situation.  In the context of Benihime being only the second shikai we ever see (after Zabimaru) it seems like a concealed sword being told to “Wake up” makes the most sense, but there’s a bit of a case for “Stay awake” that I’ll get to a bit later...  (Also worth noting real quick is that this kind of “rousing” verb is specifically about being awake -vs- asleep, and doesn’t extend to the English colloquialisms relating to “[sexual] arousal.”)

Also, it’s never directly referenced, but both in cane form and in shikai form, Benihime has a unique blade shape that suggests that the sword blade has been broken; It lacks the distinctive Kissaki[切っ先]:”Point-area” of a katana blade, and the blade’s Hamon[刃文]:”Wave-pattern” doesn’t follow the edge of the blade properly at the terminus.  This plays into the themes well go on to address, so keep that in mind...

But the fun comes with the various techniques Urahara uses with Benihime over the course of the series.

The one we get almost immediately is Nake[啼け] which the English translations erroneously called “Scream.”  But the Japanese use of the word, as far as I can see, refers to “call (out)” or “bark” or “chirp” generally in reference to an animal noise or to make noise like an animal.  It can also mean “sing” as an extension of the same use but in reference to bird song.  But as a bit of colorful language it’s commonly used in the context of smut and romance to describe little gasps, whimpers, and yelps.

The “Scream” translation seems to have been taken from the Chinese use of the word, which is similar to the Japanese, but includes the additional animal sound “Howl” and by comparison can refer to “crying (loudly)”, “wailing”, and “weeping.”

A curious detail is that when Urahara first uses this to defend from Ichigo’s newly discovered Getsuga Tenshou technique, Benihime produces a red shield, and it’s actually hard to notice at a glance, but the blade of Benihime is dripping with blood as a result, even though neither Urahara nor Ichigo actually got cut by it.  However, when Urahara uses this a second time when defending Ichigo from Yammy, there is no bleeding blade effect.

This shield is also later given the name Chikasumi no Tate[血霞の盾] written as “Shield of Blood Mist.” This all works to reinforce the association with the “Crimson” aspect of the name specifically with blood.

With the same “Cry!” command Urahara can also use his own zangeki projectile, like Getsuga Tenshou.

Kamisori[剃刀] is just the word for “Razor,” it appears to produce the same effect as when “Cry” is used offensively rather than defensively.  It’s possible Kubo chose to retcon “Cry” into being defensive only and renamed the attacking move as “Razor.”  It was never made especially clear...

And Tsuppane[突ッ撥] which is a weird construction of “Stab”/”Pierce”/”Prick” and “Reject“/”Exclude” but it’s a homonym with Tsuppane[突っ撥ねる] meaning “Reject“/”Spurn“/”Turn down.“  These two can be tabled for now as well, but they’ll fall into place by the end...

Finally, Shibari[縛り] means “Bind“/”Restrain”/”Tie up” but it’s specifically the shorthand name for the Japanese method of rope bondage sex play.  And in conjunction with this Urahara uses Hiasobi, Benihime, Juzutsunagi[火遊 紅姫 数珠繋] which breaks down as 火遊: “Fire Play,” "Crimson Princess” again, 数珠繋: “Prayerbead Chain.”

So, if it wasn’t clear where we were headed with all of these, Blood, Crying, Razors, Spurning, Rope Play, Fire Play, and s Chain of Beads might seem all over the place if you take them at face value, but the central theme being evoked here is BDSM.  Which lend an extremely curious tone to Urahara’s character.  More over, there is the broken blade imagery I mentioned before.  Back in the day I had sort of wondered if maybe breaking his sword had been part of Urahara’s exile*, but the state of the blade never got properly addressed, and even the exile would just sit on the backburner for years...

*At the time, I associated it with Kuukaku and Ganju’s similarly severed blades, but they also weren’t ever addressed.  The impression I’d gotten from the overall designs had been that when the Shiba family were stripped of their shinigami nobility status their zanpakutou were all broken as a means of rendering them incapable of ever effectively fighting back against Soul Society.  I also just kind of assumed there would be a similar explanation for Yoruichi’s conspicuously absent zanpakutou.

But there’s an extra detail in this...  We know how zanpakutou work: a Shinigami imprints their own soul onto a blank sword, their sword spirit develops in their inner world, and through meditation they can commune, negotiate, and make peace with their sword.  At the highest levels of that mutual understanding they can summon their swords out into the world, first as shikai and then as bankai, increasing in power and finesse the better they understand their sword spirits and thus themselves.

We see distinctly, in the case of Yumichika, that an inability to make peace with their swords can result in sub-optimal powers: Yumichika has his intentional misnaming of his sword and partial release; Zaraki has his entire inability (at first) to call on his sword at all; and Ikkaku and Shuuhei both have disagreements with the attitude of their swords --Ikkaku calling Houzoukimaru lazy, and Shuuhei being uncomfortable with Kazeshini’s bloodlust.

