#i know nothing about necromancy

[rottengurlz]

“Sometimes I dream about you. I memorize every detail of your face like a prayer. Those moments seem so real that I grieve whenever I wake up and your spot next to me is cold. Why did you beg me to kill you? I would’ve stopped. Even in death I cannot escape you. I’m not sure I want to even if I was begging for it.”

w/ @kashisun !! (happy birthday 😭)

[mtvcribbage]

mercymorn and cristabel. cristabel and mercymorn. much to think about hm.

[fingertipsmp3]

Lads I’m rereading GtN and I’m thinking too much about this line from Sister Glaurica

What does she know??!

[pbaintthetb]

was anybody going to tell me that the first section of my junior fic was already at 7k words, or was I supposed to find that out for myself?

[punkrockgrantaire]

Not to be like “wish this had more narrative weight” about the wish-it-had-more-narrative-weight game but imagine if Dorian being an actual necromancer was at all mentioned or explored

[finnbin]

he's trying his best...!

Post Revival: Questions

[windupaidoneus]

thinking back on when i finished shb & it took me like a whole week to be able to put into words how i felt abt emet & i wasnt able to think about literally anything else in that time. man. this shit is crazy. & then i wrote a long ass fucking essay on hildegarde's feelings throughout the expansion. man. ohhhh man. i need to replay it lest i become ungovernable

[twi-liight]

Hi! I suffer from Baldur's Gate brainrot. I just stumbled upon your blog and love your writing! Could you do some Astarion, Gale and Karlach headcanons for taking care of Tav after they're badly injured in battle?

Reckless Attack ❣

Grieve, weep, and agonize over a corpse - but know that death is never final in Faerun. The burden of injuries will instead always be present: pain is eternal, no matter how numb. ❥ Astarion/Tav, Gale/Tav, Karlach/Tav. ❥ TW: Descriptive mentions of injuries and gore. ❥ Act 2 spoilers. ❥ They/them pronouns for Tav. ❥ Tav is the nickname for the reader/oc insert. Their real name is up to you!

An Absolutist cult has gathered deep in the bowels of the forests of Rivington. Nothing out of the ordinary... Other than the sheer numbers they possess, creating a dense population of Absolute extremists gathered in stone ruins.

Adventuring parties that dare to end their machinations perished slowly and painfully. Their corpses - what is left of them - are displayed pierced from the gnarled branches of the trees, where they bleed out on the forest ground.

Tav, Astarion, Gale, and Karlach had a plan: throw a barrel full of smoke bombs into the middle of the ruins, firebolt, and profit. Except things didn’t go according to plan (they never do). That barrel was supposed to be at their rendezvous point, but the cultists found it before they did and thought it a gift from their Goddess.

Trapped in hiding, Tav decided to do what they do best: attack.

A potent necromancy curse was successfully cast on Tav, negating any healing spells thrown their way.

Well.

Fuck.

ASTARION

"As always, you refuse to listen to me. And now look at you: a mess. What did I say about running afool to the vanguard?" Astarion does not wait for their response. “Don't do it. It is smarter to be in the shadows in this instance. And what did you do? Ran alone into a quarry of cultists with no sense of self-preservation!”

Anger, pure anger, is present in his voice, sharpening his typical melodic lilt into daggers. If he cared about the present company - Shadowheart, Halsin, and Gale crowded into a tent, surrounding Tav upon their cot - it is nonexistent in his wine-red eyes. They could get lost in those bloody depths for hours. But not now. Not when seething rage roils off of his body like a cloud of darkness.

They look away.

"Nothing to say for yourself, darling?” he mocks. Astarion’s visage twists into a sneer, sharply turning his face away from them. He finds an unused rag, wets it, wrings it of excess water, and then moves past Shadowheart. “Allow me,” he murmurs to her, gentler.

Shadowheart’s inquisitive green eyes understand the depth of the situation immediately. She sighs, clearly annoyed he has taken over her job, but is dissuaded by Astarion’s next string of words: “I’ll clean them up. Magic and healing and all that wonderful nonsense are not necessarily my area of expertise. A firebolt here and there, surely, but I wouldn’t know where to begin with a curse that... Negates healing magic.”

“Sure,” Shadowheart replies, eyes flicking to Tav. Worry is evident over her features. Worry hangs heavy around everyone. Emerging out of battles victorious and grievously injured is commonplace; nothing a mass healing word couldn't fix along with a good night’s rest. Open wounds would be closed scars, ailments would be cured, and broken bones would be unbroken. Rinse and repeat.

This time, it is different.

They, and they alone, were cursed with a necromancy spell that makes all healing magic useless to their wounds.

Their wounds are appalling: Broken ribs evident with the pain swelling in their chest and labored breathing, purple and black blotchy bruises from the hammer blows they took to the shoulder, an open laceration across their chest, their ankle snapped in two, burns on their left leg crawling up their thigh. Blood all over their face from their own and from the enemies they felled.

“Hey, it’s fine,” they wheeze out. "Nothing I can't handle. The cultists are down and dead and buried - everything else can come after."

Hesitantly, Gale opens his mouth to reply, but is abruptly cut off by Astarion snapping out: "No."

"No," they echo. Their brows furrow.

"What a saint you are," Astarion snarls. His lips are down-turned, fangs bared as he speaks, but his ministrations upon their face are soothing. Gently, he rubs off the blood with a cool washcloth, eyes focusing on the task at hand as he cannot bear to look at them.

"Throwing yourself into the heat of battle like that, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Tell me, my dear, do you enjoy watching rational fly past you when you make your impulsive decisions?"

They flush with humiliation and hurt. Broken and battered, they dig their elbow into the cot to prop themselves up and face Astarion head-on, but Halsin presses a hand into their shoulder and pushes them down.

Fuck. Their head spins in circles.

"You're one to talk. Impulsivity is your middle name; you said yourself that planning is not your forte." Even raising their voice hurts but they do it anyway. Their eyes, threatening to slip into oblivion, flood with frustrated tears. "What the fuck is your problem, Astarion?"

"Must I really spell it out for you, sweetheart? You go around, telling everyone exactly what they need to hear. You tell them they aren't alone. That you will help them, that you will ensure they see the future that they want." The words are venom: petty and spiteful and yearning to be understood. "You," Astarion hisses out, "are so blind."