But we know that Ichigo took a short cut to forging this deep lifelong friendship with his sword, and the fact that the two aren’t in sync and don’t communicate with one another well is a repeated hurdle for Ichigo.  Thanks to Urahara’s special doll Ichigo just summoned Zangetsu directly into the outside world, requiring zero meditation or self reflection on his part.  And Urahara used this same method, to achieve bankai in just 3 days.

So, Urahara rushed his bankai training, his blade is broken, and its techniques all point to a BDSM theme.  The way I always saw this was that it sounded like Urahara forcibly subdued Benihime instead of ever negotiating with her.  His sword is broken because he broke it himself as part of asserting dominance over it. (not unlike how Mayuri broke his own shikai as a form of punishment after the Szayel fight)  And it lined up with a lot of the ongoing ominous tones surrounding Urahara all throughout...  At least until he just kind of vanished during the long drag of the Arrancar Arc, before being hurriedly shoved into the Arc finale.

So when we did finally get his bankai reveal in the Blood War Arc, some things fell into place rather neatly, but others felt a little out of sync with everything else...

Viz translated Kannonbiraki Benihime Aratame[観音開紅姫改メ] as “Opened Red Princess Neo” which isn’t strictly speaking wrong, but it communicates nothing of importance.   観音開: doesn’t really have a clean English equivalent, but it refers to what I can only think to define as “opening outward in two pieces from the center.”  Specifically this tends to reference double doors, or similar but not explicitly door structures like windows or shutters, etc...  It also refers to filleting a fish or dissecting a body in an accordant manner: with a central incision with two flaps peeled back from it. It’s the term used for a “Butterfly cut” in cooking.  Benihime is just “Crimson Princess” again, no alternate kanji or homonym play like some other bankai, plus 改メ: which is a suffix indicating “revised”/”modified.”

There’s also what I assume was intentional wordplay here where the  観音 in 観音開: “double-door” is the name of the Japanese Buddhist god(dess) Kannon.  Kannon (based on the Chinese Guanyin, who is a highly modified interpretation of what was the Hindu Avalokitesvara.) is worshiped as a goddess of infinite mercy.  So  観音+開: might imply something like “Opened Kannon”/“Kannon Unlocked”/”Empty Kannon” evoking imagery of the Goddess herself opened up on an operating table, tying back to the specific physical feature of being opened up from a center line, like double doors.

So the actual vibe of the full name is something like...

“Dissected Goddess-of-Mercy: Modified-Bloodred Princess”

Which has some wild and sinister implications, not dissimilar to Mayuri’s Ashisouji-jizo.  They share tones of corrupting or defiling the divine, and specifically gods of mercy and protection, distorted and mutilated.

[mushroom-cartel--writing]

to be [a]sundered

Summary: Kugisaki Nobara is blessed. She will never know.

Relationship(s): Kugisaki Nobara & Reader, Kugisaki Nobara/Reader

Note(s):

Here’s the link to read this on AO3! (You know the drill, extra tags, different notes, the format I intended, etc. Oh. And the comment section.)

There’s manga spoilers in this fic alongside headcanon.

So far, out of my menial amount of JJK fics, this one has probably been the most enjoyable to write. With Nobara’s background I can play around because it’s just there.

|||

“I’m going to Tokyo,” she says. Come with me.

“No.” Can’t, sorry.

Mahito touches her soul.

Kugisaki Nobara is blessed.

She will never know.

The first time she introduces you to her friends, Saori nearly gouges your eye out with a sugar spoon and Fumi spills the contents of her cup across the table.

“I have cake,” you say, offering a cutesy box to Saori who’s still got the sugar spoon trained on you. “It’s baumkuchen. An old acquaintance gave it to me for free but I figured it’d be too much for just one person.”

Nobara, giggling, just offers you a seat and asks for more tea.

On the outskirts of the village there is a shrine.

They say it houses a god that blessed their lands long ago and watches over them to this very day; they hold a celebration in its honour every year, a small share of the harvest season’s best crop is offered up to appease the god.

Her grandparents say it houses a malevolent wonder-terror who feasts on the soul of its worshippers once the sun goes down; her grandparents say the aforementioned god and malevolent wonder-terror are one and the same, born from a wish made by humans.

You laugh when she tells you the crap people have come up about your home. (You appreciate the free food, though.)

You are not a god or something malevolent. You’re you.

Not quite divine but too powerful to sniff at.

Humans cannot see or sense you. Not even those who can bottle their negative energy, the ones you occasionally see passing through the village. Usually, you have to will yourself into existence. But she can regardless.

Spirits, the weak and strong, good nor bad, fear you. Your presence sets their survival instincts off, running immediately when you try to approach them. She has to give chase and incapacitate them for you when the hunger becomes agony.

You taught her well, it seems.

Too well.

Mahito touches her soul and it burns, burns, burns.

-

Kugisaki Nobara was barely old enough to be out on her own, but her grandparents trusted her to stay safe. The village was small, everyone knew each other, word spread fast, so if something happened to her on her small excursion… Well, no one would come looking for her, would they?

It was a lie when she said she was just going out to play with friends at the park.

Nobara didn’t have friends.

All the other kids were boring. She didn’t like their company. Whenever there was a big gathering, she’d try her best to avoid them and hide from the adults in bushes.

Despite knowing this, her grandmother let her go.

She hated being cooped inside with nothing to do and today was perfect! The humid air made her clothes stick to her skin but at least the wide-brimmed straw sunhat she snatched from her grandfather’s shed protected her from the sun’s wrath. It meant her peers would be over at the river halfway across the village; people wouldn’t go back to working on their fields until it cooled down a bit later in the day; they wouldn’t see her; and she’d be on her lonesome.

She wanted to laugh to herself. Everything was coming together.

Finally, she could check out that place she’s been meaning to visit ever since she first heard of it: the derelict shrine.

Her grandmother warned her to stay away from it, lest she give her name away by accident to the being living there and have her life stolen, but Nobara, inwardly, thought it was a load of cow dung. She’d die? Hah?! It was all superstition! (She would never admit it did spook her a bit.) Besides, things like vampires and witches and ghosts didn't exist in the first place. She’d be fine.

Humming with a skip in her step, Nobara made it to the shrine in due time.

“Hello?”

“Why hello there!”

She took everything back.

You had to be a ghost with the way you snuck up on her soundlessly. You kept insisting you weren’t. You glided along the floor.

You had to be a ghost. And now you were serving her snacks and tea. Inside the shrine. Inside what was, supposedly, your home.

“Why don’t I believe you?” she voiced aloud.

You stared at her, face deadpan, and poured hot water over your hand. She watched your skin scald. “Does this answer your question?”

Kugisaki Nobara at five years old was a bit of a skeptic, contrary to her personal beliefs.

“No. Not really.”

-

11:25 PM →

You emerge from the gaping hole where her left eye was blown out alongside a good chunk of her head, something writhing and fierce and oh-so familiar.

Ah. Right. This feeling; this foreign dread dawning upon him, piercing Mahito innermost; your dull but irritated eyes trained on the cursed spirit akin to a lizard eyeing up a cockroach. You’re like him, possessing a soul that absolutely cannot and should not be touched.

Shit—that means she too—

Hahahahaha.

You don’t even need to spare him another glance. You know what he’s thinking. You know what he’s done.

You won’t be as lenient with him as Sukuna was.

But here’s the thing. Although a student may surpass their teacher one day, the teacher might not relay all that they know to the next generation to ensure the safety of their student and those around them. However, Mahito is nothing to you. Itadori Yuuji, on the other hand, is important, so you grab him and throw the boy behind you.

“Reverberate,” you intone, bearing the exact same wounds as her.

His senses are heightened a thousandfold, but not nearly are they even close to yours.

You shove a nail of hers into yourself, saying, “Plunge.”

It hurts. It hurts, it hurts, ithurtsithurtsithurts, hurtshurtshurtshurtshurTshURtsHURTS.

“Quietus.”

“We’re soulmates, you and me.”

She bursts out laughing. “Like from those cheesy dramas?” Nobara asks. Because. She needs to know. Whenever she’s around you, everything feels… right. It’s hard to articulate. Her heart doesn’t rush when you graze her skin but the particular spot where contact was made always tingles with a reassuring warmth; you’re real, not a fabrication of her imagination. She doesn’t fantasise about you like the way her peers do with the object of their affections. Your very presence makes her comfortable. “Are you having second thoughts?” she jeers, poking you hard in the ribs. (She’s still bitter about your decision.)

The intended jab has no effect.

“No,” is your reply. “What I mean is that your soul and mine are the same. If something happens to you, I’ll know.”

“What? You think I’m gonna be some part of a demonic summoning ritual where I’ll be a human sacrifice?”

“Time and distance makes no difference.”

“So if I just say the word…?”

“That… that’s not what I…” You sigh and scrub the gunk from your eyes.

How are you supposed to explain the whole situation to her?

Oh, yeah, about a couple aeons ago there was a being who tore themself in two—one part immortal, the other mortal—in order to understand their reason for existing. Their immortal self would be stagnant and observe their mortal self who would continuously live, die and reincarnate, until the latter, under their own volition, sought the former out and then a conclusion would be made between the two on whether or not they would remain as separate entities or rejoin together as one again.