Tempers rising to fever pitch, Halsin tenses from his spot at the foot of the cot. From the corner of Tav's eye, they see Gale murmur something to him, something like, Let this play out. Astarion would never hurt them.

"I am the only one who will take the first step!" Tav cries. The words explode out of their broken chest faster than they realize, flying like an arrow straight toward Astarion's unbeating heart. "I risk my life - every day - for all of YOU! For all the people that need me! For all that I am because-"

"Because what?" He taunts. "Because it is the right thing to do? Look at yourself, Tav! You are on death's door if not for everyone in this room!"

"Because no one else will do it! Not anyone in this damn camp cares enough to- to help the people we could-" They cough violently, but they slam their elbows into the cot to prop themselves up. No one stops them this time as they meet Astarion's burning eyes. "No one cares but ME-"

"WE care about you!" Louder. Vicious. Astarion's voice splits in the air in two in one fell swoop, striking them down like lightning into silence.

He's breathing heavily, panting, as if exhausted. The adrenaline pumping in his veins is begging him to swoop Tav up and run away with them. Away from all of this bullshit and into hiding within the shadows. Maybe the Underdark. Maybe the Shadowcursed Lands. They can descend into madness together.

At least there, they will be safe.

"I care about you," Astarion chokes out before he can stop himself. "More than anything. Do you know that? I hope you know that."

Their mouth forms the words to reply, Of course I do, but it doesn't leave their throat. Instead, it stays stuck there like a fluttering butterfly, forced into silence. It hurts to speak. It hurts to talk. It hurts to see him like this.

He calls out their name so quietly it could have been a trick of the wind.

"Astarion," they plead.

He shakes his head, stubborn and unconvinced. "You don't owe these people anything. You certainly do not owe them your life for their burdens. I," he breathes out, voice as shaky as a leaf in the wind. He screws his eyes shut and clenches his fist around the rag, where their blood stains his palm.

"I almost lost the sun of my life today."

When Astarion opens his eyes, they are steeled with resilience and fury as they gaze into theirs. It is hypnotic. It is lonely. They yearn to comfort him.

"It will not happen again."

GALE

"Easy," Gale murmurs, a strong arm laying them down in his tent. Soft blankets and pillows meet their back, and the cushy grass beneath makes for a cool and comforting sleep. Their breath stutters, but Gale gazes at them so fondly as he pushes their hair from their face that the pain eases.

He does not miss their labored breathing. "Shhh shh shh. I've got you. Just focus on me."

His thumb lingers on the swell of their cheek. His eyes flutter close. A gentle glow of purple surrounds him, and eventually, that gentleness extends to Tav. The agonizing, piercing sensation in their chest numbs into a cool, muted nothingness. They gasp - then exhale in relief, slower than their panicky, short breaths from before.

"That's it," he encourages. "Well done, my love. How are you feeling?"

"So-so," they reply. Their voice aches and croaks, but for some reason, it makes Gale smile.

Oh no. He knows that look.

They study his handsome, tired face, looking for any signs of alarm. Is he hungry? Does he need to feed on another artefact? Was there an envoy telling them they missed another Absolutist hideout? Did they miss something? Did they do something wrong?

No. Nope. "Enough of that." He takes their hand, kisses their knuckles, then sighs. "You're the last person who should be worrying about someone. Such a pest, hm? Always buzzing around me like I'm seconds away from disappearing in front of your eyes..."

"You are," they say. Their brows furrow, and they pant out, "The-- your burden to carry, the--"

"The orb, I know. I know." His heart twists. It aches. He failed Mystra before and that was painful. But this is another subject entirely; it couldn't come close. Watching sheer heartbreak in their expression because of him? Oh, Goddess forgive him, he has failed them.

Gale can scarcely celebrate his victory, too. He undid the damned curse that affected Tav's ability to receive magic. The necromancy spell was so potent that Tav rejected any healing spells thrown at them. Late into the hours of experimentation, he, Halsin, and Shadowheart considered allowing the effects to wither and die rather than exterminating it outright. It was Jaheira who told them it would be inefficient, because how long would they have to wait in camp while Tav rode out the effects of the curse? Ideally? Hours. But days? Weeks? Months?

He spent the long night following and feeling out the curse with the Weave. It was a complicated hex - a tangled knot of magic that had to be unwoven carefully, thread by thread. Every connotation, every intent was traced back to the heart of the curse, and he followed it with abandon.

"I'm sorry for all the trouble, then," they whisper.

"You should be," he jests. "Nearly made my heart collapse, seeing you like that."

The image is still burned into his mind. He can't stop thinking about it. His mortality has always been a dreadful afterthought pushed into the further recesses of his tadpole-addled brain, but was he so taken with Tav that he never realized how mortal they were, too?

No. No. Gale tightens his grip on their hand, giving them a comforting squeeze as they breathe in and out, in and out. It's not that he never realized how susceptible they are to death and danger. He just never wanted to confront it.

"You are changing the very premise of my life," he says softly. An exasperated chuckle leaves him as he shakes his head, adding, "as always. I don't know what I would have done if I actually lost you, back there." What wouldn't I do? "No scrolls of revivifies, no Withers to bring you back. I wouldn't be able to accept it."

He understands Ketheric Thorm all too well, now.

"Come here," they whisper. Gale lets their hands press into the back of his head. He thinks, absently, that he would let them do much of anything. In their care, he is no grand wizard with a plethora of achievements under his belt. No. He is as humble as the Weave itself, and their hands compose music and art for him to simply bear witness to.

They rest his head upon their chest, where his ear can listen to the comforting sound of their beating heart.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud thud.

"Good night, my love," Gale says, when their breathing evens and they have finally fallen into peaceful slumber. He does not sleep at all.

KARLACH

"Oh gods. Oh gods!" Karlach clasps Tav's left hand between hers, holding tightly and vowing to never let go. Their blood stains her hand and chest and clothes. It's everywhere. Sickly sweet and sticky, drawing all of her attention from the room to the sensation of it dripping down her skin.

They've lost so much blood. It's nauseating, like an unsettling reality has just settled in her stomach.