Your original self (you and her; her and you) wasn’t great at planning ahead, that is plain to see. They didn’t think about the consequences, they just wanted an out. And fast.

Well look at you now. Distorted beyond reason. You’re an exercise in self-destruction. You stopped considering it being a miracle that you could wake up every morning by yourself and do what you wanted: the novelty was short-lived. You want to die but you’re at the point where it’s easier to convince yourself you do not than to focus on how you will off yourself somewhere that no one (and nothing) can find your undecayed corpse because the company you keep will become worried if you let the happy facade slip.

“Never mind,” you mutter.

-

She was ten when she first saw the skull.

It tumbled from your billowing sleeve as you rummaged around your pockets, rolling to a stop at her feet.

She lifted it up. “Whose is this?”

It was a weird skull, not like those she’d seen in her textbooks. She thought of asking Fumi about the skull later, when school started back up, but the idea was literally snatched from her mind when you saw exactly what she was holding.

In your hands, the skull seemed smaller. Inconsequential. Another another weird quirk of yours: carrying around random things. Maybe it was a model? You told her to forget about it and stowed the skull away—back into your sleeve—and dragged her along the beaten path you insisted on walking.

The next time, she was thirteen and helping you clear up your home. Fumi was there too.

They’d been going through a closet stuffed full of old junk and out the skull tumbled, right into Fumi’s lap. Rightfully so, her friend screamed. It took you several minutes to calm the poor girl down, her view of you now askew. Nobara was on your side when Fumi tried convincing you whomever the skull belonged to deserved a proper burial out in the forest and you refused.

No matter how hard she tried, you would not budge.

And that was that.

(From then on, whenever you made yourself visible to Fumi, she regarded you warily before seeing the way you looked at Nobara like she hung the stars and the moon.)

The last time the skull made an appearance in her life, Nobara had just turned fifteen.

A strange pair of men were at her door at the crack of dawn, rousing her grandparents, which prompted them to drag Nobara out of bed at such a god-awful time of the day. They all sat at a table soberly, discussing her future while Nobara found her attention gravitating to you.

You were playing with a stray cat in the garden, its stomach presented to you eagerly so soon after it deemed you safe, and making the most disgusting cooing noises she had ever heard to it with a dopey grin.

It was only at the call of her name that her head snapped back forward.

Yaga Masamichi was a strange one, tinkering so openly with a corpse in front of her deeply superstitious grandparents, but, strangely enough, it was his companion, a shock of white hair and bandage, that caught her eye. The young man was looking your way.

Not at the cat pawing up at thin air. Oh no. The blindfolded stranger’s gaze was dead set on you; she saw his brow raise minutely as Yaga and her grandparents continued talking, her tools of trade that was cobbled together from old sheds and the local hardware store bared flat on the table; she watched him watch you rub the cat’s belly before you lifted it high into the air like a parent would to their child. It was obvious what the situation playing out was: you had caught on to the stranger’s sighting of you long before she did. To emphasise the fact, you even babbled to the cat, “Higher, higher! Oopsie-daisy!!” before letting it back down and nuzzling it against your face, affectionate and close.

Yaga only noticed the change in atmosphere when the cat’s meows suddenly went quiet. But the other one (white hair, bandages, feels wrong, rotting flesh and fresh) grinned, slapping an enrollment form on the table.

“You. Leave that thing behind when you come to our school,” said Gojou Satoru, his introduction earlier all pomp and a wellspring of positive energy memes a stark comparison to now as he continued watching you, all but ignoring her grandmother shouting up at him to stop spouting nonsense.

(“What drivel! My granddaughter surely won’t—”)

She went back to spacing out in your direction.

Without hesitation, you dropped the cat into your gaping maw and swallowed it whole in one gulp. The first cursed spirit you managed to catch by yourself. Your ability at masking your aura was improving. That was good.

The skull peeked out of your hoodie’s pocket, the many orbits winking at her.

Screw the rules, you were coming with her whether the bureaucracy liked it or not.

-

At this rate, she’s going to die for sure.

You know what to do.

You’re one and the same. If Mahito touched one half of your original self and corrupted it, reason dictates that giving her body (the container) yours will fix her. But there’s a problem.

The implosion practically ruined her chances of survival, reducing it to null.

Not even a high grade sorcerer could hope to reverse the damage. Bone is a special material. Bone takes time to be cultivated or to grow. For a jujutsu user, especially, a substitute of different material won’t cut it. Bone, like the soul, contains an essence of sorts, it’s one of the few natural conductors of negative energy humans can have.

Your point: bone is not easily replaced.

Kneeling over Nobara, you grab from the air the object you were entrusted with over a millennium ago for safekeeping.

“Oi, oi, oi, you. You. Freak-god-thing.” You regard Itadori Yuuji with disdain. Or rather, the lone eye and accompanying mouth that’s on his cheek. “Is that what I think it is.”

“What? Are you objecting? Or worse—obstructing?”

“I don’t know about you or the brat, but you’re gonna fuck up the girl if you do that.”

“And since when did the King of Curses grow a heart?”

“I fucking didn’t, you prick.” The eye manages to scowl without a brow. “I’m just saying… You are sending her to condemnation.”

“Says the finger shagger,” you retort. The mouth disappears; Itadori Yuuji has an indescribable expression on his face but you know he won’t try and stop your hare-brained idea, he wants what you want.

You know what you’re doing.

You’ve had to do this a few times before.

It will work.

“Hello?”

A child? Who in their right mind would—

You freeze in your tracks. It’s them, your mind exclaims. It’s them. Them. Them. Them.

… Her.

You walk up behind her, beaming.

“Why hello there!” you chime, so, so happy.

[dontasktheradiodemon]

Move In?

Oh, let's just summarize this one with a quote:

Sir Pentious:

"I know we said we would slow things down, and I agree we should, but you spend almost every night here, and you have no other place to call home....So, I was thinking, why not call _here_ home? Here, with me." He glanced quickly at Alastor from the corner of his eye before staring even more adamantly off to the side.

Alastor:

Alastor’s eyes widened in shock. His heart stopped. And a little voice in the back of his head whispered, *run.*

Alastor

Guess who repaired an organ and was incredibly smug about it.

A professional could probably have done it faster—and with less duct tape—and Alastor was lucky the damage hadn't been worse. He'd needed Telly to show him the basics—and go to him for repairs whenever he found a pipe too damaged—and he'd spent half his free time for the past few weeks either sneaking into other organs to see how they were put together or burying his nose in organ repair manuals—but he'd gotten it done.

A few last details needed fixing, sure—but more importantly, they'd reached the moment Alastor had been anticipating for weeks: it was ready for Telly to take it for a test run.

He *hadn't* anticipated what watching Telly play would do to his heart.

Sir Pentious

And oh did Telly play. His fingers flew over the manuals, pulling stops, pressing keys, his tail taking care of the the pedals-- luckily, there were only three, he'd gotten it down to that few.

He lost himself to the music, the sheer joy of being able to play again overcame him, and he didn't stop, not for a good while. But when the final note rang and held, his smile was wide enough to split his face. He stood, spinning to give a deep bow to his audience of one-- though he _could_ hear the Eggs clamoring outside the locked bridge doors in joy.

"What a wonderful job you did, my hart! It's sounding flawless, perfect! Oh, I am so very, very happy!!" He slithered over and took Alastor's hands, kissing the back of each.

Alastor

So often the past few months, he’d found himself thinking, *god, the last time I did this was fifty-four years ago.* But it had never pierced quite as deeply as this time, like an arrow lodged in his lungs. Standing just behind Sir Pentious as he played, bent over his shoulder, watching his fingers glide gracefully over the keyboard, listening to the pipe organ thunder around them... He’d been here before. It had been beautiful then. It was beautiful now. It made him ache.

When Telly bowed, Alastor’s invisible audience applauded him, a thousand hands clapping, and he smiled so wide it hurt. “What a show! Absolutely stupendous! Goodness me, I think I felt half of Hell trembling under that barrage. You’d drown out all the trumpets of Heaven, my darling—and sound twice as divine doing it!”

Sir Pentious

If his smile could widen any further, it would at the praise Alastor lavished on him. He leaned down to kiss him, briefly, before pulling back and bringing him closer to the organ.

"Now I can show you a favorite feature of mine!" He said, smile turning oh so devious. "WATCH AND BEHOLD, BECAUSE, MY HART, THIS ORGAN....CAN PLAY ITSELF!"

With a cackle, he flipped a switch on the side and the keys began to press on their own, playing a familiar melody-- the Phantom of the Opera.

"I added that in the early 1990s when the musical was getting very big!" He set his hands on his hips and grinned-- look at him, so smug.

Alastor

Alastor laughed in amazement. “Phantom doesn’t even sound this good in the theater!” He leaned against Telly. “Truth to tell, I figured out during repairs that this thing knew how to play itself—had to check out what some of the thingamabobs and thingamajigs were doing—but it really is something to see in action!” He had to raise his voice to be heard over the music, and it still felt like an intimate whisper.

Sir Pentious

"Still impressive, yes!!" He laughed, turning to place his hand on Alastor's waist, his other taking Alastor's hand, in a classic dancing stance.

"Shall we, darling?" He prompted, smirking.