"Tav!" She exclaims, helpless and pathetic. "Why did you do that, you big idiot? You seriously could have gotten killed out there, why-- why aren't you..."

Responding? Where are their quips, their sass, their brightness she fell so fast and hard for? Tav lays there upon the cot, broken and battered. Karlach has seen the remains of her enemies after she has slaughtered them and has barely flinched. She can barely stomach the sight of them bloodied, bones twisted in the wrong way, bruises so purple they're as black as a chasm.

All they can do is breathe. Their eyes focus distantly above them to the roof of the tent, but nothing else.

Panic seizes her faster than she can control it. "Are they breathing?! Are they going to survive this?! Fuck," she growls, running a frustrated hand through her dark hair, matted with blood. "I should have made those sons of bitches suffer."

"Karlach," Shadowheart says, firm but gentle, her hands bloody too as she applied pressure down on Tav's wounds, "it was important that you returned them to camp as fast as you did. Sometimes, we do not have the luxuries to let our enemies die in pain."

Right. Right. Karlach watched an Absolutist barbarian slam his warhammer into Tav's back. Once to knock them down. Twice to keep them plastered on the ground. Once more to keep them unconscious. She saw red, then: the rage she slipped into boiled her veins so hot, the howl she let out sent her surroundings enemies into a frightened frenzy. She hacked her great axe into the barbarian over and over and over until he was nothing but a bloodied pulp of a man, more gore than flesh.

She scooped Tav up from the ground. Karlach never let anyone else touch them. She snarled and snapped at the others who tried to come too close and dead sprinted as fast as she could back to camp.

She heard their choked sobs of pain in her arms. They choked out her name, and Karlach couldn't offer them much of anything other than an, "We're going home, bubs, just hang on. 'Kay? You just focus on me."

"Can I stay here?" She begs Shadowheart. "I won't get in the way. Just let me hold their hand, please."

Shadowheart exchanges a conflicted glance at Halsin. He nods, and she sighs. "Fine," she says. "But - I need you to stand to the side for now. You can hold their hand after we're done figuring out how to undo this curse."

"A fine specimen of a curse, really," Gale adds, his hand curled under his chin. "I'm almost impressed."

"I would be too," huffs Shadowheart, "if our reckless leader wasn't caught up in this mess. Really, what were you thinking?"

"Right?" Karlach shoves off into the corner of the tent, doing her best to keep herself as small and as out-of-the-way as possible. Tears flood her eyes, and she chokes out, "Of all the things to do, why did it have to be that? I thought you said you trusted me! To have your back! I have your back, don't I? Don't I?"

"Of course you do," Halsin croons. He hooks his finger into a bottle of salve, and spreads it on Tav's burns. Tav visibly winces and tenses, whimpering in pain.

"Stop whatever you're doing right now!" Karlach wails. "You're hurting them! I'll kill you, Halsin, I swear it!"

Gale exchanges a look with Shadowheart. He ponders deeply for a moment as Karlach sobs devastatingly behind them. He opens his mouth, then shuts it promptly.

"Just say it," Shadowheart urges impatiently.

"We should play a game," he suggests. "The quiet game."

"No way," Karlach hiccups. "I'm dogshit at that game. Anyway, focus on Tav or I'll gut you, seriously."

❥ Additional links: kofi | ao3

[louloulemons-posts]

heyyy. i saw your taking logan fics. do you think you can write a fic of logan and reader but she’s very girly and bimbo like? thank you 🩷

Claws and Frills

wolverine x fem!reader

(x-men wolverine, he’s a big boy)

summary : At first Logan didn’t know how to take you, but now your the first person he finds when he returns to the mansion.

word count : 0.8k

warnings : not proofread, fluffy, petnames (reader calls logan kitty and the famous bub), readers a necromancer, mentions of violence, blood and killing, readers not really described - only her outfit , hanks a bit of a dick, very very sweet, no established relationship.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

At first Logan didn’t know how to take you, you were unlike anyone he’d ever met. Cooing that Charles had adopted a pet ‘Kitty-cat’ when you first met one another.

It had taken him a few months to realise, you weren’t being condescending, you were truly that sweet and slightly ditzy. Saying that you had the gift of necromancy, controlling those who had passed, along with their powers if they were mutant.

Logan strolled outside of the mansion finding you, lay on your stomach reading a book, a soft lilac blanket beneath you.

A pink dress and short white cardigan hug your figure, as your pink converse lay discarded beside you, showing your white frilly socks.

“Hey Bub,” the man called out, walking over to you. With a grin you turned to him, “Kitty, come sit,” Scooting over to make room for his larger figure, the smile never left your lips.

With a soft groan he sat down next to you, laying back, hands behind his head. “How was your mission?” you asked, placing your book to the side to have your full focus on the man beside you.

With a shrug he spoke, “Went well, stopped the guys.”

“Any blood spilled?” You questioned, head cocked. “Less than last time.”

“And you?”

“Me?” Logan pulled his sunglasses down to rest on his nose, so he could meet your eyes with his own dark ones. “Did any of your blood get spilt?”

“Nothing I couldn’t heal from Bub.”

“Logan you promised-“

“Sometimes it can be helped,” he cut you off, “I did everything I could to be safe and come back to you in one piece, and look here I am.”

He motioned to his long body, dressed in a flannel, unsurprising, a pair of jeans a boots. “Well even if they killed you, you couldn’t be rid of me.”

He laughed, “You’re awful.” With a pout, you sat up on your knees, “What? I have to use my freaky-deaky powers at some point!”

“Freaky-deaky? Is that the technical term?” He smirked. With a groan you spoke, “Don’t, you sound like Hank.”

Logan’s face went serious, “What’s he said to you?” He was ready to shred that blue asshole to pieces for making you feel insecure.

“Nothing, he actually apologised. Charles told him he’d upset me. I mean I know I’m not the smartest sometimes,” Logan tried to cut you off, but you didn’t let him.

“But, I’m not stupid, we actually spent a lot of time talking about, neuroscience. Just because I’m not a total badass like Storm or Jean doesn’t mean I’m an awful hero, I just …” You sighed.

“What Bub?” Logan pushed himself up so you sat face to face. “I just don’t want to stop being myself, and my… gift already makes me feel like I have too.

“Maybe I was given the wrong one, would have been better if I could control plants or I don’t know, talk to animals.”

Logan smiled, pulling a cigar out of his pocket, which you snatched away without a second thought. If it was anyone else, his claws would be out, but it was you.

“Your power doesn’t define you, you know that right? You’re you. You’re sweet and kind, and anyone or anything you’ve controlled with your powers has been as respectful as you can make it.”

“But I’ve killed.”

“And you’ve saved.”

“But-“

“Bub, you’re good, and Hank isn’t a people person, he just talks sometimes. Nobody is a special or as badass as you, I promise.”

“Not even you?”

He titled his head, thinking for a moment, “I might be a close second.”

“Third, Erik’s more scary than you … and Jean oh and Scott-“ he put a hand over your mouth.

You couldn’t help but smile against it, causing his lips to twitch upwards. He pulled his palm away, “Thank you Kitty.”

“Never have to thank me, you know that.” Leaning forward you placed a soft kiss on his cheek, wrapping your arms around his neck. “You really are my favourite person, you know that?”

“You’re crazy,” he said making you laugh, arms coming round your waist, “But you’re my favourite too.”

Pulling away you stroked his face gently, “You’re a good man, you know that right?”

“You tell me most days. Now read to me,” he said, falling onto his back, hands going back behind his head.

Crossing your knees, you sat beside Logans figure, his eyes falling closed. One of his hands moving to stroke your leg softly. “What are we reading?”

With a smirk you spoke, “Pride and Prejudice.”

Logan groaned, “Again?!”

“Hush Kitty.”

And hush he did, listening to your soft voice hand never leaving your leg. Remaining on that soft blanket with you, until the sun began to set and the stars rise.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Thank you so much for reading!

i honestly can’t believe i’ve never done a logan fic but deadpool 3 brought back my obsession big time.

I hope you enjoyed.

Please leave any requests 🫶🏻

[catilinas]

lucan, pharsalia 6.719-25, 6.762-70, 6.820-7 trans. a.s. kline / hadestown obcr, way down hadestown (reprise) / tamsyn muir, gideon the ninth / richard siken, the language of birds / lucan, pharsalia 9.980-6 trans. a.s. kline

poetic immortality (this is a threat)

[doufudanshi]

ON GHOSTS AND DEMONS: Wei Wuxian's "demonic" cultivation?

There are a few big misconceptions I have repeatedly seen in English-speaking fandom about things that are fundamental to the story of MDZS. One of them is this—

Wei Wuxian is not a demonic cultivator.

To prove this, let's take a deep dive into the original Chinese text of MDZS.

(Adapted from my original gdoc posted on Twitter on May 27, 2022. All translations my own unless otherwise stated.)

Demon vs. ghost

Let's start from the very basics. In addition to orthodox cultivation using spiritual energy and a golden core, there are two other forms of cultivation that are mentioned in the novel:

魔道 (mó dào), or “demon cultivation/path.”

鬼道 (guǐ dào), or “ghost cultivation/path.”

To be clear, 魔 mo "demons" and 鬼 gui "ghosts" (and thus their respective cultivation/paths) are not interchangeable because of the in-universe worldbuilding within MDZS. Using the characters in the term 妖魔鬼怪 "monsters," MXTX created four distinct categories of beings, each of which has a strict definition in the novel. From chapter 4 (jjwxc ch 13):

妖者非人之活物所化; 魔者生人所化; 鬼者死者所化; 怪者非人之死物所化。 Yāo (妖) are transformed from non-human living beings; mó (魔) are transformed from living people; guǐ (鬼) are transformed from the deceased; guài (怪) are transformed from non-human dead beings.

And of course, WWX hoards all the ghost-type pokemon monsters at the Phoenix Mountain tournament, and he only exerts control over corpses, spirits, and the like (aka people who have already died). (As opposed to Xue Yang, who appears to have been actively trying to make 魔 "demons" out of living people with those "living corpses" of his, perhaps.) (And, ironically, in order to avoid showing necromancy / zombies on screen, CQL technically does show WWX practicing demon cultivation because everyone is "supposedly alive" even when they're corpses? Which is, funnily enough, far worse morally in the MDZS universe, lol.)

So, intuitively at least, we know that WWX must be practicing ghost cultivation—now let's look at some concrete examples from the book.

Running the numbers

1) 魔道 (mó dào) means “demon cultivation.” As such, it must use living humans.

魔道 appears one (1) time in the novel.

Yes, once. The only time it appears is in the term 魔道祖师 modao zushi, or the namesake of the novel, in chapter 2. This is a title the general public has given him through rumors:

魏无羡好歹也被人叫了这么多年无上邪尊啦、魔道祖师啦之类的称号，这种一看就知道不是什么好东西的阵法，他自然了如指掌。 Wei Wuxian wasn’t called titles like “The Evil Overlord,” “The Founder of Demon Cultivation,” and so on over the years by others for nothing—he knew these sorts of obviously shady formations like the back of his hand.

2) 鬼道 (guǐ dào) means “ghost cultivation.” As such, it must use dead humans. 

鬼道 appears 12 times in the novel.

Here is the first instance that 鬼道 appears, which I believe is the first time Wei Wuxian's method of cultivation is properly introduced. From chapter 3 (jjwxc ch 8):

蓝忘机 […] 对魏无羡修鬼道一事极不认可。 Lan Wangji […] had never approved of the fact that Wei Wuxian practiced ghost cultivation.

Here's another quote from chapter 15 (jjwxc ch 71) for funsies:

蓝忘机看着他，似乎一眼就看出他只是随口敷衍，吸了一口气，道：“魏婴。” Lan Wangji looked at him as if he saw through his half-hearted bluff. He took in a breath, then said, “Wei Ying.” 他执拗地道：“鬼道损身，损心性。” He stubbornly continued, “Ghost cultivation harms one’s body, and harms one’s nature.”

3) 邪魔歪道 (xiemowaidao) means heretical path/immoral methods/evil practices/underhanded means/etc—e.g., lying, cheating, stealing, bribery, and so on.

It appears ~24 times in the novel.