Alastor

His heart skipped a beat painfully. Listening to Sir Pentious play the organ on his ship, and then sweeping him into a dance? *God, the last time I did this was...*

“Of course!” He squeezed Telly’s hand and slid in close, shadows sliding in with him; the lighting went dark and strange as Alastor shifted the world, just a little bit, to let Telly dance.

And as they started dancing, he sang along to the organ, at the top of his lungs, in no way Broadway-worthy: “*In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came! That voice which calls to me and speaks my name—!*”

Sir Pentious

Telly laughed as they started to dance, twirling around the bridge, his tail sliding effortlessly across the ground. Once the song got to the Phantom's part, Telly began to sing again-- not the best, but certainly far from the worse, he could at least hit most of the notes.

"_Sing once again with me! Our strange duet! My power over you, grows stronger yet!_"

Alastor

Wasn’t that the truth? *Sing once again with me...*

He made it into the duet as far as “*Your spirit and my voice, in one—*” before he abruptly stopped singing, half laughing as he blurted out, “Oh no! I took the part with the high notes! I have to sing the ending, what have I done!”

Sir Pentious

"_My spirit and your voice, in one--_" Telly stopped short too, laughing with Alastor. "Yes, you've done it to yourself! How tragic!"

He snickered, before trying to pick up again. "_And in this labyrinth, where night is blind!_"

Alastor

“*The Phaaantom of the Op*—pfff, please Phantom, have mercy! I’m no Angel of Music, they wouldn’t let me in the pearly gates!”

Sir Pentious

Telly laughed, keeping their dance going at least. "Oh, come now, maybe not an Angel of Music, but certainly a Demon of Music! So sing for me, my Demon of Music! Sing!!"

Alastor

“*He’s theee-he-here—*” he was almost laughing too hard to sing, “*—the Phaaantom of the O-operaaa...*” DEEP breath!

Sir Pentious

"Sing for me!" Telly commanded spinning out to be able to twirl Alastor-- not making the singing any easier, not at ALL.

Alastor

He stumbled in the twirl, steadied himself, and then did his best to hit Christine’s high note.

It came out as an unholy screech of pure distorted static. He only lasted a couple of notes before his “voice” broke and he collapsed against Sir Pentious’s shoulder in helpless cackles that sounded as much like feedback as like laughter. He made a second attempt so brief it sounded more like a lone beep before laughing even harder.

Sir Pentious

And that broke Telly as well. He tried his best to hold Alastor up, but his own laughing soon brought them both down. He wheezed for breath, holding Alastor close.

Alastor

He clung to Sir Pentious, fingers digging into his jacket, laughing so hard his stomach hurt and tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.

And suddenly he felt something in his chest crack, and his throat abruptly closed. He kept clinging, his shoulders trembling, face hidden.

Sir Pentious

Telly was wheezing so hard he didn't even notice the change. He slowly began to wind down, one of his hands idly rubbing Alastor's back.

"That was hilarious, dear, I've never heard a screech quite like that!" Another few chuckles.

Alastor

“Well—sound like that—blast most microphones, you know.” His voice was tense and tight. Sound normal, please sound normal.

Sir Pentious

That was not a normal post-laughing-fit voice. And that got Telly concerned.

"Alastor? Are you all right?" He asked, his hand now more purposefully rubbing Alastor's back, trying to sooth him. "Is something wrong?"

Alastor

“Fine! Fine, I’m fine.” He nodded against Telly’s shoulder. “Just, must have—hard on my throat. That’s all.”

Sir Pentious

"Oh, darling." He wrapped his arms around him, holding him close. "Do you want me to make you some tea to soothe it? Or I could send the Eggs to get some lozenges?"

Alastor

“No no, it’s okay. I’ll be okay in a minute.”

Sir Pentious

"Oh, alright." He frowned as he rubbed Alastor's back, pressing his cheek against the side of his head.

After about a minute, he asked, "Are you sure?"

Alastor

He held on a little tighter. It took several seconds for him to reply. “I missed doing this with you.”

He knew he was talking to the wrong Sir Pentious. But he had to say it anyway.

Sir Pentious

Oh. _Oh._ Telly understood then, what was happening. His tail pulled up, coiling around Alastor's legs, and his arms just held him tighter, pressing his cheek harder to the side of his head. He didn't know what to say to that, but he could at least hold Alastor through it.

Alastor

“Sorry.” His voice was almost a whisper. Just give him a moment, he’d be fine.

Sir Pentious

"It's fine. Take your time, I'm here." He whispered back, nuzzling against him.

Alastor

It was another minute or two; but then, finally, he took a deep breath and said in something close to his normal voice, “Oh, how embarrassing! Excuse me.” He pulled back, faking a normal smile. “So sorry! It’s just... Something in the atmosphere, I suppose.”

Sir Pentious

Telly cupped his face, stroking his thumb along his cheek. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips.