I mention this last term because it is often used to refer to Wei Wuxian's cultivation, but as a pejorative. Every instance of 邪魔歪道 is said by or to quote someone looking down upon Wei Wuxian’s cultivation (Jin Zixun, Jin Ling, etc.) and referring to it derogatorily, whereas every instance of 鬼道 guidao/ghost dao is said by someone discussing it neutrally and/or factually (Lan Jingyi, Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian himself, random cultivators at discussion conferences, the narration, etc.). Here is a pertinent example with Jin Ling (derogatory) and Lan Jingyi (neutral) in chapter 9 (jjwxc ch 43):

金凌怒道：“是在谈论薛洋，我说的不对吗？薛洋干了什么？他是个禽兽不如的人渣，魏婴比他更让人恶心！什么叫‘不能一概而论’？这种邪魔歪道留在世上就是祸害，就是该统统都杀光，死光，灭绝！” “We are discussing Xue Yang,” Jin Ling said angrily. “Am I wrong? What did Xue Yang do? He’s scum that’s lower than a beast, and Wei Ying is even more disgusting than him! What do you mean ‘don’t make sweeping generalizations?’ As long as those practicing this kind of demoniac, heretical path are alive, they’ll continue to bring disaster. We should slaughter all of them, kill all of them, annihilate them once and for all!” 温宁动了动，魏无羡摆手示意他静止。只听蓝景仪也加入了，嚷道：“你发这么大火干什么？思追又没说魏无羡不该杀，他只是说修鬼道的也不一定全都是薛洋这种人，你有必要乱摔东西吗？那个我还没吃呢……” Wen Ning shuffled around. Wei Wuxian gestured at him to stay still, only to hear Lan Jingyi also cut in loudly, “Why are you getting so riled up? It’s not like Sizhui said Wei Wuxian shouldn’t have been killed. All he said was that people who practice ghost cultivation aren’t necessarily all like Xue Yang. Do you have to go around breaking things? I didn’t even get to eat any of that yet…”

Tl;dr—Wei Wuxian does not 修魔道 practice demon cultivation. When Wei Wuxian’s craft is discussed in a neutral and factual manner, it is referred to as 鬼道 ghost dao. 

In fact, Wei Wuxian’s imitators are also referred to explicitly as 鬼道修士 ghost cultivators.

魏无羡早就听说过，这些年来江澄到处抓疑似夺舍重生的鬼道修士，把这些人通通押回莲花坞严刑拷打。 Wei Wuxian had heard a while back that over the past few years, Jiang Cheng had gone around snatching any ghost cultivator suspected of being possessed or reborn, detaining them in Lotus Pier to interrogate them using torture.

So why the confusion?

Of course, there is the matter of the novel's title, which I will get into in a second. But the real issue is a matter of translation.

The idea that WWX uses "demonic cultivation" is a misconception in English-speaking fandom due to issues with the translation of terminology. Of note, EXR actually did translate 鬼道 guidao as "ghostly path" most of the time, though there were at least 3 instances of "demonic" and 1 instance of "dark," especially regarding the first few.

However, this misconception was perpetuated (and arguably worsened) by 7S's official translation, which not only mistranslated additional terms as "demonic cultivation/path" (at least in book 1), but also consistently mistranslated every instance of 鬼道 as "demonic cultivation/path."

So why is this book called 魔道祖师, commonly translated as "Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation?"

One possibility is one posed in Chinese-language meta online, which often cites that WWX himself is a sort of 魔 demon. While this may be true—after all, he can hear the voices of the dead—it doesn't quite explain the fact that the title sets him up to be the 祖师 or "founder."

My take is that this novel is very much concerned with hearsay vs. truth. This is one of the many monikers WWX is given by the public, who collectively view him as evil. (Also of note is that the non-cultivator public is not aware of all the nuances that cultivators learn re: distinctions between the 妖魔鬼怪 monsters.) In the quote from earlier, note that the first title we're given is actually 无上邪尊 “The Evil Overlord,” then 魔道祖师 "The Founder of Demon Cultivation." Like, what can that be other than MXTX telling us, "please take both of these with a HUGE grain of salt, lol."

(And not only the title, but the very first line—"魏无羡死了。" / "Wei Wuxian is dead."—is a lie.)

I think the title is genius, honestly. It intentionally makes readers come into the novel with preconceived notions that Wei Wuxian practices 魔道 demon cultivation and evil techniques—just like the public in the novel. What better way to tell a story warning about the dangers of how easy it is to fall for misinformation and jump to incorrect conclusions?

(Though, in our case, perhaps it worked a little too well.)

[insanescriptist]

Flip the Table

Casually eavesdropping on what should be highly secure frequencies, Jason sipped his beer in a sleezy saloon style sports bar somewhere on the Vegas strip, nominally watching college(?) football; he's a hockey fan because baseball's boring as shit to watch and he's never got the appeal about American football. Football to the rest of the world was at least worth watching for the drama. Something had the Justice League in a tizzy and Zatanna -the one who normally covered Vegas when it came to the costumed crazies- was off world; Jason didn't have the details exactly but it sounded like Zatanna was dealing with some magical planar stuff and was not expected back for at least six more days. Assuming all went well.

So like any reasonable person who's going away for a time, she turned on her home security, had the alerts wired over to a friend -in this case Justice League Dark- gave a list of what was needed to be done and when -the pick up my mail and mow my lawn equivalants- went on her trip, trusting that the JLD were watching over her city and it wouldn't be on fire when she got back.

Such glorious hope.

And thus something happened so when Jason pulled into Vegas proper to investigate a desperate -read last hope- lead on a missing person's case, Jason happened to spy one of the lesser members of the JLD losing their shit in the sky. And so in a moment of civic duty, Jason started spying on them.

Magic was not something anyone trained by the Bat really ever got comfortable about, but chances were magic bullshit was going to intervene in his case. Justice League shit spilled over everything, all the time. Ghost cultists tripping Zatanna's necromancy alarms or whatever they were, was not Jason's business. Not unless the presumed cultists -those that had survived- had the person he was looking for.