"_Alastor._ It's all right, truly, it is. You don't need to apologize." And another kiss, this time to the other cheek.

Alastor

That made it frustratingly hard to keep faking a normal smile! He could feel it wavering at the corners. He just nodded in agreement, sure, if Telly says so.

Sir Pentious

Telly started stroking his cheek with his thumb. Hm, what to do to cheer up your Radio Demon when he was feeling down? Oh, mayhaps a song. Telly pressed their foreheads together and smiled, as he began to sing, softly.

“_Grey skies are gonna clear up, put on a happy face._”

Alastor

A lump formed in his throat. Oh no. His heart was full of love and his eyes were full of tears. Time to hide his face again, there he goes.

Sir Pentious

It took some careful maneuvering, but Telly got himself _and_ Alastor back up and standing, all so he could sway gently with him. He continued to sing, his tailtip tapping against Alastor's leg.

"_Brush off the clouds and cheer up, put on a happy face. Take off the gloomy mask of tragedy, it’s not your style, you’ll look so good that you’ll be glad, you decided to smile!_”

Alastor

That’s it, Telly’s figured out all his weaknesses. Alastor hummed and sway along. More static than usual still laced his humming.

Sir Pentious

"_Pick out a pleasant outlook, stick out that noble chin!_” He pulled back, revealing Alastor's face, and tapped a finger under his chin. “_Wipe off that ‘full of doubt’ look, slap on a happy grin! And spread sunshine all over the place, just put on a happy face!_”

He took Alastor's hands, doing a little side to side shimmy, before attempting to twirl him.

Alastor

He almost tried to hide again—but then the chin tap, and he choked out a laugh instead. He was sure his eyes were still a little watery as Telly twirled him, but when he came back in he pressed his forehead to Telly’s, once more properly grinning.

“This is what it was like when—he and I first kissed. He’d just played his organ for me for the first time, and then somehow we ended up dancing and making fools of ourselves and laughing, and...” He sighed. He doubted Telly wanted to hear about Alastor’s ex—his oh-so-successful ex who’d conquered half the States—but Alastor owed Telly at least that much information. Especially if he was going to be pathetic and burst into tears over it.

Sir Pentious

Telly held him close, forehead pressed against his. “Yes, I assumed something along those lines. I….have to admit that it feels _strange_, slithering in the same tracks without knowing it. I….hrm. I’m not sure how I feel about it, to be frank. I don’t…..want to be just a replacement, you know.”

His own happy face was falling. “I’m sorry, you’re trying to tell me important things and here I am making it about me, I shouldn’t–- please, continue.”

Alastor

“It’s fine. You’ve got a right to have those worries. I don’t want you to be just a replacement, either. And I never want you to *feel* like a replacement. Never.” He held Telly’s cheeks. “It’d be a bald-faced lie if I said I *didn’t* end up here because—because I want the things in you that I know are the same as the things I wanted in him. Is that *replacement,* or is it knowing that I’ve got an extremely specific type? I’m still working out the nuances myself. I—“ huff, “—I wasn’t exactly planning on this.”

Sir Pentious

Whatever else, it did feel good and reassuring to hear that, out loud. His arms wrapped around Alastor and squeezed him briefly.

“I feel like it’s more the second. It’s not like you sought me out _specifically_ to date me to replace him. No one plans these sort of things, certainly. I mean, _I_ never thought I’d be with a Radio Demon in this way, or even _friends_, honestly. Not after what happened between me and Leclerq.”

Alastor

“And I did tell you—if a more successful snake slithered up and asked me to join his enterprise, I’d want to stay here. That’s still true.” He smiled crookedly. “I’ve always wondered about that bit, though—how am *I* the only Radio Demon with any taste at all? It seems impossible.”

Sir Pentious

"You did, and you cannot know how much that relieved me to hear." He smiled and cupped his cheek again, leaning in to give him a kiss. "As for the other bit, well, I don’t know. Perhaps you’re the outlier!”

Alastor

Kiss! “Aren’t I the lucky one, then!”

Sir Pentious

"You are! Just to think, so many snakes and radios are missing out on this." He laughed and returned the kiss. Now that cheering up was done, he coiled and sat, pulling Alastor into his 'lap'.

"You know, I've been thinking about something for a bit now...."

Alastor

“How tragic for them,” Alastor said, sighing lightly; but he couldn’t help but think about just how much his alternates would disagree. Well, lucky them, being unattached. At least he could make the most of his attachment.

He settled onto Telly’s coils, giving him his full attention. “What’s that?”

Sir Pentious

"I've been thinking about, well-- you've got your toiletries here, you've got a robe, you've been stealing my shirts to use as underwear, don't think I haven't noticed, and--" He paused and looked away, giving a little shrug.

"I know we said we would slow things down, and I agree we should, but you spend almost every night here, and you have no other place to call home....So, I was thinking, why not call _here_ home? Here, with me." He glanced quickly at Alastor from the corner of his eye before staring even more adamantly off to the side.

Alastor

Alastor’s eyes widened in shock. His heart stopped. And a little voice in the back of his head whispered, *run.*

He’d been thinking about this for a while, too. Hell, he’d been thinking about a lot of things—what he wanted their wedding to be like (obnoxiously ostentatious and broadcast on every station in Hell), what he’d do if Telly offered to hire him as a full-time henchman (give the hotel his two weeks’ notice and duel Vaggie for full custody of the blog). But his thoughts had been *fantasies.* Had he expected them to happen? This soon?

This was so fast. They’d known each other less than four months, been together less than two. And God, yes, Alastor felt like he’d do anything for Telly, but how much of that was real? (How much was Telly really a replacement after all?)

He’d known Telly for days before feeling like this. He’d known his own Sir Pentious for fifteen years.

It felt wrong. It was so fast.

*Run.*

No, not yet. He swallowed hard. “I... really?”

Sir Pentious

Well, he didn't immediately leap off of Telly's coils and disappear into a portal, so that was at least a good-ish sign. His tongue flicked and stayed out a moment too long before retracting, a sure sign of a stressed snake.

"Yes, really. I just....I want you here, with me, but I also just want you to have a place to call yours. Somewhere for you to go to at the end of the day, that you're happy to go to." Another long flick.

"I understand if you need time to think about it-- I've had time to think, too, and you deserve that-- and even if you don't want to accept, you're always welcome here. And if you want to accept sometime in the future, the invitation is there...." He was still not looking at him, and his tongue now stayed out. Stressed snake is stressed.

Alastor

Telly looked so nervous. Alastor had to look away.

It made perfectly good sense. He couldn’t argue with that. He didn’t have any official place—beds in places no one would find or places he was charitably permitted to shack up from time to time, his possessions stored in hidden rooms or concealed in a separate plane of existence entirely. He slept here, showered here, cooked here, ate here, made love here. He was practically living here already.

He mentally recoiled at the realization.

*Run.*

“That’s...” He laughed wheezily. “I... haven’t lived with anyone since I died. Few years with Rosie, I suppose, but... I was just a guest, not...” He was so tired of being a guest. He was so tired of being the visitor, the one who had to say *hello* and stand and wait in the lobby while everyone else walked around like they owned the place because they *did.* He was so tired of being in places where everything he saw was *someone else’s things.* Even in the spaces he’d claimed for himself, he could see his own trinkets sitting discordantly atop tables and cabinets that didn’t belong to him.

But he was less tired of being a guest than he was afraid of being a prisoner.

*Run.* “I have to think about it.”

Sir Pentious

"Of course, of course, yes. Think about it, that would be good-- t-that's what I said, after all! Hah....." He fidgeted there, the arms still wrapped around Alastor feeling odd now-- not unwelcome but just _odd_. He resisted the urge to pull them back completely, he didn't want to make it seem like it was a _bad_ thing, what Alastor had said.

But he had to ask. "Did you want me to....leave you alone? To think? Or....did you want to go somewhere to think? It's okay if you do, you know. I....hn, you don't have to stay if you need some space. I'd rather you take space when you need it."

Alastor

Telly knew him *too* well. “Space would be nice,” he said, with a voice a little too reminiscent of somebody carsick on a long drive declaring that pulling over at the next exit would be just a swell idea. He got to his feet, pulling out of Telly’s arms.

And immediately missed Telly’s touch. Oh, Alastor had it bad, didn’t he? (As if he didn’t already know that.) He reached down to grab Telly’s hands again.“I’m—not sure what to say.” Another nervous laugh. “I mean I’m *really* not sure—but—thank you. Whether or not I... Thank you.” But he couldn’t stand this much longer.

Sir Pentious

Telly squeezed Alastor's hands when they took his own, and finally looked at him-- and oh, he _look_ so nervous. And Telly's heart clenched. He wanted to pull him back down, kiss him silly, and then tell him to just forget everything. But he couldn't. This was important.

Instead, he simply pulled Alastor's hands closer, kissed the back of one, and then let go. He had to trust that he would come back-- he _did_ trust that, even if the small voice in the back of his head that sounded like George told him otherwise.

"I'll be here, when you're finished." He gave him a smile, though it wasn't a happy one. "You always know where to find me, my hart."

Alastor

Alastor was already smiling, of course. His wasn’t happy either. “And you always know how to call me, *mon roi.*”

He left without destroying everything, without burning all his bridges, without lying about what he felt. He left still shakily smiling. He was proud of himself for that.

(A small cruel scared part of him wished he’d destroyed everything. Then, at least, he wouldn’t still have to make a decision.)