No, he was looking at a missing person's case and his lead was 1. cold and 2. a longshot and 3. in a city full of tourists and catering staff, where "seen anything unusual lately" could be "there was this trio of tourists arguing how sex with your best friend doesn't count as cheating," or "someone having a meltdown over the delayed shipping of organic blueberries to the hotel," or "Sarah Maria got murdered a couple weeks ago on the job, but I haven't seen any notice about her funeral stuff on her social media, why yes, I do know she's dead, oh, she's dead and I'm an idiot for expecting someone dead to post on their socials their funeral deets."

Point was, he could look and ask all he wanted, beat feet for days, but the chances of this lead panning out were basically so minuscule that Jason could treat this more as a hobby case while on vacation. He still did his due diligence, asked the staff a few questions, called the guests on the same floor during the time period of their stay about how they found their stay, ran into the dead end of shitty business practices -they recorded over their own records every two weeks- and so unless Jason got the ability to do magic and do a "point me!" spell, the case would turn cold. It sucked when it happened but sometimes the evidence wasn't there. Or wasn't noticed or was destroyed before it could be collected. Sometimes people just didn't remember shit until three weeks later, which with some follow up digging gave him the lead to the hotel. Which got him nothing after that.

As Jason Todd didn't gain an innate ability to do magic that he was aware of that actually counted as magic bullshit magic instead of a couple cantrips, all he could do was get a beer and some food in a Vegas style Texas saloon bar. Which not his first choice, but it was full enough no one really paid attention to anyone. Technically a sport's bar but also very much was not. It was also busy enough that Jason ended up getting asked if someone could set with him at his table -which real Jason said hell no to, but cover Jason did agree to-

Oh. Meta. Jason realized quickly. Oh no, he's hot.

His hair is on fire!

How did the server miss that? Most metas don't casually out themselves like that! Too many people willing to target them for whatever power.

That hair was flaming, tied back in a low tail; Jason blinked and the hair flickered color, looked like normal hair -black- and then back to white fire, then black fire, some tv static abomination of color, white hair and then black hair. Another blink and it appeared to be black flames for hair and yeah, Jason closed his eyes. Pointedly ignored the hair thing. If the meta asked, Jason was judging him for the stupid little goatee.

The rest of the meta was built along the same lines as Jason himself, tall, broad and built. Packed with muscle, which was something to make note of; metas usually were more durable and could hit harder, so Jason casually made note to not get hit if a fight broke out.

Which it might, or probably would.

That's just how Jason's luck ran. To shit.

Said meta also ordered food and a beer, didn't even get asked for ID -unfair bias- and judging by the sound, turned in the seat to look at the American football screen that Jason had been ignoring. His hair had at least settled to black flames instead of the glitchy hair.

Of course as this was Vegas, people gambled on outcomes of games too. Which is how Jason learned the meta was rich enough to blow a couple grand -not expensive in the world of supers- but more than what the average person would be comfortable betting.

There were better ways to piss away money than gambling on sports. Like on over priced burgers and onion rings with an order of mozzerella sticks. The burger was good, admittedly Jason's had better and then some party of guys was yelling at the ref on a screen. And yup, that's some altercation with another table but the barman broke it up with a couple of words.

His tablemate muttered something about the ref having made the right call if one of the players wanted to continue a career professionally and Jason used that as social leverage to get a name -Dan, no last name given- and a bit more in-depth explanation on what stakes were going on; he's a hockey guy, not a football guy.

Some time later, Dan had caught him up on the football drama -nothing compared to the hockey drama- and conversation had drifted significantly from sports, lightly touched on family -Dan had siblings he shared little about other than they existed, which fair, they could also be metas and at risk- much like Jason did -he had siblings that existed, no further details- and parents weren't mentioned. Instead a lot of engineering talk, a slide into ethics -Dan's opinion on killing super villains was very much that some people needed Ended- and some small talk about how Dan's high school English teacher cursed in classical book titles.

Soon the easy joy of potential friendship ended when his phone rang; that was the Batman ringtone and Jason felt no guilt hanging up on him. And again. And again.

Then Dick rang and nope. He was not dealing with their shit. Dick would just sweeten up whatever shit B wanted to shovel.

And then Oracle's ringtone rang. Oh, now that was serious. Justice League shit spilling into his life again. No fucking doubt about it.

"Uh-huh, so what's up? Because I gotta say, I am a couple drinks in and the whole bar is waiting for one of the football teams to fumble or foul up their next play so they can throw down."

"Jay-" She started because much like Bruce, she would rather go straight into the mission, and Jason absolutely had wrong-footed her. Because instead of making excuses to leave, Jason had absolutely stayed. So now she had to rephrase things on the fly because who knows who might be listening in. "Hey, it's on the news that the Justice League is showing up in Vegas; something about investigating something magical showing up."

"Uh-huh, that's not a surprise. There was some magic ninny flying in a panic earlier. I decided it wasn't my business."

"I hadn't heard that," -bullshit, she just hadn't double-checked that herself yet- "but what I did hear that some cult might have succeeded in bringing something over."

"Uh-huh. Well, no one's praying to Cthulu yet, there's been no troublemaking beyond the usual human malice and nothing's on fire."

"We were just concer-" And Jason hung up on Oracle.

He'd pay for that later, but petty was satisfying now.

"Sounded important."

"Was bullshit."

"So an entity summoned by a cult that tripped a bunch of magicians into a tizzy-"

Yeah, those sharp ears were not for show. Enhanced hearing check. "That's a bunch of incompetents panicking." Time for his good guess to hit or miss. "You're not going to decide to destroy Vegas, are you?"

"Done it before, doing it again seems pointlessly petty." Statements Jason wasn't going to prod further right now.

"And what if Wisconson University loses?"

"Might flip the table." Dan shrugged.

"More beer?" Jason asked.

"Sure."

[caughtthedarkness93]

Ok, I guess I gotta talk about that one scene in Dragon Age: The Veilguard eventually because I've heard about discourse regarding it and it's driving me up a wall with how some of the criticism ignores key context from the rest of the story that informs how it's written. Spoilers for Taash's storyline follow below the cut.

So I mainly have seen this referenced on TV Tropes because I am not on the hellscape that is Twitter, but people, it seems, have been criticizing the scene where Taash comes out as nonbinary to their mom for how they get pissed at how their mom takes it. Often this is used to frame Taash as being unreasonable as their mom is struggling to understand what that means.

And I feel like that criticism kind of misses a big part of what that scene is actually about. Because Taash's relationship with their mom is complicated. This is something that their storyline stresses repeatedly. Taash has fond memories of growing up with their mom and knows that she basically gave up her whole culture to ensure that Taash wouldn't be forced into a soldier's life. It's clear that their mom is still very attached to Qunari culture and she outright expresses a couple times that she feels like being a Qunari scholar equipped her extremely poorly to actually raise a child. That checks out - under the Qun, that would be someone else's job entirely.

So this informs a lot of Taash's relationship with her - Taash recognizes that she gave up a very privileged position with the Qunari for their sake. Because she wanted a better life for them than what they'd get there. That's a huge sacrifice.

However, you watch how they interact, you can see that Taash's mom is also very critical of them and very controlling. She doesn't care much for Taash's privacy, tries to make a lot of their decisions for them without putting a lot of thought into what they actually want, and she is extremely critical of them sometimes about things that don't really matter.

So we get to that scene late in their storyline - the Lighthouse dinner. I think the critical mistake a lot of people make when looking at this scene is thinking that it's about how she reacts to Taash's gender identity.

Which that informs it, sure, but there's more to it. When Taash yells that nothing they do is good enough for their mom, it's not a reaction to how she responds to their identity, it's a reaction to the way their whole relationship has been built up throughout the game. It's the straw that broke the camel's back. And it's true to Taash's character.

One of the things that I like about Taash is that they're someone who likes a straightforward, direct solution to most problems. Thing in your way? Break it. Big scary monster? Kill it. They like to be able to take the most simple, direct path through a problem, preferably one that involves slaying a big monster, and Veilguard constantly puts them in situations where that isn't an option. And in those situations, they struggle a lot. Taash struggles to get along with Emmerich because that involves overcoming internalized prejudices (and understandable ones too - necromancy is something that would probably make a lot of people uncomfortable irl and for a culture where cremation is the norm and undead can be a legit issue, that would go, like, quadruple - of course they're uncomfortable with Emmerich). That's not an easy thing to do because it involves a lot of introspection and interrupting thoughts that you've been trained to think. Taash questions their gender identity. Definitely no easy, straightforward way to solve that. They angst a lot over being afraid they're broken somehow for feeling these things. A fraught, complicated relationship with a parent who sacrificed everything so that you would have a better life, but can't seem to bring herself to let you actually live it the way you want? Can't hit that with an axe.

And ultimately, that's what's happening in this scene - the whole game, we've seen Taash struggle with this really complex, nuanced relationship, this mother who clearly loves them and wants the best life possible for them, but struggles to understand what their child really needs and often says or does things that are hurtful. In this scene, this bubbling, brewing resentment, definitely exacerbated by Taash being outside their mom's orbit and with a team that has more faith in their skills and abilities, finally comes to a head.

The scene is only about Taash's identity on the most surface of levels. Yeah, that's what sparks the argument, but it's not what the argument is about.

[vivantesopvles]

‘What, then, would you say defines Dark magic?’ Professor Potter asks, not even bothering to look up from the homework he’s grading. 

It’s long past his office hours, but that has never stopped Tom from finding all sorts of excuses to knock on his door. Tom wouldn’t say the professor indulges him, per se; it’s just that their conversation often turns out so stimulating it’s impossible not to crave for more. 

‘Depends on who you are and how you approach the subject,’ Tom ventures carefully. ‘A Spellmaker, I imagine, would focus on the energy composition of a spell; the Dark ones require a high amount of magical output from the caster whilst also draining the subject. A Healer, on the other hand –’

‘That’s quite all right.’ Professor Potter lays down his quill, gives Tom a knowing look over his spectacles. ‘I am familiar enough with what Fawson has to say. I want to know what you think, Mr Riddle, after your – ah, shall I say intensive,’ a half-smile curves his lips, 'research on the subject.’

Tom feigns a look of innocence. His mind whirs. His eyes catalogue every outward sign the professor displays. Nothing. Tom can’t even tell if he’s angry or not.

‘I’m trying to get an internship at St Mungo’s,’ Tom fudges. ‘The research … it’s just for academic purposes.’

‘That’s not true, is it?’ Potter spins on his chair, and makes to stand up. His cane comes flying into his hand. Tom’s eyes widen when he feels magic, wild and forceful, gather around them like storm clouds. ‘Ten points from Slytherin,’ he smiles, ‘for lying. Now, Mr Riddle, can you tell what I’m doing?’

Out of thin air, where the turbulent rush of magic has been, water comes. And with a snap of his fingers, Potter traps them both in the centre of the vortex.

‘A hint,’ he says, ‘it’s not Dark, but definitely illegal.’

‘It’s the Forming,’ Tom says, awestruck by the great churning around them, loud as a waterfall. For it is no mere water; a single drop of it on Tom’s skin would be deadly. It’s Professor Potter’s magic in its purest, most concentrated form. 

‘So that brings us back to our question. What makes a spell Dark?’

Belatedly, Tom realises that he’s not to be punished for reading up on the Unforgivables, on Necromancy, on Horcruxes, or whatever it was Professor Potter saw him doing. This is a proper lesson – an introduction to the Dark Arts.

‘Complications,’ Tom breathes. He feels giddy all of a sudden, like he’s inhaled fairy dust. ‘When the practitioner suffers lasting complications to a spell or ritual, the process should be labelled as Dark.’

‘Very good,’ Potter says softly. ‘And that is why you will study under me from now on – not as a Hogwarts student, but my own apprentice. I do care about your well-being, Mr Riddle, even if you yourself might not.'

24052024 | @microficmay | elation

[trainsinanime]

I'm not sure I have anything interesting to say about it, but I am very intrigued by the way The Locked Tomb portrays cavaliers, necromancers and lyctorhood as relationships.

First of all, Necromancer+Cavalier is a metaphor for marriage, that's obvious table stakes. It's explicitly non-romantic (or should be, anyway, in the way the society there has constructed it), but it is intense, highly devoted, starts with a vow, goes "til death do us part" ("one flesh, one end").

In the series Cavalier and Necromancer are a form of gender roles, and they map incredibly well onto the most stereotypical gender roles we have in our society. The Cavalier has stereotypical masculine traits: The fighter, the protector, up on the front lines, physically active. The Necromancer has stereotypical feminine traits: Weak, frail, but whatever the necromantic equivalent of nurturing is, with power over death and life. In the mythology and "gender roles" of the nine houses, necromancy is sort of not quite but still a bit equivalent to "the mystical power of women to bring forth life". And yes, this is all very conservative and cishet-normative and so on.

Of course the books then immediately, from moment one, subvert this on at least three different layers.

The first layer is that the feminine-coded Necromancer is the head of the deadly family in the society, and the masculine-coded Cavalier is the support, the disposable one.

The other layer is that the book distributes the roles of Necromancer and Cavalier basically randomly across the actual genders of the characters. There are male necromancers, female cavaliers, plenty of same-sex pairings and so on.

But the biggest and most important inversion is that when we first meet the nine houses, ten thousand years after a cow-murdering Twitch streamer destroyed the world, nobody actually follows that role assignment to the letter. All the different houses have very different ideas of how Necromancer and Cavalier works in practice.

For example, Abigail Pent and Magnus Quinn are just straight-up married. Their work relationship is romantic, and while that's considered a bit weird by their society, it makes it clear that it can go on like this.

We are actually told that there was something going on in the second house, too, where Judith fell in love with Marta, but there she was gently rebuked and they were just friends instead.

Over in the sixth, Camilla and Palamedes have the inversion of boy necromancer and girl cavalier, but most importantly they have their own very QPR style of relationship that is unique to them and does not fit into either our society's traditional idea of romantic relationship, nor their society's traditional idea of what Necromancer and Cavalier should be like.

The seventh house leans into the frail necromancer/strong protector idea the most, except for [spoilers for the final third of Gideon].

The eighth house leans fully into the idea that the relationship is one-sided, that the cavalier is disposable, and jumps straight off the deep end by making the cavalier genetically bred to be nothing more than a power source.

The third house I've left out so far because, dear god, what even is going on there?

And finally, of course, the ninth, who are technically, strictly speaking, if we're following the metaphor to its logical end, doing a "fake married to lovers" plot.

So with that out of the way, let's look at Lyctorhood. Lyctorhood is fundamentally the final test, the final form of the Necromancer/Cavalier relationship as embedded in that society: The Cavalier has completely dissolved in the marriage, making their "spouse" all-powerful, but ending their own existence. That's the standard of the society as presented to the characters when they discover it, and all of them very quickly have their own ideas about it..

Most characters we know from Canaan House don't actually get that far (and to be fair, I think many of them would not have anything that interesting to say about it), but the ones who do are interesting:

Ianthe is physically repulsed by the idea of healthy relationships, so she has no problem eating Babs for power.

Gideon and Harrow are deeply in love, deeply devoted to each other, and deeply dysfunctional in their own ways, and Harrow manages to find a way to continue a dysfunctional horrible situationship with massive communication issues into Lyctorhood.

Cam and Pal find a different thing entirely, still recognisable as a take on Lyctorhood but also not at all. Instead of one absorbing the other, they fuse into a single new person together, but also in some ways dying in the process.

And it turns out even the older lyctors may not have worked quite as originally designed, with Pyrrha Dve still hanging around in Gideon the First and then finding her own way in Nona the Ninth. Throughout Nona it becomes obvious what was hinted at throughout most of Harrow: Lyctorhood is really just one of many ways for two people to become one. It is not the purest and best form of "one flesh, one end", just the best Johnny Boy could think of. Left to their own devices, we see people left and right figure out new ways to be together as one regardless of what society and God thinks of them.

This is really a key question of the book series: What does it mean for two people to become one? Well, it's up to them, and listening to what God has to say about it is probably not the best way to go. It'll make you end up like Ianthe. Do you want to be Ianthe? Actually don't answer that.

[casually-eat-my-soul]

I am completely normal about the hale family.

I’m totally not obsessing over any of the characters

Like Laura hale who haunts the narrative. Hell she’s was the creation of the narrative, her death is the reason that Scott and stiles were in the woods that night. She was a means to an end. She was an older sister. The girl who stays with her brother even after her death. We know nothing about her, and everything we do know is forever tainted by the biases of the characters that remained. The Aphla Heir, the first victim of the show. A body in the woods, a girl in a grave

Or Peter hale, who is a walking contradiction and Manipulator. He cares for his family but he sacrificed Laura and Derek (Paige) for power. He kills his niece, then later on he wants to save her (Cora). Peter who died in the house fire, all Derek was doing was putting down a corpse. Peter who died engulfed in flames in the house haunted by death and fire. Peter who knew how to bring himself back, who knew about necromancy and banshees. How young was he when he created a plan to bring himself back to life?

How about Cora?? A girl who lived in the shadow of her families death for years. Believing that she was the only one who lived. A girl who only knows how to run, who keeps her bags packed always ready to leave. It’s how she grew up. Cora who returned to her burnt out shell of a home at the mere mention of a hale alpha. Who leaves beacon hills once again but this time with her brother at her back. (Laura and Derek leaving after the fire parallel)

And last but not least, Derek fucking Hale. The man who blamed himself for the death of his entire family. Who lost everything, and despite that, got up every single day. Who never got to bury his family members, but never wanted to bury Laura. Who killed his uncle and buried him in the grave of their house, so he could rest among the rest of forgotten Hales. What’s one more grave to dig, One more family member to bury. Who helped people even when they didn’t want him to. Derek who was used and abused over and over again. Who was nothing more than a body. Someone with one foot in the grave and one on a train. He just wanted a pack again and had that taken from him as well. He leaves beacon hills, and comes back to once again help those in need. Who dies and comes back. Who drags himself with bloody fingers to a happy ending, with a son. Who takes care of a car for fifteen years as an act of repentance and love. And who still dies in a fire like the Hales that came before him.

What about Eli, whose legacy is pain, fire and death.

The hales who are tied so fucking tightly to beacon hills and to each other. They can never leave this place but they can’t stay. Nothing will ever be the same again. The fire is gone but the wood is still charred. There’s still an open grave